The next night he debates returning, fretting for a while as he tries to justify an excuse. Everything in his own house irritates him, and finally Adam reasons that since Lilith is foolish enough not to take care of herself, he sets out to make sure she's at least taken the second dose of analgesic.
He'll simply check in, he tells himself, and avoids any deeper examination of the excuse.
Once he's on her porch, he debates whether to ring the bell or not. He has his Invitation to cross the threshold, so by rights Adam knows he could simply walk in without waiting. Of course Lilith may not realize her hospitality is good until revoked, he knows, but then again, he also knows how high her fever was.
He reaches for the doorknob. It's locked. Embarrassed now, Adam debates leaving with what little dignity he has left, but instead slouches his way around the house to the back door, which leads into the kitchen. This one is unlocked, and he steps into the brightness, breathing in the scent of chicken soup.
She's there, stirring a pot on the stove, and spins when she hears the door, her shock enough to make him smirk. "Feeling better?"
"Ah!" Lilith croaks, tugging her robe closed, but not before Adam sees her pink tank top and panties under it. "Dos felt mir noch! You! What are you doing here?"
"Making sure you're still alive," Adam tells her as he gives the nearest bookcase a cursory examination.
Lilith grumbles as she ties the sash, and looks up at him. "Yes. My head is killing me and I'm going to go back to bed in a moment but yes I am alive. Sort of."
"Good." Adam drags his gaze from the books to her, and they lock gazes. Her hair is down and the curls frame her face which is paler than usual. She looks on the mend but with a ways to go, and it's reassuring to see.
"Thank you for bringing me home," Lilith murmurs. "I owe you for that."
Adam shrugs. "Believe me it was all in my own self-interest."
Her face wrinkles up at that, but she nods wryly. "True. You got your . . . ?"
"Yes," Adam assures her.
They continue staring at each other for a moment, and Adam finds her more interesting in the soft light of the kitchen versus the harsher florescence of the hospital lab.
"You played my kinnor," Lilith suddenly accuses him. "I found it up in my room."
"Yes," Adam says. "I had permission, and I thought it would soothe you."
She gives a grudging nod of agreement and pours herself a mug of soup, hesitating a moment.
"Thank you but no."
"Sorry, force of habit," Lilith replies and carries her meal to the table. Adam sits at the other end, propping his elbows up and watching her. It's enough to make her slightly self-conscious and she glares over the rim.
"What else do you play?" He asks, finally taking off his sunglasses.
She gives a sad shrug. "I used to play a mandolin but haven't picked it up in years."
"Do you—" Adam gets no further on his question as Lilith holds up a hand.
"No. You don't get to ask questions if you're not going to answer any."
"Fine," Adam growls. It's not fine, of course. He's bored and curious and all too aware she's in her lingerie under her robe.
"Besides, you've got me all figured out," Lilith mutters, her tone just a hint away from a taunt. "Right?"
A challenge. Adam arches an eyebrow and looks around the kitchen, taking in more of the details. "I know you're well-travelled, that you're currently single and you know at least three languages."
Lilith cocks her head. "Not bad. I know you're originally Welsh, you've got-"
"-What makes you think I'm Welsh?" Adam demands, curiosity piqued.
"The way you held the kinnor, and that . . . lilt thing in your voice when you get stressed," Lilith replies. "Black hair, green eyes are kind of a national default, genetically speaking."
He feels self-conscious for a moment, which is ridiculous. Why it should matter that this woman has picked up on some aspect of himself that Adam hasn't thought of in years? It's not as if it's significant.
"You've got some connection to the music industry and you wear a size eleven shoe," Lilith finishes, along with her soup. "Oh, and a huge flask collection now I guess."
"I," Adam pauses and sighs, "do. I suppose I should bring them back so you can autoclave and reuse them."
"It would help," Lilith rises to take her empty mug back into the kitchen, walking slowly. "You know, it might be safer to just . . . pick up your nutrition here instead of the hospital."
Adam stares at her. "I prefer the mutual jeopardy," he growls.
"Oh bullshit," Lilith replies in an almost cheery tone. "It stopped being 'mutual jeopardy' the minute I created an account for you and started keeping receipts."
"Fuck." It slips out before Adam can stop it, and Lilith shoots him a patient look.
"I'm going to ignore that and point out that it would really be much more beneficial to you in the long run. I could bring it here each Friday and you could pick it up whenever you wanted, even if I went away for the weekend."
Adam fumes, seriously unhappy at the clever way this zombie has let him grow comfortable with her, and how he's let himself be lulled into this arrangement. He shoots her a hateful glare and seeing it, Lilith comes over to him, boldly bending down until she's into his personal space, her own expression flinty.
"Get over yourself," she whispers. "If you even start kvetching about me tricking you, or some such crap I will come down on you like the wrath of the God you don't believe in."
A bold threat and a rather ridiculous one, Adam thinks, and quick as a blink, he tugs the sash of her robe out of its bow. It's a petty move on his part; not the sort of thing he'd normally do but when her robe gapes open . . . Lilith coolly ignores it.
Adam can't; his gaze drops.
"Oy, what are you, seven? Got a good eyeful already?" Lilith hisses, finally re-wrapping herself and flicking his forehead. "You're a married man; act like it!"
That didn't go as planned, and Adam sits there, not quite brooding and not quite embarrassed because while it was what his zombie Ian would have called a 'classic dick move' it also brings home the truth that there is a great deal about Doctor Schatten that he wants to know, both in a secular and biblical way.
"I'm not sure I like you," he finally grunts, "or your manipulations."
"My God you really are an alter kacker aren't you? Fine, you know where the door is, and you've got enough bottled red to keep you busy for a week, so don't linger on my account, friend!" Lilith rolls her eyes and flounces out of the kitchen.
Adam stays where he is, thinking.
He should go of course, but then again he hears Eve in his thoughts, chiding him, reminding him that the zombies can't help themselves when it comes to drama, and that part of their charm lies in how fiercely they react to the world. They take so much as a matter of life and death, my love and for them it is. Eve murmurs.
I . . . haven't done this in a long time, Adam thinks. She's not some drinkable poppet I can discard, Eve, and I've forgotten how to . . . press my suit.
Oh Adam, really? Ten fingers, an instrument in reach and you're telling me you can't woo this first wife of yours? Darling, I'm very close to laughing at you, Eve coos.
That makes him scowl, and Adam finally rises, sweeping through the downstairs, finding the kinnor and scooping it up. He climbs the stairs even as he checks the tuning, listening to the strings as he moves quietly into the bedroom.
It's empty, but there's the sound of a shower running behind the bathroom door, so he settles into the boudoir chair in the corner of the bedroom and waits. After a while the door opens and Lilith glides out, stopping when she spots him.
"The hell?"
"You're right," Adam admits, giving one experimental strum across the strings. "I am full of myself, I do sometimes behave as if I were seven, and I'm most definitely an alter kacker. Was that what you needed to hear?"
She nods. It's a good start.
"Get in bed and I'll play for you," he tells her. "Then I'll go. Like last night."
Lilith eyes him suspiciously for a moment, and then does what he says, dropping her robe and sliding into the bed quickly, but not so quickly that he doesn't realize she's naked in the sheets.
"You're very . . . trusting," he tells her dryly.
"I'm confident," comes her counter. "You don't want to kill me, and vampires don't shtup so I'm in the catbird seat."
"Oh we . . . shtup," Adam informs her, pleased to see her blush at this information. "Quite a bit, in fact."
"Why? It's not like you can procreate. At least not that way."
"No, but it's still a glorious way to die a little death," he puns. "Or cause several of them."
Now she looks both nervous and he flatters himself, intrigued. Lilith pulls her covers up a little higher. "Why should I believe you?"
"Touché," he chuckles, and settles the kinnor into the curve of his arm. "Shhhh, close your eyes and just listen."
He plays his own compositions for her. Adam listens to her sigh with pleasure, watches her fight sleep, and when she finally drops off into slumber, he gives the instrument a last grateful pat and watches her for a moment longer.
"Lilith . . ." Adam sighs. "I wish I understood."