by A J Sherwood
“Now you tell me.” Marc erased and went back to drawing for what felt like a small eternity. Flipping it over again, he asked, “And now?”
Jon lifted the eye mask again before breathing a sigh of relief. “Yeah. That’s really close.”
“Then we’ll take this and run with it. He never said anything else?”
“Just that. One thing…” Jon kept the mask down, but he turned towards Gonzalez with unerring accuracy. “You mentioned he drove off in a black sedan? It was a Honda Civic, older model, maybe ‘90s. Gold trim half-missing. She didn’t see a license plate, unfortunately, but the car was junked up on the inside. It was nothing more than a glance on her part; I didn’t get much more detail than that.”
“Just that’s helpful,” Gonzalez assured him with transparent gratitude. “Thanks, Bane. Go home, rest up.”
“Keep me updated,” Jon requested. I could hear the fatigue in his voice as he started to crash. He spoke slower, words slightly slurred, trusting more of his body weight to me. “I want to know what happens and if you’ll need a linkup.”
With a cautious look at me, Gonzalez hedged, “We’ll only consider that if absolutely necessary.”
It’d better be abso-fucking-lutely necessary. Otherwise heads would roll. I made sure my face conveyed that before leaning down and asking softly, “You need me to carry you out?”
“Please?” He winced while moving his head. “I’m starting to feel disoriented.”
Yeah, I could see that in his face. “Alright, up you come.”
He wrapped both arms around my neck, snuggling his face against me, then settled with a deep breath. If he was still awake by the time we made it to the car, I’d eat my boots.
Marc popped up long enough to open the door, then closed it carefully behind us. I could hear him tease his husband lightly, “Hey, hon, why don’t you ever pick me up like that?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you weigh more than my gym weights—oww!”
Jon snickered, obviously having caught the exchange. “They’re so adorable together.”
Still awake, was he? “Like a pair of kittens. You want to sleep on the way home?”
With a low breath, he hummed in agreement. “I like it, you know. That you think of my place as ‘home.’”
“Anywhere you are is home to me,” I answered honestly.
“If you keep saying such sweet things to me, I’ll jump you.”
“Promise?”
With a groan, he flinched. “Later.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” I got to the end of the hallway, used a hip to open the door, then carefully went down the stairs. I’d love to use elevators in situations like this, but Jon and elevators mixed like fire and oil. Knowing our luck, it would short out and leave us trapped in there for hours. Not a good idea.
By the time we got to the bottom of the stairs, his heavy breathing suggested he dozed, at the very least. The warm, humid air hit us like a slap in the face as I exited the cold hospital, and I could see Garrett had pulled up closer, straddling a handicap spot with the engine idling. Someone must have texted him we were coming out. He lifted a hand and waved, then pointed to Jon, head cocked in question.
“He’s out,” I responded carefully, more mouthing the words than anything. “Door?”
With a nod of acknowledgement, he popped the door open. I saw he’d already pulled the curtains down, the back bench laid out flat and ready for us. With a careful step up, I climbed in, jostling Jon a little in the process. He woke up enough to help situate himself, Garrett closing the door as soon as I was clear. On routine, Jon swallowed the tablets I handed him, drained the water bottle in one go, then curled back up against my chest.
I banged the side of my fist against the top of the roof, indicating we could go. Jon jumped a little at the sound. Garrett immediately started backing out of the space.
“Garrett’s driving, isn’t he?”
Blinking, I contorted enough to see part of his face. “How’d you know?”
“Because I’m as wily as I am charming,” he deadpanned. “How’d you think I knew?”
Oh, right. He was more sensitive to auras in general right now. Even with the mask on, he could likely sense Garrett. “Sho got shanghaied by the feds.”
“Figures.” Resigned, he snuggled in a little closer, an arm around my waist, and I swear he was asleep three seconds later.
Silence reigned for several minutes. I could tell by the road noise we’d left city for interstate before Garrett called back, barely audible, “He out?”
“Like a light.”
“He get anything?”
“Yeah. Myers saw her attacker, alright. Even managed to hurt him before he took her down. Jon was able to do a quick sketch with Marc’s help.”
“Yes,” Garrett hissed in triumph. “At least this was all worth it, then, and we get a break in the case. Fucking finally. He gonna be okay?”
“I wouldn’t have let him do it otherwise. He’s just going to be prickly for the next three days.”
“As in moody?”
I snorted at the thought. “Jon moody is a rare thing. No, I mean he’s going to be very sensitive to auras for the next three days. And he’ll feel like he’s on the edge of a migraine.”
“Ah. Gotcha. Poor guy.” We trundled along for a minute before Garrett asked, “Don. Seeing all you do for him, it really makes me wonder. How the hell did he manage before you?”
“Barely,” I answered in a low growl. As irrational as it was, it upset me I hadn’t gotten to him faster. Never mind that I didn’t know he existed in January. I just wished I’d been there when he’d needed me. “I’ve heard more than a few stories from Sho, Jim, Sharon, and Carol about what it was like before I came into the picture. Don’t get me wrong, he’s smart how he’s set his life up, and can manage day-to-day just fine. If you ever come over, you’ll see what I mean. But working cases and social life-wise? It was a real bear. If he’d been less talented, I’m not sure people would have put up with the amount of work using him requires.”
“Fortunate his eyes are that good, then.”
“Maybe. Something Marc said made me wonder. He said that because Jon was so powerful of a psychic, it was no wonder he couldn’t turn his ability off.”
“Huh. I did wonder what he meant by that. I mean, Carol doesn’t have that problem. Marc clearly doesn’t. No psychic I know of deals death to electronics like Jon does. So is his psychic power just on high all the time?”
“That’s what they intimated. Honestly, there’s a lot about this I still don’t know. Sharon’s taught me a crap-ton, Jon has too, but I’m playing catch-up. I likely will be for a while. There’s things so obvious to them they don’t think to tell me about it until I hear conversations like that one.”
“It’s a bit of an occupational hazard, I bet. When you’re working with experts in their field, they forget what it’s like being the noob.”
There’s truth.
“So I don’t get a show this time around?”
I rolled my eyes at his teasing. “No.”
“Awww.”
“Suck it up, buttercup.”
“Yes sir, sorry sir!” he snapped out, voice rich with laughter.
The rest of the ride was more or less quiet. My phone did buzz a couple of times, likely my mother wanting to know how things went, but I couldn’t get to it without disturbing Jon, so I let it go to voicemail. Besides, even if it had been in my other pocket, something accessible, I wouldn’t have pulled it out. When he was this open, electronics died far more quickly. I didn’t want to put my phone at risk.
Garrett pulled into Jon’s back parking space smoothly, then hopped out to open the door for me. I maneuvered carefully, bringing Jon up with me, his face tucked against my neck to help protect him from any light. It was still mid-afternoon and the sun was brutal today.
Seeing Jon still dead asleep, Garrett whispered in surprise, “But he was recovered enough to be up and
moving last time.”
“He’s still recovering from last time,” I groused, focusing on getting my boyfriend properly in my arms without tripping over the edge of the HMMWV and spilling us both onto the unforgiving pavement. “He’s done himself in this time.”
“Well, hell, I didn’t realize it’d be this bad. You could set off a nuclear bomb and not wake him up right now.” Shaking his head, Garrett reached out to put a supportive hand at my back, steadying me as I climbed out. “Okay, you good?”
“I’m good. Get the door?”
“Sure, man.” He strode for the metal door, opening it and tossing the keys into the basket. “Oh, hey, Alani.”
Figured Mom was still here.
“They’re here already?” Mom responded in alarm, audible, although not in sight yet. “Oh dear, I thought I had a little more time. I wanted to make Jon more of the soup. That was the only thing he could eat last time.”
“Yeah, you’re out of time on that one. Hang on, I’m getting the door.”
I slipped through the back door, spying my mother hovering in the hallway as I moved. Since she was here, and Jon still dead asleep, it wouldn’t hurt to have people nearby for a few minutes. I needed the extra hands. “Mom, turn down the covers for me?”
“Of course.” She immediately headed up the stairs. I could hear her voice coming down the stairwell, “Oh, what a lovely purple. Donovan, for heaven’s sake, there’s a laundry basket right there.”
It might have been a mistake to let her see the bedroom. Oops. Too late now.
Ignoring Garrett’s snickering behind me, I trudged up the stairs with Jon a warm weight in my arms. Mom at least had the bed turned down and stepped out of the way so I had a clear path. I laid Jon gently down on the sheets, Mom tackling his shoes once he was done, me his belt. I’d get him out of those jeans in a minute, but not with my mother in the room. Covering him up, I pressed a kiss against his forehead, but he didn’t even stir. Sound asleep still, then. Good.
We stole out of the room, me closing the door softly; I needed to talk to both of them for a few minutes and I preferred Jon to sleep through it. We rendezvoused in the kitchen without any plan to do so, my mother’s face tight with concern.
“How is he?” she asked, tone soft enough to not carry out of the room.
“Overtaxed,” I answered with a sigh, passing a hand over my face and letting my own fatigue show. “I argued against it, but they were certain she had seen the attacker. Turns out they were all right, she had, and Jon was able to give us at least a description. Jon will count it as a win. It’s good he’s sleeping like this, but it’s also a bad sign. He shouldn’t be this out for the count. It means he’s pushed himself past his limits.”
Lips tightening, she cast a worried look toward the second story. “It does worry me sometimes, how he takes burdens on. But he always has such a good reason for doing it.”
“Makes it hard to argue with him,” I acknowledged in a growl. “Trust me, I know.”
Garrett, proving he was my friend for good reason, immediately offered, “Tell us what we can do to help.”
“Feed me regular updates,” I requested. “I know Jim promised, but he gets caught up in stuff and doesn’t remember to. Jon’ll want to know as soon as he’s awake. And Mom, if you haven’t made any soup, can you go home and make it? He emptied out the last pot.”
She nodded firmly. “I’ll do it and have it back to you by tonight. Garrett, you come home with me. I’ve made food for everyone working up there; you take that with you.”
Garrett licked his lips, a gleam of anticipation in his eyes not unlike a dog with a brand-new meaty bone to chew. “Yes ma’am, with pleasure.”
“I’ll let you both know how he’s doing when he wakes up.” Them and a dozen others. With my own worried look toward the second story, I warned sadly, “Although don’t expect it anytime soon.”
15
I woke up slowly, my body stretched and sore. I felt perfect sympathy for a tenderized steak right now. The eye mask was still firmly in place, and I felt the sheets against my bare legs, so Donovan had wrestled me out of clothes at some point, leaving me in a thin undershirt and boxers. Bless him. I hated sleeping in jeans.
My mind was less quiet. It hurt to be awake, as psychic noise vibrated all around me, pressing against me on all sides like a porcupine’s quills. Even though I wasn’t in the same room as anyone else, I could sense their auras on a low level, and I flinched from it. The echoes of Myers’ aura lingered in my psyche as well, tangling with my own perceptions, an uncomfortable mix. But in all that hodgepodge of white noise, I found the firm, golden bond connected to me: Donovan. With a soft sigh of relief, I latched onto it. Ah, better, I could orient myself now.
The room was quiet, barely any of the road noise from outside penetrating through the windows, the fan overhead lazily spinning and keeping me from overheating. My body was stiff enough that I gathered the impression I’d been in this spot for a long time—several hours at least. I was comfortable but thirsty. So thirsty. The dry Sahara in my mouth had woken me up. Knowing he was nearby, I called softly, “Donovan.”
A warm, gentle hand touched my cheek. “Hi, babe,” he whispered in a low, soothing tone. “You properly awake?”
“No,” I admitted honestly, licking my lips. “Thirsty.”
“I’ve got a water bottle and straw with your name on it. Don’t try to lift your head, I’ll support you.”
He didn’t try to sit me up totally or arrange a pillow behind me. His hand moved to my neck, lifting me up just enough that I could comfortably swallow, then the straw touched my lips. I caught the straw with a hand, steadying it, and drained most of the water bottle in one long pull. With a sigh, I sank back, Donovan lowering me slowly down to the pillow again.
“You want to eat something or sleep?”
“Sleep,” I sighed, feeling the blackness already tug me back under.
“Okay. You sleep, then.”
“Love you,” I told him, as that was important.
I didn’t remember anything after that.
The second time I woke up was much like the first, with water and tablets at hand easing the aches and pains, and I took those happily. But sleep beckoned to me enticingly, promising a world without pain or concerns, and it sucked me back in again.
On the third waking, I felt far more myself. Still raw along the edges, but no longer fuzzy headed with pain. A full bladder screamed for relief, which was what had woken me up. The mattress had something of a death grip on me, but I managed to lever myself up a little, pulling the eye mask off as I did so. Donovan, for once, was not at my side when I awoke, but I could hear the shower running.
Our bedroom was a little cleaner than normal, all the laundry put away, the place dusted, the floors smelling faintly of lemons, so I guessed Donovan had put his extra time to use. My watch sat on the nightstand next to me, and I lifted it, noting the time. Ten o’clock in the morning. Ten o’clock the next morning, or had I lost an entire day to sleep? It felt more the latter.
At least decapitation no longer whispered sweet nothings in my ear. My head had been splitting so much that a lobotomy sounded lovely. Now, my head twinged some but nothing nearly on that same level. This was the easiest, fastest recovery I’d ever experienced, and in spite of doing two level three readings in the same week, no less. Seriously, this having an anchor thing was a win-win all around. I definitely owed Donovan the handcuff sex.
Body aching like an eighty-year-old man’s, I carefully swung my legs out of the bed, then sat there for a cautious moment, waiting for repercussions. Huh. No dizziness, no cramps, nothing. My head barely even twinged. Hunky dory. I stank, though. Maybe I could join my man in the shower.
Lifting off, I shuffled toward the bathroom, my muscles protesting from the long disuse but warming as I moved. My stomach grumbled and gnawed at me, reminding me food needed to happen soon, but I ignored it with the promise of later. I really wanted a shower first.
Donovan had his back to me, body wash and a loofa in his hands as he soaped up. This man’s body was truly a thing of beauty, and I paused to enjoy it. He remained somewhat shy about letting me see his back, no matter how many times I told him I could see his scars through his shirt anyway and it didn’t bother me, so moments like this were rare.
I still didn’t have the story of how the acid attack happened. Seeing the scars always made my body twinge in sympathy, as the initial damage was clearly widespread. The skin had grown back, but it was snowy white compared to the healthier chestnut skin surrounding it. That attack had put him on the right road in order to meet me—I couldn’t regret it, and I knew he didn’t. Still, I wished to reach back in time and take the pain from him, if I could.
Shaking it off, I moved forward. This time I made enough noise that I caught his attention, even over the spray of the water. He glanced sharply toward the door, spied me, and lit up in a relieved smile. “Hey, babe. You’re actually up.”
I zombie shuffled a little closer. “Yeah. How long was I out?”
“About forty-three hours,” he answered with a grimace. “I was actually grateful you chose to sleep it off, so I didn’t do anything to wake you. You think you’re up for a shower?”
“Up for it or not, I want a shower. My nose is in revolt.” Shucking shirt and boxers, I tossed them toward the hamper and paused at the sink to brush my teeth. My mouth felt like something fuzzy had crawled inside and then died—messily. Definitely wanted that taste out of my mouth.
With the taste of mint lingering, I stepped inside with him. The shower, as we’d proven many times, was just large enough for both of us. It was square in shape, with a glass door, and I’d added an extendable shower head we often used if we were in here together.
