American comics: I am full of martial virtues and I love to be kind to others.

Lynn looked at her: "You have a deep-seated prejudice against us."

“It’s not prejudice, it’s experience.” Carmela shrugged. “Two years ago, we had a guy from the Department of Homeland Security who had been shot in the shoulder. When he was brought in, his face was as white as a wall. The doctor told him to rest in bed for 24 hours. In the middle of the night, he removed the monitoring cable, climbed out of the window to chase after someone, and ended up collapsing in the back alley of the hospital. He was found by the milkman in the early morning.”

"and after?"

"He then stayed in the hospital for four days, because he had broken his leg."

Lynn gave a soft "hmm," as if she were smiling, or perhaps thinking about something else.

There was a gentle knock on the door, and an older doctor with gray hair and thin-rimmed glasses walked in, followed by a resident physician carrying a tablet. Carmela stepped aside.

"Our great hero has woken up?" The old doctor glanced at the monitor and said in a cool tone, "Very good, it means the anesthesia and blood transfusion were not in vain."

“Doctor,” Carmela called out.

“Dr. Burns.” The old doctor walked to the bedside and flipped through the examination report. “Mr. Lynn, I don’t care what earth-shattering things you did in Nevada. I only care whether you’re willing to follow medical advice now. Two fractured ribs are no joke. If the wound on your left arm had been treated four hours later, it would have become infected. Although the chest contusion doesn’t require surgery, you won’t be able to move normally for at least three days.”

Lynn asked, "How long will it take for me to be discharged from the hospital?"

Dr. Burns looked up at him as if he were someone who had just learned to speak and wanted to run a marathon: "You should have asked that question on the fourth day, not as soon as you woke up."

“I have a job.”

“A million people work in New York every day,” Dr. Burns said expressionlessly. “Your job now is to breathe, sleep, cooperate with the tests, and not get out of bed on your own. If you want to have long-term effects, I won’t stop you. But in my ward, at least stabilize your lung condition first.”

Before Lynn could say anything more, Carmela spoke first: "His fever has just subsided, and the pain has only just subsided, so it's not suitable for him to talk for too long. I'll arrange for another X-ray this afternoon."

Dr. Burns nodded, then glanced at Lynn: "You're lucky. A little more off, and that bone spur wouldn't have just cut your arm, it would have pierced your subclavian artery. You might not have even seen the sun rise in Nevada the next day, let alone gone back to New York."

After he finished speaking, he clipped the examination report back onto the board, turned around and left, and the resident doctor quickly followed him out.

After the door closed, Lynn leaned back against the pillows and said after a few seconds, "He has a bad temper."

“He treated your wounds until 3 a.m. last night,” Carmela said, tidying up the medicine tray. “So you’re only in a bad mood today; you’re actually being quite restrained.”

You're here too?

“I was on the night shift.” Carmela paused. “When you had a high fever, you kept saying ‘get everyone out,’ and then you suddenly tried to sit up. Three caregivers couldn’t hold you down, and Dr. Burns and I almost pulled the IV out.”

Lynn looked at her and remained silent for a moment before saying, "I'm sorry."

“You apologized almost as many times today as I did in a whole week.” Carmela took the empty pillbox away, drew half of the curtains to soften the light, and said, “Keep it up.”

Jason arrived at noon.

He didn't knock; he pushed the door open so quickly it was as if he was afraid the person in bed would suddenly disappear. Tall, wearing a black jacket, his hair was unkempt, and his eyes clearly showed the dark circles from staying up all night. As soon as he entered, he checked the monitor, then Lynn's face, and finally his gaze fell on the bandages, his lips pressed tightly together.

“You look like you just crawled out of a garbage compactor,” he said.

Lynn leaned against the headboard: "Your voice is still so beautiful."

Jason placed the paper bag he was holding on the chair by the bed, pulled out the chair and sat down: "I had prepared something even harsher, but seeing that you'll talk back, I'll pass for now."

Carmela came in just then to change the IV fluids, and Jason stood up and made way for her. Carmela glanced at him and said, "Ten-minute visit, don't let the patient's emotions fluctuate too much."

Jason nodded to her: "Understood."

After Carmela left, he lowered his voice and said, "The director wants you to rest for at least a week. Hold off on the cases from the Special Affairs Division for now; I and the other two teams will cover for you. Don't give me that look; this isn't a discussion, it's a notification."

Who's following up on the situation in Nevada?

“Harris has been handed over to the federal joint investigation team. The doctor has been taken to Washington, Mora is in solitary confinement, and Clement is still in medical servitude.” Jason opened the paper bag, inside was a small box of black coffee-flavored hard candy and a stack of documents. “I knew you would want to see this when you wake up, so I picked out the most crucial parts. But you can only look at it for twenty minutes.”

Lynn reached for it, but Jason didn't hand it to him immediately. Instead, he stared into Lynn's eyes and said, "Promise me you won't sneak away."

Where can I run to now?

“Just because you crawled out from under the Brooklyn Bridge with a gunshot wound before to catch people doesn’t mean I’ll believe you won’t do it this time.” Jason’s face was grim. “Gwen is coming this afternoon. If you dare to cause any trouble before she arrives, I’ll have the nurses tie you to the bed.”

Lynn paused, her outstretched hand pausing, then suddenly asked, "Was she terrified?"

“Nonsense.” Jason slammed the file down next to his leg. “Last night, she initially thought ‘a minor injury’ really just a scrape, but after hearing from the director’s secretary that it was a military aircraft transfer, she almost called my phone non-stop. You’ll have to comfort her yourself later.”

Lynn looked down and opened the documents. At the top was the report on the follow-up lockdown of the Nevada state prison, followed by the "doctor's" preliminary identity verification, and a local New York briefing. As the pages turned, the sound of a gurney and the distant ringing of a nurses' station bell drifted in from outside the ward. The midday sunlight in Manhattan was mostly blocked by the tall buildings, leaving only a cool, bright line near the window.

“And this.” Jason pulled a folded piece of paper from his inner pocket and handed it to him.

"what?"

“Gwen wrote it. She wanted to come with me in the morning, but I stopped her. She got so angry that she smashed her breakfast cereal.”

Lynn unfolded the paper and found it was a sticky note torn from an exercise book, with slightly crooked handwriting.

“To Lynn: You’re not allowed to lie to me with ‘I’m fine’ anymore. When you’re better, you have to make up for two concerts for me, one in Central Park and one on Broadway, and you can’t renege on your chemistry lab commitments. Also, don’t leave chocolate wrappers in your coat pockets for too long, they’ll melt. —Gwen.”

At the end of the paper, there was a little puffed-up face drawn.

Lynn looked at it for a long time before folding the paper again and putting it in the drawer.

“Her handwriting has improved recently,” he said.

Jason snorted: "If you go on a few more business trips, she'll be able to write you a lawyer's letter."

The door opened again, and Carmela walked in carrying a tray. Seeing the documents on the bed, her brow furrowed immediately: "Who gave them to him?"

Jason immediately leaned back in his chair, looking completely innocent: "It's not confidential, it's been edited out."

“Even if it’s been edited, it won’t work.” Carmela put down the tray and reached for the documents. “The patient just woke up on the second day; it’s not suitable for prolonged mental exertion.”

Jason was clearly rarely managed so decisively. He paused for a moment, then turned to look at Lynn and lowered his voice: "Your nurse is fiercer than the chief."

Carmela heard this and said, "Thank you for the compliment." Lynn closed the file and said, "Give me five minutes."

“No.” Carmela answered decisively. “Eat now, then do the check-up. If you cooperate, I can let you look at your phone for ten more minutes tonight.”

Jason couldn't help but laugh out loud, and after receiving a glare from Lynn, he couldn't hold back either.

“Alright, Inspector.” He stood up and patted Lynn’s uninjured shoulder. “You’re under her jurisdiction for now. I’ll bring Gwen over later.”

Gwen arrived as expected at 3 p.m.

She was wearing her school uniform with a light-colored jacket over it, her ponytail tied much neater than it had sounded on the phone that morning, and she was carrying a chemistry workbook. She stopped a few steps away as she entered, looking at Lynn as if to confirm she was alright. When she finally saw the bandages and splints, her eyes immediately welled up with tears.

“You look terrible,” she said, sniffling.

Lynn extended her hand, the one without the needle, towards her: "Come here."

Gwen went over and carefully hugged him, her movements as gentle as if she were afraid of breaking something. After hugging him, she didn't let go, resting her forehead on his shoulder, and after a long while, she said in a muffled voice, "Could you please find a less frightening way to work next time?"

I'll try my best.

"You always say that."

“Then let me put it another way.” Lynn patted the back of her head. “I will come back alive.”

Gwen looked up and glared at him: "That's an unlucky saying too."

Jason leaned against the door, arms crossed, watching the brother and sister without interrupting.

Gwen placed the chemistry workbook on the bedside table and then took a food storage container out of her bag: "I made sandwiches, but Jason said you can't eat too much junk food right now, so I'm just putting them here for you to see."

Lynn took it and glanced at it. The sandwich inside was cut neatly, with the edges trimmed off. However, one piece was clearly filled with too much ketchup, and some of it had spilled out along the edge of the bread.

“It looks great,” he said.

“You look to the left when you lie,” Gwen scoffed. “But whatever, the nurse said I did a pretty good job.”

Lynn looked up: "Nurse sister?"

Carmela was passing by outside when she heard her name called and paused at the doorway: "It's me. She's much more polite than you."

Gwen immediately waved to her: "Sister Carmela!"

Carmela came in, glanced at Lynn's wound dressing, and put the food container Gwen had brought into the small refrigerator next to her: "I'll watch him eat it after the doctor agrees, so it won't go to waste."

Gwen nodded in satisfaction.

She stayed in the ward for over an hour, talking about school matters, complaining about her chemistry teacher making a mountain out of a molehill, and asking Lynn if she could accompany her to pick out a dress for her concert after she was discharged. Lynn listened most of the time, occasionally responding. The sunlight slowly moved across the ward floor, retreating from the foot of the bed to the window. By evening, Gwen was finally coaxed away by Jason, repeatedly reminding Lynn not to remove the IV herself before leaving.

After the door closed, the ward suddenly fell silent.

Lynn looked at the empty chair, and for some reason, his chest felt heavier than the wound itself. He closed his eyes, intending to rest, when he heard a soft argument outside the door.

"...I said, not today."

"Just five minutes, Carmela, I just want to see—"

"Visiting hours are over, and this is a high-risk ward."

"Then just give him the things."

"I will pass it on. Go back now."

The voice was Carmela's, lower than usual, tinged with obvious impatience. The other male voice was young, sounding like he was in his early twenties, with a nonchalant chuckle. Lynn opened his eyes and looked towards the door. A few seconds later, the door opened, and Carmela walked in, carrying a paper bag, her expression somewhat somber.

"Is someone looking for you?" Lynn asked.

“No.” Carmela placed the paper bag on the table next to her, then seemed to remember that she was in the hospital room and composed herself. “Sorry, I disturbed you.”

"family?"

Carmela paused, not answering immediately. She looked down at the medication labels, her voice deliberately calm: "Sort of."

Lynn didn't ask any more questions.

Over the next two days, his condition stabilized rapidly. The lung contusion did not worsen, his temperature returned to normal, and although the wound on his left arm was deep, it was neatly stitched and wouldn't reopen unless he moved it excessively. Dr. Burns still had a stern face every day, and every word he uttered during rounds sounded like an order. Jason would occasionally bring documents, but Carmela would always stop him halfway through. Gwen came every day after school, sometimes bringing a book, sometimes an apple, and she even secretly slipped a new chocolate under Lynn's pillow.

Lynn gradually got used to the rhythm of the hospital.

At 6:30 a.m., the first trolleys began to be pushed in the corridor; at 7:00 a.m., the ward doors were opened one by one for temperature checks, blood pressure measurements, and blood draws; at noon when the sun was at its brightest, the sky could be seen reflected on the glass curtain wall of the office building across the street; at night, it was much quieter, with only the low whirring of the air conditioner and the occasional hurried footsteps of someone running past at the other end of the corridor, their shoes making short, sharp noises.

Carmela mostly works the day shift, occasionally the night shift. She works quickly, but is surprisingly steady when changing medications. She remembers that Lynn doesn't like the dizziness after taking painkillers, so she tries to keep the dosage at a tolerable level; she also raises the head of his bed a little when he wakes up in the middle of the night because of chest tightness and hands him a glass of warm water.

On the afternoon of the third day, it rained outside.

Raindrops pattered against the high-rise windows, first a fine rustling sound, then a clear, resounding thud. The sky hung low, the usually sharp, bright outlines of Manhattan's buildings half-swallowed by the wet, gray light. The light in the hospital room dimmed, and Carmela came over and turned on the wall lamp, the warm yellow light instantly separating the room from the rainy outside world.

Lynn was leaning against the headboard, looking at a cross-report of missing persons in New York left by Jason. Carmela glanced at the cover and snatched it away.

"You've used up your twenty minutes for today."

It's only four o'clock in the afternoon.

“That’s all used up.” Carmela stuffed the documents back into the paper bag. “You can either rest or chat with me, choose one.”

"Does the hospital still require mandatory social services?"

"No, but I'm not in a good mood today." She pulled up a chair, sat down, and let out a long sigh, showing a rare hint of fatigue. "So you'd better choose the second one." (End of Chapter)