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Evan would rather have broke every bone in both of his hands than deal with injured ribs. This was a minor exaggeration, being that he needed his hands, but cracked ribs were the worst. While Evan was thankful that at least none of them had broken and he didn't have to worry about the possibility of further internal injuries, they still hurt like a ********, which had been one of the many colorful and invective profanities he had leveled at the Moon who had wrapped him up. Evan was pretty sure that the Moon had pulled the wrappings extra tight, though, so maybe they were even.

Whatever. Evan was just happy to be out of there, even if he was off active duty for a few days while he healed--more accurately, he had been warned, "If I see you anywhere near the training fields undoing my hard work, I will break all of your ribs, and then you'll really have something to b***h about." That was fine, he could use the break to catch up on his sleep and maybe work on all of those hobbies he didn't have but kept thinking of acquiring before remembering where he was and what he did for a living.

He wouldn't have minded some aspirin in the meantime, though, and he had been wandering around the infirmary looking for some. It should have been easy, what with this being a glorified hospital and all, but he couldn't seem to find any. He did find, as he was passing by the open doors of rooms temporarily housing Hunters worse off than himself, a shock of pink hair. It registered immediately, too bright for these drab surroundings, and was accompanied by a sharp and sudden jolt of anger.

He hadn't forgotten Chel's actions in the tower, and although he knew--rationally, he knew--that in the infirmary after a mission was neither the time nor place for the conversation that desperately needed to happen, he also knew that she was a captive audience. If Evan let her heal first and tried to talk to her later, she would be able to run, or distract him--or, worse, seduce him into forgetting all about it--and the point would be lost.

No, this had to happen now, while his anger was still fresh and untempered by their strong friendship and his sympathy towards her naivete. He took a deep breath and the pain it caused was necessary for how much it grounded him, reminded him. He walked into Chel's room and shut the door behind him. The click of the lock was deliberately loud. He turned to face Chel but didn't come any closer to the bed, his arms crossed gingerly over his chest, his face carefully blank.

"We need to talk," Evan said.

Temper tantrum? Chel had betrayed Evan--betrayed all of them--and she had the gall to be mad at him? Everything in him screamed for her blood as retribution for her treason, no voice as loud as the one in his head. Gir begged to be let loose, even if killing the prey while it was weak and sick was so much less satisfying than letting it run and hunting it down.

Chel had wronged them. They had liked her, trusted her, and she turned on them. That couldn't be allowed to stand. Evan remembered the brief moment in the tower where he had been something else, something better, and knew that Chel's transgression would not go unpunished.

Evan fought to keep his anger in check as he walked, slowly and deliberately, to Chel's bedside. He looked down at her, the part of him not consumed with the need for vengeance admiring her spark. It was a very small part, though, certainly not large enough to deter him. He had seen, on the battlefield, that she had been wounded and where. He leaned over her, extending a hand to brush his fingers lightly over her cheek before trailing them down to her injured stomach.

"What I want," Evan replied, "is for you to stop talking and listen." His hand flattened out and he pressed on her healing injury just hard enough to be a warning. "Wouldn't want you to strain yourself, after all."

"Oh, we're not going to kill you, baby," Evan cooed with false concern. "We don't need to do that, as much as you might deserve it. Funny you should mention the rules, though. You know, the ones you agreed to abide by when you signed yourself over to Deus? The ones stating you should kill monsters whenever you see them," he reminded her. "Now, I know you don't want to be here, and I know you joined Deus under duress, but that doesn't change the fact that you are here now and, like it or not, the rules still apply to you."

The rules applied to him, too, but there didn't seem to be any sort of disciplinary system in place. Evan didn't know what would happen to Chel if he went to a division lead about her transgression, but it probably wouldn't have been anything good. This would be better for her, he told himself. She might hurt a little bit more, but this kind of lesson would be better administered from someone who was--who had been--a friend. He didn't want her to suffer; he just wanted her to learn.

His fingers tightened on her stomach ever so slightly. "I know you're pretty much just a kid and this is all just some game to you. I know how easy it is to have sympathy for an enemy if it's wearing a human face, but sweetheart, those monsters aren't your friends. They don't give a ******** about you--given half a chance, they'd probably kill you the same way they killed Nevada. Your loyalty should be to us--to Deus--to humans first and foremost. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

"I know, honey, I know," Evan soothed. "But the truth of the matter is, you are here now, and the reason why you're here is here now too, so there's really no reason for you not to do your job." It was all so clear to him--why couldn't she understand?

It was okay, it would all be okay. He could make her understand. "You can't have it both ways," he told her almost sadly. "My loyalty to you is just as strong as it is to the organization and all of the other people in it. But my reasons for being here are different than yours, and they come with much deeper loyalties, and those come first. My goals and Deus' are the same, and I would just as soon lay down my life for them as I would remove any obstacle that's keeping me from achieving them--even if that obstacle is you."

He paused for a moment to let that sink in. "I won't let you put other people at risk for the sake of your misplaced loyalties and anger. I won't. I'm not asking you to be loyal to Deus--just to the real, actual people who are risking their lives to save the world from the bad guys. It's us or them, Chel, there is no in between."

Evan shook his head sadly. Chel had so much potential, but she had so much to learn and she was so, so stubborn, and so naive. "It was all in your head, Chel, just a dream, just another ******** wasn't real, and that was probably their fault, too. You're playing right into their hands by buying into it. We've all been through something like that before. We can help you. We'll regroup and strike back at the Horsemen, I'm sure, but in the meantime we can deal with this. One problem at a time."

Chel reached for the phone weakly but the combination of sedatives and bloodloss was making her head spin if she moved too fast now. It wasn't bad enough to make her pass out, but she would definitely need her stitches redone at this point. That, and a lot of water pumped into her system.

"No- please Evan no. Killing them is like killing you or-" She realized that line of reason wouldn't help. The color drained from her face as he pulled her hand downwards, making her inflict her own damage. She took a moment to breathe, trying not to choke with the noises her stomach was making. The gurgling of her own blood was never a sound she wanted to hear. The warm, wet sensation across her hands was not the usual pleasant one.

She as equally worried for Evan too. Chel knew a powerful person when she saw them and Shun? Shun was the real deal. He had like fifty knives with him and two that seemed to somehow be replenished over time. The tiny dagger she'd taken from him was still sitting on the bedside, though now it looked like any other dagger on the island. Odd, how the FEAR seemed to be subdued under the shiny blue material. If Evan went for Shun, he'd be stabbed straight through with a whole handful of those, no questions asked.

< I'm trying to rework your blood routes but they are unmovable. A pity your organs are so immobile. >

Now it was turning to desperation. "You're- ... hurting me."

If there was an extra foulness in Jack's mood thanks to the introduction of Revenge, then it wasn't noticeable; he scowled enough as it was anyway. But not hearing back from Chel was strange--well, unless she meant to text that to someone else. Probably not, seeing as she liked bothering him. The silent treatment was odd either way and out of character from her spam-like texts, so maybe she really did need help.

Maybe she strained her eyes trying to do a mission report, Jack thought with a wry chuckle as he left his room. Not sure where else to start, he headed down the hall to her room and knocked.

"What the hell do you want, Craft? Make it quick."

He had been trying to start this Harry Potter and the ******** Whatsit book after all.