Author's Notes: In honor of my brand new router and reestablished Internet connection, y'all get two chapters today. Aren't you special?
All weapon information mentioned in this chapter is factual. There's also some physical character injury, though not to the extent of previous chapters.
Thanks to all of you gentle readers for sticking with me. It means more than words could ever say. I love you as much as I love that dirty water.
Alamo Girl, Meredith Paris and Padme Kenobi: Danke. A lot. Like, whoa.
This chapter is for Asphalt Angel, whose story "The Good Witch" is the freaking BEST post-Eclipse wartime fic I have ever, ever seen. Period. End of discussion. I can only hope I find one/one thousandth of your brilliance in describing this scenario. Seriously, guys, if you haven't read that yet, RUN. I'll still be here when you get back.
Disclaimer in Chapter One.
Chapter Ten: And So It Begins
The early morning fog began to burn away beneath the rising suns, but the skies only darkened as the morning progressed. The thunderous rumbles of gunfire shook the rubble around the tower, and the smells that had permeated the air immediately after the Eclipse soured the landscape as though they had never left.
Wyatt Cain sat astride his horse, watching as the opposition forces came further into focus. He thought back to the last time he'd seen the enemy approach—the last stand at Central City. He'd been terrified then, though he never outwardly showed his fear. His heart had been in his throat for most of the standoff, but he never wavered; he'd had men to lead, just as he did now. But this time, he was simply numb as he heard DG attempt one final time to stop the inevitable. The kid never knows when to leave well enough alone, he thought.
Eyes scanning the approaching army, he was surprised to find himself thinking of what might have become of him if the "kid" had stayed on the path laid out for her. He'd found himself thinking a lot about DG since the night before, when he'd not even tried to find respite, knowing his shattered heart and soul would never fully be at peace again.
If the kid knew to leave well enough alone, she never would have let the Witch out. The Sorceress wouldn't have come to power. His wife and son would still be alive.
If the kid knew to leave well enough alone, she wouldn't have come charging in to save your family armed with nothing more than a stick, his head reminded him. You'd still be in that hell hole. You wouldn't have gotten to know your son again, no matter how brief the reunion may have been.
He had to admit begrudgingly, though not without a startled tint of pride, that the kid had done a lot of good since she'd barreled unceremoniously into his life. Whether he'd realized it before or not, she'd helped him push aside the all-consuming hatred, the unending blackness that had defined him for so long. They'd helped each other realize that the past was already done, and the future—one he never thought he'd have—was a slowly walked path, not a marathon, and it could only start with one, tiny step, borne of forgiveness.
She made him feel human again.
He thought back to the second or third night they'd spent in the tower, after she'd started to panic and had broken down in front of him. He recalled his words with embarrassment; he'd opened himself up to her in a way he'd never considered he could, and in a way that left him open and vulnerable, paramount sins in his book. But he found now that he still stood by his sentiments, no matter how emotional he'd been when he said them. They had to move forward. They had to take the hand dealt to them, and make the best play they could, no matter how lousy the cards.
She'd done what she thought was right. In the end, he couldn't fault her for that, as much as he might want to. He may not have been able to forgive her fully just yet, but he had to respect the fact that she'd fought tooth and nail for what she believed in. She'd been willing, more than once, to sacrifice herself for the cause, to save another man's life.
Just like he had.
She made him feel things he'd forgotten how to feel, and silently supported him no matter his confusion or discomfort; she did not waver, even when he did. Especially not now. There she was, standing on the balcony, calling out a desperate plea to an even more desperate army, though she had to have known it would be futile. She was as strong as he'd ever seen her, unwilling to stand down.
She was keeping her word to him. She was going to end this, one way or another.
He realized that he'd already kept his promise to the Mystic Man. He'd stayed with her at all costs. And he'd continue to do so.
The first gunshot spooked several of the horses on his right, and the untrained riders were nearly thrown as the steeds bucked beneath them. Cain thrust his inopportune musings away and urged his mount into action, circling in front of the riders. There was no pep talk this time, no words of wisdom to be imparted. Each of the soldiers had their own reasons for being there, stronger and more influential than anything he could have thought to say.
The opposition fired again, and Cain called out to the sharpshooters entrenched and shielded by the boulders around the base of the tower. "Fire in the hole!"
Gunfire sent a cloud of smoke billowing back toward him, and he turned his horse toward the west, away from the rolling blackness. He heard the men reload and fire again, and heard the first cries of "Man down! Man down!" as they carried over the loud rumbling. He closed his eyes momentarily, letting the first yells settle the reality of another meaningless death over him.
The opposition was spread in a straight line, the ends of which curved toward the horizon, so many in number that he thought it could have stretched to the Other Side and back. Their strongest firepower was at the front of the company, and they expertly trained return fire on the foxholes in front of the tower.
He saw one of his own men's guns fire toward the sky as the boy fell backward, legs and a spurt of blood flying vertically like a geyser. Cain watched as the dead man's comrade moved his body out of the way, shut the boy's unseeing eyes, and took the dead soldier's pistol in his other hand, firing double-fisted.
The rebels continued their march toward the tower, the heavy, timed cadence deliberate and determined. The royal sharpshooters were outnumbered at least three to one, and were spread thin behind the protective boulders. Bullets flew ever closer toward the tower, zipping past the guards' heads. Most of his men were able to dodge the projectiles, but Cain saw a second spurt of crimson as another sharpshooter went down.
He dismounted from his horse and went to the foxhole, taking a gun from the pile of munitions they'd gathered after the declaration of war had been sent. He missed the relative ease of his six-shooter; this automatic machine gun was wobbly atop the trench wall, and scalded his fingers as they fed the ammunition through. The report and kick-back of the weapon momentarily deafened him, but he kept his hands as steady and sturdy as possible, seeking out as many rebel fighters as he could.
The opposition was curling into a tighter semi-circle, and Cain could see they were creating a squared formation to protect and replace their fighters as the battle continued. The boxed men maintained their approach, albeit more slowly now.
"Incoming!" someone yelled, and the Captain looked up to see a grenade hurtling toward them. He leapt over the two youngest soldiers next to him, flattening them to the ground and waiting for the inevitable explosion. When it did not come, he knew his disbelieving mutterings were being echoed by the enemy.
"Look!" one of the soldiers shouted, pointing up toward the tower.
Cain craned his head and saw the grenade suspended in mid-air, surrounded by a ball of white light. DG's face was red from the effort of trying to keep it from discharging. Even from his vantage point dozens of floors below, he could see the sheen of exertion dotting the princess's brow.
Then, the pulsing white light became blinding, and Cain, along with soldiers from both sides, shielded their faces. He could make out that a second figure had joined DG on the balcony, and knew that Az was mixing her magic to help her sister protect the tower.
What in the hell are they doing, still outside and exposed? He wondered, momentarily angry. He answered himself in the next breath. Saving your life. Again.
"The Sorceress!" someone on the opposition cried, and a hail of gunfire erupted again, this time pointed at the balcony above him. The white light fell suddenly, as did the grenade, and upon impacting in the trench below, the smell of burning flesh assailed the Tin Man's senses. Knowledge—information he wished to the gods he didn't know— told him they'd just lost half a dozen men with the inadvertent direct hit.
The rebels were focused on trying to take Az out, and Cain immediately knelt against the edge of the rock trench to take advantage of their momentary distraction. "Fire in the hole!" he urged again, feeding the automatic weapon and sweeping it across the enemy front line. There was a sickening sort of satisfaction as he saw several horses and riders go down, and he watched as their medics dodged bullets to retrieve the wounded.
The second line of rebels took their fallen comrades' places, and continued to hurl small caliber gunfire into the tower trenches. Cain found there was something disturbingly dirty about using Longcoat automatic weaponry in an effort to defend someone that, up until only a few weeks ago, he too believed should die for her crimes.
A second grenade flew in and rolled to the end of the trench. Without hesitation or conscious thought, Cain picked it up and hurled it back to the center of the battlefield. When it exploded, it caught the unburned end of one of the charges Jeb had laid when they stormed the tower the night of the Eclipse.
The detonation was deafening, and startled horses and riders on both sides. Cain couldn't help but smile; even though he was gone, his son was still fighting the good fight.
He didn't have time to send a thankful prayer to the heavens above, for the explosion shook the tenuous trenches around him. Chunks of rock, both from the boulders behind which he knelt, and pieces from the tower, began to rain down. He felt a large piece gash the side of his temple, and tasted the blood as it ran down his cheek and to the corner of his mouth.
"Captain!" someone called through the throbbing of his head, and it took a moment for his right eye to focus on his gunnery sergeant. "Do you need the medic?"
Cain shook his head. "Keep firing!" he ordered."We need to take out as many as we can."
His vision partially blurred, he trained the weapon back on the formation in front of him. The Royal Guards' armaments were stronger, but the opposition had them dead to rights in sheer manpower. A sinking feeling rooted his pressed knees further into the ground; once the bullets ran out, it would be all too easy for the opposition to ride in and take them as prisoners of war.
The gravel shifted beside Cain, and he had to fully turn away from the battle, squinting, to see Glitch crawling along the base of the foxhole. "They aren't moving from their formation," the advisor said, automatically cowering as Cain released another set of rounds on the opposition flank.
"They don't need to," Cain replied, hands burning from the quickly overheating metal of the automated gun. "They're just going to wait us out."
"What if we were able to force them back somehow?"
Cain wiped at the trail of sweat and blood curling down his cheek. "What are you suggesting?"
"According to my calculations, if we take some of the men from the north and south walls of the tower, we can surround them and take more out that way."
"If we take personnel from the north and south walls of the tower, those sides will be left defenseless. We're trying to protect the Queen, not give them an open-door policy to get to her!"
Glitch pursed his lips for a moment, and then spoke as another round of gunfire rained down on them, singeing his army coat. "I found more of Jeb's unused charges from the night of the Eclipse. We could relocate them; lay them down and surround the rebel formation. We'll keep a small group ready to detonate." At Cain's silence, Glitch, sounding very much like Ambrose in the moment, said, "They're waiting for us to tire out, or kill ourselves, Cain. They want us to hang ourselves. If we can surprise them by outflanking them, we have to do it."
Before Cain had a chance to reply, he noticed sharp, shiny objects arcing toward their location. "Everybody down!" he yelled, tackling Glitch as he had his gunnery mates. He heard a soft, feminine grunt from behind him and turned, seeing a young woman with a poisoned dart protruding from her neck. Her eyes were as blue as DG's, with hair as dark, and for one horrific moment, he could not see the nameless girl's face, but instead saw the princess—his princess, no matter his reticence to admit it— lying there, seizing as the poison worked through her tiny body.
He felt a hand pulling on his arm, and turned his attention back to Glitch. "You want me to do this or not, Cain?" the former advisor asked.
Cain finally nodded, the image of dead blue eyes finally fading from his own retinas. "We'll need a decoy. They can't notice you coming."
Glitch nodded at him. "I'll find one," he promised. "We'll make this work."
"I want you and the Consort to take whatever you need. Gather the charges and see if you can surround their rear flanks. It'll be easier to take out the weakest link."
Glitch nodded, starting to make his way out of the foxhole. Stopping, he waited for an instant before turning back to Cain, extending his hand. "In case I turn in to the sitting duck, it's been a pleasure, Wyatt Cain."
The Tin Man's left eye blurred as much as his right eye, which still remained cloudy from the shrapnel hit. "Today ain't the day to lose anybody else, Glitch, least of all you. I owe ya one, remember? Now, go!"
Glitch crawled along his stomach through the trenches, and then took off at a mad dash to the opposite side of the tower. Cain looked up again, intending to send a wholehearted prayer to beings he only halfheartedly believed in. He caught sight of DG still on the balcony, though she was mostly hidden by the marble pillars, except when looked up at from his particular angle.
Their eyes met, and as he made to yell for her to return to the safety of the castle, she screamed out first.
"Cain!"
He looked up to see a spear arcing perfectly, headed straight for his weapon. He dove to the right, knocking his head against the piece of boulder that had injured him earlier. He curled himself away as the metal of the spear sparked the gunpowder in the low hanging bullets that circled the underbelly of the machine gun.
The explosion rocked the trenches again, and he saw his gunny crushed to death beneath some large boulder pieces from the crumbling tower. With great effort, Cain tried to move further back, but found that he was pinned on his back, his legs mangled beneath heavy chunks of granite. Wincing, he tried to pull his limbs free, but knew with the cracking of the bones in his calves that his movements were doing more harm than good.
He reached behind his head, extending arms and fingers as widely as he could, trying to find some weapon with which to return fire, as his service pistol sat in his holster, beneath the rocks. The boulders rested on his knees, meaning he could sit up at his waist and ignore, just as he had done for so many annuals and under so many different circumstances, the devastating pain defining him at the moment.
As his fingers brushed against something metal and he tried mightily to pull whatever it was toward him, he heard more cracking from the vicinity of his legs. He winced at the sound and the knowledge that the main bones in his legs were probably little more than dust now. He prepared himself for the shifting of the rocks to pin him further into the muddy ground, but instead of feeling more pressure, he started to feel relief.
He looked down toward his feet and saw the boulder shake from side to side like a marionette. Then, ever so slowly, it lifted from his legs and hovered parallel to the top and outside of the trench wall, several feet off the ground. Cain used his hands to push back away from the rock, legs screaming in agony. He waited for the boulder to fall back to the ground, to where he had been sitting, but was shocked to see it quickly lift up and hurtle itself toward the enemy front line.
He looked up to the balcony, where DG still sat, eyes closed, her right hand in Azkadellia's. The women used their free hands to mime throwing the boulder, and upon impact, the rock shattered and forced the first few lines of the opposition to retreat.
Cain simply stared at the princesses, and when DG met his gaze again, she merely nodded once, as though to say, I'm right here with you, and I'm not going anywhere. Her eyes were light and defiant, as though she expected him to argue.
Instead, the Tin Man returned the nod, his outward expression mostly devoid of any emotion other than grateful acknowledgement. But his eyes—the eyes only she seemed to know how to read as openly as he read her—were as open as hers were, and he saw her nod again, apparently understanding what he didn't know how to say.
Turning, he grabbed the nearest gun. His had been destroyed in the explosion, but his gunnery sergeant's had merely toppled over. He winced as he used his upper body strength to pull the weapon to him. Laying it on top of the remaining fortifications and using the scope to determine how DG and Azkadellia's attack had rearranged the opposition, he fired off round after round, the pain in his legs much more overwhelming than the burning in his hands as he fed the bullets through the chamber.
For all the firepower he and the remaining sharpshooters were throwing at them, it seemed that the boulders now flying nonstop through the air were the only things that pushed the rebels further back. Cain could feel a white hot wind on his neck, as though he were sunburned, and knew those stubborn Gale girls were still on that balcony, using untrained, barely controlled magic in their efforts.
He surprised himself again when a proud grin touched his lips. Captain will always go down with the ship. That's my girl.
From their vantage point on the balcony, DG could see her pitching prowess had sent the opposition fleeing and stepping out of formation for the first time since they'd approached at dawn. The suns were setting, and a dark blanket would soon cover the battleground. Perfect time for sneak attacks, she thought, still crouched behind the pillars with Az. Their parents had forbidden them to be anywhere near the battlefield, but Az had agreed with DG's semantics when she said privately that, technically¸ they were above the battle. No field involved.
As she held tightly to her sister's hand, DG wished she could be in the trenches. As the day had progressed, she realized she understood Cain on a completely different level now. She'd always wondered why this seemingly kind, gentle, patient man, who valued his knowledge of right and wrong above all other virtues, had been so myopic in his desire to kill Zero. He had been a Tin Man, defender of the law, but at one point, he was willing to sacrifice his soul for something that didn't even come close to being called justice.
But now, as she looked through binoculars at the center of the rebels, her eyes trained on Garrett as he sat in the middle of his forces. Now she understood what rage really was. She understood how one moment, one event, one single image that turns into a horror movie playing endlessly in one's mind, could turn a normally sane, rational person into a killer.
She wanted him dead with such ferocity that she almost wished the Witch were here to teach her how to suck the tainted, dirty, murderous soul right out of him.
Azkadellia looked over at her sister. "There is much rage in you."
DG couldn't help it; she laughed. "Thanks, Yoda."
Az's face only deepened in concern. "That rage will blind you. It'll consume you, and you can't walk away from that. Calm down." She moved to her knees, while DG remained sitting cross-legged on the balcony. "We should go to Mother and Ainsley in the ward. They're going to need our help treating the casualties."
The eldest princess stood, and there was an incoherent yell from the center of the battlefield. Azkadellia went down with a high-powered rifle shot to the chest before DG had time to blink.
DG scrambled to her knees. "Az!" she cried, pressing both hands to her sister's chest, her small fingers darkening with flowing blood as it bubbled around her knuckles. "Oh, God. AZ! NO!"
Her voice echoed past the fortified walls of the tower, and she knew the opposition had heard her when a great cheer erupted across the field.
DG had always believed the saying seeing red was a cliché, but as she looked toward the cheering factions, all she could see was the death and destruction these people had caused. She did not care about their motives or their own losses in that moment. She cared about her own.
She focused on the largest boulder she could see, one at the edge of the foxhole where Cain and the shooters continued to resist the rebel advance. She'd needed Az's help to lift the rocks off Cain's legs, but this time, her anger and fury, the dark antithesis of the white light that flowed through her, was muscle enough. The boulder, and several adjoining ones, flew through the air as though they were feathers, and fell in the direct center of Garrett and his men.
Defiantly, DG called out, "Long live the House of Gale!"
She turned back to her sister, whose eyes were open and filled with tears. "Hang on, Az," DG pleaded, replacing her hand with her sister's as it rested over her wound. "I need you to keep pressure on it until I can get you downstairs, okay? Can you do that for me?"
Az nodded weakly, and, praying her days of running track hadn't rusted like the rest of her life on the Other Side had, DG scooped her sister up into a fireman's carry and raced inside the castle, dodging the bullets that followed their feet.
She screamed all the way inside, finally losing her footing halfway down the hall. "Somebody HELP!" she cried, crashing painfully to her knees as Az flopped in her arms.
There was no answer.
Azkadellia's head was lolling from side to side, and DG could hear the air mix with the blood in the bullet wound. In the hall outside her parents' room, DG saw a chair sitting against the wall. "Okay, Az. You're going to be okay."
"DG—"
"If you die on me, Azkadellia, I swear on all that is holy that I will kick your ass in to next week." She looked seriously down at her sister, whose brown eyes showed fear that surpassed what she'd shown as they exorcised the Witch on the night of the Eclipse. "Az, I just got you back. You're not going anywhere. Got it?"
DG closed her eyes and concentrated on pulling the chair from across the hall. As its ornate gold leafing flecked off onto the dark marble floor, the chair finally came to sit next to the sisters. The youngest princess heaved her sister into a sitting position and peeled off her coat, pressing it against the wound. "Hang on, Az. Just hang on."
She sprinted down the hall at record speed, pushing her slumping sister and screaming at the top of her lungs. She was past full panic when her mother ran up to meet her.
"Oh, dear heavens, no!" the Queen cried, kneeling before her daughter. "Azkadellia? Azkadellia, my darling?" Over her shoulder, the Queen called, "Doctor Lowry! We need you immediately!"
Ainsley joined them in the hall, her once white protective coat tinged pink. She looked between mother and daughters, and as the medic took a step backward, DG knew she was debating as to whether she should help the people who, in her mind, had murdered the love of her life.
Az opened her eyes momentarily, focusing them on the medic. "Ainsley," she said weakly, "please help me."
The blonde did not reply, but turned and called over her shoulder. "I need Raw and Kalm out here, NOW!"
The two furry Viewers raced from the ward, and the medic helped DG lay Azkadellia on the floor. The Queen knelt at her eldest daughter's head, softly singing the lullaby of their youth, before things had all gone to hell.
Raw knelt on Az's left and held out his hands over the gunshot wound. "Has lost much blood."
"Any internal damage?" Ainsley asked, pulling a pair of surgical scissors from her coat pocket and cutting Az's shirt in half.
"Raw and Kalm can heal," the Viewer replied. "But Ainsley should get plasma to help."
The medic dashed off back toward the makeshift hospital, and DG watched as her friends covered the chest wound with their paws. Both men grimaced as they fought through the pain and the damage, and DG took her sister's hand, envisioning the hole in her chest and mentally stitching it closed.
She felt a furry paw on her arm almost immediately. Raw was shaking his head. "Cannot help this time, Princess. Let Raw work."
"Sorry," she replied, her shame at being unable to help fix her sister twisting into further darkness inside her. She'd been unable to help Jeb as well, not knowing how to use or control her magic alone. And now, it seemed as though another life would end because of her shortcomings.
She thought back to her promise to Cain, and in an instant, she was back on her feet, striding steadfastly toward the tower stairs. Her mother looked up at her with wide, concerned eyes.
"DG, my darling, where are you going?"
"Where every military leader should be. I'm going to the battlefield."
"Absolutely not." The Queen was firm and hard. "You shouldn't have been up on that balcony in the first place, young lady. You're certainly not going to the front lines."
When the princess began to protest, the Queen held up her hand, fingers dripping with her eldest daughter's blood. "I know you want to help, DG, but you seem to have an uncanny ability to run into things without thinking. Please, just this once, do as I say and help me care for the people defending us. You can be of more help here."
From the tips of her fingers to the ends of her toes, rage blanketed itself in anger, and then wrapped itself again in fury. She saw her mother's eyes go wide at the change in her demeanor and posture, and the grey-haired woman leapt to her feet.
"DG, calm down."
"I can't!" she cried, throwing her hands in the air. The tapestries that hung from floor to ceiling slammed violently against the stone wall, moving with the force of her anger-amplified magic. Kalm looked at the youngest princess and backed quickly away, pulling his knees to his chest, huddling against the wall in fear.
"You're losing control," her mother said cautiously, extending a hand. "Don't let the darkness take over."
In the lightness of her mother's lavender eyes, DG could see her own reflection, and saw that her once light orbs were wide and nearly black. She shook as she fought to keep the rage at bay, but felt herself slipping.
And she liked it.
"I can finish this," she told her mother hotly. "I can finish them."
A sticky hand wrapped around her calf, and DG looked down at her sister, whose eyes had opened, and whose breathing had improved as Raw worked. "DG, if you go there, you'll never come back."
"I'll be right outside. I can defend myself."
Az shook her head, coughing. "That's not what I meant. You do this, and it will be as though the Witch never left."
DG could barely control the urge to stomp her foot in frustration. "We have to do something!"
"We are doing something, my love," the Queen pleaded, hand still extended as though sheer will could keep another of her daughters from falling into the darkness. "Listen."
"I don't hear anything," DG said after a moment.
"Exactly," the Queen replied. "The fighting has stopped for now. We've pushed them back. We all need to regroup, you most of all, I think."
"I'm fine."
"Bullshit," Az said from the floor.
Her mother spared her a patented motherly glare before addressing DG again. "You must learn to control yourself, DG."
"Hey, you try realizing you've got a built-in magic wand and see how easy you find life after that."
"That's not what I meant." The Queen took a step forward to her daughter, putting her hands on the younger woman's shoulders. "Your sister's right, my dear. It is much easier for the darkness to overtake the light, magic or no. The biggest battle you will fight from here on out is within you, not out there."
Raw cleared his throat, and helped ease Azkadellia in to a sitting position. "Should get princess to Doc. Will need to rest."
DG stepped away from her mother and helped Raw lift Az back into the chair. They pushed her into the infirmary and Ahamo, fresh from the battlefield, lifted his daughter onto one of the cots. He stepped back into the grateful arms of his wife while Ainsley threaded an IV, began administering antibiotics and double checking Raw's handiwork.
DG saw the blonde medic look up toward the door and turned to follow the other woman's gaze. There, standing in the doorway, supported by two young men who had no business having pimples, let alone fighting in a war, was Wyatt Cain.
DG rushed to him, reaching out and pulling along a wheelchair as she passed. The two men eased the Tin Man into it, and she knelt before him, eyes watering at the torn, bloodied lower half of his pant legs.
He reached out and touched the top of her hair, so lightly that she wondered if he even knew he was doing it. Not that I mind. "I'm fine, kiddo."
The darkness she'd been feeling dissipated at his gentle stroking. He'd barely spoken to, let alone touched, her since Jeb's death. She let her eyes slip shut momentarily, and warmth flooded through her as he reestablished contact. But when she opened them again to look him in the face, she couldn't suppress a shiver at his obvious pain. "You're hurt."
"Yeah, I think so."
Ainsley came up beside DG, sighing at the obvious damage to Cain's legs. "That's going to require surgery. Looks like you broke both tibias."
Cain tried to smirk. "Can't do anything half-assed." At the annoyed looks from both medic and princess, he continued, "You can just set 'em. I'll rest and be fine in the morning."
"Hm, maybe your hearing has been affected too." Ainsley leaned over him, checking him quickly for other injuries. "You broke both tibias. Surgery. No exceptions, no placations, no excuses."
"No glowering, 'I'm a big, mean Tin Man with a gun and you can't stop me'," DG added, relieved and pleased when the half-smirk came closer to being a full smile.
The blonde medic did not echo his expression, though DG thought it seemed like she was trying very hard not to. "You need something for pain?" the blonde asked Cain, leaning back from her authoritative stance.
His eyes were still masked as he looked to the littlest princess, but were more obvious when he addressed the doctor. "Yes."
Ainsley looked over her shoulder and summoned some of the volunteer nurses. "Let's get Mr. Cain set up somewhere quiet, please, and get me some morphine sulfate." She stepped around the back of the wheelchair and began to push Cain to the far corner of the infirmary.
DG stood in the doorway and watched as the orderlies stripped him of his beloved vest and duster and covered him in an ill-fitting hospital smock. She winced at his grimace when they laid him in the bed, and could not stop herself from moving when Ainsley began to place splints quickly around his legs.
DG pulled the nearest empty cot to her and sat at Cain's head, folding her fingers in her lap, watching as a nurse threaded an IV into Cain's wrist. She did not reach out to him; she felt as though she did not deserve to, given all she'd had a hand in inflicting on him. Part of her also worried he'd continue to push her away if she advanced too quickly. But she'd be damned if she let him go through any more pain alone just because they were both stubborn as all hell.
After the splints were in place, Ainsley pushed the pain medication through the IV. The Tin Man had been silent as his legs were set, but finally breathed a sigh of relief as the medicine worked its way into his system.
DG had kept her eyes anywhere but on Cain's face during the procedure, but blue eyes met blue eyes when he reached out with his left hand and slowly covered hers, as though afraid it would burn him. "You don't have to stay."
"I know," she replied, stomach tightening at the long-missed touch, "but I'd like to. If it's okay with you."
"You have the most annoying thing for penance, kid."
DG smiled tiredly. "I know."
As his eyes fluttered shut and his breathing deepened and evened as he slept, she reached down and placed a gentle, lingering kiss on his temple. "I'm sorry I keep hurting you," she whispered. "Maybe someday you can forgive me."
As she leaned back on her cot, she swore she heard him reply, the weak, tired murmur somehow ringing clearly over the bustle of the ward.
"I'll get there eventually, kiddo. One day."
End Chapter Ten