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The nurse makes a sound in the back of her throat that is part laugh, part sympathy. “She requires a lot of rest, Detective. She’ll be in here for a few days more, and she may require another blood transfusion before she’s allowed out. But sure.”
She grabs my arm and yanks me to the side as orderlies wheel a bed along the hall.
“She’s very strong, Detective. She fought hard, right alongside Doctor Tran.” She stops at a massive U-shaped desk and picks up a folder that has MAYET stamped on the front. Tucking it under her arm and squirting a dollop of sanitizer into her hands, she rubs them together and starts walking again. “But she’s still asleep.”
Opening a door, then carefully sliding a curtain aside, she makes room for me to see the bed in the center of the room. And Minka’s body dwarfed in the middle.
Tears burn the backs of my eyes at the tubes coming from her arms—two, three, four of them—to deliver the medication that drips along the piping and into her veins.
Bruises, darker than any I’ve ever witnessed before, mar her arms. Her neck, too. Her fingers twitch, and one of them is encased in a sensor that feeds her pulse back to a machine that beeps through the room.
“Her injuries, to most others,” the nurse murmurs as I step forward, “aren’t that serious. People tear ligaments every single day. Others dislocate limbs. Bruises are just bruises. But Doctor Mayet is…”
“Special,” I insert, before the nurse choosesweak…broken…less than. “She’s special.”
“Yes.” She makes her way to the machine on Minka’s right, so I come around to her left. Which is the better side, anyway. It’s where her heart is. Where her wedding band would be, if she wore one on her finger. “Doctor Tran would agree with that.”
She writes notes in her folder, then sets it on Minka’s thighs to free up her hands. While I stand over Minka and examine her long lashes kissing her cheeks, and her pouting lips folded down in a frown, the nurse peels one of Minka’s eyelids back and flashes a light in her unseeing pupil.
Scowling, I lower to the chair beside the bed and try to take comfort in how rough the nurse is.
Rough means they’re not being careful, because they don’thaveto be.
Because Minka is strong and healing.
“How long do you think she’ll be asleep?” My voice croaks with fatigue, but I study her face, and the lack of breathing tubes stuffed down her throat. “She’s not, like, in a coma or anything, right?”
“No, Detective. She’s just working off the effects of anesthesia. She had a big night, and the added factor infused into her blood in the last few hours will only make that worse. She’s just…sleeping.”
Releasing Minka’s face, the nurse drops her penlight into her pocket of mysteries and brings her gaze back to mine. “Regular sleep. She’ll wake when she’s ready, but by then, she’ll be in pain. Use the call button as soon as she’s conscious so we can help her manage it. There are no trophies given out for martyrdom.”
A soft laugh rolls along the back of my throat. But I drag my chair closer to the bed and take Minka’s hand in mine. Careful of her tubes. Her needles. Her bruised wrist, and the blood under her nails. “Martyrdom is her thing. It’s like… her fucking schtick,” I grunt. “So I think I’m gonna be in charge of her drug button.”
The woman looks me up and down, smiling sweetly before she nods. “As her husband, I’d say you’ll have a good case to put forward during negotiations.”
Grabbing the file and walking it to the end of the bed, she drops it in the holder for the next doctor or nurse who might wander in. “Is there anyone else she’d like us to call? Her parents? Siblings?”
“No.” I settle my elbows on the side of the bed and lift Minka’s hand so her knuckles rest beneath my lips. “There’s just us.”
I stare at the small sunspots on her cheeks; new, after the last few weeks of warmth. I follow the line of her nose, and the bow of her lips. Lowering my gaze, I ignore the bandages plastered just beneath her gown, and instead watch her chest lift and fall.
She’s breathing. Sleeping. Alive and safe and right back here with me.
“She’s an only child,” I tell the nurse. “And her parents are gone. But she has me. And her colleagues. She has Aubree and Fifi and Tim and, geez,” I press a kiss to her knuckles and laugh. “Felix, and Micah, and Cato. And…”
Then my smile vanishes. Because I was going to say she has Fletch, too.
But she doesn’t.
Neither of us do.
“We have family already inside the hospital,” I finish, swallowing when nerves settle in my throat. “They’ll make their way up here soon, and I’ll call the others to let them know she’s out and okay.”
“Alright, well…” In my peripherals, the nurse nods again. “I’ll be around. My shift only just began, so you’ve got me until dinnertime. I’ll come by hourly, but if she wakes when I’m not in here, hit the call button on the wall, and I’ll come right away.” Dropping one hand into her pocket of wonders, she lays the other on Minka’s foot and gives it a gentle pat. Then she turns on her heels and snaps the curtain closed to give us privacy, but she leaves the door open so the hum of a working hospital filters in.
Carts rolling across the floor, and shoes chasing after. Nurses talking. Phones ringing.
The world continues to revolve outside of us.
