Does anyone miss the author's notes? I can put some in if you'd like… I always have some random comments. Like… did you know that our dear, dear Lynda-chan of GWSTT fame just won an award and $100 for her awesome arts? *stands and applauds* Not only is she an awesome writer, her arts rock, too. Go check out her website, and be amazed!!
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Mark woke up before the door was opened. In fact, he woke up because they were having such problems getting the door open at all. The banging on the door echoed through the small room, and the concussive pounding was loud enough to wake even the nearly dead.
He didn't wake up easily; sleep clung to him even as the sound forced him aware. Yawning, he rubbed his eyes and wondered where he was. And why if felt drafty. He blearily opened his eyes enough to see, and saw that his pants were down.
That woke him up some, as did the battered form of Anne near his feet. Memory crashed in on him with the force of a strong wind. His eyes widened further, and he looked at the faintly pink patch of skin where his scar had been. Gingerly, he lifted his right hand and traced the area with his index finger, then with the first two fingers, feeling the unblemished skin. No hair grew in the spot, but that was the only indication he could find that there was anything unusual. The bumps and ridges of the scar tissue were gone, not just from the skin, but from the muscle as well.
It didn't even hurt. There was no swelling, no pain. He saw the shred of her shirt, neatly tied around something down by his ankle, and reached down to grab it. Upon opening it, he saw the lump of tissue that had plagued him for so many years, and he marveled that she had somehow… made it go away. He wrapped it up again neatly and went back to examining his leg.
No matter how hard he pressed on the healed area, it refused to hurt. There was no hint of soreness, of nerves stressed and indicating that anything was wrong. Just… healthy muscle. He stood and pulled his pants up and paced about the cell, marveling at the ease with which he could do so.
It didn't hurt. For the first time in so many years, it didn't hurt to walk. Tears sprung to his eyes, but they were ones of joy. He had taken movement for granted, had never realized how wonderful it was to be able to get up and ambulate until it was a luxury taken from him, and now he had it back.
He indulged in a couple deep knee bends, and aside from the popping in his joints he was fine. On a whim, he jumped up to the ledge that was to serve as her bed, then back down again. And up, and down, just a few more times, just because he could. He jogged in place, and laughed as he lifted both knees high, as he felt the muscles move easily under his skin in both legs. He stopped, leaned over and touched his toes, feeling the tightness in his muscles as he strained towards them, barely able to reach, and rejoicing that its difficulty was merely a lack of conditioning.
She had healed him.
Sobering a bit at the thought, he sat down on the edge of the ledge and looked at her. She was sprawled, obviously unconscious, unmoving throughout his entire display, not even when he had hopped over her. Somehow, for some reason, she had healed him.
He needed to know why.
Was she trying to coerce him into saving her? Would she hold the healing over his head, could she take it away if he didn't do what she wanted? He rested his hand protectively over the area, unsure what his answer would be, then shook his head. Of course he would say no to whatever demands she made, even if he went back to being a cripple. This was nice, but he wasn't going to allow it to hang over him, to influence him in any way.
He frowned. Undoubtedly, that was why she did what she did. Plants were the most self-serving creatures on the planet, humans only fodder for their schemes. She obviously felt that healing him would earn her his gratitude, and so tried to wean his loyalties away from the December Group. She probably already had a place for him in some warped plan of hers. As a matter of fact, that was probably why she had befriended him in the first place, wanting to take him from his role in the group, to weaken it by taking one of its key members before she struck and… did something.
Well, she was in for a rude surprise. Gratitude? Feel gratitude? It was her fault that he had been crippled in the first place. Why should he be pleased with her for fixing the damage she had caused? Could she bring back the years that he had lived in pain and heal them, too? Not likely.
He stood and walked over to where the pieces of his cane lay. He prodded her shoulder with the longer piece, then smacked her with it when she didn't respond. Her eyes fluttered a bit, and she curled a little around the place he had hit, obviously feeling some pain, even through the depths of her unconsciousness, but she still did not awaken.
He glared down at her, the form sprawled over much of the left side of the cell. Her limbs were mostly splayed, limply spread on the ground. Her legs, he saw the inside of her left thigh and a small, cruel smile played over his lips. He leaned down by her and placed one of the broken ends of the cane against the same spot she had once punctured. His right hand held the base of the other piece, and he swung hard, the head of the cane hitting squarely on the piece in his left.
The point did not slide easily into her flesh, but he felt skin part and muscle tear. Blood seeped out of the wound as he pulled the broken cane out of her leg.
"Oh, dear, I seem to have missed the artery," he said in a falsetto, then laughed. "Heal that, bitch," he snarled, then turned to sit on the ledge, awaiting his freedom from this room.
Anne whimpered from the floor, a piteous mewling of pain with every exhalation, but still did not awaken.
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*still snickering* LC's just gonna kill me… But she is sugoi.