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Baptized by your mess again

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The needle hits and vision goes white. The edges of reality blur, then sharpen. Doc in high definition, mustache half-lifted in a smile. "I try not to take this personal, Xavier, but it hurts a man's heart to have you react so."

The gun empties and veins purr with power. Electric. Contained. Doc smelling of sweat, sandalwood.

Exhale, relax. A gasp escapes and Dolls' hand drops from Doc's throat. "You'll get used to it, Holliday." Softer now, but more in focus. He reaches back to the rough line where skin meets stubble. Brushes his thumb across as his heartbeat slows.