Soft words filter through the haze of D's mind and take shape, his name passes almost whisper soft from Jill's lips and a small hand reaches up to wipe the tears from his face. A young man stands before him with old eyes, in blood drenched, powder blue scrubs, who looks at D in his blood covered silk chenogasm and Chris in is jeans and tee-shirt, and Jill, still in Kevlar and doesn't see them at all. His face makes the appropriate expressions, his body belays just the right amount of sympathy, but his eyes never change, never see him, as the word's flow from his mouth like woe from Pandora's box, heedless of the pain they do with each syllable, a memorized litany for the bereaved, and D's mind refuses to focus on them, refuses to hear them again.

In a daze he fallows Chris as he leads him down halls and corridors in this sterile maze, his mind lost in grief and anguish until a warm, calloused hand wipes the tears that refuse to stop running and lifts him up to meet cornflower blue and he is lifted from his pit, not by the wings of fickle hope but by the arms of his fills him as their lips meet and it is then that he realizes how very cold he has always been, his mask of ice melting in the light of Leon's smile and his softly whispered "I love you", and tonight D has learned to be Human.