No guns or knives. The fight in this chapter is with fists, so not much blood there. I'm sorry if I give anyone the creeps by briefly describing her hands. It isn't very graphic though. Perhaps a broken jaw is an exaggeration with her hands in that condition, but please suspend belief.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything except the things I own. The things I own are the things not owned by Colfer. Colfer owns everything except the things I own. The things Colfer owns are the things I do not own. :) Try that one, all you people who think you're the next Artemis Fowl.


Valerie walked through the men proudly, knowing they were all a little afraid of her. They watched her pass in silence, something that most men would not have done for a surrendered foe.

She and Zane were taken with The Tyrant and his bodyguards to the biggest copter. Three of the guards went on with them, and the other three went to take charge of the men milling around outside.

"Please, sit down." The Tyrant motioned her courteously to a seat, and waved a rather squished looking man forward from the back of the copter. He was much too big for the cramped space of the copter. It wasn't that he was fat— he was just big. Big across, and big in height. He most definitely did not belong in here, and his face showed it.

"See her first, and then Zane. She's more serious, and he's more tired." He stepped aside, so that he could squeeze past, and glanced over at Zane, who had been set down on the opposite seat. "You don't look very happy. Is there something you need?"

Zane looked at him a moment. "I haven't eaten in several days. I'm hungry."

"Oh yes, of course." He turned to one of his bodyguards. "Find him something decent to eat. And something to drink as well."

The medic was trying to find the end of the bandages wound across Valerie's middle without much success. Zane had made a thorough tangle of things, and it wasn't going to be a neat job unwinding it.

Valerie watched his perplexed face for a few minutes, and then asked: "Do you have a knife?"

"But if I cut you, or if—"

Valerie leaned forward, and tugged his face down. "If you do, I don't think it'll matter. You couldn't make anything much worse."

Hesitantly, he pulled a small knife out of his pocket and set it against the bandages. Then, he stepped back. "No, I don't think—"

Valerie grasped the flat edge of the blade between two fingers, and pulled it out of his hand. "Let me do it. I won't cut myself, and I'm not going to get sick over it."

"I do not get sick over the sight of blood!" said the medic indignantly.

She murmured something in reply, and concentrated on guiding the knife through the bandages, and not the skin. She probably shouldn't lose anymore blood in the condition she was in.

Finally, the bandages fell apart, and her hand tumbled out at an odd angle. It was even worse than it had been before, but perhaps that was because of the good lighting. The medic blanched, and turned his face away. "What did you do?"

One of the bodyguards leaned over him to get a good look, and hastily pulled away with a shudder.

Valerie smiled, and nodded politely at The Tyrant. "Ask him."

The Tyrant looked uncomfortable. "I put her in the crusher."

"All the way?"

"Well— it didn't seem to bother her, and she wouldn't say anything, and it still doesn't seem to bother her." He squirmed, and tried not to look at the hand in question.

Valerie's smile showed a few teeth. "I'm a beautiful liar, dear. Do you have any pain killer?"

The medic shoved a handful of small pink tablets at her. Valerie took them all, and then looked back up at him. "Do you happen to have any local anesthetic with you?"

"Why?"

"Do you?"

He shook his head, and hastily looked away again, with a hard swallow.

Valerie sighed. "You're not much use as a medic, are you? Go work on Zane. His injuries aren't as bad as mine. I'll take care of myself, I suppose."

Glad for an excuse to turn his back on her, he squeezed around in the isle, and began to examine Zane's wounds, which, as Madam had said, were much less gruesome.

Valerie nodded to one of the bodyguards. "You— come and hold my arm up for me."

The guard looked questioningly at The Tyrant, who nodded, and then sat down on the seat in front of her, and gingerly took hold of her arm at the elbow, and held it up. "Does it hurt?"

"Does it look like it hurts?" Valerie studied her hand a moment, and then began to trim dangling pieces of skin off with the knife. "Hold my arm steady! If you keep shaking it like that, I'm going to have a big, bloody gash right across my wrist."

"Sorry." The guard tightened his grip, and hastily looked away. "How much pain killer have you taken?"

"What he gave me was the first I've had. And I'm glad for it, I assure you. What would be more welcome, however, would be an amputation, or sleep. Neither of which, I'm likely to get."

"Why aren't you crying?"

Valerie frowned at him. "Don't stereotype about women. We don't cry about every small cut and scrape. Granted, most women would cry if their hand was like this, but I can hit and shoot just as well with the other one, so it's not such a big deal to me."

"But doesn't it hurt?" He was now staring at her, utterly forgetting about the gore on her hand.

"Of course it does! But do tears make things better?" Valerie set her teeth, and pushed a broken pinky bone into place. "Tears fix nothing, and I learned that a long time ago. They bring no one back from the dead, they don't undo mistakes, and they don't heal hurts. Basically, tears are pointless, and childish. I have no need for them."

He swallowed, and turned his head away again. "How do you ignore it though?"

"I don't ignore it. I deal with it. Now is there any alcohol around?"

The medic, who had just finished dousing Zane's leg in it, pushed a bottle back to her. "What's this cut from?"

Zane grunted. "A helicopter blade."

The Tyrant looked up at this. "Oh yes— I forgot to ask about the helicopter. What in the world did you do with it? They looked all over for it, and still no one's found it."

"I dumped in a lake." Zane gritted his teeth, and watched the medic bandage up his leg. When they got back, he'd get stitches, no doubt. "I didn't swim out from under it quite fast enough. The blade nicked me."

"Was that her idea?"

Zane pulled off his shirt for the medic, and held out his arm, slumping back in the seat. "Actually, everything's her idea. She always has the answers." He winced, as more alcohol stung the nick on his arm.

"I thought I told the men not to shoot at you!" The Tyrant looked annoyed, more at being disobeyed than that Zane was hurt.

Valerie glanced over at him, pausing, in her methodic cleaning. "Two nights ago, one of the Sun Ye On's assassins almost killed me. I'd just gotten away from one of your men, and the police, so I let my guard down. Zane pushed me out of the way."

"So you're human after all," laughed The Tyrant. He nodded to Zane. "She told me about you two."

Zane froze, looking uncomfortable, partly because he suspected this was the proper reaction, partly because he wasn't sure what was being implied, and partly because he felt that way..

"Is she attractive, when she's not trying to kill you?" The bodyguard strapping himself into the pilot's seat spoke for the first time, giving Zane a teasing grin.

Zane flushed slightly, suddenly remembering. Oh. That.

"Hey!" Valerie glared at him. "I'll refrain from hitting him," here she motioned to The Tyrant, "because he's my benefactor at the moment. You however, are not. I have no qualms about beating you up, in this state, or not. I can. So keep your mouth shut."

"I doubt it." He grinned at her. "You've been dealing with untrained personnel, so far, Madam. I am the best there is, you know. I doubt you could beat me fully healed and rested. You've had blind beginner's luck so far, but it never keeps."

There was a sudden silence. Even The Tyrant looked uncomfortable at such an open challenge.

Slowly, Valerie got out of her seat. "You make a mistake, in assuming I'm a beginner. I may only be eighteen, but I've been in the business for years. A long time. I never count on luck. Luck will always turn bad on you. I know."

With a click, he released his safety belt.

The Tyrant hastily stepped forward to intervene, scowling at his bodyguard for putting him in such an uncomfortable situation.

Valerie put her hand out. "Stop. This will be taken separately. It won't affect anything else. If I am beaten, then I'll have deserved it for boasting. I hope you don't mind if your guard's injured?"

"If he is," mumbled The Tyrant, "it's his own fault."

Valerie slipped past the guard who'd been aiding her in fixing up her hand, and stood there, looking at her opponent, bloody hands and arms hanging at her side. "Do you prefer to fight in here, or outside?"

"It won't be necessary to get out," he sneered. "It'll take longer than settling things right now."

Valerie nodded slightly, and relaxed, standing in no apparent position, and watching him from half-closed eyes, as though she were studying him.

Suddenly, his fist shot out straight, at her midsection.

Just as suddenly, Valerie was not there, but standing slightly to the side, and he mashed his fingers against the metal supportive pole.

Again, he tried to hit her, and again he hit the pole. This time, when she dodged, he swung his other fist at her, but he hit the pole again.

In the back of the copter, Zane snickered: just loud enough for everyone to hear, and just soft enough to sound polite. Madam would utterly pulverize the ego of this pompous upstart.

Valerie flowed from here to there like water, conscious of every part of his body, and where they were in relationship to her. Over and over he hit the pole, or the side of the copter, or a seat, and he grew more and more angry, wasting his breath to shout insults at her.

"It is not wise to become angry," murmured Valerie, when at last he had exhausted himself, and was covered with bruises and cuts he'd given himself.

He grunted something, and glared at her. "So you could dodge a storm of bullets! You're a coward! You don't know anything about fighting! You're a weak woman!"

For an instant, Valerie smiled. Then, she raised her mangled hand. "You call me a coward. Yet, when have I cried in pain over the injuries I've received? You say I don't know anything about fighting, and yet, I'm am skilled enough that I no longer have to fight like you. You say I am weak. What do you think I can do to you with this hand?"

"Nothing," he muttered after a moment of hesitation.

So quickly that he had no time to respond, Valerie's hand shot into his face, and met his jaw.

He stared at her for a moment, face at a funny angle.

"I believe your jaw is broken."

With a choke of pain, he slumped back in his seat, and passed out. Valerie shook her head at him, and looked at her hand, which she was beginning to think would have to be amputated. "He was a fool. He did not understand. He had no control over his body, and he has no control over pain. You ought not to have employed him."

She turned around, and looked at Zane a moment. "You laugh Zane. You're no less guilty, and you know what I can do to you."

He grinned crookedly at her. "Yes, but I also know what you won't do to me."

Valerie felt a smile fighting it's way to her face. "You get smarter everyday, don't you? This game is glorious, isn't it?" She sat down, looking at The Tyrant. "Actually, it's the first interesting thing I've done in a long time. I'm looking forward to winning."

"Are you?" For a moment, she thought she saw triumph in his eyes. "So am I."


Thanks to all the anonymous reviewers. Nice of you to pop in every now and then. One question to (me): Um, this is obviously a stressful story. I mean, a running for your life kind of story. How on earth does it make you feel better after a hard day? Because you can compare it to yourself and laugh because if things are bad, at least they're not that bad? Or are they? (No one turn me in, please. No reply for anonymous reviewers, you know)

You who do not review: Your evils will condemn you on the day of judgment. :)