Charity Barnum was a force to be reckoned with.

Phillip was blown away by her controlled but seething anger. Her posture was rim-rod straight, features pulled tight. She paced back and forth in the same pattern as she wrung her hands. Every once in a while, Phillip caught her mumbling some incoherent, angry thought. She was trying to cool off before presenting herself to the girls. They needed a stable rock to hold onto, as did she, but the years before Phineas had entered her life taught her how to do many things for herself.

Liza returned from scrubbing her hands. Bella was by her side, still in her performing outfit but covered with Liza's jacket. "Any idea on where the shooters ran off to?"

W. D. had planted himself at the doors, keeping an eye out. Phillip admired how intimidating he could come across, even in a purple leotard. It didn't feel that long ago when he'd been on the receiving end of that attitude. W. D's bulging biceps were folded against his chest. "Haven't seen any sign of them."

The scent of blood still clogged Phillip's nose. He'd washed his hands, scrubbed them raw, as soon as they'd taken Barnum off. He doubted he'd be able to get rid of the smell for a long time. Despite the chill spring air, he'd grown hot and abandoned his jacket on the bleachers. Flecks of blood stained the hem of the white undershirt near his wrists. He just rolled them up to his elbows, out of view.

Charity disappeared backstage to where Lettie and Anne comforted the girls. The curtains were parted far enough that he could catch a few movements between the family. Caroline and Helen were doing their best to hold back tears. Charity had knelt down to them, and as far as he could tell, she wasn't crying. She was their steady rock.

This made Phillip feel a twinge of guilt; he felt so shaken and (dare he say it) afraid; here he was, a grown man doing all he could to keep it together while Charity Barnum stayed strong in order to comfort her children. The children of her husband, who had been sent to the hospital with blood loss and multiple, life-threatening gunshot wounds.

Anne emerged from behind the curtain. She'd removed her pink wig and covered her shoulders with her cream shawl. Phillip held his arms out in a welcoming embrace, to which she moved into. Her breath was shaky.

"I'm scared, Phillip," she finally admitted.

There were many things he could say. That everything would be okay, that Barnum was strong, that Liza and the other doctors would be perfectly capable of saving him. He didn't say any of those things.

"I know. Me too."

No more than half an hour was spent at the circus grounds before Charity was finally able to leave. Mrs. Barnum and Phillip said their goodbyes and called for a carriage to take them to the hospital. The entire ride was quiet, both of them left alone to the terrors of their own mind. Anne and Lettie wanted to come, and eventually they would, but they found it best to have a small amount of visitors there at first. Besides, Lettie was like a mother to the other performers. If anyone could comfort them, it was Lettie Lutz. Anne, on the other hand, would help the others attempt to tidy up the scene that would scar them for many years to come.

The infirmary wing was mostly silent. There were three other beds in the hall, but they were empty. Phillip wished people were here, talking quietly in the background. The noise would've been a welcome distraction, or else he'd spend the entire night at the mercy of his thoughts.

What time was it? The show...ended at around nine, it had taken the medics ten minutes to arrive, and it had been around three hours since they first took P. T. to the emergency room. So it was sometime past midnight. That couldn't be right, it had felt like an eternity ago that everything was actually peaceful.

With the way Charity gazed wistfully at her husband's unconscious face, cold and clammy, he felt he was intruding. Barnum looked so soft —the way the white bed sheets covered his chest, almost up to his neck in a protective cocoon, and how his brown curls innocently framed his face, he'd never seemed so small. Phineas wasn't a small man. Charity had taken it upon herself to gently comb her fingers through the sweat-ridden locks of hair after he'd come out of surgery, displeased with how un-Phineas-like it appeared.

Phillip found his eyes subconsciously flickering to the windows and doorways every minute or so in anxiety over the attack. Once or twice, Charity caught his fitful glances and returned them with only a fraction of a weak smile.

The moment was interrupted by the doctor's arrival with Liza. Phillip was on his feet immediately, and Charity might've done the same if it weren't for her holding Barnum's hand to her chest.

"I'm Doctor Redman, I helped operate on Mr. Barnum earlier." He looked to be in his forties or fifties, with a nice waistcoat over a button-up shirt. "The most pressing matter at the time being is that he's lost around twenty-five to thirty-five percent of his blood. It's critical that he receives a blood transfusion, as soon as possible."

"Blood transfusion?" The concern was evident in Charity's voice. "I know of it, but I've never known anyone who had it."

"It comes with its risks," Liza warned. Phillip's heart sunk. There was a catch. "There's a possibility the blood won't take, which could result in a variety of life-threatening symptoms, depending on how his body reacts. I apologize for my bluntness, but the worst case scenario is that P. T. dies as a result."

Phillip flinched. This introduced a whole new road they had to travel down—what were the other symptoms he could experience? What were his chances against those symptoms if he had them?

Doctor Redman did a poor job of concealing his irritation at Liza, and Phillip had a feeling it didn't have to do with her giving Charity the option of not having a transfusion. These two didn't like each other, and it was easy to tell now that Phillip had taken notice. Liza's arms were crossed and she wouldn't look at the other man. Redman's hands were curling and uncurling into fist. His jaw clenched when she spoke. What was the deal between these two?

Liza seemed to sense his and Charity's distress and took it upon herself to answer their unvoiced worries. "We have equipment ready for some of the possible negative reactions, so it's likely that we'd be able to keep him alive during one of these circumstances. Although we strongly recommend taking a transfusion, he still has a very slim chance of pulling through without one. But it will take weeks, months for him to fully recover if he doesn't receive it. Ultimately, it's up to you, Charity."

Phillip liked to play it safe. None of the options seemed 'safe.' He had no place to insert an opinion, but in all honesty, he wasn't sure enough of either choice to anyways. What would Barnum do, what would Barnum do...He looked over at the sleeping man in the bed, as if he'd provide an answer. In a way, he did, because Phillip was reminded of their conversation a couple years prior, when the other man wanted to tour with Jenny.

"P. T., you're risking everything you've built."

"How do you think I built it?"

Although his escapade with Miss Lind didn't end well, it pulled them all together closer than ever. They were already trudging their way through the painful, emotional side of it. The only way to go from there was up. The fear of losing Phin due to a decision Phillip supported had his stomach tied up in knots, but it was the decision Barnum would make.

Phillip and Charity locked eyes. They both knew they were both set on the same choice.

"We'll do the transfusion," Charity said.

Anne's fingers stroke up and down Phillip's forearm in absent-minded comfort as he relayed everything Redman and Liza had told them. After the doctors had explained the blood loss situation, Phillip and Charity had been informed about the injuries sustained. By some miracle, the bullet to the chest missed major organs and arteries, but caused muscle damage that Barnum would have to receive physical therapy for in order to participate in strenuous activities again. Above the hip, however, the surgeons had a great deal of trouble locating the bullet. As it turned out, it had been shattered, lodged in different areas of the muscles. There was a high possibility of Barnum having nerve damage, hindering or altogether prohibiting the use of his left leg.

That, was unacceptable. Phin couldn't be in a bed the rest of his life. He was too vibrant, too energetic and too in love with the position of Ringleader to sit it out. The jacket and the message it held meant too much to him to lose it.

He realized how strained his voice was and how exhausted he felt. It was close to one in the morning. An ache had been wearing at his body for a while now, but as he was finally sitting down next to Anne, his muscles sagged. Anne clasped her hand around Phillip's. He couldn't tell if it was for him or for her.

"Can't imagine him not being out in the ring," she murmured.

Lettie's eyes were set on the tiles beneath her feet. She was leaning forward, arms folded across her knees. Something was going on inside her head. Perhaps she was reliving the moments when Barnum gave her the strength to feel like a warrior.

"He'll pull through," she stated, not a hint of doubt in her voice. "He'll pull through."

It'd taken some sweet-talking, but Phillip had managed to convince the staff to let them wait in the lobby for their ailing friend. The staff didn't discriminate any of their patients, but the possibility of other patients or sponsors refusing to support them because of it wasn't ideal.

Since Caroline and Helen had taken a liking to Constantine and Jeremy, the two had taken them back to the (humble but decent) Barnum apartment. They'd stay with the girls until morning, when Charity promised they could visit. The rest of the group either went to their homes to rest and bathe or spread about the town, searching for any sort of answer as to who was involved with the shooting. O'Malley held promise, seeing as how being a former pickpocket had provided him with names on the street that were bound to help.

On the other side of the double doors, in the infirmary wing, Charity was allowing Liza to draw a pint of her blood. Soon, he'd have a needle in his own arm, giving a pint of his. They'd both have to donate some of their blood, since ten percent wouldn't hardly affect their health. The sum wouldn't quite equal what Barnum lost, but the difference was definitely much healthier than what he lacked now. Then it'd be up to P. T. to pull through.

His thoughts were interrupted by the door to Charity walking through the infirmary doors. She was guided by Liza, who had an arm out to help keep Charity steady. Although she had a slightly pale hue, Charity appeared strong and determined as ever.

"Your turn, Phillip."

Other than the quiet rhythm of Barnum's shallow breathing next to Phillip, Anne, Charity, and Liza, the room was silent. Anne stood behind Phillip, who sat in a chair, while Liza crouched on the floor before him. Charity sat on the mattress next to her husband, holding his hand. Phillip didn't fail to notice that her index and middle finger rested inconspicuously on the inside of Phin's wrist, where she could easily keep track of his pulse.

The needle bit into the flesh of Phillip's elbow, but Liza's fingers were gentle. He studied her features, now that she was up close and holding the bag his blood dripped into. Shadows lined her eyes. There was a worry crease between her eyebrows and the corners of her lips drooped into an unconscious frown. It was obvious that the stress of the night was getting to her.

"Are you alright?" The question was sincere, and he wanted a sincere answer.

"Mm-hmm," came her distracted reply. Her eyes were fixed on the blood dripping into the bag.

"C'mon," Phillip pressed gently to tell her that he really wanted to know, but careful enough so she knew she didn't have to divulge her feelings if she was uncomfortable. "It's been a rough night. And what's the deal with Redman?"

At first, she didn't answer, but then a soft smile curved at her lips. "There's not many people who know about Bella's double joints and flexibility. She learned at a young age that it freaked people out, and they tended to make fun of her about it. I'm one of the few honored people she trusted enough to show it to. I'll always cherish that. But P. T., he allowed her to share it with the world. He made her comfortable enough to do that. I can't verbally express the gratitude I feel for that."

Phillip nodded thoughtfully, marveling at the miracle-worker that was Phineas Taylor Barnum. "When did this happen?"

"A few months ago. When the carriage accident happened." She glanced over at the sleeping man, a humorless chuckle escaping her. "I guess I can always patch him up as a thank-you."

Phillip first thought nothing of it. But then he remembered they were talking about P. T. and decided he wouldn't put anything past the man. "What do you mean?"

Liza froze and inhaled sharply, as if realizing she wasn't supposed to say that. She gulped and looked down. "Would you believe me if I said nothing?"

Phillip straightened his posture with a furrowed brow. Something had happened, and he'd missed it. Of course he wouldn't let Liza off the hook now, and a pointed glare was all it took for her to receive the message.

"He had a few broken ribs," she sighed, looking sheepish, "some of which were caused by riding the horse. They were injured in the crash but he knew neither you nor Anne were in any shape to ride for help. He made me swear not to tell."

He accidentally jerked his arm in surprise, which jostled the needle around. He winced and hissed an obscenity underneath his breath, throwing an incredulous glare at Barnum. Of course Phineas wouldn't tell anybody.

Anne let out a shaky breath. Phillip could hear her swallow.

Charity was silent, he realized, so he craned his neck to look at her. "Did you know about this?"

Her face betrayed the emotion pricking at her eyes. Finally relenting, she nodded and gave a fond, protective look at her husband's face. "He didn't want to tell me, but we don't keep secrets from each other. Not anymore. It wasn't hard to tell something was wrong, anyways."

'Wasn't hard to tell something was wrong.' That proved how little he must've actually known the ringleader. He thought they were friends, best friends, even, yet he couldn't infer that Barnum had multiple broken bones. What did he have to compare it to? A pulled muscle, somewhere around his knee. Riding a horse would have royally sucked, but it wouldn't have resulted in a broken bone. Stupid, endearing, self-sacrificing idiot....

"As for Redman..." she continued. "He doesn't like that I'm a doctor."

"Because you're a woman?" Anne asked bluntly. She could use that approach, because she'd also been on the receiving end of oppression as well.

She nodded. "Yes, because I'm a woman. My brother died from an illness when we were younger, so of course I wanted to study medicine to help prevent someone else from going through that pain like I did. The college wouldn't accept females, but I'm lucky that I have a muscular figure. I chopped my hair off and passed for a boy."

Phillip's eyes widened in not just admiration, but respect. How far would he have gone for a personal goal like that? Anne, on the other hand, he could see the recognition and compassion in her eyes. She knew what it was like to be in Liza's shoes.

"I was in class with Redman. I was top of the whole group. I was better than him. Of course he didn't like that, but when I was outed as a girl after we started working here together, that made it worse."

Phillip noted the distant smile on her face, the faraway look in her eyes. She was reminiscing the victory of making him miserable. "I can't get another job at another hospital, nobody will hire a female doctor. The only reason I'm still here is because I showed promise as a male. I'm just glad that they don't know I'm a..." She seemed to have trouble saying the word. "A homosexual."

The bag was now halfway full, and Phillip could already feel the beginning of nausea start to poke at his stomach. Anne must've noticed his discomfort, because she reached over to massage the knots in his shoulders. He let out a soft moan; she always knew which spots caused him the most physical stress.

They allowed the bag to fill in silence. By the time Phillip had donated an entire pint, he was lightheaded and nursing a glass of water. There was nothing else to do but wait as the doctors prepared both Charity and Phillip's blood, so they exchanged forced pleasantries and attempts to lighten the mood, only to relapse in painful silence.

Phillip's heart was fluttering anxiously in wait for the doctor to return, ready to attempt the blood transfusion. He cautiously watched Phin's chest slowly rise and fall, as if it would stop at any moment. The ringleader gave no signs of waking anytime soon. He thought he was one hundred percent ready for the transfusion to start—anything to fix Barnum, please just fix him already—yet when both Redman and Liza's footsteps sounded across the wing, Phillip's stomach plummeted. Any whispers and murmurs within their circle ceased.

"We don't have Phillip's ready, yet, but—" Liza began, then Redman cut her off.

"I have Charity's blood prepared to be given to Mr. Barnum." He paid no attention to the woman beside him or the icy glare thrown his way as he hooked the bag up to the infusion pole next to the bed. He disinfected a spot in P. T.'s arm, inserted a needle, and connected a tube from the bag to said needle.

The blood slowly snaked into Barnum's arm.

Everyone stopped breathing.

After several minutes of tension-filled silence, Phillip's heart rate began to return to normal.

Liza let out a sigh. "I think it's safe to say he's taking the blood well."

Years drained from his face as a the group took a collective, deep breath. Things were looking okay.

Anne pressed her lips to Phillip's hand. The smile could be felt through the kiss.

Charity actually smiled a real, genuine smile for the first time that night, even though it was technically morning. The whole ordeal felt like it had spanned over a week, yet at the same time felt like a blur. She was now laying on her side next to Phineas, running fingers through soft curls. Before too long, her eyes had closed and breathing had evened out. Her chest rose and fell in sync with Barnum's.

Phillip somehow managed to fall asleep an hour after the transfusion began. His dreams depicted Phineas bed-ridden without the use of his leg, and of course as Phillip sobbed a thousand apologies for something that was not even his fault, Barnum repeatedly explained and assured Phillip that he was in no place to apologize. He was the one to comfort Phillip, instead of the other way around. And that made the younger man feel even worse.

Anne shook Phillip out of his sleep, prompting a groan and a feeble attempt to swat her away with his hand, only for her to give a real slap to his arm.

"He's awake, Phil."