"Tell me more about your life before the illness" I said dreamily.

"Do I get another kiss?"

"I think I built up a credit to earn this story. But you can have one anyways" I said, leaning up and kissing him lightly. We lay in his bed, resting despite the fact that the sun had risen hours ago.

I had never slept so well in my life, wrapped up in his arms, as I still was now and had been all night. I felt his fingers playing with the edge of my shirt, occasionally rubbing the sensitive skin of my hip.

"I continued on being a soldier, before and after everyone became ill, after the nuclear weapons went off... even now. It is all I know how to do"

"What about your family?"

His hand stopped moving, as well as the rest of his body.

"They died" he said finally, barely above a whisper.

"Who? Your mother? Your father? Your wife?..."

"I have never been married" he had a talent for not answering me.

"Why not?"

He looked down at me, brow furrowed.

"I never thought it was a good idea. Being what I was... close connections became liabilities"

"So you never met anyone you wanted to marry?" surely that wasn't the case.

"No"

I pondered that for a while before persisting. "What about your parents?"

He sighed over dramatically, "you never forget do you?"

"No sir, continue please" I said quietly.

"My father died when I was thirteen. He had always been a strong man, never thought he needed medicine or current health care. He slowly began to deteriorate with age but refused to go to the hospital. He died of kidney failure." his tone became distant and cold, and the only thing I felt I could do was place my palm on his cheek, giving him a kiss on the chin.

"My mother died when she crashed her car into a tree. She tried to drive to the store at night, thinking she could make it there and back without her Huntington's being too big of an issue. I had three sisters, all of which were younger than me. The youngest was shot in the line of duty, had only been in the police force for six months. The oldest worked for the CIA. One mission, I was infiltrating a Russian prison when I discovered the base empty. The Russians had been tipped off about the raid by captured CIA operatives, whom they had tortured for hours and left for dead. My sister was there, beaten beyond belief, her body left lying in the chair she was strapped in. My middle sister, Leanna, was the only reason I kept faith in life. She graduated high school, college, became a surgeon, married a man, had a son and daughter and lived in a beautiful house in Georgia. When I dreamed of home, I dreamed of her house, of visiting my sister and her family. One day, I returned to their home to find the house empty. The police report claimed that my brother in law stabbed them all four times before killing himself with a gun. The coroners report agreed, describing the amount of time it took each victim to bleed out from their wounds. I do not make emotional attachments because people die. People die and they leave you alone. I stopped showing emotions because it keeps people from trying to make emotional attachments with you" he finished, becoming cold as ice.

"I am so sorry" I said, stroking his face.

"It is done. It has passed. I cannot fix what has already happened to me" he responded.

"Yes but you can fix how you cope"

"I do not think I can" I answered truthfully.

"Well I know I can" I assured him, drawing his head down to meet my forehead with his own.

"The sun always sets in the West"

"And always rises in the East" I reminded, trying to snuggle into his embrace.

___________________

"Where is your lives tattoo?" I asked as he walked to his dresser. He stilled with his hands on the cherry wood, staring downward at the surface.

"Where it has always been"

"I beg to differ, I've seen you shirtless twice now" I contradicted.

"I made the ink white"

"Why?"

"To keep people from asking questions, Little Dove". He was angry? Why would my asking about his lives make him angry?

"I don't... Understand. Why are you angry? Keep people from asking questions about what?" I persisted.

"I have my lives, and they are my business only" his time was immensely defensive.

"Where is your tattoo?" my aggression obvious in my tone now. I slowly crawled out of bed, approaching him.

"The same place it has always been" he snapped, facing me.

I finally stood in front of him, less than an arms length away, yet still I could not see his tattoo. I reached up to his left side, trying to run my hand over his ribs, but before I could he knocked my arm aside with his forearm.

Angrily, I shoved him against the dresser. He took the hit and bumped against the hard wood object, making it rattle. Glaring at him, I reached for his side again. He easily grabbed both my arms and pinned them at my side.

"Stop" I ordered harshly. When he tried to stare me down, I didn't let him. Knowing that the intensity of my eyes could be a powerful weapon, I turned on the stubborn fire, intending to smolder him to death. Eventually, he sighed and looked away from me, releasing my arms.

I reached up and ran my hand along his side, looking for the smallest difference in texture. I found it under his last rib, faint but detectable. Leaning in, I tried to discern the translucent number there.

"Is that... is that a seven!?" My voice was an angry shriek, shocking spiking the pitch.

"Yes, although it belongs to a 70"

"70!? You had 80... 80! Just fifty years ago, you had ten more lives than you do now. What happened to all of your lives?" I felt panic set in.

"I used them"

"Used them on what?! You used ten lives in fifty years when you hadn't used one life in a thousand years before that?! What is going on?!" I snapped, hitting him repeatedly.

"I can show you" he said finally as his eyes traced my face.

"Show me" I ordered harshly, gesturing to the door.

___________________

"What is your pod hooked up to?" I asked slowly, circling the giant contraption.

We had ridden the elevator to a basement floor not listed on the panel. Brittock had to put a key into the elevator and pressed two buttons in conjunction to get the elevator to this floor.

"A converter of sorts. I designed it with the help of an individual who is quite technologically adept"

"And what does it do?" I asked, knowing the answer but fearing his response all the same.

"It takes a year of my life, a life's worth of energy, and converts it to electricity that can power this city for five years. I die once every five years to keep this city going" he answered casually.

"You have sacrificed ten years of your life so these people can watch tv?" The disbelief in my tone was magnanimous.

"I have sacrificed ten years of my life to keep these people safe and happy. I had nothing else to live for, no reason to save my lives forever, so I found a better use!" he snapped, getting in my face.

"I...I-" words escaped me as I stared at his face. Instead, I turned and left, taking the elevator to the top floor to hide in my room.