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 remained 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 and was 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 while his staff dispersed.

 

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

 

"Glad to be back," I replied, meeting him halfway for a hug.

 

No other hunter had a commanding senior medical officer as their personal therapist and 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 within the twisted phrases I wrote and often 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 there. It’s just you, yourself, and if you write, they want to read it and judge. The admiral would never have assigned me to this mission if any of our sessions were on record."

 

His face soured. Bones shook his head. "You're not a robot, Leah. The job can get you down some days, and it doesn't make you weak as long as you address it. Your progress has been wonderful. Your strength of will is admirable. You maintain yourself and still 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 and I frowned, glancing at him.

 

"Are you sick again?" I asked. "You were also sick when I left for leave. This is going on 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," he said. "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," said Bones. "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," he said. The slight New Orleans drawl that he'd picked up living in Louisiana for ten years, an unconscious habit of many hunters, tilting stronger than last time I'd seen him. His warm voice was good to hear. "You're back. A pleasure. Like always."

 

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

 

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

 

"I've scheduled another session for you with Dr. Sekolow," said Bones, moving over to Duncan's side. "We'll assess the results of today's spinal tap and see if there's any response from the treatment. Your body may not be receiving the correct signals that the damage has been repaired. It makes no sense. The culprit must be the therapy. We can revisit the idea of bringing you another micro-second closer to death than last session, which is the precise span of time your genetic gifts shine."

 

Duncan snorted. "Genetic gifts. Ha. You're funny."

 

"Vampire 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, and your blood’s capable of rapidly and fully repairing nearly any damage using the correct triggers." The doctor's tone was firm. "You'll make a full recovery. I swear to it."

 

"Don't have much of a choice here. Do I?"

 

"No. But there’s a way out. You’re a priority and we’re working tirelessly, Duncan." 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, I think."

 

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," he said.

 

"I missed you too," I replied.

 

"You're beautiful, sugar."

 

"Please."

 

"Don't start. I'm crippled. 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. "That right?"

 

"Yeah. Deal with it."

 

I shrugged. "Okay."

 

"All right. Good."

 

"Whatever."

 

"Leah--"

 

He stopped talking. 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."

 

"I don't like it," he grunted.

 

"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 your passion. I do. You mean it. 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 his aggression when I didn't back down. Some silence followed. His voice was colder when he spoke again.

 

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

 

"Yes."

 

"Great. Do me a favor, huh?" The 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, showing me respect."

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

"Fuck decent conversations. One's married, you said--you told me you didn't want marriage. Said you were afraid you'd snap the kid’s neck by holding it. I bet now that the years are kicking in if I could still walk--still fuck like old times--you wouldn't think I'm such 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. I know what this is. I know what I am, and so do you, because you’re the same. We agreed at the start this was convenient and we'd always stay friends. Remember?"

 

"That's all it is to you. Convenient. Well. I'm not convenient for anyone anymore, you or a better woman. Point's dead. Kind of 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, and 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 be able to feel my touch. Not now. Not like this.

 

I reminded him of what we did share, intimacy and an unbreakable bond. After all we'd been through he thought he'd sweep me off my feet and we'd live happily ever after. Unfortunately, like cacti, I wasn't meant to be held. I didn't function that way. Arm's length was best and I was sorry for that too. I warned him--warned him I wasn’t ready. I’d never be ready. I had to work. That’s 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, so we tried the interaction again from the top.

 

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

 

"Crap," I replied.

 

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

 

"Only you think that."

 

"I do think that, 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 and slapped my face at the memory of our band, and our one night only performance at an agency holiday party in front of two hundred guests. "Why do you keep bringing that up? I'm trying to forget. Everyone else stopped reminding me."

 

"You looked so cute that night. Your voice is sweet, and your poems made good songs. I liked writing music for you. We were pretty decent together and, 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 hunters, we could've done something with that. 120 Minutes-worthy if we kept it up. MTV bound. I'd pick up my guitar for you if I could." His gaze remained steady. "That's why I bring it up."

 

"Whatever."

 

"Yeah. Whatever. Great comeback. You're really something with those." 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. Game's not fixed, they tell me. Bullshit! Kiss mi raas!’ . Can near hear her sayin' that creole. She only does that when she's hopping mad."

 

I smiled too. Almost heard Saina's sour voice myself. She was always eagle-eyeing our numbers to compare stats but could never figure out why she never surpassed me in all our years on the hunt.

 

"Needs to keep her operating costs under target if she wants to jump grades," I said. "Nobody's fault but her own that she can't get out of her bracket. How many times is she going to call for backup because she thought it was-thought it could be-was sure it would be? That's money, baby, now and later. Paranoia's an expensive habit."

 

"Sure is." His fingers twitched and I took his hand again. An easy, familiar gaze met my own that reminded me of home. "Be careful, L," he said. "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.