Sir Edward Mitchell's Story

The nurse removed the respirator, furnishing him with a stern appellation about not exerting himself, lest he undo all the work that had gone into bringing him back from the brink of death. She loaded a fresh dose of painkillers into the IV standing beside the bed, and Edward sank back into the warmth of the bed feeling suddenly content about his surroundings, all worry and stress instantly banished.

Upon seeing Aislynn, he instantly brightened as a broad smile imposed itself on his ashen features. “Hey kid.” He slurred slightly, straining against the restraints immobilizing his damaged limbs to sit up. The nurse quickly took the hint and raised the bed by a few degrees so Edward could properly see the diminutive girl now frozen in the doorway.

She looked thinner than he'd ever seen her, pinched by hunger and worry. “Can you give us a minute?” He turned first to the attending nurse and then to the doctor forging his way into the ward behind Aislynn.

The nurse cast a worried glance in the doctor's direction, but after a brief pause both nodded. “We'll be right outside if you need anything.” The nurse replied as she backed out of the door after the doctor.

She shifts out of the way, allowing both doctor and nurse to leave, wishing at once that they would stay and that they had never been in the room at all. She finds herself looking down at the dark shapes of her gifted training shoes against the sharp, square lines of the tiled floor. She watches them as they, almost traitorously, carry her to within five inches of the side of his bed. Her hands find the cover, and she watches as her fingers tug, and twist and pull at the material, unable even to sneak a glance at the man in the bed.

She opens her mouth, and closes it, doing a far better impersonation of a fish than of a young woman. Eventually she shakes her head, her shoulders hunching in upon themselves as she gnaws at her bottom lip. Sorry isn't enough to cover her sins this time. He'd come expecting guns and knives, and he'd met with something much worse. It was a world that only the stained belonged to, and she should have known better. Should have know it would end this way. She manages to mutter something almost inaudible, the words 'Sorry' and 'go' almost the only two that could be readily distinguished from the mass.

“Don't you dare.” His voice cracked and wheezed, but there was a vehemence behind every syllable. “Didn't... go through this...” He coughed, his plastered chest wracked with muscle spasms. A small trail of blood emerged at the corner of his almost white lips.

When the fit had subsided, he propped himself up again, reaching with his undamaged arm to take Aislynn's hand, clasping it tightly in his own. “We'll leave together.”

He couldn't give up on her now. She'd done as much for him as he'd done for her. He should have died in the frozen forest, broken and alone. He'd hunted her like a frightened animal, ready to tear out her heart and devour it while the last of her life slipped away. But after all that, she'd given her all to see him safe. He wouldn't let her leave now. Not without him to watch her back.

She stared at their joined hands for a long, motionless moment, before her fingers began to move, slowly, gingerly at first, then with more strength until their hands are properly interlocked. Only then does she find the strength to glance at his face, and sees instantly the splash of red at his lips.

"Sorry, Edward. I'm so sorry." They are the only words she seems to have as she reaches up and wipes at the blood, as though she could erase each injury with something so easy. Her voice is choked and breathy, and it takes no time at all for her eyes to glaze with tears that she is so very tired of shedding. In the action of stepping forward to clear his lips, she brings his hand to underneath her chin, and lowers her head until one is resting on the other before she continues. "Wasn't clear. Should have been clear. Left, and shouldn't have left. Thought... thought..." a fugitive glance at the ever-present machinery monitoring his stability gives clear enough testament to what she'd been afraid of. She glances back and shakes her head. "M sorry."

“Don't be sorry.”

He slipped his head past hers, pressing his lips against her cheek. The machine stuttered as another fit of coughing rattled through him, his grip tightening on her hand as he sank back into the bed.

“Weren't to know.” He tried to smile through the pain shooting through his limbs, through the constant ache in his head, the prowling of a beast not quite banished. “To confident. Thought I was strong when I wasn't. Shouldn't have trusted.”

He'd expected a conventional enemy. Something he could kill with bullets and blades, not the psychological weapons that they'd been pitted against. He should have realized. He'd got lazy. At least she hadn't been hurt this time. Propping himself up again, he met her frightened gaze. “We'll be better next time. Fight them together.”

Aislynn braces her feet against the smooth tiled floor to provide some support as Edward levers himself upwards. It is only when she realises what he wants that she bends forwards, allowing the gesture of affection in a moment of courage that would not have been possible for the girl he'd met in the cafe so long before.

At his assertion that she couldn't have known, Aislynn can only shake her head, but even she doesnt know if it is in denial of his words, or in agreement, that there was no predicting such an attack. Her eyes, which had drifted back down to the bedspread after his coughing fit, suddenly lift to his as he speaks of 'next time'. She'd known he meant what he said- of course she had. Months in each other's presence she had learned to stop doubting each word from his mouth... but so readily accepting, not only that they would not part in this room, but that he'd be at her side the next time They came calling? Her throat closed, first with sheer, gratitude, and the with something worse. Bright eyes travel over the wounds she can see, the hand she is so carefully holding with it's missing digit. She remembers the shape of the creature in the darkness, and the unnatural movement across the snow.

"Don't know how." She admits, and her voice is soft, as though afraid that speaking the very words onto the air will make their enemies appear in a moment of triumph. Her lips are pale as she continues, speaking the thought that had been eating at her since the moment she'd woken. "Didn't know how to help you." Her brows draw down at the thought, and after a moment she takes the final step to their reunion, she shuffles herself to sit on the small area of bed at his side, careful not to knock the plaster, or even to touch him more than is necessary. The last thing she wants is more pain.

She licks her lips, and shivers, as chilled by the thought as she had been on the mountaintop. "Don't know how you... came back. Didn't..." She shakes her head softly. "Know how to help."

“Don't be sorry. My fault.”

His tone became short, economical. Despite the definite need for an understanding of what he was fighting, that had to become a secondary concern until they were free from the cloying grip of civilization. Here, a well-intentioned nurse could scupper any plan they made by making a single phone call to child services or the police.

It was more than likely that a pair of local, if not federal officers were camped out in the hospital lobby, just waiting for a chance to quiz him about the bunker full of explosives and illegal firearms. If they couldn't get clear of that, they might as well have given themselves over to Them in the forest.

“Listen.” His voice cracked as he spoke, another tear trickling down his cheek. “You need to go.” The words pained him more than his injuries. After all he'd just said about staying and protecting her, he was telling her to leave. “Find somewhere to hide till I get better.”

She shook her head in silence at his reassurance that it was somehow his fault, but says no more on the matter. She understands enough of Edward by now to know that they could argue this point into the ground, he never willing to accept that she was to blame, and she just as adamant that he could not have known what he was letting himself in for.

At his request that she leave, however, her eyes flick up in sudden, pain filled horror, as for a moment she feels the scything pain in her chest that announces something truly terrible. It passes as he adds that she needs to hide, but her expression eases only slightly, into one of defiance. "Wont. Won't leave you. What if they come? Can't run, can't hide from them." She blinks, suddenly, as the whisper at her shoulder reminds her that if she is elsewhere, and visibly so, then Edward would have nothing to fear. Perhaps they would even assume he'd died... hadn't that been their intention?

The thought frightened her, and one glance at Edward's features told her that he would refuse outright... so she simply nods, as though defeated, dropping her eyes to his plaster-encased chest. "How long?"

“Till they let me leave.”

If they let him leave. The police could easily hold him here until he was well enough to stand trial. Escape would be improbable, even impossible in his current state. Bound up in plaster, he couldn't test the tolerance of his damaged limbs, discover how far he could push himself in a tight situation.

He turned back to Aislynn, trying to keep his doubts buried so they wouldn't show on his face. “We can't let them take you away. Make it easier for them to find you.” He hoped she would understand. She had to understand. He couldn't lose her to something so simple as a concerned bystander after they'd been through so much.

In the back of his mind, the colder part of his mind wondered if it would be easier for her to move on if he was arrested. Maybe she'd put it down to him finally giving in to his doubts.

Aislynn seemed to take some heed of his wishes, but thought longer than he would like. As much as her mind screams that she should go and make as much 'noise' as far from here as possible, the other portion regards the man so encased in plaster and calculates. "Need to be here? Could go. Could make them let us go if it's just.. stillness..." She licks her lips then, her mouth working silently for long moments before she actually manages to speak the words on her mind. "Only one I have. Could look after you."

Even as she says it, the whispers of professionals and patients past roar in disagreement, or enthusiastic advocacy, leaving her half deafened for a moment. The points were pertinent; if she left with him and he only needed to heal, perhaps it would be safer. On the other hand, what if it wasn't? What did she know about broken bones?

A dark part of her mind hisses that she could take one of the shadows with her. Bind it to herself as she has in the past, use it and all it contains to care for Edward. Despite herself, the option grows more substantial in her mind by the moment and she looks towards the near-invalid as he considers his response.

He mulled over her suggestion. It'd be relatively easy to leave if he wanted to. She'd have to wheel him out, but he was well within his right to check himself out of the medical establishment. He doubted that even the police could stop him leaving the hospital without showing their hand. But what if it was more than broken bones? Edward doubted that Aislynn would be able to treat internal bleeding if he jarred his ribs again.

“Don't know. Would be good to get away.” His response was muttered, as if he was talking more to himself than to the girl perched beside him on the bed. The longer they stayed, the risk of being discovered by a misguided but well-intentioned bystander increased, but it'd be easier to get back on his feet inside the hospital.

“Much harder to run like this. Don't know my limits.” Edward continued to mutter, looking between his plaster-covered body and Aislynn's pale, tear-stained face.

His consideration sends her heart soaring into her throat. For a moment she can see, truly see, them leaving. That moment. That day. None would stand between them and the freedom they needed, the privacy that was required in order to keep them off Their radar. Knowing little of his concern about internal injuries, and too stubborn to listen to the whispers attempting to inform her of the danger, Aislynn instead studies his face, her spine a little straighter, her eyes a little brighter. "What do you want?"

Already the dark part of her mind is spinning on how it can be accomplished. What kind of voice, of hands she would need to keep him safe. A Doctor, obviously. One who spoke of emergencies. One who could help him if they needed it... it should not be so hard. Another voice... what was another on top of the handful she already carried with her. On top of those that swarmed her each time they entered some new abode, that flooded the hospital with their memories of joys, relief and pain and trauma.... There were so many to chose from, and she could do it in such little time... Not perfect, no... and there were always the... transitional fluctuations... but... She looked back to Edward, to his casted limbs and pale lips. She had done this to him. They had wanted her. If any were to help him, it should be her.

"What do you want, Edward?"

The ghost of a smile flickered across his ashen features as she began to perk up. He hadn't seen her happy since that fleeting moment under the skins back in the bunker. In answer to her question, all Edward wanted was to keep her safe. He didn't intimate this particular sentiment to her as it wasn't the answer she was looking for. And he was hardly in a position to protect her in his current state.

The silence strung out, his expression falling as he mulled over his options. “...I want to be better.” A momentary burst of frustration swept through him, his hand impacting heavily on the metal bed frame, causing him to wince in pain. “I fucking hate being like this. Feel so helpless.”

He rolled onto his side, knotting his hand with hers as he let out a heartfelt sob.

She had to twist her own fingers suddenly as his movement causes the side of her hand to touch the bandage she'd been avoiding, trying to keep from pressing against the remains of his lost digit. But it is a fleeting thought, and the raw pain of his frustration brings her suddenly to her knees on the bed, and she wraps her arm up and around his head, cocooning it in her own body, as though she can create some shelter from the world outside with only the imposition of her flesh.

Her forehead comes to rest against the side of his head as she does so, and she can smell the scent of disinfectant and sweat upon his skin. She hates it, it was a vile, sharp smell that did not belong on the man who had given so much to protector. He should smell of earth, or smoke, or soap, or food... or any number of things, all of which spoke of freedom, and not such... enforced captivity. Should any of the staff try the door in that moment, they would find it barred against them, as invisible hands pressed it firmly closed. None should see, none should have the right to see, such vulnerability in a man who spent so much of his time, and energy, projecting an aura of strength and competence. She suddenly misses his suit, that had been traded for more inconspicuous attire some time before, and the glasses that she fears lost in the bunker. The plaster, and the hospital gown above it, does nothing to make him seem more... him... and there is nothing, she fears, that she can do about it.

"We can go." She whispers to him. "No one will see. Get better somewhere quiet, no more beeping and hissing." She does not look towards the machines that she had come to hate, but it is an act of will that she does not. Each hiss of oxygen, or light on the monitor had come to grind against her nerves until she'd yearned to throw them through the small, misted window, to regain some of the peace they'd so briefly found. Lords and Ladies, she hated hospitals.

Emotions raged within Edward as he snarled and sobbed against Aislynn, barely aware of the pain in his hand as he pressed against her. All he wanted in that singular moment was to get away from everything, to reclaim something of what they had taken in the bunker. All his self-control evaporated in that second and he began to weep like a child, his tears soaking into the borrowed t-shirt covering Aislynn's wiry torso.

It was some time before he regained enough composure to speak, pulling away slightly from the protective shell she'd created over him to look at her, tears still falling from his pale blue eyes. “Just get me out of here.”

He'd made up his mind. He wouldn't stay in this place a second longer. “I don't care where we go, or how. Just get me the fuck out of here.”

All he had to do was ask.

Perhaps that should have been terrifying, as the softness gains sharp edges on her features, as her free hand removes itself from the back of his head and instead wipes at the wet streaks on his cheeks. "Wait." She pays no attention to the ache in her knees as she pulls herself back to the floor, leaving without a moment's hesitation. He had made a request of her, he wants to leave... and she will not deny him. The corridor is mostly empty, the hour late enough that only those with critically ill relatives were allowed within the walls.

It does not take her long, following the whispers down the corridors, her soft shoes making no sound upon the tiled floor, her wiry frame slipping past workstations and windows unmarked. Where there might have been interference, there was noise. Here, a nurse at the desk is distracted by her coffee mug tumbling from the desk. There, a lightbulb blows unexpectedly. Quiet, normal occurances, that do little more than inconvenience those around her... and distract them from her passing. It would not take long for her to locate a wheelchair, nor an abandoned handbag that she can hang on the handle.

The whispers lead her further, stopping her even as she makes to turn around and head back. Instead she soon finds herself in a small, claustrophobic room, her hands guided by ones more knowledgable than her own. She tries to ignore the multitude of shimmers that have collected, the sounds of weeping, or fury, or... passion, that she cannot entirely avoid. Tablets and vials are tipped into the handbag seemingly at random, and yet with the quiet insistance of the voice in her ear. She pauses, then, her hands clenched around the edge of the metal shelving. That one was useful. That one Knows. Slowly, she draws her focus towards it, and if she glances from screwed-up eyes she can almost see the shimmer gaining a sharper shape at her side. A woman, perhaps. Middling in height, her hair cut short, her hands on her hips as she surveys the shelves. Her features are indistinct, but it is enough. Aislynn turns, and with one hand reaches out to the shadow of a soul...

By the time Aislynn returns to Edwards room, there is a thin trickle of blood tracing down her top lip, and her face has taken on a hue far closer to Edward's plaster than human skin. Still, she is soon at his side, her arms coming up to help him however he needs. She knows that the transfer would not be elegant, and that by the time they manage to put him in the chair her muscles will be screaming, and her lungs heaving, but it will be worth it. He wants to leave.

He tried to help her as best he could, aware of her fatigue and the strain his body would put on hers. The process was made considerably more difficult by his plastered limbs, and muscles that simply wouldn't obey the commands of their owner, much to his frustration which prompted a string of improbable and unlikely profanities interspersed with patches of laboured breathing as the pain overtook him.

Eventually he was slumped in the cheap hospital wheelchair, the metal frame creaking under the combined weight of him and the plaster. It was then he noticed the blood trickling down her chin, and Edward reached out for her, gently wiping the liquid away with the corner of the cheap hospital gown.

“Don't put yourself out at my account.” He said with feigned geniality, trying to make light of a situation that was trying for both of them.

The feeling of hospital gown against her chin was enough to pull Aislynn out of the half-daze she'd fallen into, and she blinks at Edward almost as though she was dragging herself back from a long, long way away. A half smile forms upon her features, reassured beyond words at even his attempt at humour. Then, almost before she can think about it herself, she finds herself bent awkwardly over the wheelchair, pulling Edward into an embrace that is as hard as she dares, her face burried in the side of his neck.

She feels the weakness begin, the dampness at her eyes and the swell of emotion that announces a wave of gratefulness that he is alright... but it would leave her weak and weary, and she knows that. There is no time yet, and so she pulls herself back, sliding a mask of impassiveness over her features with a moment's focus. She would get them out of here. It takes more effort than she would like to admit to get the overburdened wheelchair moving, but once it does she is able to concentrate enough to provide the same minor distractions as she had for her own journey.

Her path wound round the wards, rather than rushing straight for the exit. Anyone who did go so far as to notice them, saw only a man who must have been desparate to see something other than the four walls, and the girl so eager to help him. Was it luck, then, that took her past the room where slowly, quietly, orderlies were unhooking machines and stretching sheets over slack skin? Was it luck that the shade, still shrieking it's final, impractical thoughts onto the air, wondered, almost hopelessly; But who'll look after Montague? Aislynn has to dig the soft soles of her sneakers into the floor to slow the wheelchair, but a moment of focus salvages the fading whisper. She dives after it, gripping the shimmer tightly in her mind, and after a moment when all that could be gained from her is laboured breathing, she has it, an address. She drags herself back to a body that has slowly slumped forwards, resting it's weight on the back of the wheelchair. It takes several breaths to put her feet back underneath her- she is not ready for this level of exertion, but she doesn't, truly, have a choice. A taxi is what they needed. Now. She presses forwards again, but by the time shes half hauled the wheelchair onto the sidewalk outside where such vehicles are waiting, she is pale and drawn, and can barely murmur the address to Edward, let alone make herself heard to the taxi driver who, even now, was moving round to lower the ramp.

The next few minutes past with a blur as Edward grimly clung to the arms of the chair, his face set in a determined expression as he tried to ignore the various pains that stabbed and pricked his battered frame. With whatever mental strength remained, he tried to keep the pain in his subconscious, forever vigilant for any impediment to their flight.

In the corner of his eye, he caught a pair of dark suits moving with unseemly haste with hands raised to concealed headsets. They didn't have long. But soon the suits were lost in the undulating crowd that filled the hospital's lobby, despite the advanced hour. And then they were out in the freezing cold night, the taxi's interior glowing comfortably like a fire-lit room.

Shivering from the intense cold, it was all Edward could do to mutter the strange address to the taxi-driver as Aislynn hauled him up the ramp to safely ensconce him the vehicle's interior.

Minutes later they were off again, through winding streets and wide snow-covered boulevards, holding small independent shops and restaurants uniformly populated by hard-faced folk, all of them used to scraping a living on the edge of existence.

They drove for some time, towards the fringes of the town, where the paved roads became dirt track and the houses became decidedly more rustic. Their destination was at the end of a long drive, bordered by a slumping chicken-wire fence, with the occasional wind-bent sapling jutting up from the frozen earth.

Looming out of the dark like some forest-dwelling creature was a single-story cabin, roofed with corrugated iron and studded with small evil-looking windows framed with iron bars. It was not a happy place.

The driver mumbled some platitude about them not needing to pay after the beating he'd taken, which neatly avoided the awkward situation Edward had been dreading after their journey had come to its end.

He tried not to contemplate whatever awaited them inside the house as Aislynn pushed him up the dirt driveway towards the door, ignoring the biting cold that gnawed at the stumps of his missing fingers and toes. “Let's hope this is nicer than our last place.” He joked half-heartedly, desperate to buoy the girl's spirits.