INT. GREY SLOAN MEMORIAL – PRIVATE ROOM – MORNING

Link sits upright in bed, slightly higher than yesterday, the light pouring through the large windows of his new room.
He already looks drained — the anticipation of pain is its own weight.

The Physical therapist (PT) enters with a soft knock, an intern trailing quietly behind, carrying extra support gear.

PT
Morning, Dr. Lincoln.
Ready for round two?

Link forces a thin smile.

LINK
Ready as I’ll ever be.

The PT adjusts the bed, raising him slowly.
He grimaces through each degree of elevation.

PT
Today we’ll try sitting, standing, and a few very small steps.
We’ll go slow.

Link nods, though frustration is already creeping into his expression.

The PT nods toward the intern.

PT
Don’t worry — I brought extra muscles with me today.

The intern gives a shy half-smile.

Link huffs a quiet breath that’s almost a laugh.

LINK
Lucky me.

INTERN
Hi, Dr. Lincoln.
Here to help however you need.

Link exhales a small, breathy laugh.

LINK
Yeah, I’m gonna need all the muscles you can spare.

The PT and intern help him pivot.
Link lowers his feet to the floor, as his breath trembles.

LINK
Okay… let’s just—
get it over with.

PT
You’re in control.
We stop the second you say so.

Link huffs — a bitter echo of humor.

LINK
If I stop every time it hurts, we’ll be here all day.

The PT steadies him as Link pushes upward.

His legs shake instantly.
His ribs scream.
He sucks in a shallow, painful breath.

He reaches fully upright — one second, two—
Then his knees wobble; the room tilts.

LINK
Wait— I’m—

The PT and intern catch him immediately, guiding him back.

PT
Easy, easy—
That was a good start. 

Link shakes his head, jaw tight with humiliation.

PT
Let’s try again.
Nice and slow.

They help him rise again.
His legs tremble but hold.
Three seconds… four…

Link fights for every breath.

PT
There you go.
That’s progress.

LINK
(through gritted teeth)
Okay—okay—put me down—

They lower him gently. Link exhales shakily, sweat beading on his forehead.

Link wipes his face, frustrated.

LINK
One more.

PT
Only if you feel okay. 

LINK
I said one more.

The PT nods, cautious, but confident with the intern beside him.

Link pushes up again.
Every muscle screams. He sways — but he holds himself up.

He makes it three seconds—
four—
five—

Then that familiar snap of weakness in his knees.

He collapses back, breath shuddering, chest heaving.

LINK
Dammit!

The PT steadies him, calm and steady.

PT
You stood longer each time.
That’s real improvement. 

Link looks away, eyes burning.

LINK
At this rate, my twins will walk before me. 

PT
You had major thoracic surgery.
Your body is healing.
This is progress.

Link looks away, swallowing emotion.

LINK
Doesn’t feel like progress.

PT
You’re allowed to be frustrated.

The PT gives his good shoulder a brief, reassuring squeeze.

PT
I’ll check on you again later.
Get some rest.

The PT and intern help Link lie back down and exit the room.

Link remains slumped against the pillows, chest heaving softly, his gaze fixed downward — hollow and tired.


INT. GREY SLOAN MEMORIAL – PRIVATE ROOM – MORNING (CONTINUOUS)

A few minutes later.
A soft knock breaks the silence.
Jo steps inside, her bag on her shoulder — then she stops short.

JO
Oh wow…
Look at this place.

She moves slowly, eyes traveling over the flowers, cards, gift baskets overflowing everywhere.

JO
(soft laugh)
Okay, Mister VIP.
I leave you alone for one night and you already have secret admirers?
Should I be jealous?

Link actually smiles and it breaks the tension.

LINK
I am gonna start having allergies with all these flowers.
This is… way too much.

JO
People do care about you.

He doesn’t answer — emotion flickering, unsteady.

Jo steps closer, leans in, and kisses him gently before settling on the bed’s edge.

JO
(soft)
How did you sleep?

LINK
Alright. They gave me something for the pain. Knocked me down a bit.

JO
Good.

LINK
You? Did you rest?

JO
Yes.

LINK 
How are the kids?

Jo pulls out an envelope from her bag.

JO
They’re okay.
They made these for you last night.

She opens the envelope and hands him the drawings, each scribbled with “I LOVE YOU DADDY.”

Link’s breath catches.

JO
Scout asked if you’d be less tired today.
And Luna hoped your “ouchies” didn’t hurt as much.

Link’s eyes soften, then fall, emotional.

LINK
I miss them…

Jo stays steady, loving.

JO
(soft)
Let them see you.
Just a quick hello.
They are stronger than you think.

Link tenses — not from pain, but fear.

Jo places a steady, warm hand on his arm.

LINK
I miss them so much. 

JO
I know, baby.

He looks at the drawings again, eyes glistening.

Jo stays close, quiet, letting him feel everything he’s been holding in.
She pulls out a set of framed photos.

JO
I also brought these.
To make your room feel a little more like home.

He looks at them — then stops at their wedding picture.
He softens.

LINK 
You were so beautiful.
You are so beautiful. 

JO
You were not that bad yourself.

They share a fragile, genuine smile. The first soft moment of the morning.

LINK
I love you.

He squeezes her hand gently — needing her, needing his family, and finally letting himself admit it.

FADE OUT.