Jack Dawkins

Mia stood by the operating table. Dawkins lay motionless, pale, with a cut on his side and breathing heavily.

"He's lost too much blood," she said. "If we don't stop the bleeding..."
“Stop wasting time talking,” Jack croaked.

• You can barely speak.
  "But I can still irritate you. So things aren't so bad."

Mia turned back to her instruments, hiding her fear behind indignation.
— You could have just left. Why did you stay?
— Someone had to make sure you didn't go in there alone.

• I could handle it.
• Of course. You always cope.

Thunder rumbled outside the window. The lamplight flickered, plunging the room into darkness for a moment.

• Jack?
• I'm here.
  She found his hand and squeezed it.
• Don't you dare close your eyes.
• What if I'm tired?
• Then be patient.

He smiled slightly:

• That's why I...

The sentence broke off. His fingers went limp.
"Jack!" Mia leaned toward him, ignoring the sound of boots in the hallway. "Look at me!"

He didn't answer. She pressed her palm to his chest, catching the quiet, weak beat of his heart.
“Your name is my only prayer,” she whispered. “Please… stay.”

A door slammed somewhere, an order was given, but Mia heard only the rain and his breathing. Overcoming the trembling in her hands, she continued to apply the bandage with precision. When the bleeding stopped, Jack opened his eyes.

"Was that a prayer?" he asked, barely audible.

• No. An order.
• Then... I'm glad I obeyed.
• You need to lie still and remain silent.
• Mia... don't pray for me. I don't deserve it.
  "It's not up to you," she placed her hand on his shoulder. "This time, you're going to let me save you."
• Only if you promise to do it again.
• Don't tempt fate.
• I was going to ask you to stay.
• Then live. And ask again when you can get up.

Jack smiled, closing his eyes:

• Yes, doctor.