A/N: I'm so sorry for not updating for ages. I've been on a holiday so I haven't been within reach of a computer. I've just figured out the ending and important plot points of this story, so I promise good writing ahead. My profoundest apologies! Notice anything different about this chapter? ^_^


She had stolen up behind him, wrapped in bedsheets, terrified by the sight of the proud and stern man, reduced to the quivering, sweating and vomiting mass that lay on the floor. His skin was the pallor of the tiles, and his eyes were wandering, liquid in their hold. She waved her hand over his face, trying to heal whatever damage had been done, but it hadn't worked. He lay still, so quietly, deathly still.



She began to quake herself, a mere child in these things. Whatever had been given to her, it was capricious in its timing. When she had needed it most, it wasn't there. She had gained nothing from the thing which he had so greviously parted with.



She stooped down, running her hand gently over his chest. His heart was beatnig, faintly, but still there. A mad twinge of jealousy encased her, as she thought that he was fortunate to even contain one. Her own lay useless in her chest, something that signalled her life was unnatural, her recreation something very Frankenstein-ish.


His mouth was open slightly, lips parted to reveal darkened teeth. A pearly string of saliva gathered at the cracked corners of her lips, and she swabbed his head. Nadyae had no idea if he was going to live or die, not that it would matter, considering both of them had died once already, and from the numerous scars and mars upon his body, at least twice for him.


There was a life force within her, after she had awoken, that had refused to be diminished. It had felt that her mind and heart had refused to live, yet some external push on her body had roused her once again. The world was bathed in a new, more three dimensional way. Her senses felt awakened, and she felt drunk on colour, sensation and taste. The dampness and throbbing between her thighs, and the marks on her neck and breasts made by him, were humming in delightful afterglow.


She lifted his arm, tugging him towards the shower. For a mean so precipitously thin, he was heavy. She grunted slightly, trying to slide his bleached form over the tiles. His skin squeaked in un-lubricated protest, and she ignored the painful thudding of his head. Her medical knowledge was limited, and she knew nothing of healing. For her, the extent of being a good nurse meant a box of bandaids and the occasioanl sleeping pill.


But with death so imminent before her, she knew that water would become something that would either save or kill him. She didn't have much time or choice, so she decided to take a risk.


Nadyae left his body at the foot of the shower, his head resting on the step. She turned on the cold water, stepping out of the way as the cutting droplets slashed horizontally at the rectangular coffin. She backed in, igoring the freezing tide, and she sat directly beneath the outpour, his head nestled in her lap. He looked pained as he slept, eyelids sometimes wandering. The heat which he seemed to so painfully exude before was gradually lowering, and his the tense of his muscles became more lax. She rested her lips on his forehead, his nose nuzzling the hollow of her chest.


Wake up, Severus. Wake for me.