31. Olly #2
“I want every Organization spy turned out of that hospital by first light. I want all of Dr. Bell’s “research” destroyed, though I want her notes and records that pertain to me.
I want daily updates on her medical condition in light of her attack.
I would also like punitive measures to be brought against Dr. Levy for her cruelty and lack of human empathy.
Any watercolour marker drawings found in a red folder or blue folder on Dr. Bell’s desk are to be brought directly to me.
I drew them, so they’re mine. There is also a locked drawer on the bottom left side of her desk, and a book inside with a silver cover.
I need it. If any of these things are not accomplished by tomorrow morning, I will be very upset.
And you do not want to fuck around with an eight-months-pregnant woman on a revenge quest. I’m drowning in hormones and rage, and I have an excellent oceanic prison I could toss any of you in with a ginormous cantankerous squid as a companion. You don’t want that. Trust me on this.”
There were some rapid-fire looks around the table between Clark, Robert, and the confused Mr. Boutillier, and then Clark spoke.
“We’ll do it all. You have my word, and I never break my word if I can help it.
Robert and Jeff will have all the appropriate staff files, I’m sure, and what their current assignments are.
Anyone from The Organization who touched so much as a hair on your head during your stay will be turfed. ”
“We’ll protect you, Olly. It’s all we ever wanted,” Robert said earnestly.
What a bullshitter. Or was he? I wouldn’t know unless I went on instinct alone, because his shields were so tight you couldn’t fit a piece of paper through the imaginary stone wall he had erected around where his thoughts flourished.
I could understand the Great Wall he had built around his private thoughts.
He had been, according to Clark, full-on mind-controlled by the old man, and obviously didn’t want anyone else messing with his brain.
I decided to trust him and Jeff, another mind control victim, for now but to remain very cautious around them, and try not to be alone with either.
“See you tomorrow, then. I’m changing up the dress code to bring it into modern-day standards.
I’m nonbinary, and I won’t be forced into goddess-be-damned pantyhose ever again.
Or a necktie. I want an email to go out to all of the staff that gender identity is now seen as a personal and important matter here at Rose Financial, so as long as it is professional in nature, you can wear whatever the hell you want.
After what my child and I have just been through, gentlemen, open-toe shoes are not our enemy. ”
I left the room, tote bag in hand, and headed for a place where I knew I could always call home.
When the crying obviously wasn’t going to stop in a moment or two, Shepard gathered our favourite ratty old super-soft blanket around me, and bundled me into my former side of the bed.
“Clark called me,” he admitted. “I changed the sheets and the pillowcases so you and your...our?...bun will be clean.”
“I don’t think you can get the clap from just sharing sheets, Shep,” I weakly joked, and he lightly punched me on the upper arm as I settled into the most comfortable, lumpy, well-used mattress in the whole damn city.
“Shepard?” I patted the mattress beside me.
“Will you come lay here with us? I want to talk a bit.”
“Why certainly, milady,” he replied, making his way to the other side of the bed and shedding some of his outer layers of clothing as he did so.
I peeled back the blanket pile, and he joined me, his warm skin on mine feeling like the world’s best medicine.
I would have felt like I was almost cheating on Clark, only with everything that had happened in the past forty-eight hours, I didn’t have it in me to have a guilty conscience.
Plus, I think both men were pretty clear on where we all stood with each other.
Romantically, anyway, Shepard was my past, and Clark was...
an unknown at the moment. We’d been apart for so long and had so little time together to hash things out that I wasn’t sure.
Did he fly in to see me rescued because he cared for me—loved me, even—or was it because he felt it was his responsibility as the probable new head of The Organization?
Ugh, too much to contemplate right now. I snuggled up to my best friend and my headache from earlier even seemed to start to evaporate.
He scooted over so we were almost nose to nose and his flat belly was touching my bump.
“This reminds me of the evening you told me you were pregnant,” he admitted, and ran a hand through my hair.
He used to love playing with it, and braided it into elaborate styles, like Daenerys Targaryen’s.
“So you remember all of that, now? You and I being besties, Beatrice, most of the last dozen years?”
He stilled beside me, tensing up, but then taking a deep breath and relaxed a bit.
“Yes. Whatever you did to “fix” me, I’m terribly grateful for.
You’re certain this was all that old guy down on the boardwalk that day that did this?
That made me forget you ever existed?” He shuddered again, and I burrowed my head deeper into his collarbone area.
Then I took one of his hands, and slowly put it on my bump.
That did the trick, and he relaxed fully next to me.