The Ghost
The hospital is teeming with injured soldiers, many of which are wandering the hallways with bandaged extremities. By the looks of it, there are so many injured people that those with the least dangerous wounds don't have assigned rooms. The hospital is certainly busy enough that it took Gracia half an hour just to find someone who could direct her to the right room.
Elicia clings to her hand, looking around the hallways with an apprehensive expression that Gracia doesn't like to see on her face. Gracia nearly left her with a neighbor, but finally decided that it would be best for everybody involved if Elicia was around, if only to ensure no heated words are exchanged. A hospital is no place to air one's grievances.
Finally, they reach the door Gracia was directed to. There are two soldiers standing guard outside, a man whom Gracia vaguely recognizes from the many pictures Maes used to show her from his visits to East City and a woman.
Gracia's steps falter until she comes to a halt. Elicia speaks, confused, but Gracia is too busy staring at the ghost standing in front of her to answer. Hers is a face that Gracia memorized months ago, a death she couldn't help but feel guilty about.
Maria Ross stands guard to the left of the door, but she blinks in surprise for a moment when her eyes fall on Gracia and Elicia. Then she smiles and takes a step forward.
"Mrs. Hughes?" she greets, "I've heard a lot about you. I'm—"
"Maria Ross," Gracia says, unable to stay silent. "I know. I attended your funeral."
Maria looks down, clearly abashed and uncomfortable, and Gracia has the impulse to reach forward and place a hand on Maria's shoulder.
"Have you visited your family yet?" she asks softly, and she isn't surprised when Maria shakes her head. Gracia can see the shame on her face.
But she knows that anyone would be too happy to have one of their loved ones back to be angry at them.
She very resolutely doesn't think about Maes.