Work Text:
She managed one visit in those very early days. Arriving unannounced, she stood, breathing heavily as she looked around to find her bearings, which turned out to be straddled backwards across a chair. She waited. Not a flicker. So she levered her hip off her cane and stepped towards that tight, waxen profile. She came level and reeled.
She had only said shot, God in heaven.
This man behind the glass was more than shot. Laid carefully out, dark hair a bruise on the pillow, he was swathed in white, tubed to the gills and surely dying. The thought of the phone call to Rachel that evening swayed her balance. Her hand went out and found a shoulder.
Glimpsing the face in the glass reflection, she almost looked away. No doctor need tell her the worst; one look in the eyes of this dear man was enough. Here was a suffering to taste.
Nothing passed between them. Until Hutch's jubilant call three days later, Rosie was not even sure if he knew she had visited. She had stayed until her arthritis throbbed, then simply dropped a kiss onto the blond head, removed her hand, and limped away.
******