Keifer pov
I watched her sleep. It was a real sleep now—not the heavy, terrifying stillness of the coma, but the light, twitchy sleep of someone recovering from a war.
She looked so small in the middle of that massive bed, surrounded by the mechanical army of monitors. I looked at her head, where the bandages hid the scars of the surgery that saved her life. I felt a surge of protectiveness so fierce it made my hands ache.
"Don't even think about it," I whispered as she stirred, her eyes fluttering open and immediately darting toward the IV pump.
"Flow rate... is... wrong," she croaked, her hand reaching weakly for the tubing.
"The flow rate is perfect, Dr. Watson," I said, gently catching her hand and kissing her knuckles. "Sleep. The heirs are fed, the Squad is fed, and the 'Monster' is on duty. You have nothing to do but breathe."
She looked at me, a flicker of her old fire returning to her eyes. "Keif... I'm... bored."
I let out a shaky laugh, leaning my forehead against hers. "Good. Boredom is a luxury. Stay bored for a long, long time."
The medical team called it "Early Mobilization." To Jay, it felt like being asked to climb Mount Everest while wearing a suit of lead.
The ICU room was crowded, but silent. C in stood at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed tightly, looking more nervous than he did during the actual surgery. The physical therapists—two stern-looking women who weren't intimidated by the "Monster" looming in the corner—were prepping the gait belt.
I felt like my own heart was being squeezed in a vice. I stood just inches away from Jay, my hands hovering near her waist, ready to catch her if the world decided to tilt.
"Okay, Jay," C in said, his voice soft. "Just to the edge of the bed first. Take your time."
Jay gritted her teeth. The woman who could stand for twelve hours in a trauma surgery was now trembling just from the effort of swinging her legs over the side of the mattress. Her face was pale, beads of sweat breaking out on her forehead, but her eyes—those dark, defiant eyes—were locked onto the opposite wall.
"I've got you, weify," I whispered, sliding my arm behind her back to support her weight.
She leaned into me for a second, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. "I... hate... this," she rasped, her voice still a ghost of what it used to be.
"I know," I murmured. "But the twins are in the nursery down the hall. They're waiting for their Mumma to come get them."
The Stand
The therapists gave the signal. I braced my core, acting as a human pillar. With a low, guttural groan of effort, Jay pushed off the bed.
Her knees buckled immediately.
"Steady!" C in barked, stepping forward, but I already had her. I pulled her flush against my chest, her head resting under my chin, her entire body shaking with the exertion of simply existing upright.
For a heartbeat, we just stood there. The monitors behind us chirped a frantic rhythm, her heart rate spiking to 130 just from the vertical shift.
"Jay? You okay?" I asked, my heart breaking at how light she felt—how much of her the last two weeks had stolen.
She didn't answer. She just took a deep breath, gripped my forearms with a strength born of pure spite, and straightened her spine. She pulled away from me by a few inches, forcing her own legs to lock.
She was standing.
The Audience
Outside the glass partition, the Section E squad was a mess.
Felix was recording—not for social media, but for the family archives—his hands shaking so much the footage was probably blurry.
Mica was biting her nails, her eyes wide with tears.
Keigan and Keiran were gripping each other's shoulders, their faces reflecting a mixture of agony and pride.
Kit held up a sign he'd made in the cafeteria: "WALK LIKE A QUEEN, POTATO!"
Jay saw the sign and a tiny, exhausted smirk touched her lips. She took one step. It was small, maybe three inches, her foot dragging slightly on the linoleum.
Then another.
"That's it, Jay-jay!" C in cheered, a sob escaping his throat that he tried to turn into a cough. "One more. Just one more."
The Collapse
After the third step, her strength evaporated. Her legs went completely limp, and I caught her before she hit the floor, swooping her up into my arms. I sat back down on the bed with her, cradling her against me as she gasped for air, her face buried in my neck.
"Enough for today," I commanded the therapists. I didn't care about the protocol. She had done enough.
"I... only... did... three," she whispered into my skin, her voice frustrated.
"You did three more than the doctors thought you'd ever do again," I said, kissing the top of her bandaged head. "You're a Watson now, Jay. We don't just walk. We conquer."
She went quiet, her breathing finally slowing down as the adrenaline faded. I looked at the squad through the glass. They were all cheering, silent claps and thumbs up, their faces glowing with the realization that the "Starlight" wasn't just back—she was learning how to burn again
I looked down at her, and she was already fast asleep, her hand still clutching my shirt.