Page 38 of Night in a Waste Land

Rose put hands on her shoulders. “Here, let’s get you back to your room so you can lie down.”

“Thank you.”

“What about all this?” The guard holding the restraints thrust them toward Rose, the chains clinking together.

“She’s not allowed to roam the halls without security measures,” Captain Bedlam said, sternly.

“She can barely stand up,” Rose said, and urged her toward the door. “What can she do?”

“I’ll go with them,” Lance said. He jerked a nod toward the three terrified guards. “Go back to your regular posts. I can handle this.”

Bedlam sighed, but didn’t argue further.

A path cleared to the door, and Rose managed to get Morgan out into the hall and headed in the right direction without any more obstacles. She was keenly aware of Lance’s quiet, steady tread behind them.

“The process was more complicated than I anticipated,” Morgan said as they walked. “Healing is not my specialty.” She tripped, and Rose gripped her arm to stabilize her–

Just as Lance appeared on her other side, and steadied her easily. “What is your specialty?” he asked. Curious, but not accusatory; not fearful.

“I’m a warrior. Like you.” She paused, and turned to regard him. “Well. Perhaps not like you. But a warrior.” Her knees gave out on her next step, and Lance and Rose all but carried her the last distance into the cell.

They eased her down onto her cot. “I’ll have someone bring you some food,” Rose said. “Anything in particular?”

“Something sweet, I think.” Morgan slumped back against the wall, lashes fluttering as she fought not to drop off to sleep. “The sugar helps.”

“Coming right up.”

Lance followed her out, sealing the two layers of doors behind them as they went.

Rose sighed as he fell into step beside her. “Where do you think she’s gonna go?”

“I don’t want to build bad habits,” he said, sternly. “She can’t think we’ll let our guard down, just because of this.”

Rose halted, and turned to him, unsurprised that he mirrored her – although with more posturing through the shoulders. He looked braced for a physical blow, and at another time, she would have laughed at him.

Now, though, she was weary. Ever since that day in the hall, when she’d looked back, when she’d finally gotten a good glimpse at just how much he wanted her, though God knew why…she’d found it hard to laugh about anything.

“She’s the only reason Gallo can stay a Knight,” she said. “She saved his career – fuck his career. She’s kept our company together, and God knows Francis is the best part of it.” After, she again asked herself why she kept trying to wound him with her words. She never could seem to help it, though he’d only ever been kind, and occasionally stern. He’d acted as her leader – which was appropriate, because he was. Her superior.

But he wanted her, too, and that was…she couldn’t…

His brows drew together now, and he sighed out a slow breath. Not wounded exactly, but tired, suddenly. He had to be so tired of her. She wanted him to snap already. To scream at her, and tell her to show some respect. “No offense to Francis.” He kept his voice low. “But he’s not exactly the most valuable member of my team.”

She couldn’t deny that – she knew that had it been Gavin or Tris on the opposite bank of the flooded stream with her that day, things would have played out differently. But it struck her as a cruel admission. She said, “I think Tris would disagree with you at this point.”

His nostrils flared, betraying his frustration. “Tris is – emotionally invested.”

“And I guess that’s not allowed, right? Are you going to report them to someone?” she said, hotly.Toohotly.

His expression smoothed in response – he was getting to her, and he knew it, damn him. “No. There aren’t any rules against fraternization. Not after the first Rift, and definitely not after the second.” He paused. “Let people find peace where they can. If they can.” His head tilted to that imploring angle that was really starting to get on her nerves. Searching for something, trying to draw her out. A subtle invitation.

It provoked her to say, “Oh, well, good. Then you can take out one of those junior officer girls in the mess who are always batting their lashes at you, Sergeant Tightass, and stop looking at me.”

It was the boldest she’d ever been about addressing the tension that lay between them. Afterward, she felt her face heat, and she retreated down the hall before she could see his reaction.

~*~

The truth – which plagued her at night, when she tossed and turned until the sheets were twisted up around her waist – was that she did in fact like Lance. Honest, generous, fair, and blessedly uncomplicated, he was the sort of decent man – good man, even – who didn’t require interpretation. He meant it when he smiled, and when he frowned. He’d brought her folded clothes, and instant noodles, and sat on a bench while she showered, in case she fell.

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