Forty-EightNoon has come and gone according to the clock when D’Abro enters the MTF and very nearly stumbles over Nathaniel asleep on the mattress he’s brought from home. As he blinks up at her with waking incomprehension she remarks, less with sarcasm than with curiosity, “What is it, Doc, you post bail and prefer to stay behind bars? Well, bein that you’re public enemy number one, I understand. I told the reporters outside to get lost. Hope I was right.” Her speech hasn’t fully penetrated, but she isn’t far off, he thinks groggily: behind bars is where one often finds clarity. At this moment he senses none and she allows him to revive himself in the nearby men’s room.
When he at last faces her, in a more or less human state, she bequeaths him the barest of smiles. “I have been workin on
