INT. GREY SLOAN MEMORIAL – EMERGENCY BAY – MORNING

Jo and Link move quickly through the ER doors. 

He has one arm firmly around her waist, guiding her more than supporting her.

Jo looks pale, worried — even though she tries to stay composed.

Link is not.
He’s already scanning monitors, tracking staff, doing math in his head he can’t slow down.

A nurse approaches.

NURSE
I saw you leave. 
What’s happening?

LINK
Her water broke.
Twin pregnancy.
Cerclage in place.

JO
It felt more like a leak.
Not a full rupture.

The nurse nods, reaching for a wheelchair.

NURSE
Okay, let’s get you—

LINK
No.

He gently but firmly guides Jo toward a bed instead.

LINK (CONT’D)
She needs to lie down.

Jo exhales.

JO
I can sit down. It was just a small—

LINK
—I know.
But still.

He’s already pulling the curtain, helping her sit, then lie back.

The nurse watches, clocking the urgency.

LINK
Page OB now.

NURSE
Right away, Dr. Lincoln.

She moves fast.
Jo looks at him now — really looks.

JO
You’re spiraling.

Link freezes for half a second.

LINK
I’m not.

She reaches for his hand, grounding him.

JO
You’re making it harder for me to stay calm.

A breath.

She squeezes his fingers.

JO (CONT’D)
Right now…
I need you steady.
Or we’ll both panic and I can’t have that.

That lands.
Link nods once, swallowing hard.

LINK
Okay. Okay.
I am sorry.

He forces himself to sit, presses a kiss to her hand.
Still vibrating with fear.

Jo lies back against the pillows.
She stares at the ceiling — heart racing, fear curling tight in her chest.
But she keeps her voice calm.
Because she’s already decided:
If one of them panics, it can’t be her.

FADE OUT.

INT. GREY SLOAN MEMORIAL – OB UNIT – MORNING (2 HOURS LATER)

The room is softly lit. Monitors hum at a steady, reassuring rhythm.

Jo lies in the hospital bed, propped slightly on pillows.

An IV is already in place.

Link sits in the chair beside her bed, leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

He hasn’t taken his jacket off.
He looks alert, focused — adrenaline doing all the work exhaustion should be doing.

Nurse Iris stands at the foot of the bed, reviewing Jo’s chart on her tablet.

The ultrasound gel has been wiped away.

IRIS
Okay. I’ve looked at everything.
For now — the twins look good.
Heart tones are strong.
Cerclage is holding.

JO
No signs of infection?

IRIS
No. 

Link exhales, the breath he’s been holding finally escaping.

LINK
So… we’re okay?

IRIS
Right now?
Yes.

She meets his eyes — calm, honest.

IRIS (CONT’D)
But given everything — the leak, the high-risk pregnancy — 
We’re keeping Jo for observation. 

Link nods. Logical. Reasonable.

Still — his jaw tightens.

LINK
How long?

Iris readjusts the fetal monitors around Jo’s belly, securing them back into place.

IRIS
We’ll reassess as we go.
Right now, the goal is stability.

Jo closes her eyes for a second — not scared. Just tired.

JO
Okay.

Iris gives them a reassuring smile.

IRIS
I’ll check back in a bit.

She exits.

Silence settles back into the room, filled only by the steady beeping of monitors.

Link turns to Jo immediately.

LINK
You okay?

JO
(smiles faintly)
I’m just… really tired.

That lands heavier than fear ever could.
Link reaches for her hand, squeezing it gently.

LINK
I shouldn’t have let you work that much.
Especially not night shifts.

JO
Hey.
Don’t.

She opens her eyes, steadying him.

JO (CONT’D)
This isn’t on you.

A beat.

Jo shifts slightly, uncomfortable, then exhales.

JO (CONT’D)
Could you go home?
Get me my stuff — some clothes, my charger.
Maybe the pregnancy pillow,
if you can wrestle it into the car.

Link doesn’t answer.
He looks at the bed.
The monitors.
Her.

LINK
I don’t want to leave you.

There it is. Simple. Honest.
Jo softens.

JO
I know.

She squeezes his hand back.

JO (CONT’D)
But the babies are fine.
I’m fine.
And I’m going to sleep the second you walk out that door.

She tries for a smile.

JO (CONT’D)
You’ll be gone, what — 2 hours?

Link hesitates.

JO (CONT’D)
Go.
Please.

A long beat.

Finally, Link nods — once.

LINK
Okay.

He leans in, pressing a careful kiss to her head.

LINK (CONT’D)
Call me if anything feels even a little off.

JO
I will.

He straightens, forcing himself to step back.

LINK
I’ll be right back.

JO
I know.

LINK
I love you.

JO
I love you.
(reassuring)
Now go.
So I can sleep.

Link hesitates one last second — then leaves.

FADE OUT.