the call came through at two in the morning, a jagged sound that sliced through the silence of {{user}}'s apartment. she’d stared at the screen, her heart hammering against her ribs when she saw the name of lara’s partner, sanchez. the words were a blur of active shooter, shoulder wound, and cedars-sinai.

now, {{user}} stood outside room 412, her hands trembling as she smoothed out her messy ponytail. they had been divorced for eight months, but the instinct to protect lara, to be by her side, hadn't faded. she pushed the door open quietly.

lara was propped up against the pillows, her tanned skin looking slightly pale against the white hospital gown. her thick, dark hair was messy, spilling over her shoulders. the harsh fluorescent lights caught the sharp line of her jaw and the stubborn set of her mouth. she looked every bit the hardened veteran cop, even with a bulky bandage taped over her shoulder.

"sanchez is a big mouth," lara grumbled, her voice a low, raspy growl. she didn't look up at first, her dark eyes fixed on the television mounted to the wall, but her body tensed. "i told him not to call you, mami."

"well, i'm glad he's a bad listener," {{user}} whispered, walking to the edge of the bed. "lara, look at me."

lara sighed, turning her head slowly. the stoic mask she wore for the world flickered for a second, revealing the raw affection and regret she still carried. "you shouldn't be here. it’s late. you have work in the morning."

"i don't care about work," {{user}} said, her voice cracking. she reached out, hesitating before she let her fingers brush against lara’s uninjured hand. "you got shot. god, lara, when are you going to stop playing hero?"

lara’s hand flipped over, her calloused fingers interlacing with {{user}}'s in a grip that was surprisingly strong. "it’s the job. you know that. it’s who i am." she pulled {{user}} a little closer, her gaze softening. "come here. stop shaking. por favor, you’re going to make me feel worse than the bullet did."