Chapter 10

"This is his idea of taking good care of you? This? This doesn't even come close to 'care,' this is…" Abby stared hard at the closed cell door, at the empty room. "This is so gonna cost him," she concluded.

"It's just a scratch."

"Gash," Abby countered.

"Scratch," Tony persisted, seated passively, his own sentiments of Avery's treatment quite different from Abby's. When Avery had brought out the knife, Tony had been anticipating something worse than a scratch.

"I'm sure there's rule, somewhere, about when a scratch becomes a gash."

"Yeah, and that rule would say this," Tony lifted his arm briefly to indicate the bandaged forearm, "is a scratch."

Abby gave him an exasperated expression. "But the burn—"

"—isn't that bad, either."

With an air of dejection, Abby flopped down to sit next to him on the cot. "Really?"

"Really," Tony assured. "Avery just wants to see if there's any difference in a Sentinel's rate of healing."

"You make it sounds so rational."

"Well…"

"Don't even say it." Abby jabbed a finger emphatically in his face. "If you say one word about Avery being rational, I'm going to get very, very…irrational."

Tony couldn't help a smirk.

"Don't smirk, either. What he's doing to you unethical, and inhuman. Even if it is 'just' one burn, and one…scratch, and just because he's doing it in the name of research instead of torture, doesn't make it right."

"Okay," Tony said slowly, "he's unethical, and inhuman, and it's not right. Can I smirk now?"

Abby gave a small, sheepish smile of her own, taking an intentionally deep breath. "Yes." She let the breath out, slowly. "I'm getting way bent out of shape over this, aren't I?"

"If it helps…" Tony shrugged.

"But that's just it, it doesn't," she sighed, folding her arms self-comfortingly across her chest. "It doesn't make me feel any better, at all. But what else do I have to do? He just keeps coming in here, doing stuff to you—and there's nothing at all I can do to fix things. I don't even have a laptop, or anything."

"Technology withdrawal. Gotcha." Tony nodded with mock sympathy.

Abby socked his arm lightly. "Shut up."

"Your wish is my command."

"No, don't," she fretted, a second later. "Talk. Maybe then I'll stop babbling so much."

"I don't mind."

"I mind. I'm being…all flighty. You don't need a flighty Guide."

"I don't mind," Tony repeated with an amused lift of one eyebrow. He dodged another light cuff to the shoulder. "I do kind of mind you hitting me repeatedly, though. How much Caff-Pow has Avery given you?"

"Not enough." Abby drummed her fingers on her knee with absent-minded energy. "But he said something stupid about me consuming enough caffeine for two people, and won't get me anymore for today."

"For once, Abbs, I think I'm going to have to agree with him."

Abby's smile was more like her normal smile, and Tony had a moment of success—before it wilted as she asked in a small voice, "When your arm's all healed, you don't suppose he might just let us go?"

"Anything's possible," Tony replied, his cheer feeble at best.

"Yeah," Abby agreed wearily, without an ounce of conviction.

"Hey," Tony said, shrugging, and speaking loudly enough for Avery to catch every word, "it doesn't matter, right? Gibbs will be here before then, anyways."

Abby seemed more settled after this reminder, and Tony's sense of success returned. Actually, he felt ridiculously pleased with himself. Usually, managing a distraught Abby was Gibbs' domain.

Apparently, Abby wasn't the only one stepping into a foreign role. This Guide and Sentinel thing was a two-way street—Tony had been getting used to that, with Gibbs. With Abby, it was little different. "Pillow," for instance, seemed to be on Tony's new list of ways to assist his Guide.

Tony wasn't complaining though. Abby's head fit just right on his shoulder, and it made Tony feel oddly empowered to protect her.

That he could protect her was an illusion, of course.

Abby wasn't asleep. Her too-intentionally even breathing gave it away, but Tony let her pretend—until her pretending was hijacked by honest sleep. He wouldn't have needed her relaxed breathing to cue him in, either, because her head began to slide forward. Tony reached up to adjust it, raising an eyebrow when she didn't wake up. Just like an exhausted toddler.

She was probably coming down off a caffeine high—not to mention the general adrenaline high she'd been on from having her sense of justice infuriated repeatedly, ever since Avery had brought her here.

That Avery had brought her here was one of the more truly unforgivable acts Tony had seen the man commit.

Abby gave the stuttering sigh of the profoundly unaware, and Tony smiled, but with grim determination. It hit him as an almost painfully strong need: even if his control were an illusion, he would protect her.

"Tom—I think the Sentinel is having another…episode."

Episode of what? If Avery hadn't firmly resolved himself not to be easily upset by Ron, he might have thrown the words at his younger brother with unreasonable irritation. Ron treated everything to do with Sentinels like dangerous explosive material; it was beginning to get to Avery, more than he liked to admit.

Instead, Avery rolled his chair over to the main monitor, which Ron had been observing. The Sentinel was indeed having another "episode," and Avery frowned, perplexed. He'd been doing fine yesterday.

"Come," Avery motioned to his brother. "Bring one of the men and meet me down there."

The Sentinel really didn't look good. The Guide, though, almost looked worse. Perhaps it was just her natural pallor, accompanied by what appeared to be a natural ability to work herself up into a state of equal parts worry and livid rage. Avery kept biting his tongue around her, because he really didn't want to make her angry—the Sentinel needed her thinking straight, after all—but it was hard. She really needed to learn not to allow things to affect her so strongly.

She had her hand on the Sentinel's back, comfortingly—but gave a positively snake-like hiss at seeing Avery, demanding in a look: Make this better. Now.

"What is…?" Avery began.

"Everything's going all wacky again, like with the LSD," Abby explained succinctly.

For a change, the Sentinel, hunched forward with his head in his hands, seemed to feel no need to butt in. Everything about his posture screamed hurt.

Ah. Avery had hoped this wouldn't happen. "I've read about this," he said, in his best wild-animal-taming voice. "I believe it's called Hallucinogen Persisting Perception Disorder—HPPD—and it can happen long after the initial use of LSD, or—"

"—I don't care what it's called," the Guide interrupted. "He's hurting, and you'd better have an answer that'll help him, or I swear I'll—"

The Sentinel was paying more attention to the conversation than appearances would have indicated. His hand shot out to snare the Guide's wrist, a clear: Calm down. And Avery was amazed at how she changed from mother bear to mother hen in an instant.

Avery cleared his throat, quietly, clasping his hands behind his back. "I believe I do have an answer. At least…I have a theory."

"A theory?" the Guide repeated, eyes narrowed. "One that will help him."

"I…think so."

"You better do more than think so," the Guide muttered.

"Just tell me it's not Tylenol," the Sentinel moaned. "Another minute of this Technicolor nightmare, and my head is going to explode."

Avery smiled. "It's not Tylenol."

"What's the catch?" the Guide asked unhappily.

"I…" Avery started.

"—I don't care." The Sentinel stayed hunched forward, not looking up. "Just get me off this merry-go-round."

Ron came with the requested man. Avery met the Guide's gaze as evenly as he could. "Come. I'll show you."

A/N: Dun, dun, dun. :) We're nearing the end, now. Thanks so much for reviewing, everyone! I love hearing from y'all.