A/N: This is more of a drabble than anything, but there's a decent chance I'll add one more chapter. If you'd be interested in reading it, let me know with a review! Also, I'm still growing my craft and I'd greatly appreciate any comments or criticisms you may have. :) Who else is crazy pumped for season 2?

(Ryan)

I close my eyes and let my pounding head rest against the cool wall of the subway station. An EMT prods at the hole in my shoulder as the buzz of voices slices through my numb mind, making it even harder to think.

A gunshot. Suleiman hits the ground, blood blooming from beneath him.

A hand falls heavily on my good shoulder, and my eyes fly open.

"Good work today, Ryan." Nathan Singer's voice is too loud and friendly, and the series of sound slaps he gives my right shoulder sends jarring pain through my left. "You did your country proud."

I just killed a man.

"Excuse me, sir..." The EMT ushers him away, and I sigh with relief, my eyes falling closed again.

Ali staggers and falls, confusion written on his face. He looks at me. Tears stream down his cheeks. His breath rattles in his lungs, and he goes slack.

The EMT grasps the collar of my shirt, and the chill flat of the scissors sends a shudder through me.

Abdul smiles, aiming his Polaroid at me.

"Try to sit still, Doc."

Abdul holds up the grenade, peering at me from beneath dirty hair. He pulls the pin and lets go. There's a bright light, and then pain. The woman in the next seat goes limp against me. Blood pours down Abdul's face. I can't breathe, and we fall.

A cellphone rings nearby. I open my eyes. The network must be back up.

Before I have time to finish the thought, my phone explodes with text alerts in my back pocket.

Cathy.

Interrupted once more, the EMT grunts in disapproval as I fish painfully in my jeans for the phone. "Can this wait, Dr. Ryan? I need to stop the bleeding."

"No," I glance at him. "Sorry." I give the barrage of texts a quick scan.

9:03: Are you ok?

9:04: Jack?

9:06: Where are you?

9:17: Jack

9:20: Let me know you're ok

I punch her number and bring the phone to my ear.

The EMT frowns. "Dr. Ryan -"

"Two minutes."

Halfway through the second ring, she picks up.

"Jack?"

I breathe a sigh of relief. "Hey."

"Hey."

"Are you okay? Are you safe?"

"I'm - yeah, uh, I'm fine. I'm okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm okay. Just, uh...Long night at work."

I can't help the smirk as I huff in response. "No kidding."

"Are you okay?" Her voice is serious again.

"I'm fine." The EMT shoots me an incredulous look. "Relatively," I amend.

"Jack, what's going on?"

I sigh. The last of the adrenaline seems to drain from my veins, and I'm exhausted. "I can't tell you that, Cathy. At least - not yet." My eyes drift to the corpse of Mousa Bin Suleiman, sprawled in a puddle of his own congealing blood. "But I can tell you that it's over."

A beat.

"Okay. That's good enough for me."

I groan, shooting a glare at the ceiling. The lights glare back. I close my eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"Buster was right. You are too good for me."

She laughs.

I frown. I wasn't trying to be funny.

The EMT clears his throat. Right.

"Hey, uh, I've gotta go."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay. See you soon?"

"Yeah."

"Jack?"

"Yeah?"

A beat.

"I - nothing. Just...take care of yourself, okay?"

"I'll do my best."

"Like that's ever been good enough."

I turn to see Greer standing by the gurney, appraising me skeptically. I realize that if Greer was able to hear Cathy's admonishment, the EMT must have heard the whole conversation.

I surprise myself by not caring.

"What's that supposed to mean?" My voice comes out sounding flat.

He grunts. "I read up on you, Bright Boy. Wanna talk about the helicopter crash, of which you were the only survivor, and barely that? Or maybe the IRA attack in London, in which you got shot being an idiot, Sir Jack? The first time I saw you, you were about an inch shy of getting flattened by my car, and the first time I take you out in the field you get yourself kicked into the 22nd century by a couple of trigger-happy terrorists. Now you're sitting on a gurney with a hole in your shoulder and the nerve to ask me what I mean?" He pauses for air. "It's a wonder you're even still breathing, Ryan."

I blink. "Oh," I offer.

"Uh-huh." Greer glances at the EMT, now applying a local anesthetic. "He gonna be okay?"

The EMT nods. "Bleeding's stopped. Just gonna stitch him up and sling him up, and he can be on his merry way. Provided that way leads to some place he can get some rest." He looks at me pointedly.

"Won't get any arguments from me." I want nothing more than to collapse into my bed.

As if on que, Singer's aide materializes at Greer's side, muttering something in his ear.

Greer sighs. "Yeah, yeah. Give the man a minute to breathe." He looks at me almost apologetically.

I groan. Of course debriefing would come before sleep.