Hunter, Healer

by Lilith Saintcrow

  A dead man she'd resurrected. It had been Delgado for as long as he could remember, until she'd showed up.

  His hands shook. He reached out carefully, control clamped tight, and touched her cheek, cupped her chin in his hand. He felt calluses scrape against her soft skin.

  Be careful. Christ be careful. She deserves someone who can be gentle with her. Give her something, Del. Come on. Use that psychological pressure you're so good at and help her, goddammit!

  "Being a psion isn't a crime, Ro.” He had to clear his throat before he could force the words out through the fury constricting his windpipe. “You were born with a gift. You used it to help people. And Sigma came blazing in with guns as if you were some kind of criminal, because they think of you as a commodity. A thing . It's not your fault, Rowan, it's not . God dam mit, you're the only good thing that's ever happened to me in my entire goddamn life. Don't do this to yourself."

  Well, not the most eloquent speech in the world. Why can't I talk to her? He wanted to tell her so much more. Wanted to tell her that she was good, far better than he would ever be. Wanted to tell her that the only thing that had kept him sane in the hell that was Sigma was the memory of the empty room she'd made in him. Space to breathe in, maybe, or just a part of what he felt for her that he couldn't bring himself to forget. He wanted to tell her what it felt like to see her and ache all the way to the bottom of his chest, a sharp pain that was somehow sweet because even if she could never love a damaged ex-Sigma killer, he would still hang around her, breathing in the same air she breathed, and that was enough.

  He wanted to say he loved her, but he buried the thought almost as quickly as it rose.

  One of her threatening tears spilled out and left a trail of dampness on her cheek. “You might be right,”

  she whispered, her skin moving against his fingers. “But I still feel responsible."

  "Don't,” he whispered back. “Please.” Then he was leaning forward, and he knew he was going to kiss her. He couldn't have stopped it any more than he could have stopped a bullet once the trigger was squeezed.

  Their mouths met. She shook with silent weeping as he kissed her slowly, taking his time, his fingers sliding into the tangled silk of her hair. He was ready to push her back onto the bed and try to get through her clothes to find bare skin, so he could get closer and closer to her. But he settled for breathing her in, tasting her, and barely letting her breathe before he kissed her again. Slowly, slowly, the barriers between them melted, his mind sliding into hers, giving comfort, taking solace. When her mouth slid away from his, he kissed her cheek, her forehead, and the corner of her tear-wet eye, tasting salt. He printed another gentle kiss on her cheek before she leaned into him, pushing him over. He ended up lying across the bed with Rowan in his arms, her head on his shoulder and his arms around her. He felt her heartbeat and cherished the small, uneven sigh as she sank even further into him, the borders of their minds blurring together.

  "I missed you,” she whispered. “God, I missed you."

  "Henderson told me he had to tie you down to keep you from running off to rescue me.” The grin felt so easy and natural he almost doubted he was smiling. “I'd have killed him."

  "I wanted to. I couldn't leave them when they needed me so badly, but I wanted to. I wanted to.” The black weight of guilt and grief pouring out of her eased slightly as he hugged her and dipped his chin to kiss her hair. “Every day I wondered if they'd killed you, or if they were torturing you, what they were doing to you. I could tell you weren't dead, but I wondered if I was fooling myself, or if..."

  Goddamn. If I'd known ... there was nothing I could have done. Nothing she could have done either. “Shhh. It's all right. You did what you should have.” He stroked her shoulder, her hair. “Just exactly what you should have."

  "I want them to pay,” she whispered. “Sigma. I want them to pay for what they've done so that I can get on with my life."

  Oh, Christ. But he didn't say anything. She needed a sounding board more than anything right now. The guilt had only intensified her determination, but it was still a raw, aching wound. She'd been putting herself through hell, and she was probably so contained and professional nobody else had noticed. God knew they had enough to worry about with simple survival. It wasn't like when she'd first arrived and her numb misery had seeped all through Headquarters, making life difficult for everyone. Now she was fully trained, and adept at putting on a brave face.

  And he'd been far away while she learned how to fool everyone, unable to help her.

  Rowan shivered, a small movement he felt in his own body. He was catching far more of her mood and her private thoughts than she knew. The bond between them was deeper than he'd imagined or hoped.

  She was contemplating something dangerous. She was planning something. Something was coming together inside her pretty head, a constellation turning into a plan.

  "I want them to pay,” she repeated. “They have to be held accountable. They kill and beat people and ruin lives, and what they're doing is wrong . I have to do something about it."

  "We are doing something about it,” he reminded her. “We're Society operatives. You've caused them a fair bit of damage in the last few months, angel, by keeping the Society up and running. They're like dogs chasing their own tails. Sooner or later they're going to fall. They can't help it."

  And they can force their operatives all they want, brainwipe ‘em, hook ‘em on Zed—but it doesn't stop some of them from wanting to escape. It didn't stop me from escaping. Twice, now. His arms tightened around her.

  "But why don't we ever go after them? At the top? Who's in charge of the whole thing?"

  He sighed. Distract her with something, Del. “Probably the President. But if you want to know who's in control of the program, it's Anton.” The name sent a slight frisson up his back, and he heard the Colonel's rattling voice again. You've been a very naughty boy, Agent Breaker . “They call him the Colonel, but I don't think he ever was one. He's got this thing for white linen suits.” And caning. And electroshock.

  She snuggled against his side, and he relaxed. He knew he should be getting her something to eat and then getting down to business, finding out what Henderson needed him to do. But for right now, it was sweet just to lie next to her, feel her against him, and hear the quiet hum of her thoughts under his. He couldn't decipher exactly what she was thinking, but he heard it like soft voices in a neighboring room, a seashell murmur.

  "Anton.” A sharp flare of complex feeling burst between them. Del smothered a flash of mixed fear and adrenaline, her reaction was tinted orange with ... what? Determination? It felt a little off, but she'd just been through the wringer, hadn't she? “Where is he?"

  Del shut his eyes. I would really rather not remember. “Sig Zero-Fifteen.” He shuddered. “The worst Sig installation in the country.” The deep nerve center of the rabid octopus that was Standard Integrative Intelligence Growth and Management Agency. Sigma Installation Zero-Fifteen, otherwise known as the Black Hole.

  Otherwise known as hell. The place where people died and brain-shattered hulks of Zed addiction and psychic talent were created.

  "Where's that?"

  "New Mexico.” Don't ask me any more. Please, angel, don't ask me any more. I don't want to think about that place.

  She didn't. Instead, she sighed. “We should get cleaned up and get some breakfast. Henderson will want to see us."

  Are you kidding? This is the first time we've been alone, really alone, together in months. And you're not in any condition to start wearing yourself out again. You're still backlashed from facing down Carson. “If there was an emergency, they'd tell us."

  "I'm hungry.” But she didn't move. Her hand came up and traced his jaw, rasping against the stubble of a few unshaven days. “I'm glad you're here. I thought you were angry at me, that you didn't want to..."

  "Good God, no. How the hell did you get that idea?” Is that what she was thinking? Jesus.

  "I just ..
. You seemed so distant."

  "Me?” He could literally feel his jaw dropping. Distant? All he wanted was to get as close to her as possible, for as long as possible.

  "Yes, you.” For some reason she found that amusing, and her soft laugh suddenly made him extremely aware that he was alone with her, lying on a bed, with no pressing emergency happening, no scramble to survive or get to the next hiding place. It was as near to heaven as he had ever wanted to get.

  Well, maybe he could get a little nearer. But she was right. They both needed food, and he could feel her headache pounding in his own skull. Now wasn't the time to show her just how happy he was to be next to her.

  Though he was very, very tempted to see if she still made the same sound when he buried himself in her.

  He wanted to find out if she still tasted like sunshine, if she would still arch her back and cry out softly when he let his fingers do the walking, and most of all he wanted to find out if it was, like kissing her, better than he remembered. Still, they were both exhausted, and she probably felt like her head was going to fall off from the aftereffects of Carson's psychic attack. He himself was nowhere near fit enough to indulge in any heart-pounding bed games.

  But God damn it, he was tempted. If his heart gave out he'd die happy, but he hadn't done even a quarter of what he wanted to do with her yet. “Distance is the last thing on my mind, angel."

  She sighed, her fingers sliding down to the place in his throat where his pulse beat, leaping out to meet her touch. “We should get breakfast."

  "We should. In a few minutes.” Give me just a few more seconds of this. If I can't have you right now, just give me a few more seconds of having you next to me like this.

  "All right.” She made no attempt to move, and for that brief precious span of time, Del was content.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Breakfast was more like lunch, and it was a hurried meal. This new Headquarters was familiar to Rowan, since she had visited it several times while getting everything ready for the grand move in. As soon as they showed up in the half-gutted industrial-size kitchen they were greeted with Tamara pushing bowls of sesame chicken with jasmine rice, chickpeas, and greens at them.

  "Eat,” the tall redhead said briskly, “then go up and see Henderson. He's in the west wing. There's something heating up."

  Justin let out a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a derisive snort. “See? I told you. If it was an emergency, they would have battered the door down."

  "Not bloody likely.” Tamara pushed a lock of her coppery hair back and grinned. “You two needed a little time alone. Welcome back, Del."

  "Thanks.” He sounded genuinely surprised, and Rowan had to hide a smile. Being scattered around without the benefit of Headquarters had at least gotten rid of some of the fear with which they regarded Justin. Nobody had realized just how much they depended on him until they were on their own. It was a good thing, as far as Rowan was concerned. The less they treated him like a pariah, the better.

  "Good God, who's doing the renovations in here?” Rowan stared at the mess made of the kitchen—exposed studs and a pile of lumber, cans of paint and a drop cloth, stacks of tiles. She shook her hand out. Her wrist felt a little tender, but not bad. “Did Boomer get called away in the middle of everything again?"

  "No, it's actually pretty close to being done. It just looks bad. Eleanor brought a bunch of the newbies back from Calgary and six teams came in, so there's no shortage of hands. And Yoshi just accessed and drained the old resource net, so we're actually sitting pretty when it comes to supplies. Good thing, too. I was getting tired of eating oatmeal and beans."

  Rowan made a face and took a spoonful of chicken. Tamara was by far the best cook they had. “Is there coffee? Oh, good. So everyone's coming in?"

  "Yep.” Tamara grinned. “Thanks to you. If you and Cath hadn't pulled out the stops in Vegas we'd still be eating beans and running around the country like headless chickens."

  "Well, Justin actually pulled that one off. I had very little to do with it. Got shot again.” Guilt pinched sharply under Rowan's breastbone. She managed to pour a couple cups of coffee for herself and Justin.

  He seemed easier than she'd ever seen him, and Tamara seemed genuinely glad he was back.

  "Don't listen to her.” Justin took his coffee with a ghost of a lopsided smile, and blew across the top of the cup to cool it. “It was her quick thinking that got us all out."

  "That's usually the case.” Tamara examined him, as if trying to put her finger on something. “You look different, Delgado."

  "Getting beaten up and smashed on Zed will do that to you.” His hazel eyes came back to rest on Rowan. “We'd better eat and then go up to Henderson. Where's a quiet corner?"

  He does look different. It's not just the lost weight or the shadows under his eyes. She found herself searching his face, looking for the change. It wasn't just that his eyes had lost their screen of indifference.

  What was it?

  Her head gave another pounding burst of pain, and then subsided. It felt like something was buried in the center of her brain, flaring up again to briefly stain the inside of her skull. She stopped and stared at the floor, trying to locate the source of the pain.

  "Rowan?” Justin held his bowl in one hand, his coffee cup in the other, and looked quizzical. Tamara was grinning, a wide sparkling smile that spoke of mischief. She turned back to the stove, and Rowan heard a muffled giggle.

  What? What just happened? She didn't know, but Tamara obviously thought Rowan was acting like a hormonal teenager. I was staring at him, wasn't I? No, I was looking at the floor. Why? “Hm? Oh, somewhere to eat ... I'll go straight up to Henderson, and you can eat in the refectory if you—"

  "I'll come with you.” The slight smile was gone from his face, and the words were clipped. “Lead the way."

  Rowan's stomach threatened to cramp. She wanted to go into the long refectory and find a quiet corner to persuade her body to accept some nourishment, but duty called. Henderson needed her. “Fine.

  Anything you want Henderson to know, Tamara?"

  "Just tell Cath she's not getting out of kitchen duty again. I'll sic Del on her.” The redhead seemed to find this extremely amusing, and Rowan frowned. She left the kitchen, still trying to think of what was so different about Justin now.

  "Penny for your thoughts,” he said behind her as she climbed the stairs to the second floor and started wending her way to the west wing.

  Great. Now what do I say? What on earth did you say when the man you loved came back after being tortured and wasn't ... the same? How could anything ever be the same again?

  "Not worth it,” she said lightly, her boot heels clicking as they went down a long hall with windows on one side and thick golden sunlight falling in dusty rectangles on the wooden floor. Her wrist throbbed faintly, and the bruise was yellow-green and fading, looking weeks instead of days old. “You'd probably get change back."

  "Still, I'd like to know. Humor me."

  She could tell his eyes were on her back. “You are different,” she said, taking a gulp of coffee immediately after. It scalded her mouth.

  "Better or worse?” There it was, that ironic amusement. At least, she was fairly sure it was amusement.

  She felt it like warm sun against her shoulders.

  "Just different."

  "Distant?"

  Damn the man, he's teasing me. She shot a look back over her shoulder, saw him smiling and stopped short. He almost ran into her, but gracefully avoided collision at the last second. “Kind of,” she admitted.

  He never used to smile like that. Maybe once or twice. He was just learning to loosen up a little when Headquarters ... happened. “But there's something else. I don't know. I've been trying to figure it out."

  "Just relieved to be back, I guess."

  "What did they do to you?” Torture? More electroshock? The track marks on his arms were healing, of course. Any wound in her proximity tended to heal fas
ter. He wasn't sweating or shaking like a lot of Zed addicts did, though she could feel the prickling running over his skin, a different sensation than the electric crackle she felt when she touched him. It was hard to keep herself so carefully contained, to keep from soaking into the borders of his mind to find out what he was really thinking under that slight smile and behind those hungry eyes that were really just as effective at keeping his feelings hidden as the flat indifference he used to use.

  "Nothing I couldn't handle,” he said, again. “We'd better get up to Henderson before the food gets cold."

  Her head flared with pain again, a brief tearing that was gone almost as soon as it started. Distracted, Rowan blinked, shook her head. “Oh. Right."

  Henderson was in the west wing nerve center, leaning over Yoshi, whose slim brown fingers tapped at a keyboard. They'd apparently set up a full system of decks. Code was flashing across a monitor right in front of Yoshi.

  "Mark,” Yoshi said quietly into the comm-unit he wore. “Move to your right, there's a dead spot in front of you."

  Sounds like an operation. Rowan's mouth went dry. She took another hurried gulp of coffee, scalding her tongue again.

  Henderson glanced over and nodded. He'd be with them in a moment. Rowan cast a glance around, found a table covered with topo maps, and cleared a space for both of them. She settled down, watching.

  "Heavy fire on your nine, watch out, on your nine.” Yoshi sounded calm, as always, but Rowan's heart flipped over. Who was out, and where were they? “Cassie, see if you can give him a little cover. Rick, stay down. Cassie's coming in."

  Rick and Cassie. Deborah's team. They must be coming in from California. Rowan caught a flare of complex feeling from Yoshi and swallowed dryly. He'd been hanging out a lot with Deborah, teaching her codestringing tricks.

  Rowan was about to push her chair back and hover over him, seeking to help, but Justin's hand covered her bruised wrist. “Eat first,” he said. “Won't do anyone any good if you collapse. Come on, Ro."