Chapter 157: This Man Belongs to Me

Amelia POV

"Faster! Get us down there!"

The words tore from my throat like broken glass. Behind me, I heard the medical team exchanging worried glances.

"Ma'am, we need to approach carefully—" the pilot started.

"Fuck carefully!" I snarled, my composure finally cracking. "There's a man down there who might be bleeding out while you're worried about a smooth landing!"

Another doctor leaned forward with concern etched across his face. "Agent Colt, perhaps you should let us handle the initial assessment. Your emotional state—"

Alex cut him off smoothly. "Don't worry about her. This is just how she operates." He shot me a knowing look. "She won't let personal feelings interfere with professional judgment."

I wanted to argue with his assessment, but he wasn't wrong. Jason's survival depended on me maintaining surgical precision, not falling apart like some amateur.

"Thermal imaging shows a heat signature at the eastern edge of the blast zone," the pilot reported. "Single individual, stationary."

My heart hammered against my ribs as I pressed against the window. Through the smoke and debris, the thermal camera displayed a human-shaped glow lying motionless near what used to be the bunker's outer wall.

"That's him," I said. "Medical team, prep for immediate stabilization. Possible blast trauma, concussion protocol, full spinal immobilization."

The helicopter touched down roughly in a clear patch between burning debris. I was out the door before the skids fully settled, my medical kit bouncing against my hip as I sprinted toward Jason's position.

He was conscious—thank Christ—but his tactical vest was soaked dark with blood. His face was pale as parchment, lips pressed tight against obvious pain, but his eyes tracked my approach with clarity.

"Amelia..." His voice was barely above a whisper.

"I'm here," I replied, dropping to my knees beside him. My hands moved automatically through the assessment protocol. "Talk to me, Redmond. What hurts?"

"Ribs. Left side."

I ran my fingers along his ribcage, feeling for displacement and monitoring his breathing pattern. Three ribs definitely fractured, possibly four. His lung sounds were clear but shallow—no pneumothorax, but I couldn't rule out internal bleeding.

"Pupils equal and reactive," I murmured, checking his neurological responses. "Cognitive function appears normal. Can you move your fingers and toes?"

Jason demonstrated a full range of motion in all extremities. The medical team arrived with a backboard and trauma kit as I continued my examination.

"What happened?" I asked, palpating his abdomen for signs of internal injury.

"Had to bail from the car when I was about two hundred yards out. Hit a boulder wrong during the landing roll." Jason winced as I probed his left flank. "Could've been worse."

Could've been worse. Leave it to Jason to downplay nearly dying in an explosion.

I pulled alcohol wipes from my kit and cleaned the blood from my hands. "Alex," I called over my shoulder. "We need to get him back to IBRA immediately. I want a full CT scan and surgical suite prepped."

Alex raised an eyebrow as the team loaded Jason onto the stretcher. "You're remarkably composed for someone whose boyfriend nearly got blown to pieces."

I fixed him with a flat stare. "Would you prefer I throw myself across his body and weep dramatically? Or should we prioritize keeping him alive?"

Alex held up his hands in surrender. "Point taken. He's lucky to have you."

The helicopter ride back felt like flying through hell in slow motion. Jason's blood pressure kept dropping—not enough to flatline him, but enough to make my hands shake as I coordinated with the surgical team via radio. By the time we landed on the medical facility's roof, everything was ready.

Thirty minutes later, I stood at the scrub sink outside Operating Theater 3, washing my hands and forearms. Alex appeared beside me, already in surgical scrubs.

"This is just minor trauma surgery," he said, studying my face. "Straightforward repair work. You don't need to oversee every suture."

I didn't look up from the rhythmic scrubbing motion. "This man belongs to me. Do you really think I'm going to trust his care entirely to someone else?"

Alex's reflection in the mirror showed a mixture of amusement and respect. "Fair enough. Just try not to intimidate the surgical team too badly."

We entered the OR where Jason lay prepped and draped, the anesthesia already taking effect. His eyes were still partially open, fighting the sedation.

"Amelia..." he mumbled through the pre-medication haze.

"I know what you're thinking," I interrupted, adjusting the surgical lights. "You're worried about looking weak or vulnerable. We're putting you under general anesthesia for this procedure. You won't remember anything embarrassing."

Jason's words slurred as the drugs took hold. "Good thing Joker isn't around... otherwise I never would've... had the chance to grab that bomb..."

"Anesthesia now," I ordered, cutting off whatever he planned to say next.

The surgery proceeded exactly as I'd predicted. Jason's injuries were serious but well within my capabilities. I repaired damaged organs and set bones with minimal trauma to surrounding tissue.

Three and a half hours later, I finished the surgery and sat beside Jason's bed. His hand wrapped in both of mine, and without meaning to, I let my eyes drift closed.

In my sleep, I felt gentle fingers tracing the line of my cheek, brushing away what might have been tears I didn't remember shedding.

I woke to find Jason watching me, alert despite the lingering effects of anesthesia. His hand had moved to cup my face, thumb stroking along my cheekbone.

"Hey," he whispered, his voice rough but steady. "How's my condition?"

"You'll live. The internal bleeding is resolved, and the ribs are stabilized. Full recovery in four to six weeks if you follow instructions."

He tried to shift position and immediately regretted it. "What about Joker?"

"He's definitely dead. Cyanide capsule—bit down on it before I could stop him." I adjusted his blanket slightly. "But he did confirm what we suspected. He was working for Cain. And he said Cain's got some plan to purify humanity."

Jason's expression sharpened. "Purify how?"

"Biochemical weapons, from what I gathered. Joker mentioned that Cain's plan is nearly complete." I paused, considering the implications. "I need to investigate that abandoned laboratory in Myanmar. Whatever they were researching there might be connected to the compound Joker was injected with."

"Makes sense. When do we leave?"

"Not 'we'. You're staying right here and recovering." I gave him a stern look. "I can handle this alone."

Then I remembered Joker's body—there might be more evidence to extract. I pulled out my phone to call Maria.

"Darling," Maria's voice purred through the speaker, "I was wondering when you'd call. I assume you want to know about your fanboy's corpse?"

"How did you—"

"Best sister telepathy. I had Alex retrieve the body after your surgery. He should be studying it by now."

A smile crossed my face. "Sometimes I think you know me better than I know myself."

"Obviously. Now, did lover boy survive his heroic sacrifice?"

"He's fine. Stubborn as ever." I glanced at Jason, who was listening to every word despite pretending to rest.

After ending the call, Jason looked at me expectantly. "So what's the plan?"

"Simple. While you rest here, I will go investigate the Myanmar facility, piece together what Cain was developing, and prevent global biochemical warfare." I stood and adjusted his IV line. "But first, need to let the world know I'm not dead. I don't want to spend another day being a corpse."

Jason struggled to lean closer despite his injuries, his lips nearly brushing against my cheek. "You know, since you've technically risen from the dead... does that mean we can finally..."