“Huh. He really doesn’t mind her taking the credit?” This is probably the least consequential part of the whole thing to be hung up on, but Stephen’s annoying about credit; had been an irritating nag about how to name the Strange-Palmer Method that he and Christine had pioneered together. Bylines. Publications. The order of names on a dissertation.

He busies himself at the sideboard, although with all the glassware having been carted away earlier, there’s nothing else to do besides uncork that bottle again. The drink is sweet, and had been used for a spirited debate with the dean earlier; people have sometimes been surprised that the doctor enjoys a sweet wine, a port, a lemon drop martini, some mai tais at the Bar With No Doors. He takes a swig from the bottle; telling himself that it’s not for actual liquid fortitude, he’s already seen so much of her, so what makes this any different at all,

and christ, he shouldn’t be so discombobulated at a pair of knees sitting on the edge of his bed. He’s clearly been in Thedas too long.

But Stephen eventually steps closer, hands her the bottle, knuckles brushing. “What do you mean, made it as far as the Marquise?”