Tommy sent a thought Reno’s way and zapped himself and Marc to the infirmary. He got Marc into a bed and went looking for Tabitha, probably the only healer available. She was sitting with Doni, watching, he thought, from the angle of her head, not the patient but her son.

She looked up as he entered and followed him out of the room in obedience to his motion.

“Marc’s hurt,” was as far as he got, gesturing towards the room where he’d left him, before she was moving again, swiftly, towards the bed.

She was probing before she reached his side, familiar with his mind from her previous encounter with him and able to enter it with an ease that would have shocked him if he’d known. For her it was simply a matter of tuning, of complementarities. Her mind, once attuned to his was, to his body, simply an extension of it. So, now seen by his body and his unconscious mind as a partner, a natural agent, something familiar and unthreatening, she probed deeply, with exquisite care and attention to detail, searching for injuries. He was burned, but not horribly. He was exhausted again, even more than before. He was bruised, as if he’d been battered with a club and he was bleeding into his belly from damage to his spleen.

She started there, finding the cellular rhythm that was as unique to him as it was to everyone, a signature like his fingerprints and retinal pattern. When she had it she began coaxing it into the work of regeneration, feeding energy into each cell, speeding it along. She guided the cells in patterns that first stopped the bleeding and then began to seal the injury, placing each cell with painstaking precision, leaving no trace of damage, no scarring. Then she moved into the belly itself, slightly distended from the bleeding and began to guide the blood towards his belly button, creating a small opening and sending it outward, onto the towels she conjured. Then, when she was satisfied, she sealed the opening and restored it, leaving no sign there of her meddling.

As she worked she noted, with appreciation, the regenerative abilities innate to him that eased her work, aided and supported it. She noted the scarring and was tempted to repair it, but didn’t. For him that would have been a violation, she thought, of his privacy, his autonomy of self. So she left it. She found and examined the pinpricks in his skull and left them, already being adequately dealt with by his own body. She saw and concluded the same with the burns and the bruising.

Then, after checking everything one more time she withdrew, leaving in her wake a body busy on its own behalf and a man moving into something more like sleep and less like involuntary unconsciousness.

She re-entered reality to find Reno literally breathing down her neck and looking over her shoulder.  "Back up, young man," she said, turning around.

"Yes, ma'am. But is he going to be okay?"

"He'll be fine. Let me take a look at that shoulder."

He backed up.  "It's nothing. Just dislocated. I'll uhm, smash it into a wall or something."

Tabitha gave him a look that made him wonder if he should run for the door.

"Let me see it," she said.

She felt it and felt where the joint properly went and in a thrice it was back where it belonged.  Reno yelped, a bit late.

"You'll need to wear a sling for a time. Keep it still. It will be fine."

"Uhm thanks. Uhm, how is Stephen?  And Doni?  Did .. Is she going to be okay?'

"They're both fine, though I wouldn't expect much sense from either for a while...though," she added drily, "for different reasons."

Reno grinned. "I'll sit with him if you like."

"No you go try to get some rest. Get something to eat first. You look tired."  She reached up and pushed his curls off his forehead. "A shower wouldn't hurt either. What is that smell?"

"Oh, right. The goop Marc uses in his equipment."

"Well, go. Get that shower first though, or you'll get tossed out of the dining room."

"Right," Reno said, and headed toward his room.

Tabitha followed him out.  "Tommy," she said, waving him over and away from Doni's room.  "Go find someone to sit with him, ok?"

Tommy gulped.  "Well, uhm...other than folks we can't spare, since most everyone we could spare are all Home helping out...well uhm...there's me and Dinah."

"Then it'll have to be Dinah for now.  Go find her and bring her here.

Reno was trudging up the stairs to his room to shower and get Marc's evil smelling goop off. He was, he suddenly discovered, exhausted. Probably an after reaction to the adrenalin rush of the day, er, night, er whatever the hell time it was.

He was also thinking about all the people hurt on Home. Could he have done something to mitigate it?  Warned Marc? Would that have even helped.  He honestly didn't know.

So when he heard someone behind him yell, "Hey wait up!" he paused only a second and that pause was filled with a good bit of dread. Why was it, he wondered, every time he saw Melly he was at a distinct disadvantage? And now would she blame him for what happened on Home?

Melly's nose wrinkled. "What's that..."

"Smell," he finished for her. "Goop. I'm headed to the shower already."

"Oh. Well, I wanted to make sure you were all right. You were on the mountain when it began to slide, weren't you? Are you hurt?"

"My arm got dislocated. That's all. I was luckier than most."

"You should have that in a sling," Melly said accusingly.

Reno waved the sling he had with him at her. "I will. I just didn't think anyone would want me to walk around with that smelling of the goop. I'll put it on when I get my shower."

They were at his rooms.  He'd hoped Melly would wave bye at the door but instead she followed him in.

"About that shower..." he said pointedly.

"Oh, go ahead. I'll just wait. I thought we might get something to eat. Together?" she added at his blank look.

"Uhm... "

"Tabitha asked me to be sure you got something to eat," she added.

"Oh," his face fell. "Oh. Right. Yeah. Sure."  He headed into the bathroom, firmly closing the door behind himself. So, it wasn't that she wanted it. It was because she'd been sent by Tabitha. Right.

He showered and tried not to think about that fact that Melly was in the sitting room waiting for him. It was only after he'd dried himself down that he realized he hadn't brought a change of clothes in.  Shit.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and stuck his head out the door. "Sorry. I need to get to my room. I don't have any clean clothes."

"Oh, okay," Melly said, distracted by something she was looking at.

Reno, with what dignity he could muster, crossed the room to his bedroom door and let himself in, leaning against the door as he closed it. HIs shoulder was aching and he felt slightly sick to his stomach.  But he pulled himself together and got dressed. Jeans and a tee shirt was the best he could manage and the tee-shirt part made him feel even sicker.

He tried to get the sling on, doing his best. Then he joined Melly in the sitting room.

"Oh, here, let me fix that," she said, looking at the sling which he hadn't managed very well.

Her hands were cool and sure as they worked on the sling and brushed his back and his neck.

"Hey, you're looking pale. Maybe you'd better sit down," she said.

"Uhm, yeah maybe. My shoulder hurts."

"And, when was the last time you ate?"

"Uhm, no idea really."

"Right," she said.   "You stay here and I'll go bring up a tray for both of us."

"But..." Reno said.

"No buts mister," she said frowning down at him as he sank wearily into a chair. "Seriously, you've had a horrid day."

"Not as horrid as everyone else on Home," he replied bleakly.

She looked at him, caught by his expression, the tone in his voice.  "Reno," she said softly, touching his other shoulder gently to get his attention, "It wasn't your fault."  She waited until he looked at her.  "And, I just heard from Cal that it isn't nearly as bad as they were thinking.  There's a lot of rubble, a huge mess, but most everyone got out of the way and most of the injuries relatively minor."

"Yeah?  Really?"

"Yeah, really. Now stay put and I'll bring us some food."

He'd dozed off by the time she got back, so she set the tray down and sat and watched him for a time. Not much later he awoke. "Oh, sorry. I'm beat."

"I bet. So here, let's eat and then we'll put you to bed."

"Uhm?" he asked looking the least bit panicked.

"To bed. To sleep."

"Right. I knew that."

Melly giggled and they both ate in companionable silence.

Afterwards she helped him get his tee shirt off, then kissed him on the cheek and left him to his own devices.

He lay down, staring at the ceiling.  But no coherent thoughts made it into that brain before he was fast asleep.

Dinah was still pondering the puzzle that was Laszlo when Tommy knocked on her door. She opened it, half expecting Laszlo to be there, returned to confuse her further, no doubt.

Tommy, who’d known Dinah a long time, was somewhat puzzled himself. He had never pictured her as the rendering aid and succor type but was willing to believe Tabitha. Or rather, he certainly was not at all willing to suggest to her that Dinah might not be the best choice for patient sitting; especially since he was the only other alternative. So he was looking rather nervous as he knocked on her door. “Uhm…hi Dinah.”

“Hi Tommy.”

Hmm. Not a promising start. “Uhm, well…er, Tabitha sent me to er…uhm…ask you to help her.” Whew, that was the best approach. Blame it on Tabitha.

Dinah, her voice skeptical, asked, “With what, Tommy?”

“She, uhm…well she needs someone to sit with Marc.”

A flash of something Tommy didn’t catch appeared in her eyes and was gone again. But all she did was nod. “Tell her I’ll be right there,” she said, clearly dismissing him.

Tommy retreated and was glad to do so.

Dinah shut the door and considered the man she’d called a jack-ass to his face before slugging him...as she’d done several times since, trying to figure out what to make of her reaction to him, to whatever it was she had seen in his eyes. With no answer forthcoming this time, just like the others she shook her head, chiding herself for being foolish and went to answer Tabitha’s call for assistance.

Five minutes later, briefed by Tabitha that there’d probably be nothing she’d need to do except wait for him to wake up but she was next door just in case, Dinah was seated at his bedside pondering his face.

The first time she’d seen him he’d been laughing, relaxed, and teasing even. And hung over she added to herself. She’d seen him a few other times, and it had been a distant face, almost unexpressive, giving nothing away, except, she thought, for those eyes. Now he was asleep, and it was relaxed in a different sort of way. It was a strong face, somewhat harsh. It had a lived in look that made the harshness less intimidating when he slept. Awake, she was positive, that wouldn’t be the case at all. This was a man who understood all the uses of intimidation, and practiced them without remorse.

Dinah leaned back in her chair, still musing about Marc and the differences between her reaction to him and her reaction to Laszlo. Her instinct told her that the thing to do with Laszlo was run, not walk, in the opposite direction, that what he wanted wasn’t to be trusted. Whereas with this man, she wanted to explore, to find out what was underneath all the armor he wore.

She was still considering the ramifications of her burgeoning curiosity, hours later, when she heard him stir. She opened her eyes and saw he’d shifted his position in his sleep, so his face had turned slightly in her direction. She concentrated on it, cataloguing the differences his change of position had wrought in the lines and angles, the different play of light and shadow. She looked and admitted to herself she was long past mere interest. She was consumed with curiosity; her interest had turned to intrigue and fascination, her imagination irretrievably captured by him. She leaded forward the better to study his face, and reached out, unthinking, to brush a stray fall of hair away.

His skin was warm, resilient, and compelling under her fingertips. She hesitated, then gave into temptation…after all what harm could it do, she thought, he’s asleep, he’ll never know…and began tracing the shape of his face, drawn to new boldness by the sensation of it…unwilling to stop. Ignoring the voice of caution in her head, she drew her fingers on, over the planes she’d traced so carefully just moments before with her eyes.

She missed the moment his eyes opened up and was concentrating on the strength she saw in his jaw line, so she was startled when her gaze moved upwards to find him awake. They were a dark blue, she was surprised to see.  Once again she was caught in them, held, unable to look away, unwilling to try.

Marc dreamt of death. He'd seen far too much of it, buried far too many colleagues and friends. Dealt in it, seemed to thrive on it. Oh, he'd earned his sobriquet many times over.  But... then his thoughts turned to softer things. A woman's soft fingers on his cheek, a gentle word, he gazing into eyes that seemed to reach out to just him.

When his eyes opened he found he hadn't been dreaming at all.

Her face had been soft, dreamy, like him, off in her own thoughts, unguarded. But even as he gazed at her, she raised her eyes and saw his open. Her face tensed up, lines formed around her lustrous eyes and she drew back a bit.

"Don't stop," he whispered, as he drifted back off into a lighter, more pleasant sleep.