Don't have anything to say, or maybe I don't know WHAT exactly. XD Enjoy!

Chapter Three

Institutional Medicine

"I want to work with you." Heather's hand was shaking but still held the needle in her hand. All these years, she'd kept this hidden from the world, especially Dan, kept this in a little box in her room, trying to figure out how to use it, because her genius level was nowhere near Dr. West's. It felt so light in her hand she afraid she would drop it anytime soon before they could use it.

The look on West's face was the same as ever: stern and impassive, but now joining in was a burning fire that had been kept hidden for so long now escaping to wreak havoc. He walked around the operating table where the dead man still lay, his dark eyes glued on the syringe in her hand, not stopping until he was right in front of her, his outstretched hand taking the needle from her – and in the process, her fingers brushed against his skin. She shivered involuntarily at how warm he was when she thought it'd be cold, due to the lack of heaters in this place. Heather had to admit she was disturbed by the look on his face as he took in the long-craved sight of what he'd lost years before; she knew that it would bring the dead back to life, but how to make it and how to use were other stories.

But how he looked it on so tenderly in contrast to a human being made her wonder if he was even a people-person, carried some form of compassion no one else knew about. "Thirteen years..." His voice was low compared to most men, but there was a smooth uniqueness that rippled her nerves again. "There's bound to be some deterioration."

"I couldn't use it because I don't have the...brilliance you have," Heather said hesitantly. "I was hoping you could show me."

West nodded briefly but went on as though he didn't really hear her speak. "The reactive base...may have destabilized." Years of no use meant that the chemicals went bad and might not work at all, Heather thought, following his gaze to where Moses was. "But maybe not."

"What are you doing?" Heather asked, suddenly panicking when he moved towards the table and stood beside the body, grasping the head in the back and raising it.

He lifted his gaze to her, his glasses glinting in the light. "Seeing if it still works."

What?! Doing it now, when the guards and nurse could come back any minute?! "No!" Heather protested, running to the door where the opened glass windows showed all activity. "Someone could come in."

"We're just treating a patient," West stated calmly.

Well, they would only get caught if this wasn't done fast, but at the same time, if things went wrong, they would both be in trouble once it got back to the Warden, wherever he was now. Heather walked to the other side of the table, leaning in to see where exactly the right place of injection was. "The top of the spinal cord," she whispered aloud, at the same time being a question that grabbed West's attention briefly.

"Of course," he answered. "Now hold his head, quickly." She shivered, negatively this time, when her hand touched the bald head of the man, the smooth skin unpleasant to the touch, as well as the bruised left side of the cranium, but she had to remind herself that she was a doctor whether she liked the patient or not; this was professional, not personal.

Dr. West withdrew the needle from the back of the neck, Heather still holding onto Moses' head for a little longer until West swatted it away. She was sensitive to all sorts, and this was one of them, but she distracted herself by looking at the machines first and then back down to check the physical vital signs. Nothing. "How long will it take?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I don't think it's going to take at all." He picked up the pink paper that had been her request to the Warden and threw it down in a mild fit of frustration. Heather noticed that a small dosage of the green fluid in the needle remained, though from where she was, she couldn't see how much.

"We could increase the dosage..." she started, only to be cut off.

"No. No, it's not going to work on him." He shook his head and held the mostly empty syringe in both his hands, examining it like it was precious to him. "It might work on something else." His eyes then met hers briefly, and she just about melted under them. "Thank you for bringing me back my re-agent, such as it is. Oh, well." The look on his face matched his words, which wasn't a good sign at all. Heather felt discouraged that all of this had been a waste, but no, it won't stop here. She didn't get her MD for nothing.

"Now, wait a minute, Dr. West –"

"Please, Herbert," he said politely, picking up the clipboard and pen.

"Herbert." His name was...she couldn't describe it, but saying it was a good kind of strange on her tongue, for some reason, and it was a feeling she hadn't felt in a long time. "Think about it. We could make some more."

His laugh was without humor but at a steady rhythm that got her heart thumping by a small rhythm of its own, and briefly she looked down to avoid his face, staring at his immaculate writing on the clipboard and the pen held by a hand with a well-defined bone structure and delicate fingers that got no worse with age – She glanced back up when he responded. "In here? Doctor, this place doesn't even have basic First Aid, as you just found out."

Of course she noticed. "But this is my clinic now," Heather said. "What do you need?" His mouth remained tight the whole time he was writing down Moses' status, but then he looked up and was about to answer her when they both heard a sporadic pattern of gasps that weren't even for a normal, healthy human being. They turned around and saw Moses sitting in an upright, curled and nearly-fetal position, foaming at the mouth and wide-eyed, but otherwise ALIVE.

"It works!" Herbert exclaimed, dropping the clipboard onto the counter.

Heather bolted forward at the living and breathing man as he choked on his own saliva and probably blood if this got worse. She checked his vital signs, and they were well except for the fact that the pupils dilated as they seemed to recall their last scene on Earth. "Oh, my God. How do you feel? Can you hear me?" There was so much that she wanted to know, such as where he'd been before he was brought back to life, if there was actually a heaven or hell that nobody knew about, before Herbert shouted at her from behind.

"Stay away from him!"

He was right; she should have prepared for this, because Moses reacted extremely violently, both his hands grabbing her shirt collar and about to go for her neck and strangle her. Heather screamed in protest and worked to wrestle herself out of his powerful hold – God, he was so strong for being dead before! Herbert was now there, getting behind the man and forcing him off of her, throwing him on the other side of the table, knocking both him and the table itself over together. And Herbert was still shouting at her when Moses picked himself up, his features feral like a wild beast, mouth drooling at the corner with both foam and blood as he focused his attention on Herbert, who fought him off with anything he could grab. "We have to sedate him! Get the Thorazine! Fifty CCs! HURRY!" Heather was just running to the medicine cabinet, grabbing the vial of the anti-psychotic medication – treatment known to be for anxiety, nausea and other severe behavior problems – and filling it to fifty when Sergeant Moncho, his men and Nurse Vanessa burst through the door.

"Hold it; stop it right there!" Moncho shouted when Moses shoved Herbert against the corner of the wall beside the door and instead made way for the guards. Heather was too stunned by the effects that she was seeing in the re-animated man; the newspaper articles had given details of "violent behavior", so she should have expected this to come, but her optimistic side had gotten the best of her.

Moncho had been knocked down in the process, and one of his men had gotten his arm bitten by Moses, the powerful teeth tearing the muscle right off the bone and spurting gore heavily in several directions, splattering red dots and forming a puddle on the steely gray floor. Now Heather found it in her to jump over and jab the needle of Thorazine into Moses' neck, plunging the bottom in and forcing the soft yellow fluid into his veins, slowing him down but enabling him still functional.

The doors suddenly opened again, and this time was Warden Brando and Laura Olney; the latter was limping and was holding onto him for support. She must have hurt her ankle while she was outside, Heather thought. She knew they were in trouble now, because of the look the Warden gave at the sight of one of the guards with his wounded arm, the gore on the floor, and Moses bloodied more than most and labeled, in the eyes, responsible for all the damage. Herbert was about to step forward when a hand held up by the Warden made him stop.

Moses was on the floor, whimpering and curled upwards. "Forgive me, I have sinned...forgive me..."

Brando fixed his venomous eyes on her. "Dr. Phillips..." He started, only to be attacked by Moses in the most outrageous manner everyone had seen; he was grabbed down below which Heather would rather not mention in explicit detail; those things made her slightly awkward despite her medical status. Brando flinched at the mild damage done to his pride before he regained himself and raised his cane, whacking Moses and sending him down so Moncho subdued him. "What the hell is going on in here?!" he shouted.

"He went crazy, sir," Moncho answered, but that wasn't enough. All the attention was on Heather, and she was burning. Well, she was the head doctor now, so the blame was all on her. But how could she tell them without giving away the whole truth?

From the corner of her eye, the syringe of green re-agent was on the paperwork, and she panicked and moved towards it. "He – he was suffering from a severe cardiac arrhythmia, had a reaction to the medication..." God damn her, she accidentally knocked it over, and it shattered to the floor, right before Herbert's disdained eyes at the last of his old formula broken.

The Warden looked down at the suspicious broken needle and then back up to her, his lip curling slightly. "What medication?"

"We administered ten CCs of Solatol," Heather answered nervously. "Provoked an unexpected side effect." Great lame answer, girl. Brando seemed to think so, given the mess around them.

"Is THIS what you call an 'unexpected side effect'?" he growled angrily.

"Well, I tried –"

Thank God Herbert was there, but he was also putting himself in a dangerous position with the Warden. "The patient suffered atrial fibrillation." The Warden's face was impassive at the medical term, also getting angrier that one of his prisoners was a part of this mess in the infirmary. "In simple English, his heart was beating too fast," Herbert clarified, calm though trying to remain so; Heather found her attention on the other blonde girl in the room, who was now leaning against the counter due to her right ankle which she limped on. Heather kneeled down to check on it while still hearing the conversation between Herbert and the Warden. "Side effect was regrettable, but not unusual."

From the corner of her eye, Heather saw the Warden lift his cane to Herbert's face and hiss, "You, West...you've just added twelve months to your sentence."

Sadistic son of a bitch, and you don't have the power to extend a prisoner's sentence, even when that prisoner is serving life. But maybe once we've managed to find a cure for death, perhaps he can be released and his sentence suspended.

Heather gently probed Laura's ankle, getting a hiss from her every now and then, as well as feeling the hard swells of sprain. "It's a little swollen," she told her.

"Dr. Phillips!" the Warden snapped. "One of my men is hurt."

"I'll get him," Nurse Vanessa volunteered, hurrying over with the antiseptic and gauze wrappings for the injured guard Moses took a bite out of. And the Warden was still barking orders.

"Sergeant, there will be an immediate lockdown. Miss Olney, the rest of your visit will be conducted outside the security areas of this institution."

Her eyes went wide. "But, Warden –"

"And West, that lockdown includes you."

He looked up from writing down on a piece of paper, which Heather recognized as what she'd asked of him earlier for the formula. "Dr. Phillips asked me to make a list of the supplies we need." He had turned to look at her when he said this; how was it that they both stood at the same height?

"That's right, sir," she answered. "I do need that list."

Warden Brando glared at them both but said nothing. He looked down at Moncho. "Clean that man up...and get him to the hole." The hole...as in solitary confinement? No, wait, that's not too far from the Death House...but it's near worse than solitary confinement. Glad I don't know much about prison routine.

Along the way out, Moses still whimpering and bloody, hands now cuffed behind his back, Moncho turned past his shoulder and spat, "West, get to your cell!" Heather felt like she wanted to be the one to punch the hell out of him for talking to this man like that, but today she learned he was the Warden's dog who followed and returned back to his owner. Well, I'll be damned. Hardly anyone here to trust besides this man with me. Said man nodded briefly to her once, then jerked his head in the direction of the doorway to follow him. She glimpsed the back of his dark head where she saw faint specks of gray at the nape of his neck, the only thing that gave away his age.

He paused and turned back to her, his face impassive as ever. Was there any other shell of emotion besides this? Or maybe he doesn't want anyone knowing how he really feels. "My last partner turned State's evidence against me, Doctor. I'm expecting better things of you." He handed her the paper of the supplies without another word, then looked past her shoulder to where Laura was watching them closely. "And watch out for her," he said under his breath. "She's trouble."

He was gone then, and Heather was left alone with Nurse Vanessa taking care of the guard, and Laura Olney still watching her but saying nothing. Heather kept her back to her as she tucked the paper into her pants pocket, a small smile on her face. Finally things were starting to look up despite this mess. Okay, Moses' comeback shocked me, but I think things might improve. Dan betrayed him, so I swear from now on that I won't, she promised silently.

~o~

Being back in his cell for the rest of the day wasn't an abhor as usual for Herbert; half of it was comforting because of the knowledge that he could now proceed to the next step with his work now that a certain young girl had come into his imprisoned life with the desire to work with him, to conquer death.

He didn't need to ask her if she wanted to bring back her sister; he could read her body language that she wanted to, but she clearly lacked the knowledge that her dearly departed sister was nothing but bones in the ground by now. She clearly didn't have much of the time to delve further into the idea that a body has to be exceedingly fresh, but it's always been a problem. He scoffed to no one in particular. But she'll learn in the event of time.

Heather Phillips was all he could think about the rest of the day while he wrote down in his notebook the day's events and the last of the results on Ratty's little corpse he'd stashed hidden amongst his books until wrapping it in foil. Cabrera, the insecure little East L.A. type, was still shouting at him the whole time about his pet, but Herbert just smirked and shook his head again, wrapping the rodent in the foil until the time came for him and Dr. Phillips. He sneered as he thought of the young Hispanic gangster in here for charges of numerous counts of rape and murder, loved no one but a mere creature as low as he was. The fool was among those who saw him as a fresh piece of meat they hadn't had in a long time, when he first arrived, and all it took for Brando to keep Herbert away from them was the few times he'd snatch a deadly instrument from the infirmary and give them nothing more than a special treatment where they should have kept their pants zipped. It was one of the reasons Cabrera and a few of his fellow inmates had a good reason to harass Herbert every now and then, but what did they expect? They had it coming.

Herbert was still a virgin well past his fourth decade; as a young man, those things never interested him physically, but now with this girl in the picture he'd seen only once that night in which he lost everything...he couldn't stop thinking about her or get rid of the memory of the smell of her: that delicious scent of pepper, strawberries and citrus. Herbert snarled to himself; he was getting distracted. This was precisely why he never married or had a relationship to begin with. Perhaps in days' time, he could erase these thoughts.

But that night made it difficult for him to sleep.

~o~

The supplies would arrive by tomorrow afternoon, but reading them over, Heather was starting to second guess herself. She was still thinking back on it by the time she walked through the front door, ready to walk home since she didn't live that far. Not only the intended ingredients, but West had requested a white collared shirt, black tie and pants as a wardrobe for him and his needed size. She remembered him wearing that same look the night the cops took him away, but now he'd asked for it! What is this for? Is he planning an escape? He's not allowed to have this in the prison...

Her thoughts were interrupted at the sight of Laura Olney sitting on the hood of her shiny red convertible, working on whatever it was in her notebook. Heather and Bianca still spoke to each other on the phone, but due to their different careers and schedules, it was near impossible for visits. Seeing that woman there, she felt like she was in need of a friend since she was now living alone in Arkham, her other having moved to Boston with his family to get away from here. Dan had made her call him as soon as she got home to keep him updated on "progress".

"Hi, there," she said, getting the other blonde's attention.

"Oh, hi," Laura answered nervously, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Just...organizing my notes."

"I see that." Heather could see that she hadn't stayed off her foot like she'd asked her to, but then again, she ought to expect patients not listening, except Laura wasn't a patient officially. Nevertheless, a swollen ankle was a swollen ankle. And Laura knew what she was thinking.

"You were right about my ankle, by the way. I should have stayed off it."

Heather smiled. "Kind of hard to push in the clutch, huh? How about I drive you home?" she offered. Dan can wait; he won't mind that I made a new friend on my first day of the job.

Laura looked surprised yet relieved at the same time. "Are you sure? I'll be putting you through a lot of trouble."

Heather shrugged. "On a day like this, nothing is trouble." Yeah, right.

Laura lived in the same neighborhood as she did, it turned out, but compared to her own establishments, Laura's were simple and average: brown stone walls and furniture nearly similar to Dan's old place after the massacre whenever Heather visited him in her youth. The oak bookshelves were organized with movies, CDs and books, a few antique pieces here and there, and some impressive photography in frames, the kitchen almost like Heather's old home; all of this was too average for words, to be honest. The rug covering the wooden paneled floor was striped. But besides the simplicity due to the budget its tenant was on, the place was pretty cozy, and Heather had a great time while she was here. Laura made tofu for dinner which she ended up burning and making them both laugh, but since she was the hostess, she felt really guilty. Heather offered to order them both a pizza they shared with some red wine.

"Sorry about the tofu," Laura mumbled, looking down at the floor. They both sat on the floor but in front of the two soft green sofas.

"No, it was okay; just glad the pizza made up for it," Heather assured her. "I had a great time."

Her new friend seemed to relax. "Great." Heather had to admit that she was pleasant company, talking about intentions of being a journalist since leaving London, pursuing an education here in Massachusetts as well as hearing a bit about Heather's medical topics.

"I was really impressed with the way you handled that interview today," she said, thinking, Except for the way the Warden was looking at you the whole time. She didn't say it because she didn't want to frighten her friend who'd already noticed his glances and unwanted moves.

Laura sighed heavily. "Yeah, I did such a great job that the interviewee threw me out." She shook her head. "But, 'progressive educational programs of the state penitentiary'...it's such a stupid story now that I think about it."

Heather was shocked. All her life, she believed anything was possible, and that was exactly what Dan had taught her, and her parents a little before their relationship was destroyed. So in her book, "no giving up" was among the rules of life. "Aw, come on," she chastised lightly. "Don't give up. Anything is possible. You just have to see the possibilities and seize the moment, you know? Trust your instincts and go for it."

Laura looked at her like she was still uncertain. "Just...go for it?" Heather nodded eagerly, and she smiled with ease. "Okay then; I'll go for it." She leaned back against her couch. "So, what are you really doing here?"

Now that question was really getting to her, and she was on the verge of snapping, but she answered like she answered the Warden that morning. "Institutional medicine."

"Tell me about your 'secret' institutional medicine research, Doctor."

Heather laughed; now this was beginning to make her laugh her ass off. Laura had her hand out like she was holding a microphone, in full reporter mode. "Why, yes, I am investigating the scientific effects of institutionalization of the very nature of life...and death." She answered the last part with hesitancy, but was relieved when a bout of laughter burst between her and Laura, lasting for a little while before she was interrogated once more, and this wasn't what she expected to hear at all.

"Really. Why, Heather?"

She couldn't tell her because she suspected that she might start an investigation on her; West had warned her she'd be trouble, but now that she was getting to know Laura, maybe she could bend a little without giving all of her whole story away. She picked up her wine glass and took a sip of the merlot and remained silent for a little while longer before answering. Emily's death wasn't something she would go around telling everybody.

"I saw my sister die when I was a kid."

Laura's jaw was slack for a moment, shocked as though not expecting that, before she closed it. "I'm so sorry," she said softly, reaching out and putting her hand on Heather's. Warmth washed over her skin.

"I never want to feel that helpless again," Heather continued, the words suddenly easier to pour out now that she'd kept it bottled for so long save for two people she cared about most; the images flashed before her eyes with each sentence. "I tried to resuscitate her." Her dead body cold, eyes still opened before the cops took me as I tried CPR. "I wanted to bring her back to life." She was my sister, one of my best friends, and she died too young and too soon. She didn't deserve it.

"Who was the guy who was helping you today?"

Heather looked up at her. "Dr. Herbert West. He's a prisoner now, but...he used to work at the Miskatonic University Hospital, where I went for my education. He did..." She paused right there, still unsure about this but forced herself on. "...research based on the theory that death is a disease. One of his re-animation experiments went out of control. Crazy. Violent. The guy broke into our house and..." Killed Emily right in front of me, she finished silently, looking back up at Laura's face, seeing the expression nearly matching her sister's as the younger version of herself held her in both arms.

She stood abruptly then. "I should go. It's been a long day."

Laura stood with her and wiped her hands on her jeans she'd changed into upon returning home. "Yeah, you're probably right." Heather noticed she was beginning to walk a little better, assuming her ankle was starting to heal, as she led her to the front door. Just outside and feeling the cool summer breeze, some of her hair swishing, Heather turned back to smile at her.

"Remember, seize the moment," she reminded her.

"And go for it," Laura returned with a grin before closing the door to her.

~o~

He was in the infirmary that morning, waiting patiently for her to walk through the door with the box of the supply ingredients for the formula. After all these years, he still remembered it in vivid detail and the setup of the scale, refusing to let it fade away. He was waiting at the far end of the room like he had the day before when she first rushed Moses' body in when he heard the door finally open, and there she was.

"Here they are." Her lab coat was white as he used to wear in the old days at Miskatonic University Medical, but her legs were bare and feet covered with black flats. Heather set the large box down, the sound of glass clinking inside, and Herbert smiled. At long last. He saw no trace of the hesitation he'd witnessed in Cain years before...something darker than that, devious, and it made him frown, even more when she worked on unbuttoning her lab coat from the top down. "Anything else you need, Doctor?"

If the Warden heard, or the nurse, she would have been reprimanded or worse for calling him by the title that was still rightfully his despite being stripped from him when he fell from grace, as the papers and authorities called it. Herbert said nothing, thinking nothing else in particular other than what he was watching before him. If there was one thing he was worried about, it was the fact that Nurse Vanessa, Moncho or any of his men, one of her inmate-patients, or worse – Warden Brando – coming in and seeing her open her coat to show the most revealing thing he'd ever seen in his life. Herbert had never paid attention to women's undergarments; there was nothing on Heather's body other than a soft lavender, sheer lace piece that left little to the imagination. The curves of her breasts, her flat stomach through the mesh abdomen, her toned legs...all of it too much for him to resist even when she made the move and grabbed his face in both her hands, pulling him down and kissing him hard and rough, and hot.

Stop it...stop it, right now, his mind was telling him. We should stop, before things go too far. But things were going far enough as it was, because he could feel himself building it up in a certain part he never paid mind to. The whole time she was stroking his face, her dainty, buffed nails moving from his hair to trace his earlobes and lower to the sensitive skin of his jaw, drawing back then to look deep into his eyes – Herbert never thought he'd say this, but her eyes were so deep with lust that he thought he would drown in them like in the deepest ocean.

He shook his head, trying to steer clear of what he'd long distanced himself from, but found it impossible when Heather cupped his chin and stared back at him, trapping him, before leaning in for another kiss before he couldn't take it anymore, pushing aside all thoughts of anyone walking in on them and picking her up, laying her across the table and working on his pants to free himself. Her hands moved up to grasp his arms as he did, massaging his forearms through the stiff blue shirt he wore up and down, relaxing his muscles and igniting pleasure through them. Herbert gritted his teeth when she moved from his arms to his chest, ignoring the obstacles that were his clothes and continued her maiden voyage down south to his now-exposed arousal. Herbert groaned loud enough for the nurse to hear outside, wherever she was, at the sweet electrical shots her nails and fingers gifted his hard-on. Now he couldn't take it anymore and shifted his hips back from her hand. "Hurry before they come," he ordered.

Her hips shifted upwards as she slipped the bottom piece off for him to dominate her without taking the time to look at her, focusing instead on the steaming heat around him; she cried out when he began to move in and out of her, her screams getting louder and louder. A small part of Herbert's brain insisted he slow down and let her acclimate to his organ filling her, but when he did, she whimpered and begged him to not stop, in case they were interrupted so soon, so he picked up pace mercilessly. He tried not to hurt her, but he needed her too much at the moment to stop again.

~o~

That dream had been in his mind up through the day when Phillips arrived with the supplies. Seeing her, Herbert incredulously admitted to himself that he was disappointed she was fully dressed instead of the way she was in the dream – damn it, this isn't a dream! She's the prison's new doctor, the sister of that girl killed by one of your freak creations, not some object of desire!

She'd gone to check on Moses, returning with a somber expression; Herbert knew that look all too well by now, but he looked down and pretended not to notice, instead looking at the latest jar of chemical powder from the box as he sorted through for check out. "Looks like you got everything," he said casually.

"Moses isn't doing so good. He doesn't even seem human anymore."

He looked up then, both hands gripping the top sides of the box, sucking in a breath. No, he isn't, because he needs the NPE. But for now, we need a location to hide from the rest of the "staff". "We need a lab space," he told Heather, who looked disbelieved at the change of subject. "Somewhere...private." He looked around until he spotted the door to his left and her right – based on her bodily direction facing him – and picked up the box, walking over and using his own body to push it open so they were out in another hallway, but there was also another door that looked like it hadn't been used in years; it turned out it hadn't, and that was what made it perfect.

Heather did the honors of taking the box from him so he opened it himself, showing darkness, but he eventually found the light switch and turned it on to show the basement. Just like the night I arrived in Daniel's home, and the basement was the first thing I saw. Déjà vu. "Hmm," Herbert mused as he walked down the stairs and looked around the vast area. "Yes, I think this will do." In a more claustrophobic but otherwise opened space behind a collection of steel shelves, he found a wide enough table to serve as the setup for the "brewing of the potion". He mentally laughed at the comparison to something you would find in the typical mad scientist stories.

"Herbert, aren't you listening to me?" Heather demanded. "He's a monster."

"He was as fresh a specimen as we could hope to find," he answered frostily, taking the box from her and setting it down on the nearest chair. "It's always been a problem."

"Goddamn right, it's a problem!" she returned. She lowered her voice. "I want to help people, not create...mindless freaks." Poison was audibly laced around the word, and the passion for saving lives was enough for Herbert to now think she was officially beginning to change her mind about all of this.

"Having second thoughts, Doctor?" he asked sarcastically, not expecting an answer really. She didn't respond. He began to take out glassware and set them on the table. "All medical research requires risk. If you don't understand that, perhaps you shouldn't be here. I'm on the verge of finding a unifying force that would bring order to that chaotic organism." The missing piece of the puzzle that I have been looking for all these years, and I can't do this by myself. In other words, he had no desire to have her back out now that she'd gotten herself into this and put him up in the spotlight.

Her eyes were wide with childlike surprise, and he rolled his eyes. "Are you telling me you found a way to restore rational behavior to a –"

"What I'm saying..." Herbert tucked a textbook under his arm in agitation; she was working on his nerves right now. "...is I can now accelerate the testing phase of my current work. With," he added with a slight smile, "your help, of course."

Her decision to leave, even though she didn't voice it aloud, couldn't happen because it wasn't only the fact that he couldn't work alone...it was because after all these years of being alone in this godforsaken place since Dan betrayed him, he finally found someone he could probably trust, but only if she didn't turn on him, too. "Doctor, this work requires commitment and complete confidentiality. You must tell no one." He tightened his tongue around the last two words, which bristled her right off the spot.

Heather fumed in the face. "You think I'll just walk out of here like –"

"Heather." Now that he finally said her name, he felt like he was tasting something sweet that didn't belong in the horrid cafeteria food served. Why did he feel so soft now? "You brought all of this back to me, and you're the only one who knows." Or maybe not. "So, please, don't abandon the opportunity you came all this way for. Would your sister approve of your change of decision and then throwing away the chance of defeating death, achieving every doctor's dream?"

She looked angry that he'd used her sister against her, but he didn't care. It served only to get her to stay here. And then the nurse called for her. Heather looked behind her and then back to him, unsure of what to do. "You better not keep the patients waiting," Herbert told her.

Heather said nothing as she turned and stalked out. He watched her flounce away, looking away only to turn behind him and begin setting up the details he remembered. Soon she won't only be simply tending to the patients, but these men I've shared cells with aren't worthy of care. They had their chances at life, choosing only to harm others for their own sadistic pleasure, like the Warden. If I ever find my chance to be out of here, Heather comes with me. This isn't the place for her.

For either of us.