You and I, Me and You by MaryJanice Davidson Page A

things I wouldn’t expect a doctor to know. Turbulent childhood. I could imagine, oh yes I could. “Yes, the case. Definitely thinking about the case. That would be the thing I am thinking about.”
    â€œYou seem a lot better.”
    â€œBetter at what?”
    â€œUh…” He laughed a little, eyes on the quiet suburban streets. It was nearly midnight; nobody was out. We were the only car on the little side streets. No snow meant no ice meant no problem driving, but he was concentrating like we were in a blizzard. Why?
    Was he uncomfortable around me the way I was around him?
    No chance.
    â€œFeeling better, I meant. You’re obviously feeling better.”
    â€œOh.” Whatever, Gallo . “I am. Yep.”
    â€œYou were shot? Just a few weeks ago?” He said it in a teasing voice, like I’d forgotten and this was our little joke because of course nobody forgets about a gunshot wound mere weeks after it happened. That sort of thing was traumatic and tended to stay in the mind for a bit. “Remember?”
    â€œOh, that .” Shiro had been shot. In my shoulder, thanks very much. Max had been there and had been, of course, cool and heroic and totally unflappable and commanding and awesome. Maybe that’s where this adolescent crush was coming from.
    You never had an adolescent crush. So how would you know?
    Fine fucking time to start! I was twenty-five, for God’s sake.
    â€œI heal pretty fast,” I said, and for a change, it was the complete truth. I was still sore, but I’d been passing up the Vicodin for over two weeks. I hadn’t had too much trouble getting around, either, despite having to bundle up for the cold weather. If you’re gonna get shot, do it in a body rigorously maintained by someone who has multiple black belts and runs. Not jogs. Shiro was a runner. Adrienne didn’t exactly spend all her time lolling on couches eating licorice, either. Also, get shot in front of a doctor who can give you on-the-spot care and then personally supervise your recovery. Things go so much easier, trust me. “I hardly even think about it anymore.”
    â€œHuh.”
    I knew at once it had been the wrong thing to say. Of course I didn’t think about it … it hadn’t happened to me . But that’s not something a
    (real)
    normal person would say.
    I cast about for something—anything—to say that would either explain the unexplainable or distract him from the not-normal thing I’d just said.
    Nope. Nothin’.
    Max took a breath, and I brightened. Oh, good, he was gonna talk! “I didn’t know you … uh … had a … that your living situation … I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”
    Oh, shit. He was gonna talk. “Oh?” I would not sound interested, or excited, or intrigued, or breathy, or gushy, or girlie. Cool detachment. That’s what I was going for. “Uh … ohhhh?”
    â€œYeah, since you staggered into the blood bank and sort of collapsed into my arms and then told me about the family who killed my nephew and all those other boys and then passed out cold.”
    That had also been Shiro. Slut!
    â€œYep.” I thought hard. Say something. Anything. I had to make a sound because “yep” was not gonna cut it! “It sure was a wild night.”
    That made him take his gaze from the (clear, clean, un-icy, un-snowy) street. “A wild … yeah.” He laughed. “A gift for understatement, that’s what you’ve got. You’ve done that before. Downplayed stuff. Downplayed amazing stuff. And … you’re so different tonight.”
    â€œI am?” Different? Who, me? Or the other two people who live in my body? Nobody here but us multiples, Dr. Gallo.
    â€œYes. It’s almost like you’re…”
    I held my breath, then gasped because I needed the oxygen. Shit! Shit! Shit-crap-poop-shit!
    He