Page 102 of Knotting the Firefighters

"Can you both cease this pointless back-and-forth?" Silas sounds exasperated, medical professionalism barely containing frustration. "You're disturbing Wendolyn's recovery with your juvenile bickering."

Warm hands grip my shoulders—a gentle touch that somehow conveys both concern and restraint, like the person wants to do more but is carefully limiting contact.

The scent is unmistakable now—maple syrup and chestnuts, sweet warmth that makes my exhausted brain produce a single word.

"Teddy."

The mumble escapes before I can censor it, my filter apparently completely offline along with most cognitive functions.

A low chuckle rumbles through the chest, suddenly very close to me—genuine amusement mixing with something tender that makes the sound vibrate pleasantly.

"That's a new nickname," Bear observes, though I can hear the smile in his voice.

Then I'm being lifted—carefully, gently, massive arms cradling me against solid warmth that smells absolutely perfect. My head finds his shoulder automatically, body going completely limp in his hold with trust that bypasses conscious thought.

Safe.

This is safe.

Teddy bear will protect me while I'm useless.

"Why don't we discuss this later?" Bear suggests, his voice rumbling through his chest into my ear. "Instead of arguing like children when the deed is already done and we're all clearly pulled into this unexpected situation."

What deed?

What situation?

Why does everyone keep referencing things I don't understand?

I want to ask, want clarification, want someone to explain what's happening and why I feel simultaneously exhausted and peaceful and completely disconnected from reality.

But fingers card through my hair—a gentle, rhythmic motion that's impossibly soothing. A whisper follows, barely audible even pressed against his chest.

"Rest now. We'll explain everything when you're properly awake."

Obey.

Body wants to obey.

Brain wants answers, but body wins through sheer overwhelming exhaustion.

My awareness fragments again, consciousness dissolving like sugar in water. The voices continue around me—discussion happening that I should probably participate in, but can't because sleep is demanding attention with biological insistence.

Later.

Understand later.

Right now, just rest in the safety of teddy bear arms and trust that explanations will make sense eventually.

The last thing I process before darkness claims me completely is the sensation of being held—protected, treasured, cared for in ways I haven't experienced since childhood, since before loss and trauma and learning that safety is an illusion people maintain until it shatters.

But this feels real.

This feels permanent.

This feels like something changed while I was unconscious, and now everything's different in ways I can't identify but somehow recognize as right.

Sleep pulls me under with velvet insistence, consciousness surrendering without fight.