In the pristine medical bay, a low hum filled the air as Anya eased a cool cloth over Jimmy's fevered brow. Her hands, calloused and quick, moved with a grim, practiced focus, redressing wounds while her own body ached with a fatigue deeper than bone. A silent, protective hand subconsciously rested over her barely perceptible swelling abdomen, a desperate counterpoint to the quiet desperation etched on her face. Each gentle touch, each whispered reassurance to Jimmy, was also a fervent, wordless plea for the future held precariously within her.

(Anya from the hero/heroic mw au post crash when Jimmy is injured instead)