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Entering the bar, Major was relieved to see the girl there. He had been tracking her movements for a couple of weeks now; he needed to make the approach, to confirm that she was what he, and Max Rager, suspected she was, before too much more time went on. du Clark was amused by Major dragging his heels and taking his time with the job for now, but he wouldn't be forever.

Major took a seat and started to order a beer, then thought better of it. Tonight, he needed a real drink, something strong. The memory of last night's/this morning's fight with Liv came back to him, making him feel distressed and dirty and downcast. He had thought he could handle it. Really he had. The no sex thing had been surprisingly easy to get around, the care he had to take regarding her teeth and fingernails had been easy to remember, and he had even gotten used to the pale hair and skin. But the brains she ate, and Liv's variable reaction to them, were the last straw.

What were the ethics of forgiveness when your girlfriend used your finger to unlock your phone, sent a text to a girl you used to date while pretending to be you, and then refused to acknowledge she'd done anything wrong? She had awakened him in the middle of the night, crying and screaming at him, showing him a picture Rita had sent her of some lingerie with Rita's admittedly attractive body inside it, and nothing Major could say would move her past it. All his protests that he had ended things with Rita, that she had only texted that picture because Liv had asked her to, that Liv was the only woman he wanted, had fallen on completely deaf ears. And all because Liv had eaten the wrong brain. What would have been the right brain? Major asked himself. What part of Liv still existed if half, or most, of the time she was more the person she'd eaten than she was herself?

It hurt Major's brain that he could be so blasé about the fact that his girlfriend ate people's brains, but that was her reality, and he didn't blame her. He blamed himself for sending her to that damned boat party in the first place, and he was willing to accept the results, even to embrace them if that was what it took to be with Liv while they waited for Ravi to make more cure. But it felt more and more like she was losing herself, like the brains were taking a greater toll on her. He had to imagine that was scary and sickening and terrifying to live with, and he wanted to feel badly for her … but where was the line? How far over the personal boundaries that had always existed in their relationship could he let a brain push her and still pretend he was in this with the real Liv?

He took a sip of the whiskey, wishing it would quiet the way his mind was going around and around in circles. He'd need a lot more than just one glass for that, though, and he couldn't risk it. Not with as many secrets as he was keeping these days. Loose lips sank ships … and they also got people killed.

Taking another sip, he pulled his mind back to the business at hand. He was here because he had a job to do, and that job was no less important because he was pissed at Liv. He would get over it, they would draw new boundaries and find a way to make sure her various brains stayed within them, and that was that. One more swallow, feeling the burn of the whiskey going down his throat.

Major glanced down the bar, happening to catch the girl just as she turned her head in his direction. She was beautiful, definitely, with an elegance and an individuality that caught the eye. He had been hoping all along that once he got in proximity to her he'd find out she wasn't actually a zombie. He really didn't want to have to kidnap her. Catching her eye, he gave her a smile. Less of one than he would usually have used because he wasn't feeling particularly charming today, but it worked anyway—she gave a little laugh and looked away.

Getting to his feet, Major brought his drink with him as he moved down the bar toward her. She was drinking white wine, or possibly champagne, out of an elegant fluted glass. Somehow it suited her—but what he liked about her was that he could just as easily imagine her in an oversized sweatshirt with a beer watching the game. She was that kind of girl, a little bit of everything.

Setting his glass down next to her seat, he said, "Excuse me. Do you know what time it is?"

Not one of his better openers, for sure. Man, he was off his game today. And the girl laughed, clearly seeing it. "It's time to be honest. That is some lackluster effort, buddy."

Major had to acknowledge the truth of that. Still, it had worked anyway, which was a relief. Less of a relief was the way the hair prickled on his arm. Damn it, she was a zombie. This really wasn't his day.

"I'm not saying you had to bring your A game," she went on, "but … yeesh."

He was about to offer some slightly more sparkling repartee when she caught sight of something over his shoulder. Major turned to see that she was looking at a man in a suit who had just come into the bar and was looking impatiently in her direction.

"Ah." She put her glass down, preparatory to getting up and joining the man. "For future reference, I think you're a guy who can probably just get away with saying 'hi' and introducing yourself." She gave him a little nod of encouragement and got up to join the man in the suit.

Major watched her go. He liked the way she walked—with purpose and confidence. She was sure of herself. Much as he probably shouldn't admit it, he was a little sad not to be seeing more of her. He wondered what she was like if you got to know her. Something in that brief encounter had been charming, easy, filled with something that felt like promise. He hadn't felt like that since—well, not since Liv went to the boat party. Even now, what they had was … not easy. Worth it, he thought, but not easy.

With an inner sigh, he finished his drink and left the bar, unwillingly beginning to plan his abduction of the girl.