Did he really kick my ass that bad?

          The question came several times as he attempted to rise from the chair Oz had move him into, and nausea would rear and knock whatever confidence he'd found from beneath him. The room's lighting blinded him, and so he kept his eyes closed. Oz was there, ready with a searingly cold bag of ice that he would slap against Mac's head when he let his guard down. Oh damn...getting shot didn't hurt this bad.

          The aches and pains from Nicholas' punches were not the worst - it was the headache. Never had it felt so active or immediate. Mac put his hands to his temples several times as he heard Oz speaking with someone on the phone. Most of what Mac heard was muffled. Everything sounded as if he were listening through earmuffs.

          "Let me put the ice.."

          "No..." Mac leaned back in the chair. Nausea came again and he swallowed hard. "I just want to sleep."

          "No can do, bro." Oz's hand was cold as it slid around the back of Mac's neck. "Doc said to keep you awake till she got here."

          "Who is this Doc?"

          "She's one of us, if you know what I mean..."

          Someone knocked at the door. He squinted, fighting the pain from the blaring light as he watched Oz move across the room. The door opened and he heard muffled voices.

          "What is with the constructs outside?" came a female voice.

          Mac squinted as he tried to focus on the voice's owner. A middle-aged of woman native american ancestry and medium height moved around the burly man. She wore a filmy white linen dress and sandals. Turquoise and silver hung from her neck and her hair lay in thick braids over each shoulder.

          Her expression remained unreadable as she neared Mac. He looked up at her. She looked down at him, her hands on her hips. She carried no black bag, save for a canvas sack slung from left shoulder to right hip. Nothing that even resembled an insignia of medical practice. What she did have about her was an aura of power - something he didn't need his own magic to detect.

          After shaking her head, the small woman turned to Oz who had joined them to stand to Mac's right. "You and Zydeco should come with a warning sticker. Danger: Association with me could be hazardous to your health! If it's not Johnny coming in with a gunshot wound then it's you bringing in folks that got in the middle of a fight with you and someone else."

          Oz held up both hands. "Oh, he didn't get in my fight. He picked this one all by himself."

          Mac shook his head. Oh..dont' do that. "Now wait a minute..." he winced at the volume of his own voice reverberating inside his head. "You set me up..."

          "No, no, computer man." Oz smiled. "You could have backed away."

          The woman waved Oz away and the big man moved to the couch. She pulled the opposite chair in front of Mac and sat down, facing him. "My name is Holly David. Most just call me Doc." She narrowed her eyes as she looked at him - though she did not touch him. Abruptly she closed her eyes and sighed.

          Mac felt something brush against him. Velvety smooth, like silk sheets, cool and inviting. He gave a slow sigh of his own and fought to keep his eyes open.

          Doc opened her eyes. "Now I'm really gonna take a look at you. See if we can't fix that concussion at least."

          As she brought her hands up to his face, Mac fought the urge to move away. Everything moved through a hazy soup, as if his mind were enmeshed in a net he couldn't pull free from. His chin, his cheek, his thigh, middle and knee... all ached and throbbed with cold fire. Burning. Blazing as the flames ate away at ...

          She placed her fingers on his temples, her right to his left, her left to his right.

          The pain vanished, as abrupt as if turning off a switch. Mac felt as if he had been dipped gently into a hot bath. His muscles instantly relaxed. He no longer felt any other part of his body. His eyes opened wider, his gaze locked with hers. The headache...is gone. There is no pain. Not even the ghost that had been there since his Awakening.

          Doc drew in a sharp breath and blinked. The connection severed, though the pain did not return. He felt her fingers press harder against his temples.

          "Oz..." she looked to the side. "Grab my apron. It's in my bag at my hip."

          The big man pulled out a plastic apron and unfolded it.

          "Lay it on the floor, between his legs. Hurry..."

          Mac closed his eyes as the pressure from her fingers moved from his scalp to his skull, then worked its way inward to his brain. Her grip was a vise and he was powerless to free himself. He gripped the armrests of the chair inwhich he sat. His heart raced and the pressure increased. The headache returned full-born inside of his mind. Mac was sure the woman's fingers were no longer resting against his skin, but had somehow pressed into flesh and bone. He opened his mouth to scream as he squeezed his eyes shut.

          I can't take this...I'm dying...she's killing me...she's....

          It was gone. The pain vanished. The pressure was...oh my god...

          She shifted her hands to the back of his head and pulled him forward, almost into her breast. He heard the spattering before he opened his eyes. Blood poured from his nose and spattered garrishly against the white plastic apron. He felt the nausea return, but not from the punch to his solar plexis. So much blood... my blood.

          "Holy shit..." came Oz's reaction.

          Mac tried to sit up, but Doc's hands held him still. He felt her move, and then he saw her right hand dip down to the pools of blood and retrieve something. She held it out for him to see in his bent state. It was cube-shaped, with rounded edges, no bigger than a grain of sea-salt.

          What the hell is that? And what was it doing inside my nose?

          Doc curled her fingers about the object. "Your nose will bleed for a few minutes, but let it drain downward. I think I dislodged something else that wasn't supposed to be there. It may come with the blood too. We'll just sit here and wait. And while we do, you can tell me exactly what you did to get beaten up so badly."

          Oz laughed softly.

          "It wasn't my fault," Mac's voice sounded strange as he spoke with a bent head. The blood as it oozed from his nose, trickled over his lips and into his mouth. He spit several times, trying to expel the coppery taste from his tongue. He continued to clutch the chair's sides, afraid to let go for fear of pitching forward. Doc finally moved her own hand away, but he remained bent over as the blood continued to drip. His hands shook, and he was getting dizzy. "Oz set it up....me and Nicholas Calen."

          Doc glanced at Oz. "Do I know him?"

          "Nah. He's a VE. Got himself a Deviant Eidolon. His girlfriend got killed and the Adept here rubbed his nose in it."

          "No I didn't," Mac started to raise his head up but Doc immediately put her hand to his crown and forced him to look at the bloodied apron. He kept his hands on the chair's arm rests. "I didn't know she was really dead."

          "Deviant Eidolon, huh?" Doc tsk-tsked. "Is this VE still on his meds? You know what can happen with that, don't you?"

          "No...uh-uh... what?"

          Mac listened intently to the conversation. He too wanted to know what could happen.

          "Let's just say it could make Sybil look like a lovely afternoon tea."

          Huh? "Meds?"

          The Technocracy try to suppress Avatars using drugs - Progenitor cocktails." She stroked his head again. "Only sometimes their outcome effects the Avatar, or Eidolon."

          "What does that mena?" Oz asked.

          "It means the drugs can on occasion, drive him insane."

          Blood ran from his nose into his mouth. Mac spit it out onto the apron beneath him. "The 'Crat or the Eidolon?"

          "Both." Doc sighed. "Oz, just keep an eye on that one." She touched Mac's head again, her fingers lightly brushing his hair back from his face. "And you...my advice is not to go picking fights with this VE? He's a military man - they are trained to fight Nephandi. Of course he's going to kick your ass."

          Oz gave a long, low sigh.

          Doc was quiet for a moment, the only sound the occasional drip from Mac's nose. "What's your name, kid?"

          "Mac."

          "Well Mac...here we go. I can feel it."

          Bracing himself for another wave of pain, the Adept tried to tense his muscles and found them not working to his command. What has she done to me.... Another gush of blood poured from his left nostril. This time he saw the object as it fell and splashed into the puddled blood below.

          Doc retrieved this piece as well. It was cylindrical and thin, made of metal. She released his head, and motioned to Oz. Mac watched the man's shoes disappear. In moments he was back and held a towel beneath Mac's face. "Here..."

          "It'll stop bleeding now. But sit up slowly. You just lost a good deal of blood."

          Mac took the towel and held it to his nose, then sat up.....and back. Dizziness came quick, and he felt as he had the first time he'd tried to stand after being shot. He closed his eyes, only peripherally aware that the headache was gone.

          "There now, let's get the rest of you fixed up. Oz, help him to the bedroom, and don't get this blood all over the place."

          Oz's hands were still cold as he snaked an arm beneath Mac's left side. Mac tried to help, but his muscles were too relaxed. It was as if she'd given him a shot of novacaine for his entire body. Nothing responded right. He dropped the towel as they stumbled to the bedroom, but it no longer mattered. His nose no longer bled.

          He eased down on the bed, as Doc came in behind him and motioned for the man to move. "Mac...I need you to take off that tee-shirt."

          Mac nodded and after several tries, managed to get it over his head.

          "The sweats too."

          Oh. He raised his eyes to Oz who merely shrugged. Glad he'd put on boxers that morning, Mac carefully removed his sweats, confident that if this woman hadn't put the whammy on his nervous system, none of this movement would be as pleasant.

          She had him lay flat, his arms at his sides. Doc ran a hand over his eyes and they closed, his lids no longer obeying his commands. Warmth enveloped him quickly, and he felt lulled into a nice sleep.

          "Mac? Honey...I need you to open your eyes now."

          He did, slowly. Doc stood over him, a smile on her face. The spread covered him from the waist down. He tested his leg and found it no longer pained him. With a grin to Oz who stood inside the door, Mac leaned up on his elbows to look at his chest. Dark bruises of purple, blue and orange decorated the skin over his stomach and lower chest.

          "I took away the pain and the swelling, on all accounts. Those bruises will fade in a matter of hours. The ones on your face - I left. The swelling's gone, but your chin and cheek will remind you in the mirror not to pick a fight with someone who can kick your ass five ways to Sunday."

          Mac reached up and tentatively touched his formerly damaged cheek. As she said, there was no pain. Even the headache was gone.

          Doc sat down on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped. "So now, how about you tell me how you got these nasty things stuck in your head?" She held up the two metal objects, one in each hand. They had been washed and dried and now gleamed under the lamplight.

          Mac shook his head. "I'm not sure how they got there. But...I have my suspicions."

          "And they are?"

          With a glance at Oz, Mac felt certain either he could trust the man, or he already knew the truth. Either way, he wasn't going to reveal it all. "My father is a Progenitor. One with a sorded past I didn't discover until two years ago, after I Awakened. I'm afraid he might have..." he shrugged and gave Doc a helpless grin.

          Doc's eyes widened as she looked at him. "That explains a lot."

          "It could be that he had something to do with it."

          "I've seen Progenitor work before - most of yours is older and extremely well done, some of the best I'd wager. But this is shoddy by comparison," she held up the two pieces. "Looked like it was rushed. Have you been having headaches? If you have it's no surprise. They should stop now or at least subside." She clasped her fingers about the objects and slid them into a pocket within the folds of her dress. "I'll take these to a friend of mine and have them analyzed. I should be able to get back to you in a bit to let you know what they are or at least what they were doing. But rest, and take it easy until then."

          She stood, and to his surprise, leaned down and kissed his cheek. Doc touched his left cheek with her fingers, a touch of smooth silk. "Even bruised you are a fetching man." With a sigh, she turned and left the room.

          "You still look like hell to me," Oz commented as he stepped into the bedroom.

          Mac shifted himself on the bed and licked his lips. "What....who....?"

          "She's who she says she is. She's Euthanotos. Very good. Used her many times. So has Johnny. Patched him up from several gunshots."

          Mac pursed his lips. Should have had her around to heal mine. "So, she'll let me know about those...things?"

          "Yeah. She'll contact you. Don't worry." He checked his watch and then stood. "I've got to get going. If memory serves me right with the way Johnny reacts, you'll be asleep in about a minute or so."

          "Asleep?" Mac smiled. "I don't think so. I feel just fine."

          "You still look like hell though." He nodded to him. "She was working on you for nearly three hours, kid. You're gonna need the sleep."

          Mac looked to the clock. It was nearly three in the afternoon. Three hours? "I was..." fatigue came quick as he tried to sit up. The room tilted roughly to the right, and he saw Oz move toward him. He nearly fell to his right and out of the bed as he lost all control of his muscles. He felt Oz's light touch again as he pulled the cover over his body. He couldn't keep his eyes open.

          "I told you kid. It's lights out."

          "But I...." he never finished the sentence as his eyelids closed, and a soothing, blissful sleep took him under.

(written with Rachelle Udell)

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