Deshani Sravasti rests against the foot of the bed, straight from the office. Her dark grey skirt and blazer are elegant but tailored severely, softened slightly by the dusky rose silk blouse and sheer, brightly patterned cabbage rose scarf around her neck. Her heels sit on the floor against the far wall with her bag, and she looks almost ridiculous with her nylons ending in bright blue hospital-issue ultra-grip socks, but Eddison’s not brave enough to tell her that. He freely gives Deshani the same respect as the gun at his hip, unsure which is more dangerous.
Priya sits tailor-style on the bed, with a pillow on her lap and a bandage wrapped around her throat, and his heart skips at the amount of blood on the clothing bagged at her side. Seeing her faded hospital gown is not something he thinks he can get over anytime soon. She gives him a weak smile, mostly obscured by the fist that hovers in front of her mouth, the thumb tapping an urgent tattoo against the blue crystal nose stud. There are smears of makeup on her cheeks and around her eyes, left over from tears and sweat and, he guesses, blood and quick cleaning.
She looks like her sister. Christ but it’s another punch to the gut to realize how similar their crime scene photos would have looked. Could have looked, if she hadn’t been lucky.
“Blue,” she says, the smile fading. Her hand drops to the pillow, palms and fingers wrapped in gauze and tape, and Inara’s were like that, when he first met her—stop.
He takes a deep breath. “What?”
“The streaks, the jewelry. They’re blue. Still blue. Hers were red.”
He chuckles weakly and scrubs at his jaw, feeling the stubble he didn’t bother to shave off this morning because he didn’t have the energy. “Thank you.” It helps more than it should—again—but not enough. She studies her hands, then looks up at him through her lashes, and he’s moving before he’s aware of it, thighs thumping against the side of the bed as he comes close enough to wrap his arms around her and just hold on.
She leans into him, her hands curling around his arm, and as she releases a great, shuddering sigh, he can feel her shoulders drop, the muscles in her back easing. He hears a click that’s probably Ramirez taking a picture and he can’t bring himself to care. Priya’s alive. She’s here and alive and he’s more certain than he’s been in twenty years that there might be a God out there after all.
“So do you actually have Oreos or was that just a way to get in the door?”
He reaches into the outer left pocket of his coat and pulls out a snack pack of Oreos, tossing it over her head so it lands on the pillow. He picked it up at the airport just in case, while Vic argued with the gate attendant to get them on the first flight out.
She covers it with one hand, but keeps the other on his arm, not moving away from him. “You got here fast.”
“Next flight out. Vic kicked three people to standby so we could take their seats.”
“Is he allowed to do that?”
“I don’t know. Fortunately no one else did, either.”
“Way to go, Vic.”
The senior agent smiles and moves toward Deshani, hand outstretched. The woman takes it, holds it for a moment before letting it drop. Deshani isn’t the type of woman to allow herself much comforting. “I’m glad you’re all right, Priya,” Vic says warmly.
“Aren’t I always?”
“No. And that’s okay.”
She smiles at him, wry and small but there. Reluctantly, Eddison lets her go so she can sit up properly. He doesn’t step away, though. “How are your girls?” she asks Vic.
“Holly’s intent on having a magazine-worthy dorm room, so she and her mother have been plotting and crafting. I learned what a duvet is.” He gives her a crooked grin, surprisingly young on his weathered face. “At least I’m fairly sure a duvet is made of fabric and goes on a bed.”
Ramirez snickers and adjusts the strap of her messenger bag. “Now that I can see you’re okay—or will be—I’m going to go find out what’s going on. I’ll see you both later.”
“Doesn’t Eddison usually do the scene thing?”
“There’s a baby agent in the car; if I let Eddison ride down to the scene with her, she’ll probably leave the Bureau.”
“Sterling’s tougher than she looks; she might ask him out.”
If he was close enough, he’d be shoving Ramirez out the door right now. As it is, she gives him a mocking little finger wave before leaving.
There are exactly two chairs in the room, one a somewhat padded vinyl monstrosity, the other a faux-wood plastic contraption that looks so fiendishly uncomfortable they must use it to limit visiting time. Vic pushes the terrible one to Eddison, then shifts the armchair to the other side of the bed, near the foot. Neither man offers one to Deshani; they both know she’s at the absolute stretch of her tether. The end of the bed is as far as she can make herself go, to give her daughter some space.
Eddison just spent four hours with the very real possibility that deplaning meant hearing of Priya’s death. Space is not really one of his top priorities at the moment.
“They won’t tell me anything about him,” Priya says quietly.
“He’s in surgery,” Vic answers. “That’s all we know so far.”
She nods at that.
Eddison can’t keep himself from cataloguing her injuries. Her left wrist is in an elastic wrap, the material already fraying around the bite of the metal butterfly clasps. He can see the beginnings of bruises on her arms, around her throat, on her face, especially on her jaw and chin. There’s a deep pink scrape and welt between her eyes, and he wonders if the crystal bindi is on the chapel floor, or if it gave up the ghost in the ambulance. Finney mentioned there was worry about her ribs, but he can’t bring himself to ask. Not yet.
Opening the pack of Oreos, Priya pulls one out, separates one cookie from the crème with a deft twist, and hands that one to her mother. Crumbs flake off against the gauze covering her fingers. After a moment’s thought, she uses her thumb to peel the crème off.
“Really?”
She gives Eddison a sidelong glance. “There’s no milk.”
“If I call someone to fix that, will you stop eating it like a heathen?”
She rolls the crème into a neat, almost perfectly round ball and hands him the naked cookie. “There are more important matters on the table, aren’t there?”
He considers that, then shoves the cookie in his mouth. “No.”
“Children, behave,” murmurs Vic, looking pained.
But Priya gives Eddison a small nod, not quite imperceptible, and he relaxes back into the chair. If she needed the Oreos, she wouldn’t be remotely fussy about the way she eats them. She pops the crème ball in her mouth, brushes her fingers against the worn fabric of the hospital gown, and reaches up to push her hair out of her face. A moment later, it flops forward again, a heavy mass of blue-streaked black. “Mum?”
“I suppose the bandages would make it a bit difficult,” Deshani agrees. She moves around the bed and up to her daughter’s side, opposite Eddison, gently gathering Priya’s hair into her hands. Despite the care, Priya winces once or twice. “There’s some blood caked in there,” her mother tells her, the bleakly practical words offset by the slight crack in her voice. “We’ll wash it when we get home.”
There’s a knock on the door, and Finney pokes his head in. “They’re still operating, but they sent out a resident to give an update, if you want to hear firsthand.”
It should be Eddison getting up to go, but instead it’s Vic hauling himself out of the sucking vinyl monstrosity. “Deshani, did you happen to bring any clothes for Priya?”
She shakes her head. “I came straight from the office.”
“While I’m out, I’ll see what the gift shop has to offer, and we’ll get your clothes to the lab.” He walks up the bed to get the sealed bag and drops a hand onto Eddison’s shoulder, not squeezing, not gripping, just there for a moment and gone the next. A gift, in its way.
There are times Eddison knows how lucky he is to have Vic for a partner.
He’s not sure he’s ever felt it so keenly before.
“I’m going to get us some coffee,” Deshani announces. “Eddison? If I promise to have them make it extra barbaric?”
“Some of us are strong enough to drink coffee the way the gods intended,” he tells her, and she snorts.
“You’re bitter enough, like calls to like.” She nods to Vic as he holds the door open for her.