"Dr. Egan's a civilian," Cortin said, appreciating the men's sympathetic expressions. "You may have to catch me if I overdo, though."
"No problem," Kennard said.
"Good. Shall we go, then?"
The day Cortin could get to the far end of the hospital building and back without having to stop for rest, she got Mike to have her discharged—over Egan's protests—and help her move into the VOQ.
That evening after supper, Odeon went to her room. He'd been increasingly worried about her lack of apparent emotion; he'd seen others like that go into an abrupt withdrawal and become extremely depressed, sometimes even suicidal. Her interest in interrogation and desire for revenge would both help, but he was determined to give her a better reason to live.
When they were both settled comfortably with cups of her favorite herb tea, he grinned at her. "I meant to mention this earlier—you look a lot better in uniform than you did in a hospital gown!"
"I feel a lot better, too. Hospitals are all right, I suppose, but I'm a lot more comfortable in quarters. Not to mention wearing a gun."
"Of course you are," Odeon said, chuckling. In hospital was the only time an Enforcement trooper, officer or enlisted, was completely unarmed; even in bed, they always had a weapon within easy reach. "Going to Mass tomorrow?"
"Why, is it Sunday?"