Claws and Fangs

Meet the Family (Again)

I don't talk to anyone much after I wake up. It hurts when I finally try. Instead I just sit by Mark in the room they moved him to and watch his chest rise and fall. His fever broke shortly after I passed out; Raj is good at what he does, which unfortunately leaves me very little to do. I dab at his face and neck with a damp cloth until someone tells me to stop, the wet might make him catch a cold on top of everything else. Even though I know it's pointless, guarding Mark gives me an excuse to stare at nothing and not think. That's about all I can do right now.

Hestia interrupts her schedule to personally bring me a tray of food, but she doesn't stay long. Even if clan matters weren't pulling her away, I don't think she likes being around illness. I can relate.

A full day passes before Mark even opens his eyes. "M-Mm-" he stammers. Thinking he is asking for me, I take his cold clammy hands. "M-Mom?"

It's like a punch in the stomach. I can't help but think how vulnerable he seems, a pup calling for his mother. I don't understand how his mind can give him hope for something it knows is gone forever. Memory is funny that way.

"No, it's Mona," I say haltingly. "Your mother isn't here." His eyes dart around, not really seeing me or the room around us, then they suddenly fix intensely on mine. I can feel his desperation; it's practically seeping through his skin.

"Mom, it hurts," he moans.

I squeeze his hand, trying to pull him back to consciousness, but whatever medicine he's been given has a lasting effect. He drifts in and out, making me jump every time he cries out, until finally I poke my head out the door and beg our sentry to give him something for the pain. Raj insists that I take something too, to help me rest, and before I know it Mark and I both nod off.

It seems like years later that I feel a hand on my head, gently brushing a strand of hair out of my face. I blink in the dim light of a lamp someone has dragged in. Mark is awake, alert. I let him leave his hand on my head, mostly because I'm too groggy to care, but also because it feels nice.

"Hey," he murmurs.

"Hi," I breathe. I sit up and feel my back pop angrily. Ouch. I arch my back, trying to stretch my sore muscles without disturbing Mark too much.

"How long was I out?" Mark asks, whispering to keep with the ambiance of the room.

I'm not entirely sure (having been unconscious myself and in a room with no windows), so "Three days?" I guess.

Mark moves to get up, but I stop that quickly enough. He's too weak.

"Hey, take it easy," I urge. "Don't strain yourself."

I get him to lie back down with no small amount of grumbling and help him drink from a glass of water. My hands twitch in protest of moving at all, and some of it sloshes on his chin and onto his shirt. I grab a cloth napkin from the forgotten tray and dab it up. "Sorry," I mutter. 

Mark stops my hands and holds them away from the mess I've made. "It's fine, it'll dry. Mona, I need to ask you something."

Clearly he's been awake for a while, long enough to have thoughts and put together questions. I have not been awake long enough to put together thoughts, and more importantly, answers.

"Why didn't you leave me?" he asks quietly. "You could have run and left me there. why not?"

That is not the question I was expecting. So much has happened since he first passed out that I forgot this was a conversation we could possibly be having. One that I am also not prepared for, go figure.

"Why would I leave you?"

"I have no wildlife skills, I annoy you, I can't walk quietly, which believe me, I know is a problem when you're trying to escape, so save the lecture and namecalling," he starts, ticking off the list on his fingers. "Not to mention we can't stay focused because of each other's scent," How is that pertinent? "and, oh yeah, I had a poisoned arrow in my leg."