A Chance Meeting with Destiny ( Malik)

Kyria wandered down the street slowly, letting her amber gaze flow from left to right, scanning her surroundings as if she were reading letters upon a page. It was an automatic gesture, from her years serving in the war. If she hadn’t learn to read her surroundings, and judge her safety quickly, she wouldn’t have lived to this point There were a lot of habits she’d picked up during her stint, many of which she worked hard to drop, but she had to admit, a few were still and would always be handy, not to mention good for her wellbeing.

The bags in her hands had become extensions of her, and swung casually by her thighs as she meandered back and forth along the street, window shopping idly as she made her way back toward her current abode. It wasn’t much; she didn’t need much in the way of comforts while she was still in transition. Until she found a place she felt comfortable in, and people that she actually wanted to stay and get to know better, she was going to keep it simple. It wasn’t hard, she’d done it during her service, so it felt normal enough, but there was a part of her, which she kept pushed deep down within her, that yearned to dress femininely, and surround herself with beautiful furniture and all the accoutrements that changed a dwelling into a home.

Pulling her face out of the window that she’d been gazing into, she shook her head. She’d taken 15 minutes to get to the store, and it had already doubled since she’d left it as she people watched and looked into the different store displays. It wasn’t a big issue, it wasn’t as if she had anywhere else to be at the moment, so she once again pushed away thoughts of time, and moved on to the next window. She glanced idly at the couple that passed beside her, wrapped up in their own little world with all the bows and hearts that accompanied being in love. Ria just grinned and shook her head. She could only guess at what it was like, and looking at them, it had to be pretty sweet. Returning her gaze to the window front, she paused once again in her journey.

She definitely would not wear the red, it was loud, gauche and wayyyy too skimpy for her taste. The tan wasn’t bad, but looked a bit too formal for her tastes, but the ivory. It was classy; simple clean lines that flowed, soft lawn material that had adorned women in hot regions since mythological times and a style that seemed ageless. Without conscious thought, Ria chewed upon the flesh of her inner lip as she debated the pros and cons of buying the totally unnecessary dress. She really had nowhere to wear it, nor anyone to wear it for, but it pulled at her. It would look good on her, that she knew. Lifting her right hand, she tugged lightly at her lower lip as the debated continued within her. She was on call at the hospital here in Librium, so it wasn’t as if she needed to watch every penny, but the long ingrained lessons that her father had drilled into held her back.

"Well, if that was all that was holding me up…” she thought as she threw her shoulders back. It was definitely one of the habits that she was intent upon breaking, and by doing so, slowly breaking the hold that the man still had upon her life. She loved her father, she really did, but the man was a tyrant to those he loved, and Ria had decided after he’d pushed her into serving that she was going to run her own life once she was free of the army. Stepping into the shop, Ria flashed a smile at the attendant that took the woman back for a moment, causing her to pause midstep. Unbidden, the woman’s own smile bloomed to meet the large one that had caused her pause, and the two began to discuss the dress as if they’d known each other for ages.

Leaving the shop a short while later, Kyria had yet more packages, but the smile that had blossomed upon her face still adorned it, and her step was five shades lighter as she once again began to saunter down the street; this time with more enthusiasm, and her eye out for another good purchase that would further her along on her long overdue rebellion of parental control. While he was her commanding officer, Ria had not had a chance to break the reins her dad had over her, but this destinationless journey, and each decision that she made without regard to his opinions were steps closer to total independence from the mindset that he’d tried his best to instill within her.

She continued to wander and lag, thoroughly enjoying her trip now, the small voice that shouted at her from within her own psyche gagged for the moment. Her smile grew as others met it and answered in kind. Librium seemed like a nice place, and Ria was thinking of staying around for a while longer, looking forward to seeing what it had to offer a wandering medic like herself. Who knew what could happen if she stayed a while longer. One never knew what was around the corner, nor who you would meet if you just took the time to stop and smell the roses, or in her case, window shop a while on a busy street.

Malik slammed the black fatigued commando into the ground as the man grit his face and coughed blood up through his teeth. That was all he did before dying. Giving his arm a sharp tug, Malik pulled his claw from the man's abdomen, where they had been pushed up beneath his combat vest to puncture lungs. His forearm from the elbow down was enlarged and sprouting claws, a partial transformation. It was a trick that took extreme amounts of control and concentration. That iron focus was the only thing keeping the pain at bay. There were so many of them, enough to make him run out of ammo, and make him resort to fist and fang, but this was the last of them.



Hunters, humans who couldn't abide peace with others that weren't like them. These were the same humans that he fought to protect during the war, and now they didn't want to share the world with people that weren't completely human. It wasn't many in the grand scheme of things, but today it was enough to give him trouble. Malik steeled himself and stood up to look at his surroundings. Mentally he checked through each and every one of them. Training taught him to count the number of opposing personnel quickly, and then keep track of them as they were eliminated. Nine, three three-man fire teams, came at him in what they thought was a perfect ambush. It was a perfect ambush, but their flaw was in the target they chose to ambush. Malik was no easy meat, and they learned that the hard way.



He released the intense focus that he had on his arm, which caused the limb to return to its natural human state. Now that all of his enemies were accounted for, Malik moved over to one of the boxes and ripped it open. Inside were the coats that the label denoted. One of them he used to wipe the blood from his hands and face, and another he put on. He needed the coat to cover himself. He was in pretty bad shape. He had been shot four times: shoulder, side, chest, and back. Three of those four lucky bullets were still in him. The one that caught him in the side, went clean through. Luckily it didn't hit any vital organs, but bleeding was a definite problem. The entire fight took place in a building's back storeroom, where he was expecting a meeting for a job, but it turned out to be a set up. He couldn't stay there to bandage himself up, and risk being arrested. There had been gunshots and the military police could be on their way. Malik needed to get out of there.



Summoning up all his resolve, Malik pushed the pain to the back of his mind. He had done thus many times through out the years of the war. It was something every soldier had to do at least once in their lives. Maybe it was when they were injured, or during a forced hard march, they had to suck it up and keep moving, because staying still wasn't an option. Staying still meant capture or death, and both were unacceptable. Malik left the building through the back door, and took the alley out to the street. He didn't want to use the storefront door because people would remember his face if they were questioned. Few people paid attention to someone merging into a crowd from a side street.


The transition into the crowd went smoothly and Malik watched as no one took notice of home. That was the last detail he remembered. His mind was fixed firmly on his destination. The Mule was parked outside the city limits, and he was in no shape to take public transportation. The bar was his destination. It was just over a mile away, and he was known there. The odds of him having a friend there who could help him get patched up were very high. Once he was patched up he could make his way back to the Pride. The animal inside him told him to go somewhere familiar, to his territory. Malik trusted the beast when survival was on the line.

Steady footsteps carried him down the street and around the corner. He was now on a straight path to the bar and he gave in to autopilot. By the time his footsteps carried him a thousand feet from the battlefield, his path was crossing Kyria's. He was almost a full head taller than her, heavy in the chest, made even more so by the unseasonably heavy coat he was wearing. His rugged features were fixed in a stony mask of grim determination. Even his stride was a doom march that took no consideration from the people around him outside of how fast they were moving. His brown eyes were fixed on the horizon, the proverbial thousand yard stare, fixed on something all important. She'd seen this before, during the war, in soldiers who were pushing themselves with all they had left. They were determined to get to their destination or die in the process, and most of them were trying to make it to her tent. This man's arm was laid across his abdomen, with palm pressed into the opposite side. Beneath the hand was a deep purple spot in the dark blue material. She only got to see his strong set jaw and chest for a moment, and then it was passed. If she looked back at him, Kyria would see the leg of his black pants shining as if they were wet, and a drop of blood on the pavement where his foot had been.

Kyria continued to walk along at a snail’s pace, content to browse leisurely as she made her way back to her room. It wasn’t as if she had any pressing reason to get home, and once she was there, she would soon be wanting to go back out anyway. Though she kept the mindset that she didn’t want the hassle of people cluttering her life, secretly, she did. A part of her yearned for the close type of relationships of family and friends that she’d seen from others that hadn’t grown up in her family, but if she was asked outright, she would vehemently deny any such ludicrousness.

Kyria had just turned her attention from yet another frilly and totally unnecessary accessory that so totally called to women when she caught movement out of her peripheral vision. Without conscious thought, Kyria’s clinical mind was already assessing the probability of danger to herself and others as the survival instincts that had been honed within as a soldier came to life. Her mind quickly dropped the calculations as other, more humane, but no less developed instincts pushed to the fore, and she straightened, not quite sure what her subconscious had picked up, but without conscious thought, she indeed turned to get another glimpse at the man that had just brushed past her. While the synaptic in her brain began firing back and forth, and her subconscious brought her conscious up to date, Kyria’s amused gaze had already sharpened and had begun running a mental tally of symptoms and observances, taking into account the arm clutching of his stomach, the staining wetness, and most importantly, the smear that had been left on the sidewalk by the single telltale drop of his life force.


Pushing away the strong sense of déjà vu, she automatically pivoted upon a heel and lengthened her stride to bring her into step with the man that was making a beeline toward his unknown destination. Pasting a smile onto her face, she cautiously moved her bags to the other hand and held the one closest to him out in front of them so he could see that she was 1) unarmed, and 2) meant him no harm. Her voice was pitched a bit low, but had a forced jovialness to it as she murmured to him as if they were old friends “Well, hello, stranger. Fancy meeting you here.” Quietly as she could, confident that he would be paying attention, she whispered to him out of the side of her mouth “I don’t know what’ s going on, but I am a licenced physician and a trained medic, and from what I can see, you need to come with me”.


Kyria looked away, and for the sake of anyone that might be watching, gave a soft trill of laughter and shook her head, making the amber curls that tumbled down her back dance a bit. She was already making the calculations of the distance to her room, which was less than a block away, and what type of supplies she had onhand. She tried to always keep a medical kit prepared, as was needed when out on the battlefield, but she knew well that she wasn’t equipped for major surgery. Sending a silent prayer upwards that it wouldn’t come to that, she turned her attention to the tall man that she’d attached herself to. Offering him another well meaning smile, she gingerly placed her arm around him, pulling him closer so that she could take part of his weight upon her, and hopefully give him the added boost he needed to get to room without needing to be carried in. Though Kyria was in peak physical condition, she wasn’t quite sure that she would be able to actually carry the large male all the way to her lodgings.


“If you think you can make it, I have a good kit in my room, and can deal with most battle injuries” she whispered softly near his ear, pasting a smile upon her face like she’d either just flirted with him outrageously or had just told him a juicy secret. Kyria had no wish to get herself involved in nefarious circumstances, but both her innate altruism and her medical training was not going to let her just ignore someone that needed her help and skills. Threading her fingers through his belt loop on the opposite hip, she realized she’d already synced her step with his and they’d not stopped moving for a millisecond. As they neared the corner that they needed to turn to get to her place, she indicated to him to lean upon her and waited to see if he would allow her to help him, or if he would decide to strike out on his own and leave her standing in the middle of the street.

The only thing that kept Malik from lashing out blindly when the woman jumped in front of him, was that she kept her distance from him. He was in survival mode. It looked like he was walking in a trance, waiting for someone to come at him. The woman didn't come directly at him, merely got his attention, and stayed away long enough for him to register that she was no threat. The words she spoke were only the edge of his awareness, echoes coming through the fog to find his ears. It was the tone of her voice, how she said those words. It soothed the animal that was pacing within his soul. Like a caged lion striding back and forth, waiting for something to get close enough to lash out through the bars at, or better, someone foolish enough to open the door. It stopped and looked at her. His head lowered slightly and glazed brown eyes slowly focused on her. "Hi."

One word spoken, that was it, and his stride never stopped. The beast waited and watched her, undecided if it would strike. The words made more sense now that he was looking at her. Lips moved to form words, but their sound lulled aggression away from him. He was hurt and she was offering help, a hand reaching out when one was desperately needed. Malik didn't know if he could trust her. She was a stranger in a city that kept away from other people's problems, and she was helping him when he needed it. It was too much of a coincidence. Something tickled at the back of Malik's mind. A Russian accent was telling him that it was possible to smell a lie in a human if you knew what to look for. His strong jaw tilted upward and his strong nostrils flared as he filled his lungs. Air was drawn in and his mind instinctively tore apart everything in that breath. He found so much in her scent: strong, female, enjoyed the smell of flowers, she even ate well, but there was no deceit in her. Lies caused a bitterness to enter the scent. It wasn't like the sweet aroma of confidence, because they had no confidence in what it was they were saying.

"You smell....good." he said in a low rumble that lived in his chest. It wasn't clear whether he was complimenting her perfume, or saying he could trust her. His stride kept steady, because he was detached from his body. When she moved towards him he lifted his one arm so that she could scoot beneath it. The massive tree trunk of an arm rested gently around her shoulders, strong fingers curled slightly over its curve. His other arm was firmly pressed into the hole in his side, doing the best it could to hold his life's blood in. Even wounded and daze, his posture was strong. The good Samaritan that came to his rescue didn't feel his weight resting upon her.

Malik stood tall, but he accepted her guidance. Her strong arm at his hip was a comfort to him. He was very tall even for a man, with the well trained build of a soldier that he refused to let decay in peace time. "If anything happens.... you stay low, and you run away from me.", he said in that low rumble of a voice. It truly did live in his chest, because she could feel it reverberating against the side that she had pressed against him. "Get out of sight and don't look back."

When they came to the corner that she needed to turn down, he willingly went, turning with a smooth grace that was unnatural in the shape that he was in. His steps slowed to match her smaller stride. Malik's eyes were no longer fixed on the horizon. He didn't even look down at her. Now his milk chocolate gaze was sharp, and scanned the world around him. Malik trusted his body to her completely. All he had to do was keep moving, and he would reach the destination she had in mind. Anything that came between him and that destination was now his enemy. The arm around her shoulders was kept light so that it could move for the gun at a moment's notice. "Who are you?", he asked her finally. It was a simple enough question, but not for him. He wanted to know who angle was that crossed his path.

Kyria was still quite careful as she guided Malik toward her place, she knew the look that he had, and she knew he was in a primal state as close to an animal as you could get. Ria had no way of knowing that he was even more primal than she knew, but when he sniffed her, a tingle flowed over her as the thought that he might not be just another soldier crossed her mind for the first time, and she questioned her ability to care for him if his anatomy was much different from most humanoids. Depending upon his gen, it could be mostly human, or somewhere in the middle, and when it got like that, she wasn’t always able to deal with the patient in a field dressing type of way.

"You smell....good."

Ria couldn’t help but smile at his words, not sure what he meant, but not in the mood or situation to try to decipher it either. As the weight of his arm came around her, Ria mentally released the breath she’d been holding unconsciously and relaxed truly for the first time as the rashness of what she’d done hit her and she thanked her lucky stars that he’d not lashed out at her like some wounded animal. It had been rash, but not something that she’d not learned how to do, though each circumstance was different, it was much like being in the field during the war and Ria’s instincts had been honed quite well. She kept up the inane chatter she’d started to give off the effect that they were old friends and she was just catching up with him. She had no clue who he was, or how he’d been hurt, but she knew a soldier in need when she saw one, and it was her duty to provide medical assistance to them, war or no.

"If anything happens.... you stay low, and you run away from me." "Get out of sight and don't look back."

The way his voice tumbled through him reminded her of how it felt to have a cat lying upon you and the soft rumble of their purring pushing at your skin. Her head nodded even before her brain had finished registering his words. She would indeed take off and wish him the best , she thought, the instinct of self preservation rearing up within her only to be pushed down by her desire to help a wounded person. She would run for cover, but she doubted seriously that she would not look back or just leave him to his fate. It just wasn’t in her makeup, much to her father’s distress. She’d lost count of the number of times that she’d ‘ intentionally and haphazardly placed herself in danger” for her misplaced sense of duty, as her father ranted at her often enough. She knew how to take care of herself, though the men around her seem not to think that was feasible, she’d made it through the war without her father holding her hand, and she’d not lost any skin while doing it. Well, not much, anyway.

"Who are you?"

His question drew her gaze to his face once again and away from her scan of their surroundings. It was a bit disconcerting to not know who the enemy was, much less if they were close. At least if you knew who your enemy was, you could know what type of danger you were facing. The way things stood, Kyria had placed herself into the midst of unknown circumstances, and she could only let her training take over and keep them both safe until they reached her home. She knew that Malik, though injured, was not one to depend upon a stranger, and would take care of himself if the need arose, but the nurturer in her goaded Ria to do what she could as well. “The name’s Mykals, Kyria Mykals, Army medic and certified MD, which it seems you are in great need of at the moment.” She didn’t ask him his name, if he were inclined to give it, he would do so, but she knew that she didn’t want to get too drawn into something that could come back and bite her in the ass, especially if it were of the illegal slant. She could get away with offering medical assistance, as it was part of her Hypocratic oath, but until she knew more about him, she wasn’t going to poke or probe into his business. She wasn’t going to ask him how he came to be hurt, at most, she would ask him what his wounds were caused by, and deal with it as best she could.

She could well imagine that he was a mercenary of one type or another, but being a mercenary didn’t make him bad or evil, after all, it was the best use of the skills that had been honed by years of service in the war. It was what people did, or let themselves get pulled into that made it bad. She knew plenty of good mercs, hell, she had been a merc herself once or twice as she made her way back to Librium as it was more prudent than traveling on her own as a lone woman. Steering him down her block, she glanced around once more, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Her mind was already making a list of what she needed to do as soon as they walked inside, and putting on water to boil and grabbing her inventory of towels and washcloths were going to be the first order of business.

With the hand she’d placed about his waist, she guided their steps ever closer to the small unassuming cottage that she’d rented until she figured out where she was going and what she wanted to do. It had once been a mother-in-law’s apartment at the back of another house, but it had been revamped and given its own entrance so it could rented out to other people. She’d puttered around the structure, cleaning out the flower beds and planting a few annals when she’d felt homesick and missed her mother. It looked like any other cottage, blending into the surroundings like a chameleon upon the trunk of a tree. Ria knew well that if she hadn’t kept it up, and gardened, that the cottage would be out of place in the manicured lawns and gardens that made up the neighborhood and therefore would have indeed stuck out and been much more memorable.

Pausing at the bottom of the few steps that she had before her porch, she gave him a chance to pull himself together, or grit his teeth if needed before they made their way into her humble abode. This too, would give him a chance to change his mind if he wanted to, she wanted in no way to convey the idea that she was trying to coerce him into doing anything that he didn’t want to. He was more than capable of taking her out if the muscled ridges of his body was anything to judge by, but more than that, was a certain air that surrounded him; an air of power and strength; an air of otherness that though she didn’t realize she’d picked up, Ria had indeed noted with those skills borne within her during her war years. Ria looked up at him then, locking her gaze with his as she nodded at the door, letting him decide if they were going inside or not.

It made perfect sense to him when she revealed that she was a trained doctor, and a military medic no less. She had a gentle but confident touch, and the way she handled a strange man with gunshot wounds as if he were an old friend stopping by to say hello. Both of them were hallmarks of someone who had seen real combat before. Her face was young, so she must have only served during the tail end of the conflict. Still, those were the most brutal years because both sides were well practiced at wiping out the other, and each wanted to end the war as decisively as possible. Malik was familiar with her manner. In his battalion soldiers were always taking wounds and needing to visit the field medics. Kyria's experienced touch was both welcomed and comforting, so he followed her with very little prodding. Sixty years of experience was now working against him when common sense would have him be wary.

Without hesitation he followed her up the steps to her cottage, and inside where it was safe and out of sight. His eyes still darted around looking for any sign of danger, but there was none to be found. They had come at him full force expecting an easy target, so he made sure he greeted them all appropriately. "My name's Malik." he said while she was closing the door behind them. If she didn't like the door his hand would reach out and turn the latch for her, and then he would walk a bit further into the room under his own power. "I do free lance work. I was finishing up a job expecting to get paid, but my employer had decided to change the plan. He took his package, and instead of paying me, he sold me out to the Huntsmen. It was an ambush." If Kyria had paid any attention to current events since the end of the war, she would know exactly who the Huntsmen were. They were a group of humans that felt 'altered humans' were abominations whether they served to protect humanity or not. The war was over and they had outlived their usefulness so it was time for humans to start feeling threatened by anything different again. The group was known for targeting Werewolves and New Breed, publicly citing the few Lycanthropes who had gone feral as examples of what they were all capable of. Some people chose to hunt on their own, while others banded together in groups and protested for the media to see. They were a small minority, but in any case it sickened Malik to see the people he fought to protect spitting on everything he fought for.

"Nine of them.", he said as he stood in the middle of the room and watched her move about collecting her supplies, and whatever else she would need to tend to his wounds. He was patient, and now that he wasn't moving, he could focus all of his attention and efforts on just staying up right. "They came at me hard, equipped to take out big game. They expected me to shift and take them on. I saw their gear and played it against them. " His hands went to the winter coat he was wearing, and he unzipped it, and then unzipped his jacket beneath. Carefully he shrugged his way out of both garments, so that he was only standing there in his t-t-shirt which was soaked with blood.. He looked down and was thankfully to see that he was standing on linoleum which extended from the door way. It was a surface that would be easy to clean incase he bled on it. He set the two garments down on the floor and then moved his hands to the neck of his shirt. "I'm a smaller faster target like this. Outnumbered.... be among your enemy.... use their numbers against them, " he said absently as if reciting something he had been taught.

His hands gripped at the neck of the shirt, the muscles of his arms tensed slightly, and then came the ripping of fabric. It was easier for him to rip the shirt off than to try and lifted it over his head. The wounds he had prevented him from even trying without stabs of pain, and the shirt was trash anyway thanks to the blood. That too was shrugged off, and she could now see his battle scarred upper torso, the fresh wounds that still bled freely, and the Lion's head tattoo that covered his shoulder. Looking at the layers he peeled off, it was a wonder that he was still standing after so much blood loss. "They're all dead. I didn't hear any chatter on their radios when I checked, so it's not likely that they had back-up. Didn't see anyone following us either....I was checking reflections."

Once Kyria was ready for him, Malik would follow her guidance where ever she led. He was not a doctor, and only knew a few field procedures which were good enough to stitch himself or a fellow soldier up and increase their chances of making it to a medic, but these wounds were beyond that. She had come to him when he was wounded and a stranger, and brought him into her home. He knew it was hers because her scent was everywhere, and it was the only one. If there was anyone else in here he would have been able to tell, his nose had been drawing in the air in deep pulls ever since he walked in the door. They were alone, and she had earned his trust, because he had no other choice. Malik was at her mercy. He settled down just as she instructed him to, so that she could reach all of his wounds. His eyes were starting to get heavy, and when he let his eyes finally move from his surroundings to her, he was having trouble keeping focus. Each blink was longer than the last, until finally he had to squeeze them shut in order to have the world there when he opened them again. Malik watched in silence for a moment while she worked, eyes fixed on her, jaw clenched against the pain.

Finally he broke the silence, with a barely audible rumble of a whisper. "Have I thanked you yet?" It was a simple question to ask, but one that was certainly out of the ordinary for the situation he was in. Most others would have asked about how bad their wounds were, what their chances of survival were, or if they would have a scar. Here he was asking if he had thanked her for her help, as if it was the only thing that mattered to him. His right hand, the one that still clenched the gun in its grip came up, and set the heavy weapon down on the table. He turned it so that the handle faced her direction, and then let the hand fall back to where it had been before. Kyria didn't have to answer him, he already knew that he had not so he simply said "I will," then passed out with a weak curve to his lips that almost looked like a smile.

Kyria had paused once inside the door, intent upon locking it, knowing it would give him an added sense of security. Kyria watched silently as he turned the lock himself and could only grin as she shot him a look. “Nice to meet you, Malik” she murmured as she steered him toward her kitchen, and sent a silent apology to her lovely Queen Anne table that she was about to convert into an operating table; at least it would be topped with a layer of plastic, she’d just bought a whole roll to put down in the flowerbeds. Kyria listened to Malik as he gave her the bare bones of his situation, noting that he was indeed altered, and wondered how much so. He seemed mostly normal, and she’d begun to catch small telltale signs, as a doctor, that noted the differences in others, but she’d not caught any major ones in him. Hoping for the best, she fought off a shudder at the mention of the Huntsmen, who were indeed, an extremist group known to be more feral than most of the ‘people’ they hunted.

She let go of him, watching him momentarily to see if he would falter but he stood alone and she quickly began to gather up supplies. She knew he wasn’t about to stand there long, so she moved her ass in a quick if thorough manner. Spreading the plastic she’d retrieved from the mud room over her table, she grabbed a pillow from the couch for his head and made a quick makeshift bed upon her lovely Queen Anne table. Checking the water she’d put on first thing, she brought it closer, along with a collection of metal bowls, and the myriad of tools she would need. She listened quietly as he continued to talk, explaining his situation to her and gleaning the information she needed out. The soft rustle of his clothing as it came off drew her gaze back to him and she winced right along with him as she caught sight of the fresh blood flow his actions had engendered. He had to be in quite a lot of pain, and moving was only making it worse.

The sound of tearing fabric reached her and she stepped back from the doorway of the bathroom in time to see the war marked torso come into view. And a nice view it was, she mused before her professionalism took over once again. She sat down all she’d gathered near the table upon a tea trolley that she’d cleared and pulled close to work from; a small rip of plastic covering the surface in hopes of keeping it somewhat blood free. Laying out her instruments in a hurried but methodical habit, she let her trained eye take in the fresh wounds; especially the one that was continuing to bleed freely and she wondered if she should think about a transfusion. She was quite reluctant to give him one, though she was O positive, she was unsure how much his physiology had been altered, and she didn’t want to kill him off because she gave him normal blood. Worse case scenario, she was indeed going to pump her own blood into him, if it gave her the slightest chance to keep him from dying on her. Ria knew that it was impossible to never lose a patient, but she did her damnedest to make sure it happened as little as possible. Ria attributed it to one of the few good traits that her father had instilled in her, and tried to always use it to her advantage. No one liked to lose, and she liked it even less if it were a human life that she lost.

She automatically answered or made appropriate sounds as he spoke, letting him know that she was indeed listening to him and taking in what he was actually saying though she had her attention elsewhere at times. She was a good multi-tasker, and it helped enormously in the medical field; the information he was giving her filed away if it was not immediately pertinent, and she would muddle over it later. Even at this stage, Ria knew instinctively that Malik was a case that would stay with her long after the medical work was done, and she would pick apart the information he gave her as she wondered about the man that had so unexpectedly been placed into her path. She gave him a soft smile as she stepped back to him and showed him her hands before placing them upon him to guide him down upon the table. She was glad that she’d not gone in for a cheap pressed wood table at the soft groan escaped her poor furniture when the weight of a fully grown, scratch that, a larger than normal male settled upon it and distributed out his weight along its surface.

Ria quickly began to gently clean the wounds, focusing more on the deep one as she wanted to stop the blood loss as quickly as possible in the hopes that she would not have to transfuse. She glanced at his face occasionally, a soft wince marring her expression when she caught him wincing with pain. She had little lidocaine, and she was saving it until she actually had to work upon the wound. Her attention now wholly focused upon what she was doing; she had stopped thinking about anything else. Her brain was caught up in assessing and diagnosing, settling upon the best course of actions and in what order to care for his wounds when her attention was grabbed by the deep, rumbly voice once more.

"Have I thanked you yet?"

One of her brows went winging toward her hairline as a wry smile ghosted across her lips, and her voice was full of laughter as she answered him simply “No, no you haven’t, Malik, but I didn’t expect you to quite yet at any rate.” He was definitely a cat of a different variety, she mused as she turned her attention back to what she was doing while the normal litany of questions that usually peppered her came to mind. Though she caught his movement out of the edge of her gaze, and her entire body tensed up when the gun entered her vision, she continued to work upon his wounds as if nothing were amiss. Though, had she known it, she gave herself away as he sat the gun down, and a soft whoosh of air exhaled from her lungs. Relaxing once again, she put down the needle she’d threaded, and the syringe of lidocaine that she’d drew and shot a look at his face. It was time for the nitty gritty, and she was going to ask him if he would like a shot of liquor or something to help him relax.

"I will"

She noted that the liquor would no longer be needed as his body relaxed as he slid into unconsciousness and she breathed a small sigh of relief. She could work on him while he was conscious, she’d done it many times, but she seemed to ache right along with her patient when those circumstances presented themselves and she was very thankful that she would not have him conscious when she begin to dig into him in the search of bullets or foreign objects within his wound. His words penetrated her consciousness, pulling back the medical mode she’d sank into and her lithe frame tensed momentarily. “Now why does that give me chills, Mr. Malik?” she mused at the handsome face that lay upon the heavily brocaded pillow from her couch. Shaking off the inane musing, she returned to doctor mode, and picked up the syringe.

Humming softly as she worked, skilled fingers moved quickly in doing what repairs she could to the damage that the Huntsmen had inflicted upon his body. The doctor in her mused and wondered at the various scars that marred his flesh, noting immediately what had caused most, but a few made her wonder just how he’d got them and what had made them. Maybe, one of these days, she’d have a chance to ask him. Curiousity had always been a large part of her makeup, and when she’d been given the opportunity, she never shied away from assuaging it, even when it meant asking patients about previous wounds. She worked diligently upon the various wounds, in order of need, and the hours skimmed by without her conscious of their passing. She only realized that time had flown when she finally put the last bandage upon one of the minor wounds, well, minor for him at any rate, and stood up, her hands going to her back as she arched it, trying to work out the kinks that had settled into it during her time bent over so long.

A soft groan escaped her and she realized that she too was going to need some pain reliever after this little impromptu surgery, and she began to clean up the mess that they’d made. Thankfully she’d found the bleeder quickly and staunched his blood loss without having to transfuse him, but she was going to watch him closely as she was still questioning the need to perform one. Grabbing some cleaner, she set her kitchen back to rights without waking her patient, and got things back into place. Ria had had cleanliness drilled into since she could walk, and she did admit that an orderly home was much easier to care for. Ria brewed some tea for herself, but for her patient, she left some orange juice, pain reliever, a vitamin, and an iron pill that she’d had on hand since the last time she’d had anemia. It would help him in renewing his blood cells just a bit quicker, or that was the litany that the nurturer in her murmured when she’d sat them down beside him.

Pulling her rocker in from the living room, she sat it up not far from the makeshift bed, and puttered around a bit more. Putting on some stew that she’d had frozen, she let it simmer in the crockpot so that it would be ready when he regained consciousness. He would definitely need some fuel to replenish the calories that the whole debacle had taken from him. She went into the bedroom room and gathered a couple of blankets before flipping on her stereo. The soothing sounds of smooth jazz floated softly on the air, low enough to not disturb him, but audible enough to encourage relaxation. Shaking out her largest blanket, she tucked it in around him, hoping that he would rest a good few hours and let his body recuperate some. Knowing his type, he’d probably be up bouncing around within minutes, but she could hope, right?

Settling into the rocker, she pulled the other blanket around herself, and sipped her tea as she let her gaze flow over her patient. Her natural curiosity was now free to ponder upon this man that had stumbled into her life and her mind was rife with theories of whom and what he was. She went through a list of theories, tossing some as ridiculous while holding onto others as possible. She had a few valid possibilities in mind as she finished off her tea and set aside the cup. Setting her watch, she pulled the blanket even farther over her shoulders, and watched him quietly, her caramel colored gaze dwelling upon the massive form before blinking slowly. The theories were twirling around her head like a merry-go-round as she continued to make note of his vitals, her vigil by his side passing without mishap until her gaze grew heavy and she nodded off within whispering distance of the man who’d just stumbled into her life.

There was a difference between sleeping out of necessity, and sleeping out of exhaustion. When the body was exhausted the mind still had the will and energy to act. It was that combination that became the dreams that filled the darkness of the mind. Malik was beyond exhaustion and slept out of necessity. His mind and his body were so spent that there was nothing but darkness for him behind his eye lids. Every aspect of him shut down, and waited for the moment that it could break free of the darkness and return to the world.


The first to regain the strength to break free of the endless void was his mind. Into the darkness came thoughts that became the stuff of dreams. Images played through is mind, of unprocessed information from his waking moments, and then those images strung together, becoming motion. Just like a cat, the dreams caused nerves to fire which caused a physical response in his muscles. At first it was an isolated twitch of skin here and there, then it became a slight tremor of finger or wrist. Each twitch brought him increasing awareness of his physical body, and caused the dream to pale in comparison to the real world. As the mental construct lost its hold, instinct made him force his way to the waking world. The sense of danger he felt was too real to be a part of the dream. Where ever he was, Malik wasn't sure that he was completely safe.

The military was through in training the young lion. They taught him how to sleep and wake up like a soldier. Sleeping involved, never letting yourself fall too deeply into unconsciousness, and the process of waking up was a smooth one. A soldier was best served if they came to consciousness without moving. It allowed one to get a sense of their surroundings without possibly tipping off an enemy. Malik was good at them, but the sleep from which he was waking, was far too deep, and too hard a struggle. His eyes sprang open and he looked around wildly in a state of disorientation. Thankfully there was no one there, no one but her.

Pain quickly reminded him that he was injured and shouldn't be moving around too quickly. His teeth clenched to bear down on the sharp pain, and he tried to quietly breath it away. The serene look Kyria's olive skinned face told him that she was getting much needed rest. His eyes went to the window and saw darkness on the other side of the curtains. It was night time, and Malik had no idea how long he was unconscious, or how long this stranger had toiled over him to save his life. Very carefully he made small and careful moves to test out his body before trying push himself up.

The plastic beneath him crackled as he slowly pushed himself up, and carefully swing his legs over the edge of the table. The sharp pains were now only dull aches since his movements were less jarring than they had been when he woke up. His hand went first to the wound in his side. The spot burned like fire but the bandage was still pristine white which meant she had been able to stop the bleeding and get him stitched up. The next he checked was his shoulder where the bullet had gone completely through. Luckily it hadn't contacted any bone to break, or shatter on. It would have been a lot harder to tend to that one if a slug had fragmented to send shards bouncing around inside him. He raised his shoulder as much as he could before pain told him going any further was a bad idea. At least he could still move it. Everything else was just a minor annoyance that would have healed in time leaving respectable scars, but has he looked over himself he that her stitch work was so good that he wouldn't be adding many to his collection.

His eyes went to her once more and studied the features of her face and lines of her body. The Divine had truly been looking out for him this day. The odds of him surviving long enough to walk to the bar, and have someone there find him help were slim to none. Malik was a pragmatist to his core. He had no illusions that he was most likely going to die, he was just too stubborn to lie down and give up. It was against his nature to quit. "Kyria," he said her name to himself quietly, forever linking the sight with the name in his mind. She had saved his life, a debt he was determined to repay in some way, shape, or form. Pushing himself up to his feet Malik quietly tiptoed to where his gun lay on the end table beside her.

Fingers wrapped around the gun's handle without any thought. The weight in his hand was comforting in the same manner that a blanket was warm on a cold night. Malik wasn't one who relied on guns to do his fighting, but in the shape that he was in that gun was his only hope. His injuries would keep him from shifting, lest he open them again. Any sort of close quarters fighting was also out of the question. Malik would end up doing more damage to himself than an opponent could do to him the moment he started to fight back. Once he had the gun in his hand, Malik would try to quietly move about the house, carefully checking from the edges of the curtains to make sure the area outside was secure without waking up his sleeping heroine.

Kyria was tired. It had taken her longer than she’d thought it would to patch up and repair the man that had strode into her path like an automaton. As she drifted, she went over and over the repairs she did, double checking her work and making sure she’d made the right decision over each repair. When she felt comfortable that she’d done all she could for him, she let her mind wander, though it didn’t wander too far from the large male that was even now stretched out on her dining table recuperating from his run in with a group that Kyria had long ago consigned to the devil. She wondered where he was stationed during the war, and exactly what they’d made him do. Kyria was under no illusions when it came to the Military. She knew it was an organization with little honor, and even less inhibitions when it came toward the end of the war. Their main objective had to been to ground out the resistance and finish off the war before those in power were replaced. When you thought about, that those type of people were in power and running their world, it could make you crazy and paranoid. Kyria shook her head softly in her sleep, and pushed away the ugly thoughts.

"My name's Malik." drifted through her mind, the deep rumbling sound settling into the middle of her chest like a bird settling into its nest for the night; with a little ruffling of feathers and a few squirms and wiggles. Malik…. The name suited him, she thought, though she did wonder who gave it to him, and if there was any thought behind it, or had it just been assigned, like a number in a Jewish concentration camp. She hoped not, she liked the named, it was different, and it had a nice ring to it. She hoped that someone that cared about him had given him the name, and along with it, pride of who and what he was. What he was….. there was another question that she had herself. She’d not found any physiological differences, but she knew that he was different. He seemed bigger, stronger, and there was that sniffing he’d done, like he’d been taking in her scent. A soft grin ghosted her lips as various scenarios ran through her mind of what made him different, and a few were ridiculous enough to have smiles chasing across her lips in her sleep; though those could just as well be followed by more serious and dangerous ones that would cause her to frown, drawing her brows together.

Pushing away all of it, Kyria let her mind drift, going where it would, taking flights of fancy intermingled with common, mundane things of the world; though if she knew it, Malik wormed his way in between those thoughts more than she realized, the puzzle that he’d brought to her door, and mayhaps the problems he’d brought to her life never quite leaving her conscious. She didn’t like not being in control of her situation, so her mind continued to worry and puzzle over the man, unconsciously trying to figure him out and arrive at a place that would make her feel more secure and comfortable with the situation.

As an old favorite from Miles Davis played in the background, the soft sounds soothed her, helping her to settle more comfortably in her sleep. She had no idea how long she slept, nor how deeply, but slowly she was pulled from the depths of sleep, not quite sure why she was awakening in the midst of the dark hours, but soft, subtle stealthy sounds did indeed draw her mind from its wanderings and drug it back to her conscious surroundings. Ria had been used to waking quietly, taking stock of her surroundings and assessing her safety before she made any sudden moves, so barely lifting her lashes, she made a quick study of her situation. She was still sitting quietly in her kitchen in the rocker that she’d rescued from her mom’s attic where it had been consigned after her grandmother had passed away. Everything seemed okay… then two things hit her at once. There was no longer a very large male lying splayed out on her table, and there was a very soft rustle of movement from the other room. The sound brought to mind the times she’d hid within the heavy brocaded drapes in her grandmother’s living room and she knew that someone was looking out the window.

Now the question was, was it Malik, or had someone got in, or worse….. were they taking him out now? She quickly dismissed the last part of her question, because she instinctively knew that even in the bad shape he was in, they would never take Malik out of her home this quietly. With every ounce of strength he had, he would fight to the bloody end and it wouldn’t have been the soft rustle of curtains that had awakened her, but the sounds of her house being brought down on her head. Feeling more secured, the doctor in her took the fore, and she wondered exactly how much rest he’d gotten. Bringing her wrist up to her face, she checked her watch. Damn! She’d slept through her alarm and then some. She should have checked his wounds a few hours ago. Remonstrating herself for the lapse, she shook her head, and pulled the blanket off her, intent upon finding him if he….. “Damn! What if he was slipping away, thinking he was able to leave?”

Determined to find him, hopefully before he got out of her house and away from medical attention, she stood up, setting the blanket back into the chair, and let her eyes sweep over the table. There was no blood, so that at least was on their side. Cocking her head to the left in an unconscious effort to hear better, she slid her fingers through the burnished curls and moved them away from her ears as she strained to hear any more sounds. Hopefully she could tell where he was and get to him before he lit out for parts unknown. He was definitely in no shape to be going anywhere just yet, and this doctor was not about to let him go gallivanting around and undo all her hard work without a fight, well, so to speak.

A sense of relief flowed through him when his feline eyes adjusted to the darkness and he saw no one lurking in the shadows.  The last thing he wanted to bring a fight to this good woman's doorstep.  Finding someone who was willing to help someone in need out of the kindness of their heart was a rare treasure.  Looking out into the night thoughts of the woman who had appeared before him asking for nothing more than enough trust so she could help him.  He'd already brought enough strife into her life and didn't want to bring anymore by having his problems follow him here.  


Rustling movement inside the house had caught his attention but he didn't taken his eyes off of the window.  The noise was his mysterious angel waking up, so there was no need to turn away until he was certain they were safe.  Satisfied, his head shifted, and moved his gaze inward.  Slowly he lowered his hand that wielded the gun to his side, gave his thumb a flick to engage the safety, and slid the cold steel into his pats at the small of his back.  That was when he realized that he was only wearing his boxers.  It wasn't in his nature to be modest, but she was a stranger, and a very attractive one at that.  He kept the gun at his side anyway, so he wouldn't give her any reason to fear him, but the threat of being attacked was still very real so he refused to put the gun down.   Once the gun was no longer a threat for her, Malik peeled himself away from the curtains and moved towards her.


"I didn't see anyone lurking in the shadows outside, and noone is across the street in either direction.  It looks like I wasn't followed." he said to reassure her as much as reassure himself that they were in the clear.  It was one of his ways of coming down off of high alert.  His free hand went to the bandage that covered his side where the bullet had entered.  "I've gotta hand it to you.  You do good work.  During the war the medics were always giving me hell because they had to redo almost every stitch they ever put in me.  I'm the rambunctious type."  His voice was strong, but she could still hear the weariness in it.  He had slept just enough for him to wake up and secure the area, but asking much more of him was out of the question.


Once he was in the safety of the dining room with her, he set the gun down and started to clean up the mess that she made on his behalf.  Hands took the edges of the plastic that she laid him on, and carefully started to fold it up so that none of the blood he got on it spilled out.  For the first time he saw the quality and workmanship of the table that he had been laying on as a makeshift hospital bed, and felt ashamed.  "I'm sorry I got you mixed up in all of this.  If you have a phone I can use to make a call, I can get my people out here to get me out of your hair."  He bundled the plastic up in a tight wad now that it was secure from leakage, and pushed it into the trash bin that she had used to put the used gauze and cotton balls.  "I'll help you clean up the mess I made while we wait."  He looked back to the opening of the entryway that he had undressed in and saw his bloody clothes.  Picking up the trash-bin, he took it with him, and scooped up the pile of blood soaked rags he left there.  "Do you have any rags and cleaner I can used to get this spot cleaned up?  I don't want to leave your home with any blood stains to remember me by."

"I didn't see anyone lurking in the shadows outside, and no one is across the street in either direction. It looks like I wasn't followed."

Ria was glad to hear that he seemed to be satisfied with their safety for the moment as she fought the urge to grasp him around the waist and help him to bed. Her hands lifted but she kept them from reaching out to him, but barely. Her fingers itched in a physical manifestation of her need to protect those wounds from bursting open from his foolhardy movements. As his next words rolled over her, she just barely kept from making a face at him though she couldn’t quite keep the short retort from rolling off her tongue.."You don’t say!” Ria knew very well what they felt, as she continued to fight the urge to grab him and do whatever she needed to get him off his feet and back into bed before he burst HER stitches. “I’ll show you rambunctious if you don’t get off those feet, or you mess up my stitches.” She muttered softly under her breath as she followed him back into the dining room and with an exasperated sigh watched as he became a domestic god and began to clean her kitchen. Chewing quite vigorously upon her lower lip kept her from shrieking at him like a banshee, but she knew that she was definitely on the edge of tackling him as if she were some 350 pound linebacker.


"I'm sorry I got you mixed up in all of this. If you have a phone I can use to make a call, I can get my people out here to get me out of your hair." "I'll help you clean up the mess I made while we wait." . "Do you have any rags and cleaner I can used to get this spot cleaned up? I don't want to leave your home with any blood stains to remember me by."


As he turned to finally look at her, trash bin in one hand and bloody clothes spilling over the top of it that he’d just tossed in there, Ria let out a strangled scream of frustration and lost it. It never entered her mind that he was probably twice her size or weight, and he could prolly pick his teeth with her bones. All she knew was that he was putting all those long agonizing hours of work she’d put into him at risk, and she wasn’t having it. Maybe it was pride; or ego; or just an altruistic wish to keep him from harming himself, all she knew was she was going to get him on his back and immobile before he undid all her good intentions. Stalking forward, she pasted a rather strained smile upon her lips, or so she thought, as she looked up into his handsome face, and very, very carefully, and rather pointedly, pried the waste bin from his fingers and let it drop onto the floor. She wasn’t mindful of the noise, she was doing her best not to act like an escaped pyche patient and maybe set his recovery back by her own doing.


“I am sorry I got mixed up in it as well, but get mixed up in it I did. And since I am mixed up in it, I’m in it until the bloody end,……Malik.” She gritted through her teeth at him, once again under the misconception that she was hiding her ire well. “Now that that is cleared up, lets clear up the rest, shall we? You are in NO shape to be going anywhere until you heal a bit, I don’t care how they altered you.” As she spoke, she lifted his arm, checking his bandages for any signs of blood or damage. She was in doctor mode, and examined the beautiful anatomy in front of her with a professional eye. A hearty sigh of thanks slid from her when she saw no ontoward signs of damage, and she tut-tutted under her breath. Flicking him a gaze that spoke volumes of her frustration with him, she wrapped her arm carefully around his middle and let her fingers rest upon his opposite hip. Pivoting him about, she ushered him into her sanctuary. The room was painted a soft sand color, with lots of teal, chocolate and gold. The furniture was old, and chosen with comfort utmost in mind. The lighting was recessed, or by lamp, lending a soft glow to the atmosphere. The bed was large and full of comforters and pillows. Oblivious to all this, Ria quickly ripped back the covers and exposed the soft moss colored sheets. Standing upright once again, she pinned Malik with a challenging look.


“Cross paths, we did, Malik. And I spent many, many hours patching you up. Now I don’t know what type of people you are used to working on you, but I do not just bundle people out of my life because it’s inconvenient for me to have them around." Since he just stood there looking at her as if she’d grown two heads, she grumbled something very unladylike under her breath and stepped back up to him, pushing gently but insistently upon his hips until his knees hit the edge of the bed. “You are NOT going to call your people; you are NOT going to get out of my hair; you are definitely NOT going to help me clean up any mess; and whether or not you leave any blood stains in my house, I WILL remember you, Malik!” Pushing again, she grunted insistently. “Now get your ass in that bed of your own accord, like a good boy, or I will make you get in it. And you will stay in it, and give yourself a chance to heal, then worry about calling your ‘people’. Because if you don’t stay in that bed, I will have to make you, and I don’t think you want me sitting on your chest while you are trying to heal.”


Kyria, if she had taken the time to think about it, should have been shaking in her shoes, only she wasn’t wearing any, and she wasn’t worrying about her own safety. Utmost in her mind was this stubborn man that was endangering all the work she’d done upon him, and it had incensed her beyond logical thought. She was not worried about anyone finding them; she wasn’t worried about his people, and though it should have been first in her mind, she had no fear of Malik himself. She was determined to protect the newly patched flesh that he seemed bound and determined to damage.


Kyria was used to making autocratic decisions for her patients that couldn’t make them for themselves. If a patient was incapacitated, Kyria could make medical decisions in their best interest without qualms. Malik didn’t seem incapacitated, but if he continued to endanger himself and all her handy work, Ria would take it upon herself to make sure that he took care of himself, even if it meant that she had to tie him down to that bed. Malik was a capable man, but in his present condition, and the determined gleam that sparkled from those flashing umber hues, Malik might just bite off more than he could handle if he took on the slim doctor.

Malik was a mountain of a man dominating the room that he was standing in.  He was larger than a good deal of the furniture, and certainly larger than her, but the outburst made him raise an eyebrow.  This woman was tiny, but she certainly had fire.  He was transfixed when she lost her temper, partly from the shock of having such fight come out of her so suddenly.    The other part was purely something only his mind would come up with at such a time.  She was cute when she was angry.  The corner's of his lips started to curl in a bit of a smirk, but they quickly stopped when she advanced on him.


One step after another she came closer, her words punctuated with with the sound of her tiny feet on hard wood.  She probably wasn't stomping intentionally, but she had Malik's full undivided attention on her which meant every detail of her was sharpened to a clarity that no human could know.  Her scent was on fire, and she was clearly a dominant personality making herself known.   It was impressive how she ignored size, strength, and positioning, and focused on the matter at hand.  He took a step back when she poked him in the chest, and another when she advanced again with another poke.  


Malik wasn't the type to take being bullied.  It was in his nature to fight back when someone challenged him, and fight for those who needed protection.  It was her words that mitigated the aggression she threw out at him.  It was clear that she had his best interests in mind, and if he didn't know better it seemed like she was defending a claim on him.  That was a first for the Lion.  It was also a pleasant surprise.  Before he knew it, he felt something at the back of his legs.  


His head whipped around quickly to see what it was that he bumped in to.  Just as he saw it was the bed, another shove from Kyria pushed his balance the rest of the way over the edge.  Malik fell backwards and landed on the soft mattress with a bit of a bounce that made him wince.   He hadn't popped any stitches or done anything to injure himself again.  I was just a polite reminder o the condition that he was in.  He wasn't in any shape to go anywhere, let alone take on whatever he found out there looking for him.  This place was as safe as any and it seemed he'd found himself a protector.  There was a rueful laugh that came from him, just a quiet "Heh." at the thought of someone protecting him for a change.  He was used to it being the other way around.  He secretly admitted to himself that it felt nice.


"Ummm...  Yes, ma'am," Malik said through the confusion as he looked up at the diminutive brunette.  She was tiny, but now she was towering over him in all her glory.  "Are you this forceful with all you patients?" he asked her as he laid back in the bed, and pushed his ligs down into the covers.  She had done an excellent job of cleaning him up so there was no need to refuse the place other than chivalry.  He raised his voice about to protest that he wasn't going to put her out of her own bed, but the determination in her eyes killed that protest before it was given voice.  "You're lucky I'm already injured or else I would put up a fight."  That last sentence was just about all the fight he had left in him, because he was quickly off to sleep.


<<End Thread>>