The room seemed to exhale all at once.
Machines still hummed, monitors still blinked, but something fundamental had shifted—as if the air itself had realized it no longer needed to hold its breath. Pearl's eyes were open. Really open. Not fluttering. Not drifting. Open in a way that meant presence, even if that presence was fragile and uncertain.
Jackson barely noticed the nurses moving around him again, their voices calm but urgent, calling out numbers, adjusting settings, shining a light gently into Pearl's eyes. His entire world had narrowed to her face, to the faint crease between her brows, to the way her fingers—weak but determined—clung to his hand like it was the only solid thing left.
"She's awake," one nurse said, unable to keep the quiet awe from her voice.
"Pearl," Jackson whispered again, softer now, as if he were afraid that anything louder might shatter the moment. "You did it."
Her gaze shifted slowly, sluggishly, like she was pushing through thick water. Confusion clouded her expression, followed by something deeper—fear, maybe, or disorientation. Her grip tightened a fraction, and Jackson felt it all the way up his arm, straight into his chest.
"It's okay," he said quickly. "You're safe. You're in the hospital. You were hurt, but you're safe now."
Her lips moved, but no sound came out this time. She swallowed with effort, wincing slightly.
"Easy," a nurse said kindly. "Don't try to talk too much yet, Pearl. You've been through a lot."
Pearl blinked at the sound of her name, as if grounding herself in it. Her eyes returned to Jackson, studying him with a quiet intensity that made his heart ache. It wasn't recognition alone—it was something heavier, like she was trying to line him up with a memory that felt just out of reach.
"You know him?" the doctor asked gently, stepping closer.
Pearl hesitated, then gave the smallest nod.
"Yes," Jackson answered for her, his voice thick. "She does."
The doctor smiled. "That's very good."
They explained things slowly, carefully—where she was, what day it was, what had happened in broad strokes without overwhelming detail. Jackson listened, but only half-heard. He watched Pearl instead, watched the way her face shifted with every new piece of information, the way she processed each word like it weighed something.
When the doctor finally stepped back, satisfied for now, the nurses began to clear out, promising to return soon. The room quieted again, but it was no longer the same silence as before. This one was alive. Fragile. Full.
Jackson sat back down, still holding her hand, afraid that if he let go even for a second she might slip away again.
"You scared the hell out of us," he said softly, attempting a smile. "Mostly me."
Her lips curved faintly. It wasn't quite a smile—more like the memory of one—but it was enough to make his chest tighten.
"I… feel strange," she murmured, her voice hoarse.
"That makes sense," he said. "You've been asleep for a while."
"How long?" she asked.
Jackson hesitated. "A few days."
Her brows knit together. "Feels like… I blinked."
"I know," he said quietly. "But you're here now. That's what matters."
She stared at the ceiling for a moment, as if testing the reality of it. Then her eyes drifted back to him. "You didn't leave."
It wasn't a question.
Jackson shook his head. "Not once."
Something shifted in her expression then—relief, unmistakable and raw. Her fingers tightened again, and this time he squeezed back, grounding them both.
"I kept talking," he admitted. "Even when you couldn't answer. I don't know if you heard any of it."
"I did," she said after a pause.
His breath caught. "You did?"
"Not… clearly," she added. "More like… feelings. Your voice. Familiar." She swallowed. "It helped."
He laughed softly, the sound breaking around the edges. "Good. Because I was running out of things to say."
"That's new," she teased weakly.
There it was.
That hint of her. That spark that told him she was still herself, even if she was piecing it together one moment at a time.
"You remember that about me?" he asked.
She nodded slowly. "I remember you talking too much. And pretending it's for my benefit."
"Pretending?" He raised an eyebrow. "Wow. You wake up from a coma and immediately insult me."
She smiled this time. Small, tired, but real.
Tears blurred Jackson's vision, and he didn't bother wiping them away. "I thought I lost you," he admitted. "I thought I might never hear you say my name again."
Her gaze softened. "You didn't."
"No," he said. "I didn't."
A quiet knock sounded at the door, and Jonathan peeked inside. He froze when he saw Pearl awake, eyes open, watching him.
"Oh," he breathed. "Oh my God."
Pearl frowned slightly. "Jonathan?"
He laughed—a sharp, disbelieving sound—and hurried into the room. "Yeah. Yeah, it's me."
"You look awful," she said.
Jackson snorted. "She's definitely back."
Jonathan wiped his eyes, smiling through it. "You don't get to say that after putting us through hell."
"I didn't mean to," Pearl said softly.
Jonathan shook his head. "I know. Just—don't do it again."
She nodded solemnly, then glanced between them. "You both stayed."
"Of course we did," Jonathan said. "Where else would we be?"
Pearl closed her eyes briefly, like she was absorbing that truth, storing it somewhere safe.
As the afternoon wore on, exhaustion crept back in. Her words slowed. Her eyes fluttered more often. The nurse returned and gently encouraged her to rest.
"She needs sleep now," she told Jackson. "But this is a very good sign. An excellent one."
Jackson nodded, brushing his thumb over Pearl's knuckles one last time before reluctantly easing his grip. "I'll be right here when you wake up," he promised.
Pearl's eyes opened just long enough to find his. "You better be."
A laugh escaped him, shaky and full. "I will."
When she drifted back into sleep, it was different from before. It wasn't empty. It wasn't frightening. It felt like rest.
Jackson leaned back in his chair, finally letting the weight of the last few days settle into him. Relief washed over him in slow, overwhelming waves. He pressed his hands together, resting his forehead against them for a moment, breathing.
They had crossed a threshold.
Not into certainty. Not into answers.
But into hope.
Outside, the hospital continued its steady rhythm—carts rolling, voices murmuring, life moving forward. Inside the room, Pearl slept peacefully, and Jackson watched her, knowing that waiting no longer meant standing still.
It meant staying.
And this time, she was staying too.