::Shouldn’t you be using the blanket not the towel?::
::He’s not cold,:: Steve replied. “Besides, there’s medicine on this.”
“Ah.” Come to think of it, he could smell the medicine.
Antiseptic and astringent, it bit at his nose. ::Typical hospital stink.::
“Yep.”
Steve said nothing more and applied himself fully to stroking Jace’s trembling body. Mike quietly left the room. With a single last glance inside, he resumed his journey through the medical wing. In the back of his mind, he wondered if the link between him and Liam was as strong and obvious as the one between Steve and Jace.
The Envoy’s presence intruded into his thoughts. ::It’s been there since the kiss. Why else would I ask for human troops and make sure your Liam was one of those chosen for the project?:: Mike gritted his teeth and shut down his mind. Consequently, the snarled thought, Higher echelon pod-fucker, went to no one but him.
His attempt to keep his annoyance muzzled must not have been fully effective because his visits inside the sickrooms suddenly included frowns from cabal members at the bedside. As such, he didn’t linger.
Liam’s room was the last one on the list. He’d planned it that way. Mike stepped over the threshold and entered the room with some trepidation. Once inside, he stopped.
Liam’s naked shoulders and back were glazed by the green glow of the medical machines. Displays shifted and repainted in quick cycles as they displayed Liam’s vital signs. The vomit bag that hung off the bed’s frame appeared empty and flaccid.
No matter how much he might try to deny it, he was the reason Liam was here, and the reason Liam was sick as hell. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he would end up ripping Liam’s heart apart before he was through.
::It doesn’t have to be that way,:: Steve noted.
::Yes, it does.:: Mike’s response was a verbal whip’s lash.
Guilt burned a hole through his gut. He wanted to rage and storm and punch walls.
Arvidnan’s face shimmered in his memory. The memory of his death sliced into his heart. He’d loved once. He’d endured the loss once. He wouldn’t do that again. He’d live, yes, but that was all.
He wouldn’t love again. He couldn’t.
Liam cried out. The despair shimmered in the air like a public condemnation.
Mike wasn’t aware of moving, but he found himself at Liam’s bedside in the next breath. The need to comfort and care was undeniable. Mike reached for Liam’s shoulder, but stopped. The guy was unconscious. What could he do to help?
A shiver wracked Liam.
Concerned, Mike laid a hand on the bare shoulder. Cool, he noted, near onto cold. Had the blanket been kicked away?
Shouldn’t it be over Liam’s body? He plucked the blanket’s leading edge from where it lay at the small of Liam’s back and tugged the item up to the shoulders, where he tucked it in with fastidious care.
Except, one shoulder wasn’t with the program. In fact, oddly enough, Liam’s left arm lay extended up the bed, over the pillow, and onto the bed’s sturdy frame. There, his hand wrapped the top plank.
He touched the hand, noted its death-like clench. He worked to loosen Liam’s grip on the frame.
“Don’t do that.”
Mike jerked his hand away, startled, and a bit embarrassed, if truth be told. Doctor David approached the bed, his attention dancing between Liam and the display on his handheld info unit.
The Envoy, David’s adnama, entered behind his partner. He stopped just inside, lending support with his presence, offering respect with his silence.
“I was just—” Mike bit off the words. Clearly, David knew what he was doing, which is why he’d put a stop to it. Why? “I don’t understand.”
The doctor didn’t answer immediately. He used a few moments to check on Liam’s status before he gave Mike his full attention.
“He needs to anchor himself,” the doctor said. “He does so by holding onto something that doesn’t move. The wall, at first, then the bed when we raised the bed rails. The most critical aspect of this presentation appears to be the requirement for the needed anchor to be higher than the brain.”
That explained why Liam’s hand clung to the highest bed rail.
“Why?”
“My hypothesis is that something in Mr. Sinclair’s make-up needs this anchor. His species are naturally singular in the way they relate to their environment. As his mind struggles to adapt, your Liam reaches out in a way that convinces his mind that things are stable and unmoving.”
“My Liam?”
Doctor David’s head cocked slightly to one side. His brows furrowed. Mike realized he’d brought his hand back onto Liam’s body in the silent task of offering warmth and support. It surprised and embarrassed him, but not enough to cause him to pull away.
The least he could do was try to comfort the guy, since it was his fault after all.
“Liam made his own choices,” the Envoy reminded him from where he stood. “He was given the opportunity to option out on multiple occasions.”
Yeah, and he knew why Liam hadn’t taken it. That reason wore his boots.
“He must have believed you worth the risk, Sergeant.”
“Respectfully, Envoy, I’m sure Mr. Sinclair will wake to the realization of his mistake.”
“Sergeant…”
Mike flinched from the topic. “Doctor, what else can you tell me?”
Hesitation and a muffled conversation between the Envoy and Doctor David occurred. Liam shifted on the bed, a restless twitch of arms and legs.
“The gene therapy is proceeding well,” said the doctor.
Mike almost fell over. “Gene therapy?”
They’d slipped a tweak into the equipment’s chemical soup?
Why the space-shit hadn’t he been told? Temper flashed though him, fast and bright, like a meteor’s pass across the horizon.
“I wasn’t apprised of that.” That he hadn’t roared the words constituted a victory in his book.
A soft smile filled the doctor’s expression. “Why would you be, Sergeant?”
Why indeed? He was a grunt, one with a bigger bag of duties, yes, but still just a grunt. Decisions of this caliber wouldn’t pass over his data unit. Wait. They’d included gene-tweaking
