INT. GREY SLOAN MEMORIAL – PRIVATE ROOM – MORNING

Jo sits on the couch with her laptop, working quietly.
Link rests in bed, more alert now. 

The PT enters — calm, professional.

PT
Morning.

LINK
Morning.

JO
Hi.

PT
Ready to get started?

LINK
Yeah.

Link glances at Jo, gives a small nod.
She looks up.
Holds his gaze for a beat.
Then deliberately stays where she is.

the PT moves closer, already assessing.

PT
How’s the arm?

LINK
Still hurts when I squeeze.

PT 
That’s normal.
It’ll take the longest to heal.
Keep doing the exercises at least three times a day.

LINK
I know.

Link shifts, preparing to sit up.
The movement is controlled, intentional.

He adjusts his legs, plants his feet.
Pauses — not from pain, but calculation.

The PT places a steady hand at his side.

PT
Ok.
Today you’re doing all the work.

Then Link pushes himself upright.
No drama.
No collapse.
Just effort.

Jo watches — doesn’t move, doesn’t interfere.

PT (CONT’D)
That’s it.
Take your time.

It’s not smooth.
It’s not easy.
But he does it. 

Link steadies himself, breath slightly deeper now.

PT
How does that feel?

LINK
Honestly?

PT
Always.

LINK
Hard.
But manageable.

The PT nods, approving.

He guides Link through a small shift in position, one hand firm at his back.

PT
Easy.
You don’t need to prove anything.

Link exhales, adjusts his grip.
Link glances toward Jo — just for a second.
She meets his eyes.

No reassurance.
No fear.
Just there.

He nods, reassured, and keeps going.

PT
Let’s walk to the couch and back.

LINK
Okay.

The PT stays close, one hand steady at Link’s elbow.
Link takes a few solid, careful steps.
He’s walking — but measured.
The PT never lets go.

PT
That’s good.
Slow it down.

They continue for a few moments.
Then—

PT (CONT’D)
Alright.
That’s enough.

Link stops, breathing controlled, sweat just beginning to bead.

LINK
Alright.

PT
Keep this up and you’ll be out of here sooner than you think.

Link gives a half-smile.

LINK
Don’t get my hopes up.

PT
Hope doesn’t do the work.

He glances briefly towards Jo.

PT (CONT’D)
Accepting help does.

A beat.

PT (CONT’D)
Bed or couch?

Link looks at the couch and Jo.

LINK
Couch.

The PT guides him over, still steadying him, and helps him sit beside Jo.

Once Link is settled, the PT steps back.

PT
I’ll check on you later.

He exits.
The room quiets.

Link leans back into the couch.
Closes his eyes for a second.
Just breathes.

LINK
(soft)
That was harder than it looks.

Jo reaches out, rests a hand on his knee, gentle.

JO
I know. But that’s good, baby.

A long beat.

Link opens his eyes, looks at her.

LINK (CONT’D)
I’m glad you’re here.

JO
Me too.

She leans in. They kiss — then stay there for a moment, holding.

A beat.

Jo settles back, pulls her laptop onto her knees.

JO
I have a patient I want your thoughts on.

LINK
Sure.
Show me.

She turns the screen toward him.

JO
See the massive tumor on the pelvis?

They lean in together.
Normal, returning — slowly.

FADE OUT.