"See?" he says. "Better already."

His voice is weakening and the stretch of muscles makes his face feel like wet clay. He scarcely notices, because Horatio is laughing. It's weak and shaking, uncertain of its footing, but it's a laugh nonetheless. Dark eyes are cast to the floor in an attempt at concealment. That doesn't matter. It has always been more about what they have left out than what they have said.

Now the dear face is blurring to muted grays, and he knows himself to be rounding the bend.

There is no fear. He has made Horatio laugh, this one last time.