August 22, 2020

Naomi was straightening up the bookcase in the back of her apartment when she heard the doorknob turn. Adrenaline flooded her body as she instinctively drew her handgun, her mind feeding her memories of the electrician's attempted assault a month prior. Her hand shook so badly that she had to lift the other to steady it, but she felt no fear; she was well-equipped to defend herself, the barrel of her gun leveled squarely at the intruder's chest as the door opened.

She was rewarded with a wide-eyed and ashen-faced Gabe. He opened and shut his mouth speechlessly, like a wind-up toy's clockwork movements.

Naomi breathed easier and holstered the weapon.

"I nearly had a heart attack," he gasped, eyes fixed warily on the gun.

Naomi unapologetically returned his stare; she had covered cases before where breaking and entering had turned to murder, and with her mounting fame as an investigator, she couldn't say for certain that she was still safe.

"You should have knocked," she replied simply.

He bristled at her words, refusing to budge from his spot outside the door. Gabe's jaw had an angry set to it and his eyes were narrowed, like a terrified owl puffing up its feathers to look more threatening. Naomi rolled her eyes, realizing that he wouldn't let this go until she explained herself.

"I was merely protecting myself," she sighed.

"What, from me?" he demanded. "It's not like you gave me, I don't know, a key or something."

"You know as well as I do that the key was for locking the door when you leave, not for letting yourself in whenever you want," she chastised, ignoring his fuming. She was trained with firearms and he knew as well as she did that he had been in absolutely no danger.

"And so you nearly shoot me. Not even a 'Hey, Gabe, could you be a little more polite?' or anything. Oh no, that's just how normal people would do things. You menace me with a pistol," the diagnostician complained. "When did you even start carrying that damn thing, anyway? I've never seen it before."

"I always have it with me at work. The security at CIFM has definitely gotten tighter with the FBI around, but a girl can never be too careful," she explained with a shrug. In truth, it was her brush with death at the electrician's hands that had clinched the matter; beforehand, Naomi had been relatively lax about carrying her gun, merely keeping it in the autopsy room out of habit. After all, she was a doctor. No matter how dangerous the killers she investigated were, it felt ridiculous for a former surgeon to carry a weapon while poking around crime scenes or examining corpses. That attack had firmly changed her mind, driving her to wear it at her side during all of her work hours. She had a realistic outlook on her chances of defending herself without it.

"Whatever. That doesn't explain why it gets pointed at me here," Gabe grumbled. He appeared to be mollified by her response, though, for he walked past her and dropped onto his accustomed place on the couch.

She looked down at the gun and paused, asking herself the same question. Usually, she put up the weapon as soon as she got home, setting it on her dresser with her wallet and keys. The fact that she'd absentmindedly reattached the holster to her belt after a shower bothered her more than it should have.

"…I just forgot to take it off," she murmured.

Gabe sat up, his scowl softening.

"Are you doin' all right?" he asked, suddenly staring critically at her. "This isn't like you at all."

Naomi took a seat, pointedly ignoring him. One forgetful moment did not mean anything was wrong…at least, that was what she told herself as she reached for a beer. Her hands shook so badly that it took two tries to get the top off, though, and she hurriedly set the bottle down to avoid dropping it. Those same trembling fingers had stolen her surgical precision and forced her into a career that did not require the same level of dexterity. She missed surgery, missed the intense focus of an operation, missed the electric feeling in her blood as she tapped into her Healing Touch. Her colleagues in Okinawa hadn't understood that ability at all, causing her to leave the country out of fear for her life, but Naomi still longed for an opportunity to use the Healing Touch again. The way her every nerve tingled as she tapped into that power was as addictive as the strongest of drugs; even years after she had quit surgery, she couldn't shake her desire to feel that exhilaration just one more time.

She folded her hands in her lap in hopes of stilling them, silencing her guilty thoughts. It was impossible to do so at the moment. Her trembling was usually manageable, but lately, it had been getting worse. Naomi feared the day that her disease would progress so far that she couldn't even keep working. If she was already getting forgetful, then perhaps that time wasn't as far off as she had previously thought.

"Naomi?" Gabe asked again, worry creeping into his voice. The Zippo danced in his hand, flashing dull silver and sparks of red as he flicked it open and shut.

"Work's been stressful," she muttered, not looking him in the eye. He stared at her for a moment more before nodding.

"I hear you," he replied. They both worked in medicine—he understood like few other people would. Granted, Gabe dealt with pressure differently than she did. He was like an elastic band, stretched out so far that it never returned to its original tension, remaining worn-out and slack forevermore. On the other hand, Naomi couldn't stand the thought that anyone would see her slump with her head in her hands or falter from lightheadedness, and so she repressed her problems, hiding the signs of both her stress and her disease. It wasn't healthy for either of them, but it was a doctor's job to help patients. Their own mental health mattered little in comparison.

"What's the outlook on that cardiomyopathy patient you were so worked up about last week?" Naomi queried. From the way he had so readily accepted her weak excuse, things hadn't gotten any easier at Resurgam.

"The idiot wants an OLCVR, and frankly, I can't dissuade him. But I don't even have time to worry about him anymore—he's the surgeon's problem. I've got my hands full with managing a new kid."

She arched an eyebrow, surprised. It had been a long time since her medical school days, but she remembered her textbooks discussing the overlapping cardiac volume reduction operation. Naomi had memorized that information for a test and had promptly forgotten about it afterwards; she had performed numerous heart surgeries in her short career, but that particular procedure had never come up outside of the classroom. It piqued her curiosity that it would be relevant now.

"Wait, a new doctor?" she asked, suddenly realizing just what had sounded strange about Gabe's statement. "Odd…Internships should have started before now."

"Sure, but this guy's no intern. He's a special doctor brought in for that bloody OLCVR."

"What sort of 'special doctor'? Are we looking at someone from Caduceus?"

"Caduceus? As if this lard ass's op is important enough. Nah, this guy's some kid called CR-S01. Ring any bells?"

"Should it?" she asked. She had the strangest feeling that she'd heard that appellation before, but for the life of her, she couldn't remember where she'd heard it. "That doesn't even sound like a name."

"Yeah, that's 'cause it's not—it's a prison number. This guy's in for 250 years for something, but he's the best guy for the job, so we're letting him out for this procedure. It's a pain in the ass, though."

"250 years? …You can't mean the Cumberland Killer is working with you," Naomi demanded, the name suddenly clicking. CR-S01's case had been especially important to CIFM, as its sister university had been directly targeted in his murders—the man had ruthlessly slaughtered half the campus in a biochemical attack, if she remembered correctly. His case was still brought up at her workplace, even eight years after his conviction, but at heart he was just a coldblooded killer like the rest of the ones that Naomi put behind bars.

Regardless, CR-S01 struck a chord in her. Before his arrest, he had been a passionate and dedicated surgeon known for his exceptional ability in the operating room. Although his motives for the killings were entirely unknown, he had been branded a medical terrorist. It all added up to a situation that hit entirely too close to home for her.

"That's the one," Gabe confirmed.

"This is the first I've heard of this," the medical examiner remarked.

"We're technically not supposed to mention it. Wouldn't do Resurgam any good for people to know we've got a convicted killer on staff, you know?" he replied with a shrug. "The kid's all right, actually. His paperwork's been a bigger trouble than he has."

"What would he have to gain by raising hell? This is likely the first real human contact he's had in years."

"Yeah. It's almost enough to make you feel sorry for him. He gets along with the staff so well that it's hard to believe he's even the Cumberland Killer, you know?"

"Not all murderers are raging barbarians," Naomi cautioned. "I wouldn't put it past anyone to have killed before. Even you."

"I'm not saying I haven't," he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. Gabe didn't elaborate further, but his voice had dropped into a gruff growl, tone completely sober. He stared discontentedly at the floor, his knuckles white as he gripped his lighter.

Naomi winced as she realized just what she'd said. Her tongue had always been too quick for her better judgment, a fact which had gotten her into trouble before, but it was clear that her gallows humor had cut him deeply.

"My soldier days weren't exactly the best of my life," he said after a minute.

Her self-control was severely tested, the words "No dip, Sherlock" on the tip of her tongue. For his sake, she bit them back, instead nodding knowingly.

"…could you not tell Maria I served?" he suddenly asked, voice low and embarrassed.

She shot him a questioning look.

"How does she not know?"

"I don't exactly go around shouting it at the top of my lungs," he muttered, shaking his head. "She hates anyone who's taken life, you know? Hank and me…well, I think she might quit talking to us if she knew we'd killed in the war. I'd be fine if she was pissed at me, of course—she always is—but I wouldn't do that to the big guy. They're pretty close, you know?"

"I see," Naomi murmured, unable to think of anything else to say. Any promise not to tell the emergency physician would be pointless, as she rarely visited Resurgam to begin with. Naomi seriously doubted that Maria would hate him for fighting for his country, but it was useless to argue with a man who didn't like being told he was wrong.

"But how's your work? Is Little Guy still driving you up the wall?" he asked, stiffly changing the topic.

A smile touched her lips—Naomi was truly glad she had met up with Little Guy again, even after the atrocities they had committed in Delphi's name. He had changed so much since then that she could scarcely believe he was even the same person; the friendly agent she knew now bore no resemblance to the hardhearted cynic she had worked with two years before. At the very least, his soft voice no longer brought flashbacks of their terrorist days, and that was hope enough that Delphi might cease to haunt her before her death.

Naomi didn't say any of that, though, merely replying, "He's chatty as always, but when it comes to his competence? In a recent case, an eight-year-old found a critical piece of evidence that he couldn't locate."

She didn't really mean it; frankly, she hadn't found the murder weapon, either, and she had been the one who had handled the clock in which it was hidden. Little Guy was surprisingly good at his job and he worked well with her. Naomi still blundered over computer functions that he found infuriatingly simple, a fact that he handled with a commendable lack of snide comments. The agent had grown on her in his short stay at the institute…but she couldn't let Gabe know that, not when he would mock her so ruthlessly. It was easier to pick on Little Guy than it was to face that.

"How is this guy even an FBI agent?" Gabe demanded. "And what the hell was a kid doing at CIFM?"

Heat rose to her cheeks, and she took a drink to avoid responding. Alyssa's presence had been the collective fault of the staff; Chief Wayne had given her permission to be there, Little Guy had let her into his office, and the security was poor enough that it had not caught her. The brunt of the blame, however, fell squarely on her shoulders—Alyssa had only come onto campus to talk to Naomi, who had encouraged that sort of behavior through her reluctance to forcibly remove her. She had always had a soft spot for children, and if she had just been stricter about it, the girl would have stayed off the grounds.

"…I might have had something to do with it," she admitted, unwilling to meet Gabe's eyes. "Alyssa is…a friend of mine."

Pure, dumbstruck silence came from the other side of the room. She glanced up to see Gabe staring openmouthed, his beer lifted halfway to his lips and apparently forgotten. His eyes darkened and he shook his head slowly.

"You're getting into trouble," he warned.

"I know," Naomi breathed, mind lingering on the way her hands shook earlier. Neither Alyssa nor Little Guy deserved the cruelty that would be dealt to them when she died. She had broken her vow to keep away from other people, and with little more than four months left for her to live, they would have just enough time to grow attached to her before she left them entirely. It wasn't fair to any of them. Gabe was the only safe person, cool and uncaring, the only one who understood that she was nothing more than a dead woman granted animation for a moment more.

"Don't get yourself into anything you can't handle, all right?" he cautioned at last, settling on saying nothing more.

"I am a professional," Naomi reminded him. She knew she deserved his remarks, however, and so she curbed her typical acidic comments.

"Well, even professionals make idiot decisions sometimes."

"I bet you'd know about that firsthand," she weakly teased. Gabe grinned, a second too slow to be natural. On her part, it was easier to try to make light of her situation than it was to deal with Gabe's sympathy and his advice. On his, she knew he hated how she handled her own mortality and more than likely would welcome any chance to leave that topic behind.

"Hey, sure I do. I'm here, aren't I?" he riposted, his comeback every bit as stale as hers.

"If it's such a poor idea, perhaps you ought to leave," she joked.

He stood, slowly crossing the distance between the couch and her chair. As Naomi looked skeptically up at him, he seized her gently by the wrist, pulling her to her feet with a quirk of his eyebrow and a small smile.

"Here, I think I know the way out. You should follow me, though, just in case I get lost," he chuckled, heading for her bedroom door.

The medical examiner merely grinned and went along with it. It was easier than fighting with him.

Per usual, she found herself pressed against Gabe, his arms loosely around her and his rapid heartbeat faintly audible. He slowly brought up a hand and brushed a long strand of silver hair out of her eyes, whispering a few words that were too thick with sleep for her to make out. It was either that or the headache that pounded at her skull, making it all but impossible to focus on the snarky diagnostician.

Gabe's fingers ran down her sides, slowing as he traced the indentations between her ribs. A low sound of disapproval rumbled in his chest and his soft touches ceased abruptly.

"You're skinnier than a runway model," he muttered seriously.

"Can we not talk about this now?" Naomi sighed, her words sharp-edged from her headache and her reluctance to discuss her condition. She didn't want to discuss symptoms and medicine just then, and Gabe's concern bothered her. As he had said before, she wasn't a patient. It wasn't his job to pester her.

He let out an aggravated groan and disentangled himself from her. His brown eyes bored accusingly into hers, and she shut her own to avoid his judging stare.

"Naomi…" he warned, his voice little more than a growl.

She turned her back on him, ignoring his stubbornness. If he wasn't going to leave until he got an answer, then he would be waiting a long time. Even Gabe's persistence couldn't beat down hers, not when she was tired and in pain.

He didn't speak, either accepting her silence or too displeased to continue. She heard a smattering of low curses and the sound of Gabe stumbling about. Eventually, though, even his uncoordinated movements ceased. Her door opened with a creak.

"Goodbye," she murmured.

"Bye," he gruffly responded.

Naomi only hoped that he could ignore her declining health, or else their arrangement would fall to pieces.