Disclaimer: I don't own the Marvel characters involved in this fic, but Lynnea is mine.

Author's Note: We get to know a little bit more about Lynnea here. And her cat. I don't know when the next chapter is going to come up, by the way. Spring break is starting in a week, and I think the computer lab is going to be closed, so I won't be able to upload for a few days. I'll try my best, though. And, who knows… maybe I'll have enough time over break to have something new up, too.

Moonlight Becomes You

Ten – A Few More Scars

November 1

It was the lack of warmth on her legs that woke Lynnea. Normally, Bat was a furnace, forcing her to kick off her blanket just to keep cool. But his absence so early in the morning was enough to pull her out of her slumber. Grumbling, Lynnea repositioned the blanket over her legs and tried to get back to sleep, but she found that without the familiar comforting presence of her cat, she couldn't.

It was always like this whenever she stayed somewhere unfamiliar; she just didn't feel safe without the cat to keep an eye out for her while she slept. Lynnea sighed, pushing the blanket off and flipping over to check the time. Five in the morning… Not as early as she'd feared, but still much earlier than she would prefer to awaken. "Damn cat," she muttered, rolling off the edge of the bed and landing on her feet. She started to stumble in the dark towards the small kitchenette, painfully aware that she needed a caffeine fix if she was going to survive the day, when a soft creaking alerted her to the fact that the door to her suite was open. Lynnea's hands reached for her knife, before she belatedly realized it was still under her pillow. Nightmarish images of O'Connell's men hiding in the shadows – or worse, O'Connell himself – pouncing on her from the darkness flashed through her mind before she noticed the main room was empty.

That meant either someone was in here and hiding, or someone had come in and searched the place. Which didn't make sense; if someone was going to do something like that in secret, why leave the door open? Worse, if the door had been open for awhile, then it was very likely her far-too-curious cat had decided to go on a little stroll. It wouldn't be the first time… A quick search of the rooms proved that neither intruder nor cat was in evidence. Lynnea cursed under her breath, wondering for the umpteenth time why she couldn't have a normal cat like everyone else. She was going to have to find the creature, before he got himself into trouble again. She fumbled around until she found her robe and slippers, then grabbed the knife from under her pillow and stuck it in one of the terrycloth pockets.

"Bat?" she called softly as she stepped into the dark hallway. "Where are you, you bastard?" Her suite was in the center of the hall; she followed it first towards the end furthest from the elevator, towards Dr. Octavius's locked room. She didn't find any indication that her cat had passed through and turned back, heading towards the elevator. If he figured out how to use the elevator, I'm so screwed.

Fortunately, Bat hadn't made it that far; the doorway to the puppet's room was open. She pushed it further open and entered. "Bat?" she called again. She stopped in the middle of the living room, puzzled. Being this close in proximity, she should have felt Mrs. Octavius's presence through her blood connection to the puppet. But the room felt… empty. Why wasn't she here?

Her cat's loud purring drew her attention back to the task at hand. She couldn't see him in the darkness; the Quest building was high enough that the light pollution was filtered, and the moon had gone down, leaving the room in shadows. She thought her cat was sitting on the couch, but she couldn't be sure. The suite was similar to her own, so she was able to guess where the light switch was and flip it on. The sight that greeted her made her jump in shock. She'd found her cat, all right… but his new choice of cat bed was the tentacled doctor who should have been locked in his suite. The man was lying on his stomach, his face turned to the side and his right arm outflung to shield it. Bat had chosen that gap between the arm and the doctor's face as the place worthy of planting his rear.

She was ready to apologize for her cat's transgressions, and was braced for the attack of the actuators, but Octavius hadn't stirred, even when she'd turned on the light. In fact, he seemed to be very deeply asleep. Why and how he had come to be in his wife's room, she had no idea, though she bet O'Connell wouldn't be too thrilled.

That wasn't her concern, however. She didn't care if he got into trouble or not; she wasn't paid to care. She was, however, curious. This was the first time she had the chance to really look at the coiled machines hanging from the man's spine, draped over the couch's headrest or dangling onto the floor. They were completely still, lifeless, no longer seeming to be an organic part of their host. She admired their sinuous build, the metal skeletal segments ending in closed pincers as long as her forearm.

Except for one… the one closest to her, coming off his right shoulder, was severed halfway along its length. Ragged wires hung out from the center of a loose segment, and a dark fluid dribbled out onto the floor. Lynnea leaned over to touch it…

And then she jumped back when a flesh-and-blood hand closed around her wrist. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," a voice growled. "They don't like to be touched."

Lynnea fought back her instinctive response to pull the knife and hurt the man who had dared grab her. She did, however, yank her arm away and back out of range of his touch. "I don't like to be touched, either," she said. Around the doctor, the actuators came alive, making hissing noises when they saw her. He made no move to get up, however; he seemed content to stare at her over the arch of her cat's spine.

"Your beast here has no such qualms, it seems," Octavius said mildly.

"Sorry. Bat…" doesn't usually trust anyone, she thought with annoyance. His job was to protect her from people like this, people who could harm her. "Bat has a mind of his own. Did he wake you?"

"No; I only just settled down when he jumped on me. He must have followed me."

"C'mon," she said to the cat, tugging on him. "Go play alien face-hugger with someone who can't beat you into a bloody pulp." Bat yowled in protest, claws out in a desperate attempt to stay in place. Lynnea winced as two of those claws found purchase on the doctor's cheek, leaving two bloody streaks. "I'm so sorry," she gasped, certain that she was about to die for her cat's daring. "He usually doesn't do anything like this!"

The doctor ran his fingers over the scratches, sighing when he saw the blood on his fingertips. "Don't worry; this is just how my luck's been all night. I'm actually shocked he didn't manage to take an eye out." His voice sounded strained, and his words slightly slurred. He glanced around, then seemed to remember where he was. "Where's my wife? She isn't anywhere on this floor; I checked every room." Ah, so he was the one who opened my door… She wasn't too thrilled that he'd entered her room without her knowing, and that her cat hadn't deigned to alert her. Octavius pushed himself with one hand into a sitting position. The other sleeve flapped loosely at his side, stained a dark brown.

"I don't know… O'Connell must have moved her. What happened to your arm?" she asked. Now that he was seated, she could see another dark stain where his shoulder must have rested. No wonder his face was deathly pale… What was keeping him functioning? Concern, maybe? She could have assured him his wife was unharmed; she would have felt something if O'Connell had harmed the puppet. But she held her tongue.

"I was reckless," Octavius said hollowly.

"I can tell. Your boss isn't going to be happy that you're here. That must be why he moved your wife; he suspected you'd try something like this. You need to get back to your room; maybe you can convince him you went straight there," she said doubtfully.

"Can't; the door's locked," he said. He got shakily to his feet, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth in pain. "I think O'Connell may be the only one who can open it."

"Guess so… he's the one who opened it for me that time I came to talk to you." She looked him over, frowning. "You're dead on your feet," she said, deciding. "Are you hungry? Thirsty? Or I have some bandages for that cut, if you'd like."

"You're the nurse," he said. Oh, shit… That's right. I'm going to have to be careful. Now she really needed caffeine to jump-start her tired mind before she said something stupid and blew it. She leaned over to scoop Bat into her arms, then led the way to her suite, with Dr. Octavius following slowly. She hadn't been far off saying he was dead on his feet; he looked ready to pitch over. He needed a doctor…

He just barely made it to the couch in her suite before his legs gave out, and only swift intervention by the actuators kept him from pitching forward onto his face. Blood loss… she realized. That's why he's so pale and shaky. He shouldn't even be conscious! What do they say when you've lost too much blood? Fluids, you need fluids. Does food help too? I can't remember! Some 'nurse' I make. She pulled a jug of juice out of her fridge, and a bottle of Mountain Dew for herself. She poured a cup of juice and handed it to the scientist, who had removed his long trenchcoat and was now examining the other occupant of the couch.

"You know, this doesn't give me a lot of confidence in your nursing skills," Octavius said mildly, examining the pin-studded rag doll seated next to him. He touched one of the pins jutting out of the blue button eye, then winced. "Let me guess: Old boyfriend, right?"

She handed him the juice. "That's just Justin," she said dismissively. "Star student, quarterback, homecoming king, rapist… a real all-American guy." She grimaced; she'd said more than she'd wanted, but it just slipped out. She hoped Dr. Octavius was too out of it to notice…

Octavius gently set the voodoo doll back on the couch, his expression unreadable. He sipped delicately at his juice while Lynnea went back to her fridge and fished out a pizza box. She handed that to him, as well. "Eat," she ordered him.

He obeyed, albeit awkwardly with only one working hand – and that hand, she noticed with surprise, also showed wear and tear. She studied him carefully as he ate, noticing his color had gone from white to ashen. The actuators seemed to be watching him anxiously, and made peculiar chirping noises. Lynnea bit her lip; the short walk here seemed to have drained what was left of his strength, and from the slowness of his movements, he was fading fast. "How are you still conscious?" she thought aloud. That was one thing she did remember from that first aid class – by keeping the patient awake, he would have the strength to fight back death.

"The actuators have some control over my pain receptors; they can send signals to my brain to block the receptors so I can't feel as much. And I told them not to let me lose consciousness until I get to a doctor, or I might not wake up again…" His voice was becoming less audible as he continued to speak. "I need a transfusion…" The piece of pizza he'd been holding fell from his hands, and his head fell heavily against the couch.

Oh, shit! She was pretty certain that if Dr. Octavius died while in her care, O'Connell would probably deduct money from her pay… Fighting down the instinct to flee from close contact, Lynnea sat on the couch next to him, putting her hand on his good shoulder and shaking him. Bat joined in, jumping into the doctor's lap and planting his paws on Octavius's chest so he could rub his head against the man's gaunt cheek. The actuators made mechanical squawking noises while nudging him.

"Keep him awake!" Lynnea said, standing up and searching desperately for her cell phone. "I'm going to try to find O'Connell… Dammit, Doctor! Don't you dare die on me!"

XXX

November 2

He's waking up… Father? Can you hear us? Father? We thought you were going to die!

…die…

Answer us, Father. We know you can hear us. Your heartbeat has quickened and your breathing has become irregular. You are awake.

…awake…

Everything hurts… Without opening his eyes, Otto took stock of his situation. He was lying on his right side, on what felt more like a hospital gurney than a bed. But the room didn't have the sterile hospital smell of soap and antiseptic, so he couldn't have been in a hospital. And he didn't smell blood, so he wasn't – he hoped – surrounded by dead bodies.

We did not kill anyone. We would have had there been a threat to you, but we had to let the doctor help you if you were to live. We could not let you cease to function.

…function…

Did we do well?

Everything hurts… Otto couldn't take in the flood of words; his groggy mind was barely comprehending anything beyond pain. Much of that pain originated from his left shoulder, which he could feel was immobilized by a sling. But there were twinges along his spine… his lungs burned… and he had a hellish headache. The voices in his head were not helping with that last condition… Please be quiet, he pleaded.

The sound of a pen scratching on paper suddenly seemed loud in his ears as the actuators fell silent. Otto opened his eyes, slowly. The light was brighter than he would have liked, especially with a headache, but it wasn't enough to blind him. He didn't recognize the room he was in; it was a small, Spartan space with blind-covered windows. The only furniture he could see was the gurney he was lying on, a small table, and a metal chair where Lynnea was seated, writing something in a leather-bound book.

Ah. That explained what the strange, warm lump against his chest was. Her cat had found him again. "Wuh…" Otto tried, but his dry throat couldn't form the words.

Lynnea started, her head jerking up. "You're awake!" she said, shutting the book and setting it aside. "Are you thirsty?" She turned to the table, picking up a pitcher of water. She wrinkled her nose. "It's warm, but the doctor said you should drink as soon as you're awake."

Otto was about to thank her, then wondered just how he was going to drink. His left arm was useless, and his right was pinned beneath him. The upper left actuator solved that problem, snatching the glass from a startled Lynnea and bringing it to his lips. It soothed his dry throat, and when the glass was pulled away, he was able to speak again. "What happened?" he tried again.

"You collapsed in my room," Lynnea said. "I called O'Connell, and he brought a doctor. Not an easy task, mind… the guy was terrified of you. He gave you a transfusion and worked on your arm… Then they took you somewhere; I don't know the details. Wait; let me get O'Connell. He wanted to speak to you once you woke up, anyway." She got up and went to the door, and he could hear her speaking with someone outside, probably yet another ever-present guard.

Of course he wants to speak to me… Otto suppressed a groan. O'Connell probably had quite a bit to say, and Otto was in no condition to hear it. If O'Connell had killed Rosie… Otto didn't think he could survive the grief. Then something else occurred to him - Otto had no idea where his coat was. If O'Connell had found the pumpkin bombs… He squeezed his eyes shut, and only the cat pressed against his chest kept him from curling into a ball. I messed up everything… I lost Rosie again…

You don't know that, Father! Stay calm. We do not want you to hurt yourself again!

…again…

Lynnea took her seat. "He'll be here as soon as he can," she said, picking up her book and pen and resuming her writing.

"Is he… angry?" Otto asked hollowly.

Lynnea glanced up. "I don't think so…" There was a sound of the door opening, and an unreadable look crossed her face. "Why don't you ask him?" she asked, standing. He didn't bother to watch her leave, or to even try to crane his neck to see the man who had just entered.

O'Connell came into his field of vision, seating himself in Lynnea's vacated chair. Bat shifted against Otto's chest, hissing at O'Connell before jumping off the gurney to follow his owner out. Otto decided then and there that he liked the cat. O'Connell ignored the cat's unfriendly welcome as he studied Otto silently. There was nothing in his face that hinted at how he felt, and Otto began to feel uneasy.

"Well, you had a very… eventful night, didn't you?" O'Connell asked evenly. "Sabotage, fires, explosions… That's the difference between a hired thug and a super-villain, I guess." He sounded amused by the whole thing. That was better than anger, right? "Are you in a lot of pain?"

"Nothing I can't endure…" It wasn't quite the truth; at the moment, he felt that death would be preferable. "What about Rosie…?" Otto croaked.

O'Connell grinned, but it was what was behind that grin that chilled Otto. He knows I went after her… "She's all right. We moved her when the Green Goblin attacked the van; there was some concern that maybe you and he were working together. Until we saw your condition; it looks like something or someone got the best of you. Still, your wounds wouldn't have been enough to stop you from running away with her, would they?"

Otto didn't hear much past O'Connell's first words. His wife was fine, and… "The van was attacked?" That explained why there'd been so many cops sniffing around the van before all hell had broken loose. "I had nothing to do with that!" Otto said quickly.

O'Connell nodded. "Apparently, about ten minutes or so after you left, the guards left the van for a smoke. They heard a noise, and then the Green Goblin flew in low over the van. And then…" here, O'Connell's lips curled into a snarl, "they opened fire. The Goblin turned and threw a bomb at them, blowing up the van and killing two of my men. Fortunately, Warren suffered only minor cuts and scrapes, and the data disks you gave him were undamaged. He called me to tell me what had happened, and I moved Rosie. I only knew you were innocent of this when Warren called back again later – he stayed on scene to learn what he could, and was the only one to see the Goblin attack you. He also says the Osborn penthouse was on fire; your work, or the Goblin's?"

"Mine," Otto said huskily.

O'Connell laughed. "It may please you to know that the Goblin is getting the blame for it all; he was the only one the police actually saw, and there are even witnesses at OsCorp who say they saw him. The Bugle was the only paper to mention your name, and everyone knows how credible they can be." More to himself, O'Connell added, "I wonder why the Goblin's popping up again now?" His face was grim. And why wouldn't O'Connell be concerned? The Goblin had attacked Quest before. Otto hoped that Harry would come after Quest, after all…

"Did you get the plans?" O'Connell asked. Otto drew a blank for a moment, then winced.

"I got them… but then I lost them when the Goblin attacked."

O'Connell's face was curiously blank. "You lost them?"

"I was injured… I couldn't keep a hold on them."

"So, they're gone."

"I think they fell in a dumpster," Otto said. "They… they might still be there…" He hoped he sounded convincing; he didn't want to drag Susan in to this. Really, he shouldn't have trusted her, anyway, but she was the only person who'd been nice to him after his accident.

O'Connell scowled. "By now, the dumpster probably would have been emptied," he said flatly. "They're gone. But at least they're out of Osborn's hands… and you did at least retrieve the computer files."

Otto found he had been holding his breath, and released it. "Is my wife safe?"

"Normally, I would punish recklessness, but I think this is punishment enough, don't you? In fact, your computer files were very thorough, enough so that Quest can immediately begin honoring its contract to the army. And according to the papers, OsCorp has faced a serious set back and won't be a major contender again for years. I think you deserve a reward."

"My freedom?" Otto croaked. He didn't dare hope.

"On the contrary, with the threat of the Goblin, we need your services now more than ever. That's why I have my people at work forging the pieces needed to repair your damaged actuator – we found enough in the data files to see what we need. The pieces should be sent here by Thursday, at the latest."

A chill went down Otto's spine as it suddenly occurred to him that the Green Goblin had unintentionally done him a favor. With the data he needed in hand, O'Connell would no longer have a need for Otto – or Rosie. And Otto didn't imagine that O'Connell had the compassion to free them to try to rebuild their life… It was why Otto had given O'Connell only the bare minimum of what the man had wanted when Otto had been stuck in the lab, typing up his theories, even though the actuators had everything O'Connell would have wanted programmed into them, easy to duplicate. Otto had been trying to extend O'Connell's need for him, and, by extension, his life as well as Rosie's. Now, though… "I'm also going to lend you the services of my tailor, since your coat can't take much more abuse like this." O'Connell grinned. "Think of it as my way of saying 'thank you' for destroying my biggest competitor and ensuring that Quest Aerospace will become the biggest research and development company in the United States."

Otto felt ill, and it had nothing to do with his various injuries. But he wasn't in any shape to criticize O'Connell. Instead, he said, "What did this doctor have to say?"

O'Connell was holding a clipboard; with a wry grin, he flipped it over, letting Otto see just how many pages were clipped to it. "You're a medical nightmare," he said. "You'll live, of course, though you'll have a few more scars. We were able to salvage your medical files – Dr. Hanson was horrified when he saw your spinal x-rays still had blood on them – and he was able to work from those. To begin with, he gave you a transfusion, and then worked on that wound in your arm. It's a clean cut, and should heal in time, but try not to jolt it too often, and don't try to use it. The cut went to the bone, and it's going to take some time for the muscle to heal. As for the chemicals you inhaled, they didn't do any lasting damage, though breathing is going to hurt for awhile, and don't be too surprised if you cough up blood – the chemicals burned a layer of skin off your trachea. You also seemed to have cracked a vertebra, but there isn't much the doctor can do about that with the spinal brace in the way. Fortunately, the brace also keeps it in place and is better support than anything the doctor could have done – it should heal, as well. You're also to take antibiotics, since you've apparently picked up some unhealthy bacteria on the streets. And…" O'Connell stopped to take a breath. "You also have more bumps, bruises, scratches, scars, and whatnot than I can count."

"Bet the bill's going to be a real bitch," Otto murmured.

"Don't worry; Dr. Hanson owed me a favor," O'Connell said with a peculiar grin. "He did a very good job with you, you know. He stabilized your condition so we could drive you to his clinic – a small, private, and very well funded clinic that wouldn't breath a word about its clients." There was a strange gleam in O'Connell's eyes, and Otto wondered what hold he had over the clinic to ensure their silence. "They wanted to keep you to study for awhile; apparently, you're a real anomaly, and they'd love to have you to poke and prod." There was an implied threat there – Otto wouldn't put it past O'Connell to dump him there once he was no longer needed. "You wouldn't believe the fuss the doctors put up when they realized your pupils were permanently dilated, and yet your vision is basically unaffected. And then there's the fusion of your actuators to your spinal cord… I had to bring you back here before they got too curious and your creations defended you."

Otto's eyelids felt heavy. Now that he wasn't haunted by concern for his wife's safety, he just wanted to go back to sleep, where pain was dulled to a vague, background sensation. O'Connell saw his weariness and raised his eyebrows. "Am I boring you? I know this is probably all old news to you. But still, you've been out for two days already, I can't believe you're tired again." O'Connell shrugged. "Ah, well… Dr. Hanson doesn't want me to let you out of bed until tomorrow, anyway." O'Connell stood, making read to leave.

Two days?

Yes, Father. You needed the time to recover. Do not worry; we watched over you the entire time. And we will do so again if you choose now to rest.

…rest…

Rest… Yes… He couldn't keep his eyes open. Soon after, unconsciousness took him.

To Be Continued…

I feel I should probably point out that Bat isn't entirely a normal cat, just as Lynnea's abilities aren't exactly normal… He's kind of like her familiar, I guess. I want this cat. Not much happened in this chapter, did it? I had big plans for it, but all that got rearranged and will now appear in chapter fourteen… Something seems missing from this chapter, doesn't it? Oi… Figuring out this fic is going to be the death of me, I swear.