Skwisgaar slipped in out of consciousness. An icy fingered chill ran through his limbs, alternating with a heat so fierce it seared his innards. He felt that he exhaled smoke, the smoke of a musket ball freed from the barrel with a dull thunder.

Warm sweat turned cold on his brow. He tossed and with every turn a reeling pain, deep as grief, cut through his side. Every so often a bitter draught formed of wine and chalk reached his lips and he swallowed, letting beads of liquid fall like spittle from the edges of his mouth. Then a stupor came over him; the world grew dull and oddly pleasurable. He heard the throaty voice of his mother, the comforting discord of a guitar being tuned, and the insistent whisper of a desperate voice at his side- "It ams ok, you will bes ok," a voice that should be devastating in its fear, but in his stupor it droned melodic.

His body was still numb, but his mind began to wander, to slip awake. Out of the corner of his eye, a figure of loomed over him. In a sudden panic, he lurched to the side and then howled as the familiar pain bore into him again. He was forced on his back, and he blinked his eyes.

"Cornichon," he said, and turned his head slowly, methodically, keeping his body stiff.

"Skwisgaar," said his friend, smiling. Skwisgaar loved that smile, wide, sometimes stupid, but always infectious. He felt an intense desire to live. "Ya gotta stay on your back."

Skwisgaar groaned.

"Ya made it through the surgery! We knew you would." Cornichon looked different to him. There were dark circles around his eyes, and his lips were pressed hard together. It was like when he was hung over but also…different. He seemed keenly awake.

"Ams you sober?" Skwisgaar asked, almost as an accusation.

"No…well, a little," admitted Cornichon. "I didn't want to- I mean if the surgery-"

"If I dies," said Skwisgaar, twisting his mouth. "You wanted to see me off, ja, friend?"

Cornichon wriggled in his chair. "Yeah. Something like that."

"But you sees, I ams livings still." He gave a wry smile. They both knew it wasn't over yet. The true fever, the final test was yet to come. "I won't be lettings that asshole duke have the honors of killings me." The duke was only a fuzzy memory to him, but it seemed the right thing to say.

"It ams like I ams still dreamings. But that butcher tores me to bit."

"Meurtreviage isn't such a bad guy." Cornichon seemed to like everyone, and they liked him too. Even the stodgy old duchesses that should have been appalled by his drunkenness were eager to stop and gossip with him.

Skwisgaar nodded. "That pain…it amsn't just physical, it ams like it goes to my minds and warps me, changes me. But my memorys- they ams so, so hazy…"

"That would be the opium. Makes you forget." Cornichon had plenty of experience: he had tried everything. He touched his friend's hand.

Skwisgaar looked down. "You knows whats else?"

"Yeah?"

"I dreams that he ams with me the whole time, by my side, whispering to me." He lifted his eyes to ceiling. "He cames back to me. I ams dying, but he was forcing me to live."

Cornichon eyes went wide and bit his lip. He looked on Skwisgaar with hesitation. Muertevisage had said not to shock him, but hadn't he already been through plenty?

He decided to approach the subject gently. "Well, why wouldn't he come back?"

Skwisgaar squinted. Through the haze he remembered Toki as he had first seen him, a young serving man, with wide pale blue eyes. He had been insignificant to him, and an idiot besides. He had damaged an amp that was worth more than he was, and Skwisgaar had lifted his hand to strike him. But that was when Skwisgaar had first looked fully into his face, and he momentarily lost his balance. It was the pout perhaps, the jut of his lips, the casual defiance of an overbold young serving man. But to Skwisgaar it had been more potent than that: the insolence of Toki's gaze spoke a ferocity of character that jarred him. And then Toki had told him what he was, a Count. Skwisgaar had committed an unspeakable faux pas and there was no chance to make amends. He had to play it off, and let his customary arrogance smother the disturbing fascination his rival held for him. He had his chance to crush him, and of course he did- nothing would come between him and his mastery of the guitar. Playing with Toki had only pulled him closer to him, and his triumph, though expected, had left him only with a dull ache. But he was given another chance. They had been together, finally still, at peace- he finally took the plunge, and kissed him. Everything had fallen into place, but Toki had spurned him, and with good reason. Skwisgaar's gut clenched and the inescapable searing pain tore through his body. He went white, and Cornichon looked on in alarm.

In the doorway he saw a vague figure, holding a tray. His hair was long and loose, and his eyes were pale and wide.

"It ams coming on," Skwisgaar told Cornichon..

"What?"

"The fever… I ams hallucignating again." He shut his eyes tight and opened them again, but the vision was still there. "I sees him. Toki."

But the figure drew closer, and Skwisgaar was forced to question his reason. Cornichon swallowed and slipped back. Skwisgaar felt a real, cool hand on his brow, and the face pulled in closer, its eyes matching his.

"Toki," he said, nearly choking on his words. "You weres here?"

Toki, nodded, seemingly unable to speak. He pouted, that defiant, jutting pout, but it was matched with such sadness, that Skwisgaar could only grieve for him.

Skwisgaar smiled, wanly, but a certain spark lingered. "You could nots stay away, could you?"

Toki didn't rise to his rally. He looked up at him, serious, and shook his head. "No, Skwisgaar- I knews whats you feels, and I has to come back. And nows-"

Skwisgaar laughed softly. "And nows you finds me almost dead. I gets the betters of you again, little Toki." He placed his palm on Toki's scalp, and ran his fingers through the strands of hair. "You ams lettingss your hairs run wilds." He said.

Toki blushed. Skwisgaar stared again at the ceiling, letting the ache run through him. His hand was still wound around Toki's hair. "I ams sorry, Toki."

Toki's eyes were brimming with tears, but his lips pursed into a wicked smile. "You ams sorrys for takings my friends and comings to my house without askings and eatings my food?" A tear spilled over onto his cheek.

Skwisgaar smiled. "No, I'ms not sorrys for that. I suppose I lies, then." He shrugged, tugging slightly on Toki's hair and releasing it. "No says never believes a repentant man on his deathbead."

The tears fell harder. "You ams- you ams not dying."

"You ams always thinking like a childs." His words were harder than he intended.

Toki's face clouded over, and his mouth trembled. "I won'ts." He said. "I promises you. Not anymore."

"No!" said Skwisgaar, nearly shouting. "Don'ts change. You ams silly, and moody, and foolish since the day I meets you. You ams a kid. But don'ts, don'ts change."

Toki was pouting, and he looked angry and miserable and defiant.

"I never meant to come here and take everything away from you." Skwisgaar said, his voice pleading. "I means, I did means to come, but I never…" and he stopped.

Toki swallowed, and played with his hands. "It don'ts matter."

"If only I hadn't come… " insisted Skwisgaar, perhaps seeking absolution.

"Shuts up!" Toki hopped up onto the tiny space on Skwisgaar's side. He flung his hands around Skwisgaar's neck, and his head burrowed into his chest. The blood ran hot to Skwisgaar's cheeks and for once his extremities were warm and the pain subsided. He placed a hand on Toki's head, and the other on his neck, feeling the warm curve on his jaw.

"Toki, bes careful," he warned, but the count was kissing him, on the collarbone, the the throat, the ear.

"Oh, Toki, you idiots." He breathed, though the pleasure overwhelmed him. Toki could tear him to bits, and it wouldn't matter.

"Yes! I was so stupids, Skwisgaar," said Toki, planting his lips on his cheek, and then on a strange impulse, his nose. Skwisgaar laughed, uncharacteristically lightly. He really was just a kid. A kid who was leaning over him, with those disarming eyes and the hair falling like leaves over his cheeks. A tear fell onto the bridge of his nose and splashed his eye.

"Watch your cryings, Toki! I will be goings blinds!" Skwisgaar controlled an urge to pull Toki over him.

Toki rubbed his eyes. "I can't helps it Skwisgaar."

Skwisgaar chuckled. "You ams still a babys."

"A babies? Ha!" There was an impish gleam in Toki's eyes. "There was a times when I would haves pierced you through the hearts."

Skwisgaar's lips curled, and he struggled with a strange revelation. His expression went serious, almost stern. "And you dids. I thinks you knows that."

There was silence between them, perhaps another drop or two on Skwisgaar's nose, and then Toki leaned in toward him, planting a gentle kiss on Skwisgaar's lips.

"Comes on, Toki," whispered Skwisgaar. "I'ms not dead yet." He reached out his arms and pulled Toki in so that their mouth were forced together. Skwisgaar parted his lips and kissed Toki with such ferocity that it seemed to come from an external force, from the fever itself. Toki's lips, his teeth, his tongue, were warm, and wet, the essence of life when it was so close to slippingaway. Skwisgaars abdominals clenched with every movement, sending a searing pain through his body, but it blended with the pleasure, so he could not parse where one ended and the other began.

"My Gods, Toki," he said, and he faintly remembered saying the same thing once, in some distant time much like this one, when the sun was beginning its descent and the room was basked with golden light.

"I loves you," he heard Toki breathe. He was slipping back into that familiar febrile realm, accompanied only by the deep chasm in his flesh. He had lost the power of speech, and his vision went black.

Through his strange imaginings, and the phantoms that went with them, he said the words. Love, love you, I love you…