The moment the doctor left the room, Jackson noticed Ezra's paleness and the sweat beading on his forehead.

"Ezra," Jackson said slowly, studying his grandson carefully.

Ezra's fingers froze, trembling above the phone he had just been furiously typing on. He swallowed thickly, not turning to face Jackson even as his eyes went unfocused and the world around him blurred.

"The EMTs didn't cut Blaise out," Ezra rasped, "I did. I thought... I thought I had to get them out of the car. I thought that was the most important thing at the time. I got them both out before the EMTs arrived."

Ezra turned to his grandfather then, the panic behind his eyes evident even as Jackson could only stare at him - understanding settling around him.

"Call Connor."

Ezra nodded, the brace around his neck making the action challenging - but the intent was still evident. He turned back to his phone and began to type again, his fingers blurring over the keyboard.

He had no idea where Connor was, but where ever it was he was bound to be doing something important. Something impressive.

That's the thing about prodigy surgeons like him - he was never not doing something important.

That's why they only talked a couple of times a year, and even then it was usually brief. A 'happy birthday' was about the deepest it got.

They both had things to do.

That didn't change their history though. They didn't need grand gestures or long conversations because they'd already gone through hell together, and that was enough.

When Ezra had pulled him out of that plane all those years ago, he didn't take Connor's oath particularly seriously. They'd both been passengers when all hell broke loose, and they'd been lucky to survive the crash at all.

Ezra honestly didn't think he'd done much. He'd simply heard Connor's groans and didn't leave him behind.

Any decent person would have done the same.

Ezra thought back to that day as he messaged the man he spent days with as they survived in the mountains in the worst weather imaginable.

That shitty weather was why they were even on that damn plane. The weather had grounded all the flights, but commercials were still running. Money spoke volumes, and Ezra had managed to snag the very last ticket before takeoff - who knew that being in the last row would end up saving his life?

Connor and Ezra had had days together, holed up in a small cave as the rains poured around them, and they'd talked a lot during that time. Connor had admitted he'd had a similar situation.

Ezra had a business opportunity he couldn't pass up, and Connor had a patient that needed help desperately - both headed to the same ski resort for very different reasons, and both had the money to pay a hefty price to get there even when all planes were grounded.

Ezra had thought commercial planes were sturdier, assumed they'd be safe enough since they hadn't grounded commercial flights yet. Short-haul, they'd said, so no risk.

Tell that to the winds.

Ezra had barely gotten them both out, slipping and sliding in the rain as they climbed down the trees the tail section had landed in and damn near crawled until they found shelter in that cave.

He'd made three trips back to the plain pieces and managed to get an emergency beacon out of the cockpit, a busted up first-aid kit, and a random suitcase filled with men's clothes and random essentials.

That was it. That was all they had to survive on for 4 days.

They were lucky to find that, if they were honest. Even in the rain, Ezra could see the trail the plane had left behind. A trail of twisted metal and silence that told him they were the only ones left.

They hadn't been prepared for the cold of the Sawatch Range - neither of them even wearing coats when the plane came down. Between that and the rain, they had no way to start a fire or dry off - so they'd had to get real comfortable with each other real quick.

It had been a long few days.

That was really only the beginning though. Even after the week Ezra spent hospitalized trying to deal with the ankle he destroyed and the ribs he'd only managed to bind with Connor's help, he hadn't left. He'd stayed, because Connor remained there for nearly a month - in and out of surgery to first try and save his life, and then to save his legs.

Ezra had done his best to follow Connor's instructions, but a couple of splits made in the mountains couldn't exactly treat wounds like that. Connor hadn't heard the pilot's shouts the way Ezra had, hadn't braced - hell he hadn't even uncrossed his legs when everything spun out of control.

It had taken a few years to invent the exoskeleton that let Connor return to the operating room. It was complicated, sure, especially in order for it to be capable of entering an operating room, but Ezra had been completely unwilling to allow someone like Connor to waste away as a teacher for the rest of his life.

It had been the most advanced medical technology his company had ever invented, forcing Ezra to leverage every resource in every company to figure out how to make it possible.

The irony was lost on no one when aerospace engineering had proven to be the key to it all.

That had been many, many years ago, but it was still a feat of ingenuity that had yet to be surpassed.

Now, he could only pray that Connor could save Blaise from the same fate.

--

"Ezra," Connor's voice echoed through Ezra's dreams and pulled him quickly back into reality.

A very painful reality in every sense of the word.

"You've done quite a number on yourself this time," Connor said, studying Ezra from the end of the bed, "What happened?"

"What time is it?" Ezra rasped, blinking as he fumbled for the buttons to help him adjust the bed.

"Midnight," Connor said easily, rolling his wheelchair around to sit beside the bed, "It's been just under 48 hours since you called. Now, tell me what happened?"

Without wasting another second, Ezra told him everything. From the moment the car pulled away from his grandfather's estate to the moment he realized his pulling Blaise out of the car had made everything worse.

That part of the story had earned a fierce glare from Connor, but he hadn't stopped Ezra as he spoke.

"You were extremely reckless," Connor said lowly, "The damage you've done is serious, Ezra."

Connor looked at him, and Ezra held his gaze even as the truth threatened to shred him.

"I'll do everything I can for Blaise," he said seriously, "I can't make you promises, but I can guarantee that whatever the best outcome possible is - that's what he'll get."

"That's all I can ask for," Ezra rasped, looking away.

"You said there was a woman, Blair. Do I need to look into her case too?"

"She... she has brain swelling," Ezra said quietly, "She's in a coma right now. Medically induced. They said they were going to wake her up soon..."

"I'll look into it," Connor said seriously, understanding the seriousness of the situation.

"Thank you."

Without another word, Connor spun his chair and headed out of the room.

Ezra spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, the images from that night flashing in front of his eyes no matter how much he tried to push them aside.

Tim's neck.

The red string of blood pouring from Blair.

Blaise's cries.

The truck appearing out of the darkness seconds before slamming into the car, directly into Tim's door.

The rain just starting to trickle down as Blair told them about playing chess in the park.

Sitting in the living room with Blaise, Blair, and his grandfather - arguing about a contract for a marriage Ezra was far less resistant to than he originally was.

In less than an hour. Everything shattered in less than an hour.

And for what?

He hadn't figure out who did it yet, but he'd narrowed in on a single vehicle based on the initial police reports and traffic cams.

The problem he'd run into was that particular vehicle was useless. It had been stolen for a joyride months ago, impounded, never retrieved, and slated for auction. Someone had broken in, snagged the key, and driven off in the middle of the night.

The way the masked figure swayed on the blurry recording made it look like they may have been drunk. Most likely a man, given the build, but the way they were hunched over and the trench coat hung around them - there was no way to be sure.

They drove it right out of the lot, hugging that inner line as they altered between crawling and speeding toward their very obvious destination.

Whoever it was, it was clear they only had one goal - one intention.

Whether they were actually drunk or not was still to be determined, but there was no doubt that they headed straight for the estate after getting the car. Then, they'd driven down the lane further down the street - speeding along it when it was time for them to make their move.

The police report said they'd been slammed into at something like 40 mph - had to have to flip the car like that.

Whoever it was knew exactly what they were doing when they stole that car.

The problem was that they were smart enough to make everything a headache for Ezra.

After the accident they sped off and into the city.

By the time Ezra sent people to the scrap yard, it had already been crushed into a brick of metal and shattered glass. The scrap yard manager confirmed it wasn't approved on their side - someone had broken in, set it up, then bolted. By the time on-site security stopped chasing ghosts and made it back to the equipment, the car was already toast.

They had enough evidence to prove it was the one that rammed the car, but any evidence that might have pointed to who drove it was now tucked inside the destroyed machine. The police had collected it but admitted that it would make next steps difficult.

Ezra still had leads, though.

The car thief hadn't drained the gas tank when they crushed it.

They got lucky. There was a trail of gasoline all the way through the doors that suggest the accident had either created or worsened an issue with the gas tank. Enough of the fluid had leaked out - and the rain had played a part too, Ezra was sure - to prevent the potential fire, even explosion, if things had been different.

It told Ezra something though.

First, whoever it was knew that scrap yard. They didn't drive around looking for a solution for hours, they went straight there. Otherwise, they'd have run out of gas somewhere with that leak. It also meant had access to the machinery - keys or codes, whatever it was that unlocked the crusher. Or knew how to get them.

The police were still investigating, but the likelihood was high that they either were or were associated with management.

Second, it told him that they were an idiot. Connected, sure. Capable of operating equipment that had a manual by the panel and big glowing buttons that had to be pressed in order? Absolutely. Moderate skill with a crane, apparently - surprising, but they had managed to load the car into the crusher so he couldn't deny it.

But not draining the gas? That was something only an idiot did - even if they were in a hurry.

They should have driven it into the loading bay, punctured the tank, and let it drain as they headed to the crane. If the car exploded when the crushing began, they wouldn't have even had time to get out - it wouldn't be worth the risk.

Yet, the loading bay showed no liquid drain. The only 'draining' that had happened was the leak up to the loading bay.

So, a well-connected idiot.

That didn't narrow it down as much as Ezra would have preferred - not with the number of enemies both he and Blair had - but it gave Ezra enough to go on that he was sure that by the time Blair woke up he'd have some kind of answers.

--

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