Aidan leaned over the sink in the men's bathroom, half-heartedly wiping away any trace of blood from the counter. It had to be done before someone walked in. Somewhere in his mind, he knew that, but it took most of his strength just to stand. Waves of nausea rolled through him. Sweat broke out on his brow, and he couldn't help but suck in air – even when no relief accompanied the action, as it had when he was alive.

"So, Garrity didn't show up for work this morning," Bishop said beside him. If he hadn't been so uncomfortable, he would have recognized the man's scent, stride, and presence ten paces away. As it was, he could only loll his head in Bishop's direction before continuing to wipe the counter.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Bishop grimace.

"And you look about four quarts short of a gallon. What happened?"

Aidan summoned the strength to speak, but his words were weaker than he intended. "He thinks I killed his father."

"Did you?" Bishop asked, utterly indifferent.

"I don't know – he had a police sketch. It could have been me." He leaned more heavily on the counter. Swallowing hard, he released the paper towels clenched in his fists. "He also knew about the tattoo on my chest, which I'm sure he saw before he left me to die. Again."

"The tattoo I warned you not to get? Celine's name?" Bishop crossed his arms.

Aidan reluctantly nodded, unable to speak.

Bishop stepped forward and gripped his arms. "You're too weak, Aidan. Here, sit down. I have Marcus and Rebecca guarding the doors."

"Of course you do," Aidan scoffed. He tried to jerk away, but the motion made him slide against the paper towel station to the floor. Leaning back, his eyes drifted shut. Bishop patted him twice on the chest. His eyes opened when he heard a button come undone on the Bishop's sleeve.

"We're family, as I've told you many times before. My blood is your blood, and right now, you won't heal unless you drink live blood." He offered his wrist as if it was a cup of soothing water.

"That's funny, considering you've been dead for hundreds of years," Aidan choked out, turning his head like a child refusing to eat their vegetables. He refused to drink Bishop's blood after fighting to stay away from him for so long. He wanted blood, he needed it, but not this way. Not from Bishop.

"Is this how it's going to be?"

Aidan glanced up to see Bishop lower his wrist. The man pursed his lips and shrugged.

"Marcus?" he spoke softly over his shoulder to the vampire waiting outside.

Aidan distantly heard a mumble of acknowledgment amidst the hallway chatter.

"Tell a nurse that Aidan requires help and bring her to us. The brunette taking inventory looked rather healthy, wouldn't you agree?"

"No," Aidan growled to both of them, grabbing a fist of Bishop's uniform. Bishop shoved him back so forcefully that his head dented the metal behind him. His hand dropped, vision swimming.

"You will not put this family in jeopardy, Aidan. If you don't care to drink live blood day to day, that's your choice." Bishop shrugged before leaning in closer. "But I will not allow you to make a spectacle of yourself when you sink your teeth into a patient. You're feeding before you leave here. On who is up to you."

In that moment, Aidan hated Bishop more than he ever had. The older vampire appeared to know this by looking into his eyes, but only raised his head with a waiting, expectant expression.

He raised his wrist to Aidan's lips again, taking care to move back his sleeve.

This time, the smell cast a blanket of blood lust over Aidan's inhibitions. He felt his eyes grow dark in anticipation. His fangs lengthened as he leaned in closer, taking the wrist in his hands.

"That's right," Bishop whispered. "My blood is your blood."

Their eyes met, black eyes to blue eyes. Then Bishop nodded and Aidan sank his fangs into the man's wrist. The feeling of relief was indescribable. He drank thirstily, greedily gulping the thick, salty blood. It warmed him from his fingers to his toes.

He felt Bishop's free hand stroking his hair, fingernails trailing along his neck and shoulder. It rubbed his back and then held him up as he went limp with the feeling of drunkenness that accompanied drinking live blood.

"Enough," Bishop finally grunted, yanking his wrist away. Blood spattered across the bathroom floor. He licked his wrist in one long stroke to close the wound, eyes glinting with nostalgia when he saw Aidan wiping the blood from his face.

The world sharpened, colors brighter, sounds crystal clear. Aidan was sated. But he felt regret as Bishop stood and handed him a wet paper towel. For so long, he'd fought the man who just saved his ass for the hundredth time.

As Aidan accepted the hand Bishop offered, he wondered if it wasn't Bishop's help that bothered him. Perhaps it was the feeling of shame he could never ignore after accepting his help. Like now.

"How do you intend to fix our situation with Garrity?" Bishop casually asked, checking his reflection for blood.

"I've got it," Aidan snapped, grabbing fresh paper towels and wiping blood from the floor. He then shoved them deep into the trash.

"Really?" Bishop turned to him and spread his hands. "Just out of curiosity, how?"

Aidan couldn't face Bishop for another second. He began walking away, trying to erase the memory of feeding on Bishop's wrist. How had it come to that?

"Don't turn your back on this family, Aidan."

"This family can go straight to hell."

Without slowing his stride, Aidan shoved open the bathroom door.