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The Captain had taken the translation, directed her back to her room, and turned out the lights. It must have peeved him to watch her nod off every few minutes, refusing to retire of her own volition.

Amelia was tired—exhausted, in fact. There was actually the faintest bit of relief when the Captain told her to stop reading.

Yet, when the door closed behind him, and the darkness pressed in close, the fear that had been tumbling about with the anger and confusion inside her suddenly swelled, swallowing the other emotions with ease. I don't want to sleep! I can't! Not if he's there! I can't face him after everything I've read! I can't!

Huddling, crying softly beneath the blankets, she could not fend off the sleep that stealthily settled in between the tears.

When next Amelia opened her eyes, the blackness around her was suffocating. Her hands, back, stomach—every inch of her—felt clammy with sweat. Disoriented in the dark, she twisted about, ultimately falling off her elevated resting spot.

Where am I?! A chill shot up through her feet and hands, goosebumps breaking out over her skin as she pushed herself up and stumbled across the floor. Invisible bonds twisted around one of her legs. No, no! Not this place! I have to get out of here! With a desperate tug she felt the coil slip away. Please, God, don't let him find me! She teetered precariously and swung her arms forward to catch—

Thump. Her hands made contact with a wall a fraction of a second before her face did, and a sharp breath rushed out through her nose.

The impact was enough of a shock to still her for a few seconds. With a trembling hand, she reached for her face, feeling something trickle over her upper lip. A whimper slipped out as her fingers pressed against her nose, tears beginning to leak out of the corners of her eyes. I think it's…

Extending one arm, Amelia reached for the wall again, sliding her hand along its surface until it traveled over a deep crevice. There was still the tickle of fluid on her upper lip, prompting her to wave her hand about faster, until it knocked against something that rattled. She twisted the door knob hard and pulled open the door, pushing aside the green curtain hanging behind it.

Everything grounded to a halt.

Processing the scenery through blurry eyes, she slowly let go of the curtain. The lab? I'm in the lab… This isn't…? She looked down at herself. T-shirt. Pants. This wasn't a dream.

Wiping about her lips, her knuckles brushed against her nose, and the discomfort immediately turned to pain. She let out a small hiss and winced, but the expression only worsened the sting. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone approaching. Oh no.

Without acknowledging his presence, Amelia turned and headed towards the bathroom, cursing herself. Amelia, what are you doing? Making such a scene, here, like you're the only one…!

The door was within arm's reach when a hand landed on her shoulder, effectively stopping her in her tracks; it was heavy.

For a few seconds Amelia remained motionless, getting her thoughts in order. She hadn't really expected to get to the bathroom before the Captain caught up with her.

"I tripped." Her heart was beating too fast for her liking when she spun around to face the Captain, keeping one hand in front of her nose. "I didn't mean to, but it was dark, and," she shrugged weakly, wary of the weight on her shoulder, "I couldn't see well… I'm all right."

No, no, no, no, no! Blood! You're bleeding! She could faintly taste it on her lips, and her nose felt like it would not stop running. She blinked. No! Tears too! Worrying over the injury, she had forgotten about the tear on her cheeks. At least the flow of salty drops had stopped rather quickly; but what must she look like?

The Captain lifted his hand from her shoulder to point at his face.

Amelia watched him silently, sliding one foot back in the direction of the bathroom, pretending to settle into the stance.

The Captain pointed to the hand hovering over her nose.

"It's nothing. Really." She raised her voice, believing the volume would convince him of her confidence, but regretted the attempt when she heard the last two syllables waver. How long is it supposed to take a broken nose to heal?

His expression stern as ever, the Captain took hold of her shoulder again. This time it didn't seem as though he would release her so readily.

"What is it? W-what else do you want me to say? I bashed my nose when I tripped, see?" Frustration building, Amelia finally dropped her hand to show him the damage. "It's going to heal in a couple of seconds, right?!" She jerked her shoulder back, but it did nothing to loosen the grip on it.

The tickle of another bead of blood ran down her lip, and she rubbed at it with the back of her hand. I'm making a mess… Why do you have to make a big deal out this? Just let me go and wash up!

"I—" She lifted her gaze and cut the next exclamation short as the Captain brought his other hand out of a coat pocket. He offered a handkerchief.

Amelia stared at the cloth, wearing a confused expression. There's a sink six steps behind me; why can't I use that?

The hand with the handkerchief came towards her face after a few more seconds passed without a reaction from her. The movement generated an instantaneous response.

Amelia pulled her head back and snatched the white article from him, bringing it up to her bloody nose. He could probably feel the heightened tension in her shoulders, and by shifting her gaze between his hands and face, she made it clear that she was on guard.

The white-haired man gave a slight inclination of his head in approval, and the hand on her shoulder eased its grip.

Amelia drew the handkerchief away from her face for a brief instant to assess how badly she was bleeding. Not the end of the world. She positioned the cloth back to her nose. Don't get so worked up. It'll heal. Give it a minute; it'll heal in no time.

It took a moment for her to notice that the Captain was making gestures again. Slowly, Amelia lowered the cloth, not sure whether she understood his message.

The Captain leaned a little closer, but kept an appropriate distance between his face and hers. The hand on her shoulder ensured she did not lean back, though the urge to struggle was nearly overwhelming.

For a few seconds she tolerated his stare, and then dipped her head meekly and turned away, her irritation dissolving to expose the underlying timidity. Discomfort and embarrassment dictated she hide, but did nothing to prevent the observer from watching.

No sooner did she maneuver her head in the opposite direction than a gloved palm slid under her jaw. Fingers curled around her jaw angle, and with the improved control gained from the positioning, the man encountered little resistance when he steered her head around to face front.

Amelia's mouth went dry, and she found it difficult to swallow.

Crimson eyes did not meet hers, but trained themselves lower: on her nose.

Though she did not mean to do so, Amelia found herself staring too. His pupils twitched nearly imperceptibly, up and down, side to side, separated by infrequent blinks. Red eyes—dark red eyes. The same color as the vampire's, but not an equivalent shade.

Several thick white strands of hair settled over the bridge of his nose; the rest fell past his eyebrows, framed his eyes. Perhaps it was his cap flattening the hair, but it was rather long in some places. Had she been bold, Amelia would have suggested he cut it. But she was not, so the advice would never be given. She wished she could get her hair fixed.

Just as Amelia began to wonder how long they were going to stand there and stare, the Captain released her jaw. Instinctively, she raised her fingers to the area. It didn't hurt, but the sensation of having a hand there was not one she cared for. The hand on her shoulder remained for a few seconds longer, while the Captain pointed at the floor with the other.

Stay here.

Why? Amelia brought the handkerchief to her nose. A dull pain persisted at the touch.

Turning his back to her, the Captain promptly disappeared behind the blue curtain.

Five minutes passed, during which Amelia contemplated going to the bathroom and the chances that the doctor would deem this incident insignificant. Doc… No doubt that was whom the Captain intended to bring back with him.

When Amelia began to entertain the notion that she had been forgotten, her prediction came true, and in stepped the Captain, the doctor close behind.

Without a word, Doc stopped in front of her and held out his hand. Amelia frowned, and the man impatiently tugged the handkerchief out of her fist and tucked it into a coat pocket.

Neither the fresh stains on his nitrile gloves nor the strong chemical stench that clung to his clothing went unnoticed. Amelia's thoughts strayed to the people in the cells behind the blue curtain. Whatever tortures Doc had been putting them through, she did not wish to know.

In a similar manner to the Captain, the doctor leaned close to her face, bright eyes squinting in concentration behind his lenses. "Fractured," he muttered, his lips pulling back into a tight line. "You ate enough yesterday?"

Amelia nodded.

"You haven't thrown up, have you?"

She shook her head forcefully.

A thoughtful pause interrupted the questioning, and then, "Have you been sleeping?"

It was not an unusual question, but Amelia hesitated before answering with a one-shouldered shrug. As if I could sleep soundly here, with all of you!

Doc did not say anything after that, and looked over his shoulder.

Amelia followed his line of sight and realized the Captain was no longer in the lab. She hadn't even noticed him leave. That worried her.

Seconds later, the brown-coated figure ducked around the curtain of her room. He made eye contact with the doctor, some unspoken communication happening between them.

"I have an idea." It sounded less like an announcement than an answer to an unspoken question.

Pale blonde hair swished across Doc's face as he whipped his head back in her direction. "Wait for a moment," he instructed, and left her side to stride to the other side of the lab. Stepping around a surgical table, he crouched and scooped up a sheet of cloth draped haphazardly over a folding table against the wall, proceeding to dump it on the tabletop.

Keeping her expression blank, Amelia watched him swing open a door beneath the table, but whatever actions followed, she could not see.

The Captain on the other hand, having finished whatever business he had in her room, did not go to the doctor, but stood near her, just outside of her peripheral vision. Although she could not see his face from where she was standing, she could feel his gaze on her. Was there something in her room? She began to mentally backtrack while keeping her eyes glued on Doc, her thoughts tipping from the past to the present whenever it seemed as though he would face her again.

If she found an answer to her question, it was lost as soon as the gangly man spun around with a glass of liquid in his hand. "I believe we are dealing with a simple case of dehydration, Miss Harker. You're familiar with the effects, I presume."

Amelia's mouth went dry again, accompanied by a sinking feeling in her gut. It looked like a fruit juice; it could have passed for wine; but no matter what she tried to convince herself that the red beverage might be, she could not deny what she knew it was.

"You should be better after this. Drink." Doc proffered the glass.

Watching the dark contents swish about, Amelia felt her throat constrict. She couldn't bring her arm up to accept the offering. What? What? What?

"What?" Her brow wrinkled and her lips twitched upward into a nervous smile. No. You're not serious. This isn't going to…do what?

"Take it. Drink." Doc's tone implied he would not negotiate. "Your nose should have healed several minutes ago, based on the previous results."

"That doesn't mean I need to drink blood. T-that's sick!" She was torn between laughing and crying. A retreating step reminded her that the Captain was there. "I just need rest."

"And you haven't been sleeping; at least, not well, according to your earlier response," Doc argued, straightening to his full height. He wasn't built as sturdily as the Captain, but the two were nearly equal in height. "Miss Harker, you will drink all of this blood."

Amelia visibly cringed at the finality.

"I'm giving you the choice of drinking it yourself or having it forced down."

Amelia turned her head, noting the Captain's position behind her. She felt him press one hand—it felt like a fist—against her shoulder blade. It was not intended to hurt, but undoubtedly served its purpose as a warning.

Oh, God. She reluctantly took the glass from Doc. It would be easy to drop it given the severity of her shaking, and it sounded terribly appealing to splash the liquid on the soiled clothes worn by the doctor. How fast could she drink it all? Would pinching her nose help? What about the texture? Did she really need to do this? Was she going to have to do this repeatedly in the future? Would this make her sick? What happened to Mina Harker after she drank blood? What if she liked it?

Before she could continue agonizing over her anxieties, she hurriedly put the beverage to her lips and drank. It went down like any other beverage.

Until she could no longer ignore the sensory information she was receiving.

After the third swallow, the stimuli were overwhelming. She could not pass the fourth mouthful. It might have been a conscious response, or perhaps her body acting on its own: the muscles of her neck and jaw tensed, preventing her from swallowing.

Her pause must have given away that things were not going well, for the Captain suddenly reached around from behind to grab her hand that was holding the glass, keeping her from dropping it or spilling the remaining liquid as she leaned forward. Choking, she opened her mouth and spit out everything in it in front of her toes, shuddering in disgust.

"The hard way, then," signed Doc, sounding quite disappointed.