---Nothing is mine, except the obvious original characters. Any questions will be explained in time, this is basically just in introductory chapter, and latter chapters will focus more on explanation… Don't worry, you won't be left in the dark forever. Unless you prefer it that way.---
CURIOSITA
I. Knife in the Back
"I told you to tie him down!"
The doctor cradled her bleeding hand, managing to keep calm, despite the struggle behind her. Her voice rose slightly to compensate for the sound. "We did!" she snapped, eyes flashing. The man next to her cracked his nuckles, a habit born out of nerves that cigarettes failed to soothe.
"And he still got an arm free?"
"Yes, he did. You think I cut my own hand?" Her tone could be just as cold as his could. She allowed herself a glace behind her, where two more men, wearing the standard white of the facility, wrestled with another on a gurney. The two on top were the typical size for their job, brawny, over six feet in height, making their opponent look all the more slight. Nevertheless, the smaller man managed to get an arm free now and again, slashing randomly with the same silver dagger that had scratched the doctor's hand only minutes before. She caught a flash of bloodstained cloth and leather. "You didn't tell us he would still be conscious when you hauled him back."
He shrugged. "I didn't know he was. If you people can't get him under control..." The threat hung in the air.
With a scowl, the woman pulled a syringe from her pocket and uncapped it. "I was really hoping you'd make this easy on me for a change," she said. Her shoes made efficient taps on the ground as she moved towards the gurney. Her eyes met the struggling bodies. It was nothing new. Most patients fought like this when they came. Practice made her job easier, but the struggle always complicated matters. She reached for the patient's leg, the only part that was not involved in fighting back. The leather was cold to the touch, temperature making it difficult to manuver. She managed somehow, and slid the needle home.
There was a cry, either of surprise or anger. Both guards leapt back. The woman noted with smug satisfaction that one held the dagger in his hand. Behind her came a grunt; their observer was impressed. She looked into the face of the patient, ready to deliver the usual speech about them taking care of everything. The words died on her tongue at the sight of him.
His face could have been carved by a knife. Every part straight, sharp, and thin, matching the rest of his body. Minute lines around the mouth and eyes were the only indication of his age. A scar ran from the top of his right temple, across his eye, and down to the middle of his cheekbone. She was used to scars. What really stopped her was the eye itself, blazing a green too bright to be natural. She held in a gasp.
"You really found him," she breathed. "You found Garrett..."
A hand slid around her waist, its owner sliding up behind her. "Of course we did. You expected something less?" His voice was warm in her ear as his hand worked slowly through tangled blonde curls. "We always find what we're looking for… no matter the century."
She almost leaned back into his touch. "For a bunch of bookworms, you people aren't so bad…" Her mind came back to her, bringing its usual lot of troubles. Something was amiss. She took a step towards the gurney, trusting the sedative to have done its work. Things she'd missed in the initial, panicked exam sprang up to meet her gaze, and she frowned. "Bryce, is there something I need to know?"
"What?" he followed her, once again trying to slip his arms around her waist. "You okay?"
"I am, but he isn't!" She pointed an accusing finger at the still form on the gurney. "How exactly DID you get him here?"
Bryce held up his hands, looking as innocent as possible. "Nothing even remotely harmful! We wanted him alive after all!"
In contrast to his statement, the form on the gurney jerked, coughing fit to wake the dead. Blood flecked the corners of his mouth when he finished, collapsing back down in the grip of the tranquilizers. His breathing was too shallow to be the fault of the drugs. The doctor in her cringed. She moved to his side, arranging the stethoscope in her ears as she raked her eyes down his body. Good, the lungs were clear. That ruled out what she'd originally feared. "I want to know," she snapped, continuing to examine him. "I want to know exactly what you did to get him here."
"Claire…"
"Tell me!"
He sighed. "We didn't hit him with anything untested," he said, folding his arms. "It never caused this sort of reaction in the trials. We thought it was honestly safe!" Bryce paced, feeling his pockets for a cigarette. "It hit him, he didn't go down. We gave chase, lost him for a few days, then found him in an alley, unconscious." His perfect brows drew together in a scowl. "Pulled him back through the hole. And that's all."
"Whatever you did, it's affecting the respiratory system." She signaled to the guards, who followed her, pushing the gurney between them. Bryce's footsteps were silent, only his angry noises gave his presence away. "I wish you damned Keepers would learn that not all of your gadgets are foolproof."
"I got him here, didn't I?" he shot back.
"And that's another thing! You people never left him alone back then!" The steady verbal abuse didn't stop, even as her fingers flew across her patient, hooking up the respirator, checking pulse and limbs. A nurse drifted in, ready to assist. "That ankle looks sprained. No frostbite, you're lucky for that. Start an IV, I don't want him too dehydrated."
A wise silence. "Look, I can't tell you why we need him, that's the Elders' private information. All I can say is that had we left him back when he was, our past incarnations would never have let him be." One of his hands squeezed her shoulder as she worked. "Here, we have one job, that's it. One job. And then he's free to terrorize the City on his own."
She ignored him. "We'll treat it as an allergic reaction." The razor-thin body convulsed again in coughs. "If something happens to him…"
"Claire, you're being ridiculous."
There was more quiet. Claire ignored him consistently, focusing all her attention on the patient. He ceased to be the legend of old, becoming, to her professional mind, nothing more than another poor soul the Keepers' meddling had sent to their private treatment center. Where they got the funding to keep the place running would always be a mystery to her. Bryce's information was limited to what the almighty Elders allowed him to say. It didn't matter that she worked for them, unless she turned into one of the damned bookworms herself, she would never know their secrets. However…
However, this man on the gurney before her knew more than even Bryce. Maybe, with a few words in the right places, she could finally be rid of the big annoyance. Maybe Garrett could provide the answers Bryce was so unwilling to give. She smiled faintly.
No one would know the reason behind her excitement for this project. Let them dream up preposterous motives, such as revenge or blackmail. Her desire was nothing more than pure, untainted, curiosity. Claire wanted answers, and the only one who would be willing to give them was dead by hundreds of years. A lot had changed in the City since his escapades made the legends. Cars replaced horses, electricity took over from gas and torches, and guns were exchanged for bows. It was even more dangerous, if that could be believed, than when the Thief had roamed the streets. The thought of bringing him forward, using the mysterious "glyphs" Bryce spoke at length of, sent shivers of excitement up her spine. If they could do it, if they could bring him from the past, they would need her. Claire knew how to reassure the Keepers' victims—as she called them—in a way that others failed to mimic.
However, there were always potential flaws in a plan. Her interrogation scheme was no different. If any of the stories were to be believed, the Thief would never speak willingly to someone like her. Hell, she thought. He'd probably kill me same as look at me. And, there was always the chance the Keepers would whisk him off as soon as she pronounced him fit. No matter, she could work around it. So long as Bryce kept his nose out of her business, and, so long as he didn't kill the Thief.
Satisfied the nurse could handle things, she left the room. Bryce followed, ever the shadow. "I'm sorry," he tried. "We didn't mean for him to be injured."
"It's just making my job harder," she snapped. "You're the one that told me all those stories about him, about how he cares less about who he kills, so long as he's paid. How the hell do you think he'll react to this?"
He sank down into a plastic-covered chair. His loose, dark clothes stood out painfully in the white of the hallway. "You can handle him, Claire," he muttered, running his hands through his hair. "And, if not, you're surrounded by—"
"Surrounded by Keepers." She rolled her eyes. "I know. And we both know how well you people did during that whole… Betrayer fiasco."
His fists clenched. "He's injured, in a new City…" Gray eyes glared up at her. "I think we can take him. He won't know what to do."
"You forgot to add 'pissed as hell' to that list."
"Claire…"
It was only to shut him up that she sat neatly in his lap, draping an arm around his shoulders. "I'm just worried," she said. "For you and for him." Delicately, she twirled a lock of hair around a finger. "I don't want to see you spitted on the end of an arrow."
He sighed, taking her hand. The cut was scabbed over already. "And I don't want to see you stabbed in the back." His lips were soft against the back of her hand. "Be careful around him…"
She almost laughed. "I don't think I'm the one that needs to be careful…"
…I'm not the one who's ending up with a knife in the back…
"Care for a drink?"
"No, I need to watch him, make sure your tricks don't give him an early grave."
Bryce laughed. "If you could call living three hundred years after your death an early grave."
Her laugh, this time, was natural.
---More to come.---