King was sleeping again when she finally made her way through to his room. She hung back for a moment, watching him. He still looked like crap, pale and sweaty, his beard dark against his washed out complexion and tendrils of hair sticking to his forehead. The skin underneath his eyes was paper thin, almost translucent, and he looked so vulnerable that it hurt her heart, love and tenderness welling up inside her and making her eyes prickle with the grief that followed hard on their heels.

He stirred, maybe able to sense her on some level, whether that level was human or not, and his eyes slowly drifted open until he was blinking blearily at her, frowning a little as he tried to gather his wits together.

And then he smiled, small and sweet but tired, so tired around the edges. "Hey," he said. His voice sounded croaky and unused, and a lump formed in her throat again, choking her when she was trying to stay positive and upbeat for him. All she could manage was a small smile back at him, one that couldn't be sweet, not when it was so broken.

The smile faded away from his face, replaced by the look of concern, worrying about her, when really he should be worrying about himself. Maybe he was too tired, too worn down to paste his normal sarcastic persona over the top of it, mute it a little and make it less obvious than he usually would, but whatever the reason, that look faded a lot more slowly than his smile had done.

"Hey," he said again, this time beckoning her towards him, an exhausted flick of his fingers that she couldn't ignore even if she'd wanted to.

She didn't want to, even if it was selfish to put this on him now.

She sat down on the chair next to his bed, ignoring the unsubtle way he shifted to make room for her on the mattress. He didn't push it, reading her mood as well as he always had, but he struggled to sit upright, messing with the pillows until he was comfortable. It gave her breathing room, which was probably what he'd intended. For someone who was usually blatant and in-your-face, he did have his subtle moments.

"Well, I'd ask what's wrong but I've got a feeling I know." He looked at her, quirking his eyebrow, and something on her face must have given her away. "Or maybe I don't."

There was the faintest hint of a question in his words, something she could ignore if she wanted to, King still reading her mood too closely for comfort. She dropped her gaze from his, suddenly wishing she'd taken him up on the offer of lying next to him. This might be easier with his arms wrapped around her, but maybe not.

"What is it?" he prompted. "Come on, Whistler. If you're going to hit me with bad news, get it all out at once. I'm kind of running a three-for-two deal here, and it's time-limited."

"There's nothing wrong," she said. Sullivan would have to do without her, she decided. There was no way in hell she was leaving King, not to go through this on his own. "I just..."

"Well, the way I see it there are three options. The first - and most likely - is that you're obsessing about Caulder cutting me off tomorrow, in which case I'd like to point out that at least one of us has to stay sane while I go cold turkey and I've kind of nominated you for the position." He quirked his eyebrow her again, inviting her to join in the joke.

It wasn't funny.

"Option number two," he continued when she stared at him blankly, "you're trying to decide what to tell Zoë. I vote we tell her she's adopted, that way she doesn't have to worry about getting any of my genes." That was a little funnier, but not by much.

"Option number three," he said blithely, "you've decided I'm far more trouble than I'm worth - and I can't disagree with you on that one, sweetheart - and you're running away with Sullivan."

That one hit too close to home, and some of that must have shown on her face because King's jaw dropped and he stared at her, speechless for a moment before he recovered himself.

"Jesus. Please tell me it's not actually that. I mean, we both know your taste in men is dubious, and I think I'm the case in point, but Sullivan? Come on!"

If she'd been in a joking mood, she'd have pointed out that his taste in women was decidedly worse than hers in men given his track record, but she couldn't even bring herself to reference Danica, not now and maybe not ever again. Instead she shifted uncomfortably, finally admitting, "It's not what you think."

King was still staring at her, stunned, and then the hurt started to blossom across his face. If she'd thought he looked vulnerable before, it was nothing to how he looked now, and it was so goddamned stupid. Did he really think...?

"Sullivan thinks he's found a nest," she blurted out and, just like that, the hurt and confusion vanished from his expression, leaving something suspiciously like amusement behind.

"Right..." he said slowly, and he was definitely mocking her now. She should be relieved about that, pleased that he felt well enough to be a smartass, and mostly she was except for a small part of her, the part that was used to his antics and therefore had the conditioned urge to smack him back down again just to keep him honest. "And this is an issue because?"

"We're losing people," she said quietly and his amusement evaporated.

"You need to go." It wasn't exactly a question. He was so smart sometimes, the times when he wasn't being a smartass, so quick to pick things up and take them to their logical conclusion.

"I should stay," she said and it sounded weak, even to her own ears. "I don't want... I don't want to leave you."

He nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off her face. "So... what? You're going to sit here and mop my fevered brow while people are dying out there? No offence, sweetheart, but that really doesn't sound like you."

"It's at least a ten hour drive away and I'd be gone at least a week. I'm not leaving you to go through this on your own." The last sentence came out more fiercely than she'd intended but he didn't back down, even if there was a brief flash of pain in his eyes before he smothered it.

"So you really are going to sit there and mop my fevered brow. Wow. I never really had you pictured as the Florence Nightingale type, not unless she was secretly a ninja. And there's a mental image that's going to be living with me for a while."

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before she opened them to look at him again. "Will you take this seriously?"

"I don't take anything seriously. You should know that by now. I mean, this time tomorrow I'm probably going to be back to being a vampire and I'm still cracking wise about it. That's just how I roll. You know, tasteless and borderline obnoxious."

She gave him a long, steady look, the kind of look that had quelled him in the past and it didn't let her down this time either. He blinked at her before he glanced away, looking a little shamefaced, which just made her feel guilty.

He was right. This was how he rolled, ridiculous comments to make fun of the things that terrified him the most.

"I'm not going to leave you," she said again, more gently this time, trying to convince him that there was no way in hell she was going to abandon him.

"I think I'd prefer it if you did."

It took a second for the words to sink in, long enough for King to already be giving her an apologetic look, his mouth twisting in the way it always did when he knew he was in the wrong. Only he wasn't in the wrong this time, not really.

"Look, Abby... We both know what's going to happen tomorrow. And..." He trailed off, for once lost for words, and when he continued his voice was rough, full of suppressed emotion. "I don't want you here. I don't want you to see it and I don't want to have to worry about -"

"I can look after myself," she said forcefully.

"That's not what I'm worried about. I can't." He bit the words off, staring at her, a defiant kind of anger shining in his eyes. "You promised me you wouldn't let me hurt you. I've turned with you there once already. You think I don't want you as far away as fucking possible from me when I have to go through it again? I'll pass on the mopping the brow thing, sweetheart, especially if it means I can't hurt you or Zoë. And if it means I'll be able to look you in the eye afterwards." He swallowed. "It's going to get ugly and I'm not so sure of your affections that I want you to see me ugly." He tried to smile and failed. "I mean, Sullivan's kind of pretty. In the right light and with copious amounts of alcohol. I'd rather not take the chance."

"King..."

"Don't." His smile was definitely broken this time and his eyes were as serious as she'd ever seen them. "Just... don't, okay, Abby?"

She nodded mutely, unable to deny him this.

"Okay." He echoed her nod, a jerky, automatic response of which he seemed barely aware. "Just do two things for me, okay? First, make sure that Caulder keeps Zoë away from me. I'm serious about that. I don't..."

He trailed off again and she nodded, reaching out and fumbling for his hand, wrapping her fingers tightly around his when she found it.

It was the first time she'd touched him since she'd walked through the door, and that should have told her everything she needed to know about how she really felt about what the following days would bring. How he felt about it, too.

"What's the second thing?" she asked through numb lips.

"Be careful." He wasn't joking. He reached up with his free hand and stroked his thumb along her cheekbone, his touch unbearably gentle. "I'm not going to be there to watch your back, not that I was any great shakes at it the last time." His mouth twisted again, wryly this time. "But I love you, so just... be careful."

It was the first time he'd said it and she swallowed down the tears that fought to rise to the surface. His thumb brushed over her cheek again, wiping away the few that escaped, and then he cupped her cheek with his palm, anchoring her as he leaned in and kissed her.

He kept his mouth tightly closed and so did she, no chance of her coming into contact with his fangs. It was over far too quickly and then, too soon, he was pulling away, his fingers lingering for a second before they too were gone, leaving her with a bittersweet kind of sadness.

And then he looked straight past her. When she turned her head and looked herself, she wasn't surprised to see Sullivan standing in the doorway.

"I got hold of another cell in the area," Sullivan said, smart enough not to comment on the intimate moment he'd just observed. "What was left of it. They're heading to the general area. Rendezvous is in twelve hours." He paused, assessing her reaction, before he added, "If you're coming, we need to move out now."

King squeezed her fingers, a light pressure that caught her attention. The look in his eyes was serious, but he didn't have to say anything. Didn't even have to nod. She got it.

She nodded at Sullivan, rising to her feet and already making a mental list of the things she'd need to do in the hour or so before she and Sullivan headed out. Talking to Caulder was at the top of her list and checking on Zoë wasn't very far down on it. Her fingers slid out of King's and she stared down at him, unable to find the right words to say.

But they didn't need words - his expression told her everything she needed to know and everything he felt. She gave him a faint smile, finally moving away.

"Look after my girl, Sullivan," King said as she paused in the doorway, looking back at him. His tone left no doubt that he was serious. Sullivan nodded slowly, holding King's gaze for a long moment, one that stretched out before Sullivan finally looked at her, his expression still assessing.

"When do we leave?" she asked him, all business now even with the taste of King still lingering on her lips and the warmth of his fingers a sense memory on her skin.

"Give me an hour," he said. "I'll pull the kit together, give you time to do what you need to. You can check it when I'm finished if you like." His mouth curled up slightly at the corner, the only sign of approval she was likely to get from him.

She nodded, moving past him and already dismissing him from her thoughts.

Sullivan watched her go, waiting until she was out of sight before he turned back to King.

Now that Whistler wasn't there to see him, King slumped back into the pillows, his face creasing with exhaustion. He suddenly looked as sick as he actually was, only wrestling the façade back into place when he caught Sullivan watching him.

"You okay?" Sullivan asked him, partly because he felt he ought to, partly because... well, pain in the ass or not, King deserved better than this.

King didn't seem to appreciate it. His face creased further, but with irritation this time, it seemed, instead of fatigue. "Why the hell do people keep asking me that?" he groused a little petulantly. "It's a stupid fucking question."

Sullivan shrugged, unfazed and far from offended - maybe that was a sign of personal growth, not to take offence at any of the crap that came out of King's mouth. "I don't know," he said dryly. "Anyone would think they gave a shit."

King gave him a dark look, but since he didn't look right then as though he could wrestle a six-year-old and win, Sullivan ignored it. That would change, though, if Caulder was right about what would happen once he stopped administering the antivirus. If Whistler didn't do as King asked and warn Caulder to keep the kid away from him, Sullivan would. In fact, he'd warn Caulder anyway. Better safe than sorry.

But that still left the problem of King and the promise Sullivan had made to him.

"I've got something for you," he said slowly, reaching behind him and untucking his knife sheath from its normal position in the small of his back. King tracked his move, his expression turning wary when Sullivan brought it into view, and Sullivan supposed he couldn't really blame King for that. But he wasn't a cruel man - he had no intention of drawing it out and leaving King wondering if this was it. Instead he tossed the blade towards King, where it landed neatly on King's blanket-covered lap.

King hesitated before picking it up, his fingers wrapping around the hilt and drawing it free, catching the light on the silver blade. His fingertips brushed against the blade as he slid it home again, but there was no smoke curling up from the contact points, the way there would have been had he been entirely vampire, or the way there probably would be once Caulder stopped his treatment. He shot Sullivan a considering look, one that weighed him up, trying to figure him out as he tucked the sheath under his pillow.

It was a surprise to realise that he minded if King thought he had an agenda. "I made you a promise," he said gruffly. "I might not be here when you... if you need me to keep it. I figured you'd appreciate a backup plan."

It took a second for his words to sink in, and then King nodded slowly, his expression still considering, but tired now, the kind of bone deep weariness that Sullivan could get behind.

"Just don't tell Whistler I gave it to you," he said. "I'm already on her shit list. I could do without being pushed to the top." He hesitated, taking in King's exhaustion, remembering the way that the light in his eyes had died once Whistler had left the room. Before he could think better of it, he blurted out, "She loves you, you know." He had no idea why he'd said it. It was none of his goddamned business. But... maybe King just needed the reminder, so that even without her there, there was still something to fight for. "Try not to kill yourself before you have to. That would make her even more pissed and I'd rather not be on the wrong side of it."

King gave him a lopsided smile. "You're all heart," he said. "Not much in the way of spine, of course, but then I suppose nobody's perfect."

Sullivan snorted, rapidly reaching the conclusion that bonding time was over. He gave King a brief nod and then turned away, heading towards their makeshift armoury.

This time he was going to make damned sure that they were prepared.