Darryl sits in silence, in stillness. There is a curious feeling in the back of his mind, a sense of waiting that makes him edgy, like he's treading along a precipice and isn't sure yet why. It's an absent awareness, oblique and not quite within his grasp. Not yet. He isn't at all sure he wants to look at it directly.

Two days ago, Wren tried to get him to come over, have dinner at the apartment she shares with Jian. He refused. For some reason, he keeps seeing her expression as she looked back at him, pausing before stepping out over the threshold of Talon's home. Keeps hearing the words she spoke.

"You need to move on. It's been three weeks."

He only stared at her, and after a time she sighed, left. He wonders what she saw on his face. He suspects it might have been rude, but doesn't really care.

There is a gun in the holster buckled around Darryl's chest and shoulders. Spare clips in the pockets of his cargo pants. The cloth of his turtleneck is soft, but it feels scratchy against his skin. Starchy. Stiff.

Darryl stands up, picks up his coat and puts it on over the shoulder rig.

The waiting sensation won't let him remain still any longer.

It is over a month later when he steps into the observation unit of the Italian hospital, but time has long since ceased to have any meaning for him. He has not slept. He does not how long it has been since he last stopped moving, paused for a moment. Time does not exist for him now.

The nurse on duty looks up with a smile, expression faltering for a moment as she takes him in. She asks him something in Italian, but the words don't make any sense. He wonders, for a fleeting moment, if he knows Italian. He thinks he does, but can't be sure. Maybe he doesn't. Maybe it's French.

"A patient."

The woman stares at him.

"I'm here to see a patient." His voice is surprisingly smooth. For some reason, he feels like it shouldn't be.

The nurse reaches over and taps some keys, glancing at her monitor before looking up at him. "Do you know their room number?"

Darryl can only shake his head. He opens his mouth, but the air to speak dies in his throat before he can make a sound. There is a voice coming from behind him.

"See, I told you. I told you he'd come to find me." The voice is immensely satisfied. Almost vindicated.

The nurse looks exasperated, staring past him and starting to rise to her feet. Her mouth is open, moving. Darryl cannot hear any sounds coming from it.

Darryl turns slowly. He is very aware of the waiting, tension coiling like a steel cable somewhere inside him. Drawn too tight.

Talon looks tired. He's leaning heavily on a cane, favoring his left side. His hair has been chopped shorter, and he's lost weight - his cheeks are hollowed slightly, deep shadows like bruises under his eyes. He's smiling at Darryl.

"I told you he'd come and help me find my way back."

Darryl ignores the nurse, who's coming around from behind the desk, and steps forward. Talon's hair is a brush of feathers against his cheek. The cane clatters forgotten on the floor.

The cable is drawn taut, impossibly so. Snaps.

Talon clutches him, hand on the back of Darryl's neck pulling his face into Talon's shoulder, and strokes Darryl's hair. Runs his fingers through it. He makes small sounds that mean nothing, and everything. They are holding each other up.