"How's he doing?"

The cadence in the Apothecary's voice had changed into a kinder tone when he finally returned to the confines of the cabin, an arm full of dry wood in tow to feed the fireplace that was warming up their retreat.

"Coming in and out. He's…ehm…he's not shaking so much anymore when he wakes up. Just his…his arms and legs are still pretty bad.", Mike explained somberly and put the back of his fingers against his partner's forehead once more, grateful to feel the clamminess subside, "Even though everything inside me goes against it, I think it would make sense to keep him tied up for a little bit longer, just until he…snaps out of this. But I think he's slowly regaining consciousness. Seems to respond to my voice."

"I figured it would take his system a few hours to recover. With all the different toxins running through his veins and messing with his nerves, consider it the equivalent of putting bad gas in your car."

Jules DiMarco, as he'd finally introduced himself by name, had turned out to be a retired Army medic, having spent the majority of his time in the jungles of Vietnam stitching up the wounded, until a rogue bullet to the gut had ended his deployment unceremoniously.

They'd spent an hour talking about the different wars, sharing sentiments and memories here and there, and Mike was quickly beginning to understand that Jules' decision to live as a hermit in the mountains of Las Trampas had less to do with the war, and more in his disappointment, downright disillusion in humanity as a whole.

He'd confessed to visiting the festivities down at the campground from time to time, indulging in some of the drugs, even supplying the yellow poppy and valerian himself. After describing Sarah Roberts to him, DiMarco admitted to having intercourse with her several times during the last festival, which happened only a week ago, citing the excuse that some physical needs still had to get taken care of despite his self-endowed loneliness.

And while Mike was thoroughly enjoying the many stories Jules had to offer, downright growing somewhat fond of the strange man, one question remained stubbornly unanswered.

Who back in San Francisco was posing as the apothecary, leading them onto this bizarre cat and mouse chase, and why?

"You want something to eat, Stone?", Jules asked, ripping him out of his daydreams.

Looking up from his crouched over position by his partner's cot, Mike nodded wearily, realizing that midnight was quickly approaching and that they were going to be forced into an involuntary, weather and injury-related sleepover.

"Sure. I don't suppose they deliver pizza out here?"

Chuckling, as he took off his rain-soaked hat and laid the wood down by the small fire place, Jules shook his head.

"No pizza, but what do you think of elk steak with wild blueberries?"