The room's quiet is like the deep breath before a plunge into deep waters. I'm surrounded by the sterile whites and tans of the hospital room, the beeps of the machines punctuating the silence like morse code. Light filters through the blinds, casting long, lazy stripes across the floor, a zebra's hide stretched out over linoleum. The door's hinges give a muted groan as it opens, admitting a slice of the world beyond my four walls.

Jamila comes next, her presence like a cool breeze, eyes meeting mine with that same protective glint I know so well. Amelia trails behind, her gaze darting around, hands twisting together like she's uncomfortable, despite the big cheesy grin on her face. I'm not sure which one I'm supposed to use as the real indicator, so I just look at Jamila instead.

Multiplex enters last, his broad shoulders taking up the space, a seriousness set in his eyes that makes my chest tighten. Since Diane… since Chernobyl… since, you know, December, there's been a weight on him that wasn't there before, a burden that comes with leading.

"Hey, guys," I manage, my voice sounding too bright for the heaviness I feel inside.

Maxwell gives a small nod, his braids swaying slightly. "Hey, Sam." He doesn't need to say more.

Jamila steps forward, her hand reaching out to squeeze mine. "How are you holding up?" she asks, and I can hear the unsaid words, the 'I've missed you,' the 'I wish I could make this better'. Dozens of sentences all packed into one like a trash bag full of raccoon food.

I want to say 'I'm fine,' to put on that brave face, but with Jamila, I don't have to pretend. "I'm going stir-crazy," I admit, "I need updates, I need to know what's happening out there."

Jamila exchanges a look with Multiplex, a silent conversation passing between them before he speaks up. "After the shootout with the NSRA, we got a good number of the Kingdom's associates. But between then and now, it's been quiet."

"Don't say too quiet," I joke. Quiet isn't good, not in our world. Quiet means something's brewing, and I hate that I'm not out there to help simmer it down.

"No, actually, it's just the right amount of quiet," he says, not joking. "I know that means something's up, but it's nice to have the edge off without Diane around. Puppeteer is back on the grind and we're covering a lot of ground. Your stick-man friend has been a great asset, too."

Amelia chimes in, her voice light but with an edge of steel I don't usually hear from her. "No one's turned yet, but I heard they're keeping the pressure on."

Multiplex's eyes catch mine, and I see the weight of command on him, the need to keep us safe, to keep the city safe. "We're doing what we can, Sam. But you need to focus on getting better. We need you at your best."

Jamila's fingers tighten around mine, her touch a gentle anchor in the storm of my thoughts. "How's your therapy going, Sam?" she asks, steering the conversation away from the dangerous waters of superhero politics.

I shrug, a half-hearted attempt to play it down. "It's okay, I guess. Lots of exercises, stretching… you know, boring stuff." My gaze drifts to the window, to the world beyond that I'm itching to rejoin.

Amelia leans in, her voice a soft chime. "It's important, though. You're getting stronger every day, Sam. We all see it."

I offer her a small smile, grateful for her optimism even if I don't fully share it. "Thanks, Goss. I'm trying, really."

Maxwell, still by the window, speaks up. His voice is steady, measured. "Strength isn't just physical, Sam. You're showing a lot of it just by dealing with all this."

His words are comforting, but I can't shake off the feeling of being sidelined, of being out of the loop. "I just wish I could be out there with you guys. You know, helping."

Multiplex, silent until now, his eyes scanning the room with an intensity that speaks of his constant vigilance, finally speaks. "You are helping, Sam. By getting better. We need you in top form, not rushing back and risking more injury."

His words are pragmatic, sensible, but they don't quell the burning desire inside me to be doing more.

Jamila squeezes my hand again, a silent promise of support. "We're managing out there. And we're keeping the streets safe. For you, for everyone."

Amelia adds, "And we've got some new strategies we're working on. You'll be back in the thick of it before you know it."

I cut in, unable to contain my impatience. "Guys, I appreciate the pep talk, really, I do. But I need to know what's happening out there. The crime rates, the Kingdom's movements, anything. I've been cooped up in here way too long."

Multiplex's gaze flicks to me, an unreadable expression in his eyes. "Crime's been as expected. A slight uptick in petty thefts and gang activities. The usual players trying to fill the void left by the Kingdom's recent setback."

Maxwell adds his bit, his voice a low rumble. "Some new players are trying to make a name for themselves, nothing we can't handle."

I listen, absorbing every word, every bit of information. It's like pieces of a puzzle, and I'm trying to fit them together, to see the bigger picture from my confined vantage point.

"But what about the Kingdom? Any leads on their next move?" My question is sharp, edged with the frustration of being out of the loop.

Multiplex's response is immediate, his tone firm. "We're working on it, Sam. We've got our best on it. But it's a waiting game right now."

His answer isn't satisfying, but I know it's all he can give me. The Kingdom is a shadow, always lurking, always planning. And here I am, stuck in a hospital bed, feeling like a caged animal.

Jamila squeezes my hand again, a silent message of understanding. "We're doing our best, Sam. And when you're back, we'll be even stronger."

I nod, trying to tamp down the restlessness, the itch to be doing something more. But I know they're right. I need to heal, to get back to full strength. I let go of Jamila's hand and pull away. The conversation shifts, and I can't help but push for more information, "Have you intercepted anything about the Kingdom targeting me? I mean, I did kind of blow up their big plan with Federov."

There's a pause, a tension that wasn't there before. Multiplex's face turns serious, and I know I've hit a nerve. "We've been keeping tabs on their communications as much as we can. There's been chatter, but nothing concrete."

"Chatter?" I press, my heart rate spiking. "About me?"

He hesitates, then nods slowly. "Yes, about you. They're not happy about what happened with Federov. But we haven't picked up any direct threats yet."

That's not exactly comforting. I feel a cold knot of fear in my stomach, but I push it down. I can't afford to be afraid, not now. "So, I'm a target."

Jamila interjects, her voice gentle but firm. "Which is why we're not taking any chances. You're being watched over, Sam. We're making sure you're safe."

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That's when it hits me. The constant presence outside my room, the feeling of being watched. It wasn't just paranoia. "You mean… I've been under surveillance this whole time?"

Multiplex nods, his expression unreadable. "I've had at least two duplicates around the hospital grounds at all times."

"Are you a duplicate right now?" I ask, looking towards the window. I don't know why it feels suddenly hard to look them in the face, but it does. Like there's a sudden pressure in my nostrils.

"Sort of a meaningless question, but, no, this is the oldest body," he replies, straightforwardly. "Number seven is currently on the rooftop. The other ten are busy with other assignments."

I lean back against my pillows, the reality of it all sinking in. I'm being watched, guarded, because I'm vulnerable. Because I'm a target. It's a strange feeling, knowing I'm being protected and observed at the same time. It's like I'm valuable, but also a liability.

Amelia tries to lighten the mood, her voice a little too bright. "Hey, it's like you're a celebrity with your own bodyguards!"

I manage a weak smile, but the joke doesn't quite land. The idea of being watched, of being a target, it's not something to laugh about.

Maxwell speaks up, his voice low and steady. "We're doing everything we can to keep you safe, Sam. You're not just a teammate; you're family."

I look at each of them, at their concerned faces, and I feel a surge of gratitude mixed with frustration. I hate being the weak link, the one who needs protecting. But I also know they're doing this because they care, because they don't want to lose another member of their family.

"Yeah, and my family's in danger, too. Do we have eyes on them, or is that another thing I need to start talking about my therapist about?" I ask. "Like, myself aside, what if they come shoot my Dad or my Mom while they're in the waiting room here?"

I feel a wave of bile rise in my throat. Multiplex, for I think the first time since I've met him, puts a hand on my shoulder.

"We have eyes on all your known relatives and associates, including your school. I don't want to sound like a corporate freak, but you've gone from being just another rookie to an extremely potent asset in an extremely short period of time, and I think it would behoove local superhero community, hell, even the national superhero community, to keep you safe. So I've been calling in favors. Even if you never put on the cowl again, I would personally lobby for you to have a security assignment for the rest of your days, that's how important what you did was for this city," Multiplex says, giving my shoulder a squeeze.

"Am I allowed to ask for favors?" I ask, rolling over onto my side in my hospital bed, facing the window. Away from everyone else.

"I can't guarantee anything," Multiplex replies, which is as good as I'm going to get from him, I guess.

"Joshua Pleasants, you know, that smelly corpse guy. He's innocent. Any chance we can pull some strings there?" I ask.

I can just feel Multiplex's eyebrow raising. I turn over just enough to see him turning to face Maxwell, who just shrugs. "I don't really have the authority to unilaterally call off a hunt for a wanted murderer, Sam. But… I trust your judgment and I'll see what I can do."

"The Kingdom framed him," I respond, as bluntly as possible.

"I… see," he says, looking past me, towards the window. "And you're sure of this?"

"A hundred percent certain. I have footage on my phone. I'll send it to you. And go talk to, uh, what's his name, Agent Torres, the NSRA guy. Can you guys do that for me?" I ask, sweeping my gaze across this motley crew.

Amelia immediately throws me a salute, her big puffy sweatshirt flopping as she does. "Right away, sir!"

Multiplex looks slightly exasperated. "Send me that footage when you have a minute. For what it's worth, I thought the evidence against him was already paper thin, it shouldn't be too hard. Even if he's losing in the court of public opinion."

"Bah, don't give me that stuff," I mumble, rolling back over, away from the group. "Anything else?"

The air feels stale, like a bag of potato chips that's been left open for too long. I don't know why, but my mood has gone sour and foul. My arms ache, and I have a headache, and the bad hospital food hasn't been sitting right with me since lunch. The sun is slowly going down. "No, I think that's it," Multiplex replies, thumping my shoulder again.

"Take care, Sam. We'll be around," Maxwell says, and from him, I believe it. Everyone files out, their footsteps a jelly-like mass of indistinct shoes on tile.

It takes me a couple of seconds to realize that Jamila hasn't left. And then another minute to say something.

"Sorry I'm a shitty girlfriend," is not what I intend to say, but it's what comes out anyway.

The room feels emptier now, just Jamila and me, and the heaviness in the air is almost tangible. She hesitates by the door, her eyes flicking between me and the floor.

"Sam, you're not--" she starts, but her voice trails off, unsure.

"No, I mean it. I've been a crappy girlfriend. I've been so wrapped up in… all of this." I gesture vaguely around the room, encompassing the hospital, the superhero stuff, everything.

Jamila moves closer, perching on the edge of my bed. "It's not like I've been the perfect partner either. I mean, with everything going on…"

"Yeah, but that's no excuse for me to be all… whatever this is." I can feel the frustration bubbling up inside me, a noxious mix of guilt and helplessness.

"We're both just… figuring this out, Sam. It's not like there's a manual for dating when the two of you are superheroes," Jamila says, trying to lighten the mood, but it falls flat.

I let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, well, maybe there should be. 'Dating for Dummies: Superhero Edition.'"

There's an awkward silence, and then Jamila reaches out, her hand hesitating in the air before touching my arm. "We're just teenagers, Sam. We're going to make mistakes."

"I just feel like I'm making more than my fair share of them," I admit, my gaze drifting to the window, the sky outside turning shades of orange and purple as the sun sets.

"You're dealing with a lot, Sam. More than most people our age," Jamila says softly, her voice laced with something that sounds a bit like pity.

"I don't want your pity, Jamila. I want… I don't even know what I want." The words are out before I can stop them, and I immediately regret it.

"It's not pity, Sam. It's just… concern. For you." Jamila's voice is steady, but I can hear the undercurrent of hurt.

I sigh, running a hand through what used to be my hair but is now empty air. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm just… not good at this. Any of this."

Jamila gives a small, sad smile. "Neither am I. But we're trying, right? That's got to count for something."

"Does it? Sometimes I feel like we're just making it worse." The words are out before I can censor them, raw and unfiltered.

Jamila's hand falls away from my arm, and she looks down, her hijab casting shadows over her face. "Maybe we are. But we're also learning, growing. Isn't that part of it?"

"Growing into what, though? More messed-up teenagers trying to save the world?" I can't keep the bitterness out of my voice.

"Maybe. Or maybe just two people trying to figure out how to be together in a world that doesn't make it easy," Jamila says, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"You sound like a self-help book," I try to joke, but judging from the wince, I think it just made her more upset. "Sorry. That was mean,"

"No, you're fine. You have a lot of reason to be bitter right now, I think," she replies.

It's quiet for a while. A little too long of a while. A while enough that the sun goes down almost all the way. She shifts uncomfortably, her hijab slightly askew. Then, she fixes it, tucking some hair back under.

"What am I even doing? What are we doing? I don't even know what a girlfriend is supposed to do," I sigh, scrunching my hands up under my blanket. "I just wanted to kiss you, really bad."

She smiles but I can't tell if it's sincere or not. She puts an arm around me. "That's okay. I don't think you need more of a reason than that at our age." Then, she gestures vaguely around the room, encompassing everything from my hospital bed to the world outside, "it's a lot to deal with."

"I know, and I'm sorry. It's just, you're always so calm, so together. I feel like I'm just messing everything up," I admit, a twinge of guilt knotting in my stomach. "Like I can't stop throwing myself into danger. I'm gonna get out of the hospital and get punched back in by some new goon. I don't know how you keep it together."

Her laugh is short, humorless. "Calm? I'm anything but calm, Sam. I'm just as lost as you are. I just hide it better."

We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of our mutual confusion and inexperience pressing down on us. I can feel the distance growing, a chasm that neither of us seems able to bridge. I try to intertwine my fingers with hers, but then I get self-conscious and stop.

"I like you, Jamila. A lot. But I don't even know if that's enough," I say, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. "I like listening to music with you. And hanging out in your room. And kissing you. And going to concerts. But like… most of those are just friend things. Right?" I continue. Almost desperately, I add one last note. "Do we even need to be dating to hold hands and kiss? Because if I'm holding you back--"

She shuts her eyes and puts a hand on my face, finger to my lips. "Sam. Breathe. I'm not going to break up with you while you're in the hospital. Get better. Then we can have this talk later, okay?"

It's like a punch to the gut, her words confirming my worst fears. You're not going to break up with me while I'm in the hospital - so you will when I'm out? I'm not ready for this, not ready for any of it. The realization is as painful as it is clear. I swallow and suck in air. "Okay. Sorry. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," she says, but I do. I worry about it very much. Jamila stands, her body language hesitant. "I should go. We'll talk, okay? When you're better. And we have more time. Once we're done wrapping up with the Kingdom stuff and can take a vacation about it."

"Okay," I almost whimper. She leans over, and just like Camilla, she kisses the top of my head. "I love you."

"I love you too, Sam. No matter what," she says.

She walks out the door.

I get a paper bag and start to hyperventilate. When it comes, the vomit is smooth and easy. Burns just right.