He glanced at the deadbolt now released, and he thought that maybe she was inviting him to prove a point or leave. Her eyes were begging to be convinced and her voice wouldn't fool him.

Tzich took in a slow breath, and he stepped closer, a smirk playing on his face, taunting.

"You were an hour away from death last night," he mentioned in a low voice. "You were bleeding out, gimping like a stray cat hit by a truck, I carried you the last three blocks to the hospital -- now, normally ..." He gave her a charming, modest grin. "Normally, someone who's carried into a hospital doesn't walk out the same night. Normally, someone who'd spent a weakened three hours soaked in cold rain would be feeling a little sniffly by now." His eyes narrowed in a challenge. "So you've had a transfusion, right? Thirty stitches at least? And the doctors let you march out those doors against hospital policy because you were [i]fine[/i] after all -- you [i]should[/i] be in a hospital bed right now but you're not because you have a [i]gift[/i] for manipulation and does it hurt?" A smile crawled up his face. "A [i]normal[/i] girl-er-woman would be in debilitating pain or looped out on Vicodin right now, and your head's as clear as the Alaska moon so that only means that you [i]must[/i] be in [i]excruciating[/i] pain right now, and I think you should lie down. Any normal girl, any normal woman would."