She woke up in Michael's arms – appreciating for a moment that she wasn't in an actual hospital. The two of them sleeping together never would have passed muster at a legitimate medical facility.
Sam sat beside them stitching a cut in his own arm, eyes constantly flickering between his work and his friends.
"You're up," he said joyfully when Fiona shifted on Michael's chest, trying to relieve some of the pressure on her shoulder injury. She could feel that her chest tube was gone and she could see that the cut on Michael's face had scabbed over.
"How long was I out?" she asked.
"Three days – well – you came to a couple times. Pain woke you up then put you promptly back to sleep," Sam said, "we got the chest tube out a couple hours ago."
"You're okay?" she asked, trying not to sound interested.
"Yep. A couple scars won't do me any harm," Sam replied.
"Michael?"
"Will be fine now that he knows you're safe. He hasn't been sleeping nearly enough so far."
"And Aubin?"
"Disappeared."
"Say anything before he left?" Fiona asked, pretending to care, curling into Michael's chest and wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep.
"He left this."
Sam handed Fiona a square of paper with a single line of flowing, confident script.
It read, "Do not be forgetful of hospitality, for through this, some have entertained angels unawares. – Hebrews 13:2"