I just held Ava's hand and waited for the ambulance.
She came back to me in pieces.
First her eyes—fluttering open, unfocused, struggling to find me through whatever fog the smoke had left behind. Then her hand, twitching in mine, fingers trying to grip.
Then her voice.
"Brian?"
"I'm here." I squeezed her hand, leaned closer so she could see my face. "I'm right here. You're okay. You're going to be okay."
The ambulance rocked as it tore through the streets, sirens wailing above us. Paramedics worked around me, checking her vitals, adjusting the oxygen flow, doing all the things I would have done if my hands weren't shaking too badly to be useful.
Ava's eyes found mine.
"I'm sorry." Her voice was wrecked—raw and broken, barely a whisper through the oxygen mask. "I didn't—I thought?—"
"Don't." I brought her hand to my lips, kissed her knuckles. "Don't apologize. Don't explain. Just rest."
"Kevin—"
"The police have him." Shane had told me, somewhere in the chaos outside the restaurant. Kevin Lang had been found in the back alley, trying to flee the scene. He was in custody now. It was over.
"He was going to—" She coughed, a terrible sound that made my chest ache. "The gas. Sevoflurane. He used?—"
"I know. The medics told me." They'd found bottles of it in Kevin’s bag when he was arrested. It explained why she'd been unconscious when I found her. A sedative gas, the kind used in operating rooms. Kevin had knocked her out before setting the fire.
He'd tried to make sure she never woke up.
I was going to kill him. Slowly. Painfully. With my bare hands.
Later. Not now.
Right now, there was only her.
"Stay quiet," I told her. "Save your strength. We're almost at the hospital."
"Brian." Her grip tightened on my hand. Weak, but insistent. "I love you. I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry I?—"
"I love you too." I leaned down, pressed my forehead to hers. "I never stopped. I never will."
Her eyes fluttered closed. Not unconscious—just exhausted. The tension drained from her face, and for the first time since I'd found her, she looked almost peaceful.
I held her hand and didn't let go.
The ER was a practiced storm.
They wheeled Ava through the ambulance bay doors and into a trauma room, nurses and doctors converging like they'd been waiting for her. Which, knowing this hospital, they probably had. Word traveled fast when one of their own was hurt.
Dr. Park appeared out of nowhere, already gloving up, his face set in that focused expression I'd seen on Ava a hundred times. The attending-in-crisis face. The one that meant everything else stopped mattering until the patient was stable.
"Torres." He acknowledged me with a nod as he moved past. "We've got her."
"I'm not leaving."
"I know." Something flickered in his eyes—understanding, maybe. Or respect. "But I need you to give us room to work. Wait outside. I'll come find you as soon as we know something."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to plant myself at her bedside and refuse to move until I knew she was okay. But I'd worked enough scenes, seen enough trauma cases, to know that sometimes the best thing you could do for someone you loved was get out of the way.
