He opened his eyes, scrambling up to his knees, while Marco stalked after him, broken nose and all. Before he could get close, Skull’s large hands wrapped around his wrists and twisted his arms back.
“I would love nothing more right now than to knock someone out,” Skull growled through his teeth. “Repeatedly.”
Marco fought him for a few seconds, before giving up with a furious growl.
Seeing that Marco wasn’t about to lunge at Dave again, Skull let him go. Dave stayed by the wall, restoring his breathing.
Marco pointed his index finger at him, wiping blood from his face. “Touch me again, and I’ll put you in a fucking coma.” He turned on his heel and stalked down the hallway, disappearing through the training hall doors, followed by Ryan.
Dave slouched, anger draining from his body. Something trickled down his face, and he brought his hand up to touch the side of his head, realizing he’d smashed it against the wall. The small cut was already closing up, but the blood remained.
He wiped it on his pants, not caring about all the blood on him at this point, and got up. The throbbing in his chest had eased somewhat. He dragged his feet to where Chad stood against the wall, his eyes glassy, as if he hadn’t even noticed what had just happened right next to him. His gear was covered in blood, even more than Dave’s, and his hands trembled as they hung at his sides.
“Hey,” Dave said, unsure how to snap him out of it. After a second, he just pulled Chad into an awkward, one-armed hug. Chad didn’t return it. “Doc’s still working on her, so that means she’s not gone yet. She’s gonna make it, Chad. If anyone can, it’s her.”
Chad nodded, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. His unfocused gaze switched to the waiting room doors.
“Come sit down,” Dave said, pulling him to the free armchair next to Jane. Chad obeyed, following him so slowly, it seemed he’d forgotten how to walk, let alone speak.
Skull watched them from across the hall, arms crossed. By the doors, Tiffany gave a quiet sigh, fidgeting with her watch.
Jane looked up as Chad sat next to her, with Dave perching on the armrest. The pounding in his head seemed to decrease.
“How long has it been? Since you got here, I mean,” Jane asked in a shaky voice.
“Seven minutes,” Tiffany cut in. “Since we came out here.”
“So what you said before, about him still working on her,” Jane said. “If her heart stopped, it would be…” she trailed off, lifting one shoulder uncertainly. “You know. Then she really is still alive.”
Dave couldn’t do this. Couldn’t look at her grief-stricken face, couldn’t listen to her voice breaking. But he made himself stay where he was, reaching down to squeeze Jane’s hand as it lay on the armrest, bloodied like his own.
“It’s gonna be all right,” he mouthed, looking her in the eyes.
She winced or maybe smiled, he wasn’t sure, and held his gaze.
“Marco’s wrong, you know,” she murmured. “I don’t blame you. Even knowing about it from his words, I don’t.”
“I do,” Dave choked out through a tight throat.
Jane gave a slow shake of her head. “She knew what she was doing. It was her choice.” Her voice was barely audible, and Dave knew how much these words cost her right now. Still, she found the strength to say them.
He nodded. “Thanks.”
Between them, Chad still stared at the wall. And Dave couldn’t help but wonder if he thought the same as Jane—or as Marco.
* * *
The second time, his descent was anything but methodical.
Doc burrowed down, tearing through the layers of his consciousness, leaving it in shreds as he searched for the bottom of his power. He scooped it all up and pulled it into his hands.
The air sizzled when the energy gushed from his palms, but he squeezed his eyes shut, forbidding himself to open them before he heard a heartbeat again.
Come on. His own heart stuttered from the rush of energy, and he pushed it even harder. All of it—he’d give all of it if he had to. Just to know it was possible. And to save the foolish girl before him. For Jane, for Peter, for all the people who cared about her, the people who had become his home. It wouldn’t be the same without her, their big, dysfunctional family.
He kept the flow steady as he focused on his mind’s eye once again. And there it was.
Pumped full of borrowed life force, Pain’s energy field blossomed before his inner eye. No, not blossomed—flickered to life, if only for a minute. A pale-red shape, it had three glowing wounds, two big and one small. And his energy was pouring right out of them and into nothingness.
Biting back a curse, he redirected his power and focused on the two big wounds. It didn’t seem to work at first, but the angry red around the holes grew paler, and the rest of it brightened soon enough. He didn’t know how much time had passed. Seconds. Hours.
Still no heartbeat.
Doc didn’t give himself a second to think before he drew all of his energy to his core—and blasted it out of his hands.
Pain’s body shuddered under his palms. Still nothing.
So he did it again. And again. And again, until he could barely stand, leaning on the gurney, his arms propping him upright.
He breathed out, head spinning.
Beep.
His eyes snapped open, darting to the monitor. Beep. Beep. Beep.
He squeezed them shut again, withdrawing back into that strange new place within himself, scared that he had lost it. But it only took him a heartbeat to restore the connection—red and golden, the strange vision
