Chapter 18: Medical Reckoning Under Fluorescent Lights
The hospital doors swallowed them whole, a blur of shouting, clattering wheels, and searing white light that made their eyes ache. They were ripped apart.
“Male, twenty-eight, GSW, suspected abdominal sepsis, fever of one-hundred-four point five!” a nurse barked, her voice slicing through the cacophony as they wheeled Dominic down one hall. He was a limp, pale form on the gurney, his hand dangling over the side.
Catalina took one step after them, her own world tilting sideways. The warmth that had been spreading between her legs was now a hot, alarming gush. She looked down, saw the dark, spreading stain on her jeans. Her vision tunneled.
“Cat!” Letty’s shout was muffled, distant.
The floor rushed up, a sudden, lurching magnet. A different set of hands caught her, strong and practised, lowering her onto another gurney. The ceiling lights streaked past.
“Female, twenty-eight, immediate postpartum hemorrhage, gravida two, para two, delivered two hours ago,” a calm, male voice was saying above her. She felt cold air on her belly as her clothes were cut away. A blood pressure cuff tightened on her arm with robotic insistence. “BP eighty over fifty. Get me two lines of O-neg, wide open. Page OB stat.”
“My brother,” Catalina mumbled, trying to turn her head. All she could see was the tiled ceiling and a face in a surgical mask hovering over her.
“Focus on here,” the face said, his eyes a steady, cool blue above the mask. He pressed deep into her abdomen. A white-hot flash of pain, deep and sickening, stole her breath. “Uterus is boggy. We need to get the bleeding controlled. You’re going into shock.”
A second mask appeared, a woman this time. “I’ve got her. Let’s move.”
They were rolling her, the lights streaming past again in dizzying lines. She reached out, her hand groping empty air. She hadn’t even said goodbye. She hadn’t even gotten to see Leo and Stella, to know if they were truly okay. The fear for them was a separate, razor-sharp blade twisting beside the ache of her own body and the terrifying void where Dominic had been.
“Sedate her for the exam,” the female voice ordered.
“No,” Catalina slurred, but it was too late. A cold rush flooded the IV line in her arm. The world folded in on itself, the sounds becoming echoes, the light softening into a thick, grey fog.
The surgery was a cold, bright planet. Dominic floated above himself for a moment, aware of masked faces, the stark glare of overhead lamps, and the rhythmic, mechanical beeping that was somehow his own heart. Then gravity reasserted itself, pulling him down into a thick, red sea of pain. It wasn’t localized anymore; it was everything, a liquid fire in his veins.
“BP’s dropping.”
“We need to find the source. The scan showed the fragment near the porta hepatis.”
He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. But he could hear. He held onto that—the sounds of them working, the clink of instruments. As long as he heard that, he wasn’t dead. Catalina wasn’t alone.
“Suction.”
A wet, sucking sound.
“There it is. Nicked the edge of the liver. That’s our bleeder. And see the inflammation? Pus. It’s abscessed. Get the cultures.”
The pain shifted, became a deep, distant pressure. They were inside him. Fixing him. A face swam into view above the blue drape. “Mr. Toretto? You’re septic. The bullet fragment caused an infection. We’re cleaning it out. You’re going to be fine.”
Liar, he thought, but the thought had no force. Cat. Are you fine?
The world dissolved into the static behind his eyelids.
Letty stood in a sterile, beige corridor, holding a sleeping Mina against her shoulder. Tej leaned against the wall opposite, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, staring at two closed double doors as if he could force them open with his will.
A doctor in green scrubs, her cap still on, pushed through the doors marked Salle d'Opération. She approached them, her face unreadable. “Family of Dominic Toretto?”
“Yes,” Letty said, her voice scraped raw.
“He’s in recovery. The surgery went as well as we could hope. The bullet fragment was lodged near his liver. It had caused a significant infection—abscess, sepsis. We cleaned it out, repaired the tissue damage. The next twenty-four hours are critical for the sepsis. His body needs to respond to the antibiotics.”
“Can we see him?” Tej asked.
“Soon. He’s sedated. Who are you to him?”
“We’re his family,” Letty said, the words simple and absolute. “His only family.”
The doctor gave a small nod. “A nurse will come for you. There’s also…” She hesitated, consulting her clipboard. “A Catalina Toretto? She’s in obstetrical intensive care.”
Letty’s arms tightened around Mina. “Yes. Is she…?”
“She lost a lot of blood. They performed a D&C to remove retained placental tissue and are giving her medication to help her uterus contract. She’s stabilized for now, but she needs close observation.” The doctor’s professional mask slipped for a fraction of a second, revealing a hint of stern reproach. “To deliver twins in the field, under such duress… it’s a miracle she’s alive.”
“And the babies?” Letty pressed, her heart hammering against Mina’s back. “Leo and Stella?”
“In the NICU for observation. They’re small, but they appear healthy. No signs of respiratory distress. They’re being kept warm and monitored.”
A shaky breath escaped Letty. She looked at Tej, seeing the same fragile relief mirrored in his eyes.
“You can see the babies through the viewing glass,” the doctor added. “The mother… she’s asking for her brother. Constantly.”
The doctor walked away, her soft-soled shoes squeaking on the linoleum. Letty turned to Tej. “You go see Dom. Sit with him. Tell him… tell him she’s okay.
Letty watched Tej’s broad back disappear down the hall towards recovery. The weight of Mina, asleep and heavy in her arms, felt like the only solid thing in the world. She adjusted her grip, the little girl’s breath warm against her neck.
The NICU viewing window was a silent, glowing aquarium at the end of another corridor. Letty stood before it, her own exhausted reflection ghosted over the scene inside. Two tiny plastic isolettes sat side-by-side under soft blue lights.
Small name cards were tucked into slots on the glass. Toretto, Leo. Toretto, Stella. They were no bigger than kittens, lost in bundles of white blankets, wires taped to their chests. One of them—Stella, she thought—stretched a miniature hand, fingers splayed like a starfish against the clear wall of the isolette.
“They’re fighters,” a nurse said softly, appearing beside her with a clipboard. She gave Letty a kind, tired smile. “Like their mom. Are you family?”
Letty didn’t look away from the window. “Yeah,” she said, her voice thick. “I’m their aunt.” The lie came easier now, worn smooth from repetition.
She turned from the window, the image of the two tiny lives burning behind her eyes. She needed to see Catalina. The OB intensive care unit was a quieter, more ominous version of the ER. The lights were dimmed, the machines beeped with a persistent, low urgency.
Letty pushed the half-open door with her shoulder. Catalina was a pale outline in the bed, a tangle of dark hair on the pillow. An IV pole stood sentinel beside her, two bags of fluids and one of blood dripping slowly into her arm. Her eyes were open, staring at the acoustic tiles above.
“Hey,” Letty whispered, moving to the bedside.
Catalina’s head turned slowly, her blue eyes cloudy from drugs and blood loss. They cleared slightly, focusing on Letty’s face, then dropping to Mina asleep on her shoulder. A shuddering breath escaped her. “Mina’s okay?”
“She’s perfect,” Letty said, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from Catalina’s damp forehead. “She’s been so brave.”
“And Dom?” The question was a rasp, desperate. “They won’t tell me anything.”
“He’s out of surgery. Tej’s with him.” Letty kept her voice low and even, a controlled infusion of fact. “The bullet nicked his liver. There was an infection. They cleaned it out. He’s fighting the sepsis now.”
Catalina closed her eyes, tears leaking from the corners. “He has to fight.”
“He will.” Letty’s thumb stroked her temple. “He always does. The twins are in the NICU. They’re stable. They’re beautiful, Cat.”
A raw, choked sound came from Catalina’s throat. It was relief, grief, and fear all twisted together. She opened her eyes again, the need in them sharpening. “I need to see him. They won’t let me out of this bed. I asked.”
“I know,” Letty said.
“Tell them,” Catalina insisted, her hand fumbling to grip Letty’s wrist. Her grip was weak, feverish. “Tell them we have to be together. Please, Letty.”
Letty covered Catalina’s hand with her own, feeling the cool, fragile skin. She gave a single, firm nod. “I’ll fix it.”
She found the charge nurse at the central station, a woman with sharp eyes behind frameless glasses. “The woman in room four, Catalina Toretto,” Letty began, her tone leaving no room for casual inquiry. “She needs to be moved. Her brother just got out of surgery. He’s in recovery on the third floor.”
The nurse looked up from her computer, her expression one of practiced patience. “Visiting hours are restricted in ICU and recovery. Once she’s stronger, and he’s moved to a room—”
“No,” Letty interrupted, leaning forward slightly. Mina stirred in her sleep, a soft sigh interrupting the tense quiet. “You don’t understand. They need to be in the same room. Now.”
“Hospital policy—”
“Forget policy.” Letty’s voice dropped, low and intense. She held the nurse’s gaze. “They’re more than brother and sister.”
The nurse’s eyebrow arched slightly, a silent question.
“They’re husband and wife,” Letty said, the words clear and absolute in the sterile air. “And if they wake up and aren’t together after everything they’ve just survived, I will burn this place to the ground. Move them.”
The nurse stared at her. She looked at the sleeping child on Letty’s shoulder, then back at the fierce, unyielding woman in front of her. She saw the blood still crusted under Letty’s nails, the wildness in her eyes that spoke of forests and gunfire. It wasn’t a request.
“I’ll… see what I can arrange,” the nurse said slowly, turning back to her computer. Her fingers began clicking rapidly across the keyboard.
Letty didn’t thank her. She just walked back to Catalina’s room. “They’re working on it,” she said, settling into the chair by the bed. She kept Mina in her arms, a warm, sleeping anchor.
Catalina didn’t ask questions. She just stared at the door, waiting.
Dominic swam up through layers of thick, chemical fog. The first thing he was aware of was the pain, a dull, deep-throated ache that owned his entire abdomen. The second was the light, a dim, beige haze.
And the third was a small, warm weight on his thigh.
He dragged his eyes open. The world was blurry. He saw Tej slumped in a chair in the corner, his chin on his chest. Then he looked down.
Mina was curled on her side on his bed, her head resting on his leg, fast asleep. One of her small hands was splayed over his blanket. A sob caught in his dry throat.
He tried to move his hand, to touch her hair. His arm felt leaden, tethered by tubes. A weak groan escaped him.
Tej startled awake instantly. “Dom.” He was at the bedside in two strides, his hand hovering. “Don’t try to move, man. You’re in the hospital. You’re okay.”
“Cat,” Dominic managed, the word scraping out like sandpaper.
“She’s okay,” Tej said, repeating the script Letty had given him. “The twins are okay. Everyone’s breathing.”
Dominic’s eyes cleared a little, focusing on Tej’s face. He saw the truth there, but also the strain around his eyes. “Where… is she?”
Before Tej could answer, the door swung open. Two orderlies pushed a second hospital bed into the room, maneuvering it alongside Dominic’s. Catalina was in it, propped up on pillows, her eyes searching until they found his.
Their beds weren’t touching, but they were close enough that Dominic could see the tremor in her hands, the pallor of her skin beneath the harsh room light. Her IV pole clicked into place beside his.
“Your wife,” one orderly said to Dominic, with a nod to Catalina, before they left.
The word hung in the quiet room. Tej’s eyes widened a fraction, then he simply nodded, understanding. “I’ll, uh… give you guys a minute,” he muttered, slipping out into the hall.
Dominic looked at Catalina. She looked at him. The space between their beds felt like a canyon they’d spent a lifetime trying to cross.
Catalina’s hand lifted slowly, trembling from the effort. She reached across the gap. Dominic forced his own hand to move, pulling against the tape securing his IV. Their fingertips brushed, then their palms slid together. His hand was cold. Hers was warm.
They didn’t speak. They just held on, their linked hands resting on the blanket between them. Mina slept on, undisturbed.
Outside in the hallway, Letty leaned against the wall, watching through the small window in the door. Tej stood beside her, his arms crossed.
“They’re going to be okay,” Tej said quietly, more a question than a statement.
Letty watched Catalina’s thumb begin to stroke slow, weak circles across Dominic’s knuckles. She watched his eyes close, his entire body relaxing for the first time since they’d fled the safe house days ago.
“They have to be,” Letty said, finally looking away from the window. Her own voice sounded tired in her ears. She shifted Mina’s weight, feeling the ache in her shoulders. “Because I don’t know how to do this without them.”
Down the hall, a monitor let out a soft, rhythmic beep. Somewhere, a phone rang at the nurse’s station. The world of the hospital continued, indifferent to the fragile, tethered thing being knit back together in room 407.
The world of the hospital continued, indifferent to the fragile, tethered thing being knit back together in room 407. The quiet was a living entity, punctuated by the beep of Dominic’s heart monitor and the soft, rhythmic sigh of the blood pressure cuff on Catalina’s arm. Their hands remained linked, a bridge over the sterile gulf between beds.
Dominic’s voice was a dry rustle. “The babies.”
“They’re small,” Catalina whispered, her eyes closed. She was chasing the image from Letty’s description. “But they’re tough. Like their dad.”
A sound escaped Dominic’s throat, not quite a laugh, more a pained exhale. He turned his head on the pillow to look at her. The drugs fogged his vision, softening the sharp fear in her face. “Letty said you bled out. On the mountain.”
“Letty exaggerates.” Catalina opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. The truth hung there, unspoken. It had been close.
“I felt it,” he said, his fingers tightening weakly around hers. “When I was under. I felt you slipping away.” He blinked slowly. “Don’t do that again.”
“You either.” She tried to smile, but it fractured. “The liver, Dom? Really? Of all the damn things to get shot in.”
“Took a bullet for you. Figured the paperwork would be easier.” He swallowed with effort. “Where’s Mina?”
“With Letty. She finally crashed.” Catalina’s thumb kept stroking his knuckles, a fragile, repeating pattern. “She asked for you. When we were in the ravine.”
Dominic’s eyes softened. He looked past Catalina, towards the door. “We can’t stay here long.”
“I know.”
“They’ll be looking.”
“I know.” She took a shaky breath. The reality was seeping back in, cold and sharp, beneath the haze of medication. “Tej’s handling it. Scouting the exits. Talking to the nurses like he owns the place.”
“He probably does.” Dominic shifted, a ripple of discomfort crossing his face. “Need to see them. Leo and Stella.”
“Soon.” Catalina’s voice was firm, a promise. “You need to not tear your insides out first.”
The door opened quietly. Letty slipped in, Mina still asleep, now draped over her shoulder. Her eyes swept the room, landing on their joined hands. A knowing, tired acceptance settled in her expression. “Look who’s conscious,” she murmured, moving to the foot of Catalina’s bed.
“Barely,” Dominic grunted.
“Good enough.” Letty gently adjusted Mina’s weight. “They’re moving you both to a private room in an hour. Less traffic. Fewer questions.” She looked directly at Dominic. “The story is you’re married. Got it? It’s the only reason they shoved you in here together.”
Dominic held her gaze, then gave a single, slow nod. The lie was a necessary shield, another layer of protection around the impossible truth they lived.
“The cops?” Catalina asked, her voice low.
“Not yet.” Letty leaned against the wall, her exhaustion evident in the slope of her shoulders. “Tej’s in the parking lot watching the street. Swiss police are… thorough. But they’re not magic. The trail ends at that clinic if Elsa sticks to her story.”
“She will,” Catalina said, more to herself than anyone.
Silence bloomed again, filled with the unsaid. The running, the fear, the two new lives in glass boxes down the hall—it all crowded the small, sanitized room. Mina whimpered in her sleep, a tiny, distressed sound.
Dominic’s eyes flicked to his daughter. “Give her here.”
Letty hesitated, glancing at the tubes running from his arm. “Dom, you’re all wired up.”
“Give her here,” he repeated, a quiet command threading through the weakness.
Letty carefully lifted Mina, settling the sleeping child onto the bed beside Dominic, away from his injured side. Mina curled instinctively into the warmth of his body, her head finding the hollow of his shoulder. Dominic’s good arm came up, heavy and slow, to cradle her in.
He inhaled the scent of her hair—dirt, sweat, and the pure, simple smell of child. Something in his face, the hard, pained lines of it, seemed to soften and settle.
Catalina watched them, a sharp ache blooming behind her ribs that had nothing to do with physical trauma. This was the crux of it, the terrifying, beautiful center of their chaos. She looked at Letty, who was watching Dominic and Mina with a naked, raw affection.
“Thank you,” Catalina mouthed silently.
Letty just shook her head once, a quick, dismissive gesture. No thanks needed. Never.
Tej appeared in the doorway, his large frame filling the space. He nodded at Letty, then addressed the room. “Private room’s ready. Third floor, corner. One window facing the woods. Two exits.” He looked at Dominic, his expression grim. “You up for a ride?”
“Just get me out of this bed,” Dominic said, his voice gaining a sliver of its old strength.
The transfer was a clinical, awkward dance. Orderlies helped Catalina into a wheelchair, her body protesting every movement. Dominic was moved to a gurney, the wires and tubes carefully managed. Mina, now awake and clingy, rode on Letty’s hip.
Their new room was quieter, darker. The window Tej mentioned offered a view of deepening twilight over a dense stand of pines. It felt less like a hospital and more like a safe house, temporary and tense.
Once they were settled, the door shut, Tej spoke. “We need a vehicle. Something they won’t expect. The Unimog’s toast—too memorable now.”
“What’s local?” Dominic asked, his eyes on the ceiling, thinking.
“Small town. Tourists. Ski rentals, mostly. A few garages.” Tej folded his arms. “I saw a vintage workshop a mile from here. Specializes in old Volvos. Sturdy cars. Understated.”
A ghost of a smile touched Dominic’s lips. “A 240 wagon? Bulletproof. Anonymous.”
“Exactly.”
“Get it,” Dominic said, closing his eyes. The plan was forming, a lifeline. “Tonight. Before they start checking registrations.”
Catalina watched him from her bed, the familiar focus returning to his face even in his battered state. This was his element, the calculus of survival. “We can’t move the babies yet,” she said, voicing the fear that sat like a stone in her gut.
“We won’t.” Dominic opened his eyes, turning his head to look at her. “We wait. We get strong. Then we go home.”
The word home hung in the air, vague and dangerous. It wasn’t a place anymore. It was the five of them, and the two in the NICU. It was the only geography that mattered.
A soft knock sounded at the door. A different nurse entered, her smile professional. “The neonatologist has cleared the twins for a brief parental visit. Would you like to see them?”
Catalina’s breath caught. She looked at Dominic, saw the same fierce, vulnerable hope mirrored in his eyes. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
“Yes,” Catalina said, her voice cracking. “We would.”
The journey to the NICU felt longer than the mountain climb. Catalina rode in the wheelchair, a blanket over her lap. Dominic was pushed on the gurney, insisting he could sit up. Letty walked beside Catalina, a steadying hand on her shoulder. Tej stayed behind, a watchful shadow in the empty room.
They were ushered to a scrubbing station, instructed on the ritual of cleanliness. Then, they were led inside.
The hum was different here, a softer, technological purr. The lights were dimmed. And there, in their separate isolettes, were Leo and Stella.
They were so small. Their skin was a translucent pink, their faces like wrinkled flowers. Fine wires were taped to their chests, small sensors monitoring the secret rhythms of their lives. Catalina wheeled herself closer, her hand pressing against the glass of Stella’s isolette.
Dominic’s gurney was positioned beside Leo’s. He reached out, his big hand looking enormous next to the tiny plastic wall. He didn’t try to touch, just let his hand rest there, as if sharing warmth through the barrier.
“Hey, little man,” he murmured, his voice rough with an emotion too vast for words.
Leo stirred, a minuscule jerk of a limb. Stella, as if sensing her brother, opened her eyes. They were a dark, unseeing blue, blinking slowly at the strange, soft light.
Catalina watched them, a feeling breaking inside her chest, sharp and sweet and terrifying. This was theirs. This impossible, beautiful secret. The love that built this had nearly destroyed them. Now, it was etched into these two fragile, breathing lives.
She looked across at Dominic. His gaze was fixed on his son, a look of such naked awe and ferocity that it stole her breath. In that silent, beeping room, with glass and plastic between them and their children, they were finally, undeniably, a family.
The moment was pierced by the vibration of Letty’s phone in her pocket. She pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and her expression hardened. She turned away, putting the phone to her ear.
Catalina saw the change in her posture, the sudden tension in her spine. Dominic saw it too. His eyes lifted from Leo, meeting Catalina’s across the space.
Fear, cold and familiar, threaded its way back into the room, coiling around the warmth of the moment. Letty listened, her back to them, her head giving a single, sharp nod.
She lowered the phone and turned. Her face was a careful mask, but her eyes were electric with warning. “We need to get back to the room,” she said, her voice low and controlled. “Now.”