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Major just happened to casually drop by the morgue the day after he knew Justin and Liv were due to hit the Scratching Post. Not that he was jealous. Or curious. He just … wanted to know. Because he was a concerned friend. Exactly.

"So?"

Liv looked at him, eyebrows raised. "Is that how we ask a question?"

He rolled his eyes. "How did it go with Justin last night?"

"Good. I think good. I had fun. I hope he did. Actually … would you mind giving this to him?" From the pocket of her lab coat, she took an envelope with Justin's name on it, covered in stickers and glitter.

Major shook his head. Preschool teacher brain. "You knew I would come by, didn't you?"

"To have a friend, you have to be a friend, and you, Major Lilywhite, get an A in friendship today." She poked a sticker onto his jacket and turned back to the body she had just taken out of the drawer, humming the ABCs. Major wondered exactly when it was he had learned to stand over dead bodies without noticing them. Possibly around the time he had started eating their brains, he supposed.

He tucked the envelope into his jacket pocket.

Later that night, he and Justin were on watch together at DA Baracus's house again. It was another quiet night—Major hoped it would stay that way. He came out onto the deck, handing Justin a beer. "So?"

Justin gave him the same lifted eyebrow look Liv had. "So?"

"How'd it go last night with Liv?"

"I thought it was going good." He looked at Major, frowning a little. "It was weird. I mean, I really opened up to her, but when I took her home, she just bolted for the door." Lifting his beer, he added in a stage whisper, "I think she may be racist."

Major laughed. "Or, worse, frigid." He knew better than anyone that wasn't true. But hard as he was trying to be cool with this, it did hurt to think of Liv with someone else just when he had thought they could be human together again, get their lives back on track. Still … he couldn't hold on to that forever, and it wasn't fair to Liv—or himself—to be alone because they couldn't be with each other. He reached into his pocket for the glitter-covered envelope. "Actually, she wanted me to pass along this note."

Justin took the note and opened it. His whole face lit up. Major was glad to see it—clearly he really liked Liv. He would be good to her, and Major could be okay with it. Taking a pen from his pocket, Justin marked something on the paper. Then he put the paper back in the envelope and handed it to Major. "You mind returning this to her?"

"Sure. But this is officially the last note I pass between you two." He brandished the envelope at Justin for emphasis and tucked it back into his pocket.

In Justin's pocket, his cell phone buzzed. He took the call. "Yes, sir? … Understood. … Yes, sir." Putting the phone down, he looked at Major. "The tracker they planted in the gun nut's truck shows him headed for our 20. I'll get eyes on Baracus, you go and throw down the spike strip."

Abandoning their beers, they headed into action.

By the time the beat-up pickup hit the spike strip Major had planted in the road, he was ready, black ski mask over his head and flashlight in hand. As soon as the pickup came to a stop, he shone the light straight into the car to dazzle the eyes of the occupants. Keeping his pistol trained on them, he went around to the driver's side. "Gentlemen. This is a private road. What's your business here?"

"We heard there was a party out here," the driver lied lamely.

Major took a closer look at the paraphernalia in the back seat. "Duct tape, blood pressure cuff? What kind of party y'all headed to?"

"Uh …" Without a better story prepared, the driver did the next best thing—he threw the car into reverse and slammed on the gas. Unfortunately, neither he nor Major had seen Justin come up behind the truck, and it knocked him down and rolled over him. Major hurried to his friend's side, but before he could get there, Justin was up on and on his feet, the pain of the injuries throwing him into full-on zombie mode. Full Romero, as Ravi would say. And he raced after the rapidly retreating truck, everything in him bent on catching up to those juicy fresh brains.

Major could only watch helplessly, knowing he couldn't catch his friend in this condition, and couldn't stop him if he did catch him—and not entirely certain he wouldn't look good as an alternative meal in any case.

He hurried as fast as he could anyway, watching with horror as Justin leaped on top of the hood of the truck. He was thrown off again as the truck backed up to turn around, and then the truck gunned its way back down the road, blown-out front tires or not.

Justin had himself under control by the time Major reached him.

"Well, that could've gone better."

"Yeah. We just gave them all the proof they needed to know zombies are real."

"It's a good thing they were too freaked out to get you on tape."

"I don't think Fillmore Graves is going to look at it that way."

"Probably not," Major agreed bleakly. So much for a quiet night.