Chapter Twelve

"Oh, shtako."

Doc hadn't expected the best of circumstances when Kenya opened the door, her narrow shoulders harnessing an anxious energy that bordered on full-fledged panic, and her assumptions had only worsened as Kenya lead her toward the bathroom. Amanda sat in the tub, her head lolled against the edge, her skin such a deep red that it gave off a purplish hue, a sign that the ensanguine had depleted much of the oxygen in her blood. As far as upsides went, the only one presenting itself to Doc was that Amanda wasn't dead. Yet. She dropped the black medical case she carried and bent down towards the bathtub, Amanda's heavy-lidded eyes blinking weakly up at her. "What's her temperature?"

"At least one hundred and six," Kenya replied, picking up the useless thermometer she had found in the medicine cabinet and tossing it into the sink. "That's as far as this thing goes." She hugged one arm around her waist, pressing her thumb nervously against her lower lip. "She's been in and out since I got off the phone with you."

Doc peered back at Amanda, her tone more casual than her narrowed gaze. "What did you do, hook yourself up to an ensanguine IV?"

Kenya peered over Doc's shoulder, not expecting Amanda to respond. She had gone quiet, even her moans dissipating into sporadic, body-shaking shivers, despite her rising temperature. Doc reached into the water, picking up a hot, limp arm and studied several elliptical discolorations, small circles of blue amidst the red heat. "Oh, shtako," she said again. "Help me get her out of the tub."

"She's more comfortable in cold water," Kenya protested, not wanting to do anything to reignite Amanda's moans.

"She'll be even more comfortable if she's not dead." Doc stood, moving to place two hands under Amanda's arms. "Her vessels are beginning to burst, which means her oxygen is getting low. I need you to help me move her to the bed."

Kenya needed no more explanation than that, and the two lifted Amanda out of the tub, a feat made more difficult by the slickness of her wet skin and its still searing heat. "The guest bedroom, across the hall," Kenya directed, her hands slipping along the surface of Amanda's legs. They maneuvered her onto the bed, and Kenya got a full on glimpse of the small, elongated bruises that piqued Doc's concern, now spotting along Amanda's legs, in addition to her arms. As Doc focused on the shoe-sized bruises along Amanda's ribcage, Kenya backed into the hallway, taking a moment to lean against the wall, if only to keep the floor from swaying under her feet. She closed her eyes, clutching at the small necklace around her neck, the one Amanda had given her so many years ago. Its surface had been worn over the years with the contours of her own hand, her life having given her many reasons to reach up and clutch it. She pressed her lips against it and kept moving, retrieving a sheet from the hall closet. She dunked it into the bath tub, ringing out the water before moving back to the bedroom and draping it over Amanda, pressing the cool cloth against her skin.

"She had to have had more than three doses," Doc said, placing a small oxygen mask over Amanda's nose and mouth. "I'm going to need to drain her."

"Drain her?" Kenya repeated, not liking the sound of it.

"A reverse transfusion of sorts. I need to get some of the bad blood out of her." Doc ripped open the case she brought with her, pulling out a small, empty plastic bag with a tube of plastic piping attached to it. She attached a small syringe to the tube and reached for Amanda's left arm, turning it so that she could find a vein, her thumb rubbing over the prominent blue lines that seemed to percolate just underneath the skin. The touch, however, ignited an instinctual response in Amanda, and she jerked her arm, suddenly and violently, wrenching away, her legs kicking the air at the end of the bed.

"Bee, hang on," Kenya said soothingly, placing a calming hand on her sister's shoulder. "We're just trying to get some of that bad blood out to make the burning stop. Vampire Doc is trying to help, okay?"

Doc rolled her eyes at the remark, but Kenya's voice did calm Amanda long enough for her to find a vein, and a thin, steady line of blood shot its way from her arm to the plastic bag. It would take at least a couple of pints to recalibrate the toxins in her body, and if it took anymore than that, they'd have to make a trip to the office. Performing such a rare procedure did have its thrills, but Doc enjoyed her sleep, and she was hoping whatever she managed to drain would be enough to forestall any worst case scenario. The past few weeks had given her enough excitement.

Amanda's eyes fluttered to the bag at her side, her own blood coating the inside of it, and for the first time since she stumbled into the house, Kenya saw a pin of alertness pricking through the fog of pain. Doc saw it, too, and leaned forward. "I'm not taking much. Just enough to get your body to produce more blood cells. The rest of the ensanguine is going to have to burn itself out." She looked up at Kenya. "Does she have any juice in the refrigerator? I need something to tide her over until I can get a saline drip in her."

"She's not big on mixers," Kenya answered wryly, but the attempt at humor didn't make her feel better, and she moved off the bed and walked into the kitchen, the floor cool beneath her bare feet. In the back of the refrigerator she found a bottle of juice and unscrewed the cap, taking a whiff of it, although juice a little past its expiration date was the least of her worries. She turned, and her eye caught the photograph that she laid down on the counter earlier, before the night had been ripped out from underneath her. For a horrible, fleeting moment, Kenya imagined the jagged, ripped edge engulfing her sister as well, and a wave of nausea rocked through her, forcing her to balance with both hands on the counter.

A faint sound of an engine echoed outside, Kenya barely registering it until it seemed to creep closer, then completely disappeared, as if someone had killed the engine. She peered out of the kitchen window, the dim light by the back door illuminating only the empty driveway. Despite the stillness outside, anxiety flinted at the back of her mind, igniting into a full flame of paranoia. She made a direct path through the living room, to the antique table by the front door, yanking open the top drawer. Sure enough, the small, wooden box still sat at the back of the drawer, and Kenya wrenched it open, gingerly pulling out the small gun, heavy despite the fact that it was barely bigger than the palm of her hand. It wouldn't do much damage from more than a couple of yards, but it gave her some semblance of control. Unlocking the safety, she tiptoed to the front door, peeking out of a slice of window and seeing nothing. The street outside was just as empty as the driveway at the back of the house. "You're paranoid, Kenya," she muttered, only half registering the fact that she was now not only paranoid, but also talking to herself. She reached for her phone, tucked inside the pocket of the sweater she wore, dialing the one person that she should have dialed over an hour ago.

Nolan picked up on the first ring. "Well, this is my favorite kind of phone call."

"I need you to come to Amanda's."

A thoughtful pause. "I don't get between sisters. Too messy."

Any other time, Kenya would have chastised him, or at least placated him with a laugh, but her humor had seeped out of her over the course of the night, leaving only bare emotion. "Amanda's been hurt. Someone gave her a load of ensanguine. Just get here."

This time there was no pause. "I'm on my way." Kenya could already hear Nolan moving, his voice muffled, as if pulling on a shirt over his head. She hung up, her paranoia already eased by the sound of a voice she could trust. That ease ended with a noise in the kitchen, the sound of the back door opening, a familiar, prolonged creak that Kenya recognized immediately. She raised the gun, creeping down the hallway, sure that the sound of her beating pulse was making much more noise than any movement from the intruder. As she peered into the kitchen, a flash of white startled her. She moved without thinking, ramming a body against the wall, slamming her free arm across its neck. She pointed the gun at a pale, white chin, recognition only seeping into her after a few tense seconds. "What the chup are you doing here?"

"Wait - " Stahma began, but Kenya's arm pressed harder against her throat, stifling the words. Stahma's eyes bulged, and she held up both hands in front of her, not wanting to upset the gun angled at her jaw. "Please," she tried again, dangling the key from her fingers. "Amanda gave me this. I only used it because I can't reach her on her hailer." She closed her eyes, swallowing. "Please tell me she's here."

Kenya's arm didn't relax, confusion flashing through her eyes. She made no move to take the key. "What the hell are you talking about?"

For a moment, Stahma's heart sank. "She is here, isn't she? He wouldn't have - "

"Who wouldn't have what?" Kenya asked lowly, not giving Stahma time to answer before nudging the gun further into her chin. "Did Datak do this? Did your husband do this to her?" She was well aware of Datak's distaste for her sister and for the Council, and she recalled Amanda's appearance in her apartment that morning. It seemed like ages had passed since then. "Is this about that Birch guy?"

"In some regard, yes," Stahma replied, her voice thin as she struggled for air. "I tried to warn Amanda. Her hailer – I couldn't reach her in time." For a second, the pressure on her neck eased, but Stahma didn't move, locked into place like an animal that knew it was prey.

"Sit," Kenya commanded, releasing Stahma's throat and gesturing toward a kitchen chair. Her blue eyes were dark in the low light of the kitchen, as round and as menacing as the black barrel of the gun.

"Kenya - "

"Sit!" Kenya yelled, the gun shaking. Stahma obeyed, if only to prevent it from going off by accident. Kenya was in full protection mode, which meant Amanda had to be somewhere in the house, but it also meant that whatever Datak had done to her, he had completely incapacitated her. "Lawkeeper Nolan is on his way here right now," Kenya continued, her voice humming with fear. "I suggest you start giving me reasons not to have him ship you off to lock-up." The smell of roasted carrots still faintly permeated the kitchen, and Kenya wanted nothing more than to simply sit down at a table with Amanda, a bottle of scotch between them. Having Stahma show up unexpectedly, carrying a key to her sister's home, was only veering her more off course. "Start chupping talking, Stahma."

Aware that the truth was the only barrier of protection she could muster, Stahma began, her voice low and quiet, but hurried. "Your sister and I have been... spending some time together. Datak found out about our indiscretions, somehow - "

"How?"

"I don't know."

"Bullshtako, yes you do."

"I don't know," Stahma said again, this time an edge of a plea in her voice. "Possibly Nicky, but I can't be sure. I didn't tell him anything. I only wanted to warn Amanda."

"It's a little late for that, isn't it?"

"I tried," Stahma pleaded. "You can check my hailer, and see for yourself." She closed her eyes, but thought better of it, opening them after a moment and eyeing the gun instead. "Please let me see her."

"If she was even conscious, what the hell makes you think she would want to see you?"

"I wanted to warn her. I couldn't get away from the house, but I tried to warn her."

Kenya's gaze drifted to the bruises around Stahma's neck, which matched a trail of bruises along her lower jaw. The corner of her lower lip was plump and swollen, and for a moment, the gun faltered. "Amanda never said anything to me about the two of you."

The light in the room flicked on, blinking to its full brightness and Doc appeared in the doorway, a brief arch of her eyebrows the only emotion she showed as she caught sight of Stahma at the kitchen table. "I don't meant to disturb your tea party," she said, picking up the container of juice off the counter.

Stahma fought the urge to rise from her chair, wanting to follow Doc back to Amanda, her mind whirling with the possible heinous acts her husband could have committed. "What happened to her?" she asked. "Tell me she is okay."

"Let's just say, her blood is boiling," Doc replied easily, but her tone carried the slightest protective lilt as she stared down at Stahma. Her connection to patients was tethered solely by their condition, and she didn't appreciate being disturbed, especially by those who may have had something to do with the condition in the first place.

Stahma made the connection immediately. "Ensanguine?" she asked, her throat closing around the word. She kept her hands clasped tightly in her lap, locking her fingers together so hard that they hurt. She cursed Datak, mouthing the words of a vengeful prayer, but it did nothing to calm the fear riddling along in her stomach. If Amanda had been Castithan, or hadn't held the title of Mayor, Datak would have most certainly killed her. And Stahma knew that, knew the price of their affair long before she entered into it; she was just as much to blame, had just as much a hand in poisoning Amanda as her husband did. "Can I see her?"

Doc glanced at Kenya. "Why don't you ask the woman with the gun."

Kenya still held the weapon at her side, but she turned to Doc, her anger subsiding, replaced with the fear of a younger sister. "Did draining her help?"

"The bruising didn't get any worse, and her temperature is down a couple of degrees. On the bright side, the pain finally knocked her out."

Stahma glanced at the window behind the kitchen sink, the same window that she had peered out of only a day before, and locked onto the small, green plant that sat on the sill. "Angelica flower," she said, pointing to it. "That, along with some loci oil will help draw out the fever and cool her down. It seeps into the skin."

"We've passed the alternative medicine stage," Doc deadpanned.

Stahma eyed her sharply, her own eyes as fiercely protective as Kenya's. "It will help," she insisted. "It will at least give the sensation of drawing out the pain. Your own doctors used it in the last plague." She glanced at Kenya. "You don't have to let me see her, but at least let me make it for her."

Doc rolled her eyes. "Should I abort the saline drip I just hooked into her or will your bouquet of cures cover that, too?"

Kenya stared down at Stahma, something other than fear now talking through her. "Make it. Tonight, we're going with plans A, B, and C. Whatever works."

"Plan C, for crazy," Doc murmured, taking the juice and leaving them behind.

Stahma eyed the gun, but Kenya kept it angled at the floor. She moved carefully out of her seat, aware of the half-accusing eyes on her back as she plucked several leaves off the plant. Retrieving a small clay bowl from the upper cabinet, she dropped the leaves in, and poured a small drizzle of water into it, crushing the leaves with a small pestle. Loci oil, she knew from her explorations, was in the cabinet by the refrigerator, the one just above the toaster. She poured a few drops into the angelica concoction, the mixing of the two bringing out a strong, minty aroma.

Kenya watched, perplexed by how expertly Stahma commanded the kitchen, and she wondered just how many times she had been there, and how long her sister had been sleeping with this woman. "Amanda never mentioned any of this to me," she said again.

"For awhile there was nothing to tell," Stahma answered, the repetitive motion of the pestle, the scrape of it against the porcelain, helping to focus her thoughts.

"And then what?"

"And then..." Stahma trailed off, words failing to come to her as she ground the leaves along with the oil. "Our feelings changed. But the circumstances around us didn't."

Kenya let the words sink in, the meaning of them burning, as if they were tainted with ensanguine, too. Amanda was a pragmatist, a woman whose emotion only tended to reveal itself after a couple of glasses of Scotch. She would have known better than to directly challenge a Castithan man by engaging his wife. Better yet, Stahma knew the circumstances as well. She studied the rigidness of Stahma's shoulders, and imagined the fear that coursed through them, but squeezed any tinge of sympathy from her tone. "What will Datak do to you?"

Stahma's steady hand stalled for a moment. "He's already done his worst." As she turned, her eyes caught the photograph on the counter, recognizing the pair of young sisters, but Kenya snatched it before she could say anything about it. Amanda may not have held back with Stahma, but Kenya wasn't about to open up to her. A loud pounding against the back door startled both of them, but Kenya recovered quickly, spying Nolan's shape through the peephole and unlatching the door. He barreled through it, his usual uniform still on, cargo pants and jacket, but his hair was ruffled. His eyes immediately caught sight of Stahma, who stood against the counter. He didn't seem nearly as surprised to see her there as Kenya had.

"What the hell happened?"

Kenya glanced back at Stahma. "Why don't you ask her. I'm going to check on Amanda."

As she turned, Stahma slid the bowl of angelica oil over to her. "Here. Rub this along her pulse points and at the bottoms of her feet. It should help with the pain."

Kenya glanced at the bowl, then back up at Stahma, her defenses lowering long enough to utter a quiet thanks before walking back to the bedroom, leaving Nolan and Stahma to share a stony, uncomfortable silence. Stahma stared after her, desperately wanting to follow, but she knew Nolan was quick to draw his weapon, and she was in no way equipped to test his temper tonight.

"What the chup are you trying to pull?" Nolan took a heavy step towards her, but she stood her ground, looking back at him.

"I know how this appears, Nolan, but I swear that I told Datak nothing. Nothing about the key and nothing about - " the words failed her, guilt catching in her throat.

"Nothing about what?" Nolan pressed. "Nothing about the game of pussy and mouse the two of you are playing?" He his head, unsure of whether to be concerned for Amanda, or downright angry at her for behaving so recklessly. There were plenty of women to mess around with, but he had learned over the course of his time on new Earth that the surest way to welcome pain into your life was to mess around with a married Castithan woman. "You didn't think Datak might be a little upset if he ever found out about the two of you?"

"It's easy to control the mind. It's not so easy to control the heart."

Nolan rolled his eyes. "Well, now it's my job to control the situation. I should take your husband into the Western prison right now, forego the lockup completely. But, there's a part of me that's very curious what he'll do to you."

"There's a part of me that would gladly let you take him there," Stahma replied, the weight of the truth heavy on her shoulders. "But, you know you can't do that."

"Ah, here it comes," Nolan said, nodding. "The part where you go back to protecting your husband."

"If you arrest him, you risk upsetting every Castithan in Defiance," she reminded him, letting his contempt slide past her. "Not only Datak's entire army in the Hollows, but every rationally-minded Castithan who still abides by the norms of our culture. Datak acted in a way consistent with the tenets of our faith, and if you tamper with that, you tamper with the norms of this town." The words were hollow, as if the marrow had been sucked out of them, unable to sustain her. She believed them, but they disgusted her, even as she uttered them. On Casti, she wouldn't have given a second thought to the punishment her husband doled out for such behavior, but as much as her kind had changed this new planet, it had also changed her.

"You don't give a shtako about Amanda," Nolan rebutted. "Not in any goddamn way that matters. If that was true, you never would have let things get this far."

The pride that she usually carried so squarely on her shoulders was gone, and Stahma merely turned her gaze to the floor and allowed the words to sink into her like tiny hooks, piercing whatever resolve had lead her back to Amanda. If anything, her presence was putting both of them even more at risk, and for what? For some selfish need to ease her own conscience? Still, she didn't like the way Nolan challenged her. "And as Lawkeeper, you should have never let Mayor Riordan and Birch get this far, either."

The remark quieted him, pricking at his own guilt, which had nicked at him on the ride over. Amanda had taken a chance on him, and it had gotten her nowhere. "Riordan and Birch want the artifact, and this was one way to get it, wasn't it? To betray your affair to Datak and let him go after her. Let's just hope Amanda didn't give him anything."

"She wouldn't do that."

"Still don't see it, do you?" he asked, leaning forward, somewhat amused by her blindess. "You make her vulnerable. And Datak knows that. If he let the both of you live, it was for a reason. He ain't finished yet, darlin'."

She had come across many humans who thought they understood the values of the Castithan race, but this understanding was merely a mask for hatred. It was easy to vilify a people when their traditions differed so greatly from one's own. Stahma knew this. Datak was intent on preserving the rituals of their homeland, despite the fact that this new world didn't welcome them, but their relationship was complicated, to say the least. It had been since the first moment they met, and the two of them had been tacitly breaking some of the most important part of their traditions for years, even if they didn't speak of it. Whatever Nolan thought he understood about their marriage, he was mistaken. "I know how to handle Datak."

"Why didn't you handle him earlier, then?"

Her memory rocked back to the bath, the feel of Datak's hand on her neck. "I tried."

"If he follows you here, I'm taking him in. I'll turn him over to the E-Reps just as fast as I'll turn over Nicky and Birch."

"He won't follow me." Stahma knew that much. Many would mistake Datak's actions for mere anger, or a need to be in control, but she knew better: she had hurt him. Her betrayal, and the fact that she had satiated some need outside of their marriage without telling him, had stung something deep inside him. In less than a fortnight, she had managed to destroy the two people, aside from Alak, that she had cared about most.

"Burning Beauty is awake," Doc announced, returning to the kitchen and refilling a glass with water. "In pain, and still as stubborn as always, but awake."

This time, Stahma didn't make a move toward the hallway, guilt melting her in place. Nolan gestured past her, giving her a look meant to cut. "By all means, Mrs. Tarr. Let's go see exactly how much damage your husband has done." He waited for her to go first, and Stahma didn't have to look back at him to know that his hand perched just above his gun holster, but his lack of trust was the least of her worries. She followed Doc toward the bedroom, where Kenya's voice floated out to them.

"Amanda, for my sake, please just lay back down and get some rest. You can barely sit up." She was tying a robe around Amanda's torso as they stepped into the room. Stahma recognized it as the same one she had worn less than a day earlier, but the gaunt figure wearing it was not the same Amanda that permeated her thoughts. She was familiar with the effects of ensanguine, had even heard of her husband's own use of the drug during his bouts at the Hollows, but that knowledge did nothing to prepare her to see Amanda in such a weakened state. Her normally healthy skin was pale, but still sheened with a layer of beaded sweat, her eyes bloodshot, the bags underneath them making her appear skeletal and almost ghostlike.

"Down, human." Doc reprimanded Amanda, extending the glass of water towards her. "I didn't wrap those ribs of your so that you could jostle them around."

Amanda reached for the glass, but her hand stopped shakily in midair as she caught sight of Stahma. For the first time, she was conscious of something other than pain, and a bloom of relief swelled in her chest, popping with a slow, controlled sigh. "Are you okay?" Her throat was still scratchy, her voice sounding muffled inside her own head, and for a moment she wondered if the words carried to the other side of the room, where Stahma stood, unmoving, her eyes unreadable.

Stahma had prepared herself for anger, or at the very least, mistrust, and the blatant concern in Amanda's eyes caught her off guard. She couldn't speak, her heart seeming to break open and flood her chest. She managed what felt like a nod, but she didn't know if her head had actually moved. All she knew was that the ground beneath her feet suddenly felt less solid. The idea of running toward Amanda ran through her head, but something, perhaps it was fear, kept her rooted in place, unable to embrace the woman she had gone through so much to see again.

Amanda didn't take her eyes off of her. "Will you guys just give Stahma and me a minute alone?"

"Isn't that what got you into this trouble in the first place?" Doc asked, but shrugged. "Fine. Just don't mess up the saline drip." She walked out, leaving Kenya and Nolan behind, who appeared as if they weren't going to give up so easily.

Amanda looked over at her sister, who still sat beside her, a protective, calming hand on her forearm. "Mouse." Amanda grabbed her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze and pressing her lips against the knuckles. "I told you I'd be okay, didn't I?'

"Don't be such a chupping know-it-all," Kenya muttered, brushing a wet strand of hair off of Amanda's forehead and stealing a glance at Stahma. "I think you should be resting. There will be time for everything else later."

Amanda may have been weakened, her brain more occupied with the dull ache still running through her body than with anything else, but she was aware that she and Stahma were now on borrowed time. "No, there's not," she said, her eyes filled with an empty sadness that Kenya knew had everything to do with the woman still standing, statue-still, by the doorway. She nodded slowly, rising from the bed, grabbing Nolan's bicep as she passed, a tacit beckoning to follow her. Nolan, however, stood in place, crossing both arms across his chest and prompting Amanda to look over at him. She barely had the strength to summon anything remotely resembling authority, but tried anyway. "Nolan."

"Uh-uh," he said, shaking his head. "Do you realize how stupid both of you are? That whatever hand up we had on Nicky and Birch is gone now, because the two of you couldn't keep your panties cool enough?"

Kenya pulled at Nolan's arm again. "Hey," she said softly, but her tone carried a warning. "This isn't the time."

Amanda stared darkly at him as she sat straighter along the bed, her feet touching the floor, a hand on each side of her helping her balance, but she felt a wave of weakness that almost sent reeling back against her pillows. "I will fix this."

"You'll fix it?" Nolan asked disbelievingly, a grin on his face that covered his anger, which, if he had been alone, would have only been addressed at himself, but now, in Amanda, he had an outlet. "How's that? You got a time machine?" He glanced at Stahma, jerking a finger at her. "Does she have a time machine? Because that's about the only way you're going to fix this."

Amanda recognized the outburst for what it was: some way to regain a hold of a situation that had completely spiraled out of control. She couldn't blame him. Still, her exhaustion, fear, and pride buttressed her against him, and she steeled her gaze at him as she reached over and grabbed the empty juice cup on the night stand. "While you're out there chupping yourself, get me some more juice. With Scotch." She raised the glass at him, daring him to do anything other than grant her request.

Nolan stayed silent for a few moments, staring back at her, but he eventually moved forward, taking the glass from her, which amounted to some sort of unspoken apology, before placing his hand at the small of Kenya's back, guiding her out of the room. Stahma stayed in place, still seemingly frozen. Her eyes found Amanda again, but she couldn't move forward. The weakness, the pain, the pale gaze, it all stemmed from her: she was the cause.

"Stahma?" Amanda tried, managing what felt like a small smile. "I promise I won't bite. Or burn." She swallowed, her tone gentle. "Come here."

Another moment passed before Stahma lurched forward, crossing the room in two quick strides and falling to her knees in front of Amanda, pressing her head into her lap. She mumbled something her thigh, but the words were muffled. Amanda lifted her chin, recognizing the Castithan redemption prayer that she had seen recited before, mostly before a ritual cleansing practice, those that came off more like torture than redemption. In a brief flash of irony, she wondered why Datak hadn't made her recite such a prayer before he ensanguined her. "No," she said calmly, pressing a finger over Stahma's lips. "I've had enough redemption for one night, okay?"

Stahma seemed lost, unsure of what to offer instead. "I'm sorry," she managed, and shook her head, her eyes glassy. "I didn't tell him. I don't know how it happened, but I tried to convince him I was only trying to get information from you. I couldn't fix it." Her eyes narrowed and her hands clenched Amanda's thighs. "But I will."

Amanda didn't respond, instead taking in the flush of bruises along Stahma's neck and jaw, and the bright redness of her swollen lip. "We have to get you out of Defiance. I can arrange a roller and have Tommy escort you to the border."

Stahma peered up at her, understanding the concern, but she shook her head. "I can't leave."

"Stahma - "

You're still warm," Stahma observed as she got to her feet, the backs of her hands brushing across Amanda's cheeks before pushing her gently back against the pillows. She leaned forward, taking the wet cloth on the side table and pressing it against her forehead. Amanda closed her eyes, allowing the coolness to blanket her consciousness, but only for a few seconds.

"Datak will kill you, Stahma. He's using you, only to get his hands on the artifact."

"Then he still needs me, doesn't he?" Stahma took Amanda's hands in her own, tracing the lines of her fingers. "Which means I can still help. I'm the closest connection you have to Nicky and Birch. If I can give Datak something to let him know I was in some way trying to help, to get information for him, then I can repent." Amanda averted her gaze, clenching her jaw, but Stahma continued. "You said yourself that Nicky and Birch are after Eighth Race Votech and that the artifact may be it. What does it do?"

"I don't know." Amanda attempted to rise again. "I need to talk to Doc."

"You need to rest. You hired a Lawkeeper for a reason. He will talk to her."

Amanda lay back, her eyes foggy from the medication that at least now could run unperturbed through her veins, dulling the subsisting ache. "I never dream about the Old World," she said softly, her eyes locked onto a place just beyond Stahma's head. "I used to try to force myself to dream about it by thinking about my parents, or Kenya, or the taste of soda or pop-tarts. I use to eat those as a kid." Her mind was becoming as foggy as her vision, and at least this time, she welcomed it. "It never worked. Maybe that girl, or that world, never really existed. That's easier, right? To not remember it? If I remembered all the good things from the old world, would I really work so hard to save this one?"

Stahma watched the heavy blink of Amanda's eyes, knowing that her five minutes, as well as their brief affair, was almost over. "We have a saying, in Castithan, that means, 'If you don't share, it dies'. It's one of the reasons you always hear Castithans speak about our home planet, and try to preserve our ways, even the poorer ones, with such zeal. Perhaps you just need someone to share in those memories." Even as she said it, she knew that she would not be that someone, her voice caught in the back of her throat, forcing her to take a breath.

"Are you telling me to find a nice boy, Stahma, and settle down?" Amanda's laugh came out as more of a sigh, but it still made Stahma smile, and she leaned over, pressing a kiss against her lips.

"Just rest, okay? You won't be useful to anyone if you don't."

"Promise me you'll stay here, Stahma. We can help you."

Stahma moved to the end of the bed, climbing on top of it and coming to rest beside Amanda, moving the cloth at her forehead long enough to place a kiss on her temple. "Promises are a human concoction."

Amanda closed her eyes. "Apparently so is love."

"We call it something different." Stahma placed her lips at Amanda's jaw, still catching some of her familiar scent. "But it feels the same." She moved the damp cloth to Amanda's temples, then her neck, then her wrists, interspersing the soothing cyle with light kisses against hot skin, keeping it up until she was the only one of the two of them still awake. She heard someone pass by the open bedroom door, but didn't bother to look back to see who it was, keeping her senses locked on Amanda: the warm feel of her skin, the sound of her low, steady breathing, the gentleness in her jaw as she slept. She stayed for a few more minutes before she crept off the bed.

Staying was a promise beyond her reach. But making sure that her husband never went near Amanda again, that was a promise she could keep, but she would need Nolan in order to do it.

Thank you for reading!