She was kept busy the rest of the day, first by the priest, then by medical personnel, and then—over Dr. Egan's objections—by the debriefing team, which included the artist she'd asked for. It also included a lieutenant wearing the silver question-mark badge of one who held an Inquisitor's Warrant, and who was treated with a degree of respect that was highly unusual for a junior officer. Cortin made note of that, then disregarded it; if she was under consideration for something classified, she had to expect some non-standard attention. And he was a good Inquisitor, whatever else he was, eliciting details she didn't remember noticing, gaining her confidence even though she was familiar with the techniques he was using, reading her face and body language well enough that at times he seemed to be reading her mind instead. No, she thought when the team left, he was more than a simple lieutenant!
The drugs had worn off by early the next morning. When an orderly brought her breakfast, Cortin was in physical pain and emotional shock, but she forced herself to be as polite as possible to the orderly, and then to eat in spite of her lack of appetite. Afterward, she endured the medical attentions that brought more pain, telling herself she had to go through that and the accompanying humiliation to reach her goal. She was glad when it was over and she was left alone; the only person she had any real desire to see was Mike.
He arrived moments after visiting hours began. She started to greet him, but fell silent in shock when she saw his face. Mike had been crying, and there were still tears in his eyes! Hesitantly, she held a hand out to him. "Mike—?"
He took it, tears again starting to fall. "Joanie—oh, Joanie, I'm so sorry!"
Her stomach churned with miserable certainty of his answer, but she made herself ask, "What is it, Mike?"
"Dr. Egan said nurses had heard you talking in your sleep, that the bad news would be easier coming from me, but not to tell you yet, not till you were stronger …" He took a deep breath to steady his voice, though the tears were running unchecked down his face. Dammit, there was no kind way to tell her this! "She's a civilian, she doesn't understand that we can't afford false hopes. Or how important this is—she told me that except for your back, you'd have a complete recovery!" He took another deep breath, trying with a little more success to calm himself. "Joanie—I'll never share your bed again, and neither will anyone else, unless all you want is company."
"I'm totally non-functional, then," Cortin said flatly.
Odeon nodded miserably. "I'm afraid so. The Brothers … damaged you too badly. Egan's team was able to salvage the urinary tract and make a usable opening for it in the skin graft—but I'm afraid the other is gone, permanently."
Cortin clung to his hands, her mind numb. She wanted to scream, cry, do something to protest this additional, gratuitous despoilment—dear sweet Jeshua, they had been killing her, why do something so pointless?—but she didn't seem to have the will.