Chapter 16: The First Vigil
The ICU was a cathedral of cold, precise sound. The rhythmic hiss-click of the ventilator was the dominant hymn, underscored by the steady, digital beep of the cardiac monitor and the softer drip of IV fluids. The air wasn’t just cool; it was a manufactured chill that seeped into Morgan’s bones, carrying the pervasive scent of artificial cleanliness and something faintly metallic.Y/n lay centered in the bed, a small figure against the stark white sheets. She was a network of lines and tubes: the breathing tube taped brutally to her mouth, IVs snaking from the backs of both hands, a central line buried near her collarbone, wires snaking from pads on her chest. A thick bandage enveloped her left thigh, another peeked from the neck of her hospital gown. Her face was pale, almost waxen under the relentless fluorescence, her striking green eyes hidden by bruised lids.Her short hair was flattened and dull.
Morgan dragged the plastic chair close, its legs shrieking against the floor.He sat, the chair protesting under his weight. He hesitated for a moment, then carefully enveloped her right hand in both of his. Her skin was cool.He avoided the pulse oximeter clipped to her finger.
“Hey, Marine,” he said, his voice a low rasp in the room.It sounded alien against the mechanical chorus.
He just sat for a minute, listening to the machine breathe for her.In, out. Hiss, click.He remembered her breathing in the warehouse—ragged, wet, then silent.
“Alright, so.They got you on the big sleep.Chilly, too. Reid says it’s good for you.Something about swelling. You know he’s probably out there right now, reciting the chemical composition of the sedation cocktail to Garcia to make her feel better. It’s not working.”
He adjusted his grip, his thumb moving gently over her knuckles.“Durand’s dead. Took two in the chest. Hotch and I lit him up the second we breached that back room.He never saw you go down.Probably thought he won.” Morgan’s jaw tightened. “He didn’t win.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, her hand held between his.
“You scared the hell out of JJ, you know. One minute you’re giving us your location, next minute you just… dropped.Silence.She was screaming through the comms. ‘Y/n, talk to me, talk to me!’ I’ve never heard her sound like that. It was a bad minute. A real bad minute.”
He glanced at the monitor, the green line spiking with each beep.A steady 78.It felt like a lie.
“We found your knife.Sticking out of that sick bastard’s workbench. Next to a half-carved bird.Garcia’s calling it ‘evidence.’ I’m calling it a trophy. You marked your spot.Even bled out on the floor, you left your signature. That’s… that’s something, Vinder.”
A nurse slipped in silently, checked a bag of fluids, made a note on a chart, and slipped out without a word. The intrusion felt violent in its normalcy.“The team’s all here. Garcia cried all over Reid’s good shirt. Prentiss is doing that thing where she looks calm but I can see her thumb tapping against her leg like a metronome. Hotch is doing his ‘Federal Liaison’ thing, which means he’s silently tearing the local PD a new one for not securing the perimeter faster. And Reid… he’s in his head.Calculating your odds. He gave us the percentage drop for brain thingies per second.Don’t be mad at him.It’s how he copes. He needs the numbers.”
Morgan fell silent again, just listening to the machinery that was keeping her alive. It was so loud.He wished for a snarky comment from the bed. A dry ‘Outdated system’ quip about the ventilator.
“You gotta come back, you know?” he said, his voice dropping even lower, strained. “You can’t leave me as the only cool one.Reid’s a dork, Hotch is… Hotch. I need my wingman for giving them hell. Who’s gonna back me up when I say we should skip the paperwork and go for beers?”
Nothing.Just the hiss-click.Out.
“Your secret’s safe,” he murmured, almost to himself. “The medical team… they know what they need to know to treat you.Nothing more.Hotch made it clear. It’s just anatomy to them.It’s not their business.” He squeezed her hand gently. “You built a family here that doesn’t give a damn about any of that. We care about the Marine who’s too stubborn to die in some psychopath’s workshop. So be stubborn.Okay?”
The door opened softly.JJ stood there, her face composed but fragile. She gave him a small, understanding nod.His time was up.Morgan stood, his joints stiff. He placed Y/n’s hand back carefully on the sheet, arranging the wires with a tenderness that felt unfamiliar in his own fingers.“JJ’s here. She’s gonna talk your ear off about Jack and how he drew a picture for you.It’ll be boring. You’ll hate it. So wake up and tell her to shove it.”
He paused at the door, looking back at the still form in the bed, at the relentless, artificial rise and fall of her chest.
“Fight, Vinder,” he said, final and quiet. “Just fight.”
He stepped out into the hallway, where the buzzing lights and the weight of waiting swallowed him again, leaving JJ to take his place in the chair, to pick up the vigil where he left off, in the cold, beeping quiet.