The Elder Doctor sat with a mug of tea. "Well, Doctors, now you've all seen it. As clear a case of Divine Intervention as one might ask to witness. Not mere Angelic Interference, no indeed; a top-level Entity had a finger in this chest. That was a brand-new right atrium and ventricle, with a suspiciously sound vena cava and pulmonary artery, given the bullet fragment resting behind the heart. The lung is a right mess but time will heal it, even from scythe metal exposure. I like your X-Ray machine. It did make it easier to remove all fragments with a minimum of poking around."

The Senior Surgeon nodded. "Dangerous if one is over-exposed, but yes, sir, very useful in cases like these. The patient will need rest and pulmonary therapy. Nurse Collins may be able to supply that, as his Academy duties are not onerous. Have to schedule around his advanced classes, though."

"Humphries won't be going anywhere for a while," said another. "Arrangements can be made. Collins wants to be a Doctor, does he? Poor deluded fellow. Let's encourage him. We need somebody else to share the call schedule."

"Sir, about the bonded partner. Is there anything we could or should do for him?"

"Feed him, hydrate him, keep him warm. Make sure he stays in bed for three days while Humphries' essential healing continues. He'll be able to walk and sit and still endure the balancing for a week after that, but he will be very weary. Don't send him home. They won't rest well if they're apart. If he's overloaded too soon, if he becomes exhausted, the balancing will fail. It's happened before when a superior has ordered a partner back to work because he is not obviously injured. Be ready to defend him from any such demand. When the patient is beginning to walk, the partner can go back to work part-time as long as it does not weaken either of them. Please involve me in any decisions. I want to follow these two closely."


Spears stood by the unlit bonfire. The announcements had been made, the trainees and interns introduced—so many; extending into full dark and beyond. Partnerships and handfastings were waiting to be completed before the fire. Grell stood beside him, his guards slightly behind to left and right. How shocking to need guards in this place, at this time, among these Reapers and Angels. The list of the year's fatalities was in his hand. He had not asked the Angels about Anders' fate. Anders' name would not be honored, this year or any other. Nearby, Holbert waited with a deadly calm. The crowd was unusually large and unusually subdued. Will waited.

Behind him, a rustle. "A message for Director Spears, sirs. Mentor Sutcliff, a message for Director Spears. Mister Sorenson, a message for Director Spears, stop being an ass, Mitch."

Grell held up her Angel blade for light. "Trainee Reyes, here please. Mitch, she's my trainee and one of Will's messengers. Let her pass."

Will turned to see a pale, weary Trainee. She looked like several hours in a cold uncomfortable chair, but had endeavored to brush out the wrinkles in her worn student suit. She came to attention and met his eyes with commendable steadiness.

"Director Spears, the Infirmary sends its compliments. Mister Humphries has survived surgery. His recovery is expected to be extended but routine. He and his bondmate are resting reasonably comfortably. Mr. Slingby's presence will be required in the Infirmary until such time as Mr. Humphries is released to home care. For status updates and further information, please apply to Senior Nurse Practitioner Theodore Collins at the Academy. Message ends."

And thus, in the light of the blade, Amalia Reyes became one of the few individuals in any Realm to see William T. Spears smile.


They brought Alan in looking as dead as any Reaper, and considerably deader than most. Carefully a team of medical workers arranged him on the bed to Eric's right. A IV line was in one arm. A tube ran from Alan's chest down to a noisy machine on the floor. Occasionally it gurgled. Eric did his best to ignore it. But Alan was there, and breathing, and there was a tiny hint of him in the bond. He was coming up through the anesthetics. There was pain, aye, and a dim confusion, and a totally Alan tinge of exasperation. Collins was looking closely at the dressings.

"Ted? I can feel him a little."

"Mm. Yes, he's surfacing. That's what we want. Good. Mr. Humphries. Can you hear me? Please move these fingers. Squeeze my hand, please. Toes? Wiggle them. Good. Your partner is here. Can you feel him through your bond?"

Alan hummed a faint affirmative.

"Very good. You are a lucky Reaper, sir."

Very weakly, but very clearly, Alan said something rude about an Angel. Collin's eyebrows flew upwards. Eric chortled.

"There you are, me Light. Rest now. Ted, he's cold. Can you please wrap him in one of those heated blankets?"

"Absolutely. Thanks. You, too, I think. Here we go, Mr. Humphries, let me tuck you in."

The warmth echoed over the bond as Alan slid into sleep.

"Eric, when next he wakes, he will likely not remember that. Don't push him on it, it will distress him. We do occasionally see angelic tampering with severe injuries, and the Divine Ream does not permit those memories to last."

"Aye. It was a very bad wound, I know."

"You never heard me say this. It was unsurvivable. But here he is, mind intact and body healing." Another blanket fell over Eric. Oh, that was marvelous. A wee taste of Heaven, so it was.


Some of Alan's worst memories involved waking up in an Infirmary bed, in pain, without his glasses, surrounded by blurry unidentified people who did not have his well-being at heart. On the first morning the nurses and orderlies learned not to wake him suddenly with loud noises. The doctors learned that certain phrases inspired fight-or-flight responses. All learned not to trust his blood-pressure readings if they were taken within a half-hour of waking. The various needles and tubes required careful negotiation. Alan was deeply suspicious of strangers addressing him as 'we' in hearty cheerful tones.

He was small but very strong. Eric had his hands full in that first difficult day when Alan was conscious but confused and not at all happy about that tube in his chest and that mechanical device on the floor. A routine quickly developed where Eric was always the one to wake Alan while nobody else was looming over him. Once Alan was reassured that he was not a prisoner of Research, he would apologize for his reactions. Once he stopped trembling and had his glasses on, Eric would introduce the medical personnel waiting to see him.

On the second day Alan knew most of the medical staff, could recognize their voices and shapes if he could not make out their faces, and accepted that they meant him no harm. Or at least he accepted that if they hurt him too badly Eric would yell at them.


Alan was dozing, comforted by the sound of Eric's voice and a dose of painkillers. Eric was explaining his theories to someone. Alan did not know or care who else was there. Eric was beside him, holding his hand. Nothing else mattered as long as Eric was safe and well.

"...I know that it's hard for a Reaper to care about human concerns. But when you see that Academies in all these countries are full to bursting these last few years, and indeed are expanding, and in Russia they are opening new campuses, then we can predict a sudden disaster in about three years, followed by another worse one after another three or four years, and a continuing massive population die-off in Russia for years after that.

"I'm watching the newspapers as it all develops. I know more or less when and where the war will begin. Reading about it puts me off me feed. I have seen disasters strike here before, twice when the Black Death went through. Reapers died in as great numbers as the humans. Not from the disease, but the demons. We need to be as ready as we can be."

"Ambulances," whispered Alan. "Collins?" He was very short of breath. The machine on the floor gurgled and chugged.

"Mr. Humphries? Are you with us?" Definitely Collins. Good.

"Ambulances. Talk to Supplies. Using automobile trucks for deliveries now. Ford Model T frames. Refit for ambulances to transport wounded from battlefields." Wheeze. "Frannie Ferris, Thursday nights." Wheeze. "Portal transport."

"Mr. Humphries, you should rest. We can talk later."

"Alan, me love, I heard your idea and will pass it on. Ted, it's important. These little thoughts of his are never to be dismissed. You pass it up your line of command. If you can help me to a telephone, I'll call Supplies and get you some names. Frannie Ferris attends the Thursday Nights at the Scythe and Skull."

Alan decided that rest was indeed a very good suggestion...surely someone had already thought of field hospitals. Maybe using the Gather marquees...perhaps a joint effort with the Angels...


"Eric. Wha' happened?"

"What do ye remember?"

"Nothing. Gather...internships...nothing. Pain. Doctors. Was it demons?"

"No, no demons."

"Research?"

"No. Well, sort of, maybe. Ye're safe, me love. No Research here."

"Anyone else hurt?"

"Two, not badly."

"Tell me."

Eric considered a quick edit of the facts. Then he remembered the promises he had made, the bonfire and the Elder as witness, and Eliza's last lecture, and decided upon truth.

"If you start to turn blue I will stop. We don't want Collins to scold us, or start talking about doping you up again. Good?"

"Good. Harder not knowing."

"Here's all I know, which isn't much; I didn't get there until you were down. Carl Anders shot you and two others."

"Two...?"

"Collins says they 're fine. Moreau went home the same day. Fairbairn stayed overnight, concussion."

"Anders. Gun?"

"Yes. This is nurses' gossip, so this information may not be correct, ye ken? Anders started a fight with Brandon at the Gather. Pulled a gun, started shooting. The bullets were scythe-metal. The gun burned his hands. Somebody decked him and tied him up. He was handed over to the Angels because they're running Judicial at the moment. He's gone, can't hurt anyone else."

"You're not hurt?"

"I felt the bullet hit, I felt the bond break. My heart...You were dead, oh God, Alan, me Light... Then suddenly the bond was back. I caught it and held you. Fitz controlled your cinematic records. He gave you time, like a Reaper spares a human of enormous value to the world. The doctors arrived. They got you into surgery, cut out a few bits of scythe metal, and here we are. For further information, we'll both have to apply to Grell, who should have all the gossip by now. We've been here three days."

"...my interns...settled?"

"Ah, yes, this was late afternoon, I'd gotten all my trainees matched. I'm pretty sure you would have been done as well."

"This...machine?"

"Yer lung is shredded. It's keeping it inflated or something like that. Hands off the tube."

"Thank you..." and Alan drifted off into sleep. So did Eric.