Immortally Embraced

chapter twenty




It was high noon by the time I dropped my shower stuff off at the hutch. Rodger was there, and if I wasn’t mistaken, he was unpacking more Star Wars figures.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, dropping my shower kit on a pile of Jawas.

“Petra!” Rodger leapt the Millennium Falcon, as well as a good portion of the Rebel fleet, in order to rescue all the stuff he’d stashed—yet again—on my bed. At least he’d changed the sheets.

I sat on a pile of T-shirts. “In case you haven’t noticed, this is my bed. My pillow.” I resisted the urge to toss it at his head. I might have spoiled Rodger with all those nights I’d spent in the lab, but, “If you think you’re going to make me sleep with Marc, you’re nuts.”

He perked up at that. “Oh yeah?” He plopped down on the T-shirts next to me, Jawas forgotten.

I buried my head in the pillow. “That came out wrong.” Maybe I could just smother myself.

Rodger’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “I thought he was dead.”

I gave him a sideways glance. “Marc is in my lab.”

“I love this,” he said, gold-rimmed eyes twinkling.

“No, there will be no loving in the lab. He’s leaving soon and even if he wasn’t, he’s the worst possible man for me to get involved with.”

Rodger shrugged. “Sounds like you’re already involved.”

“You’re not being logical,” I told him.

“Sure. That’s the problem,” he said, too amused for my taste.

He didn’t get it. Marc wasn’t the same person I’d known in New Orleans. “He’s changed.” It wasn’t just the scar on his neck; he was harder, not as trusting. He couldn’t open up.

Rodger rested his elbows on his knees, considering it. “Are you saying this war hasn’t changed you?”

I stood, grabbing for my jacket. “Shut up, Rodger.”

“I’m just saying, you should give the guy a chance.”

“Yeah, right,” I said, dragging a comb through my hair before I left. “What do you know about relationships?”

“I’m in one.”

“But it’s not a futile one.”

Rodger sat, silent.

Damn it.

I wanted to say something to make it better, but I didn’t know how. Sorry wouldn’t cut it.

“I’m out of here.” I left the hutch and headed for the lab. I hadn’t done the best job combing, so I just ran my fingers through my hair as I walked.

I felt awful for Rodger and his wife. They’d had a strong marriage, a true partnership. He was a homebody who loved his kids. Now he was reduced to writing letters. He’d never see them grow up, never get to kiss his wife good night or hear about her day … not until the mail arrived a month later.

They were casualties of war, just like Marc and I had been.

My stomach did a few flip-flops as I made my way up the hill through the cemetery. It was over between us. It’s not like I was going to fall for him. I’d told him we were just friends. If he pushed me, I’d stand my ground. I could do this.

I just didn’t relish the idea of working so close to him.

When I got to the lab, I was relieved to find Jeffe there. He and Marc sat outside in the sunshine, doing extractions.

Of course Jeffe was there. It was Friday. I gave myself a mental shake. It hadn’t been on my radar with everything else going on.

The sphinx held out one large paw as the venom from his claws dripped into the test tubes in Marc’s hands.

Jeffe was in full question mode. “Yes, but if you had to choose a goddess, who would you choose?”

Marc shrugged. He sat on a crate as he held the sphinx in position. “I told you. I’m not worthy of a goddess.”

“Very clever.” The sphinx nodded. “Okay. Here’s one. Where were you transferred from?”

He didn’t give an inch. “That’s classified.”

“Hmm … very good.”

Marc released him and the sphinx stood. “What is the average life span of a lobster?”

He paused. “In the ocean or in a tank?”

“The ocean,” Jeffe said, waiting for Marc’s response. The sphinx danced in place. “Did I get you?”

“They can live more than a hundred years,” I said, thunking the sphinx on the head.

Jeffe planted his butt back on the ground. “I was asking Captain Belanger.”

“Yes,” I said, “but if he gets it wrong, we don’t want you honor-bound to eat him.”

The sphinx scratched at his chin with his free paw. “That is true.” He shook out his mane. “My apologies. It is just that I do not have my notes.”

“Yeah, that explains it,” Marc said.

Obviously, he hadn’t spent much time around sphinxes.

“Those in the camp trust me to ask their questions,” Jeffe said. “I make detailed notes. I leave nothing to chance.”

Marc held a sterile cloth over Jeffe’s paw while he deposited the test tubes in a holder. He caught my eye. “Father McArio came by. He brought us sandwiches.”

“No thank you,” Jeffe said, “it is taco salad night in the mess tent.”

We let the sphinx go while I helped Marc clean up outside. I was almost tempted to follow Jeffe. I didn’t want to be alone with Marc, even if he was just my friend and this was purely a research project.

Rodger said I’d changed. Maybe I had. But if so, it meant I was wiser, stronger. I knew better than to let Marc get to me.

Merde. I was so tired of being on guard. I wanted just one day, one hour where I could take some comfort, bury myself in the crook of his arm, kiss him.

“You’d better watch yourself,” I told Marc, retrieving a few of the Band-Aid wrappers that had fluttered out of the trash. “I ran into Eris down there and she is all into you.”

“I don’t even know an Eris,” he said, accepting them, wrapping the whole thing up for bio waste.

“Nerthus does.”

“This is worse than high school,” he muttered.

Welcome to my world.

He held the lab door open for me, and I hesitated.

For heaven’s sake. I could do this. I could be alone with him. I was a doctor, not some randy teenager.

I caught his eyes; he was watching me, hungry. He cleared his throat. “I think you were really close with the peracetic acid,” he said.

“Interesting,” I said, watching him. This was bad. I was going to have to be the strong one or we wouldn’t last the night.

“Peracetic acid isn’t our answer,” he went on, “but milder seems to be better.”

“I wouldn’t have thought it.”

Sphinx venom was designed to quickly overtake an entire nervous system. It obliterated anything I’d tried to use to dilute it. Which was why I’d assumed stronger was better.

“Are you going to go inside?” he asked, still holding the door.

Right.

When I entered, I saw he’d rearranged the two lab tables. Anger flashed through me before I realized why he’d done it. We had a new fume hood, and a washing station for lab equipment.

“Believe me, I thought twice about touching your things,” he said as he watched me survey his changes. He’d moved both worktables to the back, which was technically more efficient.

“Where’d you get all this?”

“Nerthus.”

Of course. He’d gotten us new battery-operated burners, real cooling racks. His new layout was also more practical. There was more room to move, too, which didn’t explain why Marc and I stood so close.

He cleared his throat. “I know it’s not mine.”

“It’s okay,” I said, finding my voice. “I like it.”

He was too close.

I wanted to be mad, not because I felt it, but because it would put some distance between us. I was used to owning my anger. Now I was afraid of it. I didn’t have a tight enough hold. Letting loose around this man could open me up to, well, his tongue in my ear in my newly redesigned lab.

I stepped back, almost stumbled in my haste to get away. “So have you found anything interesting?” I asked, heading for his notes on my desk.

He’d worked through the rest of my top ten list of solvents. All of them had been too harsh. Damn.

I took a seat on my stool. Leaning back against the rough wood, I braced the papers on my knee and paged through the progress he’d made overnight. He was good. His work was thorough, precise.

He’d finished the ethanol testing and managed to rule out diesel fuel and liquid hydrogen. He’d worked fast. Of course the new equipment hadn’t hurt. “I could kiss you,” I said under my breath. “Ouch.” I lifted my head. “Sorry.” It was a dumb thing to say.

At least he looked as miserable as me. “I’ve worked with highly volatile neurotoxins before. But nothing like this.”

“Yes,” I said, examining the notes, forcing myself to focus. “We’re going to have to switch directions on this.” It was frustrating. “We’re losing time.”

“It’s not good news. I know.” He stood his ground. “I have to admit, it’s nice to be working on something good for a change.”

True. His old project scared the hell out of me. As much as I didn’t want him so close, with me, we were doing good. And it was better than having him at work on that killer weapon. I turned to face him. “How close do you think they are to finishing?”

He shook his head. “It’s impossible to say. Dr. Keller talked about needing a pathway.” The lantern light played off his features, making him look even more stark, mesmerizing. “The toxin acts like a virus. The good thing is that once it’s inside the body, it’s not replicating fast enough to overtake someone’s system.”

He touched my hand and I felt it everywhere. His closeness was almost overwhelming. He ran his fingers along the edges of a cut I didn’t even know I had. “In its current state, the virus will make people sick, but it won’t kill them. We have time.”

Gently, I pulled my hand back. “Until they develop a pathway.” This was all so screwed up. “Hopefully we can get through the prophecies before that,” I said, daring him to doubt me.

He didn’t.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be a good friend,” he said, putting an emphasis on the last word.

It vibrated through me. “Will you?”

I needed to know. We were working together. I had to feel like I could focus, and right now all I could think about was what it would be like to have him.

Maybe I should strip him down right here, right now, and get it over with. Then it could be just sex and not this terrible, aching emptiness.

He knew his limits. He held his true self back. I couldn’t even try. It wasn’t me.

I tilted my head, studying the raised scar that cut across his neck.

This cool detachment, this separation, it never would have been possible for Marc, either. Until this war.

He hitched his breath as I ran my fingers along his raised flesh. His skin colored as I touched the smooth skin below.

Could I break through to him?

Did I even want to?

My thumb lingered at the base of his throat. “What have you suffered that you decided it was better to be alone?” What had he seen? Had it been worse for him?

He lowered his head. “I’ve operated until I could hardly walk out of the OR at the end of my shift. I’ve watched soldiers scream on my table as their organs went liquid from poison because we had nothing left to neutralize it. I’ve watched my patients left for dead.”

And been left for dead himself.

“And it was better to do it alone,” I said.

He swallowed. “Yes.”

Maybe he was right. I didn’t know. But one thing was certain. I wouldn’t try to make him feel. I wouldn’t dredge up the pain and the longing and the suffering he’d buried just to find that part of him he’d lost, that part of him I’d loved.

It was too hard. He’d suffered too much. And I refused to leave him broken when it was time to say good-bye.