Chapter Text
"If he takes much longer, we're both gonna freeze out here," Claire announced, her face pinched over in the smallest bit of irritation. Shaun glanced at her with the matter-of-fact statement, but he didn't agree or comment. He just turned back front and pulled his jacket tighter to himself. It was getting to be that time of year when it got colder than normal at night. Not excessively cold, but cold enough, for some. Claire actually thought it felt kind of nice standing out here, but clearly Shaun wasn't a fan. At his apparent discomfort, Claire wilted. "Maybe we can go back inside," she suggested. "We could wait in there."
But the rejection was near instantaneous. "No. It's quieter, here."
The simple response caused guilt to crawl over her face. She frowned, and, after a small beat's hesitation, she asked: "Are you okay? Or…were you okay tonight? I know you don't like any of this…at all, but…" The very instant they'd gotten off of work, the three of them had hopped through about five different bars and clubs. It was Jared's idea, of course. You only turn twenty-nine once, and he was itching to hit all the prime nightlife spots that San Jose had to offer. Claire had been on board in an instant, especially since it was his birthday; however, when it came to asking Shaun to go along, some convincing had been required.
They had both wanted his company— over the time spent together, the trio had started to get closer and closer. There had been that initial speed bump, in which neither of them were exactly sure how to get along with Shaun; to be frank, they hadn't even been sure if Shaun wanted to have any sort of relationship with them, either. But once Claire had started piecing together the puzzle that was Shaun Murphy, and Jared had followed behind her closely, it had all clicked perfectly. Now, they might as well have always been friends from the start, with how easy and simple it was. So it was only natural that Shaun be included in the celebration, even if it took some prodding and poking.
He'd said yes eventually. The 'birthday' card had been played as a last resort, and Shaun had had nothing of equal or greater power to play against it. But he had been subdued for most of the night, and he certainly hadn't had a single thing to drink. Sometimes Claire had turned to catch him wincing from the loud music, or fidgeting away from people that got too close. But he had never complained audibly, and he had followed them from place to place, even though they probably should have ended the night about three hours ago.
Now, standing about five yards from the bar, and finally out of that clamor and noise, Shaun was beginning to relax again. "It's okay," he replied. "It was Jared's birthday. I'm glad he had fun."
Claire smiled. She looked down at the ground and shuffled her feet, before glancing back towards the bar. Jared was still inside. They'd all been on their way out to finally head home, when a few guys had stopped him short. They'd been old friends from somewhere— Claire couldn't really hear over the music, but she thought that Jared had said something about a old fraternity brothers from his undergrad days. It hadn't mattered, really; Shaun had been getting to the end of his rope, and even she had been growing exhausted, so Claire had told Jared they would just wait outside.
He'd said it would only be a few minutes. It was going on ten by now.
"We could start walking to the car, at least," she offered. "It'll be warmer in there, and definitely quieter. Jared'll find us." Shaun considered it for a moment, and he nodded. Anything to get out of the cold, and to get some peace of mind, most likely. Claire met the nod with a bright smile, and she turned to start their trek back. It'd be a long walk, anyway. When they'd first headed out, contrary to the bleak look of things now, the streets had been packed, and so had every parking lot along this stretch. She'd ended up stuck in the furthest one, just because it was the only option. That was all the way at the end, too, near the first bar they'd visited, what felt like ages ago. Whenever Jared decided not to take forever, he would probably catch up before they even got near their lot.
They walked in silence for a long while. It was a comfortable silence, and probably something Shaun had been craving for a while. It was nice. The streets were empty and vacant with how late it was now, and the only sounds were their own footsteps bouncing off the darkened buildings. After some time, though, Claire broke the quiet. "Thank you," she offered. "For coming along, I mean; I know you didn't have to. I hope you had at least a little fun. But if you didn't, Jared probably appreciated it anyway." Shaun just nodded. After a lengthy gap, she continued. "So…you could tell me what you do like to do in your free time," she suggested. "So maybe next time we do something, you can be a little less miserable."
"I like to read," Shaun offered.
"Hm. Well…that's not really a group activity, Shaun," she teased. "Unless you wanna start a Book Club, and if you do, I just wanna warn you, Jared's only going to SparkNote it."
Shaun glanced at her quickly. He seemed to buffer for a moment, but eventually he said: "If you don't read the book, you can't come. He'll be kicked out."
Claire snorted, doubling over a bit with laughter. Shaun didn't usually tell jokes, so when he did, they had the tendency to be funnier than they actually were. "Oh no, he'll be devastated," she snickered, reaching up and rubbing at her cold nose. Shaun's smile turned a little more pleased. They kept walking along, stride for stride. By now, they'd left the bar far behind them. Claire let out a gusty sigh and heard the exhale bounce and echo off back to her. "You know, Shaun, I feel like I don't know much about you," she mused, breaking the silence yet again. "And you probably don't know too much about me. And that's weird! You know? I'd like to say we're good friends! We should get to know each other more. Ask each other questions. I know you don't like them…but I think it would be good. It'd be nice."
Shaun eyed her a little warily. It looked like he was refuse— she could at least see the temptation to do so on his face. But with Claire's earnest smile and bright eyes, he apparently couldn't. Still, it was a full two minutes before he answered. "Okay."
"Okay?" she repeated, a little surprised. Quickly, her grin turned into a beam. "Okay! Yeah! How about…you go first! Ask me anything, and I'll answer it."
He took his time. Once again, they walked in silence until he caught one. "What made you want to become a surgeon?" he asked.
Her eyebrows rose. "Oh. Huh. That's a big one, Shaun," she laughed. Pursing her lips a bit with thought, she tilted her head to the side. "I think I'm like most doctors. I just wanted to help people. I was really good at anatomy in high school, and medicine was just what interested me the most. I actually started college as a psychology major; I switched pretty quick." Shaun seemed satisfied with this answer, and she tapped her chin as she raked her mind for something she could ask him. Something as meaningful as his question— she hadn't anticipated that type of tangent, frankly. "Okay…how about…what's your favorite book? If you said you liked to read?"
He frowned. "I like a lot of them," he replied. She raised her eyebrows, and after a hesitation, he declared: "To Kill a Mockingbird." His voice was a little quieter with the name.
She tilted her head to the side. "I read that in high school. I like that one too. Wrote an essay on it."
They kept going. And as they walked, side-by-side, they took turns exchanging questions. It helped pass the time, and keep company. It even took Shaun's mind off the cold, it seemed. They chattered back and forth, asking anything and everything— what's your favorite food, favorite drink, favorite vacation, favorite memory? What's your dream place to live, did you like high school or college better? Her turn coming back around, Claire pursed her lips in thought before she asked: "So, what's the greatest thing you've done?"
Shaun stopped short. When Claire noticed he wasn't walking anymore, she halted too, and turned back. It was darker now that they were finally getting close to their lot, but she could still make out the faint look of bemusement on his face. "You know!" she prompted. "What's the most amazing thing you've ever done?" He said nothing. Was that question too much, somehow? "You had to have done something pretty awesome, before, right? Something cool, or brave? Aside from at work, of course, because you always seem to—"
"Claire." He just said her name, and that was it. Something about the way he said it immediately made her stiffen. She realized he wasn't looking at her in confusion. He was looking behind her in confusion. Her smile dropped at once, and she turned to follow his gaze. There was someone there. She hadn't seen him at first, in the dark. But now he was walking— moving out of the shadows, and moving towards them. He was walking fast, but he was stumbling in the process. It was almost like he was moving in a zig-zag pattern, the trips were so sharp. All the same, though, he was making a beeline for the two.
"He's intoxicated," Shaun announced, as if the fact wasn't plain as day.
Claire shifted in discomfort; unthinkingly, she reached down and grabbed hold of Shaun's hand. "Let's go," she whispered, her voice a little harder. She didn't like this. It was too late at night, and they were way too isolated in this specific spot. In hindsight, she should have monitored the tone of voice she used, because she could immediately pick up on Shaun's spike of anxiety. She tried to offer him a smile, but it was a little too tight to be able to be passed off as care-free. "Let's just get to the car. We're almost there. He's probably just going to walk right past us."
The second she started to walk again, though, the approaching stranger called out, his voice thick and sluggish. "Heey!" he drawled. She tensed, and started to try and figure out the best method for walking around him. Shaun's fingers were intertwined with hers still, just on Claire's impulse, though he wasn't wrenching away. As a unit, the two tried to dodge the man. But they didn't make it very far at all, before he veered over and caught them. Claire jerked to a stop when he planted himself squarely in their way, and Shaun was forced to do the same.
"Wh're you off to?" the stranger slurred, aiming a crooked smirk in Claire's direction. Revulsion was quick to flip her stomach at the sheer reek of alcohol that was coming off him. He was so inebriated that his words could hardly be separated or understood. "Pretty little thin' like you— y'u're not goin' home already, are ya?" He sounded mournful at just the thought. He stumbled closer, and Claire immediately backtracked, tugging Shaun protectively along with her. "C'mooon. Stay out a li— a little bit! I'll buy you a drink."
He was holding a beer bottle; an empty one. With her free hand, Claire started to reach back for her purse. She was pretty sure she'd stowed her pepper spray there, and on the off-chance she hadn't, she could at least dial the police. If it came to that, even. But she froze when she realized that her purse wasn't with her. Where was it? Had she— had she forgotten it in the bar!? Wildly, she looked over her shoulder, as if that could possibly help, or erase the fact that they'd walked about ten minutes from the closest bar; the one they'd left Jared in was about three times as far. Her brain started to race, and reach for anything relevantly helpful to the situation.
"She is going home." She stiffened immediately when Shaun spoke up. No— no, no, they just needed to leave. They didn't need to talk to him! She whirled back around to stop him, but it was too late. "We're both going home." He was doing his best to look at the newcomer head-on, and levelly, but it was clear he was slowly becoming panicked. "It's late. If you would please leave us alone, we're trying to get back to the car."
The man turned and looked at Shaun like he was just now noticing him. His forehead creased, and he leaned a little closer; severe, albeit bleary, confusion and irritation clouded over his face. He took a step forward, nearly closing the distance between him and the young man. Shaun immediately looked away and started to back up against Claire. "I don' think I was talkin' to you," the man growled, his voice changing immediately to something that caused a chill to lance down Claire's spine. "I thin' I was talkin' to the lady. Why don't you just leave us alone? You got no place in this, bud."
Was Jared at least on his way by now? Claire took in a slow breath and forced her nerves to calm. It was fine. It was going to be fine. It was nothing. She tightened her hold on Shaun's hand, finding that he didn't complain at all. "Come on, Shaun, we're leaving," she muttered, her voice harder now as she tried to step around the man a second time. If she walked fast enough, maybe they could leave him behind. However, they only took about ten steps before the man was suddenly in front of them again, blocking their way.
She glared at the stranger, feeling her stomach start to twist in fear. Shaun was the one who held tighter to her this time. The look in the man's eyes was darker now, and he moved to eliminate the distance between her and him. "You playin' hard to get?" he growled. He took a step closer, undeterred by the fact that they both met the effort by immediately backtracking. In fact, he was almost encouraged by the reaction; a disgusting kind of smile twitched at the edge of his mouth at their skittishness. His stare was solely for her, and it was getting harder and harder not to succumb to panic. "You're a fighter. All the pretty ones are…" He reached out to graze his hand against her hair, and she jerked backwards.
"Get off!" she spat. She started to backpedal again; they couldn't just stand here, they needed to find someone. Anyone. They needed to try something. "Shaun— do you have your phone?" she hissed under her breath. It was their last hope— she'd royally screwed up by leaving her purse back with Jared.
"C'mon, 'm not meanin' any harm. Stop runnin'," the stranger oozed, weaving around to stop them yet again. Claire was saying about fifty different curse words in her head as she pulled Shaun back for amount the millionth time. He was quickly becoming frazzled. "You're actin' like I'm some horrible guy! You've got some nerve!" After recollecting himself from being jerked back yet again, Shaun was reaching back into his pocket. Claire's heart stuttered with relief when she saw him pull out his phone.
But the young man hardly had time to even turn on the device, before the man jerked forward and suddenly smacked it clear out of his hand. Immediately, Shaun wrenched backwards, not trying to recover it at all as he yanked his hand back to himself and shrank away. Claire was about to dive for it, when the stranger suddenly changed to round on Shaun, who fumbled backwards at the unexpected proximity. "Who's this?" the man spat. Shaun was frozen, and it took less than an instant for Claire to fire over in anger at the smug smile on the man's face. It made her forget the phone entirely. "This your boyfriend? Doesn' seem like such a white knight…"
"He's my friend!" she snapped. "Leave him alone!"
He turned back to her, and her hands balled into tight fists. "That's okay," he dismissed flippantly. "I wasn' interst'd in him anyway." Abandoning Shaun, he walked back to her, and she tensed, trying to muster the sharpest scowl she could. She didn't move; not while Shaun was locked into place like he was. But her heart was ramming hard now against her chest, and when he leaned over to grab hold of the collar of her jacket, her panic only grew. "C'mon." He started to pull her closer, hard and roughly. "How 'bout you and me—"
Claire locked her jaw back and kicked out as hard as he could. She caught him in the shin, and immediately gained a rush of satisfaction at the scream of pain that came in response. The man buckled, and she took the tiny chance to rush for Shaun. He was still panicking, watching the entire thing play out with a blank and alarmed stare. But he roused when she grabbed back hold of his hand. Screw making it to the car; if they could make it at least halfway back to the first bar they'd gone to, they would find someone, right? Someone might be loitering around outside? "Shaun, come on, Jared can—"
"You bitch!" Claire whirled around to look back at the man; the instant she did, a hefty force collided against her cheek. He'd hit her, and immediately pain blossomed across the entire left side of her face. The blow was so hard it scattered her brain; she let go of Shaun and stumbled, accidentally falling backwards to the ground. Shaun's eyes were wide and stricken at the smack. Claire was paralyzed for a moment, too shocked to move. The man towered over her, and now his eyes were burning with anger. "'re you stupid!? I just wanted to—"
"Please stop." Numb, Claire looked up to see Shaun move in front of her. His hands were clasped together so tightly, his knuckles were a stark white. He couldn't look the stranger in the face; he was looking to the side instead, and his voice shook like a leaf in the wind. Nevertheless, there he stood. Putting himself between her and the imminent threat. "You're hurting my friend. You're very intoxicated. Please leave us alone. Don't do anything you might regret."
"'Regret?'" he grunted. With unfocused eyes, he looked Shaun up and down, seeming almost disgusted. "What're you?" he spat. "'re you retarded or something?"
Claire scowled, and the sheer amount of anger created as a result of the question helped her shock to burn away. She started to shove herself up to her feet, her teeth already gnashing in rage. Shaun closed his eyes tightly for about one second. But he quickly opened them again and took in a slow breath. "My name is Shaun Murphy, I'm a surgical resident at Saint Bonaventure Hospital, just like my friend, who you hurt," he stated, his voice tighter now, and more strained. "If you don't leave us alone, I'm going to—"
"Get out of my fuckin' way," the stranger growled, cutting him off. He shoved Shaun aside like he weighed nothing; he hit the ground with a heavy thud. Claire gasped and tried to rush forward to help him. But the moment she stretched out, the man lashed out to take tight hold of her arm. She went stiff, and instantly forgot about Shaun as the heat of panic flooded through her. The man tugged her closer and started to move, to drag her away from Shaun.
All efforts to keep composed were out the window now; she started to trash and fight to break free. But the man was strong, and about twice her size— his grip alone was making her wrist numb, and when she started to try and screech out for help, he yanked her close and covered her mouth. She was panicking— what was happening!? They'd just been walking out to her car, what had gone wrong!? Why hadn't they parked somewhere less out-of-the-way!? Where was Jared!? She needed him!
She was embarrassed to know that against her rising panic, tears were springing up to burn at her eyes. She tried to kick out and catch him in the leg again, but the man had learned the trick. He twisted her arms back behind her, and pulled her down so that all her efforts were meaningless. Feeling herself being dragged away, she tried to dig her heels down into the ground. He just pulled on her harder with the effort, and made it fruitless. The more frightened she got, the less her mind could work, and now it was spluttering into useless shock and confusion. She didn't know which way was up, she didn't know what she should do— if there was anything she could do! What was he going to do, where was he going to take her, what was going to—!?
Something separated the two of them. A hard weight, which knocked the stranger's hands off of Claire and caused her to fall forward and hit the ground hard. The impact knocked the wind clear from her lungs; in an instant, she couldn't breathe. Gaping like a fish out of water, she could only twist to her side to look back at what had intervened. She was preparing herself to feel the rush of relief that would accompany the sight of Jared, finally having gotten back to them just in time. But she paled in shock when she realized the force hadn't been Jared; it had been Shaun. The young doctor now stood between her and the stranger, one arm stretched warningly in the drunkard's direction, and the other reaching back towards her, as if to shield her. She couldn't see his face, but she could tell from his body language he was far from collected. Still, he didn't back down.
"Did you just shove me?" the man slurred, looking at Shaun with a dangerous light in his eyes. "You made me drop my drink, you piece of shit!" Claire's fogged mind was struggling to keep up, now. It was like it was coated in molasses. He must have dropped his empty glass after Shaun had pushed in between them.
Shaun weakened at the shout, but he still stayed frozen in place. Claire tried to get the world to stop spinning, and to force just the smallest amount of air down her throat. While she struggled, the drunk stalked forward, like a predator sizing up its prey. "You've got five seconds to move, 'fore I make you, you moron," he all but snarled; his voice was so low, it was difficult to even hear him. Desperately, Claire tried to urge Shaun to move. To reach out and grab onto him, at the very least. But she couldn't do either of those things.
Shaun stayed resolute. He backed up to stand more in front of her, and, with obscene difficulty, he forced out the words: "You're the moron." Claire's stomach dropped in horror. It almost didn't click, what he'd said. But the instant it did, she knew it was a mistake. And it was. It was a huge one. The insult made the stranger snap in two. His arm reared back and threw itself forward again in less than a millisecond, to catch Shaun right across the cheek. The impact could be heard even from where Claire was collapsed. The young doctor fell to the ground like a rock.
"Shaun!" The first breath she managed to get back in was forced right back out in the strangled scream. Sluggish and disoriented, he started to try and force himself back up to his feet. The moment any attempt was made, however, their attacker kicked out and caught him square in the stomach. He fell right back down into a heap, and this time he did not move. "Stop it! Stop!" Claire screamed. She scrambled up in the same heartbeat that the man fell down to his knees. He grabbed Shaun and wrenched him onto his back, only to land yet another punch in the same exact place.
Claire flew forward and grabbed at the man's shoulders, struggling to pull him off of her friend. It did nothing though. It didn't even make him hesitate. He just kept raining down blow after blow to Shaun's head— to his cheek, to his eye, to his mouth, to his forehead. At first Shaun attempted to defend himself, in any way. To twist out of his grip, to put his arms in front of his face, to push him off. But with each heavy blow, every well-aimed punch, his attempts grew feebler and feebler, until they died completely. Until even his chokes or soft cries of pain faded into nothing.
By now Claire was screeching at the top of her lungs for help, for him to stop, to leave her friend alone. She was shaking and trembling, and tears were streaming down her face, half fueled by fear, half by pure anger. She yanked at him and threw her own punches down on his back to try and dislodge him, but she had a fraction of his strength, and he was holding onto Shaun too hard to be tipped off of him. It was like she was a fly. When he reacted to her, it was only to turn and shove her off of him. She hit the ground hard skidded nearly half a foot. Her body was aching by now, and her head was swimming.
The young girl looked down at her coat sleeve, where the man had pushed her, and realized with a stab of pure horror that there was blood on it.
It wasn't her blood.
It tipped her over the edge. All she felt was pure hysteria. "Get off of him! Get off! Stop hurting him! Help! Help me, please!" she screamed, hardly able to draw in enough breath to get anything out in the first place. She didn't know what to do— she didn't know what to do! She couldn't leave, she couldn't leave him; he hadn't left her! The phone— the phone, did the phone break? Was it broken? Where had it fallen? Wildly, she started slapping the ground in search of it. She could call, she could call someone— she could call the police, or the ambulance, or Jared, or Glassman, or—
"Claire!?"
She stiffened as the call echoed towards her. Her heart stopped and she whirled around to look in its direction. It was him! "Jared!" she screeched, panicked sobs edging her cry. "Jared over here! Help! Jared, hurry!"
Her friend was running by the time he came into view. She thanked her lucky stars he remembered the shortcut they had taken to get to the car— that he'd even known to start for the car in the first place, since she'd never gotten to text him. He had been drinking that night – the birthday boy wasn't about to be the designated driver – but thankfully it wasn't nearly as much as their attacker had been drinking. The very instant his eyes landed on them, he gathered the situation. His expression flooded in rage, and he broke into an abrupt sprint. There were about three other people close behind him; the group he'd stopped to talk to in the first place. She had never been happier to see a band of strangers.
Jared rushed forward and quite literally threw himself against the man still on top of Shaun. Like he played football his entire life, he tackled the man clear off of his friend, and slammed him to the ground. The stranger tried to fight back as Jared pinned him down, but the people that had followed Jared here rushed forward to help, and he was overpowered in no time. "What the hell are you doing!?" Jared was screaming, one knee digging hard into the man's stomach. The stranger was too alarmed by the change of events to reply; this only made him angrier. "What the fuck did you think you were doing!? Why were you hurting him!?"
One of the strangers had gotten up to their feet and fished out their phone. "Yes, hello? We have an emergency, a man was attacking these two people— one of them is hurt. I don't— I don't know how hurt, I just got here. He looks pretty bad. But we're at…" Claire stopped listening. It faded out to background noise, once she realized she could abandon the hunt for Shaun's phone, and could rush back to him instead. However, once she scrambled close enough, she immediately had to choke back on yet another scream.
There was so much blood. There was an ugly gash across his cheek, and his lower lip was split wide open. His left eye was swelling over already and only getting worse; his nose and his mouth were both leaking blood, and even at Claire's agonized screech, he didn't even twitch. He was dead to everything; and in her panic and guilt, Claire wondered wildly if he actually was dead. Some part of her was pleading for her to collect herself; to work, and use her head, and diagnose him. To check him and monitor him, and help. But the other half of her won over. The half that was screaming, that was panicking and crying. He did this for me! He didn't want to do it! He was scared, he was just trying to protect me! He was just trying to protect me, and now he's hurt, he's so hurt, he's—
"Shaun!" she sobbed, reaching out and grabbing to him fast, like he was a lifeline. "Shaun, wake up! Get up, Shaun!" Nothing at all. "Shaun!" She sounded almost angry now; no, she sounded furious with him. "Get up! Shaun! Shaun, get up right now!"
"Claire, move." Jared had flown down to her side. She whirled around, terrified, only to see that the strangers had banded together to keep the man down until the police came. She was hyperventilating, and when Jared started to move her, she objected, still sobbing as she fought to get back to her friend. "Claire! Claire!" Having no choice, Jared swatted her back with just enough force to get her away from Shaun. She fell backwards, shell-shocked.
Jared glared at her; the situation was making him coarse. "You have to help me, and if you're not going to help me, then you have to stay off of him! What happened!?" He turned back to Shaun, looking over him quickly and taking a steadying breath. Knowing that rousing him didn't work, he turned and quickly undid Shaun's belt, and unzipped his jacket in case they were providing any restriction. He got out his phone and turned its flashlight on, leaning down to shine the light in both his eyes. Claire didn't see his reaction; it was likely she wouldn't even register it if she had. Jared yelled his question again. "Claire, what happened, I was gone for like ten minutes!"
"You were gone for like thirty!" she screamed right back at him. He hunched his shoulders but said nothing. She screwed her eyes shut, and her voice was tight and panicked when she tried to backtrack. "We were just walking— he was cold, he— he didn't even what to come out tonight, I was just— I was trying to— that guy came and he wouldn't leave me alone and I tried to tell Shaun not to— but he was just protecting me, and I don't know what happened he just wouldn't stop hitting him and he couldn't do anything, I don't know what happened, I don't know, I don't know!" Her voice broke down more and more, and got faster and faster, until she was just crying, her hands fisting tightly in her hair as she broke down.
It was too much. It was all way too much. She couldn't stop, and Jared's expression crumbled in sorrow and remorse for just a split second. Before he steeled himself and focused again. Tuned back around and tried to put Claire out of his mind for now.
He had to focus.
(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)
The background noise of the cafeteria was a low drone that sounded too distant and garbled to be real. She had been sitting there for hours. She didn't know where else to go. Jared had told her to go home and sleep. But she couldn't. How in the world could she leave? All she could do was just sit here, staring down at the tabletop as if she was waiting for something about it to change.
The ambulance had gone to the nearest hospital: Sequoia. It was all a fuzzy blur, but Claire remembered the flurry of information that Jared had been able to rattle off once the ambulance arrived. She hadn't caught the specifics, because all she could do was watch as Shaun was delicately loaded up into a stretcher. But she had distinctly caught his final words, snapped out just in case: "Don't take him to Saint Bonaventure." A warning that her shocked state hadn't been able to connect to until later. He needed surgery. Surgery that couldn't be provided by their own staff. Which could only mean one thing. Something too painful to face, though she was more than aware of it.
For hours now, she had just sat and played the scene over and over in her head, counting all of the things she should have done differently. She should have just taken off running; she had given up trying to get away too easily, she should have just grabbed Shaun and ran. She should have gone for the phone as soon as it had been slapped out of Shaun's hand. She should have started screaming for help sooner. She shouldn't have parked the car in such an out-of-the-way alcove— she shouldn't have taken the back way to get to it, even if it was a shortcut. She should have just stayed in front of the bar. She should have just gone back in to get Jared.
It was her fault. It was all her fault. Shaun had just been trying to protect her. She kept seeing the punches, the kicks, replaying behind her eyelids every time she blinked, and burning themselves into place. She heard the way he had hit the ground, and she saw the look on his face when he got hit. It went over and over in her head— a broken record she couldn't shut off. She had been crying ever since it had happened. Somehow, though, she still had water left; every so often a tear would well and drip down her face. She would reach up and swipe it away numbly.
A small thud snapped her out of her reverie. Claire jerked at the tiny noise, and looked in confusion to see a cup of coffee placed in front of her. Jared took the seat on the other side of the table, his eyebrows a little raised as he nudged the drink closer. He didn't say anything yet. She reached up and wiped her eyes, which were beyond sore by now. "What time is it?" she sniffed. She didn't even have any idea.
"About 7:00," Jared answered, glancing at his phone. The reply shocked her. She looked at the coffee in alarm, as if this whole thing was solely its fault.
"It— it can't be 7:00 already," she said, looking out towards the windows that surrounded them. But sure enough, the sun was up. She hadn't even noticed. What time had it been when they'd gotten here? It had been a later night out in general— the last time she'd checked, it had been 1:30. "I was just…" She closed her eyes and took in a slow breath. Her voice was weaker when she asked her next question; mostly because she didn't want to hear the answer. "Where did you go?" He had been sitting with her before now. Though if she was being honest, she hadn't even noticed him leaving. "Is he okay? Do you know what happened?" Her voice was in splinters.
Jared sighed and leaned on the table a bit. "Yeah," he exhaled. "He had a pretty severe hematoma. They had to perform a craniotomy." This caused her expression to fall and crumble; she sagged forward and held her head in her hands. A fresh wave of tears stung at her eyes. Jared quickly attempted to calm her down. "But hey, hey." He reached over and took gentle hold of her arm. "He's alright. The surgery went perfectly. He's being monitored now, and it's just fine. It's all okay. He got taken off the ventilator and everything."
She nodded once, and tried to steel herself. Jared allowed her a quick moment. After she began to calm down, he cleared his throat. "I uh— I called Glassman, after a while. I told you that before, but I don't think you were listening. He got here around five. I told him what happened, but not in much detail…he was in a rush to get to him." This immediately made her on-edge. She looked at Jared miserably, with the information. Was he angry with her? Had he sounded angry over the phone? What had he said? But Jared didn't answer the silent questions. In fact, he did the opposite of comforting her. "But I think I have to go."
"Go?" Claire asked. "Go where?"
"To Saint Bonaventure and explain it all to Melendez," he explained. "I think it'd be better if I went in person. If I go and tell him everything, and explain what happened, he'll probably be more forgiving about you not coming in. Which you're not going to." Claire wilted, but she didn't object. To be frank, work was the last thing on her mind right now. "Someone has to explain Shaun's situation, too. And if he absolutely can't be by himself today, then I'll be there to hold down the fort with the two of you gone. He can't complain if I help take care of everything."
She exhaled slowly, her shoulders loosening from their tension just the smallest bit. "Thank you, Jared…" she breathed.
He offered her a smile. "Of course. And hey." He ran his thumb comfortingly back and forth on her arm, here his hand still rested. "Everything will be fine. Yeah? I'll be back later, as soon as I can. And I'm more than certain that by the time I do come back, Shaun is going to be just as annoying and rude as he usually is, okay? You'll be begging him to fall unconscious again." The effort to make her smile was there, and she almost did. But when her eyes went down to Jared's thumb, they got stuck on the stain in her jacket— the faint smear of Shaun's blood, now dried and crusted over. The sight made her sick, and she had to look away.
Jared nodded once. "I'll make sure everything is taken care of," he pledged. "Don't worry about it, okay?" She didn't reply, but he wasn't really anticipating her to. "You should get something to eat. Drink that coffee at least, if nothing else." He stood up from the table and gathered his things, and slipped his coat on. He only paused to give her one last smile, another promise it would be fine, and the number of Shaun's room, as silent encouragement for her to go see him if she wanted.
She didn't move, though, and when he left, she didn't rise. She stayed put, frozen in her chair. Until she got two texts. One from Jared ('Everything's sorted. Don't worry about it. He's not mad, just worried. I'm staying here, but keep me posted. I'll leave early to come see him.') and one from Melendez ('Don't worry about coming in. I understand. Tell me if anything changes?'). Until her coffee, still untouched, lost its warmth, and decayed into freezing. Until the food being ordered around her changed from breakfast to lunch. Until she couldn't agonize over it anymore, and she had no choice but to get up.
The entire way to Shaun's room, her movements were slow and robotic. He was in the Intensive Care Unit, the farthest room to the left. The door was cracked open already, but she still hesitated at the threshold. She took in a slow breath and inched it open, poking her head through and peering inside. The curtains were drawn, so the room was dimmer than normal. All the same, she could see Shaun's unmoving form in the hospital bed. It looked like he was asleep. Glassman was sitting at his bedside, a chair pulled up so there wasn't even an inch of space between him and the mattress. When she opened the door, she saw that he had been reaching out, carefully and gingerly brushing Shaun's bangs aside, so they were out of his eyes.
When she creaked open the door, he looked up. Her stomach clenched as she saw his eyes flash. But when he spoke, it wasn't to snap at her. He just looked back down, finishing his efforts to fix Shaun's hair as lightly as possible. "He always fusses with it," he sighed. "I figure if I do it for him now, I'll be gentler than he'd be." She tried to smile, but it came out too weak. She stayed put where she was. "You can come in," Glassman murmured after a moment, keeping his voice below a whisper. "You don't need to wait for an invitation." Claire swallowed and turned, closing the door behind her to walk the rest of the way in. However, she stopped a few feet away from the two.
Shaun looked very small; like the bed was swallowing him whole. A gauze pad stretched from his cheek to his jaw, where that gash had been. All the obscene blood had been cleaned from his face, but at the same time, it just highlighted all the welts and injuries that had been underneath it. A heavy dose of medical glue had been applied to his split lip. A bandage bridged the cut that had been on his forehead, and thankfully the swelling seemed to have gone down just a little bit around his eye. But his bruising hadn't. Underneath his eyelid and arching up around it was a deep black shadow. His skin was dark and splotched with blues and grays, too. It still hurt to look at him. A patch of his hair had been shaved away, replaced with bare skin and staples where the incisions had been made for the surgery.
"I'm sorry," Claire whispered, the apology bursting out. Aaron said nothing. This only heightened her worry, and she found her lower lip trembling. She struggled on. "I don't know what all Jared told you. But…but we were walking, and this guy came up to us, and I know I should have— it's my fault, he was just trying to protect me. I shouldn't have let him, but I just…" She let out a shaky sigh, cringing on the wasted effort.
Glassman was silent for a long time. He simply stared at Shaun, in a way that was heavy and weighted. "Jared told me," he said eventually. "But I don't blame you." She looked up at this, surprise flaring across her face. "I'm sure you didn't mean for it to happen. And I'm sure you tried to get out of the situation. To be perfectly honest, nobody can stop Shaun once he gets an idea in his head, either. Believe me, I have plenty of examples." A smile tried to twitch into life, and a pained sort of affection washed over his face as he kept his gaze trained on the young doctor. But it was quick to adopt a much sadder reflection when he murmured: "He's taken plenty of hits before…he's stronger than he seems."
Claire looked at her friend mournfully. She drew up her own chair, taking a seat close beside Aaron. "Yeah," she agreed. "He is. I had no idea…I was sure he would just…shut down, and I mean, I wouldn't blame him for it— I kind of did, even. I was worried about him. But…the second I was hit…he just…planted himself right in front of me." She sighed. "I wish I could have done more. Stopped it, I mean. I should have."
"That type of thinking is the best way to lose your mind," Glassman mused. His eyes didn't leave Shaun. They likely hadn't all morning, and wouldn't for the rest of the day. There was a deep sorrow and worry there, raw in his gaze, which was almost impossible for Claire to look at. She'd known that they had history. She'd seen them talking together in the hall, and she'd seen them leave the hospital together. She knew how hard Glassman fought to get Shaun hired, too— everyone did. But she had never seen their bond displayed so openly before. She could practically see all those years in the old man's stare, all the love and the concern and the happiness and pride that Shaun must have given him. She didn't mistake the small hitch in his voice when he asked: "What happened to the man that did this?"
"Oh…" she murmured. "The police got him when the ambulance came. We talked to them before we left to come here. Jared and I, I mean." She sniffed, wiping again at her eyes. "I told them everything that happened— quickly, because I wanted to get back here." She could hardly even recall their questions; she'd just spat out the answers. "But they were putting him in handcuffs by the time we left." Glassman nodded once— a stiff and angry one. She bit down on the inside of her lip for a moment, before she tried in a bit of a lighter voice: "He, uh…Shaun called him a moron," she recalled.
Glassman closed his eyes, his forehead creasing over. At first in disappointment and frustration, but then in a 'What-am-I-going-to-do-with-this-certifiably-insane-person?' kind of way. The smallest ghost of a smile was teasing his lips. It shouldn't be anything to laugh over, and they both knew that. But somehow, in such a tense and scary moment, it was a little difficult not to. "God," he exhaled. "You know what? Of course he did. Of course he did. I'm not even surprised. Oh, Shaun," he huffed, like a parent chastising their kid from swiping a cookie from the cookie jar.
Claire softened. "I owe him a lot," she breathed, after a period of silence. Glassman glanced at her, but let her finish, knowing she would go on. "I could tell he was scared out of his mind. He started to shut down, but…when I needed him…he was there. The guy told him to move, he warned him, but…he protected me." She smiled, tears blurring her vision again. "I have no idea what would have happened if Shaun had just stood by. He wanted to— he might have grabbed me and just..." She exhaled heavily. "Who knows," she whispered. "I owe him so much. I'm never going to forget this."
That look was back on Glassman's face. The look that gave away the chink in his armor that was Shaun Murphy. A small laugh died in the back of his throat. He nodded, and confessed: "I owe him a lot too." That was the statement that seemed to end the need for further conversation. It hung in the air as an all-encompassing statement, and the pair fell into agreeable silence. Simply watching as the nurse came in frequently to check on him and his state. Sitting close together, listening to the steady beeping of Shaun's monitors, and waiting for something to happen.
Eventually, something did. Before too long there was the smallest of changes— the tiniest of shifts. But the pair instantly noticed it, and snapped up to attention. Shaun's head started to twitch to the side before he seemed to regret it and his face pinched over in a vacant sense of pain. It wasn't much, but it was more than Glassman had gotten in hours, so he immediately leaned forward, pulling himself closer to the bed, if such a thing was even possible. "Shaun?" he murmured, still making sure to keep his voice low. Shaun began to rouse even more, and Claire found her hands tightly clenching together. "Shaun, it's me— it's Aaron. You're in the hospital. Can you look at me?"
Shaun's eyes pried themselves open with difficulty. His left eye wasn't able to open much at all, it was still swelled shut. His right one only managed about halfway, though, as it was. It was bleary— unfocused and confused. It was normal, but it still hurt Claire to see. He did look over at Glassman, though it took a buffering second. Immediately, Glassman smiled at him. Claire could see the pain underneath the older man's expression, and she was glad Shaun likely wouldn't be able to do the same. "Hey..." His voice was the softest Claire had ever heard it. "How do you feel?"
Shaun didn't respond. He just stared at him. He must still have been gathering himself, but the fact that there was nothing immediately disturbed the older man. He raised his eyebrows and looked at Shaun a little more intensely. "Shaun? Can you tell me your last name?" He was still silent. His stare was hazy and disoriented, and Claire almost told Glassman he should give him some space to breathe first. But her own anxiety was fluttering in her chest, and she wasn't about to tell him to stop. She was the last person that had the right to do that, especially now. "Shaun, I'm going to need you to tell me your last name," Glassman said, just a touch louder. "You know that, don't you?"
Silence ticked by, each second longer than the one before. Claire was getting tenser and tenser as she waited, her heart in her throat. But relief swamped through her when the reply eventually did come. "Murphy..." It was nothing more than a sigh. She had never heard Shaun's voice so flat and dull before.
It was like a weight had been shoved clear off Glassman's shoulders. He lost about two inches of height as he relaxed, and a weary laugh bubbled out of his throat. "Yeah, that's— that's right, good. Good." Shaun closed his eyes again. Another wince barely registered on his face. Sympathy layered Glassman's next words like frosting. "Your throat will be sore from the ventilator for a while. They removed it earlier— you were awake, then. Do you remember any of that? You had to have a craniotomy; there was a hematoma. They had to go in and fix it."
Shaun opened his eyes again. Gradually, his old intelligence was attempting to splutter back to life, but it was a slow process. He stared straight ahead, a little blankly. "Are we…in Saint Bonaventure?" he asked.
Claire closed her eyes.
Glassman clasped his hands together. "No, Shaun. It wasn't the closest to where you were. And…this was the best place for the surgery to be done. Sequoia has an excellent neurosurgeon— I've had dinner with him once. Leaves fantastic tips." He gave the young man a wink with this statement, but, not to his surprise, Shaun gave no reaction. But to be fair, he probably wouldn't have reacted much under normal circumstances anyway. Taking a deeper breath, Glassman attempted to go on with a stern look, but it came out more of an exasperated kind of smile. "Speaking of leaving good tips, I'll give you one: don't call a man who is obviously very intoxicated and dangerous…a moron. This is not your brightest moment, Shaun."
"He was hurting her…" Shaun mumbled, his eyes drifting closed again.
Claire stiffened, and her heart tore as she looked back up to him. At his bruised and bandaged face, and the haziness clinging to him like fog. Again, she remembered the sound of him hitting the ground, of the man's fist ramming time and time again against his head. She rubbed at her eyes before she gave the tears a chance to fall. She coughed, trying to get rid of the lump stuck in her throat. And spoke up with a voice she hoped sounded happier than she thought it did. "Hey," she murmured, watching Shaun open his eyes again. They flickered a little aimlessly for a second, before they landed on Claire and actually recognized her presence. "I'm so sorry, Shaun," she murmured. "I'm so sorry I wasn't able to help you, I tried, I just…" She sighed. "I should have done so many things differently. This is all my fault."
"It was...his fault," Shaun hummed. His voice was scratchy and rough; talking must have hurt because he spoke very quietly. His words came out much slower than normal. "You didn't hit me."
"No, but…" She started to object, when Glassman turned and looked at her pointedly. She bit the rest of it back. She would apologize later. Frequently. Probably daily for the next year and a half. She'd call Shaun when they were eighty, and apologize for what happened. But for now, when he was still half-asleep and clearly in pain, she would just be supportive.
But all the same, she did have to do one thing. "Thank you, Shaun." Being mindful of the wires that were connected to his arm and his wrist, she leaned forward and took his hand gently in hers. She didn't apply pressure, because she knew he didn't like that. But she just wanted to reassure herself that he was fine. Beaten up, and worse for wear, but fine. And she wanted to make sure he understood how grateful she was. "Words…can't even describe, Shaun. Thank you. So much."
Shaun's eyes flickered down to her hand around his. He took in a slow, and a little bit too loud, breath, and he let it out just as gradually. Claire couldn't suppress a weary smile, at yet another thing she had never seen him do before. He was still muddled up. But despite that, he still replied. Somehow, his rasping voice sounded just as sweet and earnest as it always was. "You're welcome."
(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)
"Hey, slugger!" was the celebratory cheer that Jared decided would best fit the situation upon entering the hospital room. Thankfully Shaun wasn't asleep, though he had been in and out of tiny naps all day long. It was near six in the evening now, and the nurse had just left after asking Shaun to make a fist, and to touch his finger to his nose, and to say 'Hello, how are you?' for about the millionth time that day. Thankfully, just like every other time, he passed with flying colors. And thankfully for Jared, he came in when he did, because Claire wasn't sure the nurse would take too kindly to the fanfare.
Shaun was still not back to his normal self in terms of personality. He was still sluggish and exhausted, which would stick with him for a while. But after he'd finally been allowed something to drink, his voice was at least a little better. When Jared barged in, he tensed, and his eyes flickered over to him once he was in his field of vision. Jared offered him a goofy and overplayed smile. "How're you holding up? Came down to see our newest boxing champion, I hope that's okay."
"Very funny," Claire sighed, throwing him a look. Jared's smile didn't lessen, though. Half out of concern, half out of habit, his eyes went to Shaun's monitor, to absorb as much information as possible. There wasn't much to look at, though; Shaun was coming along fine. "How was work? Melendez wasn't angry?" she asked.
Jared looked at her, surprised at the question. "No, I told you that much. He was just worried about you two. You should have heard how many times he asked me if you'd texted with any news about Shaun, though." Turning back to Shaun, he smirked and reached down to tap his arm lightly. "Don't tell him I told you that. He made me promise not to," he teased. Shaun blinked, and dragged his arm closer to his side. Jared elected to ignore the response, though, and he shoved his hands down into his pockets. "You didn't miss much. We had a kid come in with a nail straight through his finger. He was trying to build a treehouse or something ridiculous. Other than that, it was just a lot of scutwork." He glanced over Shaun. "How're you feeling, champ?" he chirped. "You have it easy, lying in here all day. I'd trade places with you in a heartbeat."
"I'd rather be out," Shaun mumbled. So far, his voice hadn't risen above that volume all day.
"Give it some time," he reassured. "You'll be back at Saint Bonaventure diagnosing…Krukenburg tumors before you know it." Claire smiled. She sincerely hoped that was true. Recovery from head injuries was difficult, and it ranged from person to person, and depended a lot on the severity of the injury. The thought of Shaun being away from the hospital for long just to recover was enough to turn her stomach. Jared's small cough cleared her mind. She looked back up to see that his entire demeanor had changed. "Hey, listen," he said, ducking his head a bit. "I'm sorry I stayed back. At the bar, and left you two alone. I shouldn't have done that. It was already late, and I should have just stuck with you guys. With the friends I came with." He looked at Shaun steadily, contrite. "I'm sorry, Shaun. I should have been there. I could have stopped this whole thing."
Shaun took a second to reply. When he did, it was soft and light. "It was your birthday," he reminded.
"Yeah…" Jared murmured, nodding a bit. He made a face, only halfway joking as he asked: "I came up with the worst idea for a party, didn't I?"
Claire expected Shaun not to reply. So she was surprised when, very readily, he said a tiny: "Yes."
It caused the two to laugh— even Glassman cracked a grin where he was sitting. He still hadn't moved from Shaun's immediate bedside. He'd only moved away from him to go out in the hall to take calls from work, should any come. And he was always back before five minutes had passed. He hadn't even left to eat yet, though Claire had been working on a way to prompt him to do just that. "Starting to think bars and clubs might not be the best places to go," Jared offered. "I think the three of us have had our fill for a while. Or at least Shaun has."
Claire was leaning over the bed a bit, her elbows resting on a space of the mattress Shaun wasn't taking up. "Shaun said he wants to start a Book Club," she informed him, with a small smile in her friend's direction. She tried to look for recognition on his face, to see whether or not he recalled their conversation before things had gone downhill. If he did, though, he didn't show it. He was looking back towards his own monitor and focusing on that. Again, this was something else that had occurred for about the millionth time that day.
"Book Club?" Jared blustered. "I haven't read a book for fun in ages."
"Shocker," Claire drawled. "Well, Shaun wants to start one. He said if he catches you on SparkNotes, though, you're getting kicked out."
"What!?" Jared's eyes flew open as he looked down at the young surgeon. "You didn't say that! Did you really say that?" He sounded halfway impressed.
Glassman leaned over, quietly garnering Shaun's attention as to not startle him. "Hey, Shaun." Shaun dragged his gaze back to him. "Can you do this?" On one hand, he touched each of his fingers to his thumb slowly; when the nurse wasn't asking Shaun to do something, Glassman was. He was kind of a worry wart, in that way. But Shaun never complained. And, dutiful, he dragged his arm up and mimicked the movement successfully. When Glassman smiled and nodded, his arm went dead and flopped back to the mattress. He closed his eyes again, flinching. Glassman looked over him in concern. "How are you feeling, Shaun?" He'd been feeling sick and in pain all day. He'd thrown up once already, but that was a while ago. "What hurts?"
"My head," Shaun replied, just the smallest bit of tartness underlying the words. "I had a craniotomy."
Jared snickered. Glassman looked like he would have preferred to be cross, but couldn't muster it.
Claire ended up moving to sit on the armrest of her chair instead, and Jared took the seat. They planned out the first book they'd read if and when they started the fabled Book Club. Jared wanted Catcher in the Rye, but after some probing, Claire found out it was just because he'd read it already. Jared's next offer had been Fifty Shades of Grey, which led to Claire revoking his book-naming privileges indefinitely. With their combined effort, the two of them were able to persuade Glassman to go down to the café to eat something, but he had gone there and back in exactly eight minutes and thirty seconds. Jared had set a timer on his phone after Claire mentioned how glued to Shaun's side he'd been.
Glassman agreed to be in their Book Club after some pushing, which wasn't even a thing yet anyway and really only had a fifty-fifty chance of actually becoming something at all. Shaun wasn't all that interested, surprisingly enough, though he did ask Jared if he could tell him more about the case he'd mentioned before. He was very content to just sit there and listen to the details. From 7:30 to 8:00 Shaun fell asleep again, and Jared had redirected his formal apology to Glassman, who waved it off just like he'd done with Claire. After some time, Jared got a call, which had been the thing to wake Shaun back up, and said he had to leave. He gave Claire a hug, nodded to Glassman, and told Shaun that he would be back tomorrow to see him again, and to hang in there. Shaun was too half-asleep to register it, probably.
Claire stayed as long as she could. She talked to Shaun and tried to help keep him awake, because even though it was normal for exhaustion and frequent naps, the longer he stayed aware the better. She told him jokes that he didn't find funny at all, and she filled him on the latest hospital gossip, which he didn't care about. He listened attentively, though, and seemed to follow it all. Glassman told her funny stories of Shaun when he was younger, like the time he had tried to teach him to play tennis, and Shaun had responded with a firm and resolute: "No." According to Glassman, he hadn't even tried to chase after the ball when it was served; he had just turned and stared at it, watching it bounce away. If Shaun was embarrassed by the memories, he didn't show it. Claire, however, got a kick out of them.
It was nice. To sit and talk with them, and know that Shaun was there and fine. Maybe not fully functioning yet, but mending. Knowing that everything would be alright, even if her guilt would remain for some time. She wanted to stay longer, but she knew that it wouldn't be smart. She would go into work tomorrow— she couldn't avoid it forever, and the hospital was probably buzzing with rumors already. It would only worsen if she stayed away. Maybe Melendez would let her off early. But if not, she would come straight here once she was done.
She did stay until 10:30, though. Woken up rudely before the day had even started, Glassman was already sleeping by the time she did. The older man was slouched forward, his head resting on one hand as he leaned down towards the bed. His other arm was stretched out just the tiniest bit, the tips of his fingers barely grazing Shaun's side, as if he wanted to be sure he was still breathing and stable, even when asleep. Shaun wasn't sleeping, but he wasn't awake, either. He was somewhere in between, with a vacant and empty stare that travelled off into space. Claire knew it wouldn't be long before he fell asleep and hopefully stayed that way for longer than just an hour, this time. So she stood up.
"Shaun," she whispered, reaching over and placing her hand lightly on top of his. She didn't want to wake Glassman, so she was relieved when this was enough and his eyes opened just the tiniest bit more. She smiled at him in the dim light of the hospital room. "I've got to go. I'm really sorry. I'll be back tomorrow, okay? You get some sleep." He didn't say anything; he just started to close his eyes again. But he stopped short when she kept going. "Shaun?" He forced them open again. "You never answered my last question." There was no recollection at all in his face when she said this. She figured as much, and jogged his memory. "We were asking each other questions. I asked you what the greatest thing you've ever done was."
Shaun blinked slowly. That confusion clouded his face, again. It was too late for this type of question. "I…" He seemed lost on what to say.
She smiled tenderly. "I think what you did for me was pretty amazing, Shaun," she offered. "Maybe that can be your answer." Shaun didn't agree or disagree. His eyes were closing again, and going by how exhausted he looked, she didn't have the heart to keep him awake for any longer. She just let her hand linger on his for a moment more, before she turned and left the hospital room, leaving quietly so that she wouldn't wake the two she was leaving behind. The smile she'd offered him before wilted, and fractured. Losing its strength now that she knew Shaun wouldn't be able to see. Tomorrow morning, she would text and ask for any updates. She would worry all day about whether or not Shaun was making any progress. And in the evening, the minute her shift was over, she would be rushing back to sit at his bedside again, and do whatever she could to help him. She would apologize again. She would try to make it up to him.
Even though she knew there was nothing she could possibly do that would even come close.