No matter what the situation, hospitals were never a fun place to be. They were cold, sterile, usually boring to look at, and most people who were there wound up in beds while hooked up to various machined with needles. Needless to say, it was not one of Luka's ideal spots to be at any given moment... but perhaps it was what an old man like him could expect.

"To think," he spoke into the still, sterile darkness. "The great reporter, Luka Redgrave, stuck in some boring hospital like some boring old man. I mean, come on. I'm over eighty, not infirm." He tried a laugh, but that ended in a small spasm of coughs as he patted his chest to calm his heart. He inhaled deeply through his nose, and caught the faintest whiff of the flowers on his night stand. His sense of smell was fading, but could never forget that smell. Not in a millions years.

Rosemary. Remembrance. A repellent against demons... The scent of the most beautiful woman he had ever known. Oh, how he had dogged after her in his younger years, whipping through the air, gripping a precarious grappling hook while hot on the new tail of another witch-related story. Now, though? He might have trouble following her down a linoleum hallway, with his back. A grappling hook at his age? As his old friend Enzo would have said 'fuggetaboutit'.

Enzo... how long ago was it that he had passed on? Was it ten years... twenty... thirty... Oh, who could keep track anymore? He remembered the funeral however many years back it was, feeling sorry as he had watched Ed and Edna, spouses and children by their sides, saying their final farewells to their father with tears in their eyes, as his coffin was buried alongside their mother's. He may have been a vulgar prick... but at least he had cared about his family.

As for himself... well, spending your life chasing after Witches and fairy tales didn't exactly give one the opportunity to settle down with a nice lady. There had been one or two serious dates, but... somehow, none could ever compare to the thrill of tracking the mysterious Umbra.

Fat lot of good that did him now, though. He heard what the doctors were constantly muttering, despite their attempts to have him not hear... He knew he didn't have much time left. His heart was giving out, his body was too worn to heal itself fully anymore, his heart wouldn't behave properly anymore. He could even see the signs in those big, trying-too-hard-to-be-confident eyes that Bayonetta had on every time she came to see him, which was at least once every few days now. He enjoyed the company, but hated seeing her like that. There had been one or two visits from Rodin and Jeanne in recent years, his old information provider and the best friend of the woman he constantly pursued, but those had been brief and mostly customary.

No matter what he did now, this was it. None of Bayonetta's teasing, pushing, promises of juicy stories or even flirts could get him moving now... He was near the end of his life, she had an eternal one still waiting ahead of her. He couldn't follow her around forever.

"Just the way it goes, I guess," he sighed, pressing his head back into his pillow and closing his eyes. "...I wonder, would it be better to get sent off to Inferno, or Paradiso," he murmured. "Angels might not like me too much for having helped out a witch all my life..." He sighed softly, feeling a light, night breeze ruffle the whisps of his gray hair, and let his mind wander off thinking of demons and angels and magic, just as he did every night. Perhaps it would be best to let himself drift off for the night. Try to avoid the inevitable thoughts of his own mortality that only ended up bringing him anxiety and more heart trouble...

"Well, what do we have here now? A perverted old man who's mumbling to himself about magic? Well, if that doesn't beat all." Luka's eyes snapped open again as he heard the mocking, British-accented voice. It wasn't Bayonetta, too low for that. But the teasing tone said they knew him... then who... "Oi. You awake? I know you're not dead yet, thank God, got here in time for that. Get up." He moved his head, and saw a blurry figure standing beside his bed, arms crossed over their chest.

"...Who..."

"Oh, what, forgotten me already, mate?" the voice spoke again. "Come now, it's only been... what, maybe a little more than half a century. I'm not that forgettable." Luka narrowed his eyes at the figure, who slowly seemed to come into comprehension in his mind as a young boy. He knew that voice, he knew he did, but it had been so long ago... it was just so hazy in his mind...

"I... know who you are," he murmured, eyes focused in as best as they could on the face. "You're... damn, I know this... you're... that kid who was with Bayonetta... something to do... with a mountain..."

"Getting warmer, mate, but you'll need to try harder than that."

"You're... something to do with... gods... time... Aesir?" he tried cautiously, as this was the best his mind could clamp onto after all this time.

"Close, but not quite, my pervert friend. It's Loki, haven't been Aesir since my big split with my worse half." That was right... Loki. The bratty kid who was with Bayonetta at one point... How could he forget so much sarcasm and a sailor's mouth like that when both were attached to one kid?

"Well, nice to see you again after all this time," Luka managed a small smile. "I'd get up to shake your hand, but... well, I think I'd need a bit of help to do that."

"Eh, no worries, mate," Loki shrugged. "I just came back around to my memories of my past life, had a good time since my reincarnation, but life as half of a god is better by a longshot still, I think." He easily put his arms up behind his head, and nodded towards the old man on the bed. "Anyhow, I happened to be around this part of town, heard an old friend might be in the neighborhood. Never would have thought someone like you would let himself get laid up in a place like this."

"Well, you know," Luka sighed, weakly motioning to his own chest. "Not everything stays young and strong forever. I'm just... just a normal man. I've lived a good, long life, and now I've gotten weaker in my old age. Can't go much of anywhere anymore."

"Is that so, mate?" Loki asked, putting his arms down to press his hands to his hips. "Well now, isn't that a crying shame, because I just happened to hear that a certain Witch was in the area, and it sounds like she could use a visit from an old friend. She's probably got a whole list of people lining up to see her, but I suppose a perverted journalist like yourself ought to do the trick just nicely." Luka snorted a bit, then coughed harshly as a spasm hit his heart. He tensed a moment, waiting to see if anything more would happen, but then his heart was quiet once more.

"Huh, would if I could, but as you can see, I'm not in much of a condition to go visit anyone."

"Well now, aren't you just rude? Hasn't anyone ever taught you how to treat a lady? You can't just lie around and expect her to come to you. You'll have to pick up the slack at some point, or else she'll just lose interest."

"I already told you, Loki, I can't-" Luka stopped short when Loki flicked something up into the air, and the object drifted until it landed on his chest. Curious, he picked it up, and squinted his eyes at it. Slowly, the object came into focus; and, to his shock, so did the rest of the room. Equipment up against the far wall stopped being formless gray and white blurs, and solidified into solid shapes with defined edges. He could see all the intricate silver detailing on the back of the card he held in his hand. Even his hand itself was finally clear to him without a pair of glasses, only it had changed. The wrinkles and arthritic bumps he had slowly become familiar with over the passing years were gone, leaving only a strong, youthful hand, and it was only because he could control the flex of the fingers that he believed it was his own. He sat up with amazement in the bed, and was even more stunned at the fact that he could do that. Even as he gawked openly at his own hands, Loki simply stood back and chuckled.

"Come on now, mate. Let's get you out of that bed. Can't have a dashing fellow like you walking the streets in just a hospital gown. I don't think any lady would go for that look."

–

The dark-haired witch was pacing almost impatiently around the apartment, occasionally stopping to check her appearance in the mirror, or clean her glasses, or check for invisible specks on her heels. Suddenly, though, she stopped rather decisively.

"Yes... I think I will go and pay Cheshire a visit tomorrow. He could probably use some excitement, locked up in that hospital as he is." A tired sigh sounded behind her, not that she turned around to look at the woman who made the sound.

"Again? Cereza, you've visited him for five days in a row already. I think you can bear to spend one day away from his side." Bayonetta primped her hair a bit more in the class as she responded to her Umbran Sister.

"Well, I see nothing wrong with it. He's an old friend, and old friends need to keep in touch in this day and age. Not like he's getting off his lazy ass and coming to see me anymore, might as well pick up some of the slack for him," she finished crisply. Jeanne watched her old friend over the top of the book she was reading, seeing her stiff body language and the way her fingers were gripping more tensely at her arms.

"...He's only a human, Cereza. He isn't going to live forever." She saw her friend freeze, and regretted each word she said, though she knew they had to be said. "You can push him and urge him along all you want, but the truth is... he hasn't got much time left." Jeanne closed her book softly and set it aside. "He isn't a Witch, and certainly isn't a Sage. He's bound to the same rules of time as everyone other mortal human." She slowly made her way to her, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's time you started letting go. Say your goodbyes. Make your peace with him before it's too late... but don't torture yourself by clinging to him until there's nothing left to hold on to."

"... It's... difficult." Bayonetta moved from Jeanne's grasp, walking towards the window. "It seems like he's always been just around every corner, lurking only to pop out at the most opportune, or inopportune, moments. He's..." She trailed off, unsure of how to continue. "It's felt like... he's been such a permanent fixture in my time here. Now... he's so weak, getting moreso every day, Jeanne. He could live a year longer... or already be gone by the time I go see him tomorrow." She turned away from the window, and Jeanne could see the slightest glimmer of wetness in her eyes.

"... Cereza..." The lighter-haired woman walked forward, and gently wrapped her arms around her childhood friend. "You know it's not your fault. He's always been so upbeat and arrogant. He's had an exciting life, to say the least... and a lot of that could likely be attributed to you, Cereza. He's seen so many places and done so many things, all because he's been following you. Whether you meant to or not, Cereza, you gave him a good life to live. No one could have ever asked more of you."

"I know all of that, Jeanne," Bayonetta sighed. "And... you are right, I believe. I just hope he feels the same, I hope he doesn't feel he's wasted his life, spending it trailing after me." A small, sad smile managed to make its way onto her face. "It's... actually sort of funny, you know. Sometimes I start thinking back, and I can almost hear him. Flailing and screaming as he flies through the air on that hook of his like he used to."

Ooooooooh shi-! Both Witches started as the sudden shout of a voice interrupted their moment, along with the jarring 'thud' of something hitting the window.

"What the fuck was that?!" Jeanne shouted, immediately drawing one of her guns and pointing it out the balcony window. There was a bit of movement outside, and the person who had smacked into the glass was shakily standing up.

"Ah shit, been a while since I've done this... Jesus, forgot how much it hurts..." Bayonetta stared at the man outside, and took an unsteady step towards him.

"... Luka?" The brunette outside looked in, throwing his hands out to the sides with something of a smile on his face.

"There's only one around who'd fly into your window, right?" he asked lightly. Bayonetta was at the window in a moment, opening it so that she could step closer and look him over more intensely. She didn't know what to think. Just that afternoon, he had been a bedridden, coughing, going-towards-ninety man who was getting on his last legs in life. Now here he was, smiling and standing about as if he had just stepped out of their days past.

"But... how is this..." For once, it seemed to him, she was out of witty comments. For the first time she was utterly stunned into silence.

"Well, you can thank me for this, love." A younger voice made a sudden intrusion on the moment of stunned silence, and a small flying squirrel leapt from Luka's pants pocket, hitting the ground in the shape of a young boy. "You need to work on your landings, mate, get back into practice. Jolted me pretty badly when you hit that window."

"Loki?" The young god smiled and crossed his arms.

"The one and only, love. Now, I know you must be wondering what I'm doing hereabouts." He waited to gauge her silent response, then went on when he apparently deemed it sufficient for him to continue. "Well, I happened to hear that a good friend of yours was standing on the edge between him and the afterlife. Put simply... I know he's someone you would be disappointed to have die, so I thought I'd fix that little problem for you." He smirked as he flicked his wrist, and one of his cards appeared in his hand. "I may not be all I once was, but I still have a few tricks up his sleeve. This old man here is going to have at least a few more centuries under his belt before this magic wears off. And, hey, if he happens to need a little more time," he smirked, "well, I'm sure you of all people will be able to track me down, Bayonetta."

"...Loki, I-"

"Ah, don't get all mushy on me, love," Loki waved her off. "Least I could do after all you did for me, love. No thanks necessary."

There was a touch of silence between the four present, the tension could almost be cut with a knife as all eyes rested on Bayonetta. She seemed to be stock still, and no one knew what to make of her expression. It was only when she finally spoke that a knife, or rather a bullet, was finally put through the silence to break it.

"...Well, Luka, I do hope you had a nice rest in that hospital. You were spending far too much time there, lying around for so long could make you lose your touch. And we certainly can't have that, can we?" It was slightly forced, but there was that familiar confidence in her voice once more. Jeanne was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief. "I need my good luck charm fit as a fiddle, if he expects me to allow him to keep following me around the world and back." Luka placed a hand against his hip as he smiled back.

"What? And let all the hot stories following you around just slip right by? No thanks. I'm old, not infirm." The Witch eyed him, then sauntered over in his direction.

"Is that right? Well, Cheshire, it just so happens that I'm planning to take a trip to Saint Petersburg to do a favor for Rodin. If you can manage to keep up, then perhaps I'll allow you to trail along after me for a story. But no getting into trouble, because I'm not stopping out of my way just to get you out of some ridiculous situation."

"Anytime, anywhere, Bayonetta," Luka answered, brushing a lock of hair from the side of his face. "I already told you, didn't I? You can go to the ends of the earth, or to the very edge of time, and I'll be right there on your tail." He might have said more, but he stopped cold when Bayonetta suddenly stepped before him, leaned down, and touched her lips to his forehead.

"...It's good to have you back with us, Cheshire," he barely heard her murmur before she pulled away. "Well then, if we're going to have one of our usual 'cat-and-mouse' games... Come on and catch me if you can, Cheshire~"