Don't leave me here by myself.

She traced the path of Wick's steps through the grass, and her own footsteps were soft and quiet as she circled the house to the orchard. There was a great distance between them, enough that Wick was only a pale shadow beneath the trees, and Kat kept that distance. She hid beneath her own tree, a dark shadow with eyes that were just as heavy and shaded, and she stayed there, watching but not wanting to be seen.

The other girl stopped and stared up at the sky, and Kat glanced up too. The moon was full and bright, and her expression grew tired as she remembered all the other times she'd watched the heavens, wondering where he was and if he were thinking of her too. Then her weariness changed to anger, and she glared at the moon; it was the same moon that shone above him, and she cursed it, for it could look down upon him and she could not.

They can all see him, all those people in Charybdis; crazy or not they can watch him or talk to him or ignore him as they chose. And I can't do any of that. He's mine, and I can't even see him. Even the fucking moon can see him.

Now when she turned to watch Wick again her eyes were furious, but their separation was not her fault this time, and Kat could not hate her. She wanted to, though, wanted to have a focus for her hate, but the cause of all this was already dead, and Kat turned and ran before she could hurt Wick for his crimes.

All I can do is try. And I will try not to hurt you, if you will try to help me.

But we need to hurry. I'm sorry, Wick, but it needs to be soon.

I did it, Mode. I kept my promise.

Then suddenly her emotions threatened to overwhelm her, dangerously tender, sobbing, screaming emotions, and she hurried to occupy herself instead with helping Wick and hovering over Mode. It kept the tears at bay, and between settling Mode into bed and making him comfortable, there was very little time for her indulge in weakness.

Once he was in bed, Wick went to get food, and Kat used the time to examine him. It was more to soothe her own fears than for any medical reason, but she looked him over from head to toe, touching his bruises and the marks of the twitchers upon his wrists. The sight of him so abused made her angry, and she held onto that anger. It made her feel stronger, and when Wick returned with a tray of soup she managed to smile.

"He's alright," she said, just to hear herself say it. "Nothing broken." Wick nodded and smiled too, and set down the tray on the bedside table. "Good. Let me know if you need anything."

It was Kat's turn to nod, and Wick was almost to the door before Kat could think of anything to say. "Wait." Her sister stopped and turned, and Kat stared at the floor for a long, long moment, her voice quiet and soft when she finally spoke. "...thank you."

Wick met her gaze when she glanced up, and the same look was in both of their eyes, a heavy understanding. "You're welcome."

And then she left.

Kat stayed by Mode's side for three days. He woke occasionally, but it was a drugged, wavery state of consciousness, and she doubted he even recognized her. She fed him whenever he woke, watched carefully when the nurse Wick had hired came to change his I.V., and spent all her hours in the little chair beside his bed.

Sometimes Wick would check on them, and she always reassured her that he would be conscious and aware eventually. Sometimes Kat would believe her, and always maintained her facade of strength when her sister was around, but it never lasted for long. When no one else was around, and Mode asleep, she would hold his hand to her cheek and cry, but he never noticed. No one noticed.

On the third day she broke down. All the months of not knowing, of fearful anticipation, had taken their toll, and now that he was safe she had no purpose. There was no anger to cling to, no desperate focus for her love, and he couldn't comfort her like she needed to be comforted. Seeing him like this hurt her in ways she couldn't understand, and her emotions exhausted her, dragged her down. She fell asleep like he had always slept during those days in the infirmary after Jacks had been born, and in that little chair, her head pillowed on her arms and her fingers locked with his, Kat cried herself to sleep.

She's here.

The sleep came on him too quickly for him to think anything else, and he slipped away.

There followed small bursts of reality, now a texture, now a sound, now a confused play of light behind his eyelids, but when he finally awoke, the world around him had become unfamiliar. The bed felt wrong, the air smelled wrong, and more than anything, it sounded wrong. The hum of the twitchers was gone, and his body felt light and unattached, like he was floating. It disoriented him enough to make him feel ill, and he opened his eyes, his voice hoarse and weak.

He did this to you. Why are you asking for him?

Her eyes flickered open at the thought, and she lifted her head and stared at his hand in hers. He didn't move, and she tried to dismiss it, tried to convince herself that it was just part of her dream, but when she ran her thumb over his knuckles his fingers tightened.

"Mode...?"

There was movement this time, when she said his name, and Kat was up in an instant. It was difficult to see him from where she sat, and so she crawled onto the bed beside him, her angry eyes searching his face, hungry for a sign of life.

He was awake.

He blinked at her, a slow drag of his eyelids and for a moment she thought he had fallen unconscious again, but then he met her gaze. Suddenly everything she'd been thinking, feeling, the anger at James, all the things she'd wanted to say to him, it all ran in a frantic little circle and crashed in upon itself, and she stared at him, her hand finding his again and her eyes unable to look away.

She looked different than he remembered, but he couldn't tell how. Her fingers gripped his more tightly, and he squeezed back absently as his eyes wandered away from her stricken face, and took in the distant wall behind it, light wooden paneling that he followed slowly up to where it was obscured by the whiteness of the canopy over the bed. He could not yet move his head more than a few inches from side to side, but this he did, slowly and painfully. Nothing was familiar. The air was too fresh to be part of a closed facility. Someplace on Earth, a house, no traffic noises.

He tried to ask where they were, and choked. Thirst he hadn't noticed before was suddenly thick and dry in his mouth and throat. Kat seemed to recognize his need, and he drank from the cup she offered. The water had a foul taste, but he was too thirsty not to drink it. By the second sip, he knew the taste was not in the water but in his mouth, and he eagerly drank to clear it. He finished almost half the cup and then turned his head away.

His stomach tried to rebel then, but he gritted his teeth until it passed and he could ask his question, his eyes locking with hers again. She was waiting for something, she looked tearfully expectant, but he could not guess what.

Thank God.

He looked away from her then, his gaze traveling around the room, but she could look at nothing but him and waited until he returned his attention to her. He tried to speak, and she had to give him water to clear his throat, her hands shaking a little as she held the cup for him and waited. She wanted to her him say her name, wanted some other sort of affirmation that he was alright, but once again he said something other than what she wanted to hear.

"Where are we?"

Kat paled, just a little, and her expression closed in upon itself before she could stop it. With Wick. But how can I tell you that?

He let her prop him up, and when she squeezed his hand he did his best to squeeze back. He told his hand to squeeze, but it wasn't following all instructions, and he got the impression that if Kat hadn't surrounded him with pillows and arranged him properly he would not have stayed upright. There were tingles in his arms where she touched him, and he started shivering. She tucked the blankets around him, bringing them up to his chin. He thanked her through lightly chattering teeth, and when her hand found his under the covers he was the first to squeeze.

The next question he'd had was lost briefly in the shifting and arranging, but it came back once he'd been settled, and he fastened his eyes on hers as intently as he could.

"He's with Owen," she said quietly, meeting those grey eyes she'd missed for almost two years. "When I came here, I had to leave him at the post. It... it was too dangerous," she explained, echoing Owen's own reprimand, "and I... couldn't take care of both of us."

Not nothing. He found a little fear.

He was afraid because things had changed, as always, without any input from him. James had kept his promise. He still loved his wife, he knew he did, and yet...it was with the same painful longing he'd loved her with for the past two years. His heart didn't believe she was in front of him, hanging on his every poorly enunciated word and clumsy expression. His heart had buried itself too deep, and reality hadn't yet sunken to that depth. He could feel love and relief for his son's safety, but for Katera and for himself, he was blank. A little disquieted by his surroundings, a little nervous that Kat wasn't telling him where they were, but mostly blank.

He didn't expect to wake up from this. He didn't doubt the reality of it. Her fingers were real enough against his. It was more like he'd awakened from a nightmare and found he couldn't quite let go of the dream.

I love you.

Her eyes burned at the thought, and her lips pressed together in a thin line as she swallowed her sadness. She wasn't sure why she felt sad. Certainly there was his health to worry about, and indignation to feel over the abuse he'd suffered, but after all that hardship and all those months of fighting for him, she should have been happy to have him once again, not... not feeling like this.

She squeezed his fingers again to reassure herself, then pulled away and cupped her hands around his face. Then she kissed him. It was featherlight, just the barest of touches across his lips, but he felt cold and unreal, and her eyes filled with tears.

I love you.

He wasn't awake to watch her leave. She went and talked to the nurse, asked her to feed him when he woke, and then left the house. It was cold outside, and she had no coat, but she wandered around the orchards until it became dark outside, and eventually she wandered back inside. The door to Mode's room was closed, and she walked right past it, down the hallway and around the corner and straight to Wick.

She did notice that Katera still appeared to be relatively well-groomed. Her hair was not in tangles and her clothes were not in tatters; she was no longer the banshee she'd been when she arrived. She also noticed that Kat didn't hesitate at all about swinging her muddy boots up onto Wick's pillows, and her irritation increased, but she finished the task at hand before she looked up to see what her sister wanted and did her best to begin politely.

"Dunno," she said in response, but it came out mumbled and Wick asked her question again. "I said, is he feeling better?"

And I said, I don't even know.

This time her voice was a little more forceful, though still half-enunciated and almost sullen. "I s'pose," Kat said, suddenly absorbed in the pattern of the bedspread. "He's eating more. And he sat up and talked for awhile." Wick looked at her and waited for elaboration, but Kat wasn't willing to offer any, and laid her head down on her arms to watch her sister. The other girl seemed irritated, and that made Kat attempt to make amends, a weary effort to find conversation or companionship or something from someone.

"I didn't mean to bother you while you're working," she said rather inanely, then gestured toward the desk. "I guess you have lots to do now that you're back."

She lay down again, stared at Wick's knee just a few inches from her face and tried to think of a response. Even this was awkward. They'd always bantered before, but Kat didn't want to spar, and other than a few understanding moments their interaction had been mostly planning or fighting. She had no use for planning and no emotional tolerance for fighting, not right now, and at a loss for something meaningful to say, she simply nodded.

"Yeah," she said quietly, and fought the urge to contradict herself and tell her sister No, no, nothing was alright. "It's fine."

Go do something? Leave the house and go do something.

With all her work and all the planning, the year and a half of separation from her husband and the months they'd been apart for Nathan's rescue, Wick had never considered...going to do something. Whatever that something could have been. She wondered why she'd given it so little thought, and then grinned to herself and then at Kat a little more openly.

She saw her little hooks set, but Kat did not respond, and she sighed and gave up pretense. "We can go someplace if you want to. But Kat, why are we leaving? It took months - it's still taking months - to get Nathan back. Jor hasn't even come home yet," she added, and tried not to sound accusatory. "Why do you want to leave?"

Kat didn't respond immediately, and Wick dropped her shoulders and then looked up at the ceiling.

And now Wick was asking.

What should I tell her?

The unsettling thing was that she did want to tell Wick, because she felt that, this time, Wick would understand. Before, she'd mostly bantered with Wick, saving most of her complaints for Jor, because he seemed to have a lot of the same concerns, but this time she wanted Wick to know. And that, for some reason, was unsettling.

"I think our circumstances were a little different," she said slowly, not elaborating on just how different those circumstances had been. "And I think you can't expect everything to go back to the way it was immediately." She looked up and met Kat's eyes and decided she didn't really want to know what was going on between her sister and Nathan. She'd never understood their relationship, not even in school; Nathan was handsome enough (or had been) and he could move (or could before), but his temperament wasn't something Wick could get a grip on. He was too cold for her taste, even when he was angry. Even when he'd burned her arm...it had been cold.

"Let's do something fun," she said decisively, and then considered her own request for a moment. There was not a lot of fun to be had that didn't involve going somewhere, and not a lot of going somewhere that wasn't dangerous, especially now. "We can't really go into town, can we?" Kat asked, mourning in her tone. "And you said we could go to a bar." Her expression turned wistful. "I like bars."

"Do you have champagne? I like champagne."

She'd had champagne before. She'd tasted some at her wedding, and hadn't much cared for it. After growing up in an environment that offered very few embellishments on water, almost anything else tasted strange and artificial to her. She'd learned to enjoy fruit juice, but not much else. Jor had gotten her to try beer once, but the taste in combination with the carbonation had been unpleasant enough to prevent her from wanting to try it again.

Wick blinked at her. "I don't really drink," she said slowly, and Kat made a face to indicate her disbelief. "Even I know," she pointed out, rather proudly. "I can mix drinks, too. Once Owen came over and showed me how, but only the good ones. I don't like them if they aren't sweet," with a wrinkle of her nose to indicate just how much she didn't like anything not sweet, "and I hate beer."

Jor had made her try it one time when they were alone in the house with nothing else to do but pick through everything in the kitchen. Kat had spit it out. One sip had been enough.

In the intervening forty-five minutes she took Kat down to the surviving section of the wine cellar to hunt for the alcohol they did have. Half of it had been demolished to make way for Wick's laboratory, and so the racks on this side were quite cramped with bottles. The hard liquor Wick could identify by name, but only because that name was associated with the proof value. Kat had more discerning taste, or pretended to, and together they made a few trips to bring up the bottles her sister indicated. Wick had never really thought of alcohol as a beverage. I'll be drinking the same thing fires do, she thought to herself with faint amusement. It had been a long time since she'd thought about her childhood personification of fire with anything but contempt, but it made it more fun, and Wick was interested by the time Frederick returned.

Her servant had outdone himself, and Wick told him so. He looked surprised and unsure of what to say, and Wick thanked him and sent him away before he could embarrass himself anymore. They lined the bottles up for Kat to see on the long dining room table, and she capered back and forth, picking up bottles ostentatiously now and then to read the labels, and nodding as if divining a great deal of information from them. Occasionally, she picked up the same bottle more than once. Wick watched all of this with enjoyment, and when Kat had identified everything she seemed to need to, Wick was getting impatient for some results.

Kat had, in fact, never seen so much alcohol before in her life. The Post bar, while adequately stocked, had been modest compared to her new bar lined up on the dining room table. Excited, she examined all of it in detail, taking it upon herself to act the experienced one, as Wick had never drank before, and finally stood back with a satisfied look on her face.

"Well? Now what?"

She grinned at Wick. "Now we make stuff!"

Free from Mode's supervision and Owen's scrutiny, Kat had absolutely no idea what to do, but she made up for her lack of knowledge with enthusiasm. Ice cubes clattered, countless bottles were opened and closed and sloshed around, and she eventually turned around from her little alcoholic laboratory to present Wick with a glass. With a flourish, she raised her own glass and grinned.

The liquid inside was an interesting shade of yellow, and she sniffed at it carefully. Pineapple assaulted her nostrils, but it was undercut by the rather inticing sent of rum, and she took a quick breath and managed a small sip. Syrupy sugar hit her in a blast and made her grimace, and wrinkled her nose and handed the glass back, noticing with some surprise that Kat's was already empty.

She re-examined her spread and, with a determined look, set to work again. It took her three different concoctions before Wick deemed one acceptable, but as Kat had been drinking each failure, she wasn't too put out with Wick's rejection of her bartending skills. In fact, when the other girl was just finishing her first, Kat was far, far ahead on what she figured was her fifth, and her grin was becoming happier as she handed Wick another glass.

"Perfect. What do you call this?"

Kat just giggled, and Wick grinned and took another sip. Kat drained another glass, and feeling challenged, Wick swallowed the rest of her drink and then handed the empty glass back to Kat for a refill. She was already feeling an interesting warm sensation in her stomach and fingers, and as she saw the concentration with which Kat mixed another one for each of them, she began to wonder if perhaps it would be better for her to take her time with the second.

That got her a look, and Kat returned it with a sweetly challenging smile of her own until Wick downed the rest of her drink and started on the next. Then her smile turned triumphant, and she left Wick to go further down the table and rustle around with her bottles again. When she turned back around, Wick had almost finished, and Kat grinned smugly and promptly set three new glasses down in a row and crossed her arms with an imperious gesture. "Now those."

By the time Wick had finally relented to her demand-- it took a lot of badgering and one threatening wave of a rum bottle-- she was flushed pink and looking unsteady, even seated. Kat was no better off, for though having a considerably larger tolerance than her sister, she had already drank at least twice as much. She tried to sit down in her own chair and then tumbled off, spilling her drink on herself and erupting into a fit of giggles. Wick giggled too, and Kat cackled and then jumped to her feet, grabbed Wick's hand and tugged her out of her chair, and began to pull her in the direction of the kitchen. "I'm hungry! Let's go make stuff."

That statement received a dubious look and an exploratory poke at the sandwich she'd made, and Kat finally lost her temper and took the plate back. "I'll eat it myself!" she declared, biting into her creation with a defiant gesture, but that gesture turned into wide eyes as her nose twisted to one side and her mouth to the other.

It wasn't jam.

The mouthful went right back onto the plate, and Kat choked and wiped her sleeve across her tongue to get the taste out of her mouth. Drinking had given her a stuffy nose, and her stuffy nose had gotten her a jar full of chili sauce instead of a jar full of jam, and quite abruptly Kat thought her entire head was on fire.

Wick started laughing when she ran from the room, fumbling at the bottles and upending one with desperate swallows as she tried to burn the chili out of her mouth with something no less than a hundred proof. Then that burning made her drop the bottle and run right back into the kitchen, and Wick was still laughing as Kat stuck her head under the faucet and turned the water on.

She was still laughing quietly and gasping for breath, and it was several moments before she could speak.

That statement only got her more giggles instead of a real answer, and Kat gave a long-suffering sigh, folded her arms across her chest, and leaned back against the cabinets to wait. It took a few more minutes before Wick could speak again, and by that time Kat was more inclined to view the incident as somewhat funny rather than damaging to her ego. In fact, she even managed to smile, and when Wick smiled in return Kat smacked with her the towel again.

"You're an ungrateful, stubborn, short-sighted greedy little brat," Wick said, and Kat's eyes narrowed. And you're a cold, manipulative bitch who takes advantage of other people, she thought defensively in return. I don't know why I like you at all.

"I don't like you either," Wick continued. "You do nothing but get in the way, you know. Just like Jor-dan." Kat scowled but Wick paid no attention, and kept on rambling and insulting her. She did her best to ignore her sister, even going so far as to look away and think of other things, but Wick was persistent in her criticism. "And here you are, sitting down here and drinking this alcohol and not spending any time with the present we bought you." She leaned in until their faces were almost touching, and Kat raised an eyebrow. "Why is that?"

"You're angry again. You're always angry." That was an accepted truth, but it made Kat tired to hear the observation from someone other than herself. Anger had always given her purpose, but there had been times with Mode when something else gave her a reason to live, something far different than anger, and her expression wilted a little until Wick brushed her hand against her cheek. Startled, Kat pulled back, but the other girl tugged the curls away from her face and whispered. "Did Mode make it better?"

Yes.

And that was the answer, plain and simple. It wasn't always true, but there were times with him when Kat couldn't remember what it had been like to fight, to survive, and she cherished those moments. They were private moments, however, and Wick wasn't asking for any reason save to taunt her. Kat grew angry again, despite her attempts not to take the bait, and she batted Wick's hand away roughly.

As it was, her little moment of sober thought passed, like the lull before the storm, and an odd combination of drunken belligerence and contemplation took its place.

A finger touched her nose, and Kat's eyes crossed for a second as she glared at the offending finger and tried to bat it away. Wick moved back before she could hit her, though, with a shark-like grin Kat remembered from other faces, and her eyes narrowed.

"Why do you care?" she demanded with a slur. "You hate him."

That only got her a wider smile and a more expectant look, and after a moment of hesitation, Kat stopped scowling and sighed. "I don't know why I should tell you," she said in protest, but knew the answer to her own question before she'd even spoken it. Her real question should have been, I don't know why I'm going to tell you, but she knew the answer to that, too. Because it was Wick that was asking.

"I claimed him when he came to Charybdis. You had to claim new inmates then," she explained, chewing thoughtfully on the ends of her hair, "otherwise Burr would take them and do nasty things." Her brows furrowed to reflect just how nasty those things were. "'sides. He was cute." She grinned at Wick, still with a mouthful of curls. "I like blondes."

"Think I will too. Get up." She shoved Kat with the edge of her foot, and Kat growled at her, but after more prodding dragged herself to a standing position, and together they walked the short distance into the dining room. Wick knew how to make her own drink, and when she looked up from this surprisingly difficult feat of dexterity Kat had a bottle of something on hand. Wick drained half the contents of her glass and sprawled herself in the chair at the head of the table, and Kat wended her way over to sit down next to her.

"Now then," she said firmly, taking a relatively ladylike sip from her drink and then setting it down in front of her so she could poke at the ice cubes with her fingertips, "you can't tell me you decided to risk your life - and my life, and Jor's life to retrieve someone from Charybdis because they bunked you together at Command School." She plucked an ice cube and brought it to her mouth. "I remember too, Kat. I remember what you were like when he left." The ice cube melted too quickly, and she went back to toying with the others when Kat didn't immediately respond.

By the time Wick had seated herself, Kat was feeling very unsteady again. It took an inordinate amount of concentration to make it the few feet from the table to a chair, and she slumped into her seat gratefully and took another swallow. Wick was watching her when she re-emerged from the bottle, and she tried to think of something to say, but her sister beat her to it. "I remember too, Kat. I remember what you were like when he left."

Kat tried to think of a response, but came up with nothing. It was true.

Wick kept talking, kept saying things about Mode, and Kat tried to listen. "I remember the first time I thought of you and him together I thought you had a death wish." That made her brow furrow, and she looked down into her drink. I did have a death wish. I wanted him to die. That thought made her glance up again, just in time to see Wick lean forward toward her. "So what was it that got you so attached?"

"Why do you love Jorry?" Kat asked in return, but it was a rhetorical question, and she answered it before Wick could. "'Cause he loves you, right? 'Cause even though you play with everyone and sent Mode to Charybdis and did something so bad he went all the way to Elizabeta to get away from you he still came back and he still loves you, right?" She dropped her bottle onto the ground with a scowl and her head lolled back against the chair, leaving her staring at the ceiling. "That's why I love Mode," she explained to the ceiling. "'Cause even though I'm a bad person, he still loves me. That's why."

She stopped and stared at herself for a moment, replaying the last statement over in her head several times. It had come out quickly and cleanly and easily, and it occurred to her that of all the people in the world to make confessions to on this particular subject, Kat was probably going to be one of the least sympathetic, and so started talking to change the subject, or at least move the conversation along.

"I don't love Jor because he came back," she said a little coldly, her eyes narrowing a bit. "I don't love him because he loves me back. You want to know why he left? Do you remember those twins in Command School? Dominic and Donovan. I sent one of them to talk to you. I think you scratched him." The coldness faded a bit, replaced by some uncertainty. She was on uncharted territory here, offering up information as if she were trying to justify herself. "They were creche kids, engineered. Killers, I think, but I didn't really ask them for any details. I needed them. I'm sure you can remember why." The coldness was entirely gone now, and she stared back down at her glass like she was divining the meaning of life.

"Dominic and I met one afternoon to talk things over about Nathan. We discussed what should be done, and he told me to come back the next night so he could give me the equipment. And he did." She lifted the glass and drank the last of the liquid slowly. "We were locked in all night. I was so outclassed, Kat. He was everything I wanted to be, and I thought I could control him. I thought I could turn him down and walk away." She set her glass down carefully and rested her head on one hand and gazed at Kat with a candor she could never remember feeling before. "He wanted to humiliate me. He knew it was the only way to win. It's hard to explain," she said wearily, and pushed the glass away from her with her free hand. "Everything was a kind of competition back then, and he won the first time, because I wanted him. Not the second."

She scooted back in her chair enough to pull her feet up so she could tuck them under herself. "Just that once. Years later, we get married, we get posted, and I saw Dominic. He stopped me to talk to me in the hallway, and it occurred to me that everything that I'd wanted in him when I was 15 and stupid was everything I hated now. I didn't want to be like him. I didn't want to deceive Jor into loving me. I had a romantic moment, Kat, and if you ever get one of those just shut the fuck up and sit down until it passes. I told Jor what had happened, and...and then I woke up. You were there for more of it than I was. He did that and took off and slept around, and eventually he came back here, and I hated him for that, Kat. He had no right to come back here and disrupt everything. I was just getting to be real again..."

Now, though, for the first time, she thought she understood it.

"We've hurt each other too much not to love each other." Kat's expression softened when she heard that, and she looked away from Wick. All that her sister had told her about Dominic, it was all so familiar. Not the same circumstances, perhaps, but the same motive, and she remembered Ryan, remembered Jax, and thought that she and Wick were more alike than either of them really knew.

She got up from her chair with surprising steadiness and walked to the table. There was only a little vodka left, and just a few inches of juice in the bottle, but she mixed them together and then returned to her chair. Wick looked at her, looked at her outstretched hand, and eventually took the proffered glass, and Kat sat back down and pulled her knees up to her chest, folded her arms on top and rested her chin in her hands to wait.

Wick drank slowly, and didn't say any more, and Kat sat there and watched her until the last drop disappeared. When Wick set the empty glass down on the table, Kat finally spoke. "You're not so different than Mode and me," she said slowly, and then got to her feet. "If you understand that about yourself and Jor, then you understand me. I don't have to explain it to you." She extended her hand. "Let's go to bed."

It took a moment, but Wick let Kat help her to her feet, and then Kat took her hand. "To help me walk," she explained vaguely, but that wasn't why she did it, and they both knew it. Neither said anything to dispute it, though, and eventually they managed to make their way through the house and to Wick's room. Her sister dropped her hand and walked right through the door, but Kat hesitated outside until Wick turned around to look at her.

Once inside they separated to either side of the canopied bed, and Wick stripped down to her underclothing and slipped under the covers without preamble. It was almost perfectly dark, but she felt the mattress move when Kat joined her, and when a hand touched her arm she allowed herself to be drawn closer. Kat wasn't wearing much either, and at first she was shy and reluctant, but once they were settled together in each other's arms she knew with a quiet relief that nothing unseen was occuring, and that neither of them were looking for anything but comfort and warmth. There was strength in Kat's arms, muscles hard and compact under the skin, but it wasn't like Jor. The strength wasn't for taking - not from her, anyway. There was no trading or sacrifice of power, no victory or defeat, and in that taloned embrace Wick felt a security she'd never experienced before. Jor would protect her from everything and everyone else, but not from himself.

From Kat, Wick no longer had anything to fear, and she fell asleep with her cheek pressed against Kat's shoulder.

When she woke up, the first thing she noticed was a slight pain in her head and most of her joints. She was still nestled against Kat, though they had shifted somewhat during the night, and it was relatively easy to pull herself free without waking her sister and sit up. She did so, and was immediately assaulted by a massive throbbing headache and nausea so strong she nearly didn't make it to bathroom in time. Twenty minutes and one long, hot shower later, she felt a little better, and though she didn't relish the dizzy feeling when she stood up too quickly, she felt she could manage.

Kat was still asleep when she came back into the room, and she dressed and left without making enough noise to wake her up. Nathan's small suite was in another wing on the first floor, and she let herself into the sitting room and stopped in the doorway of the bedroom.

Nathan Terrence lay asleep in the bed, an IV hooked into his arm. The last time Wick had seen him had been a brief glimpse before she'd left the Command Post, and he'd looked just like had in Command School, filled out and adult, but still exhibiting the same contained, graceful strength. Now he looked younger and older at the same time, his thinness warring with his height to make him seem gangly and teenaged, and his unkempt beard and the deep circles under his eyes making him appear prematurely aged. She'd never seen someone in such a poor state of health - not counting injuries - and it was fascinating to compare the Nathan Terrence of her memory to the weak creature in front of her, fast asleep with his mouth slightly open. Any concerns she might have had about him being some sort of threat to her became practically non-existent, and she walked into the room and to the side of the bed to sit in the chair Kat had occupied the previous night.

She watched him sleep like that for a little while, and then reached out and brushed the back of his hand with her fingertips. She received no response, and she did it again with greater pressure. His eyebrows knitted, his breathing pattern changed. His mouth closed, and a few moments later his eyes opened.

The rest of him was drastically different, but his eyes were the same, and Wick swallowed. She'd only had a few opportunities to see those flat grey eyes up close, and they'd all been painful in one way or another. Now those eyes were harnessed into a far weaker vehicle, but they still unsettled her. They focused on her and then widened, narrowed in recognition. His breath came faster, the weak muscles tightened in an uncoordinated fashion, and her fear of doing him injury shoved her disquiet aside.

"It's alright," she said in a passably gentle tone, and tried to look like she meant it. Wick did not have an overdeveloped sense of empathy, but his state of disrepair did incite her pity, and enough of that must have showed on her face to calm him down. He stopped trying to sit up, and Wick decided to get this over with and get out.

"Kat's here," she said quickly. "She's sleeping, but she'll be back."

His eyelids twitched a bit. "What are you doing here?" His voice was raspy and strained.

"This is my house. Kat brought you here."

This sank in, and Wick shifted uncomfortably and stood up. "I wanted you to know," she said simply, "because you're going to be here for a long time. The nurse says it's likely you'll make a full recovery, and you'll probably be here then, too. I wanted you to know now so you can get used to it before then, and I want you to remember that I did nothing to harm you. Or Kat," she added unnecessarily. "You're both my guests."

Or rather, nowhere near whole, because she woke hungover.

Opening her eyes was, quite possibly, one of the most excrutiating sensations she could ever remember having. What followed was even worse. Her body immediately revolted against its treatment from last night, and her head joined the rebellion, threatening to blind her with its protests. Kat quickly closed her eyes and surrendered, burrowing back under the blankets and molding herself into the bed, which was warm and solid and not moving, quite contrary to what her world was doing at the moment.

It helped, but only a minute amount, and Kat bemoaned her sorry state and hid her face against the pillow. Last night it had seemed like a brilliant idea, the perfect way to distract herself and forget the flat apathy in Mode's gaze, but now she regretted it with a flare of self-hatred that made tears come to her eyes, and that made everything hurt even more.

Why am I so... so stupid...

That thought made her whimper again, and she reached out with one hand and blindly felt about the bed, searching for Wick. It would feel much better if someone else was just as hung-over as she was, for misery loves company, but the bed was empty. That discovery was enough to make her pry herself out of the pillow, and she squinted and sniffed and looked around the room as best she could. There was no one.

"Wick...?" she asked in a whisper, then tried again more loudly. Loud was bad. Kat winced and gave up, because no one answered. She would have gotten up and gone in search of Wick, but her befuddled brain thought about that for a moment and then told her NO, very aggressively, and Kat quietly agreed and went back to sleep.

She woke again hours later, although how many hours, she wasn't certain. It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was that she could actually open her eyes this time without feeling like someone had put a jackhammer to her head, and that was a good thing. Now all she wanted was a shower, and something to drink, and then maybe another long, long nap to make the rest of this go away.

It took some effort, but she eventually managed to slide herself bonelessly out of bed and puddle to the floor. From there she hauled herself to her feet rather unsteadily, holding her head in preparation for the assault on her equilibrium, but it wasn't as bad this time. Instead she felt only a little dizzy and quite abruptly thirsty, and that got her moving.

Her room, first, right next door to Wick's. She showered, and dressed, and then put her head underneath the faucet again with the water on cold. Five minutes of that made her begin to feel human, if a bit wet, and Kat sighed and tied her damp curls up so they wouldn't drip on her neck. Then it was down to the kitchens for food, but food sounded like a very bad idea once the smell of jam and bread hit her, and she gave up on that and retreated back upstairs.

The nurse was there, outside her door, with news about Mode. He was doing much better, better even than yesterday, and that bolstered Kat's decidedly sour mood. She let the woman go and shuffled her way through the hallways to his suite and was, once again, excited to see him. Maybe he couldn't move much, but she could curl on his bed and bury her face against him, and he would make this awful feeling go away.

He was asleep when she entered, and Kat tried not to make any noise as she crawled into his bed and fitted herself against his side. She was almost asleep when he shifted in her arms, and she muttered to herself, half-aware, her voice thick and her eyes still tightly closed.

"...hurts."

That word brought back the memory of the morning. Wick. Wick's house. They were in Wick's house, and Katera had intentionally brought them here, and now Katera was hurt and coming to him for assistance, done in by her own unconscionable folly. How could Kat have trusted Wick, Wick, of all people? Hadn't she known? Hadn't she guessed? What had she expected? All the questions that had been stomping over one another before he'd fallen asleep after Wick's visit. How could Kat have placed them in danger so willingly? How?

Now she was hurt, and he was too weak to help her. He tried to sit up sharply and nearly fell out of the bed, and Kat moaned and grabbed at him painfully. His movements grew even more erratic, and he tried not to make any alarming pained sounds as her little clawed hands dragged him back onto the bed and pushed him back down onto the pillows. Her infirmity appeared to have vanished for the moment, and confusion displaced his concern and gave his anger at her that much more living space.

Much better. She made a noise of contentment and pressed her face to the side of his arm, pleased by his staying in one place. Sleep was just beginning to drag around the edges of her vision again when Mode spoke. The painful sound of his voice made her open her eyes, and his question made her lift her head to look at him.

"Why here?" he asked, and his eyes told her that he knew. She tried to feel something other than weariness, but could come up with nothing, not even guilt. "Why did you bring me here?"

Where else would I have gone? There was no one else, Mode, just like the first time you left. Wick saved me before. Why is it a surprise that she saved me again? Why are you angry at me?

The lines around her mouth deepened when she finally answered him, her expression tired and her voice just as rasping. "Because I had nowhere else to go." He gave her a look that she took as disbelief-- it was difficult to tell, he just seemed angry to her, and she couldn't understand it-- and she unlocked her arms from around him and pulled away. It hurt to do so, but she sat up, and after a moment of steadying herself managed to curl her legs up to her chest and sit without falling.

"She told me," he said wearily. "She was here."

This earned him no response, and he floated between faint guilt and dwindling anger and betrayal. She'd brought him here while he was helpless - and, as Wick had pointed out, he would be helpless for a long, long time. There hadn't been anything overtly threatening about Wick's visit, but nevertheless, he felt threatened. He would be unable to defend himself for weeks, perhaps months, and Katera, his only protective force, had already been compromised by the enemy.

He'd never understood what there was between Wick and Kat. Nothing he'd been able to find a record of had ever explained to his satisfaction what it was that made Kat think she could trust Wick, or made Kat defend Wick. Kat had never tried to explain it to him, and for that he had always been distantly grateful, before. Now he wanted to know, needed to know, and he knew without asking that she wouldn't tell him. Maybe she couldn't. It didn't matter.

"Because I knew you would be angry at me," she said at last, her voice hoarse and hesitant. "I... I thought maybe if you didn't find out until you got better, then... then you'd know it was okay here."

He didn't respond, and Kat rolled over to face him and carefully moved close again. It had been so long since she'd seen him, since he'd actually spoken this much to her, and to have him angry hurt almost as much as not having him at all. She tried to think of something apologetic and conciliatory to say, but she had never been good at reassurances, and her words came out jumbled.