INT. ICU ROOM – LATE MORNING – CONTINUOUS

A few minutes later. 

A soft knock.

Link is still sitting beside the bed, one hand loosely wrapped around Jo’s.
 
His thumb moves slowly against her skin.

They’ve been talking. Low, unfinished.

LINK
Come in.

The door opens.

Ndugu steps in, tablet in hand. Ben follows just behind him.

Jo straightens slightly. Instinctive.

Link shifts closer without thinking, his shoulder brushing hers.

His hand doesn’t leave hers.

LINK (CONT’D)
Hey.

NDUGU
Morning.

JO
Morning.

A beat.

LINK
Tell us you've got good news.

Jo watches Ndugu, searching his face before he speaks.

A small, reassuring smile.

NDUGU
I just reviewed your labs, vitals…
and this morning’s echo.

Link’s fingers tighten gently around Jo’s.

A beat.

NDUGU (CONT’D)
There’s real improvement.

Jo blinks. Processing.
Link exhales softly, the tension leaving him.

His head drops for a second in quiet relief before he looks back at Jo.

BEN
Your numbers are improving.
Heart rate, blood pressure, EF...
All better than yesterday.

Jo’s eyes fill.

She presses her lips together, trying to hold it.

Fails.

A tear slips down.

Link lifts her hand slightly and presses a soft kiss to the back of it.
Doesn’t let go.

NDUGU
We’re not out of the woods yet.
 
Jo nods. She knows.

NDUGU (CONT’D)
But this is what we were hoping to see.

Another tear.
Jo breathes in.
Careful.

JO
Okay…

Her voice is small. Almost inaudible.
Relief and disbelief tangled together.

Link slides an arm behind her back, steadying her as she shifts upright.
Careful. Protective.

LINK
Easy.

His hand stays at her shoulder.
Grounding.

NDUGU
With this trend holding, we can start getting you up.

Jo looks at him. 
A flicker.

NDUGU (CONT’D)
Short trips. With help.
(a beat)
I’ll have a nurse bring a wheelchair.

Jo doesn’t react yet.
She waits.
Needs to hear it.
Ndugu sees it.
A shift in his tone — softer now.

NDUGU (CONT’D)
(soft, gentle)
I think you’re ready to see them.
 
Everything stops.
Jo’s breath catches.

Her face folds quietly.
Tears spill before she can stop them.
Link turns toward her immediately, hand tightening around hers.

His other hand stays firm at her back.

NDUGU (CONT’D)
I want to be clear about something, though.

Jo nods, still crying, but listening.
Link stays close, steady.

NDUGU (CONT’D)
You’re improving. That’s the good news.
(a beat)
But your body’s still recovering from a major trauma.
So no overexertion.

Link nods slightly, taking that in as much as Jo is.

NDUGU (CONT’D)
If you feel dizzy, short of breath, or overly tired, you stop.

BEN
No pushing through.

Link gives a small, knowing look at Jo. Soft. Familiar.

Jo lets out a breath that turns into a quiet cry. 
Different from before. 
Just… release.

Link shifts closer, drawing her gently into him, careful of the lines.

LINK
Hey... 

Soft. Anchoring.
 
JO
I know.

She wipes her cheeks, trying to breathe through it.
 
JO (CONT’D)
I just—

She exhales.
Voice unsteady.

JO (CONT’D)
I can’t believe this is happening.
 
Link nods.
Close.
Certain.

LINK
It is. 

A beat.

He doesn’t move away.

BEN
You’re doing the work.
Your body’s responding.

Jo nods again.
Breath uneven.
Tears still slipping out, but lighter now.

JO
These are good tears.
I swear.

A quiet warmth settles in the room.
Not celebration.
Something steadier.

NDUGU
I’ll send the nurse in shortly.

LINK
Thank you.
 
Jo nods again.

JO
Thank you.

Ndugu gives her one last look, measured, reassuring.
Then turns and exits.

Ben lingers a second.

BEN
You keep this up,
you’ll be bossing people around out there in no time.

Jo lets out a soft breath, almost a laugh.

JO
I can’t wait.

A beat.

BEN
Now go meet your babies.

That lands.
Gentle.
Ben smiles then follows Ndugu out.

The door closes softly. 
Silence.

Jo leans slightly into Link.
He adjusts instantly, arm secure around her shoulders.
His thumb moves slowly along her arm.
Steady. Repetitive. Grounding.

Jo exhales.
Long.
Shaky.

This is happening.
But it’s fragile.

She doesn’t speak.
Doesn’t need to.

Her breathing catches once, then settles.
Link presses a soft kiss to her hair.

They stay like that.
No rush.
No words.

Just the weight of the door finally opening.

FADE OUT.