Page 293 of Operation: Defiance

I give Doc the short version. The shot a year ago. Delayed treatment. Two dislocations—one while under strain—in the past two weeks. Clinical. Dry. Like I’m reading someone else’s chart. “But I can’t handle anyone touching me. Not after⁠—”

“We can go slow. I’ll just tape it. No manipulation. I can give you something for the pain first. Might help with the panic too.”

The equation is simple. My shoulder’s a liability I can’t afford right now. And something in Doc’s voice—it’s not gentle, more…steady—makes the answer easier than I expected it to be.

“Okay. But you have to go slow. Tell me what you’re doing. Each step.” I curl my fingers around the challenge coin, press my toes against the soles of my shoes, and count myself through one full breath.

“Shirt first. Can you manage?” Doc asks.

“Yes.” It’s not easy, but I’ve learned the tricks. Small movements. Left arm. Over the head. Then off. The sound I make at the end is less than dignified, but Doc doesn’t react.

“I need to put one hand here”—he touches the back of his own shoulder—“then have you test your range of motion. Is that okay?”

It’s not. But I press my thumb into the coin and nod.

The contact is brief and clinical and still sends my heart rate somewhere inconvenient enough, the edges of the room shimmer. I focus on my breathing, on the raised lines of the challenge coin, on the steady rise and fall of Asher’s chest over Doc’s shoulder.

“You’re going to need stabilization for a while. I’d like to come back tomorrow—if you’re in a position to be checked on. If not, I’m leaving you with some pain meds and a roll of tape.” There’s no pressure in his tone. Just information, delivered with a calm, gentle reassurance I’ve only ever found with Asher.

“We’ll…try to let you know.” I can’t promise him anything. Not after what Natasha said the word means to him. But I can give him this much.

He tapes my shoulder quickly, warning me before every touch, explaining where each strip goes so I know what to do without him. Then he sits back on his heels.

“You should get some rest. Asher’s stable. He’ll be okay.” Doc pauses, glances up at the bed, then back to me. “He’d probably sleep better if you were next to him.”

I suck in a quick breath. Too quick for my ribs, but I ignore the pain. “I won’t…hurt him?”

“Stay on his right side. Don’t jostle the wound. Or pull out the IV.” One corner of his mouth twitches into a half smile. “We’ve been where you are, Raine. Medicine can do a lot. Love can do even more.”

I’m still on the floor when Inara walks in. Doc gave me permission to move to the bed. More than that, he gave me understanding. But Asher can’t give me his, and I’ve learned—the hard way—what crossing that distance without it can mean.

“Can I sit?” Inara asks, keeping her voice to a whisper.

At my nod, she sinks down gracefully, her legs folding with the ease of a dancer until her back is against the same wall, with enough space between us not to overload my frayed nervous system.

“Doc says he’ll be okay.” I will the words to be true, because until I hear his voice, I’m not sure I can believe them.

“Then he will. Doc’s part of our team. You remember what I said about us?”

“You’re the best at what you do.”

“We are. Which is why it took me so long to get here. I stayed on that roof until I knew it was done. I watched Voss take his last breath. Saw them load him into a body bag. He’s gone, Raine. You did it.”

“We did it. I couldn’t have…not alone,” I whisper.

“Oh, I think you would have. But I’m glad you didn’t have to.”

“Thank you,” I say. “For everything.”

“All I did was show up. Well, and hit a couple of them center mass from four hundred yards away through smoke and chaos.” She says it simply, like it’s not an extraordinary thing that she was there at all.

The small huff tugs at my ribs. It’s the closest thing to a laugh I have at the moment.

We’re quiet. Long enough I start to think I might not say anything else. Long enough it would be easy not to.

But Inara killed people for me tonight. I know the toll that takes. Even when it’s necessary. When it’s life or death. And she didn’t hesitate for a second.

I look over at her. She’s calm. Still in a way I’ve come to understand is simply her.