Lucien came home after the autopsy was concluded. There wasn't anything to do until Gus ran the tests. Lucien offered to help, but poor Gus got nervous around him. Of course, Lucien knew the man didn't like him. And that was fine. They worked well enough together for what was needed, though if Gus didn't have something against him, it might be a little more pleasant. Not that autopsies weren't a nasty business, but it was always strangely exciting to have a mystery to solve. Determining cause of death was sometimes the most important clue the police could get. And even if it didn't end up being a suspicious death, its cause was a great comfort to the family of the deceased, and he did like to be able to help and to bring people peace of mind.

These thoughts wandered his head as he drove back home, wondering what Jean would have ready for lunch. Well, it was a little early, actually. This time of day she could often be found out in the sunroom or garden tending to her plants. She had a quite a green thumb, and Lucien had to confess—if only to himself—that he found it fascinating to watch her at work with the flowers and such.

But when he went into the house, everything was quiet. Still. Deathly still. A shiver crawled up Lucien's spine as he walked softly through. Something was very wrong, though he could not say what it was. He somehow knew that Jean was not out in the garden.

There was nothing amiss in the kitchen or the parlor. But then he noticed something in the doorway to his surgery. Carefully, he headed in that direction until he realized that what he say in the doorway was a shoe. A sensible brown suede pump. Jean's shoe. And upon that realization, he ran frantically in.

"Jean!?" he cried in shock, seeing her lying on the flooring, seemingly passed out. Hopefully just passed out. He threw off his jacket to make sure he had full range of motion in order to help her.

But then he saw the blood. There was blood on the floor all around her amidst broken glass. Even more troubling was the dribble of blood from the edge of her mouth.

"My god, Jean!" He rushed to her side, careful he himself did not kneel in glass. He rolled up his sleeves as quick as he could and lifted her up into his arms, sitting her upright as he searched for evidence of wounds, some source for the blood. Could it have been in her vomit? Had something broken as she fell, vomiting blood?

His doctor's instincts went into action as he examined her as best he could. Her clothes were not torn in any way. The blood on them were not evidence of any wound she possessed. None he could find.

Lucien looked around the room wildly, trying to locate any other source for the blood or reason for Jean to be unconscious like this. On his desk, just at eye level, he saw it. The wooden stand that held his vials for blood samples was toppled over on the desk. The samples were all gone. He'd taken bloods from Mrs. Clasby to check her sugar and iron levels. It must be that blood that was now all over the floor and all over Jean. It didn't make any sense. Had Jean come across the blood, spilled it by accident, and fainted at the sight of it? But Jean did not strike him as the sort to be squeamish, having lived on a farm most of her life. It didn't make any sense. What on earth had happened?

While he was lost in desperate thought, Jean started to roust slightly. He whispered her name and stroked her hair, holding her steady and checking her pulse as she came around. It was weak. And her breaths were shallow. Not a good sign at all.

"Jean? It's Lucien, Jean. What's happened?" he asked, hoping the sound of his voice would help her regain consciousness. Really, he should have picked her up and put her onto the exam table, but he was worried about jostling her too much until he knew what had happened.

He had one arm around her waist to hold her up as he knelt on the ground, and his other hand cradled her head over his lap. Her eyelids were fluttering but not quite opening. Her head turned and rolled so she was facing his stomach and her cheek rested on his inner wrist. He tried to adjust so he could hold her better, but he was suddenly distracted.

Her mouth opened. She looked like she was about to speak or perhaps yawn. All of a sudden, a puff of air came from her mouth and something…happened. Her teeth were, well, they weren't precisely teeth anymore. Well they were but really they were somehow transformed. Where there had been ordinary teeth there were now a pair of long, sharp fangs in place of her canines.

And before he could even really process that or do anything about it, Jean shifted in his grasp and sunk those fangs into his forearm. He cried out in surprise, nearly dropping her, but she had latched on with a fierce grip.

It hurt, at first. He had been bitten! But the pain subsided immediately and was replaced with the strangest sensation of pleasure. Her lips were sucking on his arm and her touch was like magic. He felt a warmth travel through is body, a tingling heat that coursed throughout his veins. His eyes suddenly grew tired. His jaw dropped open as his breaths grew ragged, and if he'd had any wherewithal, he might have recognized he himself was about to pass out.

But just before Lucien was about to collapse, Jean pulled away from him with a gasp. She scrambled away from him and looked at him with wide, terrified eyes. Her face was flushed and her body was obviously strong and well. Lucien blinked, trying to figure out what the bloody hell had just happened.

He tore his attention from Jean to look down at his arm. There were two puncture wounds from her fangs in his arm, but there was no flow of blood from the wounds. The skin was blooming red, a sign that a bruise might form there. But it didn't hurt at all. Were it not for him having seen and experienced the bite and now seeing the wounds, he would have never known anything had happened. But perhaps he was in shock.

Jean opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again, furrowing her brow. Lucien noticed briefly that her fangs had returned back to being normal teeth.

Lucien swallowed hard, trying to get his mind to stop spinning. This was…Christ, what was this?! What was happening? And, perhaps most importantly, what was Jean?

"I'm so sorry," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I think…we should talk," he responded. His own voice was quite strained.

Jean paused for a moment. "I'll put the kettle on." Her voice cracked when she spoke, but she moved to stand up and carry on as though everything was just fine and normal.

But Lucien stopped her. "You're covered in blood, Jean," he pointed out. Good lord this was the most surreal moment of his entire life. She'd just bitten him, punctured his arm with her fangs and he was taking the time to worry about her appearance?

She looked down to the rust-colored stains on her blouse. "I-I should clean up. Myself and the…mess," she said, looking to the stains on the rug beside his desk and the broken glass littered in between.

"Leave that for now. Just get yourself cleaned up in case Mattie comes home. We don't need her asking questions. I'll bandage my arm and meet you in the kitchen for tea," he suggested.

Jean looked extremely ashamed. Her cheeks were red and her eyes were welling up. She swallowed what was undoubtedly a lump in her throat and nodded. "I am sorry," she muttered, her eyes fixated on the floor beneath her shoes.

Lucien sighed. "Let's get cleaned up. Then we can talk." He himself stood up, glad that Jean was hurrying out of the room. He wanted a moment alone to figure some of this out. Though that was likely a futile effort.

He looked back at the stained rug. What an absolute mess.