OK, he wasn’t entirely wrong. Hill wasn’t about to admit that, though.
“Reynolds, then,” he corrected himself, unnecessary though they both knew it was. “You think interfering with his brain with your…tentacles…”
He hesitated as he said that and glanced at the tentacles. The physical presence—metaphysical?—of the tentacles didn’t throw him anymore; even their casual handsiness didn’t, but for some reason the word always got stuck on his tongue like oatmeal.
Tentacles.How could he talk casually about that? It seemed impossible, but Hill made himself press on.
“You think that’s what made him fixate on me?”
Davy shrugged. “It makes sense.”
Did it? Hill had not gotten that memo.
“It does?” he asked.
Davy opened the fridge. He hitched his shoulders up in a shudder as the cold hit him and then reached in to sort through the juices. Most of them, apparently, didn’t meet his standards.
“I saw it happen once,” Davy explained. He picked out a bottle of kombucha to regard dubiously. After a second, he shrugged to himself and twisted the lid off. “Back when I was alive. This sniper we were working with got the shit kicked out of him by some kid’s family. He ended up being cycled through the docs, the shrinks, and finally the priest. Apparently, it was some sort of half-assed possession. He’d crossed paths with a spirit who had enough in common with him that his brain got confused between what washimand what wasit.”
“And you think you and Reynolds have something in common?” Hill asked. He wasn’t sure who the dubious note in his voice insulted. Probably someone.
Davy took a swig of juice and then wiped the back of his mouth on his arm. He gave Hill a lazy once-over and then smirked slowly.
“Oh, there’s a couple of things,” he said.
At this point, Hill had accepted that the dead could blush; he just wished it wasn’t so easy for Davy to make him flustered and hot. He had to clear his throat and take a moment to shuffle his thoughts back on track. Once he did, he remembered why he was annoyed.
“Oh, right, so it’s a thing,” he said and stalked forward to glare at Davy. If he could have poked him in the chest, he would have. “And you thought it was a good idea tostick your tentacle up his nose again?”
Davy looked thoughtful.
“Yeah,” he said after a pause. “Either he goes off the rails and Fraser has to deal with that, or he wants in your pants enough hegets us the password…and Fraser has to deal with that. Win-win for us.”
He swigged from the bottle and then lowered it, holding it out so he could frown at it.
“This is disgusting,” he said. “Why do I want more?”
“That’s how I feel about you,” Hill said sourly.
In isolation, in his head, it was cutting. Once he’dsaidit out loud…
Davy grinned. “How I got laid alive, too,” he admitted.
It was… Hill gave up. He sat down on the floor and buried his head in his hands, fingers twisted through his tangled hair. There were no chemicals to give him the familiar come down from the panic and flight and rage. He kind of missed them. The emotional hangover was worse.
Where the hell was he supposed to start? He pressed his thumbs against the side of his nose as he thought about it. Which of the moral or practical problems he had with what Davy had just done needed to take pole position?
Something cracked somewhere. A second later kombucha and glass splattered over his knees.
Through, technically, and all over the floor. It looked like he’d soiled himself in some sort of horrendous way. He stared at it for a second and then looked up at Davy, who was holding a jagged stump of bottle in one hand.
“I didn’t…” Hill fumbled over the horrified apology. He remembered the bloody alley and the scoured-clean muzzle of the Hound. He glanced back down at the splattered vinegar and tea and imagined it in red as his stomach twisted. “You…are you…”
“Shit, if it means that much to you,” Davy said as he crouched down. A tentacle slid under Hill’s chin to tip his eyes up away from the mess. “I’ll not complain about what’s in your fridge again.”
Hill laughed. He caught himself and rubbed his hand roughly over his face.
“Don’t,” he said. “It’s not funny. I could hurt you.”
