[[Continued from
The Price of Questions]]
It was early hours by the time she admitted defeat. The shattered glass was swept clean, the pieces of broken furniture too big to bag but small enough to move piled together to one side. Natalie perched on the bare bones of the sofa and surveyed the desolation with no attachment beyond numbness. She wanted to shower but didn't want to undress. There was no real fear now, but a sense of vulnerability that wrapped tight in her chest when she went into the bathroom and immediately abandoned the idea. She washed her hands instead, sore with tiny slivers she couldn't see when she rubbed her palms under the stream.
Fatigue crept in but she had no desire to sleep. Nor anything to sleep on, actually. By now she imagined Jay had crashed out somewhere and wouldn't be back until morning. Maybe later than that if he was due early at the Garden. For the first time she considered that she really ought to have called someone, but asking for help had never actually occurred to her. Nor, even, had using the power to lighten the burden of clearing up.
The apartment felt as still as a graveyard, and just as soulless. She twisted the wallet in her hands and ended up searching for the closest hotel. If she told Jay where to meet her hopefully he wouldn't come back here, though if he did at least it looked less like a crime scene now. But she didn’t want to stay here, and now that the urge unfurled it felt vital. This place reminded her of her father. Of a life she didn’t want but tried to make herself fit into. Of a prison where Jay tried to stitch himself into the shape of a normal man because he thought it was what she needed to see. She’d never even
wanted to be in Moscow.
Frustration spiralled when the closest hotel turned out to be the Radiance. Because the last thing she wanted to chance suffering tonight was Adrian Kane.
Then a message from Jay flashed on the screen in its place.
The guy I punched earlier? Going to get my hand checked. might be broken. I’ll send you the hospital info when I get there. In a car now.
It was probably the first sensible thing either of them had suggested all night. Natalie didn't wait for the coordinates to come through, just pulled on her coat and packed a bag. There was little of Jay’s to rescue from their life here. He was wearing the uniform and pin. Toiletries she’d stop to purchase en route. And honestly there was little of her own to take either, just spare clothes, her wallet, and Emily’s gift.
Medsi was an imposing construction of glass and chrome. The soft rattle of the public transport she took to get here had smoothed out the anger and frustration, let her compartmentalise the break-in with distance. She wasn’t trying to figure it out yet, how fucked they might be, but the frigid night air cleared her head some more. She told herself it was a blessing. Galvanised herself anew with stubborn resolution.
The doors swished open soundlessly ahead of her. God she hated that smell, astringent with antiseptic smothered in something moneyed. Like they didn’t all bleed the same. Wherever her thoughts had been, they funnelled back into her senses as she stepped into the hospital’s lobby. She saw him in her peripheral without trying to, a grim dark-clad figure in a distant waiting room chair. Hand cradled by a bag of icemelt. Worse for wear, but not as bad as he could have been – as far as she could see from here anyway. The face opposite was unexpected, though. Recognised at distance but ignored for now. What the fuck was Carter doing in Moscow? Let alone in a hospital waiting room in the early hours. Volthströms didn’t usually slum it to live like ordinary people.
The bag hung loose on Natalie’s shoulder, a tray with coffee and a muffin cradled in one arm – utterly pedestrian, and probably unwelcome judging by the polished lines and cleanliness of a clearly private facility. She was tired, mood a little frayed, so the sharpness in her pale gaze was not entirely feigned as she approached the desk.
“Northbrook,” she said to the woman behind it. Clipped in tone, but low enough to promise she wouldn’t cause an immediate scene if she got what she wanted quickly. Private places like this scanned facial IDs on entrance even if the familial name did not hasten recognition. Honestly a certain manner did the rest. Act entitled and people rarely questioned the audacity.
“I'm here to collect the Dominion, so why the fuck is he still waiting to be seen?”
Her brow rose. She didn’t pause to register the woman’s expression, or watch how fast she did or did not scurry. It was technically a lie, to let the staff believe there was some official sway behind the command. There was no satisfaction in the meanness. It was just more expedient.
At first she’d wondered if Carter was somehow the friend Jay had bumped into, however unlikely an acquaintance it seemed. But if the crisp tuxedo and stiffly elegant mannerisms didn’t disprove it, the stilted conversation she interrupted as she approached them in the waiting area did. The idea of Carter in the RLD brought a glint of amusement to her eye as she plucked the coffee from the tray and offered it to Jay in lieu of greeting. Perhaps she should have brought water instead. He didn’t look high. He did look like shit, though; hunched over that purple hand, damp in his coat and dripping a small puddle on the tiles beneath his chair. Natalie’s expression was inscrutable, but she seemed utterly unphased to be here, whatever the hour, or the surroundings. Including that ungodly drone of humdrum music, like they were all trapped in an upscale hotel elevator.
It felt like the beginning of a bad joke, and she wanted to laugh at the absurdity. But it’d probably be in bad taste.
She glanced across at Carter, then. She didn’t know if he’d even recognise her all these years later, and it didn’t bother her either way. Occasionally their families intersected at some function or other, owing to Edward’s close friendship with Carter’s father. But Carter was older, Isobel’s age, and Natalie had never really been in the same elite circles, especially after Alistair’s arrest, when all her self-destructive social efforts had gone into the kind of company which made her mother despair. As a teenager just the mention of Carter’s name had suffused her sister’s cheeks with warmth, though; that she
did remember, because it had been a wealthy source of teasing back then. It wasn’t that Carter wasn’t handsome; he was, almost painfully so. But she’d never seen anything of substance to go with it. Just manners and chivalry. The only interesting one of the bunch was Guillaume.
The extra company was a little inconvenient, actually, but only because it meant she couldn’t say the things she wanted to. When Natalie was committed to confession she preferred to be blunt with it, and she wasn’t really sure how Jay would react. Instead they'd have to hobble through some small talk before she could speak to him properly. The bag hanging from her shoulder felt like a statement to invite curiosity in the meantime, though she supposed it’d be easy enough to brush off until she could explain everything fully. And they were both men. Unlikely either of them would even notice it was larger than the sort a woman normally carried in the first place. Not to mention the faint tension that accompanied the pair of them being busy sizing each other up.
“So I take it this isn’t the old friend you ran into,” she said to Jay. Her tone was touched with amusement.
“Not unless Gui has been leading him astray again, at any rate.”
“Has he, Carter?” Her tone was light and teasing, and perhaps a touch curious as she addressed him by name. Not because she wanted to know why he was here, but because she wanted to see if he'd squirm trying to place her.