This is my first fanfic, so don't be too mean. If you have the time, please review!

I own nothing, except the plot. Actually, a bit of the plot is in Myrnin's Story, written by Rachel Caine. Anyway...

Claire Danvers groaned as she hurried down the alleyway to Myrnin's underground lab. She was fifteen minutes late, which wouldn't be too bad on a normal day, but the past few weeks had not been... normal.

Frank, the brain that powered Morganville (and also her boyfriend's dad/a self-loathing vampire) had managed to get a virus, and somehow this particular virus meant that anybody and everybody was able to control the portals. They were uncertain as to how he had gotten it, but Claire suspected foul play was involved. Amelie had been furious when she'd heard, and had instructed Claire and Myrnin to work almost non-stop on fixing the problem. While Claire chose to go home, and have occasional breaks from her job, Myrnin laboured obsessively and way too hard over the virus. She hadn't seen him rest in ages.

So, as she rushed down the stairs that led into Myrnin's laboratory, she was very shocked to find him asleep. He was sitting in his favourite chair, his head rested on a scattered pile of books. His long black hair was fanned out over the novels, and a lock or two were trapped in the pages of a small leather-bound book.

However, as Claire approached she noticed Myrnin's sleep didn't appear to be the peaceful rest she had assumed it to be. He was twitching, and kept balling his fists up. She also heard murmurs escaping his mouth. Claire's human ears weren't good enough to properly decipher the mumbles, but she caught little mutters here and there. "Please, no..." "I don't ... be..." "Nonononononono," "Crazy," "Not... me..." "Madman..."
Claire edged forward and shook his shoulder gently. Before she could even comprehend what had happened, Myrnin had her against the wall, fangs out and scarlet eyes. Claire struggled to breath. She knew that struggling was pointless, and she couldn't show weakness. So instead, she said in a calming voice, "Myrnin? It's Claire. You're okay. It's only me." Myrnin looked at her for a minute, and then his grip slipped enough for her to dash into the adjacent kitchenette. She rummaged in the fridge and found a blood bag. She didn't warm it up; there was no time. If she wasn't quick, she would be dinner. So Claire sprinted out the room and threw Myrnin the blood bag. He swiped it out of the air and swiftly punctured it with his teeth. Claire kept eye contact as he slurped down the blood, trying not to reveal her fear.

When he was done, he dropped the blood bag and sank to the floor. His eyes were back to their normal dark brown. His fangs retracted. Claire moved slowly to him, and sat down right next to him. "Are you okay?" she asked.
He nodded. "I'm sorry," he said hoarsely. "It must be the lack of sleep."
Except Claire had the feeling it was something else altogether. "Were you... were you having nightmares?" she questioned gently, unconsciously reaching for his hand. He squeezed it once, and then quickly let go. Just when she thought he wouldn't reply, he whispered, "Yes."
Claire was shocked. Myrnin... afraid of something? She almost expected it to be a nightmare about Bob dying, but his reaction and tone were too serious. "Do you... would you like to talk about it?" she said in a small voice. Myrnin shook his head, and then seemed to reconsider. "What's that saying you long people are saying... a problem shared is a problem halved?"
Claire nodded. "Well, I doubt you can halve this with me. But it might help." said Myrnin sadly. Claire smiled encouragingly, although she was a bit unsure about being her boss's psychiatrist. Myrnin looked worried for a minute, before launching into his tale.

"I've had nightmares for as long as I can remember. Of course, I can't remember that much of my past, but this... I will never forget. You see, I grew up knowing I would go insane. My earliest memories was of my mother towing me down to the shack my father lived in. Lived isn't really the right word. He was a crazy man, and he spent his days scratching at the walls, painting them with his own blood. My mother and sisters feared me; they avoided me at all costs. My father died, you won't be surprised to hear. When I was ten years old, my mother packed me up and sent me to be an apprentice to Gwion. He was a vampire, and turned me when I was twenty five. I was grateful, naturally, but also terrified. I would have eternities to go insane. Do you want to know why I was affected so badly by the Bishop Virus, and never really cured? It's because I was already mad. And I keep getting worse. I know it will come to the day when I become an animal; tearing at my own flesh, not caring if I lived or died. I'm scared that one day, I won't wake up from my sleep."

Claire stared at him, stunned. She had had no idea. "Myrnin..." she whispered. "I'm so sorry." He was crying now, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. Claire had no clue what to do, what to say. So she did the thing her own mother had done, when she was little and had bad dreams. She did the thing she was certain no one, including his own mother, had ever done for him.

She put her arms around him and held him. Because a hug can make anyone feel better, even a mad bipolar 900 year old reclusive vampire.