In Pieces

by Suzue0Shayana

A shattered story about a woman who had lost something important during every part of her life. Will she be able to collect her missing 'pieces? 'Dialogues as sharp as thongs hurting your butt and as incisive as a bitchslap. Reflections as brilliant as a Vegas neon. Cliffhangers as violent as truck drifts' - at least Zhalia says so, you'll check it yourself!

20. Chapter 20: The Tightening Web

Hi there…

It's me, the prodigal Sha. I know. I know I'm a terrible liar. I promised, and I broke it. I'm not proud with it. As one of my favourite bands sings, 'I wish I broke mirrors instead of promises'. But sometimes you get too carried away by the events in your life to pay attention to anything else. I bet everyone of you, dear Readers, knows the feeling.

However, I have one info that may cease the fire of your anger. It's connected to the usual excuse I had – the one about doing my best to fulfill one of my biggest dreams, which is, as you know, going to Japan.

And I did it. I got the scholarship to Japan. I GOT IT!

After three years of struggling with my own laziness, weaknesses, stress and self-consciousness. I know it sounds exaggerated, but that's how it looked for me. A lot of hard work and worries. Now I know it was worth it. I can relax now, have my free time, the holiday I missed for a long time. Before my departure in September, I hope to catch up with everything I kind of neglected.

As you can imagine, in the aforementioned circumstances I couldn't focus on anything else than happiness. It was one of the rare times when my own everyday life seemed way more interesting than fictional adventures… I hope that after a long, boring passage of worries, it's like a new start for me. New challenges, friends, discoveries, experiences. A whole new chapter.

So, to celebrate it with you, I decided to divide the planned 'Murray Affair' into two chapters, instead of one. The reason is, it got quite long over the times I desperately tried to finish it. Second, every time I struggled to finish it on time, I got frustrated over my own inability to do it in one shot, and I got discouraged, and left it in scrapes. So, instead of rushing with things, I'd rather give you quite a steady part, and then add the next part in the following chapter. This one is a mix of the precious chapter entitled 'Waiting', but with some passages added, and the whole new conclusion, which will be resolved in the next chapter. I hope you won't be disappointed in such a solution; I guess that after such a long time, it'd be nice to refresh the whole part. If there are any contradictions in this version, please inform me. It's like with my bachelor's thesis (which I also recently defended): I've read it so many times it became blurry to me. I know things in my head and they seem obvious to me (as I always see me characters through and know what they'd do and why they do so), but it might not be as clear to you. If they are any questions, feel free... not, OBLIGED, to ask.

The first part might be a bit less entertaining, as there's a lot of Brady's blabbering (sorry, I guess Brady's me. And I talk about silly things a lot.), but also a vital explanation what's really going on. And how far the 'web' of influences reaches. It might seem a bit boring now, but it's a crucial part in the whole story – not only the 'Irish Arc'. I also hope that even if this chapter doesn't turn out as good as, for example, 'Chasing the Butterrfly' (which seems to be your number one favourite!), you won't flame me much. After all, it'll take some time to get back into the usual pace, and into the fandom (to be honest, recently I've been too focused on thing going in 'Naruto', my favourite anime ever.).

I hope those of you, Readers, who still follow my story (and I have a tiny wish that there'll be at least a group of you), will forgive me for my numerous faults and keep enjoying the development of 'In Pieces' with me. After all, half of the joy is writing, but the other half is your contribution.

Best wishes from your scatter-brained, but always devoted

Sha

---

15th July 2009, 19:46

Carrowkeel

County Sligo

Ireland

'What?!', I exclaim after a moment of speech indisposition when my brain tried to recharge, certain that I overheard something – that wouldn't be a surprise if my ears took their time to get rid of the post-explosion deafness. I didn't manage to bite my tongue before the impolite expression slipped from my mouth. Not that watching your language is the top priority when you discover you're a detainee…

Of course I expected that this ball of fat hides a bigger bomb than the one which destroyed the cairn, but hell, I hadn't thought of a payload of such caliber in my wildest dreams! Alright, maybe some of my ideas could compete, as my mind wandered around strange ways after all, given that I invented the story about a mad follower hemming me in… However, it's not that I couldn't be justified! The Irish workers usually vie one another to suck up to any influential outsider, which we've experienced since the rescue, so, it was only natural that I misunderstood the fatso's intentions - or maybe it's just what I'd like to think to cover my major silliness… Anyway, no matter how far-fetched my theory appeared, I'd rather believe in a freakish display of adoration than the idea of the sudden allegation, completely out of blue!

I'm not the only one stunned by the accusation.

'Is… is it some kind of a joke?', Scarlet stutters, lingering her widened eyes through all the faces in search of the answer.

I omit her gaze ostentatiously; I guess I don't appear as a valuable source of info, as I'm equally puzzled. I feel like I was being shafted brazenly only to someone's entertainment. If so, the initiator must have the shallow sense of humor found mostly in the mass media. It is certainly in some TV show's taste to try to make fun of the oblivious participants, forcing them to believe that such a round, plump doughnut could be a policeman… Maybe I am in some candid camera?

'I'm afraid not, Miss', the fat man allays all of our doubts. 'I'm not in a very jocose mood right now.'

Ah, how nice to know I'm not the only one. (Though a tiny part of my ego, the one that still tries to provide the usual dose of hardheadedness and a healthy pinch of sanity-saving cynicism, is kinda relieved I won't be forced to kiss up the viewers and beg for their votes to help me proceed to the next round by any means possible. I didn't put on a bra presentable enough for performing a spectacular striptease nor participating in a wet T-shirt contest.)

'I bet the questioning will convince you how serious I tend to be about administering justice.'

Well, this statement will be hard to wave aside... Still, I can at least try to deal with it using my inborn wit; not everyone has such a skill at their disposal.

'The questioning?', Scarlet only turns paler than usually, unable to confront the news in any other way.

'What makes you surprised?', the fatso asks with amusement. 'I thought you were aware of your duties as the involved in the case.'

'Y-yes, but I t-thought…', she flounders as if choking with her own tongue, 'we would be treated more like… witnesses, not… criminals…'

'That depends on you only', he comments indifferently. 'You don't have to be anxious if you take a look back, think your actions carefully and find yourself completely fair…', he looks as if he wanted to add: which is not likely. 'However, it doesn't change the course of the investigation. Examination is always a vital part of the detective work, no matter of the status you are given.'

Things are getting sticky… Any kind of the mentioned "examination" was the point in the schedule I planned to omit nimbly or at least delay as long as possible, taking advantage on my immunity as an explosion survivor. Giving testimony as a detainee puts me in a rougher position than before and so, there are more reasons I'd rather insist on skipping it until I make sure there's nothing threatening they could dig out. I'm not gonna resign from that privilege so easily!

'Oh yes? Then maybe you should finally catch up with the basic knowledge of holding it properly, sir!', I counterattack, trying my best to keep my composure, which seems a tiny bit harder than usually - as I'm not usually a serene soul, even a little difference means a lot. Nevertheless, the half of my life spent in the Organization also taught me self-control, which now comes in handy. 'During the detainment, the first thing you are bound to do – and you didn't - is to represent all of our rights. One of them says that we can't be questioned without our lawyers present now and in the future, and if we can't afford hiring one, we will be given custody free of charge', I recite smoothly, without any slip of the tongue, managing to keep my voice low and majestic yet categorical.

I wouldn't cause more bewilderment if I came inside the tent riding a unicycle, mistaking the tent for a circus one (which wouldn't be so strange, given the current astonishing, ridiculous events and a whole bunch of cuckoo clowns surrounding me).

'How… how do you know that?', Scarlet utters in amazement, which kinda offends me. Couldn't she be less shocked? As if I couldn't be suspected of possessing any valuable knowledge! I may not have any cognizance certificate, but I didn't stop on the level of tabloid scoop and cosmetic tips. Not that I don't enjoy unsophisticated lecture sometimes, but one should expand their horizons beyond the land of product labels and pared-down text in glossy magazines. Moreover, when you are a spy used to escapes and dodges, you learn how to mix both residual know-how in multiple domains and street smarts of a common gamin, and use it to your advantage.

However… to be honest, juggling with so many specialties like a true jack of all trades also means I'm a master of none, so while I expose my broad horizons, I cannot support any statement with further details nor a dependable foundation. Now the situation is the same: I shrug neglectfully with my arms crossed, quite unenthusiastic to reveal my source of info, not sure if it's legit enough.

'I thought everyone did', I respond indirectly, then change the topic; discussing my masterstroke isn't crucial right now, besides, dwelling into its roots might cause the initial stunning impression to collapse momentarily. 'So', I address inspector Murray, 'if what I said is valid, it means the evidence has to be postponed until we contact our lawyers, doesn't it?', I continue strengthening my position and thus, building up my counterwork.

I can read from the inspector's pursed lips and twitching vein on the temple that my sudden flash of genius doesn't suit him at all, but he manages to hide it well.

'Of course, in normal situation, you could', he answers politely, pouring sweet clone syrup generously; yuck, I can't stand treacle even on pancakes, let alone every syllable, 'however, I'm afraid we don't have time to spare, as gaining the important info is a crucial part of seizing the culprit… Unless your reps are nearby, we cannot allow ourselves to wait for long.'

I bite my tongue not to curse loudly, though the temptation is strong, increased by the fat man's satisfied smile; resisting the urge to wipe it off forces me to chew on the inside of my cheek. That sneaky dumpling! He's perfectly aware that we can't bring our support so soon… that's too fast even for thinking about anyone in particular! Dante would certainly disapprove of that. I'm not well-informed on his job outside the Foundation, but I bet this unreasonably selfless guy is the kind of investigator who would rather risk a loss than expose his charge to any inconveniences…

Oh yeah.

'At least let me consult Dante', I insist. 'He's not a lawyer, yet his official job demands memorizing a lot of the regulations. I'm sure he'll acquaint me with the basics.' Fine, maybe not as sure as I make the fatso believe, but it has to sound convincing, right? I wouldn't persuade anyone stuttering and beating about the bush.

Well, seems like omitting such communication disturbances didn't help me much, either.

'Haven't you been listening to me at all?', Murray tilts his head to the side pitifully. 'Or maybe do you have hearing problems, apart from the other apparent scathes? That's the only two reasons I can think of, as I recall informing you of Mr. Vale's health issues already…'

'I doubt that a kick to the ribcage disabled his vocal cords', I mimic the scornful tone, quite stung with the way he portrays me like a deaf brainless drag – after all, the one walking bother Scarlet deserves such treatment more than I do! - then, realizing that harshness and spite does not suit the haughty, superior attitude I adopted, continue with less disdain and more of a reason: '…and I'm not gonna bother him for longer than five minutes. That's not much of a strain. All I ask for is a permission for the consultation…' Not that I personally need anyone's acquiescence, but as long as I'm playing on the hammerheads' side, let's pretend I follow their tight-assed rules. 'Dante certainly wouldn't mind calling him in the time of the highest necessity', I add confidently, certain of my opinion.

Why wouldn't I be positive about his reaction? Mr. Vale might be quite versatile coming up with various last-minute plans, but there is a certain pattern he repeats continuously – it's all too easy to notice how willingly he takes the responsibility off the others' shoulders if he's convinced it'll spare them the distress. He's kinda fixated about it, but I'm not gonna complain about it, not at this moment. Right now, his overdone zeal would be very helpful. In reward, I think he'd be relieved to get his mind occupied instead of lying flat on the bed and counting flies on the linen cell. Mutual benefits! The best way to justify the fact that you just plan to suck the man out of all that's useful, like a mosquito. But hey, if he was able to crawl to me through the whole cairn and then carry me to a safe spot – and I didn't even ask for it! - I guess he's fine enough to give me few advices how to dodge all the potential threats and loopholes.

Murray quickly shatters my anticipations.

'Oh, how sad…', Murray sighs theatrically. 'Despite the best intentions, I am forbidden to consent to that… given the circumstances…'

'What is all that supposed to mean?! What circumstances?!', Scarlet loses her patience finally – and the rest of the color from her cheeks. 'I don't understand anything! Why can't we talk with Dante?! What's going on with him?', she nervously twists her fingers. 'When we last saw him, he seemed al…'

'I thought I'm the one asking questions here', Murray reminds her patronizingly. 'Besides, you should be better informed about the state of affairs, as you participated in them… yet you stay so touchingly oblivious…', he chuckles almost tenderly. 'Maybe I should consider sharing my knowledge with you, but only when you satisfy my own curiosity. What about such an exchange, Miss Byrne?'

Scarlet gasps in the middle of the sentence, a bit disrupted by such a direct offer. She nervously licks her lips - I didn't think that it was possible, but now every single drop of blood left under the skin flew out of them. Her eyes, a moment ago burning with anxiety, now are getting dim as she blinks in surprise and uneasiness. She throws terrified stares left and right, like a hare caught in a dead end and desperately searching for the way out, even if it's obviously doomed to failure. Unluckily, there's no magician to hide her in his top hat, so she'll either have to grow sharp claws or surrender to the battue. And for her own good, she'll better make the right choice. I hope she feels my sharp stares piercing her back like a squadron of needles and catches their explicit meaning. However, their persuasion fails as Murray clicks his tongue with disappointment.

'I thought you'd show more sobriety, if not remorse for all the troubles your fatuity caused…', he drawls, accentuating all the keywords meaningfully so that they resembled darts thrown at the vital body spots. 'One could expect you to feel more concerned for the strain you put Mr. Vale in out of your childish fancy…', he sighed, covering his face with his hand to indicate fatigue – or hide that his eyes didn't show any sign of letdown, rather shrewdiness. 'What a pity…', the only thing that lacked in this phony expression was a loud dramatic sob.

Scarlet can't handle the pressure any longer; she finally breaks down, as if one of the arrows pierced her like a balloon and the whole steam got out of her.

'I'll… I'll do my best to help, sir', she lowers her head like a puppet with a cut string and willingly stuffs the rest of them into Murray's hands. Now she's like a puppy on his leash.

'Brilliant!', he exclaims, clapping his plump hands; again, it reminded me of a horny slobberchops, expecting even the most innocent offer to be a suggestive invitation of sorts. 'Maybe our cooperation isn't completely doomed to failure, after all. Let's proceed then!', he rubs his palms with content, as if he was warming up.

'But sir…', Sister Higgins attempts to protest, but before she forces her way, the inspector quickly butts in:

'That reminds me, Sister, would you need any help guarding Miss Moon until I summon her? Maybe some additional wardens will do the job, just in case? Because, you know, last time your charge didn't turn out so effective… I wouldn't like to include another inadvertency in my report on recent events, as the executives might take it as a proof on ineptitude… and we'd both rather avoid that, right?'

Sly bastard! He knows perfectly where to aim! First taunting Scarlet for her fixation on Dante and apparent remorse, now threatening sister Higgins' post! Is there anything he can frame me for? Is there? I'm not sure, but I'm not gonna make finding it easier for him. It'd be stupid to resign from the game without any efforts. I still have chances to get out of it if I risk and bet everything on a dozen of my trickster talents and a drop of luck. Of course I might fail, but at least I won't get defeated without trying my best to turn the tables.

However, it seems that my rival has a set of strong cards to play against me.

'Oh, I almost forgot', Murray murmurs sweetly, raising the index finger as a reminder. 'Your personal belongings will be kept under surveillance until the end of the investigation, whatever the outcome, so please, empty your pockets and hand them over, along with your backpacks or any other containers you possess.'

No. F*cking. Way. I suddenly feel my body flushed by a strange wave of a spinny warmth; no wonder I'm covered in sweat if my heart is suddenly galloping like a racehorse. 'Aren't the personal belongings personal indeed?', I clash his demand quickly. Too quickly, as if the runner-like organ carried me away. Thanks, nervous system. There's no better way to give away my agitation… My protest isn't only an impulse of a coy maiden who's indignant about a stranger rummaging through her most private stuff and ashamed of revealing a package of tampons. Unluckily, the recesses of my outfit contain a lot more than period plug-ins; I'd gladly wear a necklace made of jam rags if I couldn't hide the rest of awkward objects. Like, for example, the lighter with Ryder's finger prints on it. Damn, how could've been so stupid and stuff it into my pocket?! What for?! If I left it in the cairn, no one would ever suspect I had any contact with it! How on fricking earth would I explain that I carry the culprit's possession?! Apparently, there's no better entertainment for Murray than watching me debating with myself. 'Is there anything you'd like to hide?', he asks sweetly. Now the sweat on my back freezes into a light yet piercing shiver. To fight it, I give out a short, scornful snarl, which doesn't satisfy me at all, though; it sounds too shaky and faint. 'That's ridiculous!', I exclaim with all the battered pride I could fake, however, its power is decreased by the fast lip lick, such a stupid sign of uneasiness I couldn't hold back right after. To buy myself some time – and avoid exposing any other bluff - I start to unstrap my pouch. 'The Seeker pendants are included as well', he observes me greedily with a icky smile. 'Amulets', I burst out before I bite my tongue. It's like a habit of a rude two-years-old, clashing everything the adults say. 'They're called amulets.' I must clench my fingers on the fleshy fabric of my pouch to calm down a bit. I predicted that I'd have to hand down my Titans – Murray wouldn't let me stay with any slightest weapon look-alike – but it doesn't mean it's easier to part with them. Making through all of this sh*t would be hell of easier if I had Gareon around… Why didn't I think about it earlier?! Maybe it wouldn't erase all my problems, but at least I'd have some kind of a headstart. Well, if I was losing my edge all the way, now it's time to sharpen my claws back. After all, I still have my own power that, as far as I know, cannot be blocked by no-Seekers in any effective way. Murray doesn't comment my remark – I guess ripping me off my precious little gems is enough of a pleasure for him. Cheshire Cat could be jealous of him, seriously! I'm almost certain his mouth will snag if he keeps grinning wider and wider with every gizmo falling into his guard dog's hands. I pretend to fight with the fixing while thinking desperately how to evade showing the insides of my pockets, however, I can't think of any appropriate plan. I only hope that they won't pay attention as soon as I leave most of my gadgets in their hands. 'Here', Scarlet hands down a small pile of trifles she drew out of her trousers (I notice only two Titan amulets, much to my twisted satisfaction). 'It's everything I have…' 'Is that so?', the inspector insists, X-raying her with his surprisingly sly eyes. Scarlet blushes lightly and shamefully sinks her hand into her back pocket, drawing out a small circular object. Please, hold me or I'll drop dead right away. Do I really see a powder compact?!What normal female operative cares about make-up during a field trip, dammit?! If the situation wasn't so gruesome, I'd be rolling on the grass laughing. I'd love to have her problems, seriously. A bunch of reddish gashes are easier to cover than shady contacts. Murray's face falls for a moment, reflecting all the disdain he holds for daft dolls. He turns to me quickly, expecting some more entertainment. I guess I should be proud to be considered a worthy contender, but hell, sometimes I regret not having a face untainted by any thought more serious than the newest nail polish. A girl like that wouldn't be the first suspect to blame for holding a complex scheme, right? It'd spare me half of the reservations my usual grimace arises… 'Do you have anything more to declare?', the inspector drawls. 'It'd be better to hand it down yourself rather than drag it out during the body search.' Oh, a lot of entertainment he expects, I see. 'Do you suspect me of hiding any kind of weapon?', I ask with forced politeness. Where am I supposed to hide it? Up my ass?! I bet you'd like to check, you drooling kink. The source of my problems lays not only in the face, but also in the silhouette, I see. Not my fault the shape of my body urge most of the sterner sex to experience at least a lightest touch of the fairness unreachable for their looks… but sometimes I wish I wasn't so desirable, seriously. If I ever get rich, I'll think about plastic surgery… to uglify my appearance, not to improve it. Even if I find a lot of cases who'd need it more that I do – it's enough to look around and see how the fat ass' wet lips move disgustingly like two slimy worms. 'Caution doesn't hurt', he remarks sententiously, and, though the words come out the mouth of a rolling ball of suet, they sound quite spinny. So, here comes the hard part… What should I do?! 'I got it! Damn, I scorched through the whole camp, but I finally found it! You owe those to Kennedy, he's…' Suddenly, before I inhale enough air for an upcoming argument, someone dashes into the tent so fast that the entry curtain hangs in the air for few second before covering the entrance, giving the blazing sunset beams enough time to irritate my eyes and cover my vision in a set of dancing reddish stains. Unluckily, they don't want to clear off… until I realize that they're actually acne spots on a longish stringbean's face. Hallelujah! Such an epiphany! 'If you insist on checking me', I almost sing that part, 'you can ask Mr. Payne.' My face must beam like a streetlamp, contrasting hardly with the demeanor I greeted the guy before, as he gets dumbstruck, with a creased, brownish paper bag still hanging in his hand. 'Ask what?', he mumbles, puzzled. I give him my best charming smile. 'I bet you examined me closely enough to certify that I don't hide anything under my clothes', I lower my voice meaningfully. Apart from my drop-dead gorgeous body, 'course. The thoughts of decreasing its impressive power vanish as quickly as I find new options to use it. I try not to smirk too visibly as I rave over the possibility of knocking Murray down with my sex appeal once I threw off my outfit. He haven't probably seen anything like it before… however, I have chances to skip the striptease, if everything goes according to my masterstroke, which heavily relies on a certain pervy whelp. A wild red blush for once hides Payne's zits. He clears his throat, not knowing exactly what to say. Deny my statement? That means he'd risk me accusing him and demanding an assertion, and everyone knows that women's right prevail there, no matter what a bitch the female might be. Admit? That would be taken as a molestation, however, I encourage him to go for this option rather. I think he's smart enough to misrepresent the incident to his advantage. Seems so. 'Ah, yes', he murmurs. 'Of course I'd requisite any dangerous objects during the treatment. Sister Higgins also had a chance to inspect it', he hedges his bets, in case he screwed something up. Pushing responsibility onto someone else's shoulder, how I love it! Guardedness has always been my favorite way to deal with liabilities, and very useful when you deal with self-conscious specimen.

I throw my head up high which, combined with the arch of my upturned nose, looks nothing but haughty. Maybe it's too early to challenge – or worse, mock - a prevalent party, but shying away is the thing only the guilty ones do. I'm not gonna mimic Scarlet's fawning and hoping for someone's mercy, so I meet Murray's eyes confidently. Score one for Zhalia, bitches! His pouted, worm-like lips squeeze at that evident sign of cheekiness.

'Such a relief', he drawls with effort, the anger in his stare is like the sweetest drink for my success-oriented thirst (such a toast gets along even with the squashed sandwiches! My recommendation!).

However, the arc of the policeman's mouth slowly turn up, indicating that wasn't the last trump card up his sleeve.

'Now, if you'll excuse us', he fixes his jacket, 'I think Miss Moon has a lot of things to reconsider in solitude', he announces, turning around, 'and give her a chance to confess… if she feels like', he explains, throwing me a meaningful side stare.

'Thank you, but we're not in a church, you're not a pastor and I'm not even a follower', I answer sweetly with a fake smile plastered to my mouth, 'so I'll be fine without a counselor.'

'We'll see about that', he responds. 'Maybe you'll think your choice over. However, prayer is always an available and appropriate option. Especially in hopeless cases', he adds warningly.

I guess my face muscles froze in the polite grimace, they didn't loosen as long as I watch Murray's suite depart along with Scarlet. They fall down the second the last bruiser leaves the partition, my level of sassiness also quite lower than before, though not reaching the bottom yet.

It's not decided yet who'll need a priest once we're done with each other, as I feel the funeral coming. I'll gladly sing someone a requiem on the top of my lungs. And I'm terribly out of tune, I swear!

The same day, 19:48

Carrowkeel

County Sligo

Ireland

'Mr. Vale?'

A light pat against his cheek, like Missy the retriever's paw, encouraging him to play with her a little.

'Mr. Vale, do you hear me?'

Then, a harder one, resembling a tail more. Yeah, a tail, definitely; its silky fur tickled his nose, covering his face in a cocoon of hair. His breath hummed as if it had gotten caught into a shell, then flew through the strands softly, like among delicate weeping willow branches, so fleeting as if it had come easy to him; it hadn't. His midriff seemed on fire with every movement his chest made in order not to suffocate. He felt like a plane crash survivor, lying on the desert when the scorch was eating through his body… he almost heard the crabs gathering around to dispose of his body, their pincers going clickety-click, click, click next to his ear.

'It's not critical, he's breathing', the female voice continued with relief as the veil of strands slid through his face like a brush. 'Lift him up a bit, I will check his pupils.'

'How I love being your slave… do this, do that, bleed out in the process…', the male one murmured nasally. He stopped speaking for a second, then, as if reproached with a peek, added obediently: 'Alright, roger that... though it's not easy with such a jewelry…'

Dante's head raised without his will, like on a dentist's chair; and then, the light equally dazzling to the one in the dental care cabinet shot right through his eyes, scaring away the soothing darkness from under his lids and blinding him temporarily. Even when his lids came down again, there were still waving circles of gleam dancing under them, like in a kaleidoscope.

'They look normal', the woman informed as Dante laid back on something soft. 'I guess it will take less than a minute for him to wake up.'

'Isn't that too long? A faint can't last longer than four minutes, right? Otherwise serious changes can occur in his brain… That's what I've been told during the compulsory first aid course, at least.'

'There's no such serious risk unless he's got oxygen. However, it would be better if we had contact with him…', the woman gently brushed Dante's forehead; her hand was so soft and smelled of some kind of balmy medicine, doubling the resemblance to a velvety leaf.

He wished he could have given her any hint that he wasn't unconscious anymore, however, he still didn't get a hold on his body completely. His brain acted like a sloth just brought out from the afternoon slumber. Forcing it to send the right impulses to the various organs was still unreachable, so it felt as if all his muscles had vaporized, turning him into nothing more than a mollusk. However, the cogs in his brain seemed to pull away finally, as he still heard the faint yet steady metallic jangle.

'We can't just wait', the man insisted. 'He'd be pissed off when he wakes up with an itching butt…'

He's got the point, Dante thought, just noticing that his bottom really felt a bit tense. As if those words removed a charm from his body which had kept his organism numb until now. His nerve junctions started to stabilize instead of blinking like burning-out bulbs… which meant that soon, his organism would be brought back to all its functions…

'…and we can't even move him not knowing if he didn't get any new injuries during the fall.'

Injuries? Oh yeah, keeping his synapses shut might have been inconvenient, but at least he had also been separated from the inflicted pain. Regaining control over his body would also mean he'd feel all his limbs even stronger than he'd like to, given the damages… Just as he realized it, he felt a slight thorn piercing his abdomen. Brilliant. He'd provoked this reaction prematurely…

'I'm trying to bring him back to us… Mr. Vale! Please, wake up!', a warm hand tapped his cheek again. 'That's enough of sleeping! Do you hear me? Open your eyes!'

'Wouldn't the smelling salts be more effective?', the man suggested. 'No medical book nor training guide dissuades that.'

'Yet any of them doesn't recommends it directly', the female underlined. 'My tutors always taught me to start with the basics. There's always time to use heavy gear.'

'If you call smelling salts heavy…', the guy responded with just a shade of irony.

'Who is an ARPN[1] here, Sergeant?...', the woman asked formidably.

'AR-what?', he dared to ask. 'It sounds like another Star Wars robot… R2D2, C3PO, AR…'

Dante could only imagine the look the man had been given. No wonder he had surrendered quickly:

'Oh… OK, nevermind, just don't stare like that. Keep going, 'cause I feel my nose bloody well.' A short moment of silence and a quiet, bubbling sob. 'Bloody well, got it?... Alright, I'm shutting up now', he sighed with a loud sniff, not finding appreciation for his sense of humor.

At least not from where he expected. Dante couldn't explain why the Cracker's corny pun – combined with the grotesque, slapstick-like setting which wouldn't amuse him at all normally - suddenly felt like a best joke ever and resulted in a strangled, hoarse chuckle in his throat, which turned into a short cough as he lacked enough breath to continue it. Inhaling into his lungs fully was still impossible to achieve, as his chest seemed shrunk due to the vast areas of damaged skin covering his muscles and organs in a narrow wrap. However, even that couldn't keep him from laughing as loud as he could in that state. Strangely, instead of worsening the symptoms, it helped him loosen the tightened muscles and scare away the strain.

'Did you hear that?', the woman alarmed. 'He's regaining consciousness… Mr. Vale! If you understand me, please, give any signal!', she said loudly, clearly pronouncing the words.

'Tell him that he'll meet Ben Affleck in return', the man proposed. 'I tested it on my SPARK pals and it's never failed. In fact, I almost flunked my first aid course for that… Terry Walker, my training buddy, supposed to play a senseless victim, couldn't stop laughing for ten minutes and the instructor had to throw us both outta the gym, in order not to mess the exercises up. Let's see if we have another fan of mine here…'

'Don't you think you identify with your role too strongly, Sergeant?...', the woman suggested condescendingly while Dante was slowly opening his eyes, initially just to create small slits to peep through. The first thing he noticed through his lashes was a pair of blue eyes, hesitating over throwing the actor's doppelganger a patronizing glare or looking with concern and anxiety at the victim lying on her lap. There was a small golden speck on the left iris, emphasized even more in the light which seemed to radiate from the woman's wheaten blond hair. Her thighs under Dante's head were more soft and comfy than any pillow he could have wished for.

'Not my fault', the man kneeling next to the nurse shrugged. 'I just adjusted to being accosted on the street by complete strangers and begged for an autograph…'

'They just want to congratulate you on awarding a Golden Raspberry', Dante mumbled, trying to force his tongue to move like it should have.

Both of his companions stopped staring at each other and turned to him.

'I've told you so!', the man exclaimed to his female companion with triumph. 'It always works! I wonder why they aren't going to add this method to the foundation course… though I also can't get why everyone points out that bungle specifically', he scratched his chin in a thoughtful manner, then, apparently unable to find the answer, just shook it off. 'Nevermind, at least he didn't try to whack my mug right after, like Shane Connor once intended to do for ruining Daredevil, his favorite childhood hero… you know, one of the Marvel heroes…', he explained, certain that her lingering glare was a typical reaction of the female unawareness in the world of men's idols, quirks and interests that stuck to them from cradle to coffin, regardless if it suited their age and position or not.

The nurse heaved a sigh which moved a small strand plastered to her cheek – either a sign of indulgence towards the chatterbox or relief for her patient's wake.

'Thank God', she whispered, proving the second option rather, and brushed her hair behind her ear. 'Just stay with us', she addressed Vale firmly yet worriedly, staring right into her eyes. 'Don't fall asleep again.'

Dante nodded, blinking heavily to clear his sight. His arms, which he just noticed were held up by the man the whole time, got slowly placed on the ground, a bit stiff, as if the blood had flown out of them and just started to come back. Vale ignored the temporary numbness and leaned on his elbow, trying to sit up. His head burned in pain and the nurse held him by the shoulders, discouraging him to move, but he got up nevertheless, holding his skull as if he had been worried that it would split in two halves and fall down like parts of a watermelon, spilling pulp-like brain tissue around.

'Hi there', the Cheshire cat-like crooked smile looked grotesque as it was mostly covered by a thick layer of blood. Recognizing Brady in that creepy figure bordered on impossibility, let alone associating him with the famous movie star… unless the actor had starred in any horror in the beginning of his career, but Dante couldn't recall such case; not like he was a devoted follower of the Ben Affleck fan club, though. The young man looked as if he had just dropped in from a shooting set for some gore zombie movie, smeared in reddish brown blotches from the nostrils to the chin dimple, with a fresh scab taming the hemorrhage partially. He could be distinguished only by his voice, constantly light and careless though he sniffed hardly to stop the dripping from his nose holes.

'Good to know you didn't kick the bucket. How was the nap?', he threw nonchalantly - as if they had been out for a beer or two! - cleaning his trousers off dust and straws; however, the greenish spots on his knees remained no matter how hard he rubbed them. The task was also hindered by the fact that his wrists were handcuffed and linked by a rather short chain – the source of the continuous clack.

'I feel like I was sleeping for ages', Dante rasped through his sore throat, still massaging his temples, as if it could have helped to move his brain to work. Damn, it was like the worst kind of hangover… however, at least with alcohol one could influence the results of drinking to some extent. His method, for example, was limiting it drastically.

'Really?', Brady raised his thick eyebrows; one of them didn't want to come up very much, as if the left side of his forehead was swollen. It seemed that bleeding nose wasn't the only injury he had gained during the fall… or it was just a trick of the evening light. 'It didn't take that long for sure. Three, maybe five minutes. At most. What a perfect way to make up for lack of sleep!', he joked. 'It's like a capsular rest or so… Now I understand what Murray and his flunkies tried to help me at. How nice of them! I should try this someday again, bet they'd help me willingly, with their hearts of gold and surprise mercy dashes…', he ironized, running his index finger through the bridge of his nose gently and clicking his tongue as he irritated the bluish skin.

That meaningful comment, the insinuating gesture and hearing the inspector's name kicked Dante's brain like an electrical shot, snapping it out of its mushiness. Though he failed to recall on his own how on earth had he found himself lying on the ground, feeling as if he had been pushed through a wringer, and barely remembered anything apart from that there had been a brawl, he had a confusing hunch that Murray had been the reason for the state both the guys were currently in; a feeling left by a blear memory from before the faint, with no distinct features, just an elusive sense of danger and intuitive alert.

'Spit it out!', meanwhile, the nurse reproached Brady, still supporting Dante protectively, his vertigo slowly decreased as he got used to the changed position. However, focusing his attention instead of letting his thoughts swim loosely like fish in an aquarium, too rapid to catch them, was still beyond his reach, regardless of his attempts.

'Relax, I was just kidding', Brady murmured, shrugging unflappably. 'That's called black humor, you know…'

'That's not a topic for any cheesy jokes! Really!', the woman shook her head violently, her strands looking like angel hair in the sun sneaking into the tent, yet sharp like a whip against Dante's skin. 'I couldn't even leave for five minutes not to let anyone break in and turn this place upside down!'

'Ah, so it's my fault?!', Brady flared up as if he had sat on a dart. 'I haven't even touched him!', he pointed at Dante. 'It was an accident…'

Vale pricked his ears like a watchful hare. His suspicions had gotten proved, at least. There was an affair on… however, he could admit that the culprit wasn't Brady for sure and his version of the events was true. He remembered McKenna's gray jacket approaching him too rapidly and the sudden outburst of pain in his abdomen… but was also certain that the doctor didn't attack him out of his own will. He got pushed… and there was no doubt who had taken care of it, using the others as tools not to stain their hands and be cleared of the suspicions. However, why weren't the policemen here, reaping what they sow? With one opponent knocked down and the other disabled, there was a very convenient situation to enforce their ways.

'Yeah, about that…', he interrupted hoarsely before the argument intensified, approaching the topic that interested him the most. 'What exactly happened when I… faded away? Where's Murray and his bodyguards? Did they get down to their true occupation already?'

The two looked at him as if they had forgotten about his presence due to the scuffle hanging in the air, then exchanged stares again.

'Well, not exactly', Sister Lauren corrected meaningfully, pointing at the two figures shading the entrance. Their faces seemed to differ from the previous ones', Whelan's and Conolly's, physiognomies… though Dante couldn't bet on it, the pair from earlier hadn't been very distinctive and those two adopted a similar attitude. He couldn't fight with an impression of two brown-furred guard dogs, waiting for their owner. They seemed to have troubles taking any still position, as their hands and legs twitched every moment and their heads turned left and right, letting their small, restless eyes patrol the tent and the surroundings attentively in search for any abnormalities.

'The inspector ordered these guys to keep their post here as your watchmen, suppressing anyone except his staff and medical workers from leaving and entering the tent', she summed up, shaking her head with pity. 'I don't know what for, since I told him that all you need now is a fair dose of rest, not a crowd of policemen, but he insisted. I could only request that they would stay outside and not disturb you during the treatment. They took it to heart and have been like that since he left.'

'Ah, yeah', Brady loosened a bit and turned to him rather casually, as if nothing had come between them. 'What a pity you didn't see that. Sister Lauren scared them away like two little puppies! She was brilliant, she looked as if she was gonna kick them out regardless of their will, so they put their tails between their legs and cleared off willingly, yelping like mongrels…', he rehearsed in a hushed yet excited manner, like a schoolboy recounting a recess punch-up at the beginning of the lesson.

Dante wasn't surprised hearing a joyful, satisfied tune in Brady's voice when he was describing the shame of his persecutors, but he hesitantly lingered his eyes from the pair of well-build, stocky guardians to the short, petite blonde in a white uniform on his right, who didn't seem moved by the enthusiastic guy's praises, ignoring them completely. Luckily Vale didn't dare to doubt the Cracker's statement, because a moment later, the woman proved that she was no archetypical frail flower, in stark contrast to her appearance.

'Well, maybe now they'll prove themselves useful', she said decisively, then shouted clearly and demandingly: 'Excuse me! We've got a critically wounded here, could you please give us a hand?'

The two bruisers just turned their heads to them, looked the trio up and down and then came back to the same position, like charging hounds waiting for the householder to come back and set them at ease. The nurse puffed with irritation and intended to repeat her request more emphatically, despite the fact that the bodyguards acted as if they hadn't heard her.

'Forget it', Brady murmured, stopping her. 'They would give you a hand only if they snapped it off somebody's arm. Besides, those guard dogs are obedient only towards their owner. Anyone else can as well try to lick their own elbow, the result will be the same: no success.'

'There are people capable to do so', Sister Lauren pointed out skeptically, recalling her anatomy experience.

Brady threw her an irritated stare, a bit ashamed that his brilliant remark had gotten ruined by her pedantry.

'It's just a saying! I've picked up the first common example that came to my mind. Most people can't do that… of course if they don't try enough', he wondered, looking up and scratching his stubble, as if reminiscing something. 'We've been doing even more improbable things in the barracks, though… For proving his right or winning a bet, one is able to do much more unbelievable things, even sniffing pasta to their nose and burping out Happy Birthd… eeeeh…', he realized what he had just said and cleared his throat, hoping that his boob would get buried, then said in a more erudite voice: 'That's not the point. Anyway, we'll make the lift out on our own. Will you manage to stand up?', he asked Dante with concern, kneeling back to him. 'I bet I can catch you if you feel faint, but I'd rather not risk dropping you if you aren't ready to go for it yet', he shook his head seriously. 'You know, with those fashionable bracelets', he chinked the handcuffs, 'my reach is kinda limited.'

His preoccupation embarrassed Dante. It was the second time the young Cracker astonished him like that. Let alone his abrupt change of mood, from flippant to poised, though it was surprising as well… It's just, he hadn't expected the SPARK member to show any emotions other than scorn and disdain towards him after he had appointed Vale 'a stubborn superstar' (completely right, as the time had shown), yet the new acquaintance had put his life and position at risk to defend him without hesitation. Now, though damaged as well – it was painted in blood on his face – had offered his help the second time, stunning Dante with his incredible selflessness. All of those meaningful gestures in exchange for the doubt and ignorance Vale had shown him… just because he had trusted his instincts more than an honest advice. If he had just listened to the man, he wouldn't have let Murray catch him off guard… Instead, he had gotten them both into quite a scrape.

'Your nose… you shouldn't put it under pressure and carry anything…', he said to make up for his previous egoism, seeking support in the nurse. Shockingly, she didn't back him, staying silent and just observing the situation… or rather, Brady's reaction.

'That was not the right answer to the question', the dark-haired Irishman smirked, as if his scabs and bruises were just elements of characterization, not real scathes. 'So? Are you gonna make a run for it?', the Cracker asked vigorously, as if he had wanted to prove that his usual buoyant attitude couldn't lose to a mere lesion. Indeed, he was very convincing – not everyone would manage to grin and bear if his nose resembled a ripe plum.

'I guess I can give it a try', Dante murmured, breaking this chain of reproofs finally. Regret didn't lead to anything other than looking down on himself, and dwelling into his weaknesses wasn't what he really needed now. He had to get a grip on himself to make it out of that pit somehow. Fortunately, he sensed that his legs were stable enough to try getting up already, instead of leaning over the Cracker like a bag of stones.

'Alright then', Brady smiled with relief, 'hop in', he added, putting Vale's arm around his neck. 'Now, slowly', he instructed, supporting his shaky limbs and lifting him carefully yet confidently, not dragging the action longer than necessary though also keeping in mind the victim's limitations. Even despite the mentioned havoc he had caused during the first aid course due to his frisky nature, there was no doubt he had made up for that mischief proving himself as one of the most teachable students. His everyday duties, balancing on the edge of safety, must've also associated him with similar situations and harden the naturalness of such altruistic reflexes, even when he was in trouble himself – Vale could conclude it from the way he sniffed hardly. It just worsened Dante's impression that he had fed Brady with a terrible injustice – while the young Cracker was straining himself to help, Vale had accused him of being just a light-hearted, mindless dandy looking only for an easy money and effortless fun.

He wasn't the only one, though.

'At least you're trying to make up for the mess you caused instead of wasting your breath for fudge again!', the nurse commented sternly, instructing how he should have laid the patient on the recliner. When Dante took a peek at Brady's face and noticed a small freshet which found an influx while the Cracker had had his hands occupied, unable to tame it, he made sure not to hassle him for too long and do most of the job on his own. On the other hand, the nurse didn't pay as much attention to Brady's struggles, which seemed rather strange, given her apparent concern for the well-being of the other man and her patients in general.

'Alright, let's proceed until the inspector is occupied', she threw decisively, leaning over a medicine kit, then ordered while rummaging through it: 'Take your clothes off.'

'A striptease', Brady cut in enthusiastically; one could not accuse him of fighting with a small flood, hearing that cheerful timbre. 'The only thing that we missed this crazy evening. I've always known you just play so hard to get and can't stand up against my gorgeous masculinity', he blabbered, wiping the excessive blood from under his nose. 'Alright, I'm in, just wait a bit – those straps take some time to…'

The nurse suddenly threw him a short, sharp stare, very surprising in that face of an angel, then approached him with two small packages in her hand. Brady gasped when she sat him on the stool and bend him in half without any warning, placing a bag of ice on the nape on his neck.

'Ouuuch!', he hissed more out of shock than pain. 'I was only kidding, no need for such a puni…!', he protested until she stuffed a bundle of muslin into his goose bumped hand and then pressed it to his nose, blocking it.

'Remain like that until the bleeding stops', she advised him blandly. 'Breathe through your mouth. Maybe that's a way to keep you silent just for a while', she sighed with fatigue.

'You're not going to treat me?', Brady asked blearily, the only thing clear in this sentence despite the bubbly sound of his nose was his apparent surprise. 'You told Murray to leave me in your care 'cause I was in no shape to be arrested. It's not wise to lie to the authorities, you know', he reminded her half-jokingly, half-enquiringly, though his stare was strongly just on the latter side.

'There's no hidden reason, just years of experience. I just had a bad feeling that if I let you and the inspector interact, I'll have more victims to worry about… Keeping you away from the inspector saves a lot of trouble', she responded chillily, coming back to Dante and creating a molehill of bandages on the right side of the bed. 'However, now that you won't have an opportunity to mess around more, my role is over. You've got your own two hands capable, so you'll manage', she stated relentlessly.

'Sister', Dante interrupted tactfully, hoping that he could do something to soften her strict attitude, 'I guess that fixing Sergeant's nose first would save him a lot of problem… and blood, mainly. It won't take longer than a few minutes. It's no big deal for me...'

'It makes sense!', the Cracker dared to speak eagerly, however, the nosebleed still kept him from straightening up; the awkward position resulted in looking at the companions from a twisted angle and thus, decreasing the impact of his words. It was probably just one of the menial reasons for the nurse to ignore him.

'Your generosity is to be praised, Mr. Vale', she admitted, collecting a row of jars from the kit, 'but those who cause troubles should finally learn how to deal with them on their own. Don't expect me to feel sorry for someone who rushed into action without thinking twice like, a hundredth time', she took the high ground, giving the SPARK member a slight peek of disapproval and then focusing on placing the load next to the patient's hip.

'It's not my fault!', the Cracker dared to defend himself, waving his hand violently and thus, unplugging his dripping nostrils. 'Do you really think I hit my nose intentionally?! That I, I don't know, tried grass-diving head on like a freaking mole?!', he was spitting feathers, remaining unaware that unclogging his nose had resulted in giving the way for a long, red glob sneaking out his mucous membrane.

'I wouldn't put it past you!', she responded with annoyance, shaking her head proudly but not even bothering to face him. 'Maybe if I didn't know you well, I would be more prone to believe in your innocence. However, you've been my patient too often to take your assurances at face value… There are people getting hurt even without endangering their health willingly, and the others who make fun of the risk, as if nothing could harm them! And if I had to picture the second case, I'd choose your medical history for sure!', she highlighted haughtily.

'This time I didn't intend to get into such a trick bag!', Brady cut back, still not noticing that the bloody discharge kept hanging from his nostril. Dante tried to give him a signal to brush it off, however, the man kept nailing his stare at the nurse's back. 'It was a simple accident!'

'An accident that resulted in this!', the nurse turned around abruptly and raised Vale's sweater without any warning, showing a purplish gash blooming like an orchid in the rain forest. 'It's a serious wound which could lead to complications if not looked after properly! Yet it was strained again just because I left Mr. Vale for five minutes! It was enough for you to ruin my efforts! When I came back, I found you two of you crawling on the ground, you resembling a pillar box and Mr. Vale coughing his lungs out, surrounded by the policemen and doctor McKenna! You won't make me believe that any of them caused such commotions! If I had to point at the culprit, I'd choose you with my eyes closed! I can't believe in such a coincidence that troubles follow you like a bad smell, happening without triggering them!'

Faced with the medical worker's apparent fury, shown in her combative pose, sparkling eyes and pursed lips, Brady seemed a bit pushed out the track, however, he didn't resign with demonstrating his resentment, crouching like an offended cat after an unfair telling-off to express his hurt feelings.

'I'm not the one guilty', he murmured, peeking to check what effect his actions had. 'Not the only one for sure', he précised as the previous sentence didn't sound convincing enough even for himself, then sobbed heavily to underline his upset. Thanks to that, he realized his ridiculous appearance. He edgily cleaned his nose with his sleeve, unable to use his irritation as a cover for embarrassment that he had exposed the rest to such a disgusting, miserable view. He quickly checked if any of them noticed it; Dante pretended to look aside to spare the Cracker some shame. Sister Lauren seemed too busy with preparing the utensils to care, however, she must've paid attention to that pitiful detail before and just add it to the list of things to look down on in the young AT worker's attitude. That just deepened his disconcert, convincing him to stay silent and dwell into his sense of defeat. Dante felt a bit uneasy, knowing that the Cracker truly wasn't the one to blame, yet he took all the lashes on his back.

'Sister', he dared to speak as she treated his injury, examining his body attentively, as if she had had an X-ray in her eyes that helped her see through Dante's clothes and detect any new gashes, 'it really wasn't the way it looked like. You saw yourself that…'

'You shouldn't be the one talking, Mr. Vale!', she sheared the bandages glued from ointment off the wound, making him hiss piercingly, as if his own skin had been removed with them. 'I must admit Sergeant is quite a hot-head, but not to the point of pushing you out of the bed where you should have been lying. I guess I know who did that part of the job for him', she snarled, soothing the hematoma with an ointment, then suddenly sighed. 'Really, Mr. Vale', she shook her head patronizingly. 'Right when I asked you to lie down and rest… and took you for an honest, reasonable man who wouldn't play with fate, not a child who follows his temporary fancies!'

'I'm sorry', Dante said rather automatically, not out of his own intentions and without genuine remorse; he knew that he would have had to be strapped to the bed to prevent him from opposing Murray, even in spite of his health. However, he felt as if he owed her that simple gesture for her care and worries for his well-being, which she seemed to treat as something more than a mere duty; rather a mission. No wonder she was so strict in obeying the basic safety rules and devoted to defend them at any cost. 'However, the inspector's announcements forced me to react more rapidly than I preferred to.'

'What kind of announcements?', she asked, though didn't seem very interested in the matter, focused on gathering her energy and thrusting it into the abrasion. 'Did they gather any new info? Or maybe, hopefully, catch the culprit?'

'No… but they found new ones', Dante smiled bitterly, even though the alleviation started to spread around his navel. 'Way easier to secure.'

'Seriously?', she continued, however, Vale couldn't decide if it was a true concern or a clever way to keep him occupied with talking and not insisting to act. 'The attacker worked in a gang? Who would have thought of that…', she murmured, keeping the energy flow regular. 'Is that an organized group?'

'No', the man corrected her as sullenly. 'According to the inspector, it's my team.'

The goldenish aura twinkled like a burning-out bulb when the woman raised her bright eyes at him, blinking her wide eyes in shock.

'Pardon me?', she exclaimed gaping, the stream of healing glow dimming every second as her hands fell onto the bed. 'I must've heard wrong…', she whispered, stunned and puzzled, waiting for Dante to deny and turn it all into a joke.

'I was just as surprised', Vale assured her. 'Of course I was prepared to give my testimony, that's the standard line of work, but I didn't think of doing it as a suspect… right after almost losing my companions… and life under the debris. Twice', he added, chuckling mockingly.

'See? I told you so', Brady dared to remark, with all the hurt, resent - but also a prominent drop of gloomy satisfaction - he had gathered during his muteness.

'That's ridiculous!', the woman continued, still observing both men as if she expected them to burst into laughter and make fun of her for falling for such a jejune cheat.

'It's a necessity', Dante spoke up seriously. 'They need evidences to continue the inquiry. Though you're right, it usually doesn't look like that', he admitted bitterly. 'Inquiry can't be more important than people. Especially your own staff, your allies…'

'I thought that inspector Murray, despite his rumored diligence, has a lot of common sense, like every respected detective should!', she persisted, clenching her hands on the sheets; the info moved her more strongly that Dante had expected. 'Yet he spoke such nonsense... I can't believe that he came up with that imputation!', she mumbled under her breath, looking rather bewildered; she was furrowing her brow and shaking her chin slightly, as if she had carried on an inner fight over what she had discovered, and tried to change reality by denying the unfitting info. 'Everyone who saw you all after the cave-in would laugh such a suggestion off! I mean, the state of your wounds speaks volumes of what happened there, and I've never seen anyone as desperate and terror-stricken as Scarlet Byrne during the time she spent waiting for the rescue team's comeback!'

'Speaking of which…', Dante interrupted her gently; he didn't want to continue the stingy topic, instead caught the more interesting and urging thread. 'How is she? And Zhalia?', he asked with concern, a bit unhappy and reproachful towards himself that he hadn't insisted on such explanations before. That just proved how the fall affected him… or how secure he had felt, surrounded by apparent allies and certain that they would be in safe custody from now on, that no one of them would get harmed again. Too fast, given the sudden turnabout of some Irish branch Foundation members…

'They are alright', the nurse answered, pulling herself back together and carrying on the healing. Dante noticed that she put more engagement into it, though. 'Much better than you, to be honest. Miss Byrne's main issue was a major trembling. If we didn't administer her some mild sedatives, the poor girl would have bitten her tongue off chattering with nerves… but her state has improved since you two were rescued. She was able to cooperate well during the treatment. Miss Moon, however, put us through the mill.'

'What do you mean?', he asked worriedly, feeling that his worst niggles were coming to life. He didn't admit it, though. He didn't need to be suspected of having hallucinations. That would probably convince sister Lauren to barrier nurse him until he got back to his usual shape. Besides, he thought himself that it was just a play of his exhausted, giving-up mind. It turned out different… Had it been an intuition? Or a justified fear? His heart raced twice as fast as he recalled the insignificant bruise he had found on Zhalia's forehead. What if it was just a deceptive surface of some major complication running deeper into her skull? No, that would be a cruel twist of fate if all that messed up day full of traps, blasts and narrow escapes ended up with Zhalia being hospitalized… and he wouldn't be able to do much about it, taking responsibility for someone else's misdemeanor. That f*cking Organization d*ck! If he hadn't shown up, nothing of that would have happened…

'If that… man… had harmed her anyhow… or endangered her health in any other way…', he drawled through his clenched teeth as he felt his body heat risen by the blaze of fury engulfing his guts. He wouldn't be surprised if the fire-like hematoma went up in flames any moment.

'No, that's not what you think', sister Lauren calmed him down, aware that any additional stress or friction would hold the damages from curing properly. 'None of them carried any severe injuries, just a lot of scratches and gashes that would heal in a week or two without extra treatment… which they received, though', she added quickly, seeing Dante twitch due to the impression that maybe his comrades hadn't been approached with the basic help. 'It's just, Miss Moon reacted very… rampantly… every time we infringed her intimate space or patience limits. More yelling than her minor damages were worth it, though', she assured him, starting to cover the soothed wound in tight yet soft wrapping of a bandage to let the liniment influence the wound for a while yet keep it from staining the surroundings.

Dante sighed with fatigue… and a lot of relief, closing his eyes and surrendering to the dressing silently. He wasn't surprised with that remark. It was just as if the nurse voiced his impression on Zhalia. Maybe lashing around at everyone in close range wasn't the best sign of well-being for everyone else, but for the operative Moon, there was no better proof of a good state, as it was the way she acted at a daily basis.

'She's all that', he commented, surprising himself with an unexpected fondness in his voice and a small, faint smile his lips unconsciously bent into. He cleared his throat, a bit confused by the sudden change in his timbre, and tried to continue more resolutely: 'I mean, that's a relief she's OK. The stay in Ireland was supposed to be a vacation… but it doesn't resemble relax at all. The hospitalization is the least thing I need to completely ruin my promise.'

His words came upon a favorable ground.

'Don't worry, you'll have a chance to make up for it, as I patched you up well. There you go', Sister Lauren announced with content, giving the final touch to the bandaging. The dressing was already so thick and solid that it resembled a turtle shell or a steel plate more than a fabric. Dante could bet it had become bulletproof. He could put all his money that not only a single drop of the oily liniment, but also a cartridge wouldn't slip through that thick, glunked-up layer of fabric.

'It should do the job… if you don't decide to get down to excessive exercises again', the nurse reproached Dante, but her tone sounded way less stern than before; seemed like her attitude softened after her patient showed some good will... and respectability towards women. That's what every female praised, no matter how old and of what status she was.

'I won't', Dante said quickly, more to avoid dwelling into this topic deeper than to sound eager. Once he'd be forced to promise the reform, he'd have to retreat.

However, his limited vocabulary seemed enough for Sister Bailey to accept.

'That's good to hear', she gave him a small smile. 'Though I'm a bit preoccupied that Sergeant's companionship may spoil your behavior again.'

The sentence was commented only by a loud, contemptuous snort. Apparently someone didn't agree with its thesis.

'There's no danger', Dante calmed her down. 'I'll try not to cause more troubles… for any of you', he added with emphasis to let the Sergeant hear it, but his declaration was ignored.

Dante concluded his chance of forgiveness delayed because he hadn't backed Brady more strongly against Sister Bailey. It seemed that it would take more time to make up for Brady's hurt pride, so he left it for later and approached the nurse instead.

'Thank you, Sister', he expressed warmly with gratitude he felt to give the worn-out phrase a special value. 'Not only for healing me over and over, but mostly, for the care you spread above my teammates. That means a lot to me.'

For the first time, she expressed some kind of twitch and looked aside, embarrassed and seemingly uneasy with his gratefulness.

'Ah, don't mention it, it's enough of thanks already', she waved her hand dismissively, not knowing where to set her eyes and awkwardly pulling back a curtain of hair that kept coming back at her face nevertheless. 'I didn't do anything, apart from fulfilling my duty…'

'I'm indebted anyway', Dante said gallantly, thinking that it could be a good prelude to the next sentence. He concluded Sister Lauren's emotional reaction for the recent scoop made her a considerable ally candidate, so he was going to try to gain her loyalty. A bit ashamed that his compliance came from kind of a calculation, he lowered his voice and asked humbly: 'However… If I could bother you with one more plea…'

'Of course, what is it?', she responded eagerly, apparently inclinable.

'Would I have a chance to see the girls on my own?', he asked pleadingly.

The nurse's face fell slightly, the discomfort came back again.

'I'm sorry, but it's not possible', she shook her head, directing those words to his ribcage. 'It wouldn't be wise to irritate your wound again by moving unnecessarily… Moreover, did you forget about the inspector's prohibition?', she reminded him, looking at the guardians meaningfully. 'You're not supposed to hold visitors nor leave the tent unless you are told so…'

'I'll not exactly have to leave it to keep in touch them, right?', he said shrewdly. 'If you could act as our liaison…'

'Hush!', Sister Lauren peeked cautiously at the wardens, checking if they hadn't heard Dante's bold statement, and leaned down to his ear, pretending that she was fixing his bandages. 'You know what I meant', she was intransigent. 'You're not allowed to contact anyone, and that's it! You can get into trouble again if you disobey the authorities…', she whispered frenetically.

The sudden fall of the silence after the previous intense discussion seemed too surprising and suspicious to pass unnoticed even by the emotionless, if not dull, wardens.

'If you're done', one of them hoarsed, as if articulating the words provided a lot of effort for him, 'you have to leave the gaol. The inspector's order.'

'Of course', Sister Lauren nodded. 'I just need two more minutes.'

The warden thought it over (which also seemed kinda toilsome for him), then nodded stiffly. Sister Bailey came back to her duties, however, didn't resume the talk. Dante decided to renew it on his own; he still had to know the reason of her sudden turnabout.

'I thought you're on our side', he stated, then reminded her persuasively: 'You said yourself that you find the inspector's actions incomprehensible…'

'I did', she admitted, knitting her eyebrows, 'but it doesn't mean I'll help you while you're making him push his radical methods any further. Don't drag me into this, I did everything I could in my current position. I strained my competences to the extent to shield you temporarily, but I might not be able to cover you anymore nor mend the damages your bravado causes! I advise you to think it all over. Now that you know the rules', she threw him a look that indicated that she rather meant saying how the things are handled here, 'opposing would be reckless and stupid, and you don't want me to regard you as thick-headed as this one!', she waved slightly at the sergeant, not caring to keep her voice low anymore.

'Hey!', Brady shouted, stung; the shot made him forget that he was supposed to look resentful. 'I'm still right here, you know! And if I'm included in the matter, let me just throw in that I'm with the guy!', he added bodaciously, zapping Dante again. Vale really had a hard time following the changes of alliances in the very place, so he didn't expect this one to last for long. Apparently, it was just another way for Brady to cheek Sister Bailey, doomed to end if approaching a failure.

For now it seemed to work just fine, though.

'And who's just regained his voice', Sister Bailey eyed him with displeasure that she was interrupted. 'Awfully supportive today, aren't you, Sergeant? May I find out what makes you so express?'

'I just think all of this is insane', he said firmly, causing the nurse to goggle and peek at the guards meaningfully. 'Accusing the innocent guy of the crime he was harmed at. It's like, you know, in the skits of that band with the circus…'

'Monty Python?', Dante guessed, trying to show willingness to the idea of coalition, but Brady was too keen on his rant to acknowledge that.

'My point is, the whole thing is absurd. Instead of solving the problem, the fatso finds a random person to blame...', he spoke openly – well, as openly as the coil pressed to his nostrils allowed.

'Be quiet…', Sister Lauren drawled through her teeth, running out of the mute signals to warn him.

'…and that's not like it's the first time', he snarled, carefully catching the flipside leak of blood into the tangle, 'but who exactly cares that I got owned for nothing like, the hundredth time...', he finished, lowering his voice to a unclear yet rancorous mumble.

The nurse sighed and left Dante's side. She opened the medical kit and damped a piece of clean cloth with some kind of liquid, all in complete silence. Then, she stood in front of Brady and leaned to him, like a nursery teacher would approach her nasty charge. To add to this impression, she attempted to rub the bloodstains off his face. He threw his head aside like a foal, muttering petulantly.

'Are you going to sulk about it for the rest of the day?', she asked him reasonably, putting hand with the red-smeared cloth on her hip. 'Fine. You have the full right. Inspector Murray may give you a cold shoulder. But let me just tell you that there are times when I can't deny I side with him strongly. Sometimes it would be nice if you stopped seeing only the tip of your nose, looked around and see what your actions can lead to…', she reminded him strictly. Brady mumbled something unclear, furrowing his thick brows; they didn't exactly suit the face of a capricious toddler. 'Brilliant. Now, show some sense of responsibility and keep an eye on Mr. Vale, in case he feels dizzy. And don't forget you can't add Professor Hayes any more worries, now, could you?', she added less harshly, tilting her head a bit.

'Now you're being cruel, Lauren', Brady budged uneasily, furrowing his brow and scowling at her with reproof.

'Not yet', she responded indifferently and in a blink of an eye, she sneaked her hand into his breast pocket.

'Hey, what're ya…'

'I'll take these with me', she said firmly, drawing out a small, creased pack of cigarettes. 'Your nose wouldn't handle it.'

'Hey!', he protested, trying to catch his possession as it slipped from its place. 'I thought you don't care, so why suddenly bother with a pack of stogs?!'

'Because I don't want you to suffocate', she scolded him. 'That wouldn't look sparkling in my records', she added vindictively, turning on her heel and heading to the exit.

'Cut it out, Lauren!', Brady suddenly regained his full voice and sprang to his feet, intending to follow her. 'Give them back, that's not funny!'

All he get in exchange was a handkerchief threw at his face and hitting right at his left eye. He hissed, more of surprise than pain, obviously, and attempted to stop the nurse, clenching the hanky in his grip. However, he didn't go far with the pursuit, having the way barred by the silent yet adamant guardians. He braked abruptly, moving his lips like a fish drawn out of the water, spreading his arms as far as the cuffs let him and shifting his stare from the entrance to the cloth, and then to Dante, respectively.

'Did you see that?', he said in disbelief. 'Seriously! Like the teachers in high school!', the expression on his face would rather suit the news of inflation or business crack.

He started to search through his pockets desperately, cursing under his breath as the handcuffs handicapped his efforts.

'Damn, they keep falling out of the box every day, but not today, and that was my second-string pack already… Don't you have any spare?', he asked Dante directly. Vale just shook his head in denial. He smoked so rarely that it didn't really count, not as much as to carry the tabs with him everywhere he went for sure.

Brady gave him a look that clearly expressed nothing but disappointment (and kind of confirmed that Vale's answer only confirmed the Cracker's opinion about his uselessness), heaved a sigh and fell back onto the stool, with his hands falling inertly onto his lap.

'No ciggies, Lauren is mad at me and I'm stuck here as a detainee…', he summed up darkly, looking as if with the loss of the tab pack, he had been sucked out of every hope. 'I thought I've already touched the bottom, but seems like I keep digging further every minute… Why am I always such a jinx?', he asked helplessly into space, as if not really expecting an answer - quite reasonably. Dante himself was wondering about exactly the same problem, wishing there was any sensible explanation why his situation was going the downward spiral.

Other than being a walking excessive interest magnet, of course.

The same day, 20:01

Carrowkeel

County Sligo

Ireland

You know what? There are times when I think I truly found my vocation in working as a professional assassin. And that's certainly one of those times – my to-do list lengthened in course of one day. Isn't it a significant improvement? It certainly proclaims my diligence… Three names in twenty-four hours! No wonder I've always been labeled as an ambitious type. If I keep going at that pace, the life on Earth might meet its doom faster than the scientists predict…

Alright, alright, maybe I'm overestimating my skills… a little. So, here goes a break from plans of turning into a fully-conscious mass destruction weapon… even if they were a real solace. Talk about twisted, but it's kind of relieving just imagining wiping off troublesome burdens in a blast while I can't really do much about them in real life.

I mean, chances I catch up with Ryder (that is, actually meaning to find him instead of crashing into him when I least need it) and get a chance of kicking his ass are below ten percent. Though I swear there's nothing I'd do as gladly as stuff my fist into his throat, crush through his vital organs until I find his cock and then tug it so violently until I reach the mouth again, so his body would turn inside out like an empty purse… oh wait. Ryder might lack certain advantages, but there are aspects where he makes up for it, so I should reconsider leaving them as they are.

If that's so, the cock goes unscarred. It'd look amusingly appealing served on a white plate, in a sauce made from his innards, decorated with a tint of green… so, first I need to beat the meat right until it'll become a senseless mass of crushed limbs and the biggest part of what was Ryder before would be a lone eyeball hanging loose from a single string. Then gouge his eyes off, skin him, chop him nicely into tiny cubes…

Geez, sometimes I scare even myself. Jeffrey Dahmer could learn from me, seriously. What am I doing, preparing a cannibalistic cuisine book or planning revenge on my, let's say, ultimate pain in the ass?! That dick! He's worse than hemorrhoids! They can be cured, after all, while Ryderpox flares up quite frequently just when I'm about to celebrate a total victory over than particularly nasty affliction… Would he haunt me like an irritating, obnoxious ghost just because I was dumb enough to fall for his dubious magnetism once, when instead I should've pricked him with the poisonous needle?! Heaven knows how many times I kicked myself for that moment of idiocy during all those years I first had to cover for our hit-and-run meetings, then cut all the ties with him and ensure they wouldn't affect my reputation in the slightest! And that cost me a lot of effort… particularly in the terms of auto-deception. Not that I'm unfamiliar with dishonesty, but only to the others; staying painfully frank to yourself is one of the methods not to lose your mind among various personalities you adopt. Convincing myself that I, the master of seduction-laced deceit, wasn't literary and metaphorically screwed over, gave me a hard time, but I somehow came to terms with it, calling it a valuable practice lesson and using the tricks I witnessed and experienced on my own against the poor pitiful jerks I had to eliminate. But that acceptance didn't include forgiving Ryder for making a fool out of me! I still want to dispose of him… but I'm kind of used to getting payment from a job done. Isn't there a bounty on him in the Foundation? Eh, I'd probably have to wait for that until they report the accident to the headquarters. Too long. Maybe I could contact his betting partners and collect the reward? Oh, no, no, rather not. He still owes them a lot of cash, and my account isn't as satisfying as to nullify them. I might need them more to pay the lawyer if things get rough…

…or to buy some illegal toxic substances to put in Scarlet's drink and watch her writhe in pain as I watch her and judge if it's enough for all the complications she caused. Is there needed more than that Byrne idiot to destroy anything you hammer out?! Entrusting her with a task equals with screwing it up on the start. Oh, am I prejudiced? Let's just skim through her latest records, shall we? The Newgrange escapade almost ended up adding new crew to the passage tomb, and it would be our luck if they were our assaulters'. The Carrowkeel stroll through the labyrinth also could've gone better, like, without bumping into ruthless ugly bastards who happen to know me too well for my taste…

…but all of that wouldn't have happened if someone wasn't a goddamn pushover easily charmed by fluttering eyelashes and bound to act like a freaking gentleman regardless of the consequences! Someday he'd be too polite to deny the organ traders his kidney. I hope I won't be nearby then. I won't give my heart to anybody… On the other hand, I'd gladly join them in quartering him, because, damn…

If I wasn't supposed to get rid of Dante before, I'd totally go for it myself now, regardless of the top-down guidelines!

I mean, who the hell does he think he is to excuse himself by some bruise?! I've also got one – at least one he saw, though it could be more, given all the falls I spilled today. I wonder how my back looks right now, after being crushed by all Ryder's weight on a bed of rocks rather than sheets… How come no one makes a fuss over, instead they found a mission in cosseting that big pussy! Why is Dante the only one who could log out of the game and, like, take a nap?! A f*cking princess on the pea! He wouldn't notice if I slept on the pumpkin, I mean, fell into a deeper shit than he's in! Here goes his stupid talk about caring, teamwork and protectiveness. Stuff into your ass, you poser! Along with the pea.

I don't care if I'm not the best person to call someone dishonest. At least I don't bother to cover my egoism by elaborate speeches of friendship, chivalry and loyalty, right? My selfish demeanor is a strong guarantee no one would expect Sexy Naughty Bitchy Me to throw myself between the others and the danger approaching them. At least no one has any delusions about my reactions and motives, and rave over every single scrap of benevolence I show. But I kind of didn't take Dante's actions as one of those grease maneuvers... shame, I know, being outsmarted like that by a dumb celebrity like him.

But, hey, what's the big deal? He's not the final boss here, after all, and I won the first round against the real one. That was a three-point shot, wasn't it? Punishing Payne the lecher for his pervy ways, shushing Higgins the cow and outfoxing that Murray fatso is certainly worth some kind of award. I just hope my flow didn't run out, as I really need it to crawl out from the rest of the suspicions. Should I send a quick reminder to the deity of tricksters to support me? Not that I consider Murray's idea of a prayer, but I'd really need some kind of assurance I won't slip, as I don't have anyone to back me up.

Ah, damn it, fine, I'll make it through on my own. It's not like I really need any help, right? I dealt with such shady events before, no sweat. I just have to prepare my line of defence… Let's revise the facts: they don't have anything against me – Ryder is probably long gone, they don't have any proof I cooperated with him, I'm not going to spill the beans. If I just decide not to get carried away by the emotions, I'm gonna come out clean.

I'll play it cool. As cool as the lighter's shell against my thigh.

The same day, 20:17

Carrowkeel

County Sligo

Ireland

The silence was dragging longer than Dante estimated, considering Brady's loose tongue and his abnormal urge to voice every thought passing through his mind. It started to bother him somehow. He was rather prepared for an one-actor play, a drama composed of three parts: a gloomy monologue of despair, a seditious speech containing a considerable amount of epithets directed at the antagonist, ending with an apparent offence indicating that the sulk would be the only visible sign of protest towards the injustice.

Vale didn't expect Brady to fall into the state closely resembling stagnation, with his eyes fixed on the ground before his feet and clouded, as if he had turned into a statue. A human log wasn't exactly the best partner in arrest, especially when Dante desperately needed a guide to lead him through the boggy terrain of various Sligo links. After all, the Cracker's lack of nicotine was far less urgent and seminal than his own troubles right now. He had no idea how to make out of them. He collected everything he heard: an accusation; bans and prohibitions concerning his rights; no direct clues, apart for a bunch of gossips, whispered allusions and unclear suggestions. There was still a lot of holes to patch and he knew it would go much faster with a little help. Who would fulfill the info source role better than a native prattlebox?

Besides, dealing with someone else's tantrum in a logical, sensible way was one of the best methods he knew to detach from his own dilemmas and not to get carried away by his emotions. He preferred to ignore them for a while, just to gain a new, fresh and rational approach on the events. All he needed was getting Brady to talk. It was worth a try.

'I know it seems pretty bad', he dared to say out loud, 'but it has its pluses. I mean, you know, maybe you really shouldn't smoke right now... Your nose wouldn't handle it well', he added cautiously.

In a moment, he regretted saying anything. A pair of dark eyes, instead of blankly gaping at the grass, suddenly flashed an agitated glare at him, as if he blasphemed against all the sacred laws in the world. Then, the stare melted into an unclear blend of aversion and disdain, as if one incautious remark pierced the thick balloon of irritation boiling inside the Cracker.

'And here our statue of virtues spoke', the sergeant clicked his lips with distaste, turning his frustration at the nearest victim. 'Sorry, Mister Awesome McCool, but in stark contrast to you, I'm no Foundation superhero, just a mere Cracker, which means I've got some human foibles. For example, when I'm pissed off, I like to have a smoke', he growled. 'It might not occur to godly beings…'

The only reason Dante didn't interrupt the intensifying rant halfway was simple: he only wanted the batteries to run low. He was willing to give the Irishman a chance to vent out his anger yet not let the words distract him. Then, Brady would probably be less willing to raise a scuffle, and maybe there'd be a chance to restart the talk they hadn't finished before…

'…but normal people with kind of… attachments… are unlikely to be in a splendid mood when they're denied fulfilling them', the Cracker seemed kinda satisfied with his passionate, stingy speech, which Dante found surprisingly favorable. More he attacks, sooner he'd be out of steam.

'Listen, I know how it feels right now…', he started, trying to strike while the iron was hot and show some compassion.

'You've got no freaking idea', Brady cut him short, eyeing him suspiciously. 'so don't try to sympathize with me. I don't give a shit how much you detectives try to show empathy, I'm not falling for it.'

Dante raised his eyebrow a bit. He thought that maybe teaming up against the reluctant Sister Bailey – initiated by the Irishman, after all - was a first step for them guys to form some kind of a male alliance. Unluckily, Brady's loyalty seemed to be just another way to defy the reproachful nurse, and Dante's presence in their word scramble was only a convenient tool to tip the scales at each other's side in their personal rivalry of sorts. Apart from that, the young EOD worker apparently didn't care much about him. No wonder, if all he had gotten for helping him were troubles and telling-offs. Well, he had to convince Brady that he was not as posh as ignoring the sacrifice. Although he would rather bite his tongue off than admit it, being treated and spoken to the same way as Murray before really bothered him.

'It's no act of sympathy. I'm only trying to talk', Dante said, keeping his voice calm and collected despite the hostile circumstances. 'Killing time, if anything else.'

'For your info, you don't sound buddy-buddy', Brady informed him bluntly. 'You sound freaking support group, and it sucks. Trying to be nice right after you treated me like scum isn't quite convincing. No chance I will go all friendly with a guy who just got me nicked…'

Dante was struck dumb. Oh, so it was his fault the Cracker, perfectly aware of the infamous opinion he held among the authorities, exposed his brash temper and got nailed by his long-time enemy?... As if Dante didn't take half of the impact himself!

'If I'm correct, we're sharing the sentence', he remarked, raising his voice a bit yet struggling to keep it in check, 'so if I'm trying to work it out, I'm not doing it only in my own interest…'

'What a mercy', Brady commented sharply. 'Certainly I should be grateful for that wonderful act of benevolence. However, all I need a long, delicious smoke, and if you can't provide it, just bugger off unless you can do any kind of hocus-pocus stuff with your magic and summon me a fresh, untouched pack of Benson&Hedges. Or I'll think over another ways to keep myself occupied', he said warningly, throwing Dante a stare a boxer would approach his punching bag with, indicating he wouldn't mind trying cubicle as a way to relieve stress. However, after a moment of reflection, he must've had concluded that the latter didn't seem to bring him much benefits, because he didn't shift from words to action; he just turned his face aside to avoid the enticement.

Dante gnashed his teeth involuntarily. The talk started to resemble a pointless discussion with a rebellious trouble child, denying every mediation. Even the private eye's patience had its limits. Driven by a burning impulse and ignoring the other source of heat pulsing in his damaged chest, he stood up, not sure if he was going to smash someone's mug for insolence or kick some inanimate object in a mute frustration. There was no plan in his mind when instead of approaching any of the targets, he passed by them and went to the tent entrance.

'Excuse me', he addressed the guardians out loud, not sure what he was trying to achieve.

There was no response, the only person to react was Brady, peeking at him askance with apparent suspiciousness.

'Pardon', he tried again, to no effect. He was sure the wardens had heard him well, as their eyes shifted from the far horizon to the inside of the tent in a flash, but they remained still and silent on their posts.

'What's the matter?', Dante couldn't hide a drop of impatience in his voice, noticing their obvious ignorance. 'Is it forbidden even to talk with us? To answer a simple, polite question?'

'What's your problem, anyway?', Brady snarled. 'Looking for new targets to use your silver tongue at?'

'Actually, I tried to ask them if they don't have some cigarettes to share', Dante said explicitly – and rather harshly. The sergeant's swings of mood started to get on his nerves. If he planned to hate him for the rest of his life, well, all clear, but – Dante concluded it fighting with the sense of gratitude he was obliged to feel - he shouldn't blame him for the choices he had made out of his own will, when no one asked him... and push away every attempt to make up just out of childish petulance. 'You wanted a deal', he turned abruptly to face the Cracker. 'If I do my part, you have to fulfill yours', he demanded adamantly. Brady got ashamed a bit, it was noticeable in the way he lowered his eyes. 'Leave it', he murmured to his own palms. 'Apparently, the dog's gorge isn't adjusted to human speech…', he added too lightly and nonchalantly. 'And I wouldn't smoke anything that by any chance had contact with Murray or his hounds anyway', he stated spitefully. 'Loser or not, there are certain brands even a swine wouldn't touch.' Now it was Dante who didn't say anything. He'd been making a fool of himself long enough, making up for distrust and begging for any sign of attention. Brady still kept a watchful side-eye on him, as if expecting him to comment. However, when Vale just turned around abruptly and went back to his cot, silent like a mute, the Irishman sighed suddenly, raising his stare to the linen ceiling and metal tent shell, which looked as if he spoke with his guardian angel. He fell silent for a moment, then heaved a sigh again, as if he could do nothing against the conscience's urge. 'I'll probably regret saying this…', he murmured; Dante almost heard his pride being swallowed hard, 'but thanks', the young man shrugged with resignation, turning his stare to Vale. Seeing Dante's enquiring face, he added: 'For trying to get the ciggies, you know. That was… unexpected.'

'It's me who dragged you into all of this unintentionally, after all', Dante admitted honestly, though keeping a bit of reserve and not revealing his true inner twinges over the situation his wariness caused… just in case the young man underwent another shift of mood again. 'Believe me or not, but I'm not OK with it', he revealed kind of cautiously, checking the reaction.

Brady weighed his words up for a moment, wondering which will prevail – the undeniable facts or his own generosity - then just rolled his eyes, a bit annoyed by his inner voice of reason, and ran his hand across his hair vaguely.

'Well, Lauren is right… it's mostly my fault', he admitted grudgingly, grimacing as if the sentence strained him physically. Obviously, admitting his mistake openly poked his smugness a bit. 'I shouldn't jump into every ruckus and stick my nose into the others' business. I should have left you to deal with it on your own', he stated so frankly that it could be considered rude. It cost Dante a lot not to be repulsed by it; however, his morality kept him at bay, saying that every good deed should be repaid the same way. He hesitated for a moment, but finally let his sense of moral duty get the best of him.

'Yet you tried to warn and defended me back then… even if you didn't have a reason to care at all. I'm sorry for doubting you', he said, feeling weight coming down his shoulders as he spoke those humble words finally. It wasn't so difficult, after all; letting go of at least one of the straining emotions relieved some tight strings. 'If I didn't, things probably wouldn't get so rough. I bet you're kicking yourself right now.'

'I'd rather avoid new injuries', he smirked, poking at his nose. 'I'd rather kick someone else instead…'

Dante understood as much from the way Brady eyed him before.

'You have your reasons to dislike me... or even urge to beat me to a pulp', he admitted valiantly.

Brady scrutinized him, as if thinking his words over carefully.

'Well, if there are no stogs around, smashing someone's mug is good enough instead… and I've got plenty of targets to choose from', he concluded, though without the previous angry stare; his eyes were calmer and way more amicable, the way they had looked when they had been exchanging initial greetings on the hill. He didn't last long in suspense; a short chuckle scared the tension away completely.

'Nah, I'm just kidding', he mumbled finally. 'I haven't defended you so fiercely just to whack your mug right after. Alright, maybe at first I got a bit hairless – blame it on my craving, ciggies are like, the only thing keeping my temper in check! - but if I wanted to punch you, I'd have done it a long time ago without thinking twice rather than carry you on my back like a damned pack horse. I didn't, so it apparently mean I'm not mad at you anymore', he wondered, crossing his brawny arms. 'Oh, wait… or maybe it was due to the handcuffs', he ironized, looking at the two metal circles around his wrists as if he'd just noticed them. 'However, seems like you've got your wipeout already', he gestured at Dante's bandage. 'And once by a woman', he added, not without a shade of satisfaction at the stern approach Vale got from the nurse.

'We both got our telling-off', Dante reminded him; gratitude is gratitude, but he didn't intend to grovel before Brady for the rest of his life. Male good will had its limits, and the strongest of them all was pride… and it liked to accentuate the man's equal position from time to time, just in case. He gestured at the coil in Brady's grasp and remarked: 'She seems pretty harsh on you.'

'Well, she has her reasons, I guess', Brady said carelessly, curling the fabric into a ball and throwing it up, apparently not needing it anymore. 'I keep nagging her to go on a date with me every time we meet.'

That honesty put Dante off his stroke a bit.

'You... wanted to…?', he found himself speechless. He didn't know exactly how to get the question right.

'That's not my fault I've got a huge thing for blondes', Brady revealed quite dreamily, catching the bundle automatically with his eyes getting a bit moony.

'I didn't know you were so close', Dante mumbled, feeling like he should be the one excusing himself, especially to a man who due to him had lost his date. 'She kept calling you 'Sergeant' the whole time…'

'Ah, about that', Brady frowned with discontent. 'She's always so formal in public. Well, not like I had an opportunity to see her in private very often!', he spread his arms helplessly.

'Now I don't get it at all', Dante confessed; he feared the vertigo might come back soon if he kept infesting the info Brady was storming him with without a break. He felt a bit dizzy nevertheless, so he took a few deeper breaths, just in case.

'Ah, yeah, it's a bit complicated', Brady justified his puzzlement. 'You know, we're not exactly close friends or so. I just happen to meet her quite often, since we mostly bump into each other in the hospital… you can call me a habitué, and I usually ask for Lauren to put me back together… and that's all I can expect', he sighed. 'She treats me professionally', he finished frowningly, mimicking Sister Bailey's stern attitude.

No wonder, if you're often visiting her on a stretcher, Dante thought, recalling all the allusions to Brady's recklessness and having a strong proof in the guise of the guy's swollen nose; though he decided to keep it to himself not to spoil their freshly signed truce.

'Even so, I try to move our acquaintance to less stiff areas when I have a chance, but it seems to be a one-sided effort. Don't worry', Brady waved his hand dismissively, seeing Vale's confusion; he himself looked all but devastated. 'As if it was the first time she refused. She's defiant. No success yet, so it's not like that snarl spoiled my position in her ranking or stuff.' He also looked at the bundle in his hand and supplied sincerely: 'Though she's never thrown wet rugs at me before.'

'I guess that's a suggestion', Dante said. Catching Brady's questioning stare, he explained, complementing it with a circular gesture along his own face: 'You're all covered in blood. Nosferatu would run away screaming', he paid back for the joke about his eyebrows, hoping that would clear the air between them entirely.

As much as Brady didn't like cautions, his sense of humor kinda appreciated the lame jibe, as the corner of his mouth went up automatically.

'And look who's talking', he cut back. 'You should see your own face. You don't look much better right now. A guest star in The Frighteners without characterization.'

Nevertheless, he swept the cloth across his face, mopping it intensely where the stains were the most visible. Dante thought it was a good chance to approach another topic, now that they had already been over with the weaving through the expressions that might've hurt their male egos.

'So, Sister Bailey's reasons were revealed…', and justified, he added in mind, then asked in a lowered manner: 'but what about the inspector? Don't tell me you attempted to ask him out as well…', he murmured, intending to goad Brady into the whys and wherefores rather than suggest him a bad taste.

'Don't offend me!', Brady shuddered at the mere inclination, blinking in horror. Apparently Dante's worn-out tone didn't help the dry joke sound entertaining rather than disbelieving. 'Did you ever look him up cautiously? I know he might have grown boobs bigger than most of the girls, but I don't fancy triple chins…'

'Then why?', Dante insisted firmly, urging to understand the whole situation finally; it was crucial to scope out from the trap somehow, and he wouldn't manage with several pieces still missing. 'I've noticed how you reacted when you learnt he'd hold the investigation. It seemed like just a mere mention of him set you on edge. Murray also recognized you immediately, and didn't even bother to hide his antipathy. I would have understood it somehow if he treated you so coldly AFTER you attacked his subordinate… but he insulted you right from the start. It seems there's a whole story between you two.'

'Haven't you figured it out yet?', Brady answered in a question, which turned out rather patronizing… or evasive. 'And here I thought you Seekers were good at riddles. Especially Seeker detectives…', he added meaningfully, eyeing him appraisingly.

That remark stung Dante more than he'd like to admit; pointing out his current helplessness hit the weakest spot in his ego, already damaged by latest mistreating.

'I simply don't have time to solve any brainteasers right now', he said with dignity. 'Maybe if they were more logical… and whole, but all I hear is blurred Sphinx allusions about his bias or brief hints about your divergence. I know I kind of deserve fobbing me off after I cut you short the last time, but I thought you agreed to put our differences aside for now. All I need is a simple cooperation to work it out the trap somehow. Couldn't you just spit the truth instead of mincing words?', he asked, not quite intending to turn his words into that much of a complaint unless he'd heard his voice. Damn, he sounded like an old crone… Apparently, some mental screws just hung too loosely due to the fatigue.

Brady eyed him suspiciously, not sure if Dante's recent calm attitude wasn't just a clever way to conceal his genuine 'superstar' attitude, which, if not paid attention to, was emerging to the surface.

'Please', Dante corrected himself quickly, 'just be direct with me. I've got little time to spare.'

The young man still observed him cautiously. Dante's expression must've showed how uneasy he felt, as the Cracker's alarmed face softened a bit eventually.

'Alright, alright', the young man responded, apparently mollified. 'Geez, it's not like I'm playing cat and mouse with you, man. You're not the kind of guy I'd defy for real... not after you stopped acting posh, at least. You weren't yourself, am I right? Besides, your flight is nothing compared to my best… or rather, worst moment. Most of my pals don't come nearby not to endanger themselves during my outbursts', he said in a voice that sounded slightly embarrassed and at the same time, quite proud of such records. 'So, I know perfectly what it means to lose your marbles once in a while. You don't seem to be as experienced, given that you're so uneasy when it actually happens', he chuckled. 'Don't worry, you'll get used to it soon, given that Murray's around. He provided me a lot of practice…', suddenly, he made a strange face, and facepalmed hardly. 'Damn, I'm doing it again… beating about the bushes', he sighed. 'Everyone always rubs my nose in it, even McKenna, as if he didn't go into a 'freaky physician-mode' himself…'

'Does Murray dislike it as well?', Dante dared to interrupt, fearing if he wouldn't, the chatterbox wouldn't stop this kind of prattling. 'Is that why he keeps such an attitude towards you, Sergeant Brady?', he asked, trying to be polite after his unpleasant outbreak.

'Damn, you too?', the Cracker rolled his eyes again.' I'm no Sergeant for people I smashed few mugs alongside', he stated firmly. 'Just Brady is fine, I don't mind. You can even call me Matthew or Matt, if you're OK with being on the first name basis with a parasite like me', he cracked.

'Alright… Matthew', it sounded a bit strange; that name suited him way less than his surname, however, Dante didn't want him to think that he was keeping his distance. 'So, what makes inspector Murray so harsh on you? All that 'parasite' references… what's the big deal?'

'Isn't that obvious?', Brady shrugged, but then, catching Dante's ill-omened stare, supplied quickly: 'I just thought you figured it all yourself… He accuses me of sharp practice, and not only him, I fear. Not that I gave them any reason', he added quickly, as if afraid Dante might've taken the wrong guess. 'I've never asked anyone to promote nor…'

'Blaming the others for their connections is common, whether they use them or not', Dante admitted leniently to placate him. He knew the pattern all too well to hold it against Brady. 'So, you have a famous relative, don't you? Sorry, but I don't associate your surname with anyone in particular', he professed, and, to soften the remark, added tactfully: 'I'm not very familiar with the Irish staff, though…'

'Does the name 'Donald Hayes' ring a bell to you?', Brady asked quickly, ignoring his polite evasions.

Dante was about to deny, but then something clicked in his memory, as if right cogs had adjusted at the last moment.

'Sister Bailey mentioned him earlier', he realized, thinking out loud.

'Warm, warm', Brady encouraged him. 'But I bet there were more occasions you heard the name. He's certainly a local topper, but I'm pretty sure he made it outside the Eire too. After all, Donnie's one of the best physicians the Foundation's ever had, they say.'

'Of course… you said it before, right?', Vale recalled. 'That doctor McKenna took over the research supervision after professor Donald Hayes' retirement… so… it means… the previous head of the Irish laboratories… and one of the best Foundation scholars, to add… he's related to you?', he asked, shocked - and, to be honest, kinda startled by the familiarity the Cracker referred to the famous scientist; that alone would be a good proof that he knew him well enough to let himself be so direct, but additionally, Brady nodded, beaming. 'How come…', Dante reacted before biting his tongue.

'I know I don't strike as a guy equally splendid to my grandpa, but anyway, could you be less surprised?', Brady smirked, though his face faded a bit as he seemed a bit hurt.

'I didn't mean it…', Dante said apologetically. 'I just didn't expect such a genius to have a normal family life - you know how the academic are perceived…'

'Oh, if you regard living with me as normal, thank you!', the appeased Brady joked, then carried on in a similar light-hearted manner: 'Well… I think I can't blame you. One insignificant grandson is easy to overlook… and I'm not really a reason to boast about.'

There was a kind of bitterness or rather resignation in his voice. Dante had a feeling that despite the light-hearted, cocky attitude Brady tried to maintain, the treatment he received from everyone around really dug at his self-esteem.

'I wouldn't call you insignificant', he said to hearten him a bit. 'You're an AT technician. It's quite spectacular, if you ask me. Responsible, for sure.'

'Thanks…', Brady smiled faintly, 'but… eh… I guess I don't really deserve so much leniency. I've always been kind of a nuisance for Gramps…', he sighed. 'When the rumor about my attack on Murray's dog spreads, we're both done.'

'The inspector can't do anything to you unless he proves your guilt', Dante protested strongly, 'and I'm gonna testify against it, as you've been only in the defense. I'm sure Sister Bailey will support it…'

'Who are you kidding?', Brady smirked. 'Do you really think anyone would give a shit about your testimony? You've seen how it's handled here, how Murray handles it. Do you suppose his fame as the most effective and perseverant inspector to be just a pretty name? When he decides to finish the criminal off, he carries it to the very end and goes to the extremes…'

'You're not a criminal', Dante insisted firmly.

'And neither are you, huh? So tell me why are you here, marked an offender, under surveillance, without a chance to get any back-up? Collecting real-life experience? Participating in the Survirors?', he ironized.

'I'm a detainee rather', Dante corrected. 'That's pretty unfair, but it doesn't mean anything yet…'

'I'm sorry to say so, but it does', Brady sighed, as if explaining the simplest mathematical operation to a second-grade. 'Murray's already got you in his web, and he'll make sure you won't escape it. On the contrary, he'll be glad to crush you like a cockroach. The way he treated you proves it right.'

'Hold it', Dante furrowed his brow, not quite pleased that the talk approached his case instead. 'If the investigation proves we're innocent, he has no other choice but to let us go, and there's no way he could do anything about it. And, why would he intend to? Why would he hold any grudge towards me? I'm not the troublemaker he seeks, and I didn't give him any other reason to loathe me so much. OK, maybe initially I reacted too… rampantly… You might think otherwise, but I didn't try to jar anyone… and in the end, it was me who ended up on fours.'

'All of it doesn't matter, really', Brady enlightened him casually. 'It's not about what you did, after all. It's about what you have.'

'And what do I have?', Dante asked kind of mockingly, not sure where this conversation was going.

'Really have to ask? You're Dante Vale, the guy with the Huntik celebrity halo around you…'

'…which I haven't created myself…', Dante reminded him warningly.

'It's not about what you think, after all, just the way you are perceived', Brady put so much emphasis on the words that if they were bubbles, they would pop like punctured. 'Well-respected, sometimes even glorified, but also… envied. Jealousy, that's what make people do the dirty on the others, and Murray is no different. You can't change the way he sees you, and all he knows is that you are a walking success. So, you could greet him in a sack cloth, it wouldn't change much. He simply strikes at everyone whom he regards too lucky…', he explained patiently.

'Wait a sec', Dante said, not sure if he was more confused or irritated by that statement. 'He's actually blaming me for… for doing well?! No way… That'd be the stupidest reason to despise someone I've ever heard…'

'But it's quite accurate, yes', Brady nodded with the content of a tutor who'd just taught a slow-minded child the whole alphabet. 'It bothers him for sure… the fact that there are people more successful than him. In his opinion, fame, money, career, reputation, intellectual achievements, popularity – to sum up, anything valuable - is a good thing to be hated for… And you seem to have it all so effortlessly', he remarked frankly. 'Don't try to deny it', he scotched all the protests, 'you may not even be aware of it, 'cause it's only natural to you, while he pulls out all the stops yet hardly maintains his standing, let alone social attractiveness…'

'Maybe HE would be more popular if he didn't try to make everyone his enemy right from the start, for no good reason', Dante drawled, trying to soak his every word in enough disdain. 'Working on his own PR would be far more profitable than bringing the others down… And what's about all that trash-talking about my would-be effortless prosperity?!', he burst out, quite touched by that mention.

'Well, you know, you're the top agent, it's self-evident that you don't lack certain… comforts…'

'...which I was not given!', Dante stated firmly, detesting the suggestion that he attained his possessions and privileges with the swing of a wand. It was like underestimating the actual hustle he had gone through to reach the current level.

'Relax, mate, I get it; I'm just repeating what people usually say about you', Brady shrugged. 'Not that I'm interested in the buzz, but it's hard to let it slide. You're quite a hot topic in the Foundation… everyone likes a touch of the glam world once in a while.'

Dante opened his mouth to prolong the argument that despite what the omniscient prattlers said, their vision of him differed much from the reality. Even now, there were still important things he lacked in his life. However, he changed his mind – he didn't want to sound like a yelp. And, though he didn't have any prejudice against Brady, today's acquaintance didn't really have to know the struggle even the closest friends were oblivious to. However, he must've had quite an upset face, as Brady felt obliged to cheer him up in return.

'Some of them haters enjoy dwelling into the others' lives, finding cracks on the perfect picture… or creating them. I know it's irritating, but you shouldn't give a damn about all that baloney.'

'Seems like I'd have to, as it brought me so much trouble… Alright, let's leave this nonsense for a moment', Dante reluctantly accepted the conviction, knowing that if he would dwell on the topic, it'd just fuel his annoyance. 'Although I don't get such a juvenile game at all, let's say a kind of rivalry is quite understandable, as me and Murray are in the same line of work, and, whether I like it or not, I'm pretty much on the spotlight. But what about you? Pardon the straight-forwardness, but why it matters so much to him what an EOD tech does? Bomb disposal is not his business, neither it your grandfather's domain, right? So why even bother?'

'Because of the The CHARGE project', Brady responded. 'It was quite a far-famed initiative, the Irish compound's chance to get acknowledged before all the national branches, like the top-ranked American, French and German institutes... and also, Donnie's biggest creation ever.'

'Sure, there was one research program, all about examining Seeker powers!', Dante recalled in an 'Eureka!' tone. He betted Metz mentioned it at least once while discussing the Huntik financial maintenance… 'It was presented to the Foundation a few years ago, and there was quite a heated discussion over it. I haven't really paid attention to it before – I'm by no means a scientist – but… it was something about classifying the powers as a physics phenomenon, a new kind of physical constants or so…', he risked assuming. The only thing he remembered clearly was that the chairman had insisted to make sure the research projects had been given priority while administering budget this year.

'Don't ask me the details', Brady shrugged, 'I know nearly as little as you. I don't even remember what the initials are supposed to abbreviate. One of them probably doesn't match the exactly spelling of the words, as usual with those pixiliated frocks. If you'll still be interested, you can ask McKenna later, he's good at memorizing all the codenames…'

'I'm more concerned what relates it to Murray', Dante reminded Brady's the exact topic quickly, before the guy got carried away again. 'Considering his nature, I assume he was strongly disapproving of it…', he guessed, reminding himself that Brady had described jealousy and twisted satisfaction of the other's mistakes as the inspector's major actuation.

'Bingo, Sherlock', the Cracker smirked, as if believing into Dante's deduction skills just now. 'You're finally getting it. Yeah, Murray was the fiercest objector, after all, he's always been the first to criticize everyone, at least after he found himself stable and unshakable… By the time it started, he's already been the Foundation inspector for ten years or so, previously working as a civilian. I don't know how he got into Huntik or the Dublin base, I've only heard he was previously assigned to a range of counties, especially those with the highest crime rate, as he was awfully effective at lowering it in a blink. And, apart from the tales about his terrifying police skills, there always were rumors about issues between him and various well-earned members, though not very detailed. But when he finally aimed at Donnie himself, well, we had a taste of it.'

'But it still doesn't explain what was his motive…', Dante furrowed his brow. 'And I'm certain even such a freak like him had to have one.'

'Officially? No. But privately…', Brady smirked bitterly, then picked up again: 'Everyone knew he prepared his own competitive formula he intended to apply for the grant. Something about reforming the policing inside the association or stuff. Of course it was important, yet not innovative... and there were opinions that thanks to it, Murray might gain even better control over the acts, which meant more of sticking his bulbous nose into their business, which he loves so. Formally, the refusal was excused by the statement that the Foundation pays the subsidy for public safety nevertheless, and so, they rather leaned towards the powers research. It was only natural Donnie drummed up such a strong widespread support - after all, everyone wants to know more about the Seeker energy, don't they?', Brady threw him a checking stare, indicating that the question wasn't entirely rhetorical and the response might've taken its toll on his opinion about Dante.

'There's no quarrel about it', Vale admitted not only out of reason, but genuine judgment; if the project wasn't a splendid idea, he wouldn't be hesitant over voicing his thoughts, but there was no reason to criticize it. 'Even us Seekers rack our brains to solve this mystery.'

'See', Brady seemed satisfied with the answer. 'However, logics always fails against Murray. It was just a good excuse for him to turn his interests at Gramps. Since he didn't have enough force nor support to trash the respected professor people seemed to like, he chose a more suitable, weaker mark to affect him.'

'You', Dante guessed, reading through the description maybe a bit too quickly not to upset the Cracker.

'Of course', Brady gave out a short, bitter chuckle. 'You know the scheme – people always think that certain predispositions and abilities run down in one's family, so if you are successful, your family has to match the set standards, stand up to other people's imaginations… I didn't', he judged sincerely. 'I've always been kinda… frisky. Not a rascal maybe, neither a total blockhead, but by any means a genius close to my Gramps, I must confess, so I had always had troubles with studying and stuff. That alone wouldn't be much of a problem, but, well… I sucked for attention, and went all the way to get it, which my teachers didn't quite like. Combined with my miserable marks, it led me to almost getting expelled from high school… and Murray didn't hesitate to use it against Gramps.'

'How did he connect those two matters?', Dante asked in surprise, shocked that anyone could relate a teenager's capers with high academics' respectable discoveries.

'He was digging out every mistake, every slip, every pratfall I made, and throwing it at Donnie's face, trying to prove that since he wasn't able to raise one insolent brat, he shouldn't have been placed in charge of the whole research facility, and even defiantly dared to suggest that he's developing senile dementia, so his judgment over the whole project shouldn't be trusted...'

Dante clicked his tongue in distaste. Brady exchanged a knowing stare with him, shrugging as if he wanted to emphasize something like: 'There's no cure for assholes'.

'Of course for a long time Gramps didn't care much for anything a flea like Murray says', he said proudly. 'That old chap is a true statue of serenity, I swear. All those baloneys were like water off duck's back! However…', his timbre faded a bit, 'the dungball took care not to stand alone against him. People started talking.'

'Of course', Dante snarled. There were always the 'concerned ones' who pretended to care for the common well-being yet creating more ruckus than needed themselves.

'My failure casted a shadow on Donnie's reputation. I know it's unfair', he anticipated Dante's protest. 'I mean… I could see the flame coming from those who gave me up for lost, in fact I deserved my telling-off, gossips and antipathy, but… geez, why besmear Donnie? For being unable to control a grown-up jerk? He must've had keep me on a leash, literally. Still, I'm sure he had his share of unwarranted commiseration as well. I discredited Donnie's method of upbringing, violently exposed his failure as a guardian, gave his co-workers a lot of grist to the mill… Oh well, maybe I'm generalizing, not all of Donnie's colleagues bore him ill will, but… some of them… they just waited for him to slip up, and here it was! Literally…', he saddened suddenly. Dante suspected a sad scenario to come, so he knew as much as not to urge Brady to carry on unless he decided so. The Cracker eventually gulped hardly, then spoke again, though every word seemed to come hard:

'He's not the youngest, you know… no wonder his health started to deteriorate slowly, and mixed with the stress over the endangered project, it was only a matter of time when something could happen. One day, Donnie's co-worker found him lying on the floor, unconscious', Brady spoke quietly, as if speaking louder could wake up the deuce again. 'He's been feeling dizzy the whole day, he said, and suddenly, everything blurred. He woke up in the hospital, with his neck in a stiffener. Everything in the laboratory is mostly metallic, so… when he hit the floor, his head was damaged and… due to the complications, Donnie lost the sensation from the waist down', he murmured, his eyes darkening again as if the curtain had been drawn inside his head to expose the reminiscence in his mind better.

'Cazzo', Dante hissed with outrage, and Brady didn't have to know Italian to get the meaning.

'I probably couldn't sum it up better…', he sighed wearily. 'The accident was like a red alert for the Irish board. They put the blame onto Donnie's age, and probably stated he's been keeping the seat for longer than expected after all, so they kindly offered him a good retirement plan. Official cause - major health issues. The long hours of staying up late and working really drained much energy from him, to be honest, but… it was still pitiful, to observe Donnie losing his intellectual realm in a few days. Murray triumphed… of course not openly, but everyone knew he was delighted by the thought of his rival stripped of all his glory and joys. However… they all forgot one thing: if even the accident didn't stop Donnie, no paper will. He's just that headstrong, I think it runs in the family', Brady sighed, spreading his arms helplessly, yet with a small smile of fondness and pride. 'He couldn't allow himself to withdraw just now, when he has so much of his research left unfinished… however, I didn't understand it much at first.'

'You know, the incident scared the hell out of me', Brady spoke frankly, though not necessarily, as Dante could conclude so from his expression, 'so I urged Donnie to take it as a warning and quit the strain for good. I couldn't understand why he was so stubborn about it, knowing that McKenna was around to carry the project on… and, to be honest, I've always found physics too boring to spend so many years researching it and not needing a well-earned rest. However, when Donnie decided to explain to me what exactly he'd been researching… high time, I must admit… that was like all the superhero comics come to life, wasn't it? I mean, the ability to control powers…', he stared forward dreamily. 'Could I resist getting into it myself? 'Course not! McKenna brought to me that I cannot develop superpowers just through a bite of a mutated spider or radiation, nevertheless, I found it awesome I could be able to handle them, at least disposing of them with the special gear… so, with the news as my motivation, I put my ass together, passed the school-leaving exams somehow – a year late, but still - and went straight for the EOD training. I'd like to say I did it mostly for Gramps, but… there was also a girl I tried to impress, so… alright, let's skip it before it gets too awkward', he chuckled embarrassingly, scratching the back of his head.

'So, with my newly-found interest, I'd be hypocritical to protest against Donnie getting back to work, wouldn't I?', he spread his arms hopelessly. 'I promised I'd do anything to organize his comeback comfortably so he wouldn't strain himself while still being in the game. Luckily, there was a catch we could use - the newly received title of an honor team member. We took advantage on that and thanks to it, Donnie still supervises the research while he can, and it's quite often, given that the person in charge is his best mentee!', Brady grinned quite slyly, like a mischievous sprite. 'Everyone knows he has to slow the pace but it's not like he cares much, he just likes his old duties and gets involved in every activity concerning his domain. Much to Murray's distaste…', his grin decreased to a smirk, but it didn't last long; the man gloomed quickly, leaning forward and putting both elbows on his knees. 'Though I know he won't rest until he gets rid of Gramps. And I think I set my hand to it this time…', he sighed heavily.

Dante's pricks of conscience grew stronger. Of course he felt bad about incidentally pushing Brady into his own troubles, but knowing that he had dragged two people, one of them a disabled elder, only doubled his sense of guilt. What if he wouldn't be able to set things straight soon? It might take a lot of time to clear Brady of the charges, and how much stress would the dragging insecurity cost his already preoccupied grandfather?

Brady must've thought the same, because he sank his fingers into his hair and tugged at them violently.

'Geez, I hope McKenna hurries with the emergency before the info spreads any further…', he mumbled anxiously. 'He should be able to prevent it somehow…'

Dante raised his eyebrows automatically, trying to keep his thoughts to himself – that a man who couldn't stand his ground under pressure was unlikely to act as their savior. At first, he'd have agreed with the widespread opinion and completely understood the doctor's praiseworthy reputation, but now he had a feeling that he had judged McKenna too fast. He had trusted the researcher's rational, dependable attitude too easily, probably because at that time, he had been in total mess and needed someone who would lift the responsibility off his shoulders. Now he had doubts towards the doctor. Of course Dante still wanted to respect his knowledge, his apparent reliability, the logical way he planned the moves and his omnipresent supervision over the actions, but McKenna's positive image crushed in his eyes right after the inspector entered the stage. How on earth could a sane guy like the SPARK leader allow someone as erratic, unstable and repulsing as Murray to take care of the work involving teamwork, psychology and further socialization?! And how could he stand there and do nothing the whole time they argued? How could he allow Murray to order him, the Irish scholars' head, left and right? And how could he leave like that, without a single word of protest, knowing that his best friend had gotten shamelessly framed?! That's not what Dante could understand. His friendship with Montehue might have been seen as a little offbeat, but at least he could be certain Monty wouldn't run away like a scaredy-cat instead of standing by his side to the very end…

Brady noticed his unconvinced, doubtful expression.

'I know what you think', he smiled faintly. 'You're probably wondering what makes me so trustful about him, after all you've seen.'

'Well… to be honest, I expected some more… support. Surrendering to the inspector didn't really earn him my trust', Dante revealed carefully.

'But that was part of the plan', Brady explained earnestly. 'What would Bren do for us if he opposed and got secured as well? He'd be stuck here, with no chance of organizing the rescue. Good thing he wasn't a reckless dumbass like me and held his emotions at bay. This way, he's free and can make us out of this shit. I know he would. He's not exactly an explicit guy, but he's got brains like no one and can use them better than mindlessly throw himself into the scuffle', Brady did his best to convince Dante, who, though not exactly certain, appreciated those attempts which clearly showed the Cracker's strong bond with the doctor; even more so when he hung his voice for a moment and then added a bit hesitantly:

'Besides… I can't afford to get Bren sacked as well. After Donnie's official dismissal, McKenna's presence is vital for the whole operation to succeed. Donnie always wanted to pass his work down onto him. When he still taught at the Trinity College, McKenna was his best student… he wouldn't let anyone else take over his precious discoveries, after all', Brady hushed his voice, his face falling a bit, but then resumed strongly: 'He keeps the project going, and that's my grandpa's lifetime wish I'm going to support no matter what.'

'Alright, alright, I get it', Dante smiled lightly, really impressed by Brady's loyalty. 'I also have no intention of letting the events stay the way they are now.'

'Yeah', Brady nodded. 'You've also got someone you want to protect, right? No wonder, I'd also like to take care of such a banging babe…'

'Excuse me?', Dante raised his brows, surprised hearing Brady addressing one of his fresh acquaintances in such a familiar manner... and not quite OK with it.

'Ah, sorry, it slipped away', Brady got embarrassed immediately, scratching his neck uneasily. 'I know shouldn't call her this way, even if she's a real someth-'

'Whichever girl you're talking about…', Dante started, a bit exasperated, though he had some suspicions about the subject's identity.

'You asking? Geez, man, where do you have your eyes, on your bottom?', Brady shook his head in disbelief. 'I mean that dark-haired smasher, obviously! She's certainly got looks!', Brady commented in awe. 'Of course she could scorn less, but…'

'I thought you were into blondes… so I advise you to follow your initial tastes and leave Zhalia on her own', Vale reminded him rather chillily, and Brady must've noticed the sudden change.

'Oh', he exclaimed. 'Sorry, mate. I thought you and Scarlet have something going. I didn't have a clue about you two… though I should've noticed how you doted on her.'

'What're you talking about?', Dante asked, still more and more puzzled.

'She – Zhalia, is her name? - she's your girlfriend, right?', Brady asked.

'I didn't say that', Dante corrected, not as annoyed by the mistake as he thought he should have been. After all, it wasn't anything detrimental, was it? Zhalia was a girl he found highly attractive, they'd been on a date, after all, and Dante wouldn't mind repeating it. The fact that they weren't exactly a couple could easily get overlooked if someone didn't really know their relation. He should have prepared for such missteps…

'I just advised you to keep your hands away for your own good', he added less roughly. 'She can be somewhat… harsh, if not handled with care. We've been working together for some time, so I've got a bit of experience… only in that aspect.'

'Yeah… You really don't sound like her squeeze. Rather like a wild beast tamer', Brady remarked with a smirk.

'I just recommend you sticking to sister Bailey, for your own safety', Dante highlighted, displeased with the opinion he earned for his good will.

'I think that's not even close to safety... Imagine her reaction if I called her a babe? She'd definitely punch me in the face', Brady remarked, showing a lot of carefully hidden common sense.

'She wouldn't', Dante said in a somewhat hesitant voice, knowing it was a risky statement. 'She's a nurse, after all.'

'So the only advantage is that she'll stitch me back together faster', Brady said in a gloomy tone. 'Not much of a promising romance, if you ask me. Rather a common pathological case…'

'You've always got Scarlet in reserve', Dante pointed out, trying not to be too sarcastic.

'Ah… No offence, but she's not really my type', Brady said unenthusiastically. 'I like girls more curvy', he mimicked the hourglass shape with his hands. 'And less… pursuing.'

'Tell me about it', Vale sighed, massaging his temples. 'Has she always been so… insistent?'

'Totally', Brady said gravely. 'Once she sets her interests on someone, she's unbeatable. Seems like she picked you as her target this time.'

'Great…', Dante commented tiredly; all he needed to add to his misery was a crazy fangirl. 'Any clue how to bear her?'

'Change your personal data, go abroad under a false name and grow a beard. Oh, yeah', he looked at Dante apologetically. 'You've already got one. Well, then shave it clean. I guess a complete makeover is the only way to get rid of her', he grinned widely, as if Dante's confusion had amused him greatly. 'Otherwise she'll chase after you until you finally surrender to her. I think she and Murray are quite alike… though she's not that repulsing.'

'Yeah, of two evils, I prefer Scarlet', Dante admitted in a murmur.

As if he spoke a magic enchantment, he heard a quick scurry from outside the tent and something flashed in front of the entrance. Before it was stopped by the guards, it crossed the small space, cannoning into Brady's stool and knocking him over, and turning a blind eye to its victim, it bumped right into Dante, squeezing the breath out of his lungs and almost choking him with a bush of fiery red hair flung over his face.

Dante first tried to swallow up the bile as the sudden thrust in his abdomen made him nauseous (for the hundredth time today, as it felt), then blew the red strands out of nose and mouth and parted them with his hands, in fear he might've stain them if his insides kept protesting. However, the more he fought the wild mane, the more it seemed to entwine him, as well as two thin but surprisingly tenacious arms grasping his neck as if they were to crush it.

Brady, spread on the ground and cursing under his breath, raised his head with difficulty and smiled crookedly as he saw the girl in Dante's embrace.

'Nice of you to come over, Scarlet', he ironized, certainly oblivious of her distress. 'Don't worry, I'll just lay here and watch as you two snog, don't interrupt your-'

A sudden painful howl not only shut Brady down, but also made both men's hair stand on the end with its piercing despair. Vale, although confused (and deafened by the bawl), reacted automatically, burrowing the mass of trembling limbs in his arms. He mumbled something like a nonsensical reassurance, trying to soothe the quick, heated breath tickling his collarbone.

'Scarlet, what's up?', he asked gently, dumbstruck with her cry and the fresh tears. 'Why are you…'

'Him!', she cried out, still crushing his neck in a grasp. 'The inspector, he…'

That was all she was able to choke out before burying her face back into Dante's chest with a scowl. Though Dante could learn anything more cut-and-dried, the guards, initially as shocked as Dante and Brady, approached the two Seekers, towering over them like dogs over a knotted sock.

'She shouldn't be there', one of them hoarsed. 'We're taking her out.'

'Cut it!', a familiar female voice said sternly as another person stormed through the entrance. 'She's my patient, and as Murray's done with her, you have no power over her, so back off!'

Sister Bailey stood between the Seekers and the guardians, as if shielding her charges from the assaulters. It would've looked comical in any other circumstances – the two stocky men moving back to their place as if intimidated by the petite blonde – but neither of them felt like laughing. Instead, the nurse seemed furious as she turned abruptly to face Vale.

'Miss Byrne, that's enough', she said firmly, pulling the girl by the shoulders. 'Mr. Vale's just been through the healing process, and we have to make sure you'll be fine as well. Let go off him and let me help you.'

She shook her head, plastering to Dante tightly like a jellyfish, but Sister Bailey was adamant.

'No talks or whatsoever unless you take some sedatives!'

'Scarlet, take a deep breath', as Sister Bailey sat her on the other cot, Dante tried to placate Scarlet. 'Just calm down and tell me what happened…'

'No clue, Sherlock?', Brady interrupted him gloomily. 'I think we discussed it earlier. It is Murray happening.'

'That pretty much sums it up, yes', Sister Bailey said quietly, worriedly.

The change in her usually face, from stern to worried, was too apparent to miss. Two guys just exchanged stares and both their expressions clouded; the measure of the situation's seriousness was that even Brady the chatterbox didn't feel like speaking anymore after such a grim summary.

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[1] ARPN – Advance Registered Practical Nurse