White lies

"He needs you," Frank said, echoing her thoughts. "He’s asking for you. He responds to you so strongly that he keeps confounding Major Lunning’s predic- tions. And we need you, Jay. We need you to help him in any way you can, because we need to know what he knows."

"If sentiment won’t get me, try patriotism?" she asked tiredly, leaning her head back against the padded orange vinyl chair. "It wasn’t necessary. I won’t leave him. I don’t know what’s going to happen, or how we’ll handle it if he doesn’t get his memory back soon, but I won’t leave him."

She got up and walked out, and Frank sat there for a moment staring at the cup still in his hands. From what she’d just said, he knew that Jay sensed she was being manipulated, but she was willing to let them do it because Steve was so important to her. He had to talk to the Man about this latest development, and he wondered what would happen. They had counted on Steve’s willing participation, on his talents and skills. Now they had to let him walk out on the streets as helpless as a baby because he couldn’t recognize the dangers, or take the risk of telling him things that could set back his recovery. Major Lunning had been adamant that upsetting him would be the worst thing they could do. He needed quiet and tranquillity, a stable emotional base; his memory would return faster under those conditions. No matter what decision the Man reached, Steve was at risk. And if Steve was at risk, so was Jay.

It was hard for Jay to enter Steve’s room after the emotional battering she had taken. She needed time to get herself under control, but she felt the pull between them again; it was growing so strong she no longer had to be in the room with him, touching him. He needed her right now, far more than she needed time. She opened the door and felt his attention center on her, though not even his head moved. It was as if he were holding his breath.

"I’m back," she said quietly, walking to his bed and putting her hand on his arm. "It seems I can’t stay away."

His arm twitched urgently, several times, and she got the message. "All right," she said, and began reciting the alphabet. Sorry.

What could she say? Deny that she’d been upset? He would know better. He felt the pull just as she did, because he was on the other end of that invisible rope. He turned his face slightly toward her, his bruised lips parted as he waited for her answer.

"It’s all right," she said. "I didn’t realize what a shock I had just given you."

Yes.

It was odd how much expression he could put in a single motion, but she felt his wryness and sensed that he was still shocked. Shocked, but in control. His control was astounding.

She began spelling again.

Afraid.

The admission hit her hard; it was something the old Steve never would have admitted, but the man he had become was so much stronger that he could admit it and lose nothing of his strength. "I know, but I’ll stay with you as long as you want me," she promised.

What happened? He made it a question by a slight upward movement of his arm.

Keeping her voice calm, Jay told him about the explosion but didn’t give him any of the details. Let him think that he’d simply been in an accident.

Eyes?

So he hadn’t understood everything she’d told him before and needed reassuring. "You’ll have more surgery on your eyes, but the prognosis is good. You’ll see again, I promise."

Paralyzed?

"No! You’ve broken both legs and they’re in casts. That’s why you can’t move them."

Toes.

"Your toes?" she asked in bewilderment. "They’re still there."

His lips moved in a very slight, painful smile. Touch them.

She bit her lip. "Okay." He wanted her to touch his toes so he’d know he still had feeling in them, as a reassurance that he wasn’t paralyzed. She walked to the foot of the bed and firmly folded her hands over his bare toes, letting his cool flesh absorb the heat from her palms. Then she returned to his side and touched his arm. "Did you feel that?"

Yes. Again he gave that painful fraction of a smile.

"Anything else?"

Hands.

"They’re burned, and in bandages, but they’re not third-degree burns. Your hands will be fine."

Chest. Hurts.

"You have a collapsed lung, and a tube in your chest. Don’t do any tossing around."

Funny.

She laughed. "I didn’t know anyone could be silent and sarcastic at the same time."

Throat.

"You have a trach tube because you weren’t breathing well."

Face broken?

She sighed. He wanted to know, not be protected. "Yes, some bones in your face were broken. You aren’t disfigured, but the swelling made it hard for you to breathe. As soon as the swelling goes down, they’ll take the trach tube out."

Lift the sheet and check my–

"I will not!" she said indignantly, halting her spelling when she realized where his words were heading. Then she had to laugh because he actually managed to look impatient. "Everything is still there, believe me."

Functional?

"You’ll have to find that out on your own!"

Prissy.

"I’m not prissy, and you behave or I’ll have a nurse change your tube. Then you’ll find out the hard way what you want to know." As soon as she said the words she felt herself blushing, and it didn’t help that he was smiling again. She hadn’t meant to sound the way she had.

The effort of concentrating for so long had tired him, and after a minute he spelled Sleep.

"I didn’t mean to tire you out," she murmured. "Go to sleep."

Stay?

"Yes, I’m staying. I won’t go back to my apartment without telling you." Her throat felt thick at his need for reassurance, and she stood by the bed with her hand on his arm until his breathing changed into the deep, steady rhythm of sleep.