Maiza only noticed that something was wrong once he finished his third cup of tea.

The sweat soaking through his shirt collar hadn't concerned him – the Alveare was abnormally warm today – but the shivering did. He couldn't stop shivering, and he carefully returned his cup and saucer to the bar counter when he realized he no longer had full control over his hands. It was a good thing he'd done so, for nausea immediately crashed over him in a wave, intense and dizzying.

He anchored himself by leaning against the counter, trying to breathe as deeply as he could without triggering the roiling of his stomach any further than the unpleasant level it had already reached. There were few things that could make immortals feel the way he was feeling now, and he had to stay calm if he wanted to figure out why exactly he had an awful urge to vomit. …Poison? If poison, from what? The tea?

But Ennis and Randy toward the end of the counter had been drinking the same tea as he had without adverse effects. So then…? The back wall of the Alveare swam in front of him, and he clenched his trembling hands and forced himself to focus. If he'd fallen ill from poison, he had to identify its source before more people could suffer…and before he potentially passed out.

Still, if it wasn't the tea, then what? He hadn't ingested anything else, had he? His gaze fell on Pezzo two seats down to his left, reaching over for a small honeypot near the opposite edge of the counter.

Oh.

"Pezzzoo," he slurred, sliding off the barstool to clumsily stand on his own two feet, supporting himself by keeping a hand on the counter. "Don't. I'll…take that off your hands. Where's Lia? Lia?"

Lia hurried down the aisle behind the counter at the sound of her name. "What is it?" she asked, and he could make out her blurry eyebrows creasing in shock. "Is something wrong?"

"Yeah, is something wrong, Maiza? You don't look too good," chimed Pezzo, and Firo leaned backward from his seat on Pezzo's left side to throw in a "Maiza?" with palpable concern in his voice.

Maiza ignored them both. "Please, I need a towel," he said to Lia, and then he lunged forth and snatched the honeypot from Pezzo in one smooth movement and immediately flung it down to the floor. The container smashed into pieces upon contact, and the conversation from nearby diners ceased. Unnecessary…could have it from him. But rational, sober thought wasn't easy to follow when he could barely keep himself upright.

A towel was pressed into his hand, and Maiza crouched down and draped it over the honey-drenched mess on the floor. "Ronny?" he called. Tried to stand. Failed.

"I'm here," Ronny said, close to Maiza's right side. He'd been on the opposite end of the restaurant only seconds ago. "What's the matter, Maiza?"

You tell me. Maiza swallowed painfully, wobbling on his feet. When Ronny offered his arm to him, he took it, and rose with his friend's assistance. "I need you to…take care of this." He gestured to the towel. "There's been…an accident."

His head pounded, and he swayed, swayed – but Ronny's strong and steady arm kept him grounded. Kept him from falling. What…what comes next? If that honey's been tainted, then is everything honey-based in the kitchen compromised? No, it's a new pot. New batch. "Lia," he mumbled, "Lia, that was honey from this morning's shipment, yes?"

"Y-yes."

"Have you opened any other jars? Was this the only opened new honey today?"

Lia fell silent, thinking it over. Finally, she said, "I think so. We didn't really need it, since we had enough old stock in the kitchen."

The ensuing relief that swept over Maiza wasn't enough to quell the dizziness that had overcome him, but it was a desperate comfort nonetheless. "Good. I don't know if the rest of it's untrustworthy, but don't open any more of it, just in case. We'll have to test the honey…la-later." Bile surged upward in his throat, and he groaned, sweat dripping down his face. "Ronny, the mess – please –"

Someone took hold of his left arm so that Ronny could relinquish him. "I've got you, dear," Seina said, and she patted his arm. "Come, I'll help you to the kitchen."

"Wait, Seina." He squinted at Ronny, who knelt down next to him by the honey-soaked towel and nimbly plucked the towel up and away from the floorboards. Maiza exhaled the breath he'd been holding once he confirmed the complete absence of honey or glass underneath it. Ronny stood, angled his back toward the dining tables, and shook the towel out with both hands. It disappeared as soon as Maiza blinked.

Maiza fought against the rising bile, and found himself depending on Seina's support more than he'd meant to. "All right, let's…go."

Seina hooked her arm under Maiza's, and Ronny did the same on his other side. "You're burning up, you know," she whispered, and it was all Maiza could do to nod loosely at her in response. Behind him he could hear the concerned chatter of Firo, Randy, Pezzo, and Ennis, who he assumed had every intention of following him into the kitchen.

"You four stay here," he said, raising his voice. "Calm the customers. Reassure them. This incident will undoubtedly have caused them to worry. Make sure no-one touches my cup.

"But, Maiza—!"

"I'll be fine, Firo," he said, unable to keep a slightly ragged edge from his tone. His stomach churned. "Seina, Ronny, thank you."

Both of them took the hint, and the three of them laboriously made their way down and around the counter and through the kitchen door, where Lia awaited them with a chair – and, thoughtfully, a bucket. Maiza made for the chair, but his legs gave way and his knees slammed into the kitchen floor tiles. He retched as soon as he drew the bucket toward him, one forearm on the seat of the chair and his other hand gripping the bucket's side. As soon as he'd emptied his stomach he slumped onto his side, his cheek meeting the cool tiles and his eyes closing upon contact.

He lost consciousness almost instantly.

::::

Maiza woke to cool water droplets running down his face. Something wet and rough had been laid over his forehead, which he took to be a washcloth. The kitchen's ceiling lights greeted him when he opened his eyes, but were thankfully blocked when Firo leaned over him with his hands on his knees.

"Maiza's awake!" he exclaimed, and seconds later Lia appeared beside him with a glass of water in hand. Firo moved aside so that she could kneel down and offer it to Maiza.

Maiza slowly sat up so that he could take the glass, gradually becoming more aware of his circumstances. His tie was missing, and someone had undone the first two buttons of his shirt collar. "Thank you, Lia," he said, grateful for something to drink. His tongue had turned to sandpaper. "How long was I out?"

"Not too long," said Ronny, and Maiza turned and looked up to see his old friend standing on his left side. A little embarrassed that he was the only one sitting on the floor, Maiza used the chair beside him as support as he got to his feet and waved away Lia and Firo hovering anxiously nearby.

"I'm fine, don't worry yourselves. Now, Ronny, about the honey…"

Ronny narrowed his eyes, and gestured over to where several crates of honey from the morning shipment had been stacked on a table. "No one's touched it. I examined the opened honey while you were indisposed – it's rhododendron honey. You had three cups of tea over the course of an hour, all of which you'd flavored with the poisoned honey…I wonder. Perhaps something may have been done to your teacup as well."

Maiza frowned, still looking over at the crates. "The question is whether or not the poisoning was deliberate…it could have been that the beekeepers didn't know what flowers their bees had been visiting. But if not...and if the entire batch is tainted…well. It's a good thing that I was the only one affected. I don't want to imagine what would have happened had we served food and drink made with poisoned honey to our customers." So saying, he eased himself into the chair and patted his pockets. Frowning, he asked, "Ronny, where is my tie?"

"Here, Maiza." It was Firo who had it, clutched tightly in his left hand and woven around his fingers. He held it out to Maiza with his brows knitted. "Are you feeling okay? I mean…we're immortal, but I dunno much about how poison affects us. You looked completely out of it, back by the bar."

Maiza gave his protégé a reassuring smile. "I really am fine, Firo, you have my word. My blood pressure is still a little low, and the nausea hasn't entirely left me, but I think the fever's gone."

"If you ask me," huffed Seina, having just come into the kitchen, "I think you should go home early and sleep it off. Randy and the others can take care of things here. And since you didn't ask me, I'll tell you that you've got orders straight from the Don to go home and take it easy for today."

"Molsa said that…?" Maiza shook his head, having finished fixing his tie. He rebuttoned his collar, and stood once more. "Well, I won't argue with him this time. I'm sure you can handle things here without me." Ronny helped him into his coat, and with his hat in one hand Maiza used his other to pat Firo on the shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow, Firo, all right? Stay here and follow Ronny's instructions." To Lia, he said, "I am sorry for all the trouble you and Seina have had today – I'm afraid we rather took over the kitchen for a while."

Seina snorted. "Ha! Don't underestimate the staff – as if one man lying down on the floor would get in the way of our work."

Maiza laughed sheepishly, and after thanking her again left the kitchen and made for the door leading to the honey shop. Ronny caught up with him as he passed the bar counter, which Maiza was thankful for – it gave him an excuse to ignore the curious, worried stares of Randy, Pezzo, and Ennis several yards away.

"Well, Maiza…" Ronny began, "I'll have you know that I did not enjoy seeing you in such discomfort. Had I realized the honey was poisoned in time, I would have warned you accordingly. It was an embarrassing oversight."

"It's not as if you know the future, Ronny," Maiza replied, shrugging his shoulders. "And of course, I would never hold my own discomfort against you. But…I am concerned that the patrons' lives may have been at risk. I want to think the best of the situation, that it was a mistake on the part of a well-meaning beekeeper…but of course, we must consider the more unsavory alternative. If poisoned honey was deliberately sent to us, then it's quite an indiscriminate murder method, don't you think? No control over whom it affects at all."

He grimaced, put on his hat, and reached for the door handle. Ronny stepped back, and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. "The Family will investigate this incident thoroughly. Enjoy your day off, contaiuolo."

Maiza grinned and opened the door to the honey shop, breathing in air permeated with the thick taste and smell of sugar. "I'll try."

::::

Maiza's apartment was located on the outskirts of Little Italy, and he spent much of the walk home deep in thought. There were too many unknowns, too many vague uncertainties about the honey poisoning incident for him to make sense of things. If it had been a murder attempt, than the method would imply that the perpetrator didn't have a particular target in mind. That…or the perpetrator had a target but didn't particularly care as to the human collateral damage. Or that they'd planned on taking out a large portion of the Alveare's customers and the Martillos right from the start.

Poisoned honey. The perfect method. It was a perfect method, wasn't it? It didn't take much digging to know that the Alveare's specialty lay in honey-based liquor and food, and heavily relied on honey shipments to support its business. Perfect method indeed. How clever the method was – no one suspected it, and it was guaranteed to work at least once and affect as many people who'd consumed the honey at any point.

How clever.

How…easy.

Thank goodness only I ate it.

Maiza rounded the corner, three blocks away from his apartment. Faint guilt gnawed at his insides over having left his comrades to pick up the work left in his absence, but he couldn't deny the way that fatigue had clung to his limbs ever since he'd woken up on the kitchen floor. It was only two in the afternoon, but the prospect of sleep did tempt him.

A car screeched to a halt a few feet away from the pavement curb. Its windows rolled down so that the barrels of several guns could protrude from the car's interior. Just before they opened fire, Maiza could make out several young looking men, and an elderly man sitting in the car's backseat.

Then there was pain.

He fell to his knees as soon as the bullets hit him – in his legs, his arms, his torso. Maiza collapsed forward and brought up his forearms to brace himself against the sidewalk, and peered upward with fading vision to see a small black object hurtling out of one of the windows in an arc above him. It clattered to the pavement somewhere behind him and went off in a blaze of smoke and heat and pain which engulfed Maiza's legs and hips and he closed his eyes and surrendered to death before he could suffer any further.

::::

Maiza woke for the second time that day on the ground, only this time he lay on his stomach and not his side. Phantom hurts from countless bullet holes tingled across his body, but it paled in comparison to the horrific pain rupturing down the length of his right leg. He inhaled a stuttering breath, and pushed against the pavement with his hands in an effort to raise his upper body somewhat – only to hiss at several little hard somethings burrowing into his palm. Upon lifting his hand, he found several crushed bullets scattered across the pavement. Must have come straight from my own body.

Gritting his teeth, he twisted up and back so that he could catch a glimpse of his right leg. Or rather…what was left of it. His leg ended just a few inches below his right knee, and he could make out the broken, jagged ends of his tibia and fibula under mangled muscle and blood that had yet to rescind into his body. A familiar sense of nausea swept over him, and he faced forward to steady his breathing. It was then that he noticed a telephone box several yards ahead of him.

Have to tell…the others.

With his forearms, and left leg he dragged himself inch by inch across the pavement, reaching for his bullet-ridden hat in the process. It was an inefficient method of moving – slow and painful and slow, and he stopped to look back at his leg to see if any progress had been made. Bits and pieces of flesh were reforming incrementally across the pavement in a gruesome trail behind him, bone fragments jittering across his skin from where they'd imbedded themselves earlier.

Damn.

Maiza hung his head low and clenched his fists. The box seemed so far away, and his leg was regenerating at a frustratingly slow pace. Pain muddled his thoughts – it was far easier to lay unmoving and focus on breathing instead of moving. Police sirens blared in the distance along with the frightened screams of unfortunate passersby. No. Have to move. Have to do something.

A belated solution struck him. He sighed, inwardly cursing himself for not thinking of it sooner.

Ronny? We have a problem.

Footsteps from somewhere behind him belied a visitor. A pair of shiny black oxfords came to a stop on Maiza's left side, and he looked up to see a welcome, familiar sight.

"Yes," murmured Ronny, a troubled expression darkening his face. "I believe we do."