—-

Shedding his layers, he stood under the warm water, losing himself for just a little while.

After feeling sufficiently clean, he proceeded to dry himself off. He could barely see from behind his heavy mop of hair. I need a haircut, he noted to himself. During the process, he could feel scaration across his skin. It was mostly concentrated in his abdomen and chest.

His face fell. He was just a plaything to those scientists, only kept alive for machinations they kept shrouded from him. I can barely even remember seeing others. It had to be because of the drugs, he reasoned. Steve didn't want to think it was because all of that 'clone' talk from Navya could be true.

He could remember his life perfectly. He could remember Claire perfectly. That playful girl who offered him a reprieve from the nightmare of Rockfort. She kept both his emotions and shenanigans in check. She was… dependable. He blushed.

What was Claire now? It had been twelve years, and no doubt a lot had happened in her life since their chance meeting.

She seemed so much more on edge now. So much more terrified.

I don't want to have that effect on her, Steve breathed. He wished they could go back to the semi-normalcy of their interactions from before.

A chuckle emitted from his lips. Maybe we need zombies around for that, he jested.

He grabbed the clothes which she supplied: a simple, white t-shirt, a military green and black striped sweater, grey socks and boxers, and finally, a pair of acid washed jeans.

Steve felt much more regulated and reigned in once everything was on. There was something comforting about the slight restriction. He shook his thoughts away from the times of hospital gowns and worse.

He put on a smile and opened the door to Claire waiting with a pair of black sneakers. "I hope you don't mind what I picked out," she declared. "Once your condition is more predictable, we can go buy more." She caught herself. "That you choose," she hurriedly added. Don't be too intense, she urged.

Steve arched his back with a stretch, testing the flexibility of the fabric. "It's great," he stopped and looked at her. "Don't worry," he smiled. She's trying, he reasoned.

Claire beamed back at him. "Here." Steve immediately put the shoes on, and felt almost complete.

"Could I have a haircut?" He wondered.

Claire paled. "Will the scissors frighten you?"

Steve hadn't even considered that. It was tricky to know just what would trigger unpleasant memories and sensations. "You could always restrain me," he offered, his smile trying to keep the conversation light.

Claire sighed. "Okay, if you don't mind waiting, I'll call in a favor." Steve nodded.

Steve sat down on the bed, twiddling his thumbs while looking around the room as Claire exited.

He tried to keep his mind still as an untouched pond, unfocused on the negative things. I have someone who cares this much about me. Claire is… his heart squeezed. He still had feelings for her. Whether they could survive the weathering of time, he wasn't sure. But she's trying. I have to try, too, he promised himself.

Claire reentered the room, smiling at Steve as she saw him. He looks so much more… normal? now. His hair was still shaggier than she remembered, and those eyes… She shook her head. His trepid smile renewed her hope that things between them could improve.

"Hey," Claire called. "I brought one of my co-workers, Amelia." She gestured to the shy, waving girl next to her. "She cuts her son's hair all the time."

"Perfect," Steve supplied, almost making a joke about her competence, but stifled it, preferring any level of skill beyond his own. "Nice to meet you. I'm Steve." He felt mostly alright, being at least in normal clothing.

"Nice to meet you, too," Amelia returned. She looked a bit nervous.

Steve tried not to take it personally. "Claire, could you, uh," he raised his wrists.

Claire was taken aback, but walked to his side, picking up the keys reluctantly. "Are you sure you need them?" She asked quietly.

Steve nodded. "It doesn't hurt anyone to be safe," he whispered back.

"It hurts you," Claire grit her teeth. Steve was taken aback and could only look away. Am I worth worrying about? Steve wondered. Just which of their actions was irrational, he didn't know.

Claire waited a few seconds, but when no response came, she resigned herself to restrict his arms. "That should be enough," she stated. She weakly smiled at Amelia, gesturing towards her spot.

Amelia moved to replace her, hazarding a warning snip of her scissors away from Steve.

When Steve didn't negatively react, Amelia sighed in relief, immediately getting to work. "What kind of hairstyle would you like?" She asked.

"Just a bit more regulated. Short in back with bangs and some length at the sides." He closed his eyes and smiled. "Please."

Amelia smiled, as did Claire. Maybe I worried too much, Claire wondered about both Steve and in general.

The haircut took around fifteen minutes, and when Amelia was sufficiently satisfied with her work, she offered Steve her pocket mirror.

Claire hadn't even thought about it. She couldn't have known.

Steve prepared himself, but it wasn't enough. His haircut was fine, nostalgic even. Amelia had done a great job. It wasn't that: it was what he could now see underneath his bangs.

Steve's head fell forward, his breathing suddenly labored.

"Steve?" Claire hazarded, moving to his side. His face was rigid, eyes locked in place.

His shoulders began to shake. "Steve, what's wrong?" Claire tried again.

She was becoming concerned, but it was then that Steve did the last thing she could have expected.

He laughed.

It was a sad, hollow laugh that cut through her. She gave a worried look to Amelia, who seemingly recognized her sentiment, leaving the room. Claire then turned back to Steve. "Steve…"

He didn't face her, still looking somewhere beyond, chuckling. "What does it matter anymore?"

"What does what matter?" Claire questioned. She didn't know what was causing him such visible distress.

"The apartment," he offered. "For recovery," he spit.

"I don't understand," Claire breathed, calmly. "Steve, please—" She touched his shoulder.

He shook violently against her touch. "Don't!" Steve shouted, suddenly gritting his teeth and bucking forward. Claire removed her hand, bringing it close to her. Should I call the doctor? Her thoughts leapt to the gun on her hip, just in case the collar didn't react. But, is he even transforming? She had no idea what was causing this reaction.

He stayed bent forward, full weight on his restraints. "You think there's actually a recovery from this?"

Claire gulped, unsure how best to respond. "Well, we have to try—"

A broken, pitiful laugh. "No one thought to tell me."

"What's wrong!?" Claire called again. "Please, talk with me about it." We can work through this.

Steve peeked up at her, one eye visible behind his bangs. "These," he said, obviously.

Claire gasped. "You… You hadn't…" she thought aloud.

"You hadn't even seen your own eyes." With Claire's words, Steve's laughter stopped.

He hung his head limply forward again. "Honestly, what's the point?" He asked. "Seriously, I can't understand." Steve faced her again. "Hey, Claire, explain it to me."

Claire felt weak from his hopelessness. "What do your eyes change?" She countered.

"Hah," Steve breathed. "Not only am I different on the inside, but I can't even hide it from the mirror?" It was all he could do not to cry. "There's no denying it with these reminders." He licked the points of his slightly sharper teeth. Monstrous. Everything that made me feel like things could be okay… It was all fake.

"We," Claire thought. "We could get you some colored contacts?" She offered. "For going out in public."

Steve's head fell once again. She really doesn't understand anything.

"Claire," he began. "Y-yes?" Claire responded.

"You never asked me what I wanted," he half-heartedly reminded her.

Claire was silent for a few seconds. "What do you want to do?" She finally asked.

"I don't know," Steve revealed. "I'm not even sure anything's worth doing."

"Steve, I'm going to touch you," Claire warned.

"Huh…?" Steve replied, but registered her sentiment enough to mentally prepare for her action.

She got onto her knees on the bed in front of him, enveloping him in a hug, his head nuzzled against her chest.

He didn't move or speak.

"Please," Claire pleaded. "Don't ever think that." Her arms were around him so tightly he felt that they may break apart.

His breath quickened. "This is dangerous, Claire."

"Probably," she supplied him, but didn't move.

Steve's eyes were closed tightly, willing his arms not to shift. I won't hurt her, I won't hurt her. "This is stupid," he sighed.

Claire smiled. "Maybe," she responded against the top of his head. "But I've already lost you once."

"What if what you've gotten back isn't even 'me'?" His words were brittle and prone to break.

Claire pulled away from him slightly, urging his chin up to face her. "Haven't you noticed?"

Steve tilted his head against her.

Claire smiled. "Everyone is always changing, and look," she pointed to him. "You haven't started to transform."

Steve blinked and took in his status. His fangs hadn't elongated, and his muscles hadn't begun their painful, stretched shift. He was 'normal'. Whether this was due to the new drugs or his own mental fortitude, he didn't know, but it was something.

It was progress.

"Change is scary, but, it can be good," Claire reassured him. "And I want to give you a chance to see that."

Steve stared at her. "Why aren't you scared?" He questioned. "I understand even less now, knowing how you see me."

Claire pondered his question. Why am I not afraid? She had never been. Not since finding him again. She tilted her head. "I know what you're capable of," she supplied, satisfied with her answer.

Steve was suddenly overcome. The amount of trust she still had for him, even after all these years was almost laughable. But he didn't want to laugh. He only wanted one thing.

"Could you release my arms?" He quietly asked.

Claire felt a shred of uncertainty, but bit it back. I trust him. She undid both restraints.

Suddenly, his arms were surrounding her. He had pulled her forward against his chest, his hands desperately wrapped around her sides and his face against her neck.

Claire felt again that his grip was too tight, but it wasn't painful. He was shaking, she noted.

"Thank you," he breathed against her. "For saying that," he hastily added. His warm breath made her hair stand on end. "May I hug you back?" She asked him, quietly.

She heard him chuckle slightly. "Asking makes it feel awkward," he sheepishly answered.

Claire took his playful remark as a yes, and proceeded to curl her arms around his back. His trembling lessened, she thought.

"I never want to make you feel afraid," she promised him.

"Funny," Steve smiled. "I was just thinking the same thing."

Are we really that different from then?

—-