I never thought the sounds of hospital beeps could be so comforting. The memories I had of them weren't at all. They weren't pretty. More like triggers, really. I'd always associate the sound with loss.

First, we lost my dad, but I was so young, I remembered the beeps from his hospital room more than I remembered his face. After him, we lost my grandmother. One would think I'd remember her kindness over her illness, but deathbeds are hard to forget.

And lastly left my mother, my sole provider, the only family I had left. By then, I was so programmed to connect hospitals with death, it took me over a week to step into her room. I was in denial... her doctor visit had only been a check-up. Yet... after seven days and no taxi home, I knew it was time. It'd just scared me to death. You know, the beeps and having to say goodbye...

This time, this was different.

I felt my eyes slide under their shut lids, a warmth on my face. That searing pain had gone, the heat on my skin was nothing but cotton blankets. The quiet beep, beep, beep told me death hadn't come for me, but life. Life welcomed me back. I was alive, I had a heartbeat.

I thought if I'd really done it, you know? Had I run back into that building with no idea what to do...and did it?

I think so.

My hands gripped the blankets at my side, and I swallowed the copper taste in my mouth. Copper and something else—sour? Meds—had to be. With a groan, I opened my eyes.

"Hey!" Matthews voice was so loud, it hurt my ears. "You're up! Woo, you're up! Man, I was worried sick! You good?"

I'm good?

I lifted my hands to rub my face and felt the tug of an IV in my arm. It blurred in and out for a few seconds before it became clear. Then I saw Matthews face and blinked.

"Yo! She good!" he yelled.

Please, stop yelling.

Matthews beamed at me as he dropped down on a seat beside my bed. I was surprised that he waited around, it was nice. Maybe it was because I'd went back and saved him; or maybe it'd been that he and I were more or less friends. But that wasn't why I blinked at him. I was confused.

"How you feelin'?" he asked me.

There were light bruises on his face; some yellow, some pale green. A scab sat over his lip, nearly healed. A second set of simple, plastic stitches held a gash together on his forehead; that too nearly healed. When I'd gone back in that room, the majority of the blood I'd seen on the floor was his. And yet, seeing him here beside me, he looked like the fight had happened weeks ago.

My throat burned as I formed words. "Was I out?"

He laughed, beaming with relief. "Ah shit, sweetheart. You've been out a good while. Never got the chance to thank ya."

I wanted to smile. "What's a good while?"

"Two months."

Someone else spoke. A voice not as deep as his; an accent not so thick. But I knew it.

Roger.

I moved my eyes first to look around. It was my room back at the base, but they'd spruced it up for injuries. The monitors were out of date, old hospital equipment; their screens did nothing but show my body temps and heartbeat. There was a large TV near the window, but it wasn't on. I knew he was somewhere within the room, nestled warmly on a digital screen, watching me. Waiting.

Did he wait like Matthews did?

"Two months?" I asked and tried to sit up.

"Don't." He spoke again, but this time it was different. I caught the smile on Matthews face as feet slowly turned into my room. I stared down at the combat boots with their loose laces and up at the trousers, folded at the ankle but wrinkled by the knee. Strong, lean hands were pressed into front pockets; a white tee hung loosely around the waist.

And that's where my eyes stopped. I was afraid to look up.

"Clara..." his voice again, "you can look at me. It's okay."

I did—I looked at him. Amidst the beeping monitors and sour-smelling IV was the light that created him; only, that light was flesh, a real body. I couldn't think. I couldn't feel. My face went cold.

"You can say hi, you know," he said with a smirk. His signature smirk. I figured the longer I looked at him, the more uncomfortable he'd feel, but it was the other way around. Rather than him pulling at his shirt, or sliding his hand over his neck, I did. I sat up straight, hands pulling at the front of my shirt before trembling fingers slid along the back of my neck.

I just... I couldn't believe my eyes. Roger... he was real. Breathing. Alive.

"Roger..." I tried to slide off the bed, but Matthews grabbed me quickly and shushed me, reminding me to stay still. But, how could I? "You're here... you're really here?"

Roger nodded once, slowly—or, was it that I saw him in slow motion?

"It's me," he said, grabbing the cigarette that sat on top of his ear. He placed it between his teeth, chuckled, and winked at me. "4963, in the flesh."

Flesh and bone?

"You're real!"

Matthews tried to hold me down a second time and missed. I may have been too tired to push him away, but not weak enough to roll.

Rather than lean forward, I moved back and tucked my blanket under my head. That's when Matthews missed; by the time he'd reached forward to grab my shoulders, I turned and rolled right out from under him, damn near diving headfirst into the floor to get away.

"Wait!" Matthews hissed.

My legs were so weak I could barely stand. The IV tugged at my arm and it hurt, but I didn't care. All I cared about was him. Because he stood there, right there in front of me.

"Woah!" Roger dropped his cigarette, crossed the room, and caught me in his arms before I fell over. I leaned into his weight, grabbing his shoulders first, then his arms. When I regained my balance, I let my hands slide down his elbows until I reached his wrists and stopped.

But he didn't. He grabbed my hands, linked our fingers and squeezed. Tight. His silent way of saying, 'yes, I'm here, I'm real.'

Oh, so real.

"Roger." I pulled my hands from his to touch his cheek, his chin. The tiny bristles from his five o'clock shadow tickled my skin. Trailing my fingers up the gentle, uneven fold of his ears, I slid my fingers through his hair, relishing in the silky, yet thick texture. Natural impulse told me to pull, but it was like he knew I'd do it, and stopped me.

"Clara." He said my name so quietly as he reached up and grabbed my hands. Rather than link our fingers again, he pressed my palms to his face, allowing me to hold him, feel him. He nudged my right palm with his nose and oh, boy was he warm. So warm. So soft.

I couldn't help but laugh, excited tears brimming my eyes, and he did the same. That's when my legs gave out and I dropped to my knees. He fell, too, never letting go.

"Shit," Matthews groaned behind me. "I told you to wait. This ain't good."

"What isn't?" Roger asked and lifted his gaze as Matthews paced. "She's obviously tired."

"And she can't stand." I couldn't argue as Matthews protested; he was right. I couldn't stand, I could barely move my toes.

Yet, as he pointed out that my falling meant my muscles were weaker than they'd assumed, I failed to see how that was relevant to the not-so-pink-elephant in the room. Whatever it was that ailed me, someone could fix it. There was a pill for goddamn everything in the Province.

But Roger—he was beyond science. Beyond reason.

With his hands sliding over his head, Matthews muttered, "I'm gon' get Erica," and walked out the room. Roger followed him with his eyes, but I didn't. Mine followed every line on Roger's face.

"I can't believe it," I whispered, tracing the bridge of his nose, up through the space between his eyebrows. Nearly cross-eyed, he tried to follow my finger. "Roger, did I..."

"You—" Roger grasped my finger and pulled my hand down to his lap. "—need to relax. Breathe." He brushed hair off my face, tucking loose strands behind my ear. "You're all red in the face, Doll."

Of course, I was red in the face. I was hot, blushing, struggling with reason. What other color could I be?

"I know what it is." Roger sat back on his legs and grinned at me in a way that had my heart fluttering mad. With one hand he rubbed his chin and scratched his cheek, then chuckled huskily as he made a mess of his hair. "Is it my face?"

Face.

I held my breath as it hit me—his face. He'd showed me his actual photos, the real Damian from his past, and sure, he and his actor persona resembled each other, but in no way were they twins. Now, looking at him, the blend between the two men was so perfect I couldn't tell them apart.

My shocked silence brought out another snicker.

"Yeah, all right, it's the face." He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. "Thought you'd like it."

"How?" I dropped my weight down to sit on my legs, searching the bright color of his abnormally blue eyes. I hadn't noticed how bright they were, like Hosts eyes.

He was human, wasn't he?

"How, what exactly, Clara? Use your words."

Outside the room, I heard voices.

"You're human? You're real?"

Roger shifted close to me. He lifted my chin with just one finger, then cupped my face. I watched his lips lift slightly; color rose to his cheeks. Then, I allowed him to bring my head down gently, just low enough to plant a soft, warm kiss on top of my head. My cheeks burned on impact, and he breathed, sighed, and laughed all at the same time.

"Did that feel real, Clara?" he asked.

I nodded.

With his hands on my warm cheeks, he tilted my head up, so our noses touched, and our breaths hit each other's lips. "Then I'm real," he said. "And I promise you this isn't a dream. You've been sleeping for a long time, but you're awake now."

"Awake now," I whispered, gaze moving down to his lips rather than his eyes.

His thumbs pressed lightly into my cheeks. I felt every fiber of him react, warmth springing up from his fingertips. "And I'm here, all right?"

All right...

"Not all right." Erica's concerned voice came close to the door as Roger and I pulled away from each other. She entered the room with a raised finger, silently scolding Roger for letting me sit on the floor. "She needs to stay in bed, at least another hour."

Matthews stepped into the room behind her and though he shook his head, he smiled at the two of us; like he knew.

"Come on." Erica placed her arms below mine and helped me up and away from Roger. In one motion, I was back on the edge of the bed, unable to protest her commands. She poked spaces behind my ear and neck, then pressed her palm against my back. I breathed in and out to satisfy whatever it was she checked, but when she lay me down and spoke, I froze.

"You've been in a coma," she said.

I blinked. "Coma?"

Roger appeared behind her, and Matthews behind him.

"Yes, two months—" Right, they had said that. "—and until I give you the all clear, you can't leave this room."

"It's all right." Roger dropped down in a chair beside Matthews and fixed his cigarette on the tip of his ear. The two of them gave each other a side glance before Roger looked back at me and said, "A lot has changed since that day."

That day at Provincial Hall?

"Clearly," I said, letting my head drop on my pillow, "a lot of changes."

Roger laughed, as did Matthews, but Erica didn't. She positioned herself between him and I, covering my view. She checked my eyes, had me open my mouth to say ah, and then pushed my head from side to side to inspect my ears. She followed it with a tap above my heart, my ribcage and belly, and slowly moved her hands down to my legs. I laughed—it tickled.

"You've lost some muscle mass, that's expected. Matthews said you fainted?"

"Fainted?" I rolled my eyes as I looked at Matthews to mouth 'really.' "I didn't faint. I mean, look!" I pointed at Roger, who smiled and nodded his head. "He's human!"

The word left my tongue, hit the air, but didn't go anywhere. It hovered for a moment, draping silence and tension over the room, before it slipped away and let the beeps return. In less than a minute, everyone sat beside my bed, waiting to speak. And I waited to listen, my happiness warping into a bundle of nerves.

"All right, I'll explain." Erica ruffled her curls before opening her mouth to speak, but Roger tapped her leg to stop her. She looked at him, caught his gaze, and nodded. "Of course."

I turned slightly and pulled the blanket as I moved my legs. "Of course, what?" I asked.

"I'll explain," he said, shooting me a small smile.

I wanted to nod, but I bit my lip so hard it hurt. "What's going on?"

Roger laughed. "You just woke up. One question at a time, okay? I'll start with the second one you asked today."

Second one? Jeez, you could take the man out of the machine, but not the machine out of the man.

"You asked how? I took it two ways." We locked eyes as he folded his hands together, forearms on his knees. "One, how is it that I look like this and why am I not the Damian I showed you. Up here—" He tapped the side of his temple. "—I'm Damian, memories and all, but that's all that exists of him—memories. This body could not be his replica. Sure, I look like him," he shrugged, "but I also looked like the man you admired. I suppose during my transition the image I had in mind helped create this body. I rather like it."

Confused, I sat up. He transitioned? A replica? "You were... created?" I whispered my question.

A woman I hadn't seen before passed by the hall and motioned for Matthews to follow her. He did but looked back at us once to say goodbye. I shot him a half-wave because I waited for Roger to give me the full answer.

"I'm not human, Clara, but I'm alive and real. This body—" He rubbed his arms. "—is bio-engineered. When you keyed in my code, you started a machine. Scraps of human cells stored away in a vial brought me here."

"Scraps... a machine..." I covered my mouth and shook my head. "No, wait, I didn't... I didn't mean to..."

Roger frowned and grabbed my hand before the tears could rim my eyes. "It's all right, I'm only trying to explain so you can understand. Okay?"

I nodded.

He continued. "There would be no other way for me to be here, Clara. What you did is a great thing. That remote, the one Zara protected, was meant to recreate life. DNA is the base, nano-technology used as glue. Polk meant to bring her back and instead—" He lifted a hand to cup my cheek. "—you used it for me."