Page 22 of Outbreak Protocol
"Sometimes progress doesn't feel fast enough."
"I know. But giving up isn't an option—not for Anna, not for the 847 other patients, not for the thousands more we can still protect through effective intervention."
Felix turns his hand palm-up beneath mine, our fingers interlocking naturally. The gesture feels significant beyond its simplicity—two people offering mutual support during crisis, professional partnership evolving into something more personal and intimate.
"Thank you," he says. "For listening, for being here, for helping me remember that hope isn't naive."
"Thank you for teaching me that caring about individuals doesn't compromise scientific objectivity—it enhances it."
Dawn light streams through the consultation room window, illuminating dust motes and the exhaustion etched in both our faces. We need to return to data analysis, patient interviews, and outbreak coordination. But this moment feels important—a recognition of growing connection that transcends professional collaboration.
"We should go check in on Emma. She's probably terrified not knowing where her mother is," Felix says, though he doesn't immediately move to leave.
"We should. And then we'll return to finding answers that might help her mother and everyone else fighting this pathogen."
Felix nods, squeezing my hand once before releasing it. "Together?"
"Together."
As we stand to leave, I realize that somewhere between statistical analysis and personal revelation, Felix has become more than a colleague or even a friend. He's quickly become the anchor that keeps me grounded in humanity while navigating the clinical demands of epidemic response.
And judging by the way he looks at me—with trust, affection, and growing intimacy—I suspect the feeling is mutual.
FELIX
At the Hartmann family home in Altona, Dr. Felix Müller and Erik stand at the doorstep. Felix shifts his weight, the weight of the news they're carrying heavier than any medical bag he's carried.
Frau Hartmann opens the door, concern etched on her face. "Dr. Müller, I got your call. Emma's in the living room."
They follow her inside, and Emma looks up from her drawing. Her face brightens at the sight of Felix, but she quickly registers the serious expressions.
"Felix!" she exclaims, putting down her coloured pencils. "Is Mama feeling better?"
Felix kneels beside her, his throat tight. "Emma, that's what I need to talk to you about. Your mama is very sick right now."
Emma's small fingers reach for Felix's hand instinctively. "Like the other people at the hospital?"
"Yes," Felix says gently. "She's in the hospital and the doctors are taking good care of her."
"Can I visit her?" Emma asks, her voice small.
Felix shakes his head. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. No one can visit right now. It's too dangerous—the sickness is something that can spread from person to person."
Emma's gaze shifts to Erik, studying him with recognition. "You're Dr. Erik. Felix told me about you. You're helping make people better, right?"
Erik nods, clearly surprised at being recognized. "That's right. Your mother is very important to us, and we're doing everything we can."
Emma's face crumples slightly. "Is Mama going to die?"
Felix squeezes her hand. "We don't know, Emma. But I promise you we're doing everything possible to help her."
"Where will I stay?" Emma asks, practicality beyond her years showing through her fear.
"I thought," Felix says, meeting her eyes, "that I could take care of you while your mama gets better. Would that be okay?"
Emma's shoulders relax slightly. "At your apartment with the fish tank?"
Felix nods, a small smile breaking through. "Yes, and we can get some of your things to make it feel more like home."
