#pierrestie

When Esteban’s eyes flutter open, the room is dark. The curtains are pulled tightly across the hotel room window, but even through the cracks and creases in the fabric, Esteban can tell it's just as dark outside as it is inside the room. This means it is nowhere near morning yet, and the option to roll back over onto his side and sneak in a few more hours of sleep is tantalizing to his groggy brain. 

To his left, Esteban can hear Gabriel’s gentle breathing, slow and steady, and can reasonably conclude that he is still tossed far into the wiles of slumber as well. Sucking in a breath, Esteban rolls himself over onto his left side and drapes an arm delicately across Gabriel’s hips as to not disturb his peaceful sleep. His eyes fall shut once more, and the rhythm of Gabriel’s breathing up against the weary pull of sleep work together to push him further and further into a state of unconsciousness himself.

That is, of course, until the harsh and frantic ‘buzz’ of Esteban’s cellphone cuts through the otherwise serene silence.

In his half-aware state, Esteban cracks only one eye open slightly, as if it would somehow sharpen his senses to the noise coming from his bedside table. He doesn’t know exactly what time it is - just how early or how late into the night or morning it could possibly be, but phone calls between this window are rare and, dare he suggest it, aggravating. He groans slightly, picking his head up from the pillow and pulling his arm back from around Gabriel’s waist. The soft motions come with a sharp intake of breath from Gabriel, who almost immediately pops open both eyes and furrows his brows in tired confusion.

“Babe, your phone.” Gabriel says, his voice gravelly and low. “Who the fuck is calling at…” a soft glow of light comes from Esteban’s left, where he notices Gabriel has turned on his own phone. “Two in the morning?”

“Fuck if I know. Hold on.” Esteban hoists himself up to a sitting position in the bed, running a hand over his face to try and wake himself up a bit more. He reaches over and swipes his phone from the table, eyes snapping immediately to the caller information. To his confusion, the number isn’t one that is registered in his contacts. The area information reads ‘Austin, TX’ with an American phone number printed beneath, but no further insight into who this mystery caller is. Now that his curiosity has reached an all time high (and perhaps a bit of nervous dread is mixed in as well), Esteban accepts the phone call and presses the speaker button so Gabriel can listen in as well. “Hello?”

“Hello. Is this a mister Esteban Ocon?” greets a disinterested voice from the other end of the line. Esteban can hear quite a commotion in the background behind her, and something inside his stomach begins to churn.

“Yes, who is this?”

“I’m calling from Saint David’s North Austin Medical Center in regards to Pierre Gasly.” 

Esteban’s eyes widen in disbelief. He steals a glance over at Gabriel, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and even a hint of anger, only to find a very similar expression painted across his face as well. 

“Pierre - what? Why are you calling me? I do not have anything to do with him.”

“You were listed as his only emergency contact, sir. If you would please -”

“No,” Esteban interjects, waving his hands about as if she can actually see him, “No, no. There’s a mistake here or something. I can give you a different number to call, but I do not have anything to do with him.”

“Sir-” the woman sounds annoyed now, a bit louder and more insistent, “There was an accident, and we are required to make phone calls to all listed emergency contacts. I cannot call a random phone number you give me due to American HIPAA laws in place to protect Pierre’s privacy. Are you able to come up to the hospital with proof of identity within the next few hours?” 

“I -” at a loss for words, Esteban locks his gaze with Gabriel, who is beginning to look less irritated and more concerned with every passing second. “What did you say was the name of this hospital again?”

“Saint David’s North Austin Medical Center.” 

“I’m looking it up.” Gabriel says softly, pulling his phone back out and tapping aggressively at the screen. Flashes of color illuminate the room as Gabriel switches from google to google maps, and Esteban leans over to get a glimpse of their position in regards to the hospital. “It’s only fifteen minutes. We can go.” “Uh, yes, yes, I can come. Can you just - is he…is he alive?” Esteban’s voice comes out small and meek, almost like a scolded child who has just served a most unjust time-out. His stomach is flopping about even more viciously now, and all of the anger that had boiled his blood only minutes ago is dissipating into anxious energy. Pierre is not his friend, but that does not mean Esteban wants anything bad to happen to him.

“I cannot divulge any further information over the phone, Mr. Ocon. Once you get here and prove your identity, we’ll be able to give you a much more detailed overview of the situation. We’ll see you soon.”

The ‘click’ of the other line disconnecting and the immediate three-beep ‘dropped call’ tone sounds in Esteban’s ears before he can even finish processing the woman’s words. His phone dims now that it’s no longer in use, and it slides from his knee as Gabriel shifts the mattress to stand to his feet. Esteban, still in shock, looks up at Gabriel and blindly follows his motions by lifting himself off of the bed as well. He is going to need his keys, his phone, his wallet, his passport, what little bit of American cash he has on him, and -

“Hey, Este, it’s okay.” comes Gabriel’s voice, now closer to him than Esteban remembers them being moments ago. A warm hand comes to rest on his shoulder, and he sucks in a deep breath to try and regain his bearings. “It sounds like protocol to me from the hospital. I am sure Pierre is okay, and you can add this to the list of shit he owes you for, right?”

“Right.” Esteban’s voice is tense, but he does find the strength to offer the barest smile at Gabriel’s efforts to calm his racing thoughts. “That asshole.”

“That asshole, yes. Now get dressed and hand me your keys, you are not driving right now.”

It is a welcome relief that comes with Gabriel’s words. Driving, of course, is more than second nature - almost as involuntary as breathing to someone like Esteban - even when stress and conflict and feelings are built up into a tight ball in his chest the way they are now. But to have the privilege of handing that responsibility off, well, he would take that in a heartbeat. And so he does.

“Here,” he says, grabbing the keys from his side table and tossing them over into Gabriel’s expectant hands, “Go on ahead. I will meet you outside so I can just jump in the car and we can go. Get the GPS ready and all that.”

“Yes, boss.” Gabriel shots back with a mock American salute, earning a half-hearted chuckle from Esteban in the process. He is out the door within seconds and as soon as Esteban hears the click of the strike, he lets out a massive breath that feels far too heavy in his lungs.

Surely, he thinks, Pierre will be fine. It was probably a stupid, drunken stint at a fancy club down the road from their hotel that may have landed him a broken nose or a harmless concussion. Surely, in two hours time Esteban will be curling back into bed with Gabriel to catch up on the precious sleep they missed while being Pierre’s babysitters. Pierre has been looking particularly forward to the American Grand Prix, as Esteban had overheard in the garage after their last race, so it would only make sense if he had gone out and partied with Yuki and some of the other drivers that had flown in a week early as well.

At least that is what he is going to tell himself for now, as he shrugs into an Alpine t-shirt he had discarded on the floor earlier that night, aptly strewn beside a pair of dark jeans that will suit this spontaneous hospital trip just fine. Once he finishes dressing, he grabs his passport from his bedside table along with his wallet and one of his watches, and then his phone from the middle of the bed where it has slid off of his knee a few minutes prior. 

‘Coming downstairs now. Have the car ready by check in.’ Esteban types sloppily on his phone, not caring to check for any errors as he hastily sends the message to Gabriel and all but jogs down three flights of stairs and out to the lobby, where if he garners a strange look or two from the late night desk clerks, he pays absolutely no mind.

As expected, Gabriel already has the car pulled around under the awning of the hotel check-in lane when Esteban bursts through the doors and into the night. Humidity hits him like a brick wall as soon as he steps outside, the air feeling heavy in his lungs as he rushes forward towards the passenger door.

“I have to make a phone call to Charles, do you have everything you need on your phone to get us there?” Esteban asks, slamming the passenger door shut behind him. Gabriel hits the gas hard enough for Esteban to jolt forward, but he pays it barely any mind as he quickly squirms himself into his seat belt and pulls up his contact list on his phone.

“Don’t worry about anything, Esteban, do what you need to do.” Gabriel replies firmly, his voice tender and full of a kindness that works to help ease the nerves Esteban feels swirling around in his chest. 

He tells himself, yet again, that Pierre is fine. He probably just hurt himself doing something stupid while he was drunk, and as soon as they get there, they can load him up into the car and take him back to the hotel without much of a fuss. Nonetheless, he can’t manage to shake this feeling of dread clawing its way up the back of his spine and into his chest. He swallows thickly, swiping his finger down his screen until he finds the contact name he was looking for. He taps Charles Leclerc’s name with a trembling finger, and then brings the phone up to his ear.

It takes Charles nearly four rings to answer, though Esteban can not blame him given how early in the morning it is. In fact, he is surprised Charles even answers at all.

“Someone had better be dying.” Comes Charles’ groggy voice on the other end of the line. And oh, the irony of his statement - if he only knew. Esteban heaves an unsteady breath into his lungs to clear those thoughts out of his mind; Pierre will be fine, no one is dying. But the rate of his own heartbeat and the tension in his chest would say otherwise - and Charles’ offhand greeting does not do Esteban’s anxiety any favors.

“Good morning to you too, Charles.” Esteban shoots back, working to keep his tone any semblance of ‘normal’ as to not worry Charles unnecessarily. “Hopefully no one is dying, but I got a phone call regarding Pierre.”

The other line is silent for a moment too long, long enough for Esteban to wonder if perhaps Charles has fallen back asleep. He finally hears distant shuffling in the background, followed by a very sleepy groan.

“What about Pierre?”

“The hospital nearby gave me a call. Apparently I am still his emergency contact.” Esteban informs him tensely, drowning out the sound of Gabriel’s GPS as the shrill voice spits out instructions towards the hospital. “I don’t know the details, they will not tell me this over the phone. I am heading there now to find out what happened. I thought maybe it would be good that you knew, just in case.”

“Just in case what?” Charles asks, and his voice sounds much clearer and steady now. “Did they say it was bad?”

“They told me nothing at all, Charles. It’s some sort of American law or something, I don’t really know. You are staying at the same hotel as Pierre, no?” Esteban’s words are a bit frantic, perhaps even laced with an involuntary bite of annoyance. Already, the conversation has dragged on for longer than he wanted. The car can only move so quickly and yet it feels too slow, as well. Esteban is pitched forward in his seat, almost like he’s ready to jump out at any given moment. If he could just focus his attention -

“Yes,” Charles answers curtly, and his anxiety is almost palpable through the phone. Esteban would commiserate with Charles right now, if only he had the space in his chest for it. “Tell me the hospital he is at and I will be there as quickly as I can.” “How about I text it to you? I will send you the directions and everything.”

“That’s fine. Let me know as soon as you hear anything about Pierre.”

“I will,” Esteban replies, feeling more anticipation and anxiety build in his chest as Gabriel finally turns the car into the parking lot for the hospital. “We are here, so I should know something soon. I will call you in a few moments.”

“Good, thank you.” 

The call drops almost immediately, so Esteban lowers the phone from his ear and works on unfastening his seat belt so he can be out of the car as soon as Gabriel parks it. The hospital is far larger than any of the medical centers he is used to seeing - even the parking deck goes up more levels than he can comprehend. Thankfully, at this time of night, the normal visitor parking out in front of the hospital has some empty space, so Esteban watches as Gabriel pulls the car into the closest spot he can find.

“Go, go go, I will catch up.” Gabriel says, urging Esteban out the door as soon as the tires come screeching to a halt. Esteban nods, offering a grateful pat to Gabriel’s shoulder before opening the door and darting out into the humid night. He loops around the back of the car, breaking out into a light jog as he makes his way towards the entrance of the hospital.

Around him, it is surprisingly peaceful. There are lights in the parking lot that keep the area well-lit, and he can see a few nurses and other hospital staff huddled around a bench for a ten-minute smoke break off in the distance. Otherwise, the night is eerily still and quiet in a way that Esteban did not realize America could be.

It feels like it does not bode well.

As he approaches the entrance to the hospital, the automatic doors part with a quiet hum and he doesn’t even need to slow his pace. He continues his jog right up to the front desk, where an employee is typing furiously on her computer. She hardly looks up when he approaches.

“Can I help you?” she asks, eyes still fastened on her computer screen. Esteban clears his throat to try and keep his voice level and even, before reaching into his pocket to pull out his passport.

“Yes, my name is Esteban Ocon. I was called by someone from this hospital maybe twenty or thirty minutes ago because I am an emergency contact for Pierre Gasly. I was told to come with proof of my identity so I could get an update on his condition.” Esteban explains carefully, opening his passport up and pushing it forward on the desk. 

She finally looks away from her screen and gently takes his passport, reading the information and studying his photo before looking back up and making eye contact with him. “Thank you, Mr. Ocon. Give me just a moment to pull up his information. You said his name was what?”

“Pierre Gasly.” He says, feeling anticipation rise up into his throat now that he’s so close to knowing what’s going on. His heart is thumping quickly in his chest, and he shoves his hands in his pockets to keep them from trembling. It's funny, really, just how nervous he is - he keeps trying to tell himself that it is nothing major, that Pierre just did something stupid during a drunken night of fun with his friends. But Esteban can feel something tense in the air - he can feel the dread churching his stomach and even though he hopes he’s wrong, he fears this may be worse than even he can imagine.

“Pierre Gasly, yes, it seems he’s currently in the ICU with very limited visitation. I will page his doctor to come talk to you about his condition, and then you can be taken to see him.” the receptionist informs him, her voice calm and even, as if she hadn’t just told Esteban that the person he’s here to see is in the intensive care unit. As if that isn’t one of the most devastating things you could tell someone.

Esteban’s breath halts in his lungs, and a cold feeling washes over him that starts at his temples and drags all the way down to the tips of his toes. The ICU - the most critical place Pierre could possibly be. His heart feels strained as it beats even faster, and if he had not been leaning against the front desk so heavily, he might have stumbled over in shock.

“I - thank you. Thank you.” He sputters, taking one of his hands out of his pocket to grab his passport back from the woman. Her eyes finally flash a hint of sympathy as she looks him over. He must look just as terrified as he feels. “Can I - is there a place to sit?”

“Of course, go down to the right a bit and there’s a waiting area. I’ll call you up when the doctor arrives, okay? It shouldn’t take too long.”

Esteban nods, stuffing his passport back into his pocket and pulling in a shaky breath. At that moment, he sees a flash of movement to his left, and Gabriel is at his side in an instant.

“Hey,” he whispers, grabbing onto Esteban’s shoulders. “You are shaking. What happened?”

Esteban leans back into Gabriel with perhaps a bit too much of his bodyweight, swallowing a mouthful of emotions back as he stumbles to take a step forward. He feels Gabriel’s grip on his shoulders tighten, holding him firmly to keep him from swaying.

“Pierre is in the intensive care unit.” Esteban chokes out, the tightness in his chest only growing as the reality of the situation bears down on him. His mind can only race with possibilities now of what could have happened to Pierre - especially so early in the morning, with no one else around. Did someone hurt him? Had he been in an accident? 

“Oh my god. What happened to him?” Gabriel asks, gently leading Esteban down the short hallway towards the waiting area. “Did they tell you?”

Slowly, Esteban finds himself maneuvered into a chair. He stretches his legs out and turns onto his side, the side where Gabriel sits next to him, and reaches for his hand. Gabriel is more than happy to offer his hand in response, giving Esteban’s a little squeeze of support. 

“They did not say yet. I have to wait for the doctor to come down and talk with me. But…this means it is very serious. I thought it would be something stupid, like a broken nose or maybe even a concussion or something.” Esteban squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath, holding it in his lungs for a few seconds before exhaling it out sharply. “Oh fuck, I did not text Charles.”

He worms his free hand around in the pocket opposite his passport, grabbing his phone out with little struggle. He quickly presses his thumb against the fingerprint scanner, and scrolls through a series of old conversations until he finds one with Charles from over a month ago.

His hand is shaking so badly, he nearly misses clicking on Charles’ name three times.

“Baby, do you want me to do it?” Gabriel suggests, his breath warm against the crown of Esteban’s forehead where he is resting his lips. Esteban sighs, surrendering his phone over and resting the weight of his head against Gabriel’s. 

“Do not tell Charles that Pierre is in the ICU. I do not want him driving here worried. He just needs directions to the hospital.” Esteban tells him gently. Gabriel hums in acknowledgement, and Esteban listens to the soft sound of the phone keyboard clicking as Gabriel types one-handedly.

Esteban’s anxiety is only going from bad to worse as the minutes pass, waiting for the doctor to make their way down to him. Logically, he understands this hospital is full of people who need help and families who need support, but the longer he waits to find out what happened to Pierre, the more the scenarios in his mind worsen. Intensive care could be indicative of so many different things - is Pierre unconscious and critical but breathing on his own, or is he on a breathing device as well? Is he in one piece or multiple pieces? Will he look like a shell of the man Esteban knew, or will he just look like he’s sleeping peacefully? Why didn’t Pierre pull Esteban’s name off of his emergency contact list?

He hears Gabriel’s tip-tapping on the phone stop, and he looks down at their entwined fingers. The phone screen is dark, indicating that Gabriel has already finished the message and locked the phone. Esteban does not reach out to take it back, instead closing his eyes and focusing on the rise and fall of his own chest as he breathes. It’s all he can do to keep his mind busy and away from all of the horrible scenarios running through it.

Gabriel is blessedly silent beside him, offering a gentle kiss to his temple every so often, and his thumb consistently rubs over Esteban’s knuckles in a pattern that is easy to focus on in tandem with his breathing. He has almost managed to reach a point of calm, almost victorious in bringing his heart rate down from frantic to just slightly elevated, until he hears the woman at the front desk call his name.

“Shit.” he hisses beneath his breath, and Gabriel gives his hand a reassuring squeeze. “They will not let you in because you are not the emergency contact.”

“I know. Will you be alright?” Gabriel asks earnestly, and it causes something to squeeze a little too tight in Esteban’s chest. No, he’s not alright, and no he won’t be alright. At the very least, having Gabriel with him would offer some form of comfort when he needs it the most. But, there is no time to waste, and this isn’t about whether or not Esteban can handle it.

He can. He will. Just like he always does.

“Yes. Just…hope that it is not horrible news.”

Esteban untangles himself from the comfortable positioning he had managed to worm into, looking down at Gabriel with a tight-lipped and uncomfortable smile. Gabriel’s eyes are soft and sad, and his smile is equally as cautious. It makes Esteban’s stomach flip in the worst ways.

But he’s dawdling, and he cannot do that. Pierre could very well be dying, and –

He pushes those thoughts aside and makes his way back up to the front desk, feeling the trembling in his limbs returning. As he reaches the reception area, he sees the same woman from before, conversing with a tall, dark-haired doctor in a stereotypical white coat at her side. Her hair is tied up in a bun and she’s wearing thick-rimmed glasses. Her features are soft and gentle, but there is an obvious tension in the crinkle of her brow and the way her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, either.

“Mr. Ocon, this is Doctor Maynor. She will give you an update on Pierre’s condition and take you to see him, okay?” The receptionist says, and her tone is noticeably more carefully chosen than it had been when Esteban first walked into the hospital. None of this is easing his anxiety in the slightest. It is clear that everyone is walking on eggshells, and walking on eggshells means that they have bad news to deliver. Esteban can only hope that Doctor Maynor is blunt, concise, and rips the band-aid off so his poor heart can just take all the damage in one swoop.

“Thank you.” He says, looking over to the doctor and politely holding out a hand for her to shake. She does so, and her hand is warm as she grips his firmly. He hopes she cannot feel him trembling.

“Good morning, Mr. Ocon. Let me take you somewhere a little more private, okay? We can talk outside of his room.” Doctor Maynor suggests, motioning down the hallway towards a set of double doors that Esteban assumes lead into the ICU. He swallows thickly.

“Yes, of course. My partner is here with me, I know he cannot hear anything about Pierre’s condition, but can he come with me to the ICU?” He asks, almost fearing what the answer might be to such a question. The receptionist earlier had mentioned ‘limited visitation’ and that alone might be enough for them to keep Gabriel from him.

However, her polite smile never falters, and she offers a nod. “Of course. I can’t allow both of you into Pierre’s room at the same time, but there is a separate waiting area for the ICU that he can be situated in.”

Esteban’s sigh of relief must be palpable, as Doctor Maynor’s smile twitches towards something more genuine. Esteban jogs ahead of her towards the waiting area where Gabriel is still sitting, and he whistles softly to get his attention. Gabriel’s head snaps up instantaneously, and Esteban urges him over with a frantic hand gesture. “Come, we are going to the ICU.”

Esteban watches as Gabriel fumbles to collect his belongings. It’s clear he must have thought he would be there for some time, as he was lounging with his feet up and both his phone and a book open to his side. He grabs everything and shuffles to his feet, meeting up with Esteban at the same moment Doctor Maynor joins them as well.

“Good morning. Mr. Ocon has requested you to be with him in the ICU. I’ll show you where the waiting area is, and I’ll have a chat with Mr. Ocon in private about your friend’s condition.”

Esteban barely contains a snort at the word ‘friend.’ Perhaps one time in the past, they were friends. Perhaps one time in the past, they were even more than that. Perhaps something went wrong somewhere down the line, and their hearts lost touch. Perhaps from that moment, they never saw each other in a positive light again. ‘Friend’ - the way that makes Esteban’s heart ache so painfully in his chest. They are not friends. He doesn’t even know what they are anymore, really. Maybe just teammates, and nothing more.

Nonetheless, Esteban nods towards Gabriel, who responds with a very polite, “Yes ma’am.” 

As they approach the double doors of the intensive care unit, Doctor Maynor tugs on a badge clipped loosely to her coat and holds it against the sensor. The doors spring to life, opening slowly to allow them inside, and Esteban forces himself to take a deep breath as he crosses the threshold into his new and frightening territory. The ward is alive with the sounds of beeping monitors, nurse chatter, the clicking of keyboards as they’re furiously typed upon, and the sound of wheels against linoleum flooring where monitors and other sensitive equipment are being carted around by the medical staff. Each door is spread quite far apart from the other, all numbered in ascending order, with even numbers on the left and odd ones on the right.

Doctor Maynor comes to a halt right at the end of the hallway, where Esteban can see a small carpeted area full of couches and chairs. It’s all very similar to the waiting room outside of the emergency ward, and he knows this is where he loses Gabriel.

This is where he knows things may never be quite the same ever again.

“Here’s the waiting area. Pierre’s room is not too far from here.” Doctor Maynor says, using her arm to gesture towards the empty chairs in the room. Gabriel sucks in a breath and Esteban immediately turns to face him, feeling that same awful, ice-cold dread fill him from head to toe once again. 

“I will be right here, Esteban. It’s going to be okay.” Gabriel tells him, leaning in close to bump their foreheads together. Esteban nods, not trusting the way his voice might sound if he dares to speak. “It’s okay, baby.” 

Gabriel presses a feather-soft kiss to the bridge of Esteban’s nose, and then he steps back to head into the waiting room. Esteban’s hand twitches at his side, a longing feeling at the tips of his fingers to reach out and grab hold of Gabriel, to stop him from leaving, but that would only prolong the inevitable. Something Esteban has already been doing too much of.

“Are you ready, Mr. Ocon?” Doctor Maynor asks softly, and Esteban can appreciate that her voice is full of sympathy and warmth. It’s in stark contrast to the woman at the front desk who, (through no fault of her own, really, Esteban knows this is her job after all), had been less than gentle giving her side of the news. 

“Yes,” he replies after a moment, his chest clenching in on itself with the desperate anxiety he feels buzzing in his veins. “I’m ready.”

As she begins to walk off towards Pierre’s room, Esteban is hot on her heels. Even amongst the dread and the nausea and the raw fear he’s fighting off, deep down he wants nothing more than to just know already. And the faster they get to Pierre’s room, the faster he gets that information.

Doctor Maynor stops so abruptly in front of room 158 that Esteban nearly trips over her in the process. His head snaps over towards the door, where Pierre’s name is written neatly up on the board hanging beside the window. The curtains are shut tight, however, and to his dismay (or perhaps to his benefit), nothing can be seen inside the room other than the faint glow of the light peeking out through the corners of the fabric.

“Okay, have they told you anything about what’s happened to Mr. Gasly yet?” She begins, pulling her tablet out from her pocket. Esteban assumes that is where all of Pierre’s data is being kept, an entire record of what’s happened to him since he set foot inside of this hospital. He has to fight the urges to just reach forward and grab it from her hands, and read all the data himself.

“Not at all. I did not even know he was in the ICU until ten minutes ago.”

Doctor Maynor frowns, sliding her finger across the tablet as she scrolls through pages of data. Esteban watches her intently, his heart pounding so fast he can hear it clearly in his ears.

“Mr. Gasly was in a horrible car accident. He was brought in about an hour ago in critical condition. His injuries are extensive and range in severity, but overall, his condition is still highly critical.” She informs him, and Esteban’s stomach drops to his feet.

A car accident? Of all things?

“Okay, so what are they, then?” He urges a bit impatiently, though doctor Maynor doesn’t seem to mind all that much. She sucks in a breath and looks up from the tablet, finally meeting his gaze with a sad smile.

“His pelvis is broken, as well as his clavicle. A few of his ribs fractured as well, and one of them splintered into his lung which caused a puncture and a collapse. He had an open cranial fracture - though minor - and a brain contusion to go along with it. On top of this, he has whiplash, and we are monitoring his neck for any swelling. His right leg is also broken in two spots, but the worst of the injuries is the internal bleeding. It seems on his ride over to the hospital, he went into cardiac arrest once.”

Esteban feels his legs tremble beneath him, either unable or unwilling to hold his weight. His breath is frozen in his lungs, eyes wide in absolute horror as the magnitude of Pierre’s injuries slowly, one by one, register into his brain. He can feel his heart beating in his throat, hard and heavy as if he’d just run up six flights of stairs to get here.

He’s certain the doctor must be speaking to him, but there’s a ringing in his ears that drowns out all other sounds.

Pierre’s heart had stopped in the ambulance. His heart had simply stopped beating.

Both of them are breathing hard, too hard, and Pierre can distinctly hear the sound of booming footsteps advancing towards them over the roar of the waterfall they're hiding behind. His back is uncomfortably pressed against a wall of rock, and his chest is even more uncomfortably jammed against Esteban's within the tight space they have to keep from falling a good sixty or so feet down into the chasm below.

Pierre can feel how hard Esteban's chest is heaving with his heavy breaths, and it does nothing to settle the panic buzzing within his own veins. The footsteps are loud and threatening, booming around right near the mouth of the waterfall they disappeared behind only moments prior.

When the footsteps stop, however, is when Pierre's blood really begins to run cold.

"Where is she?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. His entire body is trembling with fear as he listens for any sounds of the indominous rex - anything that could give him a clue as to where exactly she might be.

He feels Esteban's hands move slowly, and they come to rest on the back of his head. With a little force, Esteban moves Pierre's head from facing the waterfall, away to the opposite side of the wall. "What - what are you doing?"

"Shh." Esteban hisses, holding Pierre ever closer against him. Pierre swallows thickly and tries to understand what's happening - but Esteban moved his gaze away for a reason and, well, Pierre is just going to have to trust in that decision. Surely there's good reason.

"Esteban, I -"

"Can you feel my heart beating?" Esteban says suddenly, cutting off Pierre's entire train of thought. His brain blanks for a moment, utterly confused by the question, but he furrows his brows and takes a second to think about his answer. Sure enough, not only can he feel Esteban's heart pounding against his own chest, but if he really focuses on it, he can hear it beating over the sound of the roaring waterfall as well.

He nods his head. "Yes."

"Good, focus on that for a little bit." Esteban replies, his voice calm and steady in stark contract to the frantic rhythm his heart plays in his chest. But Pierre does as he is told - Esteban is the professional with the dinosaurs in his situation, whatever he's planning is the only hope either of them have at getting out of this alive.

So Pierre closes his eyes and he listens. All the while oblivious to the snout of the indominous rex being mere inches away from them both, and oblivious to the way Esteban's body shakes perhaps even more viciously than his own. He remains still as a board, counting the rapid beats of Esteban's heart as he hears them, and doesn't open his eyes again until the mercilessly quick rhythm slows down to something calmer and more normal.

"Is she gone?" he asks, almost afraid to know the answer.