Carlisle's POV

Edward came to see me in my office.

"How is she?" I asked, unable to hide the concern in my voice.

He took a seat across from me, running a hand through his hair. "She's… better. We talked, and I think she's starting to understand what happened a little more."

I leaned forward, searching Edward's eyes for more answers. "What did she say?"

Edward seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if knowing what he was about to say wouldn't be easy for me to hear.

"It's not just about the NG tube," he began slowly. "There's more to it than that. She's been through… something before. Something traumatic."

"What do you mean, exactly?"

"She was waterboarded, Carlisle," he said softly. "In the past. And the NG tube… it triggered those memories for her. The sensation was very similar. That's why she panicked, why she felt like she was drowning. But it wasn't just the sensation of the tube—it was the memories it brought back."

I sank back in my chair, running a hand over my face. "I had no idea… God, I didn't know."

"I know," he said gently. "And I don't think she did either. She hadn't made the connection as to why she struggles to tolerate these things. But that's what was happening. She was reliving it, and it felt real to her, even though we knew she was safe. To her, it was like she was being tortured all over again."

I closed his eyes, feeling my jaw tighten with what Edward had just disclosed. "I should have seen it," I muttered, more to myself. "I should have seen that it was more than normal procedural anxiety."

"There's no way you could have known," Edward said firmly. "None of us knew. But now we do, and we can make sure it doesn't happen again."

I nodded slowly, my eyes still closed, replaying the scene of it all – Lilla writhing on the bed and convinced she couldn't breathe.

"I won't let her go through that again," I said quietly. "I'll find a way."

"She doesn't hate you, you know," he added gently. "She was just angry and scared, but she doesn't hate you."

I let out a slow breath. "I'm glad to hear that. I've been worried…"

"You care about her," he said softly. "And that's why this has been so hard for you. But I think she knows you were trying to help."

I nodded, wanting to believe him, but I knew it would take time for me to forgive myself in the same way that it would take Lilla a long time to heal.

"Thank you, Edward. For talking to her. For understanding."

He smiled softly. "That's my job, right?"

I smiled back, a knowing look between us that we were doing far beyond the work of our job description.

It took me a few days to muster up the courage to see Lilla again, and even now, as I walked toward her room, a sense of unease gnawed at me. Edward had told me about their conversation, and while it gave me some relief to know she didn't truly hate me, the weight of what had happened—the pain and distress I had inflicted on her—still hung heavy on my chest.

I paused outside her door, gathering my thoughts. I was her doctor, and I had a duty to make sure she understood the medical realities of her situation. But more than that, I owed her something deeper. I had pushed her too far without understanding the pain and trauma she was reliving. She had been through something horrific, and I had unknowingly reopened those wounds.

I knocked softly before entering, trying to make my presence as non-intrusive as possible. When I stepped into the room, Lilla was sitting up in bed, her arms wrapped around her knees, eyes staring out the window. She didn't look at me right away, and I wasn't sure if she would. But I stood quietly for a moment, giving her space.

"Lilla," I said softly, my voice as calm as I could make it. "I was wondering if we could talk for a little while. I want to explain what happened during the NG tube insertion. Only if you're ready."

Her eyes flickered toward me briefly, but she didn't respond. I didn't take it as a rejection—just as a sign that she was still processing, still weighing whether she could trust me.

I moved slowly to the side of the room, pulling up a chair and positioning it a few feet away from her bed. I didn't want to invade her space, but I also didn't want to stay on my feet and make her feel cornered.

"I know what happened with the NG tube was overwhelming," I began, speaking slowly. "And I should've listened to you more carefully in the moment. I didn't understand how much you were struggling, and for that, I'm deeply sorry."

Lilla shifted slightly, her knees drawing tighter to her chest, but she still didn't say anything. I could see the tension in her body, in the way her hands gripped the blanket. It was like she was bracing herself for something—maybe for me to force another procedure on her, or maybe for another explanation that wouldn't align with the experience she had lived through.

"I talked to Dr Masen," I continued, choosing my words carefully. "And he helped me understand what you were going through during the procedure. The feeling of the tube—it reminded you of something terrible from your past. And I want to make sure that doesn't happen again, if possible."

At that, she glanced at me, her eyes sharp with emotion.

"I don't want to force anything on you today," I assured her. "I just want to explain a little bit about what happened from a medical perspective. If you're comfortable, I'd like to show you how the NG tube works, and why it felt the way it did."

She stared at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable, and then she gave a small nod, her lips pressed into a thin line. It wasn't exactly an invitation, but it wasn't a rejection either. I took it as a signal to continue.

I reached into my bag and pulled out a model of the human head and upper chest, something we used in medical school to explain procedures like this to students. It was a clear plastic model that showed the different pathways of the throat and lungs.

"This is what I wanted to show you," I said, holding the model up so she could see. "It's a model of the respiratory system, specifically the area where the NG tube is inserted. I know the sensation must have felt like you were choking, but I want to walk you through where the tube actually goes, and how we make sure you're still able to breathe."

Lilla's eyes flicked toward the model, her interest piqued despite her obvious discomfort with the subject. I leaned forward slightly, pointing to the path where the nasal passages connect to the throat.

"When we insert the NG tube, it goes through the nasal passage," I explained, tracing the path with my finger. "It bypasses your windpipe, which is here," I pointed, and she winced a little. "The feeling of something in your throat can trigger your gag reflex, which makes it feel like you're choking or unable to breathe. But the tube doesn't block your airway. It's specifically designed to avoid that."

Lilla's brow furrowed slightly as she watched me. I could see her trying to reconcile what I was saying with the terror she had felt during the procedure. I knew it wouldn't be easy for her to understand—not when her body had reacted so strongly to the sensation.

"Even though the tube is in your throat," I continued, "your windpipe—the tube that leads to your lungs—is still completely open. You can breathe around it, but it doesn't feel that way because your body is telling you something different."

She shifted in her bed, her hands gripping the blanket tighter. "Would you like to hold this yourself?" I asked, offering her the model. She accepted, and took it, stretching out her legs and placing it on her lap. I watched her inspect the different openings of the model.

"This is an adult, though. I'm… smaller." She commented.

"Yes, you're right. As you're a child, we used a slightly thinner tube, so there was still plenty of room to breathe around it."

"But it felt like I was suffocating," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I kept telling you I couldn't breathe, but you didn't stop."

I nodded, acknowledging her words. "I know. And I'm so sorry for that. I didn't stop because, from my perspective, the medical monitors showed that you were still getting enough oxygen. But I didn't realize at the time how real that sensation was for you. I should have paid more attention to how you were feeling, not just what the monitors were telling me."

Her eyes flickered again, a mixture of confusion and frustration. "What monitors?"

I gestured to the small machine next to her bed—the one that had been present during the NG tube procedure as well. "This one," I said, pointing to the oxygen saturation monitor. "This machine measures how much oxygen is in your blood. We attach a small clip to your finger, and it continuously monitors your oxygen levels. If those levels had dropped—if you really weren't able to breathe—I would have known immediately, and I would have stopped the procedure."

She glanced at the machine, her expression softening slightly as if she was processing what I had said. But I knew that this wasn't just about numbers or monitors. This was about trust—and I had broken that trust. Lilla went back to looking at the plastic model, fiddling with it and pressing her fingers into the various orifices.

"I understand that knowing this now doesn't erase the fear you felt," I added gently. "And I want to be clear that I'm not trying to downplay your experience. You were terrified, and that's real. But from a medical standpoint, you were never in danger of suffocating. I would have never let that happen."

Lilla swallowed hard. She passed the model back to me, her gaze dropping to the blanket in her lap. For a long moment, she didn't say anything, and I wondered if I had overwhelmed her with too much information too soon. But then, finally, she spoke, her voice soft and hesitant.

"So… the tube wasn't blocking my airway?"

"No," I said, shaking my head. "It wasn't. But it felt that way because of the gag reflex, and because of how your body reacts to having something in your throat. It's a very strong, involuntary response. But you were still able to breathe, even if it didn't feel like it."

She let out a long, shaky breath, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. "It… reminded me of something else. Of something worse."

"I know," I said quietly. "Dr Masen told me about what you've been through in the past. And now that I understand that, I realize why the NG tube was so triggering for you. It mimicked that sensation—like you were drowning or suffocating."

She nodded slightly, her eyes welling up with tears, though she blinked them away quickly. "It's not just the tube," she murmured after a moment. "It's… other things too."

I leaned forward, my voice soft but attentive. "What other things, Lilla?"

She hesitated, her gaze fixed on the blanket. I could see she was struggling to put it into words, as if she wasn't sure how to explain what she was feeling. I waited patiently, giving her the space she needed to find the right way to express herself.

Finally, she spoke, her voice barely audible. "The nebulizer… it makes me feel like I'm drowning too. The mask… the mist… it's like I can't breathe when it's on my face."

I nodded slowly, understanding now. The nebulizer, with its constant flow of mist and the sensation of having a mask covering her nose and mouth, must have triggered the same fear response as the NG tube.

"I see," I said gently. "That makes sense. The nebulizer produces a mist that can feel overwhelming, especially if you're already sensitive to things touching your face. And with the mask on, it might feel like your airway is being blocked, even though it's not."

She nodded, her fingers still clutching the blanket. "It feels like… like I'm drowning."

My chest tightened as I listened to her. "Lilla," I said softly, "I want you to know that I take this very seriously. I'm going to work with you to find ways to make these procedures more comfortable for you. We can use different methods, different techniques—whatever it takes to avoid making you feel like you're drowning again."

She looked up at me, her eyes searching mine for reassurance. "But… what if I need the nebulizer? What if I need the tube again?"

"If you need them," I said firmly, "we'll make sure you feel more in control. I can't promise they won't still be unpleasant, but we'll try and work with you to find techniques to manage how distressing they are."

She nodded slowly, her expression softening just a little.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

I smiled softly, leaning back in my chair. "You don't have to thank me. I'm just glad we're talking about it. I want you to feel safe, Lilla."

We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling between us. But it wasn't a heavy silence—it was a quiet understanding, a small step forward in rebuilding the trust that had been broken.

Without warning, Lilla shifted on her bed, moving the blanket aside. She hesitated for a moment, her eyes locked on mine as if searching for reassurance. Then, slowly and carefully, she climbed off her bed and walked over to me.

"Do you need the restroom, sweetheart?" I asked. She ignored me.

I watched, stunned, as she hesitated once more before awkwardly climbing onto my lap.

It took everything in me to remain still, to not react too quickly and startle her. This was so unexpected—Lilla had always been distant, avoiding touch and keeping to herself. Yet here she was, seeking comfort in the most vulnerable way possible.

Gently, I wrapped my arms around her, making sure to keep my hold light so she wouldn't feel trapped. "It's okay," I whispered softly, feeling her small frame relax slightly against mine.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. I could feel her breathing, slow and steady, as she nestled closer.

She was so still, almost as if she were afraid to move and break the spell. I could tell this was unfamiliar territory for her, like she wasn't quite sure how to act or position herself. One of her hands fell and rested on my inner thigh, and I quickly took it and repositioned it, so it was on my shoulder.

After a while, I felt her shift slightly, her small hands clutching the fabric of my coat as if anchoring herself. Her head rested against my chest.

We stayed like that for a while, the room quiet except for the sound of our breathing. I didn't rush her, didn't push her to say anything. I simply held her, offering her comfort that perhaps she had been too afraid to ask for.

Eventually, Lilla's grip on my coat loosened, and she shifted slightly, looking up at me with tired eyes. "Can I sit back on my bed now?" she murmured. I didn't particularly like how she felt she needed to ask permission.

"Of course," I said, helping her back onto the bed and tucking her in gently. "I'll stay with you until you fall asleep, okay?"

She nodded, her eyelids already drooping. "Okay."

I sat beside her, watching as she drifted off to sleep, her breathing even and peaceful.

As Lilla slipped into sleep, I sat back in the chair beside her bed. My heart was heavy, a complex mix of emotions tugging at me. Guilt. Relief. Worry.

She had come to me for comfort, something I hadn't expected, and it brought with it a flood of hope—but also the sharp edge of uncertainty. Had I just overstepped?

I knew Lilla needed someone she could rely on. But as her doctor, there were lines I couldn't cross, boundaries that needed to be respected—for her sake, and for mine. Offering comfort was one thing, but the vulnerability she'd shown… it was a lot to hold, and I questioned whether I'd done the right thing by allowing her to seek it in my arms.

Was I confusing her with the intimacy of the moment? Or was it just a hug?

The thought gnawed at me as I watched her sleep, her chest rising and falling in a slow, peaceful rhythm. She was just a child—one who had been through too much already—and I had to tread carefully.