INT. GREY SLOAN MEMORIAL – BATHROOM – LATER

The door clicks shut.

Link stands at the sink, staring at his reflection.
It takes a second to recognize himself.

He turns on the tap.
Cold water.

He splashes his face once.
Twice.

The sound is too loud in the small room.

He grips the edge of the sink with his one good arm, knuckles whitening.

Breath in.
Breath out.

For a moment, something presses at the surface —
too much, too fast.

He shuts his eyes.
Just a beat.

Then opens them again.

Contained.

He reaches for a paper towel.
Dries his face.

He straightens. 

Adjusts the sling.

A deliberate choice.

INT. GREY SLOAN MEMORIAL – CORRIDOR – CONTINUOUS

Link steps out of the bathroom.

Teddy passes by. Slows when she sees him.
Takes him in — the posture, the exhaustion.

TEDDY
Hey.
Any updates on Jo?

LINK
No.

TEDDY
I’ll come by later, after my consult. 
Have you eaten anything?

Link shakes his head. Almost apologetic.

LINK
I am being pulled in every direction. 

Teddy doesn’t respond to the words — just the need underneath.

TEDDY
(resting a hand on his arm)
Let me ask someone to bring you something.

Link shakes his head automatically. Not refusal — habit.

Teddy doesn’t argue.
Doesn’t wait for permission.
She keeps walking.

TEDDY (O.S)
I wasn't asking.

Link stands there a moment longer than necessary.

Then he turns back toward the NICU.

Back into it.

FADE OUT.