Moving on….

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Anne laughed and clapped her hands, the sound of her glee almost loud enough to overwhelm the gasp of horror from Mark. He shifted in his seat, ending up on the very edge of his chair, his affront almost making him stand. His outrage danced in his eyes and stiffened his spine as he tried to find the words to express himself.

"You, you, you can't!" he sputtered. "That's… I mean, there's just no way you can do this to me. You know what she's done," he pointed out, trying to be rational.

"Yes," their boss replied patiently. "I am quite aware of what she has done. But of all my men… who are not currently broken," he mused, "you are the one most likely to not be killed. Not only can you take care of yourself, she seems to like you. That alone may save you from the males."

"I did not sign up to play friends with the freaks," he protested, eyes narrowing as he contemplated the situation posed by the males. "Why can't Effie watch them?"

"Because I told you to," ordered the boss. "Are you questioning my judgment?"

Mark proceeded to sulk. "No, sir. I'm not… hell, yes I am. Why don't we just kill them all now?"

"For one thing, they are all expecting something right now," he pointed out patiently. "For another, how much are you enjoying being able to move freely again? If these plants can do for everyone what she did for you, imagine the resources that could be freed up. We could stop trying to replicate the medical systems and use those components in the power research."

Anne had sat back and watched the repartee between Mark and the boss with a whimsical half-smile on her face, but at that comment she had to make a point. "Healing does take energy out of us," she said into the silence. "Not much; for what I did for you, say about as much as having to dash up a flight of stairs. But there aren't enough free plants on the planet to replace the existing system, even if you just mean for us to take over surgical duties."

She stood and went to the man on the floor beside her and placed her hand on his temple and eased him back to consciousness, reducing the swelling around the bruises she had planted on him before waking him up. She steeped back quickly as he came to swinging, trying to land a punch on her chin even from his horrible position on the floor.

"You are the most thankless bunch," she muttered under her breath as their boss explained the new situation. Soon, everyone was awake and disgruntled. Everyone save Anne, who had returned to looking at the first picture. She could see her old house, see it's roof on the far left side of the picture. A wave of homesickness broke over her as the men behind her argued. In her mind's eye, the hills in the picture were replaced by the hills of her memory, and she could almost swell the sweet salt breeze that cooled the town on the hot days of summer. The whitewash on the buildings in the painting looked fresh and clean, and she could almost hear the whistling jargon used by the men who applied it.

Blinking back tears, she kept her eyes firmly affixed on the picture, back to the windows that looked out on sand and dust. There were some days that she would almost kill for the chance to see the ocean again, to jump into the clear blue surf and bask on the clean white sands.

Sure, there had been days where the scent of dying fish in the sea had nearly overwhelmed her senses, when the humidity had been so horrible that it was all one could do to breathe, let alone move. And the rain in the winters had turned the bright white walls into dingy gray, but overall, what she remembered where the days where she was surrounded by so much natural beauty that it could bring tears to even her eyes.

But not now. With a sigh, she turned and left that dead time behind her once more. She would never see that time again. All she could do now was try to recreate as much of it as she could, here. Her new home, like it or not. And she mostly liked it. At least life here was still less complicated.

Thinking of home, she grinned, remembering who would be there when she got back. She had been getting tired of her empty apartment, and now it would be full. Of family, and of Knives. And of another, protesting houseguest.

She looked over at Mark. He was shooting her a glare that blamed the whole mess on her. Her grin widened, and she went to the door. Her boss was occupied arguing with his guards, so Mark ended up being the only one to follow her into the hall.

"You seem pleased with yourself," he commented sourly.

"I am," she said simply, losing the grin. "I somehow managed to not have to fight my way out of that room. Amazing what that can do for your enjoyment of the day."

"Have I mentioned that I hate you? That I think that this assignment is asinine?"

"You may have said something of the sort. How's your leg?" she asked, shifting the subject.

"Fine."

"No pain, no soreness? You should still take it easy for a couple days. No quick action, no stretching. Let it get used to being whole again before you stress it."

He scowled.

She sighed. "I'm sorry," she said quietly as they got in the elevator. "I'm sorry that I'm not what you thought I was. But I don't care how much you sulk and act affronted, I refuse to feel sorry for being what I am."