I didn't do well in hospital environments. The atmosphere of weakened people bothered me. Whether it was the subtle, lingering medicinal scent that permeated the halls or the sight of patients ambling about the facility in their gowns appearing so very mortal, the entire experience left me sick to my stomach. In the heat of battle, I often felt invincible because of my modifications. However, a hunter in long-term care provided a reminder of reality. Hunters were human and vampiric mods didn't make us immortal no matter how distant we felt from those around us.

Bones stood mid-action in the waiting area of the critical care unit when I arrived, commanding a staff of doctors and aides who jotted his words down onto clipboards. The frail old man, spindly and hunched with age, still presented authority, revered by those around him for his decades of research into vampire physiology and psychology. He ended the meeting as soon as he saw me waiting and hobbled over with a smile as his staff dispersed.

"Leah," he said. “You’re back. I’m glad.”

"Glad to be back." I met him halfway for a hug.

No other hunter had a commanding senior medical officer as their personal therapist. After a lifetime of working with Bones, I was glad to be a favorite. There were thoughts I could share with him that no one else knew, ideas that only ever saw the light of day concealed inside the twisted phrases I wrote and threw away. He patted my back before pulling away, adjusting the dark glasses he always wore to protect his sensitive sight.

"How was your vacation, as short as it was?"

"Agreeable."

"And your anxiety? Are the centering exercises working for you?"

"Yes sir." I nodded. "I've been more patient around humans lately. This week, I logged ten casual conversations lasting more than three minutes without any threat of aggression from either party."

"Excellent. I'm proud of you."

"Thank you." I scratched my arm, looking away, silly heat flooding my cheeks. "I appreciate you keeping my secrets. I don't want to go back to solitary. I hate it. It’s just you and yourself. If you write, they want to read it and judge. The admiral would never have assigned me to this mission if any of our private sessions were on record."

His face soured, and he shook his head. "You're not a robot, Leah. The job can get you down some days. It doesn't make you weak as long as you address it. Your progress has been wonderful, and your strength of will is admirable. You maintain yourself and do an incredibly difficult job with stellar marks."

He walked toward one of the hallways and I followed, falling into step beside him. A nasty cough erupted from his spindly form. I frowned, glancing at him.

"Are you sick again? You were also sick when I left for leave. This has gone on for too long."

"It's a bug." He waved me off. "Don't pay it any mind. I'm old. These things don't fade as fast as they used to."

"I don't think--"

"Who's the doctor here?"

"Hm."

We continued on in silence through polished hallways, both aware that we were avoiding the real question. I prepared myself for bad news because if it were good he would‘ve told me before we said hello. He gave me the update I wanted as we approached the door to the private room where Duncan lay.

"Every study indicates the therapy treatments should have worked. I won't give up, Leah. There's a way to bring him back."

I sighed, closing my eyes. "So nothing's changed."

"He's awake. He can talk, move his eyes, and feels pin-pricks in several fingers and toes. We've repaired his spine with a polymer composite and grafted synthetic nerves that show high success rates with V-cell patients. I'm working on a strain that I hope will regenerate what's died in him but progress is slow." Bones hesitated as he reached for the control panel. "We'll keep him comfortable until the prognosis has improved."

"How's he doing?" My voice was quiet, as if my words might carry into the room ahead of us. "Mentally, I mean."

"Says little," replied Bones. "Doesn't eat. Barely sleeps. Stares at the ceilings and walls. If he were mobile with those characteristics, I'd put him on suicide watch."

"Oh. D."

"Seeing you will help. He's had a few visitors, but you were the only one he asked for by name."

"Okay."

Bones opened the door and I followed him inside, struck with an explosion of color in the form of bright flowers and stacks of gifts. A tactical crossbow, the latest and quickest model from Duncan's favorite manufacturer, was placed carefully into a cushioned box in view from his bed. An acoustic guitar, covered from neck to body in hundreds of handwritten messages, stood propped against the wall. I looked over at Duncan and found a gaunt, hollowed skeleton of the man I knew laying propped up on a stack of pillows. The scowl etched on his face disappeared the moment our eyes met.

"L." The slight New Orleans drawl he'd picked up living in Louisiana for ten years, an unconscious habit of many of the hunters, tilted stronger than last time I'd seen him. His warm voice was good to hear. "You're back. A pleasure."

I waved, almost shy, though I had no reason to be. Not with our history.

"D. I'm glad to see you, too."

"I've scheduled another session for you with Dr. Sekolow." Bones moved over to Duncan's side. "We'll assess the results of today's spinal tap to see if there's any response from the treatment. Your body may not be receiving the correct signals that the damage needs repairing. It makes no sense. We imprinted your state at your most optimal condition. The culprit must be the therapy. We can revisit the idea of bringing you another micro-second closer to death than last session. That's the precise span of time your genetic gifts shine."

Duncan snorted. "Genetic gifts. Ha. Funny."

"Vampiric poison granted you the life you have now and we can keep making it work in our favor. You're engineered to be better than a human. Your blood’s capable of rapidly and fully repairing nearly any damage with the correct triggers." The doctor's tone was firm. "You'll make a full recovery. I swear to that."

"Don't have much of a choice, do I?"

"No. But there’s a way out. You’re a priority. We’re working tirelessly." Bones beckoned for me to approach. "Here. I'm taking too much of your time. Leah's leaving and she's much more interesting to talk to."

Duncan's focus on me made me lower my head and look at the sheets. The door closed behind Bones to give us privacy and I cupped his hand in mine, squeezing it tight. His fingers twitched against the inside of my palm, so gentle I almost didn't feel the motion.

"I missed you."

"I missed you too," I replied.

"You're beautiful, sugar. Like always."

"Please."

"Don't start. I'm crippled, so I say what I want and you accept it, because you feel bad for me and a little guilty. Those are the rules."

"Oh." I glanced at him. "Is that right?"

"Yeah. Deal with it."

"Okay."

"All right. Good."

"Whatever."

"Leah--"

He stopped talking and so did I. After a few silent seconds we both chuckled. Some of the tension broke.

"Happened so fast," I said, looking back down at our hands. "Hard to believe we almost lost you."

"They're sending you in after him. That’s where you’re headed."

"Yep." I nodded. "Make contact and confirm his location. Prepare for a strike. Capture or kill."

"Honeypot."

"Probably not."

He grunted. "I don't like it."

"It was an honor to be selected. I want to hunt down the vampire that did this to you. I'll get your revenge, and we'll drink claret over his ashes. How's that sound?"

"I'd rather have you safe. Let somebody else get the glory. If he hurts you, I won't be able to rip his fucking heart out with my bare hands."

"I appreciate the passion. I do. But you know what I'm going to say about turning down an assigned mission, especially in this situation. It's not an option. I’m going."

"Fuck the oath."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Stop that." I hushed him with a glare. "You're out of line."

He returned my glare, ready to argue, but settled when I didn't back down. Some silence followed, and his voice was colder when he spoke again.

"Are you working with the CIA on this one?"

"Yes."

"Great. Do me a favor, huh?" His scowl returned. "Don't fuck Agent Dickhead while I'm in recovery. At least give me that much respect. I know that's hard for you to do, show me respect."

"Show you respect? Agent Dick--oh. Come on." I groaned. "Not again. You want to do this? You're up after a nine-month coma and got here two minutes later. Please. I don’t want to. It’s irrelevant."

"I'm tired of wasting time. I've got less of it already. Told you how I felt a long time ago and you felt the same when we tried. Don't shake your head--you meant it. We were off and on, but headed somewhere good. We'd have gotten there soon enough." His voice quieted. "You always run off like no one cares. I care. I've cared as long as I've known you and always watched out for you. Who else can you say that about?"

"Run off. Please. You say that like I'm getting lots of action. Three guys in twenty-nine years who were unrelated to business. Three including you. One's already married with a kid on the way, the other you just barred me from meeting even though I haven’t seen or spoken to him in years. Some perspective." My tone tightened. "We never have decent conversations anymore. It's always this."

"Fuck decent. One's married, you said--you told me you didn't want marriage. You said you were afraid you'd snap the kid’s neck while holding it. I bet now that the years are kicking in if I could still walk--and still fuck like old times--you wouldn't think I'm a bad option."

"Enough." I released his hand. "You're putting me in a bad mood before I go. I never stopped you from getting with other women. Maybe you’d find a better woman than me and cash out with her. I'd understand, because I know what this is and I know what I am. So do you, because you’re the same. We agreed that this was convenient and we'd always stay friends. Remember?"

"That's all I am. Convenient. Well. I'm not convenient for anyone anymore, you or a better woman. Point's dead, like me."

Shit.

I leaned close, pressing my mouth to his, and closed my eyes as I drifted into memories of us from childhood at the agency until now. His lips parted as he returned my kiss in a gentle way, which was all he could offer with his strength.

When we broke he exhaled and looked at me so hopelessly that I returned, staying longer in our next contact. My hand grazed his chest--but he wouldn't feel my touch. Not now. Not like this.

I reminded him of what we did share, an intimacy with an unbreakable bond. After all we'd been through, he thought he'd sweep me off my feet, that we'd live happily ever after. Unfortunately for him, like cacti, I wasn't meant to be held, and I didn't function that way. Arm's length was best, and I was sorry for that. I warned him I wasn’t ready and I’d never be ready. I had to work. It was all I knew to do or was good for.

His lids dropped low, and I smoothed back wisps of his sandy hair, caressing his face and dotting kisses to it, touching his mouth before letting him go. He'd lost his fight and I did too. We tried the interaction again from the top.

"How's the poetry going?" he said.

"Crap," I replied.

"I doubt that. You're too rough on yourself."

"Only you think that."

"I do, and I know I’m right. Remember, I was the second half of Lead Can. I have insider perspective on your artistic self-sabotage."

"Oh, God." I cringed, slapping my face at the memory of our band and our one-night-only performance at a holiday party. We played two songs in front of two hundred agency guests. "Why do you keep bringing that up? I'm trying to forget it. Finally, everyone else stopped reminding me."

"You looked so cute that night, and your voice sounds sweet. Your poems made good songs. I liked writing for you. We were pretty decent. Actually, you know what--fuck everyone else. We were fantastic. They were jealous."

"Yeah, right. You’re hilarious."

"It's true. The board saw it--if we weren't stuck here as hunters, we could've done something. 120 Minutes if we kept it up--MTV bound. I'd pick up my guitar again for you if I could." His gaze remained steady. "That's why I bring it up."

"Whatever."

"Yeah. Whatever. Nice one. You're really something with those comebacks." A faint smile crossed his face. "Anyway, congrats on your new pay grade. A few of the stars told me Saina crowed about it nonstop during the quarterly conference. ‘Favorite of the house gets a raise while on vacation. Unbelievable. Game's not fixed, they tell me. Bullshit! Kiss mi raas!’  I can hear her using that creole. She only does that shit when she's hopping mad. Never wanted to drop that cover identity."

I smiled too, almost hearing Saina's sour voice myself. She was always eagle-eyeing our numbers, comparing stats, but could never figure out why she never surpassed me in all our years hunting.

"Needs to keep her operating costs under target," I said. "Nobody's fault but her own she can't surpass her bracket. How many times will she call for backup because she thought it was--and thought it could be, it's for sure this time? I've shown up if I'm free, and that's money, baby. Paranoia's expensive."

"Sure is." His fingers twitched when I took his hand again. An easy, familiar gaze met mine that reminded me of home. "Be careful, L. Got it?"

"Got it."

The rest of our first conversation since he'd been injured was more pleasant. When it was time for me to leave, we said goodbye quick and didn't linger. Within an hour, I was headed to Washington state. For humanity's sake--as well as Duncan's--I prepared for another hunt.