He slid his hand up Scar’s arm, over the hard swell of his bicep, and across his shoulder. The skin there was riddled with small, jagged ridges. The same injection and IV scars as his.
“The first time I saw Scar in there”—Gage’s voice dropped—“I still had most of my sight. Things were blurry, but I could still make out some shapes and colors. I’d spent a week being dragged in and out of some testing center. Every time they finished sticking me and pumping me full of crap, the world got fuzzier.”
He could still feel it if he allowed himself to—the sharp sting of whatever they’d pushed into his veins.
“They dumped me in a different room one day,” he went on. “One side of it was a glass wall.”
Scar’s face was burned in his memory from that day. Creased forehead from the permanent scowl, cold eyes glassed over like winter ice, jaw set hard enough to crack his own teeth.
“He was on the other side. And believe me, Scar was just as shocked to see me as I was to see him. He started banging on the walls, yelling every curse word he knew.” Gage’s breath hitched. “At them…not me.”
Roz was quiet, listening.
“I tried to make a run for the door, which was stupid since three men were blocking it. One of the guards hit me in the stomach with… I don’t even know what. It felt like a steel bar, but it dropped me.”
He heard it again in his mind, the animalistic sound that Scar had made.
“Scar lost it,” he whispered. “He was pounding his fists on the glass so hard it shook. Screaming at them not to touch me again. Telling them he’d kill them all. He was so strong. I thought he’d break every bone in his hands.”
Gage ran his thumb along the thick tendons in Scar’s wrist.
“I was on the floor, gasping, half-blind. I was so sure I’d die in there. Every time they pumped something else into me, my vision went darker. But Scar had been on the other side of that wall, yelling at me to be strong.” The corners of his mouth turned down. “Telling me I wasn’t alone and swearing he’d find a way to get us out.”
“Wow,” Roz exhaled.
“For two months,” he said, his voice almost a whisper now, “we went through that storm together. I’d hear him get yanked out, then dragged back in, shaking so badly his bed rattled. He’dbe in so much pain, but he still talked to me. Told me stories about the block, about stupid stuff he used to do, and about the smart things that’d saved his life. Told me to stop thinking I was gonna’ die because he had a plan.”
The next sentences were hard for him to get out.
“He wasn’t the Scar I knew from the South Side anymore,” he said. “He was…still him. Still mean as hell. Still angry. But he…cared. He wouldn’t let me just lie there and cry. I think… No, I’m sure that, without him, I would’ve given up.”
“Shit,” Roz muttered.
Gage grazed his fingers over Scar’s, the warmth from his skin seeping into his. His eyes burned, the constant ache behind them flaring a little hotter.
“So yeah, Scar’s done a lot of evil, and he’s still a jerk most of the time. I’m not stupid, Roz. But when I was in that place…and the darkness was closing in…he always reminded me he was still there.” He turned in Roz’s direction. “Now can you understand why I can’t let him wake up alone.”
Roz didn’t say anything else.
They sank back into a silence. After another hour, Gage’s muscles ached in that deep, post-adrenaline way. His eyelids felt weighted, but he refused to close them or remove his hand.
Time scraped past in long, grinding minutes.
Scar’s fingers twitched under his palm and Gage straightened, every nerve waking up.
“Scar,” he leaned in, keeping his voice low. “It’s me.”
The door whistled open, but Gage trusted Roz to let him know if he and Scar were in danger.
Scar locked his fingers around his like a shackle.
“Easy,” he murmured.
Scar still wasn’t fully awake.
“Gage…” Scar’s voice was hoarse, almost broken.
“You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
