Somewhere in the Crowd: Part 3
-Somwhere in the Crowd-
A Secret Valentine for i_heart_cuddy
Rating: R
Pairing: Miranda/ Donna
Summary: A triple threat crossover, featuring our lovely Miranda, the seductive Donna, and the killer blackout from Flash Forward
Disclaimer: I don’t own the movie or the book or any of the characters, most depressingly, Miranda is not mine. I play in the Runway universe, and sometimes it is kind to my fantasies
A/N: Third part is entirely Donna-centred.
Somewhere in the Crowd: Part 1
Somewhere in the Crowd: Part 2
Kalokairi, October 10th, 9:58:02
Donna was dreaming. Each time she fell asleep, a reel of images looped through her subconscious. She paid the taxi driver, leaving a generous tip, too eager to climb the stairs to the Townhouse to wait for change. He smiled gratefully; tipped his hat.
She walked down a hallway, dragged by the hands at the insistence of two young girls, who manhandled her onto a sofa; snuggled close. The gentle voice of a woman floated from behind, and a warm hand slid over her shoulder, caressing. Donna turned, pressing her face into the waiting curves of the woman standing beside her.
Donna groaned as she was torn from her sleep. Rosie, smirking, thrust a full plate of breakfast under her nose.
“I’m not hungry,” the blond groused, and pulled the blankets over her head.
“And I’m not buying it.“ Rosie sat on the edge of the bed, her weight an almost comforting intrusion. “It’s been over three days since you’ve eaten anything, Donna. You must be starving.”
In response, Donna’s stomach grumbled traitorously. She peered sceptically from under the covers at the over-generous breakfast.
“Roll over, cabbage,” the brit commanded, “and have something to eat.”
Donna wriggled underneath the coverlet, and leaned against the wicker headboard; cheese, fruit- a small mountain of flatbread. Unenthused, Donna grabbed a bowl of thick island yogurt; if she was going to be force fed, she certainly wasn’t going to give in, entirely, by chewing anything.
“So,” Rosie offered, grabbing a triangle of warm bread and munching on it thoughtfully. “I was thinking that it might be a good idea to get you off this rock for a break.” Donna glowered at her, but Rosie continued, between mouthfuls. “I was thinking New York.”
“New York?” That taxi cab had been quintessentially Big Apple.
Rosie nodded. “No one is going to be booking vacations any time soon, Don. Tanya’s got the money to keep us, and” she continued, lining up her sights, “Ottawa isn’t that far from New York. Sophie and Skye could take a bus down, only a few hours’ trip, really.”
Donna squinted at her friend accusingly. “Soph’s already there, isn’t she.”
“Got in last night.” Rosie grinned. “She called when you were sleeping.”
The blond set the bowl of yogurt in her lap, and sighed. “Do I have a choice?” Donna asked, already knowing the answer.
“Well,” the brit began practically. “You could drag your arse out of bed, hop a plane, and meet with your daughter in New York. Or,” she continued, levelling a pointed look at her friend, “you could stay here, hide under the covers, and stagnate. What do you reckon?”
Donna sighed. “What day did you book the tickets for?”
“That’s what I thought,” Rosie replied, looking a little too pleased with herself. “We’re flying out of Athens day after tomorrow.”
Donna blanched. “Day after- shit Rosie!” The blond discarded her breakfast entirely and almost fell flat on her face in her haste to evacuate the bed. “I’ve gotta’ figure out who’s looking after the Villa- all the staff have to be told, and you know, there’s that freaking toilette in the second floor guest suite that’s still all fu-
“Don,” Rosie offered calmly. “Chill, Babe. Agathe and her husband will take care of the Villa, and Pepper will be looking after the maintenance work.”
At the mention of the young man’s name, Donna shrunk, ashamed; examined the chipping polish on her toenails. “Is he-”
“He’s fine, luv- jumping to get back at work.” Donna nodded, still interested in the floorboards. “Don’t go there,” Rosie warned, taking a hand in hers. “There isn’t anything to feel guilty about, so quit serving yourself extra helpings, honey, because there isn’t any room left on your plate.”
Donna stared at her friend. The brit had no idea how large her plate actually was, or how high she could pile it.
Athens International Airport, October 12th, 6:45:32
Rosie dragged a dawdling Donna through the unnaturally empty airport, the blond still staggering under the irresponsibility of abandoning the Villa to the locals.
“I just need to call Agathe one more time and make sure she knows that the light in the outdoor bathroom burnt out and tha-
The brit snatched the cell from her friend’s hand and stashed it in her purse. “Donna,” she began, trying to keep her exasperation at a simmer. “My darling. It’s all sorted. You’ve left the Villa in capable hands- and if we don’t get on this plane in the next ten to seventeen seconds, it will take off without us. And I’m not going to be the one to explain to your daughter, why her mother didn’t show up at JFK at the preordained time.”
Donna glanced once, longingly, at Rosie’s purse, and then, almost visibly, rearranged her priorities; the sting of having forgotten about her daughter after Sam’s death still a bitter shadow.
She sighed. “Okay.”
Once the two friends had boarded the jet, and settled into their seats, Rosie pulled a notebook from her bag, and chewing intermittently on the end of her pencil, began jotting down notes.
“What are you doing?” Donna asked, only half-interested; unnerved by the silence in the cabin.
“New book,” the brit offered around the eraser end stuck in her mouth. “Apparently, it’s going to be a big seller.”
Donna raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you saw?” It didn’t seem fair that Rosie’s flash forward would portend such a menial, if potentially lucrative, prospect; her own had been so confusing.
“It is,” Rosie nodded, scribbling down the beginnings of a recipe. “What did you see?”
It was an innocent enough query- so why did Donna feel so guilty; so evasive?
“Nothing much,” she replied offhandedly, though her blood pounded. “I was having dinner in a house I didn’t recognize- there were a couple of kids there, little girls. It seemed all right.” She didn’t mention the woman, who’s voice had sounded like a low, warm laugh; who smelled of peppery sweet perfume; who’s silk blouse was soft against Donna’s pressing body.
“Sounds lovely,” Rosie offered distractedly.
Lovely. It had been that. Donna passed the rest of the long, transatlantic flight slipping in and out of fitful dreams, her head resting against the window.
John F. Kennedy International Airport, October 12th, 12:10:23
Donna groaned, and tried to shake some semblance of active nerve endings into her deadened legs as she grabbed for her carry-on and followed Rosie from the plane. It had been a twelve hour flight; the pilots, wary and most likely under career duress, had flown as if they were surrounded by a hurricane, despite the clear weather.
“Where do you think the baggage claim is?” asked Rosie, scanning the only marginally more populated American airport.
“How should I know?” Donna replied shortly, some of the feeling finally coming back into her legs. “I haven’t been off Kalokairi in twenty years. You’re the worldly traveller.”
Rosie ignored her friend’s curt comment in favour of finding their luggage, and twenty minutes later, the two walked through the arrival’s gate, immediately spotting Tanya, Skye and Sophie in the deserted thoroughfare.
Sophie approached her mother almost shyly; the woman who had been on the other end of the two phone calls had sounded a different person. Now face to face, the girl didn’t know what to do, what to say. Donna’s pace was much the same as her daughter’s; her steps slow and nervous; tentative.
The innkeeper suddenly felt a discreet shove from behind, and a murmured, Oh, for god’s sake. Donna realised she was being ridiculous; this was her child. She began to run, closing the space between herself and Sophie quickly; she wrapped her girl in a crushing embrace, and Sophie relaxed into her mother’s arms; this, at least, had not changed.
When Sophie started to make protesting noises of impending asphyxiation, Donna slackened her possessive grip and pulled back to look at her daughter; there was a huge scar running the entire length of the young woman’s jaw line.
“Jesus- baby, you said you weren’t hurt,” Donna accused, grabbing Sophie’s chin, turning her head this way and that, inspecting for other un-recounted injuries.
Sighing, Sophie managed to look a little repentant. “Mom- it’s nothing. I didn’t want to worry you.”
“Nothing?” Donna balked, her voice rising. “Soph- the top of it’s about half a hair away from your eye, for Christ’s sake. You could’ve lo-
“Heya Donna.” It was Skye. Sophie shot her fiancée a grateful glance.
“Hey, yourself,” the maternal woman offered, pulling the young man to her. “Thank you for looking after my girl.” She inspected his arm, plastered and pinned to his chest in a sling. “Quite the rig you’ve got there.”
“It’s all right,” he conceded, glancing down. “Though it’ll be much improved when it has the signatures of Donna and the Dynamos on it. What do you figure?”
Donna grinned for the first time since before the blackout; her unused muscles reminded her of the betrayal, and she schooled her features quickly. “Sounds manageable.”
Tanya chose that moment to approach, the small family having had their reunion. “Look what the cat dragged in,” she drawled, before her face broke into a wide smile. “Hey, babe.”
“Thanks for putting us up, Tanya,” the blond replied, hugging the lanky woman tightly.
Tanya offered a parting squeeze, and pulled back, her hands resting on her friend’s shoulders. “Figured it was time somebody returned the favour.”
Donna nodded, holding back another smile. “Should we get going?”
“Of course,” the stylish woman replied, leading the group towards the exit. “You two must be jet lagged as all hell. As soon as we get home, you’re both going to bed. You could use a few hours of beauty sleep, I’m sure.”
“You would know, Tan,” Rosie quipped jovially.
Tanya grinned, and fluffed her hair. “Shut up.”
Donna shook her head of the quickly renewed antics of her two best friends as they all exited the airport and climbed into the well-off woman’s undoubtedly swanky car, complete with driver.
“You’ve got a chauffeur now, Tanya?” Rosie teased. “Does he do dry-cleaning, too?”
Tanya blinked. “Of course not.” Then, “That’s Peter- he comes every second Tuesday.”
Donna rolled her eyes and Rosie stifled a fit of bemused giggling with the back of her hand.
“What?” Tanya prodded. “You’d do the same, you brat, if anything you wore was worth dry cleaning.”
The brit slapped her friend playfully on the leg. “I hope you’re not accusing me of being jealous. Though,” she chuckled, “god knows, it would be nice to have someone else doing the laundry.”
Donna, who was accustomed to her friends’ not-so-gentle ribbing, allowed a brief look of contentment to pass across her features. The rest of the ride passed in companionable silence, each of the car’s occupants lost in some private though; looking hungrily out the windows or reacquainting themselves with familiar faces.
A short while later, the car pulled up to a sleek high-rise, and Tanya led her guests nonchalantly through the gleaming lobby and into the elevator, which took the group to the lofty penthouse apartment.
Rosie was the first to voice her opinion on their new digs. “Bloody hell, Tanya,” she gasped. “How do you afford this?”
“Quadruple alimony,” the serial monogamist replied blandly. “Never let it be said that I didn’t marry well, even if I didn‘t marry smart.”
While Sophie and Skye, already familiar with the penthouse’s layout, took the women’s luggage to their respective rooms, Rosie began poking inquisitively around the kitchen; a curious frown creasing her brow as she spun full circle, noting the prominent wine cooler, which stood in dark contrast amidst the rest of the seamless, indecipherable cabinetry.
“Do you actually have any food in this place?” she huffed. “I can’t even find the refrigerator.”
Tanya moved into the kitchen, and pull open a nondescript door, which as it happened, was actually a built in fridge. “I’m not completely incompetent.” she groused, and moved over to the smaller cooler and retrieved a chilled bottle from it’s depths.
“You’re well-stocked,” Rosie approved, her assessment of the refrigerator’s contents quick and ruthless. “I’ll make lunch for us all. What do you fancy?” Tanya shrugged, engrossed in uncorking the wine. “Donna?” the brit prompted. Despite her best efforts, she’d barely been able to cajole her friend into eating more than a few cursory bites of whatever she’d prepared.
“Whatever you like, hun.” She yawned. “I think I’m gonna’ hit the sack- I’m bagged.”
“It’s twelve thirty in the afternoon,” Tanya whined. “And you just got here.”
Donna shrugged, and moved towards the hallway. “Not by my clock. It’s seven-thirty ‘Donna’ time, and that flight was less than relaxing.”
Tanya shot a pleading look at Rosie, who gave her a look which clearly asked her to leave it.
“I’m waking you up for dinner.” The brit called the warning after the retreating Donna, who paused, looked over her shoulder, and nodded once before disappearing down the hallway.
“What was that,” Tanya accused once their friend was out of earshot.
“Tanya,” she chastised harshly. “The woman has just lost her husband. I practically had to drag her onto the plane this morning.” Rosie sighed, softening at her friend’s abused expression. “You should have seen her, Tan- when I got there. Three days she sat alone in that room, still covered in Sam’s blood. I- I shouldn’t say this, but I really thought we might lose her. As it is,” she continued, taking a restorative sip of the wine her hostess had poured, “I can barely get her to eat anything, and she refuses to talk about what happened. This is going to take time, luv.”
Tanya sighed an looked intensely at the light, golden liquid in her glass, as if she could somehow divine a solution; the bubbles rising slowly, to gather along the suface offered no answers. The New Yorker glanced over at her friend. “We’ve got time.”
A Secret Valentine for i_heart_cuddy
Rating: R
Pairing: Miranda/ Donna
Summary: A triple threat crossover, featuring our lovely Miranda, the seductive Donna, and the killer blackout from Flash Forward
Disclaimer: I don’t own the movie or the book or any of the characters, most depressingly, Miranda is not mine. I play in the Runway universe, and sometimes it is kind to my fantasies
A/N: Third part is entirely Donna-centred.
Somewhere in the Crowd: Part 1
Somewhere in the Crowd: Part 2
Kalokairi, October 10th, 9:58:02
Donna was dreaming. Each time she fell asleep, a reel of images looped through her subconscious. She paid the taxi driver, leaving a generous tip, too eager to climb the stairs to the Townhouse to wait for change. He smiled gratefully; tipped his hat.
She walked down a hallway, dragged by the hands at the insistence of two young girls, who manhandled her onto a sofa; snuggled close. The gentle voice of a woman floated from behind, and a warm hand slid over her shoulder, caressing. Donna turned, pressing her face into the waiting curves of the woman standing beside her.
Donna groaned as she was torn from her sleep. Rosie, smirking, thrust a full plate of breakfast under her nose.
“I’m not hungry,” the blond groused, and pulled the blankets over her head.
“And I’m not buying it.“ Rosie sat on the edge of the bed, her weight an almost comforting intrusion. “It’s been over three days since you’ve eaten anything, Donna. You must be starving.”
In response, Donna’s stomach grumbled traitorously. She peered sceptically from under the covers at the over-generous breakfast.
“Roll over, cabbage,” the brit commanded, “and have something to eat.”
Donna wriggled underneath the coverlet, and leaned against the wicker headboard; cheese, fruit- a small mountain of flatbread. Unenthused, Donna grabbed a bowl of thick island yogurt; if she was going to be force fed, she certainly wasn’t going to give in, entirely, by chewing anything.
“So,” Rosie offered, grabbing a triangle of warm bread and munching on it thoughtfully. “I was thinking that it might be a good idea to get you off this rock for a break.” Donna glowered at her, but Rosie continued, between mouthfuls. “I was thinking New York.”
“New York?” That taxi cab had been quintessentially Big Apple.
Rosie nodded. “No one is going to be booking vacations any time soon, Don. Tanya’s got the money to keep us, and” she continued, lining up her sights, “Ottawa isn’t that far from New York. Sophie and Skye could take a bus down, only a few hours’ trip, really.”
Donna squinted at her friend accusingly. “Soph’s already there, isn’t she.”
“Got in last night.” Rosie grinned. “She called when you were sleeping.”
The blond set the bowl of yogurt in her lap, and sighed. “Do I have a choice?” Donna asked, already knowing the answer.
“Well,” the brit began practically. “You could drag your arse out of bed, hop a plane, and meet with your daughter in New York. Or,” she continued, levelling a pointed look at her friend, “you could stay here, hide under the covers, and stagnate. What do you reckon?”
Donna sighed. “What day did you book the tickets for?”
“That’s what I thought,” Rosie replied, looking a little too pleased with herself. “We’re flying out of Athens day after tomorrow.”
Donna blanched. “Day after- shit Rosie!” The blond discarded her breakfast entirely and almost fell flat on her face in her haste to evacuate the bed. “I’ve gotta’ figure out who’s looking after the Villa- all the staff have to be told, and you know, there’s that freaking toilette in the second floor guest suite that’s still all fu-
“Don,” Rosie offered calmly. “Chill, Babe. Agathe and her husband will take care of the Villa, and Pepper will be looking after the maintenance work.”
At the mention of the young man’s name, Donna shrunk, ashamed; examined the chipping polish on her toenails. “Is he-”
“He’s fine, luv- jumping to get back at work.” Donna nodded, still interested in the floorboards. “Don’t go there,” Rosie warned, taking a hand in hers. “There isn’t anything to feel guilty about, so quit serving yourself extra helpings, honey, because there isn’t any room left on your plate.”
Donna stared at her friend. The brit had no idea how large her plate actually was, or how high she could pile it.
Athens International Airport, October 12th, 6:45:32
Rosie dragged a dawdling Donna through the unnaturally empty airport, the blond still staggering under the irresponsibility of abandoning the Villa to the locals.
“I just need to call Agathe one more time and make sure she knows that the light in the outdoor bathroom burnt out and tha-
The brit snatched the cell from her friend’s hand and stashed it in her purse. “Donna,” she began, trying to keep her exasperation at a simmer. “My darling. It’s all sorted. You’ve left the Villa in capable hands- and if we don’t get on this plane in the next ten to seventeen seconds, it will take off without us. And I’m not going to be the one to explain to your daughter, why her mother didn’t show up at JFK at the preordained time.”
Donna glanced once, longingly, at Rosie’s purse, and then, almost visibly, rearranged her priorities; the sting of having forgotten about her daughter after Sam’s death still a bitter shadow.
She sighed. “Okay.”
Once the two friends had boarded the jet, and settled into their seats, Rosie pulled a notebook from her bag, and chewing intermittently on the end of her pencil, began jotting down notes.
“What are you doing?” Donna asked, only half-interested; unnerved by the silence in the cabin.
“New book,” the brit offered around the eraser end stuck in her mouth. “Apparently, it’s going to be a big seller.”
Donna raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you saw?” It didn’t seem fair that Rosie’s flash forward would portend such a menial, if potentially lucrative, prospect; her own had been so confusing.
“It is,” Rosie nodded, scribbling down the beginnings of a recipe. “What did you see?”
It was an innocent enough query- so why did Donna feel so guilty; so evasive?
“Nothing much,” she replied offhandedly, though her blood pounded. “I was having dinner in a house I didn’t recognize- there were a couple of kids there, little girls. It seemed all right.” She didn’t mention the woman, who’s voice had sounded like a low, warm laugh; who smelled of peppery sweet perfume; who’s silk blouse was soft against Donna’s pressing body.
“Sounds lovely,” Rosie offered distractedly.
Lovely. It had been that. Donna passed the rest of the long, transatlantic flight slipping in and out of fitful dreams, her head resting against the window.
John F. Kennedy International Airport, October 12th, 12:10:23
Donna groaned, and tried to shake some semblance of active nerve endings into her deadened legs as she grabbed for her carry-on and followed Rosie from the plane. It had been a twelve hour flight; the pilots, wary and most likely under career duress, had flown as if they were surrounded by a hurricane, despite the clear weather.
“Where do you think the baggage claim is?” asked Rosie, scanning the only marginally more populated American airport.
“How should I know?” Donna replied shortly, some of the feeling finally coming back into her legs. “I haven’t been off Kalokairi in twenty years. You’re the worldly traveller.”
Rosie ignored her friend’s curt comment in favour of finding their luggage, and twenty minutes later, the two walked through the arrival’s gate, immediately spotting Tanya, Skye and Sophie in the deserted thoroughfare.
Sophie approached her mother almost shyly; the woman who had been on the other end of the two phone calls had sounded a different person. Now face to face, the girl didn’t know what to do, what to say. Donna’s pace was much the same as her daughter’s; her steps slow and nervous; tentative.
The innkeeper suddenly felt a discreet shove from behind, and a murmured, Oh, for god’s sake. Donna realised she was being ridiculous; this was her child. She began to run, closing the space between herself and Sophie quickly; she wrapped her girl in a crushing embrace, and Sophie relaxed into her mother’s arms; this, at least, had not changed.
When Sophie started to make protesting noises of impending asphyxiation, Donna slackened her possessive grip and pulled back to look at her daughter; there was a huge scar running the entire length of the young woman’s jaw line.
“Jesus- baby, you said you weren’t hurt,” Donna accused, grabbing Sophie’s chin, turning her head this way and that, inspecting for other un-recounted injuries.
Sighing, Sophie managed to look a little repentant. “Mom- it’s nothing. I didn’t want to worry you.”
“Nothing?” Donna balked, her voice rising. “Soph- the top of it’s about half a hair away from your eye, for Christ’s sake. You could’ve lo-
“Heya Donna.” It was Skye. Sophie shot her fiancée a grateful glance.
“Hey, yourself,” the maternal woman offered, pulling the young man to her. “Thank you for looking after my girl.” She inspected his arm, plastered and pinned to his chest in a sling. “Quite the rig you’ve got there.”
“It’s all right,” he conceded, glancing down. “Though it’ll be much improved when it has the signatures of Donna and the Dynamos on it. What do you figure?”
Donna grinned for the first time since before the blackout; her unused muscles reminded her of the betrayal, and she schooled her features quickly. “Sounds manageable.”
Tanya chose that moment to approach, the small family having had their reunion. “Look what the cat dragged in,” she drawled, before her face broke into a wide smile. “Hey, babe.”
“Thanks for putting us up, Tanya,” the blond replied, hugging the lanky woman tightly.
Tanya offered a parting squeeze, and pulled back, her hands resting on her friend’s shoulders. “Figured it was time somebody returned the favour.”
Donna nodded, holding back another smile. “Should we get going?”
“Of course,” the stylish woman replied, leading the group towards the exit. “You two must be jet lagged as all hell. As soon as we get home, you’re both going to bed. You could use a few hours of beauty sleep, I’m sure.”
“You would know, Tan,” Rosie quipped jovially.
Tanya grinned, and fluffed her hair. “Shut up.”
Donna shook her head of the quickly renewed antics of her two best friends as they all exited the airport and climbed into the well-off woman’s undoubtedly swanky car, complete with driver.
“You’ve got a chauffeur now, Tanya?” Rosie teased. “Does he do dry-cleaning, too?”
Tanya blinked. “Of course not.” Then, “That’s Peter- he comes every second Tuesday.”
Donna rolled her eyes and Rosie stifled a fit of bemused giggling with the back of her hand.
“What?” Tanya prodded. “You’d do the same, you brat, if anything you wore was worth dry cleaning.”
The brit slapped her friend playfully on the leg. “I hope you’re not accusing me of being jealous. Though,” she chuckled, “god knows, it would be nice to have someone else doing the laundry.”
Donna, who was accustomed to her friends’ not-so-gentle ribbing, allowed a brief look of contentment to pass across her features. The rest of the ride passed in companionable silence, each of the car’s occupants lost in some private though; looking hungrily out the windows or reacquainting themselves with familiar faces.
A short while later, the car pulled up to a sleek high-rise, and Tanya led her guests nonchalantly through the gleaming lobby and into the elevator, which took the group to the lofty penthouse apartment.
Rosie was the first to voice her opinion on their new digs. “Bloody hell, Tanya,” she gasped. “How do you afford this?”
“Quadruple alimony,” the serial monogamist replied blandly. “Never let it be said that I didn’t marry well, even if I didn‘t marry smart.”
While Sophie and Skye, already familiar with the penthouse’s layout, took the women’s luggage to their respective rooms, Rosie began poking inquisitively around the kitchen; a curious frown creasing her brow as she spun full circle, noting the prominent wine cooler, which stood in dark contrast amidst the rest of the seamless, indecipherable cabinetry.
“Do you actually have any food in this place?” she huffed. “I can’t even find the refrigerator.”
Tanya moved into the kitchen, and pull open a nondescript door, which as it happened, was actually a built in fridge. “I’m not completely incompetent.” she groused, and moved over to the smaller cooler and retrieved a chilled bottle from it’s depths.
“You’re well-stocked,” Rosie approved, her assessment of the refrigerator’s contents quick and ruthless. “I’ll make lunch for us all. What do you fancy?” Tanya shrugged, engrossed in uncorking the wine. “Donna?” the brit prompted. Despite her best efforts, she’d barely been able to cajole her friend into eating more than a few cursory bites of whatever she’d prepared.
“Whatever you like, hun.” She yawned. “I think I’m gonna’ hit the sack- I’m bagged.”
“It’s twelve thirty in the afternoon,” Tanya whined. “And you just got here.”
Donna shrugged, and moved towards the hallway. “Not by my clock. It’s seven-thirty ‘Donna’ time, and that flight was less than relaxing.”
Tanya shot a pleading look at Rosie, who gave her a look which clearly asked her to leave it.
“I’m waking you up for dinner.” The brit called the warning after the retreating Donna, who paused, looked over her shoulder, and nodded once before disappearing down the hallway.
“What was that,” Tanya accused once their friend was out of earshot.
“Tanya,” she chastised harshly. “The woman has just lost her husband. I practically had to drag her onto the plane this morning.” Rosie sighed, softening at her friend’s abused expression. “You should have seen her, Tan- when I got there. Three days she sat alone in that room, still covered in Sam’s blood. I- I shouldn’t say this, but I really thought we might lose her. As it is,” she continued, taking a restorative sip of the wine her hostess had poured, “I can barely get her to eat anything, and she refuses to talk about what happened. This is going to take time, luv.”
Tanya sighed an looked intensely at the light, golden liquid in her glass, as if she could somehow divine a solution; the bubbles rising slowly, to gather along the suface offered no answers. The New Yorker glanced over at her friend. “We’ve got time.”