NED: GIVING A BABE A BATH

Ned wakes up curled into a fetal position on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. A slow stretch and he sits up. Sees the woman on the couch and panics as memories come rushing back. Pain, such pain. He had never imagined that pain could be so … painful. He recovers himself from the brink of shut down. Focuses on the here and now.

She’s still breathing. In fact, she looks much better. Most of her wounds have started healing. Even the hole in her chest is scabbed over. He pulls the plastic off then unwraps the bandage on her leg. The gash is still there but starting to close up. Weird.

“How long was I out?” Talking to himself again. One attribute of a loner life.

Checking the clock, he discovers it hasn’t been long. Couple of hours, maybe.

He decides that he’s officially in a ‘weird’ situation. Unknown and heavily injured person (possibly an alien?) dropped in on him, tazed him (with magic?) as he was giving her first aid, and then fell asleep on his couch.

Oh, and she matches the classic image of an Amazonian Princess. He feels like that’s an important footnote.

Right now she’s nearly naked, coated in clotted blood and what looks like some kind of dark green sludge. He has a vague memory of ripping her clothes off. Not a sexy fantasy version though. More of a frantic panic.

He spends a few thought cycles on calling an ambulance. But he can’t really get his head wrapped around the idea. There will be flashing lights. Lots of flashing lights. Hard-eyed detectives asking hard questions about the woman’s unclothed, bloody, comatose condition and the physics of ceiling osmosis. No thanks. Maybe he’s watched too much tv, but … no thanks.

“Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound, I guess,” he says to himself. From the looks of the wounds, that sludge probably contains poison.

He gets up and starts the shower. Lets the water get warm while he goes back to get her. She’s too heavy for a princess carry, so he pulls her over his shoulder and stumbles back to the bathroom, taking great care not to bash her head on anything. He lowers her into the tub, rinses her off, soaps her up, rinses her off again, then towels her dry. Thank God she’s at least got underwear on. She’s breathing fine but shows no reaction the whole time.

He’s breathing a little bit heavy. Could it be a reaction to her overwhelming Amazonian Princessian appearance? Her near nudity? Her by golly most-beautiful-woman-I’ve-ever-seen-in-my-life brand of pure awesomeness?

He is fully aware of these items, but doing his best not to let discussion of them come up on his mental agenda. He was raised to respect people, not pigeon-hole them based on their appearance. Anyway, there are more important things to focus on right now.

He carries her to the bedroom and lays her down on the bed. Checks her wounds again to make sure they haven’t reopened. Some of them still have that worrying gray-green color but otherwise everything is fine. He raids his first aid kit for antibacterial cream and applies it liberally as necessary. Otherwise he leaves the wounds uncovered. Thinks it’s best to let them breathe.

After that he covers her with a sheet and blanket and leaves her. Wants to start cleaning up. Starts with a quick shower himself.

He then strips the covers off the couch cushions and throws them in the wash. There are a bunch of jagged metal bits laying around which he collects up in a glass jar with a set of tweezers.

After a while he goes back to check on her. The gray-green color around her wounds has spread a little bit. Worrying. She’s still asleep but looks a little flushed. He presses his hand to her forehead. Fever? Maybe?

He turns away to get his little electric temperature-checker thing out of the drawer in the night stand. Turns back as he turns it on. Feels a hand on the back of his neck and another on his chest. Looks into her beautiful eyes as she says something. Then gets magi-tazed again.

Pain. Agonizing pain.

“Ow,” he hisses. Then passes out.

ANIKA: DESPERATE MEASURES 2

Anika slowly drifts back into consciousness. She feels hands on her body again. The same man. Checking her wounds? Her body feels different. Cleaner.

She gives no sign of her awareness. Another benefit of training for absolute mental control. He covers her with something and leaves her alone. She hears running water, then mostly silence.

She is weak. Still almost completely powerless. The poison in her body is preventing her from gathering the ambient life force somehow. She casts another body scan. All the shrapnel is gone but the poison is still spreading slowly. Preventing her natural recovery processes from healing her wounds. Cutting her off from her own powers.

The man comes back. Checks over her wounds again. Is he some kind of doctor? A Saint for sure if he’s still here helping her after she nearly drained his life away.

She considers his aura. His life-force is back to normal. Unusual recovery speed, especially for an untrained; which he surely is.

She makes a decision. One she is not proud of, but she is a Princess. The job comes with tough decisions and holding onto it requires a will of steel.

She feels a gentle hand touch her forehead. Opens her eyes and turns her head toward him. Reaches out and grabs him in a rough embrace.

Stolen novel; please report.

“I’m sorry,” she says as he convulses in her arms. She feels his pain again. Shares it with him, though sharing makes it no easier. She drains him to the dregs. Every scrap of his life-force going to heal her wounds, suppress the poison, open her energy channels to allow for recovery.

He hisses out one word, “Aaoo.” An expression of pain, perhaps. As the process completes, she gently lowers him to the ground. Then falls asleep again.

A few hours later, Anika wakes up feeling much better. Her magic is flowing again. Sluggishly, still just a fraction of her usual, but flowing and growing slowly.

She looks over the edge of the bed at the man. He’s still unconscious.

She throws off the sheet covering her and discovers she is wearing only her underwear. Still wearing her underwear. That’s a relief. But what she has on now is dirty and she needs to relieve herself.

She finds the bathroom and logics out how to use it. Then goes looking for clothing.

The man lives here alone. That much is clear. Not a hint of a feminine presence. She goes through his closet, looking for anything that will fit her. Why couldn’t he be a normal sized man? Too big is much easier to deal with than too small. She makes do.

Next item. Hungry. Her body cries out for nutrients to replace what has been lost. She explores again. She finds what she thinks is a cooking area and food supplies, but doesn’t recognize anything. Not that she would know how to cook anything for herself anyway. What kind of princess would? Time for desperate measures.

NED: BREAKFAST

He wakes up stretched out on the floor next to the bed. Feels something poking him in the ribs.

He turns over and sees her squatting down next to him. She reaches a hand toward him. He gives a little scream and rolls under the bed. All the way across to the other side and jumps out and up to stand with his back against the wall. Very manly.

She laughs at him. She has a brilliant smile, lighting up her eyes in a most amazing way. She appears to be feeling a lot better. She tries talking to him but gives up when it becomes clear he can’t understand. The sun is rising through the window behind her.

At least she’s got clothes on now. His clothes, of course. Jogging shorts and a t-shirt. Way too small. He’s average size, after all, and she’s built like an Amazonian Princess. Now that she’s standing he can see she’s also super-model tall.

She pads out of the room barefoot and returns with a glass of water and a plate. She carefully approaches him, like one would when trying to capture a stray kitten. Hands him the glass. He takes it warily and gulps it down.

Then she hands him the plate. He looks at it stupidly. She pantomimes eating. He looks at the plate. She rolls her eyes and gives him an exasperated look. Rubs her stomach and pantomimes eating again.

She wants to make him breakfast? No. She wants HIM to make HER breakfast. Guess she really is a princess.

He edges around her warily and makes a break for the kitchen. She follows more slowly and sits down at the table to watch him work.

He gets out eggs and bacon from the fridge. Starts things frying. Pops bread into the toaster and sets butter and jam on the table. Sets a place for her and himself (across the table longways as he’s learned to keep a wary distance).

Suddenly, he realizes that he had never introduced himself. Never even spoken a word to her, really. Odd. Maybe all of this weirdness has fried what’s left of his brain.

Clearing his throat to get her attention, he sets his hand to his chest and says his name: “Ned.”

He indicates himself and says again, “Ned.” Then he points at her.

She gets his point right away. Puts her hand to her chest and says, “Marthelion.” Her voice is a pleasant contralto, a little deep for the average woman but seeming perfect to Ned for an Amazonian Princess.

He repeats her name to her and she nods her head, then she repeats his name. Smiles all around. She has the most amazing eyes, dark gray, like a stormy sky, with large irises. He doesn’t know why that seems so important to him right now.

He butters toast and slathers on some jam. Hands it to her and then makes some for himself. Dishes out the eggs and bacon. He takes the time to give her the name for each type of food. She returns the favor, giving him the names in her own language. Otherwise, they finish breakfast in silence.

He gets up and puts the tea kettle on the burner. Collects the dishes and heads to the sink to rinse them off. She watches him, still silent.

Finished with that chore, he makes the tea and hands her a mug. One with tea written on it in twenty languages. He dumps a scoop of sugar into his own mug, takes a sip and then sets the sugar bowl next to her.

NED: MAGI-TAZED AGAIN

That gets him a small smile. Bringing her mug up to her nose, she gives it a sniff then takes a sip. Another small smile. Ignoring the sugar bowl, she takes another sip.

“Tea,” he says to her while pointing inside his cup.

“Tea,” she repeats. Ned gets out his phone and searches ‘tea production’ on his favorite video app. Finds a short video that goes from bush to cup and sets it in front of her to watch. She appears fascinated by the video but not much surprised by the technology.

Leaving her to it, he gets up to throw the couch covers into the dryer. Then he gets busy with some other chores.

“Ned,” he hears a soft voice from behind him. He turns around and finds her standing right behind him. Danger close!

He drops his laundry basket and retreats quickly. Into a corner. He mentally curses himself for lack of situational awareness.

She gives him a sad smile, then pulls off her shirt. Ned turns pink before he realizes she’s pointing to the puncture wound in her chest. It looks almost healed but that disturbing gray-green color surrounds it and looks like it’s spreading.

Bending down, she unwraps the bandage from her thigh, showing him where the deep cut had been. This cut also is almost healed but also infected by the gray-green whatever.

Then she stands up and shows him all of the other cuts and wounds he had tended on her arrival. Those were all healed with no gray-green coloration.

Pointing to them she says, “Ned.” Then pointing to her infected wounds she looks him right in the eye. “Marthelion, aaoo.”

She takes a step toward him. He recoils in fear. “Ned. Marthelion, aaoo,” she says again.

He looks her in the eye and loses the battle. His shoulders slump and he takes her hand, leading her back to the bedroom. For some reason he is hearing the opening guitar riff to an old Alice Cooper song in his head. Power chord in D.

He lays down on the edge of the bed. She lays beside him. Takes his hands in hers.

He screams this time.