The moment for revolution had passed for today, or so the grapevine said. Recon patrols had been lessened, though what exactly Frank had been reconnoitering for was rather fuzzy. Trouble, of course, but there was always trouble in Rhy?din. Trouble came in all shapes and sizes with skin, scale and fur; there were even a few folk who fancied trouble their middle name. With all this in mind, Frank did what Frank did best: He waited. He waited high on the medieval walls surrounding Rhy?din proper, feet hanging easily over the fifty or so foot drop. He?d done his spelunking and his slinking through shadows and his ?I?m not a cop on this here street corner. I?m much worse than a cop?. He?d learned that number from Anastas- psychological warfare, and all that; effective presence? Whatever.

Now, he was done reconnoitering, so he watched. He waited and watched the sunset, he waited and watched the travelers come and go, he waited with AJ- the rifle, not the secretary- in his lap and a cigarette in his mouth, and the fur coat over his broad shoulders and watched the long road south out of Rhy?din.

A road which was clearing of the wiser, more obvious trade caravans, but which still bore the occasional more seasoned- and armed- traveler. Of course, these were strange times, and with talk of Revolution on the winds, the bandits and brigands were out, and more numerous than ever. Ironically, travelers sought the sanctity of Rhy?din to ward these highwaymen, which of course only exposed them to more cunning, devious thieves. Granted, these were not ones that were likely to kill you in broad daylight- at least, not in most parts of the city.

In fact, before this very moment, Frank might have suggested one was safer camping just outside the walls. A cry had gone up from the watchmen on duty at the gate below. The fact that the boys weren?t sleeping this close to the end of their shift was a testament to Anastas. Frank himself had been woolgathering more than he should?ve, but it?s not like he was on duty. Still, he leaned over the wall to look down and see what all the commotion was about. The lads were all pointing down the road, where it looked like- Frank brought a pair of binoculars to his eyes. It looked like someone was being robbed; within sight of the walls? Seriously?

He leveled his rifle and peered through the scope. The FAMAS?s .22 rounds probably hadn?t the weight to make it perfectly accurate at this range, but that?s what 30-round magazines were for. The scene was easily discernable through the magnification of the rifle scope: one man in fatigues against five with all manner of rusty weapons. Frank stowed the significance of the victim?s dress- a soldier?- for the moment and lined the sights on a man charging the soldier?s back with sword in hand. He inhaled, and held his breath and pulled the trigger, once, twice. The second shot caught the man square in the chest. The rifle sounded again, staggering one brigand enough for the knife-wielding soldier to take him with a quick slash to the throat. It was around that time that the brigands decided to cut their losses, with the Watch closing and their target being far better prepared than initially expected. Frank nicked one in the arm for good measure as he chased them off with hastily-aimed shots.

Shouldering the firearm, he made his way down to the ground with the aid of nearby trees- so much for a wall!

Well of course he was hungry. He?d been dragging an injured soldier all over town. Granted, he?d spent most of it in the Jeep. In fact, the old Wrangler had done most of the hauling, but that was completely beside the point.

?You knew they were following you??
??Course I did, Sarge. What sorta marine you take me for??
?The god damn idiot kind, Stevens, and don?t call me ?Sarge?.?
?You only say that ?coz I got stabbed- AH! Shit! F-.. You hit that pothole on purpose!? The brakes squeaked, jerking the Wrangler to a stop. ?Damn it, Fenix, you?d be the worst ambulance driver ev-?
?Don?t call me ?Fenix? either.? Frank grunts, kicking open the door. ?Can you walk??
?Well what the hell am I supposed to call you? Frank? That?s so absurdly mundane,? Stevens whines.
?I bet if you spent half the energy you did talking on walking instead, you?d be half-way healed by now,? Frank growls as he hauls open the passenger door and pulls the wounded soldier out of the passenger seat with all the gentleness of? well, a Marine Sergeant.
?The hell kinda hospital is this?? asks Stevens, looking up at the house on the corner, right across from the tailor?s shop.
?Does this look like Kansas, Dorothy? Now, shut up.?
The pair push in through the door on the bottom floor of Tarna?s place. ?Oh, stairs,? quips Stevens, ?that makes sense: a hospital with stairs. You?re selling my organs, aren?t you? I?m gonna wake up sans a lung and a pair of kidneys; the munchkins will help, I bet. Never trusted those things, moment I saw ?em.? Stevens places a boot on the sturdy, but winding stairs and hauls himself up one at a time, clutching the wound in his side intermittently. ?Dorothy, I said, you shouldn?t trust that bitch in the white dress, neither!? He manages through labored breaths. ?Big white bitch in a town of wee little men, I thought to myself, Dorothy- er, to Dorothy, rather- that bitch has some crazy world domination shtick goin? on, best stay aw-?
?Stevens.?
?-ay from that crazy b-?
Frank works the key into the lock at the top of the stairs. ?Stevens,? he says again, pushing the door open.
?You gotta watch out for the pretty ones, Frank!? Stevens gasps, pushing past Frank into the ?hospital? and finally deciding here was a good place to collapse. ?That magic wand coulda turned into a knife any second and then where would poor Todo be?!?
?Stevens, shut up,? Frank growls, closing the door. Well, at least they knew Stevens hadn?t punctured a lung. ?Tarna, you in?? Frank calls.
?Tarna?? Stevens echoes curiously.

?Hey, she?s cute; reminds me of this nurse I shagged back in- ow! Christ, Sarge, I?m wounded! Not supposed to kick a man when he?s down!?
?He needs medical attention,? Frank says to Tarna, stating the obvious. The grate in Frank?s voice suggests he might need more real soon. He looks toward the kitchen, noting the smells of a delectable meal above the smell of sweat and dirt and the mild coppery tang of blood.
The ?friend? on the floor looks like he?s been treated by patchwork field medicine- which is to say, he?ll probably be dead inside a week if he doesn?t die from blood loss first. Or mysterious, blunt trauma before that.
?Dinner smells wonderful,? Frank comments conversationally to Tarna with a warm smile.
?You know, I warned you ?bout cute women on the way up here, Fenix, and here you are, all googly eyed over some tart in a corset. Where?s the leg, sweetheart?? he quips at Tarna.
Frank looks to the heavens for strength before speaking, ?Do you want to die??
?I thought you were bringing me to a doctor?? Stevens looks to Tarna at Frank?s motion. ?I?m about to be operated on by a girl in a corset!? F*%king hell, Fenix, you clearly want me dead anyways, so you know, I might as well get this all off my chest. It was nice knowing you, cruel world!?
?Didn?t I tell you to shut up and stop calling me that?? Frank rubs at his temples.
Stevens continues to rant despite a wound in his side and a gash down his leg.
?He?s delirious,? Frank lies to Tarna, ?got anything to put him to sleep??

?Yes! Knock me out, please. It?ll be less painful th-? His head hit the floor wit a thud as Stevens went limp.

?Johnathan Stevens, Private First Class, USMC,? he says, frankly, ?though maybe not anymore. He?s in field dress? -full field dress, Frank noted- ?no rank insignia. He was being jumped just outside the city when I found him. This place is going to the wolves,? he mutters. Then, ?The real question is: what the hell is he doing here??

An old friend, maybe, but Frank Paszinski did not look happy to see Johnathan Stevens. ?Lets go ?head and move him. Grab his hands. He?s got a wound in his side. Figured it might?ve nicked a lung, but he was talking the whole way here so, slim chance of that. The one in his leg probably needs stitches, but isn?t deep. Or whatever it is you do instead of stitches.?

?Sorry for dropping him in on you like this, sweetheart,? he says as they haul him into the guest bedroom. ?I know you were expecting me earlier, but Alain?s got me on overwatch with the city. There?s talk of revolution. Alain seems to think the whole city?s gonna get involved, somehow.?

Frank?s stomach growls, ?Wanna eat first?? he jokes.

Objections flitted across his face and nearly reached his mouth, would have even been aired, had someone not already monopolized his lips. He wondered for a moment if this was how all their arguments would end: with a kiss before they started. On the one hand, he could get used to that, on the other? well, Frank Paszinski wasn?t going to let her win everytime! This time, though, ?Alright, alright, I get it.?

He turns toward the door, but pauses on his way out, ?You know, if you wanna whack him real good a couple times before he wakes up, I won?t tell nobody,? he confides with a sly grin, then saunters off to help himself to ?foooood wonderous foooood!? and all that.

Frank slouched in the chair at the table, cleaned plate in front of him and unlit cig in his mouth. He stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. His gaze rolled over to Tarna as she exited the guest bedroom. ?He gonna be okay?? Frank asks, standing, knowing the answer already but feeling compelled to ask anyways.

?He?s not a bad kid. Well, wasn?t. People change, I guess. Maybe he?s just scared. Don?t tell him so,? Frank half-grins, ?we soldiers do stupid things when we realize we?re scared.?

((done in IM))

?Good! Good.? He stows the cig over his ear like a pencil, and follows her into the kitchen. He?s about to lean in and give her a right proper kiss as she leans up against the counter, but backs off as she starts the interrogation, and leans next to her. ?Yeah, part of my unit for a number of years. Bright kid. Ambitious. Which is why I don?t think he?s a P.F.C any more. Truth be told, it got him into trouble more often than not. No temperance in that one- you may have noticed." He stuck the cig back in his mouth again, once more thinking. Just like the past, to crop up again once you?ve reconciled its loss. Fate did so enjoy toying with her little puppet Frank. He wondered idly if she and Alain were related.

She nodded to Frank's reply. A muted smile, but didn't add any of her own remarks. Her hand reaching out to rest upon his shoulder, seeming to understand Frank's unspoken thoughts in one way or another, and offering him some comfort. "Is he staying here then? With us?"

"Mmm? Oh, I don?t know? You normally let your patients stick around?? The tone in his voice suggests he?d rather have otherwise, but didn?t see much of an alternative. ?Look, we?ll have plenty of time to talk about the rat when he wakes up, so, for now- I see you got the new furniture.? He takes the cig from his mouth, and gestures around, noting the new furniture they?d selected. Then, noting the missed button on Tarna?s blouse, ?And you?ve been breaking in the new couch?? He grins slyly, imagining the too-big t-shirt she was probably in before he?d walked in with extra company. Maybe it was good Stevens was a loudmouth after all?

"I just thought you'd want to keep him near you.." The follow to that is that near Frank would be in the apartment. She followed Frank's gaze, quickly moving to fix the button.

He chuckles as she fixes the button, but sobers and ponders again, "No. Not really." Actually, there was something... unsettling about Stevens. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. He sighs, "He reminds me too much of old times. We were practically like brothers. Albeit, I was a more fatherly brother." He puts the unlit cig back in his mouth. "They seem to get younger and stupider each year," he mutters.

She stole the cigarette from him, planting a short kiss to his lips. "A room at the inn for him then?"

"When he can run twenty feet without falling over," he kisses her back and tries to retrieve his cigarette while their lips are locked again.

She gave it back to him, thinking the lip lock would only lead to further happenings... the probably shouldn't happen with the man in the other room. Call her old fashion. "So he will be staying here? Or... is there somewhere else you have in mind?"

"Well, there are a couple of cells over at S.P.I," he muses, grinning. And, not being old fashioned in the least, hasn't really moved far from the little minx with an undone button- wait, hadn't she fixed that? "I won't leave you here alone with him, don't worry. Could probably use an extra gun on a contract tomorrow. Maybe while we're at it I can get him to show me where the Nexus spit him out, and we can just toss him back in and be done with it?"

A soft chuckle. She ran her nails gently over his scalp. "I don't know that you should get too close to a Nexus point, would hate to lose you to it."

"Wouldn't worry about that. I can toss him a couple dozen yards." He grins, running a thumb along her cheek as he cups her chin. "Not goin' anywhere, darlin'. Don't you worry your pretty little head. Now, aren't you hungry? I ain't seen you eat yet. Might need energy- 'One never knows what the night will being'." He quotes with a mischievous grin.

"Mhm." She tilted to kiss his forehead, then moved to fix herself a plate of food. "I know the night isn't going to bring a lot with a man unknown to me under my roof."

"That's not the only thing that could happen, you know," but the grin on his face says it was probably the most likely of things. The cigarette goes back in his mouth as he ponders again, frowning. "I don't like it," he mutters.

"What?" She inquired back, serving herself a smaller portion of the food and sitting down at the table.

"Stevens," he admits. "It stinks. It's all too... I don't know." He moves to the table, sitting across from her and pondering still, the cig flicks from side to side as he ponders. Frank worked in feelings, impulses, gut instinct. Putting these feelings to words without sounding crazy was difficult. He'd learned to trust them after all these years, but airing them was different. He needn't tell Tarna, of course, but she likely wouldn't leave him alone otherwise. Bah! Love. "He was too... ready for all this. I mean, look at him. He was basically in full gear. His pack is in my car. It's full. Maybe coincidence. The Nexus is fickle, I know, hell, it picked me up in Newfoundland!" The cig flicks back and forth again, "I hate coincidences," he declares.

She paused, setting her fork down and looking into her lap a moment as she considered Frank's words. Then picking up her fork, still silent... debating on offering Frank something she doesn't even do for herself. "Do.. you want me to read him?"

Tarna remained hushed for a while, turning her fork in hand. A small nod at Frank's response. It did take a weight from her mind. There was more to fear than simply knowing the absolute truth of someone... traps for one.

She cleaned her plate, heading towards the sink when she heard a sound from the room they had put Steven's in.

From behind Frank's shoulder Tarna peered at the man. A slight frown. Not quite sure how he'd awaken so quickly. But he stilled to be well and whole still and that was all that really mattered. She didn't bother to move closer to inspect the man, sure she'd wind up with a fist to her face - well, if he managed to hit her before Frank broke his hand. Wouldn't be right to cause that sort of trouble, though.

Lips placed close to Frank's ear, "It would be alright if you wanted to shelter him elsewhere." Nowish, that voice said in the most loving of ways,