A/N: NEW CHAPTER! Three things: 1) Melina getting released from the WWE is absolute bullshit, 2) If you ever want a cure for insomnia, write a vampire fanfic and try to figure out the goddamned biology of the thing, and 3) I was really worried about this chapter because it could turn out to be an epic fail. Hopefully, it won't be, and you will enjoy it to boot. Okay, off the soapbox now. Enjoy! Peace!

I apologize for any medical inaccuracies; I'm not a doctor - I'm just a screenwriter who watched "ER" in college. Don't judge me too harshly, please?

Thank you to AprilGilbert1996, Esha Napoleon, Shandy777, BigRedMachineUK, nikki1335, M Cuevas, Girl on Fire, Nastygrl25, and XxxDarkCloudxxX for reviewing the last chapter! I love you ALL! *big group hug (y'all might as well just huddle up, because this is happening)*

Chapter 20: More Human Than Human

"And then you see things the size of which you've never known before..." - Seal, "Crazy"

Doc Bryan leaned back a little in the hard wooden chair, stroking his bearded chin with one hand. The other gripped a cheap ballpoint pen, the tip of it pressed to a notepad. Normally, the tablet would be covered with a scribbled tattoo of illegible notes, but at the moment, the paper surface remained unusually blank...as though it had become an outward visual indication of its owner's inner bewilderment.

It had taken almost until dawn for him and Gail to finish operating on their mysterious patient; the bullet's path had torn through her spleen, nicking her pancreas and cracking several of her ribs in the process. The nasty thing about bullets was that they had been created with a singular purpose - namely, to tear through and disfigure human flesh without thought or discrimination - and the ones Cena loaded his gun with were designed to take down beings that were notoriously hard to kill.

Bryan had no doubt that they had done all that they could: removing the damaged spleen, repairing torn and lacerated tissue, providing Mickie with transfusions and other fluids to replenish her depleted blood supply. Besides, she was stronger than he had expected - with the added support of an oxygen tube, she was already breathing on her own, and the low beeps emanating from the heart monitor remained slow and steady.

But the doctor's optimism remained guarded. With an injury as severe as this one, there was always the risk of complications - infection, internal bleeding - the signs of which wouldn't manifest themselves until later on. And with those bite marks on her throat; wounds which had become all-too-familiar to Bryan and his particular line of work...there was also the ever-present risk that she could slip down into an entirely different sort of darkness; one which would allow her to return - but one which would also warp the very physiognomy of her being, spitting her back out as a dark mirror of her former self.

The doctor let out an exhausted sigh, covering his eyes with his hand, massaging his temples between thumb and fingers. One of the marks of a good physician was his or her ability to compartmentalize - and Bryan was no exception. Right now, the rational scientist facet of his psyche was gently but persistently reminding him that he needed to get some sleep; that in a few hours, the doors of the clinic upstairs would open and his daytime patients would straggle in one by one - individuals who needed his help even more than the ones he treated by night.

But Bryan instead remained where he was. He had eked out this dual existence as a healer for some time now, and as much as he loved his clinic and his patients; as much as he savored opening the front door each morning and feeling the sunlight wash over his face...he knew deep in his heart that this place, this subterranean sanctuary hidden beneath its floorboards, was the location to which he would inevitably return.

And as many times as he told himself that he lived in the light...the truth was that life wouldn't even exist without the one he had in the dark.

A hand touched his shoulder, startling him back to the present. The doctor jerked upright, knocking the pad of paper off his lap and onto the floor. He glanced up, his features relaxing almost immediately when he saw that it was only Gail. "Geesh, you scared me - I didn't hear you come in."

A faint smile flitted at the corners of the Asian woman's mouth. "I knocked - guess you were too wrapped up in your own little world to hear me." The comment was uttered with affection rather than derision, however, and kneeling down, she picked up the notepad, handing it back to the doctor. "I figured...when you didn't come to bed...that I'd find you in here."

She fell silent, both of them looking over to study the prone figure lying in the bed a few feet away. Aside from the red and green LCD lights of the various machines, Mickie's golden-brown hair provided the only color in the tableau; her sole movement the slight rise and fall of her chest as she inhaled and exhaled. Her complexion was ashen, as though all the tubes and needles attached to her, rather than sustaining her life, were instead draining it from her.

Gail sat back on her haunches, resting her elbows on her knees, her expression of almost-amusement abruptly fading. Her dark eyes flicked toward Bryan's, somber and serious even in the faint light. "You can't stop thinking about her either...can you?" It was a remark that said nothing...and everything.

Bryan shrugged, the movement almost helpless. "Can you blame me?" With one hand, he gestured toward their unconscious patient. "I'm still trying to convince myself that I'm not crazy after what I just saw-"

"You're not crazy," Gail interjected quietly. "And if you are...then so am I...because we both saw the same thing back in that operating room." She cast her gaze toward the linoleum floor; her tone forceful, as though she was trying to convince herself. "We both saw that wound starting to heal on its own...the whole time we were operating on her...just like she was already a-"

"So why weren't there any other symptoms?" Bryan interrupted, cutting Gail off. The V-word wasn't explicitly verboten within the clinic...but Gail had noticed that the doctor would often go out of his way to avoid its utterance. Bryan went on, gesturing with both hands now. "If she's already starting to spontaneously regenerate, then we should be seeing other signs by now - sensitivity to silver or UV rays, sharper canids - but there was none of that!"

The doctor leaned back in his chair, covering his face with both hands, his voice muffled. "And if her cells are already capable of rapid regeneration, then how is...that other thing...that we found...even possible?"

Bryan dropped his hands back down into his lap, staring dully at nothing. "Those scars...on her neck, the rest of her body...they have to be years old." He shook his head slowly. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Gail...but I've never heard of anyone lasting that long-"

Gail's gaze, meanwhile, had drifted upward to focus on Mickie. "Can you imagine? What that must have been like?" Her tone was distracted, as though she was only vaguely aware of the doctor's presence. Slowly, she rose to her feet, moving toward the bed. "Hanging on for that long, not really one thing or the other, and the whole time, not knowing why-" She shivered briefly at the thought. "I can only imagine the pain-"

"Yeah, well - judging from the track marks on her arms, she found at least one way to deal with it." Bryan's tone was brisk, clinical; the rational side of his brain briefly reasserting control to cope with the situation. "By the way, make sure you mention to Nattie when she comes in - we're going to need to start this girl on methadone as soon as possible."

Gail nodded, her attention still fixed on the unconscious scarred brunette. "Yeah...especially with the..." Her voice trailed off, and she glanced back toward the doctor, her expression questioning. "Cena...do you think that he knows? About that?"

Bryan shook his head. "He would have said something if he did - it would have been the first thing out of his mouth as soon as he stepped in the door." He reached up to stroke his chin once more. "My guess is...no one knows."

"Even her?" the Asian woman asked, nodding her chin toward Mickie. Her tone was soft...but there was a sort of methodical thoughtfulness laced through it, as though every one of her seemingly innocuous questions was in fact focused toward unearthing a greater truth.

Bryan must have caught the gentle calculation in her voice because he abruptly sat up straighter in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly. "What are you getting at, Gail?" he asked, his tone cautious and filled with more than just a touch of suspicion.

Now it was Gail's turn to shrug nonchalantly. "I'm just saying...maybe the reason no one knows is because...this thing didn't...exist...a month ago." She said nothing further; merely glanced over her shoulder, her almond-shaped eyes steadily meeting the doctor's.

Bryan's response was immediate and brief: shock flitted across his features like a shadow across the sun, disappearing as his countenance hardened into something unreadable. His voice, when he eventually did speak, was a low warning: "Gail-"

"Oh, come on!" Even though Mickie was on enough morphine to keep her far from the reaches of sensation and consciousness, Gail nevertheless kept her tone low. Whirling around, she stormed toward the doctor, gesturing wildly. "You've said so yourself - the potential's always been there; at this point, it's just a matter of nature figuring out how to bridge the gap!"

She paused, shooting a look back at Mickie. "Well...maybe nature's finally figured out a way." Her gaze swung back toward Bryan. "Maybe the reason she's lasted so long without turning is because she's stuck - maybe there's just enough of both in her to allow the impossible to happen-"

Bryan stood, the chair legs screeching harshly against the linoleum and effectively severing the conversation. "Those two have been waiting a long time - I should go update them on her condition." His voice was terse, unemotional. "In the meantime...you keep an eye on her until Nattie arrives, and then you should probably get some sleep." A pause, so short it was almost imperceptible. "We'll talk about this later." He turned to go.

"Daniel?" At the sound of his first name, the doctor hesitated, but didn't look back. "Why don't you believe me?" Gail's tone was resigned, defeated, as though this was an argument she had grown accustomed to losing.

Bryan looked down at the floor for a moment or two. "It's not...that I don't," he eventually replied, his voice quiet almost gentle. He glanced back at his assistant, his expression softening. "It's just...if you're right..."

For an instant, his gaze drifted toward the unconscious form of Mickie. "...then she's in even more danger than we thought."

"What do you think his deal is?"

Cena didn't answer; didn't even move, but Jeff knew better than to think that his leader was actually asleep. When you spent your existence hunting down creatures who were stronger, faster and - occasionally - smarter than you were, sleep was a luxury that you eventually learned to function without.

In truth, the rainbow-haired man had never viewed it as any sort of great loss. Part of it was due to his inherent overabundance of nervous energy...but part of it also stemmed from his belief that slumber was just another form of hell; a chance for the images and memories locked inside his subconscious to flash unbidden before his eyes, like an unholy newsreel of blood and destruction.

He had heard once that lack of sleep made you crazy, but Jeff was certain that the people who made this claim weren't walking around with the weight of his particular collection of recollections and experiences. That when they closed their eyes at night, they weren't seeing human intestines roped around the Christmas tree like pink and red ropes of garland...or the light glittering off the diamond in his fiancee's engagement ring, the fingers of her severed arm still curled slightly - as though with her dying breath, she had been trying to protect the child inside her...

Jeff would always gladly welcome insanity rather than relive those memories ever again.

On the other side of the room, Jeff heard the soft rustle of crumpled tissue paper on the padded couch as his leader rolled over onto his back. The two Hunters had been relegated to one of the basement clinic's recovery rooms, while they waited for an update on Mickie's condition. Even though the small space was dark, Jeff could still picture his boss perfectly, hands folded over his chest, his blue eyes staring a hole through the ceiling.

A second later, Cena's voice floated through the gloom. "Whose deal?"

"You know," Jeff shrugged, even though the gesture was pointless in the dark. "The doc. I mean-" The rainbow-haired man hesitated, struggling helplessly for the words. "-he may know a lot...but he's not like us."

Jeff shook his head. "You, me, Beth, 'Ria...we're ghosts, man. But the doc...he's somebody. He's got friends, patients...people who have no idea who we are or what we do. He's got something other than this life...so why's he risking it all to help people like us?"

Cena said nothing, and for a moment, Jeff thought that his leader had gone right back to ignoring him. But after a second or two, the blue-eyed man spoke, his tone full of the same emotional detachment with which he viewed his work: "I don't know...how long ago it was. The doc was the supervising physician one night at the city hospital ER when, about two in the morning, they wheeled in a DOA. No big deal - just another junkie OD'ing - Bryan officially pronounced him dead, and they sent the body to the morgue."

The leader of the Hunter pack paused. "Only problem was: the junkie wasn't really dead - he was just passing through the final stage of vamp transformation. He came to - killed three people and maimed two others before he eventually escaped."

Even though this tale was nothing compared to the things Jeff had seen in his years as a Hunter, the rainbow-haired man still let out a low awe-filled whistle. "Jesus..."

Cena went on. "Naturally, there was a big stink; a lot of media attention, a lot of rumors - exactly what the vamp community doesn't want. So the bloodsucker bureaucracy stepped in and threw enough money at enough of the right people to make it go away quietly...but ultimately, the hospital still needed a scapegoat, and since Bryan's signature was on the death certificate, he became the sacrificial lamb. He quietly resigned, moved out here, opened up this clinic...I think you know how the rest of the story goes."

Jeff heard the tissue paper rustle again as his leader shifted on the couch. "The doc might not act like it...but he still lost something that night; something that he'll never get back. And in that way...he'll always be like us."

The rainbow-haired man licked his lips, which had inexplicably gone dry. "Did...did they ever find the vamp?"

Another pause, even longer this time...then Cena's voice, flat and unforgiving. "The authorities never found him." And with those five words, Jeff knew immediately that while the police might never have caught up with this particular bloodsucker...someone else had.

Without warning, the door swung open, and Jeff's eyes were filled with a blinding brilliance as the overhead lights were suddenly snapped on. The rainbow-haired man sat up, rubbing his eyes with both hands, bright blobs of color filling his vision. "Gah! Jesus Christ - a little warning next time!"

Bryan stared down at him, his mouth twisting up into its familiar lopsided grin. "Sorry, did I wake you?"

"How is she, Doc?" Cena interrupted, sitting up as well, his tone indicating that he was in no mood for witty banter, even if it wasn't directed at him.

The doctor's grin evaporated. "She's stable," he replied, his voice noticeably subdued. "Another twenty-four to forty-eight hours will tell us for sure...but it looks like she'll pull through."

In spite of himself, Jeff couldn't contain a sigh of relief, and as his eyes adjusted to the change in light, he thought he thought he saw Cena's broad shoulders sag slightly.

Bryan glanced down, shifting his weight slightly on the balls of his feet as he cleared his throat. "Listen...Cena - there are some...things...about Mickie...that we need to discuss-" Unease had crept into his voice, making him seem more like a teenager asking to borrow the family car than a skilled physician. The doctor shot Jeff a sidelong glance before adding: "-alone."

Instantly, Jeff felt annoyance surge upward inside him - after all, while Cena had been leaning out the window playing Dirty Harry, hadn't he been the one actually trying to save Mickie's life? Why was he getting banished?

But the rainbow-haired man quickly swallowed the emotion. Regardless of what had happened tonight, Cena was still the leader - and while Jeff might not always agree with his decisions, he would always respect that hierarchy.

Jeff stood up, shoving his hands into his pockets. "No worries, Doc," he remarked, his tone nonchalant. "Mind if I look in on her?"

Bryan - who looked almost relieved that the rainbow-haired man wasn't going to challenge his request - nodded. "I don't see why not. She's in the main recovery room - Gail's with her now. Don't try to wake her; rest is the most crucial thing she needs right now."

Jeff returned the nod. "Sure thing, Doc." Sidling past the physician, he disappeared out into the main area of the clinic.

As soon as the door clicked softly shut behind him, Cena swung his gaze back toward Bryan, his irises like chips of blue ice. "You know..." he began slowly, his voice rumbling with only the faintest hint of irritation. "Whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of him."

"Actually...I can't." Bryan sat down on the couch recently occupied by Jeff, putting him directly opposite the leader of the Hunter pack. His gaze was neutral...but his eyes were glittering with the heat of barely contained emotion. "I know how you are. You seem to think that you're some kind of super hero; that you're wearing some kind of leader mask that you can't let slip for even one second...because if you did, then your team might see that you're as human as they are."

He slowly shook his head. "Jeff has just as much a right to hear what I have to say...but if I let him stay here, I'll never get the truth out of you."

"And what truth is that, Doc?" Cena's tone was almost as deliberately bland as the doctor's, but his azure eyes were full of suspicion.

Bryan's focus didn't waver. "What really happened tonight."

A tiny muscle near Cena's jaw twitched. "I told you what happened," the Hunter pack leader intoned flatly.

"No, all you told me was the facts," Bryan's tone was just as brutally insistent as Cena's, his own eyes narrowing. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Maybe this 'need-to-know' military crap works with your team...but it won't work with me. The only way I can help Mickie is if I know everything...starting with exactly how she ended up with a bullet through her side."

For a heartbeat, Cena's gaze shifted, zeroing in on something that only he could see, and in that moment, a confused combination of various emotions flickered across his face. "I...told...you," the Hunter pack leader eventually replied, his deep voice tight with effort. "There was a vamp...I shot at him...Mick got in the way. That's all."

"Really?" Bryan's tone was sharp with near-sarcasm. "So this vamp...he wouldn't have anything to do with the evidence of recent sexual activity we found on Mickie while we were cleaning her up?" At this, Cena visibly flinched, looking away, covering his mouth with one hand. The doctor pressed on. "She was protecting him...wasn't she? That's how she got shot; she was trying to protect him-"

"Goddammit, Doc!" Cena sprang to his feet, striding to the far edge of the room. Drawing his fist back, he slammed it as hard as he could against the wall. Bryan winced, but the Hunter pack leader's countenance never altered. Instead, he pressed his forehead against the cinderblock surface, his tone dull, as though he had lost all will to resist. "She begged me, pleaded with me to stop, to listen. And then...that bloodsucking piece of shit...he had the nerve to tell me that he loved her - like a vamp is even capable of something like that."

Cena squeezed his eyes closed; it was obvious that he was reliving the incident in his mind. "I pulled the trigger...and I didn't know Mick could even move that fast...because all of a sudden...she was in front of me...pushing him out of the way."

The blue-eyed man spun around in a slow circle, slumping against the wall and sinking down into a sitting position. His gaze, when it met Bryan's once more, was something akin to miserable. "Why are you doing this, Doc?" There was no accusation in his voice; only weariness. "I fucked up, I know I did - but what does whatever she and that suckhead were doing have do with this? What does he have to do with any of this?"

"Maybe nothing," Bryan shrugged. "Maybe everything." To this, Cena said nothing; only exhaled deeply. The doctor continued. "Look, I understand that you've had a hell of a night - but you weren't there in that operating room. You didn't see a bullet wound the size of my fist, not even scorched from the silver that cut through it, trying to heal itself back up as though it was nothing more than a pinprick!"

Surprise and some semblance of recognition flitted across Cena's features, but the doctor barely noticed. He was talking faster now, his voice rising in volume and intensity. "That girl you carried in - she's human, and yet, she's not - and the more I look at her, the more I don't understand how she can still be alive, let alone have a child growing inside her-"

Bryan stopped, perhaps finally grasping that he had said too much too soon. Cena's face was paper-white, as though all of his natural color had been leached out of it. His voice, when he eventually regained the ability to speak, was a hoarse trembling shadow of its former authoritative self. "What?"

The doctor sat back, his body sagging. "Shit," he remarked, more to himself than to anyone else. "Gail was right...you really didn't know...did you?"

"Know what?" With effort, the Hunter pack leader struggled to his feet. It took longer than usual; his limbs seemed to have been reduced to water. The breath was tearing out of him in sharp staccato gasps, his lower jaw trembling. "Doc, tell me you didn't just say what I thought I heard you say-"

Bryan sighed. "I didn't want to tell you like this...but I think you need to know." He took a deep breath...and with the utterance of two small words, changed everything.

"Mickie's pregnant."