Explanations:

Characters:
Ros:  Short for Rosalin, named after the babysitter in Calvin and Hobbes.  i always
liked the name.  She's a telepath and a government facility escapee.  Her powers
include suggestion, mind reading, and empathy.
Curtis:  Doesn't that sound like a rich yuppie guy name?  Like something that's been
passed down from some old English ancestor, y'know?  His family is sponsoring the project
that gave Ros her powers.  For some reason he's helping her get away from both the
government and private interests that want her either dead or studied.

Pre-story info:
i'm not sure how this starts.  Ros is hurt, probably beaten by the people who are
chasing her.  Curtis shows up just in time to see her use her powers to (kill?  maim? 
drive away?) her pursuers.  The reason he's there is that he found out about the
experiment.  He saw Ros at one of the research facilities that his father gives money
to, and decided to do some research into her past.  (No, it's not like love at first sight. 
He was intrigued, and a little apalled that the government did experiments on people
barely older than his little sister.  BTW, Ros is about 17, and Curtis is about 19 or 20.) 
By the time he found out what she was, she'd escaped and was on the run somewhere
in Oregon.  (Or whatever locale.  Montana might be a good choice, 'cause we're so
remote.  They almost held the Manhattan Project here, because there's so much open
space.  Weird, ne?  Nevada might be a good second choice.  Oregon's okay, but i
know next to nothing about it.  Same with Nevada.  i might be able to pull stuff out of
my ass about Oregon and/or Washington, but it depends.  i just chose Oregon because
the story originated when we were in Portland two years ago.)  He tracked her down
and found her, nearly incapacitated but free from her would-be captors.  The two of
them take off together, even though they can barely get along.  (Maybe they know
eachother from before. . .?)

***

     I watched the highway dots pass with heavy eyes, hoping the concentration
would ease the pain coursing through my body.
     "That was real smooth tonight, Ros," Curtis commented sarcastically from the
drivers seat.  "Unparalled brilliance."
     "Bite me," I mumbled.
     "And to top it all off, you're bleeding on my upholstery."
     I sighed.  "Big deal.  It's not like you can't afford new upholstery.  Or a whole
new seat.  Hell, buy yourself a new car if it bothers you that much."
     He glared at me out of the corner of his eye, 'hrrmf'ed, and proceeded to ignore
me.  I returned my gaze to the dots.  Concentrating wasn't working anymore.  I closed
my eyes and leaned back, probably smearing my blood across even more of Curtis'
precious upholstery.
     "We should pull off."
     "Eh?" I questioned hazily.
     "Pull off.  You know, get off the highway.  It might get crowded."
     I opened my eyes.  "You've got to be kidding me.  It's 2 in the friggin' morning. 
Nobody in their right mind is driving around this late."
     "I guess that explains why we're out here."
     I closed my eyes again.  "Precisely."
     There was another long pause.  "Okay," he said, "So where should we go?"
     "Hmm?"  I was beginning to lose intrest.  Or conciousness.  Maybe both. 
"Why am I the
navigator?"  But I reopened my eyes anyway, just in time to see a blue sign pass by. 
"Next exit.  A hospital.  Pull off there."
     Curtis nearly jerked the car into the next lane.  "The hospital?  You're kidding."
     I groaned from being shifted in the swerve.  "As much as you hate me, I'm sure
you don't want me dead.  And as far as I'm concerned, it's either risk possible
recapture by the authorities or certain death.  I like the odds of the former better than
the later."
     "Cerain death?  How badly are you hurt anyway?"
     Bad, very bad.  "How the hell should I know?  I'm a telepath, not a doctor. 
But the way I figure it, at best I'm going to bleed to death, and at worst I'm
hemmoraging internally and I'll die a slow and painful death."
     "Great. . ." he mumbled.  "Perfect.  Just when things couldn't get any worse. .
."  He took the exit.  "How do I get there?"
     "Follow the blue H's.  It's not that difficult, even for someone like you."
     He muttered something unintelligable that sounded like a curse and turned
right.  The car rolled to a halt a second later.
     "Should I haul you in by your ankles or what?"
     I shook my head slowly, marveling at the loss of my peripheral vision.  "Send a
strecher out," I mumbled.  "Be easier. . ."
     By the time the strecher got to the car, I was barely concious.  I faded
completely out a few moments later.

***

     There was a sensation of falling, then floating, and then I resurfaced.  Slowly.
     "Ah, sleeping beauty awakes."  It was Curtis being his usual smartass self.
     "Spare me, please.  I've had enough torture."  I saw him sit back in his chair
and lay the magazine he was reading across his legs.  I sat up, much to the reluctance
of my body.  "What time is it?" I asked.
     "Around noon.  You've been out for about ten hours."
     "That's it?" I commented.  "Seemed like less.  So what's the scoop?  Am I
dying or what?"
     He put his chin on his closed fist.  "Let's see. . . you have a concussion, a
broken rib, plenty of brusies, and your left hand is a mess.  Not broken, but still pretty
nasty.  All in all, you got off easy.  The doctor said you could go tomorrow.  They just
want to keep you for observation through tonight."
     "Oh."  Got off easy my ass.  Parts of my body that had no right to hurt did.  I
closed my eyes for the umpteenth time and prepared to sleep the rest of my hospital
stay away.
     "I don't think so," Curtis said.  "After a head injury they have to keep you
awake, just to make sure you don't lapse into a coma or something."
     "Wonderful," I muttered, rolling my eyes.
     "Hey, I don't make the rules.  Don't kill the messenger."  He looked at his
watch and got up, setting the magazine on the chair.  GQ, naturally.  "I've gotta go. 
Obligations and all.  I'll come back tomorrow to check you out."  And with that he
left.
     I tried to watch TV, but soaps never were my thing.  Instead, I figured I'd
occupy myself with the minds of other people wandering by my room.  Most were
boring; nurses with too long shifts, doctors wandering from patient to paitent, sick
people and healthy people wondering who would die next.  It was depressing, really. 
And pretty damn boring after a while.  I finally relaxed, ate a little dinner (very little
dinner), and sat back for a long  night.
     Unfortunately, my life is never boring for any length of time.
     Not long after my dinner tray was removed, a nurse came in with a hypodermic
needle and a guilty look on his face.  It didn't take much mind reading to figure out
what he was there for.
     "I, uh, have to put this in your IV.  Medicine for your, um, your head."  He
was nervous as a cat in a room full of starving dogs.  I reached up and touched his
hand.
     "Don't."
     One word, plenty of force behind it.  He removed the needle from the IV line.
     "Empty it."
     Clear fluid squirted onto the floor.
     "Now, you'll have to do me a favor.  Listen carefully. . ."
     Ten minutes later, I was standing in the parking lot, wearing a skirt that
brushed the tops of my combat boots and a hooded sweatshirt that was two sizes too
big.  I leaned heavily on a cane from the gift shop, depending on it for balance.  My
bandaged left hand was in a sweatshirt pocket which doubled as a sling.
     Curtis pulled up, beckoning to get in the car quickly.
     "What the hell kind of stunt are you pulling now?"  He sounded mad.  Maybe
I'd just gotten him out of bed.  It was hard to tell.  He'd never be seen in public with
bed-head, believe me.
     "It's not me this time.  At least, not directly."  I explained the events of the last
fifteen minutes to him as we pulled away.
     "How did they find you?  I admitted you under my sister's name, not yours."
     "They have ways of tracking people down, believe me.  This is nothing new."
     "I take it you're used to it."  He looked over at me.
     "Yeah, I am."
     I watched the streetlights play across the hood, dark, light, dark again.  After a
few minutes I found it nauseating.
     "I'm going to need some painkillers.  Preferably soon," I said.
     "Do you have a prescription?"
     "I cut out of there with out even mentioning it to the nurses.  Do you think I
have a prescription?"
     "Good point."  He thought for a moment.  "Are you okay or what?"
     "Gee, you're concerned for me," I monotoned.  "I'm touched.  Yeah, I think I'm
okay.  I just hurt.  Everywhere."
     "And just how do you expect to get these painkillers?  Off the black market? 
Or maybe your undeniable charm and biting wit will cause the pharamacist to just give
them to you."  He looked pissed.
     "You really are dense, aren't you."  It was a statement, not a question.  "All I
have to do is walk in there and plant a suggestion in the guy's mind.  Like the nurse. 
It's not difficult."
     "Can you even get out of the car?"
     "Of course I can," I said with confidence I didn't really have.  "That's what the
cane is for.  Besides, I have you to hold me up."
     He definitely caught the sarcasam in that final statement.  "Funny.  Really
funny.  I just may burst an organ."
     "That makes two of us."

***

     Fifteen minutes later we pulled into a 24-hour drugstore.  I got out very
slowly, using the car door as well as the cane to lever myself out and onto the
pavement.
     "Well?" Curtis said.  "You think you can make it to the store, or am I going to
have to shelve my dignity and carry you in?"
     "Ha," I said.  "I'm more worried about my dignity than yours.  And yes, I'll
make it."
     The place was all but deserted, just a clerk, one other customer, and the
pharamcist behind a plexiglass window.  We walked over to the counter, some of us
more gracefully than others.
     "How may I help you?"  The guy was older, graying around the edges and
wearing bifocals.  He seemed nice enough.  I reached out and touched one of his
hands.
     "I need some codine tablets.  A week's supply.  Can you do that?"
     He nodded and went about his work, no questions asked.  Curtis looked at me
as if I had just done something absurd.  He'd heard a lot about my powers, but had
never seen them in action.  First time for everything, you know.
     The old pharmacist returned with a pill bottle in a sack stapled shut.  Curtis
payed him with cash.  An untraceable transaction.  I thanked the man and we were on
our way again.
     We got back into the car.  "That was. . . interesting.  How do you do that?"
     I sighed.  "It's a long story.  You know most of it."
     "Yeah, but that's just backround.  I want to know how you actually control
people.  Is it hypnosis, or is it like flexing some normally unused muscle, or what?"
     "I don't know," I said.  "I'm not sure how it works.  I've never been without it. 
I guess if I gained the power instead of being born with it I'd know what it is, but it's
always been a part of me. . . and I'm not sure how I'd do without it."
     "Ah."
     "Say, do you have anything to drink in here?  I'm not going to dry-swallow one
of these things."
     "Here."  He handed me a near-empty bottle of Evian.
     "Figures," I said, chasing a tablet down with a swig of the lukewarm water.
     "What?"
     I held up the bottle.  "Expensive bottled water.  Aren't we the perfect little
yuppie?"
     The conversation went downhill from there.  We drove east, past Gresham,
then Hood River.  It was full dark when we drove into The Dalles.
     "Let's stop for the night.  I haven't slept for a long while."
     "For good reason," Curtis said, pulling off the highway.  "Has it been
twenty-four hours since you woke up?"
     "Uh, twelve or more, I think.  Close enough."
     I saw him shake his head.  "Fine, but if you go into a coma it's your own damn
fault."
     "Whatever."
     He pulled the car into a cheap little motel just off the road.
     "Geez, are you feeling cheap today?  You have all this money and you can't
even get us a decent motel room?" I watched the neon "Vacancy" light flicker madly
from underneath a partially lit sign proclaiming that the place had HBO and a pool.
     "I've got to pay cash.  They can track my credit card and checks are out of the
question."  He sounded indignant, like I'd insulted his intellegence.
     "So ordinarily you wouldn't even give this place a second glance?"  I tried not
to sound smug, but, damn, it was hard.
     "Right.  And don't sound so smug."
     Maybe I wasn't the only telepath in the car. . .

***

     "Great," I said, surveying the place.  "The only thing missing is the scurrying
cockroaches and the backed-up toilet."
     "Damn it!" Curtis growled.  "They said it had two beds!"
     "It does," I said, hobbling over to the bed.  "It's two twins stuck together.  We
must have gotten the honeymoon suite."
     "Great. . ."  He dropped his duffel bag on top of the TV and leaned against the
wall.
     "Although why they have it dressed up as a full is beyond me. . . maybe we can
sue them for false advertising."
     "Wouldn't be worth it," he said.  "They obviously don't have a whole lot of
money.  Should I get the room changed?"
     I sat down on the edge of the bed and looked out the window.  "Nah.  Besides,
you couldn't do it if you tried.  The 'No' just lit up next to the 'Vacancy.'"  The two
lights blinked in counter-point to one another.  "They really should get those fixed."
     "Damn. . ."
     "Look, if it'll make you feel better, you can have half the bed.  I don't really
care."  And I really didn't.  I couldn't have cared less.  Of course, a bomb could have
gone off in the next room and I wouldn't have flinched.
     "That's okay," he said.
     "Whatever you want."  I eased back, rolling over on my better side and closing
my eyes.  "Do we travel in the morning?"
     I heard him rumaging about somewhere behind me.  "Yeah.  We have to put
some distance between us and them."
     I fell asleep listening to Curtis mutter and dig through his stuff.

***

     "Hey," a voice stated while a hand shook my shoulder.  "Time to get up.  Shit,
you'd better not be in a coma.  Get up, Ros."
     "Yeah, give it up.  I'm awake already."  I brushed Curtis' hand off my shoulder.
     "It's ten o'clock.  We have to check out by eleven or pay for another night."
     I grunted at him.
     "The bathroom's clean enough, considering the decadent state of this room.  If
you want to wash up or something. . ."
     "Yeah, just a sec."  I levered myself up with my elbows, marveling at how the
room spun after such a little movement.  Then I realized that I was under the covers
and my boots were off.  I hadn't done that.  Curtis must have noticed my confused
look.  He shrugged.
     "You looked cold, so I figured I'd do my good deed for the week."
     I looked up at him without the usual destestment.  Maybe he wasn't such an
asshole after all.
     "Oh, yeah, and I picked up some new clothes back in Portland while you were
in the hospital.  I think they're your size."
     I managed a wan smile.  "Um, thanks Curtis."
     He looked a little taken aback, like he'd never expected me to thank him, but
he recovered quickly. I swung my feet over the edge of the bed and stood up, a little
shaky but otherwise fine.  "I'll take a quick shower and we can go."
     That got a look.  "Can you do that?  I mean, you've got stiches and stuff. 
Aren't you supposed to keep those dry?"
     I shrugged.  "As long as I don't immerse 'em I think I'll be okay.  Besides, my
hair just can't go this long without being washed.  It'll get all greasy, then clumpy, and
after that, well, it's just nasty."
     "Personally, I think your hair is the least of our problems, but if you say so. . ."
     "Great, I'll be out in ten minutes, tops."
     I gently shut the door to the bathroom and leaned against it.  Getting the
stiches wet was definitely not my biggest problem.  Keeling over in the shower, now
that was something to worry about.  I walked over to the tiny sink and held onto it
with both hands.  The mirror was grimy but usuable.
     My face was a mess in itself.  The left cheekbone was purple like a beet and
had a gouge in the center.  It was painful to the touch.  Three or four stiches marched
across the top of my eyebrow.  Another couple of stiches resided in my lip.  I ran my
fingers along my eyebrow, watching the loose ends of the nylon strings spring back
under my fingertips.  I looked like shit.  After a dead moment of contemplation, I
turned around and got ready for the shower.
     Hot water stung the gouges on my back and ran down my arms.  After the
initial shock it felt good.  For the first time in days I felt clean.  I stared at my torn left
hand, watching water run off my fingers and down to the bathtub.  I'd be scarred,
probably forever.  For some reason it didn't bother me as much as it should have.  I
washed up and got out of the shower, glancing back in time to notice thinned down
blood run down the drain from where I had been standing.  I guess that was to be
expected.
     "Here."  A hand reached in, dropped a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, and slid
out again.  "In case you want to change out of that second hand skirt and sweatshirt."
     "Thanks," I said to the closed door.  I put the clothes on, thinking maybe I
should go get another pair of underwear.  Thankfully, the t-shirt was dark enough to
hide the blood that would undoubtedly seep through it.  I pulled the sweatshirt on over
the ensemble, since I'd grown kind of fond of it.  Feeling slightly less miserable, I left
the bathroom.
     "Let's go," I said to Curtis' turned back.  
     He faced me.  "Where?"
     I walked toward the door without meeting his gaze.  "Wherever."

***