"Sometimes I dream that I died that day." Her voice drifts, thoughtful, almost distractedly, from the open window where she watches the setting sun and feels the cooling breeze stir, raising goosebumps on her flesh. "But then I awake, and breathe, feel myself within my own body… surely that is proof of life enough, isn't it?"
Bethany's gaze shifts over to him. "But then, we live in a world where biological functions, or at least a facsimile of them, can persist beyond death. The boundary doesn't seem so clear anymore. What do you think, Al? Do you believe something essential in us is lost when we die? Is it possible to be dead and not know?"
"Well, I detect no signs of necrotic damage." He muses, after circling her like a cat; looking her over with diligence, brushing her hair back from her shoulders and taking a good look at her, as if he truly expected to find something. "Your eyes look bright and beautiful, as always."
"Your heartrate is a little elevated," He notes, as his hand slides down her arm and gently grasps her wrist, his thumb pressed against her skin to feel her pulse. "I am afraid it might be related to your recent reckless infatuation with that blend of cinnamon tea." He delivers the devastating news with cold professionalism, leaning against the wall with a solemn expression, before he drops the act just as quickly, and his lips twist into a crooked little smirk. "Overall, you appear to be quite alive."
Such moments of self-doubt and fear are often successfully diffused with a humorous approach. But he would not dismiss her concerns by being flippant. Studying her, touching her, and measuring her heart rate, are concrete, practical steps that will hopefully alleviate her concerns in the moment. But, that is the easy part. There would have been times when he had not been there to done so, in the past, and there will be times when he won't be there, again. Such are the demands of the life he has chosen for himself.
It would be unwise not to let her know herself, not to allow her to know him, and their kind. Her power, her true nature, already languished amongst the wretched humanity that surrounded them.
"You are alive, Bethany. I can feel you. The flora that bows to you now, feels it too."
He had to be so measured, so careful with what to divulge, and when. But there were times when a degree of honesty was in order. "My strain doesn't activate in its full capacity until the host is on a brink of death." The scar cutting through his stomach wasn't very noticeable. It was off in colour and texture, discoloured and thin. Most wouldn't have noticed it, had they seen it, but their shared intimacy had allowed her to see and feel it up-close. His hand instinctively reaches for it, as he ponders his next words. "The stress inflicted upon the body forces the strain to attempt to mitigate the damage, activating it and healing the host with the goal of preserving it, for the strain's own survival."
"It was ...different, waking up, after the fact. It was ...fascinating."
He is quick to catch himself, before he goes any further. His expression softens, as he smiles at her, feigning a degree of embarrassment for his rambling.
"I don't mean to disturb you, but..."
"...if I lost anything then, I have not missed it, since."
