INT. GREY SLOAN MEMORIAL – PRIVATE ROOM – EVENING

Jo stands a few feet from the bed.
Still.
Present.
Not pacing. Not bracing.

Link lies propped up, one arm immobilized. He looks at her — not defensive, just… full. Like he’s been holding something back for hours. Even days. 

JO
(soft, careful)
Hey.

Link swallows. His jaw tightens.

LINK
I…
(beat)
I’m so sorry.

The words land and hang there.

Jo doesn’t answer right away. She steps closer and sits on the edge of the bed. The space between them closes — slowly.

She isn’t angry.
Only tired. And scared.

JO
(soft)
Talk to me.

Link looks at her.

Something shifts in his face — small, but visible.
The control he’s been holding onto slips.
He opens his mouth. Nothing comes out.

Jo sees it. She doesn’t rush him.
She shifts closer and gently pulls him in — careful, slow.

His forehead comes to rest against her collarbone.
She wraps her arms around him.
They stay there.

No dialogue. Just breath.
Link’s breathing is uneven — controlled, like he’s actively holding himself together.

JO
I’m right here. 

Time passes.
Finally, she eases back just enough to look at him.
Link exhales.

LINK
(quiet, ashamed)
I’m… angry.

A pause.

LINK (CONT’D)
All the time.

Jo doesn’t interrupt.
Jo’s hand moves in small, grounding circles along his arm.
She listens.

LINK (CONT’D)
I hate being stuck here.
I hate this body.

He stops. Swallows.

LINK (CONT’D)
And I keep thinking about…
the people who didn’t make it.

A beat.

LINK (CONT’D)
And instead of being grateful…

His voice drops.

LINK (CONT’D)
I’m snapping at you. 

He squeezes his eyes shut.

LINK (CONT’D)
God…
(quiet, wrecked)
I’m such an asshole.

She doesn’t argue.
She lets the guilt exist without trying to fix it.

Link stares at the wall.

LINK
Being here…
(beat)
Reminds me of when I was a kid.

He exhales.

LINK (CONT’D)
Hospitals.
Everyone looking at me with pity and fear.

A tear slips down his cheek. He doesn’t wipe it away.

JO
You don’t have to carry this by yourself.

He doesn’t answer.

So Jo takes a breath — a real one. Steadies herself.
Then she lets her guard down too. 

JO (CONT’D)
It happened to me too…
you know.

Link freezes. Looks at her.

JO (CONT’D)
Those seven hours…

Her voice wavers. She lets it.

JO (CONT’D)
After our phone call—
when they took you into surgery…
And no one could tell me anything…

She presses a hand lightly to her chest.

JO (CONT’D)
I didn’t know if you were coming back to me.

That lands.

Link’s breathing slows, deepens. He’s fully present now.

JO (CONT’D)
That broke me.

She looks at him — fully open now, no armor left.

JO (CONT’D)
I’m not here because I feel sorry for you.
I’m here because I love you.

Her voice softens — steadier now.

JO (CONT’D)
And because being near you is the only thing that makes my body stop bracing, stop waiting for the worst.

She swallows. 

JO (CONT’D)
I need you too, you know.

Link’s hand lifts — unsure — and finds her wrist. He holds on like it’s an anchor.

JO (CONT’D)
You don’t have to always be strong with me.

LINK
(quiet, wrecked)
I am sorry for putting you through all this.

Jo looks down. 

A beat.

LINK
I was so lost in my own misery…
I didn’t see how much it affected you.

JO
It did.
But we’re here now.

He looks at her.

LINK
I love you so much.

JO
I love you.

They kiss — soft, lingering, unhurried. Like they don’t want to let go.

When they pull back, something has settled.
Not fixed.
But aligned.

Silence settles — calmer now.

After a moment, Jo speaks again. Not rushing it.

JO
We’re going to have beautiful girls.

Link looks at her.

JO (CONT’D)
And you’re going to be a wonderful father.
You already are.

She says it like a fact. Not a promise.
Link lets it in.
Absorbs that.

LINK
My parents…
They’re not going anywhere, right?

Jo smiles softly.

JO
Not a chance.
We’re going to need all the help we can get.

A quiet laugh escapes him. Relief he didn’t know he was holding.

They hold each other again — not desperate. Necessary.

LINK
You should go…
The kids are going to want you at bedtime.

JO
I want to stay.

LINK
I want you to rest.

JO
I will.
Here.

LINK
What about the kids? 

JO
They’re okay.
Your parents have it covered.
(beat)
I’ll text them.

JO (CONT’D)
Maybe they could come tomorrow.

He hesitates — then nods.
His shoulders drop. His grip on her hand stays.

Jo stands, steps into the hallway, flags down a nurse.

INT. HALLWAY – CONTINUOUS

JO
Hey—
Is there any way we could get a cot or spare bed in his room?

NURSE
(smiles gently)
Yeah. I can make that happen.

JO
Thank you so much.
I owe you one.

NURSE
Anything for Dr. Lincoln.

FADE OUT.