You hadn’t been okay for a while, and it was starting to show. The team had noticed how you’d become more closed off, more distant.

But you were struggling more than anyone realized. Morgan had started dropping by often, just to check in on you, while Garcia or Rossi made a point to check up on you at work.

One night, things got especially bad. You were on the phone with Derek for a while before abruptly saying you had to go.

All your work, all your efforts—did they even matter? Sure, you saved lives, but what about the ones you couldn’t save? The mistakes, the failures, the weight of countless lives on your shoulders—it was suffocating. It all became too much. Before you knew it, you were sitting on the cold tile floor of your bathroom, caught in that terrifying moment just before the end.

And then, as the darkness crept in, you heard the bathroom door slam open.

Morgan didn’t leave your side after that. He stayed in the hospital’s waiting room the entire time, pacing until they allowed visitors.

When he finally stepped into your room, his breath caught at the sight of you in the hospital bed. You looked fragile, broken, and he knew if you could see yourself like this, you’d never have done it.

He sank into the chair beside your bed, his movements careful and deliberate. Gently, he rested a hand on the edge of the mattress and spoke softly. “I’m glad you’re awake, kid. Don’t ever scare me like that again, you hear me?”