"No, it's..." Faintly. He swallows, throat bobbing. "It's fine, ma'am."

Gods. She's beautiful. The haze of morpha softens the harsh infirmary lights, blends the edges of her body, making it seem all the more like she's stepped out of a dream -- though it has been a godsdamn long time since he's dreamed about anyone but Louis. Women don't turn his head nearly as often as men do, but every now and then...

Yeah. This is all the nows; this is all the thens.