"It can't be that bad. Come on. You're not one for theatrics usually. Whatever it is, we'll be fine." Rinn pushed him back and dragged him to his feet.

They sat quietly for some time until Rinn found a topic of genuine interest. "What happened to your accent?"

Ian scoffed. "That'd be your fault."

"Me?"

"Yeah." Face pressed on the counter, he curled in on himself. "I used to draw a lot of attention because I sounded like some of them in the Thres section of the Colony." He turned his face toward her but kept pressing his forehead against the smooth white surface. After a moment, Ian's smile became shaky and faded. "You don't remember? That you helped me make it sound more American?"

Rinn didn't remember, but the weary look on Ian's face broke her heart, so she said, "Some memories are choppy."

"I wanted to talk to you. When you left with the guards. I—I had so much I wanted to say, and...." Ian paused, his lips trembling, his blue eyes misty.

He hesitated and Rinn scooted closer. "The memories that matter are still there. Don't worry." That was a lie, and although Rinn wasn't sure what compelled her to say it, she was pleased to see Ian calm.

The anticipated anxiety came but when Rinn started feeling uncomfortable, she made herself push through. She pushed past the dry mouth, past the racing pulse, and the sweaty palms.

Ian looked twice as uncomfortable—he kept wetting his lips. The Irishman's skin was beet red, the vein along his throat pulsing. Rinn reached out and hesitated before she traced Ian's fingers. Ian held his breath.

The very touch of Ian's skin was electrifying. In an effort to play off the strong reaction, Rinn tugged the man closer.

"Do...do you mind if I see your arms?"

Ian was slow to sit up. "S—sure."

Rinn counted the five tattoos to herself. Her heart filled with sympathy when she turned Ian's hands over and saw the swelling under the lightly tanned skin. To the untrained eye, there was nothing amiss—nothing but bare flesh, but Rinn's shock was total.

"Bas." Rinn swallowed the lump in her throat. "You've got receptors."

Though the skin was bare, she knew they were there. She didn't get a response right away, and when she looked into Ian's piercing blue eyes, shame and despair stared back at her.

"Do they hurt?" Ian tried to take his hands back but Rinn tugged him closer instead. Her eyes settled on the receptors once more. "Aw, Bassy. I'm so sorry."

Releasing Ian's right hand, Rinn palmed his left and then turned it around to trace the bare skin all the way up to the elbow. "And they're on full blast. Shit." Rinn continued her exploration and frowned when the silver square rose from Ian's skin. "You should let them rise up; that'll help."

"H—how do you know all this?" Ian's voice quivered with fear. "Had you known all this before you went to sleep?"

"Everyone knows about receptors. I'm glad you didn't listen to any bullshit about taking a fast execution instead. We need to call you a medic."

"I don't need no medic."

She hated seeing Ian's shoulders tense up at each minor shot of pain he felt. When Ian cringed for half a minute, Rinn could hardly bear it.

"Bas..." She waited, praying he'd do her the courtesy of not making her ask.

Refusing to meet her gaze, Ian looked away. He preempted Rinn's question, saying, "I don't remember any of it. I don't remember everything I did to earn these, if you're planning to ask for details."

"No." Running her fingers through the dark hair, Rinn tugged a handful, forcing Ian to look at her. "I know you'd never do anything to deserve these. We should see if we can get it figured out. Maybe they can remove it if—"

"There's nothing to sort out," Ian said, pulling away and taking interest in the desk once more. "I don't remember any of it. But the Assembly took the memory from me. I'm guilty. I'm responsible for the lives of fifteen people. Hell, one guy got away with one less arm, by the looks of it."

Rinn felt empty; all life had left her body and only a shell remained. "That's a lie. Bas...." Though determined for an answer, Rinn kept her eyes on the right receptor as she spoke. "Bas, only murderers get these. You're no murderer. Nobody can ever convince me of that."

"Like I said, I don't remember. And receptors don't ever come off. They write themselves into you. Even if someone cuts the arm off and rebuilds it, in minutes the receptors will be back. They're mine, and I've earned them. I got what I deserved. They'll be with me 'til I die."

Ian's hands shook. Rinn teared up with each second.

"I've earned them," he said again, reaching a shaking hand into his inner suit jacket pocket for a diskette.

Rinn waited, disbelief clouding her eyes at Ian's resigned attitude. As the Irishman scrolled through the diskette, ignoring all else, Rinn watched that stern face in profile.

"We've gotta plot a way outta here. Norman can—"

"Bas—"

"I can last a bit longer. Just enough time to get you to him."

"Bas...."

But he gave no response beyond what he was doing. His typing fingers slowed and then came to a stop all together.

All color drained from Ian's cheeks and his jaw tightened. He barely managed to put the diskette down as his body vibrated.

Slowly and with care, Rinn risked pulling him close. Within seconds, she found Ian's head resting on her shoulder. In turn, Rinn took him into a half hug with her left hand, her right clasped in Ian's unsteady grip.

"Shhh," Rinn soothed. "I've got you. I've got you. Just take some deep breaths, all right? Deep breaths. Breathe for me, just breathe."

"Rinn, I'm so sorry."

"Shhh. All you've got to do is relax. That's all you've got to do. And once you do, we'll laugh about this one day, I promise. So let's call you a medic real quick."

"No. They'll take me away. If you don't want me, just say it, but don't throw me away. I don't blame you for wanting to, though."

Rinn tightened her grip, refusing to let go. "Bas...they're on full blast. How long have they been out? They must be torture. We...." She saw it—the moment when Ian's eyes dimmed; the last shred of pride he had was stolen from him.

Rinn, desperate to take her mind off the way the man's body trembled, asked, "What happened to your cute Irish accent?"

Ian froze. "What? Y—you helped me make it more American. You know, since I kept attracting so much attention. I—I just told you that."

"Yeah. Of course." Rinn forced out a chuckle. The memory lapse worried her, but not as much as the way the receptors hummed. "I just...I'm sorry. I'm just making small talk. I'll shut up now."

"No. I like hearing you talk. You've been quiet for so long. Trust me—I'd love for you to chat my ear off."

Relenting, Rinn clasped Ian's left hand and brought it close to kiss the reddened skin around the receptor. Ian's body buzzed, and Rinn gasped. "Shit."

"No." Ian matched her movement, bringing his hand to hold Rinn's. "You didn't cause that surge. I...I'm sorry. I'm kinda hyper, so it's charging them up. They're not so bad."

"Kinda hyper? Hyper's good." Rinn preferred hyper Ian to broody Ian any day. When she focused on the man's lips, she let out a held breath. "Hyper's really good."

They were close, and Rinn glanced at Ian's blue eyes. Their lips met and as surprising as that was, Rinn was more stunned to find that rather than recoil, she shot forward for another soft peck. That simple action made Ian flinch. They stared at each other before Ian reached for her in return.

Although Rinn wanted to know exactly why Ian had the receptors, the idea that the man had come that close to a possible mortal end left her grappling with a myriad of emotions. Receptors were a life sentence if anyone could stay calm enough, but no one ever could. The Ian she knew didn't deserve that—not even slightly.

Ian paused and waited, his breath ragged, his chest heaving, and both hands framing Rinn's face.

Rinn swallowed hard against those hot lips and kissed back. She wasn't sure if she'd gotten to her feet and mounted the shelf on her own or whether Ian picked her up and put her there. She lost track of time and felt like she'd left her body. When she came back to herself, her wayward fingers loosening Ian's dark hair. She spread her legs to allow Ian to position himself between them.

The kiss was sweet. There was an underlying heat to it, but it was tempered by their tentative approach.

One kiss after another followed, and Ian gasped, "Rinnie...oh God, Rinnie...."

Never had someone panting her name sounded so good. In an effort to hear more, she pulled the Irishman close, opening her mouth to take in Ian's hot tongue. Each second found her more determined, and when Ian finally took the initiative and guided their pace, Rinn's body went limp.

Something happened, though—Rinn couldn't say what, not until she saw Ian crumble before her. He lay flat on his back, dragging in deep breaths.

"Bas! Son-of-a-bitch. Bas."

Eyes rolled back, Ian fought to calm. "It was worth it. This is the best way to die."

"You're not dying. You shouldn't lie on the floor. That only helps the charges. Come on. You've gotta get up. You've gotta stand."

But she only managed to drag Ian to sit before she had to pause and catch her breath.

"Get up. Can you meet me halfway?" Rinn begged.

He couldn't, not if the way he trembled said anything.

"Okay. Okay," she chanted. She slung Ian's right hand over her neck and tugged him with all her might. After a few agonizing seconds, she got him up on his feet. However, one step past his chair was as far as Ian got before he fell back into it. He reached for the diskette. Rinn prayed it was to call for help. It wasn't.

"I've got some credits stashed. You'll need 'em if—"

Rinn snatched the diskette and brought it down on the long desk. She needed him to stop talking nonsense. He allowed her to push his eyelids back. His pupils were dilated. Sweat poured from him but that concerned Rinn less.

"Let's just relax," Rinn soothed. "No need to get all fatalistic. Let's relax. Breathe with me." Ian ignored her and she demanded, "Breathe."

After five false starts, they were moving in tandem.

Ian made an attempt to reach for the diskette again, but his hands fell away, dangling at his sides.

Rinn decided to give it to him.

With Ian's face pressed against her throat, Rinn reached out to tilt the diskette so she could see it.

The white words against the black screen read, "Room closed. Collapse pending." Rinn wasn't quite sure what to make of it, and just as she thought to put the diskette down and give Ian her full attention again, the words changed. "Room collapse complete."

"Complete?"

A knock at the door made Rinn sigh in relief. Maybe whoever was there could help with Ian. "Come in."

Rinn didn't look at the doorway right away; instead, a new flash of words against the diskette caught her eye. "Tellman, I'm ready when you are. Get your friend and prepare. I'll open the portal for New York City."

Eyes wide, Rinn put the diskette down and hurried to type. "No. Who is this?"

The words flashed. "What do you mean 'no'? This is Norman. Is this Broderick? Is this Rinn?"

Rinn pressed her fingers along the diskette and typed. "Yes. Ian's sick. Receptors on. Needs medics."

Within seconds, the diskette flashed to life again. "I can send you two back, but it must be now. My father's looking for you."

"N.O.," Rinn typed. "He's sick."

"Excuse me," a monotone voice said.

Ian stifled a shriek. Rinn was careful to tap the diskette screen sequence to shut it off.

Rinn turned to their guest and froze. "Met...."