OKAY. I SINCERELY apologize for the wait. I had to do so much research to try and get everything (semi)accurate, and honestly I'm still not 100% sure I nailed it. I suddenly went from part-time to full-time at work, I found myself not having enough time to sit down and comprehend and translate/reword everything for myself and for you guys, so I seriously do apologize.

That being said, I really hope this was worth the wait for you guys, and I'm working on more stuff for you, but…. I think the time has come for this chapter to close. Cause I mean… you know how it ends anyway, haha. SO SORRY again for the wait, but I really hope you guys enjoy this, and I hope to have more for you guys here soon-ish! (Don't worry, no more insanely difficult science-y/medical stuff to take up all my writing time in the foreseeable future lol)

Please let me know what you think, and if there's anything you guys would like to see me take a crack at, please shoot me a PM! I love prompts c:

xXxXx

Between Heartbeats

Chapter Ten – In the Clear

Fillmore paced the hallway in front of Ingrid's vacant room as his worried thoughts bounced off the walls around him. He rubbed his hands together nervously as he turned and walked in the other direction. His eyes caught the flecks of blood on the shoulder of his shirt, but he quickly fixed his gaze on the far wall. Is she bleeding out? Was she drowning in her own blood or something? He ran his shaking hands over his face and pressed his fingers into his eyes, desperate to relieve the pressure building in his head. As stars danced across his closed eyes, he forced himself to take a deep breath.

Maybe I should call Nathan again, he thought, and stopped in his tracks. Neither Ingrid's father nor her sister woke up when he called, but, considering neither of them had slept much the past two days, it didn't shock him. He took out his phone and looked at the time. It was just past five in the morning, two hours after Rand whisked Ingrid away to undergo x-rays and CT scans, and an hour and a half after a nurse returned to tell him she was going into surgery. What if he found something worse than he expected? Nausea coiled in his stomach, and he found himself looking around for a bathroom or a trashcan – whichever his eyes landed on first. But, before he could make a move in either direction, the overpowering sensation of exhaustion nearly brought him to his knees. They wobbled beneath him and he stumbled towards the wall with an outstretched hand and leaned into it. He struggled to catch his breath as he let himself slump against the wall, then slide down to the floor.

His body ached. His muscles were on fire, and his joints throbbed as he hit the floor, relieving the pressure that had been building in them from standing for so long. He looked up at the ceiling and took deeper, slower breaths, trying to pull himself back together while his phone burned a hole in his pocket.

It was all too much. It had been over two days since the explosion, but everything was already taking a toll on him, mentally and physically. His thoughts, the good and the bad, raced nonstop through his head, so quickly that they'd started to blur together, and he couldn't tell them apart. It was making his head pound. He rubbed his eyes and pressed against his temples as adrenaline continued to pump through his veins. God, she's gotta be okay, he begged, propping his elbows on his knees and running his hands over his head. I can't take any more of this… His heart throbbed in agreement and he sighed. A cage of butterflies burst in his chest as he buried his head in his hands, desperately trying to recall what it felt like to be in the clear.

A soft "ding" sounded at the end of the hall, followed by the whoosh of elevator doors. Fillmore's head shot up and over in that direction to meet the eyes of Dr. Rand, who was stepping out. God, finally! He scrambled to his feet, spouting off a dozen questions before he could even close the space in between them.

Rand held his hands up in front of him as Fillmore frantically approached him. "She's doing fine, Cornelius," he told him, and Fillmore froze in disbelief. "They're hooking her up to a CPAP machine, but she should be back in her room shortly." Rand smiled softly at him, hoping it would help him relax if he knew that her own surgeon was in good spirits.

Fillmore struggled to catch his breath as confusion spun webs in his mind. But, the nurse said she was going into surgery… shouldn't that take longer? What was wrong with her? Do we have to worry anymore? His mouth opened and shut silently, failing to say what was running through his mind. Should he be worried? Relieved? Angry? As his emotions continued to spin, he suddenly felt the need to hold onto something. He trudged over to the front desk and braced himself against the counter, his head hanging low. Rand followed close behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder as Fillmore ran one hand over his dry eyes.

"I don't know if her father told you about this, but she has a condition called blast lung," Rand explained, hoping that might help bring the boy peace. Fillmore looked over at him blankly. He vaguely remembered the words "blast" and "lung" used together, but he couldn't recall who said it or what it meant. "Think of your lungs as balloons—" Rand cupped his hands together in a ball, "—they're hollow cavities comprised of soft tissue, teetering between low pressure when you breathe in—" he spread his hands apart, "—and high pressure when you breathe out." He squeezed his hands together. "Now, what do you think happens when something like a brick wall crashes down on a balloon that's full of air?"

Fillmore's eyes widened. "It'll pop," he murmured in awe.

Rand nodded forlornly. "Which is essentially what happened when that blast wave threw Ingrid into that wall." Fillmore squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face to the counter, doing his best not to picture that. "The trauma to her lungs was so severe, we had kept her on a ventilator to breathe for her, so her body could focus on healing. But when she woke up with the tube still in place, she seemed to be trying to breathe on her own, so I prematurely removed it to prevent abnormal pressure exchanges."

Fillmore did a double take. "Prematurely?"

Rand nodded, somewhat shamefully. "Normally after a pneumothorax – a collapsed lung – patients stay on a ventilator between four to six days, but her body is working so hard to recover, I didn't want to risk counteracting its efforts and creating more problems. That was a risk I shouldn't have taken," he humbly explained. "We replaced the ventilator with a nasal cannula, but it wasn't providing enough concentrated oxygen to maintain equalized pressure in her lungs and, with how badly her lungs are bruised from the blast, bloody fluid started to build up in her lungs. We call that edema." Fillmore stared stoically at the starch white countertop, processing what the doctor was saying to him. From what he could tell, Rand was saying that he made a bad call, and Ingrid suffered for it. Fury bubbled in his chest.

"I know that you're scared," Rand started softly, thinking the boy was simply processing everything, but when Fillmore looked back up at him, he saw a dark rage brewing in the young man's eyes that shook him to the bone.

"That nurse said she needed surgery," Fillmore growled under his breath. "One minute, she's sleeping and stable, and the next she's coughing up blood onto my shirt and she needs surgery. I'm not scared, Rand, I'm pissed." Rand held up a hand, wordlessly trying to keep Fillmore quiet as he started to raise his voice and looked around cautiously at all the closed doors for any sign of disturbed patients.

"Cornelius—"

Fillmore ignored him and wildly pointed somewhere behind him. "Forty-eight hours ago, a psychopath tried to fucking blow her up—" Fillmore abruptly stepped towards him, now chest to chest with the surgeon who gawked at his sudden display of aggression, "—and while he's sitting nice and cozy in a cell somewhere, she's still fighting for her life because you made a fucking mistake?"

"Which we had prepared for and have corrected!" Rand spat back at him. Fillmore stepped back in shock but, before he could retaliate, Rand continued, his voice slightly calmer, more authoritative. "I performed a bronchoscopy and suctioned all the blood and fluid from her lungs, and we're putting her on a CPAP machine, which is less risky than putting her back on a ventilator, and she is doing fine, Cornelius."

Fillmore was speechless. He gaped at the man who saved Ingrid's life and, suddenly, wondered why he'd been yelling at him. He should be thanking him for God's sake. But the doctor's words and his own thoughts and emotions bounced wildly around in his skull, the only words he could make out being, she's doing fine. But a part of him couldn't grasp it. After everything she'd been through, how could he know she was "fine"?

Rand's eyes softened as he watched Fillmore's grow vacant and confused, and he gripped him gently by the shoulders. He felt the need to repeat to him: "She's doing just fine," he started as Fillmore blinked back tears.

"She is?" he whispered.

Rand nodded enthusiastically with a soft smile. "And she's been asking for you."

Fillmore's jaw dropped almost as fast as his heart. "She's awake?" he asked, not caring how his voice broke.

"Yes, bronchoscopies are usually performed on conscious patients." Rand looked at his watch. "I gave her a small dose of an anesthetic to keep her drowsy and numb to ease her pain and anxiety, but she was asking for you when I left." The elevator dinged behind them. They both turned, and Fillmore breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her. She was lying partially on her right side, slightly off-centered on the bed. She'd curled in on herself as comfortably as she could with a machine wrapped around her head, a mask covering her nose, and her left arm still slung to her chest. A man and a woman were on either side of her and guided her bed out into the corridor.

A mixture of relief and anguish flooded through Fillmore, settling uneasily in his chest as they pushed her closer. "Ingrid," he whispered and took a step towards her, but Rand grabbed his wrist gently to stop him.

"Let them get her in first," he ordered calmly. Fillmore bit his lip, but held himself back, despite how desperately he wanted to be by her side again. "I take it you called her family?"

But, Fillmore didn't answer him. The two nurses wheeled Ingrid past him, just out of his reach. Her eyes were barely open, but he saw them flutter, and she struggled to lift her hand, as if she were waiting for him to grab onto it. God, that was all he wanted to do. Rand said his name again, prompting him to answer, but Fillmore shrugged.

"They didn't answer," he replied flatly, his eyes fixated on Ingrid's bed as they disappeared into her room.

"All right, I'll give them another call soon." Rand jerked his head towards her room, silently giving Fillmore permission to follow him, which he did in earnest. "How's she doing?" Rand asked.

"Her oxygenation is up…" the woman began, but her voice faded from Fillmore's ears as she locked the bed in place and stepped away towards Rand, clearing Fillmore's path to Ingrid's side. She stared vacantly in his direction as he approached, his heart pounding in his chest as his eyes fell to where her outstretched hand had fallen back onto the mattress. She's okay… was all he could think as he reached for her and gently wrapped his hands around hers. Her fingers twitched in his as he brought them to his lips, and her eyes opened slightly wider in curiosity.

He smiled softly into her fingertips. "Hey, mama," he whispered, knowing full well she likely couldn't hear him, but she didn't need to. Her half-lidded eyes glistened as they registered his outline and she sighed contentedly, wordlessly breathing his name.

"She's doing much better already," Rand said, breaking the silence. "The morphine should be kicking in any minute now." Fillmore looked over at him standing at the foot of her bed where he hung her chart. The nurses were gone. Fillmore acknowledged him with a nod, and suddenly felt a pang of guilt ball in the pit of his stomach for yelling at him before. But, before he could say anything, Rand held up his hand. "You don't need to apologize," he told him, reading his expression like a book. In any other situation, Fillmore would've kicked himself for being so transparent, but he didn't have the energy. Rand walked over and placed a hand on Fillmore's shoulder, and continued, "You've been through hell the past few days, kid. You really should get some sleep."

Fillmore turned his attention back to Ingrid. Rest didn't matter to him. Only she did. "I'll sleep when she does," he told him.

Rand sighed, knowing there wasn't any amount of pushing the issue that could sway the boy. "I'll be back to check on her every hour," he said, squeezing Fillmore's shoulder before turning towards the door. "You know where the call button is."

Fillmore sighed. They were finally alone. Ingrid gasped as she tried to keep herself from crying – mostly from relief that he was standing beside her – and she whispered his name again. "I'm right here, Ingrid," he said, reaching up to brush some of her hair that had gotten trapped underneath the CPAP strap around her forehead.

"E-Everybody…" she trailed off to catch her breath. Her voice sounded so weak, which was so unfamiliar to him. He squeezed her hand tighter, somehow hoping he could give her some of his strength. "They-they're okay?"

Fillmore nodded. "Yeah, mama, no one else got hurt, I promise," he told her, knowing she'd kill him later for not being completely honest, but the mask of relief that appeared on her face was worth it.

"Really?" she asked tearfully, and he nodded again.

"Everyone's okay, baby girl." Tears formed at the corner of her eyes as she started to lean towards him. His heart ached to wrap his arms around her, and it only took him a moment to act on that impulse. He sat on the edge of her bed, halfway hanging off it, and dragged the chair over to brace himself on. He brought his arm above her and rested his hand on the top of her head, immediately stroking her hair and holding her free hand to his chest. "It's all gonna be okay," he told her as she sank into him, her muscles relaxing as the painkillers did their job. She was asleep moments later, but he continued to breathe her in, to stroke her hair, and, before he knew it, he was saying the same thing to himself.

It's all gonna be okay, he thought as his eyes closed. We're gonna be okay.

xXxXx

Thanks so much for following along with me, guys. I really appreciate your support! See you guys around, and I hope to hear from you!

ellameno