Can this be? Is it another chapter? Why yes. Yes, it is. And a long one, at that.

Thanks, as always, for your patience, and your faves/follows, and your reviews.

And thanks to FairDrea for her quick edit on this chapter! I appreciate the help! :)

Chapter Thirty-Five

"So. What's the verdict, Doc?" Alley waited impatiently as Dr. Anderson finished re-bandaging her damaged arm. "Am I free to go tomorrow?"

The doctor sat back and wiped his hands off. "Your side is healing nicely. No major swelling or signs of infection, and the sutures look good. They can come out in about a month." He jotted down a few notes. "Unfortunately, due to the nature of the wound, there will be scarring." Upon noticing Alley's expression, he hastened to add, "It can be diminished with surgery. Skin grafts or other alternative methods. We can discuss options further into the future, after the wound has properly healed. My bigger concern at the moment is your right arm. Whatever impaled your bicep went in deep enough to damage your muscle. We also found minute traces of some sort of toxin in the wound. Possibly from whatever stabbed you, but we couldn't get accurate results with the tests we ran. I suspect it contained some type of paralytic, although most of it had filtered out of your bloodstream before you were brought in."

"Is … that why my hands feel like they're half-asleep all the time?" Alley frowned at her bandaged fingers.

"How long have they felt like this?"

"Since I woke up the other day, I think. I just figured it was because they were all swollen and everything. I thought they'd go back to normal when the swelling went down."

"We pulled a number of large splinters from your palms and fingers. Whatever you'd used to support yourself was crawling with bacteria. Infection had set into the wounds before we removed them, but the antibiotics you're on have already taken care of it. Still, the infection, along with the toxin that got into your blood, probably caused some mild nerve damage." He pushed his glasses up his nose. "Are you having trouble using your hands? Holding a cup or a spoon?"

"Well, a bit, at times." She grimaced. "I almost spilled a cup of water all over myself this morning. I can hold stuff, it's just kind of difficult. I feel like I have to, I dunno, squeeze extra hard or something to keep my grip. It's hard to judge how much strength to use with most of the feeling in my fingers gone."

"Do you find it harder to lift anything with your right hand than your left?"

"I haven't lifted anything heavier than my pillow, I don't think. I'm naturally left-handed anyway."

He nodded. "I'm going to assign you some physical therapy exercises to do every day at home. The wound is healing well, but your muscles are still in need of rehabilitation. You need to build the strength back up in your arm. I also want to see you twice a week for two months, for further therapy on your hands and to assess your progress." He scribbled in his notepad and tore the slip of paper from it to hand to her. She took it gingerly, careful not to drop it.

"Don't worry." He offered a reassuring smile. "I don't believe the damage is permanent. Follow those exercises carefully. Don't overdo it, you don't want to make things worse. Until you fully heal you are not to indulge in activities that might cause more stress to your injuries."

"Such as?"

"Excessive amounts of writing or typing. Playing musical instruments. Any type of strenuous exercise or sport such as aerobics or softball. Just a few examples."

She huffed. "I can at least bathe myself and brush my own teeth, can't I?"

He chuckled as he got to his feet. "That shouldn't be a problem. Just take care about your sutures." He drew back the privacy curtain from around her bed. "As for your discharge, I think we'll go as planned, and release you tomorrow afternoon. I assume you'll make arrangements for someone to come pick you up? I don't want you driving just yet."

"Yeah. My parents or cousin. I'll talk it over with them when they visit today."

"Yes, Mother," Alley sighed, for the third time in as many minutes. She rolled her eyes at her father and cousin, who merely laughed in return. "I promise I will call more than once a month, okay? Just as soon as I get a new phone. Again."

"And if anything else happens, you'll be sure to let us know.''

"Sure, Ma. If I get trapped inside another collapsing tower, you'll be the very first person I call."

"Don't you even joke about that!" Vivian swatted lightly at her daughter's good arm. "Honestly, child, you've already taken thirty years off my life!" She released Alley from her tight hug and stepped back with a disapproving frown. "I don't know, maybe we shouldn't leave so soon. Surely we can extend our stay just a few more days?" She turned a questioning glance to her husband, thereby missing the way Alley's eyes widened in panic.

Charles, however, noted her pleading expression and slung an arm around Vivian's shoulders. "Now, we've discussed this, Vivi. I can't be gone from the garage much longer, and didn't you say you were worried about Marie, managing the bakery alone? She's getting up there in years, remember?"

"Mom, I'm healing up fine, and I'm getting out of the hospital tomorrow," Alley hastily put in. "It's not like I'm alone. Charley's here!"

"I suppose…" Vivian frowned, uncertain.

"Gee, Aunt Viv. Nice to know you put so much faith in me," Charley snorted, earning a muffled snicker from her cousin. "Don't worry, I'll make sure she attends her therapy and all her doctors appointments and takes her medicine like a good little patient."

"Are you sure you'll have time? With running your own business and all…"

"We've got plenty of friends who can drive her around. She won't have any trouble making appointments."

"Geez, guys, it's not like I'm a complete invalid," Alley complained.

"Yeah, but until the holes in your arm and side patch up, no driving," her father reminded her.

Alley scowled at the thick swath of bandages still taped around her right bicep. Stupid alien fish. Stupid infected splinters. At least the nerve damage wasn't permanent (she hoped). The mild pins-and-needles feeling and her inability to grip properly was annoying, though. The doctor was right in that driving, especially stick-shift, was out of the question. She also wouldn't be playing the piano again anytime soon. Or writing any term papers, for that matter, which left making another go at college out completely. At least for this year. Anyhow, it was so far into the first term by now that she probably didn't have a snowflake's chance in hell of ever catching up to the work she'd already missed. "Curses. Foiled again," she grumbled humorlessly.

"What time does your flight leave?" Charley asked her uncle.

"Two o'clock tomorrow. Which means we probably wanna be at the airport by noon."

"Wait." Alley blinked. "You guys flew out here?"

"Our kid went and nearly died on us. You expected us to walk?" Charles teased.

"No, I expected you to drive." She frowned. "Flying must've been expensive."

"Don't you worry about that. The shop has the funds to cover it."

"Well, what about my hospital bills?" Alley didn't even want to imagine the amount of money her stay had racked up already, not counting the return checkup visits and therapy she'd need.

"You're on your parents' insurance, aren't you?" Charley pointed out.

"I would've been, if I was a student. But I'm not a student. Will the insurance still cover me? I'm an adult living independently and—"

"Again, not something you're going to worry about." Her father's voice left no room for argument. "Your bills will be paid, one way or another. Either through my insurance, or through the municipal of Chicago. After all, it's their fault for allowing a crimelord like Limburger to run rampant through the city for so long. I'm sure social media and my lawyers would have a field day with that bit of information."

Alley glanced at her cousin, eyebrows raised. "Can he do that?" she asked in a stage whisper.

Charley smirked in response. "I think your parents can do whatever they set their minds to, no questions asked."

"Free at last!" Alley raised her arms and tipped her head back to feel the sun on her face. A gust of wind caught her hair and she yelped and hurriedly tucked her windbreaker more tightly around herself. "What happened to summer while I was gone?" she wailed.

Charley laughed as she navigated the wheelchair along the patient-pickup curb. "You ain't in Florida anymore, kid. Welcome to September in Illinois."

"Right. Note to self: buy a heavier coat." Alley hunched down as the breeze picked up again. "Or maybe a snowsuit."

Charley laughed again. "Weenie."

"And don't you forget it!"

They reached Charley's car, and Alley was relieved to see she'd brought the Jeep rather than the truck. She heaved herself from the wheelchair and nearly fell. "Whoof! Looks like some hardcore cardio might be in order," she gasped.

"Now, now. Remember what the doc said. No excessive exercise," Charley teased. "Need help getting in?"

"Think I can manage."

She did, and Charley shut the door and tossed Alley's small duffle bag into the back seat before trotting around to the driver's side to slide in. They navigated traffic in silence, as Alley slipped in and out of a light doze. When they made it back to the garage, Charley pulled into the small lot beside it and nudged her cousin awake. "We're home, Sleeping Beauty," she teased. "Think you can walk in or should I have one of the guys come out and carry you? I'm sure Stoker would be happy to volunteer."

Alley slid her a sidelong glance, decided to ignore her knowing smirk. "I can walk, thanks."

Or so she claimed, but even the short stroll from the car to the door left her winded and her side in pain. All that time flat on her back had definitely taken their toll. It didn't help that as soon as she set foot into the garage, she found herself nearly bowled over by a crowd of large, furry bodies, greeting her warmly and welcoming her home with way too much enthusiasm. She was more than a little surprised to find Rimfire among them; Carbine and Gunner hung back at a more discreet distance and watched.

"I didn't realize you three were still here," she told Rimfire, after Charley had gotten them all to stand back and give her some breathing space. "I thought you would've booked it back to Mars as soon as everything happened."

"Gunner's been trying to get Carbine to do just that," Rimfire muttered, casting a glance at the general. "She's been insisting we stay here and help keep an eye on things. Make sure nothing else happens. With Limburger MIA, others might try to move in on his turf. News like this travels fast."

"So, even if we took down one crime lord, another will just rise to take his place?" Alley blew out a breath. Stoker had warned her about this, but still… "Makes me feel like all my efforts were a perfectly good waste of time," she grumbled.

"Don't say that!" Gunner stepped forward and frowned at her. "Without those 'wasted efforts', a truly diabolical weapon would have ended up in Plutarkian hands, and Mars would have been finished. Earth, as well. And who knows how many other planets? Your efforts saved everyone, even though it nearly cost you your life. I don't call that wasted."

Alley's mouth twisted. "Well, yes, that's true. But without those particular efforts, Limburger never would have gotten his hands on the blueprints in the first place."

"And none of this would have happened, yes. And a seriously powerful alien crime lord would still be reigning over this city, and the Plutarkians wouldn't be in a frenzy right now attempting to recover their very substantial losses," Gunner countered smoothly, crossing her arms.

Alley opened her mouth, then shut it again. She could hardly argue with logic like that. She offered a shrug and a faint grin, instead, to which Gunner replied with a smile of her own.

"Anyway, hate to break up the reunion," Charley cut in, "but Alley Cat, you look like you're about to fall over. Maybe get your butt upstairs and take a nap, huh?"

Alley wrinkled her nose. "Now who's being bossy?" But she limped for the stairs without further argument, which only proved Charley's point. She forced herself to climb the steps, waved off all offers of help, although she was nearly panting from the effort by the time she reached the apartment. She hoped stair-climbing wasn't one of those exercises the doctor had warned her against, or she'd be sleeping in Priscilla for a few months. Someone had rescued the Bus from the tower before it went down; she'd seen it sitting in the garage, a little banged up but none the worse for wear. It wouldn't be the first time she'd camped out on its floor.

When Alley reached her bedroom, she stopped short at the door, puzzled. Something felt … out of place. First off, her bed was neatly made. She frowned. Normally she just yanked the covers this way and that until they were relatively even, but she was pretty sure making the bed had been the last thing on her mind the last morning she'd been in it. Yet, her sheets were neatly smoothed and tucked with military precision, light comforter folded at the foot.

She supposed someone could have gone in and made it for her, but did they also tidy up her closet? The door was open, and she could see her shirts and dresses all neatly on their hangers, as opposed to haphazardly hanging off the doorknob and the back of her desk chair where she'd left them. What's more, they'd all been organized by color.

"Has someone been in here?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at Charley, who'd followed her upstairs.

"Yeah, I was just coming to warn you that Carbine's been using your room while you were gone." Her cousin flashed an apologetic smile. "Gunner's been on the couch, and Rimfire sleeps at the board with the other guys.

Lips pursing, Alley looked back at her room. "I see she made herself right at home," she mumbled under her breath. She couldn't help feeling a little insulted that the general had deemed it necessary to tidy up. Her room wasn't that messy, damn it! It was just … lived in, that's all.

"I offered one of them the use of my room, too, but they wouldn't accept on the principle that it's my place." Charley offered a shrug and a sheepish grin. "You don't mind, do you?"

Honestly, Alley probably would have minded it less had it been Gunner sleeping in her bed and going through her things, but she forced a smile and shook her head. "Not like I've been using it lately. No sense making a guest sleep on the floor when there's a perfectly good bed going to waste."

"She'll move out to the living room now that you're back, but I don't imagine they'll be staying for much longer. She can't be gone from Mars forever. They need her up there." Charley handed over Alley's duffle. "You need anything before I get back to work?"

"Nah, I'm good for now. Thanks."

Charley nodded and headed back to the garage, and Alley sat down on the bed with a sigh and toed off her sneakers, wincing as her side pulled again. Hopefully her pain medication was stuffed into her bag. She dragged it toward her and zipped it open.

"Knock knock!"

Stoker peered around the doorway with a grin on his face. "I come bearing gifts." He held up a small jar and stepped into the room, using his tail to shut the door behind him.

Alley raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"Medicine," he replied.

"I already have meds." She shook the bottle of pills at him.

"Not from Mars, you don't."

The other eyebrow went up and she eyeballed the jar in his hand with open suspicion. "I don't have to drink it, do I?"

He chuckled. "Not unless you wanna poison yourself."

"Ha!" She pointed, triumphant. "So you admit you tried to poison me!"

Her cheeky grin told him she was merely teasing, so he responded with a mock-scolding glance and a playful flick to the nose as he sat down beside her. "I admit to no such thing." He was unprepared for the pillow that met his snout, her laugh tickling his ears when he grunted in surprise. Then he blinked, inhaled deeply. "Has Carbine been sleeping in here?" he questioned.

Alley wrinkled her nose. "It'd be unseemly for the general to sleep on the floor. My bed got volunteered for service."

He hummed, offered a quizzical smile. "Guess you'll need to shave your sheets a bit. We tend to shed more in warm weather."

She glanced away and shrugged. She could recall her first insulting reaction toward him after their initial meeting, and it made her uncomfortable. "They can be washed. No big deal," she mumbled, embarrassed. When he fixed her with a long, probing look that made her squirm in her seat, she cleared her throat and pasted a bright smile on her face. "So. Another homemade concoction? How do you expect me to take this one, shove it up my nose?"

He studied her face another moment, expression unfathomable. Then he smiled. "It's a lotion, applied to the skin. It's got ingredients that do wonders for healin' deep wounds, and it'll reduce chances of severe scarring, as well."

"And it's safe to use on humans?" She couldn't quite hide her skepticism.

He chuckled. "Charley keeps a supply of it on hand for the rookies. Pretty sure she's used it a few times herself after a skirmish. I make sure she gets restocked whenever I visit."

Alley straightened, unable to purge a small swell of hope. "And this will keep me from scarring badly?" she asked. "I won't need … skin grafts to fix my side after I heal?"

Stoker blew out a breath. "Hard to say at this point," he admitted. "I normally would've given it to you a lot sooner, but with you bein' in the hospital and all … people would've noticed, and probably started askin' a lot of nosey questions."

She frowned, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

He unscrewed the cap and held the pot of salve under her nose … and she instantly recoiled when the incredible stench of its contents hit her right in the face. "Phwegh!" she gasped, nearly gagging as she clapped a hand over her nose. "That is repugnant! What the hell is that stuff?"

Stoker chuckled and recapped the jar. "As you just learned, it's got quite a noticeable odor. Once applied it doesn't take long to fade out, but medical staff definitely would've noticed if you'd used it there. Couldn't risk 'em tryin' to run tests on it or somethin'. The main ingredients are comprised of minerals found only on Martian soil. Specifically, from certain caverns deep inside the mountains."

"I guess that would be good cause for questions." Alley shifted in her seat, lowering her hand from her nose. "You're sure this stuff actually works?"

"It'd be better if I'd been able to get it to you sooner. As it stands, with so much time passed, it won't do the job as well. You'll probably still scar, but if you start applyin' it now, you may not need surgery. And it should also help heal that nerve damage in your hands." He shot her a playful glance. "That is, if you can tolerate the smell long enough for it to do its job."

She pursed her lips. "Why is it that your miracle cure-alls either turn me inside out or make me smell like a … a…"

"A Plutarkian?" he suggested with a grin.

She snorted. "I don't think Limburger smelled quite that bad."

He laughed and set the pot on her bedside table, watched her attempt to pick the wrappings off her wounded arm. "Mind if I help with that?" he finally offered.

She sighed. "Be my guest. My fine motor skills seem to be in need of some tweaking."

He carefully undid the bindings around her bicep. "Hold your breath," he teased as he uncapped the jar again, dipped his fingers into the creamy reddish paste. He applied it carefully around the stitched wound, probably more gently than was necessary. Her skin started twitching almost instantly, and she grimaced. "Is it supposed to … burn like that?"

He paused. "Is it painful?"

"No, more like … cold-burn. Kind of tingles a bit. Like that Icy Hot stuff people use on sore muscles."

He hummed. "Then it's workin'. As long as it doesn't start to cause more pain or make your arm swell up, you're okay."

"And if it does?"

"Then we'll rinse you off an' call an ambulance." He offered a weak grin at her deadpan expression. "Waddaya want? You're only the second human to use this stuff. No tellin' what could happen. But our physiologies are a close enough match that there shouldn't be any ill effects."

She wrinkled her nose. "Have I mentioned lately how much I love being your human guinea pig to test your concoctions on?"

He gave her nose another playful flick, bandaged her bicep with fresh wrappings and made her lie back. She pulled up her shirt far enough to expose her taped side, stopped just under her breast. He waggled his eyebrows at her. "Been waitin' to get you into this position," he teased.

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Oh, there you are. Been wondering where that horny goat had wandered off to." But her cheeks had turned faintly pink and she couldn't quite bring herself to meet his eyes.

He laughed and peeled the gauze from her side, gently ran his fingers along the puckered lines. A thoughtful frown appeared as he studied the wound. It was healing nicely, but there were already signs of developing scar tissue. He nevertheless massaged a large dollop of the medicine into her skin and re-bandaged the wound. "Apply it twice a day to start off," he instructed. "In a week or two, reduce to once a day, just before you go to bed. If you have any reactions, stop use immediately."

"Got it, Doc." She pulled down her shirt and sat up, just as a knock sounded on the door. Before she could tell whoever was on the other side to wait, it opened to let Carbine into the room.

The general glanced between the pair, eyebrows raised as she took in the scene. "Am I disrupting something?" she questioned, suspicious.

"We were just finishing up." Unfazed, Stoker tossed the used bandages into Alley's wastebasket. "Did you need anything?"

"I wanted to speak with Alley," Carbine replied. "Alone." She fixed him with a stern look. "If you're done flirting for the moment, can you please wait outside?"

"Uh, excuse me." Alley frowned at her, offended on Stoker's behalf. "First off, it's not your room to kick him out of. Secondly, he's not only your former general, he's your uncle. Shouldn't you show him a little more respect?"

Carbine didn't reply, merely fixed her with a cool gaze. "Well. You certainly seem to be making the rounds," she muttered after a moment.

Stoker bristled. "Carbine!" he snapped. "That's enough!"

"Sorry, Uncle." She didn't sound sorry in the least.

"No, it's fine." Alley rested a hand on his arm, meeting Carbine's gaze boldly. "I know she doesn't like me, so no use going for civility. Right, General?"

Carbine looked down her nose at her. "Well, you did steal my boyfriend."

Alley huffed. "I didn't steal anyone. We're not dating. Never were." Before Carbine could respond, she added, "Is this what you wanted to talk about?"

"I wanted to ask you about your friend. The one called Chex."

"Why do you want to know about her?"

"How long have you known her?" Carbine asked. "How well do you know her?"

Alley narrowed her eyes. "Not long," she admitted. "I met her and her brother at school when I first got here. Chris helped me out when Limburger showed up, and me and Chex just started hanging out together. She's nice. Weird, but nice."

"So you admit you don't know her well."

She shook her head. "What is this about? So we're not well-acquainted yet. So what?"

Carbine tapped her foot, impatient. "Stoker filled us in on what you'd discovered in your memories. About how it all went wrong. And I—"

"Suspect Chex." Alley huffed. "Of course you do. Even though you have no proof that she had anything to do with any of this. Or her brother, for that matter. You're just looking for the first convenient scapegoat."

"Why are you so adamant that she doesn't have anything to do with it? You admitted you don't know her, and she was the only one who knew what we'd planned."

"No, she wasn't." Alley glowered. "There were quite a few of us who knew what was going to happen, and hey! If we're gonna go by your logic, then who's to say you're not just as guilty?"

Carbine's mouth opened and closed a few times, stunned. Even Stoker looked startled by the accusation. "A-and how do you figure that?" the general finally sputtered. Alley couldn't be sure, but she suspected her face had flushed red under the fur. "What do I possibly stand to gain from betraying my own planet?"

Alley tilted her head, expression coy. "Petty revenge?" Her lips curled into a smirk at Carbine's flabbergasted expression. "Jealousy is a powerful motivator. I hardly know you. You admit you don't like me." She ticked off points on her fingers. "I 'stole your boyfriend'…" Another finger. "A simple phone call under an assumed name, Limburger goes ballistic and kills me, and ta-da! No more competition and nobody's the wiser. Only, I guess I screwed it up by, you know, not dying." She offered a glib shrug. "Sorry about that."

Carbine's hands had clenched so hard that they actually shook. "You … have the absolute gall to … accuse me of … of…"

"Oh, relax, before you give yourself a stroke." Alley rolled her eyes. "I'm not blaming you for any of this. All I did was stuff the shoe on the other foot. Not so fun when you're the one being falsely accused of high treason, is it?"

Beside her, Stoker chuckled low in his throat, shook his head. "You're gonna end up on her permanent shitlist if you keep that up," he murmured, tugging on her hair. "Kindly save the catfights for when you've got a chance in hell of winnin' one."

Carbine's deadly glare briefly rested on her uncle before flicking back to Alley. "Whatever happened between you and Throttle is nothing but a lapse of judgment on his part," she snapped. "This … infatuation won't last. You don't honestly believe someone of his importance and moral character could possibly remain interested in a pampered little princess like you, do you?"

Alley drew herself up, Carbine's words cutting far deeper than she liked. She hated having her own doubts and insecurities flung in her face. Anger reared, and she bit back the hurt in favor of lashing out. "Well, gee. Let's think about that one, huh? I mean, frigid bitch sure wasn't doin' it for him, so—"

Stoker was on his feet and catching Carbine mid-lunge before Alley could process that either of them had even moved. He manhandled his furious niece out of the room, cast an exasperated look over his shoulder with an order to "take a nap" before the door slammed shut and their raised voices disappeared down the hall.

Alley released a screech of pure, aggravated frustration and flopped forcefully back onto the bed, remembering too late to mind her wounds. She grunted at the resulting pain, downed a couple of pills, and decided to take Stoker's advice and sleep. If she got really lucky, maybe Carbine and her flunkies would be gone by the time she woke up again.

Sooo ... I imagine I'll probably be getting some hate from Carbine fans. ^^; To be honest, I'm not a huge fan of her myself. I mean, she has her good points. but she definitely has her bad ones, too. After all, kindly recall that she did accuse Throttle, his bros, and even her own uncle of high treason without any sort of investigation. Not once, but TWICE. And the first time, she tried to toss the boys and Charley off a cliff to their deaths for it. She took the word of a KNOWN VILLAIN over the word of her own lover and tried to have him executed without ANYTHING resembling solid proof. Yeah. Sorry, but frigid bitch is definitely an apt description for this lady.