The rescue of Jonathan Pine
Before I publish my very first fanfiction, I would like to apologize, English is not my native language, so please be patient. I recently learned about the whump, hurt/comfort genre and I am so glad that there are more of us, that I am no longer ashamed to write something myself. And now I will not delay any longer and get to the story, which is situated somewhere between the other lines after the end of episode 6 of the second season:
The forest had a strange ability to absorb even what would otherwise remain as evidence. The sound of gunfire, the smell of burning metal, the voices of people in panicâit all disappeared. All that remained was the humidity, the heavy air, and the leaves slowly returning to their places as if nothing had happened.
From above, the place seemed almost intact. An endless sea of ââgreen, rippling slightly in the morning light. Only upon closer inspection could one glimpse the disturbanceâdarker patches in the soil, an irregular shape that didnât belong here, and finally two figures that blended into the landscape too well to be seen immediately.
Jonathan Pine lay on his back, his gray-blue T-shirt soaked with sweat and blood, stiff and heavy, stuck to his skin. It was as if the forest was slowly taking him backânot violently, but with a patience that brooked no resistance.
He wasnât guarding him like a soldier would, or with the professionalism of someone who knew exactly what to do. He was sitting there because he couldnât leave. One hand was pressed against Pineâs side, right where the wound was hidden under the cloth. The pressure had long since lost its effectiveness, but Tavo wouldnât let go. It was the last thing that made sense.
âOyeâŠ,â he whispered, not sure why he was doing it. âOye⊠no te mueras.â
Jonathan didnât answer. He hadnât answered in a long time. His breathing was irregular, almost imperceptible, and sometimes it would stop altogether, as if he had decided to leave without warning. Each time Tavo leaned closer, holding his breath, waiting for another one to come.
Sometimes it took so long that Tavo began to believe it wouldnât come at all.
The sun was slowly creeping higher, and the humidity was almost unbearable. The insects grew louder, the sounds of the forest grew louder, but a strange kind of silence hung around themânot the absence of sound, but rather the feeling that everything important had already been said.
Jonathan stirred once, ever so slightly. It was not a conscious movement, more a reaction of a body that refused to give up without a final resistance. Tavo registered it immediately.
âEsperarâŠ,â he muttered, faster, more urgently. âPor favor.â
He squeezed his hand tighter, as if it could hold something that was slipping through his fingers.
He didnât know how much time had passed. Hours were indistinguishable in the forest. The only measure was the changes in light and fatigue. At one point, he realized that he could barely see clearly anymore. He had to blink to make out the outline of Pineâs face.
Then he heard something that didnât belong in the silence.
At first, he didnât pay attention. The jungle is full of sounds that seem to be something other than what they are. But then it came again. Irregularly. Muffled.
He raised his head. He tried to focus on the green in front of him, but all he could see was the movement of leaves. For a moment he thought he was imagining it.
Then the leaves moved differently.
Sally didnât look like someone who should be leading a search in the jungle. And yet she went first.
Not because she knew exactly where to go. None of them did. But she had something the others didnât haveâa rejection of the idea that it was too late. And that proved to be reason enough to keep going at that moment.
The tracks were vague. In places they disappeared completely, in others they appeared in hintsâa rutted ground, a broken branch, a darker stain that could have been anything. The men Consuelo had found exchanged brief glances and occasionally changed direction without explanation. Sally didnât ask. She didnât have time for questions that wouldnât have an immediate answer.
When they came upon the first real trail of blood, she stopped.
She knelt down without thinking about what she was doing and touched it. It was dark now, dried on the surface.
The car was found a moment later. It was abandoned, open, empty. Everything that had happened in it had already moved elsewhere. All that remained were the tracksâand the direction.
âThis way,â one of the men said.
Sally didnât stop. She just nodded and kept going.
She saw Tavo first, and only then did the moment of recognition come. It wasnât âthere he is.â It was more a moment when her mind refused to accept that the shape in the leaves was indeed the person she was looking for.
Then she started running.
She knelt down beside him so hard that she slipped on the damp leaves. Her hands shook as she reached for his neck, searching for a pulse, a breath, anything to confirm that she wasnât late.
Thenâa faint, irregular breath.
So faint that anyone else would have missed it.
The relief came immediately, but it wasnât pure. It was sharp, almost painful, because she knew how little it took to lose him again.
âWe have to lift him,â she said without looking up.
Someone objected. Something about the condition, the risk.
As they lifted him, his body slid down without resistance, as if it belonged to someone else. Two of them knelt down, carefully lifting him up. Jonathan's body broke at the waist as he moved, without any control. His head fell back, his arms hanging motionless.
He was heavier than she had expected. Not physicallyâmore in his limpness.
She immediately pressed her hand to his side, exactly where the cloth had become damp again.
"That's goodâŠ," she began quietly, almost automatically. "Can you hear me? That's goodâŠ"
She didn't know if he could hear her. But she needed to say it.
Tavo walked beside them, uncertain, exhausted, but unwilling to move away. Every now and then something from he mumbled in Spanish, words Sally didnât understand, but the tone was clear.
The car appeared through the trees like something foreign.
When they opened it, everything sped up for a moment.
She helped them load him, but once he was inside, she changed her movement.
She sat in the back seat and pulled him close to her.
This time it wasnât just about transporting him.
Jonathanâs body slid halfway across her. She caught his shoulders with one hand, and with the other she immediately found the wound in his side and pressed it.
His head fell onto her shoulder.
And unnaturally heavy at the same time.
The car sped away faster than necessary. No one commented.
The place theyâd brought him to wasnât a hospital. It was a place where people were treated when they couldnât go anywhere else.
The doctor didnât ask lingering questions. One glance was enough.
Jonathanâs body shifted again, this time under the harsh light that revealed more than anyone would want to see.
The transition wasnât smooth.
The light hit him too quickly, too hard. His eyelids fluttered slightly, and for a moment it seemed he would stay where he wasâsomewhere between consciousness and emptiness. Then his breath hitched and came back more forcefully.
They didnât focus right away. His gaze remained fragmented, wandering around the light above him, unfamiliar shapes that made no sense. For a moment, a tension rose within him, instinctive, unnamed.
He didnât know where he was.
He didnât know what had happened.
He movedâbarely perceptibly. An attempt his body immediately rejected. The pain came with a delay, but all the more acute. His breath caught, hanging somewhere between inhale and exhale.
âNo,â Sally said quietly but firmly.
She was there before he knew it. A hand on his shoulder, the other carefully around his arm, as if holding him together.
âCalm down. Donât move.â
Her voice was low, focused, without panic. She didnât wait for an answer.
This time his gaze caught.
Not immediatelyâfirst just an outline, the light behind her, then the shape of a face. It took a moment for it to connect. Not like a memory, more like the recognition of something familiar in a space that otherwise made no sense.
The tension in his expression eased slightly.
Not completely. But enough to stop him from fighting.
His eyelids grew heavy, but they didnât close yet.
Sally remained calm. âItâs good,â she said more quietly. âIâm here.â
She didnât know how much of it she he was aware of. But she saw the change.
âHold him,â the doctor said emotionlessly, already focused on her work.
Jonathanâs T-shirt was caked with blood. The scissors had cut through the fabric from the neck down, the metal catching briefly on the dried layer before it broke through. There was a soft crack as the fabric separated from the skin.
Sally instinctively gripped his hand a little tighter.
The wound was exposed beneath the fabric.
âItâs going to hurt,â the doctor said calmly, without it being clear to whom she was speaking.
Then there was no room for anything but work.
Her hands began to move quickly and precisely.
Jonathanâs body responded before he could realize it. His muscles tensed, his fingers tightened slightly around Sallyâs hand. His breathing quickened, lost its rhythm.
âHold it,â the doctor repeated, more sharply this time.
âThatâs goodâŠ,â she whispered, almost in his ear. âJust a moment⊠hold on.â
She didnât know if he could hear her. But his gaze shifted in her direction again for a moment, as if trying to catch something familiar in the chaos of light and pain.
Then his eyelids finally closed.
His body gradually relaxed, the tension disintegrating into exhaustion.
And that was enough for now.
Jonathan lay on the narrow bed, the bandages pulled tight, his body exhausted to the point where even breathing felt like an effort. His chest rose and fell irregularly, occasionally pausing for a moment before he forced himself to continue again.
Sally sat beside him, unable to remember the last time she had closed her eyes. Time had become a matter of watching his breathing, of silently counting the seconds between each breath, of the small changes that could signal improvementâor the end.
Her hand rested on his forearm, just lightly, to feel that he was still there.
âDonât do this to meâŠâ she whispered once, when his breath had momentarily disappeared. She didnât know if she was talking to him or to herself.
Tavo sat nearby, his back to the wall, quieter than before. He looked smaller, withdrawn, as if trying to take up as little space as possible.
âÂżVa a vivir?â he asked quietly.
Sally was silent for a moment before answering.
âYes,â she finally said. âHe has to.â
Jonathan had moved slightly several times during the night. They werenât conscious reactions, more like echoes of a body that refused to give up. Once he furrowed his brows slightly, another time his breathing quickened for a moment, as if responding to a voice that had reached him from a great distance.
The first time it happened, Sally leaned toward him.
âIâm here,â she said softly. âYouâre safe now.â
She wasnât sure if it was true. But at that moment it was the only sentence she could give him.
The room remained silent, the light dim, the night long. And somewhere in between those moments that had no name or meaning, the man who had all the reasons to give it up. And the woman who wouldn't let him.
