"I think I can pull a few strings," John said with a smile, and helped her to stand. He held out his arm, and her hand settled into the crook of it. It was close without being intimate, and he could support her if she got a little wobbly.
They walked through the quiet dim hallways to PICU. John swiped his ID card through the reader, and the doors swung silently open. There were far too many filled cribs; John blamed the too-fast gestation time. He thought it was too hard on both mother and child, but he hadn't designed the serum. If he had--well, things would have been far different.
Outside of the isolation room, they washed their hands and slipped into yellow isolation gowns, masks, gloves. Reverse isolation was for Rose's protection; she had nothing contagious. Within, Paul Andrews was the nurse on duty, and he smiled at them. "She's doing fine," he said quietly. "Vitals and labwork are good, and she's doing all the right baby things." His eyes squinched up in good humor. John was tempted to raise an eyebrow and repeat "baby things?" but didn't.
Rose was pretty, and Nana had been right when she'd called it otherworldly. Pale skin, silvery-white hair peeking out from beneath her pink cap; John had been tempted to check for pointed elfin ears when he'd first seen her. Her mouth was a pretty pink rosebud, pursed, nursing in her sleep. Leaning down, he picked her up carefully. Such a tiny life, so important. He eased her into Nana's arms, watching how her face softened when Rose lay in her arms.