Page 98 of Vital Signs

"Lead the way," I told Eli, steeling myself for what might be an uncomfortable conversation.

The transition from the warm, crowded house to the crisp night air was jarring. The back porch stretched into darkness, weathered boards creaking under my boots. Portable heaters glowed orange against the night, their warmth barely denting the January cold. Xion and Boone stood at the railing, sharing a cigarette and talking quietly. Further along the porch, partially hidden in shadow, stood Xander.

Eli touched my arm lightly. "I'll be inside if you need anything," he said, with a pointed look toward Xander. Then he disappeared, leaving me to face Misha's best friend alone.

I approached Xander, giving him space rather than crowding. He watched my approach, taking a long drag from what smelled like premium weed. The smoke curled from his lips as he studied me.

"Clean looks good on you," he said, surprising me with the absence of open hostility. "How many days now?"

"Nine," I replied, caught off guard by the question. "Give or take a few hours."

Xander nodded, offering the joint. "Peace offering? It's just weed, not a gateway."

I hesitated only a second before accepting. The weed was top-shelf, smoother than anything I'd had in years. The familiarburn in my lungs centered me, quieting the constant screaming anxiety that had followed me into this house of killers.

"Misha doesn't let many people in," Xander said after a moment. "Not since Paris."

I passed the joint back, making sure to maintain eye contact. "I know."

"Do you know what it took for him to trust after Roche? What it means that he fought his family for you?"

Each question hit like a precision strike, finding vulnerabilities I thought I'd hidden. When Xander mentioned Roche, my gaze flicked to Misha. "You're right. I don't know everything he went through. But I do know what it's like to have people give up on you."

Xander's expression flickered with surprise. He hadn't expected restraint.

"You didn't see it. Not all of it," I continued, my voice growing rougher despite my efforts. The calm slipped as memories surfaced.

"I know enough." Xander's voice softened unexpectedly. "I know he cried over you. I know he chose you over his family, and I've been trying to figure out why."

The raw pain in his voice caught me off guard. This wasn't just jealousy or posturing. This was genuine fucking grief from someone afraid of losing his best friend.

The door opened before I could respond. Misha stepped out, eyes immediately finding mine, then Xander's. His expression changed, worry crossing his face as he took in our tense postures.

"Everything okay out here?" he asked, moving to stand between us.

"Just getting to know Hunter better," Xander replied, his smile small but genuine. "Trying to understand why you've been hiding him from us."

Misha relaxed slightly. "I haven't been hiding him. He's been recovering."

"And now he's here," Xander said. "You brought him to family dinner."

"I did." Misha's voice softened. "Because he matters to me."

Xander looked away, fingers fidgeting with the joint. "That's the part I'm still working on understanding."

"What's so hard to understand?" Misha asked quietly.

"Why him?" Xander's voice cracked slightly, revealing the hurt beneath his question. "Out of everyone... after everything we've been through together, you left without a word. For him."

I shifted uncomfortably, recognizing the wounded look of someone watching their world change without their consent. His anger wasn't really about me. It was about feeling left behind.

Misha's expression softened. "Xan..."

"Don't 'Xan' me," Xander snapped, but the heat was fading. Just exhaustion in its place. "You left me."

"I didn't leave you," Misha said quietly. "I left being treated like broken glass. I never left you."

Xander looked away, eyes suspiciously wet. "Feels the same."