by Jade Kerrion
He inhaled sharply. "I was shot?"
"That's right." Seth Copper wore a pained expression. "You might want to think about it and nudge that number a bit higher."
"Who shot me?"
Seth frowned. The light in his eyes gentled. "I've been instructed not to fill in the blanks beyond what you need to know, to properly care for your own emotional and physical health. That wasn't my decision, but I'm told it's for your own safety."
"My own safety?" Shock conceded to anger. "For decades, I've lived by their rules. I know how to play the game the way they want it played. There was no reason to take my memories."
"You think the council took your memories? Is that what they told you?"
"They said..." Danyael shook his head as he sorted through the blur of confused images and sounds, the first memories emerging out of the fathomless void. "I don't know. I don't remember what they said. There was..."
"I know." Seth set the stethoscope down and reached out to Danyael, but Danyael pulled away. "It's all right; don't push it. The pain and disorientation make the early memories hazy. Alex said explicitly not to fill in the memories you lost, but this isn't filling in. It's correcting misperceptions in the memories that you do have. The council didn't take your memories. They didn't even have a say in the matter. It was the Mutant Assault Group."
"The military? Why?"
Seth's mouth tightened into a straight line. "We're getting to some of those questions I can't answer for you, Danyael. I'm sorry."
"How could they do that to me without authorization from the council?"
"The Mutant Affairs Council isn't all-powerful. With the right paperwork, the government can override the jurisdiction of the council."
Danyael's anger flared again. The sense of betrayal was cold and dark. His psychic shields strained to contain the unfamiliar emotions. "It would have been nice to have known in advance. If the council wasn't going to fight for me, I could have fought for myself instead."
"What would you have done?" Seth sighed. "The Mutant Assault Group is composed of mutants, and they're perfectly capable of taking down other mutants. You could have turned them back, but not without hurting a lot of innocent people in the process. And even if you had it in you, would you have gambled the council's goodwill on it?"
Danyael slammed his hand on the table. "What has the council's goodwill done for me? What about the support, protection, and privacy I was promised for playing nicely by their rules?"
"Why do you think I'm here?" Seth asked quietly. "Look, let's just keep the conversation focused on your health. You could use another blood transfusion. Let's head over to the council office in Manhattan, and we can take care of it there."
"No." Danyael shook his head. "I'm not going into the council office."
Seth held up his hands. "I understand that you're upset---"
Danyael's anger was far stronger than his self-hatred and infused him with the strength to meet Seth's gaze. "Upset doesn't come close to describing it." The fury racing through his eyes contrasted with the ice of his voice. He channeled every shred of willpower into not striking out at something. Anything. "I am drowning in emotions I can't understand because I don't remember. I was prepared to accept them and work through them, because I thought it was the council's decision. Now you tell me the military did this to me and that the council did nothing. They stood back and let the military crush my memories into dust."
"It's not that simple. There is more at stake here."
"There is always more at stake than me." Danyael's lips twisted into a self-mocking half-smile. "I wasn't asking for any special favors from the council. I just wanted to be left alone."
Seth sighed. "All right, I get that. There are times when I get tired of the council myself. Let's talk about what we need to do to get you better. Good nutrition. Lots of rest. Don't even think about using your healing powers for a week or longer. I recommend you take a leave of absence from your job."
"Did I miss work?"
"What?" Seth asked.
"I know I've lost forty hours of memories, starting late Friday night. Did I miss work?"
"Of course not. It's Monday today. It's Christmas. Everything happened over the weekend."
He chuckled bitterly at Seth's naiveté. "I haven't had the luxury of a five-day workweek in a long time. I work all day Saturday and a half day Sunday."
"Yes, I guess you've missed two days of work."
Danyael's sigh was quiet, but heavy. "A leave of absence isn't an option. I'm already in enough trouble as it is for missing work."
"It wasn't a suggestion. Alex has already called the Department of Public Health and informed the free clinic director that you need some time off."
"What?" Danyael's eyes widened. "The council won't protect me when I'm mind-raped by an alpha telepath, but then calls my employer and tells him I'm taking a break?"
"It's a temporary break. Don't force Alex to make it a permanent one."
"Damn it, I need the job. I need the money. Do you think this is free?" He waved his hand to encompass the entirety of his studio apartment.
"The council will take care of you."
"Like it did when the Mutant Assault Group showed up? I don't want the council's money or its obviously selective interventions in my life." Danyael glanced at Zara who was standing silently by, listening to the conversation. He heard an uncharacteristically resentful edge in his own voice. "I guess you were right. I was both stupid and naïve to trust the council."
"What does she know?" Seth asked.
"I know enough." Zara smirked at him. "You might almost say I started it."
Alarm pierced Seth's composure. "You know too much."
She shook her head. "I'd say Danyael knows too little."
"The council's decision is that Danyael cannot be told."
"Considering how much power he has at his disposal---when he chooses in rare instances to extend them---the information will keep him from making bad decisions entirely by accident."
"Not when the alternative is having him make bad decisions deliberately. I'm going to block your memories. We can't have you circumventing the council's decisions."
Zara pushed away from the kitchen counter, her eyes glittering. Her slim body uncoiled, a predator preparing to kill.
"You won't touch her," Danyael said quietly, intervening before Zara precipitated a confrontation she could not win. He shut out the distraction of his rioting emotions as he focused his empathic powers to channel calm. Unshielded, Zara was easy to redirect, especially with her hatred of him temporarily subservient to her deadly intent against Seth Copper. Danyael's powers, as gentle and subtle as the whisper of an evening breeze, sang to her, lulling her. He sensed when the heated edge of Zara's temper cooled, enough to check her attack, enough to buy him a few precious seconds to save her memories and perhaps her life. "She's my guest and under my protection," he said.
"You can't protect her," Seth said.
"Don't bet on it."
"Your empathic manipulation won't make it through my shields."
Danyael placed his left hand on Seth's arm. His touch was light. All he needed was physical contact; physical force was optional. His secondary powers---the dark and distorted mirror of his healing capabilities---lashed out. They whipped with merciless precision through Seth, tearing a startled gasp of pain from the older man.
Seth jerked his hand away. "You..." he stared at Danyael, his expression combining disbelief and awe. "How did you---"
"It doesn't matter," Danyael said. "You can't win. My shields will hold up against any of your psychic attacks far better than you can concentrate through what I can do to you."
"You'd turn on a fellow mutant to save a human?"
"We are all human."
"You know what I mean." Seth leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful. "I don't believe it," he said, his voice quiet. "You're convinced that the council abandoned you in your hour of need, and yet you hold on to their founding p
hilosophies."
"There is nothing wrong with their philosophies, even though they fail in execution when I'm the one needing protection."
"Danyael, you humble me with your strict adherence to your training. I'll leave her be." Seth glanced at Zara. "I hope you're good at keeping secrets. Don't offer his memories to him. The council didn't order them stripped, but they will, if he regains them."
Danyael looked away. Anger surged, swelling up like a wave nearing shore. He fought to keep his visceral emotion from breaking past his exhausted psychic shields, shuddering as he absorbed its impact.
Seth pushed to his feet. He placed a hand gently on Danyael's shoulder, but did not seem surprised or offended when Danyael tensed at the touch. "Get some rest. I'll check in again on you tomorrow. Is there anything else the council can help you with?"
"The council can stay away from me," Danyael said, enunciating each word slowly and carefully.
"I understand, and I'll do my best to oblige," Seth said. Danyael heard compassion thinly disguised in his mentor's voice. "I'll see myself out."
The door closed with a slam of finality. Danyael surged to his feet and reached for his cell phone. It was dead, the battery drained. He resisted the urge to slam it on the table in frustration.
"Here." Zara handed him hers.
"Thanks," he murmured, accepting the phone. He punched in a familiar number.
The first ring had barely begun when he heard a click followed by Lucien's familiar voice. "Zara?"
"Luce."
"Danyael!" Relief was palpable in Lucien's voice. "What took you so long to return my call? I've left you a dozen or more messages." Those words eased a fear Danyael had not realized lurked deep within him. His friend still cared. "How are you doing?"
"Like hell" was on the edge of his tongue, but habit took precedence, and he offered the only answer he had ever given in response to that question, "I'll be all right." He paused briefly, "Luce, Seth Copper, the lead physician at the council, was here and---"
"Good, he got to you then."
Lucien's response stunned him. "You knew? Do you know what the council is doing to me?"
"Danyael, it's---"
"For my own good? I've already heard that. That's bullshit."
"It's not that simple."
"Not if no one will explain it to me."
"Alex Saunders thought that---"
"I don't care about Alex. What do you think?"
There was a damning silence on the other end.
The silence dragged on. Blood turned to ice in his veins. Talk to me, Luce, please. I need to believe reason can be found in this madness.
Lucien spoke quietly, obviously choosing his words with care. "I think that if the Mutant Assault Group hadn't gotten to you and crushed your memories, you would have somehow found a way to cope, but it would have been incredibly rough."
And this isn't?
"I know it's bad now," Lucien continued as if he had anticipated Danyael's train of thought. "But in the long run, it'll be easier for you."
"It's easier for me to live a lie?"
"Yes," Lucien said with brutal honesty. "It can be, when the truth sucks."
Danyael dropped his gaze, his thoughts churning. The self-hatred he had struggled so hard to overcome once before in himself, he would have to work through all over again. Without memories, the effort would be absurdly difficult.
If Lucien thought that the alternative was worse---
What happened? What in God's name happened to me?
How horrible could the truth be, if Lucien, the friend he trusted with his life, opted for the lie?
Danyael remained silent for a long moment. Surrender wrenched his soul. "All right," he said simply. "I trust you."
"Thank you," Lucien replied with quiet gratitude. "Can I talk to Zara for a minute?"
Danyael handed the phone over to her and walked into the kitchen. Distantly he heard Zara speaking quietly to Lucien, heard her ask a question about Rio de Janeiro. With some effort, he was certain he could decipher their conversation, but it required energy he could no longer spare. The burden of unexplained emotions weighed heavily against his psychic shields, more than doubling the effort required to sustain them.
Behind him, Zara hung up the phone.
He glanced over his shoulder. "Would you like anything to eat?"
"I've already eaten." She paused briefly before saying, "Thank you for coming to my defense, but I could have taken care of myself."
"He's an alpha telepath, and you're unshielded. He wouldn't even have had to extend himself to do some serious damage to you."
"So your solution was to attack him instead?"
Why was she so angry with him? "If I could shield you, I would have. But I'm not a telepath. I can't protect you that way."
"I don't want or need your protection. What you did doesn't change anything between us."
"I didn't expect it to," Danyael said quietly. He turned his back on her, filled a glass with tap water, and sipped from it before taking another bite of his toast.
He sensed her silent criticism.
"Is that all you're going to have for lunch?" she asked.
"Yes." It was all his nausea would permit him to consume.
"Two slices of buttered toast and water? That's not the kind of good nutrition you need to get better."
He shrugged.
"You don't talk much, do you?" she asked.
She was spoiling for a fight. He could hear it in her voice. "The truth isn't worth discussing, and I'm too tired to keep track of the lies I tell you. Let it go, please."
"And are you going to let your memories go too?"
"I'll trust Lucien's decision."
"You trust Lucien?"
"Yes." Implicitly. Without question. Lucien was the only reason Danyael had survived his childhood at all. Everything in his life that was good, everything that was normal, he owed to Lucien Winter.
"Like you trusted the council?" Zara challenged.
His lips twisted into a bitter half-smile. "I'll have to trust someone sometime, but I'm not stupid or naïve." He inhaled shakily. "I need to rest again soon."
"Give me a few minutes to use the bathroom."
Slowly he moved through the small studio. Simple, mindless chores kept his hands busy. He plugged the cell phone into the charger and adjusted the thermostat to take the edge off the chill in the small room. He moved to the bookshelf that also served as a closet and selected a change of clothes. A quick shower to wash away the grime would not hurt. Would he find a new scar to mark where he had been shot?
He touched his forehead against the floor-to-ceiling windows. The cold seeped into his heated skin, offering marginal relief from the burning fever. He closed his eyes. What would it take to silence the questions pounding through his mind, demanding answers he did not dare seek out? What would it take to be whole again?
He laughed, a low, bitter sound. I was never whole, just a little less screwed up.
* * *
Zara stepped quietly out of the bathroom. For a long silent moment, she watched Danyael. His face was set in profile, as flawless as a Michelangelo sculpture. His pale blond hair stood out in stark contrast to his sin-black eyes. An old scar, faded with age, cut across his right cheek, from cheekbone to chin. He stood by the window, one arm pressed against the glass, the other wrapped around his waist, as if to hold himself together. His body language screamed that he wanted to be left alone.
She would have liked nothing more.
An incomprehensible sense of obligation had brought her to New York in search of him and compelled her to stay through the early hours when she realized that he was in bad shape.
When the doctor from the Mutant Affairs Council showed up at the door, she made up her mind to stay for another day or two. Seth Copper had not done or said anything out of place, but something about him made her feel uneasy, more for Danyael's safety than her own. If there was something she had learned over the years, i
t was to trust her instincts.
Now her promise to Lucien to watch over Danyael until he was strong enough to fend for himself again would keep her there. It was convenient to have someone else to blame.
"I'm done," she said.
He turned his face toward her, acknowledging her, but not quite meeting her gaze. "Thanks," he said quietly.
"We'll need to find a long-term solution that doesn't involve you sleeping in the bathroom, since I'll be staying until you're better," she told him as he stepped past her.
He froze, her announcement catching him off guard. "Why?"
"Because Lucien asked me to."
"Don't. I'll be all right on my own."
"Are you afraid you might actually have to exercise those rusty social skills and talk to me?"
"You despise me," he said simply, his tone even. He could have been discussing the weather. "You can't stand being around me. Why make both of us miserable?"
"Because misery is good for the soul?" she shot back sardonically.
"Misery would be one more thing I'd have to process, and it'd distract me from working through the rest of my issues. No, thanks."
"Tell me why you're sleeping in the bathroom."
"You're not shielded."
"So? Can't you sleep with your shields on?"
"Yes, but I'd wake mentally and emotionally exhausted, which will stall my recovery. Physically, I'm all right. Emotionally..." His hands curled into fists and then slowly relaxed.
A coping mechanism, she noted. It matched the pain flaring in his eyes.
Danyael sighed quietly. "I'm tired. I can't maintain my shields indefinitely. It would be stupid and dangerous to try. They'd drop under pressure, and the impact could be disastrous." He glanced toward the bathroom. "It'll be safer for you if I sleep in there."
"The floor is small, cold, and uncomfortable." She had tried. She had to curl up to make it work, and Danyael had at least four inches on her.
