“I’m fine,” Dumas assured.  That was so like Mari.  He’d come to check up on her, and instead of being concerned for herself, she was worried about him.  Such an angel.  Falling silent, Dumas listened to the sounds coming from inside the bathroom.  He hoped that she might start singing again.  Her voice wasn’t as perfect as the vocalists whose music got played at the club, but it was genuine and happy.  Somehow, despite her situation, she still held onto moments of melodic hope.<br/><br/>But it seemed that his presence had made her too shy to sing.  Only the noise of someone drying off and getting dressed reached his ears.  Then the bathroom door opened, and Mari emerged, along with a puff of sweetly scented air.  As usual, she smelled like strawberries.  Not real strawberries -- a fantasy version that was part fruit, part candy, and part perfume.  Smiling, Dumas drew in a deep breath and savored it.  “You always smell so nice in the morning, Bunny Girl.  Better than a big pot of black coffee.”<br/><br/>Dumas nodded when Mari observed that he’d been restless.  “Yeah.  Not one of my best nights.  You’d think that I’d dream about gunfire and bombs, but it’s always this weird, twisted shit.”  Flashes of his recent nightmare came back to Dumas, even more fragmented and disorienting than they’d been the first time.  Without really thinking about what he was doing, Dumas reached out and clasped Mari’s hand.  She didn’t seem to mind being touched anymore -- at least, not by him.  They’d both learned to trust each other.  “But it makes a big difference, waking up here with you.  You make the dark memories fade faster.”