He shook his head. “I’ve been through those already.” He sank into his chair and held his head in his hands. “This is so frustrating. I can look through those files and remember the names on most of them. But what I can’t remember is exactly where I was in the investigations before . . .” He gestured weakly.

“You should have a partner,” I said. “I mean, besides yours truly. Because we seem to get into some real shit when we partner up.”

He turned his eyes to me. “I remember you getting into shit. Constant, unending shit. You telling me I got dragged into that nonsense with you?”

I pointed to my arm. “You have a scar there, right? That’s from getting dragged into nonsense with me.”

He held his palms out to his sides. “I got hit by a car. I have scars everywhere.”

True. I had forgotten what a bloody mess he’d been—scraped everywhere, it seemed. Kneeling on the road next to him, it had been impossible to figure out where the blood was coming from and how bad the wounds were, especially with my own colors going crazy. I just had to go on the assumption that the wounds were bad. Really bad. And they were. But he was not dead, and that was what mattered the most.

“Fine. You want to know about what we were doing?”

He studied me for a moment, chewing on his lower lip. “Maybe not,” he said. “I can only handle so many of your emergencies at a time.”

“Fair enough,” I said, coming around the desk to stand beside him. The computer was on, but resting on the wallpaper screen. “But eventually we’re going to have to address this whole someone-wanting-you-dead thing.”

“Not we,” he said. “Me. I have to figure this out. Myself. Since when does it involve both of us?”

Since I kissed you and you didn’t pull away? Since I told you about my synesthesia and cried by your bedside just as Dru did at Peyton’s? Since I came to you every time I needed help with anything, so I clearly came to trust you without even meaning to? Since I saw goddamn magenta almost strong enough to block out the crimson every time I walked into your hospital room? Since I agreed to believe in myself because you believed in me? Since I knelt next to your body in the street with tears streaking my face and terror coursing through me?

Since it hurts like hell to know that the rebooted version of Chris Martinez feels nothing for me. For us.

“Yeah. You’re right,” I said bitterly. “I was just offering. I’m not forcing myself onto you or anything.”

“Well, I’ll let you know if I need help,” he said. “But don’t hold your breath.”