"Medic! We need a doctor, someone!"

Making his way to an empty cot, he laid her gently onto the pillow, still holding her as he glanced down into her pale bloodied face, unable to look at her other injuries. That arm... burnt and black, flesh crisp... how could anyone do that to her? Nicolai felt a sudden surge of guilt, thinking that perhaps his stolen kiss had incited Jor's rage so much that he would almost kill Wick. His own anger rose at the thought, as he felt defensiveness for this girl and for himself. If Jor had done this... Jor was going down.

She was breathing, but very, very pale. She didn't appear to be actively bleeding except from her split lip, but there might be some internal injuries he didn't yet know about.

"Nurse, I need an oxygen mask and some surgical scissors, please." He maintained his calm demeanor, glancing up at Nicolai as he pulled on sterile gloves. "She's not in any immediate danger that I can spot yet. Why don't you have a seat? I can give you a more detailed analysis in a moment." Gerard Muraida never spoke down to the soldiers. He'd been a military doctor for nearly fifteen years and had seen a lot in his tour. This boy was concerned, and he respected that. Age was irrelevant, as long as they stayed out of his way.

As the boy took a seat, he pulled the curtain and took the scissors from the nurse and began cutting the charred material of her uniform away from her arm. The material took burnt skin with it as often as not, and even he winced a little as he pried the last of it away. This wasn't the first escharatomy he'd done, but it was one of the uglier burns. He'd dealt with fuel burns before, but this one was uncommonly even and centralized, no backlash to the torso or face. Intentional. His eyes narrowed as he worked.

Once they had her arm in cold compress gel that would help to slough off the burned skin so the nerve regen units could do their work, he started a more thorough examination. The rest of her uniform was much easier to get rid of, and the doctor raised an eyebrow involuntarily. The huge blossoming bruise on her stomach drew his immediate attention, but the uniform paleness of her skin led him to discard the possibility of internal bleeding as pretty unlikely; still, he sent the nurse to start the battery of tests anyway before he moved her collar out of the way again to examine the bruises there.

Bruises mottled her throat and neck. A few looked like finger marks, but the great majority appeared to be some sort of biting injury. There were more further down, some older than the others, but most fairly fresh. She couldn't have been lying where this boy had found her for very long, but there was no telling yet how long it had taken her attacker to do this much damage.

He injected her with a painkiller sedative before he examined her ankle. The boy waiting winced as he put her arm back into her socket with a practiced twist. The arm break was clean and easy to set. The ankle was a bit more complicated, and the nurse came back with the necessary x-rays to show him the compound fracture. The tissue damage didn't indicate smashing. Maybe twisted. Minor surgery to remove the bone fragments would have to be scheduled for later. For now he immobolized the joint to prevent further tissue damage and had it elevated.

A cursory pelvic exam confounded more than it explained. There were signs of recent intercourse, with accompanying small traces of blood that could indicate any of a number of causes, but her uniform had been undisturbed. Unless her attacker had taken the time to re-dress her... but he took cultures and put them aside for later examination.

Sighing, he covered her with a sterile sheet, stripped his gloves and pulled the curtain back enough to let himself out and approached Nicolai.

Eyes the color of deep ice stared blankly at the ceiling. As he watched, the girl blinked slowly. The tip of her tongue reached out to touch her split lip, and her brow furrowed slightly, but her eyes never altered.

Her stomach felt like a mass of swollen heavy tissue, painful when she moved or breathed. Everything else felt numb, like she'd been shot through with novocaine. The white ceiling above her came into focus, the sterile infirmary tiles making the florescent light seem that much brighter. Curiously, the light caused no discomfort.

Her lip felt...wrong, when she touched it with her tongue, but not completely disfigured. She could still feel air cold against the skin of her face, her uncovered right arm.

Her left arm felt nothing. Nothing at all.

It seemed unlikely, and he filed it away for later reference.

An uncomfortably familiar presence was beginning to form in her mind, and she didn't like it at all. Wick was supposed to be gone. Wick was dead, and the fire was free. Why did she suddenly feel so...trapped?

The edges of her awareness suddenly bowed and broke, and Wick was pulling her down again, away from the light and the air she craved so badly and forcing her down into the tiny place inside she'd endured for so many years. She screamed and fought back, but the pressure was inexorable and she howled her rage as she was shut away.

Outwardly, her body trembled as Wick asserted control. She took a big, gasping breath, and then another, as her eyes came into focus, and gradually travelled over to the doctor. He'd asked her something, something about who'd done this to her.

She wasn't dead. There was still time to save Jor.

Clenching his jaw, Nic tore his eyes away from the now unconscious Wick, and he coughed before speaking. "Uh, she means Asmodeus. A guy called Nathan Terrence... he's a Charybdis probie..." He made a shift toward Wick, returning his gaze to her. "Will she be alright here? I need to, uh, report back to my commander, he'll wonder why I've been gone."

-----------------------
Summary

---Moira Callenstrom was brought into the infirmary at 15:42 this date. Her injuries and condition are listed below. Suspected attacker as named by victim is Nathan Terrence, identified as Asmodeus. Past list of offenses indicates pattern behavior. Issue warrant for immediate detainment.---

Injuries

-Fourth degree burns confined to left arm. Suspected accelerant Petrol 5, or rocket fuel.

-Dislocated right shoulder.

-Broken right arm.

-Compound fracture right ankle.

-Bruised internal organs and abdomen

-Bruised cheekbone

-Various bruises and bites, primarily confined to the neck area

What that meant was that Nicolai had carried Wick, but hadn't been anywhere nearby when the chemical was used. Not that Rabin had suspected him in the first place. Rabin already had a pretty damn good idea who had done this.

Nicolai was out the door before Rabin could ask him any questions. No matter. He could find out what the flashboy knew later. Right now he was worried about Wick.

The curtain was pulled around a nearby bed, but Rabin didn't ask permission. He stepped to the bedside and drew back the curtain.

There she was.

Rabin didn't so much as flinch when he saw the arm. He'd seen bad things in his lifetime. This was not the worst. But it was bad. Very bad. And the others Rabin had seen, they had been dead already. Wick was still alive. She was going to have to live like this.

His face went hard. Rabin's face rarely went hard. When it did, it meant that somebody's days were numbered.

He could only see him in profile, but even so, the boy's face hardened as he looked down at the girl. Was this another friend? Perhaps someone who could lend a bit of information?

Wick... her arm a mass of black charred tissue, IV lines and nasal cannula from her nostrils, tubes everywhere. She was reminded of her own surgery, her own injuries inflicted by Nathan... and for the first time, Dante felt some sort of compassion for Wick, for this girl who'd schemed against her. Not for long, however, her coldsilver eyes sharpening as she tiptoed to her bedside and shook Wick lightly on her hand.

She felt unfocused. Sedative and anesthesia from her recent surgery made her dizzy and nauseous, but she was barely able to keep her eyes open, let alone try to throw something up. She focused on the person before her, vainly hoping that Jor had heard what happened, come to see her.

Dante...

"You sent that letter to me, you little bitch... framed Nathan because you knew we were together... you and Jor, well where is Jorry now, eh? He wasn't there to save you from Nathan, you got what you deserved for ruining our lives... c'mon and say something, Moira..."

Dante had spoken to Asmodeus...and against all odds, had believed him. After the condition he'd left her in, she'd have thought Dante wouldn't want to go within ten feet of him without an armed escort.

She sure as hell didn't.

Still, despite the dull pain in her wrist that the painkillers let through and the strange numb feeling in her muscles, Wick managed a smile. Her eyes went from Dante's face slowly over to her crumpled uniform that the doctor had left on the chair after they'd cut it from her. After focusing on it long enough to make her point, she looked back to Dante's face, her smirk growing more wicked by the second.

Her amulet.

Her protective charm she'd given Nathan that night... and she remembered the soft smokey look in his eyes, his sudden blush and kiss as he left... and then the next day, the letter, the fight, everything lost. Her love, her life torn apart by this one little girl. Wick.

She'd lost Nathan once, thought he'd never forgive her. There was no way in hell she'd let that happen again.

Dante's soul froze as she watched Wick through narrowed quicksilver eyes, her rage so tightly coiled that she had to clench her jaw, teeth gritting as all her muscles tensed. She wished that Nathan had killed Wick, had killed Jor... or else had killed her that day, so that she wouldn't have to live to see this. Her icy psyche wouldn't let her grovel at Angel's feet, not after what she'd done, not after what he'd done... but perhaps something could be reconciled, and she could live her life again without broken dreams of him haunting her sleep.

Dante only hoped.

She didn't even bother to speak to Wick, just shot the girl a glance of pure hate, pure malice, a look so frozen that she almost trembled in hatred. Then with a flash she turned, fiery curls swirling, and ran as swiftly as she could out of the infirmary.

Banked.

How was that icy bitch always able to keep her temper? Usually she considered that sort of restraint to be a weakness...but she'd watched Dante fight it, watch her hold it in by sheer force of will. She knew that battle well, but she liked giving in, liked to feel the flame consume her.

Dante had mastered hers long ago.

Wick...

Rushing over, he yanked it aside forcefully, almost ripping the material from its hook. She was inside, nestled into a cot, surrounded by an overwhelming array of machines... tubes and needles running everywhere. Catching his breath, he watched her fearfully, her eyes closed in her pale face, bruises and blood still marking her. Her burnt arm made him wince painfully, greater anger at himself rising within as he thought of how he could prevented this...

But her chest was rising slowly with each breath she took. She was alive. Wick, his spark, his love... had survived.

And to Jor, it was the greatest sight he'd ever seen.

Silently padding over to her bedside, he reached a tentative hand down, lifting the fingertips of her left hand gently as he leaned down and kissed the paleflame coral ring still encircling her finger. Part of him broke, his eyes running over her, watching her wince with pain every time she took another breath. Kissing her fingertips, he squeezed them gently, whispering in a hoarse, strained voice.

She fought to open her eyes, but when she finally succeeded, she almost couldn't tell. Everything seemed dark and bubbly. That couldn't possibly have been who she thought it was.

Jor leaned closer, bring his face nearer hers and watching as her eyes flickered open weakly, his melting forest green gaze meeting her unfocused glacier blue one. He smiled then, broadly, his eyes crinkling a little at the corners as he stared into her and sighed in relief.

It was all she could manage to say his name before her vocal cords began to ignore her orders and shut down. They caught him. Jor was safe, and that's what mattered.

The boy seated there had curly black hair and wide, tortured green eyes, and was looking at Callenstrom like he was suffering more than she was.

"I see you're in a different Quad. Are you friends? I believe she's going to be alright, but she's had a rough time of it." He kept his voice gentle and understanding, but his eyes narrowed a little bit. His grief had a sheen of guilt to it, and he wasn't sure what to make of it.

His eyes narrowed as he read the damage Nathan had wreaked upon his spark, jaw clenched and face hardening slightly. Once again the guilt and helplessness came; he could have stopped this, could have kept her safe and secure. But it wasn't until he read the last two items on the list that his face paled and his green eyes widened. Bruises and bites... Jor looked at Wick's throat, reaching up an idle hand to rub his own neck. And then... "Possible evidence of sexual assault."

Shit.

"Yes, it's me, I'm here, Wick... what happened, oh God, I'm so sorry I let him hurt you, I didn't know... I love you..."

Had there been more than one? Was the girl protecting this one for a reason? His machine beeped as it finished analyzing the material he'd taken from Callenstrom, and he turned away to look at it.

Positive result for recent intercourse, with internal and external bruising typical of non-consent. Positive identification of Petrol 5 as the accelerant...but no skin under the girl's fingernails to indicate that she'd fought back. Perhaps she simply hadn't had the chance. He reached down to the little control panel and activated the magnetic lock for the infirmary door.

He came back out to the main room. The boy was still standing there, his face pale, his eyes wide again, but now with raging fear instead of worried suffering.

This was beginning to look worse, but the doctor wanted to be sure before he summoned the MPs.

"She's... she's my... girlfriend, sir."

"Did... did Nathan... rape Wick? He's hated us for years, we... we got in a fight with him back at BattleSchool, he was iced and sent to that Institute, then he showed back up here, I knew he was going to do something, but..." It was almost a relief to finally tell someone, and with a flicker of hope that perhaps Nathan could be iced, once and for all, Jor plunged onward, angry now. "Did he rape her? Tell me, shit no one has told me anything about what happened, I just heard she was hurt and I come to find this! What the fuck happened to her, he fucking set her on fire!"

This boy gave every impression of the protective boyfriend...and initial sexual intercourse was always a little rough...but the multitude of bruises at her throat gave him pause.

Wick belonged to him.

He belonged to her.

"I see," he said finally, for the nth time. He relaxed a little and sighed. "Jor, we need to have a talk about...Wick."

He pulled up the secondary chair and seated himself next to Jor.

"Her ankle was fractured pretty badly, probably some sort of twisting injury. We've pinned it and removed the bone fragments. We'll put her on the bone regen unit this evening and she'll be walking in a few days. Her broken arm won't take as long, maybe a day or two." He took a breath before he continued.