#contemplating miniature motorcycles

[greasygrimeygopher-whats]

Their name is Seth Sesselmen

[miekasa]

any spare levi headcanons tonight????? 😁😁😁😁

Sure, why not, he is the love of my life after all. These are pretty random, and fit in some sort of generalized modern boyfriend au. Hopelessly domestic, as that is the nature of nearly everything I write for Levi, anyway. Also still terribly obsessed with the idea of him with a motorcycle, so there’s that.

He owns at least six black blazers. They’re nearly identical; slight differences in texture and cut, one with lapels, one that’s boldly all leather that you swear you’ve never seen him wear. They’re kind of his go-to staple, other than a sweater.

That being said, he doesn’t exclusively wear all black. His closet leans towards more neutrals, sure, but he’s not allergic to color. You might not catch him wearing neon orange on the average day, but he’s not averse to a nice shade of green, any shade of purple that suits his mood, even a softer pink.

He has towels and rags he sets aside especially for you when he comes over. He always washes them and put them back in place when you leave so that they’re ready to go for next time.

Claims to not have any attachment to the shows/dramas you watch, but he’s totally backseat watching. Halfway into every single series, he starts sitting down when you turn it on, and scoffs at dumb decisions the characters make.

He splurged on one of those frame TVs that look like a painting when they’re idle. It was a good investment in his opinion.

He doesn’t hate Starbucks drinks—there’s worse things out there in terms of quality of tea. What he despises about the establishment is the way they call out names for you to pick up your order. He’s learned that mobile order ahead is the way to go.

Has slippers for around the house, so consequently, you have slippers for walking around his house. He keeps both pairs (and a few extra for friends and guests) tucked neatly beside the door for easy access; yours always go next to his.

Does not understand the purpose of a robe. Buy him one tho and he will suddenly find an excuse to wear it: making breakfast, lounging around watching TV, doing some light cleaning and dusting. It’s comfy, alright, he can admit that much.

The little puppy you got him that he swore he was not going to warm up to now gets the royal treatment. The best doggie goods and treats, top rated shampoos, cutest drying towels, even a miniature couch he constructed just for the pup. They’re best friends, there’s no breaking that bond now.

Speaking of the puppy, affectionately named Captain, Levi can be found walking him every day shortly after work. They have a few different routes, but they always pass by the local vendors/market, who enthusiastically anticipate their appearance every day. Some of the older ladies running stands have even taken to bringing a few treats with them for Captain—after bundling up some goods for Levi, too, of course.

Captain also has a special doggy backpack Levi uses for when he’s on his motorcycle. If you follow anybody on TikTok in his area, you’re bound to see at least one video of the pup while Levi’s out riding. He’s become viral on social media without even knowing it.

(When you show him a video someone posted of him and Captain with well over 100k likes, and a million views, he only rolled his eyes. But remembers that particularly day; remembers the folks had a kid who politely asked to pet the dog, so he let him. He also maybe asks you to send the link to him).

On the subject of the motorcycle, there was a good few weeks he wouldn’t let you on it. Always found an excuse, a smart reply that was punctuated with gentle push on your forehead and calling you too clumsy for it. Later, you found out it’s because he’d ordered you a helmet; didn’t want to risk you riding without one.

He always keeps it in the storage compartment should he make a stop to pick you up while he’s riding; and he usually wears at least two layers to have a spare to wrap you in before you get on.

When he cooks, he always makes sure there’s enough for leftovers and/or to give you some later. He also bakes frequently, and at least once a week, he stops by with some kind of treat for you—“Trying out a new recipe, let me know if you think it’s missing anything.”

On the subject of food, he won’t police what you eat to annoying extent; he knows that not everybody has the time or will to make pasta from scratch like he does. But, he will smack your wrist if you consider ordering fast food when you’re over at this place. Give him 30 minutes and a single pan, he’ll make something much better than whatever you can find on Uber Eats.

Really, though, he doesn’t mean to obnoxious about the homemade food thing, it’s more habit for him. Growing up, he had to learn to be resourceful, so buying fast-food isn’t ever at the forefront of his mind. Cooking for you also turns out to be something somewhat intimate that he enjoys, so just let him.

Once bought an Apple Watch because he liked the look of them, it wasn’t insanely expensive like other high end watches, and it could connect to his other devices, so why not? A week later he returned it, the ping of his notifications were in one too many places for his liking.

You tried to convince him to keep it—“At least for when you’re jogging! It can track your activity and calories!”—but he clicks his teeth. He’ll survive without keeping track of them.

He learned the hard way that jogging with Captain is no good. His legs are too tiny and Levi ended up carrying the puppy the entire time. Captain is more of a walk dog… or ride on the back of his bike dog.

If you changed anything in his phone settings—like the ringtone for you contact, or the sound his keyboard makes—he wouldn’t go back in and try to figure out how to reset it. Unless it was something obnoxious, like adding an autocorrect shortcut to say something lewd.

He doesn’t really listen to music when he’s just walking. When he’s on a run, that’s fine, but he somewhat prefers to just… hear the environment around him when he’s on a stroll or a break from work. The only reason he’d have headphones on in public is to take a phone call, but even then, he’d prefer to wait until he’s somewhere more private.

He likes having you over at his apartment and has contemplated asking you to move in. He doesn’t want to rush anything, though, so he’s content with your sleepovers for now. (Though he really cannot fathom that you call them “sleepovers” like you’re 14. Please).

He speaks to his mother at least once a week, and she always asks about you. Levi tells her that you’re fine, gives her small updates about you, but Kuchel really just wants to know when the wedding is. He pretends to be busy whenever she starts asking and conveniently ends the call.

Occasionally, he’ll stop by and take you out for lunch. Depends on how much time he has during the day for himself, but he always enjoys sharing a meal with you.

Whenever you’re out with your friends drinking, Levi will pick you up. Even if you already told him that you’d Uber home; as soon as you text him that you’re going to leave soon, he’s already on his way.

He makes pretty good cocktails himself. Teases you for running his alcohol supply dry when the truth is he has more of your favorites in his cabinet than his own. He secretly likes the way you flirt with him when you’re tipsy.

You don’t always cuddle on top of each other when you sleep together. You can just lay by each other and that’s enough; but sometimes, you catch Levi turning towards you in his sleep, reaching for your hand. His body seems to search for yours subconsciously, and you swear there’s a hint of a smile on his sleeping face when you put your hand within reach.

Do not try to pay for dinner when you’re out with him. He’ll pull the “I’m going to use the restroom” move and pay the bill behind your back if he needs to. Open your own doors, maybe; pull out your own chairs, sure if you want; but not this.

He flosses very diligently every night. Mostly because he fucking hates the dentist, so if he takes the extra steps and is extra careful with his teeth, he doesn’t have to go as often, right?—Wrong, it’s the one time the roles are reversed, and you and Hange have to wrestle him into the doctor’s office.

On the flip side, if there are any doctors you routinely avoid and/or forget to schedule check ups for, fear not, because Levi will do it for you. He’ll drive you there, too—the only caveat being, that he usually doesn’t tell you where you’re going until you’re almost there. You think he’s doing the mysterious man surprise date thing and then boom, he’s pulling up to the ophthalmologist. Good luck.

He’s purchased a physical, paper copy of the news on every one of your anniversaries, birthdays, and other special occasions. He keeps them all neatly tucked away in a drawer. Sometimes, he looks back on them—sees what was happening in the world around you on that day. Maybe someday he’ll cut them up and bind them together in a book for you.

He doesn’t like having headphones in when you’re home with him, and preferred if you didn’t either—unless it was for work or school. He welcomes you to use his speakers and play your music aloud; he likes listening to what you listen to. If you look closely, you can catch him humming along or tapping his foot when he really likes a song.

Saves pictures you send him in an album in his camera roll. Occasionally can be found scrolling through them—particularly if you’ve been away on a trip, or he hasn’t gotten the chance to see you because of conflicting schedules.

He takes relatively short showers and doesn’t have a strong preference for the water temperature, so he lets you shower first. Unless you want him to join you, of course.

It’s not hard to tell when Levi wants you. He becomes noticeably more touchy, even if that margin isn’t too wide by anyone else’s standards; and he rarely tries to hide it. It only happens in the privacy of your apartments; but he’ll come on to you—leaning a bit further into conversations, a hand on your knee, a kind of cloudy look in his eyes.

Sometimes he forgoes the attempts at being subtle, just kisses you out the blue, carefully backs you up against the wall, puts his hands on your hips. He can be awfully direct when given the opportunity.

[seagreen-meets-grey]

The Last Slide: Ch. 3

@feeisamarshmallow dun dun dunnn number threee

Read on ao3

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Chapters: 1 2 3 4

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There was a bounce in her step as Amy walked away, leaving Jake to finish his paperwork. When Holt had given her the green light to work the water park murder case with Jake, she saw the slight twitch around the corners of his mouth and noticed that the parting nod he gave when he dismissed her from his office was just a little bit slower and more significant than usual. This was a personal gift to her for the many years she’d worked for and bonded with him.

Then the mere excitement in her husband’s eyes as she told him about the case added an extra layer of levity to her enthusiasm. Seeing him so happy never failed to make her smile and believe that the world was inherently good, despite the people who shot poisoned darts into someone’s neck at the water park.

And just after noon, when business at the apartment would be done, they’d leave to work their last case together, at least while working at the same precinct. It should have made her sad, knowing it would soon be over, but the thing was, it would not be over. She was still going to see everyone from the precinct regularly, Jake obviously the most. It didn’t feel like a real goodbye as long as she only switched locations. Her new precinct wasn’t even that far away, close enough to meet up for lunch.

(Maybe she was a little bit in denial about everything, but she’d find that out soon enough anyway. For now, gloomy wasn’t a real word in Amy Santiago’s vocabulary.)

Humming contentedly to herself, she entered the women’s bathroom – and did a double-take at the juxtaposition of a familiar leather jacket and the red-rimmed eyes staring at her wide-eyed through the mirror.

“Rosa?” she exclaimed in surprise. “Are you… crying?”

“No,” Rosa sniffed in a gruff reply. “I’m allergic.” When she turned around to face Amy, an understanding passed between the women. Rosa knew that Amy knew that allergies weren’t involved in the detective crying in the women’s bathroom at work. Especially after Rosa had come in late this morning.

“Do you want to talk about those allergies?”

“No.” Rosa pulled a pair of sunglasses from her pocket and put them on to hide the red eyes, brushing past Amy to the door. On the threshold, however, she hesitated, then tilted her head at Amy without looking at her directly. “I know you’re not going to leave this alone, so… If you want to help me with these allergies, be at my place tonight at eight.”

Then she left, head held high, and Amy felt a second wave of giddy excitement wash over her. A few years back, Rosa would have left without a word – well, except for the threat to ruin Amy’s life if she ever mentioned those allergies to anyone. Now Rosa was one of her best friends and Amy knew that she felt the same about her. Whatever was going on with her sleuth sister, they were going to take care of it together. Because that’s what friends did.

(Part of Amy hoped the reason for her sleuth sister’s turmoil wasn’t just Rosa’s favorite motorcycle being too old for full repairs or something, although she’d take even that seriously if Rosa felt this passionate about it.)

(Because that’s what friends did.)

***

Of all the things Amy expected when entering Rosa’s apartment that night, it wasn’t a miniature tiger dashing behind the couch the moment it spotted her.

“Wait,” Amy said as she took off her jacket, “was that…?”

“Her name is Tigress. She’s been living behind the dumpster outside for the last three weeks. She killed the rats; I gave her food.”

“Oh. So, you have a cat now?”

Rosa crossed her arms and leaned against the kitchen counter, a grim look on her face. “Tigress decided so, but then I saw a flyer for a missing cat and I’m sure it’s her. Also, pets aren’t allowed in the building. Naturally, I’m thinking about moving and just taking her with me.”

Amy peaked behind the couch. The cat was sitting there in the shadows, cleaning her gray-striped fur. Upon noticing the curious human eyes invading her privacy, Tigress hissed at her and crawled underneath the couch.

“She hates people,” Rosa explained. “We understand each other.”

“But now you have to give her back to her owner.”

Rosa grunted in reply and Amy didn’t acknowledge the heartbroken look on her face. “I don’t want to get into it right now, but… I just don’t like goodbyes when I don’t want to say them. It’s so…”

The word weak ghosted around the room, tailed by human. But if Rosa didn’t want to talk about feelings right now, there was no reason to prod. It would only lead to the night ending prematurely.

Amy walked over and carefully extended a hand, putting it on Rosa’s arm once she’d made no attempt to hiss at her or crawl underneath the couch and– yeah, Amy could guess why this cat was the perfect fit for Rosa.

“Besides, Arlo wouldn’t like smelling cat on me.”

“Arlo?” Amy frowned in confusion for a moment until she remembered. “Oh right, your dog that you never bring.” (Not that Amy would have seen much of him anyway, what with her own allergies closing up her throat and turning her eyes into puffy seas of tears within seconds.) “Wait, where is he anyway if you’re not allowed to keep pets here?”

Rosa shrugged. “Guarding my second apartment.”

“Your second– You know what, never mind.” A secret apartment really didn’t surprise her. “How can I be of help? Do you want me to accompany you to the shelter to pick out a new cat?” Even as she said it, she figured that wasn’t Rosa’s plan.

“I don’t want a replacement cat.” Rosa glanced over at the pair of glowing eyes watching them from out of their hiding spot. “I’d like you to come with me to return Tigress. I don’t want to do it alone.”

Amy felt a surge of sympathy for Rosa Diaz asking for emotional support without a lot of preamble. (And maybe a fair bit of pride at being the one the tough woman felt safe to confide in.)

“Of course.” She gave her friend’s arm a little squeeze. “Anything.”

“Thanks, Amy. Now stop touching me and help me catch the cat.”

***

The second surprise of the night came in the form of Tigress’ owner.

As Amy held the cat carrier that Rosa had bought at the nearest pet smart when they realized the cat was too fast and unwilling to stay in either their arms for longer than five seconds, Rosa knocked on the door to Rebecca Erickson’s apartment.

At first, Amy thought the woman’s last name to be a coincidence. It was possible, after all, to encounter two unrelated people with the same last name within one day in New York City.

But when Mrs. Erickson insisted that she was no longer a Mrs. since she left her husband a few months ago, Amy saw the probability dwindling that this woman wasn’t the ex-wife of the pool attendant she and Jake had met earlier that day. She decided to not mention Darius or anything related to the Pearson murder.

She was so lost in thought that she didn’t notice the fourth person in the apartment until she heard a soft curse from the direction of what she assumed was the bedroom.

She also barely took note of the general messiness of the place, starting with the array of empty coffee cups on a heavily stained couch table, or the bookshelves where cookbooks lay on top of fantasy novels and at least half the books stood upside-down, or the bowl of fruits where apples were lying right next to bananas, or the overturned basket of – as far as she could tell – both clean and dirty laundry next to the bedroom door.

And standing there, clad in a hastily overthrown bathrobe, was none other than Sam Kirkwell, head of Tropic Thunder Aqua Park. When he realized that Amy had noticed him, he quickly disappeared behind the door.

Why was Kirkwell here, she wondered with furrowed brows, with his employee’s ex-wife, the same day her supposed lover had been killed?

She barely heard Rosa talking to Ms. Erickson, too occupied with contemplating following Kirkwell into the bedroom to question him. But before she could come to a decision, Tigress – whose actual name was Bubblegum, much to Rosa’s dismay – escaped through the open window onto the fire escape. Ms. Erickson rushed to the window to scream after her but, naturally, the cat didn’t listen to the crazy woman yelling at her from the place she’d just escaped.

Ms. Erickson, now in a frantic hurry to go after her pet, pushed Amy and Rosa out of the door and left them in the hallway while dashing down the stairs, her voice echoing back up to them. “Bubblegum! Mommy’s coming for you!”

“What do you bet the cat turns up back in my dumpster later?” Rosa asked, a hint of smug amusement coating her voice, when they exited the building.

“Yeah, totally…”

“Santiago, did you even hear what I just said?”

“Huh?”

Rosa stood in front of her, stopping her in her tracks. “What’s going on?”

Amy frowned in thought and fished her phone from her pocket. “Did you see the man hiding in the other room upstairs?”

“The half-naked guy? I bet that’s her surrogate pet.”

“He’s the head of the water park where Jake and I are investigating a murder.”

Rosa shrugged. “Turns out NYC isn’t that big after all. Why, what’s got you so suspicious about this?”

Amy explained it to her while dialing Jake’s number. She couldn’t wait to get home, she needed to tell him now. If he hadn’t already picked up Mac from Karen and Roger’s place, they could still go back upstairs and talk to Kirkwell.

She let it ring for twenty seconds but Jake didn’t pick up. Maybe he was driving, maybe he was busy with Mac, maybe his phone was dead again – no, it couldn’t be, otherwise she’d have instantly reached his voice mailbox. She opened their messages to shoot him a quick text to call her back ASAP, but before she could press send, something struck her as odd.

“What is it?” Rosa asked, having noticed the look on Amy’s face.

“Jake hasn’t been online for over two hours.”

“Huh.” Rosa looked at the screen. “He’s not with Mac?”

Amy shook her head right as a message from Karen came in, asking when they’d be picking up their son. For anyone knowing her husband, him not being on his phone for this long on a regular weekday night when he was neither working nor spending time with his family was a little odd. Not impossible, but odd.

(If this were Gina, Amy would be very concerned.)

“He’s probably still at the old apartment,” she guessed. “I’ll go there and tell him about Kirkwell directly.”

“Do you want me to come with?”

“If you want company right now, of course.”

Rosa scrunched up her face in contemplation for a moment. “Nah, I’m good. I’ll just spend some time with Arlo.”

“At your secret apartment?” Amy grinned conspiratorially but Rosa took a step closer until they were almost nose to nose, putting on her threatening face.

“Tell anyone about that and I’ll disorganize every single one of your binders.”

Amy gulped. “Got it.”

Rosa drove them back to her place where Amy’s car was parked. As Amy was waving goodbye from behind the wheel, Rosa pointed at the alley next to her building. Sure enough, a gray little tiger was slinking into the alley through the shadows.

Seemed like the cat had decided where it wanted to live, Amy thought as she set out for her and Jake’s old apartment. When she arrived, she knocked on the door since she didn’t have a key for the place anymore.

“Jake? Are you there?” She knocked again. “Mr. Davies?”

She received no answer. Obviously, Jake and their landlord were long gone. The appointment for the keys had been almost three hours ago.

But when she tried calling him again, he still didn’t pick up, and the last online time stamp hadn’t changed, either.

Maybe he was with Charles, she thought, but after a quick call, that turned out to be a dead end. The same with Terry. Where the heck was her husband?

She finally pulled up the app that allowed her to see the location of his phone. She rarely used it since she always felt like a controlling wife when she did, but this time, she figured she was allowed to track him down like this.

Weird. According to the GPS data, he was at the water park. And as she walked back outside and scanned the street, his car wasn’t even here. What was he doing at the closed water park at this hour? And if it was case-related, why hadn’t he told her? He couldn’t have gone there to meet with Kirkwell, either, because that guy was currently being gross with Darius’ ex-wife. (Or not, depending on how Ms. Erickson was taking the loss of her pet for the second time.)

Her gut rumbled with suspicion. She had a weird feeling about this. So she got back in her car and drove all the way to Tropic Thunder.

And there it was, Jake’s old piece of junk of a car, alone on the huge parking lot. She glanced inside and saw his wallet, phone, and keys on the passenger seat. She tried the door. It wasn’t locked.

Suddenly, she felt the darkness of the parking lot creeping up behind her back, raising the hairs on her arms, the nearby traffic too far away to be comforting. Something was wrong here.

“Jake?” she called into the night. “Jake!”

The only one answering her was the wind rustling through a heap of old flyers on the ground, lifting some of them and carrying them across the asphalt. The water park itself was closed, of course, the only light in the building coming from the display windows next to the main entrance.

“Hello?” Again, no one answered. Jake wasn’t here. But why was his car? Moreover, why was it unlocked, with valuable possessions just lying there openly on the seat?! Messy as her husband might be, this wasn’t at all like him.

The knots in her stomach tightened as she dialed the number of their landlord. He picked up after the fourth ring, but it felt like an eternity.

“Hi, Mr. Davies. This is Amy Santiago. I’m sorry to call you at this hour but I am looking for my husband and I have not heard from him ever since he went to meet with you earlier. And I was wondering if he mentioned anything about where he was going or if he was meeting anyone later.”

“Well, no, I’m sorry” the old man on the other end of the line replied, the usually comforting effect of his gentle voice dead to Amy’s ears this time. “After we handled everything with the keys, he asked to stay a few minutes by himself, to say one last goodbye or something.”

“Can you tell me what time he left at?”

“No, I went to run a few errands while he was at the apartment and when I came back to lock up, he was gone and the apartment dark.”

Amy could hear her heart pounding in her chest. She now knew Jake had been with Mr. Davies, but she had absolutely no further lead. It unsettled her greatly.

After ending the call, she took a few minutes to breathe. No need to panic, she told herself. He was probably fine and there was a simple explanation for all this. Her gut didn’t believe her, though.

She needed answers. And she already had an idea about where to start. Taking Jake’s personal things with her and locking his car, she got back into her own, and made her way back into the city.

Back to Ms. Erickson and her secret lover.

***

Once again, it’s pain that rises him.

After a long moment, it subsides enough for him to find himself bound to a chair, zip ties cutting into his wrists and ankles. His body wants to curl into itself from the sharp tug in his stomach and his mouth tastes metallic.

He blinks his eyes open and realizes that the left one feels hot and swollen. That’s probably why he woke up this time.

The shimmers in front of his eyes are back and it’s hard to focus on the person hovering over him. He makes out words but they are slow to reach his brain. He makes the mistake of shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. Everything instantly blurs and he’s glad about the ties holding him to the arms and legs of the chair. He feels like throwing up.

Two hands reach out and shake the chair, drops of saliva landing on his face as the other person yells at him. Jake squints into the bright little light and finally understands it’s coming from a headlamp fastened to the person’s forehead.

It’s a man. The shape of his face is familiar. Jake’s ears stop ringing and he hears the voice properly now.

A particularly fast brain cell registers the familiarity, but the information doesn’t quite get through to his other cells yet.

His nose picks up the smell from earlier, his eyes scan the unfamiliar chair he’s sitting in, but the floor underneath finally breaks through the haze in his brain.

He knows. He knows where he is.

He knows the man tightly clutching a pocketknife in his hand, although the disturbingly angry expression is new.

Jake feels his breath come in a quickening pace as he fully comes to and the realization hits him at full speed.

He never left the apartment.

[blackestnight]

alternative ask because i didn't see you already answered for 'armor' - Gravity. cuddling up to a loved one when they are too tired to see straight.

by fantastically happy chance, i already got this prompt twice, and aymeric and hanami each got a turn at being deliriously tired, so now they both get to be wiped. also stole the prompt “recovery” from @seaswolchallenge.

this is set in an extremely self-indulgent space opera au based on the starfinder tabletop game, which (in theory, if i did my job right) requires no actual knowledge of starfinder, but just for clarity: magic and science happily coexist, fantasy races abound, and the rule of cool is the abiding law. also, some races have natural psychic abilities to varying degrees.

enjoy two idiots both failing their fortitude saves. and their wisdom saves. every save, basically.

The Waking Sands Security Services & Augmentation Center

Cuvacara, Vimal, Ring of Nations

Verces

Hanami stared at the bed for a long moment, contemplating its betrayal, and then heaved a sigh. 

The staff quarters at the Waking Sands employed a sort of mechanized loft system, allowing the full-size beds to be lifted up during the day and leaving room for small work surfaces to be unfolded from the wall underneath. It was a decent solution for the lack of habitable space in the city, and infinitely better than the shoebox she’d lived in while she was still based with the Legion, but it posed two distinct problems at this exact moment. The first problem was that the beds had sensors that locked the lift rails in place if the desks were unfolded, and whoever had been responsible for dropping off her and Aymeric’s mended gear had piled it all on the table, and if she tried to bend over to move the pile enough to fold up the desk she was going to black out, and if she broke the lift again G’raha was going to polymorph her into a toaster oven.

(She maintained that it hadn’t been her fault, at least the first time; Vercite beds weren’t built to handle dragonkin, not even miniaturized hybrid species like her, never mind her weight and that of a full-grown elf. He was probably just looking for an excuse to embarrass her after she’d knocked him off his motorcycle the last time they’d raced.)

The bed was at eye level. She could climb up, even without a ladder, even when she was this off-kilter. The second problem was that Aymeric most definitely could not, especially not with his leg in a full cast and bombed to the ears on Y’shtola’s new painkillers as he was—the same painkillers that were making her dizzy secondhand, like a psychic contact high, and if she tried to lift him and landed either one of them back in the med bay Krile was going to polymorph her into a gecko.

At her side, Aymeric shifted where he was propped on her shoulder. To his credit, he was doing a decent job of staying upright, especially considering how unwieldy the cast was and how much the sensation in his legs had been deadened (less for the pain, Y’shtola had promised, and more for the unbearable itching sensation that the nanites caused as they fused the bone back together). “‘M only a half-elf, love,” he reminded her, pressing the words into her hair as he began to list sideways.

Hanami jostled her shoulder to get a better grip on his waist. “Which is stupid,” she hissed, running a comforting thumb over his hip when she caught an echo of nausea. “You are not half elf just because an ancestor was part human. That is not how math works. Sovyrian heritage law is absurd. It does not make you any less tall either.” She pondered the bed for another second, wondering if the dizziness would ease up if she got Aymeric into a chair, and promptly backtracked when she realized she hadn’t originally been speaking aloud. “And if you cannot keep me from getting high off of your meds, you can at least stop eavesdropping.”

“Not on purpose,” he promised, and she felt a (muddied) wave of genuine remorse. “You’re...very loud. I lack your experience with this sort of thing.”

...which would be fair, if Hanami were awake enough to feel fair. Elves (and half-elves, since apparently being drugged turned Aymeric into a gods-damned pedant, and she knew he heard that when he snickered into her hair) weren’t natural psychics; she did have experience with partner bonds even if she hadn’t had one in decades. And he had gotten better about quieting his end of their bond-link. She probably would have had an easier time filtering him out if she’d slept in the last day.

She felt his sudden spike of worry through the fog of medication, and he leaned closer to press a sloppy kiss to her cheek, lacking his usual coordination but no less sweet. At least she didn’t have to explain why she hadn’t slept; she’d complained, verbally and mentally, very loudly, about lawyers demanding even more redundant repetitions of testimony than the military officers in the Legion, but she’d been happy to snap and snarl and kick up a fuss if it got the Skylift R&D idiots who had almost killed them kicked offworld. She didn’t have Aymeric’s near-encyclopedic knowledge of Pact Worlds corporate law, but she had plenty of practice with making stuffy, shady legal-types piss themselves.

“My darling terror,” he crooned, interrupting her reflection. “You are so kind to me.” 

“Only because you are walking wounded,” she said, and nudged his forehead with her own. Her own irritation settled at the touch, and she skimmed her palm up his spine. She wasn’t sure if the surge of affection that followed was her own or Aymeric’s. Probably both. The fuzzy vision of the two of them curled up on the floor was definitely his, but she had to admit it was tempting to just forget the stupid bed. She’d certainly slept in worse places. The feeling of his weight and his arms was a better sedative than any chemical Y’shtola could shoot her up with, like coming home and finally feeling grounded after a long stint space-side. Comforting, familiar gravity.

...huh, she thought, and Aymeric hummed a questioning noise into her scales. “What?” he yawned, though from the tone of his voice and the humor she felt filtering from him she knew he meant What are you doing now?

“Hold on tight to me,” Hanami said, and pulled him even closer with the arm around his waist; with her other hand she grasped the side rail of the bed, sliding her palm under it and looping her fingers over as though she was readying to do a pull-up. He shuffled to face her as best he could, the long line of his cast hard against her thigh, and hooked his free hand into the back of her jacket’s collar. Such immediate, unquestioning trust in her, she had to stop for a second and press her own harsh kiss to his forehead.

Then she reached for the tug of gravity at the edge of her awareness, the one that pulled her toward the planet’s heart, the one that kept her bearings straight even in the depths of space, and forced it off.

Her feet drifted off the floor first, ready as she was for the sudden weightlessness. She took the chance to brace Aymeric’s injured leg between her calves while he clung even tighter to her, hooking his uninjured leg around the back of her knee. She tensed the muscles of her abdomen and tugged on the bed rail, using it as leverage to pull them both toward the ceiling. With a grunt and a twist of her shoulder, she flipped them both over the rail, and from there it was easy to press Aymeric safely down onto the mattress and shove herself to the side before she allowed gravity to reassert itself.

She did a rather embarrassing faceplant into her pillow, accompanied by a crashing sound from below—the packages on the desk, she realized, dimly, through the buzzing in her head. At least nothing was breakable, and Aymeric kept the batteries for his plasma rifle locked in a safe. Accidentally blasting a hole through the ceiling would have been overkill after the week she’d had.

She groaned, muffled by the pillow, and snapped her fingers at the sensors to shut the lights off. Even without the fluorescents, the pounding behind her eyes continued. Maybe she shouldn’t have done the anti-gravity stunt when she was already worn out. At her side, Aymeric caught her hand and pulled it free of its grip on the blankets, pressing a soothing kiss into her palm.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice rumbling and steady in the dark. “You did so well, love, you were brilliant. You deserve some rest.”

His voice was low and beguiling, and there was a deliberate pressure on her mind like a firm, comforting hand—not his most subtle work. “You do not have to use any mind tricks,” she told him as best she could around her yawn. “‘M going to sleep.”

“I know,” he said, and underneath she heard his silent protest of not a mind trick—whatever, she was too tired to have that debate again. She felt him shuffle sideways toward her, slow and ungainly and so, so loving, it felt almost like a physical warmth washing over her. “But if I can help you rest, all the better.”

“Mm,” she said, and shifted just enough to press against his shoulder, careful not to jostle his leg. Exhausted, fog-headed, comfortable and warm...she sighed and squeezed his hand in her own. “You help just by being here.”

She actually wasn’t sure if she’d said the last part out loud. Not like it mattered. He made a low, happy noise, relaxing into the haze of painkillers, and even if he didn’t speak it in words she heard his echoed I love you loud and clear.

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Deceit and Desire: Saigon

At 9:00am, Lan and I finished breakfast and left the dining room on the 2nd floor of Hotel Vissai to go to the Golden Smile Clinic. It was on Ký Hoà Street in District 5 of Ho Chi Minh City, about 30 minutes away. The previous night a new patient, from Australia, had arrived in the city formerly known as Saigon. The woman, Mary Lynn Tefford, lived in Canberra, Australia, and was desperate.

“She will be at my mother’s clinic at 10:00,” Lan said as we rode down in the elevator. “She phoned two weeks ago. She flew in yesterday.”

We exited the lobby and waited on the sidewalk in the polluted air. Binh, my taxi driver, brought his small car to a halt before us. He smiled, revealing a gap in his top teeth, a gap which hadn’t been present the previous day. Two days prior, he had mentioned needing to see a dentist, but I assumed he was going to have a minor procedure, like a teeth cleaning or a filling replaced.

Young Men Playing Cards, Saigon, Vietnam

The Edge of the City

The first rain clouds, dark specters, appeared on the horizon as Binh wove in and out of the buses, cars, and motorcycles on Nguyễn Văn Trỗi Street, the main thoroughfare between the airport and the center of Saigon in District 1.

By now, though, the daily changes in the weather were familiar.

Binh turned right on Công Ty Cp Bằng Hữu Quốc Tế-Cửa Hàng Số Street and then merged onto an even busier street, Trần Huy Liệu.

As Binh drove, he stared periodically at Lan and me sitting in the back seat. He wanted to listen to the story about Mary, the new client whom Lan’s mother’s had acquired and intended to treat for a recently discovered benign tumor in her uterus.

“She’s 42 years old,” Lan said. “She’s re-married. She wants to have a child with her new husband.”

Binh looked out the window and waved to a woman on a motorbike, who waved back at him.

“Mary doesn’t want to have surgery,” Lan said. “She wants to avoid any cutting with scalpels and a long recuperation from the trauma of surgery.”

Binh soon halted the car in an alley between Lương Nhữ Học and Triệu Quang Phục Streets. The area was popular with people looking for natural or herbal healers and for acquiring exotic and sometimes very expensive medicines.

Streetside Pedicure, Saigon, Vietnam

Golden Smile Clinic

Inside the Golden Smile Clinic, we saw the same miniature clerk who had greeted us two days before. She was 25 years old, but looked 16, and wore a white pressed blouse, skirt, and stiletto heels.

The clerk passed through a door at the back of the clinic, and we followed her into a narrow yard. We immediately saw a garden with an impressive collection of plants, not only sprouting from the ground but growing in pots hanging from a wooden structure with curls drooping onto the ground. The clerk pruned several leaves off of a tall vine with white and pink flowers, a pink-striped trumpet lily.

“We grow them for our clients,” a woman’s voice coming from behind me said. I turned and saw Lan’s mother. She smiled at me.

The clerk then cut off a Vietnamese coriander sprout and gave it to Lan’s mother. The clerk disappeared back into the clinic again.

The mother spoke to me. “Western medicine can help only so much in the most severe cases. I know it is the same in your country, even though you have many big hospitals and expensive clinics.”

The clerk, who re-appeared suddenly with a surprised look on her face, said a few words in Vietnamese to Lan and her mother, standing next to each other beside me.

“Mary has arrived,” Lan said, turning to me. “You can stay in the garden, if you like. Just relax until Mary leaves.”

Lan and her mother went inside.

“Do you want some water?” asked the clerk, whose name was Tran. “Perhaps coconut milk?” I shook my head to both questions.

The humidity was rising quickly. Lan and her mother didn’t return to the garden as Tran led me from plant to plant in the yard, describing each one and its uses, including the tần dày lá, or plectranthus amboinicus, for respiratory tract disorders; the sả hoa hồng, or palmarosa, for skin maladies; and the rau má, or centella asiatica, for blood circulation.

When I went into the clinic again, I saw Lan and her mother with the new patient, Mary, talking in low voices.

The Australian woman, who had short, blond hair and wore a blue polo shirt, tennis shorts, and Adidas shoes, was drinking a green liquid from a painted glass. The woman looked closer to 25 than 45 years old; she was muscular and appeared athletic and coordinated.

“My goal is to reduce the size of the tumor inside me so I can get pregnant again,” Mary said to me after shaking my hand. She looked as if she wanted to tell me more about herself, but she seemed to be distracted. “It’s important.” A jeep pulled up outside. “I have to leave. I’ll see you again, I’m sure.”

Two Men Contemplating Their Next Move, Saigon, Vietnam

In the Heart of the City

I told Lan that I had to go to District 1 and collect a folder of statistics on bilingual students speaking English and Vietnamese. Lan looked at me, disappointed, and her mother frowned. An idea occurred to me. I asked Lan if she could meet me for dinner at 7:30 in the rooftop bar of the Rex Hotel, one of the most iconic landmarks in Saigon.

Lan’s mother nodded, as if giving her daughter permission.

Karen had said to me earlier that morning that Duy planned to take her to the Rex at 8:00. Lan agreed to meet me. I wanted Karen and Lan to have an opportunity to talk. Although they were my two best friends in Vietnam, I suspected that they would soon hate each other or, more realistically, that they already did. I wanted to introduce them to each other before matters got any worse.

At noon, dark clouds gathered overhead as Binh brought his taxi to a stop on Nguyễn Thị Minh Khai Street.

A door opened on the ground floor of the three-story house, and Karen appeared in the doorway. “Emily is here,” she said. “I’m going to take her to SEAMEO when I go back for my afternoon class. You can come with us to the school. I have the folder ready for you in my classroom.”

I stepped inside. The smell of a recently cooked meal was obvious.

“Emily wants an extra teaching job,” Karen said to me, as we entered the kitchen. “But do you really need this job?” Karen said to Emily, who had just entered the room from another door.

“Yes,” Emily replied. “I can’t take any money from my mother in Texas right now. She opposes my relationship with Cao. I need the extra cash.”

Karen stared at Emily. “Do you really think that Cao will sacrifice his career in the army for you?” Karen said. Cao was a major in the Vietnamese army and rising fast in the Communist Party in Saigon.

“Why would he lie to me?”

I could think of at least ten good reasons. I thought that probably Karen could, too.

Two Women on a Motorbike, Saigon, Vietnam

SEAMEO School

Because Karen had to be back at the school at 1:30pm, I had to walk with her and Emily as they argued. Finally, from Lê Thánh Tôn Street, we entered the courtyard of the school, a property which once housed the CIA headquarters in Saigon.

Emily stopped and turned to Karen. “I appreciate your help in introducing me to the administrators here,” Emily said, “but I don’t understand your attitude toward Cao. I know you had a bad break-up recently. I guess you’re still hurting.”

Karen shook her head.

“I feel bad for what happened to you,” Emily continued. She was referring to Karen’s recent affair with a security guard during which he had fathered secretly a child with another woman.

Karen didn’t reply.

“Although Vietnamese men have a reputation for promiscuity,” Emily said, “I’m not concerned. I know Cao loves me. My situation is different.”

More dark clouds gathered in the skies above us, blunting the force of the sun’s rays but, at the same time, turning up the humidity.

“What Cao says now and what he says next month very likely will be different,” Karen replied with a scowl on her face.

“Let’s go and see the director,” Emily replied, ending the conversation.

Street Vendor, Saigon, Vietnam

Inside a Stretch Limousine

After walking the short distance from SEAMEO to Hotel InterContinental, I stopped under a tree on Hai Bà Trưng Street across from the hotel. A black stretch Mercedes stopped in front of me.

Although the driver, a Vietnamese man in his 20s, could have been anyone, I thought I recognized the big car. When the window in the back of the car rolled down, I recognized Howard in the dark interior. The car, I knew, belonged to Howard’s friend, Emile.

I assumed, then, that Emile’s girlfriend, Natasha, was with Howard in the car. I remembered that Natasha had just flown in from Moscow where she lived most of the year. Probably Howard and Natasha were on their way to look at more properties in the tony districts of the city. Natasha wanted a villa to rent, and Emile wanted Howard, who was a long-time friend from Pittsburgh—part of a large Jewish community in that city—to help her find a suitable one.

But I thought Emile also wanted Howard to help Emile hide his increasingly serious relationship with a young Vietnamese woman, a financial analyst who worked for Emile. Howard had become a shield or a diversion, enabling Emile to pursue the affair. I had tried to warn Howard, but he didn’t want to listen to me. He was in a dangerous position.

“Good afternoon,” Howard said, opening the door. “It’s cool in here with the air conditioning on.”

Howard slid to the opposite side of the car, and, while closing the door, I sat where he had been sitting. Phi, sitting beside Natasha, was facing me. Natasha was facing Howard.

The window next to me went up again, and the big car started to move quietly, as if it had a mind of its own. While the air cooled my face and arms, the blue light overhead made me relax and forget about the two American women, Karen and Emily.

“Howard thinks he knows the real-estate market in Saigon better than I do,” Phi remarked. “How long has Howard been here?” Phi said. “A month? It’s impossible. Absurd.”

Natasha glanced at me. “Although Howard knows the real-estate market in the States,” she said, hesitating and calling attention to her Slavic accent, “how he might or might not be able to find a house for me in Saigon is not important. I have Phi helping me.” She ran a hand through her hair, looking at me, expecting a reply.

Natasha, in her 30s, had high cheek bones, full lips highlighted with a pinkish gloss, and extra long dark hair. She looked more than exotic. She looked expensive.

I noticed Howard staring at me, wanting me to defend him, but I glanced at Natasha and decided I should refrain. The situation was complicated. I could have said many things, but I said nothing instead.

Natasha preferred a villa in the An Phu neighborhood, an exclusive area, located in District 2, but she hadn’t bothered to tell any of us, or even Emile himself, what she expected. Anyway, I knew that she had her own money and did what she wanted when she felt like it.

Emile was a little afraid of Natasha. All of us were.

Howard picked up some papers lying next to him on the seat. “From the listing for the property Phi has selected,” Howard said, “I don’t know why we should even bother driving out to it and viewing it.” He pointed to the listing. “It’s written in English. I have pictures, too.” He looked up at Natasha. “I know what the place has to offer. Nothing.”

Natasha, dressed in shorts with a see-through shift covering her legs and her upper body, placed a hand on Phi’s arm. “We’re going to see the place you’ve selected,” she remarked. “Don’t worry about it or worry about what Howard says or worry about what Emile might have told anyone. It’s my decision.”

Now I noticed Natasha wore a gold chain around her neck with a gold medallion suspended between her breasts. Howard looked out the window of the Mercedes. “What street is this?” he said.

Woman Eating Lunch at the Market, Saigon, Vietnam

Bar on the Ground Floor of the Hotel InterContinental

It was 4:00 in the afternoon. The crowd at Hotel InterContinental’s ground-floor bar, called Purple Jade, occupied all of the tables. A group of foreigners—all men—sat close by. The men spoke with English accents. Natasha, Howard, Phi, and I sat at a separate table next to the four middle-aged Englishmen. They had been been gambling at a casino, called the Palazzo Club, a couple of blocks away. Three of them were discussing what they had lost. The fourth bragged about what he had won.

“I told you,” Howard said, looking at Phi, “the master bathroom has to connect to the master bedroom. And, as you will recall, in the last place we visited, it did not.” Howard drank some wine from his glass. “Also,” he continued, “you must keep in mind that Natasha has a maid and a hairdresser. They go with her.”

We had walked through a villa with 12 rooms, renting for $20,000 a month. Natasha had followed Phi through all of the empty rooms and been impressed with the lay-out of the house.

“The place was beautiful, but it was not for me,” Natasha said. “We’ll look at two more places tomorrow if I have enough time.”

Howard drank some more wine. He looked at me and then at Natasha. “Don’t feel like you have to settle,” Howard said. “Phi has to find something you actually want.”

“That’s the problem,” Natasha said. She smiled. “I don’t know actually what I want.” She looked at the Englishmen, almost dismissively.

Abruptly Natasha stood up from the table. Her see-through shift seemed to get caught on her chair. “I’m going upstairs,” she announced. Her bare thigh brushed my arm as she passed between the tables.

The men from Great Britain watched Natasha. They smiled, a little sheepishly. They wanted to question us about Natasha, but they didn’t. They were silent for the first time.

Motorbike Riders Awaiting a Green Light, Saigon, Vietnam

Driving in the Rain

Under the tree on Hai Bà Trưng Street across from the entrance to Hotel InterContinental, I waited for Binh to arrive in his taxi and take me back to Hotel Vissai. The rain came down in sheets. Howard had borrowed a large umbrella for me from the concierge.

In the taxi, Binh practiced his English. I paid no attention. My thoughts turned to Karen, who now showed an interest in a relationship with Duy. Or, at least, she acted as if she no longer opposed one.

Binh pulled up in front of Hotel Vissai. I asked him to pick me up in one hour.

After showering, dressing, and sending e-mail messages to the States, I found myself back in the taxi with Binh. It was still raining. Once again, Binh talked to me in English. Once again, I paid no attention to him. I thought about Karen and Duy.

At the Rex Hotel on Nguyễn Huệ Street in District 1, in the heart of Saigon, I saw that it was brightly lit in the wet, shiny darkness.

“Are you going to meet the American woman or the Vietnamese?” Binh said.

“Both,” I replied. “It’s probably a bad idea.”

Garbage Collectors, Saigon, Vietnam

Bar on the Roof of the Rex Hotel

Under the awning, a cool breeze was blowing over the tops of nearby buildings and distant streets. I took a sip of Malbec, apparently imported from Argentina, and set the glass back down. I sat near the entrance on the rooftop where I had a clear view of the elevator and of people arriving. It was 7:30. The rain had stopped and a cool breeze swept across the city.

A couple emerged from the elevator.

At first, I didn’t recognize Karen, who, wearing makeup and high heels, looked 10 years older than usual. She was taller than Duy. Even for a Vietnamese man, he was short. The maître d’, wearing a black and orange uniform, led the two of them to a table along the railing at the front of the restaurant, where they had a view of the park below. They didn’t see me.

When the musicians started playing, I turned around to listen and, a minute later. I felt Lan beside me, touching my arm.

“Is that wine for me?” she asked.

She knew it wasn’t, but she started to drink it anyway.

The music was loud; the singer, with long, black hair, was Filipina, but she sounded American when she took the microphone and began singing.

“I know the song. It’s by the Eagles,” I said. “I can’t remember its name.”

Lan laughed. “Take It Easy,” she said. “It was sung by Glenn Frey.”

A Band Performs, Saigon, Vietnam

Ho Chi Minh’s Statue

“I like your dress,” I said to Karen. Lan nodded. I knew she wasn’t agreeing with me. Far from it. Lan didn’t like Karen, although she never said so.

I sat next to the railing on the rooftop and looked down into the street and the adjacent park. I stared at the bronze statue of Ho Chi Minh, a symbol of the past in the middle of the park.

“We went to the opera two nights ago,” Karen said. “We saw the Magic Flute, which turned out to be very good. First class.”

Lan didn’t respond.

Lan knew the opera and liked Mozart in particular, but she was pretending she didn’t to stifle the conversation.

“My friend was singing a leading role, the role of Pamina,” Duy volunteered. “I’ve known her for many years, someone I knew up the coast in Hoi An.”

I couldn’t keep my mind engaged. I stopped following the conversation.

After a few moments, I realized I was staring at Duy and Karen. My mood quickly was worsening.

I had hoped that Lan would like Karen. Now I knew it was impossible.

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