Thanks for your kind reviews! As for Lendon, I promise he'll get what's coming to him, eventually. In the meantime, I love your suggestions how to deal with him, because yes, even though I created him I really hate him, too :)!

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Chapter 16

The Medical Ward was quiet and deserted, as Trip had expected it would be. They had encountered no one on their way here, and it was still dark outside, the rain pouring down as it had when he had gone to bed. He supposed that only a few hours had passed since then. Malcolm was probably still out from the sedative Lendon's crony had injected into his leg, and more likely than not still lying on the floor, for Trip was quite sure no one had bothered to check on him.

"Where's Rowland?" Lendon, who had followed them into the room, glanced around. "Hey, doc!"

"He's not working night shifts," Owens replied. "I'll go and check if Linda's in the nurses' room. You can sit down over there," he added to Trip and nodded at one of the examination beds. "Clothes are in the locker, if you want to get dressed."

"Thanks," Trip said quietly and went over to the small cabinet the nurse had pointed out. Inside, there were several stacks of neatly folded patients' garb; kept there for new arrivals, Trip supposed. He picked a pair of pants that seemed to be more or less his size and slipped into them, feeling Lendon's eyes on him as he tied the drawstrings. He knew without looking that the nurse was grinning, well aware that Trip was relieved not to be exposed to his eyes any longer. Trip refused to look at him and took out a shirt. It stung when the fabric brushed over the cuts, yet not as much as he had expected. Maybe the injuries were more superficial than he had thought.

He closed the locker again and went over to the examination bed where Owens had told him to take a seat. How many weeks had passed since he had been here for the first time, waiting for his turn to be examined by Rowland? He realized that he didn't really know, and under different circumstances this might have been unsettling, frightening even. Now, Trip merely discarded the thought along with everything else. He felt empty inside, as if the last few hours had used up his entire store of emotions, and in a way he welcomed the void inside him. The alternative, which was either trying to kill Lendon or, worse even, allowing the tears to fall, would serve no purpose and only land him in even more trouble. Better to just sit there and wait until they let him go.

"Tucker," Lendon said from across the room.

Trip raised his head. The nurse was leaning against the wall next to the door, his injured hand cradled to his chest.

"Yeah?" he said hoarsely. Maybe this was Lendon's introduction of round two, or maybe the nurse couldn't pass up on the opportunity to taunt him some more. Trip wished he could at least find it within himself to hate the man, but even his hatred seemed to have dissipated, leaving only a faint annoyance at Lendon's presence behind.

"You realize that no one wants to hear your whinin' and complainin', don't you?"

It took Trip a moment to process Lendon's question in his mind. Then he understood, and shrugged. "Whatever."

Lendon pushed himself away from the wall and came a little closer. "No one'll listen to you, anyway. But I don't want Sandra havin' to deal with this shit. Dr. Cooke, I mean."

Trip stared at him for a long moment. Again, Lendon's indifferent mask had slipped a little, and this time it was fear that surfaced for a second before the man smoothed out his features.

"She wouldn't like to hear that she can be a bit boring, would she?" he asked. It was a stupid move, and yet he wanted to see a little more of that anxiousness on Lendon's face. A shallow victory, perhaps, but one he couldn't resist, either.

Lendon's face flushed in anger. "You watch your mouth, Tucker. Say one word, and it won't be you who has to deal with the consequences."

An emotion stirred in the void, one Trip had believed had abandoned him for good. "What do you mean, it won't be me?"

Lendon smiled coldly. "Well, maybe Reed needs to spend a little time in seclusion, as well. He tried to attack one of my orderlies, didn't he? And I bet he likes takin' it up the ass."

The emotion within Trip had grown into full-blown anger, a thing he wouldn't have believed himself capable of only minutes ago. "You keep the fuck away from him!"

Lendon laughed. "Jealous, Trippy boy? Don't worry, I'm not gonna steal your little boyfriend... well, I might, for a few hours. That snotty British accent is somethin' of a turn-on, don't you think?"

Trip looked away, thinking that he would throw up if he had to watch that ugly leer for one more second. "You're sick."

"And you better keep your mouth shut if you want to keep Lord Malcolm out of trouble. You wouldn't want his skinny English ass to get hurt, would you?"

Trip said nothing. He would have liked to go over there and strangle the man, slowly, and he knew that whatever came out of his mouth now would be too insulting for Lendon to ignore. And there was one thing the bastard was right about; he didn't want Malcolm to get hurt.

"I wonder what he'd do-" Lendon began when there was a soft click from the door as the locking mechanism was disengaged. The nurse broke off and immediately returned to leaning against the wall, contemplating his bitten hand as if it had kept him occupied the entire time.

"Finally," he said when Owens entered, an elderly woman in med tech's scrubs in tow. Her dark face assumed an expression of distaste when she noticed Lendon. "What are you doing here, Paul? Didn't know you worked night shifts now."

"Well, workin' day shifts does deny me the pleasure of your charming company," Lendon said. It was obvious that he was proud of his comeback, but the woman ignored him as if he hadn't said a word and glanced at his injured hand instead. "That a bite?"

"Courtesy of Tucker here," Lendon replied. "There are days when I hate my job."

"Tell me about it." She gave him a dry look, and Lendon actually flushed.

"Very smart, Linda."

Again, she ignored him completely. "Is it still bleeding?"

Lendon shook his head.

"Good." Linda pointed at the sink. "Wash the wound with disinfectant soap and then rinse it with clear water . I'll get an antibiotic for you to put on it."

"Shouldn't you be doin' that?" Lendon asked with a raised eyebrow, which he obviously believed would look insolent. In Trip's opinion, it merely looked stupid. Linda seemed to be thinking along the same lines. Not deigning to answer, she opened a drawer and took out a small tube that she tossed to Lendon. He didn't react in time, and had to bend down to pick it up.

"Your antibiotic."

"Thanks," he said pointedly, but the med tech paid him no further attention and came over to Trip.

"Hi, I'm Linda Cole," she said smiling. "You're new, right? 'Cause I usually remember the faces I've seen before."

"Yeah," Trip said, and even dragged up a smile in return. "My name's Charles Tucker. Trip, if you like."

"Trip," Linda repeated. "My granddad had a Golden Retriever called Trip. No offense," she added with an apologetic smile.

"None taken," Trip said. After tonight, being the namesake of a Golden Retriever seemed pretty mild.

"What happened to your neck?" Linda asked. Her tone was neutral, but Trip didn't miss the slight hardening of her lips as she took a closer look at his injuries.

Trip glanced at Lendon who was busy at the sink, ostensibly unaware of their conversation. Telling her wouldn't help, anyway.

"I... stumbled and fell into a glass door," he said. The words left a stale taste in his mouth, and he could see that Linda didn't believe him, had never even expected that he would come forth with a truthful answer.

"I expect that's how you got the bruise, too."

Trip only nodded.

"Well then," she said and pulled up a wheeled equipment table, "yet another victim of the notorious pieces of furniture that seem to jump our patients whenever Nurse Lendon is on duty. Right, Paul?"

Lendon acted as if he hadn't heard her, intent on spreading minty-smelling antibiotic salve on his hand. The corners of Linda's mouth went down, but she said nothing and took a cotton swab from a jar on the equipment table.

"The cuts aren't very deep, and I think it's better to let them heal without coverings. I need to disinfect them, though." She picked up a small bottle and tipped some of its contents onto the cotton swab. "I'm afraid this is going to sting a little."

It stung more than a little, but Trip sat through the procedure without making a sound, aware that Lendon was still there, watching. As she exchanged the swab for the third time, Linda glanced up at his face. She seemed to have noticed something about his expression, for she turned around to Lendon.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be, Paul?"

Lendon smirked. "Actually-"

"I said, don't you have somewhere else to be, Paul?" she repeated, and there was something about her tone that would have made most people jump. Even Lendon seemed to have noticed, and held up his hands in mock surrender.

"Okay okay, I'm off. Night, Trippy," he winked at Trip as he walked over to the door. "I'll see you later."

"Thank God," Linda muttered as the door had closed behind him. "Can't have that piece of shit stinking up the place."

Trip looked at Owens who was leaning against the other examination bed, morosely studying the ceiling. "Scuse me, sir?"

Owens looked at him. "Yes?"

"D'you think you could go and check on Malcolm? He... I think he hurt himself when Lendon came to take me to seclusion, and I'd like to be sure that he's okay."

"Hurt himself in what way?" Linda wanted to know.

Trip avoided her eyes. "He fell. I think he's unconscious."

"They knocked him out, huh?" Linda sighed when there was no answer. "Let me know if he needs to be looked after."

Owens nodded and went to the door. "Be right back."

He left, and Linda returned to cleaning the cuts. For a while, neither of them spoke, and Trip found himself wondering how many patients had sat here before him, having cuts and bruises tended to that Lendon was responsible for. From what Linda had said earlier, he supposed that it had been more than a few.

"There," she said finally, and tossed the last swab onto the examination table. "All done."

"Thanks," he said and smiled a little.

"You're welcome." She gave him a long searching look. "Are there any other injuries I should look after, Trip?"

The use of his nickname startled him for some reason, and it took a moment before he understood. His face warmed as he realized what she was getting at. "No," he said quietly. "I'm fine."

She began to gather up the soaked swabs, not looking at him as she dropped them one by one into the trash. Her tone was soft, almost gentle. "An injury to the rectum can lead to dangerous infections when left untreated. It's in your own interest that you tell me. Doctor/patient confidentiality doesn't allow me to repeat anything you said to anyone, so you don't have to worry about that."

"I'm okay," he repeated. How many times has she had this conversation before? "Really."

Linda leaned against the examination bed across from Trip. Her dark eyes were full of concern. "I can get Philip to talk to you, if you'd prefer that. He's my colleague from the day shift."

Trip shook his head. "Really, I'm okay." When she obviously didn't believe him, he added, "I bit him."

There. That didn't tell her anything she didn't already know, and yet she could draw her own conclusions. Which she did, judging from the small grin that tugged at her lips.

"Good for you."

Trip fervently seconded that statement, but was careful to keep his expression neutral. "Can I go back to my room? I'd like to see if Malcolm's okay."

"We should probably wait until Mike's back," she said. "He'll take you back to your ward."

"Okay."

"Is Malcolm a good friend of yours?" Linda wanted to know.

Trip nodded. "Yeah."

"That's good," she said softly. "You guys need to stick together in this place."

Trip could think of nothing to say to this. He knew that she was frustrated with his reluctance to talk, even though she might understand his reasons. Hell, he would be too in her place. Still... pouring his heart out to the night shift tech wouldn't change a thing. Linda couldn't go to Dr. Cooke for him; Trip had a feeling that Cooke would straight-out refuse to believe that her young lover liked to rape the patients in his spare time. And if Lendon found out... No. He couldn't let that happen. If their life was shitty now, it would be unadulterated hell after Lendon had discovered that Trip had talked.

The door opened and Trip glanced up. Owens was back, looking even more tired than he had before he left.

"Malcolm's okay," he said before Trip or Linda could ask. "He was just waking up. Bumped his head a little when he fell, but nothing serious."

"I'll get an ice pack," Linda said and Owens nodded.

"Thanks."

She went over to a small cooling cabinet and took out a bag that seemed to be filled with frozen blue Jell-O. Wrapping it in a towel, she handed it to Trip.

"Here. Tell him to keep that on the bump until the swelling goes down."

He took the bundle from her and smiled. "Thank you." He knew that she was doing this on purpose, giving him the ice pack instead of Owens, and was touched by the kindness of the gesture.

"You're welcome. Mike..." Linda grew more somber as she looked at Owens. "Are you going to file a report?"

Owens eyes behind the thick glasses flickered nervously. "Linda..."

"You know what happened," she said, with more strength in her voice this time. "They'll all know when they see the cuts on his neck. Christ, does this bastard have to kill somebody before something is done about him?"

"I can't afford to lose my job," Owens said quietly. "You know that, Linda." He motioned for Trip to follow him. "Come on."

"Thanks again," Trip said to Linda, who sighed in response.

"You're welcome. Take care of yourself, okay?"

Trip nodded. He didn't look back at her as he followed Owens to the door. She meant well, yes, but what she didn't understand was that nothing would be done about Lendon even if he tried to kill someone. Unless that someone killed him first.

Trip kept his eyes straight ahead as he stepped out into the hallway.

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Neither Owens nor Trip were in the mood for conversation, and so the first words were spoken when Owens opened the door to Ward 4.

"You okay?" the nurse asked quietly as he ushered Trip inside. Trip glanced at him. There was genuine concern on Owens' face, and he guessed the question hadn't been merely pro forma.

"Yeah," he said, and Owens nodded.

"You and Malcolm can have the morning off. I'll write Sam a note to pick you up after lunch, okay?"

Trip said nothing in response. He wasn't sure if this was Owens' way of apologizing, or if it was more about the fresh cuts and other visible injuries that would draw the looks of their fellow patients. In either case, it would be the first time in months that he didn't have to get up at six in the morning.

They had arrived at the door that led to the room he shared with Toby and Malcolm. Owens slid his key card into the slot on the wall.

"You gonna be all right?"

Trip nodded, not looking at the nurse as he pushed open the door. "Yeah. Night, sir."

"Night," Owens replied, and Trip thought he had heard a trace of sadness in the man's voice. He wasn't sure, though. Maybe it was just his inner emptiness reflecting on his perception.

The door swung shut behind him, and there was the familiar click of the lock being engaged.

Trip squinted in the darkness. "Malcolm?"

"Yes," a quiet voice said to his left. In the meantime, Trip's eyes had adapted to the dark and he saw the outlines of a figure on Malcolm's bed.

"Mal? Can I turn on the light?"

"Sure," Malcolm said, and Trip fumbled for the light switch next to the door. At least, he thought, they didn't have an automatically controlled "lights-out" at River Valley, even if everything else was not much different from prison protocol.

There was a sharp intake of breath from the bed when the lights came on, and Trip knew that Malcolm had noticed the slashes on his neck.

"It's not-" he began, but didn't get far when Malcolm jumped up.

"What happened?" The Englishman was pale, more so than usual, and Trip supposed that he was sporting one hell of a headache. There was a mixture of shock and quickly building anger in his eyes as he took in the full extent of Trip's injuries.

"It's not so bad." Trip held out the towel with the ice pack, hoping to distract the other man's attention from the cuts. "Here. The med tech gave me that for your head."

Malcolm didn't even spare it a glance. "What happened, Trip?" he demanded, a look of disbelief on his face as he came closer. "Those are knife cuts, aren't they?"

Trip sighed. He had no desire to give Malcolm a detailed account of what had happened in the seclusion room. All he had really wanted was to make sure that Malcolm was okay, and then hit the sack. He was suddenly very tired. "Yeah. Lendon had a knife with him."

Malcolm raised his eyes to Trip's face, and Trip could see that he was about to ask the same question Linda had, only with slightly different wording. Trip interrupted him before he could open his mouth. "It's okay, Mal. Really."

Malcolm stared at him for a long moment. "He didn't-"

"No he didn't," Trip said. How he wished he could just lie down on his bed and go to sleep. "We... we struggled, and I bit his hand with the knife. He lost it and I got away. Then Owens came in."

Not much for dramatic narrative, he thought, but Malcolm seemed to believe him.

"You bit him?" he asked, and the corner of his mouth twitched. Trip was glad to see it.

"Yeah," he said. "Tasted like shit, though."

Malcolm smiled a little, an expression that soon turned into a brooding frown again. "That bloody bastard."

Trip had to admit it did help that someone, that Malcolm would be so angry on his behalf, especially since his own anger seemed to have deserted him again after the short interlude with Lendon back in the Medical Ward.

He handed Malcolm the ice pack again, and this time the Englishman took it. "Keep that on your head till the swellin' goes down. You feelin' okay?"

Malcolm nodded, holding the towel against the side of his head. "Yes, it's just a small bump."

Trip sat down heavily on his bed. "Owens is lettin' us sleep in tomorrow," he said and began to pull off his shirt, biting down on a hiss when it touched the cuts. "Moreno'll get us after lunch."

"Really." Malcolm's tone spoke volumes. Obviously he was thinking along the same lines as Trip; either the rare treat was meant as an apology, or the nurse didn't want the other patients to be upset by Trip's strange injuries. The longer he thought about it, Trip was inclined to believe that the former was true. From what Linda had said, he wasn't the first one Lendon had used as his personal spare time amusement. By now, the patients of Ward 4 were probably used to seeing odd cuts and bruises on each other.

"Did you see Toby?" Malcolm asked. He had gotten into bed as well, lying on his back with one hand under his head, the other one still holding the ice pack.

Trip shook his head as he rearranged his covers. He would have liked to pull them up to his chin, but he knew that the rough fabric would hurt on his cuts. "No, I think he was in a separate room."

The thought of Toby brought a vague feeling of guilt. Sure, he had only wanted to help when he had built the ray neutralizer, and it wasn't his fault that Lendon had found it. What remained, though, was the uncomfortable thought that maybe he shouldn't have interfered at all. Toby had seemed happy enough, yeah, but there was next to nothing Trip knew about their roommate's mental condition and how it worked. If the trauma of having his "protection" destroyed plunged him into a severe crisis, it would be partly Trip's responsibility.

He turned onto his side so he could look out the window. The rain was pouring down as steadily as ever. Maybe his vision of River Valley submerging in a sea of mud like Atlantis in the ocean would come true after all, if this continued much longer. He didn't even smile at the idea. Day-dreaming wasn't enough, and indulging in revenge fantasies was childish at best. This place wasn't just going to disappear like a rabbit in a magician's hat. Not the place, no.

"Mal?" he asked, not looking at the other man as he stared out the window.

"Yes?"

"Do you ever think about runnin' away?"

There was a moment's silence from the other bed. "Of course I do," Malcolm said then. "The odds are bad, though."

"I know," Trip said softly. The odds weren't just bad, they were disastrous, and there was always Dr. Lockhart's warning that it was best for their own safety to stay here. "There may be people desperate to get the knowledge you had before you lost your memories." Those people, if they existed, were a long way from here, though, and how would they trace two homeless men on the run?

Trip stared into the rain. "Take care of yourself", Linda had said. Maybe it was time they started doing just that.

TBC…

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