Mira

"You're in the hospital."

I take a sip.

"I figured that out. But how did I get here?"

His lips pressed together, Elliot remains silent. He looks more tired than I've ever seen him. When I realize he's wearing a wrinkled T-shirt from the hospital gift shop, I can hardly believe my eyes.

Something is wrong.

"Are you okay?"

"I will be."

He says it with determination. I want to believe him, except he won't even look me in the eyes when he speaks.

"Are you going to tell me why I'm here?"

It feels like a full minute passes before he finally looks at me.

"You were dehydrated and bleeding from the head. You're lucky you're in this bed instead of the morgue."

"The morgue? That's a bit drastic for a few stitches and a cold."

I frown, which triggers a sudden pain at the top of my head. When I touch the spot, my fingers meet an enormous bandage.

"Don't touch it. With your luck, you'll pull a stitch and cover your new shirt in blood," he says irritably, though he moves my hand away with great care.

"Why did I need stitches?"

Elliot strokes my cheek with his thumb.

"I found you unconscious in my bathroom after you hit your head on the floor."

"Holy crap."

My lungs hurt. When I breathe, a burning sensation makes me wince.

"Where does it hurt?"

"You should ask where it doesn't hurt."

I shake my head and immediately regret it.

"Don't do that."

"I can't believe I'm actually here," I say, rubbing my eyes.

"According to the doctors, you can go home at the end of the week."

"What day is it?"

"Friday."

"Friday?" I exclaim, setting off a coughing fit.

How can it already be Friday? The last day I truly remember was Monday, when I decided not to go to work.

"You were unconscious a lot because of the fever and then your injury."

"How many days have I been here?"

"Two. They want to keep you under observation a little longer before letting you go home."

"This is going to cost me an arm and a leg."

"The only thing you need to worry about is getting better."

"Easy for you to say. I can't afford oxygen, let alone a hospital stay."

I make as if to move, but Elliot places a hand on my shoulder to stop me.

"It's already paid for," he says darkly.

My pride takes a hit at the thought that I'm in such a precarious situation that he needs to cover my medical expenses.

"I don't know how I'll repay you."

He stiffens.

"I don't need your money."

"Are you okay?" I whisper.

He lets out a heavy sigh.

"I'm glad you're coherent again."

That isn't an answer to my question, but I'm afraid to press him further. When I place my hand on his, he tenses.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that. I can't imagine how frightened you must have been."

The vein in his forehead throbs.

"I was utterly terrified, Mira. When I found you, you were barely breathing, and there was so much blood coming from your head. Then I managed to wake you, but what you were saying was unintelligible. I thought you had permanent brain damage." His voice breaks. "The few minutes it took the paramedics to reach my house were the most agonizing of my life, and there was nothing I could do."

My heart feels heavy as I listen to him.

"I'm so sorry. I don't even remember going into the bathroom."

"Stop apologizing. You're talking nonsense."

He releases my hand and turns his back to me.

"But I'm still incredibly awesome?"

He doesn't answer. After a moment, he exhales hard. For my part, I try to take a deep breath to calm myself, but my breathing turns wheezy.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Stop worrying about me and save your energy for what matters."

But you matter too, I want to reply. Except the words stay lodged in my throat, held back by the sense that something is wrong between us.

The heart monitor betrays my nervousness.

Elliot turns to glare at the machine, and the vein at his temple makes another appearance.

"I'm serious, Mira. Relax."

"Will you stay while I sleep?"

Making the request makes me feel pathetic. He remains silent.

Bile rises in my throat. What happened while I was resting? It's as if the man I spent the weekend with in New York has vanished. The one in front of me is as cold as Elliot was when we first met, which hurts more than I want to admit.

He gives my hand a small squeeze before going to sit down.

"I'll stay."

I offer him a faint smile, and he answers with a grimace.

The monitor's beeps fill the silence. Every breath takes a great deal of energy, and I quickly lose the battle: darkness swallows me, along with my worries.

Before sleep takes me, I remember the bathroom floor and Elliot calling my name. I reach for his wrist.

“My phone.”

He places it in my palm. The screen shows missed calls from Lena and a message from work about the proposal review.

“Do not answer those,” he says.

“You do not get to decide that.”

His face tightens, then he nods. “You are right.”

I send Lena a location and tell work I will review the file when a doctor clears me.

Elliot watches the messages leave. “You should rest.”

“I will. After I know who accessed the route files.”

“I already asked security to preserve the logs.”

“Good.”

The word is small, but it gives us one piece of ground neither of us has to surrender.

The doctor enters with a tablet and explains that Mira needs observation, fluids, and a second scan. Elliot stands when the doctor speaks, but Mira keeps her eyes on the screen.

“Who authorized the transfer?” she asks.

“Your companion requested this room after arrival.”

Mira turns toward Elliot. “Requested or arranged?”

He does not defend himself. “Arranged. I thought I was helping.”

“You thought wrong.”

“I know.”

Mira adds Lena as the only person allowed to receive updates. Elliot places the pen on the tray and steps back. Outside the room, the security confirmation arrives: the corridor footage is preserved. The route file and the fall now belong to the same investigation.