Pavati and Andrea have been best friends for a little over ten years now. A decade, more than half Pavati’s life. They knew everything about each other. If there was an important part of each other’s lives they hadn’t physically been there, they’d heard about it by the next day at the latest. Pavati’s mother called them attached at the hip. Andrea’s mother had called it unhealthy until Pavati was there for her and Andrea through every second of her cancer and Andrea’s dad leaving.Now she just called it sweet.

The point was, Pavati loved Andrea unconditionally, and Andrea trusted her to do the right thing. That was what made sitting here by Andrea’s hospital bed hurt so much. She should have said no, back at the beginning. It was dangerous enough for her and Terry to be doing this stuff. That she’d let Andrea join them, without any powers was unthinkable. It was her fault. Hers entirely.

“I don’t blame you,” Andrea says softly. Her eyes are still closed. The nurse had said something about overexposure and temporary blindness. Pavati had tried to listen, tried to catalogue the list of injuries, to calculate her guilt, but she kept being distracted by the limpness of Andrea’s hand in hers.

“It was my fault,” Pavati says. “I probably could have made it, if I pushed myself. If I saw you sooner, or kept better watch, or saw them sooner.”

“You did the best you could,” Andrea says. “And so did I. This doesn’t change anything, Pavati. I walked in with open eyes.”

“I should have saved you,” Pavati says, and Andrea smiles and squeezes her hand.

“You’ve saved me a thousand times over,” she says. “I don’t mind that you missed once. You’re still my hero.”