Outside the room, Mike Johnson stood like a statue, watching through the glass helplessly. Inside, Dante sat motionless in the chair beside the bed, jaw locked, hand clenched tight around the rail.
Shannon’s sharp inhale broke off into a hoarse whimper. It wasn’t a cry. It was a horrific, raw, broken breath. Her eyes were open, glazed with terror and tears.
“Dante,” she rasped, barely audible. “Hurts…” She twisted again. Her body jerked, then sagged.
Lucas glanced at Hunt. “Her heart rate’s spiking. We’re going to lose her window.”
“Get the tube ready,” Hunt said. “She’ll have to be sedated and intubated again before this gets worse. Set up a propofol drip.” He opened the crash cart, pulled out a syringe and began to draw up Ketamine.
Dante slowly stood. And without asking, without waiting, he pulled off his boots, lowered the rail, and gently eased himself into the bed beside her.
“Don’t yank her lines,” Hunt said instinctively.
“I won’t.” Dante slid behind her less injured right side, settled carefully, slowly, and wrapped one arm under her shoulders, the other around her waist high enough to avoid the dressings and her still dislocated hip. His hand splayed over her rib cage, under the monitor leads. He moved like she was shattered glass. And she was.
Shannon gasped once, shallow and ragged, then something gave. She collapsed back against his chest, body trembling.
He held her tightly. “It’s okay,” he whispered, lips near her temple. “I’ve got you. Trust me. Just let go.” Dante rocked her in a slow, steady rhythm. “Breathe with me.”
Her breathing began to match his. Her breaths were still sharp and broken but slowing.
Hunt glanced at the monitor. “BP’s stabilizing. Oxygen climbing. Pulse down seven.”
Lucas muttered, “You’re kidding.”
“This is the power of human touch.” Hunt exhaled and looked at Dante. “Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.”
Dante just kept rocking her, like she was all that mattered.
The tension in Shannon’s body eased. The meds were finally able to reach her now. The painkillers that had been ricocheting off a body too tightly wound to accept them began to let them in.
Dante’s arms stayed wrapped around her, his hand anchored just beneath her sternum, feeling the tiny lifts of each breath. She exhaled into his shoulder. A tiny sound escaped her lips, not a word. Not even a cry. She was asleep within minutes.
Dante didn’t shift. Didn’t yawn. Didn’t reach for his phone or speak to the nurses tiptoeing around the bed. He just stayed.
ICU OBSERVATION CORRIDOR
Mike and Ford watched the same scene. Dante was curled around Shannon in the hospital bed, unmoving. One guard dog. One broken soldier.
Mike’s jaw twitched once. “I thought it was a fling.”
Ford didn’t answer.
“I thought it was the kind of mistake people make before they get their heads on straight.”
Ford stepped beside him, arms folded.
Mike’s voice dropped lower. “But he didn’t run.”
“No,” Ford said. “He didn’t.”
“He was in that bird,” Mike murmured. “In spirit. That’s what he looks like now, like he flew it down with her.”
Ford glanced sideways. “Would it have made a difference if you'd known before?”
Mike didn’t answer. Because the truth was, yes. But that was before the wreckage. Before this. And now there was no room left for denial. Only what came next.
FORT NOVOSEL – INTERNAL SECURITY HOLDING – 0310 HOURS
