XIV. Lull Before the Storm
Vicious felt his pulse increase with every buzz of the comm., willing Julia to answer. When she finally did, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. "I was beginning to worry," he said, and his tone made it clear he meant it.
"I'm sorry," she replied, and he saw from the circles under her eyes that she had slept no more than he. "I was in the other room."
"Has Spike woken up?"
She shrugged. "Once, so I could move him. But not really since then. He's lost so much blood, Vicious. I don't know how he's alive."
"I think he gives death so little consideration, it ignores him out of spite," Vicious said with a faint smile. It faded as he went on. "I cannot contact you for the next few days. No one else should, either. If they do, say nothing of Spike's condition and notify me immediately. You should not try to reach me under any other circumstances."
"I don't understand. What really happened tonight?" Panic squeezed her stomach; she could take almost anything except being kept in the dark.
"If Spike wakes, he can tell you, if he chooses. No one else should."
"Why did you leave him there?" she asked.
Vicious inhaled sharply, a dark look crossing his features. "You saw him. They shot him in the heart. Not even Spike should have survived that. I had to try and get Lin and Marcus out safely as well. Remember the lesson I tried to teach you after Henshai's?"
She looked down. "Of course. But he's more than your partner, Vicious. I know that. Everyone knows that."
"And they tried to use it against me," he said curtly. "It did not work."
"Fortunately for Spike, they didn't shoot him in the heart. Although I thought they had, too, at first."
"We are all fortunate, Julia, Spike most of all. But fortune can shine on only one side of a coin at a time. We cannot count on it to always shine on ours." Vicious sighed. "I need to attend to other matters. Accept instructions from no one but myself or Mao."
"All right," she replied. She stared hard at his face on the screen. "As soon as you can, please, I need to hear your voice again."
He nodded and disconnected.
She went back into the bedroom, shutting off the lamp now that the sunlight filtered through the curtains. Spike had not moved at all, and she drew back the blankets, feeling a pang of fear at how his wounds had continued to bleed during the night. She weighed the options of leaving the apartment against leaving him alone, and decided if they were going to be stuck there, she would have to have medical supplies.
"I'm going across to the sundry," she told him, in case he could hear her. "I'll be back within ten minutes. Don't go anywhere while I'm out."
He continued breathing evenly. She pulled the blankets back around him, careful not to disturb his position, and left to stock up for the days ahead.
***
Through a haze of pain and thirst, Spike heard a door close, and then the sound of traffic outside. The light through his eyelids suggested it was day; he contemplated opening them, but for some reason they did not want to obey. He found that he could move his right hand if he concentrated hard enough, and then both of his feet, but all his limbs seemed impossibly heavy and somehow shrunken, a dull ache in every fiber like the life had been sucked out of him. The pain in his chest and head increased with the exertion and he stopped trying to move, letting his pulse return to a slow, steady thump. Each heartbeat irritated the ache in his muscles; he began to think he saw bright lights in time with each throb. He was almost over the brink into unconsciousness when he heard the door open again, and then a light step, shuffling of bags and keys. He searched his memory for something to explain this position; images came back to him in disjointed flashes, like a slideshow in double-time. Vicious. His lighter in a pool of blood. Julia's face swimming in and out of focus in a white room. Had he really seen Julia? Everything hurt too much for him to be dead. He took a deep breath and willed his eyes open, trying to focus on what he saw above his head.
Yellows and oranges; paintings in the same tones inside gilt frames; a sculpture on a dresser. The light fixture on the ceiling was dark. He knew the colors were Julia's, but he'd never been in this room, if it was hers. He tried to recall when he'd seen her – standing in her doorway, and then that white room... tile. Bathroom. She'd spoken to him, but he couldn't put together the words she'd said.
The way his left eye would not focus made him dizzy, and he let them close again as he heard the footsteps enter the room. "Julia?" he tried to say, but it came out nothing more than an exhalation.
"Spike!" it was her voice, he thought with relief. "Spike, stay with me for a minute." He felt the mattress sink, a hand on his shoulder, another on his forehead. He did not open his eyes again, but nodded weakly.
"You need to drink some water," she said, and the mattress shifted again. Then the hand went from his shoulder to the back of his neck, lifting his head, and he felt the cool glass against his lip. He took a few swallows, but nausea welled up and he turned away, finally trying to look at her.
Her face was drawn tight with concern. He attempted a smile, though his jaw hurt too much to allow the movement. "You saved me?"
"Shh. Don't talk." She pulled back the blankets and he fought a shiver. "I need to change these bandages, and it's going to hurt. I brought something to help with that."
He let his eyes close again when she stood and left the room, listening to the crackle of a paper bag and the rattle of pills. She returned, lifting his head again, and her breath was warm against his face as she leaned in, placing a tablet on his tongue. It was horribly bitter, but she brought him the glass and he swallowed as much as he could, fighting the urge to gag.
"Go back to sleep, Spike," she said in a whisper. "I won't leave you again. Go back to sleep, and I'll take care of you."
He wanted to thank her, but while he tried to gather the strength, the drug she'd given him spread out through his body in a warm wave. He felt himself falling, tried to catch hold of something but found no purchase, and saw the light glow bright behind his eyelids before it faded to nothingness.
***
Vicious, twenty-one, lean and fierce but smiling, drove his cue forward with a fluid motion and the break scattered the billiard balls across the table, sinking the one and the two. Spike tried to look around, but he was trapped in the memory, watching it play out through his own point of view. He stepped aside to allow Vicious' opponent access to the bumper where the cue ball had come to rest.
The man grumbled as he aimed, his cue jacked up high in the air to try and make contact with the ball in the scant half-inch between it and the edge of the table. The shot misfired; the cue ball clicked off the five and came to rest in the middle of a cluster of balls, the three blocked behind the nine.
As Vicious bent to take his shot, aiming to bumper-lock the cue ball again, Spike caught a flash of gold out of the corner of his eye and looked up. A woman had come into the pool room through the back door. She wore black patent leather. Her long blond hair went with her enormous, Nordic blue eyes, and they met his gaze evenly as she assembled the two halves of a cue stick. She smiled faintly. He could not reply, could not look away – in the part of his mind that knew it was a memory, he willed himself to speak to her this time, but nothing happened. Her focus shifted and she watched Vicious shooting, following the game until he had won and collected his money from his outmatched opponent. Vicious elbowed Spike, handing him a few thousand Woolongs. "We need drinks," he said, and Spike nodded, finally tearing his eyes away from the woman he would learn was Julia, to buy another bottle of wine.
The scene seemed to fast-forward and he was standing, glass in hand, watching Julia shoot the nine into the corner pocket. She stood and beamed triumphantly at Vicious, extending a hand. Spike drew a roll of bills out of his pocket and began counting them off to pay her. "What are you, his bookkeeper?" she asked Spike, disarming him with the smile.
"Hardly. I'm the one who's going to win this back from you," he replied, grinning back. "I'm sorry to tell you this, because you seem like a nice girl, but you've been had."
She laughed out loud. "You're wrong on both accounts. And I won't play for an even wager. Let's up the stakes."
He narrowed his eyes at her, still grinning. "I win, you have to come home with me. You win, you get to come home with me. How's that?"
"Are you psychic?" she asked, cocking her head to the side. "If so, your antenna needs adjustment. I was thinking, when I beat you, you'd have to find me a place to stay here in Tharsis City for at least a week. By myself."
Vicious couldn't hold back a short laugh. "Spike, you've been skewered," he said gleefully.
Spike clapped a hand to his chest, grimacing. "How can you break my heart before I've even told you I love you?"
Vicious snorted. "Subtle," he ribbed.
Julia shot a sideways glance at the silver-haired man and then turned back to Spike. "Do we have a wager?"
"What do I get if I win?" he asked. "We haven't established that yet. I want more than my money back."
She smiled at him, almost pitying. "You won't win. But if you did, I'd give you your money back and a goodnight kiss to dream on."
"Be careful what you wager," he replied. "You're on."
He heard singing, out of place in the smoky bar, and realized he was sliding toward consciousness again. The dream-self tried to stop the progress, but the memory faded.
He opened his eyes, still drifting and high from the painkillers. He didn't feel as cold, and realized most of his torso was now wrapped in bandages. As the room came into focus, he saw Julia lean forward, her book forgotten, looking down at him. The music had stopped.
"Sing for me," he said with as much strength as he could muster. She knit her brows, confused. "Just like that," he urged, and the room swam and blurred when she began again.
***
She busied herself as best she could, when she was certain he had gone back to sleep. In a hospital, he would be on an IV, but here she had no way to get him food or water unless he was awake. She wondered if the Percocet had been a mistake.
Every noise outside her window made her jump; cars stopping at the streetlight, the jingle of the bell on Holling's door, and the voices of pedestrians talking to one another all seemed to herald another shock of bad news, but the day stretched out into late afternoon with no interruptions. She was making a sandwich for herself when she heard Spike call out from the bedroom, and dropped the knife with a clatter, running to him.
"Spike?" He looked like he had passed out again, but when she spoke he opened his eyes and tried to raise his head.
"Julia... how long have I been here?"
"Since last night. You came here about midnight. It's five o'clock now," she said, as she assessed the bandages. At least the bleeding had slowed, and his color seemed better.
"Who knows I'm here?"
"I spoke to Vicious. He told me you were dead last night. I was going to meet him when I found you."
"Who else?"
"From what he told me, I assume Mao knows. Probably Lin, and Mato, and Marcus and Lao as well."
Spike shook his head and groaned. "I got shot just down the alley from the bakery. It was a mistake to come here."
"Spike, don't say that. If you hadn't, you would have died. Thank god you made it here, thank god I hadn't left yet." She took his hand and he squeezed hers briefly in return.
"I didn't take it seriously. Should have," he mumbled as his eyelids drooped.
"Didn't take what seriously, Spike? Vicious won't tell me what's happening. He said he wouldn't be in contact for a few days. Please, let me get you something to eat, and you can tell me what you know. I'm scared."
He rolled onto his right side with a grimace. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to scare you. When I saw where I was, I thought maybe you could help me. Thank you for helping me." She saw that he was trying to stand.
"No." She put her hand firmly on his arm. "You're not going anywhere, and this is not your fault. Just help me understand what's going on."
He let out a sigh. "I am hungry," he admitted in a weak voice. "I feel like something vacuumed out all my insides."
"You've lost a lot of blood. It hurts, I know. Like everything's collapsing."
His eyes met hers, worried. "You know what this feels like? What happened?"
"Later, Spike," she said. "What do you think you could eat? You need something to get your strength up, help you replace all that blood."
He tried raising his right hand to his face, and managed to finger the bandages over his cheeks and jaw. "Something soft. My head hurts."
She smiled in spite of herself. "I'll see what I can find. Rest until I come back?"
"Wait – where are you going?" His expression was as close to fear as she had ever seen it.
"Just to the kitchen. You'll be able to hear me. I promise, I'll be right back." She stroked his hair back, running her fingers through it, until he closed his eyes again.
***
Julia sat on the edge of the bed, watching Spike slowly make his way through a plate of cheese and mushrooms. His left arm lay useless at his side, the damage to the shoulder muscles making it impossible to move. The food had helped; he'd managed to get through most of the story of the bank transfer and the warning from the mysterious man in the hat, and the call from Shin that took them to Rocket's warehouse.
He groaned and handed the plate to her. "Thank you," he said, "but now I feel horrible. More awake, and more pain." She frowned as she stood.
"I can get you another painkiller, if you promise to wake up again in a few hours," she offered.
"No. Better to be alert. I'm worried that so many people know I'm here. And most of them know where you live," he added.
"No one's called or come by all day," she replied.
"What did Vicious say he was going to do?" He struggled to prop himself up a little higher.
"He didn't. He just told me he couldn't contact me for a few days, and to contact him only if someone else called or came asking about you."
"He knows everything I've told you. I hope he took it to Mao."
"I assume he did. He said the only people I should take direction from were him, and Mao."
As she took the plate to the kitchen, he called after her, "Do you have any cigarettes?"
She stuck her head back in the doorway with a murderous glower. "You are not smoking."
He looked sheepish. "I'm just getting a little jumpy. I'll stand at the window."
"Like hell you will. May as well paint a target on the side of the building."
He dropped his eyes. "I guess you have a point about that. Can't you grant a dying man a simple request?"
She came back to sit beside him again, taking his face in both hands, ignoring him as he winced when they came into contact with the bruises and bandages. "You are not a dying man, not on my watch. If you're going to keep this up, I'll just put you out again."
His eyes widened. "No disrespect intended to your efforts," he said in a rush. "I... it wasn't a funny joke. Never mind."
She pulled him to her, blinking back the tears that formed and stroking his hair. "Not funny at all."
The stabbing pain in his ribs and the dull ache through all his muscles seemed to fade as he pressed his face against her shoulder. He put his right arm around her, awkwardly, breathing deep and trying to memorize the moment. Before he could say anything else, they both heard her comm. buzz in the next room, and she let go abruptly, bolting to get it. He lay back on the pillow, whispering when he was sure she couldn't hear him, "I didn't know you cared."
Vicious felt his pulse increase with every buzz of the comm., willing Julia to answer. When she finally did, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. "I was beginning to worry," he said, and his tone made it clear he meant it.
"I'm sorry," she replied, and he saw from the circles under her eyes that she had slept no more than he. "I was in the other room."
"Has Spike woken up?"
She shrugged. "Once, so I could move him. But not really since then. He's lost so much blood, Vicious. I don't know how he's alive."
"I think he gives death so little consideration, it ignores him out of spite," Vicious said with a faint smile. It faded as he went on. "I cannot contact you for the next few days. No one else should, either. If they do, say nothing of Spike's condition and notify me immediately. You should not try to reach me under any other circumstances."
"I don't understand. What really happened tonight?" Panic squeezed her stomach; she could take almost anything except being kept in the dark.
"If Spike wakes, he can tell you, if he chooses. No one else should."
"Why did you leave him there?" she asked.
Vicious inhaled sharply, a dark look crossing his features. "You saw him. They shot him in the heart. Not even Spike should have survived that. I had to try and get Lin and Marcus out safely as well. Remember the lesson I tried to teach you after Henshai's?"
She looked down. "Of course. But he's more than your partner, Vicious. I know that. Everyone knows that."
"And they tried to use it against me," he said curtly. "It did not work."
"Fortunately for Spike, they didn't shoot him in the heart. Although I thought they had, too, at first."
"We are all fortunate, Julia, Spike most of all. But fortune can shine on only one side of a coin at a time. We cannot count on it to always shine on ours." Vicious sighed. "I need to attend to other matters. Accept instructions from no one but myself or Mao."
"All right," she replied. She stared hard at his face on the screen. "As soon as you can, please, I need to hear your voice again."
He nodded and disconnected.
She went back into the bedroom, shutting off the lamp now that the sunlight filtered through the curtains. Spike had not moved at all, and she drew back the blankets, feeling a pang of fear at how his wounds had continued to bleed during the night. She weighed the options of leaving the apartment against leaving him alone, and decided if they were going to be stuck there, she would have to have medical supplies.
"I'm going across to the sundry," she told him, in case he could hear her. "I'll be back within ten minutes. Don't go anywhere while I'm out."
He continued breathing evenly. She pulled the blankets back around him, careful not to disturb his position, and left to stock up for the days ahead.
***
Through a haze of pain and thirst, Spike heard a door close, and then the sound of traffic outside. The light through his eyelids suggested it was day; he contemplated opening them, but for some reason they did not want to obey. He found that he could move his right hand if he concentrated hard enough, and then both of his feet, but all his limbs seemed impossibly heavy and somehow shrunken, a dull ache in every fiber like the life had been sucked out of him. The pain in his chest and head increased with the exertion and he stopped trying to move, letting his pulse return to a slow, steady thump. Each heartbeat irritated the ache in his muscles; he began to think he saw bright lights in time with each throb. He was almost over the brink into unconsciousness when he heard the door open again, and then a light step, shuffling of bags and keys. He searched his memory for something to explain this position; images came back to him in disjointed flashes, like a slideshow in double-time. Vicious. His lighter in a pool of blood. Julia's face swimming in and out of focus in a white room. Had he really seen Julia? Everything hurt too much for him to be dead. He took a deep breath and willed his eyes open, trying to focus on what he saw above his head.
Yellows and oranges; paintings in the same tones inside gilt frames; a sculpture on a dresser. The light fixture on the ceiling was dark. He knew the colors were Julia's, but he'd never been in this room, if it was hers. He tried to recall when he'd seen her – standing in her doorway, and then that white room... tile. Bathroom. She'd spoken to him, but he couldn't put together the words she'd said.
The way his left eye would not focus made him dizzy, and he let them close again as he heard the footsteps enter the room. "Julia?" he tried to say, but it came out nothing more than an exhalation.
"Spike!" it was her voice, he thought with relief. "Spike, stay with me for a minute." He felt the mattress sink, a hand on his shoulder, another on his forehead. He did not open his eyes again, but nodded weakly.
"You need to drink some water," she said, and the mattress shifted again. Then the hand went from his shoulder to the back of his neck, lifting his head, and he felt the cool glass against his lip. He took a few swallows, but nausea welled up and he turned away, finally trying to look at her.
Her face was drawn tight with concern. He attempted a smile, though his jaw hurt too much to allow the movement. "You saved me?"
"Shh. Don't talk." She pulled back the blankets and he fought a shiver. "I need to change these bandages, and it's going to hurt. I brought something to help with that."
He let his eyes close again when she stood and left the room, listening to the crackle of a paper bag and the rattle of pills. She returned, lifting his head again, and her breath was warm against his face as she leaned in, placing a tablet on his tongue. It was horribly bitter, but she brought him the glass and he swallowed as much as he could, fighting the urge to gag.
"Go back to sleep, Spike," she said in a whisper. "I won't leave you again. Go back to sleep, and I'll take care of you."
He wanted to thank her, but while he tried to gather the strength, the drug she'd given him spread out through his body in a warm wave. He felt himself falling, tried to catch hold of something but found no purchase, and saw the light glow bright behind his eyelids before it faded to nothingness.
***
Vicious, twenty-one, lean and fierce but smiling, drove his cue forward with a fluid motion and the break scattered the billiard balls across the table, sinking the one and the two. Spike tried to look around, but he was trapped in the memory, watching it play out through his own point of view. He stepped aside to allow Vicious' opponent access to the bumper where the cue ball had come to rest.
The man grumbled as he aimed, his cue jacked up high in the air to try and make contact with the ball in the scant half-inch between it and the edge of the table. The shot misfired; the cue ball clicked off the five and came to rest in the middle of a cluster of balls, the three blocked behind the nine.
As Vicious bent to take his shot, aiming to bumper-lock the cue ball again, Spike caught a flash of gold out of the corner of his eye and looked up. A woman had come into the pool room through the back door. She wore black patent leather. Her long blond hair went with her enormous, Nordic blue eyes, and they met his gaze evenly as she assembled the two halves of a cue stick. She smiled faintly. He could not reply, could not look away – in the part of his mind that knew it was a memory, he willed himself to speak to her this time, but nothing happened. Her focus shifted and she watched Vicious shooting, following the game until he had won and collected his money from his outmatched opponent. Vicious elbowed Spike, handing him a few thousand Woolongs. "We need drinks," he said, and Spike nodded, finally tearing his eyes away from the woman he would learn was Julia, to buy another bottle of wine.
The scene seemed to fast-forward and he was standing, glass in hand, watching Julia shoot the nine into the corner pocket. She stood and beamed triumphantly at Vicious, extending a hand. Spike drew a roll of bills out of his pocket and began counting them off to pay her. "What are you, his bookkeeper?" she asked Spike, disarming him with the smile.
"Hardly. I'm the one who's going to win this back from you," he replied, grinning back. "I'm sorry to tell you this, because you seem like a nice girl, but you've been had."
She laughed out loud. "You're wrong on both accounts. And I won't play for an even wager. Let's up the stakes."
He narrowed his eyes at her, still grinning. "I win, you have to come home with me. You win, you get to come home with me. How's that?"
"Are you psychic?" she asked, cocking her head to the side. "If so, your antenna needs adjustment. I was thinking, when I beat you, you'd have to find me a place to stay here in Tharsis City for at least a week. By myself."
Vicious couldn't hold back a short laugh. "Spike, you've been skewered," he said gleefully.
Spike clapped a hand to his chest, grimacing. "How can you break my heart before I've even told you I love you?"
Vicious snorted. "Subtle," he ribbed.
Julia shot a sideways glance at the silver-haired man and then turned back to Spike. "Do we have a wager?"
"What do I get if I win?" he asked. "We haven't established that yet. I want more than my money back."
She smiled at him, almost pitying. "You won't win. But if you did, I'd give you your money back and a goodnight kiss to dream on."
"Be careful what you wager," he replied. "You're on."
He heard singing, out of place in the smoky bar, and realized he was sliding toward consciousness again. The dream-self tried to stop the progress, but the memory faded.
He opened his eyes, still drifting and high from the painkillers. He didn't feel as cold, and realized most of his torso was now wrapped in bandages. As the room came into focus, he saw Julia lean forward, her book forgotten, looking down at him. The music had stopped.
"Sing for me," he said with as much strength as he could muster. She knit her brows, confused. "Just like that," he urged, and the room swam and blurred when she began again.
***
She busied herself as best she could, when she was certain he had gone back to sleep. In a hospital, he would be on an IV, but here she had no way to get him food or water unless he was awake. She wondered if the Percocet had been a mistake.
Every noise outside her window made her jump; cars stopping at the streetlight, the jingle of the bell on Holling's door, and the voices of pedestrians talking to one another all seemed to herald another shock of bad news, but the day stretched out into late afternoon with no interruptions. She was making a sandwich for herself when she heard Spike call out from the bedroom, and dropped the knife with a clatter, running to him.
"Spike?" He looked like he had passed out again, but when she spoke he opened his eyes and tried to raise his head.
"Julia... how long have I been here?"
"Since last night. You came here about midnight. It's five o'clock now," she said, as she assessed the bandages. At least the bleeding had slowed, and his color seemed better.
"Who knows I'm here?"
"I spoke to Vicious. He told me you were dead last night. I was going to meet him when I found you."
"Who else?"
"From what he told me, I assume Mao knows. Probably Lin, and Mato, and Marcus and Lao as well."
Spike shook his head and groaned. "I got shot just down the alley from the bakery. It was a mistake to come here."
"Spike, don't say that. If you hadn't, you would have died. Thank god you made it here, thank god I hadn't left yet." She took his hand and he squeezed hers briefly in return.
"I didn't take it seriously. Should have," he mumbled as his eyelids drooped.
"Didn't take what seriously, Spike? Vicious won't tell me what's happening. He said he wouldn't be in contact for a few days. Please, let me get you something to eat, and you can tell me what you know. I'm scared."
He rolled onto his right side with a grimace. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to scare you. When I saw where I was, I thought maybe you could help me. Thank you for helping me." She saw that he was trying to stand.
"No." She put her hand firmly on his arm. "You're not going anywhere, and this is not your fault. Just help me understand what's going on."
He let out a sigh. "I am hungry," he admitted in a weak voice. "I feel like something vacuumed out all my insides."
"You've lost a lot of blood. It hurts, I know. Like everything's collapsing."
His eyes met hers, worried. "You know what this feels like? What happened?"
"Later, Spike," she said. "What do you think you could eat? You need something to get your strength up, help you replace all that blood."
He tried raising his right hand to his face, and managed to finger the bandages over his cheeks and jaw. "Something soft. My head hurts."
She smiled in spite of herself. "I'll see what I can find. Rest until I come back?"
"Wait – where are you going?" His expression was as close to fear as she had ever seen it.
"Just to the kitchen. You'll be able to hear me. I promise, I'll be right back." She stroked his hair back, running her fingers through it, until he closed his eyes again.
***
Julia sat on the edge of the bed, watching Spike slowly make his way through a plate of cheese and mushrooms. His left arm lay useless at his side, the damage to the shoulder muscles making it impossible to move. The food had helped; he'd managed to get through most of the story of the bank transfer and the warning from the mysterious man in the hat, and the call from Shin that took them to Rocket's warehouse.
He groaned and handed the plate to her. "Thank you," he said, "but now I feel horrible. More awake, and more pain." She frowned as she stood.
"I can get you another painkiller, if you promise to wake up again in a few hours," she offered.
"No. Better to be alert. I'm worried that so many people know I'm here. And most of them know where you live," he added.
"No one's called or come by all day," she replied.
"What did Vicious say he was going to do?" He struggled to prop himself up a little higher.
"He didn't. He just told me he couldn't contact me for a few days, and to contact him only if someone else called or came asking about you."
"He knows everything I've told you. I hope he took it to Mao."
"I assume he did. He said the only people I should take direction from were him, and Mao."
As she took the plate to the kitchen, he called after her, "Do you have any cigarettes?"
She stuck her head back in the doorway with a murderous glower. "You are not smoking."
He looked sheepish. "I'm just getting a little jumpy. I'll stand at the window."
"Like hell you will. May as well paint a target on the side of the building."
He dropped his eyes. "I guess you have a point about that. Can't you grant a dying man a simple request?"
She came back to sit beside him again, taking his face in both hands, ignoring him as he winced when they came into contact with the bruises and bandages. "You are not a dying man, not on my watch. If you're going to keep this up, I'll just put you out again."
His eyes widened. "No disrespect intended to your efforts," he said in a rush. "I... it wasn't a funny joke. Never mind."
She pulled him to her, blinking back the tears that formed and stroking his hair. "Not funny at all."
The stabbing pain in his ribs and the dull ache through all his muscles seemed to fade as he pressed his face against her shoulder. He put his right arm around her, awkwardly, breathing deep and trying to memorize the moment. Before he could say anything else, they both heard her comm. buzz in the next room, and she let go abruptly, bolting to get it. He lay back on the pillow, whispering when he was sure she couldn't hear him, "I didn't know you cared."