“If I worked in a hospital, I’d have belligerent drug-seeking patients to deal with or something, and I’d be miserable. I’m working under some excellent lawyers and my prospects are good. I’m only three-quarters miserable doing what I’m doing. If I put up with the three-quarters I don’t like for a little while longer, I’ll be able to move to doing things I like. And I get to do this stuff with the hero team too. Scary moments aside, it’s really neat.”

“The hero team is too dangerous for what you’re getting.”

“You don’t even know how much I’m getting.”

“I know it’s too dangerous!”

“Thank you for coming, Victoria, you don’t have to feel obligated to stay for the family squabbling. Can you keep me updated? I may drop by at four or five.”

“You should rest,” her mom protested.

“I can do that,” I said. “I’m glad you’re on the mend.”

“They warned me I’ll have a scar, but they said I’ll probably have no permanent damage.”

There was no sentence the mom didn’t react to, whether it was dramatic expressions, eyes widening, or posture shifts.

“Can I see?”

She had to adjust the hospital gown collar, pulling it down enough to show me the slash. From sternum to shoulder, and some of the arm. Only the arm had bandage taped over it—by the location, it might have nicked an artery. The rest had the stitches alone. It was even on both sides, stitches neat, skin not puckered or even that inflamed for this stage in the healing process.

“Looks tidy. If you want, I brought a pack of different shades of camouflage concealer over from the old Earth, and I think I have one that would match your skin tone. You’re a shade lighter than me.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s only enough in each tin for two or three applications, but maybe you’d want it for an event. Minimize or downplay the scar while wearing something strapless.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I don’t think I’ll wear anything strapless in my life, but it would be really nice to have the option.”

“Also brought this,” I said. I held up a knit blanket, still in its packaging. It was tartan, in bottle-glass green, white, and dark gray.

“Thank you,” she said. I saw the worry line on her forehead, even as she smiled.

“The last time I visited this hospital, there were walls still incomplete. I was imagining a draft.”

“It’s perfect. Can you put it over my feet?”

The mom took it from me and arranged it over Natalie’s feet.

Natalie seemed inordinately pleased with the gift. Meanwhile, I felt weirdly out of place in my own skin, and very aware of her family’s attention on me.

“Drink, Nat,” her mother urged. Natalie drank her water.