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The laughter from Calen's abrupt rejection died away to little more than awkward silence. Mac tensed as the VE turned to him, shoved the black bag into his arms, and stormed away through the lobby doors.
Those patrons that had laughed at Calen moved away as Mac stared at the bag. The lady behind the counter called out to him in German and it was a few seconds before he realized she spoke to him.
"Yes?" Mac took a few awkward steps to the desk.
"Would you like a room?" Her gaze traveled the length of his body as she leaned forward to get a full view. Her right eyebrow arched upward and her expression was a mixture of pity and distaste.
What's so bad about the way I look? Mac nodded to her, pushing his own aggravation away as he took a hobbled step.
"Passport?" She offered out her hand.
Mac froze. Passport? Where's my passport? He thought back to the last place he'd seen it, tucked inside his jacket pocket – but what had happened to his jacket? Oh shit… The Adept looked down at the bag in his hands and held the index finger of his left hand up as if to say 'just a minute'.
He prayed Calen had tucked it somewhere within the black bag. He unzipped it and began rummaging around. There were snacks and bottles of mineral water, and Mac's stomach abruptly growled. When was the last time he'd eaten a decent meal? Or had water?
There was little else, save for a black tee-shirt and jeans, and socks. No passport. Mac swallowed. My passport's gone…and my laptop. Where's my shoulder bag?
He sighed, angry for not thinking of these things earlier. My mind's still too muddled. I just want a bed and a shower – and not necessarily in that order. Mac looked at the woman and shook his head. "I'll get back to you."
With that, he zipped the bag and pulled it over his shoulder. Luckily one of the remaining guests helped him open the door as he limped near. Once outside, he opened his Navigator and logged into the hotel's mainframe to find Calen's room. He located it on the ground floor, near the back.
It took a little longer than he wanted getting there; his leg was less than healed and the throbbing earlier had turned into a raging pain. This did nothing to ease his frustration at being caught in a sense, 'naked'. The fucker has to know I don't have any ID or money, and he just left me standing there.
Once at the door, all pretense of politeness disappeared and Mac feared it had dissolved forever.
He looked at the doorknob and with a simple thought, opened it from within. He barged in, holding his anger in front of him like a shield.
Mac stopped suddenly, not expecting the sight before him. The coppery tinge of blood assailed his senses as Calen sat at the small room's desk, using a hunting knife to pry the bullet from his arm. The marine's shirt and jacket were lying neatly on the bed, and Mac could see the angry red scar curling over the top of his right shoulder.
Even as the door swung close behind him, the small piece of lead came free of Calen's flesh and fell to the desk with a solid thud.
Calen looked up then, and seemed confused and annoyed to see Mac standing there.
Mac smirked. It felt good to return that look at last. "I could have done that a lot easier, and much more neatly." Mac dropped the bag on the floor.
Calen scowled. "Was there something you wanted?"
"You left me in the lobby with no passport and no money. Where else am I supposed to go?"
"Not here," Calen wiped the blade on a hotel towel, the blood smearing against the white, terry-cloth weave. From the desk he grabbed the bottle of NNHP, which Mac recognized from that morning in Paris, and applied the substance liberally against the bleeding wound.
That'll have him back in fighthing shape in a day or so. Mac rubbed at his face. "I need my bag, the one I had in UNO."
Calen refastened the bandage to the wound and gave the VA a scathing look. "Not my problem."
"It has my laptop in it."
The VE gave him a wickedly cruel smile. "It was destroyed when you ran out in front of the car. As for your passport, I've no idea where it is, and again – not my problem."
Mac took a menacing step toward Calen. "Destroyed?"
Calen stood, his height even with Mac's. "Burke said as much. Get over it, McGyver. Consider it a good thing – if they'd gotten into it, you'd be little more than chopped up parts right now," he gave a smile that did not touch his eyes. "Or reprogrammed to serve the Union with your family. As for your passport, well," Calen's eyes turned thoughtful. "Obviously they didn't find it, or they wouldn't have tagged you as a John Doe."
Calen shrugged grabbed the jacket he'd worn earlier from the bed. "Now get out."
"Not till I get a room, Nicholas," Mac would grieve over the loss of his laptop later. All he wanted at that moment was a place to lay down and finally relax.
Calen held the jacket in his left hand and leaned in toward Mac. "That's not my problem."
"You," Mac pushed a finger into the VE's chest. "Have access to the funds Huang provided. You can get me a room until I can access my own funds and settle up with getting a new passport." He crossed his hands over his chest. Probably not the best posture to take, seeing as he looks as if he's about to deck me. "I'm not kidding, Calen. Either you get me a fucking room or I'll settle in right here."
The VE thrust his chest out in true Alpha Mode. "Oh hell, no."
Mac narrowed his eyes. Luckily the two were evenly matched in height. "Try me, dickweed."
Calen's expressioned hardened, but in his eyes Mac saw other things. Confusion, anxiety, anger, frustration – and he knew none of them were soley directed at him. That much is true. I was right in believing something has this man heavily distracted. Whatever it was that ran him off the road, maybe? He's been closed in on himself since. Maybe once I get some real sleep, I can do a little Union investigative work myself.
The VE turned abruptly and pushed Mac back as he moved past him. The Adept held his ground firm, though his leg screamed at the awkward movement. He wasn't going to be pushed around this time. Calen went to a drawer and pulled out a wad of cash. He turned, grabbed Mac's hand and thrust it into his palm. "Get. Out."
Mac shook his head. "I don't have a passport. I can't get a room."
Calen cursed under his breath and stormed out of the door. Mac gave a long, ragged sigh and collapsed into the desk chair. He was shaking – the burst of physical and mental control had spent all his energy.
He reached up to run fingers through his hair. Ony there wasn't much to …
With a curse he stood and limped heavily to the bathroom and cut the light on.
The man standing in the doorway was not anyone he knew. He was thin, gaunt, with short chopped hair and deep, haunted eyes. His face was bruised along one cheek, sprinkled with small cuts along a bearded chin. Three sutures held together an angry cut along his right temple.
Mac stepped closer and was almost surprised to see the reflection move as he did.
Fuck... He widened his eyes. Fuck... He reached up and tenderly touched the darkened cheek. He then touched the bandaged cut. Last he ran a hand through what remained of his hair. They had cut it away. Why...he hoped to never know. Maybe Burke was getting ready to simply remove the implants himself.
Mac shivered at the thought.
Slowly he unzipped the track suit jacket and pulled it away. It fell in a light pile on the tiled floor at his feet. Around his neck glared an angry red band, as if the ghost of the metal restraint remained to remind him of Burke's control. The skin was raw and cut in several places where the metal had bit into flesh. More of the same encircled his upper arms, wrists and lower abdomen.
A dark, circular bruise rested over his heart and he felt his chest ache as he took in a breath. He looked down at it and touched the mottled skin gingerly.
Pale, so very pale. He put a shaking hand to his mouth and stifled another cry.
No wonder those people in the lobby looked at me with such pity. Christ...what did they do to me? Is this the last vision Rebecca had of me? Reduced to this?
Rebecca.
Mac had no idea how long he stood in front of the mirror. How long he stared. He only knew his trance was broken when he saw Calen's reflection standing behind him. The VE's eyes held a glint of something – a flicker of pity? No – perhaps mute contentment at the VA's reaction to his present physical condition in comparison to the marine's muscled physique. Mac turned and schooled his features into his own mask of determination.
The VE held a key out to him. "Room twelve – as far the hell away from me as I could get you."
Mac grabbed the key and moved toward Calen. For a brief instant the marine remained in the doorway, eyes narrowed as he studied the Adept. Mac's emotional rollercoaster had come to an end and he seethed inside, ready for the metal bar to be lifted so that he might charge into the fray. He focused that anger into something tight, a ball that hovered in the center of his solar plexus.
The soap on the sink counter behind him began to bubble and pop.
From somewhere in the room Calen's beeper called a warning out to deviant activity.
The marine moved aside. Mac bent and retrieved the jacket top, limped as quickly as he could to the door. When he paused to gather the black bag, Calen called out behind him.
Mac turned to see him reach into his medkit and pull out a syringe. He tossed it at Mac, who caught it in mid-air. "What's this?"
"Quick-mend. It'll get that leg fixed."
The Adept eyed the pearlescent solution within the plastic cylinder. Union solution. Full of Union medicine. He tossed it back to Calen, who caught it near his head. "No."
With that he turned and left the marine to his solitude.
Thirty hours...I was only there thirty hours. How could I have gotten this bad? Was it the car accident? Was I in this bad a shape when they brought me in?
Why can't I remember it all? Or will it come to me after I've worked to forget and drag me back to that moment of weakness and frailty that pisses me off?
These thoughts pursued him as he made his way to his own room. At least its' on the ground floor, I didn't see any elevators and I'm not sure I could handle the stairs just now.
He paid little attention to the décor, instead dropping the bag on the floor in the entryway, heading straight for the bathroom. Mac turned the shower on as hot as he could stand it, removed the remainder of his clothing and stepped inside, reveling at the heat against his body. I'm so cold. It's the middle of summer and I'm cold. He stood with the spray hitting his face, letting the water beat against his skin. He held his arms out in front of him, pressing his palms against the tile.
Grief came swift, with aggravated purpose. Maouri, Rebecca, his mother - emotions he'd kept to himself, denying their experience, broke open in a single minute that left him huddled on the shower floor, his shoulders heaving in racking sobs. His left leg throbbed and when the tidal wave of raw emotion lessoned and released him, he feared he wouldn't be able to stand.
Shame, grief, anger, they were all there, present and hideous as they washed over his body and outward to spiral away down the shower's drain. Spent, exhausted, he shut the now cold water off and stumbled out. The towels smelled of soft perfume and he scrubbed the water from his hair. He avoided the reflection in the mirror, denying what looked back at him with red-rimmed eyes.
With little more than a towel to his name, Mac limped back into the bedroom. He knew from his internal clock it was nearing eight in the evening. He should eat, drink the water Calen had obviously bought during their ride home. But he was so tired and instead climbed between the sheets and closed his eyes.
He didn't dream, or if he did, there weren't any he could remember. He was alseep, then he was resurfacing, weaving up through the layers of consciousness. He smelled something sweet, familiar and felt something on his forehead. A touch so soft he wasn't sure it was real or simply the remains of a dream he couldn't recall.
He sighed softly and heard a voice from somewhere nearby. A man's voice, patient and full of kindness.
"He's waking."
Mac swallowed. He felt warmth on his left leg. It was soothing, easing the pain, making it little more than an echo of what it once was. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes.
And looked directly into the dark, radiant eyes of Arden Vervain. She gave him a slow, even smile. "Well hello Shugah."
He hadn't meant to yell out - but after the past few days, seeing the Verbena so close - frighteningly close - was more of a shock than he was prepared for. She was sitting on the bed beside him, one hand on his bare chest, her thick brown hair cascading over her shoulders. Without thinking he grabbed her hands at the wrists – he didn't want anyone to touch him – ever again.
The Adept started to move away, but the witch forced her hands at him again and held his shoulders, Mac's hands still on her wrists. "Whoa, shugah - Mark's busy with that leg of yours."
Mac narrowed his eyes. "Busy?"
"I'm mending the bone," he heard Marks' soft alto voice from behind Arden. "Just be still."
The Adept swallowed as he frowned at Arden. "When did you...how?"
The witch beamed at him. And he hadn't realized until that moment how much he'd missed seeing her face. "We arrived a couple of hours ago. My family left just now and I came in here to join Mark." She glanced down at her captive hands. "Are those yours? Care to remove your hands from them?"
Oh. Mac released her hands and laid back into the pillow.
Arden smiled and rubbed her wrists. The VA'd had no intent to hurt her. "As for how we got in here, I have my gifts."
"She means she picked the lock," Mark said. He sighed. "I was all ready to ask the front desk to see if they could open the door when you didn't answer."
"But how'd you now I was in here?" Mac reached up and rubbed his forehead. "I don't remember anyone knocking.."
"We knocked, yelled, pounded," Arden shook her head. "No answer. But I knew you were here because I could hear you." She tapped his forehead gently with a laquered nail. Mac flinched away from her touch. Arden frowned. "I knew you were sleeping - but so deeply I couldn't rouse you. We were surprised to find you a bit," she frowned. "Used."
The warmth in his leg intensified and he drew in a breath. He propped himself up on his elbows. "Look, you don't have to do that. I'm fine, really…"
"This leg isn't mending properly," Mark said in a voice more serious than the Adept had heard him use. "It feels as if it started too, but then the bones were fused out of alignment. If I don't do this, you'll have a limp the rest of your life," Mark leaned toward Mac and fixed him with a stern but gentle look. "You want that?"
"No."
"Good," he turned back to the leg and again Mac felt the warmth, but this time it intensified and became a fine pain. He gasped.
"Did that hurt?" Mark called out gently.
"No - yes - I'm fine," he refocused on Arden. "The trip here got a little...complicated."
"I see," she raised a delicate dark eyebrow. "I saw Nicholas earlier. He saw us arriving walked the other way. I have the suspicion he had something to do with this."
"No, no," Mac gave her a weak smile, hoping to somehow ease the pain he'd given her delicate wrists. He knew he'd given her no permanent damage – the woman held Life. "He was a help. I owe him my life."
Mac didn't think it was possible, but the witch's eyebrow arched higher. "Riiight. Well, if and when Mark finishes, I'll get the whole story."
"Uhm...it's a long one."
"No, I'll get it my way."
He wasn't sure he wanted to know what that meant.
"There," Mark stood, popping up behind Arden. He turned and gave Mac an even, gentle smile. "Should be good as new - and I'll want you to test that in just a minute. But first, I need big hair here to move."
Arden made a face but moved out of the way as Mark took her seat. He beamed at Mac. "Now, I'm going to work on that bump and those bruises and cuts. I need you to close your eyes."
Mac hesitated only a second, his inner voice warring inside. It's only Mark – for crying out loud. He's not going to hurt you. Eventually he did as he was told and felt the Choirster's hands on his forehead. Again there was warmth. A pain he'd not acknowledged before until it was no longer there. He sighed as Marks' warm hands touched his cheek. The tightness there eased as well. And somewhere within the dark behind his eyes, he saw a swirling of colors, muted blues and reds, golds and yellows.
"There," he felt Mark's hands pull away.
"Get his wrists and here," he felt Arden's soft touch again above his elbow. "This is insane, shugah. Who did this?"
"Move your hand, woman, or I'll zap you too. Oh, and there's something here." Mark's hand returned again and pressed against his chest. There was a slight gasp. "This is in your heart."
With a sigh the Adept opened his eyes and looked up into the intense blue gaze of Mark Davins. "I – I don't remember." It wasn't a memory he wished to relive.
"Then just relax." Again there was warmth, and Mac saw swirling patterns around the Chorister's hand as he pressed it into the Adept's chest. Mark smiled. "Now I think we're done."
"Move it," Arden bustled her way to the bed and sat down. She gave him a cheshire cat smile. "Now, I'm going to get us all caught up on what's happened, okay?"
"Come again?"
"Just close your eyes."
Apprehensively Mac closed his eyes. Arden placed her hands on his temples. He felt something prodding – pushing against his mind and he immediately slammed it out.
"Oh," Arden gave a sharp gasp. "My – you did learn fast. But shugah, I need you to pull the shields down a bit. I'm just going to find out what's happened, that's all."
Mac opened his eyes and looked into her dark, brown ones. What? Are you ashamed? Afraid to let her see you as Rebecca saw you? Did it really matter?
I'm not ashamed of anything.
He closed his eyes and nodded once. She again put her hands on his temples. Almost immediately all the events of the past two days flashed before him as if he were watching a movie in fast-forward. The speed was dizzying and he gasped as the witch pulled away. Mac opened his eyes and blinked away the fuzz.
Arden shook her head. "Damn boy," she looked over at Mark. "You get that?"
It was then he realized Mark had been touching Arden's shoulder. He assumed the Chorister had used Prime to tap into Arden's....what ever it was she'd just done.
The Chorister nodded, his own expression sad. "I'm terribly sorry about your sister-n-law. I never knew you had family," he gave a half smile. "Or that they were Technocratic. And it would seem Mr. Calen was indeed the hero."
Arden snorted.
Mark waved a finger at her. "Now, now – Nicholas is a very deep and complicated individual. You'd be good to appreciate him. I'm sure Mac here does."
Mac swallowed and pushed himself up into a sitting position. He was amazed at how good he felt. Strong. His leg no longer troubled him and his mind was clear.
Crystal clear.
"More like deep and damned confusing," he said and gave Mark a nod. "Thank you, for what you did."
"You're very welcome. Now," he turned and looked around the room. Spying the black bag by the door, he retrieved it and began rumaging through it. The Chorister made tsk-tsk noises as he pulled out the bags of snacks. "Oh no, no, no. You need real food." He turned and looked at Mac. "Do you realize you've not eaten in over forty-eight hours?"
As if on cue, his stomach growled. He nodded. "Yeah…I do. I'm thirsty."
Mark handed one of the waters to Arden. She removed the top and handed it to Mac, who drank it in less than a minute.
"Well," Mark put his hands together. "I suggest you get dressed and we go find a nice restaurant to talk. Arden and I have so much to tell you."
Mac nodded. "And I want to hear it." This was painfully true – the Adept wanted to learn about anything other than what had befallen him in the past few days. And though the witch's unpredictability was a bit – off-putting, Mac wanted to spend more time around the Chorister. "Can Arden do it the same way?"
"Oh no," Mark smiled. "Our story must be told in its truest form."
Arden smiled and nodded. She still sat on the bed beside him. "Over dinner."
Agreeing, he convinced them to give him a small modicum of privacy so he could put clothes on. Being naked beneath the sheets this close to Arden had become…embarrassing.
What I can't deny is that she's a beautiful woman. His thoughts darkened abruptly. And women should stay the fuck away from me. I'm death for them. Just ask my wife, or my lover.
Feeling better than he had before being caught in UNO, Mac found a pack with a toothbrush and toothpaste and brushed his teeth. The pack also contained a razor and after lathering up his chin, he decided to leave the mustache and goatee.
Once done, he dressed in the black tee-shirt and jeans.
Mark and Arden were ready outside, standing beside a red Lambirgini. The Adept descended the steps and smiled at the car. "Who's is this?"
"Mine," Arden said and leaned back on the luxury car's hood in a very cleopatra-isque manner. "I bought it this afternoon."
Mark turned to look at her with wide eyes. "When did you do that? You were with me all day."
"Cell-phone, honey. I know what I want when I want it. And I didn't want to ride to Prague in anything less."
The Chorister shook his head and focused back on Mac as he approached. "There's a nice little place we noticed on the way in, looked very quaint and private. Now, you can have some warm soup, and a light bread, but I think it's better if we skip the hard meats. I fixed the physical things, but you need to eat slowly. Oh, and no alcohol."
Mac looked up at Mark and gave him a warm smile. "Try and stop me."
Written with Blake Sorenson
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