Chain Me

Always on the Clock

     The scent of bacon wafts into my nostrils as I step out of the bathroom, my hair wet and my towel clenched around my body. My stomach grumbles at the possibility of a delicious breakfast and I hurry into my room to dress. I assume Lost is making breakfast, but I wonder about her mood. Last night was crazy and there were a lot of mixed feelings.
     When I finish patting my hair dry I walk out to the kitchen and find Lost at the stove. She's facing away from me and I can see her scars peeking out from under her tank top around the back of her neck and shoulders. They don't bother me as much as they used to and I would actually like to know how she got some of them, if she's willing to share. She's clearly not ashamed of them, at least not the way she was when we first met.
     "Your plate's right there," she says without turning around.
     I sit at the island and bring the steaming plate there towards me. There's bacon, eggs, and French toast displayed deliciously. "Thank you," I tell her sincerely. "This looks great."
     Lost clicks off the burner and places the last of the bacon on a napkin covered plate before turning to me. She fishes out forks from a drawer beside her then hands me one. "Syrup? Ketchup?"
     "Just syrup, thank you."
     She fetches the syrup bottle and drops it beside my plate. Then she fills a plate of her own and puts it on the island with the plate of extra bacon and slices of French toast. "To drink?" she asks, opening the fridge.
     I study her for a moment, intrigued by how happy she is, how calm and levelheaded. "Apple juice," I request, watching her pull it out smoothly before retrieving a glass cup for me. "How are you feeling?"
     As she pours, she says, "Lovely. Just... lovely." A tiny smile quirks her lips and her expression is nothing less than joyous.
     I bob my head and start in on my food as she sits beside me and pulls her plate to herself. Last night she thanked me for letting her kill that man, our target, and now she's acting like she received the present she's always wanted. There's no way she enjoyed killing that much. Then again, she was almost having a fit of ecstasy when she pulled her bloody lips away from the target. I can still see in my mind the way she tipped her head back delightedly and licked the red from her lips as if it were candy.
     "How are you feeling?" Lost asks worriedly. "You're... feeling something."
     I place my fork down and turn to her, suddenly determined. "Last night," I say seriously. "Did you like what you did to that man?"
     She places her fork down, too, and glances at me from the corner of her eye. "Yes," she admits.
     The way she had been acting before this- the micro aggressions and strange behaviors- are at the forefront of my mind, and how she's not doing those things now. "Is that why you were acting so edgy before? Because you wanted to kill someone?"
     Lost whips her head to me, her eyes pinched. "No! I mean, well." She sucks her lips into her mouth and averts her eyes. "I just... I just... needed to do something," she blurts out. "I was made to act, and you weren't using me. So I grew... agitated. Last night helped me release some of that pent up agitation. I enjoyed it, yes, but I wasn't aching to kill."
     The sheer honesty in her admission has me believing her, and I refocus on my breakfast. It's delicious, not that I expected it to be anything less, but my thoughts are on how I'm going to keep Lost's intense energy levels in check. It's not every day that we have to go out in a mission. It's not even every week. Sometimes there's months between jobs, and that's way too long, clearly.
A knock at the door catches my attention as I sip at my apple juice, and Lost gets out of her seat before I can react. She listens at the door for half a second before opening it, and she fills the doorway protectively.
     "Hey," Mariam's voice floats in. "Kahlan?"
     Lost relaxes and allows Mariam entrance to our apartment, then she goes back to her breakfast happily. I scoot my plate away and spin in my stool to face Mariam. "What do you need?"
     "Actually, it's what you need," she says, holding out a little box. "Guess who got your mail."
     I take the offered box. "Thanks."
     "No problem. Having breakfast?"
     "Yeah. Want some?" I ask as I open the box.
     "No, but thanks."
     I hum as I take out a sleek black cell phone, a car key, two passports, and a credit card. I hold the items and look to Mariam for an explanation. Obviously I know what each item is for, but Mariam would know more about this care package.
     "Looks like you're official," she says with a smile. Then she points to the phone. "All the contacts you need should be in there if it's like mine."
     I start up the phone and wait for it to load. If Mariam's right, then I can call the clean up crew on my own if necessary, and ring up the General immediately if I need to.
     "The key's to an SUV like mine, and there's no limit on the card. The passports are obvious. Though it's rare we fly commercial. Secret government planes, and all."
     The phone blinks and a home screen flashes, then the device starts buzzing to alert of an incoming call. It's the General. Mariam gives me a halfhearted salute then leaves to allow me to answer in peace. I swipe at the phone's screen then put it up to my ear. "Hello?"
     "Good," the General says as a greeting. "You got the package."
     "The card really has no limit?"
     "Don't buy anything too large. You live in an apartment downtown, Kahlan. Don't buy past your means."
     I smirk and nibble on my bacon. "I won't."
     "Good. Now, about last night's venture. Mariam already gave me her opinion on it all, as did Cas, though I didn't ask for it."
     "And?"
     "It seems the kinks have been worked out. Mariam says everything was done quietly and efficiently. Do you agree?"
     "I agree."
     "Do you think Lost can handle bigger outings? Stealthier outings?"
     My eyes roll to Lost, who's surprisingly already finished her breakfast, and all the extras, and is now washing the dishes. I don't know if she's ready for harder targets, but she definitely needs the challenge. If that's the only thing that will keep her from getting agitated then I have to go with it, at least until I find a better solution.
     "She's ready," I say, eyes still on Lost. She's turned to me and is smiling, her hands wet, droplets falling from her fingertips to the floor. She runs a watery hand through her hair and cocks a hip, waiting.
     "Then remain on call. We'll find something that will properly make use of Lost's gifts. And don't plan on Mariam and Cas to accompany you," he adds. "Your first solo is the real test."
     "Yes, sir."
     "Never miss a call from this mobile." Then he hangs up without a parting. I expect nothing less and set down the phone beside the empty box it came in, and sigh. This all seemed better as thought. Now that I'm actually here, as a caretaker, I can understand why Mariam was always so feisty when it came to Cas. This isn't easy. Just last night's little excursion was hard to swallow. Does Mariam see every kill? Does Cas take care of her targets in creative fashions, too?
     "Do you mind being alone with me?" Lost asks suddenly.
     I look up at her and bring my plate back to myself, wanting to finish my food before it gets too cold. "What do you mean? We're alone right now."
     "Yes, I know," she says, leaning back into the counter and shamelessly letting her tank top ride up a little. She looks so relaxed, so loose. It's unusual. "But when we're out. Do you mind being only with me? Last night you had Mariam and Cas as distractions. Next time you won't have them."
     As nice as it was to have Mariam with me last night, I'm fairly certain I can handle myself without her. But then I notice the unsure look on Lost's face and realize that she's more worried about me having to deal with her alone. When she said Mariam and Cas were distractions, she meant distractions from her.
     "You weren't... pleased with my methods last night," she goes on, softly. "I felt it."
     I swallow my mouthful of food and follow it with a swig of juice. Then I wipe my mouth with my hand and sigh. "I've never seen something like that," I admit. "I didn't know how to feel. I still don't. But you did your job and I'm happy with that."
     Lost is silent for a moment before shifting her weight and pulling down the hem of her tanktop. "Do you feel safe with me?"
     That's a loaded question. To an extent, yes, I feel safe with Lost, but there are moments when I just don't. As soon as her muscles bunch and she gives me that look, my skin crawls and I can't help but feel like she may attack me at moment. She has yet to, which is a good thing, but what if she does one day? I absolutely trust her to protect me from outside forces when I need it, yet I don't know if I can trust her to protect me from herself.
     "It's not that easy," I eventually tell her. I don't want to lie to her, but I don't want to make her feel bad by saying no.
     She fidgets slightly and barely looks at me. "I would never hurt you."
     "No, I know," I say, believing it just enough to almost convince myself it's entirely true.
     "You can tell your boss you can't work with me," Lost says. "If that's how you feel."
     "I can work with you, and I will. We're in this together."
     "If you ever feel otherwise..."
     I stand and pick up my plate to take it to the sink. "I'll be sure to tell you if I feel anything other than what I do now." My plate goes into the sink and I turn to Lost. "But you have to promise to tell me if you feel differently, too. If we're going to work together well, communication is key."
     Lost's eyes roam over my face and she takes a step toward me, and I realize how close she's made us. Not claustrophobically close, but enough that I could touch her with half of my arm's full extension. And, for once, Lost isn't looking at me like she might pounce, and I'm not scared.
     She sniffs the air and her eyes lighten the barest. "I promise," she vows.