Author's Notes: Are we having fun yet??edited for corrections, continuity and plotline, blahblahblah...ES
Disclaimers: See previous chapter, we don't feel like retyping it.
Lethe
She woke to a sense of confusion, her instincts holding her still and motionless as she tried to remember where she was. The scent of chemicals tickled her senses and she recognized the antiseptic stink of hospital. She wondered why she would have been in hospital but it didn't come to her. A strange sensation distracted her from her thoughts, too strange to be real but she knew it after a moment's thought.
Someone's hand was holding hers, their roughened thumb tracing a circle upon the back of her hand. She immediately wondered who had the temerity to touch her.
The repetitive stroking was pleasant and comforting, oddly familiar but alien too. It seemed somehow reassuring, the gesture radiating kindness. That made no sense for she didn't know kindness or anyone who would bother to be kind to her. Stealthily, she turned her head to look at the contact, curious as to who had their hand on hers.
A dark haired man, his eyes closed, sat beside her, his hand wrapped around hers as he stroked her skin with his thumb. His free hand was loosely fisted on the bed. She studied him silently until he suddenly opened his eyes, the deep brown gaze full of worry. Finding her looking at him, he smiled, pleasure spreading across his weary face.
"Hullo."
She lifted a brow at him, unimpressed. "Who the hell are you?"
He flinched, visibly startled at her tone, and his brown eyes turned puzzled. "Clarissa?"
"That was my name last I checked," she said tartly. "Let's try again: Who the hell are you and how dare you touch me?" She glanced pointedly at the hand holding hers.
"Clarissa?" His fingers tightened on hers, the press of them seeming to go to her throat. She reacted as trained, lips twisting into a snarl.
"That's not your name." She glared at him. "Where are my guards? Who allowed you into this room?" She struggled to sit up but her body protested the movement, pain cutting across her stomach with vicious claws. She fought against the pain, gritting her teeth in a silent grimace. The man leaned closer, his scent warm and woodsy.
"Clair?" he murmured, frowning.
"Don't call me that. You don't know me well enough to call me that." She snatched back her hand, her voice deadly as she leaned farther from him. "Why am I in hospital? Where is Dr. Stanton?"
"Stanton?" The name came out in an astonished gasp. "Clarissa, Stanton has been dead for nearly three years."
She shook her head at him. "Don't be ridiculous! Atherton would never allow any other physician to touch me." She scowled. "Where the bloody fuck am I?"
The door to her room opened to admit a nurse. Clair addressed her sourly. "I wish to leave. Call my car and arrange my discharge at once please."
The man shook his head, climbing stiffly to his feet. "You can't leave." He waved the nurse away, never taking his eyes from Clair. "You've had surgery, and you've not healed enough to go."
"You're barking mad." She eased away from him warily, seeking the edge of the hospital bed as she watched him for any threat. "I am leaving here, at the earliest possible moment. You may leave my room in the interim." She put one foot on the floor and eased into a standing position, keeping the bed between them. The room wobbled annoyingly and she breathed deeply until the sensation passed. "Damn, I feel like shit." She shook her head. "It's never felt like this before." She forced her reluctant body to go to the cupboard. There was nothing inside. Annoyed she grunted and slammed the door shut. "Where the hell are my clothes?"
The door opened to admit two men. Clair's face paled, her brows knitted in confusion. "What is this madness?" she whispered. "You're both dead!"
"Hardly, Clair," Caine retorted. "Nothing keeps an Avery down, I see?"
She clenched a hand over her heart, staring at him. Caine hesitated, brows knitting in confusion as he returned the gesture, opening his hand toward her, palm out. Clair lunged for him then, gasping when he wrapped his arms around her, her pain forgotten in the long-missed familiarity of his embrace.
"You're alive!" she whispered brokenly into his ear, her arms around his neck. "Oh, my brother, you're really here!" She looked through watery eyes at the taller brother behind him. "You both are alive?"
"I always said you were the smart one, love." Caine picked her up and carted her back to the bed. "Although not necessarily all the time." He put her down gently. "What are you doing out of bed? You need to rest."
"Atherton gave you back to me," she said jubilantly, clutching at his arms to keep him close. "Either he thought I wasn't going to live or he has something planned." She looked up at him adoringly, clinging to his hand. "Oh, Caine, like old times, no?"
"Not quite," the big man answered, glancing uneasily toward the stranger beside the bed. She caught his look and frowned at the interloper.
"I thought I told you to go," she said pointedly. The dark man shook his head.
"I never agreed to it."
"Your agreement is unnecessary." She gave him a long cool stare then dismissed him with a toss of her head. "It's my hospital room, my life, my decision. Get the fuck out of my room."
"Clair." Bram spoke up, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. "Don't speak so to Eric."
She glanced at her brother curiously. "Why not?" she demanded. "He laid his hand on me, Bram, and he's apparently deranged. He thinks I've had surgery…"
"You have had, lovey." Bram sat gingerly on the foot of her bed facing her, his exquisite features serious and concerned. "Eric has been watching over you for us." She considered his statement, frowning as she flicked a glance between him and the dark-haired man.
"I don't know him, Brother mine." She tilted her head back as a spasm of pain shot through her. "He doesn't seem like part of the flock."
Bram's worried expression changed to something more guarded. "He is our...friend, love."
"But I don't know his face, Bram. I have no frame of reference for him... Is he new to the local fold or a hired hand?" She drew in a deep breath, her eyes closing involuntarily as Caine's hand rested lightly upon her shoulder.
"He has but newly arrived, Clair." Bram murmured, reaching out to touch her arm. "He is trustworthy."
"New but you trust him?" Clair shook her head, opening her eyes to look at the pretty man in disbelief. "What does Grandfather think of that?"
"The shepherd has no opinion, Clair."
She went still, her face blanking into a mask. "What does that mean?" she asked, her tone suddenly taut with concern. Bram looked at Caine and then back to Clair.
"The Shepherd is missing."
"Missing?" Clair stiffened, pain forcing her to gasp as she tried to lean forward. "How did that happen? What is happening with the flock?"
"The flock is scattered, without the Shepherd to guide it." Caine's voice came from her side, the tone low as he leaned closer to her. Clair blinked up at him, confused by their news, her fine brows knitting in concentration. The silence lengthened as she stared up at Caine, her body tense as a bowstring, pain all but forgotten as she wrestled with their information.
"Then where is the new shepherd, Bram? Have the wolves come?" She shook her head as she asked the questions and the room wobbled dangerously around her. She pressed a trembling hand to her forehead as tremors passed though her. "I don't understand. There are contingencies and protocols that should have been followed, that should have prevented such a thing..."
"Rest now, lovey," Bram urged, laying a hand on the blanket covering her thigh . "It's not important now and you need to heal a bit more..."
She snarled her reply at him, eyes flashing with fury. "An Avery doesn't ignore their duty, Bram!"
"But it's not your duty, Clair. There's nothing to be done." The handsome brother patted her gently. "You aren't the one in charge..."
"Of course I am!" she hissed. "As an Avery, I am responsible, just as you and Caine are. It's in our blood, Bram. England prevails because we make it so!"
He recoiled before her anger before giving her a quick nod. Clair sank back against her pillows as exhaustion threatened to overcome her. The three men waited as she gathered her strength, watching her with varied expressions: anticipation, horror, and confusion.
"I know what to do," she said into the silence, her eyes closed. "I remember the path to safety and I shall carry the crook until either the shepherd returns or another is appointed." She tipped her head back, suddenly tired. "You both will help me gather the flock before the feast."
"As you will have it," Bram whispered. He lifted haunted eyes to Eric, shaking his head at the man. "For now, Clair, just rest. If you're good, you can leave here in a few days." Bram patted her leg reassuringly.
She yawned as her exhaustion overcame her will. "Change days to hours," she protested sleepily. "And we'll all go home to Burlwood together."
-
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-
A few moments later in the corridor, Eric rounded on the brothers. "What the hell was all that about?"
Bram cleared his throat and tried to explain.
"We need Mim. Uncle Stephen too." he said, looking toward Caine. The bigger man was impassive as he stared at Bram. The taller of the brothers fidgeted. "Something isn't quite right."
"Why?" Eric felt frustrated by Bram's hesitation; the man seemed unsettled. He watched as Bram shifted nervously, a strange reaction in the usually calm brother. Caine folded his arms over his broad chest and waited for Bram to continue. "The way she acted, something she said," the Inspector continued. "It upset you."
Bram leaned against the wall and blew out an exasperated sigh. "She asked if you were in the fold. Remember?" At Eric's nod, he continued. "Her question about the fold, were you in the fold or a hired hand? About the Shepherd?" Eric scowled. Bram nodded. "When she said she will carry the crook, she meant that she will be shepherd until the old one returns or his replacement is named."
"What does that mean?"
"It's code," Caine rumbled quietly. His brown eyes were almost black as he looked down at the Inspector. "Old codes, long unused." Bram nodded in agreement, but his eyes were haunted by old memories.
"But not forgotten," Eric pointed out. "What do the words mean?" Bram licked his lips anxiously.
"The flock means the Fingermen, Mr. Finch, and the shepherd stands for Grandfather."
Eric's eyes widened. "Has she gone mad?" he demanded incredulously. "She's not a Fingerman, Bram. She's been out of their hands for nearly two years!"
Bram moved nervously toward Caine, automatically seeking the comfort of his brother's solid presence. "I don't know," he whispered, glancing at the door of Clair's room. "But that wasn't our Clair. Something is very wrong with her, Mr. Finch."