Log Date:
	7/6/99

Log Cast:
	Tance, Kesya, Morgan, Sheila Parker (NPC emitted by Tance), Teresa 
O'Neill (NPC emitted by Tance), Quinn, Vyana

Log Intro:
	Once again on his feet after a long stay in the Infirmary, Tance has
Surpassed his turnaround time on going uninjured into the Ranges and getting
himself hurt all over again. This time he's wounded himself at the very
same claim that nearly killed him the _last_ time -- and when a man comes
that close to death, he can't help but lose himself in dreams. Funny thing
about death and dreams, though... this particular old Singer has cheated
death for over two centuries now, and his head has been half full of dreams
for practically that same amount of time. But when you're half-crazed with
crystal, it's often hard to tell what's real and what isn't... especially
when you're about to flirt with death all over again...

----------
He'd gone to the trouble of buying climbing equipment, but it had done him no 
  good -- the treacherous water-slicked rocks had still given way beneath his 
  booted feet, and he'd still gone hurtling dozens of yards down to slam into 
  the broken rubble in the pool at the bottom of the waterfall. Tance hadn't 
  even had time to cry out or curse before he'd been pitched headlong into 
  oblivion... and he hadn't remembered to curse once a spark of 
  self-preservation had made him drag his abused body out of the water. No use 
  trying to cut... in fact, the only action he could find the strength to do 
  was to stumble back to his sled. And collapse there, wet and bleeding and 
  bruised and battered, in his pilot's seat. To somehow manage to focus his 
  consciousness long enough to slap on the emergency beacon. And at last to 
  slide helplessly back down into unconsciousness.
His mind swirls, hazed by pain. Sparks of memory intersperse themselves 
  between the desperate complaints of his body as his blood seeps out of him 
  to stain the seat and the floor of his craft. In his dreams, he's still 
  trying to climb, his body straining with the exertion, a corner of his mind 
  certain he has to reach some elusive goal. He can't fall. He can't!

The haze swirls around the injured Tance, a muddy stream of whites and greys 
  and browns that threaten to overwhelm and consume. Seeing anything is 
  virtually impossible; feeling anything but the pain that carries even to 
  your dreams is all but hopeless. But then, with the next reach up, your hand 
  grasps, flails for a handhold, and gets one. A warm one. Through the mist, 
  someone has lent you her strength, and you can see your hand wrapped about a 
  smaller, green one. It's another moment before a familiar, warm voice sounds 
  over the rush of water. "You've really done it to yourself this time, love."

Wait. He knows that voice! Tance frowns plaintively, trying to lift his head 
  -- a simple action turned monstrously difficult by the fact that he is 
  dizzy, so very dizzy. "Jade," he croaks, peering up through dream-mist. His 
  arm, already shaking with exhaustion, jolts in violent surprise, and he very 
  nearly drops back down into the abyss beneath him. "Wh-what're you doin' 
  here, honey?"

Those slender, green fingers tighten around your hand, and you can feel your 
  long-dead love pulling you up, closer to safety and further from the abyss 
  below. Her voice sounds, light but strained. "You have to help me, love. I'm 
  not so strong myself these days." A pause follows. "What'm I doing here? 
  Why... you needed me, of course." Another moment, and you can barely make 
  out her face, through the mist.

Profound relief floods through him, almost but not quite dispelling the pain: 
  relief that he doesn't have to think too hard to reason something through, 
  relief that he's got help to pull him up off the water-slick rocks, 
  desperate, giddy relief that his beloved is Here. Her words make perfect 
  sense, and he groans out in heartfelt agreement as he fumbles to wrap his 
  arms around her, "Needed you. So much. I-I-I miss ya, honey, so much..." 
  Tance hears his voice crack, but it is irrelevant. Jade is Here. But wait. 
  Here is bad, isn't it? There's rocks. "Can't stay here," he urges, trying to 
  find the effort to speak without his words slurring. "Can't letcha fall 
  again, Jade! We, we gotta move..."

"I won't fall," comes his love's laughing response, her own arms wrapping 
  tightly around him. She smells the same, sounds the same, feels... maybe a 
  little skinnier than he remembers. And as all dreams do, this one changes, 
  shifts, becomes browner... sand... a beach! One the both of them had sat on 
  a long, long time ago. The sound of the rushing water changes, softens, 
  becomes the soothing sound of lapping waves. "See?" Kesya urges, turning her 
  thin face toward the sun. "There's nowhere to fall from. Gods Tance, but 
  I've missed you." Those silver-blue eyes turn toward him then, a little 
  misty, her hand trailing lightly down his cheek. "It's been a long time."

Oh, this is much, much better. Old need, never fully conquered, too strong to 
  be suppressed even by the dull blaze of pain still lingering in the back of 
  his consciousness, drives Tance to hold his beloved close. Because it is 
  Jade, he lets himself tremble in her embrace, lets tears he usually tries to 
  hide spill down his weathered face and onto her slender fingers. "Thought 
  I'd lost you," he mumbles. "Y-you're not gonna go again, are ya?" 
  Yearningly, shakily, he pulls her fragile frame closer, longing to protect 
  her as he'd failed to do before.

The green-skinned singer holds her fiancee close, her thin arms wrapping 
  tightly about him, heedless of the moisture on her fingers or on her own 
  cheeks. "I'm always with you, sweetness," she answers, her lips then 
  pressing against his a moment, then kissing the tears from his cheeks. "But 
  you're hurt, you know. You didn't do yourself any favours on that claim." 
  Odd... you have no injuries here, only a dull throb that's all too easy to 
  forget with her here with you.

"I... I am?" Tance mutters dazedly, peering down at his middle. Shouldn't 
  there be blood there? But aye, it's tempting, very tempting, to dismiss the 
  increasingly vague memory of the agony of his rent flesh. Why should he 
  think about such things, with his beloved in his arms? "Damn karkin' fool to 
  go back there, but I had to, only claim I got... but I ain't goin' back, 
  honey, not now that I found you again... can't leave ya...." Still weeping, 
  his voice hoarse and rasping, Tance returns each tender kiss he is given, 
  one arm curling around his Jade's slim form -- when did she get so thin? -- 
  his free hand roaming over her, everywhere his lips don't touch.

"But you have to, my love." Kesya's voice is soft in your ear, and she pulls 
  back from you a bit, her eyes shining brightly with unshed tears. "You're 
  dreaming. If you stay here, you'll sleep as long as I did... and I slept far 
  too long. You have to get better, get well, so that you can see me again. 
  Will you do that for me?"

"Wh... what're you talkin' about?" Confusion crinkles up Tance's face, and it 
  seems to him that he can barely speak around the heavy lump in his throat. 
  "I don't wanna go back there, Jade... you... you're not there, I can't stand 
  it that you're not there... don't make me go back..." Fright begins to color 
  his words as he speaks, and he wraps his other arm around Jade now, loathe 
  to let her out of his grasp, to leave this gentle refuge he's found. So much 
  better here than the waterfall. There's no pain here, and there's Jade! Why 
  should he go?

A soft trickle of laughter sounds in Tance's ear, which could be momentarily 
  confusing. Those thin, gentle hands run over his scarred back, reassuring, 
  calming. "But I am there! I am! You have to trust me in this, Tance, 
  dearheart, my love." She pulls away just enough to look into his eyes, those 
  soft brown eyes she's stared into so many times before. And there's truth in 
  hers. "I'm there. But you need to get well, first. It'll be hard, but you 
  -need- to live now. Okay? I'm there. Trust me." For someone looking so 
  skinny and fragile, she looks so confident.

Those brown eyes, so strangely vulnerable in a face that bears so much 
  experience etched into its features, turn even more liquid. He swallows 
  hard, seizing those two green hands in his own larger ones, still reluctant 
  to release her. "But... you're... right, honey, I... karked myself up pretty 
  good this time, and... second time, too. I..." His face sets itself in 
  stoic, anxious lines. "I ain't sure I can get back."

"You can do anything you want to do," Kesya says smoothly, holding his rough 
  and scarred hands tightly in her own. "You just have to want it, see? You're 
  in the infirmary now... and the medics will be treating you soon." The beach 
  begins to waver around you, becoming slightly unfocused, though Kesya's face 
  remains crisp. The dream is slipping. "You have to get back... for me."

A memory of pain, sharp and edged and hot, slices across Tance's awareness 
  when the beach starts to blur. "Jade?!" he yelps then, desperate for one 
  last assurance, caught off guard by the recollection of the damage he's done 
  to his body. One hand slips free of the hold on it, as oblivion rolls up 
  from the depths of his mind in a wet, thick fog... smelling of anesthesia. 
  "Don't leave me, honey..."

"I'm always with you, my love." There comes the reassuring reply, Kesya's 
  voice out of the haze. It's something to grasp onto, to hold tight to, as 
  oblivion takes over. And then, very faintly, comes a few barely-heard words 
  through the fog: "Just remember... I'm there. Get well for me."

[Everything begins to blur, then, the refuge of Jade's presence giving way
 to a harsher, more sterile place and strange voices saying unintelligible
 words above him...]

Morgan walks softly from the lift area.
Morgan has arrived.
Morgan, her hands in her pockets, steps into the room, her motions ever 
  precise. She has a look 'round and tch's quietly. "Dear, dear. What *did* 
  you do to yourself, Singer?"

The Singer in question isn't exactly in a position to answer the question -- 
  however, the pair of rather white-faced orderlies who have brought him down 
  here from the Hangar, and who have been working to keep him from losing 
  what's left of his blood supply, seize upon Morgan's arrival with profound 
  relief. "Ma'am!" calls out curly-haired orderly Sheila Parker. "Please, come 
  quick, he's practically run himself through again, we've got him stable, but 
  you're the first one that's been available to do a proper job on him...!" 
  The younger orderly, another woman who looks barely out of her teens, bobs 
  her head exhaustedly.

Morgan remains, tilting her head ever so slightly, "Why did you not sound a 
  yellow alert, or call one of the on-planet meditechs?" She shakes her head, 
  "Nevermind, nevermind. Let's see what we've got here, shall we? He seems to 
  have done quite a job on himself, indeed. It's a testimony to his symbiont 
  that he's alive still. And to our medical staff, of course."

The younger orderly visibly wilts under the mild remonstration, but Parker 
  takes it in stride, saying crisply, "Did, ma'am, you're the first who's 
  replied, so we've been keeping him stable as best we can till a medic was 
  free. Can you take over?" Between the two young women, CS Tance Vokrim lies 
  limply on the biobed onto which he's been placed as gently as possible. The 
  orderlies have taken off what's left of his shirt and are trying to hold 
  fast to maintaining the emergency compresses they've gotten on his wounded 
  abdomen.

Crisply, Morgan steps over to the biobed, glancing up at the monitor overhead, 
  reading critical or near-critical on several levels. She nods, and then 
  asks, "Have you cleaned out the would of any foreign objects yet?"

"Yes'm," mumbles the younger orderly, but she's more or less drowned out by 
  Parker's immediate, "Got that, ma'am; there were several rock particles we 
  had to get out, but the priority seemed to be stopping the blood loss." 
  Indeed, the monitors are reporting a serious need to get fresh blood into 
  this man, immediately. Parker goes on swiftly, intent on finishing her 
  report, "I was about to send O'Neill here for plasma, when you arrived."

"Carry on, then," the medic says, giving no indication that she's intending to 
  take over. But, then again, that has always been Morgan's way. Turn anything 
  into a learning experience. And Tance Vokrim is certainly that: a learning 
  experience. She does step around, out of the way, mostly, and then heads to 
  wash up. "We'll sew him up and give room for leakage, then put him in Short 
  Term Care."

"We're on it," Sheila Parker sings out, already gesturing her timid companion 
  to scurry off to fetch the needed plasma. "We've got sterilized supplies on 
  hand already, ma'am!" This latter is tossed off over her shoulder in 
  Morgan's direction, as she trusts that her superior will catch her 
  commentary even as she gets to work.

Tance, in the meantime, stirs faintly, his mouth working for a moment and his 
  head shifting, before he subsides again into silence.

Morgan nods absently, commenting, "Consider the symbiont. Even in his state 
  and at his age, the Singer is rousing. So, prepare a sedative as well. This 
  will be a delicate operation."

O'Neill scampers back with the plasma, looking a bit shaken as she tries to 
  decide whether the plasma or the sedative will have to be administered 
  first. Parker, in the meantime, waves her compatriot into setting up 
  administering the plasma, making the judgement call to make sure to save the 
  wounded man's life first before sparing him pain. The younger orderly looks 
  on the verge of tears, but at least her hands remain steady as she goes 
  about doing her appointed task.

"Don' leave me, honey," comes a slurred mumble from the Singer, barely audible.

Morgan returns to the biobed where Tance is, pausing only to draw the privacy 
  curtain around the bed.
Morgan affects the faintest ghost of a smile, which she directs to the other 
  two, "And which one of you would he be referring to, do you think?"

O'Neill turns scarlet, but Parker flashes the mostly unconscious man a briefly 
  gentle glance even as she watches the readout reporting his blood level with 
  hawklike acuity. "I would hazard the guess that he's talking about CS 
  As'shoriah, ma'am," she answers Morgan. There! As the plasma works its way 
  into Tance's faltering system, the readout blips its way up to a proper 
  level, and Parker's administering the sedative -- a light dose, just enough 
  to encourage him to stay under. It doesn't take much; in another heartbeat, 
  Tance is once more lying still and pale as the two orderlies and the medic 
  work to put him back together.

Indeed, O'Neill's reaction produces a ghost of a frown of disapproval, almost 
  too quick to see. "Very good. Now, clean out the wound one more time, and 
  use a set of magnifiers to be sure." She produces two of the circlets with 
  the red lenses attached, handing one to each. "Apply a stimulant to support 
  the symbiont and allow it to begin the healing on its own."

Vyana walks softly from the lift area.
Vyana has arrived.

O'Neill bites her lip, remaining a quiet shadow -- but to her credit, she's 
  only a fraction slower than Parker to carry out the medic's instructions. 
  Her comrade, seeming to sense that she's on the edge of breaking down -- 
  O'Neill must have been having a very long day, made only longer by having to 
  be responsible for keeping a near-mortally wounded man alive till someone 
  could come take him off her hands -- flashes her a brief sympathetic look 
  and subtly works to cover anything the younger woman might miss. Soon 
  they've got a few more miniscule particles of rock dug out of Tance's torn 
  flesh, and Parker's administering a stimulant, delicately balanced against 
  the sedative CS Vokrim's just been given, to make sure he can remain 
  unconscious even as his symbiont is braced.

Vyana comes in from the lift area, her eyes looking around her. Her eyes stop 
  briefly on the privacy curtain surrounding one of the bio-beds, but she 
  continues walking toward long term care.

The meditech nods, this time approvingly. She was carefully watching what was 
  applied, as well as the cleaning. "Now," she says, "you may stitch him up." 
  And she turns to O'Neill, indicating the supplies in question. If she can't 
  handle this, she'll never be able to handle the Infirmary in a full-blown 
  mach storm.

Vyana looks in on an inactive Singer in the long term care facility.
Vyana has left.

Uh oh. Parker is worried about her friend, but can't do more than look 
  fleetingly and encouragingly at the younger orderly even as O'Neill falters 
  for a fraction of a second, reaching for the wrong tool -- but correcting 
  herself and then heading with a bit more assurance into the task of sewing 
  together CS Vokrim. Recently healed scars there, not quite entirely hidden 
  by the amount of blood that still covers him, attest to the fact that this 
  part of the Singer has sustained damage before, and not too long ago.

Morgan nods solemnly. "I recommend simply diving in and doing it quickly. Let 
  your training guide you. Don't stop to think. During triage situations, you 
  will not have time to do that."

The two orderlies carry out Morgan's recommendation -- and once O'Neill has 
  started that, letting her training take over from her fears, she and Parker 
  have gotten Tance Vokrim's wound stitched back together. It makes for a 
  frightening span of sterile threads across him, especially in conjunction 
  with the older scars intertwined with the stitches. But soon all that is 
  hidden, too, as Parker takes over to get him thoroughly cleaned up and 
  bandaged.

Morgan just watches quietly. She makes no comment, so there must not be any 
  mistakes being made.

And at last, Parker and O'Neill step back from their work, the former looking 
  fairly confident in what she's accomplished, the latter simply looking 
  wiped. "I think we've got him taken care of, ma'am," Parker states 
  succinctly.

Morgan nods. "Move him into Short Term Care, then. I think Bed Two is just 
  fine for him."

"We've wondered if we should give it his paintmark, ma'am," murmurs Parker 
  wryly as she and her younger friend clean up their supplies... and then go 
  about the business of carefully transferring the wounded man into the STC 
  ward.

You require the immediate assistance of a medic and enter the emergency room.
Short Term Care
This area is dedicated to fixing minor emergencies, such as broken bones and 
  severed fingers. Medical cabinets on the walls are filled with bandages, 
  ointments and medicines. The gleaming white walls help to sooth anxious 
  nerves while providing medics with bright light to work by. The room has a 
  sterile, antiseptic smell. Movable gurneys can be used to transport an 
  injured Guild member from place to place. There is a button next to each bed 
  that can be used to summon medical help. Lucas is checked into bed one, and 
  Tance is checked into bed two.
Obvious exits:
Infirmary  

Morgan walks into Short Term Care looking for medical assistance.
Morgan has arrived.
Morgan uses her computer access to check Lucas out of this room.
Morgan nods solemnly. She lifts her wrist.
Morgan speaks softly into her wrist comm. You can just make out "... Vokrim 
  has... to... bed... heading... the..."
Morgan turns and walks back out.
Morgan leaves the busy emergency room.
Morgan has left.

Quinn walks into Short Term Care looking for medical assistance.
Quinn has arrived.
Quinn steps into the room, tugging on his lab coat. As he buttons it up, he 
  sighs. "What happened this time?"

Tance(#3209POQce)
This is a man of perhaps about 5'10" in height, with a build that might be 
  skinny if not augmented by knots of wiry muscle along his shoulders and 
  limbs. He is deeply tanned, with the look of one who spends a lot of time 
  working outdoors, and his roughly planed face and callused hands show signs 
  of regular weathering. His eyes, a dark and sullen shade of brown, are 
  framed by lines in his skin that suggest that far too often, their owner 
  glares at anything in his sight.
His hair, a peppered mix of dark brown, lighter sunstreaks, and myriad strands 
  of grey, has been trimmed to a short but oddly flattering style, with even a 
  thick lock in the front to dangle above one eye and give him a more youthful 
  look. His face is clean-shaven. He is clad only in one of the utilitarian 
  gowns the Infirmary of the Heptite Guild issues to its patients, a thing of 
  servicable grey cloth that grants at least a measure of dignity and privacy 
  to the wearer while allowing a medic to scan him or her with ease. 
  Boy, this Singer really did a number on himself this time. Or should we say 
  'again'? It looks like he impaled himself on ... something. Again. Once 
  clear of the bandages, stitches and staples litter the abdominal area, 
  keeping that area sealed even as it heals. He is kept mildly sedated and on 
  consistent painkillers. The prescription is for rest and relaxation, 
  probably something that the Singer is NOT going to enjoy. Not unless he 
  finds something to distract him.

Morgan and the orderlies Parker and O'Neill have gotten Tance put back 
  together, and now, the two orderlies have just finished off getting the 
  unconscious Singer out of what's left of his clothes and into a robe. "CS 
  Vokrim again, sir," Parker pipes up tiredly.

Quinn nods, "I can see that, Parker." He stares at the man for a second, then 
  says, "Apply a counter to the sedative and follow-up with a stimulant. I 
  want to speak with him."

O'Neill blinks, but before she can voice the faint protest that flashes across 
  her eyes, Parker waves her silent and says briskly, "Yes sir!" The older 
  orderly moves swiftly to do as she's been bidden. With two quick hisses of a 
  hypo, Tance is soon stirring where he lies. A faint frown tugs at his mouth 
  as he feels himself bobbing up out of layers of unconsciousness, and even 
  before he opens his eyes the first word out of his mouth is a plaintively 
  murmured, "Jade...?"

Quinn draws a chair over to the side of Tance's bed, absently saying, 
  "Dismissed. Take the rest of the night off. Look like you could use it."

O'Neill practically sags with relief. Parker grabs her by the elbow, and 
  speaks for both of them as she says gratefully, "Thank you, sir. We can 
  indeed. C'mon, Teresa..." And the older girl escorts the younger out.

Quinn, elbows on his knees, says, "Tance? Wakey, wakey, Tance."

"Jade," Tance rasps, more distinctly. His eyes come open, their brown depths 
  unfocused, disoriented. One hand lifts an inch or two before dropping 
  heavily down again. "Where'dya go..."

"Actually, that's exactly who I'd like to talk to you about, Tance." Quinn 
  shrugs. "Tance, can you tell who I am?"

Quinn speaks softly into his wrist comm. You can just make out "Vyana? Are... 
  in with..."

Slowly, Vokrim turns his head towards the sound of Quinn's voice. His eyes go 
  shut again, then open with effort, as he tries to focus his vision. Several 
  seconds pass, during which he is undoubtedly struggling with his patchy 
  recall, and at last he mumbles thickly, "Medic. You're a medic."

Quinn's wristunit beeps and he listens to it carefully. You can just make out 
  "... Is..."
Quinn nods. "That's right. You know where you are?" Again, he goes to his 
  wrist unit. Briefly.
Quinn speaks softly into his wrist comm.  You can just make out "... CS... 
  is... mentioned.... reason, however,... injured.... would... the... to... 
  the... let them help... other... to prepare Tance..."

Tance's head turns, the motion necessary to move his glazed brown eyes enough 
  to take in more of the room in which he now finds himself. Details made 
  familiar by repeated viewing over the course of his lengthy Singing career 
  assert themselves in his consciousness. "Infirmary," he identifies the room 
  at last. Close enough for Admin work, at any rate. Regardless, Vokrim seems 
  entirely unsurprised. "'Mhurt. Jade said I'm hurt...."

Quinn raises an eyebrow at that comment. He'd be aware if Kesya'd left the 
  room she was in. He looks up, stands, and then applies an additional 
  stimulant to the mix Tance is currently being fed intravenously. "Tance, I 
  need you awake for this." He moves back to his seat. "Tance, you remember 
  what Jade's status is?"

It takes a few seconds as the additional stimulant enters the Singer's system, 
  during which his features crinkle in consternation. But slowly, the haze 
  begins to lift, and alertness begins to dislodge the fog that still blankets 
  his brain. A slight wince, a very slight one, tightens his mouth as it 
  occurs to Tance that somewhere beyond the remaining fog is a pretty hefty 
  amount of pain. But another wince follows the first as he stares off 
  absently into the air. "Gone," he croaks. "She's gone. But I was... 
  dreamin'? Musta been dreamin'... outta my head..."

Quinn settles back in his chair, placing his hands over his face for a moment. 
  He takes a deep breath before continuing - and this is notable, because 
  Quinn rarely lets anything appear to disturb him when he's in his element. 
  "Tance. I have to admit that I lied to you. You see, Tance, we did send 
  people back to find Kesya - Jade - CS As'shoriah. We did find her. We 
  brought her back to Ballybran. All that is true." He takes another breath, 
  which, to anyone who knows him would be downright alarming. "However, when I 
  told you that she didn't make it, I was not telling you the truth, Tance. 
  Kesya is alive."
Quinn's wristunit beeps and he listens to it carefully. You can just make out 
  "... says... Just tell..."

Tance's head turns back towards Quinn as the younger man begins to speak 
  again, and as Quinn does, the Singer's brow once more crinkles up in 
  bemusement. "Still dreamin'," he mutters then, more or less to himself. 
  "Dreamin'. Gotta be dreamin'..."

Quinn shakes his head, and stares back at Tance, right into his eyes. "Tance, 
  we were able to save Kesya. She sank into a coma, but she was then - and 
  still is - alive. We decided - I decided - that it would be better to tell 
  you she died and let you grieve and go on than to suffer and waste away. She 
  wasn't expected to wake up." Ooops. He must be tired. Probably should have 
  let that slip.

Wait. What? "No," Tance mumbles then in denial and confusion, his expression 
  beginning to grow agitated. "Nn-nnnooo. Dead. She's dead, I, I couldn't find 
  her, she didn't come back," he groans in a strained voice. "She's dead!"

"I'll sedate you again, if I have to, Tance," Quinn replies. "Do you really 
  think I'd do something like this to be mean to you?"
Quinn adds, after a moment, "Do you really think I'd even tell you this unless 
  I felt it was the best thing?"

Naked, unvarnished grief has now chased the grogginess out of Tance's eyes, 
  though he can't quite rally his wits enough to remember whether this 
  particular young man would in fact be malicious to him. Something in the 
  back of his mind suggests that this medic, who he remembers somewhat better 
  than many, can be trusted. But -- this still doesn't explain the utter 
  bizarrity of what he's just been told. "B-but she's _dead_!" he groans 
  again, this time more loudly, and he tries to sit up. This is not exactly a 
  good idea with massive amounts of stitches and bandages being about all 
  that's holding his middle together, and pain shoots across his face, 
  slamming him right back down again. His eyes screw up tightly shut, even as 
  he points a wavering finger more or less in Quinn's direction and rasps out 
  in anguish, "Y-you said she was dead!"

Quinn nods solemnly, "It was expected that she would never wake up. I chose 
  the possibility of losing one patient over losing two. Tance. I want you to 
  listen to me. You see, the thing is, Kesya woke up last month. Kesya is 
  alive." He does move to stop Tance when he tries to sit, but the pain does 
  the job for him. Surreptitiously, he glances up at the monitors. "I should 
  warn you that she won't look as strong as before. She is still recuperating. 
  And that leads me to the reason I've told you this." He pauses a moment, 
  then continues, "Right now, Kesya needs the support of people who care for 
  her. And, as unfortunate happenstance, so do you. There is a notable 
  increase in the rate of your healing during the time period you were with 
  Kesya over before and after. What I want most is that *both* of you get as 
  well as possible."

The Singer's eyes come half-open in his ashen, weathered face; with 
  difficulty, he peers up at the man at his bedside. And at those clinically, 
  unhesitantly delivered statements from the meditech, the essential idea 
  behind them all begins to sink into Tance's dazed brain. "Alive," he 
  mumbles, still sounding as though he's having utmost difficulty absorbing 
  the concept.

Quinn asks, "Are you ready to see her, Tance?"

See her. See... Jade. _See_ Jade? _Jade is alive._ That thought progression 
  visibly makes its way across Tance's expression; slowly, his eyes go wider, 
  nearly black against his pale countenance. "She's..." That's all he can 
  manage to say, as he stares up numbly at Quinn, the idea indeed beginning to 
  take hold.

Kesya walks into Short Term Care looking for medical assistance.
Kesya has arrived.

Quinn stands, moving to block the view of the entrance to the Infirmary. "From 
  the sudden cessation of sound, I would guess that she's in the Infirmary 
  right now."

Vyana walks into Short Term Care looking for medical assistance.
Vyana has arrived.

The door to the infirmary does, indeed open, to admit a too-thin green-skinned 
  figure in a wheelchair, and a very stressed-looking intern pushing it. 
  Bystanders gawk at the door, trying to make it less obvious that they're 
  peering in so blatantly. Unfortunately the wheelchair's occupant is blocked 
  by Quinn's sturdy figure, but Kesya's voice is unmistakable as she cranes in 
  the wheelchair to catch a glimpse of the person in the bed. "... Tance?"

Tance Vokrim, lying there barely able to do more than move his hands or his 
  head there in Bed Two, freezes at the sound of that voice. Quinn is in the 
  best line of sight to see how what's left of the color in his face drains 
  out of it entirely; the monitor over his bed registers a sharp spike in his 
  heart rate, as he starts desperately to try to sit up again. The only sound 
  he utters is a choked little groan.

Quinn sighs, "If you don't calm down, Tance, I will just ask her to go back. 
  And by calming down I mean continuing to *lay* there, not pushing yourself. 
  You're being held together by staples and stitches, Tance. I will be upset 
  if I have to sew you up again."

Vyana follows behind Kesya. She moves to stand next to the woman in the 
  wheelchair, although her attention as well is distracted by the rather 
  damaged figure lying on the bed. She almost winces at Tance's groan.

All that is heard from the green-skinned Taal'en native is a sharp intake of 
  breath, followed by a quick murmur to the intern holding the wheelchair. 
  Enough of this fardling thing. Kesya uses Vyana's presense as a welcome 
  lever to get herself out of the chair, and leans heavily on the Deputy 
  Guildmaster as she manages a few steps toward the bed. She's certainly not 
  what Tance would remember; having lost a significant amount of weight, and 
  barely able to walk on her own -- and heaven knows the hospital gown doesn't 
  do anyone any favours -- she looks more frail and fragile than anyone's ever 
  seen her before. But it -is- Kesya. "Don't, Quinn. I don't intend to leave 
  anytime soon." Of course, her gaze never leaves Tance, her eyes far too 
  shiny. "Can... can I sit on the bed?"

Vyana does her best to help support Kesya, as he moves from the wheelchair. 
  Not that it's all that hard, or that she's very heavy. She seems more afraid 
  of breaking Kesya, than of having trouble assisting her. She doesn't presume 
  to set Kesya on the bed, though, equally concerned for Tance at this point. 
  She looks to Quinn, to answer Kesya's question.

This draws a frown from the medic.  His only response is, "If I believe your
  presence will cause more harm than good to a patient, you will leave, even
  if I have to knock you out and lock you back up in that room.  This is my
  Infirmary, Singer.  I will not have you endangering my patients.  For any
  reason."
Then, after a moment, he relents, "You may sit on the bed.  For now."

Tance's body is urgently demanding that he follow Quinn's orders and lie back 
  down again -- but he hasn't done it yet. When Kesya moves into his line of 
  sight she can find him propped on one elbow, utterly frozen, utterly 
  transfixed. Tears begin to well up in his dark eyes as the world narrows 
  down to that green-skinned woman who's just entered the room. While the 
  monitor beeps out another spike in his heart rate, Tance mumbles a single 
  syllable almost too strangled to be intelligible: "Jade...?"

"I'm here," Kesya murmurs in a quavvering whisper, not bothering to blink back 
  tears that well up freely in her own silver-blue eyes. Her voice is barely 
  audible, and Vyana can probably feel her slender frame shaking in her grasp, 
  her weight being more noticible as the woman relies almost completely on her 
  to keep her upright. "Oh Gods, Tance... Gods, but I've missed you." Her 
  voice is choked with emotion, one shaking hand raising as though to reach 
  for him, despite his bed still being a few too many steps away. Steps that 
  were easy, once.

Vyana looks between Kesya, and Tance, hovering on the verge of saying 
  something, and yet, unable to do so. As Quinn has not objected, she helps 
  Kesya to take a step closer to Tance, taking the woman's hand, and reaching 
  it out to hold the edge of the bed, so she can support herself. Then, still 
  holding on to Kesya, she reaches back for the wheelchair, and rolls it 
  closer, so Kesya can lean, or sit on it, as she desires.

Kesya spares her attention on Tance for a moment to flash Vyana a quick, 
  utterly grateful smile, but her slender fingers tighten on the bedrails. Her 
  cheeks, too hollow now, still glisten with moisture, and she licks her lips 
  before reaching to brush Tance's cheek with one trembling finger. "You 
  really should lie back, you know," she says, with a feeble attempt at fond, 
  if shaky, amusement. "You can't get better for me like this."

Tance has had enough occasion to doubt the evidence of his senses before -- 
  but very rarely do sight, sound, scent, and touch all rally forcefully 
  together to present him with a hallucination. He knows this. And therefore, 
  the only logical conclusion for what is now before him is that she is... 
  real. By vivid contrast to Kesya's far too delicate countenance, his own is 
  lean but not too much, evidence of his age blurred by his tan and the 
  stubble that darkens his jaw. Only the pallor beneath his tan stands in 
  testimony to his current condition, at least as far as his face is concerned 
  -- well, his pallor, and the tears now streaming down his cheeks as he 
  cries, helpless to stop himself. "Jade," he repeats, his voice rising up his 
  vocal register as emotion and physical weakness combine to make him sag 
  heavily sideways. Still, though, he can't take his eyes off Kesya. "I 
  thought you were dead...!"

"Which was a decision that was made by myself after quite some consideration,"
  Quinn puts in sternly. "Don't prove me wrong on changing that now."

An intern manages to lower the bedrail for Kesya, and the green-skinned singer 
  manages, with his help, to get herself perched on the bed beside her 
  fiancee. But that was over three years ago. Her eyes search his, worry 
  creasing her brows. So much time has passed... and she'd slept through it 
  all. Does he still feel as strongly as he did? Slender fingers trace his 
  cheek, his shoulder, his arm... all as though Kesya is still in wonderment 
  that the man is here before her at all. "I guess everyone thought so," she 
  says chokingly, her lips curving a bit at the corners. A slender finger 
  wipes away a few tears from Tance's cheek, and she follows softly, "Don't 
  cry, dearheart."

Vyana's wrist unit sounds twice, two beeps in quick succession. She looks down 
  at it, and then her eyes drift between Kesya, Tance and Quinn. Then she 
  turns to the intern, whom she knows will stay with them, until he is 
  relieved, or until Quinn instructs him otherwise. "The Guildmaster is back," 
  she says to Quinn, by way of explanation. She does not adress Kesya, and 
  Tance, for she feels like somewhat of an intruder in this intimate moment. A 
  soft whisper of, "Good luck," escapes her lips, perhaps lound enough fo the 
  adapted ear, though Kesya and tance are doubtless too occupied with each 
  other to notice right now. She doesn't seem to mind -- that is as it should 
  be. She turns, and heads to meet the Guildmaster.

Pain is building in Tance's middle, reminding him that he's frekking near 
  impaled himself on the rocks at the bottom of the waterfall on the one claim 
  he's got to his name right now. But pain is irrelevant. The medic at his 
  bedside is irrelevant. Vyana's discreet departure isn't even noticed. All 
  that exists right now in the universe according to CS Vokrim is the woman 
  who's now been helped to sit beside him. Never mind that his body is shaking 
  with pain and weakness; it is now unbelievably urgent that he make himself 
  sit up, to wrap his arms around this fragile wraith that has emerged 
  impossibly out of dream and limbo to be _here_. "Jade," he repeats yet 
  again, as if he still can't quite believe it, the single syllable cracking 
  as he utters it. He cries all the harder at her gentle soothing... and then 
  lets out a faint whimper of protest as his abused body -- and something
  new coming in from that IV inserted into his arm -- seizes control. His 
  head spins, and while the monitor behind him beeps at top speed now, he 
  slumps unsteadily backwards. And even then tries to reach for his beloved. 
  "J-Jade...?"

"Tance?" Kesya's eyes widen as the bedridden singer slumps backward, and she 
  leans down to wrap her arms about him, her head nestling on that comfortable 
  spot on his shoulder as she's done so many times before. "Don't get up," she 
  murmurs, all too content to keep him lying back where he's safe. "You've 
  really done it to yourself this time, love," she says, an eerie echo to 
  Tance's earlier dream. "If you open those stitches they'll make me go back 
  to that awful little room, and I don't want to leave you -or- go back there. 
  So stay like this, okay?" The scent of her hair fills his nose, touched with 
  the scent of infirmary and antiseptic, but still clearly his Jade.

Quinn, on the opposite side of the bed, withdraws the air hypodermic from the
  IV input.  Boy, he moves quickly when he wants to.  It's almost like he
  hasn't been there for the last half-hour or so, and, suddenly, he makes
  an appearance!

She's here. She's really _here_. For a timeless, measureless moment, Tance can 
  think of nothing else as his head whirls under the impact of the painkillers 
  and stimulants battling it out in his system... and the impact of what's 
  just been revealed to him. He keeps crying, his face turning towards that 
  tangled green hair, one arm lifting clumsily to encircle the too-frail 
  shoulders. Only then does the echo in her words strike him, and he mumbles 
  thickly, "Y'were... right, honey... karked myself up pretty good..."
 
That tangled green hair shifts against your stubbled chin as Kesya nods, her 
  eyes closed now as she rests against you. "We're going to have to help each 
  other get better," she concludes, as though that were the most logical thing 
  in the world. It's another moment then, before the woman in your arms draws 
  a shaky breath, and sits up, propping herself on one arm to look at you. 
  "You... you still want me, then? I was so worried... and when Quinn told me 
  you thought I was dead for the past three years, I couldn't stand it. I 
  thought it'd be cruel to- I mean, you were over me and all, and on with your 
  life again..." Her voice trails off, new tears threatening to spill from her 
  eyes. "I couldn't bear not seeing you again though, even if... even if you'd 
  put me behind you." She swallows then, somehow managing to get her worst 
  fears out in the open.

Tance doesn't have the strength to rise; heck, he barely has the strength to 
  keep his eyes open. But he manages to focus on Kesya's face, subconsciously 
  registering the prominence of the bones beneath her skin, his heart in his 
  throat at the sight of it. And as Kesya babbles to him, he registers the 
  urgency and anxiety in her words better than the syllables that comprise 
  them, and even that makes it across his consciousness only as a powerful 
  need to keep this changed Jade, this delicate-seeming creature, back into 
  his arms and shelter her from anything and everything that might have put 
  her through such pain. None of this makes it into words -- but all of it and 
  more makes it into his eyes, as he keeps a soulful, teary gaze on the face 
  of his beloved. "Sweetheart, I... I can't think," he rasps dolefully, as his 
  eyes threaten to drop shut. His hand fumbles desperately to keep contact 
  with the woman before him, as he adds with as much strength as he can 
  muster, "Don' leave me. Please don' leave me, Jade honey..."

Relief floods Kesya's thin features, so strongly that it threatens to 
  overwhelm once again. He -wants- her. That fear had plagued her the past 
  month, as she received story after story of how he was getting back on his 
  feet, continuing his life, had even been pursued... but he wants -her-! "I 
  won't leave you, love," she murmurs, her lips brushing his in the softest of 
  kisses. "I won't ever leave you." As emotional and physical exhaustion 
  threatens to take over, she drapes her head on his shoulder again, nestled 
  in that familiar, safe and comforting spot. The medics will keep an eye on 
  them, she knows. And she knows they won't disturb the two reunited lovers 
  until they'd woken on their own first. And for the first time since she had 
  awoken from her coma, Kesya drifts off into a deep and completely 
  comforting, dreamless sleep, arms tucked snugly around her beloved.

Quinn snorts at this last, not entirely convinced that this is the wisest
  thing to do.  However, the two of them being asleep does give the doctor
  an opportunity to relax his professional distancing.  To glance at the
  monitors worriedly.  And then, finally, to apply another mild sedative to
  Tance's IV.  With all that exertion - physical and otherwise - he's going
  to need to rest.

[End log.]