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Continuing on if you have lmao
#phm#ryland grace#rocky the eridian#project hail mary spoilers




seen from Germany

seen from Canada

seen from China
seen from Canada
seen from Brazil

seen from United States

seen from Somalia

seen from Spain
seen from China

seen from United States
seen from Netherlands

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Singapore

seen from Somalia

seen from United Kingdom
seen from China
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from Poland
Please check out the rules before beginning to complete the prompts!
Continuing on if you have lmao
2026 ao3 collection: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Maylancholy_2026
Maylancholy Prompts 2026:
May 1. Dreams and Nightmares
May 2. Hidden Injury
May 3. “On Your Knees.”
May 4. Sleep Deprivation
May 5. Blood Loss
May 6. Hallucinations
May 7. Stitches
May 8. Panic Attacks
May 9. Forced To Watch
May 10. “It’s… It’s Not Too Bad—”
May 11. Nonconsensual Drugging
May 12. Delirium
May 13. Memory Loss
May 14. Strangled
May 15. Restraints
May 16. “Stay With Me.”
May 17. Broken Heart
May 18. Betrayal
May 19. Isolated
May 20. Magic With A Cost
May 21. Doomed From The Start
May 22. Left Behind
May 23. Long-Term Captivity
May 24. Truth Serum
May 25. Mental Shutdown
May 26. “I Can’t Do This Anymore.”
May 27. Hypothermia
May 28. Manipulation
May 29. Self-Harm
May 30. Stabbed In The Back
May 31. Unwanted Immortality
Alternative Prompts (If any daily prompt doesn’t take your fancy feel free to replace it with one of these!):
Alt 1. Gunshot
Alt 2. Wing Whump
Alt 3. Barbed Wire
Alt 4. Head Injury
Alt 5. Withdrawal
Alt 6. Concussion
Alt 7. Pressure Building
Alt 8. Living Weapon
Alt 9. Electric Shock
Alt 10. Forced Confession
"Madoka... is that what you want? Even if I don't remember you ever again? How am I gonna know you're there when I can't even feel you standing next to me anymore?!"
May-lancholy 2025 Prompt Day 1 - "Don't leave me here."
Featuring everyone's favorite miserable lesbians!
@may-lancholy
@may-lancholy challenge continues
Day 22 - Left Behind
Blown Away - Amelia Shepherd x Reader (Grey’s Anatomy)
requested: Hey, can I please request Amelia Shepherd dating Meredith Grey's sister (reader), who is a part of the BAU (FBI) and is best friends with Emily Prentiss and Derek Morgan? (Maybe they're out on a case and something goes wrong and reader has to go to the hospital?) (Also can there be some fluffy content with Amelia like wearing reader FBI jacket around there apartment?) - anon
a/n: it’s been a WHILE that this has been in my inbox but i thought this would be a good time to use it! hoping to keep up with the month prompts but we shall see - for now, enjoy! (all medical langugae from heavy google sessions plus good old grey’s anatomy watching, will probs be wrong!)
cw: surgery, explosion
summary: Y/N Grey, part of the famous Grey family and member of the FBI’s BAU, is dating Amelia Shepherd. After a dangerous mission, Y/N is injured and rushed to the hospital. She’s surrounded as she recovers.
Part of Mayloncholy 2025: Day One, “Don’t leave me here.” of @may-lancholy
The radio alarm blared to life, the sharp voice of the morning news anchor cutting through the stillness of your bedroom like a knife.
You groaned, face still buried in the pillow. “Yeah, okay, I get it,” you muttered hoarsely, blindly reaching out to smack the snooze button. The volume only seemed to get louder. “Stop...” You grumbled out.
Eventually, the noise ceased, and silence trickled back into the room. You turned over slowly, arm reaching instinctively across the bed, expecting to pull Amelia into your chest for one of those soft, sleepy forehead kisses you’d grown to crave.
But your hand met only cold sheets.
You frowned, eyes cracking open despite the early hour. The bed was empty. Her side was still rumpled, but the chill there told you she hadn’t made it to bed last night. Your heart sank a little. You hoped she hadn’t been pulled into another marathon surgery. The last one had left her running on fumes for days.
With a reluctant sigh, you peeled yourself from the warmth of the comforter before you could be tempted back under. The light under the door caught your attention - faint and yellow from the living room lamp.
“Amelia?” you called softly, your voice still rough with sleep.
Padding barefoot across the cool wooden floor, you nudged the door open.
And there she was.
Asleep on the couch, still fully dressed in her scrubs, half-wrapped in the thick fleece throw you’d given her for Christmas last year. One foot hung off the edge of the cushion, her face slack with exhaustion, mouth slightly parted in a quiet snore.
Your chest ached with a mixture of affection and concern.
You walked over quietly and sat beside her, careful not to wake her too roughly. The dip in the cushion stirred her, and her eyes fluttered open in a start, panic there for a brief second before recognition settled in.
You gave her a small smile, lacing your fingers with hers. “Good morning, trouble.”
She blinked at you, disoriented, brows furrowed. “Wha—?”
“You never came to bed,” you said gently, brushing a few stray hairs out of her eyes.
She groaned, stretching under the blanket. “I just… laid down for a minute. Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
Her voice was scratchy. You could tell from her face that she hadn’t meant to worry you.
You smoothed the blanket back over her shoulders. “I figured. Long shift?”
“Busy.” She sighed and brought your hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “I didn’t even notice how tired I was.”
You nodded toward the bedroom. “Come on, my love. The bed’s still warm.”
With a little coaxing and a sleepy laugh, she climbed onto your back, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and legs around your waist.
“I should stay up,” she mumbled into your hair. “I’ve got emails to answer… maybe even laundry-”
“Nope.” You cut her off, adjusting your grip so she wouldn’t slip. “You’re going back to sleep. There’s lunch in the fridge and fresh clothes by the shower.”
“Mmm, overachiever,” she sighed contentedly.
You ducked through the doorframe, careful not to bump her legs, and lowered her gently onto the bed. She immediately burrowed under the covers, eyes fluttering shut even as she reached for you.
“I love you,” she whispered, her hand brushing your neck before falling back to the sheets.
You adjusted the comforter again, tucking her in like you had when she was sick last winter. “Rest up, okay?”
She tugged you down for one more kiss, this time lingering longer, noses brushing, her warmth anchoring you for a moment.
“Don’t go just yet.”
It almost worked. You hesitated, watching the curve of her shoulder as she sank into the bed, the dark circles under her eyes, the way her fingers refused to let go of yours completely. But eventually, you had to pull away.
“I’m sorry. I really have to get to work.”
She frowned, soft and small. “I miss you,” she admitted, catching your hand again and squeezing.
“I know,” you said gently, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “I’m right here.”
Her eyes flitted away. “I know,” she repeated, quieter this time.
“I love you,” you murmured.
“Love you too. Have a good day,” she mumbled, already curling into the blankets.
As you shut the door behind you, a small unease settled in your stomach - not quite a worry, but something quieter, heavier. You’d been through worse together. Opposite shifts were nothing compared to what you’d already survived.
Still, the way she said ‘I miss you’ stuck with you.
You made a mental note to come home early if you could. Maybe cook dinner. Maybe just… be there.
She’d always been your home.
xxxxxxxxxxxx
You rushed through the bullpen, weaving between desks with coffee in one hand and a crumpled paper bag in the other, muttering curses under your breath. The weather had been a nightmare with rain coming down in sheets and traffic had decided to stage a small-scale apocalypse. You’d thought a quick detour for caffeine and a pastry might make the morning more tolerable.
Timewise? Not your best decision. But emotionally? Worth it.
From across the room, a voice rang out like a cannon. “Well, damn. Is that Y/N Grey actually gracing us with her presence?”
You didn’t even have to look up to recognize the booming sarcasm of Derek Morgan. He was already halfway across the floor, grinning.
You rolled your eyes. “Don’t start, guys.”
He clutched his chest dramatically. “Start? You’ve been missing for,” he paused to check an imaginary watch, “fourteen minutes! We were about to put out an Amber Alert.”
“Oh, hilarious,” you deadpanned, brushing past him.
Just then, Emily Prentiss rounded the corner with the perfect flair of timing. She gasped as if she were genuinely shocked. “No. It can’t be. Y/N Grey? Walking? Talking? Existing in physical form?”
You were already mid-eye-roll before she even finished.
“I’m literally ten minutes late. You two need hobbies.”
Dropping your bag beside your desk, you collapsed into your chair with the defeated sigh of someone who already regretted getting out of bed. Emily perched on the corner of your desk like a cat in observation mode, while Derek leaned over the back of your chair, clearly not finished.
“She distracted you this morning, didn’t she?” he teased.
You didn’t need to ask who she was.
“Shut up,” you muttered, rubbing your temples.
Emily smirked and started leafing through one of your files. “I mean, if I had the hot doc waiting for me in bed, I’d never show up to work either.”
You snatched the folder back and tossed it unceremoniously on top of the disorganized stack on your desk. “When exactly did we form a torment-Y/N club?”
“Roughly the minute you fell for someone hotter and smarter than you,” Derek grinned.
You tried to tuck your chair in, but it didn’t budge. You turned to glare at him. “Derek, are you literally pinning my chair down with your body weight?”
He gave you a smug look. “That’s what being late gets you. Public humiliation and mild physical restraint.”
You yelped as he swatted playfully at the back of your head, and the two of them erupted into laughter.
“I’d hate to see what you do if I was thirty minutes late.”
Emily leaned back with an innocent smile. “Oh, that’s when we start psychoanalyzing your childhood.”
“And if you hit the one-hour mark…” Derek trailed off as he walked back toward his desk, “...we go full character assassination. No mercy.”
“You do that every day anyway!” you called after him.
Before either of them could volley back, JJ’s voice floated out from the open office door.
“Hey, team? Let’s move. We’ve got a case. It’s local.”
Emily turned toward her, frowning. “A case? Already?”
You, Derek, and Emily all exchanged the same tired glance.
“Do they ever let us breathe?” you groaned. “I’ve got, like, a mountain of paperwork to catch up on.”
JJ offered a small shrug, almost apologetic. “Look at it this way, you got here just in time.”
You exhaled heavily and reached for your coat again. “Great. Guess I should call Amelia and let her know it’s another sleepover with my bulletproof vest.”
“Call her on the road,” Derek said as he passed you, tossing you a smirk. “Maybe she’ll forgive you faster if you sound breathless and heroic.”
You chuckled, despite yourself. “Unfortunately, she’s used to the hero complex by now.”
You followed him out of the bullpen, phone already halfway to your ear. Amelia’s number was the first on your screen, always. And as you waited for her to pick up, you reminded yourself: the job might pull you away, but at the end of it, she’d still be home.
And that was everything.
xxxxxxxxxxxx
“There’s nothing! How is there nothing?” Derek shouted, slamming his hand down on the hood of the SUV in frustration after a fruitless search of the Unsub’s property.
“Hey, we found a dog. I’m calling that a small win,” you called out from a few meters away, crouched beside a shaggy black mutt whose tongue was lolling out as he gazed up at you like you hung the moon.
Derek turned toward you. “How about this... try not to get so distracted next time?” he said, his tone sharp with sarcasm.
You hummed, unbothered. “I think Amelia and I should adopt a dog.”
Emily snorted as she approached, sliding her gun back into its holster. “Whoa, slow down. Everyone knows the only step after adopting a dog is proposing.”
You let out a dramatic groan. “You two are insufferable.”
Derek grinned. “And maybe this is your way of saying that you do want to propose?” He arched an eyebrow, “As long as I’m the maid of honour of course,” he added, bending to scratch the dog behind the ears.
Emily raised a brow and laughed. “Please. She’d pick me.”
“Hell no,” Derek scoffed, turning to you. “You wouldn’t… right?”
You paused, biting your lip. “She might not say yes.”
“Of course she’ll say yes,” Emily said without hesitation.
Before you could respond, Hotch’s voice cut through the air. “Let’s wrap it up. We’ll reassess back at base.”
Emily, of course, wasn’t done. “Wait, you’re really thinking of proposing?”
“I don’t know,” you said with a shrug, but your voice softened. “I love her. A lot.”
“Lock her down before she figures out what a softie you are,” Derek teased.
You ignored him, stroking the dog under its chin. “You’re cute, huh? I think Amelia would love you.”
“Y/N!” Derek called.
You sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”
“You know you can’t adopt every stray you find,” Emily said with a grin.
“Watch me.”
“Place the dog... on the ground.”
“Fine,” you muttered, setting the dog gently back on the ground. As you turned to usher him toward the house he probably wandered from, something in the upper window caught your eye. A flicker of movement. A curtain, shifting.
Your body stilled. “Hey... did anyone else see that?”
“What?” Derek asked, already halfway back to the SUV.
“That window. Top floor, two from the left.” You pointed. “The curtain just moved. Someone’s up there.”
Derek sighed. “We cleared that house top to bottom. It’s empty.”
“I know, but… I saw something.”
“One more sweep?” Emily offered.
“Wouldn’t hurt.” You started back toward the house, more alert now. Your hand instinctively dropped to your sidearm.
“Y/N, wait up,” Derek called, jogging to catch up.
“Hurry up, slowpokes,” you shouted back, picking up the pace. “I swear to God, if we lose someone because you two are dragging your feet, I’ll-”
“You’ll what?”
“I don’t know, but it’ll be super fucking annoyi-”
You didn’t finish.
A deafening rip shattered the air, and the ground beneath you exploded. You didn’t feel the blast before it threw you backward - but you definitely felt the landing. The jarring, shattering collapse. The rain of debris. The weight. The dust.
You couldn’t breathe.
Panic clawed at your chest as you gasped, desperate for air. Your hearing was warped, muffled like cotton in your ears, but you could still make out Derek’s voice in the distance.
“Y/N!”
Your radio crackled with urgency. Officer down.
You blinked. Someone was down. Who? Was someone hurt? You couldn’t think properly.
You heard Hotch’s voice cutting through the chaos. “Derek, stop! There could be a second blast!” But it was too late, Derek was already there, sliding into your line of sight. Your mouth opened but no words came. Just wheezing.
“Y/N,” he breathed, his hands cradling your head with a kind of desperation. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
“Der—” You barely choked it out.
“I’m here. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”
Emily appeared beside him, horror flooding her expression.
“Don’t—” you croaked, torn between not wanting either of them near any kind of danger but also craving their presence.
“You’re okay,” Derek whispered again. “Just stay with me.”
The fear overwhelmed you and you decided you just wanted them, needed them to keep you safe, “Please… don’t leave me here,” you gasped, voice cracked and barely audible.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised. “Not if you stay with me, too.”
“I-” You didn’t finish the thought. You didn’t have the breath.
“Y/N, stay with me. Just breathe.”
“I’m okay, it’s...” You looked at Emily. “Em… I’m okay,” you tried to promise, voice rasping.
“The ambulance is on its way,” she said softly, her hand finding yours. “Just breathe. That’s all you need to do.”
“Amelia,” you rasped, mind flashing to your girlfriend. “Call her. You have to call Amelia.”
“I’m already on it,” Emily said, pressing her comm.
“The dog… is the dog okay?” You winced as you tried to look around. Pain radiated through your ribs.
A sharp bark rang out across the lawn, high-pitched, frantic. You couldn’t see the dog, but the sound cut through the fog in your brain like a thread tethering you to something real.
“That enough of an answer?” Derek said, voice cracking with emotion as he tried to keep things light. His hands were covered in dust and blood, your blood, and they trembled where they held your head steady. “You’re lying in rubble, and you’re asking about the damn dog.”
You tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. “I’ve…” You gasped, chest seizing. “I’ve had worse.”
“No, you haven’t,” he said, barely above a whisper. You saw it in his eyes, the fear, the helplessness he rarely showed. “You doing okay?”
“Y/N?” Emily’s voice came in tight, controlled, but barely hanging on.
“Yeah, I’m... just-” Your voice broke off into another pained wheeze, and this time the fear wasn’t just in their eyes. It was in yours, too. Your vision swam. The world blurred at the edges.
“Stop. Don’t talk. Just breathe,” Emily said urgently, crouching at your side, her hand wrapping tightly around yours like an anchor. “You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.”
You looked between them, struggling to find air, to find words. “Derek…”
“I’m here.” He didn’t hesitate. “I’m right here.”
Shouts echoed from the road. Boots pounded against pavement. Gravel scattered.
“Careful with her!” someone yelled as medics rushed in, their voices sharp, movements efficient but frantic.
Hands were on you now, checking your pulse, cutting away fabric, pressing gauze to your side. One of them was talking into a radio. “Female agent, multiple contusions, possible internal-”
The rest faded. Your hearing was pulsing in and out again like the rise and fall of the tide.
Emily leaned in, brushing hair from your face, her fingers shaking. “We’re right behind you, okay? We’re coming. Just hang on.”
The pain wasn’t sharp anymore. It was a dull, deep, blooming pain like ink spreading through your veins. You could feel the weight of it in your chest, your limbs going numb.
Your eyes fluttered, and behind them, a face formed - not Emily’s, not Derek’s.
Amelia.
The curve of her smile. The sound of her laugh. The warmth of her body curled into yours on quiet mornings. The way she said your name like it meant something.
Even as the pain surged, even as your blood stained the grass beneath you, the thought of her was the only thing that kept you grounded.
Hold on, you thought.
You had to get back to her.
xxxxxxxxxxxx
“Meredith.”
“I’ve got two minutes, Amelia, max - I’ve got a consult in Room-”
“Meredith.” Amelia’s voice cracked, cutting through the sterile rhythm of the hospital like a fault line.
Meredith froze. The hallway outside the OR suddenly felt louder - footsteps, intercom buzz, machines whirring behind closed doors.
Amelia swallowed, breath caught in her throat. “It’s Y/N.”
Meredith’s face fell instantly. “No.”
“I just got a call. From her team.”
“No.” Louder this time, more desperate. As if saying it twice might rewind the universe.
“She was hurt,” Amelia whispered. “Badly. In the field.”
“No. No, she-” Meredith took a step back. “She’s okay. She... what happened?”
“There was an explosion, and she-” Amelia blinked rapidly. “I- I paged Bailey. Because she’s the best. They’re bringing her here. The whole team is already on their way.”
Meredith’s mind started racing, already calculating. Blast radius. Internal trauma. Time of arrival. What she’d need to ask. What she couldn’t afford to know.
“She’s not...” Meredith’s voice faltered. “She’s okay though, right? You asked. You know?”
“I- I don’t know.” Amelia cried out, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. “Something about shrapnel. And blood. She couldn’t breathe, and- I didn’t get more, I just... I panicked.”
“You didn’t ask for more details?” Meredith’s voice came sharp, too sharp, too scared. “You didn’t-”
“I didn’t know what to ask! I just- I can’t think, Meredith.” A silence stretched between them, thick with the kind of fear that leaves no room for air.
Meredith took a shaky breath. “Okay. It’s Y/N. She’s strong. She’s stubborn as hell.”
“I saw her this morning. And she was smiling.”
“She’s going to be smiling again.”
“I love her,” Amelia said, and it came out like a confession, like saying it made the possibility of losing her even more unbearable. “What if-”
“No.” Meredith’s tone turned. Steel beneath the grief. “We don’t go there. She needs us. We show up.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready.”
“Well, get ready.” Meredith took Amelia’s hand, squeezing it hard. “We don’t lose her.”
Amelia’s eyes were wide, unfocused, filled with tears that hadn’t yet fallen. “We can’t.”
“We won’t.” Meredith’s voice shook, but she held firm. “Come on, Amelia. Come on, Y/N. Please, just hang on.”
They stood together in that hallway - two surgeons, two sisters, two women trying not to shatter under the weight of love and fear.
And still holding hands.
Waiting for the ambulance doors to open.
xxxxxxxxxxxx
“I’m staying with her,” Amelia said immediately, arms crossed and voice firm, but the fear in her eyes betrayed her.
Teddy Altman didn’t even hesitate. “You’re not. I’m sorry, but no one is allowed in the OR who isn’t scrubbed in and vital to this surgery.”
Amelia stepped forward, fists clenched. “I am vital. I’m her-”
“I am staying with her,” Derek interrupted, barreling into the hallway in a swirl of panic, breathless from sprinting through the hospital. His eyes locked on Teddy, wild and pleading. Her eyes were quickly drawn to his FBI jacket and she sighed.
“Sir,” Teddy said firmly, holding up a hand, “I understand you care, but this is a sterile surgical procedure and I cannot-”
“Are you working on Y/N’s surgery?” he snapped, cutting her off.
“Yes, I’m leading-”
“Then I’m coming with you,” he said again, resolute.
Teddy's jaw tightened, clearly fighting to stay calm. “I cannot have any of you distracting me. I need focus. She’s critical. This is already... this is already tight.”
“You’re wasting time,” Meredith snapped. “Every second we stand here, she’s bleeding out.”
“I can’t operate with all of you staring at me from the scrub room like ghosts at a funeral,” Teddy said, her voice trembling with contained stress. “She’s not just another patient. She’s... her. And I can’t lose her either. It’s... I just can’t.”
“Teddy,” Meredith tried again, softer now.
“No.”
“Please,” Meredith begged, her voice cracking, “She’s my sister.”
Teddy faltered, her eyes flicking over to Amelia, who hadn’t said another word but was trembling like she’d fall apart if someone breathed too hard. "It’s just you’re... she’s-”
“My partner,” Amelia whispered. “She’s mine.”
The silence pulsed like a second heartbeat in the hallway.
Teddy closed her eyes briefly, then nodded. “Fine. Both. Outside the OR. You do not come inside. You will be updated first, I swear.”
“And me.” Derek stepped up.
“Fine,” Teddy snapped. “But do not interfere. Not one word through that intercom. I need silence.”
Derek nodded, “I wasn’t asking. I was always coming.”
“I don’t care who you are,” Teddy said, her voice steel. “Don’t get in my way. Let me save her.”
Bailey appeared behind them, surgical gown already on, clipboard in hand. “X-rays just came through. If we’re going to do this, we move now.”
They all surged forward, rushing toward the OR. No more talking. Only action.
xxxxxxxxxxxx
Teddy stood over Y/N’s body under the harsh overhead lights. She looked small beneath the sterile drapes, wires and leads tracing lines across her chest. The monitors were too loud, too fast, every beep was a reminder of how little time they had.
“We need to be precise,” Teddy said to the room. Her voice was steady, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of tension. “This is a high-risk trauma. These are our people involved. Let’s do this right.”
Bailey nodded, already scrubbing in beside her. “Vitals?”
“Blood pressure’s 85 over 45, heart rate 128 and rising,” called out the nurse.
Teddy looked over at the trauma imaging on the overhead monitor. “Blast injury from an IED. The pattern of the fragments suggests high-velocity shrapnel. There’s a piece lodged close to the anterior wall of the left ventricle, dangerously close to breaking through.”
“She was wearing a vest, but it failed to protect the lower torso,” Bailey added, flipping through the trauma report. “There’s also a liver laceration and a closed femur fracture on the left side.”
“Priority has to be cardiac,” Teddy said. “That fragment moves even a millimeter- we risk myocardial rupture. We need to move forward without cardiac bypass if possible.”
“Can you get in without opening the pericardium completely?” Bailey asked.
“I think so. I need minimal movement. Set up suction and be ready to assist.” Teddy flexed her hand and took a deep breath.
“Understood.” Bailey turned to the circulating nurse. “Two units of O-neg, now. Prep for emergency thoracotomy. I’ll handle the abdomen.”
Teddy nodded. “Let’s get her stabilised.”
Bailey made her first incision in the right upper quadrant, voice calm but focused. “Liver’s bleeding. Packing now. Let’s get some gauze in here.”
“BP’s creeping up. Ninety over fifty,” someone said from anesthesia. “She’s responding to fluids.”
“Hold pressure on that gauze. Let’s see if it holds.”
The room buzzed with quiet urgency... until the monitor suddenly flatlined.
The tone changed instantly.
“V-tach!” someone shouted. “No pulse!”
“Everyone stop,” Teddy shouted. “Charging to 200. Clear the field.”
“Clear.”
Y/N’s body jumped as the defibrillator delivered the shock.
“Still no rhythm. Recharging.”
“Clear.”
After the second shock, the line flickered.
“She’s back. Weak but stable.”
Teddy exhaled, but didn’t pause. “We don’t get a third shot. I’m going in for the shrapnel.”
“I’ve got the liver packed,” Bailey confirmed. “Bleeding’s slowing but still present.”
Teddy adjusted the retractor carefully, guiding her hands into the thoracic cavity. “Suction.”
A moment of tense silence passed as everyone focused on her movements.
“There it is,” she murmured. “Anterior to the pericardium, adjacent to the ventricular wall. It’s not embedded.”
“Any penetration?” Bailey asked.
“No obvious breach. No active bleeding. I’m lifting it. Steady... steady-”
The suction whirred. The room held its breath.
“Got it.”
Monitors stabilized.
“BP’s holding at 100 over 70. Heart rate normalizing.”
“Good work,” Bailey said. “I’m closing the liver now, suture looks clean, field’s clearing.”
Teddy glanced up at the wall clock, then back down. “Let’s close. Keep an eye on that chest tube output post-op.”
Bailey nodded and only as the final sutures were placed did Teddy allow herself a breath.
“She’s stable, for now.”
Bailey glanced toward the scrub room. “Let’s get her to recovery before those two kick the door down.”
Behind the glass, Amelia’s hands were braced against the window, eyes unblinking. Meredith stood beside her, jaw clenched, arms wrapped tight around her chest. Derek stood against the opposite wall, a grim look on his face.
“They’re going to be glued to her bedside,” Teddy muttered, almost to herself.
“And the FBI,” Bailey added with a wry smile. “Don’t forget the feds.”
Teddy gave a tired nod. “Alright. Let’s move her. We’re not losing her.”
“Not today,” Bailey agreed, peeling off her gloves.
The room slowly began to move again.
xxxxxxxxxxxx
Warm light spilled through the curtains, leaving long golden stripes across the bed. The room smelled faintly of clean laundry and the trace of coffee that had long since gone cold. You stirred against the pillow, slow and sore, muscles stiff from healing. Beside you, Amelia’s arm lay draped lightly over your waist, fingers twitching as she blinked awake.
“Good morning,” she murmured, voice low and husky.
You turned your head toward her, a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Hi.”
For a moment, neither of you moved. You just watched each other, the weight of the past week still humming beneath the silence.
“I don’t think we’ve woken up together in a long time,” Amelia said quietly.
“Not without one of us having to run off to work,” you agreed, eyes tracing the curve of her jaw, the way her hair stuck up on one side.
She nodded, shifting slightly closer. “I could get used to this. To you. Every morning.”
“Oh yeah?” you teased, voice scratchy from sleep and healing lungs.
“Yes,” she said, with a seriousness that made your chest ache. “You are very, very beautiful. I’m a lucky woman.”
You raised a brow. “Even with all the fresh scars?”
She reached up to gently brush your hair back from your forehead. “Hmm. I love you in every way. I just wish you weren’t hurting.”
You went to sit up, wincing at the pull in your ribs.
“Careful,” she said immediately, her hand bracing your back. “You’re still healing.”
“I’m okay,” you breathed. “I just wanted you right here.”
“You have me,” she said softly, leaning in to kiss your shoulder. “You always will.”
You tilted your head. “Day off?”
“Yeah. Swapped my shift.” She grinned and sat up, revealing the oversized black FBI jacket wrapped around her small frame. It nearly swallowed her. “I’ve already cooked breakfast in bed for us, did three loads of laundry, and cleaned the bathroom. Plus a little nap as a treat for the past half hour or so.”
You blinked at her. “It’s not even 8.”
“I am... unstoppable,” she said proudly.
“And slightly terrifying.” You shook your head, amused. “You didn’t have to do all that. You should rest too.”
She shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep too easily. I was worried about you.”
“When did you get up?”
“Not long ago,” she lied easily, brushing it off. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That you were still here.”
“I’m still breathing,” you said, offering a weak smile.
Her face fell a little. “Don’t joke. Not about that.”
“Sorry.”
She touched your side again, more purposeful this time. “Let me check. Lift your shirt.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Amelia rolled her eyes as she sat up, her fingers were gentle as she examined the healing incision. Her touch was clinical at first, but lingered slightly at your hip, grounding you both.
“It’s healing well,” she murmured. “No signs of infection. Sutures are holding.”
You watched her work, calm and precise, the jacket sleeves pushed up to her elbows. “I like watching you when you’re in doctor mode.”
“I’m trying to be serious.”
“I know.” You rested your hand on her knee. “I’m lucky to have you.”
“You are,” she said, but her smile was full of warmth. “very lucky.” She leant down, pressing a kiss to your lips.
“I’m okay, Amelia. You can relax.”
She hesitated, then gave you a look. “And you need to stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m your everything.”
You leaned forward, brushing your nose to hers. “Okay. So what? Maybe I have a crush on you.”
She grinned. “You lo-o-o-ove me.”
“I love you,” you said, and this time, there was no teasing in your voice.
Her expression stilled. Then she whispered, “I love you too.”
She let her forehead rest against yours for a beat before pulling back. “Stay here. I’ll get the food.”
You appreciated the fact that she was taking such good care of you, but you quickly became bored. You wanted her here, with you, after all you’d been through. You squirmed your way across the bed, pushing yourself up to a sitting position and swinging (and by that, you slowly inched) your legs over the bed and landed your feet on the floor.
You'd made it as far as the wardrobe, wobbling slightly on crutches you definitely didn’t need, by the time she returned. Amelia paused in the doorway, tray in hand, her brows lifting.
“I told you to stay in bed,” she scolded, though her tone was more amused than angry.
“How was I supposed to stay away from you?” you asked, leaning against the furniture for balance.
Amelia rolled her eyes, setting the tray down on the bed-side table. The jacket shifted slightly on her as she moved, it dwarfed her, yet looked somehow perfect. She caught you staring.
“What?” she said, glancing down. “Emily dropped it off yesterday. Along with some stuff from the office. And flowers.”
“You wear it well.”
“She calls me the hot doctor, you know,” Amelia said, smirking.
“I know. And she’s not wrong.”
“I like her even more now.”
You hobbled closer and tugged lightly on the hem of the jacket. “I’ll get you one of your own.”
She shook her head. “This one’s warm now. Smells like you. I’m keeping it.”
You stepped into her space, letting your crutches fall to one side as she caught you. “You’re cute.”
“And you were supposed to stay in bed.” She repeated, clearly aggrieved that you had dared to move, “I was bringing you breakfast in bed.”
“Well, I missed you.”
“You saw me, like, ten minutes ago.”
“I still missed you.”
She looked at you like she might melt, then helped ease you onto a chair. “You had surgery. You can’t just wander around like nothing happened.”
“I know. You don’t have to remind me.”
Her hands, warm and steady, lingered at your waist as she helped you settle. “I’m just scared,” she said softly.
“I know,” you said, wrapping your arms around her waist, careful not to press too close. “But I’m okay.”
She leaned down and kissed the crown of your head, arms tightening slightly. “Yeah,” she whispered. “You are.”
May 16. Held at knifepoint
May daily drawing challenge - "May Maylancholia - Angst and Suffering Challenge" of @may-lancholy
day fifteen of @may-lancholy - restraints
I’m Wide Open and Deserving
Summary: Ellie dies in Joel’s place, and you’re left to pick up the pieces.
Paring: Jackson!joel x Jackson!reader
WC/tags: 3,440 / established relationship, grief, character death, mourning
A/N: title from ‘Janine’ by Ethel Cain. For day 25 of maylancholy: mental shut down @may-lancholy
Joel Miller may as well have died the day Ellie did.
He still walks this earth, breathing, blinking, but something essential has gone with her. His mind and heart lie buried six feet deep beneath a cracked headstone, lost in the same grave she occupies.
With his back to you, you gently slip into bed beside him, your hand grazing his side in slow, comforting motions. The chill of his skin beneath the fabric of his shirt sends a quiet tremor through you, and you tug the blanket up higher, tucking it gently around his abdomen. The plate of food you had left for him still sits on the side table, untouched, its warmth long faded into nothingness.
“Joel, baby,” you murmur, your voice barely a whisper, but your heart pounds fiercely beneath your ribs. “You need to eat something.”
He doesn’t answer, his breathing slow and steady, the rise and fall of his chest almost too deliberate. The silence in the room weighs heavily, each breath he takes a reminder of the distance between you, the emptiness in his eyes when they meet yours. You chew at your lip, your hand moving in slow, almost mechanical circles against his side, each touch a silent plea for him to feel something again, to come back to you. The worry gnaws at you, the fear of losing him in every way but physically clawing at your chest. You’ve never seen him like this, not even when the world itself seemed to break apart.
His gaze remains unwaveringly fixated on some distant point on the plain white wall before him. The only indication he's aware of your presence at all is the subtle, almost imperceptible shifting of his jaw, the muscle there flexing like a reflex. The room hangs heavy with silence, the only sound the soft rustle of the bedsheets as you shift closer to him.
“Joel. Please,” you try again, your voice barely above a whisper. Your hand moves up to his shoulder, your thumb tracing gentle circles on the tense muscle beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.
He says nothing, and you feel a quiet fracture in your heart.
Without a word, you sit up, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, just beside his ear, the touch fleeting but full of everything you can’t say. You slip from the bed, moving silently as you collect the untouched plate of food.
“Going to get you some water,” you murmur, your voice barely more than a breath. The air in the room feels thick, heavy, as if the darkness could pull you both under, suffocating all that remains between you.
As you rise from the bed, the mattress creaks softly in protest beneath you, the sound hanging in the air like an unspoken tension. Joel’s shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly, a subtle shift that you catch only because you know him too well.
“Not thirsty.”
His voice is scrapped through, like sandpaper running over your nerves. It’s the first word he’s spoken in a few days, and it strikes you like a blow. His eyes though, remain distant, fixed on some invisible point on the wall as if it holds the answers you both need but can’t find. A quiet ache settles in your chest, his silence feeling unbearable.
You glance at the plate, then back at him. “Joel, talk to me, please.”
When his eyes finally meet yours, it nearly shatters you. The raw devastation in them is all-encompassing, a silent plea for something he can’t express. It stirs deep within you, and you carefully set the plate back down, moving toward him. He sits up slowly, his movements heavy, like the weight of the world is pressing down on him. Your hands find their way to his neck, then trail down his chest, your fingertips brushing against the softness of his shirt. His face, though, betrays him—his brow furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes hollow with a sorrow that goes beyond words. He is drowning, suffocating, even as breathes before you.
Joel's eyes briefly close at your touch, a small shudder running through him, but he doesn't push you away. Your hands continue their slow, soothing path down his chest, pausing to flatten against his heart, feeling the steady rhythm beneath your palms.
His expression remains stoic, his eyes snapping open again, but the raw emotion you saw earlier still flickers within them, a storm brewing just beneath the surface. “There's nothing to talk about.” he finally grumbles, his voice ragged.
You swallow hard, shaking your head, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if holding on to something, anything, that might keep you both in place.
“You haven’t left the house in a week,” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of a mountain. “You barely eat. Barely speak. I don’t… I want to help you, sweetheart. But I don’t…” You chew at your lip, the bitter taste of helplessness overwhelming you as his eyes remain distant, unfocused, gazing somewhere beyond you. “I don’t know how to.”
The words hang in the air, thick with the sorrow of your own frustration, and a quiet tear threatens to escape as you realize that no matter how much you want to, you can’t seem to reach him anymore.
Joel's jaw clenches, his muscles shifting beneath your hands as if straining with the effort to keep his emotions in check. He looks away, avoiding your gaze, and his next words come out as a growl, biting and venomous.
“I don't need you to help me. I don't need anyone.”
But even as he says it, you can hear the hitch in his voice, the subtle crack that betrays the lie in his words. His shoulders tremble barely perceptibly under your touch, and for a moment you think he might pull away.
“I lost her too,” you whisper, the words breaking in your chest. Joel flinches, just a small tremor, but it’s there, unmistakable. “I lost her, and somehow, I’m losing you too. And I… I can’t survive that twice.”
His eyes glisten with unshed tears when they meet yours, the weight of his grief mirrored in the depth of yours. He shifts, his forehead gently brushing yours, and for a moment, everything feels unbearably close, as if the world has shrunk to this fragile connection. Your brows furrow, and you let out a soft, pained whimper, your knuckles gripping the cotton of his shirt so tightly your fingers ache.
The soft whimper that escapes you is like a punch to Joel's gut, and for a moment, his gaze flickers, the wall he's built around himself crumbling ever so slightly. He doesn't pull away from your touch; if anything, he leans into it, his forehead remaining against yours.
“I don't…” His voice breaks, and he takes a shuddering breath, his hand coming to rest on the back of your neck. The gesture is tentative, but the warmth of his palm seeps into your skin, offering a brief moment of comfort. “I can't…”
“Don’t disappear,” you whisper, your voice fragile with the weight of your plea. “You’re mourning. So am I. We can grieve together. Please?”
Joel’s eyes close slowly, his breath escaping in a heavy sigh. His thumb and ring finger brush gently against the muscles of your neck, a quiet comfort in the midst of the pain.
“I need to see her.”
You blink, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your heart tightening at the rawness in his words. His eyes open, and for a fleeting moment, you catch a spark of life in them, a flicker of something he thought he’d lost.
“Okay,” you reply softly, your voice steady despite the weight of it all. “Sure.”
Joel's jaw tenses at your answer, his fingers flexing slightly against the nape of your neck. He swallows hard, once, twice, like the words are lodged in his throat and he’s forcing them out.
“Don’t say it like that,” he mutters roughly. “Like I'm askin' for a goddamn favor.”
But there's no real heat behind it; just exhaustion and something else you can't quite name yet. His eyes flicker to yours again before darting away, landing on the far wall with an intensity that suggests whatever image is burned into his mind right now is anything but kind.
He exhales sharply through clenched teeth before adding quietly: “...Just wanna go where she is.”
You nod slowly, the word slipping from your lips like a quiet surrender. “Alright.”
-
The ground is nearly frozen at the grave site, a stark reminder of the cold that has settled over you both. You pull your jacket tighter around you, feeling the bite of the winter air as it cuts through the fabric. You pause several feet away from the grave, and Joel stops beside you, his presence a heavy silence at your side.
Tommy had carved Ellie’s tombstone with his own hands, a simple yet heartfelt piece, made from rough cement. The edges were imperfect, but there was beauty in its rawness, in the care that had gone into it. The small flowers Dina had left, vibrant once, full of life, now lay wilted, their petals crushed beneath the weight of time and the cold, their fragile forms pressing gently into the frozen earth as if they too had surrendered to the chill.
Joel’s breath catches the moment his eyes fall on the grave, his body stiffening beside you. His hands ball into fists at his sides, the strain evident in the whitened knuckles. For a heartbeat, it seems like he might turn away, retreating from the weight of it all, as though it’s more than he can bear.
But then something inside him shatters.
Without a word, he falls to one knee in front of Ellie’s headstone, the thud of his weight sinking into the earth causing your chest to tighten. One hand rests against the cold stone, anchoring him, while the other presses over her name, his fingers trembling as if trying to connect with her spirit through sheer force of will.
He swallows hard, his voice barely audible as he mutters, “Goddamn it,” his words sharp with both anger and sorrow, though it’s unclear which one is fueling his grief, perhaps even he doesn’t know.
After a long, silent moment, his gaze lifts to yours, and the anguish in his eyes is unmistakable. His voice trembles, barely above a whisper, “Please… come here.”
You move to him, falling to your knees beside him with furrowed brows. Clenching your hands together your eyes trace over Ellie’s name, and you make a sobbing sound.
“Oh Els,” you whisper, touching her name. “We miss you baby.”
Your words, though softly spoken, seem to echo in the winter air. Joel watches you silently, the sound of your sob like a dagger in his heart. When you touch Ellie’s name on the tombstone, his gaze flickers between your face and the stone, his eyes reddened with unshed tears.
His hand reaches out, seeking yours, the calloused fingers wrapping around yours tightly as he pulls you closer. He shifts, his body curving around you, as if shielding you from the cold and the pain.
Tears slide past your lashes and you shake your head, covering your face into your hands. Joel holds you, his own body shaking and you lean into him, pressing into his chest.
“I forgot,” he whispers, his breath warm in your hair. “I forgot you lost her too. M’sorry baby.”
“N-no, it was different for you,” you whisper. “She was your girl.”
Joel's arms tighten around you at your words, his breath shaky against your cheek. He takes a long, trembling breath before responding, his voice low and ragged.
“Don't do that. Don't lessen what you felt.” His chin rests atop your head, and you can feel the steady thumping of his heart against your cheek, the rhythm of a man trying to stay afloat amidst the wreckage. “She loved you, too. In her own way. You know she did.”
You nod, trying to swallow down the lump in your throat.
The cold seeps through the ground, biting at your knees as you kneel beside Joel, the weight of the silence pressing heavy between you. His arm wraps around you, a quiet anchor as you both face Ellie’s grave, the frost-dusted earth beneath you a reminder of the distance between this moment and all that once was. The world feels distant, as if it’s holding its breath, and the only warmth comes from the quiet comfort of his embrace. His breath is shallow, the only sound the steady exhale of both your lungs, a rhythm shared in grief. No words are needed; the closeness between you speaks volumes as you lean into him, seeking the solace of his presence, the only thing that feels real in this stillness. Time seems to slow, the cold a distant thought as you hold each other, lost in the weight of everything that remains unsaid.
The silence stretches on, the soft sounds of your breathing and the occasional rustle of fabric the only disturbance in the snowy air.
Joel's hand rubs slow circles against your back, a gentle rhythm meant to soothe. His chin remains resting on the top of your head, the gesture both protective and intimate. Despite the cold, you don't feel the chill, the comfort of his touch outweighing the icy grip of the winter air.
When he finally breaks the silence, his voice is rough, barely louder than a whisper: “We should go before sunset.”
You blink, your hands numb with cold before you nod. He stands, slow as his knees creak and he tugs you up, keeping you close to him.
The leaves crunch underfoot as you walk back to his home, your home, and the silence between you seems to stretch for miles. Joel pushes open the door, ushering you inside as you rub your hands together.
“I’m sorry.”
His voice is flat as you turn around, raising your brows at him. You fold your arms, stepping into his line of sight and he blinks.
“You didn’t do anythin’.”
“I did,” he murmurs, and grinds his jaw. “I left you alone.”
You purse your lips, looking away and hugging yourself tighter. “It’s alright.”
Joel sighs heavily, his gaze flickering over your body, taking note of the way you've folded in on yourself. He reaches out, but stops just short of touching you, his hand clenching into a fist before falling back to his side.
“It's not alright. You needed me, and I wasn't... I…” His voice trails off, and he seems to wrestle with something he's trying to keep inside.
“You lost your daughter,” you whisper and he jerks as if you’d hit him. “Whether you admit that to yourself or not, that’s what Ellie was to you. It’s okay that you…you needed time. I was just worried.”
Joel's expression hardens, his jaw clenching so tightly you can see the muscles twitch. He looks away from you, his shoulders tensing as if bracing for a blow.
“You were worried?” he growls, his words sharp as a knife. “Don't. I don't need your damn pity.0
“It isn’t pity,” you whisper, arms tightening. “It’s caring. Its-“
Love.
The words die on your tongue and you swallow them, standing straighter.
Joel's jaw clenches again, his gaze still fixed on some distant point beyond you. The tension in the air is thick, and for a moment, you think he might argue further. But instead, he exhales heavily, his shoulders slumping with the burden he carries.
“I don't deserve your care,” he mutters, his voice like gravel but lacking the anger of a few moments ago. “I let her die.”
“You didn’t,” you whisper and hurt seeps into your voice. “That wasn’t you. None of this, is your fault.”
“Shoulda been me,” Joel whispers and you swear for a moment, you stop breathing. “It should’ve been me.”
“Don’t-“ you shake your head and raise a finger, pointing at him. “Don’t you say that.”
“Why not?” he snaps back, his eyes flashing in anger. “It’s the truth, isn't it?” He stalks closer to you, his body coiled tight with tension. His eyes are wild, filled with a grief that he's been keeping inside for far too long. “ was supposed to protect her. I failed you, too. Ellie, you – it doesn't matter. I failed both of you.”
“Joel,” you breathe. “That isn’t on you.”
He runs a hand through his hair, pulling at the roots and you step forward, into his space, and take his face between your hands.
“She never forgave me.” He whispers and your brows pinch.
“You know she would have.”
“She hated me,” he murmurs and he’s pulling away again, you can feel it. Not physically, but in his head, his heart. You brush your thumbs over his skin as your eyes prick.
“She didn’t,” you say softly. “She loved you. She was just hurt. And she was young, and confused, but hateful? No. Ellie…Ellie could never hate you.”
Joel's breath hitches as you hold his face, your words slicing through the armor he's built around himself. For a second, he looks almost lost, like a man who’s spent so long drowning that he can’t remember what air feels like.
His hands rise to grip your wrists, not pushing you away, just anchoring himself. His eyes flicker between yours with something desperate in them.
“Then why…” His voice cracks. “Why didn't she stay?”
The question is raw and broken; it’s not an accusation anymore, it's just pain laid bare between you two on the cold floor of this house neither of you feel safe in.
You sigh, a broken, choking sound as you shake your head. “That choice wasn’t up to her, baby.”
Joel sniffs, his eyes closing and he moves forward, arms pulling around your waist and his forehead presses into yours. His tears mix with your own, salty and cold, and you move your hands into his hair, fingernails scratching lightly at his scalp.
Joel shudders at the sensation, his arms tightening around you as if he's terrified you'll disappear. His breathing is uneven, shallow and uneven like a man struggling to come up for air.
“Didn't mean to…” he mutters into your shoulder, voice rough with tears. “Didn't mean to push you away too." His hands slide up your back, clutching at the fabric of your shirt like it's the only thing keeping him grounded. “You shouldn't have had ta see me like this.”
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you whisper, eyes closed and throat clogged. “I knew you’d come back to me.”
“Always,” Joel murmurs, and his head dips as he presses a kiss to your mouth. The action surprises you, and it’s so quick you’re barely able to register the pressure of his lips on yours. “I’ll always come back to you.”
You nod, lips parting as you try to breath evenly. “I know.”
Joel lingers for a moment, his forehead still pressed to yours as he tries to steady himself. His breath is warm against your lips, unsteady but there, present in a way that makes something tighten in your chest.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes red-rimmed and tired but clearer than they’ve been in weeks. One hand lifts, calloused fingers brushing away the tear tracks on your cheeks with rough tenderness.
“Gonna be okay,” he mutters gruffly, as if trying more for himself than you right now. “We will.”
You nod, and for the first time since Ellie died, your mouth pulls into the smallest of smiles. “We will.”
The silence that lingers between you both is heavy, but not unbearable. Ellie’s absence hangs over you, yet amidst the sorrow, something quietly shifts. Grief had once driven a wedge between you, but now, it seems to be the thread weaving you back together. Joel’s hand finds yours, the touch grounding, unwavering. His eyes meet yours, tender and haunted, but there’s a spark of something familiar there, something that had been lost but is beginning to flicker back to life. You squeeze his hand gently, and in that simple gesture, an unspoken promise is made. You don’t have to be whole right now, and neither of you are. But you will move through this side by side. The road ahead may be long and the scars of loss deep, but in this moment, you find a quiet hope that healing, though slow, is still possible. And love, even in its brokenness, can find its way back home.
x
Ao3 link
Joel Miller ML
Joel miller taglist @joelsmolotov
Divider @pixopix
Maylancholy day 13: Choking on blood
Tag: @may-lancholy
This fic contains: impalement, blood
"Okay Whumpee, I need you to keep talking to me."
Caretaker tried not to cry as they held whumpee close. It looked bad, they had been pierced straight through the chest and blood was rapidly seeping out of the wound.
"Caretaker, I'm scared. I don't want to die. I don't-"
They were interrupted by the rivulets of blood forcing their way up through their mouth and onto Caretaker's clothing. Whumpee coughed and wheezed. Their eyes widened in terror as they struggled to find breath beneath the blood. They clawed at their throat, desperate for air.
Caretaker never let them go, they would make it. They had to.


