Dr. Huntington cornered Dr. York in the hallway, looming over her.
"We need to get an MRI and a CT scan, at the minimum," he insisted. "We need to know just how badly the amygdala was damaged during that seizure. If she is compromised in differentiating between fear and anger, that research could be invaluable. Think of the applications. It's a simple MRI, there's not even a need for contrast."
"That's going to be difficult," she said, squaring her shoulders. "McGarrett will balk, and the Navy sent an SAD / Naval Intel liaison to supervise. She's going to demand a reason."
"Give them a reason then," he said. "Make something up."
"I'm not comfortable lying about this," Dr. York said. "I am here for the antibodies, no one said anything about further exploration."
"Oh, you've grown a conscience," Dr. Huntington sneered. "Clearly, you're in the wrong line of work."
#*#*#*#*#
She could hear murmured conversation. In the absence of distinct words, the idea of an MRI filtered through the fog of pain, fever, and drugs and registered in Riley's consciousness. She remembered having an MRI before. Something bad happened to Steve when she had an MRI. She couldn't remember what, just now, but the two things seemed inextricably connected. Her brain busily sorted through the logic of the problem, dismissing the nagging feeling that something was impaired.
Having an MRI. Something bad happening to Steve.
MRI. Steve being sick, hurt.
MRIs hurt Steve.
They're trying to kill Steve.
Catherine saw Riley's eyes blink open. She set aside the tablet she'd been using to review files, and stood up, leaning slightly over the bed. Riley's hazel eyes locked on hers, and she felt a chill go up her spine.
Something was very, very wrong. The eyes staring into hers didn't look familiar, at all . . . and she instinctively knew it wasn't fever.
"Steve," Catherine said, keeping her voice low and non-threatening. She knew Steve would be instantly, fully awake.
She was correct. He didn't stand immediately, didn't move, really. But his eyes opened and focused on Catherine, who was backing away slowly from Riley's bed.
"What's wrong?" he murmured.
"Not sure," Catherine said. Riley's eyes were following her slow movement. "I'm not sure that she recognizes me, Steve, and I'm pretty sure she's sizing me up as a threat. See if you can come over. Slowly."
Steve unfolded himself slowly from the chair, extending his body to his full height. He took a few silent steps until he was standing next to Catherine.
"Riley," he said, "honey, do you know where you are?"
"Huntington is working for Garrison. Garrison was with Shelburne. Under the ground. They mean to kill you with the MRI machine. I'll stop them," she said. She looked down at the IV, secured in a sophisticated layer pressure sealed bandages.
"Riley," Steve said, instinctively pushing Catherine behind him. "Please don't take that out. You are really sick, and it's a blood borne virus. If you unseal that IV port, you're going to expose me, and Catherine, and some people who really don't deserve to get sick."
She looked up at him, her eyes glinting.
"I'm telling the truth, Riley," he said quietly. "You can trust me."
"Take her and get away," Riley said. "Far away. So you don't get sick."
"Can't do that, Riley," he said. "Can't leave you."
"You could," she said. "Everyone else has. Shelburne. Joe. Even WoFat. Left me. Told me to listen to you die. Everyone leaves. You can leave, protect her. Don't get sick."
"I won't leave," Steve said. "Let's say that I could. I won't. I won't choose to leave you. And I don't think you'll choose to expose me to the virus."
"No," Riley sighed. "I'll think of another way."
"Another way to do what, Riley?" Steve asked. "What do you need to do?"
"Kill them," Riley said flatly. "Kill them all before they kill you and do . . . do things to me again." She started cooly looking at her surroundings, and Steve could easily imagine what was going through her mind.
Because he knew what would be going through his. IV catheter, bandage scissors, oxygen tank . . . all things that could be used as weapons.
"Riley," he said firmly. "You are very sick, and you're getting some things confused. Garrison isn't here, we aren't underground. Shelburne isn't here. You're infected with a virus, but they think you can fight it, build antibodies, because your DNA is special. They could create a cure, a vaccine. They tricked you into doing it, but you want to help with the cure and the vaccine. No one has mentioned an MRI. I think you're remembering that from a while back." He looked over his shoulder at Catherine. "Get the doctor," he murmured.
Catherine slipped quietly from the room and waved Dr. York over. Dr. Huntington walked away from her with a warning glance.
"Everything okay?" Catherine asked, watching the angrily retreating form.
"Yes, just discussing a course of treatment," Dr. York said quickly. "How is the subject?"
Catherine raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?" she said, her voice taking on an edge. "Riley - the subject - is delirious. You need to do something. She was eyeing up her IV, and Steve had to talk her down from ripping it out."
"That can't happen," Dr. York said earnestly. "It risks exposure."
"Then I suggest you do something," Catherine said. "He may not be able to talk her down if it happens again."
They hurried back to the room, and opened the door quietly. Steve was sitting on a rolling stool next to Riley's bed, his hands rubbing absently over the scar on her forearm. Not by coincidence, his gentle touch was restraining her good hand. Her eyes were glazed with fever and pain, but when Dr. York entered the room, they seemed to glow with white-hot fury.
"If you let her take me, you better run fast and far," she growled at Steve. "Because after I finish them, I'll come for you."
"Riley," Steve whispered, shocked. "I'm not going to let them take you. I -" He stopped, shaking his head.
"Fascinating," Dr. York murmured. She made rapid notes in the chart.
"What do you mean, fascinating?" Catherine demanded. "She's clearly delirious. Can't you do something?"
"She's not delirious, she's terrified," Dr. York said. "Absolutely terrified, and it's triggering the damaged part of her amygdala. She should be flinching and whimpering, and instead . . . I'm sorry, but I've read her chart, and this is - well, it's absolutely fascinating."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Steve gritted out. Riley's eyes were scanning the room in cold calculation again.
Dr. York stood at the foot of Riley's bed. "Are you frightened? Of the virus, of being sick? Or of us, being in this facility? Your brother is with you, doesn't that make you feel safe? He can protect you."
"He won't need to," Riley said. "If I don't kill you, the virus will."
Catherine gasped softly, reaching for Steve. She couldn't imagine what he felt, seeing Riley like this. Cold. Threatening.
"The seizure," Dr. York said, glancing at Steve. "There was a seizure?"
"Yeah," Steve said. He wasn't going to give away any more information.
"You were told that it damaged the bilateral amygdala, the part of her brain that regulates fear and anger?" Dr. York prompted.
Steve thought for a moment, trying to remember. There had been so much - but he did remember, at Tripler . . . "Yeah," he said, nodding. "Yes, we were told that."
"That's what you're seeing," Dr. York said. "Mild fright must not trigger it, or you would have seen this before. But abject terror, which is what she must be feeling now . . . I heard about the Shelburne project, I knew that they had the subject again, but lost her when - well, when you took her. This place must remind her of that time. They must have -" she stopped suddenly.
"Oh, God," Catherine breathed. "You're saying . . . you're saying she's terrified now because of what happened then . . ."
"Because she was tortured," Steve murmured. Catherine felt his muscles tremble underneath her hand.
"Similar environment, people in white lab coats -" Dr. York started.
"Your favorite science project, back in the lab," Riley said, staring back at Dr. York. "It will be the last time."
"Riley, the combination of fear and fever is triggering an unusual response," Dr. York said. "I think if you'll sort through your emotions, you'll be able to determine that you are more frightened than angry. The fever is making it harder for you to do that. I'm going to give you something to help you relax."
"No!" Riley shouted. "The hell you will." She wrenched her arm from Steve's grasp and for one horrifying moment, was reaching for her carefully sealed IV site.
"Riley, stop - you'll kill your brother and his friend," Dr. York said. "Do you really want to do that?"
Riley hesitated, her hand a hair's breadth away from the IV.
"I don't think you really want to," Dr. York said.
They watched as a myriad of emotions flickered through Riley's eyes. She looked at Steve and Catherine and then back at Dr. York.
"Do something," she gritted out. "Do something to make it stop."
"I'm going to give you a sedative," Dr. York said. "This is a complication that should be tested and studied thoroughly . . . but, given the circumstances . . . " she glanced at Riley's IV, "perhaps another time."
Riley's hand whipped out, in a blur of motion, and a tray went hurtling toward Dr. York's head. It caught her on the temple, and a slight trickle of blood seeped out from the point of impact.
"No," Riley said. She fought to remember what was happening, what was reality in the fog of confusion, and came up with the answer. "Antibodies. There's a virus, that's killing people. I can make antibodies that can help. Only that. Nothing more. Make this stop."
Dr. York held a hand to her head and nodded, dazed. "I'll send someone in with a sedative."
"What - what do I do?" Steve asked. He wasn't above begging, not even with this despicable person, not for Riley's sake. He felt Catherine's hand slip into his, and he held on tight.
"You could try talking to her," Dr. York said. "She seems to have a strong connection to you, based on our notes. She might believe you if you explain it to her."
Steve sat back down next to Riley, taking her arm in his hands. He turned it over gently, exposing the scar on the inside of her forearm. It was still visible, extending in a neat line from her wrist to the inside of her elbow. He traced his fingers over it.
"They won't stop," Riley said. "They'll never stop. I have to end it. End them."
"We'll find a way to make them stop, Riley," Steve said. "You're . . . right now you're not thinking clearly. When you get better, we'll figure it out, make a plan."
She looked at him, her hazel eyes a reflection of his own, and smiled. "We're a lot alike, aren't we?" she whispered.
"Yeah, yeah, we are," he said, smiling back.
She tilted her head, her eyes searching his for a moment. "It's not all brain damage, is it? I see it. You want to kill them, too. For what they've done to us."
"Riley . . ." Steve whispered.
"They made us weapons," she said. "And now they're afraid of us."
"Mostly of you, I think," Steve said, rubbing her arm gently.
She looked at him again, searching. "That would be mistake."
"It would be a mistake for them to hurt you again, for them to try to take you away from me," Steve said, and Riley nodded in satisfaction. "But Riley, listen . . . it's okay that you're afraid. I'm so sorry, this should never have happened. This anger you're feeling . . . it's a little bit confused. There's a small part of your brain that's supposed to tell the difference between the two, and it's been hurt."
Riley's eyes flickered. "I like the way I feel right now."
"I'm sure it feels better than being afraid," Steve said, "but . . . it might endanger other people."
Riley shrugged. "They want to hurt me."
"What about me and Catherine?" Steve asked softly.
"You should go," Riley said flatly. "Go far away."
"No, we're staying," Steve said. "So that means, you need to control this rage that you feel. Or Catherine and I will get hurt."
Riley bit her lip and looked up at him. She was pouting, and under any other circumstances he would have thought it was adorable.
"No fair," she whispered. Her eyes softened, and the glaze of pain and fever seemed to replace the uncanny gleam. Her lip trembled a bit. "I don't like this. I don't like any of it."
"I know," Steve said. "I'm so sorry."
A technician knocked tentatively on the door. "I've been sent with . . . a sedative?"
Steve nodded tersely, and the technician approached the bed. Riley tensed immediately, narrowing her eyes.
"Ah, I think you better let me," Steve said, holding his hand out. "I know what I'm doing, and she trusts me."
The technician dropped the syringe in Steve's hand and fled.
"Riley, I hate doing this," Steve said, as he flicked against the syringe to remove any air bubbles. "I hate it, but it's the best way to keep everyone safe. Just rest, Riley. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you." He injected the contents of the syringe into the port attached to her IV fluid, and then disposed of the syringe in the biohazard container.
Catherine watched as he took his place beside the bed, reaching once again for Riley's arm. She'd read mission reports, she knew Steve was capable of killing with his bare hands if the situation called for it. Those same hands were so impossibly gentle as he tried to comfort Riley now . . . those hands were equally capable of sending the best possible of shivers up her spine . . . she stood quietly behind him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and kissing his cheek.
Riley smiled at them, her eyes clearing slightly. "You came," she said. Then she frowned. "You've been here . . . I know . . . things are mixed up."
"It's okay," Catherine assured her. "I'm here to help Steve, and help you, and try . . . we're going to try to stop this Riley, but it's complicated. But we're going to try. My commanding officer is going to do everything he can. We can get JAG lawyers, make a stink."
Riley nodded, blinking slowly. The sedative was starting to kick in.
"Steve?" she mumbled, trying to focus her eyes on him.
"Yeah? I'm right here," he said.
"I was so angry," she said. "I was really afraid?"
"Yeah, something like that," he answered.
"I was afraid of how angry I was," she said. "That sounds like . . . I think that could be dangerous. You . . . you can stop me, right? You have to stop me. Don't let me hurt you or Catherine. Please."
"I won't," he said, "that's why we gave you something. It's okay. Rest."
#*#*#*#*#
Former Assistant Director Garrison stretched his hand - what was left of it - toward the laptop. He used his remaining two fingers to peck out a password, and the screen flickered.
"Dr. Huntington," Garrison wheezed. "How are things progressing?"
"The brother is here, and we've been assigned a Naval Intel liaison. It's complicating things. I wasn't able to get the MRI," Huntington sighed. "We do have confirmation of the amygdala damage, however. The girl is clearly terrified, but her response was to threaten to wipe us all out."
"That's something anyway," Garrison said. "Tread lightly. Remember, this virus wiped out some of the Navy's finest. A vaccine, and a cure, is what the SAD promised the CDC and the Navy. This is our opportunity to get back into their good graces and convince them to let us reactivate the Shelburne program. Don't get greedy in the short-term. And watch the brother. He will stop at nothing to protect her. We thought the subject was beyond use to us - the brain damage, the nanotechnology failure, her unexpected responses - but the DNA alterations, the original ones, seem to have been more effective than we ever anticipated. And this . . . this supposed damage to the amygdala . . . if this could be replicated, duplicated . . . this would be one of the most powerful military applications of this century."
Dr. Huntington listened as Garrison took a deep, wheezing, breath before continuing.
"Imagine being able to take our soldiers and turn their fear into rage," Garrison said. "We need the subject back under our control."
#*#*#*#*#
Riley drifted into fitful rest, and Steve heaved a sigh of relief.
"That was . . . wow," he said, shaking his head. "Scared the shit out of me. I've seen glimpses of it before, but that was . . . it has to be this hospital setting. Knowing she's in the hands of the SAD . . . again. Shit."
"Steve," Catherine said, quietly and urgently, "they had to know. They had to know this would terrify her, and then add to that the fever and pain . . . what if . . ."
"What is it, Cath?" he asked, willing to follow whatever line of thinking her agile brain had seized upon.
"What if they're trying to replicate that scenario? To . . . study it," Catherine said.
Steve thought for a moment, and then his eyes filled with horrified realization. "The damn MRI. What if she wasn't confused? What if she heard them talking about it?"
"How -?"
"Her DNA is enhanced, remember? It wasn't just the nanotechnology. Even without that, she has . . . and call me crazy, but I think some things are getting even stronger. What if they suspect that, what if . . . shit, Catherine," he said. "We can't trust any of them, we need to know what they might be looking for."
"You don't think I'm crazy, then," Catherine said. "You think this could be about more than that virus. But who -"
Steve was already grabbing his phone. "You're fucking brilliant, Cath," he whispered, wrapping a hand around her neck and kissing her quickly. "I don't tell you that enough."
#*#*#*#*#
Danny paced in his small living room, his hands running through his already disheveled hair.
"Again! They got their hooks into her again. I swear, Steve is gonna burn the island down," he said. "And I'm tempted to help him. God. You were there, Rebecca. You saw what they did the last time they had her, you couldn't stand for it. You helped Steve get her out."
"I know," Rebecca said, curled on the sofa, watching Danny.
"Who does the CIA think they are? They're . . . they're playing God, playing like Riley is just some kinda lab rat. What if she can't survive the virus? Hunh? You think they ever thought of that?" Danny ranted.
"I think they did," Rebecca answered. "And I believe they wouldn't have risked her life, Danny. She's valuable to them."
"Catherine says no news is good news," Danny muttered, pacing again. "We haven't heard anything."
"So we hold on to that," Rebecca said.
Danny's phone buzzed angrily on the coffee table. He grabbed it, shooting a desperate glance at Rebecca. "It's Catherine," he said, quickly thumbing the accept button on the phone. "Catherine, what's going on?"
Rebecca watched anxiously as Danny continued to pace, listening intently to Catherine. He stopped, finally, and handed the phone to Rebecca.
"They need to ask you some questions," he said hoarsely. He handed the phone to Rebecca.
She listened for a moment, nodding, and then responded quietly. "Are you sure you want to know?"
Danny raised an eyebrow at her in question.
"Okay, I'll tell you. I owe you the truth, I just . . . if you can't forgive me, after, I'll understand," she said. She closed her eyes, but not before a tear slipped down onto her cheek.
Danny sat down on the sofa, facing her, one arm around her shoulders and a strong hand on her knee. She gripped his hand, tight, as she started to speak.
"I know it was ketamine. She'd already experienced that with WoFat. But there was more; a powerful cocktail of drugs. Some of them were probably experimental . . . but primarily benzos to make her highly suggestible. She had to choose. She had - maybe still has, who knows - an unnatural ability to compartmentalize, to suppress . . . but she was so drugged, she had to choose between pushing away the pain or holding on to what she could of the memories she had of you and the team," Rebecca said, her voice breaking. "I watched her do it. She chose memory. Eventually . . . she passed out. From the pain. That's when -" Rebecca stopped short, a sob wrenching from her chest. "Steve, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
Danny was sitting close enough that he could make out the sound of Steve's voice on the other end; his tone was gentle, soothing, and Danny smiled. Steve, of all people, understood following orders and finding yourself in a gray area.
"Another drug was ordered, to bring her back to consciousness. That's when I refused," Rebecca continued, wiping tears from her face. "They just brought someone else in to administer it, and I sealed my fate and threw my lot in with you guys. I'd do it again, at gunpoint. That had to be - it's the cruelest thing I've ever witnessed one human do to another. I'm so sorry."
Danny could hear Steve again, asking more questions.
"Yes, the science behind not suppressing her fever is sound," Rebecca said. "She will develop the antibodies faster, and the duration of the virus will actually be shortened. I know it sounds cruel. Pain relief and sedation . . . it's risky. As long as she's not out of your sight, I don't think they can try to manipulate her . . . the nanotechnology is destroyed. They'd have to use other methods, like they did . . . like we did, God help me . . . hard copy photographs, audio, that sort of thing."
Another pause, and Danny kissed Rebecca's temple, smoothing her hair away from her face as she listened.
"Absolutely not," she said emphatically, jumping to her feet. "No. Do not let them do an MRI. They have to be looking at the damage to the bilateral amygdala . . . what? You think . . . ? Oh my God. Weaponize the idea? Yes, I remember, in the bunker, she had to be in excruciating pain, and suddenly, this . . . change came over her face and she confronted your mo- Shelburne. And then yes, remember, at Tripler, she broke Dr. Link's nose when he came at her with a syringe. Yes . . . oh, God, Steve. I'm so sorry. I'd say . . . yes. She might be capable . . . they had no idea if it was a controllable response or not. Please be careful."
Rebecca took over the pacing while Danny sat this time, watching helplessly.
"If I think of anything else, yes, of course. And Steve . . . I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry that I was ever part of . . . well, yes, but it can't possibly make up for . . . okay," Rebecca sighed. "And Steve, you should know . . . your mother - she could have had me hauled away, hell, she probably could have ordered me shot, I don't know. But she didn't. When I refused, and another tech came in . . . she asked me to stay. To stay with Riley, to try to comfort her, to help her . . . she regretted it Steve, I know she did. She was . . . she was so proud of Riley. For fighting. I . . . I just thought you should know that. At the end, your mother . . . she did everything she could . . . okay."
She handed the phone back to Danny and collapsed onto the sofa.
"Steve?" Danny said, desperately grabbing the phone. "Steve, what the hell . . . can't we come? Okay . . . I know, I know . . . what can we do?"
#*#*#*#*#
Catherine smiled softly at Danny's earnest question, filtering over the speaker.
Steve smiled at her wryly before he answered Danny. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but there is one thing you can do for me, Danny. Contact Charlie Fong, fill him in on what's going on. He deserves to know, and . . . when she's no longer contagious, and we bring her back . . . bring him, with you guys. He'll want to see her. And you may as well keep Jerry posted, he's going to be losing his mind. But tell him, he can't say a word. He'll just put Riley in more danger if he tries to confirm or deny any rumors about this virus. Make him understand, Danny."
Steve ended the phone call and set the phone aside carefully, deliberately. Catherine realized it was taking all of his considerable control not to throw the phone across the room. Emotions warred across his face as he clenched and unclenched his fists. Finally, he turned and looked at her, his eyes burning, and when he spoke, his voice was raw.
"Catherine, how do I -" he started. "I can't - I can't do this -"
Catherine followed a hunch and stepped close to him, winding her arms up and around his neck. His hands automatically steadied her, wrapping around her slim hips. She stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his, gently, and pulled back.
"You can, Steve, somehow," she whispered. "We'll get her through this, and then we will find a way to burn the program to the ground - with or without our Naval commission. And I will be with you every step of the way."
"Cath," he whispered. "I'm so screwed up right now."
"I know," she murmured, kissing him again. She bit his lower lip, gently, just a hint of pressure between her teeth, testing a theory. His hands tightened around her, and she did it again. "Come on," she whispered. "I've got you." She thought there were probably little finger-shaped bruises, now, on her hips. A dark part of her looked forward to checking, later.
She saw his pupils darken, and then one of his hands was tangled in her hair, and one splayed wide across her lower back as he kissed her hungrily, possessively. She held her own, at first, giving as good as she got, but eventually he could feel the kiss shift, feel that he was overpowering her. He felt some of the anger and frustration bleed away as he plundered her mouth, his hands gripping tight to her petite but solid frame. He pulled away, finally, panting.
"Oh, God, Catherine, I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean -"
"She's right," Catherine interrupted. "It's not just her, not just the brain damage. You both have it . . . the capability of something . . . dangerous."
Steve swallowed hard. This was where he lost her, he was sure of it.
Catherine smiled, her eyes sparkling in the dimming light of the room. "You think I didn't know?" she whispered. "You think I didn't know exactly what I was signing up for, sailor? That I missed it, somehow, reading all of the intelligence reports after your missions? I'm fucking brilliant, remember? I know, Steve. And I'm in. I'm all in."
He shook his head in disbelief and bent to kiss her again, this time without the anger and frustration. She'd absorbed it, stood fast in the onslaught of it, and smiled.
"I love you," he murmured, his lips brushing against hers. "You have to be batshit crazy to sign on for this, Cath, but I'm not going to lie, I need you. I don't think I can do this without you."
"No reason to find out," she assured him.
"You guys want my bed?" Riley's weak voice sounded from across the room.
Steve rested his forehead against Catherine's, kissed her quick on the tip of her adorable nose, and released her. He was at Riley's bedside in two strides.
"Hey, kid," he said softly, brushing the backs of his fingers against her cheek. "You're burning up, Riley. I'm so sorry. Are you in pain? Are you hurting anywhere?"
"Hmmhmm, but I can handle it," she said. "Just an ache, in my bones and muscles. I don't . . . I don't think drugs are a good idea for me. If I get confused, I get scared, and . . . I think I was very close to hurting people. I don't want to do that. Please, you have to promise me you won't let me hurt anyone, especially you or Catherine."
"What about you, Riley? I let them hurt you . . . I never should have taken you out in the field. It makes you too vulnerable," Steve said.
"You can't lock me in the tower like some storybook princess," Riley said. "Besides, it wouldn't work. I don't much care for being detained. I'd just sneak out. I figure . . . I'm safer with you and your team than roaming the streets of Honolulu. Or Tokyo. I'd like half a chance at a normal life, Steve."
"Nothing about you will ever be normal," he said, trying to keep his tone light. "And as far as I'm concerned, you and Mary are both storybook princesses."
Riley started to laugh, but winced in pain. Catherine stepped up with a cool washcloth and pressed it against her cheeks and forehead.
"Thank you," Riley said, sighing in relief.
Dr. York knocked and stepped into the room. Her forehead had been secured with two butterfly bandages, and the skin around it was bruised and purpling. Steve felt zero sympathy for her, and a rush of pride for Riley.
"How is she . . . feeling?" Dr. York ventured.
"She's burning up," Steve said. "And in some pain. But she's lucid. Neither of us is going to try to kill you at the moment, if that's what you're asking. Day's not over yet, though."
Dr. York approached Riley cautiously, pulling a thermometer out of her pocket. "May I check your temperature?"
Riley nodded tiredly, and Dr. York placed the probe carefully in her ear. They waited for what seemed like a long time before there was finally a beeping noise.
"Well, fever is one hundred and four," Dr. York said. "I'm sure she's uncomfortable, I can administer more pain relief? More sedatives? We did promise to do our best to keep her comfortable."
"No," Riley said firmly. "No drugs. They make me confused. I just want this to be over with. Shouldn't I have antibodies by now?"
Dr. York hesitated. "We can check. It's probably too soon but . . . we can check. I'll send a technician in to collect a sample."
"I think some ice chips, perhaps some Gatorade, maybe some comfort measures would be in order as well," Catherine said, eyeing Dr. York cooly. "I'm sure those aren't your priority but I imagine you can manage to rustle them up from somewhere."
"Of course," Dr. York said, as she practically bolted from the room.
Catherine continued to dampen the cloth and dab at Riley's face, while Steve paced, feeling helpless. In moments, the door opened again, and Dr. York stood with a technician in full biohazard gear.
"You'll both need to leave the room while he collects the sample," Dr. York said.
"The hell I will," Steve replied immediately.
"Look, Commander," Dr. York said, straightening her spine. "With this equipment, the risk of exposure is minute, but there is a risk."
"I don't care," Steve said, setting his jaw stubbornly.
"Okay, but you should," Dr. York said. She had more confidence when within her field of expertise. "Even if there are antibodies already - if you're exposed, right now, we can't produce the cure fast enough to help you. So, you die. Riley lives, but you die. You want to do that to her? Leave her without you?"
Steve stared her down for a moment, then relented. "Okay. But I know there's an observation window, or a security cam. I watch every move."
Catherine's eyes widened. Window? Camera? Of course. Of course there would be, she just hadn't been thinking of that when . . .
"You're blushing," Riley whispered, grinning a familiar lopsided grin at her. "I wasn't going all telekinetic at the moment, maybe they weren't watching."
"Telekinesis? Really?" Catherine whispered back, teasing.
"Stephen King is very big in Tokyo," Riley said. "Don't let Steve go crazy, please. Stay with him."
Catherine squeezed Riley's hand and nodded.
#*#*#*#*#
"Will it hurt her?" Steve asked, holding tight to Catherine's hand as they watched the procedure. To Catherine's immense relief, the small camera focused on Riley's bed. She was hopeful that perhaps her little . . . encouragement of Steve had gone unnoticed. Or at least, unrecorded.
"No, not a bit," Dr. York said, looking up at him in surprise. She sized him up, studying him, and her face softened. "It should be over soon . . . unless -"
"Unless what?!" Steve demanded, whirling on her.
"You have to have some idea how fascinating her case is to us," Dr. York said. "We would love to do a bit of further testing. The . . . anomaly. With her bilateral amygdala . . . the fear / pain response confusion . . . don't you want to have some answers? Aren't you afraid . . . aren't you afraid she could hurt someone? Or herself?"
"If we need answers we won't be asking the SAD for them," Steve said firmly. "No. No tests. Nothing beyond checking for antibodies. Naval Intelligence has you on a short leash. Lieutenant Rollins will personally oversee the lab test done on that sample."
"As you wish," Dr. York sighed.
#*#*#*#*#
The process was repeated every two hours.
Steve and Catherine took turns trying to catch brief naps, while the other was sitting with Riley as she drifted in and out of consciousness and delirium. Steve tucked a blanket more securely around Catherine and sat down next to Riley. He picked up the cup of ice chips and held the spoon to her mouth.
"Come on, honey, take some ice," he coaxed. "You're dehydrated."
She opened her mouth and let him tuck some of the cool ice between her parched lips. Her eyes opened slightly and she made an effort to smile at him.
"I'm doing okay," she whispered. "Shouldn't be long now. I bet my fancy DNA is cranking out antibodies as we speak."
He nodded desperately. She had to be right. He couldn't bear to think of the alternative.
"It will be good, right? If they can make a vaccine?" Riley murmured. "It will save people's lives. That's a good day's work. Better than . . . better than other things. Useful. Not . . . just damaged and scary. I want . . . I want to do useful things, Steve. Good things."
"I know," he said. "I know, Riley. I understand."
She blinked up at him. "Five-O. You . . . were ready to do that? Instead of the SEALs?"
"Yeah," he said, nodding. "I didn't think I was . . . I - okay, honestly, I did it at first just to piss off Danny. I know, crazy, right? That's Danny for you. The only person I know so impossibly infuriating who can push you to make a life-altering decision out of spite. But, it was good. It was a good decision. And yeah, I feel like I spend more time doing good things. Maybe a little less time doing scary things."
He grabbed another washcloth and got it as cold as he could, blotting at her cheeks and forehead. Her arms and legs moved restlessly, nonstop, as her body subconsciously tried to get away from the unrelenting pain from the virus and fever. He remembered the violent flu from Cambodia, remembered a patient nurse rubbing the large muscles of his body when it was the worst.
"Tell me if this hurts," he murmured, his strong hand rubbing her shoulder gently. He felt the muscle relax just a bit under his touch.
"'S'good," she said, closing her eyes. He carefully and methodically rubbed her shoulders, elbows, knees, and ankles, mindless of the mild fatigue in his hands as long as it was bringing her some measure of relief.
"I'm not supposed to do this," she whispered. A tear leaked from the corner of her eye and tracked down, disappearing into the waves of her hair.
"What, Riley?" he asked softly. "What aren't you supposed to do?"
"Let myself get dependent on anyone," she said. "Need people. But I do. I know you shouldn't have come. You should have protected yourself, you should have let them take me. But I'm glad you didn't. I'm glad you're here. I'm putting you at risk and I'm glad you're here because I don't think I could have done this alone."
"Riley . . . I get it, I do," he said. He was focused on her hand, now, rubbing the knuckles gently. Her skin was burning hot, her joints swollen under his touch. "I used to feel the same way. But it's okay. It's okay to need people. And you've got people you can count on."
She nodded slowly, drifting again. He switched back to a cold compress, and was carefully wiping down her face when her eyes flew open.
"You have to go," she said, her voice urgent and panicked.
He thought she was delirious and possibly hallucinating, but her eyes focused sharply and clearly on his.
"Get out," she said, her voice rising. Catherine stirred, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. "Get out of the room," Riley repeated.
"Riley, what's wrong?" Steve asked.
"I think my nose is bleeding," Riley said, frantic. "Get out . . . oh, God, Steve get out, get Catherine out, go."
"I don't see -" Steve started.
"I can feel it," Riley insisted. "I can feel it; it's at the back . . . back of my throat. You have to go, you have to get out." Tears were streaming down her cheeks. "It's not working, I'm not fighting it off, the virus is too strong. Take Catherine, get out, please, before you're exposed. Please."
"Catherine," Steve said, "Go. Get out of the room, get Dr. York."
Catherine nodded, biting her lip, and left the room quickly, looking back over her shoulder at Riley and Steve.
Dr. York's shoes squeaked loudly on the floor as she ran in and stopped short just inside the door. "Out! Get out of the room!"
"I'm not -" Steve started.
"I'll ask you again," Dr. York said, pressing a hand to the center of his chest. "You want to die, leave your sister alone?"
"Go, please go," Riley begged.
"Tell me what you're going to do for her," Steve yelled. "I'm not leaving unless you tell me you can help her. Do something, damn it! It wasn't supposed to get to this point. You said it wouldn't get to this point!"
"It may be nothing," Dr. York said. "I'll come back in, dressed in biohazard gear, and see if there's any bleeding. We'll go from there. I'll collect the next blood sample while I'm at it."
Steve called out to Riley over Dr. York's head. "Riley, I'll be in the room right next to you, okay? I'll be watching over you. And I'll get hazmat gear, I'll be right back in. You hear me, Riley?"
He allowed Dr. York to push him out of the room, and he felt his back collide with something - someone - tall and almost as solid as himself. He turned, ready to throw a punch, but stopped in utter disbelief.
"Joe?" he gasped.
"I came as soon as I could, Steve," Joe said. "I hope to God I'm not too late."