"Hi, Migs," Claire mutters softly, uncertain about how to proceed. She seeks Gabriel's eyes for reassurance; he nods and stands up and taps Miguel on a shoulder.
"I'll let you two catch up," Gabriel says, smiling, as he slips out the door.
"How are you?" Claire says, and she really means it. Miguel still looks pale, as though he's able to sit here only through great effort. The bandage around his head looks freshly applied, and the bag of IV fluid is full. The machines look normal. But for some reason, she has to hear it straight from Miguel's mouth how he's feeling, how he's taking all of this.
"I'm…I'm fine," he mutters sheepishly. He avoids her eyes. He couldn't look at her now, knowing what he did and the trouble he has caused.
"That's…That's good," Claire says, smiling. "We did everything to find matching blood for your emergency transfusion. I was glad my blood matched yours."
