INT. ICU ROOM — AFTERNOON

Machines hum in their steady, indifferent rhythm.

Jo lies in bed, oxygen tubing beneath her nose.
She’s crying.
Not loud.
But not quiet either.
Tears run down her temples unchecked, soaking into the pillow.

Her breathing is uneven, hitching out of rhythm with the steady monitors beside her.

Iris stands at the bedside.
One hand on the rail.
The other brushing Jo’s arm, grounding. Ineffective.

The door opens.
Link steps in.

He takes it in instantly.
Jo.
The tears.
The sound she’s making — breathless, uncontained.

He and Iris lock eyes.

LINK
(urgent, already moving)
What happened?

IRIS
(soft, apologetic)
I asked her about the babies’ names and she—

That’s all it takes.
Link nods to her, the kind of nod that says “I’ve got this”.

Iris steps back as he reaches the bed.

LINK
Hey.
Hey, hey.

Jo turns toward his voice.
Relief hits, and with it, a fresh wave of tears. 
Louder now. Less contained.

JO
(hoarse, trying)
I—

The word breaks apart.
She shakes her head, frustrated with herself.

Link climbs carefully onto the bed beside her, awkward with the sling.

He pulls her toward him.
She presses closer immediately, shaking.

LINK
It’s okay.
I’m here.

A beat.

LINK (CONT’D)
Talk to me.

She tries. Fails.

Her breathing spikes.
Iris glances at the monitor. The numbers climbing. 
She looks back to Link. 

A silent warning.
Link understands instantly.

He reaches across his chest and unfastens the sling.
The movement costs him. A sharp intake of breath.
He ignores it.
Sets the sling aside.

Then he climbs fully into the bed, careful of the lines.
Both arms around her now.

Jo collapses into him instantly, face pressed to his chest.

The crying comes harder.
Not dramatic.
Just raw.
Like something inside her finally gives.

Iris quietly steps toward the door.

IRIS
(to Link, gentle)
I’ll be right outside.

Link nods.

The door closes softly.

Link holds Jo tighter.

LINK
I’m here.

Her breathing stutters, then slowly begins to follow his.
Not calm.
But steadier.
Held.

JO
(hoarse, through tears)
They—
(tries again)
They don’t even have names.

Link stills.

JO (CONT’D)
They’re in there…

Her breath catches.

JO (CONT’D)
All alone.

Her voice cracks.

JO (CONT’D)
And they don’t even have names.

Link tightens his hold.

LINK
Hey.

He gently pulls back just enough to look at her.

LINK (CONT’D)
I didn’t want to name them without you.

She stares at him through tears.

JO
It’s like they’re not real yet.

Link presses his forehead to hers.

LINK
They are.

Jo swallows.
Still crying.

JO
(voice cracking)
We never even agreed on the names.

LINK
I know.

A beat.

LINK (CONT’D)
We can choose right now.

Jo shakes her head faintly.

LINK (CONT’D)
I love both names you wanted.

She stares at him.

JO
You didn’t.

LINK
I do now.

A beat.

He chooses his words carefully.

LINK (CONT’D)
I think I was arguing just to argue.
(a beat)
Because it still felt… hypothetical.

He exhales softly.

LINK (CONT’D)
Now they’re here.
(a beat)
And you’re here.
(another beat)
None of that matters to me anymore.

Jo studies his face.

JO 
Are you sure?

LINK
Yeah. 
Hattie and Peyton. 

A beat.

LINK (CONT’D)
I love them.
(softer)
And I should’ve told you that sooner.

Jo’s eyes fill again.

JO
You’re just saying this so I stop crying…

He almost smiles.
Almost.

LINK
No.

Jo exhales shakily.
More tears.

Link pulls her closer.
Holding her tighter.

LINK (CONT’D)
You’ll name them when you see them.
(a beat)
I want you to have this.
(a beat)
They can wait a little longer.

She stiffens, then breaks again.
Link closes his eyes briefly.

Silence.
Just the machines humming.

Then Link hesitates.

LINK (CONT'D)
I… brought something.

Jo barely looks up.

LINK (CONT’D)
Pictures.

A beat.

He studies her face.
Unsure.

LINK (CONT’D)
Do you want to see them?

Her answer is immediate.
Too fast.
Too desperate.

JO
(whisper)
Yes.

Link doesn’t move.
His thumb rests on the phone screen.
He hesitates.
He knows what this will do.

LINK
They’re really tiny.
(a beat)
There are tubes. Wires.

He watches her carefully.

LINK (CONT’D)
I don’t want this to scare you.

Jo looks at him.
Tears still running.

JO
(hoarse)
I work at a hospital. I know.
(a beat)
I want to see them.

That settles it.
Link unlocks the phone.
Slowly.
Turns the screen toward her.

LINK
Okay.

Jo looks.
And freezes.

Two tiny bodies.
Almost swallowed by the incubators.
Wires.
Sensors.
A ventilator tube.

Her breath catches hard in her throat.

Her hand lifts slowly.
Trembling.
She touches the screen like she could reach through it.

JO
(barely getting the words out)
They look so…

Her voice disappears.
The tears come harder now.
Her shoulders shaking.
Her breathing stutters.

The monitor beside the bed ticks upward.
Her body folds forward slightly.
Unable to look away.

Link tightens his hold around her immediately.

LINK
Hey.
He gently tilts the phone away so she can look at him.
Grounding her.

LINK (CONT’D)
I know it looks like a lot.

Jo is still crying.
He keeps his voice steady.
He brushes a tear from her cheek.

LINK (CONT’D)
They’re on the right track.
(a beat)
They’re fighters.

Jo looks back at the photo.
Her fingers press lightly against the screen.
Like she’s trying to reach them.

Finally—

JO
(hoarse, barely there)
I should be there.

Link presses his forehead into her hair.

LINK
You will be.
(a beat)
Soon.
(another beat)
Until then, I’ll be there for both of us.

Jo keeps looking at the screen.
Like if she looks away they might disappear.

Link holds her.
Both arms wrapped around her.

Pain pulses through his shoulder.
He ignores it.

Distance would cost more.
He stays.
Holding her.

FADE OUT.