"What –" she looked down at his hands, noticing for the first time that he was holding something. Blinked hard, her brows drawing together, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Her vision was trying to slide out of focus – she was starting to float away again.
Then she realized what it was, and her whole body stiffened with a hurt little gasp.
"Get that away from me!" Her voice was tinged with hysteria.
"Jane, it is all r–"
She shook her head violently, eyes glued on the arrow in Gunther's hands, an arrow still stained with her blood.
"Jane, just –"
But she didn't even hear him. She was panicking. Where had he gotten that horrible thing!? She'd thrown it away, she knew she'd thrown it away! He had never been supposed to find it! So what – how had he – and why in God's name would he bring it here? What kind of sadistic point was he trying to make, what the hell was he trying to prove!?
Rallying all of her flagging strength, she struggled up onto her elbows, intending to scoot as far away from him as her bed would allow – but her sick and injured body was having none of it.
She collapsed back against her pillow with a hitching little exhalation, both arms wrapping unconsciously about herself, snugged tight against her aching ribs. Her breath was coming in short, sharp, painful little bursts through gritted teeth and although she didn't intend to make any noise, a hurt little whimper escaped her; she was too deeply compromised to suppress it.
"Jane!"
If she couldn't actually move away from him, at least she could turn her face away, and that's what she did, slamming her eyes closed for good measure. She wanted nothing to do with him while he had that awful thing in his hands.
Nothing.
OOOOO
"Jane, please." His voice cracked. "Do not shut me out. Jane! There is no time for this!" He grasped her chin and gently but firmly turned her head back toward him. She lacked the strength to resist him, but she steadfastly refused to open her eyes.
"Please trust me." His voice was ragged; frayed around the edges. "Please trust me. Jane, I…" he swallowed convulsively, fighting the rising tide of panic that wanted to carry him away. There was no time, no time, no time. "I know I have not… have not earned it. God knows I let you down. But Jane, I am begging you. Please. Please?"
No response. The outlaw's words echoed in his head – that girl has enough stubborn pride for ten people. God help him, it was true. And he was so, so terrified that he'd lose her because of it.
[No. Not because of that. This is your fault and your fault and your fault, Gunther Breech. Yours.]
His breath whooshed out in a shuddery sigh. He hadn't even realized he'd been holding it. He let go of her chin. Grasped the arrow firmly in both hands and broke the head from the shaft with a decisive snap.
The shaft was indeed hollow. He covered the hole with his thumb and gave it a tentative little shake, praying that when he removed it, the pad of his thumb would be wet.
And it was.
There was liquid inside the arrow's shaft.
The antidote was there.
And – his mouth pressed into a hard, grim line – he would force it down her throat if he had to. It would irrevocably destroy any slim chance he might still have of winning back her trust… but he'd do it anyway. He'd rather have her alive and loathing him than the alternative.
He rather felt he deserved to be loathed, in any case.
But when he looked up at her again, he found her looking right back at him – with a surprisingly steady gaze, given the circumstances.
"You broke it," she whispered, sounding more puzzled than anything. "What… are you doing?"
"There is something… something inside that will help you," he said, praying frantically, please please please let that be so.
"How can a broken arrow h–"
"Trust me. Just… all right? Please?"
Uncertainty flashed in her eyes, but then she nodded. It was a tiny, barely-there ghost of a nod, but he thought it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen her do.
He slipped one hand carefully beneath her head, her sweat-dampened hair tangling around his fingers, then raised it gently, a couple of inches off the pillow.
"There is liquid inside. I need you to drink it." And because nothing less than perfect honesty would suffice at this point, he added, "I do not know what it will taste like, but if I had to guess, I would say foul."
Despite everything, the utter horror of the situation, her lips quirked into the tiniest hint of a smile.
"All right," she whispered, and he tipped the arrow's contents into her mouth.