*~*Tinobal - Day 3*~*

Xanthia glared at the orderly indignantly as she held the cotton ball
against the small puncture in the crook of the elbow. She hated
needles almost as much as she hated the sense of a total lack of
control over her life which she'd had ever since she'd come to
Tinobal. 

Latnem sat in a chair out of the way, but ready to intervene if
needed. Xanthia was definitely a challenge as a patient, but one which
he took on gladly. There was something about her that was most
intriguing.

The door shut as the orderly left without a word, leaving Latnem alone
with this new enigma of a patient. "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Bad enough. I hate needles. I hate hospitals," Xanthia's eyes blazed
icily with resentment.

"But you're a healer," Latnem chuckled.

"So? Just because I have to stick people with needles to help diagnose
and heal them doesn't mean I have to like doing it, or having it done
to me!"

"True enough," Latnem conceded. "But most people would have said
politely, 'Not bad at all.'"

"But that would be a lie," Xanthia said flatly. "Why should I lie?"

"Sometimes it helps keep from hurting people's feelings."

"Who's feelings would be spared by denying that the injection bothered
me? That makes no sense at all."

"True enough. It's just a polite convention in this case. Like when
someone says, 'How are you today?' You say..."

"The sutures in my leg itch and I'm tired of sitting in this room and
being poked and prodded at. I miss Th'rin and Corra and Oberon. I want
to go home."

"You say, 'I'm fine thank you, and you.' Try it."

"But I'm not *fine*, so why should I say so?"

"Because it's polite. Try it."

"But..." Xanthia protested.

"Try it." Latnem insisted.

"I'm... F... I'm..." Latnem watched Xanthia's internal struggle as the
dark purple haze of falsehood began to cloud her aura and quickly
faded. It was the first time he'd ever noticed it about her. 

Finally Xanthia said, "I'm as well as can be expected under the
circumstances... I'm sorry, Latnem, I just couldn't do it."

"That's an acceptable answer, too." his lips curled in a smile. At
last he knew what was so different about Xanthia. Over and above all
her other eccentricities, she could not tell a lie.

***

Xanthia groaned in exasperation. The therapist was pushing and pulling
on her leg all the while Latnem kept asking questions.

"So, tell me about your friends at WhiteRiver."

"Friends?" Xanthia blinked, perplexed.

"Yes, surely you have some friends there." Latnem asked

"There's Corra..."

"She's your foster mother, that's not the same thing. Who are you
*friends* with, Xanthia?"

"Moira, but who knows when she'll be back?"

"Who is Moira?"

"She's a patient here, I believe. She went catatonic when she touched
something she shouldn't have. She had this..." she sighed, "I can't
think of the word, but she could know things about a person by
touching things."

Latnem nodded, "Who else is your friend?"

"There's Tarv'renon, though that's a little strange. He kidnapped me,
but he's not so bad. Oh, and Th'rin!" Xanthia said without hesitation.
"He's so sweet. He understands me, or at least tries to. He's also a
healer. And he's not like most men. He's sensitive and a good
listener. He's not all about ego..."

Latnem smiled and listened as Xanthia prattled on. There was no need
to draw Xanthia out on the subject of Th'rin. It didn't take any skill
at all to tell that she felt more than friendship for WhiteRiver's
head healer.

A knock came at the door, interrupting the flow of monolog coming from
the excitable young redhead. The door opened and Healer Troika
entered.

"I hope I'm not interrupting." Healer Troika's expression was grave.

"Not at all," Latnem said as a polite convention, with a wink to
Xanthia to clue her in. "If need be, I can give you and Xanthia some
privacy."

"Actually, Healer Troppus, it was you I was looking for. Would you
mind coming with me for a few moments. I need your consultation on a
patient."

"Certainly," Latnem rose uncertainly. He could tell it was more than a
mere consult by not only Rubin's mannerisms but the shifts in his
aura. "Xanthia, will you be all right left alone for a bit?"

"I'm not exactly alone..." Xanthia grumbled as the therapist continued
his ministrations on her leg.

Latnem raised an eyebrow at her.

"I'll be fine," Xanthia sighed.

"Good girl. I'll try not to be long.

***

Out in the hallway, Latnem was quick to urge Rubin to get to the
point. Even though he knew it had to be important, his irritation at
being called out in the middle of a session was quite evident. "So???"
he asked.

"It's about Xanthia's test results. Something unexpected came about."

"Well, what is it? Rubin, please don't tell me that the surgery failed
or she's backsliding or anything like that. I don't think she could
take that."

"Here," Rubin handed the paperwork to Latnem, "See for yourself."

Latnem's face was impassive as he read through the list of test
results, and suddenly his eyes grew wide. "Are you quite sure about
this?"

Rubin nodded solemnly, "I repeated the test twice more myself. There's
no mistake, my friend. Though it would explain a lot."

This time it was Latnem's turn to nod, "Ah yes, that it would. But,
why didn't this show up on the admission testing?"

Rubin Troika shrugged, "I wish I knew. But I need you to tell her."

"Ah.... Now I see..." Latnem wagged an accusing finger at the surgeon.

"Lat... she's so unpredictable. There's no telling how she'll react."

"You're scared of that petite redhead," Latnem said, unveiling the
truth of the matter.

"You've formed a wonderful rapport with her, Lat..."

"Nicely put..." He sighed with resignation as he folded the paper and
put it in his pocket.

"Thank you, Latnem."

He turned and faced the surgeon just before he opened the door to
Xanthia's room. "One of these days, Healer Troika,  you'll learn to do
your own dirty work."

***

"Agnes, I need to talk to Xanthia alone, if you don't mind." Latnem
addressed the therapist. "I'll help Xanthia back to her bed, don't you
worry about that. "

The therapist nodded stiffly and left. 

"I got you a reprieve," Latnem smiled weakly. Putting one hand around
her tiny shoulders, he guided her slowly from the parallel bars where
she was practicing walking to the bed. He folded the covers back and
once she was seated he gently lifted her legs into the bed and tucked
her in. He fluffed her pillows so she could sit upright more
comfortably, then sat down on the edge of the bed.

"So what's wrong?" Xanthia asked pointedly.

Latnem raised an eyebrow. Xanthia was usually not that perceptive.
"What makes you think something is wrong?"

"I am a healer. Healers normally don't oust other medical support
personnel from a patient's room unless there's a problem they have to
discuss with the patient."

"True enough," Latnem conceded. Though he couldn not fault her logic,
he wished she weren't so spot on at the moment; it only made his chore
that much more difficult.

"So... What did Healer Troika want you to tell me?"

"What?" Latnem chuckled nervously, "Did you read my mind?"

"You know well the limitations of telepathy. I can only communicate
with another telepath, which you are not. I told you, I'm a healer. I
know what healers do."

'Fair enough," he nodded. With a deep sigh he pulled out the paper
from his pocket.

"My tests from this morning?"

Latnem nodded as he began unfolding the paper, thinking of how to best
handle the situation.

"Let me see them..." Xanthia demanded.

"Xanthia, I'd rather you hear it from me."

"I said, let me see them," Xanthia snapped, snatching the paper from
his hands. Anxiously she read through the paper, her lip quivering. 

"This can't be!" she cried.

"I'm afraid so."

"Run the tests again..." Xanthia insisted, pushing up her sleeve and
sticking her arm out, her fingers trembling.

"Xanthia," Latnem began gently, easing her arm down to her side. "Look
at me," he gently guided her face upward, encouraging eye contact, his
face gravely sincere. "I want you to know," he said softly as he gazed
into her terror-stricken eyes, "The tests have been run *three* times,
twice by Healer Troika himself. There is no mistake."

He held her as she collapsed into his arms, sobbing her eyes out. He
knew well his were not the arms she wanted about her, but he'd have to
do. He stroked her soft red hair, his heart going out to her. This had
not gone well, not that he expected it to. He silently cursed Troika
anew  for making him the bearer of bad news.

Finally she exhausted herself. The sobs ceased and her breathing
slowed. Latnem soon realized she'd cried herself to sleep in his arms.
Gently he eased her back onto the bed and tucked her in before moving
to the chair. He wasn't about to leave the room again, knowing she'd
need a friend, and mind healer, when she awoke.

**********************************

Respectfully Submitted By:

Morgan
morgie@iquest.net
The heart and soul of Xanthia, Latnem Troppus, and Rubin Troika et al


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