Healer

19

     Part of Reynolds was still terrified that Imbago, dear, precious Imbago, was dead as she lay, still smiling, in the containment coffin. He hovered over Diaz's shoulder, irritating the other healer in his desperate quest to ensure his lover was safe. Diaz did her best to ignore him, although her lips pressed together tightly in displeasure. When the coffin was finally placed into Containment, the newest in a long line, she turned, slapped him sharply across his face, and stormed out. Reynolds blinked after her for a moment. Then, he could only stare at Imbago. The canister containing the poison gas was right next to her, ready to be activated with the press of a button. Yet, she'd gone into her coffin smiling. She'd believed completely in Reynolds's ability to navigate whatever final quest was ahead of him in his journey to becoming a Hunter. But right now, all he could think about was how much he wanted to hold her again.

     "You realize you've gotten yourself into a fine fix?" Arthur called. The grouchy Hunter had been convinced, by virtue of tears, begging, and some fast talking, to let Reynolds supervise getting Imbago into Containment. But now, Arthur was apparently out of patience. He roughly seized Reynolds's arm, dragging him forcefully away.

     Reynolds clawed at the hand on his arm. "Let go of me! I want to stay with Imbago."

     "You need to turn in your equipment," Arthur declared, still dragging Reynolds toward the door.

     "My what?" Reynolds hadn't even remembered that he was still fully equipped for a Hunter mission. The gray coat and everything else he was wearing were covered with long-dried blood and bits of gore. It was disgusting, but he hadn't even noticed. Even now, he couldn't care less. "Gah, just take it!"

     "Candidate Reynolds?" Arthur's voice held a note of stern warning. "We can do this one of two ways. One, the easy way, you come with me, turn in your equipment, and we spend some quality time together. Or two, I drag your sorry ass to the quartermaster to turn in your equipment, tie you to the nearest available surface and then come back to chat when you've cooled off a bit. Which do you prefer?"

     Reynolds stopped fighting, allowing himself to be pulled. He jumped when Arthur slammed the door behind them, leaving Imbago sealed in Containment. Arthur didn't say a word. Once Reynolds's equipment was properly checked back in, Arthur had his arm again. This time, they headed, of all places, to the cafeteria. "Would you please let go of me?" Reynolds complained unhappily. "I cannot tell you how uninterested in food I am right now."

     "You're a healer who's just completed a mission where I can all but guarantee you used your healing ability," Arthur reminded without slowing down. "You're white as a ghost and swaying on your feet. Therefore, you are eating. Don't push me any farther, Candidate Reynolds. I'm already quite upset enough."

     There was nothing for it but to follow along. Seeing Arthur's scowl, Reynolds filled his tray and sat down to eat. Eating was an exercise in self-control. Arthur might never know how close he came to being thrown up on.

     Walsh stormed into the cafeteria. Reynolds quickly went to greet him, hopeful for news about Pzinski. But before he could say a word, the man hauled off and punched him in the face. Reynolds blinked up at him from the ground, jaw throbbing. "You bastard," Walsh snarled. "You always were sneaky, trying to schmooze Pzinski. But calling the police on them so they'd be delayed in their mission while you grabbed one you didn't even qualify for? That's a whole new low!"

     "That wasn't his doing," Arthur called calmly from where he still sat eating. "I'm afraid Imbago was the rash one. That will do," he added sharply as Walsh advanced on Reynolds. "He's in my charge now. You got the one hit. I'll not allow another."

     "Fuck you, Arthur!" Walsh spat.

     "Fuck me." Arthur sipped at his drink. "Walsh, I'm already having a trying day. Don't add to it."