'Respawn'.  That was what they called it.

	'It' seemed like nothing more than a supply room, with a cold tile floor, and a fairly boring tile ceiling.  The tiles seemed to shift, move, and waver, but it was the bright lights that Fleischer finally closed his eyes against.  He forced them open again when he heard someone enter the room – heard footsteps approaching him.  It hardly mattered, though; the figures – three of them – were entirely too blurry to make out their faces.  He could only assume that the one that kneeled next to him was a Medic, given the blurry white blob that seemed to occupy the space from his neck down, in the vague shape of a lab coat.

	The other Medic said something, but the words were lost in the low, pulsing thrum that seemed to be coming from inside of Fleischer's own skull.  The sound of the three figures talking amongst each other was entirely too much – as were the lights, and that incessant buzzing, and he finally just closed his eyes again, trying to drown everything out.

	When Fleischer opened his eyes again, the lights were just as bright – but the tiles on the ceiling looked different, and considerably more [i]familiar[/i].  He blinked his eyes a few times, and tried to sit up so that he could get a look around the room.  He couldn't quite manage it, though, and when he tried again, he realized that he was being met with considerable resistance.

	He tried again – tried to lift his hands to feel what was on his chest.  His arms hadn't moved more than a few inches off the – the bed? – before he felt a tug at his wrists.  He was strapped down.

	/"It's for your safety,"/ a voice said in short, clipped German.  Its owner caused Fleischer to start by rather suddenly looming over the bed.

	The other Medic was older – maybe sixty – graying more than a little at the temples, and looking [i]entirely[/i] too pleased with himself.  /"You kept thrashing around in your sleep,"/ he continued, frowning slightly.  /"How are you feeling?"/

	Fleischer had to think about that for a long moment.  He was exhausted, for one – and dizzy, and maybe a little nauseous.   There was a deep, dull ache in his chest, and in his knee, right where the bullets had…

	…right where the bullets had hit.

	Fleischer tried to place a hand on his chest – to feel for blood, or some kind of wound.  His arm just wound up jerking against the strap cuffed to his wrist, though, which caused that pulsing thrum to return full-force.  The thrumming was soon joined by the sound of his heart pounding in his ears, and he tried, unsuccessfully, to turn his body so he could sit up.  Turning his head did afford Fleischer a view of the IV line in his arm, which his eyes quickly followed to the stand next to the bed.

	"Herr!" the other Medic started, sounding almost more amused than worried, /"please calm down, you are going to injure yourself.  I doubt the League will want you damaged when they come to pick you up."/

	The idea of his employers 'picking him up' was bad enough for Fleischer, but it was a touch – a caress – against the side of his face from the older Medic that truly set him off.  His thrashing started anew, but the straps over his body and around his ankles and wrists didn't afford him enough movement to build the momentum he would need to break free.  His panic-stricken mind didn't know that, though, and wound up telling his sore, exhausted body to fight harder.

	Fleischer was vaguely aware of the other Medic saying something, and [i]very[/i] aware of the man removing a loaded syringe from one of the pockets on his lab coat.  He didn't want to think about ([i]couldn't[i/] think about) why his older counterpart was carrying such a thing around in his pocket, but the needle being drawn closer to his IV line did nothing for his confidence.

	The sight, in fact, only drove Fleischer to thrash harder, twisting in his restraints, chest heaving, and heart pounding.  He was quite certain that he was protesting quite loudly – could feel his lips moving – but the sound was drowned out by that thrum, and the loud beating in his ears.  His pleas were ignored, though, and he soon saw the needle slide home into the IV line's injection port.  He gave one final effort, a hard pull against the straps, as the plunger was depressed.

	It wasn't an effort that could be sustained.  Fleischer's limbs suddenly felt even more ineffectual against his restraints.  His arms and legs were slow to respond, and his brain was becoming equally slow in even trying to command them.  The thrumming remained, rapidly drowning out the sound of his pounding heart and gasping breaths, and growing into a low, almost pleasant buzz.  His limbs felt incredibly heavy, and his eyelids followed suit.

	Fleischer was distantly aware of being lifted and moved – of the ceiling tiles passing by overhead.  There were muffled voices – yelling – and a blue light that prickled over his skin.  He wasn't sure at what point his vision wound up going entirely black.

***

	"It is absolutely imperative that we test his cognitive functions."

	The voice was male, distant, and quite adamant.  Fleischer wasn't entirely sure, in the dark, whether it belonged to someone, or if he was just dreaming it.  His uncertainty, however, didn't stop it from speaking.

	"Without a baseline, we can't be certain of the effects the alterations will have on mental condition – we don't want a team of vegetables."

	Fleischer finally managed to force his eyes open, and found himself staring up at another set of ceiling tiles.  His body was slow to respond, but he did steal a glance around the room.  It was another hospital room – but, too new and too small to be his familiar infirmary.  His was the only bed present – and, he was strapped down to it.

	"Ah, you're awake," the voice spoke, again.

	The Medic's attention was quickly drawn to its source – another doctor.  The man wasn't in a League Medic uniform, though – just a regular lab coat with the company logo embroidered on the lapels.  He didn't look very intimidating – he was thin, and silver-haired, and leaning slightly against a cane, though he almost looked as though he was a little too young to need one.

	"Where am I..?" Fleischer asked, finally daring to speak, and relieved to hear that his voice sounded the way it should.

	The older man pulled up a chair, and hesitated a moment before sitting down.  "At a League medical facility," he started, picking up a clipboard with a patient file on it – though Fleischer couldn't quite make out the lettering.  "My name is Doctor Isaac Davis– but, the question is, who are you?"

	"Nicklaus Fleischer," the younger man replied, after a small moment of hesitation, and a few nervous glances around the room.

	"[i]Doctor[/i] Nicklaus Fleischer, isn't it?" Isaac replied, raising an eyebrow and smiling, just a little.  "Give yourself a little credit – Heidelberg is not an easy school to get into, let alone to graduate from with honors.  You are obviously a very intelligent man…" the older man trailed off, flipping a few pages in the file before adding, "and very… resourceful."

	Nicklaus remained silent, which made the sound of the other doctor clicking his pen to write a note seem overly loud, and sharp.  He had a million questions, but was afraid to voice them.  He wasn't even sure where he would start.

	"Tell me, Doctor Fleischer," Isaac started, breaking the rather tense silence, "what is the last thing you remember before waking up here?"

	"BLU infirmary," the Medic said with some hesitation, "at Well."

	Isaac nodded and gave a small, thoughtful hum before making another note in his file.  It was a frustratingly neutral reaction.  "And, before that?"

	That was a question that painted much more vivid memories in Fleischer's mind – and triggered a much more visceral response.  He tensed up without even realizing, and his heart beat a little faster.  He was shocked, really, that it was beating at all.  "I… was shot," he finally replied, his voice considerably quieter than it had been before.  "I thought… I thought I was dying."

	"You [i]did[/i] die," the older man said, adjusting his glasses a little.  He paused, only continuing when he realized that Fleischer was stunned into silence.  "I can understand your confusion," he stated, offering a small, indulgent smile.  "The large majority of the mercenaries were not informed about our fledgling Respawn system.  We didn't want people thinking they were suddenly invincible when we weren't entirely sure that the devices would work."

	The Medic, at that, just had a hundred other questions spring into his mind.  He could understand the logic regarding not telling anyone about such a device until the company was sure it would work.  How could such a device even exist, though?  The healing powers of a Medigun were a miracle of science, yes – but, even they couldn't raise the dead… could they?

	"I can tell that you want to know more," Isaac said with a nod, and a small smile – one that could, under other circumstances, almost be considered warm.  "We'll get to that.  In fact, you will get to be very well-acquainted indeed with the system's inner workings.  For the moment, though," he continued, before Fleischer could interject, "we should get you something to eat.  It's been a few years since your last meal, and I'm sure you're very hungry."

	Nicklaus was dumbstruck.  A few [i]years[/i]?  Did it always take that long?  How [i]many[/i] years?  He didn't get the chance to voice his questions, though – his mind kept tripping over them.  Before he knew it, Isaac had walked out, along with his answers, and the door was shut behind.

***

	Meals at the League medical facility were usually fairly simple – easy to digest, and not terribly flavorful.  It was food, though… and, it was filling.

	Fleischer had not been expecting steak.  Not 'hospital steak', but, an honest-to-God prime cut.  It was delicious, too – the best he could ever remember having.  He had scarcely believed his eyes when the nurse walked in with it, and said with a sweet, demure smile that it was for him.  As much as he tried to hide it, however, he was not pleased when Isaac walked in behind her – and, he felt his heart sink a little when the nurse was politely dismissed.  The Medic liked talking with her – or simply listening to her talk.  She had a sort of reassuring presence, and seemed, in all honesty to be far too innocent to be associated with someone like Davis.

	Davis made Fleischer nervous.  He tensed up as soon as Isaac sat across from him.  The man offered a smile that would have seemed friendly if it wasn't for the fact that Fleischer's mind found something slightly, unnervingly [i]off[/i] about it.  Then again, something seemed 'off' about Isaac, in general.

	It was after stealing a few glances to his meal that the Medic finally, hesitantly said, "I… appreciate the gesture, Herr – but, what is the occasion?"

	Isaac just smiled again, almost the sort of expression a man might give his favorite grandchild – almost.  "You are," he replied.  "You've made a remarkably fast recovery; years stuck in the Respawn system, and your faculties are all intact.  Your physical health is ideal, too."

	That was something Fleischer had gathered, given all of the tissue samples the medical staff had been taking.  At least they had finally unstrapped him.  Someone had finally caught on that he was more willing to cooperate if he wasn't tied down flat to the bed.  He was never left unrestrained when Isaac was in the room, though.  The older man didn't trust him – the feeling was mutual.

	Isaac had said he was unpredictable, and the Medic couldn't really blame him for coming to such a conclusion – not after what had happened at Well.  They weren't at Well, though, and, not for the first time, Fleischer was simply grateful to be alive, as much as he knew he didn't deserve it.  Not after what he had done to his team.  It wasn't the first time in his life that disaster had followed a lapse of his stringent self-control, and he could understand why Isaac feared it would happen again.  [i]He[/i] feared it would happen again.

	A pull on the cuff around his wrist as he moved to lift his fork served as a quick reminder to Fleischer of the position he was in.  It was awkward, at best, having to bend forward in his chair to meet his fork halfway – and the other doctor's eyes never left him.

	"I apologize for the restraints," Davis started, sounding [i]almost[/i] genuinely regretful.  "Usually they offer a little more freedom, but, they weren't quite designed with someone of your height in mind.

	Nicklaus frowned slightly at that, as he stuck his fork into the last remaining bit of steak.  He found that hard to believe – that an advanced  League medical facility wouldn't have restraints that would fit him properly.  He knew he wasn't a small man – at least head and shoulders taller than the older doctor.  Their heavy weapons specialist at Well had been ever so slightly taller, though, and much more stoutly built.  Fleischer said nothing about it, though – just swallowed the last bite of his meal, and pushed his empty plate to the side, out of the way.

	"When was the last time you had a steak, Doctor Fleischer?"

	The Medic hesitated for a moment before replying, "during the war."  He knew better than to think that anyone at this level of the League wouldn't know about his former employment.

	"And you were, what, forty-two?  When you were shot, I mean," Davis noted.  "So, at least twenty-three years, right?"

	Fleischer nodded at that.  It still seemed surreal to him – that he had been stuck having the data that composed 'him' reconstructed for thirteen years, and looked the same age that he had on the day he'd been shot.  He didn't want to contemplate the nature of Respawn, and his data, and 'him' too much, because he knew it would only lead to some sort of existential meltdown.

	"Most people would have killed for your looks during the war, Doctor Fleischer," Isaac continued.  "But, you already know that."

	Yes, he did.  He was practically the picture of Aryan perfection – something that he had been constantly reminded of.  His so-called 'perfection' had been a never-ending source of frustration and undesired attention.  And, yes, people had killed for 'his looks' – had killed to try and replicate them in labs, and 'labs', across occupied Europe.  He knew that first-hand.

	"What a terrible waste of human life," the older doctor went on.  "Such a silly thing, worrying about hair and eye color.  Imagine what sort of progress – real progress – could have been made if the Reich had actually focused on truly improving the human body, if the Reich had used their resources for something of consequence."

	"By 'resources'," Nicklaus started, furrowing his brow, and trying to keep himself from outright scowling, "I trust you mean 'prisoners'."

	Isaac gave a little nod at that.  "If they were bound, ultimately, for death, they at least could have been given the respect of helping to make a genuine contribution to science – of not having the remainder of their lives wasted," he stated, with what seemed to be a genuine, if slight, sadness in his tone.  "Passing off cruelty for cruelty's sake as science is… monstrous.  As a doctor – as a [i]real[/i] doctor – I'm sure it must have been very difficult for you."

	The Medic remained very quiet at that – found himself staring somewhat distantly at the table.  It had been beyond difficult.  It had been hard to live with himself and, frankly, he wasn't sure how he had even managed [i]that[/i].

	"The Reich, Respawn, a Soviet labor camp.  You're a survivor," Davis stated matter-of-factly.  A smile of admiration formed on his face, as he made a note on his clipboard – he never seemed to be without the thing.  "That's why you're here."

	The possible implications of that statement made Fleischer go very tense.  He had been asking himself for the past several weeks why he was there – why the League was keeping him around after he'd created such a spectacular mess at Well.  He knew better than to believe that they were keeping him healthy out of the goodness of their hearts.

	Isaac, for the moment, gave no indication that it was otherwise, even gave a small, casual smile.  "Anyway," he started, "it's good to see you're recovering.  The timing with which you entered the Respawn system was extraordinary – it's no wonder it took such a toll on you."  He trailed off for a moment, and started to stand up once it was clear that the Medic had nothing to say in return.

	"It's getting late," the older man started, pressing a button by the door to call the nurse in.  "It wouldn't take a doctor to tell that you're exhausted, not that I can blame you.  I suggest you get some rest," he added, offering only another small, cordial smile before seeing himself out of the room, and letting the nurse in.

	Fleischer admitted quietly, and only to himself, that it was a relief to see her.  He even managed just a little smile as she walked over, along with a quiet greeting.

	"Hello, Doctor Fleischer," she replied, smiling in return.  She offered a quiet thanks as her patient lifted his arms – as much as he could, anyway – so she wouldn't have to lean over to undo his restraints.

	Nicklaus breathed a sigh of relief when they were off, and rubbed just a little at the skin over his wrists, where the padded leather had been secured.  His efforts didn't amount to much, though – the woman still had to kneel down to undo the restraints that secured his ankles to the bolted-down legs of the chair's metal frame.

	"I can get that," Fleischer insisted.  He was already sitting down, after all – as awkward as it would be to try and lean over and reach his ankles with the table in the way.

	"It's alright, Doctor Fleischer," the nurse insisted, stepping back once the Medic was unrestrained, to give him some room to stand up and stretch his legs.  "You really should get some sleep, though, Doctor," she continued, gathering up the empty plate and cutlery.  "Is the bed uncomfortable?  I can get you an extra pillow or blanket, if you'd like."

	The Medic just shook his head a little at that.  A hospital bed was a lot more comfortable than a lot of the places he logically could have woken up, in.  "It's just fine," he stated.  He'd been having trouble sleeping, but, he had the feeling it had little to do with the bed.

	"Alright," the nurse replied with a little smile, before starting towards the exit.  "Just ring me on the call button if you need anything, Doctor.  And, try to get some sleep, okay?" she added before quietly walking out.  The lock, once the door was shut, clicked behind her.

	Nicklaus just wound up breathing a small, frustrated sigh.  He [i]was[/i] tired, not that that came as a surprise.  Brushing his teeth seemed to take a lot more energy than it should have, and he was quite certain that he nodded off at least once in the shower.  By the time he was dried off and dressed, he was ready to collapse into bed.  He felt exhausted, and comfortably heavy, and, really, it was entirely too much effort to keep his eyes open.

***

	It was quiet – quiet, warm, and comfortable – a far cry from the hospital bed that Fleischer last remembered lying on.  When he finally pried his eyes open, he confirmed that he was in a bed, and, not even a hospital bed.  He was immediately treated to a piercing headache, though, and pressed a hand to his forehead, wincing.  There was no tug – no resistance from restraints, and that in and of itself was at least some reassurance.

	No restraints, a regular bed, and – and a regular room?

	Nicklaus sat up quickly – and immediately regretted it.  He gave a small, uncomfortable groan, and covered his face with his hands as he waited for the room to stop spinning.  Once the world had stopped tilting and lurching, at least a little, he forced his eyes open again to get a proper look at the room.

	It was about as far removed from the other places that Fleischer had woken up in as it could possibly get.  There were no ceiling tiles, or stark white walls, and the floor was covered in laminate wood – there was even a couch and a television set and, beyond a half-open door, a bathroom.  It looked more like an apartment than a hospital room, and it did little, if anything, to put the Medic at ease.

	He finally thought to look [i]himself[/i] over, as well, and threw the bedcovers aside so that he could do so.  The doctor was at least slightly relieved to see that he was dressed, albeit in a plain white cotton shirt and pants.  He wasn't surprised to see that his uniform was gone.  He was surprised, however, to see that he still appeared to be in one piece.  That didn't stop him from half-stumbling out of bed to check in the bathroom mirror, though.

	Nothing was different.  Fleischer looked exactly as he had remembered himself.  There didn't seem to be even a single hair out of place, and that was part of what bothered him; everything appeared to be normal.  There had to be something, though – something he couldn't see, and he palpated his abdomen, and breathed slowly in and out, and tested all of his joints, and could find nothing added, or misplaced, or [i]gone[/i].

	The Medic finally breathed a small sigh of relief, at that, and decided to start inspecting the room, instead.  It was well-furnished – aside from the couch, television, and bed, there was a wardrobe, a small table, a desk, and even a night stand with a little lamp on it.  They were quickly ignored, however, in favor of what appeared to be the exit.

	There was nothing on the door to indicate that it could be opened from the inside, though – no handle, no knob, not even a card swipe – just an intercom set into the wall to the side of it.  Fleischer hesitated a moment before reaching for the device, and his finger hadn't quite pushed the button before it crackled to life, causing him to start just a little.  He was not surprised, however, to hear Isaac's voice come through.

	"Doctor Fleischer," it started, cordial, as always.  "It's good to see you're finally awake.  Would you step back away from the door, please?"

	As much as Fleischer would have liked to stay close to the door – to make a break for it when it opened – he knew that wasn't a viable option.  Escape wasn't likely when he didn't know where he was, never mind having nowhere to run [i]to[/i].  He stepped back several feet, then – far enough to make a quick run or leap to the door difficult, at best.

	"Thank you," Isaac said, before the intercom crackled, and went out.  It wasn't long before the door opened with a hiss to reveal the man, himself – accompanied by a pair of armed guards.  The muscle remained just outside of the room, with another door – closed – behind them.  The fact that there was, at the very least, an airlock between the 'apartment' and freedom was not very comforting.

	Doctor Davis seemed, naturally, unbothered by any of this.  He looked rather casual given the circumstances, leaning slightly against his cane and offering a little smile.  His expression, however, quickly melted into something considerably more serious, and even apologetic.  "I'm sorry we didn't inform you before moving you here," he started.  "You were sleeping like the dead, though, and I thought it might be a nice change of pace for you to wake up somewhere [i]nicer[/i]."

	Under more ordinary circumstances, it would have been a nice place to stay.  The room was plenty big, and well-furnished, and even had a window to let a little extra light in.  The window had no way of being opened, though, and the light filtering through the frosted glass wasn't quite right, somehow – and, the only exit from the room lay beyond an airlock.  It was nothing more than an exceptionally nice prison cell.

	"You were out for almost thirty-six hours," Isaac said, once it was clear that no input from the Medic was forthcoming.  "I'm sure you are very hungry.  Is there anything you'd like to eat?  The cook staff here are quite talented."

	Fleischer was silent for a long moment.  Insisting he wasn't hungry would be an outright lie, and he sure as hell wasn't going to be able to leave and get something to eat on his own.  "I can't say I have any particular preference, Herr," he started, "other than 'somezhing edible'."

	That drew a small, amused chuckle from the older man.  "Do you like sauerbraten?  From what I understand, it's considered something of a delicacy in Germany."

	"It is…" Nicklaus replied with a small, thoughtful frown.  The meat was supposed to be marinated for [i]days[/i], though – not for a few minutes before it was cooked and served.  "And, I do.  I would… appreciate that, Herr," as much as he suspected it would be rather bland, given the short notice with which it was going to be prepared.  It was food, though – and, it at least seemed to be an [i]effort[/i] at something that would be familiar to him.

	Isaac nodded quietly in reply.  "I'll see to it that your dinner gets here, soon, Doctor Fleischer.  Is there anything else you need?"

	Fleischer could think of a lot of things – most of them being one variation or another on, 'some answers'.  He had the feeling, however, that if he did receive any, they would be evasive or vague at best.  "Nein," he finally replied in a rather subdued tone.

	Doctor Davis regarded him for a moment, somewhat dubiously, before giving a little nod.  "Nurse Hayes will be along with your dinner, then, in a little while – and to administer an exam."

	That didn't surprise the Medic very much.  Exams had been extremely regular since his arrival at the League facility.  The explanation that he was being checked for any kind of slow-onset degradation from his Respawn seemed legitimate enough, but, that didn't mean Fleischer had to like it.  He just nodded, though, and returned a quiet farewell that was offered to him by Isaac just before the man, and his guards, disappeared back through the airlock.

	It was the airlock, perhaps, that disturbed Nicklaus the most.  In the hospital room, he had at least been able to see out into a hallway when the door was opened.  It wasn't exactly like he had attacked anyone, or made an attempt to escape, either.  He couldn't help but wonder what had transpired in the last supposed thirty-six hours that merited increased security.

	On the matter of security, there was also the issue of cameras – and searching for them offered Fleischer something to distract himself with.  It was difficult to look under and behind things, however, when every piece of furniture, barring the desk chair, was bolted to the floor.  The lamp was even attached to the surface of the nightstand, somehow.  He couldn't even find screws on the plates over the light switches that could be removed, or even worked loose.

	He scoured the room for what seemed like an hour, but, it was hard to be certain without a clock.  The Medic was still in the middle of his search, in fact, when the intercom crackled to life so that Nurse Hayes could announce her arrival.

	The nurse, as always, smiled at him as she walked in and, as always, was not accompanied by any guards.  "Hello, Doctor Fleischer," she greeted, before setting the tray she was carrying on the table in front of the couch.  "There was a dinner today for some of the head medical staff – we asked the cooks to make sure there was extra," she stated with a little smile.

	A dinner planned in advance would certainly give whoever was making the meal plenty of time to properly prepare it.  That would explain, then, why the sauerbraten looked and smelled so good, and, when the Medic finally sat down and had a bite, why it [i]tasted[/i] so good, as well.  He hadn't realized how hungry he was until he started eating, which he couldn't help but feel a little guilty for, with Nurse Hayes sitting and waiting for him.  It only made him feel slightly better when she insisted that it was fine and, really, he should take his time.

	Fleischer, nevertheless, wound up eating a little faster than he usually would have.  As nice as his nurse was, he wanted his exam to be over with as quickly as possible.  Nurse Hayes did not, fortunately, have a tendency to draw out exams.  Fleischer couldn't help but notice, however, that her hands felt warmer than he remembered.

	"Everything looks good," the nurse said with a little smile, draping her stethoscope back over her shoulders.  "Is there anything you need, Doctor Fleischer?" she asked.

	There was nothing, however, that Nicklaus could think of – no valid excuse to ask her to stay just a little longer.  She probably, after all, had other patients to get to.  "Uh… no… thank you," he finally replied.

	"Alright, doctor," Hayes said, smiling a little once again as she picked up the empty tray.  "If you do need anything, just use the intercom.  And," she continued, "make sure to get plenty of rest.  It's getting late, and you're still recovering."

	Fleischer nodded in reply, and offered a quiet farewell as the nurse took her leave.  A glance to the window revealed that it [i]was[/i] getting dark outside, as odd as the remaining daylight looked.  He couldn't even pin down what, exactly, was so odd about it.  He tried not to think about it too much as he slipped into the bathroom, and he couldn't help but be more than a little surprised that he could actually lock the bathroom door.  He realized, of course, that the lock was probably only for his peace of mind – there would be nothing, he was sure, to keep his 'benefactors' from opening the door if they wanted.

	The thought that there were very probably cameras watching was something that the Medic tried to push far from his conscious mind as he stripped.  It took considerably longer than he wanted, too, because his fingertips felt a little tender, and it almost [i]hurt[/i] to grasp anything very firmly.  Removing his clothes, then, was a somewhat delicate affair.

	As obsessively clean and tidy as Fleischer was, however, he felt little joy in stepping into a shower.  He took solace in the fact, then, that he had a whole private bathroom to himself.  It was better than having to share a row of stalls with a whole team, and it was, of course, immensely preferable to the open community showers in the labor camp.  The thought of the latter made him shudder, and lead to him even starting a little when the cold water hit.

	Thankfully, the water warmed up in a hurry, and the warmth was enough to get Nicklaus to start to relax, even if only a little.  He washed quickly, and thoroughly, and suddenly realized that once he was done he had just wound up standing under the warm spray.  He quickly snapped the water off, and grabbed a towel.  He didn't even try to pretend that he wasn't in a hurry to get dried off and dressed.

	There was no more light coming through the window by the time Fleischer finally emerged from the bathroom, and the bed was looking awfully inviting.  He made one last sweep of the room, though, trying to spot any sign of a camera, or a listening device.  It was a fruitless search, though, and he finally decided to turn out the lights and retire to bed.

	The Medic hardly fell asleep when his head hit the pillow, though.  His body was tired, but his mind refused to sleep.  There was a lot to think about, and very little of it, if any, was very comforting.  It seemed obvious, really, that he wasn't just being kept and monitored for his health, and it was to the daunting question of 'why?' that he finally dozed off.

***

	Even without the aid of an alarm clock, Fleischer still wound up waking at the crack of dawn.  It seemed like the crack of dawn, at least – the light from the window was dim, and very slowly getting brighter.  It didn't take long, however, for him to realize that his fingers were no longer just tender, but downright [i]ached[/i].

	He wrung his hands for a little while before finally turning on the bedside lamp to get a proper look at them.  Everything looked fine, though, which made the pain when he pressed on and behind his fingernails even more worrisome.  There were no bruises, and he couldn't imagine what he could have done to injure his fingers.

	Fleischer finally had to concede that no answers were forthcoming, and try to go about his day.  Making the day any sort of 'normal' was difficult.  He brushed his teeth and shaved (and quietly lamented the fact that, no, of course they wouldn't give him a much-preferred straight razor) before exercising and taking a brief shower.  When he emerged from the shower, breakfast was waiting on the table in front of the couch.

	The Medic stole a quick look around the room to confirm that no, in fact, nobody else was there.  Someone had been there very recently, though, because breakfast was still hot.  Breakfast was good, too – bacon, and scrambled eggs, and toast, and Fleischer just wished that it didn't aggravate the pain in his fingers so much to hold the blunt-tined fork he'd been given.  Eating took more time than he would have liked, but it was nice, nonetheless, to have a full belly.

	Killing time was very clearly going to be an issue.  Nicklaus had never particularly cared for television but he tried, at least, to watch the news.  He had been gone for so long, through, that he could scarcely make heads or tails of any of it, and wound up just shutting it off.  There was at least some reading he could do – the desk drawers were stuffed with what looked like every issue of [i]The Lancet[/i] that had come out since he'd been shot.

	The downtime was still so unusual, though.  He was used to working – used to the notion that downtime was something [i]earned[i] by working.  The fact that there was no work he could do, however, was of little comfort.  There was nothing of use that he could do while stuck in that room, and Fleischer couldn't imagine that the League would keep anyone around unless they could prove useful.  The question of what capacity the League saw him useful in was becoming increasingly worrying.

	It was a question that Fleischer was afraid to ask when Doctor Davis returned to the room at lunchtime, accompanied by his pair of guards.  "I hope," the older doctor started, once his patient was seated on the edge of the bed, "that you are feeling well?"

	That was a question that gave Nicklaus pause.  He had the feeling that voicing dissatisfaction with his accommodations would not end well.  "My fingers are a little sore," he quietly admitted, having to consciously resist the urge to wring his hands.

	Isaac leaned a little closer, then, peering at the Medic's hands and, upon seeing nothing visibly wrong, asked, "only when you move them?"

	"Moving [i]does[/i] make it worse," Fleischer replied.  There was a constant ache, though, even when he was still.

	After a brief inspection, Doctor Davis insisted that nothing appeared to be wrong with Fleischer's hands – that the muscles, tendons, and bones all seemed to be in order.  "It could very well be psychosomatic," he stated.  "After all, you were in the Respawn system for a very long time, and we still don't know all of the ramifications of that.  We'll keep an eye on it," he said with a little smile, before releasing the younger man's hands.  "And, if any other concerns arise, you're always free to use the intercom."

	Without any other issues to raise (that he was willing to raise), Nicklaus was left on his own, with a bowl of beef stew for lunch.  If nothing else, he was being well-fed, and even [i]that[/i] raised some level of suspicion.  It wasn't the hospital food he'd been given during the first leg of his stay, and as much as hospital food wasn't that pleasing to the palate, it was nutritionally sound.  He suspected that he was being fed better for the same reason that there was a lock on the bathroom door – peace of mind.

	By the time dinner – and his daily exam – rolled around, Fleischer was trying his best to move his fingers as little as possible.  He couldn't bring himself to be upset at Nurse Hayes for the pain that was elicited as she flexed his fingers, one by one, especially with the sympathetic look on her face.  "I'm sorry, Doctor Fleischer," she started, "but, there's nothing I can see wrong with your hands.  I can get you a mild painkiller if you'd like, though?  It might help," she added with a rueful smile.

	"No!" the Medic replied in a hurry, clearing his throat rather awkwardly (realizing how dry it felt, in the process), before giving a much more calm, "no, thank you.  It's not [i]that[/i] bad," yet.

	"If you're sure," Hayes said after a moment of hesitation, a worried expression forming on her face.  "We just want to make sure you're comfortable, doctor.  If you change your mind, just let someone know."

	Nicklaus was not eager to take any medication that anyone at this facility offered him.  His fingers hurt, yes, but painkillers would probably make him drowsy, and uncoordinated.  He wanted to be able to protect himself if he needed to – or at least cling to the illusion that he could defend himself against the League staff.

	Fleischer's exam, the nurse assured him, showed that everything was completely normal, beyond the fact that his throat seemed a little irritated.  He waited until Hayes was gone, however, before he filled a glass of water to drink.  He wasn't surprised, really – he had been talking to the nurse for some time, and he hadn't wanted to pour a glass in the middle of a conversation.

	He finished off the glass before getting in the shower.  Once he was cleaned up, the Medic found himself leaning back against the wall while the water ran down his skin.  He was not surprised, either, by the way the humid heat seemed to ease away the pain in his hands.  It was only when he realized that he was just standing there using up the water that he finally got out, and dried off.

	Nicklaus would have liked to know what time it was when he finally climbed into bed.  Regardless of the time, however, he was tired, which didn't help to quiet his mind so he could sleep in the slightest.  He was very nearly, finally, comfortably asleep when he started coughing.  Was he getting sick?  That was just what he needed – more unwanted attention from the medical staff.  It was a great relief to Fleischer, then, when a glass of water proved to be enough to soothe his throat so he could get to sleep.

***

	Despite not having an alarm clock, Fleischer woke up at the crack of dawn – not on his own, but, because of a coughing fit.  Being jerked so unpleasantly and unexpectedly from his sleep left him very briefly panicked.  Panic quickly gave way to irritation when he realized that his throat was dry, and his tongue kept wanting to stick to the roof of his mouth.  A tall glass of water quickly fixed that.

	The Medic knew he wasn't going to be getting back to sleep, and light was starting to shone through the window.  He decided, then to get his exercise out of the way.  Even that had to be taken slow, though – his fingers still ached, and his skin almost felt uncomfortably tight when he bent his body just so.  By the time he was done, his skin actually [i]itched[/i] a little, and he was eager, on some level, to get in the shower – after he'd had another glass of water.

	The hot water was a relief; it made his skin stop itching, and eased that faint, uncomfortable tightness.  It occurred to him that perhaps the humidity in his 'apartment' might just be very low – too low.  It was something worth bringing up with Hayes, or Davis, at least, especially if it didn't improve.

	Thoughts of humidity, however, were eventually supplanted in Fleischer's mind with thoughts of breakfast.  He hadn't realized just how hungry he was.  He let out a sigh and, hell, he could practically [i]smell[/i] breakfast.  Steak and eggs, he thought as he dried himself off, sounded good – sounded very good, even.

	Once he was dried off and dressed, Nicklaus stepped out of the bathroom, and was unsurprised to see a plate of breakfast waiting for him on the table.  He realized, however, that the reason he had 'smelled' breakfast – the reason he had suddenly thought of steak and eggs – was because steak and eggs were exactly what was on the plate, still fresh enough that there was a little steam trailing up from them.

	For a moment he pondered if, perchance, he had just imagined smelling breakfast, but, no – he could smell it even then, and it only got stronger the closer he stepped to the table.  By the time he sat down, the scent of scrambled eggs and steak was nearly overpowering in a rather wonderful way.  Fleischer suddenly, in fact, found himself hungry enough to forget how odd the circumstances were, and simply start eating his food.

	The Medic couldn't help but notice, however, the pain that chewing his food sent through his teeth and jaw.  It was faint enough that it didn't stop him from finishing his meal, but present enough that it couldn't be ignored.  Even brushing his teeth afterward wasn't exactly pleasant – his gums felt as tender as his fingers did, and there was nothing he could see in the mirror that would explain [i]why[/i].

	Perhaps it was just stress.  The mind could do fairly unpleasant things to the body if it was stressed, Fleischer knew, and his stay at the League facility had been nothing if not stressful.  It was a possible explanation, at least, as to why nothing appeared to be visibly wrong.

	The humidity was something Nicklaus was willing to bring up to Doctor Davis.  He was glad that he had a half-full glass of water left from eating the lunch he'd been brought, because talking to the man made him more than a little thirsty.  When the subject was raised, however, Isaac insisted that the humidity was right where it should be – but he added, with a little smile, that he would have the technicians double-check to be sure.

	Fleischer was relieved that the issue was supposedly going to be looked into, but he was even more relieved when Doctor Davis and his guards left.  It also gave him the chance to lock himself in the bathroom and get back in the shower.  His skin had started to itch again – had started to feel tight – and the water brought near instant relief.  It felt easier to move, and even easier to breathe in the humid air trapped by the shower curtain.

	The Medic even felt more alert, somehow.  It seemed almost like he could hear individual drops of water splat on the shower floor, and see the little droplets that were flung out by the impact.  Was he so relaxed that he could actually bother to notice?

	No.  No, that couldn't be it.  Nicklaus had always had good vision – twenty-ten, even – and it had never faltered or gotten fuzzy in any way in the past just because he'd fallen into some particularly tumultuous time.  The more he watched the droplets hit, in fact – the more he looked around the shower in general – the more it became apparent that his vision was actually [i]clearer[/i] than it had been before.  It was very faint, yes, but it was enough for him to notice.

	He kept quiet about it when Nurse Hayes brought his dinner, though.  In truth, the food was very distracting.  It was just chicken and noodles, but it smelled amazing, and it tasted amazing, and it was gone far sooner than Fleischer would have liked.  It still left his teeth and jaw hurting, though.

	"It must have been awfully good, Doctor Fleischer," the nurse stated.  "Would you like a second helping?"

	"Um…" Nicklaus stammered, more than a little embarrassed by the fact that he [i]had[/i] eaten so quickly.  "No, thank you," he finally replied, offering just a faint smile.  "It was good, though."

	They went ahead then, predictably, with the daily exam.  Everything went fine and normal (other than the fact that the nurse's hands seemed warmer still, today), until the Medic's temperature was taken.  Once the thermometer was removed from under his tongue, he noticed that the nurse looked at the reading for just a little longer than she ever had, before.  He tried to get a look at the thing, and realized that the mercury looked a little low – but, he couldn't quite make out the numbers before the thermometer was given a few good hard shakes.

	"Sorry," Hayes said with a little, sheepish smile.  "I must not have shaken it enough the first time.  Let's try it again."

	The thermometer placed back under Fleischer's tongue, and he made a conscious effort to get a decent glance at it when it was removed.  It was quickly turned so that the nurse could read the tiny numbers, but, the Medic had just enough time to catch a glimpse; the mercury was right where it had been the first time – thirty-five degrees centigrade.

	"That's better," the woman said as she put the thermometer away, despite it having given a reading that stood on the border of hypothermia.  "Everything looks normal, Doctor Fleischer.  Do you still not want any painkillers for your hands, or are they feeling better?"

	Nicklaus was silent for a long, tense moment.  "I'm fine," he lied, forcing a little smile.  He was sure that it wasn't as convincing as all of hers had been.

	"It's getting late, Doctor Fleischer," Hayes said, gathering up her things before standing up to leave.  "Get plenty of rest, okay?"  She didn't walk back out through the door before offering another little smile.

	It looked as though it came to her so easily.  Fleischer was not pleased by the fact that he probably knew why – lying seemed to come a lot more easily to those who did it often.  Or, perhaps, it came more easily to those who were unbothered by doing it.  He knew for a fact, though, that he was more relieved to see Hayes leave than he had ever been before, and he suddenly felt all the more isolated for it.

	The Medic's thoughts quickly turned to the thermometer as he, once again, locked himself in the bathroom.  Thirty-five degrees centigrade was, what, ninety-five Fahrenheit at best?  That was not a healthy core temperature.  He didn't feel very sluggish, though – wasn't even shivering.  None of the normal human reactions to hypothermia were there.  It did explain why the nurse's hands felt so much warmer, little comfort as that was.

	The shower, however, [i]was[/i] a comfort.  It made Fleischer's skin feel normal, again, and it made his mouth and throat feel a great deal less dry.  It even, once again, started to ease the pain in his fingers, which made cleaning himself a lot less unpleasant than it would have been.  It was only once he started to scrub himself down that  he noticed something else amiss – fine blond hairs on the washcloth.

	He quickly ran his fingers over his scalp before he noticed how short the strands on the cloth were.  When he looked down, the source become obvious.  The hair on his chest had been fairly sparse as it was, but, now, it suddenly seemed to be [i]falling out[/i].  It wasn't just his chest, either – it was everywhere from the neck down.  The water running down Fleischer's body seemed to be enough to dislodge some of the strands, and even light scrubbing was enough to remove everything else.

	The doctor ran his fingers through the hair on his head, again, and was at least marginally relieved when none of it came loose.  It still didn't explain what was washing down the drain, though.  As hard as he tried, it was impossible not to think about it – to think about [i]everything[/i], and he wound up lying awake in bed considerably longer than he wanted to.  He wasn't able to succumb to sleep at all, until his mind had finally exhausted itself.

***

	Fleischer had little desire to get out of bed.  His entire body ached.  His head was throbbing, and it felt like someone had wedged broken glass under his fingernails.  His gums didn't feel much better.  Hell, his mouth hurt in general, even beyond being almost painfully dry.  The man's skin didn't feel much better.  It was dry, and itched, and felt almost painfully tight.

	There was also something cool and damp and slightly sticky against the side of Nicklaus's face, and he suddenly noticed the sharp copper taste and [i]smell[/i] of blood.  He lifted his head just enough to confirm that there was a large, dark red blotch on the pillow, and he could feel more of it drying under his nose.  It was that feeling that caused Fleischer to finally mustered the will to roll out of bed, wincing as he did so, to drag himself to the shower.

	He couldn't help but notice as he passed the window that it was still dark out – and that the frosted texture on the glass was unusually sharp.  He shook his head a little at that, and the resulting wave of nausea made him immediately regret it.  That ill, dizzy feeling soon passed, though, allowing Fleischer to continue to the bathroom, locking the door behind.

	The Medic practically sobbed in relief when the water hit his skin.  He all but collapsed, just sitting on the shower floor, and letting the hot water run down his body.  It spray washed the blood off of his face, causing the water to run slightly red as it circled the drain.  Even when it was clear again, though, Fleischer could still detect a faded taste and smell of copper.

	Nicklaus tried to ignore it – tried not to think of much of [i]anything[/i].  It was impossible to ignore the pain, though.  His head was pounding, and the rest of his body didn't feel much better.  The sharp ache in his fingers was almost enough to make him scream.  He didn't want to scream, though, and wound up compromising and finally breaking down into tears, instead.

	The water was his only comfort.  It looked, and sounded, and even [i]smelled[/i] nice.  It was warm, and gentle, and soothing.  Fleischer distantly realized that he was more comfortable there than he had been in bed a few moments before.  He was also exhausted, and it was to the feeling of warm water running over his skin that he finally slumped forward and all but passed out.

	It didn't seem to be very long, however, before Fleischer woke up.  He could still feel water flowing over his skin, though it was cooler than it had been before.  It took him a moment to notice that he was lying on his side, though, curled up a little to make his body fit in the relatively small space.  Somewhere beyond the shower curtain – beyond the bathroom door – he could smell food.  It didn't smell like breakfast food, though, and Fleischer just wound up wondering how long he'd been out.

	There was no telling the passage of time.  There was no clock, and the light shining through the window was almost certainly artificial, which meant it could be dimmed or brightened on a whim.  Enough time had passed, however, that Nicklaus could bear the pain his body was in enough to leave the shower and get dressed.  He wasn't surprised to see that his bloodied pillow had been taken away and replaced.

	He was also slightly surprised, though the scent should have given it away, that there was another prime cut of steak on the plate that was resting on the table.  It was almost excruciating to hold a knife and fork, and almost as bad to chew.  It tasted delicious, though, and Fleischer had been so hungry.

	Nicklaus was nearly done with his food – was biting down on the last piece of steak – when he heard a crunch, and felt something in his mouth give out.  More than a little startled, he wound up spitting out the last bite of steak, and heard something hard strike the plate, as well.  There was a sharp taste of blood in the doctor's mouth, and he soon saw the cause lying on the plate…

	…a tooth.  Or, the remains of a tooth, at least.  Fleischer's hand was more than a little shaky as he picked it up to get a better look.  It had been a canine at one point, but the tooth was hollowed out, somehow, and there was nothing to suggest that the root had broken off so much as dissolved away.  It almost looked like a life-like cap that had been meant to fit over something else.

	He all but rushed to the bathroom to look in the mirror and try to see what had happened.  His upper right canine was gone.  There was something in its place – the emerging crown of another canine that would have looked completely normal were it not for the fact that it tapered to a single sharp point.  He pressed his tongue against one of his molars, and it didn't take any great deal of force to snap it free.  The Medic jumped a little at the feeling – at the brief pain, and the sudden taste of blood.  It was like the canine, though – an emerging tooth, almost identical to its original barring cusps that ended in sharp points.  They weren't as long or as pointed as the first tooth, but they were still certainly cause for alarm.

	Nicklaus quickly turned on the sink to rinse the blood out of his mouth, and when he spit he heard what he was sure was another tooth clink its way down the drain.  The thought of what was happening, and not [i]knowing[/i] what was happening, made his heart race, and made him more than a little sick.  He retreated to the shower, and turned on the hot water as fast as  he could manage.  Grabbing the lever made pain shoot through his fingers, and the feeling of a fingernail catching on the curtain as he pulled it shut finally made him scream.

	It almost felt as though the nail had been bent back, or maybe torn loose entirely.  A few drops of blood – darker than they should have been – stained the water dripping from Fleischer's fingertips, and he was too afraid of what he would see to lift his hand and look.  Instead, he just sank to the floor, sobbing helplessly, and hurting all over, and trying, and failing, to remain conscious as he felt his body start to grow heavy.

***

	Fleischer could hear and feel a familiar thrumming when he finally cracked his eyes open, again.  The light was entirely too bright, and he let out a small groan as he closed them, again.  He could hear things – people talking, and feet shuffling on the floor, and the sound of metal clanking against metal.  He forced his eyes back open and made another small, unhappy sound when he felt a sharp tug on one of his fingers.

	"Did that hurt?" a voice – Davis? – asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

	Nicklaus tiredly shook his head in return.  It hadn't hurt, no – it had just been a little jarring.  He spent a moment looking around what little of the room he could see.  He didn't recognize any of it, other than Isaac's slightly wavering form leaning over him.  He tried to address the older man, but his tongue felt heavy in his mouth, and something was keeping him from bringing his teeth together.

	"Don't try to talk," Isaac said, resting a hand gently on the younger man's shoulder.  "You'll hurt yourself.  We don't want that," he added, giving a little smile.

	Fleischer shook his head at that, and groaned again when he felt another quick tug.  He gave a small sigh of relief, however, when he felt something warm, and soft, and damp being wrapped around his hand.  The rest of his body was uncomfortably cool, though, and it wasn't a moment after he shivered that another blanket was placed over him.  He tried to mumble a 'thank you', but couldn't quite manage it.

	Doctor Davis just smiled faintly in return.  "Don't worry about it," he insisted.  "They were coming in rather rapidly – it's no wonder you were in so much pain.  We're just trying to make you comfortable.  You'll feel a lot better when we're done.  It's going to be awhile, though, so it might be best for you to go back to sleep while you wait."