Perhaps not the prescribed painkillers, she thinks to herself, as she watches him drain the coffee cup and toss it in the trash. The sun is only just now breaking through the early morning clouds.

"You don't keep those?" she asks levelly as she slips her own coat back on.

Seemed like a nifty cup. Shame to waste it.

She eyes him seriously before they leave the stables, the intensity of her stare willing him to stay still and listen to her.

"It's important you do get better, Doc."

It's important you heal yourself from the hell-storm I couldn't save you from, and the family--though fractured now--I couldn't be.



Call it for luck.

For luck.