A sharp intake of breath hissed between Gia's teeth as she parted the hair on the right side of Jack's head.
"Oh, Jack, your scalp's all bruised."
He knew. He'd felt the squishy blood under the skin there earlier. Not the first time he'd been knocked cold, but the first time in years. Doc Hargus had called it a hematoma back then - not subdural, subcutaneous.
He pressed his fingers against the area now. Odd ... no squish. The last one had lasted a week.
And his headache. Last time he'd been knocked out his head had pounded for days.
More proof that he was being changed in preparation for Glaeken's impending demise.
She dabbed at the area with a cold, wet washcloth.
"You've got a little dried blood here from these little tiny scratches."
Which were probably bigger an hour ago.
"Oh, and look. Here's a teeny piece of glass."
"I can shower all that away."
"No, let me help."
Normally this kind of attention would make him claustrophobic. If she were a nurse in an ER, he'd be pushing her away. But injuries, even minor ones, brought out Gia's nurturing side. With every passing year Vicky needed less and less nurturing, so she had a lot stored up.
Gia never made him claustrophobic. The closer the better.
"Two injuries in two days," she said as she picked at the glass. "I hope you're not going to be making a habit of this."
He smiled at her. "If tonight ends like last night..."
"Don't count on that. You've got me worried now. I mean, you seem to be getting hurt lately. First your arm and now this. You never used to get hurt. Are they connected?"
"In a way."
"What way?"
"Long story. All part of a bigger problem. But this particular part of the problem has been solved."
She stopped dabbing at his scalp. "Solved ... do I want to know the details?"
"Probably not."
She sighed. "Okay. No details. But just tell me: Is the person responsible for these injuries in a position to cause more injuries?"
"No."
"Okay. Good. That's enough." She slipped her arms around his shoulders and hugged. "I worry about you, you know."
"I know."
Her attitude had switched a hundred and eighty degrees from last night. The arm wound had seemed old then, well on its way to healing. But this one was fresh. And he could feel her trembling inside.
Still holding him, she said, "Don't you feel it's all unraveling?"
"'All'?"
"The world."
"What makes you think it was ever truly raveled?"
"You know what I mean."
"Yeah, unfortunately I do."
Was she sensing Rasalom's ascent? Ever since her coma she seemed sensitized to the Conflict. She'd seen what she interpreted as a landscape of the future while she was out, and it had ended in impenetrable darkness this coming spring.
And spring was only weeks away.
Her hug tightened. "I'm worried."
"I know."
"Not for myself, so much. I'm worried for you. But most of all I'm worried for Vicky. There's so much I want for her. I want her to fall in love, I want her to have a chance at motherhood, I want her to..."
"Live long and prosper?"
She laughed softly. "Exactly, Mister Spock. Actually, that's the least of what I want for her. I want everything for her, or at least a chance at it."
"I'll do my damnedest to see that she gets that chance."
No more needed to be said.
