The Nights We Stay Awake (TemperancexReader)

36. "IF she wakes up"

Temperance pov

The new hospital room is sterile, its walls a muted white that reflects the harsh artificial light. The beeping of the heart monitor and the rhythmic miss of the ventilator form a steady, dissonate background to the stark contrast to the warmth i wish i could bring her. My heart aches as i look at her, so still and pale against the crips white sheets.

Y/n's appearance is a painful reminder of the nightmarish reality. Her face, usually so full of life, is now etched with the pallor of unconscious. A breathing tube snakes into her mouth, an invasive but necessary intrusion to help her breathe. Her normally lively eyes are closed, hidden beneath the weight of her injuries and the surgeries. At least she hasn't coded in the past three days. The tubes and monitors surrounding her create a stark, clinical environment, a world away from the nights we spent on the rooftop.

I hold her limp hand gently in mine, the coldness of her fingers sending a shiver down my spine. I try to focus on the warmth of her skin beneath mine but it's hard to ignore the sense of helplessness that grips me. The room is quiet expect for the occasional shuffle of footsteps and soft murmurs of voices. Penelope sits in the corner, her face a mask of worry and exhaustion. Her younger sister's eyes dart between Y/n and the doctor, her distress palpable.

Dr. Jenkins stands at the foot of the bed, his expression a mix of clinical detachment and empathy. He's explaining the extent of Y/n's injuries to Penelope and Hotch, and though his words are technical, i try to follow along. The details are difficult to absorb, each one a blow to my already fragile composure.

"Agent Garcia sustained a GSW to the shoulder blade," Dr. Jenkins is saying. His voice is calm but firm, a professional cadence that feels both reassuring and chilling. "There was also a bullet that grazed her spine. She also has a small fracture in her ower back from a protective fall. There are numerous bruises and cuts, but those are less concerning."

Penelope's eyes well up with tears, and the bites her lip to keep from crying. Hotch, standing beside her, places a supportive hand on her shoulder. His face is stoic, but i can see the worry etched in the lines of his expression.

Dr. Jenkins continues, "The bullet wound to her spine was less severe than we initially feared, but it's still serious. We have her on a ventilator for now because she's struggling to breath on her own. However, if she wakes up from the coma and her legs are functional, we expect a full recovery. She should be able to be discharged in about two weeks, with full mobility and back to work in three months, albeit starting slowly."

The words hang in the air, and i find it hard to breathe. The idea of Y/n being bedridden for months, recover from injuries that could have been much worse, is almost too much to bear. I'm overwhelmed by a sense of guilt, a crashing weight that i cannot escape.

Dr. Jenkins finishes his explanation and nods sympathetically. "I know this is a lot to take in. I'll be around for any questions you might have. For now i'll let you keep her company."

As he leaves, i remain seated by Y/n's bedside, clutching her hand tightly. I stare at her, taking in every detail of her still form. The sight of her so vulnerable, the tube protruding from her mouth, makes me feel like i'm drowning. The room feels too small, to confined, and i can't help but think of all the 'what if's?.'

Penelope moves closer to me, her eyes red from crying. "Thank you for being here," she whispers, her voice choked with emotion. "I- i don't know what i'd do without you."

I squeeze her hand reassuringly, though my own emotions are on the brink of breaking through. "I'm here for her, and you. We'll get through this together."

Hotch, his face lined with the stress of the situation, offers me a small, understanding nod. "We'll support her, and we'll support each other."

The weight of the situation presses down on me, making it hard to think clearly. I feel responsible, even though i know i shouldn't. If only i had been more cautious, if only i had been there when she needed me. The guilt is overwhelming, and it twists inside me, making it hard to focus on anything else.

As i sit there, i realise that i need to make a choice. Y/n deserves the best possible chance to recover, and if that means stepping back to give her space, then so be it. I can't be the reason for any additional stress of complications in her healing process. The thoughts of losing her to the depths of my own selfishness is unbearable.

I lean over and press a soft kiss on her forehead, my tears mixing with the faint scent of antiseptic. "I love you, Y/n. I'll be here when you wake up. You just focus on getting better."

Penelope stands by me, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Hotch places a comforting hand on her back, his expression one of quiet resolve.

"I'll make sure you can stay as long as you want," Hotch says, his voice steady. "We'll make sure she's taken care of."

As they benign to leave, i stay by her side, holding her hand and whispering reassurance. The room feels colder as the reality of what is happening sinks in, and i resolve to do whatever it takes to support her recovery, even if it means making the hardest choice of my life.

But the quiet hum of the hospital room is interrupted by the soft click of the door opening. Booth steps inside, holding a bag of takeout, his face a mix of concern and exhaustion. He's clearly been running on no sleep and watching over his son, but still he is here to check in on us.

"Hey, Bones," Booth says, trying to sound upbeat despite the tension in his voice. This is the second time she's seen Y/n lying in this bed. First time was in the ambulance. And i can feel how he watches and realises what they really went through in those woods, what she protected his son from. "I brought some food for you, thought you might need a break."

I barely glance in his direction, my eyes fixed on Y/n's still form. The weight of guilt and sadness keeps me anchored to the chair. I don't respond, my focus unwavering as i hold Y/n's hand, wishing for her to wake up.

Booth pauses, his eyes searching my face for any sign of acknowledgement. "I know you're probably not hungry, but you need to take care of yourself too."

Still, i remain silent, unable to tear myself away from the sight of Y/n. Booth sighs quietly, placing the bag gently over the nearby table.

"Alright, i'll leave it here," he says softly. "If you need anything, just let me know. I'm here for you."

He gives me one last look, a mixture of concern and understanding, before quietly exiting the room. The door closes behind him, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the steady, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor.

I don't touch the food. The bag sits untouched, a symbol of the outside world that feels so distant right now. My focus remains solely on Y/n, my heart aching with each passing moment.

The night stretches on, and i remain there, a silent sentinel by her bedside, my heart aching with the weight of what's to come.