The next day passed uneventfully.  Dumas returned the stun stick and needler to their places in Wonderland’s gun safe.  Then, after his shift ended, he made a quick trip back to his apartment.  As he gathered up the things he’d want during his stay with Mari, Dumas had been surprised by how little he needed to pack -- a few changes of clothes, his old military pistol, the morphazine, and the military ID tags.  Nothing else really mattered.<br/><br/>Back at Mari’s, Dumas slipped the ID tags into the case of the pillow Mari was letting him use.  His pistol took the place in her dresser recently vacated by the other weapons.  And he hid the morphazine behind the bathroom trashcan, hoping Mari wouldn’t notice it there.  He didn’t want her to see him depending on pills to get him through the day.<br/><br/>After that, the passing days fell into an unexpectedly easy routine.  At the end of their shifts, Mari cooked a nice meal for them.  Then they chatted, or watched a holovid, or played games (Dumas had insisted on teaching Mari the fine art of poker).  When the time came for bed, Dumas still had trouble sleeping.  But somehow, the insomnia wasn’t as unbearable as it had been when he was alone in his apartment.  Lying on the floor in the darkness, listening to the soft sound of Mari’s breath, he experienced an unfamiliar peace.  And if any nightmares visited him when he finally drifted off into slumber, he didn’t remember them.