Misha sat in the hall outside a closed door. The team knew, even before they handed Mike Donovan over to the Visitors, they would have to relocate due to the threat of him being forced into disclosing their location. They were now at a compound of several one level buildings that circled a lighthouse. The beauty of the place gave a deeper sense of irony to the hellish circumstances the Resistance faced.
Behind the door, Julie was examining Sean. Misha's knees twitched as she squirmed on the bench. She had put off letting Julie do a follow up exam, but she had run out of excuses. Julie backed her into a corner by telling Sean that she would take a look at the two of them. Realizing Julie was trying to take the edge off for Sean's sake, Misha didn't argue.
The door swung open and Julie popped her head out. She smiled at Misha and announced, "Next victim, please."
Sean was off the exam table, concentrating on the top two buttons of his shirt. Misha pulled him to her and kissed the top of his head. Sean pulled away without returning affection.
"Ah, you are getting too grown up for me, huh?" she said, swatting him playfully.
"Can I go now?" he asked Julie.
"Sure, go ahead," she answered, shooting Misha a sideways glance.
Misha shrugged and heaved herself onto the table. "How is he?" she asked when Sean was out of earshot.
Julie sighed. "Physically, he's fine. He's been through so much. He needs someone like you who understands."
"Well, I don't understand what he went through," Misha snipped, "No one really could."
Julie nodded and raised her hands. "Let's take a look at you," she said to change the subject.
Misha leaned back on the exam table and let Julie lift her left leg, stretching it out and then pushing her knee to her chest. Misha winced when Julie pushed the right leg up.
"Still sore, huh?" Julie asked.
"Yeah, pretty bad." Misha answered, blowing out a breath that she had held in anticipation of pain.
Julie pushed and prodded around on Misha's legs, hips, and lower back. Then she extended her hand to help Misha sit up.
"So," Julie began, "what about your anxiety? Have you been sleeping? Any unsettling thoughts?"
"Still not great. I'm sleeping better – well, I was sleeping better…" Misha answered, and then laughed without humor. "Isn't everyone a little paranoid right now?" she asked, confronting Julie's euphemism.
"Yes, and that's understandable. But I want you to promise me that you'll come to me if it starts to get out of hand. Will you?" Julie leaned close to look up into Misha's eyes.
"Yes."
"Ok. You can work, but no heavy lifting or standing in one place for long periods of time." Julie said as she helped Misha down from the table.
Misha stopped and looked down at Julie. "Hey, I'm sorry I snapped at you. I appreciate you letting me come back."
Julie, several inches shorter than Misha, threw her arms around Misha's waist. "Oh, now… You know you've always been welcome with us. You just needed a break. You had to have a break."
Misha pulled away. Feelings of guilt crept up from the back of her mind. "Yeah, I know. But thank you." She looked out the window. "I'm supposed to help in the kitchen, so I better go. I know – no lifting, no standing," Misha said, heading off any protests.
After nightfall, Misha sat cross-legged in the floor facing her narrow bed. She didn't have a roommate – yet. Making friends always came easy for her, but since being back she hadn't been enthused about connecting to anyone.
She lifted the covers that hung below the bed rail and pulled the handle of a guitar case towards her. She pushed the case to the top of the bed, but stopped short before pulling the blanket back into place. She spotted a large, worn cardboard box. She slid the box from under the bed and flipped off the top. Several loose photos and albums, cards in torn open envelopes, folded letters, scribbled notes and drawings on small pieces of paper, ticket stubs, and other small trinkets filled the box. She carefully lifted several small items out and examined them. Notes from her friends…cards from her family…a rally button from college…badges from her uniforms…she let her mind skim over each memory as she laid the items in her lap. She lifted a large photo album out and leafed through the pages. Most photos were from her youth; only a few of the pictures were from her adult years. She laughed when she came across one of her standing on a rock, her arm around Mike's shoulders, both of them smiling broadly. She wondered how happy they really were back then. Misha thought of all the things in their former lives that so easily robbed them of joy. It all seemed like nothing compared to the current circumstances. Although she had only been able to see Mike a handful of times after high school, he was one of the only extended family members she had kept in touch with during college and her military service. Misha closed the album and looked down to the bottom of the box. There, double wrapped in plastic bags, was a smaller box with pictures and letters from a past relationship. She felt her stomach knot. If it weren't for the fear of regret, the box would have been disposed of. She knew she should have let someone close to her get rid of it without telling her the means of destruction. She had considered sending the photos of him back to his family, but knew it would stir up flames of wrath that had – at least that she was aware of – subsided. She didn't dare pull out the box; she knew what was in there, and the memories burned enough without looking at the contents. She placed the loose contents back into the box, replaced the lid, and slid it back under the bed. Misha reached for her guitar, one of the only remaining comforts in her new life.