INT. GREY SLOAN MEMORIAL – PRIVATE ROOM – LATER

A second bed has been placed beside his.

Jo sets her bag down on the couch and goes to the bed. She slips back in, barefoot now. 

She lies on her side, facing him.
Her fingers slide gently into his hair — slow, grounding.

LINK
(whisper)
I love you.

JO
I love you.

They close their eyes.

Later, in the quiet of the night, Link shifts — pain flaring.

Jo’s hand finds his arm immediately, stroking softly until his breathing evens out again.

She stays awake until she’s sure he’s settled.
Only then does she let herself rest.

INT. GREY SLOAN MEMORIAL – PRIVATE ROOM – MORNING

Soft morning light filters through the blinds.

Link is awake.
He lies still, listening to the hospital wake up around him — distant carts, low voices, the hum of machines.

Beside the bed, the extra cot sits empty.
On the bedside table, a folded note.

Link reaches for it carefully and opens it.

JO’S HANDWRITING:
Went to get breakfast.
I’ll be back in a few.

A small smile touches his face.

The door opens. A nurse enters, already moving toward the cot.

NURSE
Morning, Dr. Lincoln.
How’re you feeling?

LINK
Better.
Thanks.

She begins moving the cot, efficient but gentle.
Link watches as she wheels it toward the door.

LINK (CONT’D)
Hey—
Thanks for… that.

The nurse glances at the cot, then back at him.

NURSE
Special treatment for our VIP patient.

He exhales a faint, almost amused breath as the cot disappears down the hall.

A moment later, another nurse steps in with a tray.
 
NURSE (CONT’D)
Breakfast delivery.

LINK
(smiles)
Thank you, but I think my wife went to get us breakfast from outside.

NURSE
Suit yourself. 
But nothing beats hospital food. 

They share a small smile.

NURSE
I’ll come back later to check on the wounds.

She exits with the tray.

Link rests his head back on the pillow.
Exhales.

His hand instinctively moves toward his wound.
Then he winces — just slightly.

A few minutes later.
The door opens again.

Jo slips in, coat still on, hair slightly windblown, carrying a paper bag. 
Link’s eyes go straight to the logo — familiar. His favorite place.

JO
(soft)
Hey.

LINK
You went all the way—

JO
I didn’t.
Just went down to meet the delivery guy.

She sets the bag down, pulls out the food.

JO (CONT’D)
I hope they didn’t forget anything, unlike last time.
 
She helps position the tray so he doesn’t have to strain, hands him a coffee.

A quiet beat.

LINK (CONT’D)
This is perfect.
Thank you for this.

She smiles — small, satisfied.
He leans in and kisses her gently.

Pain flickers across his face; his teeth clench.
He eases back onto the pillow.

JO (CONT’D)
Careful.

She takes back the coffee and puts it on the tray.

LINK
I know.

They sit together in the quiet, sharing the normalcy.

LINK (CONT’D)
What time are the kids coming?

Jo answers easily, before the worry can surface.

JO
Late morning.

She watches him closely.

JO (CONT’D)
They can’t wait to see you.

She rests a hand on his good shoulder, gentle, grounding.

He nods — but his shoulders tense just slightly.

JO (CONT’D)
Everything else you’re thinking about—
that’s just noise.

She meets his eyes.

JO (CONT’D)
They just want their dad.

A breath.

LINK
Okay.

She squeezes his hand once, grounding him, then lets go.

They eat together, unhurried.

FADE OUT.