DISCLAIMER: You should know it by now.

PATRIOTS: I'm enjoying this year so much more than last year.

FEEDBACK: Love it? Hate it? Want the t-shirt? Let me know what you think p.phair@comcast.net

THANK YOU: Thanks to all the folks who continue to read this and all my other stories. You're the best! Good, bad, or indifferent; hearing from each of you makes my art a little less of a singular event.

AYER IS HUMAN

by phair

Chapter 9

"Come on, babe, don't be hurrying off to work. Give me a little kiss or," he grinned in the way he knew melted her heart, "a big kiss. Maybe I can work up a little something for you in return."

Brook rolled her eyes as she reached behind her back to hook her bra. "Greg, I've got to be at the hotel by 8 am for a meeting. At this rate, I'll have to run there. Traffic is brutal this time of morning."

He watched her as she dressed from his spot reclined on the bed with his hands clasped behind his shaved head. His bare chest and legs looked warm and dark against the creamy silk sheets. As inviting as he tried to appear, Greg eventually realized Brook was not coming back to bed.

"Seeing as I finished servicing you, am I dismissed?" Brook flashed him a quick scowl but continued dressing. "Guess now that my chores are done, you want me to haul my big black ass out of here, Missy Brook."

Brook stopped mid push into her pump to warn, "Don't start that crap again."

"Why is it whenever I want to talk about my feelings, it's crap but when you want to get weepy over a call going to voice mail it's all about emotional trust?" Greg sat up to question.

Brook resumed putting on her shoes and grabbed her suit jacket. She was sliding her arm into the sleeve when a thrown pillow bounced off her hip.

"Jesus, Greg, I don't have time for this."

The man tossed the sheets aside and got to his tall, muscular body to its feet. "Say what you really mean, Brook. You only have time to fuck me. No, I should say, you only have time for me to fuck you but you don't have time for a life with me." Greg saw he finally had her full attention. "Now, the only thing I need to know is if you're ever going to make time for us or are you planning on just screwing around with the hired help until somebody rich, white, and presentable comes your way?"

Brook's cheeks reddened with anger, "Don't talk to me like that! I never treat you like…like…like…,"

"…your fuck toy," Greg supplied as he pushed passed her to retrieve his pants. "And, you just did."

Brook stood slack jawed at the statement. Greg never raised his eyes to meet her's. He merely shrugged into his jeans. She could see from his stilted motions and fixed stare he was very angry. In the nine years she had known him, Brook had never seen Greg as furious as he was now. It struck her that she might be watching him go for the last time.

"What are you doing?" She forced the words out over her fears.

Greg sighed heavily before answering. "I'm leaving. Don't want you to have to put me out. Wouldn’t want you to be worried about the candlesticks disappearing."

"Stop it. You know I trust you."

He gave a questioning snort but continued to pull himself together to leave.

"Greg, please wait." He kept dressing. "Give me a minute." He didn't look at her. "Greg, please! I love you!"

Her phone rang at that very moment.

"If you love me," Greg said on the second ring, "you're ready to stop hiding me. If you really love me, you'll let me answer your phone."

The phone rang a third time.

"Greg," Brook felt all the color drain from her face as she stepped into the freefall of an unplanned milestone, "would you get the phone."

He picked up on the next ring.

"Hello? Yes, this is Brook Sydney-Sebastian's residence."

He went quiet as he listened. His back straightened and he turned quickly toward Brook. His eyes narrowed with concern.

"Yes, yes, we're on our way." Greg dropped the phone, missing the cradle as he rushed to Brook's side. "We need to go. Now. There's been an accident…,"

Brook felt panic begin at every nerve ending, "What…who…?"

"Come on," Greg hustled her to the door. "It's Sage."

"NO! NO!"

Her tears and screaming did nothing to slow Greg's progress to the door. He all but carried her over the threshold as he raced her to her family's side. The family he had never met. He idly wondered if meeting Brook's family today would destroy their fragile, freshly expressed love.

* * *

Simone tried to scan the hospital lobby as she was hurried along by a pack of security guards. She could not see over them and could barely see around the hulking creatures employed to protect her. Unfortunately, they could only save her from physical harm. They were useless in defending her from heartbreak.

"Mrs. Sydney-Sebastian," a California tanned man in a tailored wool suit said as he met her entourage half way. "I'm Michael Ambrose, Boston General's guest relations vice president. We have a room prepared for you and your staff. Please, if you allow me...,"

Simone reached out, not to shake his hand, but to snatch a fistful of his fine suit jacket's lapel. "How is she?"

"Ma'am, the doctors will meet with you in…,"

"Listen here, Mickey," Simone hissed, "I don't need a fucking room! I need to know if my daughter is alive. If you can't tell me that then get the Hell out of my way before I let my thugs here beat you brainless."

"She's alive." Michael quickly clarified, "She was alive on arrival. She maintained strong vital signs in the air ambulance. The trauma team took her to surgery immediately from the roof port. I haven't heard any updates since they started working on her."

"Oh, God," Simone slumped fearing the worst.

Michael took a gentle hold of the arm which moments before assaulted him. "Get her a wheelchair," he calmly instructed one of her guards. "Mrs. Sydney-Sebastian, please try to breath deep. Don't pass out on us. It is good news that I haven't heard any more from the surgical suite. It means they are still working on her so she is still with us."

Simone allowed her burly protectors to lower her into a wheelchair. She grasped her pounding head in both hands. Only shear will kept her from being reduced to a puddle of tears.

"Please, follow me," Michael directed and the security detail promptly pushed Simone along the path he blazed.

* * *

Tristan took several deep breaths trying to force down the wave of nausea threatening to overtake her. The shots the emergency room doctor gave her for pain did wonders to alleviate the agony of her dislocated shoulder and his successful maneuver to relocate it. However, they left her stomach churning. She was certain one jarring motion would unleash a violent expulsion of whatever was left in that uneasy pit.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my little snitch," Ines announced as she entered the exam room.

"Haven't I suffered enough?" Tristan mumbled before glaring at the owner of the taunting voice from her past. "Looks like somebody finally made good. Detective, is it? Nice to know harassing homeless kids pays off. Did they give you a gold plated gun along with the detective's shield?"

Ines grinned, "Nope, just more bullets. Enough about my career, let's talk about yours. Looks to me like you've finally hit the mother load in your chronic life of crime. This should just do the trick and buy you twenty to life. I must say, I am slightly impressed with your tenacious struggled to completely f 'up your life. Love to hang around reminiscing but I want to be sure you get on the last bus to Framingham tonight. I checked they have your old bed waiting for you. You know the drill. Hell, you probably heard it more than I've said it. You have the right to remain silent…"

"What? What are you talking about? I'm getting arrested for falling off a fucking building?"

Tristan tried to sit up on the gurney to face Ines but the room spun in a sickening tilt around her. Her belly roiled and she had to swallow hard to force back steaming remnants of undigested food trying to make an escape.

"No, falling is still legal," Ines said with a broad grin. "It's the tampering with equipment and attempted murder which remain crimes even in our liberal Commonwealth."

Tristan's collapsed back onto the gurney was as much from the shock as it was from pain. She stared at the Detective waiting for the punch line of this very bad joke. But, it never came. Instead, Ines continued to advice Tristan of her inalienable rights.

"Hold it, hold it, wait," Tristan attempted to hold back the verbal battering but Ines continued until the last right was stated.

"Do you understand…"

Tristan was finally able to interrupt the flow with a shout, "Are you kidding me? You think I did something to get us killed?"

"No, I think you were trying to kill just her." Ines' voice became menacing, "I have proof the safety lines were tampered with. From all the shop classes you got in juvie, we both know have the means to do such a sick thing. You've been very vocal in you newspaper columns about your hatred of the Sebastian's which provides the element of motive. The foreman of the roof crew confirmed you were on the roof long before anybody else. Final element of opportunity, check. So for the attempted murder of Sage Sebastian, I'm placing you, Tristan Ayer, under…,"

"Say nothing, Tristan," Gareth Sebastian all but growled as he barreled into the exam room.

Tristan's surprise at the attorney's sudden but disheveled appearance helped her obey the command. However, Ines believed she was too long in her job to ever be truly shocked by the human desire for revenge.

"There'll be no vigilante justice here, Mr. Sebastian. Let me handle this while you comfort your family." Ines' tone softened just a bit, "Come on, Gareth, be smart. I'll deal with Tristan and the investigation. You've got more than enough to do. No need adding battery charges to your plate."

Gareth, puffy red eyes and dripping nose, shook his head no. "You've misunderstood my intent, Detective. I'm Ms. Ayer's attorney."

Both women gave opened mouth stares at the pudgy man with a receding hairline. Silence draped the room; each listener too stunned to question his statement.

"If I were you, Detective, I'd rethink taking my client into custody. Our construction supervisor has given me a preliminary report. This morning's incident was nothing more than an unfortunate accident caused by a malfunctioning clamp." Garth stated with confidence but nervously loosened his already slack tie knot.

Ines was unconvinced.

"Just an hour ago, I was told the clamp was filed down. Mr. Lee…"

"Mr. Lee is no longer the construction supervisor. He has taken a temporary leave of absence from Sebastian/America. A death in the family required his return to Hong Kong. I expect he will be there for some time dealing with the matter," Gareth said in an easy, well rehearsed manner.

"Really," Ines grimly intoned. "That guy is having just a fucking horrible day. First, he's in charge when his boss' daughter gets taken for a swan dive. Then he's hurried off to a country with no U.S. extradition treaty. He must be the unluckiest employee of Sebastian/America."

Gareth's eyes misted momentarily, "Second unluckiest, actually. Sage would be the unluckiest."

Tristan flinched at the mention of the woman's name.

"Our acting supervisor is at the site now with OSHA investigators. They issued a joint verbal, preliminary agreement that the incident was accidental. I expect heavy fines to be levied against our company for safety violations but there is no criminal activity for you to concern yourself with. We appreciate your efforts to ensure our well being and the community at large but your services are not needed at this time."

Ines folded her arms over her chest as she considered the lawyer in front of her. He was visibly upset which was understandable considering his sister was in surgery. Yet, there was something calculated about his smooth presentation. It was very lawyer like. That fact alone convinced Ines the man was lying.

"Okay, Mr. Sebastian, we'll manage this your way for now. I want that OSHA report on my desk ten minutes after it hits your inbox. Don't screw around with me. I got no problem going after you for obstruction of justice if the report doesn't pan out, you got me?"

"Perfectly. Thank you for your time, Detective." Gareth turned his full attention to Tristan, "We'll let you get dressed in private now, Ms. Ayer. Then you can join me with the rest of the family while we wait for news of Sage's surgery. I'm sure you don't want to miss your exclusive look at my family's suffering."

Tristan watched the pair depart through the only exit to the exam room. Like so many times before in her life, Tristan knew she was trapped in a prison of her own design.

Chapter 10

Tristan remained stock still for what seemed like hours in the chair Gareth directed her to upon their arrival in the Private Conference Room. The dark paneled room was silent in spite of the three souls gathered there. Each kept their pain bottled up behind chalk white faces and bloodlessly thin lips. At times, it seemed like none of them even bothered to breathe.

Occasionally, Tristan would let her eyes travel from their deliberate focus on the ornate rug beneath her feet to the emotionless face of Simone Sydney-Sebastian. The older woman spared Tristan just a glance when she and Gareth entered. The reporter in her swore she saw hatred flash to life in Simone's eyes but the spark was fleeting. It was quickly replaced by a furrowed brow and a cold but averted gaze.

The heavy mahogany door banged open bringing a startled gasp from Tristan. Brook hurried out of the arms of the man escorting her to cross the room and collapse in Simone's open embrace.

"Is she okay? What happened? What did the doctors say? Can I see her?" The words poured from Brook's mouth in a rising flow of panic.

"Easy, there's no word yet. Don't get crazy," Gareth hushed as he rubbed his sister's shivering shoulders.

His words served to increase Brook's tears. Gareth began to roll his eyes but caught sight of Tristan. He immediately stopped himself before he said anything resembling criticism of his grief stricken sister. However, it took him several more minutes to realize there was another set of eyes watching his family's agony.

"Greg? What are you doing here?" Gareth questioned as he rose to shake the hand of the man responsible for the daily maintenance of the Sebastian family's residences in Massachusetts.

"Oh boy," Tristan, aware of the significance of his presence, said louder than she intended.

Greg took a quick look over his shoulder to ensure the reporter didn't speak again. Tristan drew back to make herself a smaller target. If she could have folded herself in half she would have.

"We have more important things to worry about today, Gareth. There'll be plenty of time later for you to ask Brook why I'm here," Greg said in soft tones so only Gareth could hear.

Gareth slowly shook his head as he understood the meaning of Greg's statement, "Jesus, today is getting better and better. A word of warning, if you hurt her I'll land on you like a ton of manure."

"I'd expect nothing less," Greg replied in the same soft tone he began with.

A light rap at the door captured the occupants' attention and silenced all conversation. A short woman followed the knock into the room. She wore blue surgical scrubs from bonnet to booties.

"Who is Ms. Sebastian's proxy?" The doctor asked with a light Indian accent.

Both Simone and Brook started to speak but Gareth interrupted, "Sage doesn't have a proxy. I've been begging her to do it but she's so stubborn. She never listens to me…,"

"Then the next best would be next of kin," the doctor turned to Simone. "Husband, father, or mother is preferable."

Simone stood leaving Brook sitting alone on the couch, "I'm her mother, Simone Sydney-Sebastian."

"Dr. Ramaswami," the woman replied as she shook Simone's hand. "Let me give you the up date. Sage is in surgery…"

"Oh God," Brook gasped as she clawed to her feet only to be forced back down with a gentle push from Greg.

"She has extensive injuries. Two have us pretty worried at the moment. Her eighth and ninth ribs fractured lacerating her liver. She's bleeding into her belly. We need to stop that fast or we'll lose her."

Simone waited unblinking knowing the doctor was preparing to impart the very bad news she had come to give them.

"Sage's left arm snapped in at least three places. The splintered bone tore open an artery and ruptured through the skin. Repairing that damage to ensure any use of the limb would mean hours of micro surgery. If that were her only injury then we'd have a fifty fifty shot of success at saving the hand or saving the arm and that is a best case scenario. But, it is not her only injury. To be blunt, Mrs. Sebastian, the team believes Sage will not survive if we try to save the arm."

Simone ignored Brook's growing sobs behind her, "Are you asking for permission to amputate her arm?"

"Yes."

"Do it, oh God, just do it. Save my baby," Brook was beyond reason as she cried out her despair.

Simone's lips twitched with a momentary grimace, "Doctor, my daughter is an artist. She sculpts beauty out of stone. It is not just what she does. It's who she is. If you take her arm then you end her life."

"Mom, no!" Brook began to shout and Greg held her closer to his chest. "Save her life. Don't let her die! I need her."

"Brook, calm yourself," Simone paused to admonish her daughter. "Now Doctor, you tell me what surgeon you need to save my daughter and her arm. I'll have them here…"

The doctor was loosing her patience, "Mrs. Sebastian, it doesn't matter who you bring in here. You might not want to believe this but your money can't buy you the answer you want. Sage is on the brink of death. There's no time to waste waiting for another surgeon to tell you the same thing I just did. We must amputate the arm to save her life."

Simone gritted her teeth and ground out her answer one well articulated word at a time, "Listen very carefully, you do not have my consent to amputate Sage's arm. You will save her life with her arm or not at all. Now doctor, I suggest you get back into that surgery suite before you delay my daughter's recovery one more minute."

The doctor attempted to appear unfazed by Simone's venomous reply. "If that is what you want us to try to do then we really have no choice."

She merely shrugged and turned to leave.

"No, wait. I'll give you permission. I'm really her…,"

"Brook, sit down and shut your mouth," Gareth shouted over his sister's tearful attempt to claim maternity and stepped into block her way to follow the doctor.

Simone ignored the commotion behind her to keep her eye on the departing Dr. Ramaswami. She wanted to be sure the woman was out of ear shot before she turned her attention to Brook. There were too many outsiders already monitoring the Sebastian family melt down already; no need to add another casual observer to their melodrama.

When Simone finally faced her daughter, Brook was seated with Greg gently holding her in place on the sofa. Tears continued to stream down Brook's face but her wretched sobbing was waning.

"If she dies," Brook hissed the words like a curse at her mother, "I'll hate you forever."

"Yes dear, that's exactly what I would expect you to say to me," Simone's shoulders remained squared but her voice wavered under the weight of insult to injury.

* * *

"She said no, right?" The surgeon next to the gurney called to Dr. Ramaswami without lifting his eyes from his work.

Ramaswami just nodded yes knowing he did not need a verbal reply.

"Then you owe me five bucks," Dr. Solomen chuckled. "And, you are very lucky that I'm as good as I am or vascular would not have even a sliver of a chance to finish up on that broken wing."

"Vascular has a name," the woman bent over Sage's outstretched limb stated evenly as she continued her delicate work.

"Don't get snippy, Norman," Solomen rebutted in good humor. "If it's not too much to ask, do you think you could move the bone setting along so I can save this girl's life?"

"Cretin," Dr. Norman sighed with infinite patience. "Okay, my last stitch is in and the bleeding's stopped. Some blood flow is restored to the hand. That should hold her until you butchers finish up with her belly."

Ramaswami asked, "What do you think, Pam, will she be able to use the hand again?

Pam shook her head as she straightened up and stepped out of the surgical area, "Hard to say. Right now she's just pieced together. If she's stable enough after Joel finishes, I'd like to get back in there and try a couple of fancy things. Never mind that Ortho still needs to deal with the bones. They're a God Damn mess too."

Pam approached Ramaswami as she peeled off her gloves, "It would have been so much safer to take the arm. We've left her wide open for bleeding, infection…,"

"Pam, she's an artist. Her arm really is her life," Ramaswami reminded the surgeon.

"I know, I know," Pam closed her eyes feeling the strain of the delicately detailed work settling into a throbbing head ache. "I have one of her pieces on my desk. She was brilliant but that's probably behind her now. She's not going to be an artist with a useless dominate hand."

Ramaswami gazed over the other woman's shoulder to see Solomen begin his part of the relay surgery, "Her mother said without her arm, Sage is dead anyway."

"Oh sure, that sounds good until the kid really dies. Wanna bet they'll sic their pack of hungry lawyers on us for following the family's wishes?" Pam asked with a hint of exhaustion in her voice.

Ramaswami shook her head no. "I've lost enough money on this one already. I'm not going to risk anymore on foolish optimism."

* * *

"What is she doing here?" Brook asked when she woke from the nap she had cried herself to sleep.

"Let it go, Brook," Gareth suggested from the sunken couch he planted himself in hours ago.

Brook leaned forward toward Tristan sitting across the room, "You are not welcome here. Do you hear me you little bitch? Get out!"

Greg tried to pull Brook back into a hug but she succeeded in struggling to free herself. Gareth cursed as he frantically fought to get off the low couch in order to defuse the brewing storm.

"Maybe I should go?" Tristan, uncharacteristically meek, offered as she attempted to rise.

"Oh, you better get going or I'll…," Brook hissed taking three steps closer to the injured reporter.

"STOP!"

The command from the far end of the room did, indeed, stop all the action. Simone waited until all eyes focused on her before continuing.

"Brook, sit down. Tristan, you are going nowhere so make yourself comfortable. Gareth, relax or you're blood pressure will have you on a stretcher next. Greg, dear, would you call the house and ask Child-Hassam if Granville is resting. Dr. Tsu gave him a sedative so he should still be sleeping. If not then Tsu should be called immediately." Greg nodded and mutely got up to exit the room before Simone added, "Oh and, be sure to ask Mr. Matthew's if he's tracked down Cade yet. Thank you, dear."

"Will do, Ms. Sebastian," Greg answered.

She gave a broad smile in return. "Please Greg, call me Simone. It seems you're one of the family now. No point in being formal."

"Sure," Greg felt the hammering in his heart lessen when the name easily fell from his lips, "Simone."

Tristan waited for the tall, dark man to leave before she worked up enough courage to say, "I really should get going. I've got, you know, work, deadlines, and all sorts of stuff."

Simone pointed at her and stated, "No, you'll stay with us and watch how this all plays itself out. You're going to write about it, Ms. Ayer; every stinking little detail. I insist. You'll be compensated well, I assure you. So, sit back and enjoy the destruction of my family. After all, it's something you've been salivating for, for a very long time."

Tristan sat back down. She wanted to say the monstrous accusation was false. Only a truly hateful person would welcome the horror which had so suddenly engulfed the Sebastian family. She wanted to believe she wasn't such a person but that would be a lie. Tristan had become a truly hateful person. And, the person she had hated for too many years to count was Sage Sebastian; a woman who might not survive the day.

Tristan, with a sudden and sickening realization, hated herself.

Chapter 11

The sky in her world was so very blue broken only by dots and dashes of puffy white clouds.

"Uh oh."

The air was crisp and clean and fresh and blasting through her in regulated breaths.

"I've got blood in the abdomen."

Sage was falling.

"Pressure's dropping."

Sage knew she was dreaming but still clawed at the air trying to climb back up to safety. If you fall and hit the ground in your dream you never wake up, right? She wondered if that was true or an old wife's tale. She tried to think of anybody she knew who hit the ground in their dreams. Then she grimly remembered she never bothered to ask anyone she knew about their dreams when she had the chance. The way her body felt at the moment, she believed she was just about all out of chances.

"Better get that bleeder clamped now."

Tumbling still, she glanced over her shoulder to see how much time was left to her life. The ground below was racing up to greet her. But, her panic slowed when she saw the huge stone slab directly below her. Each inch closer she dropped the stone cracked and shook. Something inside was trying to break free of its prison. Sage stopped struggled upward and turn toward the rapidly approaching earth. A great paw broke out and up.

"Shit! Norman, scrub in. I need another pair of hands here. Abdomen's full of blood."

Intrigued with the emerging figure, Sage found herself willing her body down, back to the ground. With a giant roar, a head and mane tore loose of the crumbling rock. The stone beast turned silted eyes and gaping jaw sky ward. In a moment of panic, Sage thought it would devour her whole. She began to twist, fighting the unavoidable law of gravity.

"Son of a bitch! She's in a-fib. Get the Hell out of her belly, she's coding!"

At the last possible moment of her descent, Sage saw the lion grin and reach his paw out to snatch her back to his massive chest.

"Cardiac arrest."

"Full code.

"Get the paddles."

"CLEAR!"

Knowing she was saved, Sage relaxed her lifeless body into the stone cold embrace.

Chapter 12

Simone heard very little of what Dr. Ramaswami said after, "Sage is still alive." Her condition, evidently, remained precarious but she was holding her own. She even bucked herself off the ventilator once she was situated in the ICU.

"I want to see her," Simone interrupted the steady flow of detailed medical information.

"Of course," Dr. Ramaswami replied. "ICU restricts visitors to just two per hour."

"Mom, I'll go with you," Brook stated with confidence in spite of her distraught appearance.

Simone turned away from the Doctor to face her daughter. She gently caressed Brook's fevered, tear streaked face. Brook seemed to melt under her mother's tender handling.

"No dear, you won't. Greg is going to take you back to the house so you can pull yourself back together and get your father. Greg, would you do that for me?"

"Of course, Mrs…Simone," Greg corrected himself in mid reply.

"He'll do no such thing. I want to see Sage! I have a right! She's my…"

Brook was nearly hysterical.

"This isn't the time for dramatic nonsense, Brook. Stop worrying about yourself and try to think about what Sage needs. When she wakes up she'll be in pain and confused and frightened. She'll need to be comforted by both her MOTHER and her FATHER. Your presence, as much as you love her, would be too distressing, I fear," Simone's hushed words reduced Brook's tirade to muffled sobs.

"Come on, Babe, you're Mom's right. Let me take you home. Once you clean up, get some food into you then you'll be better able to help Sage," Greg whispered in Brook's ear while he guided her out the door.

Simone breathed a heavy sigh before steeling herself to her next task, "Gareth."

He climbed to his feet thinking he would escort his mother to Sage's bedside.

"You're exhausted. Take the car and go home. Don't come back until you've slept for a few hours."

"But, but," he stuttered in disbelief.

"No, buts. Go home. Get some sleep. Ms. Ayer, you're with me. Doctor, if you would just show us where to go…,"

"Oh no," Tristan bolted out of her chair and took three steps toward the door, "I'm not going anywhere but home."

"Really," the sinister edge in Simone's voice stopped Tristan in her tracks. "Perhaps you're right. Maybe you should go home. I'm sure we can get that nice police detective to drive you. She'd probably be rather interested in seeing your apartment."

Tristan turned wide eyed to Simone, "What have you done? What did you stash in my crib?"

"Oh, how very urban of you, Dear."

"Don't play with me, lady! I've had kind of a bad day what with falling off a building and having my arm ripped out of its socket then shoved back in again. My patience with you ain't gonna hold out much longer. What kind of shit did you stash at my place?" Tristan gritted out.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you mean, Ms. Ayer." Simone smiled but it was in no way friendly, "While I would much prefer you join me so you can chronicle this disaster, you are free to leave. Gareth can get that detective or call a cab to give you a lift back to your hovel. It makes no difference to me. I'll be alright. I'll probably give a call to my spiritual advisor, the Cardinal. Maybe, Sister Mary Margaret can join us in a bedside vigil. She has so many wonderful stories about the orphans in her care. It makes me want to meet each child personally."

Tristan felt her cheeks burn with pent up anger but she knew Simone was not a woman who made idle threats, "Fine, you got me. I get the message. Especially when it's one of your patented heavy handed numbers: I'm your bitch. Tell me what you want me to do."

Simone gave an angry sneer, "Just do as you're told, Ms. Ayer."

* * *

No matter how long Tristan stared at Sage, she could not reconcile the shattered body before her with the brooding young woman who had most likely saved her life. Sage's skin was paler than the sheet she laid on. The right side of her face was marked with an angry rope burn running from cheek bone to chin. Livid welts were creeping out from her shoulder blades toward her neck. But, it was her left arm which continued to draw Tristan's attention. It was propped up on pillows at such an odd angle it looked like it might not even be part of Sage's body anymore. It was bloodied and blue and black and swollen. Several pieces of metal were drilled into the bones and connected to each other on a length of hinged surgical pipe. The doctor explained the limb was only pieced together. It would need several more surgeries if Sage survived. However, Dr. Ramaswami did not hold any hope out for functional return of gross or fine motor movement.

"Please," Tristan finally broke the suffocating silence, "tell me she's right handed."

Simone shifted her position in the uncomfortable plastic chair she occupied next to Sage's bedside in order to face Tristan. "And, here I thought you were some sort of investigative reporter. I would think you would know such an important detail like that about an up and coming artist. Sage is left handed."

"It was a simple question. No need to be pissy," Tristan felt the need to defend herself.

"My daughter may not survive the night, Ms. Ayer. I believe I have the right to be…pissy."

"Did you bring me in here just to make me feel bad?" Tristan hissed at the older woman.

Simone quietly considered the question for several long moments before answering. "Yes, I guess I did bring you in here just to make you feel bad."

"Well, you got what you wanted. I feel fucking horrible," Tristan confessed.

Simone's eyes softened and the edge left her voice, "Why?"

Tristan swallowed back her tears to answer, "Because she's hurt. Her bones are broken. She might not live. She's suffering…,"

Simone laughed.

"What? What could possibly be funny?"

"Don't you think Sage was suffering when you put on your little show at the press conference? How do you think she felt when you divulged her biological mother to the whole world?"

"Tried to divulge…" Tristan corrected. "I didn't get to finish my sentence before Super Girl tackled me. And, the story's dead. Your lawyers' threats have my publishers so scared they're ass up, hunched over their balls."

"Tisk, tisk, what a shame? But, you could run the story on your trashy little web site," Simone taunted, "if you're absolutely sure you have all your facts straight."

Tristan sat back in her chair, wincing at the pain in her wounded shoulder. "I can prove Sage was adopted but that's all…for the moment."

"Keep digging in the garbage, dear. It really does suit you."

"Mom…,"

The singular syllable ended the tit for tat between the two women. Each jumped to their feet and crowded over the bed.

"Sage, I'm right here," Simone reassured her waking daughter.

Sage forced her eyes open. A smile followed; weak but a smile none the less. Simone clutched Sage's hand in an effort to ease her rising panic. If Sage was smiling something must be wrong. Simone worried about undetected brain damage. Or, perhaps the pain medication dosages were too high.

"Mom, it was so beautiful. I saw it. I saw it break free," Sage clutched Simone's hand as she struggled to get her thoughts into words.

"Saw what, honey?"

Sage swallowed and grimaced at the metallic taste in her mouth but she pressed on with her telling of the most wonderful dream of her life, "The corner stone. I saw it come to life. I know exactly how he looks. I've got to get back out there."

"You're kidding, right?" Tristan couldn't contain shocked retort.

Sage frowned as she focused on the reporter standing next to Simone, "I thought I dropped you. What'd you learn how to fly?"

It was Tristan's turn to frown, "Bounced. I bounced."

Sage appeared satisfied with the answer and turned her attention back to Simone. As she did so, her grin returned, "Mom, I've got to get back out there. Tell them I want to go home. I feel fine. I've never ever felt better. Please, help me get dressed. Where are my pants?"

When Sage turned her head to look for her clothes she saw her arm for the very first time.

"That doesn't look too good." She paused a moment and the smile left her face. "I can't feel it. If it looks that bad then it should hurt like Hell. Why can't I feel my arm? Mom," Sage looked back and saw a tear trailing down Simone's cheek. "Mom?" The gravity of the situation hit her like a lightning bolt, "Oh, no. Mom! Mom, help me!"

"Sage, be calm," Simone kept a firm grip on Sage's right hand and began to stroke her brow with her free hand.

"MOM! Why can't I feel my fingers? What's wrong with my arm? MOM! HELP ME, MOM!"

"Get the nurse, now!" Simone shouted to nobody in particular as she kept her eyes on Sage.

Tristan did as she was told. She race to the nurses station and sent them hurrying toward the bedside emergency. But, she didn't follow them. Instead, Tristan ran; out of the hospital, out into the night. And, she didn't stop running until she made it back to her own apartment, under her own covers, and as hidden from Sage's heartbreaking story as she could get.

Chapter 13

The ringing of the telephone was like a bit drilling into her throbbing head. The phone had rung on and off for the last few days. Tristan managed to ignore it for the most part with a pillow over her head until it silenced itself. She was too shattered emotionally and physically to crawl over and turn the ringer off. Trying to engage in some form of coherent conversation was not an option. But, today it continued to ring and ring and ring. Each time the answering machine tried to pick up, the caller disconnected. The ringing would start again in the time it took to redial.

"Why do I still have a land line?" Tristan shouted to the empty room as she dragged herself out of her bed and grabbed for the handset. "What the fuck is so fucking important that you have to keep fucking calling me every fucking minute of every fucking day?"

After a brief pause, during which Tristan thought she heard a snicker; a familiar voice rumbled over the line, "Now, Tristy, is that anyway to answer the phone? I thought I taught you better manners. Sometimes it's all I can do not to be disappointed in you and you don't want me to be disappointed in you, believe me."

"Look, Arnold, I don't really have time to…,"

"Again, you forget your manners, Tristy. It is only polite to address somebody by name without title if they have given you leave to do so. I have never allowed such familiarity between us. And, I never will."

Tristan gave an eye roll before responding, "Okay, Mr. Arnold. Sorry to forget the rules but I've had a bad couple of days here."

"Ten bad days to be exact. So, isn't it about time you get off your backside and return to work? I have information every reporter in town wants but I'll only share it with you because I like you. I really do, Tristy."

Tristan gritted her teeth to keep from snapping at the lecherous man on the other end of the line. He completely disgusted her even though all their interactions were by telephone or mail. She had no idea what he looked like but his voice was creepy enough. The deep yet slightly effeminate voice which climbed higher when he was excited made her skin crawl. She detested doing business with him but he had been a valuable source of information on the Sebastian family. The leads he provided were never wrong. Mr. Arnold might be a pig but he was a well informed pig.

"Mr. Arnold, I'm sorry to be irritable today but I'm sure you know about my accident…,"

"I believe it was Sage's accident and you were merely along for the ride," he taunted, "or should I say plummet?"

"Sure, say whatever you want," Tristan was desperate to get back to bed. "I'm still pretty banged up. Not feeling well at all, if you know what I mean. I'm not going to go back to work any time soon, I'm afraid. So, you probably want to find another reporter…,"

"DON'T TRY SHITTING ME!" He thundered. "You most certainly are going back to work. Or were you planning on going back to whoring for rent money?"

"What?" Tristan was stunned by the sudden aggressiveness of her previously merely weird and annoying source.

"Tristy, you have $48. 16 in your bank account at the moment. Your rent is due by the end of the month and you have a payment you need to make to Mount Hope…,"
"Hey," Tristan's anger sparked to life, "stay out from my business, Dude! You've got no reason to be messing around in my private life."

This time she did hear him snicker, "I'm sure most of your free press victims feel the same way, Tristy. Now, let's stop arguing and get you back to the work at hand. Sage is leaving the hospital today…,"

"Look, it's no secret she's getting released from the hospital today. I already know she's going back to her parents' place. "

"Stop interrupting me! You'd better pay attention to what I say or, by God; I'll make that little retard pay for his mother's sins."

"Don't you call him that!"

"SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH, CUNT! I'll do a lot worse than name calling if you don't start listening to me."

The threat made Tristan shut up. Her heart was racing. She was furious but also terrified of this stranger who had been guiding her career for years. A man she knew almost nothing about.

"I will tell you what to do and when to do it," he seemed calm again now that she was quiet, "just like I always do and you'll keep doing exactly what you are told to do, Tristy.

* * *

"I bought you a new outfit to wear home," Brook stated as she unzipped the garment bag she was holding up. "The top is loose enough to pull over your arm. You shouldn't need a coat with it because it’s a heavy cable knit."

"Ah, thanks," Sage gave the clothes in the bag a brief perusal before dismissing them; "but Mom's bringing my own stuff."

"Oh," Brook gave a tiny, disappointed shrug of her shoulders letting the garment bag drop to the floor as she sat down in the chair next to Sage's bed. "Okay. Hey, I have an idea. How about after we finish up here; we stop in the North End for a late lunch? Just the three of us. We can let Simone handle the bill and I'll drive you back home and get you settled in for the night. I can stay all night. It'll be like when we were kids."

"I think I need to pass. I'm still not feeling very well." Sage shook her head, "besides, I want to ride home with Mom."

"Mom, Mom, Mom," Brook mocked. "What's with all this Mom stuff? You've called her Mom more in the last five minutes than you have in the last five years."

Sage took a deep breath before answering, "Brook, I'm not saying it to upset you. I love you. You know that. But, I'm too hurt and exhausted to stay angry at her. I need a Mom now more than ever. Simone's legally my mother. We both have to accept the facts of our lives."

"Oh, please, when did you become the diplomat," Brook exclaimed in frustration.

"Probably around the same time I fell off a building. Dangling nine stories in the air gives you a fresh perspective of what's really important," Sage stated it as simply as she could.

Brook was unmoved by the explanation. "Sage, I'm your mother. I was the one who was pregnant for nine months. I was the one in labor for sixteen hours. I was the one that nursed you…,"

"Eeew," Sage groaned. "Come on, the pain meds are making my stomach queasy enough without piling on gross talk."

"I'm serious!"

Sage let some of her suppressed resentment surface, "Well, I'm serious too. My life is destroyed! My arm is a useless hunk of flesh hanging from my shoulder." She wouldn't spare a glance at the offending limb. "I need both my parents to take care of me. Simone and Granville have been there for me every single day. Not only this time, all the times I've screwed up. And, how have I thanked them? I've been a total shit to them. Not anymore. I'm done being an asshole. I finally understand I need my parents. I desperately need them. So, unless you're ready to drag the stud muffin out of your misspent youth and introduce me to my long forgotten Daddy…,"

Brook visibly flinched. "You have no idea how cruel that was."

"Hang around a while, I think I have the potential to get much crueler," Sage's evil sneer forced Brook to her feet and out the door.

* * *

The town car glided to a smooth stop rousing Sage from her all too brief slumber. Getting dressed and out of the hospital took more strength than she predicted. Of course, the argument with Brook was a physical drain before Sage even started to pull on her jeans.

Sage gave Simone a brief smile as she straightened up to exit the vehicle. It was returned in kind.

"Wait a minute," Sage's demand sounded more like a worried request. "Why are we here and not home?"

Simone gave Sage's right hand a gentle squeeze before freeing it. "You are home, dear. The hotel is your home. Although, I will confess that I invaded your privacy to make sure your linens were fresh and there was edible food in the refrigerator. Forgive me."

"No, you don't understand. I want to go home home with you and Dad. You know, to the big house in the suburbs."

"Yes, that would be a safe choice. You wouldn't need to fend for yourself or think about what's happened to you or decide what you'll do next. It would be like returning to your childhood." Simone gave a gentle shake of her head, "As much as I want to drag you back home to keep you safe and protected, I love you too much to lock you away."

"But, I want you to," Sage barely managed to spit the words out before a sob escaped.

"No, honey, you really don't."

"Yes, I really do!"

"Sage, you're only afraid. You're afraid to try and fail and maybe get hurt again. It's okay to be afraid but it's not okay to run away. I'm not going to let you hide." Simone gently waved her hand and commanded, "Go back to your own home, Sage. Go!"

The car door opened as if to obey the woman. Sage sat staring at Simone for several long seconds getting her breathing under control. Seeing that Simone was in no way prepared to blink, Sage broke eye contact first and glanced out of the car door. Her meager belongings were being loaded onto a bell man's trolley and the hotel's huge double doors were being held open. She was expected to get out of the car and follow the red carpet back inside the beast that almost killed her.

"If," Sage looked over her shoulder to pin Simone with a hard glare, "if I get hurt again, I'll hate you forever."

"Yes dear, that's exactly what I would expect you to say to me," Simone repeated the reply Brook had earned the day Sage fell.

* * *

"Today just keeps getting better and better," Sage snarled when she entered the loft.

The Spartan space was not nearly as empty as she when she left it. A stone block stood on one of her workbenches in the center of the room. Her chisel and hammer lay out awaiting her arrival. A short distance away, Tristan sat on another workbench smiling.

"Welcome home."

"Get out!"

"Now, Sage, before you kick me to the curb, at least, hear me out," Tristan requested.

"Why would I want to do that?" Sage turned her back on Tristan and snapped at the bell man bringing in her belongings, "Doesn't this piss hole have security anymore? How did she get into my loft?"

The young man paled at Sage's venom and stood silent.

"ANSWER ME!"

"Ah, Melvin is it?" Tristan interrupted as she rushed to get between the pair. "Ms. Sebastian is extremely tired. Would you see to it that her evening meal is delivered in thirty minutes? I've already given the menu to the chef so they'll be expecting you in the kitchen. And, Dr. Tsu will be arriving at 5pm exactly. See to it she is escorted here immediately. Can't keep a doctor waiting around, right? Not with what they charge."

"Lady, if you don't shut up and get the Hell out of my life…," Sage was ready to explode.

Tristan gave Melvin a conspiratorial wink, "Its okay, my good man. You can trust me with Ms. Sebastian. Her Mom gave me the keys. I mean, how else would I have gotten in here? Couldn't just walk right in the front doors and up the private elevator and pick the skimpy lock on the light weight door, right? Not in an operation as organized as Sebastian America. Nope, no way, no how could somebody sneak into the Harbor Bostonian Hotel and lay in wait for the return of the seriously injured heir to the fortune, as it were. No, I'm right where I should be. But, you're not. So, go ahead, Melvin, and do what I've told you and I'll make sure she tips you real good. That'll be a nice change of pace, won't it? I'll take care of everything on this end."

"Sure, you will," Melvin shook his head in disgust at the fast talker. "Ms. Sebastian, you want me to show her to security while you call 911?"

"Yes, Melvin," Sage sighed in exasperation. "Get her out of here."

Tristan took two steps backward to avoid the eager bell man's grab. Unfortunately, his lunge was long enough to snag a corner of her sling. He tugged hard to reel her in.

"Son of a…,"

The pain was so intense Tristan was unable to finish the curse. She dropped to her knees cradling her injured shoulder. Her sobs were in short muffled pants as she rocked back and forth.

"Oops," the young man retreated from the harm he caused.

Sage rolled her eyes. She waited a few extra seconds to see if the woman's tears would stop on their own but that did not happen. It didn't appear it would happen anytime soon either.

"If I give you five minutes to state your peace, will you stop crying?"

Tristan sobered immediately, "Thirty minutes."

"Ten," Sage countered with a slight amusement at the ridiculousness of the situation.

"Twenty," Tristan continued to bargain.

"Fifteen," Sage held up her hand to stop any further negotiations. "That's the best I'll give you even if you start to hemorrhage right there on the floor in front of me."

"Well then, we have a deal." Tristan extended her left hand to the bell man, "Melvin, my man, how 'bout a hand up?"

Melvin waited for Sage to nod her approval before he helped Tristan to her feet. He gave her a sideward glance as if to warn her. Tristan had no doubts that Melvin might be afraid of Sage but he held no fear of her.

"Don't worry, I won't press charges for the assault," Tristan reassured with a smirk.

"Jerk," Melvin hissed as he left the loft.

"Okay, clock's ticking. What the fuck do you want?" Sage asked while she meandered over to her battered but comfortable sofa across from the wall length windows facing the Atlantic.

Tristan toddled over and dropped onto the other end of the sofa. She winced slightly on impact.

"They give you anything good for the pain?" Sage sounded a bit concerned.

Tristan shrugged, "I've got a little history under my belt so doctors are reluctant to use the top shelf stuff with me. No opioids for me, I'm afraid. But, I'll manage. How 'bout you? Anything good and what kind of contraption is that on your arm? All they gave me was a sling."

Sage allowed herself to look at the mess that had been her left arm. It still had metal screws and surgical piping protruding through the skin and holding the pieces of her bones together. There were several patches of white gauze covering the bloodier sites. The rest of the exposed skin was a swollen mass of black and blue and numb meat. All of which was perched on a trough strapped to her hip.

"The drugs are okay and the contraption is to keep my arm from dragging along the floor, I guess." Sage closed her eyes and settled back into the couch, "What do you want? Why did you come? And, most importantly, when are you leaving?"

"Right to the chase. Fine," Tristan plunged head first into her half baked idea. "We are both so screwed."

"You can say that again," Sage snorted.

"Well, I think we can help each other."

Sage flashed a dirty look but didn't interrupt.

"You smashed your left arm which you need to sculpt. I smashed up my right arm which I need to write. Can you see where I'm going with this?"

"No," Sage was bewildered. "And, you're running out of time."

"I help you sculpt and you help me write."

Sage laughed. When Tristan didn't join in, Sage stopped.

"You're kidding me, aren't you?"

"Nope."

"Not possible. Now get out."

"I still have five minutes. And, it is possible. If two people can learn how to play the piano together then you and I can sculpt and write together," Tristan reasoned.

Sage opened her mouth to object but couldn't think of a reply.

"See, it is possible. You just have to give it try, Sage. Please, try with me. Give me a chance to reclaim my art while you reclaim yours." Tristan wiped a real tear from her cheek before finishing, "A writer who can't write doesn't have long to live. Kurt Vonnegut said that. What happens to a sculptor who can't sculpt?"

"I don't know," Sage replied with a hint of worry in her voice.

"Do you want to wait around and find out?"

"No," Sage quickly answered.

Tristan gave a wide grin, "Good. Then I'll be here at 9am tomorrow."

Sage smiled broadly, "7 sharp or nothing and don't even try to haggle your way out of it."

"Deal," Tristan readily agreed.

"Good. Now get out!"

TBC

Return to the Academy