Chapter 53 – Level 9-107 Trauma Centre.
--/Day 33 22:01 Hours/--
--/Level 9-107 Doc Chloe's Clinic Critical Room/--
His eyelids felt heavy. His limbs were leaden, his ribcage felt like it was made of butter, and his stomach was in pain. Cutting, severe pain. A groan escaped his lips and, with a tremendous effort, he forced one eye open. There was a blur of light, painful light, and he squeezed the eye shut again. There was the sound of footsteps nearby. They were coming closer. For a moment, the world seemed to slip away from him.
"So, you're awake." A stern female voice cut through the slipping sensation. "By all rights, you should be dead. And I imagine that was the way you were supposed to be. You're a stubborn son of a bitch, Grissom."
"Where... where..." he croaked.
"You're in my critical room. In case your head's too rattled to remember, my name is Doc Chloe and I'm taking care of you. Or... what's left of you." She said. Grissom tried to move his hand. "I wouldn't, if I were you." She continued. "Just rest. By tomorrow I'll have the rest of the tranq they used on you flushed out of your system." Her voice was somehow reassuring. "Until then, you're bed bound. Don't worry. You're safe here."
--/Day 34 09:41 Hours/--
--/Level 7-170 ‘The Hub'/--
The shutters were new. Torn hadn't seen them before. He guessed that since the last set had been destroyed by bounty hunters, Davan had ordered a much better set. Torn looked from side to side, checking that there was nobody in the corridor. It was empty. He walked forwards, shifting through the shutters, seeing that the workspace had changed since he'd last seen it. The desks looked like they were being used. There were half assembled electrical appliances and tools on some of them. There were schematics on others. It liked Davan was actually in business.
"Hey kid." Tenzanin said from the top of the stairs. He was eating from a small cardboard take away box with a pair of chopsticks. He had a gun at his hip. Torn shook his head, guessing that some things just didn't change.
"Hi, T." Torn mumbled, moving towards the stairs. Tenzanin went back into the kitchen, Torn following him. Davan was standing there, over the cooker, his hand around the handle of a frying pan. He turned to see the young man.
"Hey Torn..." He said, initially smiling. Torn nodded, but didn't smile back. Davan's face slowly sank, but he easily hid his sadness. He turned back to the cooker. Tenzanin, deciding he didn't need to be here, went back downstairs.
There was an uncomfortable silence, one which neither did anything to break. Torn walked over to the cabinet where Davan kept his tumblers. He poured himself a cup of juice. Davan finished cooking, laying out strips of bacon on a plate. Every crackle of the cooking fat was audible. Every clink of the cutlery. Torn gave out first.
"Is business good?" He enquired softly.
"Yes." Davan replied curtly. He moved to the table and sat down. He sighed and relented. "It's good to see you... you're looking well. What have you been doing, if you don't mind me asking?" He said, trying to be as diplomatic as he could be.