Major thought he'd put Rita off by insisting on a more potent tranquilizer before he went after any more zombies, but that ploy wouldn't last long. He couldn't kill anyone else … but they weren't going to let him off the hook, either. He had to come up with a way to look like he was taking down the zombies on the list without actually doing it.

He was turning that idea over in his mind when he went to Rita's office, as he had been commanded to do, and was faced with the head of R&D, who seemed not to understand that zombies were people, living, breathing, intelligent members of the community. Rita and Vaughn didn't seem to understand that, either. With some pain, he realized he hadn't thought of them that way, either. He had thought of them only as killers, as things to get rid of. That was how he had seen Liv in that nightmare moment when he was dying and the blond zombie guy had told him about her. He had been punishing her ever since for not being human—but the first time he'd been asked to kill someone like her, he had seen that guy as more human than he had given Liv, the woman he loved, credit for being. He would have to make that up to her.

In the meantime, he was still being asked to kill people. Zombies, right, but people in every other sense of the word. All the defeat, the hopelessness, the longing for oblivion that had weighed him down for months came rushing back, and even the euphoria of kissing Liv couldn't hold it at bay. He went home and lay on his bed and reached for the vial of utopium, holding it in his hands, studying it, knowing the rush he would feel when he took it, the lack of concern for all the people, even himself, who needed him to be Major Lilywhite. What good was Major Lilywhite, anyway? Who had he ever helped?

He twisted the cap off the vial and held it to his nose, but before he could sniff it, he heard footsteps on the stairs outside his room. Hastily, he stuck the vial under the covers next to him. And just in time, because the door opened and Liv came in.

She looked around at the disaster of the room, the rumpled bedding, the sleeping dog, Major himself lying stretched out on the bed. "What the hell, Lilywhite? It's 7:45 pm. Are you 90?"

"Rough day is all."

Liv put her hands on her hips. "I'm gonna remind you of something, son. Something you already know. The world ain't all dilly bars and debutante balls. The world throws wicked punches. Wants to see who goes down easy. Some people stay on the mat." She looked down at him intently. "Not you, though. You were an undersized walk-on free safety at U-Dub." Major sat up straight, his back against the metal rods of the headboard, wondering where she was going with this. Wondering who she had eaten today—and wondering just a little at how not-weird that concept suddenly seemed. "Three years later you were a starter! It takes a tough, get-back-off-the-mat son-of-a-bitch to do that. But that ain't what impressed me. I fell in love with the guy who could have cashed in on his looks, his connections, his notoriety, but instead, he said, 'I've been blessed and I want to give back'."

She was beautiful when she was all fired up, even if it was someone else's fire. Actually … this was her fire. He had heard versions of this speech before, although he had never needed to hear it quite this badly.

"'I'm gonna be a social worker'," Liv continued, pacing back and forth beside his bed, "'I'm gonna be the guy who helps others get back up.'" She knelt next to the bed. "I know you've taken some haymakers lately. I know that this time it's harder to get back up than it's ever been. But you're Major mother-flippin' Lilywhite and you don't quit."

He loved her so much. He had needed her so much. He was smiling at her now just because she was Liv and she was doing what Liv did—refusing to give up. She was the one who didn't quit. "God, you're so weird," he whispered, but she knew what he meant.

She stood up, looking around at the room again. "Open a window. It reeks in here. Shower, for god sakes, and clean this mess up. And Lilywhite?"

He looked up at her, amazed at how quickly a night that almost went down that same broken road again had turned around.

"There still any utopium in here?" Before he could respond, she said, "And the answer better be, 'Not in my house'."

So he did what seemed like the right idea. He lied to her, hoping it would be one of the last times he had to. "There's not." She gave him a side-eye, waiting, and he finished, as instructed. "Not in my house."

"Speak up, son!"

Louder, feeling stronger, he said, "Not in my house."

"Good." She stood up straight, looking at him like she loved him—more, like she liked him. "I'll meet you downstairs when you're done. We can watch Hoosiers."

That got his attention. How many times had he asked her to watch that movie with him? "After all these years? You've always refused before."

"Well, back then I was worried that seeing you cry over fictional sports would adversely affect my sexual desire for you." She smiled, devilishly, and she was beautiful as hell and twice as frustrating. "But that's not an issue anymore. Friend."

Hours later, he said good-bye to her at the door. They'd watched the movie and thrown popcorn at each other and held hands at the end, tears in both their eyes as the credits rolled, and now Major wanted so badly to kiss her good-night, but Liv socked him on the arm instead and left, promising pizza for their next hang-out, as she called it.

When she was gone, Major closed the door behind her and leaned against it, completely aware of the goofiness of the smile on his face. The last time he felt this effervescent, this much anticipation of something great that was coming his way, was the night he had dropped her off at her sorority house. He hadn't kissed her then because he had known she was worth waiting for. She still was.