Well I made it 3 instalments before my hand slipped. I honestly had every intention of keeping these light and breezy. Well, lighter and breezier than this, anyway. Rest assured there are many happier stories ahead. But truth be told these two have more stuff to work through. And I WANT to write moments like this where they work through it together. Because now they can. Therefore I will.

Ducking Bite Me

Mika's just enjoyed a cherry Coke on the rocks and thinking how he could make it even better by adding a double shot of whiskey next time.

He's washing the glass in the sink when he hears the gunshot.

He knows the shot wasn't anywhere near them, much less at them. He can tell by the echo. He knows he's not there. He knows tonight isn't that night. He even remembers hearing some human in the general store yesterday talking about rifle hunting season, which is something of a religious holiday in this town. But logic and reality are worth nothing when his body is fully convinced he's back there. Back then. About to lose them. He's paralyzed. Terrified. Holding the splintered remains of the glass. Only the base is left. He doesn't know where the rest of it went, but his hand is covered in blood.

Kurda's already at his side. He doesn't ask what's up because he already knows. He knew the second he heard the shot.

"You're safe. We're safe. It's okay. It's just some human hunting deer." Kurda tries, but his velvet voice trails off because he understands the actual origin of the sound has fuck all to do with the response it triggers. He refocuses his attention on prying what's left of the glass out of Mika's seized-up hand. "Hey. Can I have this, please?"

Kurda drops part of the glass into the garbage bin under the sink. The rest of the glass is all over the countertops, in the sink, and in Mika's skin. There's a disconnect between Mika's mind and body — he sees the blood, he sort of knows it's his, but he still doesn't know where it came from.

"Look at me, Sunshine." Kurda's voice is plaintive as he holds Mika's face between his hands. Kurda keeps murmuring. "I know. I know. Just breathe. You're here. Stay here. Stay with me."

Mika doesn't try to talk. His tongue is leaden. His chest cavity feels like it's being crushed by a giant vice. His heart and lungs are working at an unsustainable pace, as if they're desperate to escape from his body before it's too late.

This feels endless. This is going to be the one that finally kills him.

Then, another sound becomes audible over his own ragged breathing and the ringing in his ears. A series of quick, sharp flap-slaps. Coming closer. Rapidly.

A moment too late, Mika remembers they're harbouring an injured duck. Josephine, Kurda named her after vetoing Gracie Two. Mika registers an acute sting on his ankle as the little devil fucking bites him. He supposes it's his own fault for standing too close to Kurda.

And for reasons well beyond Mika's scope of rationality, it's the assertive snap of that little beak that pierces the blackout curtain of panic. It snaps his senses out of the past and back into some semblance of cohesion.

It's not a complete fix. But it's enough for him to glance down at her and say with a level of composure that surprises himself,

"Can I not have five minutes?"

Meanwhile Kurda lets out a soft gasp of horror at her comically atrocious timing and further absconds her —"Josie! We do not bite in this house! Oh, gods. I'm so sorry, babe. Just a minute -"

Full disclosure: Mika's in no condition to laugh. But deep down there's a tiny fragment of him that acknowledges the ironic humour in declaring 'we do not bite in this house' when two of the three inhabitants are vampires. That's funny, right? Or is his brain just upside-down?

Kurda scoops Josephine up and ushers her back to the living room like a parent evacuating an unruly child who's just interrupted a funeral service. He distracts her with a dish of cracked corn and returns to Mika's side.

Mika remains by the sink, leaning on the countertop. Trying to breathe normally. The air doesn't seem as thin as it did a minute ago. His lungs are filling again. He can feel his feet and hands again. Go ducking figure.

The blood makes it look worse than it is. Kurda takes Mika's hand and runs it under the faucet til there's no red left in the water. The cold feels good. Then Kurda spits into his palm — how he even spits elegantly is beyond Mika's comprehension — and uses his index finger to dab spit into the cuts. They're shallow. They heal in seconds.

Life is so soft now. That makes it all the more painful to trip on an old, jagged shard. Now Mika's kicking himself for forgetting to watch his step. He's had worse panic attacks. But he'd gone so long without. Complacency won this round.

Now all he wants is to go lay down. But he can't move. The body tremors are setting in. Every muscle is locked and he doesn't know whether he's about to pass out or throw up or simply fall over and die.

Kurda holds his palm against Mika's chest. Right over his heart. And the scar.

Mika tries to speak. Still can't.

Kurda, eyes overflowing with compassion and empathy, murmurs one more time but with an entirely new gravity —

"I know, baby."

And he does. He really does know. Better than anyone ever will. He was there that night too, that night they both almost lost their whole world.

But it didn't happen. They're both still here. That's what Mika clings to now. It's more than enough. He's survived more of these mindfuck crash spirals than he'll ever admit. Very few of them have a landing this soft.

They retreat to the bedroom where Mika spends the next hour with his head in Kurda's lap. Kurda stays with him all the while, reading a book with one hand and stroking Mika's forehead with the other. Kurda never tries to expedite the recovery period. It doesn't work that way. He just lets Mika lay on him til his body's wrung dry of adrenaline. But residual aches, nausea, scalded sanity and all, Mika knows he's safe now. Like, objectively. That's somewhat of a newer phenomenon in his world.

Mika decides he doesn't blame the Josephine for getting a little possessive. He'd do worse things to protect Kurda than chomp on some guy's ankle.

When Mika finally manages to sit himself upright, he gauges how rough he looks by how deeply Kurda's brow creases at the sight of him. Kurda's trying to be a rock but his eyes betray how shaken he is. Mika inhales through ragged lungs, suddenly desperate to say something, anything to light Kurda's inner spark again.

And that's exactly when they hear the familiar flap-slap sound of little orange feet outside the bedroom, followed by an insistent tapping as Josephine pecks the closed door.

What's even more ridiculous is how Mika automatically puts his hand on the bedside table, as if trying to open the Hall door from his throne back in the mountain. His brain is fucking fried. He has absolutely no idea why he thought that was going to work.

The universe shifts. Kurda's laughing so hard he can barely get up to go let her in. What's even funnier is how she doesn't even want in. She just didn't appreciate that they'd shut the door on her. She peeks around, makes sure everything's up to code, then she waddles back to her food dish.

That's when Mika starts laughing too; the reaction is as involuntary as the panic attack.

Kurda flops back on the bed in a wayward tangle of lithe limbs and golden hair. Mika curls up into him til neither can tell where they end and the other begins. Since he's already laughing like a cracked-out madman of the highest order, Mika decides he might as well circle back to that thing Kurda said about the regulations around biting in this house. Because that was fucking funny.

He still can't believe he gets to laugh like this after everything that's happened.

He still can't believe he gets to love Kurda.

PS — I don't expect anyone to remember this, but the name Josephine is a callback to ch2 of This Is Us when the well-intentioned motel clerk asks two strange men what their baby's name is, and they panic and give her two entirely different answers. One of which is Josephine.