“I don’t know what it’s like to have a private life, so I can’t really imagine having secrets I’m afraid of everyone knowing.” None of this is news, or anything but the status quo for him, so there’s no emotion in Tony’s voice as he talks about it. “So I can’t relate, but you’re probably right. I doubt they’d really want someone spreading the word they were in town when they never did anything wrong to begin with. Doctors base their lives on reputations of trustworthiness and you can’t be very effective if you’re known as the guy who blabs. I get it.”

He doesn’t have it in him to keep being angry about it. Tony’s anger is fast, like a lightning strike that’s there and gone in an instant. It can do spectacular damage if it hits the right place at the right time, but it doesn’t last and burns up quickly. In its wake is a kind of sad exhaustion that a nice whiskey can clear right up. If it affects him anymore.

Rubbing at his face, he turns to look morosely out the window again. It won’t work. He knows it won’t work. Alcohol’s going to be useless to him now. Who ever heard of a drunk vampire?

“You did the right thing, Bruce. I’m sorry I made a big deal out it.” There’s still the question he’s not answering, and after a moment spent toying with it, he settles on the truth. “I’m not an easy person to love, so when someone actually finds something about me worth loving, I don’t think I’m really in a position to judge more or less.”