“Why’d you change your hair?” I said, startling myself. Had I said that out loud?

She shifted. I couldn’t see her facial expression. She turned her head away. “I wanted a change.”

I let my heavy lids drop over my eyes again, weary. I didn’t want to fight anymore. I didn’t want to be angry. She’d murdered my heart, but I didn’t want vengeance. I didn’t want this pain weighing down every thought and action. “You’ve made a lot of changes lately.”

“Adam, you’re starting to worry me. Your speech is slurring.” She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out her key chain. “Can I look in your eyes?”

Was that a joke? I turned my head. “What?”

“You could be having a stroke.”

“I’m not having a stroke. It’s actually feeling a little better.”

She bent over me. “Will it hurt if I shine this key light in your eyes? Just for a second?”

“Why not just jab some chopsticks in there while you’re at it?”

She sighed.

I didn’t say anything for a long moment. The majority of the pain was easing up, slowly.

“Okay, you can look, but no more than two seconds.”

“Two seconds per eye?”

She bent over me and pushed on a tiny light—what I thought was her key light. Asked me to open my eyes as she leaned in close. I could smell her skin, her hair, the laundry soap she used on her clothing. The familiar scents of Emilia. My gut tightened. My hand twitched at my side. I wanted more than anything to reach up and touch her. To smooth my hand across her cheek. I let it fall before it was an inch off the surface of the couch.

She straightened, turning off the light. Thank God, because it’d felt like she was sticking pins in my eyes as she used it.

“Anisocoria,” she said, her voice heavy with concern.

“Do what?”

“Your pupils are not dilated to the same size. Has anyone mentioned that to you before? I’d never noticed because your eyes are so dark.”

“My pupils aren’t the same size? Huh. I’m lopsided?”

“It’s common enough if they’ve always been like that—one fifth of the population has anisocoria, but if they haven’t been…well, you should get a CAT scan or an MRI to check.”

“Had both done, many times.”

She paused. “Really? How long have you been having these headaches?”

“Since I was twelve.”

“Shit. How come I never knew?”

I was silent for a moment. “There’s a lot you don’t know, isn’t there?” A lot she’d never bothered to stick around long enough to learn.

She paused. “You do love your secrets.”

Yes. That was true. We both did.

“Are you sure I can’t get you some water?”

“Just stay here and talk to me for a minute. I’ll be okay.”

She shifted beside me, sliding on the floor but resting her arm on the couch beside me. “Okay. But I’d really like to do something. I feel helpless.”

“I’ve known that feeling all too often lately.”

She sighed. “What therapies have you tried? For your migraines?”

I blew out a breath. “I don’t want to talk about my migraines.”

“What about acupuncture, or acupressure?”

“No one is sticking needles in me.”

“I know some pressure points for migraines. My mom had them when she was…when she was going through chemo. Medication didn’t work, so I studied up on pressure points.”

“A codeine and Vicodin cocktail can barely put a dent in a good migraine. I doubt poking me is going to do anything.”

“Can I try?”

“You’re going to make the world’s weirdest doctor. Western MDs usually don’t go in for that stuff.”

“Give me your hand,” she said.

I held out my hand and she turned it over, resting it atop hers so that my palm was facing up. Then she placed a finger at the center of my wrist, measured about an inch up and applied pressure. A weird, almost electric jolt shot up my arm.

“Does that help at all?”

“No.”

She increased the pressure for a long moment. “How about now?”

“Nope.”

“Hmm. Well, this is the spot. There are others on the feet.”

“Why not just use your Jedi powers to heal me?”

She laughed. “Damn it, Jim, I’m a doctor, not a Sith lord!”