New York City
A midtown hospital
February, 1990

“Snake-Eyes, the doctor is coming out of the operating room,” Lady Jaye’s voice is soft and gentle, the sort of voice you use when speaking to someone who you fear is fragile.

She’s got reason to be worried. I’m numb right now and it’s only partly because of the painkillers I was given for my injuries at the hand of the Baroness’s goons. The rest is, well, the rest is because of what’s been happening in the operating room the doctor’s now leaving.

Jaye stands and I turn as the doctor comes out. Flint stays seated, but shifts to look at the doctor, as if by sheer force of numbers we can make him give us good news. I try to read the doctor’s expression, looking for some hint of the news before he speaks. Optimism isn’t my strong suit, but I find myself hoping despite myself that he’ll say she’s fine, she’s awake, she’s asking for you now.

It’s a ridiculous hope, I know. People can survive gunshot wounds to the head, even point blank, but it’s not exactly like getting stung by a bee. The Baroness had wanted her dead, wanted to hurt me by killing her and she may still get her wish. Scarlett could well be dying by inches, slipping away even now while I wait for the doctor to speak.

“We’ve repaired everything that can be repaired,” he says, his voice tired but that’s to be expected. They’ve been in there for hours. “But your friend Scarlett is still in a deep coma.”

I grunt, the sound muffled by my bandages. Jaye inhales sharply and even Flint winces. The doctor continues as if we’d given no reaction. “There’s just no telling when, if ever, she will come out of it.” He pauses. “And even then, the prognosis for a normal productive life is not good.”

Jaye makes a soft sound, almost a whimper. Flint stands to put an arm around her as I stand there, letting the news soak in. I nod slightly; this is, after all, what I’d been expecting. The doctor doesn’t appear to see the gesture. Or perhaps doesn’t want to acknowledge it. To him, she is and must be nothing more than a patient. He can’t think of her like I do. Can’t think about her smile or her laugh or her ferocity on and off the battlefield. He’s never had the honor and the joy of laying down with her, of feeling that beautiful hair sweep against his bare chest, of having those long, long legs wrap around him. I find myself glad of the bandages over my face giving me the anonymity that I need right now, even as the salt of my tears worms into the fresh burns on my face and stings.

I stare at the doctor as he begins to pull his gloves off. He looks almost bored as he talks. “You won’t even be allowed to see her for at least another five or six hours,” he says. “Why don’t you go home or wherever and rest?”

I nod and look toward Flint and Jaye to signal that I’m ready to go, though I have no intention of going further than the cafeteria for a cup of coffee and some rubber chicken sandwiches. As I do, the doctor continues: “Oh, and by the way, if you’re looking to have reconstructive work done on your own face, I can recommend an excellent plastic surgeon. He’s Swiss and his name is…”

And in the moment before he speaks, I stiffen because I know what name he’s going to say.

He continues in an almost chipper voice, proud of his ability to name-drop such a famous surgeon as the estimable “Dr Hundtkinder, of the Bern Institute of…”

My fists are clenched and I’m moving toward the good doctor with no style and no grace. My lack of technique would have disgusted the Hard Master, but right now I don’t give a good goddamn for the Hard Master or the teachings of the Arashikage clan. I want nothing more than to bury my fist wrist deep in this smug bastard’s face. I’m angrier than I’ve been in a long time. Angry at this doctor for not knowing about Hundtkinder’s betrayal. Angry at the Baroness for taking her revenge on Scarlett. Angry at the great wide world and its seeming delight in taking away those I care about.

I’m even angry at Flint and Jaye for holding me back.

“Cool out!” Flint yells as he grabs my arm and tries to drag me backwards. “He didn’t know!”

I don’t care. I’d shout it if I could. I have to take it out on somebody and this jerk’s as good as anybody else!

Jaye puts herself between me and the doctor, giving him a push back. “Steady!” she yells, though she’s smart enough not to think that words would be enough. She puts some real weight behind the arm she has across my neck; not enough to hurt but enough to let me know that she will if she has to.

The doctor back-peddles, helped along by Jaye’s push. “I don’t want this maniac on the hospital grounds until he can learn to control himself!” When he yells, his voice is an octave or two higher. Part of me revels in the fear in his voice and wants to hear more.

Luckily for all concerned, Jaye is on top of things. “We’ll handle this, Doc,” she says, her voice sharpened by the tone of command. “Let’s take Snakes for a walk, Flint.”

Flint grunts his agreement, keeping a grip on my arm while Jaye takes hold of the other. While the doctor fumes in the background, taking comfort from a nurse who moves in to make sure he’s alright, they move me toward the elevators. It’s hard to say who’s grip is tighter, but Jaye seems to have the edge since she’s got four very sharp fingernails dug into the meat of my forearm.

Outside, after the longest and quietest elevator ride of my life (which is saying something), I break away from Flint and Jaye, stalking away from them. Where I’m going, I have no idea but the sooner I get there, the happier I’ll be.

Behind me, Flint lets loose.

“That was really great, Snake-Eyes,” he says. “You were ready to swing on that sawbones! He had no idea that Hundtkinder was the guy who set you and Scarlett up for Cobra!”

His voice echoes against the walls of the building, making even jaded New Yorkers turn toward us. “But I wasn’t about to let you pop him one, because I’m not about to let you start feeling sorry for yourself and start taking out your hurt on other people!”

“Let him be Flint!” Lady Jaye sounds more irritated than angry.

But there’s no stopping Flint once he’s got his righteous indignation up. “Stay out of this, Lady Jaye!” he snaps and I stop walking, looking back at them and suddenly feeling old and tired.

This time when Flint starts talking, his tone is gentler. He sounds more like the coach of the losing team at half-time rather than an angry father.

“Snake-Eyes, you have to go on with your life,” he says. “That’s what Scarlett would want you to do. You have to be thankful for the time you two had together and not mope over your regrets. All those “should have dones” like telling her how much you loved her, and --”

He cuts off with a “Huh?” as I turn toward him. I see him tense up, ready for me to swing on him. And the temptation to do so is there, if for no other reason than his Hallmark card philosophy about grief. Go on with my life? What’s next? These things happen for a reason? Or God doesn’t give us more than we can handle?

Idiot. Well intentioned idiot, to be sure, but an idiot nonetheless.

But, behind him I can see Jaye. Even backlit by the streetlamp, I can tell that she’s scared and worried. Worried about me and scared of what I might do to Flint now that I’ve had some time to cool off and think of a strategy. And I know that because of her, no matter how tempting it might be, I can’t lay a hand on Flint.

She’s come to love him, despite herself. And despite Flint’s stubborn, bullheaded posturing, he loves her. They’re still at the early stages. The honeymoon phase, Scarlett called it.

Beautiful, strong woman. Stubborn jackass man. The comparisons between the four of us nearly draw themselves.

I put my hand on Flint’s shoulder, gripping it tightly and spin him around, facing him toward Jaye. She looks at us, eyes widening in surprise. I’m sure she’s expecting me to kick Flint in the ass at this point…which I am, but I’m doing it metaphorically. She smiles faintly as my intentions sink in, looking at us with amusement now instead of fear. I nod at her, smiling slightly under my bandages.

Part of me wishes I could see the goggle-eyed look that I’m sure is on Flint’s face right now. Instead, I pat him on the back before I walk off into the night. I still have no idea where I’m going, but it doesn’t matter right now. I just want some time away from the smell of the hospital.

Behind me, I hear Flint, talking loudly because he’s confused. “Now, what did he mean by that?”

“I think he was telling you to practice what you preach,” Jaye says, then laughs. As I make it to the other side of the street, I hear a faint oof and the rustle of cloth on cloth as they embrace.

End Note:

Please note: the dialogue in this story comes entirely from issue #97 and as such was written by Larry Hama, not me. Descriptions of some character actions are based on the artwork for the various panels (Snake-Eyes swinging on the doctor, Flint being spun around, etc). The story is told from Snake-Eyes’s viewpoint and that is where I have taken the most liberties since Snake-Eyes himself doesn’t speak or sign anything in these two pages.

The story’s title, Luke 6:42, comes (obviously) from the Bible. The specific verse reads: “Either how canst thou say to thy brother, Brother, let me pull out the mote that is in thine eye, when thou thyself beholdest not the beam that is in thine own eye? Thou hypocrite, cast out first the beam out of thine own eye, and then shalt thou see clearly to pull out the mote that is in thy brother's eye.” (KJV)

I’m no Biblical scholar, this just happens to be one of the lines I remember from the play Godspell and I though it had a certain resonance with this particular story. (Which is the writerly way to say “I thought this sounded good”)