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Chapter Text

Charlie’s phone rang just as he was pouring himself another cup of whiskey.
-Unknown number. Military code prefix.-

He stared at it for a long time..
“Skinner.”

“We have a possible location—repeat, possible location on american hostages. Satellite ping matched movement in suspected coordinates. Small structure. We’re moving in. Will update the situation.”
Charlie didn’t wait. He hung up and was already moving, muttering “Jesus Christ,” as he tossed the whiskey and made a beeline through the hallway, jacket flapping behind him.
The newsroom never slept, but tonight, it was holding its breath.

“Mac! TEAM!” he barked as he reached the control room. “Come with me—now.”

She saw his face and didn’t ask questions. Just followed. They practically jogged to the meeting room at the far end of the floor, where the late-night crew huddled around screens and open laptops.

The broadcast carried on in Studio 3—some anchor reading copy, lights too bright, voices too polished—but behind the glass wall of the meeting room, everything else had stopped.
Jim Harper was already there, half-sitting on the table, phone in hand, face pale. His expression twisted when he saw Mac—somewhere between worry and something unspoken.

Charlie shut the door behind them and turned to the room. “They might have found them.”
The room went still.

His phone started ringing, so he put it on speaker. The static crackled. A voice came through, clipped and focused.

“Alpha team en route. A few minutes to breach. Keep this line open.”

Mac leaned forward, heart hammering, eyes locked on the phone on the table like she could see through it to Will and Maggie. Charlie’s hand hovered above the table. Jim had moved to the corner of the room, away from everyone, hands in his pockets, eyes locked on the phone like it might bite him.

“Alpha team in position. Coordinates confirmed. Approaching target structure.”

Jim exhaled, quiet but sharp. “Where are they?”

Charlie glanced at him. “I don’t know.” He didn’t move. His eyes were fixed on the phone like he could make the transmission clearer.

“Alpha One in position. Visual confirmation on compound. No movement outside. Standing by to breach”

Mac sat down slowly, feeling her knees wobble. She caught Jim watching her and quickly looked away. Waiting game. Each breath stretched longer than the last. The whole room was listening for the voices that would change everything.

“Thermal shows ten heat signatures inside. Six moving. Four stationary. Possibly injured.”

Mac's stomach dropped. Her nails dug deeper.

“Breaching in three... two... one—go!”

There was a sharp boom—the echo of an explosion—and then shouts, footsteps, chaos flooding the line. Gunfire cracked through the speaker like lightning. Mac flinched. Charlie swore under his breath. It felt like it went for hours.

Then came a scream—short, high-pitched. Mac couldn’t tell who it was. She reached instinctively for Charlie’s arm, gripping it.

“Two targets eliminated, two hostages found, male and female—unconscious, cell locked from outside, both alive. Continuing the search.”

The first room had been cleared. Silent. But the second room...

“Second room. Four targets. Two hostages. No clear line of sight. Negotiation is impossible. Too much noise. They're on edge. We don't have time.”
BOOM.

“Room secure. Two down. Two alive. Hostages located, alive but injured. We need evac !”

“Hostages recovered. Repeat — hostages recovered. Alive. ID confirmed. Get a report to the embassy. Tell them: we found Noah Cambel, William McAvoy,Jamil Ari and Margareth Jordan.”

Charlie squeezed his eyes shut in quiet relief and whispered, “Jesus…”. Mac didn’t move, but she let out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding with trembling fingers gripping the back of a chair.

Charlie looked at them finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “We got them.”

Mac couldn’t answer. The tears came before words could.

“We got them,” Charlie repeated, stronger this time. His voice cracked. “They’re coming home.”

The meeting room was wierdly quiet again. The rest of the newsroom carried on, unaware.

And just like that, the waiting changed. No longer a question of if. Now the only question was how broken would they be when they returned?

--------------------------------------
Quiet Corridor (Shortly After)

Charlie and Mac walked together in silence down the newsroom hallway, both a little shell-shocked. The air was too thin. Everything around them suddenly felt too normal.

“I called Langley,” Charlie said quietly. “Helicopter’s already en route. They’ll bring them to Nairobi. Medical base is prepped.”

Mac nodded. “Are they letting us in?”

“Officially, no.” A beat. “Unofficially… I might know a guy who owes me a favor.”

She finally looked at him. “I want to be there when they land.”

“I figured,” he said. Then added, “So do I.” There wasn’t much else to say.
Because what could they say? That things would be fine? That everything would go back to normal?

Mac whispered, “What if they didn't make it?”
Charlie stopped walking. Turned to her.

“He made it this far. So has she. That means something.”
They stood there, two exhausted hearts waiting for a helicopter that might carry home the people they loved most in the world—alive, but not the same.

Chapter Text

HOSPITAL WAITING ROOM

The waiting room was full of uneasy silence, broken only by the occasional shuffle of someone changing positions or the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. The team—Don, Sloan, Neal, and a few other familiar faces from the newsroom—were scattered across the uncomfortable chairs, eyes fixed on their phones or the floor, all waiting for word.

Charlie paced the floor slowly, rubbing his chin, while Mac sat near the window, staring blankly outside. Every so often, someone would glance toward the double doors, willing them to open, willing good news to walk through.

They had been waiting for hours since the helicopter had landed and taken them to the hospital. All 4 of them. No one had said anything since.

“Okay,” Don said finally, breaking the silence. “What exactly did you two see?”

Charlie stopped pacing. Mac didn’t move from her seat.

Neal leaned forward. “Were they talking? Were they conscious?”

Charlie sighed. “Maggie was out cold. Will woke up briefly when they loaded him into the ambulance and then passed out again. They were pretty beaten up.”

Don shook his head. “Jesus.”

Before anyone could speak again, the waiting room doors opened and in walked Leona Lansing, impeccably dressed despite the hour, with her son Reese trailing behind her.

The tension shifted. Heads turned.

“Leona?” Charlie said, surprised.

She gave him a tight nod. “We were briefed. Reese and I came as soon as we heard.”

Reese offered a quick wave. “Hey, everyone.”

Leona stepped closer. “We’re not here to get in the way. Just wanted to say—if any of you need anything, anything at all, we’re available. Whatever it costs, whatever it takes, we’ll cover it. You’re family.”

The team nodded, murmured quiet thanks. Sloan looked especially grateful.

Leona’s voice softened. “And when Will and Miss Jordan wake up, if there’s anything they need… you tell me.”

Charlie nodded. “Thank you, Leona.”

Finally, the doors opened.

Lisa Adams entered first, still in her scrubs, hair tied back in a tight braid. She looked tired, but composed. Beside her walked another doctor in a white coat, holding a tablet and scanning names. Lisa made a beeline for the waiting group.

“Miss Jordan’s family?” the other doctor asked.

A woman and a man—Maggie’s parents—stood up immediately, their faces pale.

“This way, please,” the doctor said, offering a small, reassuring nod.

They followed him out silently.

Lisa remained behind. Everyone else stood slowly, instinctively, like soldiers awaiting orders. Charlie stepped forward, followed closely by Mac.

Lisa addressed the group calmly but firmly. “I know you’re all waiting for updates, so let me first say—they’re both alive. Miss Jordan is stable, but in critical condition. She’s very weak, but she’s holding on.”

Everyone let out a small breath of relief.

“What about Will?” Charlie asked.

Lisa looked at him directly. “Will is still in and out of consciousness. He’s being monitored closely.”

Mac stepped in. “Can we see him?”

Lisa’s eyes moved from Mac to Charlie, and then over to the rest of the team. She hesitated for a beat.

“I should clarify something,” Lisa said. “I’m Dr. Lisa Adams. I’m Will’s younger sister. I was the one who brought him back with the team that recovered them.”

There was a long pause. Eyes widened. Even Charlie looked momentarily stunned.

“Sister?” Sloan asked, incredulous.

Lisa nodded. “Yes. We keep it private. But I am Will’s medical proxy. I’m the one responsible for his care decisions until he’s lucid enough to speak for himself.”

Don rubbed his temples. “So what does that mean, exactly?”

“It means,” Lisa said carefully, “that I’m limiting visitors for now. He’s confused, disoriented, and in significant pain. Any emotional stress could set him back further. Right now, only MacKenzie and Charlie will be allowed to see him, and only for a few minutes.”

Mac blinked, surprised. “Can I help with anything?”

Lisa gave her a small, knowing smile. “He asked for you. Even when he wasn’t fully awake, he kept calling your name. I think he finds comfort in you.”

Charlie nodded. “Thank you. We’ll be quick.”

Lisa glanced around the room, aware of the rest of the team’s concern. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear. But Will needs rest. They went through something most people can’t even imagine. When they are ready, they’ll see you.”

“Follow me” said Lisa and Mac and Charlie followed her toward the secured wing, their steps quiet, respectful. The rest of the team sank back into their chairs, now with a little more weight on their shoulders, a little more hope—but just as many unanswered questions.

“Who knew he had a sister?” asked Reese.

Before anyone could answer, the waiting room doors opened again. A woman strode in—elegant, composed, her coat damp from the rain. Her eyes were sharp and searching.

“Hi, I’m here for WIlliam McAvoy, where is he?” she announced to the room.

“And you are?” asked Don.

“I’m his sister.”

Everyone turned. Neal blinked. “You’re… Will’s another sister?”

“Yes,” she snapped. “His older sister. Where is he?”

Sloan stood slowly. “He’s in the ICU. Only a few people are allowed in right now.”

Nancy’s jaw clenched. “I’m going to see him.”

And without waiting for permission, she turned and marched down the hallway. A nurse at the far end barely had time to react before Nancy disappeared through the secure doors.

Silence fell again.

“Will has two sisters?” Neal asked, looking around.

Sloan shrugged. “Apparently.”

Don exhaled slowly. “I feel like we’ve known this guy for years and still don’t know anything.”

Sloan shook her head slowly. “I thought he was an only child.”

Neal rubbed his temples. “He doesn’t let people in. Never has.”

Sloan’s voice was quiet. “But they’re here now. That says something.”

They all fell silent once more, the air heavy with waiting, and the knowledge that the people they cared about were just down the hall, fighting their way back. In time, they’d learn the details. In time, Will and Maggie would speak. But for now, they waited.

And hoped that Maggie will be alright. Will too.

ICU Room

The hallway was too white. Too clean. It mocked the blood Mac had seen caked into Will’s hair, the dirt under Maggie’s nails. The sterile lights buzzed faintly above, casting shadows beneath Charlie’s eyes that made him look older, wearier. The corridor was bathed in muted blue light, the kind that flattened every emotion and made time feel slower. Machines beeped softly through thin walls. Somewhere in the distance, someone cried. Somewhere else, someone flatlined.

Mac moved down the hall like a ghost.

Room 12. She pushed the door open slowly. The air inside was sterile, cold, humming with machines that were doing the work Will couldn’t.

He lay motionless, blanketed up to his chest. His face was swollen, lips split, jaw bruised purple. An oxygen mask covered his mouth and nose. Left arm was in a hard cast, the other hand limp and pale beside him. His left leg was in a cast too.

Beneath the blanket, his torso was bandaged heavily — the result of multiple broken ribs. And just beneath that, thick dressings over his upper thighs, where the doctors said the deep lacerations from repeated cuts nearly severed muscle. Bruises climbed his body like shadows from a war he never asked to fight.

Mac sat next to him, hunched forward, her elbows on her knees. She hadn't spoken in ten minutes. Maybe more. Time had become abstract, heavy, dripping like IV fluid—measured in heartbeats and held breath.

Charlie rubbed the bridge of his nose. “We should’ve pulled them out sooner.”

Mac didn’t look at him. Her voice came out rough. “We didn’t know where they were.”

“But we knew they were somewhere.”

She exhaled sharply, like the breath hurt her ribs. “That’s not the same, Charlie.”

Silence again.

Will’s head turned fractionally, sluggishly. His eyes landed on her—then past her. Confused. Like he was trying to place her and couldn’t quite drag the image forward.

“You’re safe,” she said quickly, gently. “You’re in the hospital.”

He blinked, then winced. “Hurts.”

“I know.” She stepped closer. “I know, Billy. But you’re safe now. You’re home. It’s going to be fine.”

Will mumbled.

Mac leaned forward. “Will?”

His head turned slightly, eyes fluttering open. Red-rimmed, unfocused.

“Not—don’t touch—don’t—?”

“I’m here,” she said softly. “You’re safe.”

He blinked. “Where…??”

Charlie stepped forward. “Will, it’s Charlie. You’re in the hospital. You’re home.”

Will’s breath caught. His back arched slightly, a gasp leaving his throat. “No… no, they’re coming—don’t let them—don’t let them take her again—”

Mac gripped his hand gently. “It’s just me. Breathe with me, okay?”

His fingers twitched in hers. “Mac… Mac, don’t let them—”

The door burst open.

Nancy stormed in like a thunderclap. Tall, sharp-eyed, with a presence that swallowed the room. “What the hell is going on here?”

Charlie straightened. “Who are you?!”

She ignored him. Her eyes locked on Mac. “Who do you think you are, and why are you touching him?”

Mac stood slowly, releasing Will’s hand. “I’m Mackenzie McHale—”

“I know who you are,” Nancy snapped. “I asked what you’re doing here.”

Will stirred again, voice slurring. “Mac…?”

Nancy’s expression darkened. “You have done enough damage already. This is exactly why I didn’t want you near him.”

Charlie stepped in. “Miss, back off—”

“No,” Nancy said. “He’s my brother. It’s all your fault, he’s barely breathing, covered in blood, and you let her sit here playing Florence Nightingale?”The look she gave Lisa could cut through walls.

Will tried to rise—his body trembling, breath catching as he forced himself upward. Mac rushed to his side, holding him before he could move further.

“Shh. I’m here, Will. I’m right here.”

He sagged against her, shaking.

Nancy moved forward. “Don’t touch him. You don’t get to touch him anymore”

The door swung open again. This time, a calmer presence: Lisa Adams.

Will’s youngest sister, her lab coat still on, stethoscope around her neck, hair tied back neatly. She took one look at the room and raised her hand.

“Everyone stop talking. He’s had enough already.”

Silence. Even Will stilled.

Lisa crossed to the bed, checked Will’s vitals quickly and expertly, then looked at Mac.

“Look, who came?” Lisa greeted Nancy.

“He’s been saying your name, since we got him out of that place for two days straight now.” She nodded to Mac.

Nancy folded her arms. “Lisa, he’s confused. Feverish. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

Lisa didn’t look at her. “He’s traumatized. There’s a difference.”

Will’s eyes flickered open again. “Lisa…?”

She smiled and leaned in. “Yeah, it’s me. You’re home. You made it.”

His eyes teared up. “...it..Fuckin..Hurts.”

“I know, just don’t move much. Rest. We’re here.”

He clutched Mac’s hand tighter.

Nancy took a step forward. “He needs quiet. He needs us-family, not—”

Lisa turned on her, eyes flaring. “He needs what calms him down, Nancy. And it’s not you yelling at his bedside.”

Nancy flushed. “I’m trying to protect him. She’s done enough already.”

Lisa exhaled. “You’re trying to control this. That’s the big difference.”

Charlie stepped in, voice even. “She’s right. Will’s been through something none of us can imagine, but he asks for her.”

Nancy looked at Mac, hate softening into confusion. “Why would you even care?”

Mac swallowed hard. “Because I love him. Because he’s not just a colleague or your brother. He’s my friend, too.”

Will made a sound- something between sob and groan reaching with his good hand to his tights.

Lisa quickly held up his hand and checked his bandages, pulling back the sheets. One of the thigh wounds was worse—dark red soaking through. She grabbed a kit from the side table.

“Let me look at the stitches. You shouldn’t try to move.”

Nancy stepped back, pale.

Lisa worked quickly. “Mac, keep him talking.”

Mac leaned in. “Hey, Will. You remember that day in the control room? When the electricity turned off?”

Will smiled weakly. “You lost it. Said it was God’s trying to avoid the broadcast.’”

“.... right.”

He shuddered. “I held your hand.”

“Yeah, you did.”

Lisa finished with the bandage, tight and firm. “Okay. Bleeding slowed. He needs fluids. There is infection, fever. Multiple broken ribs and severely broken hand adn we need to look at the leg. We’re riding this out with sedatives until his system stabilizes. Then we schedule an operation for the hand, probably ribs too. It’s all too broken to heal correctly by inself.

Charlie looked over. “Is that safe?”

Lisa nodded grimly. “It has to be. Any more and we risk shutting down his kidneys.”

Will drifted again, eyes half-closed.

“I saw her,” he whispered. “They made us watch. ”

Mac stiffened.

Lisa spoke gently. “He has flashbacks…” and touched his forehead. “He’s slipping. Try talking to him.”

Will turned toward Mac again. “Don’t let them take me. Don’t let them make you watch again.”

Nancy’s breath hitched. It hurt to see him like this.

Mac’s voice trembled. “Will, it’s over. You’re with me now. It’s me. Mac. There’s no knife. No dark room. Just us. Just this bed.”

He sobbed once. “... feel it. Every cut. ….”

“You’re safe,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Charlie turned away, blinking fast.

Lisa glanced at Nancy and whispered. “You wanted to help him? Then don’t fight this.”

Nancy’s voice was hoarse. “I want what’s best for him.”

Lisa put a hand on her arm. “He’s not broken. But he’s bleeding in ways you can’t see. And she’s the only one who can reach him right now.”

Nancy watched the way Will curled into Mac, the tension in his body finally easing.

Lisa nodded toward the hallway. “Let’s give them a minute.”

Mac stroked Will’s hair, whispering things no one else could hear.

And Will slept, this time without fighting it.

Waiting Room | Later That Night

Charlie updated and urged the team to leave and that if anything happens, they would let them know. Mac returned to the waiting room in a fog. Charlie was pacing now.

“He had another one,” she said, collapsing into the chair.

Charlie froze. “A delusion?”

She nodded. “He thought he was still there.”

“Jesus…”

“Lisa said it’s the body remembering too fast. The trauma’s stuck, like a record skipping.”

Charlie sat beside her. “He’s strong.”

Mac nodded numbly. “They were never meant to be tortured, Charlie. None of this—none of it should’ve happened.”

A silence bloomed between them. But not an empty one.

Finally, Charlie asked, “When they wake up for real… what do we tell them?”

Mac stared ahead, her voice quiet. “That they came back. That they are home. That it’s not over—but they are not alone.”

Chapter Text

ICU ROOM 13 –

The room was dimly lit, filled with the slow beeping of machines and the soft hiss of oxygen. Maggie lay motionless in the hospital bed, her face pale against the starched white pillow. Bruises mottled her skin—on her temple, her collarbone, her forearms. There was a deep, angry cut across her left eyebrow that had been sutured, though the swelling made her eye almost completely shut. An oxygen cannula rested beneath her nose, her chest rising and falling in slow, labored rhythm.

Dr. Halliday, a somber-faced man in his early fifties, stood near the foot of the bed with a tablet in hand. Beside him stood Lisa McAvoy, dressed now in scrubs, clipboard tucked under one arm. Her gaze was steady but tired.

Maggie’s parents—Robert and Ellen Jordan—stood side by side at her bedside. Ellen had her hands clasped tightly together, lips trembling, eyes fixed on her daughter’s unmoving face. Robert’s jaw was locked, one hand gripping the metal railing of the bed as if to steady himself.

“She’s stable for now,” Dr. Halliday began gently. “But she’s still in critical condition. She has a high fever, and we’re monitoring for signs of infection. Several of the wounds had clearly been untreated for days, possibly longer.”

Ellen closed her eyes briefly. “She looks… she looks so small.”

Dr. Halliday took a step closer. “Your daughter’s incredibly strong. The body’s taken a lot of damage, but it’s the stress—the trauma—that concerns us most. She’s been through something prolonged, violent. That leaves marks we don’t always see on a scan.”

There was a beat of silence.

Dr. Halliday cleared his throat. “There’s something else you need to know. Something we discovered during her initial scan.”

Both parents looked up sharply.

“We didn’t expect it either. She didn’t mention it in her intake, obviously, but… Miss Jordan is pregnant.”

Ellen blinked. “I—I’m sorry?”

“She’s about 7 or 8 weeks along, based on the ultrasound,” Dr. Halliday confirmed.

Robert looked between them, stunned. “Are you sure?”

“There’s no doubt,” Dr. Halliday said gently. “We’ve done follow-up bloodwork. Everything confirms it. She likely didn’t even know, or hadn’t had a chance to tell anyone.”

Ellen’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God.”

Dr. Halliday stepped in, voice calm but firm. “The fetus appears viable. We’ve run tests, and while there’s concern given the conditions she endured—dehydration, possible physical trauma—we’re taking every precaution. OB specialists are monitoring her around the clock.”

Robert looked back at his daughter. “Does she know?”

“She’s not fully conscious,” Dr. Halliday said. “But we believe she may be semi-aware of her surroundings. It’s hard to know how much she’s registering.”

Dr. Halliday offered a small, sad smile. “We’ll tell her as soon as she’s awake enough to understand.”

Silence fell again, heavy with shock and emotion.

Ellen reached out to gently brush a strand of damp hair from Maggie’s forehead. “Does… does the father know?”

“We don’t know who the father is,” Dr. Halliday said carefully. “We’re respecting her privacy on that for now. We just wanted you to be aware.”

Robert looked at Dr. Halliday,. “And her coleague…?”

“Mr. McAvoy?.”

Recognition flickered in Ellen’s expression. “He works with her. Maggie talks about him.”

“Yes,” Dr. Halliday said, her tone warming. “He’s too injured, but stable. They both fought hard to survive. He's in the ICU next door to the right.”

Robert stared at the monitor beside the bed, the gentle blip of Maggie’s heartbeat next to the baby's heartbeat . “And now she has more to fight for.”

Ellen nodded quietly.

Outside the glass window, the corridor bustled with distant movement—doctors walking past, nurses checking vitals, a world still turning. But inside the room, time seemed suspended—hanging on hope, breath, and the soft beeping of a machine counting out life.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two hours. That’s how long they'd been sitting in the quiet, too-comfortable waiting room — a private one, courtesy of Leona’s influence — and yet, time felt meaningless. The silence was loud, the air heavy with worry. The tension was palpable, a pressure so thick it could choke.

Mac closed her eyes.

(Flashback: Nineteen Days Ago - Will’s Office)

The newsroom was suffocating in its silence. No one had said anything since the news broke — that Maggie had been detained, alone, in a makeshift detention unit overseas after the bombing. That she was accused of negligence. That the child she’d held in her arms, the one who bled out while they all ran for their safety, was dead — and someone wanted to blame her.

Mac’s voice cut through the silence like shattered glass. “That’s simply not fair”

She paced like a caged animal in Will’s office, fury radiating from every step. Her fingers were clenched, her eyes bloodshot. Charlie sat nearby, hunched and motionless, and Leona Lansing looked like she’d been carved out of marble — cold, imperious, and tired. Reese leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, lips pursed. Rebecca Halliday was seated on the edge of the couch, tablet in hand, though her eyes hadn’t moved from Will in the last ten minutes.

“She needs a lawyer, I agree” Rebecca said again, quieter this time. “They’re saying she’s mentally unfit to travel. That she’s under suspicion. A kid died in her arms, and they’re treating her like a criminal.

We can’t get involved officially, Not without evidence. Not without clearance. The company could be held liable for interfering in an international investigation.”

“It’s not interference,” Mac snapped. “It’s basic human decency.”

Reese shifted. “It’s a war zone. There are riots in three cities. American citizens are being kidnapped, all foreign embassies are in danger. The minute ACN sends someone out there, we open ourselves up to a world of—”

“She’s OUR journalist,” Mac bit back. “WE sent her.”

Will had been quiet until now, sitting with his hands steepled, eyes fixed on some distant point in space. Internally he made the decision. Only time would tell if it was the correct one. He said softly: “I’m going.”

The entire room froze.

“You’re what?” Leona said flatly.

“I’m going to get her.”

“Absolutely not,” Reese barked. “You’re the anchor of our flagship news program. Can you imagine the news?! You show up in a volatile region and it turns into a circus.”

“I’ll go quietly. No press. No coverage.”

Leona was quick with a response: “You’re not going as a reporter? Then what, exactly?”

“As a lawyer. As a friend. Pick one.” Will said, standing slowly. “I was sworn into the bar before most of you learned to spell ethics.”

“That’s not funny,” Rebecca muttered.

“No, it isn’t.” Will began gathering the papers from his desk. “She’s stranded. Alone. Accused of letting a child die in her arms. And no one — not the government, not ACN, not the State Department — is doing a goddamn thing to help.”

“Because there’s a process, You can’t just go. You’re not family. You’re not her attorney of record.” Leona countered.

“Then I’ll become it. While we wait for that process, she rots.” Will grabbed his coat. “I’m not letting that happen.”

Charlie intervenes: “ It’s not just protests over there, Will. There’s active conflict. You don’t just hop on a plane and fix this.”

Mac was not getting any of it: “And what happens if you get arrested too? Or worse?”

“Then at least she’s not alone” he’s not going to buckle under pressure.

Reese sneered: “That’s noble. And stupid. Do you want ACN tied to a hostage situation next?”

“That’s still not funny,” Rebecca was getting frustrated.

“And I’m still not joking. They’re keeping her in a psych ward without counsel. We all know what this is. She’s being blamed.”

“You were a defense attorney years ago. You haven’t practiced in a long time. You know nothing about international law, diplomatic protections, or the current military lockdown in that region.”

“I know injustice when I see one.”

“You’re emotional,” she pressed. “You’re not thinking clearly. You’ll get yourself hurt, or arrested for obstruction. And then what? You think ACN can cover two scandals at once?”

“Then don’t cover it. I’m not going as your anchor. I’m going as a man who can’t sit still while someone is getting prosecuted wrong.”

“You don’t get to play hero!” Rebecca snapped. “You have obligations. To your staff, to this network. This is personal and reckless and exactly the kind of stunt that puts everyone in jeopardy.”

“She’s alone,” Will said, quieter now. “And I can’t live with myself if I do nothing.”

“You go there, and it’s a PR nightmare,” Reese warned. “People will find out. You’ll burn your reputation.”

“Then light the match,” Will said quietly.

Rebecca stood, trying one last time. “Will, someone will leak this, and it’ll be all over the news. That ends it. Be reasonable—”

“I am being reasonable. She’s dying out there. If it were me—” he stopped, breath catching. “If it were me, someone would be on the plane already. ACN has nothing to do with this. I’ll take personal leave”

Leona scoffed: “You think the world won’t notice you vanished mid-week? Will McAvoy disappear and the press just shrugs? You go over there and it becomes a headline.”

“Let them. I’ll say I’m sick.”

“You’re going to fake the flu?” Rebecca laughed.

“Well it wouldn’t be the first time” he shrugged.

Mac took a step forward, her voice trembling. “Will, please. You can’t just—”

“I have to.” His eyes met hers — and something raw passed between them. “I can’t keep doing this. Sitting and waiting. You know I have to.”

There was a long silence.

“You’re not going as William McAvoy, the anchor of the ACN,” Charlie said finally. “You’re going as Will McAvoy, the damn fool who always thinks he can fix everything.”

Will gave a small smile. “And sometimes, I can.”

Kendra knocked, opening the door just a crack. “Mac, someone’s here waiting for you.”

Mac didn’t move. She knew that if he made up his mind, there was no chance of changing it. So be it. “You know what, you are an adult, you can make decisions for yourself, and If you want to do it, then so be it. But don’t come crying to me if you get your ass busted. Whatever it takes, bring her home.” and then she just leaves. Dared him to go.

Charlie immediately looked at Will knowing well what he was about going to do. “You’re insane.”

Will was actually surprised by Mac’s outburst. He wasn’t expecting that. But she had a new life, she had Wade, so he wasn’t important anymore “Probably.”

“You’ll need a visa, two fake hotel bookings, and three lies ready by the time you land.”They shared a look, no more needed to be said, both men understood.

“Nothing said here will ever leave this room. Will, you are on your own in this one” Leonna came closer to him.

“I understand, I know what’s at stake.”

Leone, Reese and Rebecca left Will’s office. Charlie was the only one left with Will. “I heard a quote once: ‘Any idiot can be brave, but courage is knowing what’s at stake and moving forward anyway.

“I’ll bring her home.”

And then he was gone.

---

Mac packed her bags for the night, while Wade was still waiting in the lobby. As she was leaving, she saw Will leaving his office in a hurry. Tears overpowered her eyes, so she wiped her face quickly. Oh god she loves him so much and was so scared for him. For Maggie. God please let them be okay. She took a breath, straightened her spine, and walked toward the Wade waiting for her.

---

WILL’S apartment

The phone buzzed while he was packing, he quickly looked at it secretly hoping it would be Mac.
From:Charlie Skinner
Subject: “Flu Recovery Kit”
Attachment: e-Ticket, NYC > Entebbe, Uganda
He smiled faintly.

Chapter Text

A day has passed. It was past midnight when Lisa decided that she really needed something to eat. It’s been hours and she could really use a walk to stretch her legs. Couch in Will’s hospital room was comfortable, but she was used for a lot less. Apparently expensive stuff is not for her.

He slept, looking peaceful while his body and antibiotics fought the infection. But he looked far older than he really was. Cuts and bruises could be seen all over his body. But the amount of weight lifted off Lisa's shoulders was unimaginable. They found them, found him. He was finally home.

They weren’t in particularly close contact for a few years. But they cared for each other… a few phone calls a year. She was hard to reach, that’s for sure. Lisa worked with Doctors without borders all around the world. Seeing her brother succeed in TV she felt it’s probably best to change her last name, so no one could potentially think they are family.

John Jr.- younger brother - Lisa wasn’t so sure about John Jr. He was never fond of Will. John Jr. got a lot from their father, which was never a good thing. She left him a message, since he didn’t pick up his phone for a while but she didn't expect him to come. Nancy was on the terrace calling with her kids and husband on the phone.

She kissed Will’s forehead and decided it’s time for some food and coffee. Change of clothes would be much appreciated but somehow along the way she was left only with her backpack full of militia clothes.

Once she opened the door to the hall she found Mac and Charlie sitting on chairs opposite doors to Will's room. Both of them looked tired but startled. Were they still here?- she thought.

Lisa quickly apologized “Oh sorry.”

“How is he?” Both of them asked at the same time.

“Sleeping” she smiled, “So far so good.”

“Can we see him?” Mac asked. She felt an unimaginably strong urge to be with him. They were sitting on those chairs for a few hours, too many to count actually. She knew he was finally safe, but she wanted to be with him, to reassure herself it is still true that they have found them.

They were his close friends, practically his family here in New York. “Sure, go ahead.” Looking around she asked: “Do you know where the cafeteria is ?”

“I’ll walk with you,” suggested Charlie. “You go on,” he motioned Mac toward Will’s door, “we will be right back.
—----

Charlie knew Will had sisters, but wasn’t specific where they worked or where they lived. So he took that opportunity to learn more about Will’s family. “How…How did you find them?

“I can’t tell you much, you know. Classified.”

“I was a marine for quite a few years. You can trust me” assured Charlie.

“Then you can find out by yourself, not from me. From the medical point of view we were called to assist in a rescue operation and that’s all I can say. I’m sorry.”

The cafeteria was not that far, so they didn’t pass that many people in the corridors. Dim light and creepy silence gave a lonely feeling. Sure many people in their rooms felt the same.

“No, It’s fine, I understand.”

She wanted to tell everybody. How bad it was. How hard it was. How scared she was when she found out it was Will. How she dreaded looking at the dead bodies before she found him. But she felt that some stories should not be said out loud, so they won’t hurt other people. So she decided to change the subject. “I hope there will be a really good coffee or else I’m going to die.” she laughed. Her usual self defense mechanism.

“I think right now everything is better than nothing” said Charlie, already opening doors to the cafeteria. Both ordered the strongest coffee and Charlie took one for Mac too. Looking around for some food they ordered a few sandwiches too and were on their way back to Will’s room.

“I know Will has three siblings. Does the brother know what happened?”

Lisa was a bit taken back by this information, she didn't know just how much does this Charlie knows of their lives. “I guess so, I let them both know. John Jr. is the one where you never know. So… I don’t know. But I hope so.”

“Will will need as much support as he can and me and Mac are right here to help. I’m really sorry this happened.” At that sentence Lisa stopped walking and looked right into Charlie's eyes.

She wanted to know why her brother, a famous news anchor, ended up in Africa, beaten and injured. That was not a place for him to be in. “Now I’m asking you, what happened?”

Charlie motioned her towards a quieter hall where no one seemed to ever walk. “One of our reporters was doing a report about kids in one of the cities in Africa. But one night they were ambushed by some people and while trying to save the kids they put them into a bus and drove it far away. But they were also shot at and Maggie was holding a kid that they shot. He died in her arms. Somehow the government didn’t want to free her without a trial but they didn’t give her a good lawyer and it wasn’t looking good so Will stepped in. All of us disagreed with it but you know Will. Once he puts his mind somewhere, it’s done deal. We messaged back and forth after he came to help Maggie for about four days and then nothing. Only a day before you all came, my good friend from really good places called and informed a few of us that they found them. That’s why we were at the base.”

For a few moments Lisa looked into Charlie's eyes looking for some kind of a signal that he was lying but found none. She then started to walk back to Will's room with Charlie on her heels. She was amazed by her brother. Yes, she knew he was brave, she too remembered their childhood. But this was different considering she saw the moments before the rescue. He was ready to go on a death mission to save others. “What a smart idiot. I envy him. But once he’ll be better I’m going to kick his ass to the Moon and back.”

Charlie shared her emotion and laughed “I’ll do the second round”.

Just a few steps towards Will’s hospital room they were met by a loud woman's voices arguing in the room. Lisa quickly opened the door only to be met by Nancy, also known as mother hen Nancy. “Hey, Hello.”

Charlie on the other hand went to Mac, who looked a bit more shaken up than before they left her with Will. “Is everything alright?” he dared to ask.

Nancy turned towards Mac and Charlie. “Oh hell no. How dare you to be still here. Don’t you see what you did?” she pointed towards Will who peacefully slept through Nancy’s angry banter.

Charlie quickly went to the defense. “Oh come on..We did not do any of that.” And with that sentence started quite a verbal shootout.

“You allowed him to go!” -Nancy

“Nancy, enough.” -Lisa

“He’s an adult, he can make decisions on his own.” - Charlie

“You put into his head that he can do literally anything. See where you managed to get him?” - Nancy

“Nancy, come on. Stop it.” - Lisa

“Stop defending her. Why did you allow her to even be here in the first place?! - Lisa pointed towards Mac.

“She is his friend.” - Lisa

“Oh for God’s sake. Put two and two together, Lisa. Don’t you remember what happened?” - Nancy.

Lisa looked at Mac. She didn’t know anything but looking at Mac she saw a scared woman, but a woman who cares. “I don’t know what you mean. Maybe it’s best to put an end to this conversation.

“We have a right to be here” defender Charlie.

“Oh you have no right to be here. We are his family and not you. And for you-” Lisa looked straight into Mac's eyes” I don’t want to see you here, ever.”

Mac exactly knew what Nancy was talking about. “You are right and I’m sorry, Nancy. But I still care.” She started to leave, but Lisa interrupted “No don’t leave. Come on people! What is all this?!” she looked questioningly at Nancy.

“Lisa, meet Mac. Mac the cheater.” - Nancy

Lisa’s heart dropped. She really didn’t put two and two together and since Will was repeating her name, she thought that they were in some kind of relationship. But it was THAT Mac... Cheating Mac... “He was repeating your name over and over again….” tears started to form in her eyes. What a poor man. All beaten and bloodied, barely conscious and still repeating the name of his former cheating lover.

Knocking on the door pulled everyone out of their thoughts. A nurse joined them. “I’m sorry but visiting hours are over.”

Chapter Text

All ride there Mac kept running through excuses in her head, trying to figure out how she would explain to them why she had Will’s key.

The truth was simple, but it didn’t feel easy to say: he’d given it to her years ago—drunk and heartbreakingly sincere. “If you ever need anything,” he had said, pressing the key into her hand, “you’re welcome here. Anytime.”

She never used it. Not once. Not even when she wanted to. Until the day Will and Maggie went missing.

That night, the silence in the world felt unbearable. She couldn’t sit at home, pacing and imagining the worst. She needed to be close to something that still felt like him. Something real. Something solid.

So she went to his apartment.

Alone.

She never told anyone. It became her secret—her sacred place.

Sometimes she’d just sit in the quiet, listening to the hum of the city through the windows. Sometimes she’d speak out loud, hoping the walls would carry her words to him. Sometimes she’d just sit on his couch and close her eyes, letting the familiar scent of the space hold her together for one more day. She knew where everything was. Which clothes he loved. Where he stashed his guitars. His favorite books. It was as if, even in absence, she still belonged in his world.

She didn’t come here to snoop. She didn’t come to chase ghosts.

She came because it was the only place that still felt like he might walk through the door. Because it tethered her to something more stable than fear.

This apartment was never just a place. It was Will.

And as long as she could be near it, she could still believe he was out there somewhere—alive.

She never turned on the overhead lights. She couldn’t.

The soft glow from the streetlights outside cast long shadows across the floor, enough to see, enough to feel. Anything more would’ve made it too real—too empty.

She walked slowly through the apartment, brushing her fingers over the edge of the kitchen counter, the back of the couch, the frame of the bookshelf. She wasn’t looking for anything. She just needed to feel the places he had touched. The energy he left behind. The version of him that still existed in these quiet corners.

Every inch of the place whispered something. A memory. A joke. A fight. A moment.

She could almost hear him singing in the shower. Hear the scratch of his pen when he wrote late into the night. Smell the faint trace of his cologne mixed with coffee grounds and old guitar strings.

There were days she thought she’d go crazy in here.

But somehow, it was also the only place she didn’t completely fall apart.

She’d sit for hours on the floor beside the couch, knees hugged to her chest, staring at the blank TV screen, letting time pass without meaning.

Sometimes she’d cry.

Sometimes she’d talk to him like he was there.

Sometimes she’d just listen to the sound of her own breathing and wonder how the hell he could leave her like this—not intentionally, of course, but still. It felt like abandonment.

She didn’t blame him.

But she did miss him in a way that made her bones ache.

This apartment was the only proof she had that he existed. That he was real. That the last years of loving him, hating him, forgiving him, needing him hadn’t all been a fever dream. The apartment was still as she remembered it. Impossibly tidy. Personal without being messy. A perfect reflection of him—controlled chaos beneath calm surfaces.

He’s going to be okay - she thought. She believed that. Because if she didn’t, this place would stop being a refuge and become a mausoleum.

And she wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.

But this wasn’t about her tonight.

The apartment was dark when they arrived, despite its towering windows. “On the right, around the corner—Will’s bedroom and bathroom,” Mac said as they stepped in. “Left side, two guest rooms, both with bathrooms. And that’s the kitchen/livingroom/office all in one.”

Lisa was the first to speak. “Thank you.”

It was bigger than either of them expected.

Nancy stepped inside first, hesitant, like the floor might fall out from under her. Lisa followed, eyes scanning the tall ceilings, the carefully curated shelves of books, the piano in the corner that somehow made the silence feel heavier. Mac entered last, immediately going to the thermostat and adjusting it.

“He likes it cold,” she explained quietly. “But he won’t complain if someone else says it’s too much. That’s… a thing he does.”

Lisa walked forward and slowly turned in place. The walls were cream, interrupted by dark wood and warm leather. An open layout joined the kitchen with the living room, and beyond that, they could see a hallway lined with closed doors. The entire apartment smelled faintly of coffee beans, paper, and something smoky—cologne, maybe, or the memory of it.

“He lives here?” Nancy said, her voice small.

Lisa turned to her sister. “What do you mean?”

Nancy frowned. “It’s just… too clean. Too quiet.”

“He spends more time at work than here,” Mac offered, almost apologetically. “And noise… I don’t think he wants much of that anymore.” Lisa recognized that smile. She’d seen it before—on Will and Nancy’s faces. The kind of smile they wore while whispering bedtime reassurances. While holding her and John Jr. close, drowning out their father’s drunken rage with soft lullabies and tighter hugs.

That same broken smile was on Mac’s face now.

And suddenly, Lisa felt like an intruder in her own brother’s home.

Then Mac added, “I ordered pizza. Should be here any minute.”

Lisa lowered her bag to the couch. She didn’t want to say it aloud, but the apartment felt haunted. Not by ghosts—but by Will himself. Like he had poured so much of himself into the walls that even in his absence, you could feel the echo of his breath.

Nancy walked past the living room, past the piano, stopping to trail her fingers over the sheet music left open on the stand.

“I guess he still plays?” she asked quietly.

Mac nodded. “Beautifully.”

Lisa said nothing more.

The doorbell rang.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dinner was eaten on the couch.

Three adults who had not much in common but one person they all loved—and who now lay unconscious a few miles away, hooked up to machines none of them dared name aloud. Mac handed out plates while trying not to tremble. She hadn’t expected this.

Lisa thanked her when the pizza box was passed down. Nancy didn’t say much at first, just picked at the crust, her eyes unfocused. She watched Mac. Not judging, just… observing. Something in her was cracking open, like a window long sealed now letting in air. A breath of something unfamiliar.

Then, softly, Nancy added, “You should eat with us.”

Mac glanced up.

“I mean it,” Nancy said. “Sit. Eat.….”

The warmth hit Mac like a wave. She nodded, sitting down on the edge of the couch cushion, eyes wet but not breaking.

But halfway through the second slice, she spoke.

“You care about him.”

Mac blinked. She hadn’t expected that either.

“Yes.”

“Even now?”

Mac looked down. “Especially now.”

They ate. Quietly. Carefully. Like three women sitting vigil around an invisible candle.

—---------------------------------------------------------

Lisa stood in the quiet living room long after Mac left. The soft hum of the fridge and the distant sound of traffic outside filled the silence like static. Her fingers toyed with the key Mac had given her. She wasn’t sure what she felt—grateful, tense, maybe even a little guilty.

That smile… the one Mac wore like armor. Lisa had seen it too many times on Nancy’s face growing up. And now? It was everywhere.

She exhaled slowly, then made her way down the hall.

The guest room door was closed, but she knocked gently anyway. “Nance?” she said softly.

No answer.

She cracked the door open and peeked in.

Nancy was sitting on the edge of the bed, coat still on, hands clenched in her lap like she hadn’t realized she was safe indoors. Her eyes were locked on the floor, unfocused, red-rimmed. Her whole posture looked like a dam barely holding.

Lisa stepped in quietly and closed the door behind her. “Hey,” she said, careful not to spook her. “You okay?”

Nancy blinked like she was waking up. “Fine.”

That one word was a wall. Thick. Familiar.

Lisa crossed her arms and leaned against the dresser. “You don’t have to be fine.”

Nancy’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing.

For a few seconds, the room held its breath.

Then Nancy spoke—barely a whisper. “I’m scared. I can’t lose him, Lis.”

“I know,” Lisa replied, voice gentle.

“I can’t,” Nancy repeated, louder now. “He’s… he’s my brother. My little brother. But I raised him. I raised John Jr… you,.”

Lisa sat on the corner of the bed. “I know you did.”

“No one else is going to fight for him like I will. Not Mac. Not the others. Just me.” Her voice cracked. “I always knew I’d have to protect him from something. I just didn’t think it’d be this.”

Lisa reached for her hand. Nancy flinched at first, then let her take it.

There was a long silence.

“I’m scared too, Nance,” Lisa finally said. “But we’re not kids anymore. You don’t have to protect us anymore.”

Nancy looked at her then, really looked. And for a brief moment, she didn’t seem like the rock-solid older sister. She looked tired. Fractured. Just a woman trying to hold too much for too long.

“Do you trust her?” she asked. “Mac?”

Lisa hesitated, but nodded. “Yeah. I think Will does. He calls for her. That’s enough for me right now.”

Nancy didn’t answer, but she didn’t pull her hand away either.

And for tonight, maybe that was enough.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nancy’s Flashback (in sleep)

The room was dark, but Nancy could see everything.

It was always this room.

Flickering kitchen light. Shadows dancing on cracked wallpaper. The sour stink of beer and sweat clinging to everything. Lisa's tiny hand clenched in hers, knuckles white, breath hiccuping with silent sobs.

Will stood in front of them—arms stretched wide, a human shield.

Mum was at work. Their father’s voice was thunder, slurred and mean. “You ungrateful little bastards! You think you're better than me? You think you can hide from me?!”

He stumbled toward them, hand raised. Nancy remembered the way Lisa flinched, ducking behind her hip, the way her own knees threatened to give out.

But then—

Will stepped forward. Just a boy. But unshaking.

“Don’t touch them,” he said. His voice wasn’t loud. But it cut through the air like a blade.

Their father growled something unintelligible and lunged.

Nancy screamed—but before the blow landed, Will grabbed the half-full beer bottle off the counter. He swung. It cracked against their father’s temple with a sickening thud. Time froze.

Their father staggered back, a look of surprise flashing across his face before rage took over. But he didn’t fight. He didn’t swing again. He just cursed and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

The house trembled. Then silence.

Nancy remembered her own breath shaking, her hands numb. Lisa had buried her face in Nancy’s side, crying quietly. Will dropped the bottle, breathing hard, his jaw tight. He didn’t look like a child then.

He looked like someone who’d aged a hundred years in a second.

She moved to hug him, but he pulled away. “I’m fine,” he said. “I had to. I just had to.”

And he did. He always did.

Nancy jolted awake, the memory burning behind her eyes. The dark guest room around her was still, save for the slow whirl of the ceiling fan. For a second, she wasn’t sure where she was.

Then it came rushing back—Will. The hospital. The apartment.

She pressed her palms against her face and let herself breathe.

He had protected them when they were children. Took the hit so they wouldn’t have to. And now he was the one that needed to be protected.

—-------------------------------------------------------------

Mac’s POV – Alone in Her Apartment

The key clicked softly in her own door.

Mac stepped inside her apartment like it belonged to someone else. It always felt that way after she left Will’s place—like she was walking out of the only tether she had to him, and into the quiet vacuum of her own solitude.

The lights were low. She didn’t bother turning them up. She just kicked off her shoes and dropped her keys somewhere near the sink.

Silence pressed against her chest like a weight.

Her phone was silent on the counter. No new updates. No calls. Just a void.

Mac sank onto the couch, curling her knees up like she could make herself smaller, tighter, easier to hold together.

She reached for the throw blanket draped on the couch and pulled it over herself like armor. The soft fabric smelled faintly like detergent and lemon. Not like him.

Her eyes drifted toward the corner of the room where Will once sat, guitar in his lap, socks mismatched, humming under his breath. That was before. That was when she still believed their story hadn’t ended.

Now… she wasn’t sure what to believe.

Her throat ached from holding back tears.

Eventually, her body gave up. She sank sideways into the cushions, blanket tangled around her legs, the weight of grief dragging her into sleep.

And even in sleep, she searched for him.

Morning Light and Coffee

Nancy stayed in the guest room, Lisa on the couch, unwilling to sleep too far from the front door. In case someone called. In case someone came. In case—

Mac returned just after dawn with coffee and a paper bag of fresh bagels. She let herself in quietly, trying not to make noise—but Nancy was already up, sitting at the kitchen counter in a T-shirt, her eyes red.

“Hi,” Mac whispered.

Nancy gave a nod. “Morning.”

Lisa emerged soon after, hair tied back, face sleep-marked but calmer.

“The hospital called,” she said while accepting a cup. “Doctors suggested surgery for the broken wrist.”

Nancy exhaled. “Oh God.”

“It’s for the best.”

They stood like that, drinking coffee. The stillness in the apartment was different now. Not haunted. Not quiet. Just… waiting.

Then Mac asked gently, “Do you want to pack him some things?”

Lisa looked up.

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, I think that would be good.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Packing

Mac led them into Will’s bedroom.

It was as precise as the rest of the apartment. A king-sized bed, neat, a stack of books by the nightstand—half-read, dog-eared. His scent was stronger here. Woodsmoke and something citrusy. It was like walking into a cathedral, like every item had meaning. Like touching anything might break a spell.

The phone was still on his nightstand, next to his watch and a few loose pages. Still. Waiting.

That was the hardest part—how present he still felt, even in his absence. As if he might walk in any second, laugh at her for sitting on his bed, ask why she looked like she hadn’t slept in a week.

Mac took a slow breath, steadying herself. Being here without him was unbearable, and yet it was the only place she could breathe.

Lisa picked up the top book. “Don Quixote?”

Mac smiled faintly. “It’s like the bible…”

Nancy stood by the dresser.

“I don’t know what he’d want,” she said softly. “Or where anything is.”

Mac moved toward the closet, sliding open the mirrored door. “Here’s his closet. Sweats. T-shirts. He’ll want his chargers, probably his iPad. I’ll pack the bathroom stuff.”

Lisa reached for a soft flannel, folding it gently. Nancy picked up a few shirts. They all moved through the room quietly, reverently. The way people handle artifacts of someone not quite gone.

Mac handed them the duffel bag.

“I’ll take care of the hard stuff,” she said, then added softly, “You just help me bring him home.”

Nancy met her eyes. “We will.”

Chapter Text

The light in the ICU was muted, filtered through frosted glass and the gentle hum of machines. The antiseptic scent of the hospital clung to everything, heavy in the air. A soft beep-beep-beep rhythm kept time with fragile life.

The door slid open with a quiet hiss. Nancy stepped in first, her arms crossed, eyes puffy from sleep deprivation. Lisa followed, brow furrowed in a deep frown, her fingers clutching the strap of her crossbody bag like a lifeline. Mac came last, slower, more hesitant. She held her breath before she even saw him.

Inside, Dr. Seavers stood beside Will’s bed, flipping through the digital chart on his tablet. He glanced up as they entered and nodded solemnly.

"So far stable."

That should have sounded reassuring. It didn’t.

Will lay on the hospital bed, lost under sheets and wires. An oxygen mask obscured the lower half of his face, and his dark hair was slicked back with sweat. A heavy brace encased his left hand. His ribs were bound tightly under the hospital gown. Bandages peeked out from beneath the short sleeves, covering cuts that trailed down his arms. The monitors at his side glowed with data, erratic but not alarming.

Dr. Seavers continued, "His oxygen levels are a bit low, but not critical. The concern is the fever. It's climbing slowly, which isn't what we want. We heard what happened to them, so it’s not unexpected his wounds are infected. We’re pumping him with antibiotics intravenously. We’ll see how his body responds over the next twenty-four hours."

Mac’s eyes didn't leave Will. Her face was pale.

"What if it doesn’t respond?"

"If his breathing deteriorates, or if the fever spikes and doesn’t come down, we’ll have to consider multiple complex interventions on him. But right now... we give him time. Let his body fight and see where that takes us."

A soft shuffle broke their focus. Charlie Skinner entered, shoulders stooped slightly with the weight of recent weeks. He moved silently to Mac’s side and, without a word, slid his hand into hers. She gripped it tightly.

Lisa edged closer to the bed. Her gaze flickered between Will’s pale face and the heart monitor. She swallowed.

"Does he know? About Maggie?"

The doctor shook his head. "He’s been in and out of consciousness. Delirious most of the time. When he’s awake, it’s fragmented. I wouldn’t trust anything he remembers right now."

As if on cue, Will stirred. His head moved slightly on the pillow. A low sound rasped from his throat. The doctor glanced at the monitor and moved toward the bed.

"Will? Can you hear me?"

A groggy moan. A flicker behind his eyelids.

"Mr. McAvoy, you’re in the hospital. Try not to move. You’ve sustained significant injuries."

Another moan, louder this time. His hand jerked slightly under the blanket, then stilled.

Nancy stepped forward. "Will, it’s me. Nancy. You’re okay. We’re all here."

His eyes cracked open, glazed and unfocused. The oxygen mask fogged slightly with his breath.

"S'too loud..."

It was a breath, barely a whisper.

Lisa stepped in closer. "Will, you’re in the ICU. It’s over, you’re safe now. Rest."

He blinked slowly. Tried to lift his hand, winced, and gave up. His gaze found Mac, unfocused but lingering.

"Mac..."

She crouched next to him, her voice a tight whisper. "I’m here. I’ve got you."

He coughed—a wet, rattling sound that set off warning bleeps. The doctor adjusted something on the IV line. Mac gently pressed a damp cloth to his forehead.

"Hurts..."

"I know," she whispered, brushing damp hair from his face. "Just breathe, Will. You’re okay."

"Maggie?"

Lisa leaned closer. "She’s here. Down the hall. She is safe."

His eyes closed again, tears leaking from the corners. His chest moved shallowly under the pressure of broken ribs. Sweat clung to his skin.

"I couldn’t... I tried..."

"You did everything right," Charlie said gently. "You and her are home. You made it. That’s what matters."

Will tried to nod but couldn’t. The doctor stepped in again, checked the oxygen levels.

"Still low," he murmured. "But steady. I want to keep him quiet."

Will stirred again, restlessness creeping in. "No... more..."

Mac’s face crumpled, but she smoothed it out quickly. "You’re not in there anymore. Just the quiet room now. Bright lights. Soft pillows. Nice nurses and us."

"... hurt… wanna go… home..."

She glanced down at the brace. "I know. Once everything will be okay, you will go home. Soon."

He groaned again, face twitching with pain. "I thought... …never see you..."

Mac leaned in and kissed his temple. "I’m not going anywhere. None of us are."

Nancy wiped at her face, trying to hide the tears. Lisa just stood quietly, watching her brother fall in and out of consciousness, haunted by what he could still feel.

The doctor turned to them. "We’ll give him a sedative soon. Let his body rest. It’s the best thing we can do right now."

Will’s eyes fluttered. "Don’t... don’t let them take her..."

"No one’s taking anyone," Mac whispered.

He tried to reach for her, his fingers twitching uselessly. His body was not cooperating. She took his hand gently and pressed it to her chest.

Charlie stood like a sentinel behind them, one hand on Mac’s shoulder, the other in his pocket. His jaw was clenched tight.

Dr. Seavers adjusted the IV again. "Give him a minute, and then we’ll push the sedative."

Will turned his head slightly toward Mac. Eyes glazed, but filled with something raw.

"I thought I’d die in there."

Her breath caught. "But you didn’t. You’re here. With me. With us. And I’m not letting go. Rest now. I’m here."

His eyes closed again.

The room was still. Only the machines dared speak.

----------------------------—---------------------------------------------
MAGGIE’S ICU ROOM

The lights were dimmed, but the machines around Maggie beeped steadily, unrelenting in their rhythm. Her small frame lay pale and still beneath a hospital blanket pulled up to her chest. The fever hadn’t broken. Her forehead was slick with sweat, her skin flushed, her lips dry and cracked.

Her mother sat at her right side, a damp cloth in one hand, gently dabbing at Maggie’s brow. Her movements were slow, mechanical — as if the act was the only thing keeping her grounded. Maggie’s father stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He hadn’t said much since they’d arrived that afternoon. He just kept staring at her, like if he blinked she might vanish.

There was a knock on the door.

They turned as it opened slightly and Mac peeked in. Charlie stood behind her. Both looked exhausted, clothes rumpled, eyes red.

“Can we come in?” Mac asked gently, as if afraid her voice might shatter the room.

Maggie’s father hesitated, then gave a silent nod. Her mother offered a tired smile.

Mac and Charlie entered quietly, approaching the bed. Mac couldn’t help the sharp breath she took in when she saw Maggie up close. The bruises were darker now, more defined. The IV lines. The oxygen.
The raw stillness of her.

“How is she?,” Charlie asked quietly.

“She’s holding on,” her mother replied. “The doctors say the antibiotics should start working soon, but it’s slow. Her fever’s still high.”

“She hasn’t opened her eyes yet,” her father added. His voice was rough. “They said not to expect much until the infection’s under control. Her body’s too weak.”

Mac stepped closer, her eyes never leaving Maggie’s face. “We just wanted to check in. We didn’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not,” her mother said. “You’re part of this.”

There was a beat of silence.

Mac looked down. “I am sorry. I let her go there, it is all my fault..”

Maggie’s father shook his head. “No, I know Margaret, if she wanted to do something, she would go and get it. She has her own head.”

Mac met his eyes. “But still…”

“She’s alive,” her mother said. “Whatever happened out there, she came back. That matters.”

Maggie's father shifted, glancing toward the machines. “She was asking for Will, t’s more of memories, but she whispered his name last night.”

Mac nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the motionless form of his daughter. “That’s our anchor, William McAvoy. That doesn’t surprise me, they were there together. He’s in the next room. ”

“How is he?” her mother asked.

Mac hesitated. “He’s fighting. Same as she is. It’s going to take time.”

There was another pause. Maggie stirred slightly — a twitch in her fingers, a shift in her brow. They all watched in silence, breath held, but she didn’t wake.

“She won’t want us hovering when she wakes up,” her father said softly. “What happened there, in Africa?”

Charlie looked at Mac. “Do you want to tell them?”

Mac nodded and sat down in the chair opposite her mother. She didn’t know where to start — not really. But she began anyway.

“She and Will were in Uganda. There was a situation that needed to be resolved, but… things got complicated. They were staying at the American embassy but they were ambushed, held hostage.”

Her mother closed her eyes.

“For how long?” her father asked.

“They were held for around fifteen days.”

The words hung in the room like a drop of blood in water. Slow. Spreading.

Her mother reached for her hand, squeezing it once. “Thank you for telling us.”

Maggie’s father stepped in, his voice low but steady. “There’ll be time for more later. Right now, all that matters is that she’s here. She’s fighting.”

Charlie nodded and turned to Mac. “We should let them rest.”

Mac stood reluctantly. She leaned down and pressed a light kiss to Maggie’s temple.

“We’re right down the hall,” she whispered and followed Charlie out the door.

Behind them, the room returned to its slow rhythm. Maggie’s mother resumed her quiet vigil. The machines beeped. The monitors glowed. The fever burned on.

But Maggie was still there.

“Would you mind walking with me for a minute outside?” Maggie’s father asked Mac once he was outside Maggie’s room.

She studied him, then gave a slow nod. “Of course.”

They stepped into a small corridor near the vending machines, out of view of the ICU.

A pause hung between them. He shifted uncomfortably, then asked, “Forgive me for being blunt, but… are you and Will together? The tabloids are saying so much stuff and I don't know what is true”

Mac blinked, surprised. “No, no. We’re not married, not together at all if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I’m just trying to understand the dynamics here.” His voice was calm, but his eyes searched hers. “Jim, her colleague, said Will went to find Maggie himself. Risked a lot. I guess I thought maybe…” He trailed off.

Mac understood instantly. “You think he went because the baby’s his.”

He looked away, not denying it. “How did you know about it?”

“Will was asking if her and the baby are ok.” Mac said, firmly. “It’s not Will’s baby. That’s not true. Will went because Maggie needed an attorney.” She softened slightly. “And because he cares. A lot. But not like that.”

Maggie’s father rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Jim seems like a good man. I just didn’t know who to trust with what.”

“You should trust him,” Mac said gently. “If you have questions about the pregnancy, he’s the only person you need to ask. Does he know about the pregnancy?”

He nodded slowly. “No, we didn’t tell him. I understand only doctors, us and now you know. We didn’t even know she was seeing someone, let alone pregnant. It’s been… a lot.”

“I know,” she said quietly.

He nodded, once. Then, to her surprise, he reached out and touched her arm. “Thank you. For being honest. For being here.”

“Of course.”

They turned back toward the ICU. As they approached, Jim glanced up and saw them coming. Maggie’s mother stood by the door, arms crossed, her gaze moving between all three of them with wary eyes.

And behind that door, Maggie lay unconscious, still fighting a fever. And Will—two rooms down—lay under oxygen and tangled IV lines, unaware of the quiet alliances forming in the sterile hallways outside.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Will’s ICU room, evening

The ICU had its own rhythm—constant, sterile, slow. The kind of stillness that demanded patience.

Will lay propped up slightly now, an oxygen tube under his nose and wires trailing from his chest. Every movement sent pain ricocheting through his ribs. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst was waking up and not knowing what was real.

He stirred again, lips dry and cracked, eyes blinking open to the dim light. For a moment, there was panic—a flash of confusion that twisted his features.

Mac was there instantly, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” she said softly. “You’re safe.”

He blinked again. “W-where…”

“Hospital. Home.”

His throat worked as he tried to swallow. “Maggie?”

Mac’s smile was gentle. “She’s here. She’s safe. I promise.”

He relaxed, but only a fraction. His eyes were glassy, flicking from the ceiling to her face, unsure.

“Don’t leave,” he said. It was barely a whisper.

“I won’t.” Her voice broke slightly.

A soft knock tapped against the already half-open door.

Mac turned. Lisa stepped in first, followed by Nancy, both carrying the kind of concern that didn’t need to be spoken aloud. The room dimmed only by the low light filtering through the blinds, felt warmer somehow just by their presence.

“Hey,” Lisa said gently, her voice careful.

Will stirred, his eyes fluttering open as if he’d only just dipped into sleep. His gaze found them. “Hey.”

Nancy smiled kindly, approaching the side opposite Mac. “We wanted to see with our own eyes how you’re doing.”

Will blinked slowly, exhaled. Even with the oxygen tube resting in his nose, each breath came shallow and strained. His chest rose in uneven jerks, every inhale a small battlefield. He tried to shift into a more upright position and hissed in pain, his hand flying weakly to his side.

Lisa was there instantly. “Don’t. Just lie still, Will.”

He obeyed, too exhausted to argue.

Mac studied him quietly for a long beat. Her eyes softened, but something serious flickered underneath. “How bad is it?” she asked Lisa, whispering.

Nancy was smoothing the blanket over Will’s shoulder when Lisa stepped back with a sigh and nodded toward the hallway. Mac followed her out, but the door was left cracked open. Will’s breathing—a wet, catching rasp—still reached them.

Mac leaned against the wall. “That sound in his chest—”

“It’s not okay,” Lisa said quietly, arms crossed. “His oxygen’s lower than it should. He’s holding on for now. His ribs are broken in multiple places and not just clean breaks. It’s like they shattered and splintered. Doctors are worried.”

Mac closed her eyes. “Jesus.”

Lisa nodded grimly. “They gave it twenty-four hours. To see if he stabilizes without surgery. If he doesn’t—if the pain keeps him from breathing deep enough, or if the lung can’t expand properly—they’ll have to operate. Plate the ribs. Repair what they can.”

Mac stared at the floor for a long time. “He doesn’t know that yet, does he?”

Lisa shook her head. “No. Only you, me and Nancy.”

Inside the room, Will had drifted back to sleep, his lips parted, face pale. A faint line of sweat clung to his brow. Every few breaths, a small hitch shuddered through him. Nancy sat beside him, her fingers lightly grazing the back of his hand as if willing his body to remember how to heal.

Mac looked back through the door. “He looks like he’s fighting for every second.”

Lisa’s voice broke just slightly. “Probably because he is.”

A silence stretched between them, deep and still. Then Mac said, quietly, “He must be so scared.”

Lisa nodded. “We’ll be here. All of us. Until he’s okay.”

And though none of them said it, they all knew that okay would never mean the same.

It would mean breathing without fire. Sleeping without screaming. Waking up and recognizing the people still standing in the light beside him.

They stepped back inside the room. Lisa took the seat across from Mac, who gave her a grateful look but didn’t move from Will’s side. And for a while, no one spoke. They simply sat with him, holding vigil, holding space.

Chapter Text

The fluorescent lights in Will’s ICU room never really dimmed, not fully. Even at 5 a.m., the space was bathed in a pale, clinical glow that made his sweat-slicked skin look almost translucent.

Lisa stood near the bed, arms crossed, heart pounding in her throat. The nurses had called her at 4:38. By 4:59, she was through the hospital doors, barely pausing at the front desk. Now she watched the rise and fall of Will’s chest—too fast, too shallow—and felt her own breath start to sync with his in worried mimicry.

His skin was gray. Not pale. Gray. A blue tint framed his lips and fingernails. The oxygen mask hissed, but it wasn’t enough.

Dr. Halliday arrived just after she did, trailed by a pulmonary specialist, a trauma surgeon, and a neuro consultant. He pulled Lisa aside briefly, voice low but firm.

“His O2 sat dropped to 84% an hour ago. We’ve tried everything noninvasive, but it does not help. We should act.”

Lisa nodded. “Is he awake?”

“Yes. Drifting in and out. But conscious enough.”

Inside, Will stirred weakly as the doctors approached. His eyes fluttered open—bloodshot, unfocused. Sweat beaded along his browline, and his fingers twitched uselessly against the blanket.

“William,” Dr. Halliday said gently. “You’re in distress. We need to talk about surgery. Your ribs haven’t stabilized, and we believe they’re contributing to your inability to breathe deeply. There’s likely an infection in the lungs.”

Will blinked slowly, as if the words were swimming through fog to reach him.

Another doctor stepped forward—the orthopedic surgeon. “Also, your left wrist has sustained a complex fracture. Our scans suggest you’ll lose function long-term without surgical intervention. We recommend plating both the ribs and wrist in one procedure. We’ll keep you sedated post-op to help your lungs rest.”

Will’s voice was barely a whisper. “No… no sedation…”

Lisa stepped forward into his vision. “Will. Listen to me.”

He turned his head slightly toward her, eyes hazed and wild. His chest heaved with every breath.

“I can’t,” he rasped. “Not again… can’t…”

“You’ll die,” Lisa said flatly. “It’s that simple. You do this, or you don’t breathe. You don’t breathe, you don’t live.”

He shook his head. “No..,” he muttered. “No, please.”

One of the doctors leaned in, voice low but tense. “You’re not going to make it through the next twenty-four hours like this. Fever is getting up and your body is exhausted. We need to take over. The ventilator will protect your lungs and buy you time to heal. This isn’t punishment—it’s protection.”

Will’s whole body trembled. His hands clenched at the sheets. “No… alone…”

Lisa’s throat tightened.

“I’ll be there,” she said, quieter now. “You won’t wake up alone. But you have to let them help you, Will.”

Still, he shook his head. His breath hitched, his chest convulsing. A nurse adjusted the mask as his vitals beeped erratically. Sweat trickled down his neck.

Dr. Halliday looked at Lisa.

She stared at Will, jaw clenched, then gave the smallest nod. “Ok, no surgery or sedation.” Will looked relieved and closed his eyes.

“Let’s go out,” she said softly.

The team hesitated. Lisa’s voice hardened. “Please.”

The room cleared.

Lisa followed them into the hallway, shutting the door gently behind her. Her voice was steady, but quiet.

“I’m his medical proxy,” she said. “And he is not competent right now. You know it. He’s oxygen-deprived, febrile, and terrified. He doesn’t understand the risk. I do.”

Dr. Halliday straightened. “Are you authorizing both surgeries?”

“Yes.” Her voice cracked but didn’t break. “Plate the ribs. Fix the wrist. Do whatever it takes to keep him here.”

The team exchanged looks—then nods.

“He’s going to hate me when he wakes up,” Lisa murmured.

“Maybe,” Seavers said. “but he’s going to be alive.”

They moved fast after that.

Inside the room, nurses prepared Will for transport. Lisa slipped back in, stepping to the bed as they adjusted monitors.

Will’s eyes fluttered open again. He looked at her, something like fear anchoring deep in his chest.

“You said… you wouldn’t…”

“I know,” she whispered. “But I’m doing this because you’re not thinking straight.”

He tried to move his hand, but it fell limp. Lisa caught it in both of hers.

“I’d rather you hate me than bury you.”

He didn’t have the strength to answer. Just blinked once—slow, thick with betrayal and tears—and closed his eyes again.

The team wheeled him out a moment later.

Lisa stood motionless in the hallway, watching the doors swing shut behind him.

—

Will’s Room – 8:04 AM

Mac arrived with two coffees and a bundle of fresh clothes under her arm. Her ponytail was lopsided, and her coat smelled like hand sanitizer. She pushed open the door expecting the beep of monitors, the hiss of oxygen.

Instead, the bed was empty.

“What?”

Lisa stood from the corner, still in the clothes she wore overnight. Nancy was by the window, arms crossed, eyes hollow.

Mac’s chest seized. “Lisa?”

Lisa stepped forward quickly, palms out. “He’s okay. They took him to surgery.”

“What?” Mac dropped the coffees.

“They had to. His oxygen was tanking, Mac. His ribs were worse and his lungs were struggling. They’re plating both the ribs and his wrist. He's under now.”

Mac blinked fast. “Why didn’t anyone call me?”

Lisa looked pained. “It all happened fast. And… I made the call.”

“Does he know?”

“Yes, but I’m his medical proxy.” She stepped closer. “Mac, he was refusing. He couldn’t even breathe. He was terrified. He didn’t understand what was happening.”

Mac sat down hard in the visitor’s chair, eyes wet. “He’s going to be on a vent ?”

“Yes,” Lisa said. “But he’ll be sedated.”

They waited.

—

ICU Waiting Room – 10:57 AM

The hallway smelled like burnt coffee and floor polish. Charlie pushed open the door with two brown paper bags and a coffee tray. Jim followed behind with more.

“We come bearing peace offerings,” Charlie said. “Bagels and bagels.”

Nancy looked up wearily. “He’s still in surgery.”

“No word yet,” Lisa added.

Jim set his tray down. “I’ll go check on Maggie.”

Just as he turned, the hallway doors burst open.

Four nurses wheeled a bed into the ICU wing. Will—pale, unmoving, his face slack under the ventilator. His wrist was bandaged and elevated. Tubes coiled from both arms. Machines followed close behind, chirping steadily.

Lisa jumped to her feet. Mac was right behind her. Charlie’s mouth dropped open slightly, but he quickly caught up.

Dr. Halliday stepped into their path. “You can come in. One minute.”

The team flanked Will’s bed as it was pulled back into his room.

“He made it through,” Dr. Halliday began, voice tight with fatigue. “Both surgeries were successful. The wrist was complex, but we plated it and secured full nerve function. The ribs were… worse than we anticipated. Shattered in multiple places, some splinters near the lungs.”

“Was the lung damaged?” Mac asked quickly.

“Not punctured, but fairly inflamed. There’s an ongoing infection we’re treating aggressively. We put him back on a ventilator to let the lungs rest and fully oxygenate. He’s sedated and will remain that way for at least a few days.”

“Is he stable?” Lisa asked.

“So far, yes.”

Mac stood over the bed, brushing hair from Will’s forehead. His skin was cooler now, but waxy. The ventilator hissed. The heart monitor beeped steadily.

Nancy placed a hand on Lisa’s shoulder. Charlie stood on the other side, arms folded, jaw tight.

“Is he in pain?” Mac asked.

“Not right now,” Seavers said. “He won’t feel anything until we reduce the sedatives.”

Mac swallowed hard. “Good.”

The room went quiet again.

No one moved except the machines.

“He’s going to wake up furious,” Lisa said finally.

Mac smiled faintly. “Then we’ll know he’s really back.”

They stayed until the nurses asked them to step out. When the door finally closed behind them, none of them said much.

They just waited.

And hoped.

---------------------------------------------------

Maggie’s Room – Evening

Maggie opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the fluorescent lights. It took her a moment to focus, and another to register that the humming wasn’t from bugs or generators, but from machines.

Jim was instantly on his feet. “Hey. Hey, Maggie.”

She turned toward his voice. Her face crumpled—first confusion, then panic. “Where…?”

“You’re at the hospital. You’re safe. You made it.”

Her voice was weak. “Will?”

“He’s here. Right down the hall.”

“Alive?”

Jim nodded. “Yeah. Still fighting.”

Maggie exhaled shakily. A tear ran down her cheek.

“Do you want me to get someone?” he asked gently. “Mac, or—?”

“No,” she said. “I just… I need to hear you say it again.”

He leaned in. “You are home and safe Maggie. Both you and Will.”

She closed her eyes. “I didn’t think we’d ever get home.”

Jim kissed her temple. “But you did.”

—-------------------------------------------

ICU Hallway –

Mac was calling with Sloan when the door to Maggie’s room opened at the end of the hall. Jim stepped out, looking wrung out but smiling faintly.

“She’s asking for you Mac,” he called softly.

Mac hesitated. Then looked at Will through the glass—pale, quiet, breathing just enough. She touched the door briefly and ended her call with Sloan by promising to call back if she had news.

“Of course” Mac stepped inside and met Maggie’s tired, half-lucid gaze.

“You came,” Maggie rasped.

“Of course I did.”

Maggie blinked slowly. “He’s bad?”

Mac didn’t lie. “He’s fighting. ”

Maggie closed her eyes. “He protected me. I wouldn’t have survived without him.”

“You protected each other,” Mac said. “And you’re both here. That’s what matters.”

“You protected each other,” Mac said. “And you’re both here. Safe.”

There was silence. Then Maggie’s voice, small, lips trembling. “I don’t know how to do this.”

Mac squeezed her hand. “Then we’ll figure it out together.”

Chapter Text

Will’s Room

The door was open when Mac arrived, the overhead lights dimmed. Lisa was inside, sitting next to Will’s bed with a newspaper folded in her lap. She wasn’t reading from it anymore—just holding it, absently. Her eyes were fixed on Will’s face.

He looked… somehow smaller than usual. Swallowed up by the bed, the wires, the ventilator. The rise and fall of his chest was mechanical, driven by the machine. The bruising down his side was darker today, almost purple. Beneath the bandages and gown, his ribs had been plated early that morning. So had his wrist. He’d fought the decision with the last of his strength, even though it nearly killed him to argue.

Lisa had made the call.

“Any change?” Mac asked softly as she stepped in.

Lisa shook her head. “Vitals are steady. Sedation’s deep, but he twitched a little when they checked his pupils.”

Mac took the other chair and sat. “You did the right thing.”

“I know,” Lisa said. “But it doesn’t make it easier. I promised him I wouldn’t do it. He believed me…”

They sat in silence. The ventilator hissed and clicked beside them.

Eventually, Lisa stood. “I’ll give you a few minutes, I need to stretch my legs.”

When the door closed behind her, Mac reached out and brushed her fingers along Will’s. His hand was warm, but his skin was pale. His wrists still bore marks from restraint straps and bruising.

“I hope you’re not mad at her,” she whispered. “You weren’t exactly in a place to make any decisions.”

“You scared the hell out of me,” she said. “But you’re still here. And that’s all that matters to me.”

His lips parted just slightly, but it was a muscle spasm—not consciousness. The ventilator beeped as it adjusted for a small change in pressure.

She leaned forward, pressed a soft kiss to the back of his hand, and stayed like that for a while.

Late Afternoon – ICU

Charlie returned from a phone call with Leona just in time to see Will’s nurse adjusting his IV. Nancy was there too, organizing blankets in the corner. They both looked tired, though neither would say it out loud.

Charlie took Lisa’s vacated seat and let out a long breath. “He looks better than yesterday.”

Nancy didn’t answer. She was watching the monitor too closely to speak.

The doctor came in soon after with an update: Will’s lungs still showed signs of infection, but the plating had gone smoothly. No signs of bleeding. His oxygenation was more stable under sedation, and they hoped to start weaning him off the ventilator in a few days—if his lungs could keep up.

“If,” Charlie repeated under his breath.

“It's a process,” the doctor said.

Four days had passed since the rescue, and the hospital no longer felt like a sanctuary—it felt like a fortress under siege. Maggie’s condition was worsening. Her fever had spiked again that morning, and her body trembled with a chill no blankets could ease. Machines crowded her bedside, alarms humming and clicking. The ICU staff did what they could, but Mac saw the unease in every nurse’s face when they stepped out into the hall.

Down the corridor, Will remained sedated, intubated, his chest rising and falling with the slow rhythm of the ventilator. His face looked strangely peaceful, but the bruises spreading along his ribs and shoulders betrayed the what he’d endured. The staff limited visitors, but Lisa and Nancy never left him for long. They sat with him, sometimes talking, sometimes just resting in peace holding books they didn’t read, hands folded in their laps, waiting for any flicker of change.

The morning meeting was tense. Mac, Charlie, Reese, and Jim huddled around the small consultation room table, a single pot of stale coffee in the middle. Reese had been the first to bring in the newspaper clippings, headlines screaming across the front page:

ACN Anchor and Associate Producer Survived Brutal Captivity in Uganda
-
Journalist Heroic Escape Ends in Hospitalization
-
Inside the Horror: International Outcry Over Journalists Kidnapping

“There it is,” Reese muttered, running his hand through his hair. “Every outlet has a version. Some call it political, some humanitarian, others are just chasing sensationalism. They’ll be circling here by noon.”

Charlie leaned forward, tired shadows under his eyes. The war just begin. “Maggie can’t deal with this, not now. And Will—he’s in no state. We have to keep them insulated.”

Mac added, “We also have to think about Will’s sisters and Maggie's parents. They can’t just walk in and out of this hospital with cameras shoved in their faces. It’ll be brutal.”

Charlie had already thought of that. “We’ll need security for the floor. And when they’re discharged, secure transport that gets them inside without exposure. Will’s apartment building is already on lists—paparazzi will camp outside. Maggie’s apartment and her parents hotel room too.”

They all fell silent at that. None of them liked how invasive it sounded, but it was the reality.

There was one small piece of good news: Jamil had been released from the hospital earlier that day. He was still shaken but physically on the mend. It gave them all a sliver of hope.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later, Mac found herself standing outside Noah’s Campbell room. She hadn’t seen him yet—just quick glimpses when staff hurried between the ICU rooms. She hesitated before pushing the door open.

Noah was sitting upright in bed, both hands wrapped in thick bandages, his arms traced with bruises and cuts. His face looked older than his years, tired in a way no amount of rest could fix.

“Mind if I come in? I am MacKenzie McHale.” Mac asked gently.

He looked up, a flicker of recognition softening his expression. “Of course.”

She pulled up a chair. “How are you holding up?”

He gave a short laugh. “Like hell, but I’m alive. Guess that counts.” His eyes flickered. “What about Will, Maggie and Jamil?”

Mac’s throat tightened. “Will and Maggie are under sedation. They’re keeping them under so their bodies can heal in peace. It’s… hard… to watch. From what I heard, Jamil is relatively ok.”

Noah studied her face for a moment, then nodded. “They left Jamil to be the last one…to die… he translated the little he understood, you know. I should have done more for them.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” she said softly. “What you went through—what you all went through—it was… I can’t even imagine. I saw a recording of the rescue and I can’t…..” she shook her head.

For a while, they just sat in the quiet hum of the machines. Then Mac added, “I have to tell you smething, the media knows. A lot. Will isn’t just a journalist to them—he’s a face they recognize. Maggie, too. They are known faces so the media will turn this into a storm. You and Jamil would be next the media will cut into. The hospital’s tightening security. If you want, I can arrange someone outside your door. No one gets through without clearance.”

Noah’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

Mac nodded. “Seriously. It’s not about paranoia. It’s more about protection.”

He let out a breath. “Okay. I think I’d like that.”

Then, with a small, almost shy pause, he asked, “Can I ask you something? Are you… the Mac?”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

His gaze softened. “When we were there, Will talked about you. Not much, but enough. He said there was this woman named Mac. Someone who mattered a lot to him. Someone he promised himself he’d get back to. That he’d keep Maggie safe for her.”

Mac felt her chest ache, the words landing heavier than she expected. She lowered her eyes. “I guess that’s me.”

Noah smiled faintly. “Then he’s lucky to have someone like you. Protect them both, please. We have seen enough. Lived through enough. ”

“I will, always.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That evening, Mac sat exhausted. They were sitting in Will’s hospital room trying to piece together what the media circus meant for Nancy and Lisa in the weeks to come.

“They’ll be camped outside Will’s apartment,” Mac said. “But we’ve got a plan. Secure car, underground garage. We’ll do the best we can so you won’t have to deal with the media.”

Lisa let out a relieved sigh. “Thank God. Nancy’s strong, but she’s not built for that kind of madness.”

A soft knock interrupted them. When Mac opened the door, Noah stood there, shoulders hunched like he wasn’t sure he should have come.

“Hi. Can I..… I wanted to see him,” he said quietly.

Lisa and Mac guided him into Will’s room. The sight of Will—so still, tubes and machines breathing for him—left Noah speechless. He swallowed hard.

“I saw that happen” he mentioned to Will’s ribs. “What is the extent?” he asked.

“He has multiple broken ribs which inflamed lungs. They tried to let it heal by itself but he was getting worse and his ribcage was unstable so they plated it” answered Lisa.

His voice cracked. “You know…I was there when they beat him. …With the pipe. …We were trying to send a distress signal. I don’t know if it went through. But our plan partially didn’t work. They changed guards that night and it was…I have nightmares about it among other things. I thought he was dead when he started coughing up blood. I begged him to hold on.”

Mac’s hand brushed his arm gently. “I say it again, give yourself some credit. You are all safe and he's still fighting. You did good.”

“If anyone asks, I didn’t tell you anything” Lisa looked around and quietly said “but it did work. We were deciding between three places and that's how we found out where you were. Thanks to your distress signal.”

Noah's eyes glistered with tears.

Nancy came in then, and for a moment the four of them stood together around the bed. “You’re heroes you know” Nancy whispered. Her voice was steady, though her eyes brimmed. “All of you. That you survived as long as you did…”

Noah nodded, his throat tight. “I don’t care what the media says, they’ll never understand what happened there. How hard it was and what it cost. But unfortunately, we will never forget.”

The machines ticked on, steady and relentless. The world outside raged with headlines and speculation. But in that quiet room, for the first time, it felt like the truth was acknowledged.

Chapter Text

The morning began like the last one. Quiet, clinical. Light filtered through the ICU windows with no regard for suffering. In Will’s room, time moved slowly.

Mac sat on the edge of a stiff plastic chair, her eyes fixed on Will’s pale, sedated face. His chest rose and fell with mechanical regularity, the ventilator breathing for him. His lips were dry, and the bruising across his ribs had turned dark. Mac could only imagine it nearly black beneath the tape and dressing. The swelling in his left wrist had eased slightly since surgery, but everything else about him still looked like a man barely stitched together.

Lisa sat across from her, thumbing through a patient chart with unreadable precision. She wasn’t reading anymore. Just flipping pages, keeping her hands and mind busy. Nancy stood at the foot of the bed, in silent prayers, her face drawn tight.

No one spoke. Because there was nothing to say. Will hadn’t stirred. Not a flicker behind closed eyes. No squeeze of a hand. No response to voices. He wasn’t worse, but he wasn’t better either.

Then Mac’s phone buzzed. A short, shrill beep in the silence. She blinked, pulled it from her pocket.

Incoming alert – trending topics. The words took a moment to land.

Then they did. Her face changed — lips parting, brow dropping. She scrolled furiously, one swipe after the next. The headlines screamed back at her:

---“BREAKING: ACN Anchor Will McAvoy Identified in Hostage Rescue Operation. What happened?”

---“SOURCES: Journalist Margareth Jordan Also Among Survivors of Uganda Capture. Critically injured,”

---“HOT: Rescue Photos Leaked – Viewer Discretion Advised”

Mac’s stomach dropped. “Jesus Christ,” she whispered, louder than she meant to.

Lisa sat up straight. “What is it?”

Mac turned the phone, her hand trembling with anger. “Someone HAS leaked it. Even the photos….”

Nancy looked up, stunned. “Photos? From… ?”

“From the goddamn rescue,” Mac spat. “They weren’t supposed to be open to the public. Oh my god.,. These are stills from the tarmac and field hospital. All four of them.”

Lisa’s jaw tightened. “Is it a big problem? The media would have learned about it one way or the other, right?”

Mac stood, pacing a few feet before turning back toward them.

“This is bad,” she said. “You don’t understand — they weren’t just taken. They were tortured. And now that story, that trauma, is a commodity. People are going to start digging — trying to find out what exactly they endured, where they were, who else was involved. It puts all of them in the crosshairs. It compromises whatever investigation is happening or going to happen. Hell, it could retraumatize them the second they learn about it.”

Her voice was shaking now. “And God forbid it gets political. You know what happens then — networks pick it up. Government people start issuing statements. Everyone starts guessing, judging, twisting.”

Lisa exchanged a glance with Nancy. Neither spoke, but both clearly understood. It wasn’t just about privacy anymore. It was about safety. Integrity. Dignity.

Mac’s phone rang. She glanced down.

Charlie.

She picked up immediately.

“Yeah.”

His voice came through low and urgent. “They did it. It’s out I know.”

“Where the hell did it come from?”

“We just got word — someone in the government leaked it. Probably military intelligence. Might’ve been someone trying to get ahead of a report that was supposed to stay classified.”

“Jesus,” Mac whispered.

“We’ve got cameras already parked outside the building,” Charlie continued. “ As we anticipated, the paparazzi are outside the hospital and so on. ACN is being asked for comment — not just on Will and Maggie’s condition, but their journalistic purpose there. Why were they even in Uganda in the first place. Who knew, who sent them. ”

Mac went quiet. Her grip on the phone whitened her knuckles.

“We need to get ahead of this,” Charlie said. “We’re working on a statement, but we need your input. Can you come in? There’s probably going to be an inside legal investigation.”

“I’m on my way.”

She ended the call, grabbed her bag, and looked once more at Will’s sleeping form. The rhythm of the ventilator filled the room.

Nancy stepped closer. “Will you keep us posted?”

“I will.”

Lisa stood as well, her eyes locking with Mac’s. “If you meet someone from the media, don’ t tell them anything. Don’t let them turn this into entertainment.”

Lisa nodded. “We won’t.”

Then she walked out — past the nurses’ station, past Maggie’s room, past the reporters already starting to gather like flies outside the glass doors of the Hospital.

The storm had begun.

—----------------------------------------------------------------

Mac at ACN

The ACN newsroom was already buzzing when Mac walked in, the echo of her boots against polished floors drowned by the hum of tension. Phones rang incessantly. Producers huddled in corners, whispering, eyes flicking to monitors where Will’s face—bloodied, grainy, unmistakable—looped over and over across rival networks. Maggie tied up. And others injured too.

It was surreal. Will’s and Maggie’s image, broken and vulnerable, on every screen for the whole world to see.

She didn’t pause.

By the time she reached the glass conference room, Charlie was already inside, leaning over the table. Leona was there too, looking like she hadn’t slept. Reese stood at the window, arms folded, frowning at his phone.

“You’ve seen it,” Charlie said without preamble.

Mac nodded. “All of it. Rescue footage. It’s everywhere.”

Reese looked up. “We’re getting calls from every direction. Requests for comment. Panel invites. An offer from 60 Minutes for God’s sake.”

Mac’s jaw clenched. “Of course you are.”

“We have to respond,” Leona said. Her tone was quiet, but urgent. “The story is out. If we stay silent, they’ll fill in the blanks with their own version of events.”

Mac didn’t sit. She remained standing at the head of the table.

“Do we know who leaked it?” she asked.

Charlie leaned forward, his tone measured. “The source is reportedly from government circles—a contractor in the State Department sold the images and details. This isn’t just a tabloid leak. It’s a deliberate action. It looks like there’s a political agenda here.”

Mac’s stomach turned. “Do we even know what else is out there?”

Charlie passed a manila folder across the table. “There’s more. Unverified reports are already calling them ‘reckless’ for being there in the first place.”

Reese seized the opening. “Which is exactly why we have to frame this now, before the narrative hardens. Will chose to go. He wasn’t assigned. He wasn’t ordered. He made the call to fly into a warzone chasing Maggie, and it nearly killed them both. If the world wants to call that reckless, better it lands on him than on the network.”

Mac’s head snapped toward him. “Say that again?”

“I’m saying we don’t all go down for one man’s martyr complex,” Reese shot back. “If we don’t draw that line, we all own his decision.”

Charlie slammed his palm on the table. “You don’t get to call it a martyr complex. He went because one of ours was in danger and the ACN wasn’t doing much to help.”

“He went because his ego wouldn’t let him stay put,” Reese countered. “And now the station is on the hook for his hero act. The sponsors, the board, Washington—they don’t care about nobility. They care about liability. If Will takes the fall, ACN survives.”

“Unbelievable. How dare you ?!” Mac said, her voice low and shaking with fury. “They are lying in a hospital bed, beaten and fighting just to stay alive. And you want to make them scapegoats? That’s your version of leadership?”

Reese didn’t flinch. “That’s my version of survival.”

Leona’s voice cut in, sharp as glass. “Enough. Reese, you may run day-to-day, but don’t forget who owns this company. We do not sacrifice our own to appease a bad headline. Not Will. Not Maggie. Not anyone.”

Reese looked like he wanted to argue, but Leona’s stare pinned him silent.

Charlie leaned back, exhausted but resolute. “We stand with them. Period.”

Mac exhaled sharply. “Then we say this: William McAvoy and Margaret Jordan were victims of a kidnapping while reporting abroad. They were rescued by U.S. forces and are currently recovering in a secure medical facility. We are not commenting further at this time. Beyond that, we say nothing. It’s not our story to tell until they can tell it themselves.”

Leona nodded once. “Then it’s settled. We issue a statement that protects all of us.”

Reese muttered, “Until the board sees it differently.”

“Let them,” Leona said. “They’ll have to get through me first.”

Mac folded her arms, jaw tight. “If Will wakes up and finds out we let this place disown him, it's the end. And if Maggie wakes up to headlines saying she was nothing but collateral damage to someone else’s ego? We’ll lose her too. I won’t let that happen, Reese.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hallway → Mac’s Office

Mac and Charlie left the glass conference room, both worn down by the fight with Reese. The newsroom outside still buzzed like a hive, every monitor looping the same cruel footage of Will and Maggie at their weakest. Mac hated it—every replay felt like a theft. Every producer and intern who stopped mid-step to watch made her want to rip the screens off the walls.

Charlie muttered beside her, voice gravelly. “Bloody opportunist. Reese would sell all of us if it bought him ten points in market share.”

Mac said nothing. Her chest was tight, as though she’d been holding her breath since sunrise. Lisa’s last message scrolled across her mind in stark clarity: Will stable. Maggie worse. Fever climbing. She hadn’t dared ask for more. Not while Reese and Leona circled like sharks over what was left of her people.

Her office was dimmer, blinds half-drawn, a little quieter than the chaos outside. She barely had time to let the silence settle before there was a knock. Sloan and Neal slipped in, both of them looking like they’d been carrying the weight of the newsroom on their shoulders.

Sloan, as blunt as ever, didn’t waste time. “How are they? Anything new? Can we help?”

Mac gave them the little she could. Will was stable, Maggie’s fever was spiking, but nothing was definitive.

Neal hovered, hesitant but anxious. “And ACN? What’s the plan? Because everyone out there is whispering about statements, lawsuits, hearings—if there’s a narrative, we don’t know what it is.”

Charlie, exhausted, replied, “There isn’t one yet. That’s the problem. Too many vultures circling.” The room grew heavier. Sloan and Neal wanted reassurance, the whole team needed it but Mac couldn’t give it, and Charlie knew it.

Just then, Mac’s assistant knocked and poked her head in. “There’s a man here asking to see you or Mr. Skinner. Says his name is Daniel Taylor.”

Charlie frowned, not placing it immediately. Mac’s head snapped up. She knew that name. Her stomach dropped.

Daniel Taylor.

It had been years, but she remembered him from the periphery of Will’s stories—college debates, long nights in smoky bars, half-admired, half-resented brilliance. Will never said much about him, only that Daniel had been the one guy in law school he couldn’t argue into submission.

Charlie frowned, uncomprehending. “Do we know him?”

Mac’s voice was quiet. “Will does.”

Moments later, the man himself stepped inside. Early forties, board, tall, sharp suit, but his expression softened when he saw them. Daniel Taylor — lawyer, polished but not slick. He carried sparks in his eyes.

He didn’t waste time.

“I’m sorry to barge in, but I couldn’t sit this one out. I heard about Willam. I went to school with him. We go way back. And with what’s already coming out, you’re going to need more than a PR statement. ”

Mac blinked, momentarily caught between surprise and suspicion.

“You came here just… out of the blue?”

Daniel nodded. “There’s going to be an inquiry, maybe a congressional one, maybe even the Justice Department sniffing around. And you can bet ACN will launch its own internal review. Will’s not going to be able to fight that on his own, not in his condition. He’ll need a lawyer. So I am here. I’ve seen this play before. Public opinion, political leverage, scapegoating. Will is too big a name, too big a target. They’ll hang this around his neck if they can. I won’t let them.”

Charlie studied him. “We can’t decide for Will and he is in no shape to make a decisions for himself for now.”

Daniel’s answer came without hesitation. “Will’s my friend. Always has been. I owe him. And frankly—if I don’t step in, someone else will. Someone who doesn’t give a damn about him, just about headlines.”

A lawyer from Will’s past. Someone who carried both loyalty and leverage. Someone who could either shield him—or expose him further. She thought of Will lying pale and broken in that ICU bed, and the idea of another stranger circling him made her pulse spike. Mac exchanged a glance with Charlie — wary, but recognizing the truth in his words.

Sloan broke the silence, skeptical but curious. “You’re saying this goes beyond bad press?”

Daniel nodded. “Far beyond. There are already whispers about negligence, recklessness, even liability for endangering. Once the government and corporate lawyers start sniffing around, you’ll want someone in Will’s corner who isn’t working for ACN’s bottom line. I’m that person.”

Neal spoke softly, almost to himself. “So you’re here to protect Will… from his own network?”

Daniel didn’t deny it. “From anyone who decides he’s more valuable as a sacrifice than as a survivor.

The silence that followed pressed in thick and suffocating.

Mac crossed her arms, trying to mask the unease crawling up her spine. She hated that he was right. Hated that she’d already pictured Reese drawing the noose tighter, sentence by sentence. Hated most of all that Will would need this kind of protection, as though the world hadn’t already taken enough from him.

Charlie finally exhaled, rubbing his forehead like he could rub away the inevitability of it all. “Christ. The circus hasn’t even begun.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Evening

Maggie had gotten worse. Her fever ran high despite every adjustment, and the constant hiss of oxygen beside her bed filled the room with an uneasy rhythm. Her parents sat close, her mother clutching Maggie’s hand as if sheer willpower could hold her daughter here, her father quiet and pale, his grief simmering behind a mask of calm.

Mac lingered in the doorway for a moment before stepping in. “Hi. How is she?”

Her mother shook her head, tears welling. “She’s burning up. They said the antibiotics need more time, but… it feels like forever.”

Her father cleared his throat, his voice rough. “She’s a fighter. Always has been.” He looked at Mac then, holding her with a steady, searching gaze. “They tell us her colleague is still in the coma?”

“Yes,” Mac said softly. “He’s stable, but they’re keeping him under for his lungs. It’s… it’s what it is.

Her mother brushed Maggie’s damp hair back from her face. “We just want her to wake up. Even if it’s for a moment. To see her smile”

Mac reached out and set a hand gently on her shoulder. “She knows you’re here. Just keep talking to her. She’ll feel it.”

They stayed like that for a while—quiet words, Maggie’s shallow breaths, the low beeping of machines filling in the silence. When Mac finally left, the weight of their hope clung to her like a second skin.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was already evening when she made her way to Will’s room. The halls felt emptier, the hospital winding down into its hushed night rhythm. Lisa was nowhere to be found.

Pushing the door open, Mac froze in the doorway.

Nancy was there, kneeling beside Will’s bed, her head bowed in prayer. Her hands were folded tight, lips moving silently, eyes closed. Will lay motionless beneath the web of lines and tubes, the ventilator rising and falling for him.

Mac felt like an intruder. The intimacy of it—the quiet devotion—made her hesitate. She almost turned back. But Nancy looked up, her expression soft, not angry or defensive, just warm in a way that made Mac’s throat ache.

“Come on in,” Nancy said gently, her voice low so as not to break the stillness. She stood, smoothing her skirt, and moved to give Mac space. “I was just… praying.”

Mac stepped closer, guilt flickering. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. It was—”

“Don’t.” Nancy’s smile was small, tired, but kind. “I think he can hear us.”

Mac blinked. “You think so?”

“I’ve been reading,” Nancy said, glancing at Will’s face, pale under the bruises. “Stories of people in induced comas. Some remembered voices. Music. Even just the touch of a hand. They said it comforted them. I want to believe that’s true for him, too.”

Mac’s chest tightened. She reached for Will’s hand, careful with the IV line taped to his skin. “Then we’ll keep talking,” she whispered.

Nancy watched her, silent for a beat. She still carried her reservations about Mac—about what she had done, about the ways she hurt him before Uganda broke him further. But in this moment, watching how Mac bent over him, how her thumb brushed his knuckles with quiet devotion, Nancy could see it plain: she loved him.

Chapter Text

The fluorescent lights above Maggie’s bed hummed faintly, a thin, electric buzz that mingled with the steady beeping of the monitors and the quiet hiss of the IV pump. She lay still—too still—but her color had improved slightly from two days ago. The deep, angry flush of her fever had faded, though her skin was still pale and damp with sweat. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, careful breaths, the work of her lungs exhausting enough that the machines handled everything else. The faint rattle in her throat and the subtle tremor in her hands were the only signs of the infection still coursing through her.

Her mother sat closest to the bed, bent forward in the plastic hospital chair, knuckles white around Maggie’s limp fingers. Her father remained near the foot of the bed, staring at his daughter as though willing her back to life with sheer force. The tension in his shoulders made every exhale sound labored. No one spoke; the silence was a heavy, living thing.

The door clicked softly. Jim stepped in, balancing coffees, sandwiches, and a small paper bag of pastries. The smell of warm bread and roasted coffee beans drifted into the room, a fragile comfort.

“Morning,” he said gently, setting the tray down on the small table beside the bed. “I brought some food.”

Maggie’s father turned sharply, eyes wary but not unkind. Her mother offered a faint, grateful smile.

“Oh, you didn’t have to,” she murmured, rising to help him with the tray.

“I wanted to,” Jim said. “I thought maybe none of you had eaten yet.”

“You guessed right,” her father muttered, gaze returning immediately to Maggie. “Thanks.”

For a few minutes, they sat in a muted routine. Coffee steamed from paper cups; sandwiches were unwrapped with careful fingers. Maggie’s mother dabbed at her eyes with a tissue now and then, though no one commented. Every small sound—the whisper of paper, the clink of a cup—felt amplified in the hush of the room.

After a long pause, her father cleared his throat. “I’m going to be honest here—you’re the father of the baby, I assume?”

Jim nodded slowly, placing his cup back on the table. “Yeah.”

Her father’s gaze lingered, sharp but searching. “Is that… recent? Or—?”

“We’ve been… complicated,” Jim said softly, not meeting their eyes. “But I’ve always cared about her. And the baby. I didn’t know she was pregnant until after… after she was already in Uganda.”

Her mother’s brow furrowed. “She didn’t tell you?”

“She didn’t tell anyone,” Jim admitted. “I think she was scared. Unsure. She was going to… eventually.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on them.

Her father rubbed at his jaw, exhaling slowly. “She never told us either. I guess… it doesn’t matter now. You’re here.”

“I am,” Jim said quietly. “And I will be.”

He glanced at Maggie, then back to them. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I just want to be here for her. For both of them. For you.”

Her mother’s eyes softened, brimming with relief. “That’s what she needs.”

Then a small, dry murmur escaped from Maggie’s throat, low and hesitant. All three turned instantly. Her hand twitched slightly beneath her mother’s, a subtle movement that sent the heart monitor fluttering.

“Maggie?” her mother whispered, leaning closer.

Her brow creased; her lips parted as if forming a word, but no sound came. The movement was brief, almost imperceptible—but enough to make hope quake in their chests.

Jim froze, his heart hammering. The infection still left her weak, feverish, but something had shifted. Even in unconsciousness, she was fighting.

They all leaned closer after that, their hands inching toward hers. No words could capture the fragile thread of life that had just pulsed between them—but they sat together, silently, holding vigil, hoping it would grow stronger.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The hallway lights dimmed with the evening shift, casting long, sterile shadows against the walls. Machines hummed steadily. A nurse passed quietly with a clipboard. The ICU had its own rhythm — not one of rest, exactly, but of necessity. Of survival.

Will hadn’t moved.

The ventilator exhaled for him in soft rhythms. Monitors displayed his vital signs in quiet, glowing pulses. His body remained motionless beneath the thin hospital sheet, sunken against the mattress in a way that no one who knew him would recognize. Pale. Bruised. Gaunt. Lifeless.

Mac stood at the edge of the room, arms folded tightly across her chest. She hadn’t left in hours. The coffee in her hand had gone cold a long time ago. She didn’t even notice.

Doctors had already been by that morning. Their update had been cautious —the ARDS was stabilizing, the swelling in Will’s lungs was going down, and they already started to lower the sedation slowly.

By lunch Lisa stepped into Will’s room quietly, her top rumpled, eyes ringed with exhaustion. “You should eat,” she murmured to Mac. Mac was beginning to look hollow, pale, gaunt eyes.

“I’m fine, thanks” Mac replied, without looking away from Will.

“Come on.” Lisa exhaled, leaning against the wall. “Your friend Charlie’s downstairs.”

Lisa looked over at Will. “I don’t think he’d want you burning yourself out.”

Mac almost smiled. “I don’t think he’d want to be on a ventilator either and yet here we are.”

Silence hung in the room for a moment. The soft hiss of air and the rhythmic beeping filled the space between them.

Then Will shifted. Barely — a twitch in the left hand. Just a subtle movement of the fingers. But it was enough.

Lisa moved closer, her training kicking in instantly. She checked the monitor. But Mac had seen it. Her eyes widened.

Lisa gently adjusted the sheet. “Sometimes they move a little under sedation. Reflexes.”

But it happened again. This time, his hand moved more deliberately. A slow, uncertain flex.

Mac stepped closer, drawn by instinct. “Will?”

His eyes remained closed. The ventilator still did the work. But there — another movement. His fingers curled again. Then his brow furrowed, ever so slightly.

Lisa turned to the monitor. “I’m calling the doctor.”

Mac’s voice broke. “Is he waking up?”

“I don’t know yet,” Lisa said, already pressing the call button. “But something’s changing.”

The doctor entered briskly, his expression cautious but alert. “What happened?” he asked.

Lisa recapped quickly, gesturing toward Will’s hand and the subtle movements they’d observed.

Doctor Thomas leaned over the bed, checking the neuro-response panel on the tablet, then gently pushed Will’s sternum with a knuckle. “Will? Can you hear me?”

No response.

He opened one eyelid with a gloved hand, and watched the pupil contract faintly. Reflexes were intact.

“Drop the sedation another notch,” he said to the nurse standing on the opposite side. “Let’s give it time. Restrain his hands.”

“Why restrain him?” Mac froze.

The doctor reassured her: “patients emerging from induced coma are usually disoriented at first. They may not remember what happened before so they don’t understand what is happening to them. Being intubated is surely not a comfortable experience. In the confused state the patient can extract the tube, or pull out IV’s or hurt themselves otherwise. We also protect ourselves. Given the reason he is in the state he is in the first place, I want him restrained until he can fully comprehend what is happening.

“Oh…. I understand. So he’s waking up. That’s a good sign, right?”

“Yes,” Kline said. “but we don’t rush this. But if he’s starting to fight the sedation, we might be nearing the window for extubation — maybe tomorrow, maybe not, we’ll see.”

“Is it safe, isn’t it too soon?” asked Lisa.

Kline met her eyes. “We won’t take him off the vent until we’re sure his lungs can support him. But the fact that he’s moving is... a start.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

ACN Official Statement Released to press and public

“ACN confirms that our colleagues, William McAvoy and Margareth Jordan, who were on assignment in Uganda, have been located and safely evacuated. Both are currently receiving medical care in a secure facility. Their conditions are serious but stable. On the 19th of August, he compound of the American embassy in Uganda was ambushed. Survivors of the attack, including our journalists, were taken hostage. Tragically, eight people lost their lives in this assault. ACN extends its deepest condolences to their families, loved ones, and colleagues. We ask that the public and media to respect their privacy, and privacy of their families during this critical time. Our first priority is their health and recovery. We are profoundly grateful to the organizations and individuals who worked tirelessly to secure their release and ensure their safe return. We also recognize the extraordinary courage all survivors demonstrated under unimaginable circumstances. At this time, ACN will not be providing further details on the circumstances of their captivity. Our focus remains on supporting our colleagues as they begin the long process of healing.

Thank you.
— ACN

------------------------------------------------------------------

Media Coverage Following ACN Statement:

- Clips of ACN’s statement circulate widely, with users expressing shock, horror, and relief.
- Twitter trending: #McAvoyRescue, #MaggieJordan, #UgandaCrisis.
- Panels debate the adequacy of embassy security, the role of journalists in warzones, and the emotional weight of hostage situations.
- Commentators speculate on what this means for ACN’s international coverage, without any confirmed details about Will and Maggie’s condition.
- Photographers stake out hospitals, ACN offices, and residences, hoping for a glimpse of the journalists or their families.
- Rumors circulate about the exact circumstances of their captivity, fueling a frenzy online and in tabloids.
- Social media campaigns show support, urging prayers and sending messages to Will and Maggie.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Daniel Taylor’s phone vibrated on the corner of his office desk. The number flashing on the screen wasn’t one he’d ignore — not with everything that had happened in Uganda. He picked it up, voice low. “Taylor.”

“Daniel, it’s Mark,” came the familiar voice of his old friend from the Department. The tone alone told him this wasn’t a courtesy call. “I can’t give you much, but I figured you’d want to know what we know so far.”

Daniel leaned back in his chair, shutting the office door with his foot. “Go on.”

“There were twelve people from the U.S. embassy team on the ground that day. Your clients—McAvoy and Jordan—were among them. It was a local gang, well-armed, coordinated. An ambush. Eight people didn’t make it.”

Daniel’s chest tightened, though he’d already heard fragments through the press. Hearing it in that flat, practiced voice of someone who’d seen too many debriefings made it real. “And the survivors?”

“Four. Jamil Ari, Noah Campbell, William McAvoy, and Margaret Jordan. They were held for fifteen days. Looks like they were tortured.” A pause, then quieter: “They got lucky. The local army moved in, coordinated with our people, and pulled them out. If they’d waited another few days —”

Daniel didn’t need the rest of the sentence.

“Where are they now?” he asked.

“Jamil Ari’s at a hospital in D.C. No major physical injuries, at least not yet. The other three in NY.”

Daniel nodded to himself, fingers drumming against his desk. “What does the Bureau have?”

“Not much beyond the operational timeline. What is known is that McAvoy and Jordan weren’t targets. Wrong place, wrong time. But—” Mark exhaled audibly on the other end. “This is where it gets complicated. A few of the captors were taken alive. Once the survivors are coherent enough, the Department of Justice and the jury want their testimonies. All four.”

“So they’re already building a case,” Daniel murmured.

“They have to. This is going to be high-profile, Daniel. There’ll be an internal review, congressional hearings, media pressure—the works. You know how it goes.”

Yes, he did. Too well.

Will hated this kind of spotlight. Maggie wasn’t much better. And after what they’d been through, neither of them should have to face it. But he also knew this wasn’t optional.

Daniel rubbed his forehead. “Do they have any idea what happened inside? Beyond the basic timeline?”

“Not much yet. Whatever happened during captivity is going to come out of those four. That’s why they’re going to push for interviews as soon as the doctors clear them.”

Daniel’s jaw clenched. “They’re not going to be ready so soon.”

“I know,” Mark said quietly. “But readiness isn’t part of the equation. Be prepared. You’re going to be pulled in fast.”

The line clicked off, leaving Daniel alone in the quiet. He stared at the phone in his hand, feeling the weight of what that call really meant.

Will wasn’t just a friend. He was a survivor about to be shoved into a political spotlight he never wanted. And Daniel… he was about to become the shield between his friend and a government that would want answers before scars had even begun to heal.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was hours before the next change.

Mac was still in the room. Lisa had finally forced her to eat something — half a sandwich and a cup of juice — but she refused to leave. She sat in the chair next to the bed, one hand resting lightly on Will’s wrist, careful not to disturb the IV lines.

Then she felt it.

A light, fluttering pressure against her fingers.

She looked up.

Will’s hand moved again — this time, unmistakably deliberate. His fingers curled around hers, slow and weak but real.

Her heart caught in her throat. “Will?”

His eyes twitched beneath the lids. His mouth moved slightly, the tube preventing speech. His brow furrowed again, deeper this time.

“Will, I’m here,” she said, leaning close. Her voice trembled. “You’re safe. You’re in the hospital. You’re okay.”

He struggled to open his eyes. One barely lifted.

And then — there — his gaze locked with hers. Dazed. Confused. But present.

Mac bit back a sob. She reached up and brushed her hand lightly across his forehead. “You’re alive. Do you hear me? You made it.”

A tear slid down his cheek. And as quickly as it came, it faded away, his eyes closed and quiet settled.