Agent Rogue

Chapter 11

Sound came first; a recognisable voice that faintly repeated 'agent' over and over until I forced my eyes open, finding Barnes leaning over me, his face dangerously close to mine.

            I pressed my hand to his face and defensively pushed him backwards until he got the message I wished to send and sat down beside me, laughing.

            "Even when you're all drugged up, you resent me," he said with an amused smile. I ignored his comment, dazed as I looked around the plain and sterile pale blue room with no other furniture but a leather seat and bedside table next to the white-sheeted bed I was lying in.

            "Confused, agent?" said Barnes.
"I assume I'm in a hospital," I breathed, frowning at the canula that punctured my hand. "Did you bring me here?"
He nodded, holding a smile. "I might have."
I held his gaze, brows still knitted together. He didn't have to do that. "Sorry for passing out on you."
He waved me off. "Don't worry about it. I told you before that I'm used to girls falling for me."

            I groaned and rolled my eyes, struggling to hide the tug at the corners of my mouth.

            Barnes leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. "Apparently you kicked up quite a fuss in surgery," he said quietly, watching me intently.
I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to push past the blurred haze in my memory. I was in the operating room and lashed out. I almost stabbed the surgeon with... a scalpel? Scissors? A... toothpick? "Yeah," I said, huffing a laugh. "I thought I was—"

            I stopped. Anaesthetic made me verbally reckless, confessions falling from my tongue so easily. I shook my head. "Never mind."

            Barnes's face fell in expectant concern that I ignored. That was not a road I wanted to go down again – especially with him.

            I still had a mission to do, and I did not have the luxury of sitting around all evening. Knowing this, I pushed myself into sitting up, grinding my teeth at the sharp ache in my shoulder. Barnes watched me do this and I pursed my lip. I was in such a frail state, yet he still did not try to escape, even when I passed out on the street or was put under sedation while in surgery. It confirmed my suspicion that Alistair had something hanging over his head, or he imagined a cell at the agency was safer than staying outside of it. What was it? What frightened him so much?

            I moved to leave the comfort of the bed and Barnes jumped to his feet.
"Hold on! Hold on. Hold on."He sent me back down into the pillow. "Where do you think you're going?"
"To Narnia. Where do you think?" I retorted, trying again with a clenched jaw as my shoulder protested. The pain had eased massively in comparison to how it was on the train, but the aftermath of the surgery still had it aching, needing rest that I could not afford to take. It was bearable enough for travelling.
"You're not going anywhere," said Barnes. "Doctor's orders." He shoved me back on the pillow.
I scowled, getting back up. "We are going back to London. Alistair's orders."
Barnes tutted and shoved me down again. "No," he said.
I raised my eyebrows in disbelief. "What did you just say?"
He hardened his expression. "I said no," he repeated. "You're injured and I'm not. That means I'm in charge now."

            With an accomplished grin, he slouched back in his chair, leaning back with regal cockiness as he swung his arms behind his head, stretching his legs out. I narrowed my eyes, shooting him an icy glare that bore in his skull.
He gulped and sat forward. "Just kidding!" He coughed. "You're in charge. Always have been. Always will be."

            I smiled at that, throwing off the bedsheets. I was clad in a thin, lightweight hospital gown that would have attracted significant attention on our way to the docks.