Evasive.

That’s the only word for it. For this thing that drives us and defies logic at every turn and dodges every attempt at an explanation.

All right, so I’m going to die. I’ve accepted this with remarkable ease if I do say so myself, and now I’m ready to move on to the next phase. So what? People do it every day. But, contrary to appearances, dying has never been high on my list of things to accomplish, and so I wonder if maybe it isn’t a little bit odd that I haven’t exactly bothered to put up a fight.

Don’t get me wrong, he hasn't said we’re going to die, every single one of us, without a doubt, better make our peace now… but he’s implied it. And the most annoying thing is that even what he hints at finds a way of becoming truth, somehow.

This would all be so much easier if I could just make myself hate him. Hell, I want to hate him, I want to loathe him with the kind of passionate, overwhelming loathing that dulls my very consciousness and moves my trigger finger without bothering to consult me first…

I’ve killed prettier and more determined boys than him in the past. There shouldn’t be anything to it anymore.

Halfway down the stairs, it occurs to me suddenly that running is still an option. Even this late in the game I could be out of here, far away from this city before anyone even knew I was gone. Wouldn’t be the first time… I know almost as much about running these days as I do about standing to fight.

But I’m sure already, that isn’t an option either. If I ran now, not only would I never be coming back to this place… I’d never be going back to Babylon. And I can’t allow that, not yet. I still owe them something there, even if I haven’t yet decided the best way to pay off my debt.

Too much dirty work is going to make me soft. If you can adapt, if you can make yourself used to it, then murder is the easiest business in the world. The only really hard part is admitting that.

I wonder what Legato would say.

Probably nothing at all. But thinking I could coax a reaction out of him is enough to keep me content for now. Of all the bizarre positions my wandering mind has stranded us in since I met him, the ones where he laughs are always the ones I keep returning to.

Have I mentioned before how much I hate hollow sentimentalism?

As soon as I hit the ground floor, Midvalley sidles up to me with a bourbon in each hand and a saxophone reed sticking out of the corner of his mouth like a half-gone smoke. “Better than coffee,” he offers with one of those crooked smiles, thrusting one of the shot glasses in my direction.

I try to wave him off - it’s too early for that corrosive, swallowing lit matches sensation that comes from drinking cheap liquor - but the glass is already in my hand, and I’m already tossing it back and trying not to scowl too deeply. It’s too early to match wits with Midvalley, too.

“How do you feel?”

Somehow, I manage to swallow without choking to death. Somehow…

You have to understand, a question like that just isn’t the sort of thing you come to expect from a guy like him; it makes me suspicious in all sorts of ways I thought I’d gotten over a long time ago. But he’s watching me closely over the chipped rim of his glass, one eyebrow drawn up like it is when he sizes up something that looks like a potential fight. I know that look too well, and so it feels like a long time goes by before I can answer him.

“I’m fine. Why?”

“Babylon’s your hometown, isn’t it?” He sighs, setting the glass aside. “It’s not gonna break my heart of you want to sit this one out.”

And I almost laugh, I really do. “Aren’t you the sweetest little thing?”

“That’s not it.” The look that goes with those words is arsenic. “It’s my ass if these things don’t run as smoothly as the Boss thinks they should, you know, and I…”

“Midvalley.” I’m surprised by how sharp my voice sounds, and I guess he is too because he stops talking for what’s gotta be the first time in his whole damn life. “I’m going to that city.”

He sighs. “All right, all right. I ain’t gonna step on your toes, Patch.”

“I don’t need you to look out for me.” It’s been a hell of a long time since I needed to say something like that to anyone, and feels so ridiculous now that I almost can’t be indignant.

“Yeah, yeah, I know that.” He sighs again, but this time he throws in a dramatic roll of his eyes, and I know we’re through here. “I’m just trying to be chivalrous. You’re a real damn ice queen, you know that, Patch? ”

“Spare me.”

“It’s freezing in here. Why did it get so cold all of a sudden?” He glances at his empty glass, on the table at his elbow and mutters, “I think I need another drink just to warm up.”

Yeah, I could go for another one myself right about now. But not for the same reasons. “It must take a tremendous amount of effort to be as pathetic as you, Midvalley. I ought to just shoot you and put you out of your misery…”

It’s all right to shoot your best friend, isn’t it? It must be. Nothing life threatening… what if I just winged him?

“Mmm, flattering.” He snatches the pair of shot glasses from the table. “But I’ve already got someone poking me full of holes, if you know what I mean.”

That’s appalling. “Don’t remind me.”

“What’s wrong, Dominique? You jealous?”

I’ve been here before; he’s going to keep this up until I lose my temper. There isn’t much to do for entertainment in the desert.

“Midvalley…”

Up slants one eyebrow. He looks like he expects me to take a swing at him. Maybe I won’t disappoint him.

Listen, I know you can’t really blame a man for his sense of timing, even if it borders on the preposterous. It’s at that moment that the Churchman saunters up to us. So easily, like he’s been waiting in the wings for his entrance to roll around.

“Speak of the Devil,” Midvalley says, lightly like stifling laughter.

His dark eyes narrow a little, almost imperceptibly. “That’s exactly the problem.” His gaze flickers between us like a moth vacillating between two flames. “What’s going on?”

“Patch is all bent out of shape about something.” Midvalley tilts his chin back, exposing the perfectly fist-sized stretch of flesh above his throat.

“Go to hell.”

Wolfwood snorts, stirring cigarette smoke and the quiet cloud of amusement that always seems to float about his shoulders. “Behave yourself, Patch.”

He glances over, and for a moment their eyes meet. Obsidian black on green that has no equivalent in a place like this.

Green being how I feel right now…

Wolfwood breathes a curl of smoke from the corner of his mouth, and his lips twitch upward to follow it. “I’m guessing you haven’t told her the good news yet? About her partner?”