Chapter 107: Taran

"The fuck you are!" I snap, pushing myself awkwardly to my feet. My back groans in protest but I ignore it. This is more important. "You are in no condition to do anything, let alone challenge some dumb fuck that doesn't know what to do with the city he stole."
He looks down at me, shocked, then his face splits into a grin. He's amused, either by my words or my profane language. Well, that makes one of us, I'm less than amused at the moment. He sways on the spot and I grab hold of his arm.
"Sit your ass down, Warlord, and let me explain a few things so you don't go racing into headquarters without any kind of a clue as to what's been happening."
Diogo studies me, his brow furrowed in concentration as he makes a decision. He's a strong man, a proud man. I just hope he sees the value in my words. I bite my lip as I wait for his response.
Finally, he nods and allows me to help him sit back down. He sighs in relief as his body folds into the bed. I fluff the pillows behind him and then push him, a hand against his chest, easing him back against the headboard. I'm under no illusion that he will do what I want if it isn't also what he wants.
"Fuck," he groans and runs a hand over his face and hair. "Don't think I could've even made it to the door."
"Bishop said you'd be weak if when you woke up. He said you'd need a few days to recover your strength."
He gives me a frustrated look.
"This will give us time to plan." I try to reassure him. "Cruz's hold on the city isn't strong. He's making some pretty colossal mistakes. Once we fill you in, you'll have a much better chance at retaking the city."
He shakes his head, his dark eyes sharp with determination. "It won't be chance," he growls. "I will retake this city, and I will decorate the walls with his intestines."
His referral to the insides of a person coming out makes me a little queasy. I stopped throwing up several weeks ago, for the most part, but sometimes certain words or smells trigger a disgust response from my turnip. I make a face at Diogo.
"I don't really care what you do to him, I just need you to get better before you do it. I need you to trust us right now. You're used to being the one in charge, but you've been out for three weeks and a lot has happened. We need to fill you in."
He searches my face and then nods and reaches for my hand, holding it tight. "Of course, my wise little wife is correct. I won't leave this house until I've regained my strength. A day should do it. I just need to walk around and get some food in me."
I smile my relief at his capitulation. "Two days. You need to give yourself more time to recover."
He pulls me down in top of him and then holds me just right, cradling me so I don't feel the pressure of my belly against his. He lifts his head to meet mine and says, inches from my lips, "36 hours."
"48," I counter, fanning him with my breath. I know how much he loves it when I do that.
He chuckles. "I don't think you understand how negotiation works."
I grin at him and lean over, breaching the last inch, pressing my lips to his for the first time in weeks. I hadn't the heart to do it while he was unconscious. I wanted Diogo's response, the feel of his excitement, his dominant presence as he took my lips in return. And he does, without reservation. Cupping the back of my head, he holds me tight against him, taking my lips with his, my tongue with his, my mouth with his.
The kiss is like coming home. The re-merging of our hearts, the perfect symphony of our souls. He takes over completely, kissing me as though doing it for the first time, stealing my every gasp and sigh, exploring me and savouring my taste. I grip his arms, while his hands span my waist, curving around my rounded middle, his palms protecting the life within, his fingers lighting up my body with need.
I'm happier in this moment than I've ever been. I know what I lost, and I know what I've somehow found again. A love so unique, so fragile, we'll have to spend a lifetime nurturing it. We could have lost it, crushed under the rubble of a city on fire. Instead, we've been given another chance. A chance to fight for Sanctuary.
Diogo spends the next few days recovering and consulting with his advisors: me, Emery, Stryker, Bishop, Grayson and some of the rebels that swear allegiance to their old Warlord. The current state of the city has convinced many former rebels to renounce the rebellion and back Diogo's claim.
Diogo walks the length of the house, back and forth, lifting objects that are progressively heavier, rebuilding his strength. Grayson, Stryker and a couple of former rebels, stand around him, working on their plan to get Diogo into military headquarters. As they speak, Stryker's eyes are on me where I sit in one of Emery's old armchairs, sorting and folding baby clothes donated by some of the refugee families.
"Stryker, I need your attention. You'll be crossing the checkpoints with me," Diogo snaps, drawing the man's glare. Diogo is torn between his gratitude over Stryker's saving my life, and his annoyance over his man's new obsession with me. Stryker doesn't even try to hide it, his eyes constantly following me. If I move, he moves. If I go into the washroom or bedroom, I have to tell him to stay behind. He grumbles when Diogo sends him on a mission and insists that Grayson is my bodyguard, not Stryker.
I shudder at Diogo's words. I'm terrified that something will happen to him as he retakes the city. It's one thing to know what his job entails, it's another to be privy to all the details. As his wife, I don't want to know that he's entering into battle zones with every intention of firing on the enemy, drawing fire back to himself and his men. I worry that this plan is being set in motion too quickly, without being fully thought through. Diogo insists there's no time though. He needs to retake Sanctuary so he can get to work on the problem of a potential nuclear meltdown. So he can deal with the masses of incoming refugees and hordes of Primitives.
The sheer amount of problems facing us is staggering, but my husband is willing and ready to face each one head on. Eager even, to take back his title so he can start resolving the issues threatening our Sanctuary.
I sympathize with Diogo's need to move on the new Warlord, I'm also a person of activity and action. I don't like sitting restlessly, waiting to hear news. The baby has tied me down more than just physically. Now, his welfare is more important than anything else. And while I certainly don't resent the little turnip, at least not anymore, I do feel the need to take part in Diogo's plan. To watch over him and step in if I think he'll need my help. I wonder if this feeling is universal to all parents and caregivers, the internal fight between protecting our children in the immediate present and the need to do what it takes to ensure their future. Between Diogo and I, we will do both. I will continue to protect the baby by protecting myself, and he will go out into the dangerous city and ensure the stability of a future for our family.
The front door slams open and a cold, wet Doctor Bishop steps through. The weather has been unseasonably bad for the desert, with unprecedented amounts of rain. We fear this is a product of fallout from the nuclear reactor meltdowns. I labour to my feet, reaching for him. He's been coming home later and later, spending most of his time at the makeshift hospital.
"Come sit down, I'll get you some food."
He shakes his head and turns to Diogo, interrupting his planning session. "We need to talk."
Diogo lifts a brow. "I'm listening."
"Dee sent me a message at the hospital. She got it through the checkpoint herself, so we can be certain it's accurate."
Dee, Bishop's nurse and receptionist from the clinic, has been aiding us every chance she can, sending supplies and information. She's been using Jorje Cruz's wife, Milla, to get her supplies through the checkpoints. Though loyal to her husband, Milla has a big heart. She's been sending as much aid as she can into the slums to help mitigate some of the damage her husband has caused. Unfortunately, there can be no happy end to their love story. Cruz will have to die for his betrayal.
"What's going on?" Diogo demands.
"They're getting set to publicly execute your top advisors in the morning, Bossman included." When Grayson looks to speak, Bishop holds his hand up and continues. "After the execution, Cruz intends to lead the military into this sector to clean it out. They're gunning for the rest of us; Stryker, Emery, Dodge, me. According to Dee, they intend to use brutal force, leaving only women of a certain age and children alive. All undocumented refugees will be gathered up and expelled. Any known rebels will be executed on the spot."
I gasp and clutch the arms of my chair so hard my knuckles ache. I'm not surprised by this news. In fact, we've all been expecting it for weeks. But hearing the brutal reality spoken out loud in stomach churning detail is another thing. I look at Diogo. "Is there anything you can do?"
He nods slightly. "We can go in tonight, take HQ, free the political prisoners and turn the military back to me." His eyes are on me as though no one else in the room exists. Just the two of us caught in a private moment. "Do you release me from my promise?"
I give him a rueful look. He'd promised to rest for 48 hours before making any move to retake his city. He's been recovering for less than 30 hours. If he goes in tonight his strength won't be what it should be. Though I know he will do as I ask, my happiness meaning more to him than anything, I can't be the cause of more death. Not if there's anything we can do to stop it.
"Go get your people," I say softly. And hopefully stop a massacre.