version of the same nightmare. He failed to save Maisie. Sometimes, she was murdered by Flint. Sometimes, she was sucked out of the airlock on the skyport. Sometimes, she took the poison bullet. Sometimes, she broke her neck falling off the roof.
“Terror?”
His troubled gaze met Risk’s expectant one. With a sigh of resignation, he admitted, “Both. Usually, the insomnia first and then the nightmare.”
“And then you’re awake for how long?”
“A while,” he answered, avoiding giving him a real number.
Risk frowned. “I’m not going to patronize you by suggesting all the techniques you already know for sleep. I can dispense a medication if you’d like.”
Terror shook his head. “That’s not safe, not now. We could have another bomb scare or end up in a firefight again.”
“Not sleeping is also unsafe,” Risk reminded him.
“No, Risk,” Terror stated firmly. “I don’t want the sedatives.”
Risk sighed. “How about some R&R? Go down to Blue Shores? Get some sun? Swim? Have a few drinks?”
“No.” The idea that he could go relax on a beach while Maisie was missing irritated him. “And don’t suggest that again.”
“Patient’s lack of sleep has made him prickly,” Risk said, dramatically adding a note to his tablet.
“Risk,” Terror growled.
“Fine.” Risk huffed and swiped at the tablet screen. “All of your lab work and scans have come back fine. Your psych eval was clean. You passed the physical assessment.” His stylus moved quickly across the screen as he added his signature. “I’m releasing your medical hold and clearing you for full duty.”
Terror released an anxious breath. “Thank you.”
“That doesn’t mean you can jump off the ship and head out into the field as soon as you walk out of the med bay,” Risk warned. “Don’t push yourself. It’s common for survivors of the virus to suffer setbacks in the first twelve to eighteen months post-infection.”
“I know,” Terror grumbled. “You told me.”
“And I’m telling you again,” Risk shot back. “It’s not just the virus. That poison round tore up your liver, Terror. We got all the toxins cleared out and your liver tests show normal function.”
“But?” He tensed in anticipation of a shitty prognosis.
“But your liver won’t ever be the same,” Risk cautioned. “There are a lot of different things that could throw you back into liver failure. I worked hard to save your life. Don’t be careless with it.”
Terror bit back the reply burning the tip of his tongue. Risk and his medical team might have treated him and brought him back from the edge, but it was Maisie who had saved his life. She had paid a terrible price for it, too.
As if he understood, Risk clasped his shoulder. “Don’t give up hope, Terror. That woman is a fighter.”
Terror gritted his teeth and managed to not saying anything rude before Risk left the room. As he pulled on his uniform and laced his boots, he remembered his promise to Vicious that he would stop being such a mean asshole. Overwhelmed by his emotional pain, he had lashed out at the people who cared for him most.
More than once during his recovery, he had pushed Hallie and Brook to tears. Hallie had smothered him with her nurturing, motherly ways, and Brook had driven him to frustration with the easy way she had picked up sign language while he struggled. It had been her idea to be his practice partner, but he had driven her off twice with his outbursts. Cipher who was always so cool and collected had threatened Terror with bodily harm after the second blowup.
Terror grimaced with shame at his horrible behavior toward both women. He had groveled and apologized and been on his absolute best behavior. Things were fine between them now, but he wasn’t sure he deserved their forgiveness.
When he stepped out of the exam room, he spotted Hallie walking—well, waddling, more accurately—toward him. He hid his surprise at how absolutely enormous she had gotten since he saw her only a few days earlier. Her once high, round belly seemed to have lowered a few inches, and he wondered if this was a tell-tale sign that she was about to give birth.
“Don’t even say it!” Hallie grumpily warned as she drew closer. “I am going to lose it on the next person who tells me I’ve gotten so big.”
Terror held up his hands in mock surrender. “That’s not what I was thinking,” he lied. “I was thinking how beautiful you look.”
That wasn’t a lie. She did look beautiful. She had always been a pretty woman, but she seemed