Author's Notes: This chapter contains some disturbing content and more character assaults.
All medical information contained within this chapter is factual.
Thanks to the Sisters of Angst: Alamo Girl, Meredith Paris, and Padme Kenobi for keeping me laughing, encouraged and iconed to the max. And thanks to all who have commented thus far!
Disclaimer in Part One.
As of 4/25/08, this fic is no longer a work in progress. From here on out, I'll upload a chapter a day.
Chapter Four: Forgive Us Our Sins
When DG woke, it was once again dark outside. Moonlight streamed brilliantly through the balcony windows, indicating that both celestial bodies were nearing their peaks in the night sky, and telling her she'd been asleep for much longer than she'd anticipated.
She stretched in the bed, and what was intended to be languid and fluid instead angrily popped several vertebrae in her neck and back, and many of her muscles screamed in protest. She flopped back down on the mattress quickly, unable to fully suppress a hissing grimace. She supposed her body was fighting through the injuries and overexertion of the past week, now that the adrenaline that had apparently masked her discomfort had been depleted.
She sighed carefully, rolling her shoulders and causing her t-shirt to crawl up her stomach. She shivered slightly, the coolness of the night air slipping beneath the sheets and resting next to her like an uninvited companion. She stood and reached for her coat, its wooly lining comforting her both physically and emotionally. She slid on her shoes and walked to the door, stepping into the hallway and promptly colliding with Wyatt Cain.
"Easy there, Princess." He caught her about the biceps and righted her. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?"
She regarded him closely. His jaw was tight, and though they tried to fool her, his eyes were not as light as they had been of late. "I could ask you the same thing."
He looked over her head, down the hall, apparently weighing his response.
"What's going on, Cain?" she prompted gently.
"Jeb and Doc aren't back yet," he replied in a low voice. "I think something's happened."
Shit. "How long have they been gone?"
"Eight hours."
She was more than a little peeved at having been allowed to sleep for so long, but turned that thought into a fleeting one, and focused on the concerned man in front of her. She could understand Jeb not returning—he was the man with the Resistance plan, after all—but the medic should have come back to the palace by now with Az's medicine. She didn't strike DG as flippant, either forgetting her promise to the Royal Family, or fooling them into believing she'd help the eldest princess, and then rescind her word.
"Okay." DG found her voice after a moment, and it was firm as she planned. "You and I will go back to the camp and find out what's keeping them."
She hadn't realized Cain's hands were still on her arms until he squeezed them gently, his thumbs rubbing light circles on her biceps. "Thanks, kiddo, but your place is here. Az needs you."
DG was torn between stubborn protestation and marked concern for her older sister. The latter eventually won out. "Is she okay?"
Cain sighed, his breath tickling her bangs. "She's out of it. Her breathing's still off, and it's becoming more labored."
"Then we have to go find the medic!" Fury, laced with just a smattering of fear, sparked behind her eyes. "She needs to help Az."
"I think, right now, you're of most help to your sister," Cain said quietly. "I'm going to investigate. Hopefully I'll be back within the hour."
"You can't go alone." DG crossed her arms indignantly. "I won't let you."
Amusement colored the Tin Man's cheeks.
"You won't what, Princess?"
Her index finger landed squarely in the center of his broad chest. "You heard me. You can't go in alone. Somebody has to have your back."
"I'll be fine, kiddo."
"Would you have let the men you led into battle go in blind and without backup?"
She could tell she'd hit a nerve when his eyes darkened. "The fighters that were here two days ago are either dead, Longcoats or at the camp already. I don't have much choice."
"Then let me go." A third voice joined the conversation, and DG turned to see her father striding ardently toward them. "I may be slightly out of practice, but it seems I'm all you've got." To his youngest daughter, Ahamo said, "I know you want to help, DG, but your place is here right now, with your mother and sister. Until we get the doctor back, I think the best thing for Azkadellia is to have your strength and magic mix with hers."
DG dropped her head in troubled consent, and jumped slightly when Cain's hand found hers. She turned her blue eyes on his, and found the softness she'd come to rely on had returned. "I'll take the Zipperhead, too. He was pretty helpful in getting us into the tower to find you and Raw."
"I'll go saddle some horses," Ahamo said, his own eyes investigating the scene between the princess and the Tin Man. "I'll meet you outside, Mr. Cain."
"Yes, sir," Cain replied, his gaze mostly resting on DG, though she knew he could multi-task enough to watch her father go. "I'll be fine, kiddo," he repeated. "Don't worry about me."
Impossible, she thought, but offered an unsteady smile anyway. "I will be extremely pissed if you get shot again."
He grinned at that, and after a moment of obvious hesitation, pulled her into a tight hug reminiscent of their embrace just before they stormed the tower. "I'll be back before you know it," he murmured, his lips brushing against the side of her face.
She was instantly cold as he strode away, never looking back.
If he thought they'd ridden hard trying to rescue DG from the tomb of the Grey Gale, Wyatt Cain was sorely mistaken.
He only half remembered rushing from the tower and mounting his horse. Ahamo and Glitch had already been waiting for him when he'd emerged. The Consort had lifted one of the abandoned Longcoat weapons, along with munitions for his gun, as well as Cain's. Once Cain had reloaded and safely holstered his pistol, the three men took off at a charge so fast it felt like the wind couldn't keep up with them.
They had to slow their pace as they left the light of the tower and were plunged into the thick darkness of the surrounding woods. Finally bringing their horses to a careful trot, Cain scoured the hillside, searching for signs of life from the Resistance camp.
"There," Glitch whispered, pointing to their right. "Torchlight."
Ahamo made to ride toward the orange glow, but Cain held out a hand to stop him from moving. "They'll hear us coming. We need to approach slowly. Leave the horses here."
The three men dismounted silently, each holding their breath until their feet rested safely on the ground. Cain took a tentative first step, waiting for the sound of crunching leaves, rustling branches, or disturbed animals to alert the fighters to their locations. Hearing nothing, he took another step, then another. He felt Glitch and Ahamo on either side of his elbows, and could feel apprehension mix with fury as they approached the camp.
He pulled his six-shooter from his side and quietly released the safety. Ahamo followed suit, and the three men crouched down about fifty yards from the edge of the clearing, hiding themselves among the overgrown grasses and brambles.
"I don't see Jeb," Glitch whispered, pulling out field glasses from Ozma only knew where. "Or the doctor."
"What do you see?" Cain whispered back, trying to count the number of men patrolling the perimeter of the camp.
"Two, no, three men around the outskirts. I can't see if they have any weapons." He dropped the binoculars. "Why would they leave the edges so open?"
"They don't have an enemy anymore," Ahamo said. "They've won."
"They need all available personnel on the prisoners," Cain added. "They'd take men from the borders to make sure the Longcoats don't get away before they can be transported to Central City Jail."
They inched closer, trying to gauge whether or not the guards were armed. As they moved stealthily through the brush, they started to hear sounds from the camp filtering in through the crickets' chirping.
"So then the bartender says to the Longcoat, 'We don't serve your kind in here.' And then the Longcoat says, 'You don't serve guys named Steve?'"
Thankfully, Glitch's groan at the horrible joke evaporated among the laughs of the unfortunate joketeller's comrades. The laughter faded away into a few chuckles and a rather loud hiccup, and Cain sent a thankful prayer to the heavens.
"They're drunk off their asses." Ahamo's voice was incredulously amused. "Hallelujah."
"Glitch," Cain said, "think you can take all three of 'em?"
"Gladly," the former Royal Advisor replied, and rose to his full height, striding toward the three men. "Gentlemen," he said quietly, gaining their attention but not alerting the other fighters to the rescue party's presence. As the three men turned toward him, teetering and off-kilter in their inebriation, Glitch disposed of two of them quickly with a hard kick to one's chest, sending him plowing into the other. The third tried to rush his attacker, but with a roundhouse kick to the head, he knocked the man out cold.
Glitch reached down and disarmed the unconscious man, holding his pistol on his woozy companions. Cain and Ahamo rushed into the clearing, checking the other two fighters for weapons. When one of the guards went to open his mouth and call for help, Cain rendered him immobile with a well placed strike to the temple.
Cain pressed his six-shooter to the remaining fighter's head. "Make a sound and it'll be your last," he growled.
The boy, no more than sixteen or seventeen annuals, looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes, and nodded shakily.
Cain knelt in front of him. "Jeb Cain. Where is he?"
The boy was trembling so badly that he looked as though he was having a seizure. Cain dropped the gun from the fighter's forehead to his chest, blazing eyes glinting in the torchlight. "Tell me where he is."
"He's…he's in Sergeant Macklin's tent."
"Is he being held captive?"
The boy's shaking stopped as raised his chin in defiance. "He's a traitor."
It took what little self-control Cain had left not to strike the boy for the affront. "What about Doc Lowry?"
The boy shook his head. "They had to make an example out of someone."
Cain's heart stopped in his chest, but did not show his abhorrence at the thought. "How many guards between here and Macklin's tent?"
The boy's eyes and boldness fell. "None. They're all guarding the brig."
"And where is that?" Ahamo's voice was just as cold as Cain's.
"Opposite side of the camp."
Thank Ozma for small miracles, Cain thought, and then pulled the boy to his feet. "Not one sound," he warned again. "Do not make a sound." He pushed the boy in front of him, his gun now pressed into the child's back. One shot would pierce his heart and put him down instantly.
It scared him how callously and quickly he'd trade one boy's life for another.
"Glitch," the Tin Man said, "think you can babysit the others and make sure we don't have any surprises?"
"Not a problem," the black-haired man replied, and as he crossed his arms importantly, Cain could see elements of Ambrose seeping through.
Cain shoved his hostage forward while Ahamo continued to scan their path for hostiles. As the men stepped silently through the clearing, Cain stopped when Ahamo pulled up short. "Did you hear that?" the Consort asked, inclining his head to the right.
In the stillness, they could hear the sickening crack of knuckles on bone coming from three tents away. The maniacal laughter that followed chilled Cain more than falling into the Northern Island lake ever could.
He heard his son's voice clearly over the taunts, and a tentative sense of relief flooded him. Jeb's voice was strong, as though he were in charge of the beating, and not on the receiving end of it.
Cain thrust the young fighter in front of him forward, walking the boy to the very edge of the tent. He forced the boy to the doorway, standing off to the side, remaining out of sight.
The laughter and hits stopped as the guard's presence was noted. "Saul?" A gruff, annoyed voice asked. "Why did you leave your post?"
"Say nothing," Cain mouthed silently, and the boy took a step back from the entrance, the Tin Man's gun pressed into his side.
"Saul?" The voice was getting closer now, and Cain could see a shadow moving toward the tent entrance. When the middle-aged man stepped toward the page, Cain blindsided him with a hard hook to the chin, sending him sprawling to the ground.
Then all hell broke loose.
Jeb Cain remembered the day he first met Ainsley Lowry as though it'd happened yesterday instead of almost six annuals ago. She'd hurried into one of the Resistance camps, her porcelain skin wrinkled with worry. She'd stopped to speak to a sentinel, her alto voice husky in its concern. The guard had quickly ushered her to their leader's tent, and Jeb had returned his attention to scouring field intelligence reports.
A shadow had passed over his notes and he'd squinted up toward the bright sunlight, shading his eyes with his hand. "Connors wants to see you," the second-in-command ordered. "Has a new mission for you."
Wordlessly, Jeb had risen from the table and strode toward the captain's tent. Barely sixteen annuals himself, he'd been fighting this damn war half his life. He led a liar's life, moving between strongholds, gathering information. His sharp mind and resolute determination had made him one of the best scouts this cell had ever seen, and Connors called on him more than any other, especially when he wanted the job done right.
When he'd entered the leader's tent, the newcomer was seated on the captain's cot, dark eyes fixated on the frayed lining of the canvas. Jeb had looked between the blonde and his captain, waiting for the older man to speak.
"Jeb Cain, I'd like you to meet Ainsley Lowry," Connors had said.
"Dan Lowry's kid?" He remembered his father mentioning the name several times. Lowry had headed up their safe haven network, connecting intelligence, supplies and fighters from one end of the O.Z. to the other.
She had closed her eyes at Jeb's words and looked down at the patch of grass growing in the center of the tent, blonde waves hiding her face from the two men.
"Mr. Lowry is missing," Connors continued. "Presumed taken."
Shit. If the Longcoats had him, their entire underground network was most likely compromised. "What do you want me to do, sir?"
"Find the truth," Connors had said, sparing a fleeting glance at the still-silent woman. "Try to determine how much collateral damage there is."
"Yes, sir." Jeb had walked out of the tent without the blonde doctor ever saying a word to him.
She was still at the camp when he returned six days later. She'd sat stoically as he relayed the awful reality—her father was being held, and most likely tortured, by the Sorceress for information. Jeb knew enough from the few fighters they'd managed to rescue over the annuals that he was most likely in a cell, receiving little food and water, and daily beatings.
They both knew what would happen if the Sorceress didn't get her information.
Dan Lowry was hanged less than four months later.
Her father had sent Ainsley to Central City to receive medical training, as well as to keep her away from any knowledge of how deeply he was involved in the Resistance. When she decided to stay and fight her father's murderer, the commanders had readily agreed. The opposition fighters needed bodies, especially Healers, and though she hadn't officially completed her training, her triage became the vast landscapes of the O.Z. Her patients were not fellow students with fictional diagnoses, but actual human beings. People were relying on a girl all of nineteen annuals old to save their lives.
Jeb and Adora moved between resistance cells over the next two annuals, and he forgot all about the silent medic until a standoff to the North left him and his men pinned for several days. When reinforcements from the nearest camp finally arrived and they were able to push the Longcoat faction back, his battered regiment had returned to the base with their brethren.
He'd been the last to be examined by the medic, and when the blonde walked in, he didn't recognize her. Her posture had hardened in the days that had passed, and her eyes held tales of adversity no one of her age—or any age, for that matter—should have endured. She'd leaned against her desk, scrutinizing him closely as he paced impatiently. "When'd you get that cut?" She'd asked, motioning to the gash in his arm.
He'd shrugged. "Couple days ago, I guess."
"It's infected."
"It's fine. I'm fine. I just want to get back to my men." He'd turned to leave, stopping short when she pressed her hand on the injury. "Shit!"
"Oh, yes, completely fine." She'd motioned to the exam table. "Sit."
He remembered thinking that he didn't have time for this bull. "Just stitch it up and I'll be on my way."
"The beauty of being the medic in charge, Lieutenant Cain, is that I give the all-clear as to when men can return to active duty. You're not going anywhere unless I say so."
He'd looked incredulously at her. "You're not serious."
She just smirked. "Try me." She'd pointed to the exam table again. "We walk out of here together, like it or not."
After a brief standoff in which he considered pulling his sidearm, he'd finally acquiesced and allowed her to examine him, and she'd ultimately declared him fit. He left the next day. This time, he did not forget about the pretty blonde medic with the acerbic wit.
If he were honest with himself, he'd started falling in love with her that day.
As he sat in his former second's tent, thinking off-handedly at the timing of his reminiscence, he looked across at Ainsley's now battered face. Admiration, along with something he didn't quite know how to define, swelled in his chest before he nudged her foot with his. She'd been drifting in and out of consciousness for the last few hours, and he could tell, from the little medical knowledge he had, that she probably had a concussion.
The movement woke her up, and though she was groggy, the medic could tell from the way his stiff body had relaxed that Jeb had been remembering something. She tilted her head slightly and painfully in silent questioning, and he just shook his head, eyes shining openly. She thought she'd known every look he had, had catalogued every nuance, but this was a look that she'd never seen before. This look warmed her with hope and resolve. This look convinced her that they would get out of this, one way or another.
The tent flaps opened, and they drew their eyes away from each other as their captors returned. The doctor tossed her bloody, sweaty hair away from her face and glared overtly as Macklin, Evans and Matheson entered the tent, followed by Linus, who was dragging a Viewer by a rusted chain collar bound around the animal's neck.
She and Jeb cried out at the same time, their angry protestations building upon the last until they were both nearly hoarse from screaming.
When did the lines between good and evil, between right and wrong, between Resistance and Longcoat get so blurry? she wondered, tears of pain for the furry prisoner stinging the cuts on her face.
Evans knelt in front of her, brandishing his knife. "You know how painful it is to be read by a Viewer, don't you, Doc? Especially for someone in…your condition."
"He can read me all he wants," she replied, her lips barely moving. "In fact, I'd like him to. That way, you'd know what assholes you are."
"No!" Jeb objected, pinning her with a glare that clearly told her to shut up. "He can read me."
Evans punched the young man in the nose, and blood flew like sparks. Disturbing laughter bounced off the low ceiling, but this time, the medic did not flinch.
Out of the corner of her eye, the doctor saw movement, and a shadowed human form blocked the light from the center campfire. The intrusion garnered the other men's attention as well. "Saul?" Matheson asked, looking away from their prisoners. "Why did you leave your post?"
The boy in the doorway did not say anything, and Matheson moved to him. "Saul?"
A strong fist connected with the interrogator's face and sent him flying to the ground outside. Macklin was outside in a flash, and he, too, was rushed, falling to the ground with a surprised grunt. The captives stared disbelievingly at the scene in front of them, and both hearts started to race as they saw a familiar duster fan out off the body who tackled Macklin.
Jeb was standing in an instant, his movement so quick that he surprised the remaining interrogator. The two men collided with unparalleled force when Jeb rushed at him. Both men fell with grunts to the ground, Jeb landing sideways, the weight of his shackles and the chair keeping him on his side.
Wyatt Cain and the Consort entered the tent then, guns drawn.
They were a second too late.
Evans was up before Jeb even had a moment to catch his breath. With the ease of a man half his age, Evans rolled until he shielded himself behind the medic. His knife was still in his right hand, and she shivered when the cold metal touched her neck.
"One step and she bleeds out like the animal she is."
Cain didn't move from the entrance, his pistol cocked and aimed at Evans' head. Ahamo sat Jeb upright, and the two men fought to remove the constraints.
Evans pressed the blade fuller into the doctor's neck, and she felt a new stream of blood weave its way down her skin, over and through the welts and bruises.
She closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing. Her pulse boomed loudly in her ears, rendering her temporarily deaf, and she was shocked when she heard Jeb's voice, loudly and clearly. Look at me.
She opened her eyes, and saw that he'd been freed from his bindings and was standing in front of his father and the Consort. His eyes were trained on her, laser-like, wide and commanding. Trust me.
She nodded gently, the movement cutting her skin as Evans held steadfast.
This time, Jeb spoke aloud. "You have one chance, Evans. Give it up."
The medic hissed as the blade dug deeper, and she realized with increasing terror that he was just above her carotid artery. One deeper, longer cut, and she'd bleed out in under a minute.
She heard Jeb's voice in her head again. Focus, Doc. Focus on me.
She tried to square her jaw in resolution around her trembling. I've got you, his eyes assured her. We walk out of here together, remember?
He tilted his head faintly to his right, and rolled his shoulder just enough that she'd see the movement. His hand rested openly on his thigh, and she moved her gaze to it as it began counting down three fingers.
When only his index finger and thumb remained open against his brown pant leg, she used the last of her energy, praying it would mix with the adrenaline she felt coursing through her veins, and leaned forward, rolling herself away from the blade and toward the ground.
Evans went down with a shot to the head before she landed in the dirt.
Jeb rushed to her and unhooked her quickly. She sprawled on the ground with a groan, and stars filled her eyes at the onslaught of pain.
Two strong hands eased her to her knees. She could not see her rescuers through the blurring, excruciating tears. "Can you walk?" Wyatt Cain asked breathlessly, looking over his shoulder.
She nodded, and he helped her to her feet. Jeb was right next to her, hooking a sturdy, protective arm around her waist as they fled from the tent. "Wait," she cried softly, and Jeb stopped to look at her. "What about the Viewer? We can't just leave him here with these…animals."
Cain searched the clearing quickly. "He's gone, probably escaped to the woods. We need to go."
The words had barely left his mouth when the first bands of supporting fighters came to investigate the shot.
"This way!" Glitch stood in front of them, one hand holding a torch, the other motioning hurriedly.
The sudden onslaught of the pitch black surroundings disoriented the fleeing parties. In their absence, Glitch had extinguished each of the light sources, save for the one in his hand, so they wouldn't be easily followed once the rescue mission had succeeded.
Cain had only been more thankful for the Zipperhead one other time. Well, maybe two.
Their pursuers successfully hindered by the lack of illumination, the rescue party and captives reached the horses quickly, stepping over the bodies of the two downed guards. Cain all but threw Jeb onto a horse, and father and son helped ease the medic onto the saddle behind him. Only the comfort of her pack behind her, and Jeb in front, kept the medic upright.
The skies opened up a stinging rain as they fled the place once called home.
"Doc!"
"Miss Lowry!"
The shouts in the hallway roused Azkadellia from unconsciousness. The horizon was starting to lighten from its navy inkiness to a dull grey, and rain slipped down the windows as the heavens wept. As the awareness of the morning slipped into her understanding, she realized that the previous night had been the first time since she was a child that she hadn't woken up screaming.
She jumped as the door thundered open, and smiled slightly when she heard gruff, muttered curses coming from the doorway.
Her amusement evaporated quickly.
The eldest princess gasped in abject horror when she saw her doctor's bloodied, bruised form limp into her chambers. Her sudden intake of breath set her to choking again, and she fought against the shuddering coughs.
The medic was to her side as quickly as her injured body allowed. "Breathe," she ordered through her swollen mouth. When the spasms only continued, getting worse as the princess attempted to demand what had transpired, the blonde doctor lost what little hold she had on her patience. "Damn it, Azkadellia, breathe!"
The coughs sputtered to a fast halt, and the brunette looked up at the doctor amusedly. "Well, when you say it like that…"
Ainsley closed her puffy eyes. "Your Highness, I'm sorry. That was extremely out of line."
Azkadellia covered the doctor's hand reassuringly. "Don't worry. What happened to you?"
"That's not important now." She reached into her pocket with her good arm and pulled out her stethoscope, which had thankfully—and rather stupidly, she thought—been secured in her pack and kept tied to her horse during her interrogation. "Breathe as deeply as you can," she requested, listening to Azkadellia's chest. The heart murmur was much less pronounced, though the speed of her heartbeat still irked the medic. Though if I woke up and saw someone looking half as bad as I feel right now, I'd probably be a little peaked, she thought.
"Your breathing isn't as strong as I'd like it to be," she informed the brunette. "Unfortunately, I wasn't able to acquire the respiratory stimulants necessary to assist you." Anger was evident both in her tone and across her features. She was losing her neutrality, along with her ability to focus. Step back.
DG, the Queen and Consort had joined them in the room during the doctor's examination. Both parents visibly flinched when the medic turned and gave a half-curtsy, holding on tightly to the side of the bed as she did so.
"How can we help you, Doctor?" Ahamo asked, steadying his wife with an arm around her waist.
Ainsley looked down at Azkadellia, thinking quickly. "How many floors are in this tower?"
Azkadellia shrugged gently. "Dozens. Why?"
"Would any of the lowest floors be suitable to establish a bedroom for you?"
"Is it absolutely necessary to move her, when she is so weak already?" the Queen asked.
Ainsley looked sadly at Azkadellia's parents. "Due to the…unforeseen circumstances of last night, I was unable to procure any of the medicines I'd hoped to. I'll need to go to the Central City apothecary and find what I've lost, but in the interim, I think the best thing we can do is get Azkadellia to lower ground. The air is too thin up here; at a lower level, I don't think she'll struggle to breathe as badly."
"I'll go look," DG offered. "We'll find you a room with a view, Az, don't worry."
"Thank you, my darling," her mother replied, and the youngest brunette ran from the room, the squeaking of her sneakers echoing long after she'd left the marble hallway.
"The Longcoats had a medical ward, experimental though it may have been," Azkadellia said softly after a moment. "You're welcome to raid their stores if you are not up to traveling in your current condition."
"Thank you, Your Highness," the medic replied. "I'll certainly do that."
"After you get yourself cleaned up," the Queen ordered, stepping from her husband's embrace. "It will not do to have the Royal Medic looking worse than her patient."
Royal Medic. Ainsley shook her head immediately. "Thank you, Your Majesty, but I cannot accept such a title, not when I've yet to assist your family in any major capacity."
"Your presence is assistance and comfort enough." Azkadellia's voice was even quieter, her words meant solely for the medic's ears alone. The blonde looked down at the brunette, whose face was impassive, but whose dark eyes shone with a gratitude the medic wasn't sure she'd seen in any patient before.
Someone cleared their throat from the doorway. The room's occupants turned to see Jeb and Wyatt Cain, along with Raw, standing behind two wheelchairs. Azkadellia flinched at the sight; the last time one of those chairs had been used had been right before she…the Witch, she corrected mentally, had murdered the Mystic Man.
"DG found a room downstairs for you, Your Highness," Cain said, and the eldest princess was thankful his words drew everyone's attention momentarily away from her. "She and Glitch are setting it up now."
Ahamo took the wheelchair from the Tin Man and rolled it to his daughter's beside. "Your chariot, m'lady," he said with a smile, lifting her from the bed and into the seat.
Before her father turned to escort her out and to her new chambers, Azkadellia grasped Ainsley's hand. "Take care of yourself, and young Mr. Cain. I'm not going anywhere." When the medic began to protest, the brunette held up a hand. "I insist, Doctor Lowry. Please."
"As you wish, Your Majesty," the doctor replied, and watched, frustrated, as they wheeled her patient away.
Jeb stood in the doorway for a moment before entering the room fully, his muddied boots against the marble floor causing an uncomfortable squishing sound. He shut the door behind him and while he turned to physically face the medic, his eyes were downcast, his hands shoved deeply in his pockets.
"Don't." Her voice was hoarse from the beating and exhaustion. "Don't you dare blame yourself for this, Jeb Cain. I'm really not in the mood for kicking your ass right now."
She was shocked to see tears filling his eyes when he finally looked up at her. "They almost killed you today. Because of me."
"No." She was emphatic, and as much as it pained her to go to him so quickly, she crossed the room in three great strides. She tried not to wince as he flinched away when she raised her hand to cup his cheek. She would not be deterred, however, and ran her thumb over his cheekbone. "You kept me alive out there. Just like you always have."
His breath hitched in his chest and he pulled her to him with shaking hands, holding her as tightly as he dared, given her dislocated shoulder. She felt his tears as they cascaded down her cheeks, mixing with her own, the salt stinging the cuts marring her skin. She felt the rumble of the first sob as it erupted from his chest, and she tightened her arm around his neck, cradling him to her. "I'm fine." She tried to sound soothing around her own pain and fear. "I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere."
"Promise me."
She must have hesitated an instant too long, for he pulled back, his eyes and face blotchy from his crying. She feared he'd pull away emotionally, too, when he took a half-step away from her. Instead, he touched their foreheads together and rested his hands on her hips. "I can't lose you, Doc. Not like I've lost everything else."
"Think about this," she urged, a smile coming to her face among the bruises and the blood. "Who else would put up with your sorry ass?"
He laughed wetly at that, and then fleetingly pulled her mouth to his, his lips resting against hers when he spoke, voice no more than a whisper. "You deserve better."
"I know."
He smiled again and pulled her into another hug, and she could feel him trying to find and articulate the words that had, until this point, remained unspoken between them. She leaned back and pressed her index finger to his lips. "I know, Jeb."
She had to grin at the relief on his face. "You really do pay attention, don't you, Doc?"
She could not reply, for there was a harried knock against the door, and the two all but leapt away from each other. They did not have time to bid their visitor entry, for by the time they found their voices again, DG was already in the room, looking as pale as her sister had, and equally frightened.
"You need to come right now. Az is in trouble."
End Chapter Four