Title: Coming Clean
Author: Meridian
Rating: PG-13 (some language, discussion of severe illness, some sexual imagery)
Author's Notes: Thanks to all who reviewed the first two chapters. Your enthusiasm has been overwhelming. I'm thrilled you've enjoyed the story so far. This will be the final chapter of this story, but I have plans in works to maintain this continuity for possible other King-related stories detailing his reacclimitization to humanity and inclusion into the NightStalkers. For now, enjoy the rest of "Coming Clean."

Stage 3: Recovery

His fever broke less than a week later, and King drifted into and out of periods of lucidity. Hedges managed to catch him on his delirious fits more often than anyone else and wound up the butt of enough jokes to bring him "within an inch of mercy-killing" their patient. Mercy for Hedges, that was. Sommerfield collected blood samples routinely, using no more than a finger prick because she didn't want him to lose any more blood than was necessary. It was good thing, she said, that his fever calmed in under ten days because she was running out of fingers.

Abby took all the night shifts. Being the primary hunter in their group, she was used to the night owlish schedule. That King was at his most aware at night, she never thought to mention to anyone other than Sommer.

It was nearing dawn and the end of her shift, on the eleventh night-into-morning. As she always did, she gauged his temperature with her wrist, pleased to feel that he hadn't relapsed; it stayed at the mildly elevated state it had been back that first night when he'd wretched up a crime scene in their bathtub.

"How do you feel?"

"Fuzzy."

"Fuzzy like a cloud or fuzzy like a blanket?" It was a game. Fuzzy clouds were bad--that meant loss of senses, disorientation, vertigo; fuzzy blankets were good--that meant warmth without searing, coziness in his own skin, and connection to the world outside his body.

"Fuzzy like a teddy bear." He held out his arms, bent a rigid ninety-degrees at his waist, and opened and closed his mouth like a fish. "I'm Teddy Ruxpin. Let's be friends, Abby."

"Goof," she smirked. "I guess that means you're okay."

"It means I feel like singing." Without warning, he darted out one hand and pinched her side. "Come on, let's sing!"

She grabbed his arm and twisted it. "Keep it up, and you're going to be singing soprano."

He blinked at her. "That's the best you got? Have you really thought that threat through?"

"What do you mean?" She said, unable to keep a straight face as she released his hand.

"You'd have to grab my balls for that to work." Looking supremely pleased with himself, King rested his head on his interlocked hands. "You might get to like it."

"Just keep pushing, King," she warned without any heat to it. A chuckle escaped her, further ruining her badass imitation. "Looks like you're almost ready to be up and about for longer than it takes to make it to the toilet."

"Yeah," King smiled. "Now I can take even longer dumps." He laughed when she made a face.

"I see your brush with death hasn't killed your sense of humor."

"Nope, but what's your excuse?"

"Okay, funny guy," Abby said, rising from her seat. "If you're feeling so great, you can get up and take a long walk off the short pier," she jerked her thumb towards the windows, "in that direction."

"It's a date," King agreed and hauled himself up into a sitting position. Teasing forgotten, Abby moved closer to help steady him, if only with her presence, when she swooned slightly. "It's okay," he told her, but he accepted her help off the gurney and allowed her to drape his arm over her shoulders. He tugged the blanket off the bed, and she waited, patiently, as he hugged it around himself.

"Come on," she grunted, shifting as he staggered. "I want you to see something." Slowly, and with great difficulty, she navigated him out of doors, keeping pace with his hesitant, uneven footsteps. "That's it," she praised, motivating him. "This way." King, for once in his waking life, was quiet, focused as he was on moving and not passing out. Stubborn, Abby thought, nailed it.

They circled around towards the rear of the base, where there was a ladder leading up to the roof. She let go of his arm, giving him a moment to catch his breath. Abby would catch hell from Sommerfield, but she could think of no more fitting way to celebrate his fever breaking and receding--proof of his successful struggle to regain his humanity--than this.

"Can you make it up the ladder?"

"Maybe," he said, glaring up at it as if it insulted him. "Maybe not. But I'm going to try."

"I'll be right behind you." She nudged him forward, and, both hands grasping the rails, he took a few steps up. Close behind, ready to catch him if he fell, Abby waited out his breather.

"Quit looking up my blanket, Whistler."

"Then move it, Gramps."

"Nazi."

"Lazy."

"Touché." King pulled himself up the rest of the way, and Abby darted up next to him, taking his arm again and looping her own around his waist while he coughed and panted.

"Don't push yourself too hard. Sommer'll have my ass."

"She doesn't already have dibs on that, does she?" He waggled an eyebrow at her. " 'Cause if she does, I want to watch."

"Idiot," she swatted him and guided him to one of the upper deck's padded seats. With a shiver, he collapsed onto it, leaning his back against the railing. She sat next to him, shifting to allow him to lean against her, too.

"What're we doing here?"

"You'll see."

"I can be impatient, you know."

"Hadn't noticed," she teased, keeping her gaze straight ahead. She checked her watch in the pre-dawn light. Five minutes. "Just stay awake a few more minutes and don't die of hypothermia on me."

"You're supposed to huddle together for body warmth in situations like these. Naked, too, if I remember correctly."

"So, huddle, but keep your clothes on. Don't want to scare Zoe."

"Who?"

"Sommerfield's daughter. You might not have been awake or coherent when she came to see you."

"Why would she do that?"

"Curiosity, mostly. She's never seen an asshole up close."

"Ouch," King placed his hand over his heart. "Well, we can thank God she's been exposed to a bitch early on. Maybe she won't grow up to be one." His tone, despite his words, was affectionate, even grateful. She hadn't said Zoe was curious to see what a vampire looked like up close. He might not have fallen that far, but it was as near to it as she hoped Zoe would ever see. Else, why did they do this? If not to make the world safer for kids like Zoe, then why?

"Here it comes," she whispered.

"What?" But he had already turned his head in the direction she was looking.

From between the tall buildings of the downtown skyline, thin cracks of sunlight poked through. They started close to the ground, and, as she and King watched, the beams spread into wide swaths of red, orange, and golden-rod. They did not speak nor tear their eyes away from the sky until the blinding white-hot sun rose into view itself.

One stray arc raced over the ground, unimpeded by the buildings, and danced over the water towards the base. Abby held her breath as King reached out a hand and tentatively stretched one finger into the light. When nothing happened, he moved his entire hand into it, closing his eyes and inhaling sharply. Abby watched his hand flip over one way, then the other, fingers waggling.

"God," King breathed, a guileless smile, one she'd never seen on him, ticking up one corner of his lips. "It's been ages."

"I thought you'd like to get out." She ruffled his hair. "You're so pale."

"Not any more," he said, with some determination. "I'm getting me a tan first thing."

Abby shook her head. "No, first thing, you're going to get back in shape, so you don't relapse. Vanity comes second to health."

"One and the same," King grinned. "One and the same." He waved his hand in the sunlight some more, rising up out of his seat to move fully into it. Bathed in golden hues, he lifted his face to the sky and drank in the long-denied, indescribable wonder of daylight. Abby could not find it in her to mind the practical things--the fact he wore only a light pair of scrub pants and an undershirt and that he was still sick--when she saw him like that.

She lost track of time, sitting there, basking in the waves of good feeling King radiated. It took Sommerfield's shrieking nearly forever to penetrate her buzz. Zoe was at the ladder, regarding them both with a child's confusion and suspicion. She must have alerted her mother as to where her patient had gone. Haltingly, Abby pulled herself up off the seat, taking the blanket with her.

"Come on," she whispered to King, arranging the blanket on his shoulders once more. "Time to go inside."

"Five more minutes, Mom."

"Sommerfield's going to kill us."

"I'll die happy. That's more than I could have said a week ago."

Abby looked to Zoe, who still watched them both, curious and expectant. She shrugged at the girl, as if to say 'what can I do?' and Zoe bounded down the ladder. The spell, however, seemed to have been broken. King opened his eyes, steadied himself by reaching around her shoulder. He caught her off guard, swinging his other arm around her just as she went to support him with one arm around his back. He was hugging her. Stunned, Abby patted him once, then, as comprehension dawned, she gave him a light, gentle squeeze.

She raised herself up on tiptoe and murmured, "You're welcome," into his ear. He pulled back, grinned, and then bent forward quickly, bringing his lips down on hers. Startled for the second time in as many seconds, it seemed, Abby opened her mouth to protest and melded their mouths together as a result. Clinically, she recognized that kissing a sick man wasn't the most sanitary thing she could have done, but, hey, he wasn't a bad kisser. At the same time, rage and indignity built, and just before she could shove him away, he backed off.

"You're welcome," he smirked, releasing her and working his way down the ladder, leaving her in his sunlight, gaping and wondrous.