Long after Marcus had driven back to the Fitzwilliam, Sean was pacing the halls of the hospital. He was alone, save for the night staff who had little reason to question his agitated aura. Every so often, he was able to bring himself to look in on Heather's still body, and once in awhile he would even step inside, just far enough to allow the shadows to hide him from the bright lights of the hallway. They were too bright... their illumination was an accusing stare, and underneath those lights he was certain his guilt would be seen. He wasn't a good agent... he was transparent. All of his inaccuracies, his misjudgments... they were obvious. Leaning against the wall, his arms crossed in front of him, he reflected on Marcus' last words before he walked away. She'll believe everything we tell her about what a big hero she is, and all will be right with the world. Tentatively, he walked across the room to her bed, forcing himself not to look at the wires and sensors strapped all over her body. The fluorescent light mounted above her bed, dismal and dusty, cast a thin blue-white light over her skin, and for a moment he thought he saw her left eyelid flutter, and then her right eyelid. It wasn't until after the light stopped flickering and revealed her motionless visage that Sean realized he was holding his breath out of fear. Relaxing a bit, he leaned against the railing but still couldn't break his stare. She's gonna remember everything, he thought somberly. I can't lose my job over this... I can't... but Marcus is delusional. She's gonna wake up and remember what happened.
     A soft, insistent beeping from his jacket made him jump back for a moment, then hastily reach inside for his phone. Without looking at the number, he flipped it open and answered. For a moment, there was silence, then a slow cracking that grew into a roar... no voices. Sean strained to listen, but he heard nothing but a mechanical squall, empty white noise fading into nothing. Before he hung up, he looked at the number... it was blocked. After looking back at Heather one last time, he walked out of the room and took the elevator downstairs. He wasn't living under another man's gilded guidance and wishing for closure at the same time... that was beyond unreasonable. A small part of him almost hoped she did wake up in full recollection, so it would be out of his hands. He wouldn't have to play make believe... he could live in clear conscious.
     The shadows of Heather's mind were lurking about, long after Sean left the hospital. Her heart was beating slowly, almost deliberately, but her subconscious was tuned in... anesthesia, like Vaseline on a camera lens, didn't cloud her dreams for a moment. She was with Castor now. Even in her fantasies, she knew it was wrong, but still he pulled her closer. His full, sensuous lips embraced every part of her; sucked on her fingertips when he bent to kiss her hand, gave her eager tongue purchase, lowered themselves to her breasts, her stomach... his arms held her prisoner. Never before did she notice his particular scent; a dusky, deep, spicy scent of money and self-assurance and bravado. Now she could feel it on her clothes and skin... Castor made her feel like such a worthy woman, like the kind of woman she always wished she could be. He faded away from her every so often, in waves, but then came back again with more to offer, like a pilgrim to a sacred temple. The hours slid by, and eventually he retreated to the twilight of her psyche, but still her body remained motionless, paralyzed.
     Down the hall and around the corner, a single nurse was stationed at the desk. The floor was quiet, and she fought to stay away, resting her chin on her meaty forearms. A shutting door and soft tapping of leather soles against linoleum didn't rouse her, and for a moment Castor considered nudging her in a mocking gesture that now matched his mood... he looked down the vacant corridor and breathed a small sigh of relief. Pollux stood near the stairs, his arms crossed high on his chest, motionless save for the rabbity tapping of his right foot, and looked away when his brother gestured for him to follow. He was now a lone warrior... a mindful one; as he searched every room for his woman, his girlfriend, a brittle strength was building inside him. It would be too easy for him to snap at this point... images of the agent burned in his brain during the flight to the hospital, and his joints were aching with fury by the time they landed on the roof.
     Now he was here, in her room. His fingers were stroking her face, her cool, resilient flesh barely yielding. When he realized that, for the first time since they'd met she wouldn't respond to his touch, his emotions reached the surface. He braced himself on the wall next to her bed, deep wet sobs building in his throat, and he reflexively covered his mouth so he wouldn't be heard. "Sinclaire...", he heard himself whisper thickly, a cold wave of anger and despair holding him hostage for what seemed like an eternity, then releasing him all at once. A shuffling at the doorway startled him, but he didn't look.
     "Cas... you found her..."
     The sound of his brother's voice pulled him together, and he rubbed his face with a forced, stilted gesture. "Ah, isn't it romantic?", he whispered with a hoarse giggle, facing Pollux squarely. "It's one of those huge, tragic love affairs... sometimes, bro, I just don't know what I'd do without you.". His words rang hollow in the room, and his brother said nothing, instead looking up and down the hallway surreptitiously.
     "I gave the nursie-poo a nice little shot... she'll be out for at least another half hour. Hey...", he mused, crossing the room to Heather, "we can't take her with us with all this **** strapped to her.".
     Castor looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time since they'd snuck in. Her forehead, arms and chest were strapped with sensors. An IV needle was stuck into her left hand. "She doesn't really need all of this, right? It was just a bullet wound... no big deal. She's even bandaged up and everything, right?". His fingers deftly lifted the sleeve of her gown to expose her upper arm, wrapped in white gauze and tape. He turned to Pollux, his eyes silently pleading for reassurance, and was met with a condescending gaze. Without another word, he reached for the sensors to rip them off but was stopped by his brother's hand.
     "No!", he whispered meekly. "If you rip them off, everyone on the floor will come running up here. They monitor heart rate and breathing.".
     "I know that, but what the **** do we do instead?". At that moment, he had a sudden flash of insight. "We gotta get someone else to take her place... get the nurse. Drag her in here.. we'll strap her up instead. She's knocked out, right? Is she breathing?".
     A huge, devious smile snuck across Pollux's face, and they both crept back to the desk... she was indeed still asleep, her breathing solid and heavy, if a bit slow. "It's perfect... she'll have the same heart rate... right?", Castor asked, daring to consider that he could match his brother's intelligence for the first time.
     "Yeah, probably.", Pollux said.
     The two men carried her into Heather's room, wheezing and grunting from the weight of the nurse's body, and laid her on the floor next to the bed. "****ing fat ass. We gotta get her in the damn bed, too...", Castor puffed. The younger brother began strapping each node to the nurse's body as quickly as possible while Castor removed the IV needle. He gazed down at Heather's face once all of the attachments were removed and smiled serenely before scooping her into his arms. Gently propping her up in a chair, he tried to rub the adhesive residue from her forehead, but it wouldn't come off easily. Before turning away to help lift the nurse onto the bed, he took off his jacket and draped it over her lap, tucking it gently around her thighs.
     The clock on the wall, a faded red LCD display, ticked off the minutes as they formulated their next move. "It's 2:21.", Pollux muttered, rubbing his palms together. "We got here about ten minutes ago. So I think we can get out of here if..."
     "What? What the **** do you mean, 'I think'?", Castor sputtered furiously. "Where's the chopper?".
     "We couldn't just leave it on the roof... that would draw too much attention! I told him to come back in 15 minutes!".
     Remembering the cunning disguise that Archer had used, a shock of panic drove through him. "Archer... he was the pilot last time...".
     "No, this guy is legit. Really. It's not Archer... I saw his face."
     "But it could have been another agent... it could have been anyone.". His heart raced with rapid-fire paranoia. "We could be trapped here. Call him.. call him now.". Without waiting for his brother to comply, he reached in his pocked for his cell phone and dialed the number himself. It was a weak connection, but he reached him... the chopper was touching down at that moment. With a shallow sigh of relief, he closed the phone, then picked up Heather. She was still under anesthesia but her skin felt a bit warmer now, and as he carried her to the stairs he listened for any suspicious sound. Only his brother's footsteps behind him, skittish and sloppy, could be heard.


-- Edited by Damaris at 09:53, 2007-04-01