Han nodded, and Damian trotted into the 20,000-square-foot mansion in the middle of the Arizona desert he called home.
Han knows you're coming.
They're acting out some bizarre kid's story for the cancer kids, Han said, ducking his head into the office.
Jake gave her enough that she should sleep for another day or so, Han answered.
Damian returned his interest to the displays, and Han closed the door softly.
I want Han, though, D. You promised.
"Go get D," the man called Han said.
"You can blame the Wild Things, D," Han said.
Han, get me some warm water and washcloths.
"Han, bring up some food," he said without turning to look at the blond man in the doorway.
Han asked from the doorway.
Not sure what to make of her or what he felt, he led Han out and closed the door.
"Kid, back off," Han warned.
"Not that I know of," Han answered.
"Most Oracles don't live long enough to be of use," Han added.
Han, until I let you go back to war, you'll be her bodyguard.
Han knocked, and he looked up.
They're having issues, Han said.
Han chuckled from his position near the window.
"Han, you following me to the bathroom, too?" she challenged, standing.
Han asked, lowering his book.
"Our past," Han mulled.
Han opened his book again, jaw clenched.
"Han, what do you mean?" she prodded.
"Most people react like that," Han stated.
"You're right—she does ask a lot of questions," Han said.
She put on her sunglasses and started toward the one part of the house Han had warned her away from: the patio that led into the gardens.
Han asked, his form blurry in front of her.
"Turn right, three doors on the left," Han called.
Outside her room, Han whipped out his phone to text Damian with an irritated sigh.
Damian glanced at the new text message from Han before his gaze returned to the small base camp tucked between two ridges in the Tucson Mountains.
On a good note: logistical arrangements for Quarterly completed, Han texted.
That's what Han said.
I'll let Han know you all may be in.
His phone dinged with a message from Han, and he pulled it from his pocket.
I don't know what to do with a crying woman, Han had typed.
He opened his eyes to face Han outside her closed door.
"If Han hasn't told you, when I give an order, no one disobeys me," he said firmly.
Han said you're moody.
Jake followed, and Han was already waiting for her.
He stalked off, and Han glanced down from his bored stare at the ceiling.
"Your shift," Han said and rose.
"We have a serious issue," Han said in a flat voice.
Han sat in the corner of her room nearest the door.
Han, what happened to me?
Han, can I be alone?
Han slammed the door open, and she squeezed her eyes closed, expecting the light from the hallway to hurt her.
Han watched, handing her a wet wash cloth when she was done.
"Han, please," she begged.
Go see him, Han said, concerned yet unyielding.