"Ah, now I see. Her condition is similar to telepaths who have burnt themselves out—overused their talent, in other words. That's not really treatable, I'm sorry to say. I can support her, relieve any pain she will experience, but any recovery will depend on her."
"What do you mean? Will she be burned out forever?"
"I don't know. Most telepaths recover, though some have overused themselves to that point. But Anya is not a telepath. I don't know how she'll react. She may remain in this state of unconsciousness, she may only recover part of her talent, or she could recover fully. It's impossible to say at this point."
"So it's a waiting game."
"Yes, unfortunately."
"Great."
Bradshaw inclined his head in agreement before ushering Jason out of the booth and letting the nurse go back to his station. The doctor went to check on Anya's condition, and Jason gave Frank a brief explanation of the problem.
"She might not recover?"
"I guess that's a possibility."
Jason was startled to see the man actually wring his hands, his face crinkling into lines of worry.
"What do we do, Jace?"
"For her, there's nothing we can do. But we do have three other women to protect."
"But we caught him."
"We don't know for sure that he was alone. I have to talk to Anya about that when she wakes up—if she wakes up." The now familiar clenching of his chest shortened his breathing, but he was relieved to see the fretful uncertainty fall away from Frank's face. It was not a condition he'd ever seen in his friend before.
"I'll take care of it, Jace."
There was something in Frank's eyes before he turned to go that disturbed Jason. He'd looked at his commanding officer with something like pity. Was the panic inside of him that obvious? Brooding, he watched the medical team move Anya into the same room she'd been in before. When most of the team had come out, Jason ordered the guards back to their posts outside the med unit and her room. Bradshaw came out of the room and raised his eyebrows to see the guards.
"Same security situation, Doc."
The big man nodded sagely as if that explained everything and went about his business. Jason contacted his captain.
"Jamison here."
"Captain, there's been—developments."
"The telepath?"
"Dead."
"Oh! Well, good work, Jason. Did you get anything from him—"
"That's not all." He quickly outlined the situation from Anya's escape to her uncertain condition.
Marta was silent for a moment before she sighed. "This has been a hell of a day."
"Tell me about it. I'll be in Medical if you need me."
He cut the connection and stood for a long moment, trying to resist the pull of the woman in the room behind him. But it was late, and he was so tired that he couldn't remember a time when he didn't feel like Belka waste. Rubbing his neck with weary resignation, he turned and stepped into the recovery room, ignoring Bradshaw and two nurses. Silently he pulled a hover stool close to the bed and sat, feeling like he was caught in some kind of horrible time loop as he stared down at Anya's pale, sleeping face. But this time, she might never open her eyes. Jason put his head in his hands and braced himself to wait.
Anya's entire universe had been pared down to polar opposites—peaceful oblivion or raging physical torment. She spun between the two of them like a magnet caught between attractions, knowing nothing else and remembering nothing else. Except that in oblivion was the end of something she knew she wanted and beyond the pain was that something. It called to her from that briar patch of torment, and she would push towards it until the agony grew too great, before spinning back into cool darkness. She didn't know how long this went on—time held no meaning for her.
The only thing that kept her from giving up and sinking away into darkness forever was that every time she forayed into ferocious agony, she seemed to make progress. She began to recognize things, like sound and sight, though they were torture. She became aware of having a body again and what movement felt like. Pain fractured itself into a thousand different subcategories that she slowly came to recognize and label. That discomfort was the cramping of nausea, that one was the ache of muscles and joints, that was the burn of thirst in her throat—but over them all presided the grandmother of all headaches, which turned even the slightest sensation into unbearable torment.
It took her several tries to get to the point of being able to open her eyes, and focusing was an effort that brought her very close to throwing up. But when she saw the man pacing next to her bed in the dimly lit room, memory came flooding back.
"Oh."
The sound she made was the barest whisper, but Jason heard anyway, stopping abruptly. "Anya?"
"Ja—" she tried to say his name, but it stuck in the desert of her throat, and she reached towards her neck with a grimace of pain.
"Here." He grabbed something out of her line of sight and brought it to her lips.
She closed her eyes and swallowed convulsively as soothing liquid trickled into her mouth. Clutching the container he held, she tipped it further and drank with greedy desperation, only stopping when her stomach cramped in protest.
When she pushed it away, Jason put the container down and sat on the edge of her bed. The dim light was not as harsh on her eyes, but it made reading his expression difficult.
"How do you feel?"
"Like hell," she croaked, watching him with wary intensity. Did he know what she'd done? Did he know she was a murderer? "The telepath…"
"He's dead," he said, his voice emphatic. "You're safe."
He didn't know. She could see it in his face—he thought he'd shot the man dead. Relief and despair made a caustic combination, and she felt sudden tears burn her eyes. They felt hot enough to scald, but she couldn't stop them or the sobs that shook her. It hurt terribly, and she lifted her hands to cover her face more as an ineffectual way to stem the tide than to hide the tears.
"No, don't do that! Oh, hell." Jason's warm hand covered one of hers and pulled it away from her face.
She couldn't see him through her tears, but the gentle sympathy in his grip was too much for her. She sat up despite the blinding pain such movement caused and cast herself against him, burying her face in his shoulder as she sobbed like a wounded child. She cried harder, as much in gratitude as anything else when his arms came around her, holding her securely.
He said nothing while she got it out of her system, just cradled her against him and rubbed her back in soothing motions. He was warm and strong, and as her tears trickled down to sniffles, she was aware of an enormous feeling of contentment. She could stay like this for the rest of her life, she thought as she snuggled a bit closer and sighed. If only her head would stop that awful pounding and her stomach would stop rolling in response. She tried her best to ignore the discomfort, resting in the circle of his arms and soaking up the sensation while she could. The heat baking off his body was making her drowsy, and she was well on her way towards sleep when he spoke.
"Anya, I have to ask: Do you know if there was more than one telepath?"
Reality was a rude intruder, bursting her comfortable bubble. Jason was here because he thought he still needed to protect her. He was holding her because she hadn't given him much choice, and he'd only been waiting until the waterworks were over to ask if his job was done.
She stiffened in his arms. "No, there are no more."
"Are you sure?"
"He wouldn't have tolerated it. He hunted alone." Feeling disillusioned and achingly disappointed, Anya pushed away from him, falling back onto the bed with a jar that turned the whole room into a red flood of pain. "Oh! God." She clutched her head, trying to breathe around the sudden surge of nausea. It didn't subside and she moaned in distress.
"I'll get the doctor."
She felt Jason's weight disappear from the side of the bed with a sense of loss, but didn't protest.
Moments later, a str
anger bent over her, his voice a soft baritone. "You'll feel better in a moment. What I've given you will make you want to sleep. Don't fight it this time, please. You need to rest."
His shovel-like face, kind eyes, and wild hair swam out of focus on his last words, and Anya fell gratefully back into the welcoming arms of oblivion.
Chapter 15
The next time she woke, it was with far less effort, though her head still throbbed like a dirge and her eyes still felt like boiled eggs in her skull. With a soft groan, she reached up to gingerly rub a temple, not opening her eyes.
"Ani?"
With great care, she cracked her eyelids and peeked toward the voice, smiling in helpless delight to see all three of her friends hovering at her bedside. "Hey," she whispered, trying not to sound as dreadful as she felt, "you guys look like hell."
Ces burst into tears, and Anya sat up slowly to wrap comforting arms around her friend. Jar, ever the practical one, raised the head of the bed so that Anya could lean back as she soothed her distraught friend. Then Jar and Rie crowded up on the bed with them. Rie began petting Anya, running a gentle hand over her head and arms as if she needed the contact to confirm her presence. Jar took hold of one of Anya's hands, eyes moist with tears, but a wide smile on her delicate features.
The affection and concern from her friends almost made her cry, but she held the tears back with an effort and kept her smile. "When did you three get out of prison?"
"Yesterday after Salvatore talked to you. We've been here ever since, you know."
"What, they wouldn't let you bunk down there anymore?"
"No, fool, we wanted to be with you." Jar's smile had faded somewhat, and Anya started wondering just how long she'd been in this place.
"Y-you almost d-died!" Cesna wailed and tightened her hold on Anya as she sobbed harder.
Anya frowned and looked at Jarden who nodded in confirmation.
"You've been unconscious for four days. The doctor says you burnt yourself out on that telepath trying to fight him off. I've gotta say, Ani, that's the stupidest thing you've ever done."
They didn't know either, which only made sense. If Jason didn't know she'd killed that man, how would they? But they were as close to her as sisters, and she couldn't keep it from them.
Pushing Cesna to sit up, she wiped her friend's face with a corner of the blanket as she spoke. "There's—there's something I've got to tell you. I can't let you go on thinking… Well, you deserve to know." They exchanged quick looks before watching her with puzzled eyes. Anya clutched her elbows in distress, but didn't hesitate to tell them. "I killed that telepath. I made him have a heart attack. I used so much—I guess that's why I burned out. I-I'm a murderer."
She watched them in misery as the impact of what she'd said hit them. They were all the family she had left to her now, but she had to give them the truth. After what she'd put them through, they deserved the option of getting as far away from her as possible.
Jarden was the first to respond with an impatient toss of her dark head. "Don't be stupid. You didn't murder anybody! Sal killed that psycho—just ask the coroner."
"But—I felt him die. I killed him, not Jason!"
"Even if that is so," Rie murmured, as she patted Anya on the arm with gentle fingers, "it is not murder to protect yourself."
"I'm sorry you had to kill somebody, Ani." Ces watched her with large, anxious eyes, her voice small. "But I'm not sorry he's dead."
"If anybody deserved to die, it was that guy," Jar snapped, and she gave Anya a stern frown as she took her hand again. "Girl, do not blame yourself for what you had to do. If it'd been me, I'd have done the same thing."
She couldn't stop the tears this time and blinked rapidly so that she could see their dear faces. "You—you're not afraid of me?"
"What?" Jar looked at her as if she'd just taken a deep plunge into the stupids. "What kinda drugs are you on?"
"Well," she whispered, "if I did it once, I could kill again…"
Jarden rolled her eyes and made a rude noise in the back of her throat. "Oh yeah, you're a loose cannon all right!" Shaking her head and grumbling, she slid off the bed. "I really gotta get that doc to change your medication."
"You wouldn't ever, Ani." Ces gave her a tremulous smile. "Not unless you had to, like this time. But any of us would, if we had to. Right, girls?"
"It is not a good survival strategy to be passive while facing a potentially terminal danger."
Ces gave Rie such a disgusted look that Anya couldn't help a watery chuckle. "You know, you could've just said yes."
"I'd have done him twice, if that's what it took to protect myself and people I loved." Jar nudged Anya's arm and held out a container. "Drink this. Doc said you'd be thirsty, plus it's got a painkiller in it. You look like you need it."
"Thanks," she whispered, still unable to stop the flow of tears. Ducking her head, she concentrated on sipping the liquid, not stopping until she'd drained the entire container. The three of them watched until she was done and had traded the container for a tissue to wipe her face and blow her nose.
Then Jarden climbed back up onto the end of the bed and sat facing her cross-legged. "So, what do we do now?"
In the pause following her words, Ces took the opportunity to crawl under the covers, muttering about how cold it was in the med unit. "Scooch over, Ani, and stop hogging the bed."
With a snort of amusement, Anya did as she was told, making room for her small, intrusive friend. When Ces had settled herself with a voluptuous sigh of satisfaction, Anya glanced from one to the other searchingly, aware that the throbbing in her head was receding.
"I can't go home again. The Guild will be waiting, and they won't be too happy to hear that their man is dead. Especially if they hear that I did it. I plan on staying here on the station, maybe seeing what the captain's got up her sleeve. I'll understand if none of you wants to stay with me…"
"Don't be stupid," Cesna mumbled sleepily, snuggling under the covers after throwing a sharp elbow into Anya's side.
"That's not what I meant, Ani." Jar shook her head with exaggerated patience. "Of course, we're staying with you. We've got the same problems if we try to go home."
"Maybe you two, but Rie can go back to Thlassnia."
They looked at the alien woman who smiled in quiet calm, eyes settling into a beautiful lilac color. "My path lies with you, Anya Vaedrin."
Anya stared at her for a long moment, remembering that she'd said the exact same thing when interviewing to be one of her singers. Not having had any experience with Thlassnians, Anya had assumed that it was just a way to flatter her and get chosen. She hadn't questioned it then, but now she wondered just what the hell that was supposed to mean. "Why?"
"It has been dreamed."
It was one of the topics that Anya hadn't delved into with her friend, namely because Rie had a tendency to get obscure and confusing when discussing her background.
Now though, curiosity got the better of her. "You had a dream about me? When?"
"I did not dream it. I was given my path by a dreamer long before I met you."
"So how did the dreamer know about me? And why did they send you?"
"It has been dreamed."
She made a face at Rie for that evasive reply, but her friend's quiet smile didn't waver. "Okay, what's that supposed to mean?"
"It means that my path lies with you."
"Oh, for god's sake!" She glared at the alien woman while Cesna giggled next to her. "Can I get a straight answer for once? What's your path, Rie?"
"It is my duty and my destiny."
"To stay with me is your duty and destiny?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because it has been dreamed."
This time both Jarden and Cesna burst into laughter as Anya covered her eyes with one hand, groaning in defeat. "Ugh, I give up. It's like talking to my echo."
She dropped her hand when Jar pulled on her toe to get her attention. "Bottom line, Ani�
�we're all staying. What I wanna know is…what do we do now?"
She shrugged, trying to look confident. "We do what we're good at."
"Well, I know what I'm good at!" Cesna declared, her expression brightening.
Anya gave her a wry look. "I meant singing."
"Oh. Well, I'm good at that, too." Ces subsided back under the covers, shooting Anya a coy look from under her lashes.
Chuckling, Anya nudged her with an elbow. "I don't think it'll come down to what else you're good at, but I'll keep it in mind." She sobered a little, looking at each of them in turn. "I did a little research while we were penned up, and our choices are pretty slim. There's lots of entertainment on this station, but not much in the way of live stuff."
"Yeah, I saw that," Jar agreed, but didn't look the least bit concerned, watching Anya with steady dark eyes.
A little unnerved by the confidence in her friend's face, Anya looked away. "The only place on this station that does live shows is a dive called Whitey's, but the quality is sleazy to say the least. We'll do what we have to do to make a living and repay the station's hospitality and protection, but I don't want to have to put you through that for long. I have an idea about one of the restaurants. It's an upscale one called Seasons—"
"Oh, I looked at their menu and damn near died of hunger. But the prices cured me in a hurry," Jar grumbled with a roll of her eyes.
"Well, I thought my name would pull them some clientele if I sang there. All they'd have to do is rearrange some tables, and they've got some live entertainment. What good is fame if you can't use it, right?"
"Damn right. You want us to get started on that since you're gonna be lazing around in bed for a while?"
"No, I won't be in here for long—"
"Bull. You'll get your rest if we have to chain you to that bed. Look, how about we hit Whitey's and leave the Seasons for you when you're up? They won't be prepared for your face and the shock ought to help in our favor. Deal?"
Angels and Ministers of Grace Page 13