I've spent months pretending like I don't need anybody. For days I was locked in my suite and I didn't even tell Jim. I didn't want him to think there was a way he could fix anything after all he'd broken between us.

But I can't fix this on my own. I'm not a doctor, and I don't know how far away the closest autodoc might be. I'm not sure I'd have the strength to find one, anyway. So I open my eyes to this stranger who could be anyone but isn't Jim, Gus or Arthur, and try to figure out how he could be here.

How I can be here. But it's all too much and instead I just look between his eyes and my arm, his jacket not quite dark enough to hide my blood. "I'm sorry," I say, weak but somehow still restrained. "I'm ruining it."