Danny had immersed himself in work; this was nothing new - he was nothing if not a workaholic - but there was a new buzz, a new energy. Tristan was on the throne, Thoth was back in the Castle, Cypress seemed to be recovering well from her experience, and the clinics were running smoothly; his ducks, wildly out of line for what felt like forever, were slowly but surely getting back into a nice, tidy, (mostly organized) line. He dashed off a quick signature, filed some paperwork, and then hurriedly dashed off a few notes on the latest water-based mask prototype he and Thoth had been trading hypotheses and notes about recently. He made a mental note to get it to Thoth quickly, only partially because it was the perfect excuse to fuss over his friend's wrist again. And then...
Then, his pen poised above his page, his mind and body slowed to a stop. His mind's eye filled with cornflower blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair. Zohar had been beautiful, bright, funny, and opinionated - not that they'd ended up doing much talking after a certain point. She loved horses and smelled earthly and warm. She was... really something else. Their time on the island had been... educational, to say the least. He'd thought he'd seen her slipping away not long after Mordred's fall - just from behind, just for a moment - and was still kicking himself a little for not trotting after her just to say "hey". Or whatever you were supposed to say to someone you-
A polite cough shattered his wayward thoughts and Danny, to his utter embarrassment, yelped guiltily and jumped a little, dashing a long black line across his page. The nearby nurses, probably guessing where he'd wandered off to in his head (even if they never knew the specifics, the older ladies were typically eerily insightful into what he was thinking - perhaps because many were mothers or sisters of teenage boys?), tittered amongst themselves before resuming their tasks. Danny hurriedly tucked the damaged form under another page - thank the gods it was just a requisition form, one he could find plenty of in his left drawer - as if hiding his shame, and blushed dully as he raised his gaze to meet the gaze of the other young man who stood before Danny's desk.
"S-sorry about that, didn't see ya there," Danny replied apologetically, and then the rest of the sentence sunk in. "Oh..." And then he remembered. "Ooooh."
"Um, well, you see... about that," Danny hesitated; he leaned forward a bit in his seat, lowering his voice. "Ms. Doe* isn't dead. Or, at least, we don't think she is. And if she isn't now, she might be soon." His face creased into a frown. "It's a little... complicated."
* Using Doe as in "Jane Doe"
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Danny