When Sanidine teleported away, he was barely aware that he was even doing it. Basic thoughts flashed through his head--pain, escape, hide. There was a throbbing in his head, somewhere between a migraine and having your skull cleaved open. He was clutching his head, and while the screaming had died somewhere mid-teleport, his throat was raw.

He had a hand on either side of his temple but nothing seemed to dispel the pain in his head--or his chest.

It had been hard to breathe and, lightheaded, he stumbled backwards--into a bookcase.

He forced his eyes opened and glanced around; there was a loud humming in his ears that reminded him of shattering glass--nonstop shattering glass. He couldn't hear anything, but he felt the books that fell onto him--the ground.

He was in his office.

Papers had spilled across his desk--information on youma, about reports he was writing and things he'd observed. Briefly his mind flashed to Evan. Evan, who he'd been a year ago. Evan, the youma he'd bonded with.

Evan, who for a brief second, he'd seen.

Or, at least, he'd thought he'd seen.

Warm tears appeared in his eyes and they stung, like they'd been laced with salt and sand. He swore under his breath and tried to wipe at them. He didn't consider it crying, he just hurt.

It had nothing to do with the fact that maybe--maybe--after all this time, Evan was back.

"Oh, s**t," he muttered, in a voice he didn't recognize as his own. He wobbled on his feet and suddenly his stomach felt like it had turned upside down. He dropped to his knees and groped for the trashcan by his desk. He'd had seconds only before the contents of his stomach erupted.

The next few minutes were just a mess; he vomited until he had nothing left in him. He wasn't sure what happened but somewhere between dry heaving and dealing with the world spinning, he must have laid down. He was cold--and hot--and cold--and stuck in a cycle between the two. He had curled into himself and found himself both trembling and sweating and clutching at his chest.

The more he thought about it, the more he doubted his sanity, the more he questioned what he saw.

The group. A wand. A light. Evan.

It had been Evan, hadn't it? He was alive, right?

Sanidine tried to teleport to the alleyway to see, but when he tried he wound up a few feet away. It seemed like it took twice as much energy as he was used to. When he tried to push himself up, his arm gave out on him and he figured it was probably smartest to just lay there. He didn't have any appointments and it wasn't likely that anyone was going to come to his office.

He could just stay there.

What he couldn't do was think that he'd lost Evan. He'd been clinging to this one idea--this one hope, this one goal.

Everything had happened so fast and he just couldn't keep up with it.

He tried one last thing. With what energy he did have left, he tried to summon Evan to him.

There was nothing to hold onto, nothing to pull. It was like reaching into empty space and grabbing air.

He laughed, both bitter hopeful, but it was hard to be happy when he felt like this.

If it had worked, Lysithea would take care of him.

He'd take care of himself, and as soon as he was better, he'd help.

He'd been holding on for as long as he could, torn by anxiety and fear he didn't want to admit. Waves of fatigue were pulsing over him and he had to squeeze his eyes shut again to try and stop the world from spinning. It didn't help. The pain still radiated from his chest like an open wound; it seemed less like it had ebbed and more like his nerves were too fried to feel the full brunt of it.

The muscles in Sanidine's stomach clenched as if someone had stuck their hand into his gut and twisted.

He fought against unconsciousness in the same way he fought against everything.

He was too stubborn to accept it as the blessing it was.