Voice (15 page)

He’d been so supportive so often for her. How could she help here?

She opened her eyes again. The men she’d initially identified as “guards” looked different from those who’d helped Tricorp. They looked like police, though they were lacking labels on their clothing. They stood differently than the guards in the facility had, and they reminded her more of Heidi than of any of the others. Their weapons were smaller, too, and their protective gear seemed less bulky, less intimidating. She sent a wave of reassurance toward Jack, then focused her attention back on the doctor.

“Do you mind if we talk out here in the hall instead?” she asked. “I know that might sound strange, but we’ve been through a lot.”

Dr. Johnson tapped on his desk with his finger several times before nodding. “That’ll be fine. We have a lot of tests we need to run, anyway. We can start walking while we talk, if that’s okay with you.”

Jemma looked at Jack, who nodded after only another moment’s hesitation. “That works. Thanks.”

“Okay.” Dr. Johnson stood and joined them in the hallway, walking just in front of them; Jemma ignored the sound of footsteps following behind. “Senator Pratt called ahead, gave me your names and told me that you were two of those being held by Tricorp BioD. We’ve been briefed on the tests we need to run to make sure that you aren’t in any immediate danger, and you’ll be free to go as soon as we’re done. We have everyone on duty we need to rush the results. You’re getting in here late, and we might have a long night, but we should still be able to have you out of here and headed back home by morning.”

Triumph and relief surged through Jack and Jemma’s connection, but she wasn’t sure whether it came from her, him, or both of them.

They could be heading home by morning.

“The senator mentioned that one of you has been showing some side effects from your time with—” The doctor seemed to stumble on his words for the first time.

“With those psychopathic idiots who thought they could do whatever the hell they wanted to us?” Jack’s voice was lower than usual, and the doctor glanced over his shoulder at him. “That would be Jemma.”

Dr. Johnson nodded. “Can you explain your symptoms please?”

Jemma relayed them, keeping her voice as even as possible, telling him about vision issues and continued head pain, while the doctor kept walking, with no reaction that they could see from behind him. She could feel that Jack was angry again, reminded once more of the harm she’d come to. “I’ve also got a GPS tracker implanted in my arm.” She reached into a loose pocket to remind herself the scrambler was still there, almost running into Dr. Johnson when she failed to see he’d stopped.

He turned to face her. “That might require surgery. May I see?” He examined her proffered arm carefully, his brow furrowed, then resumed walking. “You’ll both need MRIs. We’ll need an x-ray on that arm before we’ll know whether we can proceed with surgery tonight. We have several general surgeons on hand, as well as neurologists, just in case, since we knew what they were experimenting with, but I can’t tell how deep that is, and it’s not my area. We’ll do a complete blood workup on both of you, too, of course, as well as physical exams.”

He looked back at them again. “Much of this can be accomplished faster if you’re willing to split up?” He seemed unsurprised at their shaking heads, and he faced forward once more, leading them down another hallway. “That’s okay. I can arrange for one room with a curtain in the middle for exams, if that helps, and we only have the one MRI anyway. That’s first since the results take some time to develop and study, then the lab work, for the same reason. Here we are.”

Jemma swallowed, remembering her last experiences with this type of machine, then focused on the strength Jack was sending through their connection.

“Ma’am, we’d like to run your scans first. Sir, you can wait out here with me. It’s not safe to be in the room while the machine is running.”

Jemma took a breath and turned to Jack, startled by the blurry shapes behind them; she’d nearly managed to forget their escort entirely. “I’ll be all right,” she said. “It’s good that we’re getting this over with first.” She leaned forward and kissed him, soaking in the surge of emotion that accompanied the action. “See you in a little while.”

“I’ll be right here.”

***

The scans were completed after a brief delay to discuss the safety of it with the implant. Next were Jemma’s x-rays, and then their blood was drawn, more than seemed necessary. After the lab tech had given them each a couple of cookies and a box of juice, Dr. Johnson led them to a double occupancy room with a curtain dividing the middle, as he’d promised. He brought in another doctor, female, to examine Jemma while he looked Jack over in the other partition, security waiting outside. Afterward, he led them back to his office, pausing at the doorway.

“Is this okay now? It really is the easiest place to talk about the results we’ve gotten so far and what we need to do next.”

Jemma was tired. She was tired of being on edge, tired of being poked and prodded, tired of being worried. She looked at Jack. “I just want to get this done as quickly as we can,” she sent, hoping it would look as if she were just watching him. “It wasn’t bad in the exam room.”

“You’re right, it wasn’t. Let’s get this over with, hmm?” He nodded at the doctor, then followed him into the room, taking the seat across from the desk, farther from the door. Jemma took the other and reached for Jack’s hand, sending and receiving reassurance.

“Okay.” Dr. Johnson flicked through his tablet, then leaned back. “Both of you are underweight, slightly malnourished, but nothing that regular meals and a daily multivitamin won’t make up for. The brain scans show damage for each of you. More for you, Miss Tyler, including some deterioration in one of the areas responsible for interpreting eyesight. It is showing signs of repair, though, and should continue doing so. In the meantime, try to avoid anything that strains your eyesight. Avoid bright lights, long periods of reading or electronic screens. No driving until you’ve fully recovered. Got it?”

She nodded, and Jack squeezed her hand.

“Now,” Dr. Johnson continued. “The implant. We think we can remove it without putting you under, using a local anesthetic instead. This way, there’s less risk for complication, and we should be able to get you back out of here sooner. It’s not going to feel pleasant when the local wears off, but we can prescribe some medications to make that a little easier on you. You could wait and schedule the surgery at a later date if you prefer, but it looked like the implant is probably fairly uncomfortable when you move, and I highly recommend you stay the extra hours we need for surgery, prep, and recovery.”

Jemma ignored the churning of her stomach at the idea of surgery, instead focusing on the idea of getting the thing out of her. “Yes, I’d like to go ahead with that.”

“You two won’t be able to stay together for all of it,” Dr. Johnson cautioned.

“We understand,” Jack said aloud. Silently, he added, “I’ll stay as close as I can. If I’m close enough to Talk, I’ll Talk the whole time. If not, then just like with the MRI, I’ll be there as soon as you get out.”

“I’m not going to be able to relax until it’s out,” Jemma said, meeting Jack’s eyes. She then turned her gaze to Dr. Johnson, needing him to understand their reluctance. “It’s not that we
can’t
be separated, doctor. We understand that we can’t always stay right next to each other, that there are things like this surgery that might make us need to split up, and I’m sure when more than a couple of days have passed, it might be a little less frightening, the idea of being alone.

“But we were used. We were forced apart, tested, in a lot of the same ways you’ve been doing tonight, and even though we know you’re doing it to help, they thought they were helping, too. So if we want to stay together because things were better when we were together, a little less painful, a little easier to get through, please don’t think we’re acting this way for no reason.”

Dr. Johnson watched Jemma for several seconds before moving his eyes to Jack, who was stroking her hand with his thumb, then cleared his throat and turned his attention back to his tablet. “I always try not to judge. We’ll take you to surgical prep now. I will, uh, I’ll make arrangements for Mr. Himmel to watch from the observation area, if that would help. There will just be a few times he’ll need to be completely out of sight.”

“We appreciate that,” Jack answered. “Thank you.”

***

Jack’s mental tone was weak from the observation area, but it did reach Jemma, and as promised, he kept her distracted, relaxed, while they worked on her arm, kept her from focusing on the fact that her arm was strapped down so it could be cut open while she was still awake.

By the time it was over, Jemma was exhausted. It was late—or early, depending on how she wanted to look at it—and she knew that the pain medication she’d just taken would only make her even more tired. Jack sat in a chair next to the bed where she waited for discharge papers, the lights in the room turned low.

“Should we sleep before we drive home?” asked Jemma. “It’s been a long time since you slept, and you’re the one driving.”

“Probably. We can go back to the senator’s for a few hours since he’s gone anyway. I’ll rest long enough to be able to drive safely, and then we’ll head home. I can get more sleep there.”

“That sounds like a good plan.” Jemma closed her eyes.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:

Cleared

Jemma woke in the bed in the senator’s house. She could vaguely recall Jack helping her to the car and then into bed, and she had flashes of oppressive dreams, memories of Josh’s face, of panic.

But she hadn’t woken up from those dreams still afraid. Progress.

She moved to stretch and bit back a groan; her arm hurt more than it had when Josh had first put the tracker in. A lot more. She tried to look at it, but the light outside was still dim. When she twisted to see the clock on the other side of Jack, she felt him stir.

“Jemma. I slept longer than I meant to,” he mumbled. “You need to eat something with your pain meds.” He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed before stumbling out of the room. Jemma blinked after him, carefully removed the covers with her good arm, and followed him to the kitchen. When Jack saw she was up, he turned on the lights and coffee maker. “We can leave once we’re awake. Or once I am, anyway. That medication does a number on you. Do you remember anything after the surgery?”

She shook her head. “Not really. They let us go, I can see.” She walked to the center island and picked up the prescription bottle resting there, her name printed on it, along with directions to take the pills every six hours for ten days. “And they let us leave with this strong of a drug without ID.”

“They let us leave without the armed protection, too.” Jack put four pieces of bread in the toaster. “That wasn’t as hard as I was expecting. Apparently, they weren’t actually sure whether they were supposed to stay with us after we left the hospital. They’re local cops, work for the city or county, I forget. Either way, when they heard we were headed out of state, they let us leave alone. Said we should be safe, now, anyway, and that almost everybody’s been caught.”

She knew she should’ve felt safer with protection, but she agreed with Jack’s call; it seemed like a better idea to have left the hospital without a couple of policemen in tow.

“Anything else?” Jemma looked down at the neat incision on her arm. It was only about an inch long, not nearly as long as the bruising had been, though the area looked like it was developing new bruises on top of the old ones.

“Yeah. They gave me some bandages for you to keep on that, but I guess the first dose they gave you was the strongest since they injected some, too, and you kept peeling off anything they put on over the cut. Other than that, though, just take it easy on your arm and your eyes and everything should heal.”

She got comfortable as he brought her toast and milk. She declined coffee, intending to fall back to sleep on the drive home.

“I messaged Myles when we got back, let him know what was going on. Told him we were staying the night and heading home this morning, just in case he showed up after all,” Jack sent while chewing. “And we can check in with our families before we head out. I know it’s early, but I don’t think Myles would mind if we made a long-distance call, and I know at least my dad is sometimes up around this time, anyway. We’ll finish eating and check for emails, first.”

Jemma nodded and swallowed her medication, hoping it kicked in quickly—her arm was throbbing—but that its effects wouldn’t be quite as severe as the night before. She didn’t want Jack having to bring her home unconscious.

She still felt like herself when Jack pulled up the email inbox. They’d gotten an email from Jill, one from each of their fathers, and three from her mom.

Jemma wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. For a second, she thought she might do both. Instead, she rested her hand on Jack’s shoulder as he clicked through the emails quickly, ready to get a start on their drive. All of the emails had the same basic message: get home safely and as quickly as possible, and they were loved and missed.

Glancing at the clock, Jemma sighed, turned away from the computer, and picked up the phone. “I guess it’s time to tell them we’re on our way.” She dialed her parents’ number, familiar anxiety over calling warring with the thrill of being able to contact them again, both emotions calming when Jack carefully put his arms around her. She leaned back against his chest and switched the phone to speaker.