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It was moments like this one which made Cordelia acutely aware of how adapted – of how bloody Barrayarran she had become. Because Simon was quite literally bloody, his dark clothes made even darker with his own blood, and yet she was standing back and letting him continue issuing orders to his ImpSec drones as if this was a usual once-a-month sort of emergency.
Aral kept shooting her looks from within the crowd, a mix of concerned and beseeching. He certainly knew how much she ached to interfere.
The main thing, she constantly reminded herself, was that Gregor was safe. Eleven years old, and he'd nearly come to an end at the point of a blade in his own palace. Very traditional, doubtless everyone was at least consoling themselves with that. Including her dear and darling husband — even if he was redeeming himself by having taken up a suitable position to catch Simon if he should keel over from lack of proper medical attention, as was becoming more likely by the minute.
A harried ImpMil medtech clearly shared her opinion. He kept trying to shove his way through the dense dress greens. "Sir, you need medical attention!" he finally snapped.
Simon barely glanced up. "Not now, I'm busy." Men were continually peeling away from him and Aral and heading in different directions as they exchanged information and orders, but more kept appearing to take their place. It was one of the bigger formal events of the year, clearly a perfect time for the latest assassination attempt. When there were Komarran and Cetagandan delegates in attendance, no less.
"Sir, please, you're still bleeding!"
Simon irritably shrugged one shoulder. He was reduced to that, since his other arm was immobilised in a makeshift sling. The shawl had originally been the same shade of lilac as Alys Vorpatril's dress, but the spreading stain darkened it considerably. Cordelia had donated the scarf below that was acting as a not-terribly-effective bandage, although she thought she might have refused had she known Simon would immediately proceed to act as though he had been treated by a doctor. She caught the medtech's eye and gave him a sympathetic grimace.
She was attuned enough, though, to catch the change in rhythm from the ImpSec cluster. Simon was talking more slowly; men were no longer vibrating with such urgency. The immediate crisis, it seemed, was passing. She was under no illusion that the larger situation was doing likewise, but each minute had ceased to become a life or death matter. ImpSec was beginning to think in terms of hours, and soon days.
She picked a gap and ploughed determinedly into the swarm. "Simon, you're being relieved," she said.
It took him a second longer than usual to switch from the ImpSec level of his brain to the social one. "Lady Vorkosigan, the current situation –"
"Don't you Lady Vorkosigan me," she said, firmly. "You haven't even been sitting down! Couldn't someone at least have brought you a chair?" She was gratified to catch a couple of shamefaced looks from his fellow officers.
"Cordelia," Aral murmured. He had already borne this furiously whispered tirade.
She loved her husband, and she loved Simon. She especially loved the way they cared so deeply about causes far larger than themselves… to a point. That point was before her now, grey-faced and beginning to visibly waver. "Do you judge that the immediate danger has passed? You've already made arrests, correct? We're likely to wake up safe and sound tomorrow?"
"Yes, but –"
Aral, help me here. Neither you nor Simon want the panic that would be caused by him fainting now. "Then the Security Chief has time to get properly treated for an injury sustained in the line of duty. Unless you have a compelling reason why he should wait even longer?"
Although she had addressed Aral, everyone instinctively turned towards Simon, waiting for him to object. There was a tiny pause, which stretched on for several seconds.
"I think… you may be right," Simon admitted.
Aral took an quick half-step towards him, alerted by his tone. "Someone run to the Residence and tell them to expect us."
Simon gave a grim little smile. "I think I'd rather go somewhere closer, actually."
~
There was a small reception room nearby with a large and comfortable sofa. ImpSec insisted on checking it first, presumably in case there were more assassins hiding under a cushion, but under Cordelia's increasingly impatient glare the unlucky officer who had been given the job nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste. "It's clear, Sir," he reported to Aral, trying not to catch Cordelia's eye.
"Dismissed, then," Aral said, glancing around to widen the order to the few trailing officers who hadn't yet been dislodged. Cordelia began to tap her foot, and no one waited to be told twice.
Simon waited until there was no one apart from the three of them and the medtech in the room before allowing himself to sink onto the sofa. He leaned back cautiously, and began attempting to get the sling off one-handed. "Simon, stop trying to be helpful," Aral ordered. "Relax."
Simon smiled wryly and let the tech take over. "Sorry. Habit."
"That's really no excuse." Aral leaned over to examine the knife wound as the tech began exposing it.
Cordelia rolled her eyes, and pulled a chair up on the other side. "Simon, you don't need to look too," she said, firmly. It wasn't a thing he needed stored on his chip, although she was sure he would disagree. "How are you feeling?"
"Remarkably awful," Simon said, wearily. He closed his eyes, then opened them as the tech did something to his arm. "Ouch."
"Sorry, Sir," the tech said. "If you'd allow transport to ImpMil —"
"No," Simon said, immediately. "I need to be here."
Aral caught Cordelia's eye. "Don't shout at him," he whispered.
Cordelia glared at the two of them. There was no retort strong enough which she could say in front of the tech. "Barrayarrans," she contented herself with muttering, darkly.
The tech looked nervous enough as it was. "Can I give you a painkiller, then?" he asked.
"Give him one that will make him sleep for a few hours," Cordelia ordered. Simon looked as if he was going to protest that, too, but Aral gave him a quelling look.
"I agree with my wife," he said. "Would you want to take an order from a man in your condition right now? I'll have a summary of what you missed waiting for you when you wake up."
Simon sagged back into the cushions, giving in.
"I take it you'll be working through the night," Cordelia said to Aral. "I'll stay here with Simon. Get someone to deliver some blankets?"
He nodded. "I'll post a man outside the door. Just as a precaution."
He made no move to leave, however, until the medtech had finished and was packing his things away. In that brief moment of privacy Aral grasped Simon's good hand, squeezing it. Simon came back to consciousness enough to hold eye contact, and nod.
"I'll be fine," Simon said. "Go."
"Of course you will," Aral said, gruffly. He put his other hand on Cordelia's shoulder, showing the strength of his emotions only through that pressure. "Get some rest. We need you."
"You can need him in the morning," Cordelia said. Gently. "Go."
"Yes, love," Aral said, and let go of both of them reluctantly. Simon sighed, his eyes closing and his whole body seeming to loosen.
Cordelia settled herself more comfortably into her chair as the door closed. "You should… sleep too," Simon murmured, without opening his eyes.
"Nonsense," Cordelia said. "It's my turn to be on duty." She reached to take his hand, as Aral had done.
He smiled — his face was less full of pain now, thank goodness. "Ah. Well."
They lapsed into a comfortable silence. More words would have been unnecessary.