Ultimate Heroes Collection

by Various Authors

  They now worked together as if they’d worked together every day of their lives, handling the most delicate part, removing clots that had collected between the inner and outer coverings of Adham’s brain, then delving deeper into the brain to remove clots formed there and closing bleeding arteries.

  “Craniotomy is the worst emergency surgery there is, right?” Jay whispered.

  So she wasn’t as firm as she appeared to be. He snapped a look at her and her reddened eyes discharged another chain reaction in his chest. No, not firm, disintegrating with worry and pity but holding up nevertheless, functioning at optimum, to be his support, and Adham’s. It was a marvel that she could.

  She might be used to trauma, but trauma surgery was something else altogether. And then she was right. Among all the gory, horrific procedures, opening the skull, exposing the brain, took the cake. And when it was a child, his own personal worst-case scenario, and not any child but one who didn’t have a family to wake up to, a home to go back to.

  He gritted his teeth, gave her the support she needed, channeled all the sympathy into his healing abilities.

  He could still do nothing about the brain tissue lacerations. It was time to close up.

  As he started closure, Jay suddenly talked again, her voice an impeded rasp. “He’s going to be OK now, isn’t he?”

  He raised his eyes to hers, felt confident enough to say, “He’s so young, his brain will get over the insult.”

  “And what about—about.?”

  He had to spare her articulating her anxiety. “I’ll take care of him. I’ll take care of them all. I promise you.”

  He could only see her heavenly eyes, kindling with a warmth that spread right to his bones, glittering with unshed tears. One escaped to darken her mask when she gave a vigorous nod.

  They fell silent again as they concluded Adham’s procedure. Jay drew the skin over the craniotomy, stapling it and applying dressings while Rafeeq terminated anesthesia.

  As their assistants took Adham to IC, Malek took Janaan’s arm, escorted her to the soiled compartment. She swayed against him. He helped her take off her surgical garments. She was pale, her lips blue, her eyes raw, tearing at his insides even harder than the ordeals they’d been through. He took her hands in his, a pressure building inside him. He had to release it.

  He cupped her cheek. “Janaan, I can’t express how thankful to God I am that he sent you to my people in their hour of need, and to me to stand beside me in this trial.”

  Before he surrendered to the urge to complete the madness he’d started back in Adnan’s restaurant, he closed his eyes then turned on his heel and rushed to plunge himself into the distraction of the ongoing crisis.

  Jay stood there, her heart pounding so hard it shook her.

  It took Lobna asking if she was all right to shake her out of her trance. Jay blinked, asked the one thing she could think of, “What kind of surgeon is Ma—is Dr Aal Hamdaan?”

  Lobna gaped at her as if she’d asked her what kind of vegetable he was. “He is not.”

  It was Jay’s turn to gape. “He’s not a surgeon?”

  The woman gave an apologetic smile, her eyes brimming with curiosity. “Sorry, but I don’t use English beyond medical terms much. I mean he’s not just a surgeon. Sheikh Malek is our Health Minister, the best Damhoor has ever had, or will ever have.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  JAY STOOD OUTSIDE her tent, surveying the hundreds of multi-sized, waterproofed ones lined up on the arid hill. Something was different about them today. They were dry.

  She looked up and the sun zapped her eyes with its 8 a.m. glare. She snapped them away, looked around the waking camp, “sabaah’l khayr”, an automatic good morning, on her lips as she greeted the people passing by.

  Things had slowed down in the past three days, with the rain stopping, the injured either back on their feet or at least getting better, and all the displaced people getting used to their temporary but very adequate accommodation until a permanent replacement for their losses was devised.

  It had been a week since it had all started. And during that time, when the constant toil and preoccupation had allowed her moments of coherence, she’d only been able to think of one thing.

  Malek. And the fact that he wasn’t only a sheikh, wasn’t only a surgeon, but was the Health Minister.

  Why hadn’t he told her?

  She’d told him everything about herself—everything—and he hadn’t even introduced himself properly. If he had, she would—would.

  What would she have done? Not acted like a fool around him?

  She doubted she could have done anything differently. He only had to look at her, breathe near enough to fry her restraint circuits, unleash emotions and responses she hadn’t known she’d come into this life equipped with and.

  He should have told her!

  But he hadn’t. He’d kept her within those three feet throughout the very long workdays, as thoughtful, witty, infuriating, attentive, dominant, accommodating, provocative, appreciative, and just plain overwhelming as he’d been from that first moment. And to add insult to injury, he’d kept milking her for more intimate details about her life. And no matter how she tried to hold back something of herself, he just drew it out of her as if by magic, giving back nothing, until she felt she was standing naked in front of a two-way mirror where he sat in the dark on the other side, watching her unseen, unfathomable.

  And here he was, striding towards her, his sight and presence overriding her logic and control. It made her mad. He made her vulnerable. And she couldn’t let herself be. She had to put up resistance, wait it out. It would end all too soon.

  “Janaan—you didn’t get any sleep!”

  Something alarming thrummed behind her sternum at the concern that hardened his voice, his gaze, made her step backwards when he would have taken her arm.

  She covered her reaction in levity. “Look who’s talking.”

  His gaze softened, conquering the scolding. “Let’s not look. Shaving is a distant memory, and I’ve metamorphosed into a thug. No, wait—the thug phase was the first three days. I’m now in the pirate one.”

  Yeah. Right. And she wondered which phase was even more arrhythmia-inducing. “And look who’s being ridiculous …”

  She choked. She had no brakes where he was concerned.

  He only laughed, that heart-breaking laugh of his. “That’s my Janaan, the only one I count on to smack me over the head—even if it’s with a compliment this time.” He scratched his beard in a cross between uncertainty and teasing. “I guess.”

  It was no use. Her lips spread on sheer pleasure that he was near, that he existed. “Don’t guess. You accomplish Herculean tasks without blinking, but shaving is a big deal?”

  “Aih, ed’hukki—laugh at a poor man’s expense with your time-defying smoothness.” He pantomimed running his fingers down said smoothness. She felt each touch, barely stopped herself from jerking away. “And to think women lament what they do to maintain their beauty. Try shaving twice a day.”

  “You mean you don’t have someone or two to do it for you?”

  He pouted. “What, alongside those assigned to scratching my itches? Wonder whatever befell them this past week.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “OK—that was stupid and prejudiced.”

  “The ‘never apologize’ rule, remember?” His eyes held only amusement, soothing her. “And then I can have others waiting on my every whim. So you have a good excuse to think it.”

  No, she didn’t. She knew how unfair that comment had been.

  She knew he didn’t abuse his privileges just as she knew he hadn’t been bequeathed his position. In the past week she’d pieced together how he’d risen to it. How previous ministers had centralized medical care, squandered resources, imported protocols that hadn’t worked for the culture and environment.

  Then he had come, with a comprehensive vision of where Damhoor was and should go, with updated knowledge of medicine and
the world and how to apply it here.

  At thirty he’d been the land’s leading surgeon, then he’d won his position, only to surpass its demands, rewrite its parameters. In the six years since he’d become Health Minister, he’d salvaged the medical system, reformed it, turned it into a model advanced countries were vying to emulate.

  But she hadn’t relied only on his people’s reports in forming her opinion of him. Those could have been slanted by worshipping subordinates. She trusted the evidence of her eyes. The reports didn’t do him justice.

  “Even without bristles invading your face,” he murmured, “you must be longing for the forgotten luxury of a bath.” He advanced on her and she stumbled back. This time he noticed. His face lost all lightness, confusion draining his eyes of their usual bone-melting focus. “Anyway, we’re returning to Halwan.”

  That made her find her voice again. “But only the rescue and medical relief work is done.”

  “That’s what you signed up for. And you’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty. Rebuilding Mejbel is Damhoor’s job, government and people. I set up a system with GAO that will keep the camp and field hospital running smoothly until everyone is back home or has a home built. The good news is I went over the hardest-hit areas at dawn and the water has almost receded. Some parts are coming back to life. Rebuilding can start soon.”

  “You went without me!”

  “I couldn’t bring myself to wake you up. You’d only been sleeping half an hour when the survey flight was scheduled.”

  “You mean when you scheduled the survey flight. When you haven’t slept at all. Oh, Malek, I wanted to see that!”

  “And you will, on our way out of here. After all you’ve done to help during the disaster, you must see its end.”

  “What about our patients?”

  “All serious cases we’ve kept here to follow up will be airlifted to Halwan. You can follow up any of your personal patients any time.” His voiced suddenly thickened. “I checked on Adham just half an hour ago. His coma is lightening.”

  He understood, shared her specific concern. He was incredible. He was also dead on his feet.

  “I was coming to tell you that and to … er …” A spaced-out look came into his eyes. “Azeff elaiki—as we say here—bring you news of your imminent release in a—a festive procession.” He groaned. “OK, literal translation didn’t work there. If it ever does …” He stopped again. “That’s it—I’m officially delirious. I jumble Arabic and English only when all my synapses are fried. Good thing we’re leaving in an hour.” Before he turned away, he cocked an eyebrow at her. “And, Janaan, do check with Saeed about our departure. I may have hallucinated it all.”

  “You were born this way, weren’t you?” Malek growled.

  Jay refused to let his irritated vehemence intimidate her and held his infuriated gaze.

  Something rumbled deep in his chest. “I bet you drove the doctor who delivered you crazy, dictating non-negotiable terms about the specifics of your delivery.”

  “What does my delivery have to do with you trying to deliver me to this seven-star hotel?” She waved a hand across her window at the Taj Mahal-like edifice. “I already have a room with all my stuff waiting for me in a hotel I can afford.”

  “If there were a championship for being perverse, you’d rake in every medal. B’Ellahi, why won’t you let me do this for you?”

  “Because I like the hotel room just fine, thank you. Because I’m not in the habit of accepting six-figure gifts, which a stay of even ten days in this hotel will amount to. And because you don’t owe me anything, even if it seems you think you do. Besides, GAO will be providing my accomodations soon.”

  “You think I’m repaying you …?” He drove both hands into the depths of his luxurious hair, seemed about to pull it out. “Ya muthab’bet al agl wad’deen! And this is one occasion where literal translation works. I do need God to tether down my mind and faith with you around or they’ll fly out the window.”

  “One sure way not to have me around is to drop me where I specified.” She scowled back. “And for your information, I had no say in my delivery. I was born by Cesarean section.”

  “You see? You wouldn’t get out, had to be forced out!”

  “Like you’re tempted to do to me now?”

  “As if I could. I suspect the good doctor only got the best of you because your obstinacy was still in its infancy.” His exhalation flayed her even from two feet away. “Zain. Fine. I will take you to your hotel. At least I get to do that at last. But—and this, Janaan, is something you won’t win, so save your exasperation—I am taking care of the time the room was reserved while you were with me.”

  She wondered at the level his beauty attained with aggravation. Whoever had coined “beautiful when angry” didn’t know the half of it. She shrugged. “Zain yourself. Sounds fair.”

  He looked flabbergasted. “What? No struggle? You’re conceding? You’re accepting, just like that?”

  She couldn’t help it. She giggled. “You said to save my exasperation.”

  “And that was the right phrasing for the tongue-holding, stubbornness-halting incantation? If only I’d known earlier.” His lips spread, against his will it seemed, before that glazed look entered his eyes again. “You’re lucky I’m operating on a flat battery.” He lowered the barrier between them and his driver, muttered her hotel’s address then sprawled beside her. “Excuse me as I recharge on the way. But if you don’t wake me when we arrive, I’ll.”

  “Yes?” she prodded when he didn’t come up with anything.

  “Ma ba’ref. I don’t know, something dire …” he promised as he slipped into sleep.

  Jay waited a few moments then rested her head inches from his, absorbing his every detail with far more greed than she’d done as he’d slept on the helicopter.

  This time would be the last time.

  But though the knowledge hurt—and she couldn’t dwell on how much it did—she was grateful for every minute she’d had with him. The past week, through the toil and exhaustion, working side by side with him to reach so many people in their acute need had been the best time of her life. But it was getting to know him that had catapulted it to the status of once in a lifetime. She counted herself lucky that she had met him, had been allowed to share that worthwhile time with him.

  She suddenly remembered jeering at him the day they’d met, about his nights of excess, when he’d been returning from a three-week stint organizing the relief and relocation of Ashgoonian peasants whose villages had been destroyed in even worse torrential rain. That made it over a month he’d been literally on his feet, salvaging hundreds of thousands of lives.

  And again she wondered that he’d let her get away with the slur. More than anything, she wondered why a man in his position would undertake such distressing, dangerous missions when he could just send people and resources.

  But the answer was clear. He’d been born into ultimate privilege, wielded his power with the ease in which he breathed, but he thought nothing of dipping his hand in dirt and himself in pain and danger to fulfill the vocation he’d undertaken of his own choice, when any other man would have multiplied his wealth and power, when he’d only had to let his royal status secure him everything he wanted from life.

  But it was clear what he wanted from life. The same thing she did. To be of use, to make a difference. But with his powers he was of infinite use, made such a far-reaching difference.

  The car stopped. So did her heart.

  God—it had only been fifteen minutes. Now she’d have to wake him to say goodbye. Just get it over with.

  His name came out a choked whisper. “Malek.”

  He jerked up, his eyes snapping open on a blast of alarm and confusion. “Janaan. What …?” He subsided. “Ya Ullah—I had this dream … and you were. But you woke me up!”

  “You told me to,” she protested.

  He blinked forcefully. “I’m still not sure if I’m dreaming this, if you didn�
�t leave me sleeping to teach me a lesson.”

  “I said I would wake you up.”

  “You could have only let me believe it so I’d—”

  She interrupted him. “If I give my word, I keep it. We arrived, I woke you up, and as much as I’d love to listen to you on the untrustworthiness of my gender, I have to say goodbye and let you—finally—get to your bed.”

  He bit his lower lip, his eyes steamy slits glowing in the limousine’s semi-darkness. Then he sat up, got out of the car. She knew what he’d do, had to beat him to it. She opened her door and sprang out. There was no way she was prolonging this.

  He caught her elbow when she tried to hurry away. “Seems the incantation has worn off. Do I need to re-invoke it?”

  Just end this. “Malek, you’re dead on your feet and I’m dying for that bath. So—let’s just say our goodbyes here.” She tried to regulate her breathing so she wouldn’t gasp like a fish thrashing on the pavement. She also had to—had to—tell him. “But before I go, I want to tell you that the last week has been my life’s most incredible experience. I’m grateful that you let me be a part of it all and—and that people like you exist.”

  She swayed, whimpered, tried to turn around. He lunged for her arm, his grip fierce as he turned her towards the entrance of her hotel. Her moaned objection was met by his groan, thick and ragged. “Not another word, Janaan. I’m taking you to your door.”

  It was a strange and not particularly pleasant experience, to be treated like some sort of celebrity in the two-and-a-half-pretending-to-be-four-star hotel where she’d previously had nothing more than inattention and grudging courtesy.

  Everyone’s first sighting of Malek had been dramatic, to put it mildly. Eyes had turned on her and it had been like watching one of those sci-fi movies where people switched identities in mid-stare. She had a feeling they’d provide their bodies in lieu of ground for her to walk on from now on.

  Everybody made way for them so by the time they reached her door, the hotel felt deserted. He opened it for her, stood back.

  She took the unsteady step that would take her out of his realm, crossed the threshold, turned to him, praying he’d just turn around and leave, spare her this.