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Liv opened the door to Major's knock, looking somber. "Good evening."

"'Good evening'? I thought that was a vampire thing, not a zombie thing." Major carried his takeout bags into the apartment, frowning. "Hey, if zombies are a thing, then does that mean vampires and werewolves are on the table, too? Because I don't want to have to look over my shoulder every full moon waiting to see if Ravi grows a lot more facial hair."

"Creatures of the night are all around us, as are the shades of the departed."

"Lucky us. Hey, you want a quesadilla?"

Liv wandered toward the living room, taking a seat on the couch and studying the roses Major had brought her a few days ago, gazing intently at one that was drooping. "This flower had color and good bloom once. And yet death, blind to the beauty of all living things, even one as vibrant as this, has swept over it, wrenching it closer to the ground, until ..." She reached out and touched the curling petals, plucking one. "It breaks."

Major frowned, wondering if he should engage with her depressive state, or simply carry on and hope she could pull herself out. Not that he blamed her—if he were a zombie, he'd likely be a little obsessed with death, too—but it didn't seem like a healthy state of mind. He decided to carry on. "So is that a yes, you want a quesadilla? Or no?"

"Sorry. I'm good. It's this brain I'm on—it can get pretty dark."

"Hey, no. Listen, we promised we were going to be honest with each other, and, uh, I want to know what's going on in that beautiful undead head of yours." Unsaid was that he wished he could hear more of what Liv thought and less of what the brain of the day thought. It wasn't her fault, he reminded himself. Damn boat party.

"Well, you know those missing rich people?"

Oh. Maybe he would rather hear more from the death-is-beautiful brain. "Yeah."

"They're zombies."

Hell. How did she know that? If she knew that, who else did? Not the police, or there would be a public panic about the existence of real zombies in the world. He left the quesadillas, no longer feeling particularly hungry, as Liv continued.

"Someone is going around the city, taking out zombies." She paused. "I could be next."

That was the last thing he wanted. He was doing this to keep her safe, after all—he didn't want her afraid of some random zombie hunter. He sank down on the couch next to her, putting his hand over hers. "I promise that's not going to happen to you."

Liv smiled, not buying it. "That's not something you can promise."

He should tell her, he thought. All about Vaughn du Clark, and the zombies, and his situation—but if he told her, she would go off after du Clark, and she would get herself hurt. Or worse. He had just gotten her back, he wasn't going to risk losing her again.

"I can if I'm with you."

"You can't be with me all the time, Major. Neither can Ravi. I can't be constantly with someone, not and do my job or live my life." She shook her head. "I don't want to live in fear."

"Maybe … you could fight this person off if he came for you. You're strong. Zombie strong, right?"

"So were the others."

"Yeah, but they were rich. They could have been weak, unprepared, not used to fighting their own battles. Not like you." He shook her hand affectionately. "You're very tough. And scary."

She looked at him, her eyes wide and worried. "Are you scared of me, Major? Really. I want to know."

He considered that, taking his time, wanting to give her an honest answer. "No. I'm really not. Maybe I should be, I don't know, but … you're Liv. My Liv. I know you would never hurt me."

"No. I never would." She shifted so she was in his lap, tucking her head into his shoulder. They both forgot about the time when she had hurt him badly, breaking his heart, because that wasn't ever going to happen again. They were together now, and nothing was going to tear them apart—not even the forces of the undead, Major thought fiercely, holding her close.

But then, a couple of nights later, he came home to find her kneeling in his living room, surrounded by candles and draped in black lace, communing with a ouija board.

It was too much. He had had enough of this death-brain, of Liv's obsession with darkness. Things were dark enough without embracing it. They were supposed to be looking forward; they were supposed to be happy to be back together and optimistic for a better life without death and zombieism someday. And here she was trying to talk to spirits. He couldn't deal with it. Not tonight.

Tomorrow he hoped there would be a new brain—or did he? What if it was worse? Clingy, or bigoted, or mentally disturbed in a way Liv wasn't ready to manage? He just wanted Liv, the real Liv, all the time. And even though he knew it wasn't her fault, and he knew she fought it as well as she could … he couldn't help resenting it.

For the first time since they had been reunited, he went to bed discontented, worried, and not entirely sure being back with Liv was what he wanted after all.