Chapter 8: Hands Like Secrets

I bled all over the passenger seat in Jack's car. I'd almost convinced him to take me back to his apartment and patch me up himself, but I blew it when I looked down and casually noticed that I had a Lichtenberg figure seared across my right shoulder and—upon closer inspection—halfway down my arm, too. When I asked if he thought it looked like a bunch of tree branches, he pulled a U-turn and drove straight to the hospital.

I only vaguely remembered what happened after that. A nurse pushing a wheelchair met us at the car. I asked her if she thought my soon-to-be-scar looked like a tree, too. She answered in Japanese, but I assumed it meant yes, and that pleased me much more than it would have had I not been suffering a huge amount of blood loss. Throughout the whole thing, Jack said very little. And that concerned me a lot less than it should have.

When I woke up the next morning, he was sitting sideways over a chair next to my hospital bed—a position not quite sophisticated enough for MI6's top field agent, but I suspected he'd stopped worrying about sophistication soon after setting foot in the hospital. Even from this angle, I could see the circles under his eyes and the thin, frowning line of his mouth as he read through my patient chart.

I cleared my throat, doing my best to clear the last vestiges of chemically induced sleep from my body and voice. "Did you filch that from one of the nurses?"

Jack quickly looked up, the faintest hint of a smile showing through the exhaustion in his expression. "Just making sure the doctors haven't missed anything." Relief softened the lines around his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"Not too bad, actually." And that was, surprisingly, the truth. Aside from a dull throbbing along my spine and across my ribs, I felt somewhere close to normal. "How long have I been here? And when can I leave?"

"Not quite twelve hours. Now that you're awake, they'll probably discharge you."

"Good. I don't want to be here any longer than absolutely necessary. Being back in a hospital bed is kind of freaking me out." I regretted saying the words almost as soon as they were out of my mouth. Jack and I had seen each other almost every day since I'd arrived in Japan; we were familiar in our exchanges, attuned to the signals we'd learned to read in each other long ago, so it had been a mutual understanding—silent, but mutual—that our past was off-limits. We didn't talk about it so much as we skirted around the edges. Tricky when the whole reason I was here was because of something that had affected both of us so deeply.

"No one's been in but the doctors," Jack said eventually. "201 never tried to sneak in and finish the job."

I nodded grimly, the job being to kill me. And now I knew that Jack believed he'd try. "Think that means he's giving up?"

"No. It just means he's smarter than Annika was." He held my gaze a few seconds longer, gauging the reaction I was doing my best to conceal, before turning his attention back to my chart.

"Have you been here all night?" I asked, determined to go on as if he hadn't just said Hemlock's name out loud. "Is backseat-doctoring your new hobby or something?"

"I find doctors do better work when in fear for their lives."

I stared at him. "Jack."

"Joking," he said, voice flat.

"No, you're not."

He didn't look up from the chart, but he gave a thoughtful hum that must have been a concession. Since I knew I wasn't going to get anything else out of him, I gestured at the chart in his hands.

"What are you reading?"

"The results of your NCS." When he glanced up at the heart monitor mounted on the wall behind me, he did it without looking me in the face. "I gave them your medical history. You received a blood transfusion to replace what you lost, and you've been stable for the last five hours."

"Annnd now you're talking like a doctor."

He snorted. "Don't tell me you're feeling nostalgic?"

"Maybe a little. What did the tests say?"

"Your conduction velocity values are within normal range. Your arm and shoulder are fine—BK-201 didn't damage the nerves. However…"

Our eyes met again, but, when he didn't continue, I had to echo him with a "However…?" to get him going.

"You've got thirty-two stitches between your left shoulder blade and your spine." I had expected as much after getting sliced and diced by a katana, but his tone made it sound like that wasn't the worst of it—what was coming next was. "They're going to pull if you don't wear a sling."

Okay. Not the end of the world, but that didn't mean I was going to do it. "I need both of my hands," I protested. No way I'd be going into a fight with one had almost-literally tied behind my back. "I'm not wearing a sling."

Unsurprised, Jack shook his head at the ceiling. "I know."

"So you're not allowed to pester me about it."

"Fine, but you're not allowed to complain when it hurts. No oh, Jack, it hurts so. Where did I go wrong?" he countered, mimicking my voice, American accent and all. "Because I'll just tell you that you should have worn a sling." He met my answering scowl with a perceptive raise of his eyebrows. "I know you."

"Shut up. I don't sound like that."

Both of us looked towards the door when someone knocked and it swung open. Misaki Kirihara paused in the doorway and peered inside over the rim of her glasses. "Morning. Mind if I come in?"

"Not at all," I said, motioning her inside and struggling to hide the resulting twinge of pain from my stitches.

Misaki crossed the room, raising an eyebrow at the way Jack had chosen to sit before swatting at one of his expensive shoes. "How are you feeling?" she asked me. She sat down on the armrest after Jack, grumbling, made room for her. If I hadn't liked her before, I did now.

"I feel fine," I said. "A little sore, but Jack tells me I'll survive."

"Good." Her eyes narrowed behind her gleaming lenses as she leveled Jack with a suspicious glare. "Any reason in particular the doctors and nurses are afraid to come in here?"

Jack suddenly seemed to find the ceiling very interesting. "No idea what you're talking about."

"Right. Something about freezing their asses to the floor for incompetence?"

He looked at her askance, icy eyes narrowing as if struggling to recollect. "That does sound like me, doesn't it?"

"Luckily, they only think you're a psychotic, foreign doctor—not a psychotic, foreign Contractor."

"Oh, good. Because I was worried about that."

"Doctor, by the way?"

"Years ago." Jack stole a glance at me, our eyes meeting just long enough to understand each other. A whole landscape of dangerous territory stretched out on the other side of Misaki's question, and we'd just crossed the border.

"Might have been nice to know," Misaki said, crossing her arms. "Why'd you stop?"

"Oh, nothing you'd want to hear about. Questionably ethical human experiments and the like."

I feigned a mixture of doubt and horror just in time for the quick look Misaki cast me before she turned back to Jack.

"That was a joke," he said, as if there had ever been any doubt.

Misaki shook her head. "Right. Well…" Serious-faced, she carefully stood up and took two steps away from Jack. I had to stifle a laugh. What had Jack said about Misaki not having a sense of humor? Because it seemed he'd been wrong.

"Anyway, I'm glad you're okay, Charlie," she said. "I have to admit I feared the worst when I heard it was BK-201."

"Misaki has been gunning for him," Jack explained. "It seems he pops up in the most unexpected places, hm?"

"That's an understatement," Misaki snorted. "I actually had a run-in with him a few weeks ago. I wasn't his target—I went to an old friend's birthday party, and it… ended badly. But I've seen what he can do up close. He's ruthless and unpredictable."

"Not the best combination," I murmured.

Jack sighed. "Decidedly not."

"Is that from when he shocked you?" Misaki pointed to the still-red web of raised flesh extending from my right shoulder down to my elbow.

"She's quite proud of it," Jack said. "Thinks it looks like a tree."

I shot him a peeved look. "It does look like a tree. You're just disagreeing to be an insensitive jerk-ass."

"Foulmouthed harpy."

"It sort of looks like a river," Misaki said, seemingly engrossed as she bent over my arm, but I caught the amused quirk of her mouth. "I've never seen one of these before. Not on a living person, anyway." She hesitated before continuing. "I hope this isn't rude of me to say, but I'm surprised he let you live. BK-201 isn't known for leaving survivors. Quite the opposite, actually. I figured that, after Havoc was terminated, he'd be out for blood."

"He all but told me he'd be back," I said.

She looked up into my face, her brown eyes widening. "That's… troubling."

"You didn't mention that." Jack stiffened, his face closing off as he leaned forward in his chair. "What else did he say?"

"And how did he get to you?" Misaki asked. "Security said you stayed late last night."

"Yeah, I wanted to finish reading Nathaniel's case file—and I almost did, but I left a little before midnight."

"Where did you go after you left?"

Disguising the fact that my mind was racing took all of my concentration. What I had really done after leaving the hospital wasn't something I was about to tell a police chief, whether I liked her sense of humor or not. "I started walking to the subway station up the street. The one that starts with an N."

"Nishishinjuku Station," Jack supplied.

I nodded. "I thought I was being followed, so I took a detour and tried to lose him. And that didn't work. Obviously. I tried to fight back, but he knocked me out," I said, the whole time aware of Jack's unwavering gaze. "When I woke up, we were on a roof somewhere."

"And that's when he answered your phone and talked to Jack?"

Again, I nodded.

"It's strange that BK-201 chose to go after you rather than April or July." A crease formed between her eyebrows as she took a moment to stare at her shoes. Her thought process was so clearly written on her face that I could almost hear her thinking. "I mean, April and July are part of your team," she continued, sending a wary glance Jack's way. "MI6 just brought Charlie in a couple weeks ago, right?"

"At my recommendation," Jack answered. "And Charlie is a significantly easier target than April or July."

Misaki nodded slowly, understanding, as her coffee-colored eyes shifted back to me. "You're human."

Gathering myself, I had the presence of mind to put on a what can you do? smile. It almost worked. "One of the perks of not having superpowers or being able to see specters, huh? They have us at a disadvantage."

"True." With a sly quirk of her brow, she turned slightly towards me and away from Jack. "We'll just have to make up for it in other ways, won't we?"

Jack eyeballed her. "What other ways?"

"Guns," she said, and I felt my face freeze. "Do you want a security detail, Charlie?"

"Oh! That's—" not necessary, but, before I could go on, Jack finished the thought for me. Sort of. I was too relieved that Misaki hadn't completed that thought with 'by the way, we found both of your illegal firearms at the scene' or something equally as damning to care much about Jack's interjection.

"MI6 can put a detail together."

I raised my eyebrows, sure that Jack could read the suspicious skepticism in my expression, especially since it was mirrored on Misaki's face. All three of us knew what—or, more accurately, who—the one-man detail would be.

"Just offering," Misaki said, her expression tightening into a slight frown. "Don't you have enough on your plate?"

"Your concern is very touching," Jack said, the corners of his mouth turning upward in a wry grin that was probably less a sincere gesture than it was a deflection, "but it's nothing I can't handle."

"All right." Misaki shrugged and headed for the door, pausing only to wave over her shoulder. "Let me know if I can do anything to help. See you later, Charlie."

I watched the door slowly swing closed behind her, waiting until I heard the latch click to turn to Jack. I knew he was going to have questions, that he was going to want details, so that's what I was expecting: words and question marks hanging in the air. I wasn't prepared for the deeply lined look of resignation on his face when our gazes finally met. His eyes, usually so electric in color and in the way he took everything in, seemed duller, less attentive. I knew he hadn't slept, so I could only hope that was what had him so off-kilter.

"Even Contractors need sleep, right?" I asked, doing my best to inject a note of levity into my voice, but I wasn't sure if it was for my benefit or for his. I wasn't even sure if it was real, not with the way my stomach dropped when Jack's face remained Contractor-still, Contractor-empty. "Jack?"

"What you told Misaki. Is that really what happened?" he asked, each word dropping like a pin in the silence of the room. "Or is there something else I should know?"

"Jack, not here." I dropped my head, my eyes inadvertently landing on my arm, on the Lichtenburg figure that all at once fascinated and horrified me. "Please, I—"

"Is there something else?"

My eyes snapped up to meet his at the cold insistence in his tone. I didn't know how to interpret what it made me feel: guilt, fear, anger, regret. Or maybe a mix of all four.

"He took my guns," I said, voice lowered. "After I emptied them."

For several seconds, Jack only watched me, that same look of resignation on his face. I was beginning to understand that the burning in my chest was guilt, just guilt, when his expression finally cracked—but not into something any less disconcerting.

"This was sitting on an air duct." Shifting in his chair, he reached into his jacket and pulled my phone from one of his pockets. Silently, he stood up and handed it to me. "I'll go find someone to discharge you."

"Thanks…"

I barely had any time to process what had just happened—Jack hadn't even made it out the door—before a bark I immediately recognized as belonging to Bard came from somewhere out in the hall. The sound of his nails scraping the tile immediately followed, ending with a collision on the other side of the closed door.

I looked at Jack in confusion and surprise. "Did you call Li?"

"I did," he answered. "Found his number on your phone."

I didn't ask what else he'd found on my phone—partly because he wasn't the type to snoop, and partly because I didn't want to know if he'd seen Kane's restricted number in my call history.

Jack placed his hand on the door handle and looked back at me as if he were about to pull the lid off a bomb. "Brace for impact."

Bard was through the door and taking off with all the force of a rocket before I had time to blink. He landed across my legs and almost slid off the other side of the bed. I was still adjusting to the additional hundred or so pounds of dog on top of me when he stuck his nose in my face, crazy canine eyes staring intently into mine.

"Bard?"

He made a sound that wasn't quite a howl or a growl, but there was enough gravel in it to communicate his displeasure. And, since I was trapped between Bard and the pillows, I didn't have any choice but to listen and put on my best apologetic face.

"Looks like he missed you."

I glanced up at Li's voice and managed to wave. "Hey, Li! Tch, Bard, stop…"

Bard kept his long nose in my face a few seconds longer, only relenting when Jack called him over and placated him with a scratch behind the ears. "Somebody's pouting," Jack said, raising an eyebrow at me before he turned for the hallway. He barely managed to mask the uneasy look he threw in Li's direction before glancing at me. "I'll be back," he said, with a cursory wave of his hand.

Bard watched him go, then sat down by the door and leveled me with his best version of a glare, which amounted to him staring up at me through his fuzzy eyebrows. It leaned closer to hilarious than intimidating, but I wasn't about to let on. After our strained departure yesterday, he'd more than likely figured out that I'd kept something important from him and then lied about it.

"How'd you get him in here?" I asked Li, motioning for him to take Jack's vacated chair. I eyeballed him, wary, as he crossed the room, casting a tall shadow on the far wall. It wasn't that I was bracing for a harsh reproach or something similar—for one thing, I didn't think Li had the personality for initiating confrontations—but I'd lied to him, too. And he knew it.

"I said he was a service dog," Li said, distracted. He shed his jacket, folding it over his arm before sitting down. His cheerful demeanor seemed to wilt as he regarded me, much like it had when he'd grabbed my arm yesterday. "Are you all right?"

"I'll be okay," I said, hoping I sounded more reassuring than I felt as I lifted my arm for him to see. "This looks worse than it actually is."

Grim-faced, Li took in my long, winding burns with serious eyes. "What happened?"

"Electricity happened. And it's sore and my fingers feel kind of numb and tingly, but my inner scientist thinks it's awesome. In a horrifying kind of way."

"A Lichtenburg figure," Li said, leaning in to get a better look. The chair creaked as his weight shifted towards me. "It looks like a tree."

"Thank you," I laughed. "I couldn't get anyone else to agree with me."

Li gave me a weak smile that was clearly more for my benefit than out of amusement. So I let my expression go lax and took a cleansing breath.

"You went to meet the Contractor," Li said, his voice dropping in volume to a low murmur.

I nodded, all my levity gone. "Didn't go as well as I hoped."

"Why did you go?"

I pursed my lips, feeling myself trying to close off—find a way around explaining myself. I wondered how weird it would be if I asked if we could please not discuss this in front of the dog. Bard was still glaring at me, and I wasn't sure how much willpower he had left to keep from reacting to whatever I revealed.

"It's complicated." With a shake of my head, I looked away from Li and stared at the curtained window. "I came to Tokyo to finish something, and I thought I'd have the chance to last night. It just didn't turn out that way."

Li exhaled slowly. "Then… this is going to happen again?"

"I hope not," I said, letting my gaze shift back to him. It was a cop-out answer, but it was better than saying yeah, probably.

Still, Li understood that I wasn't saying no, and his blue eyes narrowed. "You said you came to Japan because of your sister."

"So did you."

He sat up straighter, everything about him seeming to tighten, from his expression to the set of his shoulders. Reflexively, I mirrored him, flinching when the tension rolling down my spine made the skin around my stitches burn. It was like watching someone alert to danger, and then bracing yourself just in case, even though you didn't know what the danger was. Though, right then, personal experience gave me a pretty good idea.

"You don't like to talk about her," I said. "I get it. Neither do I."

Li looked away, his expression stony as his eyes fixed on one corner of the bed. The muscles along his jaw bulged when he clenched his teeth. I averted my eyes, glancing aimlessly around the painfully sterile room before my gaze settled on Bard. I guessed he'd gotten bored with maintaining his glare, or listening to my conversation with Li had piqued his interest. Either way, his eyebrows were back where they were supposed to be and his ears were up, listening.

"The Contractor you're after is connected to your sister?"

I turned at Li's voice, still lowered and, now, edged with something hard.

I hesitated a moment before answering. "Yes."

Li's eyes shifted down to his hands, his mouth pressing into a thin line as he silently considered them.

I pursed my lips and thought about changing the subject, but I couldn't think of anything that wouldn't leave an elephant in the room. Talking about something as mundane as the weather probably would have been just as painful as talking about dead sisters, anyway.

"Li? How did you find out about Contractors?"

He didn't look up from his hands. I wasn't sure if I hadn't expected him to answer, but I felt a swell of surprise when he did. "Someone I loved turned into one."

My surprise faded, giving way to a heavy feeling of dread. "Your sister?"

This time, he didn't answer, and I didn't have it in me to feel surprised.

"Someone I loved turned into one, too," I said. His eyes snapped up to meet mine, and I quickly added, "Not my sister. Someone else, but… I get it. It doesn't matter how much we care. They still change. They turn into something else, and we have to let them. And then we have to decide if we're going to let it change us, too."

"Did it change you?"

"Yeah. It did."

"Better or worse?"

"I don't know yet. Most days, probably for the worse. But…" I lifted my burned shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "I keep telling myself I can always change again, you know? And I'm starting to wonder if maybe Contractors can, too."

Skeptical, Li frowned, a crease forming between his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"I mean… Contractors are supposed to be completely logical, right? They aren't supposed to form personal relationships or attachments. But maybe reason and logic start to matter less and less as time goes on."

"But it's not just about always making logical decisions," Li said. At some point, his frown had faded, giving way to a strangely blank expression that hinted at no emotion. "Everything they do is designed for self-preservation. Forming any kind of personal attachment would threaten that."

"Because trusting and caring about someone gives them the power to hurt and destroy you," I said before I could stop myself. "I know. It's a good speech."

One corner of Li's mouth twitched, as if he'd been about to break into a sardonic smile. "You've heard it before."

"And from a Contractor, no less," I laughed, humorless. "So it makes sense. I've never questioned it, but now I wonder."

"Why's that?"

"A Contractor I know."

"The one from last night?"

Ha. "No." Though, technically, Jack had been there last night. Briefly. Grumpily. But I wasn't about to reveal that Jack was a Contractor, and that meant I really did have to change the subject. "Have you ever heard of the Black Reaper?"

Li's eyes widened. "He was the Contractor you met last night?"

"No. I was looking for someone else. He just… showed up."

His brow creased before he gestured at my tree-arm. "And zapped you?"

I grabbed my arm, suddenly self-conscious, and turned away a few degrees. "He's an angry man in a mask. It's complicated."

"So you've said." I couldn't decide if he looked amused or concerned, or maybe a little of both, as he reclined against the back of his chair and folded his arms across his chest. "Does Jack know?"

"About the Black Reaper, but not that I was meeting someone else. I haven't told him."

"Are you going to?"

"I haven't decided yet." I tried to ignore the wave of guilt that crested over me like a wave. "What can you tell me about the Black Reaper? There have got to be rumors, right?"

Surprise rippled through Li's expression, widening his eyes for the briefest of moments before he smothered it. "I'm probably not the best person to ask," he said, with just the slightest hint of hesitation. "But he's a Contractor. You shouldn't trust him."

"I might not have a choice."

"Charlie, if you're in some kind of trouble—"

"I don't want to pull you into this either, Li," I said, cutting him off. "You've just had the bad luck of being there every time something goes wrong. I need to take a step back and look at everything. I need to figure out how to use the tools I've got."

He nodded slowly, holding me in his appraising gaze. "That's very pragmatic of you."

"Ha. It's very Contractor of me, you mean." I started to laugh, but stopped when the door swung open and Jack stepped into the room, followed by a doctor who looked like he might have just been dragged down the hall.

"As you can see, she's very much alive," Jack said to the harried man, who looked almost colorless against his vibrant blue scrubs. "Your services are no longer required. So if you would be so kind as to discharge her."

The doctor didn't say anything right away—he seemed to be distracted by the hulking Bard, still sitting by the door and close enough to stretch his nose out for a fruitless sniff. As if he'd just been stung by a bee, the doctor snatched his hand to his chest and backed out the door. "I'll discharge her right away," he called from the hallway.

Li looked quickly from Jack to me. "Guess I better get going. I'm glad you're okay."

"Thanks," I said, and hoped he didn't notice Jack's scowl—it seemed he'd used up all his charm on the doctor. "Don't forget I owe you dinner!"

"I won't." He gathered his jacket and waved before ducking around Jack and slipping out the door.

Jack quirked an eyebrow, though his expression was otherwise bare. "A date?"

I tried to match his empty tone, but I couldn't smooth the laugh out of my voice. "A thank you for watching Bard."

Jack and Bard turned to each other, sharing a meaningful look I couldn't decipher from across the room.

"What?" I demanded.

"Nothing."

I wanted to go upstairs and check on Nathaniel after the doctor brought my discharge papers, but Jack nixed the idea. His mood was still off enough that I thought it best not to argue, so I didn't. I did, however, wave off the nurse who appeared at the door with a wheelchair. I might have been injured, but my legs still worked fine, and damn if I wasn't going to use them.

Wearing my pants from yesterday and a borrowed shirt—since the one I'd come in with had a rather large rip down the back—I walked out of the hospital under my own power. The doctors and nurses gave me a wide berth. I worried I might have offended them somehow, but I figured their nervousness had more to do with Bard and the psycho-foreign-doctor-guy escorting me out, especially after an orderly tripped over himself trying to get out of Jack's way.

I'd known him for so long that I'd stopped thinking about how others perceived him. That was all about preconceptions and first impressions, and I hadn't thought about either of those since Cambridge. He could be imposing, sure. And he'd always come off as a little cold and disinterested when he was focused on something and didn't care to spend energy on being charming. Back then, that something had always been work. It was a different kind of work now, but no less distracting it seemed. Well, I hoped, because him being distracted by work was a lot better than him being distracted by my disastrous forays into the world of Contractors.

I sat in the backseat on the way to the apartment building, Bard sitting next to me with his long legs folded beneath him. The passenger seat was still smeared with blood, which, for some strange reason, fascinated me. There was a lot of it, dark and dry, and it seemed impossible that all of it had once been in my body.

It was still early in the day when we arrived back at my apartment. Jack spent a good ten minutes fussing over me—in his quiet, not-fussy way, which made me suspect that he was making a concerted effort to just stand there and do nothing but watch as I filled Bard's food bowl with my left arm stuck to my side like it'd been taped there. My stitches pulled every time I tried to move, but I wasn't about to say anything. When I'd accomplished my task and Bard was busy crunching kibble in his expensive teeth, Jack broke his silence.

"Need anything?"

Like maybe a sling?

"Sleep. I need sleep." If the haze clouding my mind was anything to go by. I had absolutely no desire to do anything but crawl into bed and close my eyes.

Jack snorted a laugh. "Yes, I imagine you do."

"My arms feel heavy. Heavier. Than they usually do." I paused and tilted my head towards the high ceiling. "Do you hear an echo?"

"Charlie. Go to bed."

"Right." I kept my arm tucked against my side and walked, lopsided, down the hallway towards my bedroom.

"I'll come check on you in a few hours, all right?" Jack called after me.

"Yeah. Thanks." Despite his words, I still half-expected him to stay. Maybe I'd wake up with him draped across another chair, watching to make sure I didn't find a way to put my unconscious self in danger—like getting tangled in the sheets and accidentally strangling myself.

I was asleep almost as soon as I collapsed across the bed, not even bothering with pillows and blankets. For a long time, I didn't dream. My mind shut off and rested, while my body took stock of all my new injuries and began the healing process. When I did start dreaming, it was like climbing out of the deepest, darkest hole and slowly adjusting to the return of my senses.

I was waking up on a rooftop, staring at stars in a purple sky until a white mask blocked them out.

I closed my eyes, and I was waking up again, this time in a flat in Cambridge. I was counting spots of sunlight on the dappled ceiling, listening to the puppy run to the door as a key turned the lock. I didn't mean to close my eyes—it was a memory I wouldn't have minded reliving—but I did, and, when I opened them for a third time, I was back in my Shinjuku apartment.

The bedroom was dark, save the dull gleam of neon lights showing around the edges of the window blinds. When I tried to sit up, I received a painful reminder of everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. My stitches ached, and so did almost everything else. Even my tree-burn. It stung, the numbness down my arm now completely gone, and my skin felt too tight.

When I'd managed to pull myself upright, I was greeted by a wet nose. Bard was standing with his front paws on the bed, wagging his tail despite his earlier annoyance with me. But his relieved, oh-good-you're-alive greeting didn't last long before he barked in my face and trotted out the door and down the hallway. He barked again when he'd reached the kitchen.

Figuring he was probably hungry again, I carefully climbed off the bed and shuffled off after him. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been this body-sore.

The apartment was dark, so I flipped a light on. And then stopped at the edge of the foyer. Because Bard had written something on the floor with his kibble.

HA.

Not amused, I looked at him, sitting next to his work like a proud artist. "Jerk. It's not nice to make fun of the injured."

He threw his head from side to side in a vigorous no.

I cocked an eyebrow. "Ha? As in ha ha, something's funny?"

Another shake of his head.

"Okay… I don't get it." I considered the two large kibble-letters for a few seconds longer, hoping that whatever Bard was trying to say would come to me. H-A. All I could think of was laughter. "I'm going to take a bath. I'll think about this, okay?"

Bard groaned and looked down at his handiwork.

I sighed. "Do you want more kibble?"

I refilled his bowl, guessing he'd probably use his food to write more letters on the floor rather than eat it.

I walked back to my bedroom and pulled a tank top and a pair of sweat pants out of the suitcase I still hadn't unpacked, and then closed myself in the bathroom. A hot bath sounded like heaven to my aching muscles; if I'd had a book, I would have settled in for a good, long soak. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had the opportunity.

I turned the water on and dumped in a packet of lavender-scented bath salts I'd found under the sink. Five minutes later, I was sliding into the tub, breathing steam into my lungs while the water's heat eased away my aches and pains. Once the water had begun to cool, I slipped beneath the surface and held my breath. Submerged in the eerie, underwater silence, I could hear my own heartbeat as it slowed. After I had to breathe again, I leaned my head back against the edge of the tub and dozed for I don't know how long before the sound of the front door closing snapped me back to alertness.

"Charlie?"

"In here," I called back. "I'll be out in a minute!"

Jack never did do well with closed doors. He'd always seemed to view them as a challenge rather than a privacy-protecting obstacle. It was something about him I'd learned to accept, but I was still startled when he walked into the bathroom like it was nothing and declared, "Your dog seems to be experiencing a bit of schadenfreude. And when did you teach him how to spell?"

"Jack!" I grabbed my knees and pulled them to my chest, sloshing water everywhere. "Naked!"

He swatted at the steam swirling around his face. "I've seen you naked before. No need to be shy."

"Get out!" I shouted, silently cursing that I hadn't opted to go the bubble bath route, because at least then there would have been piles of bubbles to cover myself with. "At least turn around!"

"I told you: I have an ear for this," he drawled in his lilting accent, turning his back to me. "Would it be less awkward if I were naked, too?"

"No." I snatched a towel from the rack over the tub and opened the drain. As water gurgled down the pipes, I stood up and wrapped the towel around myself. "Did you want something?"

"Just making sure you're all right." Still not facing me, he held up a sling for my arm and a bag of gauze and medical tape. "And I brought you this."

"For a Contractor, you sure do worry a lot. Also, this counts as pestering."

"Old habits." He risked a peek over his shoulder and, seeing that I was at least partially covered, turned around to face me. "Seems I've been falling into a lot of them lately."

Something in his tone made me hesitate. I squinted at him. "You okay?"

"Never better."

The air, still heavy with steam, blurred him around the edges just enough that I couldn't quite see him clearly. He might have been smiling or he might have been frowning; I couldn't tell, and I couldn't read the strange thread of emotion in his voice, though I couldn't blame that on the haze. Trying to lighten my tone, I said, "Really? Because you sound horribly conflicted."

He laughed once, a harsh sound. "I'm trying to approach this whole situation rationally," he said, looking down at the sling and the bag dangling from his hand. "If you wear the sling for a few days, you'll heal faster, and you'll be better able to defend yourself… seeing as your uncanny knack for getting into trouble is still intact."

"Look, about what happened last night…" I pulled the towel more tightly around my body and swiped a lock of wet hair out of my face. "I should have been more prepared for BK-201; I should have listened to you. And I'm sorry I didn't."

This time, his voice was perfectly calm. "I'm not mad at you, Charlie."

"Then what's wrong?"

His hands dropped to his sides. "I'm a Contractor." The way he said the word made it sound like the answer to everything. "There is no logical reason for the way I feel. It's very frustrating."

"The way you feel?" Something like nervousness made my chest tighten. "How do you feel?"

"Like I would very much enjoy destroying 201. Slowly and painfully." He said it in the light tone that often preceded a protest that he was only joking, but no such protest was forthcoming.

"What are you going to do?"

It hadn't seemed a particularly difficult question, but I realized the depth of what I'd asked when Jack looked at me blankly. "I don't know."

In a terrifying rush that made my heart race, I realized that this was going to be my last chance to tell him the truth. I'd run off alone again, taken on Kane, and had Hemlock in my sights. And everything had gone wrong. The only miracle was that I hadn't been captured or killed, and I had a notoriously dangerous Contractor to thank for that. I'd lied. I'd let him believe the Black Reaper attacked me, held me hostage for the purpose of getting back at him. Because I wanted to kill Hemlock myself? Because I knew MI6 wanted her alive?

Because I didn't know if Jack would do the rational thing and follow orders or break form and help me kill her.

I bit my lip against the torrent of curses I desperately wanted to let out. I couldn't do it. I couldn't tell him, and I had to pretend everything was all right.

I bowed my head and hoped my voice sounded normal. "What can I do?"

A phantom of a smile tugged at his mouth. "Well, you've never been good at twiddling your thumbs, have you?"

"No," I said, forcing a smile. "While you're thinking about it, will you help me with this? I can't reach."

I stepped out of the tub, water still draining around my feet, and pulled a second towel from the rack. Jack watched, silent, as I crossed the bathroom and held the towel out to him. His expression was still curiously empty when he took it from me and set the crumpled bag and sling down on the vanity. I turned towards the mirror and pulled my hair over my right shoulder so he could get to my stitches.

"You aren't supposed to get these wet."

I watched his reflection in the mirror as he pulled the bag closer. "I know."

Carefully, he patted my skin dry and placed a new pad of gauze over my stitches, taping it into place. I held the towel a little more securely across my front as I sensed him leaning closer behind me.

Very lightly, he smoothed a finger over one crooked vein of the burn across my shoulder. "Does this hurt?"

"A little. It stings."

He exhaled slowly, heavily, as his fingers followed the path of the burn down to my elbow. I saw the dull blue glow in the fogged-over mirror at the same moment I felt ice on my skin. When I looked down, a fine dusting of frozen crystals had appeared over a portion of the burn, leeching out the sting of leftover heat.

"How did you…?"

"It requires a delicate touch," he whispered. To demonstrate, he set a single finger against my skin and slowly traveled up my arm, leaving a paper-thin coating of ice in his wake.

"I didn't know you could do that."

"There are… other things I can do." His breath ghosted against my ear as he pulled my hair from over my shoulder, sending droplets of water down my back. In the mirror, I saw the blue of his eyes give way to red, casting their illuminating glow across my skin as he leaned in. I couldn't help shivering as he blew a cold breath across the sheen of moisture clinging to my chest and throat.

"Jack…"

"Hmm?"

I felt the sound vibrate in his chest as he slipped an arm around my waist, pulling me back against him. A layer of tiny ice crystals raced across my neck and collarbone, making me shiver with the sudden chill. The warmth of his lips pressing against my shoulder, erasing the sensation of cold with one of heat, sent a jolt down my spine.

There was no good reason for my voice to tremble when I said his name and leaned my head back against the warm slope of his shoulder, but it did. "Are you trying to rationalize this, too?"

Almost thoughtfully, he cupped my jaw in his hand and turned my face up to his. For a long moment, he studied me with eyes that had lost some of their hardness. "No," he said, and kissed me.

The slow push and pull of his mouth against mine was purposeful and hesitant all at once. I didn't know how all of this could feel so familiar when so much time had passed and so much had changed. But I found myself pressing into him, almost like a reflex I couldn't fight. His arm tightened around my middle while his other hand settled on my hip.

My gasp of pain cut the kiss short. Our eyes met in the mirror, and I saw the dawning of realization on his face. I didn't resist when he parted the towel I still clutched, revealing the collection of deep purple blotches covering my ribs. "It's okay," I said to his alarmed reflection. "Nothing's broken. They're just bruises."

I could feel the shift in him. He stiffened at my back as tension corded through his muscles, tightening his shoulders. But his hand was gentle as he pressed it flat against my stomach and pushed soothing cold into the soreness there.

"I didn't know," he said.

"I know. It's okay."

He pulled his hand away and took a step back, pausing only to place a kiss against my temple. "You should rest."

I closed my towel and watched his reflection go to the door. "Jack."

He froze in the doorway and glanced back at me.

"Stay here, okay? Don't go looking for him."

For a moment longer, he was still. We watched each other in the mirror, while I waited to see what he would do. At length, his shoulders rose and fell with a short, quiet sigh. I wasn't sure if I should've gone after him when he turned and left.

A/N: My dog proofread this chapter. Luckily, he can spell better than Bard.

Thanks so much for the encouragement, guys! Gonna keep this story rolling.

Dismantle. Repair. by Anberlin

Spin by Revis

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