Prompt: holding hands

Sharon was unconscious; a tiny figure in a massive hospital bed, swathed in bandages that hid the damage flying glass and road gravel had done to her usually smooth skin. Despite the public's interest in them, high speed chases were dangerous to all involved and rarely turned out well, especially for the person being chased. In this case, it was the LAPD that had taken the brunt of the damage; specifically, Sharon. The other woman's stillness in the bed was unnatural to Brenda, although Sharon was frequently in some sort of contemplative repose, she was never like this, never limp like she was dead and without a superior (or thoughtful) smirk on her face. Sighing heavily, and hoping beyond hope that what the doctors told her was true, that Sharon would wake soon and that there was nothing wrong with her some rest and a few weeks taking it easy wouldn't cure, Brenda took Sharon's hand, practically the only part of her that wasn't bandaged, and sat down to wait.