Chapter Twenty Three

A purposeful squeezing pressure around Peter's upper forearm slowly started to bring him to the surface from the darkness of a dreamless sleep. Peter wasn't sure who was trying to wake him, Neal's touch tended to be very light and tentative, which elicited the exact opposite reaction that he was going for. A delicate touch stimulated the nervous system, often alerting it to danger or intimacy. Firmer pressure on the other hand calmed the nerves and provide a feeling of security. A light brushing excited the recipient on some level no matter the intention, it took a hug if you wanted to comfort them.

Whoever had their hand on his arm right now understood that phenomenon. Even though they were being gentle about it Peter didn't really want to be woken. Being conscious just meant dealing with the pain that radiated from his shoulders and the fever that was burning in his blood. However the pressure on his arm was persistent and eventually joined by them taking his hand as well. Growling in pain and irritation Peter opened his eyes and looked up at the older man who was standing over him. Despite the fact that it had been nearly twenty years Peter felt he instantly recognized him. He only hesitated because it didn't make any sense that the man would be here.

"Doctor?"

"Hello, Peter."

Taylor smiled warmly. Confused, but pleased to see this particular face from his past Peter returned the expression. Having a difficult time focusing Peter tried to shrug off the disorientation that came with the recurrent fever and near catatonic periods of sleep. Suddenly connecting the vet's face with the only environment he'd ever seen him in Peter's skin chilled with a wash of adrenaline. Taylor noticed the subtle change as Peter tensed and the golden rings around his iris shrank slightly as his eyes dilated in response to the fight or flight instinct.

"It's okay, Peter, you're still at the apartment." Taylor stepped out of Peter's line of view. "See?"

"Please..." Peter whispered hoarsely. "Don't tell them I'm here."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"You have to go..." Peter stopped as a wave nauseating dizziness hit him.

"Go? Why?" Taylor asked gently. "Is there danger here?"

"I don't want to get you in trouble."

"I won't get in any more trouble than I'm already in." Taylor assured.

"The Market..."

"Peter, I haven't worked for the Market in well over a decade and I regret every second I spent there."

Although he relaxed considerably Peter remained concerned. Moving deliberately Taylor reached out and carded his hand into Peter's hair with the same strong pressure that he had used to wake him. Peter closed his eyes and enjoyed the moment of contact from one of the few hands he trusted. Despite the fact that most of his past physical interactions weren't positive ones there was still something about simple act of contact that under the right circumstances was remarkably soothing.

"It's good to see you." Peter muttered sleepily.

"Really?" Taylor asked doubtfully. "I was afraid you'd be angry with me."

"You saved my life."

"I fixed your body, I didn't do anything to improve your life."

"You were the only one who believed me when I said I was sick." Peter countered.

"You weren't sick," Taylor corrected "you were bleeding out internally after being butchered for a spare part."

Peter didn't have the strength to argue with Taylor on the semantics at the moment. The way he remembered it he had been about twenty-five yeas old and after weeks of struggling to recover from an injury he didn't understand his Market handlers had decided that he was being lazy and purposefully belligerent about being resold and getting back to work. In truth he barely had the energy to keep awake, let alone focus on a task. They had been threatening him with a collar when the vet had heard the commotion and come to investigate it. Collars were a fairly new technology at the time but not so new that Peter hadn't already had enough experience with it to make him very vocal in his desire to avoid it.

"What the hell is going on in here?" Taylor had snarled at the two men harassing Peter.

"Just dealing with a behavioral issue, Doctor."

"Please," Peter pleaded quietly from his place on his knees "I'm trying to do better..."

"What's wrong?"

"I'm dy..."

"He's fine." The first handler interrupted as he rolled his eyes. "He was already cleared by medical when he came in a week ago, he's just being lazy."

"Cleared by who? Was it Palmer?" Taylor demanded.

"I think so."

"You want to collar someone for being lazy slap one on that quack." Taylor hissed before turning back to his patient who looking closer to collapse by the second. "What's going on?"

"I can't...breathe." Peter panted.

"You were hollering just find a second ago." The second handler sneered.

"Get out." Taylor ordered. "Both of you. Take that goddamn collar with you, torturing Animula is no way to instill loyalty."

"Loyalty ain't what people want, Doc, they just want to feel safe from these soulless freaks. Particularly from ones like this one."

"Yeah, he looks real dangerous." Taylor said sarcastically. "Leave."

The handler didn't really need to be told again, he and his friend were more than happy to make Peter not their problem. Taylor looked back to Peter who was concentrating on staying on his knees and not passing out. Taylor had specialized in Animula because the money was good, but ten years into the job he was starting to fear that the costs weren't worth the pay. When he'd first started out in the Chicago Market most of his patients were docile and never showed much in the way of emotion. Since the invention of the collar two years ago he was slowly starting to see Animula with anxiety disorders and other emotional disturbances.

"We are shooting ourselves in the foot by making you fear us." Taylor sighed to himself.

Peter looked up at Taylor, but he didn't say anything. Taylor was surprised to have the Animula engage him in a brief moment of eye contact, that almost never happened. His patients tended to just stare forward uninterested in their surroundings until given a task, this one was keeping close tabs on everything around him. Assuming the Animula was too weak to stand Taylor knelt down in front of him.

"What's your name?"

"Peter."

"Do you have any pain?"

Peter just nodded.

"Where?"

"My stomach and back."

"Take your shirt off for me."

Taylor noted how Peter hesitated before reaching up with a shaky hand to loosen his tie so that he could get to the buttons down the front. Peter was gasping for each shallow breath by the time he was done with the buttons so Taylor helped him get the shirt off his shoulders and then just pulled his undershirt up. Taylor knit his brow at the heavy bruising that wrapped around Peter's side and back. Even Palmer should have noticed the mark if it had been there a week ago. Taylor had Peter turn slightly so that he could see his back, there was a four inch laceration in his mid back that had been stitched closed that was healing poorly.

"What happened here?"

"I...fell." Peter replied uncertainly.

"You fell? Do you remember that, or were you told that?"

Peter didn't answer. Shifting his weight uncomfortably he reached up to tugged down his undershirt, but stopped himself since he hadn't been given permission to do so. Taylor pulled down Peter's shirt for him to keep him from feeling as exposed. Still not answering Peter avoided looking at the vet again. Taylor put his hand on Peter's shoulder to help focus his attention.

"It's okay, Peter, you can tell me what happened. I just want to help, this is important. Do you remember falling or were you told that you fell?"

"I...I was told." Peter admitted.

"What really happened? How did you end up with that cut in your back?"

"I don't remember any of it. I just woke up in pain about two weeks ago. I've been getting weaker ever since..." Peter had to stop to catch his breath. "Last week I was sold back here, I was only with them for a few months."

"Did you just come from a private owner?"

"Yes."

"How was his health?"

"I don't know, but he never left the house."

"Did he have one of these?" Taylor brought out his phone and brought up a picture of a dialysis machine up from the internet to show Peter.

"Yes."

"Damn it." Taylor spat.

Peter shied away from the sudden anger in the vet's voice. He stayed on his knees as Taylor stood up. Pacing back and forth a few feet Taylor slammed a number into his phone and waited impatiently for someone to answer.

"Get the OR ready, I'm going to need at least four units of blood, five if you can get it, have transport come to room 1215...yes, right now!"

Getting angrier the more he thought about it Taylor continued to pace as he waited for transport to come and help him get Peter down to the OR so that he could stop the slow leak of blood into his abdomen that was no doubt the cause of his decline. Taylor stopped when he noticed that Peter was staring at the floor, but far from a vacant look he had his eyes narrowed in an expression of barely contained rage.

"Peter?"

"I didn't fall, did I?"

"No...they stole something from you."

"How can anyone steal from me? I don't own anything."

"They took one of your kidneys. It's illegal to harvest organs from Animula for use in humans."

"Why should it be illegal to buy a part of me when it's perfectly legal to own me as a whole?"

"The...uh...the law isn't for Animula protection, it's for human protection."

"Of course it is." Peter sighed. "...why would anyone want to protect me?"