62. Awakenings

"Myria! Doctor Lawn, she's awake!"

Myria's eyes fluttered open and was assaulted by light, the alley had somehow become much brighter. She tried closing and opening them, but her vision was still blurry, and her head throbbed.

"Did I save him?" she managed thickly.

There was a pause, and then the woman spoke again. The tone answered her question as much as the words. "Oh Myria, I'm so sorry."

Susan? What is she doing here in the alley? Myria tried to focus her mind and her eyes. She remembered seeing… blood. She could still smell it, the acid and metallic tang of it was everywhere around her. So much blood. Rich and red outside the body, where it should not be. How could the body function with so much blood outside of it?

It could not. That is why I died. But I am alive? She forced her eyes to focus, and a room swam into view. It was white. She was not lying on the ground in the alley; she was lying on a soft white bed with clean sheets. Susan sat next to her, looking tired.

"Myria, how much do you remember?"

"The man…. Flasher. He stabbed me." She struggled to pull up details. "He stabbed me me in the heart." She closed her eyes, "I died."

She heard the sounds of another person enter the room. "I'm not surprised you did, even if it was temporary. With the amount of blood on the street and your clothes, there is no way you should have survived that." Myria pried open her eyes again, to see Lawn shaking his head and looking at her in a sort of awe. "I was sure you were dead, chest movements or not, with the amount of crusted blood on that knife wound." He narrowed his eyes at her. "But then I cleaned that wound… there wasn't one. Not a mark on you. Not even a scar."

Myria tried to replay the events. The knife. The death. And then she was alive, but Mister Sharps was lying on the ground, and so was the man Flasher. Her brain kicked a few synapses into something approaching functionality, and they provided an answer.

"Mister Sharps. He saved me. I do not understand how. He did not survive." She stated the last flatly, it wasn't a question.

Doctor Lawn's eyes flicked to Susan, who nodded. "I'm afraid not, Myria. I'm not sure what he did, or what happened, but he suffered a massive stroke as a result. I'm sorry, there was nothing we could have done."

"No… no it is not right. It is not… we must... We must bring him back."

Lawn's eyes widened in shock. "Lady LeJean, the only Igor available is in the Watch, and it's my understanding that Commander Vimes doesn't look fondly on him doing that sort of thing." Truth be told, Doctor Lawn was of two minds about the whole idea. The idea of saving a patient from death was one thing. Bringing back someone who had died was quite another.

Myria managed to focus blearily on Susan, who was looking at her more warily now.

"We must bring him back. It is incorrect. He never had a chance!"

"Myria, you know it doesn't work that way."

"But it is unfair! Your grandfather-"

Susan's face darkened. "Don't bring my grandfather into this. And don't ask me to do something I can't."

Mister Brown stood shakily and carefully wobbled his head. Finding no pain, he addressed the entity next to him. "I think I broke my brain. Why did I do that?"

I AM AFRAID I AM UNABLE TO ANSWER THAT FOR YOU. IT DID SEEM SOMEWHAT IRRATIONAL. BUT HUMANS OFTEN DO IRRATIONAL THINGS.

"I do not believe I was sane at the time. But it seemed to make sense, to save the one who attempted to save me. I would have thought it would have been more painful, though." A week after the clock was destroyed, Mister Filth, as he'd called himself then, had been beaten on the orders a troll of the name Chrysophrase, for some reason that was still fuzzy. It had been significantly more painful.

YES, I AM TOLD THAT THE BODY DOES THAT. IT APPEARS TO BE A WAY OF DEALING WITH EXTREME PAIN.

"Ah. Then the body… that is to say, I am dead at present?"

I AM AFRAID SO. BUT LOOK ON THE BRIGHT SIDE; THIS PROVES THAT YOU WERE, IN FACT, ALIVE.

Mr. Brown's shade considered this. "It does not seem appropriate. I was unable to experience living in any positive manner."

I BELIEVE THAT LADY LEJEAN WOULD AGREE WITH YOU. BUT THAT IS A COMMON COMPLAINT. AND NOW, IF YOU WILL FORGIVE ME, I BELIEVE YOU SHOULD BE GETTING ON.

"But, I need to tell Myria something. I need to get her a message!"

THE WORLD OF THE LIVING IS NO LONGER-

The shade of Mister Brown, which had previously begun to fade during the conversation, snapped back to clarity, and his face radiated righteous disgust. "You know what, I only lived a short time. And for most of it, I was miserable. And on top of that, there was always someone manipulating and controlling me. First Mister White. Then my former 'brothers' and then him." A translucent finger thrust out in the direction of Flasher. "So, all-powerful guardian of whatever lies beyond or not, how about you let me decide what is and is not my concern."

Eye sockets brightened slightly, and the shade of Mister Brown took the equivalent of a breath, and thought slightly better.

"Please."

There was a long pause as Death regarded Mister Brown as one might a mouse that had suddenly demanded a tenancy contract. In writing. Notarized.

VERY WELL. I WILL LISTEN. BUT I MAKE NO PROMISES.

Doctor Lawn wasn't completely sure what exactly his patient and her visitor were arguing about, but he wasn't happy about it. He'd even attempted to exert Doctor's Privilege, and demanded that Susan leave the room, but instead he'd found himself outside and vaguely remembered only that she'd ordered him out in a very queer tone of voice.

Through the door, he could hear Myria alternating between sobs and demands, and Susan replying in a strange combination of anger and sadness, but none of it seemed to make much sense.

This can't be good for my patient.

He thought about going back in there, and found that his muscles, knowing better than him, refused to go for the doorknob.

Damnation.

Lawn shook his head, and decided to send for the Knäckes, instead. Maybe one of them can handle this one.

The argument went on for some time.

Part of Myria knew that what she was asking was impossible, and that part kept trying to convince her that Susan was being perfectly logical and reasonable. But another part of her brain was insisting that rules were made to be broken, and that Susan was just refusing out of obstinance, and that part was intensely angry at Susan. And a third portion was simply heartbroken, and looking for some way to express it. The third one kept breaking through when the second ran out of steam temporarily, and she suspected she was continuing to argue with Susan just to forestall that one having its waily waily way with her.

And above all of that, was a lingering head ache, that intensified when she tried to move her head.

It took a good hour for all three of those minds to lapse into exhaustion.

"You look exhausted."

"I do not feel well, and my head aches."

"I can certainly understand that." Susan fidgeted. "You have terrified a lot of people you know, and made them very angry."

"They will no longer wish to be my-"

"Do stop. Being angry with you because they love you means the exact opposite of what you are thinking. I am furious with you, for instance, but you are the only friend I have, so I believe I am stuck with you."

Myria felt tears threaten to well up again. For Susan, this was tantamount to a heartfelt crying session. "Thank you," was all she managed roughly.

Susan stood and straightened her skirts. "Yes, well. We'll have plenty of time to talk about all the stupid things you've done, but for now, I think you need to rest. I suspect there will be a line of visitors for you shortly, considering how many days you were out."

Myria's eyes, which had been drooping closed, managed to open at that. "Days?"

Susan swept her arm about the room, taking in the multiple vases of flowers and cards scattered about the room, which somehow Myria had not noticed before. "You were unconscious for over a week, Myria. Doctor Lawn told us it was touch and go for several days." Susan locked her eyes on one of the vases of flowers. "Jonathon was a wreck, and the rest of us not much better." She shook herself, and attempted a fake smile at Myria, with little more success than Myria would have managed. "But things will, I assume, return to more or less normal now. Whatever that means for people like us."

Myria closed her eyes. "I am sorry."

Susan patted Myria on the arm, which was probably the most demonstrably affectionate she'd been with a female since her childhood. "Well you should be. Now get some rest. I'll tell the others you have rejoined the land of the fully living."

Myria expected the others would visit her shortly, but found it impossible to stay awake. This was likely due to the bitter chemical mixture that one of the nurses insisted she swallow after Susan left. She detected an acidic component of willow bark, along with several others that appeared to mimic biological chemical triggers for reduced metabolic rate.

It was late afternoon when she awoke again.

"Myria, someone here would like say hello."

"Wakey wakey, Myria."

Myria pried open eyes, waited for them to focus. "Jessica." She smiled. "It is good to see you."

"You don't know the half of it. You scared us to death."

"And speaking of which, my Grandfather sent me a message that concerns you." Susan's expression was one of surprise.

"Is that unusual?"

"This one was. He doesn't often pass along notes from the dead."

The entire room went still for several seconds, before Myria could find words "From Mister Sharps?"

"Mister Brown, actually."

"Ah. So he decided who he was, in the end." Somehow, the fact that he had chosen his original human name was comforting. "What was the message?"

"He apologized for being, according to him, somewhat naïve regarding that man, Flasher, and his intentions. He also said that you didn't have to worry any more. He saw what you did to your attacker, and said Flasher was the last of his group with a grudge against you." Susan let that sink in.

"So I am safe?"

"As safe as anyone is, Myria. Probably safer than many."

Myria considered the implications. It should have made her feel better than it did, but she was still coming to terms with all that had happened.

"Was that the entirety of the message?"

"Mostly. A few things for me to look into, as well. But as I say. You are now more or less safe. No need to take extraordinary precautions any longer." She glanced at Jessica. "Which is fortunate, because unfortunately Mister Rhezah tendered his resignation as your bodyguard."

Myria felt that news as a blow, which surprised her. "I am grieved," she finally managed.

"Well, it is to be expected, isn't it?

"I suppose." Myria felt as if she could cry. "I misled him most blatantly. I thought I was doing the correct thing. I was wrong, of course."

"Yes. Well it was a blow to him, losing complete track of a client like that, and nearly having them killed. He was miserable and feeling completely impotent, which I suspect was a very new feeling for him. He did not care for it."

"I am sorry."

"Yes well, keep saying that. You owe apologies to a lot of people."

Jessica huffed at her. "Susan, seriously, do you know how much your bedside manner sucks?"

"I have no bedside manner, child, that is one of my endearing traits and why I have so many friends."

Jessica snorted and turned back to Myria, leaned in and gave her a long and appreciated hug. "Well I for one am just glad you're alive," she murmured into Myria's hair.

The ache in Myria's chest was a combination of sadness and joy. She waited until Jessica pulled back. "And Jonathon? When will he come?"

Jessica and Susan traded looks that Myria classified as 'evasive', then Jessica answered carefully. "Jonny wanted to see you alone, and Susan thought it'd be best if she softened you up first."

"That is not what I said."

"Close enough."

Myria's imagination and deductive skills, produced a dozen scenarios regarding why Jonathon would wish to meet with her alone, and was not the first to come to her bedside upon awakening.

None of them were pleasant.

Her next visitor was not Jonathon. It was also not expected.

The man who entered the room was slightly overweight, with glasses and unkempt hair. He was also wearing a pointed hat and robes which proclaimed 'wizard' to anyone with one eye and half a brain cell.

He regarded her as he might a newly discovered tome in the library. "You are a wonder, Lady LeJean, do you know that?"

"I do not feel so."

"Well considering what I found in that alley," The man turned slightly green, and swallowed visibly, "you surely are. Which is why I'm here."

"And you are?"

"Oh. Sorry. Stibbons. Ponder Stibbons, Wizard, Unseen University."

"I see. and you are here to check upon my health? Or to lock me in a dungeon?"

"Stibbons shook his head. "Purely magical interest, my lady. No stone unturned to further the boundaries of magical knowledge." His eyes widened, which because of his glasses meant they nearly swallowed his face. "Lady LeJean, you are a walking, talking, high-energy magic experiment! The things you are doing… they shouldn't be possible!

For some reason, this made her slightly angry. It was as if she were some sort of laboratory subject to him. "They are not possible, sir. I cannot perform them without nearly destroying myself."

Ponder deflated somewhat. "Right. Right." He rallied. "But the point is you shouldn't be able to do them in the first place. And according to this, not only can you change reality, you can change it back!

He produced a small box with lights and a small needle and waved it front of her. "I was watching! I saw everything!"

Myria eyeballs the box. "What do you tell me?"

"That's what I'm trying to ask you about!" Stibbons pulled a scroll out of his robes and unrolled it, revealing it to be full of formulae and diagrams. "There's something I don't understand about what happened that day, and I need you to walk me through the events step by step."

Almost against her will, Myria found herself drawn to the calculations on the scroll. These were rules. Mathematical rules, of a sort. Rules she understood. Numbers she understood.

Perhaps, just perhaps, I can find some understanding of my own, in their logical orderings.

It proved to be a long day… Myria would not be surprised if there were a line stretching down the street outside the hospital. It was likely only Doctor Lawn's orders that kept rest breaks between visitors.

The next one was not unexpected, all things considered. She sighed.

"Sir Samuel."

"That's Commander Vimes at the moment. This is an official visit."

"Of course. Am I under arrest this time?"

"No. Surprised?"

"Somewhat."

"Don't be. As far as we are concerned, what you did was completely self-defense." And about as stupid as you could have managed.

"I see."

Vimes' eyebrows raised. "You don't sound as relieved as I expected."

Myria picked at the blanket across her lap. "I am still discovering the depth of the damage that I have caused. A modicum of punishment would seem fitting, yet it does not come."

Vimes barked a short laugh. "I know that feeling. Sometimes, you are your own best punisher. Just mind you don't sentence yourself to the headsman." He scratched the side of his jaw. "Officially, I'm just here to complete the record on what happened in the alley."

"From your words, I assume there is an unofficial reason?"

"Nailed it in one. The burning question I have is, why didn't you kill the bastard? I already know you could have. And no one would have faulted you for it."

Myria was silent for some time. When she answered, Vimes had to lean forward and strain to hear her. "Because, as you say, I could have. I could have done it. I wanted to do it. I wanted to shred that creature. I wanted to tear him atom from atom for what he and his kind did to those I cared for. For what they did to Mister Brown."

"Mister Brown?"

Myria looked up, meeting Vimes' eyes. "Mister Sharps' original name."

Vimes nodded. "Okay. Go on."

"He and his group were killers. They took what should have begun the happiest weeks of my life, and made it a purgatory. They used Mister Brown against me, against his own will. I wanted him to suffer, as he made me suffer…" She trailed off.

"But." He prodded gently.

"But what would that make me? Who would I next determine worthy of such treatment? What kind of… of person would I become, once I set upon that path?"

Vimes nodded. "But you used your… little trick… to destroy his hands."

Myria regarded Vimes intently. "You are mistaken, Commander Vimes. I destroyed his weapons."

"Those too."

"No. You misunderstand. His knives were merely tools he used. He could always replace them. I saw into his soul, Commander. His weapons were his hands, which he used to wield those knives. As long as he had his hands, he would be a danger to me, and others."

Vimes breath caught as that sunk in. Then he stood up and walked around the room for a minute, regarding the flowers and get-well messages before turning back to Myria. "That's quite an impressive rationalization. And for the record, Lawn had to amputate his hands a couple of days afterward."

Myria responded through gritting teeth, "You will forgive me if I am not grieved. He still has his life, he should be satisfied with that."

"Not really, the Patrician arranged a short drop and a sudden stop yesterday."

So, the creature Flasher no longer lives, but not by my hand. She felt this should have provided a feeling of satisfaction, or closure, but it did not. Instead she felt… hollowed out. "I see."

They spent a few more minutes, Vimes asking for specifics on what happened and Myria providing answers as best she could. Finally he stretched, cracking various joints in the process, and grunted. "Well that's all that handled. Just one more thing."

"Yes, Commander?"

"It's Your Grace, my lady."

"I… I see. Yes."

"I'm proud of you. You did the right thing." Myria started. "Oh you would have done better to have followed that Klatchian's advice, much as I hate to admit it. But you did the right thing, in the end."

"Thank you, Sir Samuel."

"And Cheery sends her regards. She came by several times while you were out of sorts. I don't doubt she'll be over here in the morning when she's off-shift. Thought you'd like to know that. And the Lady Sybil would love to have you over for tea, as soon as we can pry you out of Lawn's tender mercies."

"Thank you. That is… that is helpful. And please, send your wife my thanks as well."

Vimes nodded and left, leaving Myria to her bed and her considerations.

It was late in the afternoon before the footsteps she longed to hear, and dreaded to hear, crossed the threshold of her room.

"I was not certain you would come."

Jonathon came and sat beside the bed, his eyes flicking from her face to the room. "I needed to be sure of what I was going to say."

"Tell me."

Jonathon's face contorted. "How could you? How could you do that?"

Myria felt a pressure on her chest. He has decided that I am a monster, after all. "I had no choice." She pleaded, "I had to prevent him from hurting me, any of you. You must-"

"You think this is about what you did to that bastard?" He stood up suddenly, almost knocking the chair over. His grasped the railing of the bed, and she could feel that he was shaking. "It's not that. It's what you did before that," he struggled, and finally spat out a curse, "damn you." He shoved himself back from the bed and began stalking through the small room, voice getting louder with each sentence. "Damn you for trusting that nutjob when I told you not to." He grabbed a fistful of flowers and yanked them from the vase, which toppled over. "Damn you for sneaking out without the bodyguard that I hated us being saddled with." The flowers were thrown to the floor and he stomped over them, back to the bed, and glared at Myria. "I hated it, everything about the bodyguard and the house and the security. But I put up with it." His face was a twisted grimace. "But you, as soon as you thought you had a better reason, you just ignored everything. You ignored all the advice. You forgot all about your own safety and what it would do to us, and you wandered out into this gods-be-damned city with a killer stalking you." His voice dropped, but his chest was heaving with the effort not to scream. "So damn you, Myria," he finished quietly.

Myria felt as if her world would fall apart. "Please, I am sorry. I was wrong."

Jonathon laughed hollowly and turned away for a few moments, collecting himself. "I don't want your apology. I want you to understand that you can't do that any more. Do you hear me? You can't make decisions like that without talking to me first."

The words bounced around inside her head for an eternity, turned around and analyzed. "But… you are not going to end our relationship? I believed-"

Jonathon grabbed her hand, almost painfully. "I can't. I probably should, but I can't. Myria, when Roustam came tearing into the bakery, raving about how you'd disappeared through a solid wall, I thought I'd go mad. I almost forgot how to breath when the watch said you'd been attacked and were nearly dead." His voice broke, and she realized he was crying. "I saw you when they brought you here. Do you have any idea what you looked like when Doctor Lawn got you here? What I went through? You can't do that, never again. Look me in the face and promise me."

Myria wanted to promise him anything, whatever he asked for. But it was not her nature to lie, and a promise without parameters was no promise at all. "I will do anything you ask," she said plaintively. "But I do not know what I am promising!"

Jonathon laughed softly through his tears. "Promise me that you'll think of me first. I'm not your guardian, but gods-be-damned I am your fiancé."

Myria reached out her hand and felt the moisture on his face, and knew hers was wet as well. She caressed his cheek. "I know that I love you, now."

"Good. I love you too."

It's difficult to be angry and happy at the same time, and one was bound to beat the other into submission. A few kisses and a few dozen apologies later, they both were physically and emotionally exhausted. The nurses found them an hour later, a clear violation of clinic procedure, draped over each other and dead to the world.

Doctor Lawn was consulted, and issued his professional opinion that Lady LeJean was clearly well enough to be discharged, should be sent home in the morning, and that a do-not-disturb sign on the door would be appropriate for the remainder of the night.