Stiletto Sisterhood

Original Edition: Isobel/Eshe | Now & Always

Isobel had made it all the way to Toronto in record time. Exhausted and still steaming, she'd barely said a word when she'd crossed the threshold and dissolved into tears in her father's arms. Angus, the dark bruising of worry beneath his eyes, held her draped in his lap in his armchair like she was the little girl who would curl up against him for comfort, and rocked her until she was spent.

They'd barely had more than a couple hours to talk, to pour it all out between them when Isobel decided it was time to turn on her phone. To call Shayne.

And then the messages poured in, a thick and relentless flood of despair.

She'd been on the next flight out to Washington with only vague assurances from Priya that they were all there and Marco was in the midst of his second surgery.

Crossing through the main doors of Washington General, it wasn't hard to spot Priya, pacing wildly. She was dressed in a pair of slacks and button up shirt that somehow made her look more corporate lawyer than business casual and spoke volumes: she wasn't here only as Shayne's friend, but as her lawyer.

"Oh, you're here." Isobel found herself in Priya's arms and held on tight as a tremor of relief poured through her. "Where is she?"

"Waiting." Priya drew back, and tugged an ear bud from her left ear, the wire connected to her phone clutched in a tight grip. Her knuckles white. "Come, I'll get you past the gatekeepers, and then you'll have to follow the signs from there." Priya tugged her along, rounding the waiting room reception desk with a warning glance at the volley of works perched behind it, fielding ringing phones and a slew of patients waiting to be admitted.

"Why?"

"Because I'm juggling two very important phone calls between a judge and three lawyers regarding Shayne's proxy as Marco's power of attorney."

A wave of nausea rolled across Isobel like a steamroller, flattening her with the weight of sickening grief. "Oh, Priya."

"I won't lie, it's bad, but Shayne can tell you more. Second floor, B Wing." Priya instructed, gesturing with shooting movements of her hands. Her dark hair was a mess but her eyes were clear, though the edges of sorrow were unmistakable around her eyes and mouth. For all her bravado, she was hurting just as deeply as all of them, but someone had to hold it together for Shayne.

To be her strength where she had always been theirs.

"I'm sorry," Priya sighed as her phone flashed in her hand, vibrating loudly. "That's the judge. I've got to take this. Can you manage?"

Isobel nodded as Priya whisked around with a bright hello and stalked down the hall in search of a quiet corner. Even with her harried instructions, finding Shayne wasn't difficult. But at the sight of her, Isobel's determined steps faltered.

She was slumped in a seat, head in her hands—finger curled in her mess of short hair and knees furiously bouncing. She was a picture of panic and Isobel couldn't get to her fast enough. Tossing her purse to the empty seat, she dropped to her knees and gathered Shayne by the shoulders.

A splotchy face with wet eyes lifted. Broke.

"I got here as fast as I could. I was already in the air when Cait...how is he?"

Shayne sucked in a phlemgy breath and pressed the back of her hand against her red nose. "Alive. Stable."

The heart that had refused to loosen from a hard knot in her throat eased the barest degree. He was alive. Still alive. Thank God.

"It's all so fucked up. I'm fucked up. I'm sorry. Bel, I'm so sorry."

Isobel squeezed her hand encouragingly and slid into the seat next to her. "We don't have to do this right now."