"You're not dying," she offered, when he told her she wasn't dead. "Not anytime this week, anyway. But I recommend staying away from jogging or extensive fits of happiness." She smiled at him then; a true, honest smile. "People don't understand, people who don't care for the dying. In the hospice, there's no hope, no chance someone is going to get better tomorrow, and there's a point where they ask and beg to go, where their family members are getting sick from being there and not sleeping and crying. Some nurses use Morphine." She reached forward, brushing a leaf off the gravestone. "I just don't need the Morphine."
She looked over at him. "Are you humoring me, Pierce?" she asked him, all grown-up eyebrow quirk.