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"Quite lucky, Agent Red," the doctor intoned, snapping off his latex gloves with a practiced flick. He peered down at her through his own set of spectacles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a hint of sympathy. "No concussion, no fractures. You can return to work, but take it easy."
"Thank you," Fiona murmured, her voice a raspy shadow of its usual pitch. She could still feel the ghost of Victor Harmon's shoe on her face, the sharp pain that had exploded through her skull. She couldn't afford to be sidelined, not when the case needed her—when Joslyn needed her.
"Your visitors will be allowed in shortly," the doctor said, his tone shifting towards formality as he glanced at his clipboard. "I'll give them the go-ahead."
"Visitors?" Fiona repeated, the word feeling foreign. Her parents would likely be preoccupied with their mortuary business and Jake... Jake had a suspect to interrogate. A spark of warmth flitted across her chest at the thought of her partner, steadfast and determined.
Gratitude threaded through her veins like a lifeline. She needed to be in the field, amongst the evidence and the insects that whispered their secrets. Fiona sat up straighter, steeling herself for what was to come, her mind already sifting through clues and questions left unanswered.
Fiona's eyes flickered open as the door creaked, and two familiar figures slipped into the sterile white room. Her parents face etched with worry, advanced toward her bed. They held a small, rectangular object in their hands—a new pair of glasses. Well, technically, they were her old glasses, a pair she wore when she was younger, but the prescription was still the same. Her heart warmed, knowing her parents had kept them all these years.
"Mom? Dad?" Fiona's voice was a whisper, tinged with surprise. She hadn't expected them; they were always so engulfed in their work at the morgue that it seemed to consume all their time.
"Sweetheart," her mother breathed out, embracing Fiona gently. Her father joined in, and for a moment, the hospital room felt less cold, the air less clinical.
"Jake told us what happened," her dad said after they pulled away, his tone carrying a note of strength meant to bolster her spirit. "How you stood up to that thug."
A smile tugged at the corners of Fiona's bruised face. Of course, Jake would make sure they knew. He understood the gravity of family, the unspoken bond that tied her life so closely to theirs.
"Where is he now?" her mother asked, glancing around the room as if expecting Jake to appear from behind the curtains.
"Interrogating Victor," Fiona replied, her lips pressing into a thin line. She accepted the glasses and slid them onto her face, the world coming back into focus. "He had to keep working."
"Have you been to see Joslyn?" The words came naturally, but the sharp intake of breath from both her parents spoke volumes. Fiona watched as concern flashed across their faces like shadows passing.
"Later, we will," her mother said quickly, too quickly, her eyes darting away. There was something unsaid, something heavy that lay between them.
Fiona's heart clenched at the sight. Joslyn's absence had been a wound that never fully healed, an ache that echoed through the years. Now that she was back, yet not truly with them, the pain resurfaced anew, a silent specter in the room.
"Okay," Fiona said softly, nodding.
Fiona's gaze lingered on her parents, their shared silence a thin veil over the unease that had settled in the room.
"What's going on?" she asked, her voice steady but laced with concern. Her mother glanced at her father, seeking silent support before turning back to Fiona.
"Sweetheart," her mother began, her voice barely above a whisper, "we're scared for Joslyn. The doctors... they're not sure if she'll come back to us. Not as the girl we remember." Her father's hand found her mother's, gripping it tightly, as if trying to hold together the fragments of fading hope.
"The trauma," her father continued, his voice strained, "it's... it's taken so much from her. We don't know if she'll ever be the same." His words hung heavy in the air, a reminder of the uncertainty they all faced.
Fiona felt a pang of sorrow, knowing the vibrant sister she once knew was lost in an abyss of shadows. But beneath the grief, a fierce resolve sparked within her. She reached out, taking her parents' hands in hers, the contact warm and grounding.
"Don't give up on her," Fiona said, her tone firm. "Joslyn is strong. We can't lose faith now. Miracles happen, remember? We have to believe she can get through this." She squeezed their hands, a silent promise passed between them.
Her parents nodded, tears brimming but not falling—a testament to the steely determination that ran deep in their veins. "You're right," her mother agreed. "We can't let go of hope."
"Never," her father echoed, his voice steadier now.
Together, they sat in the hospital room, their hands intertwined, forming an unbreakable circle of steadfast belief. In that moment, there were no agents or victims, only a family united by love and the unwavering conviction that they would not relinquish Joslyn to her trauma. They were the Reds—resilient, enduring—and they would fight for every sliver of light in the darkness.
***
Jake stood rigid in the fluorescent light of the interrogation room, his gaze fixed on Victor Harmon. The suspect's shoulders hunched defensively, compared to Jake's squared stance. Harmon's eyes darted behind his glasses, the look of a cornered man clear as day. Jake had already been going at Victor for some time, and the man was on the verge of breaking.
"Assaulting a federal agent is serious business, Victor," Jake said, his voice low and controlled. "You must've been pretty desperate to want to get away that badly."
Victor's lips twitched, a feeble attempt at composure. Jake could see right through it—the fear, the guilt. It was all there, laid bare on Harmon's haggard face. He would break soon. Jake could smell it.
"Look," Victor began, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was at a strip club two nights ago, alright? I wasn't with my coworkers like I said."
