Wendy made a sympathetic sound from the back of her throat when Jeff replied to her question, telling her about a run-in with a new type of Crusader. He walked into the clinic and sat down, exposing the wound in his left shoulder. Wendy was unfazed by the sight, and she began to mop up the blood surrounding the wound with the hand towel she had procured. She carefully wiped away the thick red liquid until there was only a few splotches of it left, putting the cap back onto the metal canister and setting the towel aside as she prepared for the real work.

Wendy gently placed a hand on Jeff's shoulder, her fingertips just an inch or two from the gash carved into his skin. She sent a stream of sparks toward the affected area, pacing herself so she wouldn't get burned out later on. The silvery sparks skipped across Jeff's skin and were seemingly swallowed up by the nasty cut which still had a bit of blood oozing from it. As always, Wendy was transfixed by the sparks, watching them pirouette and grand jeté into the wound, working their magic. Wendy kept her eyes glued on the gash that was quickly closing up, knowing that the sparks were in there repairing cells and rebuilding tissue. If she was perfectly honest with herself, Wendy had no idea how the sparks worked-they just [i]did[/i]. Wendy thought of herself as more of a carrier and deliverer of the sparks than the person who facilitated the actual healing process.

After a minute or so of silence, Jeff spoke up. "I guess these empty beds are good news... hopefully they stay that way," he said, seeming to cast a glance around the cluttered room.

Wendy laughed softly, nodding in agreement. "Yes, empty beds certainly are good news," she replied, and the two lapsed into silence again. After a few more minutes, Wendy gingerly prodded at the wound with her right hand, feeling lightly for any smaller cuts she might have missed. The gash was closing up quite speedily, but it would still be a short while before Jeff was completely healed. Wendy let the sparks dance across the wound, subtly varying the amount of sparks that flowed out of her fingertips in order to target the places where the wound seemed most severe, especially the area where the Crusader had punctured Jeff's skin. She moved her hands around the gash, which had stopped bleeding, and concentrated on fixing Jeff up.

Approximately five minutes went by, and Wendy could tell that she was just about finished. The stream of sparks was slowing down as well, transforming from a rushing river into a gurgling creek, going from a spirited jig to a graceful waltz. Finally, Wendy sent a last burst of sparks before letting the flow peter out and eventually fade. She was sweating slightly, but the gash had disappeared from Jeff's skin, leaving no trace of its existence. Wendy cleaned up the rest of the blood and smiled at Jeff.

"You are good to go," she told him, tossing the bloodied towel into a cardboard box at the foot of the bed in the middle. This particular box was in use as a laundry hamper of sorts, although most clothing did not go into the washing machine dyed a deep crimson. Jeff thanked her and bade her farewell, and Wendy gave him a small wave, watching him walk out the door before turning to wash her hands.

Wendy's thoughts flitted to Phoebe. She wondered what the spunky redhead was doing-probably either sleeping or getting ready to head up to the surface with Jacques, or maybe simply chatting somebody's ear off somewhere in the Headquarters. Wendy felt her lips instinctively quirk up in an affectionate grin. Phoebe's energy and enthusiasm was rare these days, and she reminded Wendy of her childhood friend from home. Wendy recalled how they would race through the streets at dawn to avoid being late for school, how they could talk to each other about anything and everything, and how they used to play in the yard as five-year-olds, jumping rope and chasing each other around. Wendy sighed a tad wistfully, shaking off her nostalgic thoughts. Phoebe was like Wei Xiao in many ways, despite the fact that Wei Xiao was more than ten years older than Phoebe-like Wendy herself.

Wendy decided that it would be a good time to get something to eat, so she walked out of the clinic and shut the door behind her. The lock was busted, but she knew that nobody in the Resistance would steal from the clinic. Wendy walked through the corridors at a leisurely pace, smiling and nodding to other members of the Resistance that she passed on her way to get some food.