Slade adjusted the tablet on the edge of the bed with the same care he used to zero a scope.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly, though he already knew she would. She always did.

The room was dim, curtains half-drawn, medical equipment humming softly in the background. She couldn’t move much—not without pain, not without risk—but her mind was still sharp. Still faster than most people on their feet.

Slade paced once, then stopped when a screen lit up with schematics and live feeds she’d pulled up for him. Satellite angles. Entry points. A blind spot he hadn’t noticed.

“…There,” he murmured, leaning closer. “Yeah. That’s it.”

He let out a slow breath, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “See? This is why I don’t work alone.”

She tapped another command. Data scrolled. Warnings flagged. A silent correction to his plan that might’ve saved his life.

Slade rested a hand on the bedframe, grounding himself. “I know it kills you to be stuck here,” he said, voice rough but steady. “But you’re still in this. Still watching my six.”

He glanced at her, eyes softer than the world ever got to see. “You help how you can,” he added. “That’s enough. More than enough.”

When he geared up to leave, he paused, checking the monitors one last time, memorizing the quiet strength in the room before stepping back into violence.

Out there, Slade was lethal.

But in here—here was where strategy lived. Where survival was calculated. Where he was never truly alone.

And even bedridden, she was still the most dangerous ally he had.