"Living with the fear."

"It goes away?" he asked.

"No," I said. "Never. Gets worse, in some ways. But once you face it down, you learn to accommodate it. Even work with it, sometimes."

"I don't understand," he whispered.

"Fear can't hurt you," I said. "It can't kill you."

"Well, technically—"

"Butters," I said. "Don't give me statistics on heart failure. Fear is a part of life. It's a warning mechanism. That's all. It tells you when there's danger around. Its job is to help you survive. Not cripple you into being unable to do it."

"I have empirical evidence to the contrary," he said, bitter humor in his voice.

"That's because you've never thought about it before," I said. "You've reacted to the fear, but you haven't ever faced it and put it into the right perspective. You have to make up your mind to overcome it."

He was quiet for a second. "Just like that?" he said. "Just make up my mind and poof, it's different?"

"No. But it's the first step," I said. "After that, you find other steps to take. Think about it for a while. Maybe you'll never need it again. But at least you'll be ready if it happens sometime down the line."

He closed up the medical toolbox. "You mean it's over?"

"For you," I said. "Grevane knows that you don't have anything he wants. He's got no reason to look for you. Hell, for that matter, I think you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time when he did come looking. Anyone with access to the corpse and the ability to find where Bony Tony had hidden the jump drive would have been good enough for Grevane. Your part in this is over."

Butters closed his eyes for a second. "Oh, thank God." He blinked up at me. "Sorry. I mean, it isn't that I don't like being around you, but…"

I smiled a little. "I understand. I'm glad you're all right." I glanced down at my leg. "Looks nice and neat again. Thanks, Butters. You're a good friend."

He frowned up at me. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

I thought I saw him straighten his shoulders a little. "Okay."

Thomas appeared in the door of the kitchen. "Gas stove. Hot food and tea. Sugar?"

"Tons," I said.

"Not for me," Butters said.

Thomas nodded, and slipped back into the kitchen.

"So how come if I'm your friend, you don't tell me important things?" Butters said.

"Like what?" I asked him.

Butters gestured at the kitchen. "Well. That, you know… you're gay."

I blinked at him.

"I mean, don't get me wrong. It's the twenty-first century. You can live your life how you want, and it doesn't make you any less cool."

"Butters—" I began.

"And hey, look at the guy. I mean, I'm not even gay, and I think he looks great. Who could blame you?"

Choking sounds came from the kitchen.

"Oh, shut up!" I snarled at Thomas.