The Morning After

[Rod Stafford]

From a troubled sleep, Rod awoke, mumbling to himself. He found himself lying on the sofa in Fiona's apartment. Grey light spilled in through the glass balcony doors, a rapturous skyline of thick white cloud rolled over Chicago with specks of clear blue winking through. He winced and lifted his arm to shield his eyes from the morning's glare.

"Argh!" he hissed.

White hot streaks of pain lashed out across his bare torso. The memory of the night previous suddenly enveloped him. He looked down and saw that some of his chest and belly was wrapped in gauze. On his left side, roughly where his stomach was, there were three long red stains in the white cotton. His right upper arm also tightly bound but at least he could move it. Gingerly, he touched his face. His lip was cut and swollen, his left eye felt bulbous and sore.

"Son of a bloody..."

He propped himself up on one of the pillows he'd been provided and sat upright, keeping the weight off his left side. He yawned and stared lazily out at the horizon.

[Fiona Devlin]

:: Fiona appeared, wearing a robe of forest green ::

"Good morning, Rene."

:: She was carrying a tray with hot chocolate on it ::

[Rod Stafford]

"Mornin'," he uttered in a husky voice.

He turned to face her, every slight movement ached but he hid it. His feet fell off the edge of couch and found the soft carpet beneath them. His swollen lip mutated into a wry grin.

"Get up to anything interesting last night?"

[Fiona Devlin]

"No, it was a terrible bore"

:: She leaned down and kissed him on the head ::

"What would you like for breakfast?"

:: The time on the clock was 11:25 ::

[Rod Stafford]

"A couple of paracetamol with a side of scotch."

She handed him a mug of hot chocolate. He sipped at it.

"I'll have whatever you're having, as long as it's something light."

He suddenly looked up at her from his drink.

"Are you alright?"

[Fiona Devlin]

"I'm fine, thanks."

:: It was very quiet. Everyone else was up and out for the day ::

"I can whip up another batch of breakfast tacos, but it's getting on to lunchtime. Your choice."

[Rod Stafford]

His stomach lurched in protest.

"On second thought, the hot chocolate is enough."

For a moment, he stared into the mug and caught his own distorted reflection looking back at him. He frowned, he looked rough. Questions simmered in his hazy brain and one bubbled to the surface.

"What happened after we got out?"

[Fiona Devlin]

"Stepping sideways again was too much for you. You've been asleep all this time. The wyrmhowlers we slew were only an advance for the rest of the hive. We know where they've been coming from now, at least."

[Rod Stafford]

He shook his head.

"The Umbra is not for me," he said darkly.

His memory of the place was sketchy: bright colours, strange shapes, deep resounding sounds, and nothing felt right; it was like his centre of gravity had been relocated, his head felt like it was swimming and worst of all, his art was a mess there.

"I don't know what I'd have done without you. I've never seen you like that before. You were... something else."

[Fiona Devlin]

:: Fiona blushed, in total contrast to her demeanor the previous night. She had been wild, naked, and soaked in the blood of her enemies. A throwback to the age of Celtic Britain. Now she stood timidly in front of Rod, hiding her face in girlish fashion ::

"It was nothing." she mewed.

[Rod Stafford]

"Oh, it was something, Fiona."

The tone in his voice was gravely serious. He watched her with curious eyes like a scientist examining something he didn't understand for the first time. He glanced down at his wounds with revulsion.

"Without my tricks I'm mincemeat."

[Fiona Devlin]

:: Her silly grin faded and she sat down ::

"This was unexpected. I'm very sorry, Rene."

[Rod Stafford]

His expression softened.

"You don't need to appologised. I'm thinking about the future and if there are more of them to come, I need to be better prepared."

[Fiona Devlin]

"Aye." she nodded. "as soon as you're healed up."

:: Fiona stepped into the kitchen to make herself some food ::

[Rod Stafford]

"Oh, and speaking of healing," he called to her, "I noticed that a wound which should've left me hospitalised and under an operating table is healing up faster than that Wolverine person."

He stood slowly and grunted.

"You wouldn't have anything to do with that, right, Mrs. Merlin?"

[Fiona Devlin]

"I do know a bit." She replied. "Are you sure you aren't hungry?"

[Rod Stafford]

"I'm fine."

He saw Perc plod into the kitchen and followed him. He stood in the doorway.

"Last night, was that Nara?"

[Fiona Devlin]

:: Fiona nodded as she nibbled on a wedge of cheese ::

"Thank the Stag she found us."

[Rod Stafford]

"Yes," he said absently, deep in thought.

"I hope we see her again soon. I'd like to thank her."

He finished off the hot chocolate and washed the mug in the sink. He then leaned against the work top and watched Fiona preparing food. His fingers slipped inside the gauze and bandaging on his chest, and he carefully prized it away to get a glimpse of the damage.

"So what does all this mean for you now? You're something of a sheriff in Chicago, right?"

[Fiona Devlin]

:: She smiled over at Rod as she scrambled some eggs and poured them in the skillet ::

"Something like that. I confess I've grown quite fond of Chicago."

:: She grew deadly serious as she gave him her full attention ::

"The Black Spiral Dancers that attacked us belong to the Guttolic Hive. I helped drive them out of this city during the war, thirteen years ago. This time I think, we finish it. Slay them to the last."