"All right."

Wraith's eyes snapped open, body giving a brief spasm as her systems slowly geared up from stasis. Douglas was already half turned away from her when she pushed herself upright, one hand lifting to her forehead in an automatic gesture.

"All okay?" the human asked, glancing at her, and she nodded briefly, feeling an unusual spell disorientation as she looked around the room. Once reassured she was safely in their apartment, rain beating at the window and (in the kitchen) dripping into a saucepan. (Panzer occasionally made his way over to watch it avidly -- and occasionally take a very messy drink.)

"Good." A sudden grin flitted across his features. "No residual flashbacks or anything, right?"

"No, none. Thank you." She answered the grin with a brief smile, shaking her head at the recollection of their previous attempt. His probings, an attempt to siphon relevant data from her memory banks, had forced the data forward to such a degree that she threatened to reenact it.

It hadn't been terribly amusing at the time.

"I trust you got everything you needed." She turned her head to look at Fisker's holographic readout, some embarrassment rising into her expression.

"Aw, what's that look for? You looked nice in the dress."

Her shoulders jerked in surprise, and she looked at Douglas with a scowl. "I /beg/ your pardon."

"I've got the video files of it now -- your character glanced at her reflection in the windows once or twice. Looks like she didn't believe her boyfriend." He turned away from her, fingers tapping at his keyboard and gaze fixed once again on the holo display. "I'm impressed -- it even managed to get a dress in a complementary color. I wonder how much of it is auto --"

"For heaven's sake, Douglas, please stop talking about it." A note of alarm crept into her voice.

"I don't see why," he answered irritably, pausing to instruct Fisker to enhance the video. "I mean, it's amazing that they managed to hijack your visual --"

Wraith forced herself to resist a strong impulse to cover her ears, grimacing instead. "You've explained it to me several times, Douglas," she said in a tone which -- she hoped -- brooked no further discussion of the matter. "And I've told you just as many that it's the last thing I want to think about --"

"Then why do you keep thinking about it?" the human asked pointedly, gesturing to a secondary readout -- one aligned to her current mental processes.

She swore at him, reaching over to pluck the cord connecting her systems to the smaller machine free and tossing it aside. Fisker made a keening, irritable noise. "How can I help but think about it with you blathering about it non-stop?"

"Hey, I'm just saying the technology's top-notch," Douglas retorted breezily. "The content isn't really what I'm interested in. The fact that you keep reliving it --"

"Douglas --" Her voice held a note of warning.

"-- especially that last bit --"

"Douglas!"

"Was it really that nice a kiss?"

"Douglas, if you don't shut your mouth almost instantly, I will wipe the entire event from my system and make certain your backup is obliterated."

The human fell silent immediately, the tapping of his fingers picking up its pace, and Wraith settled back on the couch with a low sigh. Her eyes closed, head dropping back, and she attempted to settle her mind on any topic besides her former dance partner. Though Douglas had ignorance as an excuse, her meetings with the man in question were growing progressively more unpleasant, and the thought of him easily sent a shot of fear down her spine.

Which made her dwelling on the incident deep in the underground all the more unsettling.

"Well, you gotta admit," Douglas said suddenly. "The uniform does make him look less, uh … disreputable. You know. Almost presentable."

Her eyes opened to stare wearily at the ceiling.

"Do be quiet, Douglas."

He was, but she doubted it was due to her command. The rapid tapping of his fingers told her he was once again absorbed in his work -- if work it could be called. Perhaps if he were making a profit from his experimentation she would be more inclined to think of it as work and less inclined to think of it as a mad hobby.

"Corny …" she heard him remark, and she glanced sideways at him. One of his hands held half a headset to his ear, the other still busy at the keyboard. Presumably, he was referring to the dialogue now.

She hadn't thought it was all that bad, all things considered.

"No, it's definitely corny," Douglas answered her, and she was annoyed to discover she had spoken aloud. "I mean, it acts almost Civil War-era, but --"

"Oh, never mind," she cut him off crossly. Her gaze met the ceiling again, and after a moment she closed her eyes. The sound of his typing lulled her, despite his being the primary source of her irritation, and when her eyes snapped open again, her internal chronometer registered the passage of several hours.

"Mornin'," her human ward remarked around a mouthful of what looked (and smelled) like instant noodles. He was seated on the other end of the couch, comfortably beyond the reach of her legs, and apparently still absorbed in the readouts from his earlier tests.

"Doubtful," she muttered, sitting up again and swinging her feet to the floor.

He was dressed for bed, somewhat to her surprise, though he showed no sign of weariness -- or even interest in turning in for the day. She reached over absently to pick up his cap, turning it over in her hands.

"Are you going to sleep tonight?"

He didn't look up from his reading. "I figured I'd pull an all-nighter, finish going over the readouts."

"You should sleep." She set the hat down to look at him.

"I'm not tired," he answered agreeably, gaze still fixed on the text, and she sighed, getting to her feet to take away his now-empty bowl.

"I guess it's getting close to that time of year," she said quietly, rinsing the dish out and setting it in the sink. She paused, then opened the cupboard to retrieve a glass, filling it with the last of the milk from the refrigerator -- she'd have to go shopping again later -- and setting it in the microwave. She added a dollop of honey once it was heated, stirring the lot thoroughly before returning to her ward.

"You should still sleep," she said, offering him the drink, which he took without looking at her. She shook her head and settled beside him, one hand reaching up to stroke through his hair.

His only reaction was a reflexive lean away from her touch before returning to his original position. "Later," he said after a moment, scrolling the document and taking a slow sip of the milk. She didn't answer him, only watching as he continued to read and keeping up the slow, soothing motion of her hand.

It was when he had finally drained the last of the milk from the glass that he shifted, leaning over to set the now-empty glass on the floor. For a moment, he appeared to return all his attention to the readouts, then he leaned the other direction, slumping until he toppled gracelessly to rest his head almost directly in her lap and folding his legs up to dangle them over the arm of the couch.

Wraith arched an eyebrow as he fell, shifting herself just enough to let him land comfortably. His gaze was still fixed on the readouts, and she was about to nudge him along into a more comfortable position, when he murmured, "Sing for me."

She blinked. "You don't even like my singing," she answer dryly, running her fingers again through his hair.

"Sure I do," he said, though his tone indicated little interest. "When did I say I didn't?"

"I don't remember," she lied. She hadn't sung for him since they'd left his father's house -- apart from an incident or two he was unlikely to remember.

"Sing for me," he insisted, and she sighed.

"Sing what?"

"Everything."

She gave him a testy look.

"I dunno," he amended, turning his head to look at her with a faint smile. "Just sing."

"All right," she said, and his gaze drifted away.

She was silent for a moment, a combination of self-consciousness and searching through her memory for songs he seemed to like. Then she began to sing. The songs she chose were quiet, soothing -- largely geared, whether he knew it or not, toward lulling him to sleep. Despite her efforts, he remained stubbornly awake for a little over half an hour, eyes flicking wearily over page after page even as his body showed signs of relaxing.

It was only when his hand drooped, datapad nearly slipping from his fingers, that she deemed it safe to lean forward and remove it, not missing a note as she let the song wind to a conclusion. She sighed, leaning her head back slowly and letting her fingertips brush his hair once again. He stirred again under her touch, and she sighed.

There was only a momentary pause before she started singing again.