A/N: Content warning for emetophobia in this chapter - nothing particularly graphic, but Nadja does get sick more than once.


"Come on dude, new year, new you! You gotta stop moping about her, it's been months!" Guillermo watched as the man at the bar in front of him handed yet another tequila shot to his miserable-looking companion. "Besides, that goth chick has been making eyes at you ever since she got here!"

Guillermo rolled his eyes. Typical Wall Street assholes…

It was New Year's Eve, and the vampires had decided it was the perfect night to go hunting in one of New York City's packed nightclubs. The festivities all over the city meant an influx of potential victims from out of town, more people out after dark, and most importantly, more people drinking.

They had let Guillermo tag along, mainly to boss around, but there was something nice about being included. It was good practice for what to expect when he joined their more intense undead parties. Someday.

Until then, he was stuck in the queue behind a group of assholes.

Guillermo finally ordered his drink - a virgin margarita since he was working - and squeezed past the same two men as one of them catcalled two passing women. Suddenly Nadja was at their side, and by the looks of it she was already drunk. The first man elbowed his companion in the ribs and practically shoved him into Nadja. Guillermo watched as she licked her lips and led the man towards the back of the club.

Guillermo rolled his eyes again. He would have gone for the first guy instead of his depressed friend, but there was a good chance Nadja would return to finish him off before the night was through. He sipped his own drink and shuffled over to rejoin Nandor and Laszlo, who had clearly been drinking in their own way. Laszlo was somehow pink in the face despite his usual pale complexion, and he was leaning against Nandor for support.

"Gizmo!" He cried in greeting.

"You know that's not my name." He muttered.

"I say, where is my wife?"

"She found a victim." Guillermo sipped at his drink, regretting the lack of alcohol in it even more now. "They went out back."

"Send her to the dance floor when she returns." Laszlo instructed.

He and Nandor slid out of the booth, disappearing into the mass of people on the crowded dance floor. Guillermo slumped back in his own seat and sighed.

He'd be part of that too. Eventually.


Nadja didn't know when the pleasant haze from her last drunken victim had soured, but something was definitely not right. The music was too loud, bodies pressed in on her from all sides, trapping her, and she could feel a familiar knot of discomfort tightening in her belly. The lights flashing above the dance floor had become blinding, making Nadja's head spin and her stomach churn. She needed to get out, now.

She pushed forward through the throng, ignoring the complaints that rose up around her. Nadja was near the edge of the dance floor when her skirts caught on something. Already unsteady, she would have gone tumbling to the ground, but strong arms caught her by the shoulders and pulled her to safety.

"Nadja! There you are my love!" Laszlo exclaimed. Her husband was a lightweight, but he'd always been a happy drunk. "I say, dearest, are you quite alright?" His smile faltered when he saw the dazed expression on Nadja's face.

"Something's wrong…" Nadja managed. Her hands found Laszlo's biceps, and he could feel her nails digging in through his jacket and his shirt. He scanned the room, looking for the exit and searching for a familiar face in the crowd. Where the hell was Gizmo when they needed him?

"Laszlo, Nadja, have either of you seen Guillermo?" Nandor appeared beside them, seemingly out of nowhere. "I need him to-" He stopped dead when he caught sight of Nadja looking distinctly unwell.

"Eesh, you don't look so good…" Nandor commented with a grimace, as though this was revelatory information. "Is she alright?" He turned to Laslzo, and then back to Nadja. "Are you alright?"

"I dunno…" Nadja slurred. "I feel funny…"

Shit.

"You look like you're gonna puke." Nandor added, entirely unhelpfully.

"Right, I'm going to find Gizmo." Laszlo said authoritatively, although he still seemed almost as lightheaded as Nadja. He pointed at Nandor. "You need to get my darling wife out of here."

Nandor nodded, and as Laszlo disappeared back into the throng, he led an unsteady Nadja to the closest exit with an arm around her shoulders for support. She clung to his cape as he steered her through the crowd.

They found themselves in an alleyway behind the club, the same place where Nadja had dumped the bodies of her last two victims. The coppery tang of blood on the crisp winter air would have been appetizing under any other circumstances, but as soon as the smell hit her, Nadja felt her stomach lurch. She was going to be sick.

Nadja wrenched herself from Nandor's grasp, stumbling forward and catching herself on the brick wall in front of her. Nandor was saying something - probably something stupid - that didn't register, but she could feel his hand moving up and down between her shoulder blades as she was violently ill.

Behind her, she heard the door slam open, followed by the sounds of Laszlo and Guillermo talking over each other. Nadja wanted to yell at everyone to shut up, but her throat burned when she tried to find her voice and the only thing that came out was a strangled cough. Her vision swam sickeningly before her eyes, and her chest felt oddly tight for someone who could easily survive without breathing.

She felt Nandor's hand leave her back and heard his voice join in the cacophony. Could her pigshit housemates have picked a worse time to start bickering?

Nadja was still trying to catch the breath she didn't actually need when her knees buckled and her eyes rolled back, and it was only Nandor's quick reflexes that kept her from cracking her skull on the pavement.

He looked down at her lying limp in his arms.

Fuck.

"Nadja?!" Guillermo exclaimed. "Is she okay?"

"Not now Gizmo!" Laszlo said. "We need to get her home."

"I'll take her." Nandor offered.

Laszlo shook his head. "She's my wife."

"You're in no state to fly." Nandor said.

"What about me, Master?" Guillermo asked.

"Use your small tech box to find a way home." He instructed. "I'll meet you at the house." With that, Nandor swept Nadja into his arms bridal-style and took off into the air.

The brief flight to their Staten Island home was enough to kill what little buzz Nandor had managed to build up in spite of his stupidly high alcohol tolerance, and by the time he reached the house, his head was clear. Not that it would be much help, though; Nadja was starting to stir in his arms, and he had no clue how to help her now.

Nandor had taken care of Nadja once before - while Laszlo was away on his ill-fated quest to become "a much better guitarist" - but it quickly became clear that whatever intolerance Nadja had for sad victims had grown significantly worse since then, and Nandor was in way over his head. He had decided against bringing Nadja to her coffin since he was certain that she'd be sick again, and he'd taken a moment to pull her hair back into a messy braid while she sat on the bathroom floor in a daze, but Nandor found himself utterly at a loss for what to do next.

Nadja could be difficult for him to read, even after a century of friendship. She never wanted comfort or sympathy, except for when she did. She loved being in charge and bossing people around, except for when she actually wanted someone else to take over and give her a break. It was altogether quite confusing, so Nandor did his best to just follow her lead, but that was much easier said than done with her seriously ill and half-delirious.

Still, Nandor tried his best. He wiped the ruined makeup from her pale face with a damp washcloth, he rubbed her back each time she threw up again, and he murmured a stream of comforting nonsense when the stomach cramps left her doubled over and gritting her teeth.

"Where's Laszlo?" Nadja whimpered. "I need him."

Nandor couldn't help but agree.


The ride home had sobered Laszlo considerably, but then again, an extended period of time trapped in holiday traffic with Colin Robinson in the driver's seat would be enough to harsh anyone's vibe. Guillermo had nodded off in the passenger seat after about twenty minutes, and that was where Laszlo had left him with a shout of "bat!" as soon as they pulled into the driveway.

Nandor was sitting on the bathroom floor with Nadja's head in his lap when Laszlo flew in and returned to human form with his usual dramatic flourish, startling them both. Laszlo couldn't have missed the look of relief on Nandor's face if he tried.

"Laszlo?" Nadja croaked, reaching for him feebly.

"I'm right here," Laszlo said, sitting down so he could trade places with Nandor. "My poor darling, I'm sorry I took so long." He murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to his wife's clammy forehead. They'd both been dead for centuries, but some part of him still expected to find Nadja running a fever when she wasn't feeling well, so Laslzo was always momentarily surprised when her skin was as cool as ever.

Laszlo turned to Nandor. "How's she been?"

Nandor made a face. "Not good. But she hasn't been sick for a little while."

Laszlo nodded - he was all too familiar with the patterns of his poor Nadja's ailment. The nausea seemed to come in waves once she'd sicked up whatever bad blood had made her ill in the first place, but the abdominal pain was always relentless from start to finish.

"Thanks for getting her home, old chap," Laszlo said quietly. "And for looking after her."

Nandor was speechless - he hadn't heard anything resembling genuine gratitude from Laszlo in over fifty years. "I'll - um," He stammered as he got up, brushing off his clothes. "I'll be downstairs if you… need anything?"

"Could you bring up a glass of something from our stores?" Laszlo asked.

Nandor nodded, and disappeared down the hallway, cape trailing behind him.

Laszlo sighed. There was a very good chance that Nadja wouldn't be able to keep anything down for the next few hours at least, but he still wanted her to try and drink something. Getting some good, clean blood into her system seemed to help flush out whatever it was that was making her sick. The particulars of their biology were a mystery to even the most studied vampiric scholars, but over the years Laszlo had noticed the way it always took longer for his wife to recover on an empty stomach.

In her husband's lap, Nadja was lingering somewhere on the edge of sleep, but Laszlo knew she wouldn't be able to get any real slumber until her body decided it was done punishing her. Based on the drained corpses they had found in the alleyway, Nadja had been too inebriated to realize that she was drinking from someone with a serious case of the blues. Fuck; this was going to be bad…

"Love, do you think you could try and drink a little something?" Laszlo asked.

Nadja whined. "Laszlo, please - I don't wanna be sick again…"

"I know, darling, I know," Laszlo soothed, helping her to sit up. "But I don't want you going hungry; you'll feel better if you keep your strength up."

Nadja didn't respond, she simply rested her head against her husband's shoulder. They sat in comfortable silence until Nandor returned with a crystal glass filled with a dark red liquid.

Wordlessly, Nandor handed the cup to Laszlo and left the couple alone once more.

"Just take a sip, you don't need to drink it all." Laszlo said, holding the glass up to Nadja's lips. She swallowed hesitantly, clearly nauseated.

"Okay?" He asked as he set the glass aside. Nadja gagged and clamped a hand over her mouth. She shook her head before lunging forward and retching into the toilet. Laszlo winced, his own stomach turning in sympathy as he rubbed her back in soothing circular motions.

"You're alright, shh, you're alright…" He murmured. "I'm sorry my darling."

There wasn't much left in Nadja's stomach for her to bring up, which just made the whole process that much more painful. When she was finally done, Nadja coughed and drew the back of her hand across her mouth, then collapsed against her husband, miserable and completely exhausted. The knife of pain in her guts was now twisting sharply enough to bring tears to her eyes, and - adding insult to injury - Nadja was far too tired to stop them from falling.

Nadja was always the first to complain about any number of minor inconveniences, but when it came to real suffering, that was kept very close to her chest indeed. Laszlo could hardly stand to see his beloved wife in any form of discomfort, and watching her now in enough pain to make her cry? It was almost too much for him to bear.

Moments like these were the only time that Laszlo found himself cursing their vampiric nature. Being immortal had its many perks, of course - no risk of fever or dehydration - but besides keeping his good lady wife comfortable, there was remarkably little that Laszlo could do for her - no medicine for the pain or ginger tea for the nausea.

Laszlo gathered Nadja into his arms once more, and prepared himself for a long day.


By the time darkness fell again, Nadja still seemed just as ill. She had finally managed to consume a little blood, although as far as she was concerned, that only served to aggravate her upset stomach. Nandor had offered to sit with her for a while so Laszlo could get some rest, but he outright refused to leave his wife for longer than a moment.

Laszlo was running out of ways to help when Nadja said, in a trembling voice, that she was cold. For this, he knew precisely what to do.

"I'll run you a bath, darling."

"Thank you." Nadja leaned on her husband as he helped her to stand on wobbly legs.

She still felt terribly weak, and she couldn't help cursing the miserable soul whose sour blood had left her in this state.

The bathtub was just as ornate as the rest of their Victorian style furnishings, with clawed feet and more than enough room to stretch out. Usually, Nadja enjoyed having her hair washed, or lounging in a bubble bath, but the only thing on her mind today was the heat the water would surely provide.

Once Laszlo had filled the tub and added a glittery black bath bomb (Colin Robinson enjoyed bothering the staff at Lush, so the house was well stocked), he helped Nadja get undressed.

"How do you feel?" He asked.

"Awful." There was no point lying, Laszlo had been with her all day. Neither of them had slept, but she hadn't faced the pain alone, and at the very least the nausea seemed to have abated for the moment. "I feel like I'm dying again."

"It will pass." Laszlo promised. "Here, allow me."

Nadja was still wearing her dress from the previous night: an elegant high-necked affair she had picked up sometime during the late Victorian era, back when they still lived in London, with golden embroidery that matched her husband's jacket. Blood stained the intricate pattern of the skirts - Gizmo was going to have to fix that.

Laszlo brushed Nadja's braided hair out of the way so he could start on the long row of buttons that ran down her spine. He worked quickly and silently, after centuries of helping his wife out of her elaborate outfits he was able to undress her faster than she could do it herself. When the last of her petticoats hit the floor, Laszlo offered his arm to steady Nadja as she stepped into the steaming water.

The warmth of the tub was utter relief to her sore muscles, and Nadja sighed contentedly as she sank down until her shoulders were covered.

"Better?" Laszlo asked, leaning in to give her a quick peck on the cheek.

Nadja nodded. Laszlo bundled up her clothes in search of something more comfortable for when she was ready, and headed downstairs to update their other housemates.


Guillermo couldn't remember much after getting into Colin Robinson's car with a drunk but anxious Laszlo. He had woken up in the passenger seat a few hours ago when Sean knocked on the window.

"Crazy night, eh buddy?" He had asked with an exaggerated wink.

Guillermo had shuddered when his mind offered up the memory of Nadja vomiting blood and then collapsing in the alleyway behind the club. "Yeah. Something like that."

The atmosphere in the house that evening was… tense. Colin Robinson hadn't tried to drain Guillermo once, and Nandor had been pretending to read the same page of his book ever since he'd come downstairs. Nadja was still nowhere to be seen when Laszlo entered the fancy room, dropping a bundle of black fabric at his feet with a weary sigh.

"Yeesh, you look like shit…" Nandor commented with a grimace as Laszlo sank down on the couch opposite his armchair. "Did you not get any slumber?"

"As a matter of fucking fact, I didn't, Nandor." Laszlo replied, exhaustion clear in his voice as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I was up all day with Nadja…" He let his head fall back against the couch with another heavy sigh.

"Yikes, so she's like, really sick then, huh?" Colin Robinson asked, lowering his newspaper.

"As a fucking dog, Colin Robinson."

"Hang on - she didn't just drink too much last night - Nadja's sick?" Guillermo asked, incredulous. She had seemed off before the incident last night, but so had all of the vampires - on some kind of second-hand buzz from their victims. "I didn't think you guys got sick."

"Well you wouldn't know Guillermo, you are not a vampire," Nandor replied. "Some vampires get sick if they drink the blood of the miserable type of human."

"Probably why no one's nibbled on you, hey Gizmo?" Colin Robinson joked. "More for me!"

"Can we focus on my wife?" Laszlo asked. "She's been so careful these past decades, I haven't seen her in such a state since the Depression."

"What's wrong with her exactly?" Guillermo asked. "Is there like some vampire flu? Or is it more like a vampire hangover? Or maybe…"

"Guillermo," Nandor scolded. "You are being very nosy."

Laszlo threw his arm over his eyes dramatically. "My wife - my dark angel - is in agony. Terrible bellyache, can hardly keep down any of the blood I've brought her, and can't get any real slumber. Devil knows how long it will take for her to recover from this…"

"Usually she's more careful," Nandor said. "She can tell."

"We all got a bit carried away last night," Laszlo replied. "Yet this - the turning of the year - is often a time of joy, so I don't think she was monitoring her victims as closely."

"Uh," Guillermo began, "I did overhear one of those asshole finance bros she drained talking at the bar. Something about a break-up?"

"Guillermo, why didn't you say anything?" Nandor demanded.

"I didn't know she had allergies!" Guillermo replied. "I mean, would it have made that much of a difference?"

Almost on cue, there was a yell from upstairs, followed by the unmistakable sound of dry-heaving.

"Coming darling!" Laszlo called. Halfway out the door, he turned to point at the group. "Figure out a way to help her. And Gizmo-"

"Guillermo." He corrected.

"Take my wife's dress to your finest laundry woman."

"Laszlo!" Nadja yelled again, sounding almost like her usual self.

Laszlo sped away, leaving the rest of the house alone in the sitting room once more.

Nandor closed his book. "Any ideas?"


When Nadja emerged from the bath, she found a fluffy towel and a change of clothes waiting for her on the bathroom counter. She assumed that Laszlo had left them for her when he'd popped in to tell her that he would be downstairs with everyone else should she need anything. Once she toweled off and pulled the plug from the bathtub drain, Nadja went to inspect the clothing that had been left for her.

It certainly wasn't anything of hers, that much was obvious. Instead of one of her lacy nightgowns or her silk robe, she found a bland navy blue sweatshirt and a pair of painfully dull gray sweatpants. Had she been feeling even the slightest bit better, Nadja would have stormed downstairs naked and thrown the offensively plain clothing in Colin Robinson's stupid face, but the fleecy material felt so soft and warm…

Fuck it.

If any of Nadja's housemates had anything to say about her dressing down while she wasn't feeling well, she could just snap their necks when she was better.

Once she was comfortable in her borrowed pajamas, Nadja made her way downstairs in search of her husband and her friends.

In the fancy room, Laszlo waited anxiously for his wife to join them. Nandor had long since given up on his book in favor of polishing one of his many swords, Guillermo hovered dutifully behind his master, and Colin Robinson was reading some ridiculous right-wing newspaper - no doubt feeding off of the reactionary outrage of the articles - all while flames crackled merrily in the hearth.

The floorboards creaked, and everyone turned to look as Nadja appeared in the doorway at long last.

Guillermo had never seen Nadja looking so human. She had traded her usual Victorian finery for a pair of gray sweatpants and a baggy crewneck sweatshirt that could only belong to one member of the Staten Island household. Her damp hair was pulled back into a loose braid, and her pale face had been scrubbed of any trace of makeup. Guillermo found himself struck by just how young she looked - she must have been around his age when she was turned.

For a brief second in Guillermo's mind, Nadja wasn't a powerful immortal creature anymore, she was just another New York City twenty-something nursing a hangover or recovering from the flu.

"There you are, love." Laszlo was by her side in an instant, pulling her close and kissing her temple. "Feeling any better?"

"A little…" Nadja said quietly. Her voice sounded a bit scratchy, and Guillermo wondered just how many times she'd been sick while he was passed out in the car. "I'm tired."

Laszlo nodded. "Of course." He took her by the hand and led her over to the sofa, where Nadja curled up with a knitted throw blanket over her lower half and her head pillowed on her husband's lap. "Try and get some rest, darling." Laszlo murmured, gently scratching her scalp with his black-painted nails. Nadja hummed appreciatively and closed her eyes.

The energy in the room shifted immediately. It was as though the entire house breathed a collective sigh of relief once Nadja was settled on the couch with her husband, where everyone could see that she was more or less alright and being well taken care of.

Guillermo - standing obediently in the corner like a good little familiar - watched the couple in silent awe at the result of their literal centuries of casual intimacy, wondering what it might be like to love someone even half as much as Laszlo and Nadja loved each other.

As comfortable as she was, real slumber still evaded Nadja's grasp despite her complete exhaustion. Each time she felt herself on the verge of drifting off, she was pulled back by another stabbing pain in her gut that left her biting her tongue to keep from crying out.

The heat of the bath had somewhat eased the pangs in her belly, but the relief was short-lived once Nadja joined the rest of the house in the fancy room. Laszlo could feel her entire body tense whenever another cramp squeezed her insides, and Nandor couldn't miss the way her arms remained folded protectively across her middle, or how her face scrunched up in pain every few minutes. Guillermo could have sworn he'd actually heard her whimper once or twice.

No one said anything, but Guillermo saw Laszlo, Nandor, and even Colin Robinson exchange knowing glances every time Nadja squirmed in discomfort.

It was strange and deeply uncomfortable seeing Nadja so unlike herself. Gone was the outspoken, stubborn, powerful woman that everyone knew, and in her place was a quiet, exhausted girl who only existed to those Nadja trusted most. Guillermo wanted to help, but he wasn't sure a vampire as headstrong as Nadja would accept sympathy from a familiar.

She wasn't always very nice to him - hell, most of the time Nadja wasn't very nice to anyone - but he still didn't like to see her looking so…vulnerable. Guillermo knew she would kill him if she ever found out that he'd even thought of her in such a way, but he didn't care. If he was ever going to become a vampire, he needed to start building friendships now, and what better way to get into Nadja's good graces than helping her while she was ill?

No one noticed when Guillermo slipped out of the fancy room and down the hallway into his sad excuse for a bedroom.

He had purchased the hot water bottle after digging graves and dragging corpses had left him with a particularly nasty backstrain. It had even come with its own little sweater to match the one on his favorite mug! Guillermo was certain that some concentrated heat would help with Nadja's stomach ache, and even if it didn't, surely his master would see that such a considerate and helpful familiar was worthy of being turned.

Guillermo found the bottle quickly - one of the advantages of having no space and few possessions - and made his way to the seldom-used kitchen to fill it. There, he flicked on the electric kettle, and waited for the water to boil. Once that was done, Guillermo carefully filled the bottle, replaced the stopper, and slipped it back into its cable-knit cover.

Back in the fancy room, everything was as Guillermo had left it - Nandor with his sword, Laszlo with his wife, and Colin Robinson with his newspaper, eyes flashing occasionally.

"Nadja?" Guillermo said hesitantly, bracing himself for Nandor's admonition of "vampire-only conversation!" even though they hadn't been talking. Laszlo glared at him when Nadja lifted her head and looked around in confusion, but Guillermo ignored it.

"Here." Guillermo said as he crossed the room and held the hot water bottle out to her. Nadja sat up carefully and stared up at him. "This should help." He clarified.

"Is it witchcraft?" Nadja asked warily, arching an eyebrow.

"What? No, Nadja it's just a hot water bottle, the heat should help with the pain."

Nadja still seemed a little suspicious as she accepted the bottle from Guillermo, but her reservations disappeared as soon as she felt the warmth radiating from the object. No one could miss the way she practically melted when she hugged it to her middle with an audible sigh of relief.

"Alright?" Guillermo asked.

Nadja nodded, and then shocked everyone, including herself, by saying: "Thank you, Guillermo."

Not "Gizmo". Guillermo. His actual name.

"You're welcome." He returned, smiling.

Returning to his post in the corner of the room, Guillermo knew he was going to be riding this high for at least the rest of the night.

Nadja hummed contentedly as she slumped back onto the couch, this time resting against the arm with her legs across Laszlo's lap. She absently wondered if Guillermo had been lying when he assured her there was no witchcraft involved; the warm weight of the hot water bottle on her tummy was helping to take the edge off the ache - enough that Nadja might finally be able to get some rest. She reached out to give Laszlo's hand a quick squeeze before letting her eyes flutter closed.

"Thank you…" Nadja mumbled drowsily, addressing no one in particular

She was fast asleep within minutes. Laszlo smiled softly, and allowed himself to relax completely for the first time in over 36 hours, secure in the knowledge that the worst of it was over at last. Nadja certainly wouldn't wake again until sunset the next night, so Laszlo was definitely going to have to carry his wife up to bed.


The next evening, Nadja woke up in her coffin, utterly wrung out and with no memory of how she got there. Her ribs felt almost bruised and her entire midsection was sore, but she was still feeling much better than she had the previous night. Out in their crypt, she could hear her husband puttering around, getting ready for the night ahead.

Laszlo was adjusting his cravat when she emerged, and the way his face lit up when he saw his wife was almost enough to make Nadja's long-silent heart start beating again.

"Nadja!" He cried, bounding over and wrapping his arms around her waist, then kissing her - first her lips and then her forehead. "And how is my good lady wife feeling this evening?"

She made a noncommittal humming sound. "Still yucky, but…better." Nadja said, closing her eyes and leaning forward so their foreheads touched. "Definitely better."

It took another five days for Nadja to be able to drink anything without feeling queasy, and almost an entire week after that for her appetite to return in earnest. In the early decades of her undead life, her recuperation would certainly have been lonely and miserable, but now she was being positively spoiled by her husband and the rest of her little patchwork family.

Nandor brought her glasses of blood at regular intervals and kindly encouraged her to drink, but he never tried to make her eat if her stomach was starting to get finicky again. Laszlo brushed and braided her hair for her before she went downstairs every evening. Guillermo kept her supplied with books to pass the time, and he showed her how to watch movies on his folding apple computer.

Even Colin Robinson was surprisingly good company while Nadja recovered. He sat with her while Laszlo and Nandor were out hunting or otherwise occupied, skimming one of his newspapers and kindly not talking while she read or napped.

Life went back to normal as soon as Nadja was well enough to start dressing like herself again, although Colin Robinson never did get his sweats back.