5. Ward

Iwoke up with two concerned faces hovering over me. One I recognized—Dev. His clear blue eyes were filled with worry, surrounded by wrinkles as he frowned down at me. His bushy beard couldn't hide the tension that set his lips into a tight line, and his cheeks were ruddy from the cold. He really was quite a stunner.

And I was definitely out of it if I was thinking like that.

The other face I'd never set eyes on before. It belonged to a teenaged girl, though her age could've been anywhere from thirteen to nineteen—I sucked at estimating when it came to kids. She wore a turquoise beanie with a fur pom-pom, and long, scraggly brown hair escaped from under it to tickle my face. She was frowning, but all I could think at the moment was, It worked.

My brilliant, though desperate, ploy to get her to stop had worked.

Now I simply had to survive the consequences.

I saw Dev's lips move, but I couldn't hear what he said. It was too much effort to keep my eyes open, so I closed them.

He might have shouted my name, but I was too far gone to care.

Something jostled me and I opened my eyes with a groan to find I was on a gurney, being loaded into an ambulance. Immediately, I grabbed for the strap keeping me secure, but my fingers didn't want to work properly.

"Hey now," a kind voice said, followed quickly by a hand nudging mine away from the strap. "You're all right. We're taking you to—"

"No hospital," I rasped, trying for the strap again.

The EMT cast a glance through the open doors of the ambulance, and Dev appeared, hopping up on the step so I could see him. "Ward, you need to get checked out."

His blue eyes were even more concerned than they had been when I'd awoken in the snow. They did nothing to sway me, though. "It's Sullivan. And no."

"Sir." The EMT huffed a breath. "You may have suffered a stroke."

With a groan, I fell back. Well, fuck. Was that why my tongue felt extra heavy and unresponsive? The doctors had told me there was always a risk of damaging myself further if I tried to use my abilities, but how could I not? And if it was true, did that mean the true end of my career?

I'd known it was coming for five years now, ever since…well. I hadn't wanted to face it. I still didn't.

"Kid?"

"Her name's Hallie, and she's good." Dev's lips curved into a soft, fleeting smile. "We'll be right behind you, okay?"

Nothing about this was okay. But I couldn't deny I'd brought it on myself.

I closed my eyes again, and reality fell away.

The next time I woke up, it was to a familiar, rhythmic beeping I knew all too well. Fucking hospitals. Apparently Canadian ones were as annoying as American ones. Opening my eyes, I stared at the scene that greeted me—Dev and the kid…Hallie?...playing cards at the end of my bed. The discard pile was next to my right foot and precariously large. Clearly they'd been playing for a while. It took me longer than I wanted to admit to recognize the game. Crazy Eights.

Well, I guess she was a kid.

"Hey, you're awake." Dev put his cards down and shot me a gentle smile. "How are you feeling?"

I grunted, because how did he think I was feeling? I was in the fucking hospital. Again.

Though he didn't know about the again part of things.

"Yeah, I get it." His expression held nothing but understanding and concern and, god, how was he so nice to me all the time? Most people had enough of my shit by the second hour. Here we were on the second day—

Wait. It was still the second day, right?

"How long?" My voice was raspy, barely there, and prompted Dev to get up to fetch a cup of water from the nightstand. It was room temperature but tasted like the nectar of the gods.

"A few hours. Don't let the dark fool you—it's only five-thirty."

I hadn't even noticed that the room I was in had a window. Or that it was a private one. But it made sense. Say what you wanted about SPAM, but they had great health coverage.

Movement at the foot of the bed drew my attention, and I watched as the kid gathered up the cards. She was slender and short—just over five feet tall, I'd guess. Her pale skin had a golden undertone to it, and her long brown hair would probably look a lot better after she gave it a good brushing. Right now it was frazzled and fuzzy, probably from wearing a hat. She had dark brown eyes, and there was something about her that screamed maturity despite her obvious youth.

"What's your story?" I demanded.

She froze, her gaze darting to Dev for a second before returning to me. Then she shrugged, adopting a careless air, and continued with the cards. "The usual. Parents thought I was an arsonist, which was bad enough, and then I came out as gay. Gasp!" She mockingly put a hand to her cheek. "That was it. I was out on my ass after that. Breaking the law was okay, but not loving other girls."

"Assholes." There was a special place in hell for parents who did that to their kids. That it was still happening made me want to set fire to the world. Except, well, I couldn't. Not anymore. "And technically, you are an arsonist."

Her lips screwed up into a pout. "Not on purpose!"

"No doubt, but it doesn't change the facts."

She deflated. "Yea. I guess you're right."

"Which is why Hallie has agreed to be recruited by SPAM," Dev said, returning to his seat.

"Such a stupid name." She wrinkled her nose.

"She'll need sign-off from her parents. Or emancipation." I frowned at her. "How old are you, anyway?"

"Seventeen."

"April's on it." Dev took the repackaged cards from Hallie and tucked them into a pocket of his jacket, which was draped over the back of the chair.

I grimaced. "Did you tell her—"

"That you landed your ass in the hospital? Yes, Ward, I did."

I fell back into the raised head of the bed with a groan. "I'm dead."

Dev's expression turned serious. "No, you're not, but apparently that was a close thing. What the f— hell, Ward?"

Oh, I'd almost gotten him to drop an F-bomb. Somehow that felt as big of an accomplishment as getting him to smile. Not the polite smile he gave everyone that barely reached his eyes, but the wide, brilliant one. That thought made me frown. Since when did I notice the intensity of someone's smile? Since when did I care?

I set my jaw. "None of your fuckin' business."

Dev's eyes narrowed. "It is my business. You're my partner."

I scoffed. "Since when?"

"What do you mean, since when?" His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open for a second. "Do you—do you have amnesia?"

"No, I don't have fuckin' amnesia." I rolled my eyes. "I mean, you're not my partner, Campbell. You're my contact in town. My guide to the area. That's it."

For the first time since I'd met him, Dev looked pissed off. Blue eyes narrowed, full brows drawn over them, and a flush rose high on his cheeks, above his dark beard. "The hell I am. You clearly need a keeper, Sullivan, and while you're in my neck of the woods, I'm it."

"Put me and Hallie on a plane, then, and we'll—"

Someone made a buzzing sound, and when I looked up, there was a petite, brown-skinned woman standing inside the door, her hands raised in the universal time-out gesture. By the white coat, I assumed she was a doctor. Probably mine, if the way she was glaring at me was any indication.

"I'm glad to see you're awake, Mr. Sullivan. I would be more glad if someone had notified the nurses of this fact." Her judgmental brown eyes took in Dev, and she arched a brow.

Dev grimaced. "Yeah, sorry about that."

"It's all right." She looked surprised for an instant at her response, but brushed it aside to look back at me. "I'm Dr. Korrapati. Mr. Sullivan, we need to discuss what happened and next steps."

Dev rose from his chair, the legs of it scraping on the industrial linoleum floor. "We'll go. We should grab some dinner anyway."

"There's a diner down the street that's quite good. It's a favorite of the nursing staff." Again, Dr. Korrapati looked surprised at her friendly overture, and I realized she was feeling the effects of Dev's power.

When he and Hallie left the room, she drew closer to the bed and regarded me with a somber expression. I knew that whatever she was about to say, I wasn't going to like it.

"You suffered a transient ischaemic attack, or a mini stroke," she said. "You should recover fully within twenty-four hours, but this is very serious, Mr. Sullivan. It's a sign that a full stroke may be imminent."

Fuck. I hated being right. I really didn't like what she was saying.

"Mr. Campbell was good enough to put me in contact with your superior, Ms. …April? I'm sorry, I don't think I got a surname for her."

I waved a hand. I wasn't sure she had a surname. Or if April was even her real name. "‘April' is fine."

"She stated that there was an accident of some sort five years ago that—"

"Stole my powers, yes." She'd better not ask for details, because I wouldn't give them.

"For want of a better term. The incident could be classified as a traumatic brain injury—your CT scan shows similar damage to a normal who's suffered a severe blow to the head."

"Doc, no offense, but I know all this. Want to get to the point?"

She set her lips in an annoyed, thin line for a moment, her glare intensifying. "By trying to activate the injured part of your brain, Mr. Sullivan, you're doing more damage. This time, it was a mini stroke. Next time, it might be far more serious. Are you hearing me?"

Yes, I was. And I couldn't say I hadn't heard it before, because I had. Other than the mini stroke part—that was new. The doctors who'd treated me after the…incident…had given me a similar warning. Try to use my powers, and I'd be playing Russian roulette with my brain. In most jobs, that was fine. I was there to share my experience, and my abilities weren't needed. But this one…fuck, there was something different about this one.

I wanted to scoff at myself, but I held it in. Something different. Yeah, I knew what was different. Hallie was me. About thirty years younger and female, but essentially me. I saw in her the potential I'd had. The bright future—no pun intended. I had to do everything in my power, including using my powers, to help her.

And, maybe, not using my powers too.

"Mr. Sullivan?"

"I hear you."

Dr. Korrapati let out a small huff of air. "I truly hate to be the bearer of bad news, Mr. Sullivan, but you need to retire."

I'd known that was coming, but the words still hit me like a freight train. I sucked in a breath, hoping it was silent, and looked away as I fought to get my emotions under control. "I understand."

I couldn't even say I disagreed. I might be stubborn, pigheaded, even an idiot sometimes, but I'd seen the writing on the wall five years ago, when the doctors said essentially the same thing.

I cleared my throat. "When will I be discharged?"

"We'll run a few more tests to make sure things are resolving themselves. If they are headed in the right direction, possibly later this evening."

Good. If I could avoid a night in the hospital, I would.

"There are some conditions you'll need to adhere to," she continued. "I'm going to recommend that you not fly anywhere for at least a week."

"I need to escort—"

"You can do so via car, or you can wait a week." That arched eyebrow again.

"Fine," I grumbled. "Next?"

"I'm going to recommend regular light to moderate physical activity, but nothing strenuous."

"No wild sex, got it."

"Think missionary, rather than acrobatic," she said, without missing a beat.

It took an effort to keep one corner of my mouth from quirking up. Too bad Dr. Korrapati worked in the ass-end of nowhere—I kind of liked her.

"Lastly, do not, under any circumstances, try to use your powers." Her voice softened. "They're gone, Mr. Sullivan. Maybe not fully," she amended as I opened my mouth, "but enough that trying to reach them isn't feasible. Do you understand?"

There was something in the way she said it, gentle and compassionate, but firm, that drove the point home better than the doctors had five years ago. Or maybe…maybe I was better prepared to hear it now. It hurt, but perhaps I'd finally moved along the stages of grieving to acceptance.

"I understand," I said softly.

My career as an agent of SPAM was over.