Those Hollow Lies

Natural Change

07/15/09 – late evening

“Shouldn’t she still be resting? The gunshot happened only two weeks ago.” I asked as a doctor glanced at Roz through the open doorway of the training room.

“The first time I attended to Miss Harman she had been shot in the back and the bullet had caused what I thought would be crippling nerve damage. It took her only three days to give Mr Macinfield a black eye.” He said, throwing me a knowing look. “I’d sleep easier as a doctor if she would rest, but Miss Harman isn’t most people and while it’s clear she’s not at full strength yet, I highly doubt it’ll be too long before she’s back to her old self again.” He explained it with a tired look in his eye and I wondered just how many times he had patched Roz up only to worry about her all over again when she cut her own recovery time short.

“How can she do it?” I whispered, in slight awe of the brunette currently taking aim with her throwing knives and a fresh target board.

“You have to remember that Miss Harman was designed to be the perfect agent. That also includes recovering quickly from injuries. When she was a little girl Mr DeMonte experimented with different ways for the body to heal. By the time you came to join us, Miss Harman was probably healthier in every way than anyone else here.”

“William treated her as a guinea pig?” I thought I had heard all the horror stories of Roz’s upbringing already, but this one had me curling my face in disgust as I looked back to the doctor.

“I wasn’t privy to the details at the time, but yes, that is what it seemed like. Cell regeneration is a wonderful science to study and while no one will ever perfect it in our lifetime there were prototypes in government facilities that DeMonte had access too. Miss Harman has scars, tissue damage and other reminders of everything she had been through, but the last thing she needs is a long period of bed rest. However, I feel myself developing an ulcer whenever she takes to one of those punch bags so soon after her latest adventures.” He shook his head and packed his bag up, taking a step back towards the infirmary before looking back at me with a soft, wise smile. “I wouldn’t worry too much, Mr Duvall. That girl will probably outlive us all and she does know her body’s needs better than most. She’ll rest when she needs it and push it when it demands it.”

Looking back at the young woman plucking the knives from the centre of the target board, I shook my head. I had done nothing but worry about Roz since she had discharged herself from the infirmary just two days after her brush with death. I had fussed and questioned over her every move but she just shook it off like it was no big deal and I had watched her quickly rebuild her strength and mobility. Everyone had told me to just trust Roz, which I did, but I also didn’t want her to rush back out there and take on this mission if she wasn’t ready to handle it. I didn’t want a repeat of her last great idea.

I had been lost completely in my worries when a knife whizzed by my head and embedded itself in the wood of the doorframe. I blinked at it and then shot Roz a look as she stood across the room with her hands on her hips. “I did not request a babysitter.” She said, striding across the mats to pull the blade from where it sat.

“Trust me; you’d be the kid the babysitters hated.” I said, scrubbing my hand through my hair and letting my eyes drift down to where I knew her latest scar would be.

“Stop it. You’re worrying far too much about this.” She said, flicking her eyes up and pressing the tip of the knife against my chest, though she didn’t do it hard enough to hurt or draw blood.

“I’ve never come that close to losing you before. Give me a break.” I whispered, not wanting any passing agents to overhear. Roz was extremely serious about keeping us professional and often tried to avoid these conversations with me.