Not many people in his life made him look small. Not ever since he grew out of being a boy, soon after first year in academy. When they met, Libra easily towered over him, but he caught up and then somehow they remained equal. She always was tall woman with natural inner strength that only amplified her authority. She had to work hard for outer strength she possed, for how people saw her; he remembers hazily some of it.
And yet she looks fragile, laying in white bed, surrounded by quietly beeping machinery. James doesn't know which one is what for, he doesn't have to. All he knows is that it's Libra laying so silently in front of him. Libra who told him already that they're not friends, never were, even when they were dating. Libra who made clear that the less they have in common, the better. Libra he tried to forget. And yet she's here, in Atlas' most advanced hospital, in Atlas where he watches over progress and growth. Of course he was informed about the surgery, for some reason many departments liked to keep him updated even out of his field, but no one told him it was Libra. Keeping straight face, once they did tell him, wasn’t easy. He wasn’t expected to visit the patient, but the hard part was trying not to rush into the room as soon as he was allowed to. His interest was welcomed, he saw the doctors puff with pride. At least no one questioned why he kept visiting every day or why he spent most of his breaks here. No one dared to, but he was aware of amount of eyes curiosly following him again. Somehow he reached the point where he’d gladly give those damn gossipers something to talk about, but she wouldn’t like it. So he didn’t hold her hand, didn’t brush her hair away from pale face. He just sat there, watching her bandaged chest move slowly with every breath, waiting and repeating silently a thought like a prayer: “Please wake up. Please wake up.”