A swollen summer moon hung low in Eva's window. Its yellow light cast a dingy glow on the Marketplace, the rows of closed stalls looking like dull molars in an open mouth. The usual late night murmur of RhyDin was muffled by the humidity leaving the square in isolation.

Eva sat at the window, the moonlight spilling over her open palms. In the dim light she could make out the blue and red threading of her veins.

She'd been watching for Perceval Tucker, the way she often did when she was having trouble sleeping. She imagined him, his broad tall body so difficult to hide even in the dark, waiting, listening for a victim to help, a thief to harm. She could picture him as a fighter, patrolling the streets like some sort of hero, some sort of champion. The word 'vigilante' rolled around her mouth as well, but she swallowed it back. She wanted to think what he did was noble, but she didn't. Violence done in the name of good was still violence. She could forgive a soldier, but on the streets violence wasn't the same thing as justice. And justice was never entrusted to one person alone.

Eva thought about all of the bodies she had healed and wondered how many had been hurt at his hand. She didn't fool herself. She knew most of them probably deserved what they got. But some of them were poor, some of them were desperate, some of them were practically children. No, what Tucker did wasn't noble.

What he'd done, anyhow. He was gone now. Though she watched for him often, she knew she wouldn't see him. Since that night those months ago, the night she was used to intimidate him, the night everything fell apart, she'd barely seen him; not at the bar, not watching at her window. Instead, she saw the thieves, the muggers, the violence returning to her streets. Returning in his absence.

Eva traced a finger on a path from her fingertip across her wrist to the crook of her arm. She felt her pulse just under the surface, her body's patient steady flow. Then she pinched the skin where she once tapped her veins, and closing her eyes, she remembered the way morphine felt caressing her blood stream, and in one beautiful burst, passing through her heart.

A scream, swift and then silenced, made Eva open her eyes. She looked out the window at the square below. For a moment she thought she'd imagined the cry - the sound had been so fleeting - but then she saw the shadows jerk.

The mugger had his victim up against a building, one hand over the woman's mouth, the other searching her purse. They were silent in their struggle, too far for Eva to hear the scuffle of the woman's heels on the cobblestones, the thud of her purse as he tossed it aside. He'd already taken her money, but still the man held her, his hand free to roam her body. Eva looked on as if it weren't real, a silent film projected from her window across the square, her own guilt brought to flesh. If it weren't for her, it wouldn't be happening. If it weren't for her, Tucker would be there.

Eva was up before she realized what she was doing, moving faster than she could think, because if she thought about it, surely she wouldn't have done it. Her gun scraped across her desk, checking her clip in the darkness as her feet took the stairs, the safety released before she left her apartment.

She counted on the surprise, on the audacity of her act to be able to control the situation. Unlike Tucker, she wasn't a fighter. Her running shoes were quiet on the pavement as she jogged across the square, adrenalin making a rush of her thoughts. Maybe this is how it is for Tucker, a compulsion to do right, without thinking.

The man turned just as she came on him from behind, taking the blow from the butt of her gun on his right temple. It staggered him, his body listing to the left, a hand thrust out for balance. The woman pulled her skirt back into place, holding her torn blouse together, and then lunged for her purse, grabbing it off the ground. Eva caught a glimpse of her red nose and wet cheeks just before she ran, heels clicking into the distance.

"The hell are you doing?" The mugger held a knife, a curved nasty looking blade, light in his hand.

Eva had her gun aimed at his head, finger off the trigger. "Just get lost, you son of a bitch, and don't come back." She steadied the gun with both hands, keeping him in her sights. He circled slowly around, and she turned to keep him in front of her, realizing too late that he was trying to bring her face into the light.

"You're that doctor aren't you?" He snorted and tossed his knife from one hand to the other. "You're not gonna shoot me."

"Oh, I'm not?"

"Nah, I've seen you, you're too good inside, too soft. Come on then." He thrust his arms out wide, making a larger target of his body. "Go ahead, take your shot... you'll just end up fixing me, right?"

Eva stood still, her heart thumping. "You're right... I'm not gonna kill you," she lowered her aim, the barrel pointed at his knee, "but I have no problem leaving you with a limp. You want to test it?" Her finger rested against the trigger now, a brow raised.

The mugger stared at her, then shook his head. "You have no idea what kind of trouble you just got yourself in..." He backed away from her, shouting as he started to run. "No idea. Your days of doctoring are over. You better get good with that gun, bitch!"

Eva watched as he turned the corner, disappearing into the night. She lowered her gun and returned the safety, realizing for the first time that she was panting. A wave of nausea clutched her stomach and she bent over, resting her hands on her knees. Who was she kidding? She wasn't Tucker. She wasn't a champion. She wasn't noble.

When she was with Ghost, she always knew his gun was at her back. She never realized how much safety that provided her. Yes, her job was dangerous. Yes, she knew how to protect herself. But how much safety did Ghost provide?

Whatever that safety was, it was gone now. She didn't have Ghost. She didn't have Tucker. She didn't have anyone but herself. Eva straightened up and looked out at the empty square. A trickle of sweat edged down the back of her neck. She looked at the gun in her hand, and for the first time in a long time, she was scared.

The nights had begun to cool over the last few days, but still Eva was sweating into her sheets. Another nightmare about the Marketplace explosions. In this one, the buildings were on fire. She was surrounded by smoke and flame. But no one was screaming. Everything was silent. Muffled by stifling heat and smoke.

Eva rolled over in bed and coughed, kicking the sheets free. It was so hot. Too hot. She opened her eyes and focused on the floor. Smoke rose between the cracks in the floorboards, puffed out from beneath the rug. It smelled like something was burning. Leather. And gasoline.

The bedside lamp crashed to the floor as Eva pushed herself from the bed. Her room was on fire. The bookstore was on fire. Smoke filled the room, caught against the ceiling. Eva dropped to her knees. The floor burned beneath her like sun soaked pavement. Everything was crackling. She coughed, smoke in her nose. She grabbed the glass of water off the bedside table and doused the front of her tank top, then pulled it up to cover her nose and mouth. She had to get to the stairs.

The door to the stairwell was open, flames already licking up the walls, smoke pouring up into her apartment. Eva went down, hurrying on her hands and knees, her eyes watering. Too many locks. The bolt. The chain. Eva stayed low even as she finally got the door open. There was no fresh air to greet her. Something blocked the door. Eva slammed her hand against metal. Hot metal. Something big and heavy. She wrapped her hands in her shirt and tried to push it but it wouldn't move. She slammed against it, desperate, but still it wouldn't budge. She got to her feet. It came up to her shoulders. It was the dumpster. The trash dumpster. And it was on fire.

Eva dropped back to her knees and tried to think clearly. The door was blocked. Someone put the dumpster against her door. Someone had to put it there. Someone had to put it there and light it on fire so she couldn't climb over it. Someone was trying to kill her.

Her shirt slipped from her nose and she took a breath. She felt the hot smoke enter her lungs and she coughed violently. She was going to die. She was going to die of smoke inhalation. She was going to suffocate.

She shook her head. Not like this. She was not going to die like this. Eva hurried up the stairs, feeling the wood giving beneath her hands and knees. Everything was crackling. Crumbling. At the top of the stairs she saw her entire room on fire. Flames licked up the walls, consumed the floor, the fire so thick she couldn't see across to her bed.

Eva sagged against the door frame, eyes watering, squinted against the heat. Her desk was engulfed in flames. There was no way to get to the windows without getting severely burned. She dragged the back of her hand across her eyes, wiping the tears from her face, and scanned the perimeter of the room. Her eyes fell on the closet. She stored medical oxygen tanks in there. They were going to explode.

With a crash, her desk fell through the floor into the burning bookstore beneath. Then her windows burst out, the sudden inflow of air causing a blow back of flame that had Eva ducking and covering her head. She had to move. There was no more time for crawling. Stumbling up to her bare feet, she ran into the kitchen, linoleum curling and melting beneath every step.

There was a small window in the back, high above her kitchenette. It didn't open. She wrapped her hand in a kitchen towel and punched it through the window. Again and again she punched, breaking out the glass, trying to knock free the jagged edges. It was so smoky. Eva bent back down, coughing. Somewhere she heard a siren, a bell.

She used the kitchen towel to pad the lower part of the window so that she could lift herself up without cutting her hands. The window was small and narrow, and she had to angle her shoulders just right to pass through. With her head out, she breathed the fresh air, but so close to the fire it was filled with ash and she coughed and spit, the sputum dropping two stories to the narrow dead end cobblestone alley behind the building.

Eva was halfway through. Her upper body hung out on the open air. There was nothing to catch her below but the stone pavement. Her hips were wedged in the tiny window. Her clothes and skin were already scratched and cut from the glass rim of the window. One more push and she'd fall head first to the unforgiving ground below. It wasn't that far. If she could just turn, she could take the fall. She just couldn't take it on her head. Eva braced against the wall, tucked her chin to her chest and pushed out. Her body rolled in the air.

She hit the stone alleyway almost flat on her back. It knocked the wind out of her, so all she could do was lie still for a moment staring up. The night sky was gone beneath a layer of smoke and haze. Sirens and bells rung loud in her head. She gasped suddenly, and her lungs filled with air. It started a coughing fit, pain shooting through her body, but it didn't feel like anything was broken. Eva tested each limb, and then assured everything was reasonably intact, rolled over to her hands and knees, then stood.

The alley spun as she stumbled away from the building. The sirens faded away behind her. She couldn't think straight. They'd be looking for her. They'd probably be watching the building. Make sure she didn't get out. But the back window was pretty well hidden. Maybe they didn't know. Maybe they would think she was dead. It would be better if they thought she was dead.

She could hear her lungs wheezing, lost in the maze of alleys behind the Marketplace, barefoot, in her burnt, soot covered pajamas. She needed oxygen therapy. But they'd look for her in the hospital. They'd know her friends. Her place of work. The church. None of it was safe. No where was safe.

Eva stopped beside a doorway, doubled over and vomited. From far off, at least it seemed far off, she heard the muted explosions of the oxygen tanks in her closet, and turned in time to see the flash of orange light. Eva shivered even though she wasn't cold. God, she could not go into shock. She had to stay strong, stay lucid.

She sunk into the doorway. She couldn't walk anymore. Every step made her dizzy. And she didn't know where to go. Eva rested her head against the doorway and let her eyes close. She'd just rest here. It was a fine place to rest. They wouldn't find her here. Maybe they'd think she was dead. It was better if they thought she was dead.

Eva woke at the first hint of dawn. Her body ached. Her head spun. Her clothes were sticky from a fevered sweat. Every breath filled her chest with a cloud of pain. She pushed herself up in the doorway, using every last bit of strength just to get to her feet. She closed her eyes, resting her head against the cool stone. She was in trouble.

It took her nearly an hour to walk to the hospital. By the time she got there, her hands were filthy from guiding herself along the alley walls, and her bare feet were blistered and bruised.

She entered the hospital through the morgue, waiting for the coroner to leave for a smoke break and then slipping in through the door he left propped open behind him. He'd been kind enough to leave his labcoat on the back of his chair, his keycard still hanging from the pocket. She used the keycard to let herself into a supply closet, shucking her torn pajama pants and soot stained tank top and replacing them with a pair of clean blue scrubs. She still smelled like smoke, as if it had soaked into her skin.

The hallways were nearly deserted this early in the morning. Nurses were getting ready for the shift change and doctors were on their way in, savoring their last cup of coffee before first rounds. Eva gravitated towards the ER, remembering her way around from the time she'd worked there after the Marketplace bombings. She wore her scrubs low on her hips, so no one passing would notice her bare feet, and kept the coroner's ID card clipped backwards on her collar.

She used the keycard to let herself into the locked drug supply. Acetaminophen. A saline bag. Antibiotic drip. Eva's hand hovered over the pain medications. She needed something. Fingers touched the small bottles of morphine, the bottles of codeine. Her eyes watered and she looked down. She couldn't. She just couldn't.

There was an empty patient bay in exam room five. It was the farthest from the nurses station. Eva pulled the curtain around the second bed, and got to work. Once she was finished setting up the IV, she wheeled a medical oxygen tank from where it sat at the head of the bed and set the oxygen flowing into the mask, pulling it over her nose and mouth. It would take a half hour for the antibiotic drip to finish, a half hour to feel her fever reduced.

Eva sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her arms. The cuts and scratches from climbing out the kitchen window were crusted over. She knew she should clean them, cover them, but she didn't have the energy. Instead, she simply breathed the oxygen, imagining it feeding her cells, healing her body, healing her lungs.

Her breath settled into a slow gentle rhythm, the urge to cough easing up, the tightness in her chest relaxing. She bent forward, closing her eyes as exhaustion started to settle into her bones. She felt a tug around her neck and something clanged against the oxygen tank. She opened her eyes. It was Tucker's locket, still hanging around her neck on the chain Johnny had made for her. The low v-neck of the scrubs had let it slip free.

Eva looked at the locket. The white gold was smudged with black soot. Eva watched it swing back and forth until it came to rest. Then she closed her eyes.

"Excuse me, do you belong here?"

Eva hadn't heard the footsteps behind her. The first sign that someone was in the room was the sound of the curtain drawing back with a metallic scrape. Eva's hurried, shaky fingers yanked the IV catheter from her arm, the plastic oxygen mask slipping away.

"Just cleaning up after a patient here." Eva turned as she spoke, a weary smile on her lips, intending to give the impression of someone going about their business. Her voice was hoarse, foreign to her own ears, and she had to fight the cough that crawled up her throat.

The nurse frowned and crossed her arms. "I don't recognize you. Are you a new employee?"

"Yeah, just finishing my first night shift. Came down from peds for a consult." Eva rolled the oxygen tank back behind the bed, ignoring the line of blood trickling down her arm from where the IV had been removed. A filthy strand of hair fell into her face, but she ignored it, trying to look busy. She couldn't imagine what she must look like. Homeless maybe. Every part of exposed skin was scratched, bruised, bloody, dirty. Only her hands were clean.

Eva turned and took a sudden, stumbling step back. The nurse had come around the bed to stand just beside her. "A peds consult? I don't think so." She ripped the stolen I.D. card from Eva's collar and turned it over to see the picture. Then she shook her head and backed away, watching Eva with mistrustful eyes. "I'm calling security."

Eva's heart thudded in her chest as she followed the nurse towards the door. "Don't do that. Please. Please. I'll leave. I'm leaving." It hurt to speak, her throat dry and raw.

"You're not going anywhere." The nurse stopped in front of the door, trying to block Eva, then turned and shouted down the hall. "SECURITY!"

Eva's chest was starting to hurt again, each breath tighter than the last. She could feel the adrenalin beginning to work through her veins, making her forget the pain, making her forget everything but the fear. She couldn't get caught. They could be watching for her somewhere in the hospital, waiting to find her, waiting to finish the job. She couldn't get caught.

Eva grabbed the nurse's sickly pink scrubs and shoved her out the door. Down the hall, a security guard was hustling towards them, his head bent as he said something into a comm unit. Eva sprinted in the opposite direction, her bare feet slapping the linoleum, her eyes ahead on the sliding exit doors. The world spun in her view, each breath shallow and wheezing, her thin scrubs soaked in sweat.

She didn't see the second security guard, but she felt his hand close on her upper arm and her entire body jerked backwards, lifted off her feet. She twisted in his hold, determined to fight him, legs kicking out.

"Bloody hell! Would you settle down?!"

Eva opened her mouth to speak, but then suddenly froze. A few paces away in the emergency room waiting chairs sat a man she recognized. A man she'd seen in the Marketplace. He'd frozen at the sight of her as well, an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips, his hands cupped around a lighter, flame wavering as his clear blue eyes stared back at her. Then just as suddenly as he'd stopped, he finished lighting his cigarette, and exhaled smoke over his head, a wry smile unfurling on his lips.

"You can't smoke in here!" The nurse who'd caught Eva was beside them with the first security guard. The blue eyed man held both hands up in an innocent gesture, dropping his cigarette to the floor and crushing it beneath a boot, still smiling.

"Come on, girly. Let's go have us a chat." The security guard tightened his hold on Eva's arm, and started to pull her away. Eva's feet slid on the linoleum. She couldn't pull her eyes from the smiling man, her hands curling into fists. She knew him. He was one of them. He was one of the gang. And she wasn't afraid. She was angry.

"You son of a bitch!" Eva screamed, emptying the air from her lungs, and flung herself towards the man. Both security guards tried to grab hold of her, but she fought blindly, swinging her fists at them, pulling away from one, shoving into the other. They shouted, one lifting her off her feet, the other taking a kick in the ribs. Her elbow connected with something hard. She kicked over waiting room chairs. Her nails scratched down someone's neck. "Let go of me! Let go of me!"

Even as she fought, Eva's eyes held on the man from the Marketplace, and he stepped closer taunting her with his grin, but each time she grabbed for him, her hands closed around air. "It was him! It was him!"

"Get her down!"

"Jesus Christ, can you give her a damn tranquilizer?"

"No! No!" Panic clutched her stomach. They couldn't give her drugs. She couldn't take drugs. Eva held out her hands as if in surrender and her arms were immediately grabbed by the guards, both men shoving her to the floor, her chest and cheek pressed into the cold linoleum, flat on her stomach.

"Psych's on the way down with a sedative."

Eva writhed on the floor. "No! Please!" A cough racked her chest. One of the guards held her hands while the other pressed a knee between her shoulder blades. She couldn't breathe beneath their weight. Tucker's locket ground into her chest, crushed between her and the floor. Her hands flexed in the guard's pinching grip. Her face reddened as she struggled for air, taking short frantic gulps.

With eyes wide and watering, her face an inch off the floor, Eva watched the blue-eyed man from the Marketplace as he paused in front of the emergency room doors and turned to face her. He made a gun with his finger and thumb, and then pulled the trigger, killing her with an imaginary bullet. The last thing Eva saw as her vision blurred was the sight of him grinning at her as he disappeared out the emergency room doors. Then there was nothing but bursting black stars.

Consciousness returned to Eva slowly, like a movie fade-in, senses easing into focus. Her eyes opened just enough to let in a narrow slit of light. She groaned, her chest rising and falling in even shallow breaths. How long had she been out?

Her eyes opened wider, her head rolling towards the right, trying to gauge the time by the light coming through the window. The blinds were down. Eva stared. For all she knew she could have been sedated for hours.

Was someone calling her name? Eva winced as she swallowed, her throat dry, her lips cracked. She looked to her left. The first thing her eyes landed on was the syringe. Her body jerked, wrists tugging at the thick velcro straps, ankles pulling in protest. Eva closed her eyes and tried to breathe. She was restrained. No reason to panic.

She opened her eyes again and looked at the orderly beside her. Only it wasn't an orderly. It was Perceval. In scrubs. Eva released a short breath, relief flooding her eyes. Then as quickly as it arrived, the relief disappeared and she turned away, looking up at the ceiling. She was hallucinating. And not a very imaginative one at that. Perceval, dressed like a sexy doctor in tight fitting scrubs, here to take care of her. Right.

The ceiling was tiled, each tile patterned with rows of little black holes. Eva kept her eyes on the tiles and tried to focus. She couldn't know how long she'd been there, she couldn't know if they'd sedated her, but it was likely, and she couldn't get out of the bed. There was nothing she could do.

Eva lay still, her shallow breaths evening again. Every breath filled her torso with pain. Eva cringed, looking towards her hallucination of Tucker again. Her eyes moistened. To give in to the desire to interact with him would be to admit being crazy. But she wanted it to be him so badly. She needed it to be him.

She turned her eyes away, returning to look at the ceiling, and spoke aloud only to herself, "I think I fractured a rib."

Eva felt like something was caught in the gears of her brain. Someone was talking to her, someone was touching her. Eva winced at the feel of the tape pulling across her rib cage, and only then did she realize what was happening. It was Tucker. He wasn't a figment of her imagination. He was real.

?We have to get the hell out of here.?

Color rose to her cheeks, a delayed reaction to his touch, but it only emphasized her pallor. Eva nodded slowly, her mind attempting to shade her sketchy understanding of the situation. The highlights were clear enough. They had to move quickly.

Eva shifted on the bed, sitting up, the locket sliding coldly across her chest, and then swung her legs over the side. Her battered bare feet dangled above the linoleum as she hesitated. Then carefully she slid down, standing beside him for a moment. One hand reached out and touched his chest, steadied herself on the solidness of his body. She wanted to fade into him. She wanted to make his strong bones her own, like a ghost hitching a ride, leaving her own battered shell behind. She took a few shallow breaths, looked up at him, and then moved beyond.

Her face remained blank as she hurried silently to the window and raised the blinds. It was a standard amongst hospitals; the emergency room was on the first floor. The window looked out on a side street, and it was just large enough for both of them to pass through, though easier for Eva. At the bottom of the sliding window, in clear block letters: Do not open. Alarm will sound. Complicating matters further, a narrow set of iron security bars were welded to the building.

Eva took a step back, fingers sliding along the window sill, looking for something, looking for the release. All security bars had emergency releases in case of a fire. She just had to find it. She bent down looking for a button or a latch, hands gliding along as if she might feel it even if she couldn't see it. Then finally she looked down at the floor, and there it was, jutting from the wall, a small lever.

She turned to look at Tucker behind her. They'd have to get out of the window fast. It was as high as her shoulders and she'd need his help getting through. But she didn't wait for him to agree on this escape route, she didn't wait for his nod, she just looked back to make sure he was there, and then punched the lever with her bare foot.

Instantly the alarm sounded. A loud, insistent fire bell, that clearly had no intention of stopping. The iron security bars swung outward as if on a hinge away from the building. Eva grabbed the window and shoved it open as wide as she could, then set her hands on the frame and tried to launch herself through. This was becoming a bad habit.

She expected Tucker to follow her through the window. She expected him to be right behind her. And when he wasn't, when she turned to look for him and found only the empty window frame, Eva's heart clenched and her stomach dropped.

She was readying to scream when he finally came through. If relief could be made physical it was in the way she clutched his hand as they ran. They'd been separated for only a few extra seconds, but it had been enough.

Eva ran after him as best she could, following his lead, her head thumping. Her bare feet caught and stumbled, each step more painful than the one before, until her limping became so pronounced that he might as well have been dragging her. Her breath came in panting wheezes, trying to balance the pain of every breath with a basic need for air.

?Someone?s after you, Eva. We have to stay out of sight until we can figure out what the devil is going on.?

She knew what was going on. She knew who was after her. But she was afraid to tell him. Afraid to tell him about what she'd done in the Marketplace. Afraid to tell him how much her body ached. Afraid to tell him she was going to be sick. Afraid to tell him how badly she needed him.

Eva pulled him to a shaded alley, and released his hand. Turning her back to him, she leaned against the building and coughed hard, again and again. The coughs rattled her chest, her face blanching, her hand moving to her side as pain flared from the broken rib. She couldn't stop. She doubled over, the cough turning into dry heaves. As if her lungs and intestine were trying to force itself out through her throat, but nothing would come. The heaves eventually stopped, and Eva leaned her face against the rough brick building as she tried to catch her breath.

The locket swung around her neck. She raised a hand to tuck it into her shirt, but it wouldn't stay so she just watched it swing. There were so many things she'd been trying to hide, but where had it gotten her? If only she'd been honest that night. The night that all this started. If only she'd told him that she was scared. It was easier to let herself be angry for his lie, than to admit that she'd been scared.

Lifting her face off the brick, she turned to look up at him. She didn't know where they were. Her head throbbed. She had no where to go. No clothes. No money. Not even shoes. Everything she'd had was gone.

?I know that you... that you don't want anything to do with me... you've made that clear, and I... I understand that. I don't... I don't need you to care for me, if you don't... but please...? Eva's eyes filled with tears, her chest heaving in shaking sobs. ?Please don't leave me. Please don't leave me. Please don't leave me.?

"Oh god." Eva sunk against the building, one hand moving to cover her broken rib, the other shielding her eyes. What a fool she'd been. What a terrible fool. That night in the Arena, after everything that happened, she'd been so angry at him, so angry for what she'd thought he'd done, but he just sat there, brushing her off, telling her he didn't care. She'd been so angry, she never noticed how he hid his hand beneath the table. She never put it together. It was all for her. It had all been for her.

She moved both hands to wipe the tears from her cheeks, trying to think through the blur of her racing mind. "It was my fault." Her voice was raspy and heavy with choked back sobs. "This was my fault. I saw a woman... in the Marketplace... being attacked... and there was no one to help her... so I did." She raised her eyes to his and shook her head. "It wasn't you, it was me. It was me."

Eva fought hard against her tears, the shaking sobs making her lungs flare against her broken rib, she clutched her side in agony. She turned, leaning against the building as another phlegmy cough erupted from her mouth, her face red, muscles taut with the pain.

Her voice low again, her head down as she tried to slow and shallow her breathing. "I just... I need you to help me right now... I'm having... a little trouble breathing... cause of the smoke... and the..." she motioned to her side. Her eyes shifted down towards her bare feet. "I don't think I can walk... and... in an hour... I'll have a fever again... so... I need you to take me... somewhere safe..."

Eva closed her eyes a moment. She needed a good medical kit, a change of clothes, a place to get cleaned up. She wanted to tell him she needed those things but it would hurt too much to speak anymore. She was supposed to be at work soon. What would Hudson think if she didn't show up? She was so tired. So tired.

Eva willed herself to stay awake. In a quiet voice she directed him. A cold pack for her rib. Aspirin for the pain. Warm water in the shower.

Tucker helped her with the things she couldn't do for herself. He held the stethoscope to her bare back as she listened to her lungs. Read the tiny labels on the pill bottles. Found the vein in her left arm.

She showered by herself. The filthy, stolen scrubs and her underwear abandoned on a corner of the bathroom floor. Soot and blood washed down the drain. Abrasions all over her body. She tried to keep her modesty, but she couldn't see her back, the back of her thighs, the back of her hips. She shifted the towel exposing just enough for him to treat and bandage what she couldn't reach, couldn't see.

If Tucker was embarrassed by the intimacy of the care she needed, Eva didn't notice. She was aware only of the steadiness of his hands, the gentleness of his touch.

But she noticed the burns on his hands. So she did what she could for him as well, telling him how to care for them, how to make sure they stayed clean and dry.

After almost an hour, Eva's naked and bandaged body was tucked beneath the clean sheets of the bed. An IV of fluids hung from the bed post, dripping into her left arm, a precaution against dehydration, and she was finishing the last of the oxygen from a small canister, holding the plastic mask over her nose and mouth. The worst of her external injuries were her bloodied raw feet, now clean and carefully bandaged. Eva shifted them beneath the covers, letting the plastic mask drop from her face.

Her voice slurred with exhaustion. "I wish I had socks." She moved the empty oxygen canister with plastic mask to the bedside table. Her weary eyes could barely hold open as slits, and Tucker appeared as more of a shape than a man. But she knew it was him. Her words tripped and stumbled in bleary rambles. "I don't have anything to wear to work now... I need to tell Hudson and Rhys that I won't be in to work today... they might wonder where I am... they might worry..."

"There was a box in my desk... did you see my desk? A black jewelry box... mom's silver cross was in there... my old wedding band... the jewelry Ghost gave me too... and a picture of me and my dad. Did you see my desk? Maybe it's still there... my mom's cross... it could be in the box... in the desk drawer..."

Eva reached a hand out towards the bedside table, towards the first aid kit. Her fingers ran over the pain relievers she couldn't take. "How do people survive like this? How do people feel so much? I can't feel this much... I can't... Perceval..." Her hand extended towards him, her eyes falling shut as she was dragged into much needed sleep, her lips mumbling a few last words. "I could use some socks."

Run. Eva could hardly breathe. She could taste the fear in her mouth. Metallic. Like blood. Sun beat down on her bare shoulders. Her legs cut through the fields of her childhood, dry grasses crushed beneath her feet, scratching at her thighs. She would not look behind her. Something was going to swallow her. She needed to go farther, faster. She had only one thought. Run.

And then her feet lifted off the ground. She was flying. Higher. Her body weightless. She could see her own shadow on the field below, as if she were a kite, her string slowly unfurling to let her catch the wind. Someone was holding onto her string, someone far below, hidden in her shadow. She closed her eyes and turned into the bright white heat of the sun. She knew she was dead. She was not breathing. She had stopped breathing.

Eva opened her eyes and gasped. Her lungs filled with air, bright circles of dream suns flickering in front of her vision. She was awake. She was alive. She was fine.

The room came into focus, dim, like her memory.

"Tucker..." Eva sat up slowly and looked around the room. She was alone.

The IV bag was empty, so she disconnected it from the catheter and then carefully pulled the catheter free, bending her arm to keep it from bleeding. She turned towards the first aid kit for some gauze and froze. Her jewelry box sat on the bedside table. The one she thought she'd lost in the fire. She stared at it for a moment, then reached out to touch it. It was rough, scorched, the wood warped and wet. Her fingers passed over the top of it, or what she thought was the top of it. She should open it. She could open it right now and see if any of her jewelry had survived. She didn't have much, but maybe... maybe.

Eva pulled her hand away. She'd dress first. Her hand slid over the stack of fresh clothes and she smiled faintly as she started to pull them on. They fit for the most part, the top being just a little bit loose. She was confused by the many pairs of socks he'd brought her. Had she asked for them? She couldn't remember, but putting them on, even over her bandaged feet, made her feel warm and comfortable.

Once she was dressed, she reached for the jewelry box again. She let it sit in the palm of her hands for a moment, then she tried to open it. It wouldn't open. She turned it in her hands and pulled on it, her thumbs pressing into the crackled wood, but she still couldn't pry it open. Frowning, she bore down on it, pushing and pulling it, trying to get the lid to open, but instead of popping open, it flew from her hands.

The charred box flew across the room, and knocked into Tucker's saddlebags hanging on the back of the chair. The box clattered to the floor, still unopened, and took with it the saddlebags. The heavy bags slid off the back of the chair, some of the contents spilling out, and the note catching just enough of an upward draft to glide over towards Eva, landing at her feet.

It hurt for Eva to bend over the side of the bed, to pick-up the note at her feet, but she did it anyhow, leaving black fingerprints from the soot covered jewelry box on the page. Her eyes moved back and forth reading it over and over again, until the words made some sort of sense in her mind.

"Oh my god... Tucker."

Eva looked at the black soot on her empty hands, then turned them over and rubbed them on her new pants until they were clean. She felt too sick to eat. Tucker was right. Renzo would never leave them.

She turned her hands over to look at her palms, her head bent. When Tucker had first walked in, he'd been smiling, happy to see her, light in his eyes, and for a brief moment she had a sense of what they could be together, what she wanted them to be together. But maybe some people never got that. Maybe she didn't deserve to be happy. Maybe they both had too many scars.

"Remember... remember that night... when I was upset with you... in the Arena. I said, I said that I wanted us to take care of each other. I wish you could see..." Eva looked up at him, her eyes tired and angry, but her anger was not directed at him. "I wish you could see that I'm strong... that I'm not like other women... I wish you could let me..." She shook her head and looked down again.

She wanted to tell him that she could take care of him, that she could protect herself, but how could she in such a state? He looked so tired. She wanted to draw him into bed with her, force him to rest. For just a moment, she wanted the comfort of his closeness. But she didn't know how to ask him for something like that. She couldn't assume that he'd ever love her like that.

"Tucker..." She looked up at him, her eyes on his. They were so similar. Both so stubborn. She'd never seen that before. He needed rest, but she couldn't tell him that. Eva reached out and took his hands gently. "I... I'm having nightmares. Can you just... can we just stay here a little longer... let me rest a little longer?" Her eyes dropped back to their hands, hers cold and thin against his. "I don't want to be left alone."