After some weak knocking he knew was barely audible, the door opened.

"I need your help," Marcus said before the woman standing in the doorway could say anything.

Completely spent, Marcus fell forward.

"Marcus!" the woman with dyed purple hair and bright blue eyes said.

Marcus was much taller than her, and his unexpected weight nearly made her fall backwards as she caught him. Struggling, she dragged him backwards into her apartment. Unceremoniously she let him flop to the floor, face–first. It frightened her when there was a thud, but he made no vocalization. Head darting out of the door briefly to make sure there were no pesky neighbors, she slammed her door shut and double-locked it. On some level she made note of the long trail of blood that now stained the hallway floor.

"Fuck, Marc!" she said with a grunt, flipping him onto his back. "What happened?!"

His unusual green eyes fluttered open a second before talking. "Blood. I need blood."

"No shit?" she snapped at him irritable, noticing his burnt cheek and brow in addition to the more obvious, lethal wound to his neck. "Where am I supposed to get any?"

Marcus managed to shake his head. "Hurry."

The woman got to her feet, panicking. "How long have you got?"

Marc didn't reply.

"Hey! Answer me!"

His eyes fluttered open again. "Not long."

"Oh fuck me...I'll be right back, yeah?"

Marcus didn't reply. Swearing repeatedly, she left the apartment, not looking forward to what she had to do.

~

Z.Z. (a name she loathed, preferring the moniker Zoë instead) knew better than to go into the apartment. When a vampire was as badly wounded as Marc was, they entered a predatory state—a state Zoë had the unfortunate opportunity to witness first hand once. Truthfully, Zoë was a bit surprised he hadn't ripped her limb from limb as soon as she opened the door initially. It spoke to not only Marc's sheer willpower, but also their bond. She was touched, in a strange, disturbing, weird sort of way.

Zoë unlocked the door. Hesitating just a moment, she cracked the door open. Through the sliver she caught sight of Marc, lying exactly where she had left him. She pressed her lips into the crack.

"Hey Marc, it's me, okay?"

Marcus didn't stir. Taking a deep, shaking breath, Zoë opened the door enough to make room for the dog she had stolen to enter her apartment. At first she had contemplated stealing her neighbor's dog, but there were problems with that. First, it was a pomeranian, much too small for what Marc would need. Second, she would feel terrible doing this to an animal she knew.

So, Zoë had hurried down the street through the cover of night, peeking over fences until she found a dog left in its yard. She had coaxed it out and back home with her. Feeling awful, she had refused to look at its name tag. She made it a point to not even look if it were a boy or girl.

"Go ahead, go in," Zoë said quietly to the dog.

The dog, some sort of lab, turned its head and licked her face, wagging its tail. She moaned, really not wanting to do this. Honestly though, she owed one to the dying vampire in her apartment.

"C'mon, go in," she said, trying to keep her voice steady and happy.

Still the dog didn't budge. Sighing in annoyance, Zoë opened the door a little more, shoving the dog inside. As soon as there was clearance, she snapped the door shut, quickly locking it. Honestly she knew that locking it wouldn't make a difference if Marc became unable to control himself; it gave her a false sense of safety, and she pushed logic from her mind.

It was, thankfully, done quickly. Zoë tried to not listen to the animal sounds that came from her home. There was growling, joined by then more growling. There was a brief scuffle, during which the hallway was filled with harsh barking. After some thudding the dog yelped—then nothing.

Zoë took in a deep breath when the sound of the door unlocking met her ears. Marcus barely opened the door, peering out at her from beneath his shoulder-length, straight blonde hair.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

He still didn't look well, a look similar to when a person had a fever. Zoë frowned.

"You okay?"

A pause, and then, "For now."

"Can I come in?"

Marc paused again, clearly weakened, but then nodded. Bracing herself, Zoë walked into her apartment. Shutting the door behind her, she tried to ignore the dead dog and the blood stain from Marcus' wound on her carpet. It was even harder to ignore the smeared blood over his mouth and chin. Instead, she busied herself with helping Marc as he struggled to take off his coat. Once he was free from the temporary constraint, Zoë led him to the couch.

"What in the flying fuck happened to you?"

Marc chuckled. "My past."

Zoë screwed up her face. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Marcus sighed heavily, closing his eyes. He rubbed at them, and then looked at Zoë evenly. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Z.Z."

Marc was one of the only people she let call her by her actual name. Really, he was the only one.

Zoë rolled her eyes. "I mean, duh. You're what, a three-hundred-something year old vampire? I'd be surprised if there wasn't stuff I didn't know."

Marc chuckled. "Shush. I'm too hurt right now to be logical."

That made Zoë laugh. It was a good sign if he was being silly.

"Seriously though," Marcus said quietly. "Thank you."

Zoë got to her feet, yawned, and stretched her arms over her head. She then shrugged. "I feel like I owe ya one."

Marc chuckled and looked off to the side. "You definitely owe me one. Let's call it even now."

"You're covered in—" Zoë didn't want to say the word, nervous it would just remind Marc how hungry he still was. "Er, you're a mess. How about you shower, and I'll take your clothes down to the washing machine and wash them."

"Sure," he said gratefully, standing unsteadily. He started to walk to the bathroom, but then paused. "Uh, how about you stay down there? That way I can, er, clean up after myself."

Zoë shuddered. "Good idea."

Once undressed, Marcus handed Zoë the ball that were his soiled clothes. She smiled.

"See you in about an hour and a half."

"Z.Z.?"

She looked at him as he peered out at her with sad eyes.

"Sorry."

Trying to make him feel better, she smirked. "Don't apologize—it's making you way less scary, and I know you like to pretend you're harder than just a fluffy ball of love."

Marcus chuckled and then closed the door.