Still April 10th, 1964

Sara was beginning to think it would never happen when she finally spotted a familiar form sprawled in the muck beside two Drachman bodies. Breaking into a run, she dropped down on her knees beside him. "Cal! Damn it, Fischer can you hear me/"

She didn't like the look of him. His face was pasty and pale, but sweaty. She felt frantically for a pulse, trying not to look too closely at the blood – some of it now drying on his clothes – covering him. He looked cold, felt hot, but there was the barest flutter under her fingers… maybe.

"Xwei!" She bellowed for the Xingese alchemist who had joined them in their mission. "I found one!"

Xwei, a thin man with straight black hair and a thin nose, hurried across the ground and joined her. "Dead or alive?"

"That's what I can't tell," Sara admitted. "I think he's alive, but if he is he's dying fast."

Xwei nodded and put his right hand, wrapped in a silk handkerchief like the one she had seen Ren use, on Cal's seemingly unmoving chest. There was a very faint glow, but Sara knew that the energy was focused inward. The only light she saw came from the area around Cal's already festering wound. Blood spurted a moment, then stilled again. Cal's entire body gave an involuntary shudder.

Sara grimaced. "How is he?"

"Living," Xwei commented, still focused on Cal. "For the moment." He sat back, sweat beading his brow. "The bleeding is stopped, and I have cleansed as much bacteria from the wound as possible, but I cannot bring him out of shock with alchemy, nor do more than encourage his body to heal quickly. I have loaned him as much strength as I can, though that is hardly much in this situation."

"So he's not stable." Sara said.

"He may still die," Xwei agreed. "We need to get him to the infirmary for further treatment."

Sara nodded as she saw Maes and Kane coming towards her. Maes had the stretcher in case they found anyone alive. He blanched when he saw Cal, but neither of them hesitated. Sara got out of the way as Xwei and Maes loaded Cal gently onto the stretcher. It took a couple of minutes of maneuvering to do it without causing the bleeding to start again. Then they were hoofing it back across the field as quickly as they could make it without jostling him too hard.

"He looks like a corpse," Sara commented when they were gone.

"He almost is one," Kane replied grimly. "Keep working. Let's see if we can find anyone else that hasn't succumbed just yet."

Sara nodded and kept moving. This was her job. Someone else would take care of Cal. He was in the hands of the doctors now.

The constant chaos had dropped to a dull roar; a patient still in surgery, a couple being patched up, but mostly those too injured to go back to their tents were lying still, dosed with as much pain medication as they could afford to give anyone; those with the worst pain getting more, though probably less than they would have preferred.

Ethan was beat, wrung out, and ready for a break when he heard a shout, and then a rush as another emergency case arrived at the door. He turned, amazed that someone was still alive! He joined the other nearest doctors as they hurried to see the patient, and was brought up momentarily when he saw Cal Fischer and the condition he was in. Around him he heard the hurried reporting of his condition; shot to the lower abdomen, lost blood, infection, fever, shock…

"Who is it?" He heard Alyse's voice behind him, and he spun, seeing the stretcher continue on by, two Xingese alchemical doctors and a regular medic right there, as her worried face came into view.

Ethan didn't want to tell her now, but she would know soon enough. "Fischer," he replied. "They found him."

Apparently he didn't look reassuring. "They said he's alive, right?" Her hands were clenched tight together, an atypical gesture for her.

"For now," Ethan nodded. "It… it doesn't look good."

"Don't say that," she shook her head firmly. "He's too stubborn to die if they didn't kill him already." She tried to move past him, but Ethan put a hand out, stopping her. She glared at him. "I want to see him!"

"Not yet," Ethan shook his head. "You'd just be in the way, Alyse. He's got two alchemists working on him and another doctor." He gestured in that direction as he saw the forth medic, unneeded, head out to tend other patients. "They'll heal him all they can with alchemy, dose him with antibiotics, and they've got to clean the wound and stitch him up now if he's going to have a chance."

She obviously wanted to argue, but logic slowly overcame panic. Tears welled in her eyes, and Ethan cursed silently. That look could move mountains. "When they're finished, I'll let you know and you can see him. But not before they give permission for anyone else to get near him."

Alyse nodded, looking a bit at a loss for what to do next. Ethan felt sympathetic; today had been a bit of a shell-shock for him too, despite his life experiences outside of Central over the years. Will injured, Cal dying; she looked as much in shock as anyone else could. "Do you need a break?" he asked quietly. "No one would blame you." It was only mid-afternoon, but it felt like it ought to be nightfall. Perhaps it was the thick clouds moving in again overhead outside the tent.

"I wouldn't know what else to do," Alyse admitted, shaking her head. "I want to be close."

She didn't have to say in case he doesn't make it. Ethan nodded. "Then we could use some help with sterilization and clean up. How do you feel about laundry?" They had some large pots heating on fires outside of the tent for the purpose of bleach-cleaning all the towels, sheets, and other fabric items that had gotten dirty or bloody in the events of the day.

"It's better than nothing," Alyse replied before she turned and, with several glances in the direction they had taken Cal, headed towards the other end of the tent.

Ethan sighed and went to go find Winry while he took a short break. The last auto-mail patient had left not too long before, and he could really use some time in the presence of his mother.

The area around Alphonse's tent was quiet when Edward arrived. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. It was the edge of camp, near the back of the alchemists' area. While there were alchemists gathering around in circles further towards the center, no one was out this far. Yet Ed was sure that Al was still in his tent. A couple of people had seen him go in, looking like a thunder cloud, and no one had seen him come out. Taking a deep breath, he paused outside of his brother's tent. He might as well get this over with.

"Hey, Al, you in there?"

He heard someone shifting on a cot, but Al didn't come to the tent door.

"Come on," Ed sighed. "We need to talk."

"Talk?" The cot creaked again. A moment later the tent flap flew open, nearly smacking Ed in the face. Al stood there, glaring down at him. "Don't you think you've already said enough?"

"Look I'm just worried!" Ed pointed out. "You've been through a lot lately and then you went and just-"

"Just what?" Al jumped on it. "Did what needed doing? Come on, you just pulled me off duty! What kind of crap is that? It's not even the first time you've done it, making decisions without any care for what I really think. You did it in Drachma! You're always above me; shoving it in my face and completely overriding my authority."

"Like you didn't pull rank on me in Aerugo," Edward snorted. "Fine, you're mad at me. So why don't you just hit me and get it over with? Will that make you feel better?"

"Don't be stupid," Al glared, looking away momentarily.

"So now I'm stupid," Ed rested his hands on his hips, "for caring about my brother."

"Stop it!" Al glowered, his eyes turning back quickly.

"Stop what?"

"Thinking like that. You wouldn't have pulled anyone else for taking out an enemy general! Especially not a bastard like Tamirov!" Al pointed in the general direction of where he had only a couple of hours before killed the man.

"No other man I know has a vendetta against him," Ed pointed out. He was trying not to get snippy; not to shout. Al was holding back despite his growling; he knew it. What he was holding back, exactly, Ed wasn't sure. All he knew was he needed to find out. "I didn't see anyone else murder a man in cold blood." He shuddered just thinking of Al's monologue; the look on his face as he slowly drew a circle with his own blood, and the man just fell dead. Ed wasn't even entirely sure what Al had done alchemically to kill him.

"It wasn't like that!" Al shouted, his face going red. "I killed him on a battlefield!"

"He didn't even fight back," Ed pointed out.

"Like you would have given him a fair chance given that kind of opportunity," Al snorted in disbelief. "I can't believe I'm hearing this from you Ed! It's ludicrous!"

"Maybe it is," Ed didn't even bother trying to argue against that point. "But I know you. You're not the same sneaky son-of-a-bitch I am when I need to be."

"How would you know?" Al asked hotly as he got right up in Ed's face. "You always assume you're right!" You always think you know better than I do! That's not brotherly concern when it sabotages my life and my career!"

Sabotage? Was Al completely off his rocker? Possibly. But how to make him understand? Ed put on his most condescending grin. "Maybe you're right. Maybe you just didn't have the guts to hit him straight on."

Al balked at the change in tactics. "Excuse you?" He turned to head back inside.

The grin broadened. "You really think Elicia will want a spineless, murdering, coward like this? If so she's even more weak-minded now than I thought." A lie, pure and simple, but if he was thinking straight, Al would know that.

It had the, unfortunately, expected reaction. Alphonse spun around hard, fury in his eyes. "You take that back!"

Ed held his hands up in an inviting gesture. "Fight me then. If you win, I won't argue about giving you back your command. But I don't think that'll happen. I'm better than you."

"Oh yeah right," Al replied derisively.

"Prove otherwise, Al." He almost had him. "You're getting older too you know, and slower. I'm not talking some lame sparring match. I mean a real fight, no holding back, until one of us calls it." It was a risk, he knew, but there was so much rage in his brother at the moment, Ed didn't dare let him keep it inside, no matter who Al was mad at. Most likely, Ed guessed Al's anger was with himself.

"A real show down." Al eyed him warily, clearly expecting a trick. "Alchemy or no?"

Ed shook his head. "Strength on strength, your abilities versus mine. We don't need to level the entire Amestrian army for me to prove my point."

"You might," Al argued. "Cause you're about to be proven wrong!"

Ed hopped back a few steps, giving himself a little room as Al immediately stepped into a slow circling pattern, ready to leap right into a fight. His eagerness alone wasn't a good sign.

Then Al – forever the defensive strategist – rushed Ed with speed he rarely managed. Ed ducked, dodged, and brought a hit up towards Al's side only to have it blocked as his brother spun furiously and grabbed for him. Ed ducked the grapple and rolled, coming up under Al's legs and trying to take them out from under him.

Al jumped, rolled, and they came up facing each other again. Ed didn't have to wait long again for Al to rush him. This time Ed went up and over – as he hadn't in a while – and then nearly missed when Al's hands almost caught a hold of his wrists on the arch of the flip. He hit the ground a bit harder than he had intended, but without losing momentum or even his balance as he came up, twisted, changed directions in a feint, and then managed to land a blow on Al's right side.

That only made his brother angrier. Al redoubled his efforts and despite being obviously tired – they both were, doing this after hours in battle! – he managed to land a glancing blow to Ed's left shoulder. Ed eased into the blow, bending his knees and letting the force of Al's strike be blunted and lessened by his momentary yielding.

They struck and retreated; Ed falling into a quick pattern of attacks that made use of his still-formidable aerobatic abilities. Al's defensive solid style was disrupted by the unusual anger and force though, and that made it harder to anticipate his moves. Fortunately, Al seemed to be slowing a little; tiring sooner. His movements weren't quite as crisp.

Still, it was Al who finally managed to get a grip on Ed and take him to the ground, from there it turned into a grappling match, with Ed wriggling like a fish as he got out of a variety of holds, and Al shoved his way out of the same. They had always been evenly matched. But today Ed's idea of winning wasn't the same as usual. This fight didn't end until one of them called it, which meant it could go on until neither of them could take it anymore, or he could end it.

He finally got the moment he was looking for and took a cheap shot – his knee going into Al's stomach. His brother reacted with a renewed rush of shock and anger and pinned him to the ground, his hands going – not to his shoulders – but to Ed's neck! His face, furious red, was contorted in a way Ed had never seen before. "Call it!" Al growled.

Edward smiled calmly up at his brother. "No."

Al's eyes went wide. "What do you mean? Call it! This doesn't end until you give."

"Then I guess you'll have to do to me what you did to Tamirov. I…won't…. call it."

For a moment, Ed feared he had made a critical mistake in judging his brother's current psychological state. If Al really had snapped, really didn't feel any guilt over what he had done, then would pushing him make him actually willing to hurt Ed? He had been so furious with him earlier – had vented grievances against Ed that he had thought long smoothed over. What if Al really hated him?

His answer came moments later. Al looked stunned, angry, mildly horrified, then his grip failed and his head dropped against Ed's chest…. And Ed's little brother started sobbing brokenly.

Ed reached up, patting Al's head for lack of a better position for a hug. At a loss for anything even remotely helpful to say, it was about all he could do. It lasted only a minute before Al jerked upright and clambered off of him. Ed stood at once, worried when Al turned away. "Alphonse, wait!"

Al stopped, but did not turn around. "He didn't suffer," he replied hoarsely.

"He?"

"Tamirov." Al replied as if it should have been obvious. "I stopped his brain and heart instantly. He just shut down. He shouldn't have felt a thing." Then he turned, and walked away quickly, vanishing amongst the tents.

Ed felt cold inside, a momentary numbness that was quickly overtaken by guilt. Why hadn't he thought to ask that? Not that it changed what Al had done, or the why of it; but it did make a difference. Why hadn't Al told him that immediately? Why hadn't he just said so instead of taking his frustrations out on Ed? Maybe, he thought, they weren't the same frustrations.

Al needed time, and right now Ed really didn't dare try to go after him again. Frustrated and dusty, he brushed off his uniform and headed towards the mess. He couldn't think straight, there was too much stuffing his head. When he couldn't think straight, it was definitely time for something to eat.

Cal looked worse even than she had imagined. Alyse failed to hold back some of the tears in her eyes as she sat gingerly down in the chair next to Cal's bed. He had not been moved from the intensive care area into the main patient area, but remained cordoned off from the others; one of the few still living truly critical cases. Some had died during the course of the afternoon, and others had stabilized and begun to pull through. Alyse had watched, waited, and now her heart was in her throat. She had waited five agonizing hours before this moment had finally come.

Hands wrinkled from hours of sanitizing in hot water gently rested on the pale, clammy, yet barely warm hand that lay exposed outside of Cal's sheets. He looked smaller somehow, as if the sheets of the bed would swallow him whole, despite the narrowness of a military cot; even one in the infirmary. His face was warmer than the rest of him when she touched it, flushed with color in the cheeks, despite the pallor of the rest of him. Cal's entire appearance was one that seemed full of contradictions.

She already knew from listening in, and making Ethan keep her updated, that Cal was still delicate; still not quite stabilized. He would be getting regular alchemical treatments and watched constantly until the end – whichever it was – finally came to his confinement. Alyse supposed she should just be grateful they hadn't given up on him. "You can't die," she whispered, leaning over and kissing his cheek gently. "You made me a promise, and I'm expecting you to keep it."

"Touching."

Alyse turned her head and saw Ethan standing not far behind her. "Well…he did," she went on lamely, feeling very foolish caught speaking privately to an unconscious man.

"It's time for another check on him," Ethan said without further comment as he went around to Cal's other side, pulled on his gloves, and set his hands lightly on top of Cal's chest.

Alyse hadn't had a chance to sit still long enough to observe a healing transmutation at point-blank range before. She could feel the energy despite the fact it worked entirely within the body. People might forget – or not know – that she was an alchemist. Many might have forgotten, but that didn't mean her skills were out of practice. She closed her eyes, not able to tell what Ethan was doing, other than she could feel the energy moving, and Cal's internal energy seeming to stir with it. With her hands touching his, she could feel a flush of life, a brief strengthening of the pulse.

Ethan worked for a couple of minutes before he finished. "There. Someone will be back every half an hour for treatments, probably in between for checks," he said as Alyse opened her eyes again. "He's a little better," he added with a small smile clearly meant to be encouraging. "If things go well, he ought to stabilize in the next day or so."

It could take that long? Alyse shuddered. "How…. Do you know how Lia felt when… when you were ill?" Lia had told her once, but Alyse felt the need to ask.

Ethan's smile faded, and she regretted the question immediately. "She told me," he responded with a short nod. "And it was something I would give a lot to have never made her live through. But I know, that having her there with me, even when she said she was sure she thought I couldn't hear her… I could. I couldn't respond, but I remember her through the haze of everything else. It kept me going."

That was what she needed to hear. Alyse nodded, and smiled. "Thanks. I… Ethan, will you teach me?"

For a moment he looked perplexed. "Teach you what?"

"This," Alyse squeezed Cal's hand. "If it won't hurt him to have more… teach me how to help him." Sitting there, doing nothing seemed like such a waste. She had energy to give him if nothing else and she wanted to give him everything she could.

Ethan understood. For a moment he looked like he wanted to disapprove, but he didn't. He smiled and nodded. "Sure. It's really not that difficult." He pulled a piece of chalk out of his pocket. "Though in your case, I think you're going to need this."

Alphonse wandered for hours, ignoring everyone around him no matter if they waved in his direction or called out. It couldn't be important; they didn't follow him. They couldn't be important… he had almost killed his brother.

His mind cried out in angered anguish; he felt like a monster, a villain, and yet he had his reasons; he couldn't stand the apparent inability for there to be a division between what Ed thought he knew, and reality; between thinking like an officer and thinking like a brother. And it made Al's life even more complicated trying to sort it all out and make some kind of proper line.

Something had gone horribly wrong. Instead of being proud or pleased, or anything Al would have expected; Ed had called him a murderer, goaded him into a fight when he was emotionally unstable – he'd admit to both the instability and falling for Ed's prodding.

But why did it bother him so much? Why couldn't he have just set Ed straight in the beginning? Why had he wanted so badly to punch Edward in his smug face? No, not just that. He had honestly wanted to pummel Ed until he understood and felt the pain Al had dealt with inside for years, especially these past months.
He had become obsessed with finding Tamirov, taking him on, and taking him out of the world so that Elicia could have some peace. But… was it even really about Elicia? She was safe in Central, and had been the whole time. Even with Tamirov dead the war wasn't over. His death was justified, but was Ed right? Could he have done something differently? Was he really so screwed up that he couldn't see what a terrifying thing he had done? He wasn't sure anymore either way and it ate at him.

Al was surprised to find himself back near the infirmary. I guess my mind thinks I'm sicker than I thought. In the head anyway. Al decided to go in and check on everyone. He found that Will was fast asleep and didn't disturb him. Winry had left finally and was almost certainly with Ed somewhere. Even Ethan, he discovered, had gone on break.

He was about to leave when he heard a familiar voice speaking quietly, and he knew Alyse was still here. Al approached one of the curtains and stuck his head in. Sure enough there was his little girl, her hands tightly clutched around the limp one belonging to the Whitewater Alchemist.
Al felt a small surge of jealousy, and then he almost laughed at the absurdity. Who was he jealous of? Alyse… waiting with fear to find out if this man she had feelings for was going to leave her in the worst possible way; even worse than what Vince had done to her. Was he jealous of Cal, lying on the brink of death with the woman who loved him waiting by his side?

She didn't seem to have heard him yet, and Al found himself transfixed, watching as Alyse – looking startlingly like his mother in the dim lamp-light at just the angle he could see her face – whispered gently to him even though she had to know he wouldn't respond. It was easier though, he knew, to talk instead of sitting silent; hoping they could hear you and that they'd find their way back to you.

It was only when she stopped talking and turned her head that Al realized he had been detected. "Hi, sweetie," he commented quietly.

Alyse looked torn, and Al saved her the conflict of interests by crossing the room and hugging her tightly. Alyse dropped Cal's hand long enough to wrap her arms tightly around his chest. "Oh, daddy," she sobbed softly.

He could have imagined no more heart-felt grief and worry pouring out of any woman he knew over their loved ones. Al patted her shoulders gently with one hand, and kissed the top of her head. "Shhhh, Alyse. It's all right. Everything… will be all right."

April 11th, 1964

It was like a soothing cool waterfall running across heated agony. Sometimes the stream flowed, and he was calm and restful and floated upon it. Other times it didn't and he was ragged and parched and swelled to a furnace. Time had no meaning here, in this place. Heaven? Hell? Did it matter? There was no color save white, or black, except in dreams. He dreamed, but other than colors and blurs there remained no recollection. Were they dreams, or memories? It all blurred indistinctly until the world had no up, no down, no solid, no liquid, no light, no sound, yet all at once. Sometimes he felt almost solid; and others ethereal and free. Then agony returned, rising out of the numbness, slowly coalescing, solidifying into something. It would go away again, it always did.

But this time it didn't. He rose, as if floating, upward, and as he rose the muted sounds grew, and his body hardened. There was scent again, though it all felt coated in fluffy white cotton.

The sound was what he fixed on. It was a direction he could pinpoint, and he moved toward it; an angel's voice singing a sweet, lilting song. He knew it, yet he didn't; not from childhood or distant memory and yet he was certain it was completely familiar. In the last moments he felt like flying, and then he settled, aching but firmly solid, against stiff, clean sheets.

Grit-stuck eyes took several moments to pry open, heavy lids sagging as he saw only a dim blur of yellow, dull green, and then a moving swish of something – hair – as a head turned as if waiting for something. The moment passed, and the blurry vision turned back. The hair was brown. The song, softly hummed he realized now, returned, much more immediate in conscious ears.

The voice was real, and he knew it. Cal blinked and opened his mouth. "..'Lyse?"

She came into focus as he blinked again slowly, trying to force his senses to respond properly. "Calvin?" Then a hopeful little smile lit up her face. "Cal! Oh thank goodness." She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

Her lips felt softer than roses, or maybe deer skin, or… well, nothing could ever be so soft or sweet. Cal tried to smile, but he didn't think he succeeded. "What… what's with the face?" he coughed out.

Alyse blinked, and a cute little frown formed momentarily. "You idiot! You almost died!"

So I wasn't completely wrong. Cal tried again with the smile. He thought his mouth was working properly. Everything felt heavy and achy. Drugs probably. He could just imagine the amount of painkillers they might have pumped into his system. He only vaguely remembered the injury. Something about a bird? No wait, that wasn't right. Clouds and birds were above him. He'd been shot trying to… save… Oh hell. It began to come back, faster and faster. Polansky had died, he'd lain out there for hours, staring up at that stupid sky listening to the battle. It was fresh again now and it just kept coming. "Oh…god," he felt tears spring up on his cheeks.

"Cal?" Alyse's anger was gone faster than a hunted rabbit. "What's wrong? Are you in pain?" Her soft hands wrapped around his left one.

"I… I was dying," he managed to stutter out. "For hours. I thought… I thought I was going to die alone." He could not remember the last time he had cried so heartbrokenly, so full of fear. He had mourned his mother's passing, but that had been a soft kind of sadness. This grief, this petrifying fear of memory that gripped him now was overwhelming and painful in its raw violence. He shook, and quivered, and he began to sob like an infant.

"You're not alone," Alyse assured him, kissing his tear-hot face. "You didn't die and you're not alone! Sara and the others found you and there's been a bunch of alchemists and doctors in here trying to save you. And they did! You'll be fine now," she whispered fervently, as if she needed to believe it herself.

If he hadn't known he felt strongly for Alyse before, he might have been completely overwhelmed; as it was, the love he felt for her only blossomed further under this outpouring of emotion and concern entirely on his behalf. He cried for several minutes before pulling himself under control again. Still, one thing worried him. "Am… am I still dying?"

"Doubtful." He heard another voice and while he couldn't look up or even barely turn his head, Cal knew he had just heard Ethan Elric. Ethan stepped over him a moment later, and Cal looked up into his face as Ethan stuck a thermometer in his mouth and then set his hands to Cal's chest. "Hold still a moment."

The energy was weird, and yet Cal quickly identified it as his rushing stream. It felt good and he felt a little more energized. It went on for over a minute. "Well?"

Ethan stopped after a few more seconds, then pulled the thermometer out of Cal's mouth again. "Much better," he commented, smiling. That was one thing Cal liked about Ethan. He was a doctor who smiled. "Still a low fever, but it's dropped substantially. The infection in your wound seems to have been eradicated, and there's no further infections forming at the puncture sights. The stitches are healing up as they should. That will take a while, but they're holding fine. You seem to have come fully out of shock, and the fact that you've regained consciousness and can speak to me lucidly implies the fever didn't damage your brain."

"Thanks… I think." Cal sighed. He tried to shake his head, but it didn't move much. "What did you… do to me?"

"You mean besides drain four alchemists of all our spare energy to keep you going?" Ethan quipped lightly. "You've had a blood transfusion. You're currently pretty well dosed with pain medication, regular rounds of antibiotics, and we've got you on an IV for hydration." Cal felt a tap on his arm though he couldn't turn his head to see Ethan's hand or what was attached to it, but now that he thought about it he could tell there was something there. "Frankly, if they'd found you a few minutes later, you probably would have been dead. But you're not," he grinned broadly. "So if I were you I would just worry about getting better instead."

So much put into keeping him alive; one soldier, one alchemist. Cal thought he might cry again; an embarrassing bit of evidence as to the fragility of his emotional state if nothing else. He didn't have the energy to play it tough. "Sounds good… to me. Thanks for the… boost."

"I'm not the only one you should be thanking," Ethan grinned. "Your girlfriend's done half the work lately."

Cal blinked, then turned his eyes in Alyse's direction. She looked embarrassed, yet a little pleased. "You?"

"I am an alchemist," she chuckled as she leaned over and kissed him.

It was a brief, but warm and appreciated moment. Cal smiled when their lips parted. "Well you certainly work on me."

"I'd say get a room…but this is as close as you're likely to get for a while," Ethan quipped.

"How long am I going…. to be stuck like this?" And how long would he be too tired to complete a sentence in one breath? He looked back at Ethan.

"Well you won't be here long," Ethan replied. "As soon as you're really stable you'll be on a train to North City, and probably right back to Central, where you'll be in the hospital for as long as it takes for you to be well enough to manage on your own. I suspect that will be a few weeks all told. After that, it's just a matter of letting things improve naturally."

Weeks. At least it wasn't years, and at least they expected him to stabilize and improve. It could be worse. "Do you know… anything about what Kane plans to do … with me?"

Alyse's soft fingers played with a limp lock of his hair that dangled above his face. "Nothing permanent," she replied softly. "I think he was waiting to hear if you made it."

Ethan nodded. "I'll send word and he can come talk to you himself. Though don't expect him to stay long; or any guests to stay long. You need to rest."

Cal looked right back to Alyse. He didn't want her to go! "But…"

Ethan chuckled. "That's not a guest. She's your nurse."

Alyse nodded and Cal relaxed. He wasn't dying alone on a battlefield. He was safe; wounded but alive, and he had Alyse. It all kept coming back to knowing she was there. I really am a sucker for nice girls. He felt exhaustion overwhelming him again, and his eyes drifted shut. "Wake me… when Kane gets here."

"I will," Alyse promised, and it was the last thing he heard before Cal drifted back into more restful sleep.