"Oh, look. Seigneur d'Avignon has finally decided to get out of bed and join the rest of us peasants."

Mirk skidded into the common room buried at the heart of the first floor of the infirmary, nearly sliding into the table and sending it crashing into the liquor cabinet as he hurried to Yule's side. He was already bowing and waving his apologies to Yule before he came to a complete halt.

"I'm so sorry, Yule! Really, I am, I just, well, the alarm wasn't set, and after yesterday I was so tired, and...and I'm sorry, Yule. And Danu. What can I do? I'm sure you all must have—"

"How many times have I told you not to listen to this ass?" Danu cut in, smacking Yule in the side. The older healer was laughing into his sleeve, though he stopped the instant Danu's elbow connected with his ribs. "It's all right, Mirk. Everyone sleeps in now and again. At least you're not late because you were out being a menace, unlike some people who feel the need to drink themselves stupid after every battle."

"I wasn't that drunk! Besides, the getting's good when the infantry's drunk off their ass. Battles are best for that," Yule added, lowering his voice at the end.

Danu rolled her eyes. "Like I said. A menace."

"Yes, we all know you're too heartstruck by that ugly gnome of a teleporter of yours to be fun any more, but some of us have stan—"

"Don't hurt him, Danu," Mirk said, still gasping for breath. "He's probably just tired...cross from doing too much yesterday..."

Reluctantly, Danu stopped smacking at Yule, despite how the other healer was still laughing. "You're the one who's no fun," she said to Mirk. "Men like him need a good punch in the gut now and then to keep them in line."

"Why are you late, anyway?" Yule asked, as he stopped laughing and picked up rubbing at his side instead. "It's not like you. Did something interesting happen for once?"

Mirk shook his head, fixing a smile on his face that he hoped didn't look too rigid. "Oh, it was nothing, really. I just didn't set my clock right. Thankfully a djinn came with my letters at nine, otherwise methinks I might have missed the whole day..."

It wasn't entirely a lie. He hadn't set his clock right. Mirk hadn't been setting it at all, not since Genesis had started staying with him. The commander operated like clockwork, and every morning he took tea exactly at eight, even if he got up in the middle of the night only returned to the room just long enough to swallow down a mug filled with an obscene amount of sugar. An effort to mitigate the fact that he felt too ill for breakfast most days, Genesis had explained.

But that morning there'd been no tea, and no Genesis. After Mirk had taken his correspondence from the djinn sent by the Teleporters Guild, he'd checked the top drawer of his dresser. It was empty. And all of Genesis's books and parchment were gone. He hadn't left a note.

It upset Mirk, but he was doing his best to ignore it. That was just the way Genesis was. It probably didn't even occur to him that Mirk would have appreciated knowing he was planning on leaving. Maybe Genesis had been intending to tell him last night, but Mirk's whining and clinging had distracted him. Or maybe the whining and clinging was what had made Genesis leave in the first place.

There wasn't any reason to be upset. Mirk was certain he was imagining things, making a coincidence into a disaster with pointless conjecture. But still, there was a certain aching in his stomach, all the knots there redoubled, like he'd spent the night lost in bad dreams.

At least Mirk could be sure his shielding was recovering apace from being spent yesterday. Yule and Danu were satisfied by his explanation. Instead of lingering on Mirk’s tardiness, they picked up the thread of whatever they'd been gossiping about before Mirk had come running in. Much to his dismay, Mirk had been the central topic of that as well.

"Do you think the Tenth will try to steal him again today?" Danu asked Yule, gesturing at Mirk.

"Doubtful," Yule said. "Even if they have figured out he's not normal, they're all self-righteous bastards. None of us foreigners are good enough to bandage their mages, not unless letting them die is the only other option."

Mirk sat down at the table, grabbing a bun out of the basket. Always buns. He was sick to death of them, but it was all the Supply Corps ever brought to the infirmary. "What do you mean?"

"Yule overheard some of them talking when he came in this morning," Danu said. "One of them was trying to convince Cyrus's second to go to Emir and tell him he's taking you for the Tenth."

"Me?" Mirk asked, the bun halfway to his mouth.

"It doesn't matter," Yule said. "Cyrus will never go for it. Noble blood or not, you're still not one of them."

Danu took a bun as well, tossing it up and down in her hand, thinking. "I'm not so sure. Maybe they'll think he's so fresh still that they can win him over."

"I wouldn't go anywhere without either of you," Mirk said, staring down at his bun. Suddenly, he'd lost his appetite. The thought of being thrown in with a new group of healers was unbearable. And though Eva was from the Tenth, and she was kind enough, Mirk had seen how she was treated. And how the Tenth regarded their non-human patients.

"See? That's exactly why they won't take him," Yule said to Danu, pointedly, as she began to eat. "Even if they did take him, they'd look at where he was putting his effort and kick him back down to us within the week."

"He is too nice," Danu admitted, through a mouth full of bread.

"I don't know what the hell they put in the wine in France, but it makes for weird nobles," Yule muttered to himself. Apparently he wasn't hungry either. Rather than reaching for the basket of buns, Yule was eyeing up the liquor cabinet.

"I've never felt right with all of them either," Mirk admitted, forcing himself to eat. The bun was stale, somehow, even though he knew for a fact it had to have been made that morning. Every time Mirk subjected himself to the food from the kitchens lately, he found himself thinking back to the cakes and sandwiches he'd had at Madame Beaumont's, not without a bit of longing. But having a taste for rich food wasn't exactly a distinguishing feature of a man possessed of the natural grace that came with noble birth. Despite how portly most of the old guildmasters at home were. Maybe he'd just been listening to Genesis complain about the food for too long to give it a fair try.

Thinking of Genesis only made Mirk feel more melancholy and confused the longer he let his mind linger on it. Instead, Mirk refocused himself on the present, and on the matter of the troubling gossip Yule had overheard. His teammates were debating it again, as Yule caved and went to the liquor cabinet, taking down a bottle of gin. "Honestly, we should be glad that they're a bunch of bastards," he said, as he debated between drinking straight from the bottle or fetching a glass. "If all they cared about was talent, there'd be no one left in the Twentieth but people who don't know their ear from their ass."

Danu made a thoughtful noise, gesturing to the sideboard at the other end of the room and calling a mug of tea that'd been cooling beside the warming plate into her hand. "You think they'd ever accept you?" she teased, as she tore off a chunk of her roll and dipped it in the tea.

Yule snorted. Danu's comment made him opt for the bottle, and he took a long drink before replying. "Never. But I can't run a whole division myself. The only reason the Twentieth hasn't been disbanded is because the Bavarians like Emir. But more of those quit for the guilds or go back home every year."

"Why are there so many people from there in the K’maneda?" Mirk asked. "Eva is, isn't she?"

"Somewhere over there," Yule said. He sat down beside Danu, propping the bottle of gin on the arm of his chair. "Not from as far east as all of the lunatics from the Seventh, but not close enough to be civilized. She's pushing the limits. Grew up close enough to all of them to know some language that the Easterners sort of understand without a translation charm."

Danu nodded. "The City used to be in Bavaria. Where was it...near some city that began with an M. Morty said his family was all in the K'maneda back when it was over there. But then the plague came, and all the mortals and the mages ganged up on them and they left. Morty’s people moved further east. The City went west. It moved to England forty or fifty years after that. Because the high-borns got involved in all the politics going on with the mortals and needed to run away before they were all killed."

"Nowhere left for them to run now," Yule said. "Only place further west they can move it to is to Ireland, and we know they don't want to live there. And there's no chance of them getting enough magic to be able to make the jump across the ocean. From what I heard from Sheila, they barely made it across from the Continent. They had to send everyone with any chaotic potential up the Glass Tower to put together enough potential to clear it. Went so far as to let the washerwomen up there."

Mirk nearly dropped his torn-up roll in surprise. "Sheila was here that long ago?"

"Don't tell her we told you," Danu said, quickly, her eyes darting toward the door.

Yule rolled his eyes. "Come on, you should be used to this by now," he said to Mirk. "Angels live for thousands of years and they still look perfect by the time someone finally kills them off. Why should they be the only ones in all the realms who get to cheat like that? Demons are the same. It's only us humans who are cursed to look like prunes after a century or two."

"I suppose," Mirk said. The bitterness in Yule's voice made Mirk shrink in on himself a little. "It's only that she doesn't, euh, act her age, really. Aena wasn't even four hundred when...anyway, he was very serious."

Yule took another long pull off the bottle of gin. "She's always been that way, as far as I know. Eva's grandfather was the one who recruited her. Lots of vamps out in the wild in the east. Ones who got left behind when most of them went off to the Moonlit Land so that they didn't have to live around the mortals. Rumor has it that there was something going on between him and Sheila." That comment earned Yule another backhand smack from Danu.

"Euh...hmm..."

"He was still alive when I joined," Yule added, thoughtfully, ignoring both the punch in the arm and the daggers Danu was glaring at him. "Terrible bastard. Ugly goatee. Wonder if Sheila was just putting up with him because he was an easy meal ticket. Drippy little twerp, not an ounce of muscle on him, though he was—"

There was a high titter of a laugh from the doorway behind them all. "Like you've never bedded a man to get a free meal. Well, no. With you, it's always a bottle."

"I told you to watch it," Danu hissed at Yule.

Yule turned in his chair, just far enough to shoot Sheila a cool look over one shoulder. Mirk was beginning to wonder if demons had a sixth sense for when they were being talked about. The same thing seemed to happen whenever Genesis's name came up in conversation. Mirk pushed the thought away quickly, turning and waving a greeting to Sheila. "Oh, good morning, Comrade Sheila. I'm sorry, it's my fault we were gossiping. Yule and Danu were just telling me about when the City was on the Continent."

Sheila returned his nervous smile with one that struck Mirk as genuine, though it was accompanied by the glint of fangs between her lips. The latter were thinner than usual. She was still drained from helping with the casualties from yesterday, most likely. "Better times, most definitely. There were more interesting people around then. Everyone these days is so dull. Humans, humans, and more humans…with a few exceptions. Including the one that's waiting for you three."

"What is it now?" Yule groaned, snatching up his bottle, taking another long drink in anticipation of bad news.

"Who do you think?" Sheila asked with a laugh. "I found everyone's favorite bastard hiding in the supply closet again."

"For Christ’s sake," Yule grumbled.

"The Seventh isn't even on contract again!" Danu shoved her mug of tea aside in disgust.

Mirk pushed his chair back without comment, dragging himself up onto his feet. His limbs were still aching from yesterday. But the sinking feeling in his chest was even worse than the burning in his thighs. Genesis was the only person who they ever found hiding in closets and disused rooms. Mirk couldn't help but wonder what kind of trouble the commander could have gotten into between last night and that morning that would have driven him to go looking for healing supplies. And whether or not he was somehow the cause of it.

Together, they all made their way up to the fourth floor, where Sheila had corralled Genesis into an exam room by threatening to start poking and prodding at him herself if he didn't settle down and wait for proper healing. The whole way there Yule muttered curses under his breath, making cross predictions about what kind of nonsense Genesis had gotten himself into. He'd brought the bottle of gin along with him. Mirk decided to follow the older healer at a judicious distance, alongside Danu. When they got to the room Genesis was waiting in, Yule paused to stuff the bottle into the side pocket of his robes and square his shoulders before banging the door open. What Yule saw inside made him let out a string of even filthier curses.

Biting his lip, Mirk approached, leaning to one side to see around Yule into the room. Genesis seemed as displeased by the whole situation as Yule. Though the commander was being less vocal about it, settling for continuing to stare resentfully into the ewer of water atop the room's supply cabinet.

Mirk let out an involuntary sigh of relief once he sorted out what had brought Genesis to the infirmary — his left arm was hanging limply at his side, most likely dislocated at the shoulder, the hand on that side bloodied and bruised. Genesis's shoulders were a nightmare; Yule was the only one who knew the right trick to get them working again. And if Genesis had broken any of his fingers, he liked to have a healer assist him in straightening and splinting them, so that they ended up healing perfectly straight again.

"Sit your bony ass down already," Yule grumbled, as he sidled into the room. Genesis's magic came to life as soon as Yule entered, a few tendrils of shadow creeping out from underneath the exam table in preparation for a fight. "I'll fix your shoulder, but I'm not touching your fingers."

"I would also...prefer if you left them alone," Genesis replied. Though he did protest less than he usually did, sitting down sideways on the edge of the table, so that Yule could get at his dislocated shoulder without having to draw so close to him.

"It's all right, Yule," Mirk said, following him inside. Danu shut the door after them, just in case Genesis's magic got out of hand. "Methinks that it's only fair that I do the rest, since I came in late."

For some reason Mirk couldn't pinpoint, Yule's growing frustration and annoyance spiked in response to his comment. "Funny how that happened," Yule said, as he sized up Genesis's shoulder. "But you're not healing him. You were drained to next to nothing yesterday. He can deal with being bruised for a couple of days."

Mirk wedged himself in between Genesis and Yule, holding his hands up in apology, trying to ignore the warmth spreading across his face. "It's only a small thing, Yule. It won't take much magic."

"Neither of you ever listen," Yule muttered. Before Mirk could react, Yule reached around him, took hold of Genesis's injured arm with both hands, and gave it a hard, twisting yank. There was a sick-sounding pop as the commander's joint snapped back into place. Though the shadows lashed out at Yule from underneath the table, Danu was there to distract them, dropping her shields and projecting her Deathly aura to lure them away from Yule's ankles.

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The shadows swarmed over Danu for a few seconds, then subsided, along with the pinpricks of pain that escaped Genesis's chaotic aura as he turned on the table so that he was facing them. The commander crossed his arms defensively over his chest, frowning when he realized that his left hand was still too broken to fully comply. Trying to flex it into obedience only caused more pain to leak through to Mirk. And made the shadows squeeze more tightly around Danu.

"Let me see your hand, messire," Mirk said, nudging Yule away from the table, hoping it might settle Genesis's magic some. "Maybe it's worse than it looks."

"What happened to you, anyway?" Yule asked. Usually, Yule was the first person to leave Genesis to fend for himself. But, for some reason, he was still lingering in the doorway that morning, his eyes darting back and forth between Genesis and Mirk, his brow furrowed in thought.

"It is irrelevant," Genesis said, though he uncrossed his arms, holding the left out in Mirk's direction. Mirk decided to only look at it until the shadows loosened their hold on Danu. Once they did, she edged toward the door, sharing none of Yule's reluctance to leave Mirk to fend for himself. The only thing that kept her from beating a hasty retreat down the hall was the fact that Yule was standing in her way.

"So irrelevant that you decided to run off without waking him up for his shift?" Yule asked.

Genesis's frown deepened. "I had not considered that."

"It's really all my fault. I shouldn't have stopped setting an alarm to begin with. You know how people with angelic blood tend to oversleep," Mirk said, drawing closer to Genesis's hand. It had the intended effect; the shadows stopped creeping after Danu. They went for Mirk instead, coiling about his ankles. But there was no threat in them, not then. Mirk was familiar enough with them that he could sense when they meant business. At the moment, they felt more clingy than threatening.

"A...pressing matter came up," Genesis offered in explanation, as Yule continued to refuse to budge from the doorway and quit glowering at the commander.

"Did it?" Yule asked, his voice laced with enough sarcasm that it made Mirk wince.

"Yes."

Mirk knew there wasn't going to be any end to the standoff unless he was a bit more forceful. Sighing, he turned his attention away from Genesis's hand, just long enough to lower his shields a fraction and project a feeling of reassurance at Yule. "It's really no bother, Yule. Methinks Genesis has every right to do as he wishes. And you're the one who's always telling me that I need to look out for myself more, non? Sometimes we need to make a mistake to learn a lesson."

Yule was undeterred. He leaned against the door frame, folding his arms and settling in for the long haul. Danu took advantage of the gap it created to step around him and leave, shooting Yule a particularly pointed look before departing. He scowled back at her for a second before returning to subjecting Genesis to the full force of his disapproval."Tell me, exactly what sort of pressing matter was so urgent that you couldn't be bothered to tell the one person here who'll put up with your shit what was going on?"

Genesis had begun to twitch in annoyance. It made it difficult to examine the commander's broken hand by sight alone. Mirk reached out and took hold of it at the wrist, preparing to be scolded for not making up a batch of Genesis's strange poisoned water to clean himself with first. None came. Instead, Genesis forced himself to respond to Yule's provocation. "If I had not...responded immediately, the room would have been gone. As it was, I was still required to...negotiate for it. As should be evident."

"Oh! You found somewhere to stay, messire?"

"In the low-born officers dormitory."

"That's wonderful news! Methinks you've earned a better place to stay, after all this time." Which was the truth — even though Genesis had been officially demoted, Mirk thought he did more than enough work for the K'maneda to merit something better than a sliver of either his or K'aekniv's bed, at least in Mirk's opinion. Though something in Mirk felt a bit worried by the prospects of Genesis being left to live on his own. Genesis was more than capable of managing men and magic, but it'd become clear to Mirk over the past few weeks that the commander wasn't attentive to some of the more basic necessities of everyday life.

"It is...besides the point," Genesis said, slowly. The commander still seemed oddly troubled. Like he was searching for something more to say, but couldn't find the proper words.

Yule butted in again to prompt him. "The point being?"

Genesis's face had gone blank, despite the flickers of pain that escaped his magic as Mirk delicately tested each of his fingers with both magic and touch. The index and middle finger were broken, the other two and the thumb only badly bruised. "I have...imposed myself on you for much longer than I had anticipated. Mirk. Thus, I am in...your debt."

"Oh, pas du tout, messire. I'm just glad I could help." Mirk tried applying a bit of magic to Genesis's broken forefinger, but was dismayed to find that Yule was right about still being too drained to be useful. Trying to draw enough healing potential away from his core to convince Genesis's body to mend itself in a way that wasn't backwards and painful made a wave of dizziness almost immediately overwhelm Mirk. He'd have to go get supplies for splints to help cover the gap.

"I am in your debt. Regardless of your...sentiments."

"I can't even heal your hand right. Methinks leaving you with nothing but splints has to make us a little bit even, doesn't it?"

Genesis heaved a sigh. "You must understand. Once a debt has been offered, it cannot be refused. It is a matter of...principle. Among the old K'maneda. How you feel on the matter is irrelevant."

Mirk glanced back over at Yule, who was still lurking in the doorway. All the older healer had to offer Mirk was a shrug. "Well, I suppose it would be rude of me to refuse, in that case."

"You are not...required to collect immediately," Genesis added.

And yet, Mirk felt uncomfortable letting it linger between them, a dark cloud of obligation that needed to be dispelled before everything could be made right again. Impulsively, Mirk made another attempt at healing Genesis's index finger. He managed to make sense of the constantly shifting patterns of Genesis's body long enough to get the bones close to his knuckle half-fused, though he needed to throw out a hand of his own and grip the edge of the exam table to steady himself as he waited for the dizziness that came with healing while nearly drained to pass. "I just don't know what I could ever ask of you that you don't already give on your own. At least, I can't think of anything that wouldn't trouble you too badly."

"You are not required to...collect at all." Genesis appeared more troubled by not being able to find the right words than by Mirk's continued nudging at his injured hand. "It is...only the appropriate gesture to make. When one has been...given a benefit that they feel...merits it. As I have. The collection is not the significant action. The offer is."

Though Mirk was listening, he was having trouble making sense of it all, of a strange duty that only went one way. Despite what he'd heard countless nobles say to their betters, and what every priest intoned at the altar, Mirk knew from feel that there was almost always an expectation of return when one offered themselves over to anything or anyone else, in ways both large or small. Even if that return was nothing more than the satisfaction of having done what was right. There was nothing wrong or underhanded in it; it was simply the glue that kept things together. The rare times Mirk had felt pure dedication, devotion with no desire for having it mirrored back, hadn't ended well. And the present situation was completely removed from what had happened back then. Or, at least, Mirk hoped it was. If Genesis still felt guilty for having not been able to protect his family, Mirk didn't think there was anything he could possibly do to banish it.

As usual, Mirk quickly tried to shunt the memories back to the depths of his mind, to be turned over in private. But, for once, they weren't entirely a burden. The thought of the Lis de la Rivière and its elegant oak-floored and paneled ballroom that had so readily caught flame reminded him of the equally elegant letter atop the pile the djinn from the Teleporters Guild had delivered to him that morning. Madame Beaumont's correspondence, as speedy and detailed as ever.

Mirk hadn't had time to do more than skim the letter to see if she anticipated an equally speedy response from him, but what he had read had been worrying. Everyone who was anyone had already reserved their place at her ball. Apparently its foreign venue had intrigued more of the invitees than it had deterred them from making the jump over from the Continent. At the bottom of the letter, which Mirk had rushed to in order to gauge how quick he'd need to be in responding, had been a short list of unmarried ladies who Madame Beaumont thought Mirk should consider writing to. It would be better to not let most people know that he was still alive, she had said, but having a lady from the right family on his arm, supporting his cause, would be better than going alone.

The names had all been familiar, but daunting. None of them had been anyone that Mirk or his family had been particularly close to. And Mirk didn't like the expectations that came along with deciding to favor one lady above the rest. Yet Mirk saw the reasonableness in not taking his stand alone. But he couldn't have things both ways. Unless...

"I suppose there is one thing, messire," Mirk said, as he tried to focus back on Genesis’s fingers. Healing the bones of his forefinger, and not even all the way, had been a trial. Though Mirk tried to summon his magic again, just to take away some of the bruising, it put too much strain on his limited potential to bear. He was going to have to give up on it and settle for splints, despite how guilty it made him feel.

Genesis still seemed too preoccupied by whatever unspoken implications his offering of a debt held to him to be paying Mirk much attention. "...what?"

"You remember me telling you about Madame Beaumont's ball, non?"

Mirk let go of Genesis's hand. The commander nodded, trying to flex it, wincing when his fingers still refused to obey.

"Well, I just got a letter from her this morning. She seems to think it'd be best if I didn't arrive alone. People are always more willing to listen to someone who has their friends behind them, don't you think?"

If Genesis had picked up on where the conversation was headed, he gave no indication of it. But Yule had, judging by the snort Mirk heard from the doorway behind him. "I believe that the...social aspect is not my...particular expertise. Her advice would be more accurate."

"Then would you be willing to go along with me? She'd suggested some ladies related to the mage grandees, but methinks that having someone along from the K'maneda would be just as good. And you do cut a very imposing figure, messire."

Abruptly, Genesis let his hand drop. It took Genesis a few seconds more to fully process this turn of events. When he spoke again, it was after a heavy sigh. "I...see."

"You don't have to, of course," Mirk said, quickly. "It's only that it would help me so much."

The commander nodded, very slowly, though he had one of his odd expressions on his face, something like a grin but with his brows furrowed instead of raised. It was the same one that always came up whenever he took too hard of a look at K'aekniv's wings. "I am...in your debt. But it will be repaid in full after that. And then some," Genesis added, shooting a cross look over Mirk's shoulder. Yule was laughing at him outright now.

"Oh! Excellent! You do still have the suit we had made up for you in Paris for last season, don't you?"

"I burned them."

Mirk sighed, waving a scolding finger at the commander before he could think to stop himself. "Those were very expensive, you know. Monsieur Mahir spent hours getting your measurements just right."

"That is none of my concern."

"But you can't go in this," Mirk said, gesturing at Genesis's bloodied and rumpled uniform. It was covered, as always, with his ill-fitting, brown-black coat. Even if it all meant making Genesis uncomfortable, Mirk couldn't help but be relieved that the situation might provide him with a good excuse to replace it for the commander. Genesis didn't care one bit about appearances, but the coat had been bothering Mirk ever since he'd first laid eyes on it in Nantes over a year ago. "Methinks your old measurements will still work fine enough, though I'll have to put a rush on it for it to be done in time. And your complexion does make it hard to find a good color for you, but I suppose some things can't be hel—"

Genesis lifted his uninjured hand, putting a stop to Mirk's babbling. "A...proposition."

"Hmm?"

"Though Ravensdale did...remove me from the position that required it, I still do...possess the formal uniform. I believe that should be...sufficiently proper for the occasion." Genesis spat the last two words out in a hiss, like they left a bad taste in his mouth.

Mirk had seen plenty of his fellow nobles wearing the uniforms of the guild guards at the balls he'd attended. And some of the younger mages, men with limited magic who came from lesser families and had been forced to do service for the King in order to raise their station, wore their fighting finery to formal events to show that, even if they couldn't advance in the guilds, they'd been able to put their natural talents for leadership and bravery to good use. Mirk didn't have any idea what sort of formal uniform the K'maneda favored, but, even though it doubtlessly would be black, it would still be better than nothing. And wearing it might make Genesis a little less dour about the whole affair. "I suppose. But only if you'll go to a tailor and have it fitted. I know you, Genesis. Even if it is nice enough, it's probably hanging off you like this is," Mirk said, gesturing at his coat.

Genesis sighed again. His distraught expression had faded, replaced with one of resignation. "...fine."

"Would you like me to find you one in the mage quarter? Or I suppose you could go down to the Nasiris on your own, since teleportation isn't a problem for you like it is for me."

"I would prefer...the ones I am familiar with."

"Well! That's settled then," Mirk said, clapping his hands and smiling up at Genesis, exaggerating a little to be certain that Genesis picked up on the expression. "I'm really very grateful, messire. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Wake up two hours late for your shifts, apparently," Yule commented, his voice low and heavy with sarcasm. Genesis glared over Mirk's shoulder at him again.

Before things could get too out of hand, Mirk distracted Genesis with a calculated pat on his knee. "Tiens, let me go fetch some splints for your fingers from the closet. And methinks that I should be able to make up some bruise balm that will help with the rest. Will you help me carry it all, Yule? You know how clumsy I can be."

Mirk's actions, however, left Yule little room for escape. As he went to the door, Mirk took hold of the older healer's arm and tugged on it, drawing him out into the hall. He didn't like being so pushy, but no one would benefit from Yule and Genesis continuing to snipe at each other. And, as far as Mirk was concerned, Yule had gotten all the gossip that was worthwhile out of their exchange already.

As they stepped out into the hall, Mirk thought he caught a glimpse of the retreating backside of someone else who'd been eavesdropping. Sheila, most likely, considering how she'd been the one to alert them to Genesis's presence to begin with. "You don't have to be so mean to him, Yule," Mirk said to him, as he started off for the closet at the end of the hall. "He doesn't understand that you're just teasing him."

"I think he understands more than you give him credit for," Yule retorted. The older healer had a contemplative look on his face, no longer resisting Mirk's efforts to hurry him off. And there was the beginnings of a smile on it too, one that Mirk didn't like the looks of.

"What do you mean by that?"

"You were right. He didn't mean to be an ass to you. He's just an idiot when it comes to acting like a normal person."

"Bien sûr," Mirk said, as they arrived at the closet. Before Mirk could start fumbling for his keys, Yule whipped out his own, starting in on the tedious process of unlocking the door. The older healer’s smile had grown into something like a knowing smirk. "I've been telling you all along, he's not as bad as you all think he is. He just doesn't understand things like we do."

"He's still a miserable bastard, but there's more than that. There's not a single doubt left in my mind."

"Euh...doubt of what?"

"You, my poor, innocent little friend," Yule said, turning and poking Mirk in the chest, his smile now a grin, "have an admirer."

When Mirk only stared at Yule in response, completely lost, the older healer huffed and rolled his eyes, giving him another poke. Though, that one was closer to a smack. "He fancies you, Mirk. I'm sure of it."

"Fancies...?"

"You know. Wants to take you to bed and have his way with you. Or whatever weird ritual his kind does with people they like."

All Mirk could do was laugh. Though he was acutely aware of his face going red at the idea of it, even if it was absurd. "Methinks you must be mistaken, Yule. I'm...I'm really not even sure he understands all of that, to be honest."

"Oh, come on," Yule said, throwing the door to the closet open. That time, he was the one dragging Mirk onward instead of it being the other way around. "You can't share a room with Niv for two decades and not figure the basics out. Besides, it's the only thing that makes sense. Why else would he be so damn nice to you? He'd never go to some ball with anyone, not even if he owed them a debt, or whatever his excuse was."

"If everyone was a little more patient with him, methinks he wouldn't be so cold to the rest of you," Mirk said.

"You don't think we've all tried? No, I'm sure of it. Explains the whole room thing too. I've seen it a dozen times. Some idiot going through life convinced that he's just too busy or too particular to find a woman, then realizing that it's all because it's actually men he really wants, once he finds the right one. They always turn into even bigger idiots and go running away at the sight of you once they figure it out. It's the first normal reaction I've ever seen that bastard have to anything."

Mirk shook his head, elbowing on the closet's magelights. "Methinks you're imagining things, Yule. Though I am sure that you know more about all of that than I do. But you don't know Genesis. He really is very nice, if you take the time to understand what he means by things. It's only that his way of doing things is different than everyone else's. And he really was trying to get his hands on that room the whole while. He mentioned it days and days ago."

Yule shook his head right back at Mirk. And wrapped an arm around his shoulders, giving him a bracing squeeze. "Believe what you want, Mirk. I'm convinced. Maybe it's not some grand romance or whatever drippy nonsense people like you and Danu believe in, but it's fancying all the same. Just know that if he ever decides to make a move on you, I'm here to give you advice. I've handled every kind of man there is to handle. Whether you want him to leave you alone or fuck him, I can tell you how to do it."

"Yule!" Mirk gasped, half laughing and half choking, hunching over on himself underneath the older healer's arm. "That's...it's not..."

"Ah, I know. Devoted your life to the Lord, or whatever the hell it is you believe in. I'm only saying, I'm here for you. We healers need to stick together. Especially when it comes to men. And if you ever do decide you fancy them, there's a lot better on offer out there than him. You just have to know where to look," Yule concluded, giving Mirk’s shoulders a final squeeze before letting him go. "Anyway, let's get him his splints before he runs off and makes an even bigger mess of things for you."

Mirk nodded emphatically, hurrying across the room to where all the potion supplies and the bruise balm was kept, trying to ignore the way his face was still burning. "Yes, let's."