Nobody's Hero Pt. 02

Author's Note:

See Pt. 1 for blurb. Also, if you haven't already read Pt. 1, I strongly recommend doing so before proceeding.

All sensuality (on page or otherwise) takes place between characters who are eighteen or older.

Copyright © 2024 Jake Lazarus

All rights reserved.

This book, or any portion thereof, may not be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the author (except for the use of brief quotations in a review).

This is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, businesses, products, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Fifteen

Hugo stormed out of the youth center, the cool night air hitting his flushed skin as he tried to shake off the encounter with Olivia. His thoughts were a chaotic mess, bouncing between frustration and self-recrimination. He could feel the siren song of the garage and the dilapidated sedan he was slowly bringing back to life calling to him, promising serenity. Yet, as his eyes scanned the parking lot, he realized that the universe had more misery in store for him.

Sighing wearily, he stepped into the dimly lit parking lot and waited for the figure he had spotted from the doorway to step from the shadows. The newcomer looked out of place in his surroundings. His expensive, tailored clothes clashed with the grit of the youth center's urban setting. He had the soft, doughy build of someone who had never done a day of manual labor in his life, and a face that reminded Hugo of the most obnoxious character from the teen-oriented comedies the kids at the center could not stop watching.

"Hugo van der Mewre?" The man announced, his tone anything but questioning.

"I'm getting pretty fucking sick of people looking for me," Hugo growled in reply.

The newcomer smiled in a way which was anything but reassuring. "Perhaps the problem is that the wrong people are finding you."

"You don't know the half of it," Hugo grunted. "Goodbye."

"Hang on a minute," the corpulent man yelped. "I haven't even introduced myself yet."

"Not my problem," Hugo said dismissively as he stepped around the man, intent on heading for his truck.

"My name is Korben Lundberg."

"Congratulations," Hugo muttered without retarding his progress.

Korben was not so easily deterred. He trotted after Hugo, his polished loafers scuffing against the pavement as he huffed for breath. "Hey, hold up! I need to talk to you."

"Sounds like a you problem," Hugo repeated, picking up his pace.

"Come on, Hugo. Don't be like that. I'm obviously willing to pay for your time." Korben's voice took on a wheedling tone as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash.

"Keep your money."

"I'll give you a thousand dollars."

"Fuck off."

"How about five grand? Just for a chat."

Hugo stopped in his tracks, more out of annoyance than anything else. He turned to face Korben, his eyes narrowing. "Leave. Me. Alone."

"Ten grand," Korben countered without missing a beat, waving the bills in Hugo's face like a bridegroom at a strip club on the night of his bachelor party. When Hugo failed to so much as blink, Korben's expression twisted into one of frustration. "Alright, twenty-five grand. That's more than most people around here make in a year."

Hugo jabbed a finger into his chest. "Nothing says entitled asshole like assuming that everyone in an urban environment lives below the poverty line. Why don't you take that money and shove it up your ass?"

Korben's face flushed red, his carefully crafted veneer of affluence slipping as his true nature began to show. "Fifty grand," he spat out, his voice tinged with desperation. "So, stop being an asshole. Just take the god damned money and hear me out."

Hugo stared at him for a long moment, weighing his fervent desire to leave this begging lunatic in his wake against the undeniable knowledge of the profound impact fifty thousand dollars would have on Jenneke's life. After a moment, he sighed and snapped. "Give me the money."

Korben peeled off what appeared to be, at most, a fifth of the cash in his hand and held it out to Hugo. He jerked his hand back when Hugo reached for it, a taunting giggle busting from his lips.

"Cute," Hugo spat. "You've got one more chance."

"Lighten up, bro."

"Have you ever been hit in the mouth, extremely hard?"

Hugo had the satisfaction of watching Korben's eyes widen in fear. Korben tried to play off his momentary lapse in poise, sucking in his gut and saying, "I'll give it to you when we get to the restaurant."

"I'm not going anywhere with you. Now. Give me the money, or I'm gone."

Hugo held out his hand, palm up, and glared at Korben expectantly. After a pregnant pause, Korben placed the bills in his hand. Hugo crammed them in his pocket and then glanced at his watch before declaring, "You've got five minutes."

"There's no reason to be so confrontational. After all, I'm here to make you rich beyond your wildest dreams."

"I'm listening," Hugo growled.

Korben seemed to take a moment to collect his thoughts before his greasy smile slid back into place. "As I said, I'm here to help you. Or, put more succinctly, to explain to you how we can benefit each other."

"Four minutes," Hugo announced, unphased.

"It's your tech, Hugo." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I've seen things online. Wonderful things. I know you've developed an entirely new type of technology. Something any government would kill to get their hands on. I can help you fend them off, keep your tech private. I'm also in a position to help you take your tech to the next level."

Hugo crossed his arms, his expression flat. "You're mistaken, sir."

Korben continued, "I'm not asking you to confirm anything, Hugo. I know precisely what's happening here. You think I haven't been paying attention? I've seen the reports; the surveillance footage. You've got something big, and I want in. Think of all we could do if we combine forces. The world will be our oyster! Name your price. Whatever it takes. I'm prepared to offer billions!"

Before Hugo could respond, the door to the youth center creaked open behind him and Olivia sauntered out. She blinked up at the streetlights blazing above the parking lot, glancing around until her gaze landed on Hugo. With a grin, she walked up to him, her hips swaying provocatively. She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, her voice dripping with mock affection. "That was so much fun, Hugo. I can't wait to do it again."

Hugo shuddered visibly, his skin crawling at her touch. He hissed, "Get away from me!"

"Don't be like that, baby," she enthused.

"I'm not your baby."

Olivia finally turned her attention to Korben. "Who's your friend?"

Hugo glanced between them for a moment before grunting, "I think we're done here."

"Hey," Korben complained. "I've got three minutes left."

"I'm not interested in anything either of you have to say."

"Wait!" Olivia yelped, her eyes lighting up with recognition. "Holy shit! You're Korben Lundberg, aren't you? I've seen stories about you online. Everyone's talking about you." Her tone shifted, taking on a flirtatious lilt as she practically oozed interest.

Korben's eyes raked over Olivia's body, his earlier focus on Hugo's tech momentarily forgotten. He licked his lips, his gaze lingering on her curves. "And who might you be?"

She stepped closer, holding her hand out demurely. "Olivia." Her grin bloomed into a predatory smile. "Didn't you just sell your company for, like, ten billion dollars?"

"Twelve-point-seven billion," Korben stammered. "And it wasn't my company. It was merely one of my lessor algorithms."

"Wow," Olivia gushed as she closed the distance between them and rubbed Korben's arm alluringly.

"The remaining algorithms are worth so much more," Korben announced, his voice rising in pitch.

As Hugo looked on, he could see sweat break out on Korben's forehead and he began repeatedly clenching and unclenching his hands. The corpulent man's eyes voraciously guzzled the sight of Olivia's spectacular body. As Korben ogled Olivia, Hugo seized the opportunity to slip away. He had already seen more than enough to suspect the future of his soon-to-be-former companions' conversation. A tiny part of him wondered what lies Olivia would spin on Korben's behalf, but that miniscule minority was quickly shouted down by the overwhelming majority of his consciousness who wanted to be literally anywhere else.

Without a word, he turned and walked away, leaving the two of them to their mutual predation. Once he was safely ensconced in his truck, having chosen to enter through the passenger-side door to avoid advertising his departure, he beat a hasty retreat from the youth center.

He let out a long, frustrated breath. "God dammit" he muttered morosely.

Tristan's voice sighed in his mind. "I feel like I owe you an apology."

Isolde continued. "Hugo, we had no idea."

Hugo shrugged. "I..." he began. Then he blew out a defeated breath before groaning, "Fuck."

"I'm so sorry," Isolde soothed.

"As am I," Tristan added comfortingly. "I can scarcely imagine a more humiliating sequence of events."

"You're not helping," Hugo grumped.

"How can we help?" Isolde offered.

"You can't."

"Come now, dear boy," Tristan pressed. "There must be something."

"I just want those two assholes to stay far away from me. But I suspect the nanobots have already infected their devices, so we've got them both tagged like the sharks they are. They're not sneaking up on me again."

"Too true," Tristan admitted.

"But there could be others," Isolde ventured.

"Great!" he sighed. "You guys are veritable fonts of marvelous news." He paused to take a turn, dodging around a particularly enthusiastic delivery driver in the process. "I just wish there was a way I could see these fuck-heads coming. But didn't you say your rugrats have extremely limited mobility?"

"We have spent a good deal of time in conversation about this," Isolde continued, "and we believe we have a very good chance of creating an entirely new kind of offspring. One capable of coming together with its siblings to form more complex machines."

"Sounds promising."

Tristan hummed agreeably. "We have high hopes for their potential. But the process will be lengthier."

"What does that mean? Exactly?"

"Figure roughly double the time for initial gestation," Isolde replied. "Something I feel like should merit me hazard pay."

"You're telling me you actually carry these... offspring inside your body? I thought you didn't even have a physical form."

"I promise I don't mean this insultingly, but you could not possibly understand. Suffice it to say, the effort involved in bringing this new type of offspring into the world is an order of magnitude higher than what came before."

Tristan's sooth voice took over. "The time required for each generation is also roughly double. But they will be an order of magnitude larger. So, thanks to the cube law, they will yield impressive results in roughly the same amount of time."

"And they'll be able to form things like drones to keep an eye out for people surprising me."

"Among other things," Isolde admitted. "But we've yet to discuss the final impact of this latest version of our offspring."

"I'm almost scared to ask."

"The amount of effort to actually create them is much greater than previously."

"What are you telling me?"

"Our lovemaking will need to be much more... vigorous," Tristan answered. "Much more vigorous."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Hugo groaned. "So, you're talking about a couple of hours of you two swinging from the ethereal chandeliers."

"Try an entire evening," Isolde simmered. "It will be glorious."

Hugo jerked the wheel of the truck, suddenly turning down a side street. He glanced at the dash of his truck and groaned, "I swear to God. If it turns out that the liquor store closed early tonight, I'm going to find out what happens if you drink motor oil. Because I am not doing this night sober."

Sixteen

"Hugo?" Isolde asked pleadingly. "Please talk to us."

"Later," Hugo grunted as he finished unmounting a differential from the third in a stack of four wrecks located deep in the junk yard.

He lifted the chunk of iron free with a mighty groan and hefted it onto his shoulder for the short, but fraught, descent to the ground. Once back on terra firma, he squatted to pick up a second differential he had scrounged from another wreck and staggered in the direction of the shop.

"Our offspring are capable of remarkable feats of healing," Isolde continued. "But there is little they can do for sleep deprivation."

"I got a full five hours last night. Besides, I'm too busy to waste my time."

"This isn't busy," Tristan scolding. "This is avoidance."

"Fuck you. Twice last week, the woman who will receive this car didn't get home until nearly midnight. That late at night, just a single missed connection would mean she didn't get home at all. That's unacceptable."

"How much better off would she be with a car that breaks down because you were too tired to do the job properly?"

"Fuck off," he growled as he muscled the differentials through the door to the garage.

"It's been two weeks since Olivia," Isolde began.

"To hell with Olivia."

"Almost certainly," Tristan muttered.

"Not falling for that," Hugo huffed.

"Pardon?"

"You're not drawing me into one of your bullshit philosophical debates in a thinly veiled attempt to... I don't even know what."

"In two weeks," Isolde continued, "you've worked at least eighteen hours a day, every day. At your job, at the youth center, building this car, volunteering at a soup kitchen..."

"Your point?"

"This isn't healthy, Hugo," Tristan answered gently. "Worse, there is not a single action you're taking which will improve your situation."

"My situation is irrelevant."

"What of your mission?"

"There is no mission. All I am, is what I can do to help people. As many as I can, as much as I can."

"But," Isolde began, but she fell silent at the sound of a gentle knock on the aluminum door to the garage.

Hugo glanced in the direction, whereupon he quirked a curious eyebrow. He scooped up a clean rag and wiped his hands off as he headed for the human shaped door. He opened it to admit the early morning light and said, "Can I help you?"

"Um... hi," the newcomer replied haltingly. "I'm sure you don't remember me..."

"Faith," Hugo interjected. "I broke into your room in the emergency department."

She offered a small smile. "I wouldn't say broke in, more like took refuge."

"If you say so," Hugo allowed. He cast his gaze around the parking lot looking for her car but failed to spot any vehicles which had not been there the previous evening.

She noticed the movement of his eyes and said, "Oh, I didn't drive here."

"That's no problem," he replied reassuringly. "Let me just grab the keys to the tow truck and we can..."

"My car is fine," she answered quickly. "I mean... it's not fine. It actually sucks. But that's not why I'm here."

"Ok," Hugo replied slowly.

"Is there any way I could come in?"

"Why not?" he replied gruffly while silently cursing himself for his boorish behavior.

He stepped out of the doorway and waved her inside. She looked around in curiosity, her eyes falling on the car he was rebuilding (which currently looked like it had overindulged and vomited most of the contents of its engine bay onto the garage floor).

He gestured toward the waiting room and said, "Perhaps you'd like to sit down?"

"Ok," she replied simply, heading in that direction without a backwards glance.

Hugo kept his eyes on the ground without effort, recent activities providing more than sufficient reason for him to fail to notice the flowing, floor-length dress she wore which left her shoulders bare save for two tiny straps.

She took a seat on one of the couches and took a moment to collect her thoughts. The anxiety roiling off her was enough to make Hugo fidget and, for want of a better idea, he fed a few bills into the vending machine and handed her the bottle of water which tumbled forth. She looked at the bottle curiously for a moment before finally meeting his gaze.

"How did you know that pill would cure my... infection."

"Huh?"

"In the hospital you gave me a pill which completely eradicated my... oh hell, it's not like you didn't already know. My syphilis."

"I didn't know, actually."

"Bullshit. It's not like I'd forget blurting that out to a complete stranger!"

"I thought you were speaking euphemistically," he replied weakly. "In any case, I suppose the important thing is that the pill worked."

"I agree. But that doesn't answer the question of how it worked. Or, I guess my pertinent question is, how you knew it would work."

"It's hard to explain. I guess it would be most accurate to say that, rather than a chemical compound which attempts to either kill or negate a virus, it seeks to remove it altogether."

"But how does it know what to do?"

"I'm honestly not sure." He glanced in the direction of the garage. "I also couldn't sketch the optimal chemical composition of a hydrocarbon to ignite inside a cylinder and produce the combustion upon which a large percentage of our economy depends. But I can still see when an engine isn't working correctly. And, more often than not, I can fix whatever's wrong."

He saw that his argument was falling flat. The inclination to attempt to fabricate a fiction to explain his resurrection lasted less than the span of a heartbeat. For reasons he could not fully explain, could not even fully comprehend, he felt compelled to share the unvarnished, fantastical truth that represented the answer to her question. He wondered if it was the breathtaking jolt of energy he had felt weeks earlier in the hospital when their hands had touched all too briefly, or if it was instead something no more complicated than the desire to establish a rapport with someone who his instincts suggested was a good person.

"A little less than a month ago, I got shot trying to break up... I guess you could call it an attack."

"Call it a gang rape," Faith retorted primly. "That's what it was."

"Indeed," Hugo replied, his expression grim. "I was shot in the back of the head. Point blank range. What they call execution style."

"But you were fine the next day. All the coverage assumed it was just a glancing blow, like make it just nicked off a bit of your ear."

He pointed to the back of his skull, roughly where the aperture at the rear of a ball cap would rest. "The bullet entered here and exited just above my temple."

"Then how..."

"Divine intervention," he interjected with a shrug. "I had a very confusing conversation with a guy who looked like Mark Twain and insisted he was, is, my guardian angel. During our chat, he told me that I'd be given a second chance, and that I'd have help. Turned out, that help was in the form of what I'm forced to call nanobots. They're manifested as, among other things, these little pills. This isn't medicine; it's millions of tiny devices designed by beings millions of years older than ourselves for the express purpose of healing."

"And you believe it? I mean, truly believe it?"

"How can I not? I've seen the records, talked to people who visited me in the hospital. I was shot, and in a coma. Then I woke up and I was fine. I've also got these strips which can heal any wound. In seconds! This isn't really about believing, it's about tangible, undeniable evidence."

"And that's how you knew that pill would heal me, even knowing nothing about my... condition?" Hugo nodded somberly in reply. Faith seemed to consider this for a moment before taking a calming breath and continuing. "I ask because... my grandmother has kidney disease. I mean, she had kidney disease. Now they're calling it end stage kidney failure."

"And you want to know if I could help her?"

Faith nodded firmly, the movement causing a tear to fall from her cheek. "I can't lose her, Hugo. I just can't."

"Where is she?" he asked as he stood quickly.

"Louisville," Faith answered with a quirked eyebrow. "Why?"

Hugo pulled his keys from his pocket and held his hand out to her, which she took with a questioning look. He helped her stand and then gestured to the parking lot. "Shall we?"

***

"You really don't have to drive me," Faith exhaled defeatedly.

Hugo glanced over to find her dazzling sapphire eyes staring at him with an inscrutable expression. "You said that already."

"But I don't understand why you insist on driving me. It'll take us half a day to drive there."

"Nah," he deflected. "I figure five hours, tops. Unless we hit traffic."

"That's half the day! Surely you had plans other than driving a complete stranger to another state. I get that you'd be wary about just handing over a pill likely worth billions of dollars..."

Hugo interrupted her by digging the cylinder of nanobot pills out of his pocket and handing it over. "Here you go. There's a few dozen in there right now."

"What are you doing?" she yelped heatedly.

He glanced between her and the road a few times before shrugging in defeat. "Just felt like the right thing to do."

"Is this about getting in my pants?"

He shook his head firmly. "Negative. I'm done with all that."

"What? Using your charm and good looks to pick up desperate women?"

"Never mind," he grumped.

"You expect me to believe you're done with women altogether? I know you're not gay, not after the way you checked me out in the hospital. So, what happened?"

"Forget I said anything."

She was silent for so long that Hugo had convinced himself the matter had indeed been forgotten, until she murmured, "Me too."

"Pardon?"

"I just got sick of guys using me. The last guy, in addition to draining my savings in a failed bid to save what was the dumbest idea in history for a business, also cheated on me and gave me the little present which I was in the hospital to get treated when we met."

"Sounds like a real winner."

"Merely one of way too many chameleons whose disguises I was far too dumb to see through."

"Perhaps the fault lies with them."

"Come again?"

"Why blame yourself for giving those men the benefit of the doubt? Is it not more reasonable to say they are responsible because they abused your trust?"

"But I let them do it. They didn't tie me up in the basement and take my money."

He glanced over to find that she had turned in her seat to face him. Her legs were crossed such that, were he to find it necessary to shift gears, his hand would have trouble avoiding her knee. This posture, combined with her seatbelt, pulled the fabric of her dress taut across her torso, which did little to conceal her round, and very full, breasts. His gaze scanned quickly up to her face, which was regarding him without judgement. Large sapphire eyes stared back at him, welcoming their conversation with unguarded excitement.

"Sometimes people take from us. Sometimes we give to them, suspecting our generosity won't be reciprocated. But we do it anyway on the slim, one-in-a-million chance, that they'll become the person we see with our rose-colored glasses, as opposed to the creeps that they are."

"Is that what happened to you?"

Hugo shrugged and returned his eyes to the road. "After a fashion. Except without the whole relationship aspect."

"So... what? Women just show up at the shop and you fix their cars for free or give them priceless medication?"

He glanced back to find her smiling happily. "Sometimes. But far more often, they just take what they want."

"What's that supposed to mean? They just walk into your garage and empty the register?"

"It's not my garage. I just work there. And they don't take money from me. At least, that's not all they take. I guess you could say what their after is... an evening."

"You're suggesting these women just want a hook up?" she asked incredulously. "And you expect me to believe that an American heterosexual male has a problem with that?"

"It gets old."

"I guess," she admitted. "Although, based on what I've seen about you online, you're not exactly dealing with a bunch of cave trolls."

"Not on the outside, perhaps," he grunted, the memory of the predatory gleam in Olivia's gaze still fresh in his memory two weeks after their last interaction. "They're not all bad, but just once I'd like to meet someone I could talk to."

"I hear you on the short-term relationship front. I think my average is three months. Maybe two-and-a-half."

"My average is one day. Super easy to calculate."

"Wait," she huffed, her hand reaching out to find his forearm. "You're saying you've never done anything but one-night stands?"

"Those women just wanted a quick lay and knew I wouldn't put up a fuss. For the most part, I bear them no ill will. They got what they wanted, and no one got hurt."

"But what about you?"

Had Hugo been asked later to defend his response, he would have been helpless to supply an explanation. It was as though one of his notably silent invisible companions had momentarily wrested control of his consciousness from him in a desperate bid to change his destiny. He bit back the deflection which effortlessly sprang to his lips, deciding instead to answer his welcoming companion with complete sincerity.

"Never figured out how to be anything for anyone else except busy. All I am to anyone is what I can give them; what I can do for them. It's all I've ever known."

"What about your family?" Faith whispered somberly.

"Our father was killed when I was fourteen; mother died a few years later. We managed to dodge the foster system until I turned eighteen and could adopt my sister. Worked enough jobs to keep a roof over our heads until she graduated high school. Then I enlisted to pay her way through college. She's working on another doctorate up in Knoxville."

Faith blinked back tears and squeezed Hugo's forearm reassuringly. "Do you see each other often?"

Hugo shook his head, a quick jerky movement aimed more at keeping his emotions pent up than providing a clear response. "She didn't think much of my parenting skills. Pretty sure she blames me for our mother's sue... death. Still won't talk to me absent a cosmic calamity. Had to forge the paperwork to make it look like the grant she's using to pay for school came from a from a museum overseas, or she certainly would have refused it."

"Hugo," she whimpered. "I don't know what to say. Except that I'm so, so sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about," came his clipped reply. "None of this was your doing. And I don't expect you to do anything about it. It's my business. I'll handle it."

"But isn't that all you've ever done? Try to handle things by yourself?" He offered another quick nod, but otherwise kept his eyes on the road. He felt pressure on his forearm and allowed her to pull his hand from the wheel. She laced their fingers together and waited for him to look in her direction before continuing. "We're not meant to be alone, Hugo. People, I mean."

"I'm not alone," he grumped. "I'm just busy."

"Too busy for a friend?" she asked, the hope in her voice oozing from every syllable.

"I see Derek at the garage, and Will at the center. There's even this new guy, Eli, at the center. Pretty sure he's blazed out of his mind most of the time, but I guess he's all right."

"I meant me, Hugo."

"Oh," he huffed, a feeling of too-familiar awkwardness beginning to creep into his consciousness.

"At least," she continued. "I hope we're friends. Because we've both been quite clear that we're not looking for a relationship right now, and I certainly hope you're not lumping me in with those loathsome creatures who use you for sex."

"Never."

"Good. Well, since I can't think of a reason other than friendship why you'd spend an entire day driving me to see my grandmother... to say nothing of the fact that we're going there to save her fucking life, then I'm going to go ahead and assume that we're well on our way to becoming the best of friends."

He squeezed her hand comfortingly and murmured, "I think I can live with that."

Seventeen

Hugo's eyes were heavy as he drove through the rain-soaked streets, his truck's headlights barely cutting through the deluge. The storm had only intensified since he and Faith began their journey back from Louisville. Now, as he headed toward his apartment, fatigue gnawed at him. Yet, despite the weariness caused by having been awake for nearly twenty-four hours, his mind was buzzing with the events of the day he had shared with Faith. To call their conversation life changing would be an understatement. He had shared pieces of himself which his conscious mind had only become aware of as he spoke the words aloud. A half-smile tugged at his lips at the recollection of her openness, and her willingness to listen without judgment.

Rain hammered against the windshield which the wipers were ill-equipped to handle. Hugo's attention stayed glued to the road where puddles had turned into small lakes and the storm drains struggled to keep pace. The night was alive with the sound of thunder, and the frequent flashes of lightning turned the world into a strobe-lit nightmare.

Feeling a growing sense of unease, Hugo reached for the radio and flipped it on. Static crackled for a moment, forcing him to fiddle with the knob of the ancient radio momentarily to allow the strained voice of a local announcer to fill the cab.

"... severe storm has caused significant damage across the region. Flooding has been reported in multiple areas, with power outages affecting thousands. Emergency services are stretched thin, and residents are advised to stay indoors unless absolutely necessary."

Hugo's brow furrowed as he listened, his fatigue momentarily forgotten. The announcer's voice became even more urgent.

"We're also receiving unconfirmed reports of potential damage to the Chickamauga hydroelectric dam. Officials state that the dam is in no danger of collapsing, but eyewitness accounts suggest that debris has been seen falling into the Tennessee River below the dam. Were the dam to breach, the resulting flood could be catastrophic for communities downstream. Residents in the affected areas have been urged to remain calm by officials, but traffic reports in the area suggest a widespread impromptu evacuation."

"Nothing like stoking the fires of panic," Hugo muttered.

Despite his ire with the broadcaster, he could not help but feel a twinge of anxiety upon hearing the report. He knew the dam well; it was an older structure less than an hour upriver. The idea of it failing under the strain of the storm was all too real in his mind, as was the catastrophic impact such a collapse would have on his community. He felt his resolve coalesce as though it were a physical force, and he took the next side street to head northeast.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he popped it into the holder on his dash. "Artoo, I need an unobstructed route to the dam."

His screen flared to life with an unconventional route, avoiding the highways in favor of residential streets. As he drove, he noted several instances of roads which seemed washed out. The first of these, Hugo approached with great trepidation. Yet a slow crossing revealed the water was slow moving and the depth was well within the abilities of his truck to handle.

Hugo continued to make headway, but the roads were a mess. Everywhere he looked, he saw flooded intersections, downed power lines, and strewn debris. He could feel the urgency in the air, the storm's fury taking a back seat to the potential for disaster.

As he approached an intersection, he spied a particularly treacherous stretch of road off to his right. As he looked closer, he spotted an sedan trapped in the rising floodwaters. Inside, he spotted movement which suggested the vehicle had at least one occupant.

Hugo swerved as close as he dared before slamming on the brakes. Leaping from the truck, he was instantly soaked thanks to the deluge. He squinted through the downpour and saw, to his horror, that, in addition to two adults, the car held at least one child.

Without hesitating, he rushed to his truck and ripped open the toolbox in the rear of the bed. Yanking a heavy-duty tow-strap free, he secured it to his hitch. He wrapped the opposite end around his arm several times and waded into the torrent. The current was stronger than he anticipated, and the mountain water was surprisingly cold. He struggled to keep his footing as the water surged around him, but he pressed on, the tow-strap his only lifeline.

Halfway to the car, he was knocked off his feet by something slamming into his back. He yanked hard against the tow-strap and managed to regain his footing. Reaching behind his back with his free hand, he felt a solid object. With some difficulty, he wrenched it free and brought it up to inspect it.

"What the fuck," he grunted upon spotting a tree branch which had been torn lose from its roots in such a way so as to turn it into what was, for all practical purposes, a spear.

Unable to spare a moment to ponder his salvation, he gritted his teeth and continued moving toward the sedan. By the time he reached his destination, water had risen to the level of the windows. More worrying, the rushing torrent was rising even as Hugo watched in horror. Looking inside, he saw four passengers including an infant in a car seat.

"Hang on!" he shouted to the terrified family, his voice barely audible over the roar of the storm.

He struggled to reach the front of the vehicle which was pointed upstream. He fumbled blindly around the bumper in search of the tow hook. Several times during his search, he was nearly knocked from his feet as he was continually battered flotsam and jetsam. His task was made even more difficult when he finally located the tow-hook and had to unlash himself from the tow-strap before he could attach the latter to the former.

Amazingly, he managed the task without being swept away. He peered into the window and screamed, "I'm going to tow you out! Just stay put!"

He pulled himself hand-over-hand out of the rushing water. Without even stopping to catch his breath, he raced for the cab of his truck. The big V-8 roared as it strained against the weight of the car, but slowly, agonizingly, the sedan began to move.

Within moments, the sedan was free of the water. Hugo rushed back and ripped open the driver's door to find a young man fervently trying to start the car.

"It's flooded!" he shouted. "It'll never start!" He surveyed them for a moment to ensure they were terrified rather than injured. He then pointed toward several nearby houses with their lights blazing. "You've got to get them to safety! The water is still rising."

The man nodded numbly as his companion sprang from the vehicle to release the car seat. Confident they were out of immediate danger; he unclipped the tow-strap and returned to his truck. A glance at his dashboard showed that the available routes were disappearing by the moment, so he slammed the truck into gear and continued his race toward the dam.

The rain seemed to intensify with each passing minute, the road ahead barely visible through the sheets of water. But Hugo never gave even a passing thought to turning back.

When he finally reached the dam, the scene that greeted him was one of scarcely controlled chaos. Emergency vehicles were scattered around the area, their lights flashing in the darkness and their mournful sirens echoing through the valley. Hugo could see the dam in the distance, a massive wall of concrete that loomed over the river like a sentinel.

But that sentinel was bruised and battered.

The dam seemed at risk of buckling under the strain of the storm. Loud pops could be heard throughout the valley, each accompanied by a massive chunk of concrete splashing into the water below.

Continuing to follow the road to the upriver side of the dam, Hugo found a river, swollen beyond capacity. The endless spiderwebs of lightning lancing across the sky unveiled the river's roiling surface.

He pulled into the parking lot and took a moment to survey the scene. Dozens of emergency workers clustered around the scene, but few of them appeared to be doing anything outside of staring at the dam in terror. Hugo stepped from his truck and lifted the lid on a shiny new toolbox which took up half of the bed. Inside he saw nothing except the shimmering surface of what appeared to be a pool of mercury.

Hurrying toward the dam, Hugo successfully pushed his way through the crowd using the tactic of acting like he belonged. His presence went unnoticed in the chaos, and he soon found himself in the control room. He ducked behind a bank of computers, leaning against the wall as he held a sphere of nanobots against the cabinet.

Ducking further into the shadows, Hugo extracted his phone and muttered, "Talk to me, Artoo."

At once, the image of a series of relief valves appeared on the screen. The pressure reading on each was way above red line. Yet, astonishingly, none of the valves had been opened.

"What's it going to take to get those opened?" he whispered anxiously.

"AUTOMATED EMERGENCY OVERRIDE FAILURE."

"Can you open them?"

"YES."

"Do it or that thing's going to crumble."

He felt a shudder through his feet as he watched the readout show the relief values opening, releasing a torrent of water downstream. Almost immediately, he saw the pressure readings start to fall but nearly a third of the valves did nothing.

"ACTUATOR FAILURE."

"Fuck!"

Hugo's mind raced as he desperately sought a solution. He studied the schematic for the damn for a moment before he whispered, "Artoo? Can we get something inside those valves from the downstream side which could override those actuators?"

"YES."

"Do it!"

His screen shifted to an overhead shot taken from several stories above his truck. As he watched, a group of tetrahedrons the size of a human head rose from the shimmering surface. Once clear, they drifted toward the dam. They accelerated quickly, reaching highway speeds in seconds.

Realizing no good could come from sitting in a darkened corridor watching his phone like an addled teenager, he rose from his hiding place and went in search of people who needed his help.

"Artoo, get me a connection to the local emergency services," Hugo commanded as he caught his breath.

"Chief Greyson," a voice soon barked from his phone's speaker.

"Chief! The dam was on the verge of failure, but the emergency sensors just tripped, and the relief valves opened. I think the dam will hold, but there's a hell of a lot more water on the way."

"Dammit," the chief seethed. "Why the fuck didn't you warn us?"

"We had two choices chief: a moderate, and temporary, increase in flooding, or we lose the whole fucking city when the dam collapses. Seems a pretty easy choice to me."

"Fuck!" she snarled. "What's your name and employee number?"

Hugo hung up, muttering, "I hope to hell you thought to block caller ID, Artoo."

"Yes," came the monotone reply.

"Thanks," Hugo replied. "Any chance you can help me locate injured workers?"

By way of answer, his screen switched to a schematic of the dam's interior. Hugo took off at a run as he pulled the container of healing strips from his pocket. As he ran, he occasionally felt a shudder from an additional relief value opening thanks to his latest generation of nanobots.

Were he to stop to look at his phone, he had no doubt he would discover that the tetrahedrons which had risen out of the shimmering reservoir in the bed of his truck would have formed themselves into torpedo-like shapes optimized to move through the water and, after arriving at the stuck values, would reform into a machine which was shaped to gain the necessary mechanical advantage to force the value open.

As Hugo moved through the dam's interior, he encountered several workers who had stayed at their posts, refusing to abandon their duties. They were battered and bruised, their bodies bearing the marks of falling debris caused by the storm's fury. Moving among them like a medic on the battlefield, Hugo dispensed healing until his supply of healing strips was nearly exhausted. The workers called their thanks out to his retreating back as he raced to find the next victim.

When at last Artoo reported there was no one else to help, he directed the effusively helpful device to plot him a path back to the surface which would help him avoid notice. As he reached the surface, he noted that the storm still raged, but the worst of it had clearly passed.

As Hugo paused for a moment upon reaching the parking lot, dawn's early light revealed the damage wrought by the raging flood waters. The adrenaline that had kept him going was beginning to fade, leaving him feeling empty and exhausted. The fact that he had done everything he could, and likely more than anyone else could possibly have managed, felt hollow against the backdrop of so much damage.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Hugo felt the urge to ignore it, but he could not deny how helpful all of his celestial helpers had been over the course of the evening. Looking at the screen resignedly, he found himself watching a video which left him speechless. His heart lifted as he watched the footage of the family he had rescued earlier, safe and sound, their faces lit with gratitude. The scene then shifted to another clip which showed a small town downstream, flooded but still standing, with people working together to rebuild. The relief on their faces, the absence of the mass casualties that would have occurred had the dam collapsed, began to thaw the icy knot in Hugo's chest.

"Thanks," Hugo grunted as he took one last look at the dam, now a silhouette against the rising sun, before heading toward home and a well-earned rest.

Eighteen

A steaming torrent of water cascaded against Hugo's scalp, his head bowed in exhaustion and his eyes closed. The heat from the shower did little to ease the deep-seeded weariness that clung to him like a second skin. He had slept nearly ten hours, an unheard-of luxury in his world, but it barely scratched the surface of the fatigue he felt following the near catastrophe at the dam. As the deluge pounded against his shoulders, he tried to shake off the memories the falling water dredged up. Sleep had been hard to find after finally arriving at his tiny apartment. Every time he closed his eyes, the memory of the raging waters nearly whisking him off his feet had returned with a vengeance.

Efforts to distract himself from his nightmares, both real and imagined, quickly resulted in his thoughts turning to the trip he had taken with Faith. It had not been his intention to form such an intense connection with her when he volunteered to drive her to Louisville. Truth be told, he had simply been responding to her offhand comment about her car's unreliability when he insisted that he drive her. The fact that she had been responsible for the most impactful and profound conversations he had had since before he was old enough to drive had been, to put it mildly, a happy accident.

When he had dropped her off the previous evening, she had gazed at him with tear filled eyes and insisted on the opportunity to do something nice for him. The memory of her smile soon blossomed into thoughts of her effortless beauty, and her undeniable alluringness. Some women possessed a natural sensuality which transcended what could be taught. There was something about the way they moved; or, put more accurately, the way their aura caused the world to move around them. Faith exuded this trait to a degree Hugo had not previously thought possible. Every movement she had made throughout the day they spent together had been sexier than the last, frequently showcasing her mouthwatering figure in a way that left him breathless.

"Fuck," Hugo hissed at the realization that he was painfully hard.

He looked down to find his manhood oozing his arousal, heedless of the sheeting water which was rapidly losing its warmth. Any thoughts of ignoring his urgent need were extinguished by the memory of the mesmerizing jiggle of Faith's very generous breasts as she had responded with an unrestrained cackle to an offhand joke he had made. A loud groan escaped his lips as he gripped his shaft and began stroking.

Hugo's thoughts quickly spiraled, shifting like an increasingly lurid montage highlighting various scenes from their time together: a seemingly innocent moment when she had bent to retrieve her phone, stretching the thin fabric of her dress across her rounded backside and highlighting the outline of her high-cut panties; the sight as she stepped from his truck when they stopped for a late dinner and she ran through a series of yoga inspired stretches, accompanied by a series of throaty moans, which nearly overwhelmed her simple, yet eminently memorable, outfit. With each new scene, his arousal grew.

Just as he felt himself nearing his peak, however, a loud knock at the door to his apartment shattered the moment.

"Dammit!" he seethed, intent on ignoring the interruption.

The knock sounded again; this time more insistent.

Hugo glanced down at his pulsing manhood before sighing in defeat and grumbling, "Figures."

He shut off the water forcefully and yanked the curtain open. He grabbed a towel, hardly drying himself before wrapping it around his waist. He stomped out of the bathroom, water dripping from his hair onto the worn carpet of his spartan studio apartment.

He yanked the door open, ready to unload a reservoir of pent-up frustration on whoever had dared to intrude, but the words died on his lips at the sight of the gorgeous woman standing just outside his humble abode.

"Hi," his visitor announced hesitantly in a distractingly sultry alto voice.

"What do you want Carrie?" he sighed with far less anger than he had felt moments earlier.

"Oh!" she responded somberly. "I didn't think you'd remember me." She glanced past him and into his tidy, but tiny, living space. "Do you mind if I come in?"

He waved her inside without a word. After closing the door, he turned to find her quietly surveying the apartment. He gave a brief thought as to what conclusion someone might reach when considering his sparse furniture and bare walls, with nothing in the way of personal touches other than a few family photos which were relics from a life that seemed like a distant memory.

She paused before the television which he never watched and turned to regard him with uncertainty. She seemed to consider her words for a moment before deciding on a strategy.

"I'm sorry to show up unannounced. But I needed to talk to you, and I couldn't figure out another way to contact you."

"It's no problem," he replied without emotion.

She glanced again around his spartan space. "Do you, um, want to get dressed?"

"Do you want me to get dressed?"

She offered him a genuine smile. "That's kind of a trap, isn't it? If I say yes, I'm a shitty guest. If I say no, you'll think I'm hitting on you."

"The question stands," he responded companionably.

She chuckled and said, "I'm fine either way."

He invited her to sit with a gesture in the direction of the couch as he stepped into the kitchen. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Just water. Thanks."

Hugo took a moment to study his visitor as he filled her glass. Part of him was certain it had been months since he had last seen her in the luxury apartment of the now-jailed domestic abuser, even though he knew it had been mere weeks. She took a long sip of water as he ducked into the bathroom to get dressed.

He returned to find her standing near the wall, studying the small collection of ancient photos. She started upon noticing his presence, her expression at once pensive and concerned. He crossed to the kitchen, leaning against the counter to give her plenty of space.

She approached, finding her own piece of counter across from him. "I guess you're wondering why I'm here."

Hugo shrugged. "The thought had occurred to me."

"How did you heal us?"

"Who?"

"That dickhead cut the shit out of my leg," she began, glancing down at her unmarred calf.

Hugo followed her gaze, taking in the sight of her petite beauty which was only accentuated by the perfectly fitted skirt and silk blouse she wore. Feeling caught, he jerked his eyes back up to her equally beautiful face to find her quirking an eyebrow as though coyly waiting for him to finish.

"Anyway," she continued. "That cut was deep enough to likely require surgery, and you healed me like nothing had happened. Same with Alexandria. She was beat to shit, yet she told me the next day that the strips you gave her healed everything, even the internal bleeding, before the sun came up."

"I'm glad everyone's ok."

"And then, last night, folks are saying you might have saved the whole God damned city."

"Who said that?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"Everyone. That same woman who first started talking about you online posted a video of a man running into the dam when everyone else was running out. None of the clips got a good shot, but that she insists it was you. Furthermore, she's claiming that you nearly caused the dam to collapse."

"That's bullshit!" he snapped angrily. "I was trying to keep it from failing. None of that shit would have ever happened if it had been properly maintained. Nearly a third of the emergency values were non-functional. And the entire system was running on hardware older than both of us put together."

"I guess that answers the question of if it was you."

"I suspect there are some people who would find that information quite valuable," he grumbled.

"Well, they won't hear it from me!" she snapped.

"Why? You don't owe me anything."

"I think our whole city owes you, Hugo. And I'm sure as hell not here to out you."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because I needed to know why. Why, when you can do the things you can do, you spend your time like this. You could be making billions with all your gifts."

"So, you're here to... what? Suggest a more lucrative path?"

She sighed wearily and dropped her gaze to the floor. "That's all behind me now." She looked up to meet his gaze. "Although I guess I can see why you'd think that, what with my history."

"But I know nothing about your history," Hugo said gently.

She stared at him for a long moment before seeming to come to a decision. "The truth is, I'm really just here to say thank you. Thank you for what you did in my building, thank you for what you did last night, thank you for things you've done which likely never made the news."

He opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by his stomach loudly growling. Carrie snickered and said, "How long since you've eaten?"

He glanced at his watch and said, "Twenty-three hours and change?"

Her grin widened. "Then perhaps you'd allow me to thank you by taking you to dinner."

"You don't need to do that. I can just scrounge something around here."

"I am quite aware of what I do and do not need to do, sir," she replied with a grin. "This is something I wish to do. That just leaves the question of whether you're going to deny such a reasonable request."

***

"Do you come here often?" Carrie asked as Hugo held her chair in a quiet corner of a downtown brewpub.

Hugo took his own seat before saying, "Nope. I just noticed it a month or so ago when I was on my run. It looked like they actually gave some thought to the sound design, unlike most places around here which are just big, echoey concrete boxes."

"So where do you usually to eat out?"

He shrugged unselfconsciously. "I don't."

"Ok," she replied slowly.

She stared at him for a long moment, but a prodigiously tattooed waiter interrupted them to collect their drink orders. Hugo could not help but snicker when Carrie ordered a Vesper martini. He tried to rescue their table's honor by ordering a pint of doppelbock.

As their waiter departed, Carrie continued, "Like, ever?"

"Does the enlisted mess count?"

"I wouldn't think so."

"I mean... it's not like I've never been in a restaurant before. Just not in the last decade or so."

"So, what are we doing here?"

"You asked me to join you," he replied as though it were self-evident.

She regarded him for several long moments, interrupted only by the arrival of their drinks. After taking an appreciative sip, she said, "I'm unsure what conclusions I'm meant to draw here."

"I'm not trying to be cagey."

"No irrepressible urges for Thai or Turkish cuisine? Or French? No random nights when you couldn't be bothered to cook? No dates?" With each question, she grew more incredulous.

"Nope," he replied with a shake of his head. "I take it you're a fan of fine dining?"

"I can't indulge as much as I could... before. But I still make it a point to eat out a few times a week. Especially when I'm celebrating a good day. Such as when a handsome stranger fixes my car for free."

"Before?" he prompted.

She absentmindedly fingered her left ring finger. "I used to be married."

He quirked an eyebrow before venturing, "Sounds like there's more to it than that."

"I was married to Tariq for almost four years."

"Tariq?"

"He plays fútbol in Spain," she elaborated.

"I see," he replied slowly.

She shook her head and smiled. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?" He shrugged companionably. "He's a fullback. He just signed a sixteen million Euro contract renewal."

"That bastard?" Hugo guessed with raised eyebrows.

Carrie burst out laughing, taking his hand as she cackled unguardedly. After she regained her composure, she said, "I divorced him. Turns out that someone who's spent every day since he learned to walk being told he's the greatest is the perfect recipe for creating a massive narcissist."

"I can imagine."

"After the divorce, I headed back to New York to attempt to restart my modeling career."

Before his mind could issue instructions to the contrary, his eyes dropped to reassess her body. To describe her looks as exquisite would have been a grave understatement. Even without the benefit of an outfit that likely cost as much as he made in a week, she would have been breathtaking. And her beauty went beyond her body. Her face had an exotic quality that, even after spending more than an hour in her presence, still left him breathless.

When he belatedly realized he was leering, he jerked his eyes back up to meet her gaze. She quirked an eyebrow questioningly but said nothing.

"Sorry," he huffed. "That was out of line."

"I don't mind," she replied easily. "Although the fashion industry certainly disagreed with your apparent assessment. Too old. Too heavy. Too short."

"Well, that last one seems a little arbitrary and stupid," Hugo snapped. His eyes then grew wide, and he blurted, "I mean on their part. Not yours. As to the first two, those are just flat out lies."

She shrugged. "Fuck them. Looking back, I'm glad I had to find a real job. I miss New York, but I don't miss the industry."

"Was it the restaurants you loved most about the Big Apple?" Hugo replied. Then, before she could respond, he frowned and added, "Damn it. The Big Apple is totally something only a country bumpkin like me would say, isn't it?"

"It's fine," she chuckled. "And I loved lots of things about living in New York, just not the cost of living. When the real estate management group I work for asked me to relocate here, I jumped at the chance."

"Do you miss it? I mean, other than the prices."

"Sometimes. The men around here seem to be, with a very few notable exceptions, mouth breathing morons who would rather castrate themselves with a stiletto heel than be with a woman who had her own opinions."

"How dare you think for yourself," he declared in mock-horror.

"You're really not going to comment about those exceptions I mentioned?"

"I'm more interested in hearing about what it was like to live in Spain. Jenneke spent a few weeks in Barcelona a few years ago and she said it was gorgeous."

"It was breathtaking. Almost as incredible as San Tropez."

"Is it true what they say about how blue the water is there?"

"It is," she replied with a smile. "It's also true that the beaches there have a very evolved take on what is considered required swimwear. Something the other WAGs and I took advantage of at every possible opportunity."

"Sounds like a recipe for an uncomfortable sunburn."

"You really don't have the slightest reaction to me joining a dozen of my fellow wives and girlfriends, all of whom are way hotter than me, sunbathing topless in the south of France. Unless we were at one of our villas, in which case we were free to go au naturel."

"I have a great deal of difficulty believing that."

She pulled her phone out and brandished it like a weapon. "I could show you plenty of pictures if you like."

"Oh, I have no doubt you and your friends sunbathed..."

"Topless," she interjected. "Or nude."

"In any case, I was merely suggesting that I have a great deal of difficulty believing they were, or are, more beautiful than you."

She regarded him for a long moment before ultimately changing the subject. "So... Jenneke? Here I was heralding you as the diamond in the rough, the one truly decent guy in this backwards city, and this whole time you've been letting me think you were single? I thought you didn't do relationships."

Hugo took an embarrassed sip of his beer before murmuring, "She's my sister."

"Foot... meet mouth," she sighed before taking a gulp of her own drink.

Hugo lifted his hands from the table, palms outstretched, in hopes of reassuring her. "Think nothing of it."

She stayed silent for another moment before finally offering him a small smile. "I can't believe I did that. I'm such an asshole."

"Don't say that. It was an honest mistake. Hell, one time I stepped into the waiting room at the garage to tell a woman her son's car was all ready to go. She threw a magazine at me and shouted that he was her husband. I then doubled down on my stupid when I guessed an age that was a decade her senior after she demanded to know how old I thought she was."

"Oh, you poor, poor man."

"You're telling me." The silence stretched between them once more, prompting him to change tactics. "Diamond in the rough, huh?"

"How else should I describe a handsome gentleman who agreed to have dinner with me after I invaded his privacy to demand answers about his possible status as a superhero. I mean, lots of guys think they're quote, unquote, good men. But none of them hold a candle to you, Hugo. Hell, in your free time, you save damsels in distress and avert natural disasters." She gave him a long, appraising look before continuing. "I think you could safely say that I've reconsidered my assessment of available bachelors in the area."

"I'm flattered, although I'm not sure I'd call myself available."

"You already said you're not seeing anyone."

"Be that as it may, the fact remains that I'm definitely not relationship material."

"What happened?" she asked with wide eyes.

"Oh, nothing traumatic. I mean, I guess it was, but it was a long time ago."

"It's ok," she soothed. "You don't have to tell me."

"It's fine," he interjected quickly. "It's just that I've been working basically around the clock for as long as I can remember. I spent the years when most people are figuring out how to have normal human interactions working eighty hour weeks on top of going to school."

"I don't know," she countered gently. "I feel terrible you went through that, but you seem to be doing quite well this evening."

"Give it time," he sighed. "Once I catch up on sleep a bit, I'm sure I'll revert back to my normal awkward, off-putting self."

She eyed him for a long time before saying, "You're a really great guy, Hugo. I'd hate the idea of you thinking you're doomed to be alone."

Hugo's eyes flickered toward her, reading the unspoken sorrow hidden beneath her soothing words. Her expression was playful, but her eyes were hauntingly familiar. He recognized at once her tactic, one which he had mastered over the decades.

He hesitated, unsure how to navigate this delicate moment. At a loss for words which were suave, or charming, he defaulted to unfiltered honesty. "Carrie," he began, searching for the right words, "you deserve more than just trying to solve other people's problems. Especially mine."

She looked at him, her gaze steady, but there was a flicker of something he had difficulty pinpointing. "Deserve," she echoed softly, almost to herself. "What do any of us truly deserve?"

"You deserve happiness."

"And you don't?"

Hugo sighed before offering her a wan smile. "I suspect we're at an impasse."

"Then I suggest a partnership," Carrie announced with renewed enthusiasm. "We help each other."

"Help each other do what, exactly?"

"Is the ideal of having a female friend really so unthinkable?"

Hugo folded his hands on the now cleared table and said, "I'm not sure the female modifier really changes the answer to that question."

"All the more reason for us to be friends, am I right?"

Hugo's expression turned pensive. "I have it on good authority that I'm a fairly terrible at many of the tasks at which friends are expected to excel."

"I'll be the judge of that," Carrie declared confidently.

Nineteen

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting long, lazy shadows across the congested downtown streets. Hugo leaned forward slightly, squinting at the seemingly endless line of brake lights stretching out before him. His ancient truck rattled with every bump in the road, a proud declaration of its indefatigable reliability despite its apparent decrepit condition. The steady drone of the engine was almost soothing as it cut through the noise of the city.

"Artoo," Hugo said, his voice laced with frustration, "there must be a better route."

He glanced at his dashboard where the device which had once been his phone stood in stark contrast with the aged truck. Instead of an analog radio/cassette deck there was a high-resolution holographic touchscreen display the size of a pizza box. Hugo had been quite surprised when he had entered the truck at the outset of his journey and popped his phone into a cradle, only to watch it grow in size by an order of magnitude.

His shocked gasp had been met with gleeful chuckles from his invisible companions, with Tristan pointing out, "Did you genuinely believe that a swarm of our offspring which could quote, unquote, upgrade your phone by several decades would be content with stopping? They will perpetually continue to improve your tech."

"And your body," Isolde had elaborated.

"All twelve alternate options will take longer," Artoo announced, his voice carrying a hint of apology. The display flickered briefly in advance of every possible route to his destination appearing, each with a worse estimated time of arrival.

"Perfect," Hugo muttered, refocusing on the traffic ahead. He let out a sigh, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter as he weaved through the narrow lanes.

"You seem to be unusually vexed for someone dealing with a spot of traffic," Tristan asked, his smooth voice carrying a touch of amusement.

"Methinks he's suffering from a touch of regret," Isolde chimed in, her tone playfully teasing.

Hugo rolled his eyes. "I'm not in the mood to talk about Carrie. Drop it."

"Who said anything about Carrie?" Tristan asked innocently, though the smile was audible in his voice.

Isolde giggled. "No need to be so touchy. We're just curious why our noble hero left her car with nothing but a brief word of farewell when she obviously would have welcomed so much more."

"We're not talking about it," Hugo replied curtly as he tried, with limited success, to suppress memories of the undeniably intimate dinner they had shared the night before.

At long last, Hugo spotted the building that was his destination. He pulled the truck up to the curb, its tires screeching slightly as he brought it to a halt. As he got out, he surveyed his surroundings. He stood before a medium-sized, mixed-use building amidst an area which was clearly undergoing urban renewal, with new businesses popping up among the older, more established ones.

Hugo reached over the tailgate to retrieve a large box from the bed of his truck and proceeded inside. As he passed through the door, a welcoming mezzo soprano voice called out, "Welcome to Dogwood Blossom Studios. How can I... Hugo?"

He nearly dropped the box in stunned surprise as he hastened to shift it around so he could spot the speaker, but he knew her identity without a shred of doubt after hearing her voice. He managed to get the box to the ground in a scarcely controlled fall before looking up from a crouch to lock eyes with the staggeringly gorgeous woman who stood behind the reception desk.

"Um... yeah?" he stammered awkwardly. "I mean... shit. Hi, Faith."

She snickered and said, "What are you doing here?"

Hugo looked around the art gallery self-consciously, taking in the vibrant array of colors surrounding him. The space was cavernous, with high ceilings and walls adorned with various pieces of art. The smell of soothing candles lingered in the air, heightening the comforting aura of the place. His inspection inevitably led his eyes to land on Faith. She wore a peasant blouse with billowy sleeves tucked into high-waisted, flared jeans. Chunky bangles clinked on her wrists, and a fringed crossbody bag rested on the chair beside her. Yet her alluring outfit and undeniable beauty paled in comparison to the joyful, welcoming look in her gorgeous sapphire eyes.

He indicated the box at his feet and said, "I was hoping to talk to someone about getting some of the kids' artwork displayed here."

"Kids?" Faith asked in confusion. Her eyes then widened and sparkled with interest as she leaned forward slightly. "You mean from the youth center?"

"Yeah. Some of its really fantastic. Figured this might... um... give them some... what do you call it..."

"Exposure?"

"That's it!" he declared.

"That's wonderful," Faith replied as she picked up her desk phone. "We'd be happy to take a look."

Various gallery employees drifted by, casting curious glances at Hugo as he tried with minimal success to keep a dialogue going with his enrapturing companion. One by one, they interrupted the conversation, asking to see the artwork he carried. He was overjoyed at the possibilities suggested by their interest, but it certainly did nothing to attenuate the awkwardness he felt each time he tried to restart their conversation.

"... little bird told me you were spotted doing something very interesting yesterday," Faith said, her brow furrowed slightly.

Hugo blinked, momentarily thrown off. "Huh?"

"Don't even try to deny it," she said confidently.

He scratched the back of his neck, confusion expanding within him like fog rolling off the nearby Great Smokey Mountains. "Uh, it wasn't that big of a deal."

Faith raised an eyebrow, her smile teasing. "Oh really?"

"It was just dinner."

"Dinner?" she replied. "You mean before the storm?"

"Storm?" he stammered. "You mean the thing at the dam?"

"Of course! What are you talking about?"

"Nothing. I just went to dinner with a friend last night."

"Why would I care about that?"

"Because she was a she?"

They were interrupted again by the museum curator's arrival. Hugo's attention quickly shifted to his mission, and he told the story of each work of art, and its artist. Faith stood by his side throughout his impromptu exhibition, never saying a word other than to remark on the artistry of the pieces he showed. Yet despite her relative silence, he felt her support as though it was a physical force.

"These are very impressive," the curator declared when Hugo finished speaking.

"And?" Hugo prompted.

He smiled and declared, "I'd love to display them, and to meet the artists."

Hugo let out a relieved breath. "I think I might be able to arrange that."

"So, dinner?" Faith prompted after the curator had departed.

"Yeah," he deflected. "Like I said, she's just a friend."

"I was asking if you had plans for dinner?" she elaborated with a dazzling smile.

"Oh," he replied too-loudly. "Um, not that I'm aware of?"

"Well?"

His eyes flitted around the room helplessly, but none of the eclectic works of art displayed there held any answers. In the absence of inspired guidance, he returned his gaze to Faith's mesmerizing sapphire eyes and asked, "Would you like to join me for dinner?"

"Yes!" she enthused softly.

***

'OOYA ETA - 5 MINS'

"Huh?" Hugo grunted upon scanning his notifications. "Artoo, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Faith Burbridge will arrive in five minutes," came the flat response from his phone.

"So, what's an oh-woo-yah?" he replied as he unpacked the take-out that he had picked up on the way home, causing the aroma of Thai food to fill the room.

"Object of your affection."

"What the..." Hugo started, but he was interrupted by a knock at his door. Hugo glared at his phone before hissing, "I'll deal with you later."

As he traversed the admittedly small number of steps across his apartment to the door, he whispered, "Don't make an ass of yourself. Again."

"Hey," she greeted him as the door swung open. She held up a paper bag obviously containing a bottle. "I figured you for a bourbon type of guy."

Hugo smiled shyly, stepping aside to let her in. "You didn't have to do that."

"And you didn't have to make dinner."

He winced as he followed her to the kitchen. "I didn't, actually. I likely should have said something earlier, but I'm a wretched cook. I hope you like Thai."

"Love it," she replied, setting the bottle down on the counter. "It smells amazing."

She surveyed his apartment for a moment before quirking an eyebrow and asking, "Table?"

"I had to choose between that or a desk. I chose the latter?"

"So where do you eat?"

He looked away in embarrassment. "Right here?"

"You eat standing up? Like, all the time?"

"Sure. But we could sit on the couch if you like. It's pretty much that or the bed for places to sit."

"You're going to have to feed me some of that bourbon if you expect to get me into bed tonight," she replied coquettishly.

"I would never..." he began, but she just bumped him with her hip and said, "I'm just fucking with you. Shall we?"

As she carried her plate to the couch, he closed his eyes in defeat and blew out a long breath. His silent recriminations were soon interrupted, however, when she asked, "Do you mind if we flip on the news while we eat? I wanted to see if they do a follow-up on this mysterious hero who saved the city."

"I don't have cable," he admitted as he took a seat at her side. "I really just use the T. V. to stream music. I probably should have gotten a radio, instead."

"Sure, grandpa," she teased. "You are aware that no one listens to the radio anymore, right?"

"I mean... I do. At least in the truck. What else would I listen to?"

"How do you convince people to let you fix their cars when you're stuck in 1987?"

He smirked self-consciously. "I'll have you know that my technical expertise extends well past the turn of the millennium."

"What, by ten minutes?" she retorted playfully. She snatched up his remote and activated the screen before returning her attention to him as she slid her phone from her pocket. "What's your... huh? I was going to ask for your Wi-Fi password, but it looks like I'm already connected."

He looked around with mock innocence. "Curiouser and curiouser."

"Hugo," she warned. "What aren't you telling me?"

"The, um, nanobots which were in those pills? I don't only have ones that heal people. I also have ones that... I guess you'd have to say they heal electronics. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say they improve them. Here."

Hugo pulled out Artoo and handed it to Faith. She turned it over a few times before saying, "No logo. And no ports."

"Indeed. I haven't charged it in three weeks, and yet it keeps working like a champ. It also does things like this," he gripped each end of his phone in opposite hands and gave the device a small tug as though he was playing an accordion. In seconds, the device had doubled in size. He then tapped on the screen and said, "Artoo, show me any threats in the vicinity."

The screen flared to life and showed a 3D map of the surrounding area along with dozens of ghostly silhouettes moving either along the street or within their homes. Fortunately, none of them had any warnings associated with them.

"Holy shit!" Faith exclaimed. "How is that possible?"

Hugo held up his watch. "There are a few thousand nanobots coating the face of this thing. Whenever I touch something electronic, a few dozen will drop off and start replicating. Once they reach critical mass, they'll interface with it. If it's connected to the internet," he waggled his phone, "they'll report back to Artoo and henceforth be part of his network."

"So, you're spying on me?" she asked slowly.

"No!" He indicated her phone. "They haven't taken over your phone. They just fixed anything that might be wrong and maintained enough of a connection so that I would know if you were in trouble. It's not like I can tap into your phone's camera. I mean, I guess I could if I needed to, but I would never..."

"Hey," she soothed. "Settle down."

"I'm so sorry about this. I never really thought about the implications. Listen, I can instruct them to... I don't know... leave your phone. No, how would you ever trust me that they're gone. Why don't I just get you a new phone?"

"You don't have to do that," Faith replied demurely. "But I wouldn't mind you turning mine into... whatever your phone is now."

"Really?"

"Absolutely! That thing's fucking rad!"

"Artoo. Please upgrade Faith's phone to match your functionality."

Without noticeable delay, a notification appeared on Faith's phone reading, 'UPGRADE COMPLETE IN 04:21:24'. As they watched, the time began to count down.

She grinned and said, "Well, um, thanks! So, where were we? Ah, yes." She fiddled with her phone for a moment before his T. V. came to life and a movie started. "You don't mind, do you?" she asked.

He made a conciliatory gesture and said, "I'm game for anything."

"We'll see," she murmured with a suggestive wink.

They quickly settled on the couch, plates in hand, as the movie began to play on the small television in front of them. The film was a light comedy which Faith seemed to know by heart, but which was unfamiliar to Hugo. As the night wore on, however, they both found their attention to the action on the screen waning. Instead, their conversation flowed naturally, each exchange revealing a little more about the other. Faith shared stories from her childhood in Kentucky, and her decision to move to the city. She spoke about her family, and the challenges which had defined her life. Hugo listened intently, occasionally interjecting with a question or a comment, but mostly letting her talk. There was a quiet strength in the way she spoke, a determination to take control of her life after years of letting others dictate her path.

As the movie concluded, Hugo's mind raced for an excuse he could use to convince Faith to stay. He smiled goofily when she announced they were of similar minds by pointing out, "We forgot to open your bourbon!"

She bounced off the couch and strutted into the kitchen to begin poking around for cocktail ingredients. After a few moments, she glanced over her shoulder and asked, "You don't mind me looking around?"

"Mi casa, su casa," Hugo replied agreeably.

She smiled her reply and soon returned with a pair of glasses. She cued up another movie, asking with a glance if he objected. A rom com appeared on the screen, and she leaned back such that their knees were just barely touching.

Faith grew more comfortable as one cocktail became many, both in her words and her movements. At one point, she laughed, a soft, melodic sound that filled the room, and placed a hand on his arm, her touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

When the second movie ended, Faith excused herself to use the restroom while Hugo took a turn trying to prepare cocktails. Completely at a loss to do anything more involved than opening a beer, he consulted Artoo for ideas. The concoction the device suggested looked, at first blush, to exist somewhere on the continuum between a hate crime and an abomination. But, since he was at a loss for a better idea, he prepared the drinks as directed.

He was just putting the finishing touches on the drinks when he heard the bathroom door open behind him. Hugo turned in her direction, drinks in hand, only to observe something that made his heart skip a beat: Faith tucking her bra into her purse. For a split second, his anxiety spiked, his mind racing as he registered the sight of her very generous, and very unrestrained, breasts beneath her blouse.

But before he could overthink it, Faith smiled at him, and his tension melted away. She took the glass from his hand, their fingers brushing, and settled back onto the couch with a contented sigh.

"Cheers," she said, raising her glass.

"To our noble selves," Hugo declared, clinking his glass against hers. "There's damn few of us left."

She gaily took a sip of her drink, whereupon her eyes widened in delight. "This is amazing! What is it?"

"I have no idea," he admitted. "Artoo suggested it."

"So, in," she glanced at her phone, "two-and-a-half hours my phone will be do shit like that too?"

"I have no reason to believe otherwise."

"Rad," she sighed as she gazed up at him happily.

They resumed their conversation, the atmosphere growing more intimate as the night wore on. Faith shared more about her past, somberly telling the tale of a long string of relationships which had begun when she dropped out of college to support her then boyfriend and moved to the middle of nowhere to work in his tattoo parlor. For years, she hopped from boyfriend to boyfriend, and always finding herself on the short end of the stick. There was a vulnerability in her words, but that was comfortably overshadowed by her quiet strength.

As the evening continued, they gave up the pretense of the movies and just focused on each other. As the bourbon slowly disappeared, she grew more suggestive in both word and action. She leaned in closer, her hand stroking his thigh as her voice dropping to a husky whisper. Hugo could feel the shift in the air, the way her body language became more open, more inviting.

She leaned against him heavily and murmured, "Thank you for inviting me over, Hugo. I can't remember the last time I had such a wonderful time."

"I'm so glad you decided to come. We should definitely do this again sometime."

She looked up at him, at once spotting the fact that his eyes were locked on the sight of her deep, creamy cleavage. She grinned up at him with a playful smile and straightened up to lean against the back of the couch. She gripped her breasts through the thin fabric of her blouse and jiggled them for a moment. "Do you want to see them?" she asked, her tone playful but laced with sincerity.

Hugo felt a rush of panic at the question, his mind racing as he realized how much they had both had to drink. He knew better than to take advantage of the situation, even if the offer was more tempting than any he could remember. He forced a smile and shook his head, setting his glass down on the coffee table.

"I think we've both had enough for tonight," he said gently. "How about some water instead?"

Faith's smile faltered, embarrassment flashing across her features. She stood up quickly, smoothing down her blouse. "Perhaps I should go."

But Hugo was already moving to stop her, placing a gentle hand on her arm. "We've had way too much to drive, and I'm not comfortable with you trusting the ride shares in this neighborhood at this time of night."

"Doesn't leave a lot of options if you're kicking me out."

"I'm really sorry, Faith. And I meant what I said about how amazing tonight was. I just want to do the right thing here."

"You're too good for your own good, Hugo," she muttered glumly.

"Perhaps," he allowed. "But if someone has to regret something tomorrow, I'd much rather it be me."

Faith hesitated, searching his face for any sign of ulterior motives. At length, she nodded slowly, her shoulders relaxing. "Okay," she said quietly, a small smile returning to her lips.

Thinking he had calmed the situation, Hugo stepped back, only to be taken by surprise as Faith began unbuttoning her jeans. She slid them off, leaving her in just her blouse and a thong, and without another word, she climbed into his bed, pulling the covers up in advance of patting the bed by her side.

Hugo stared at her, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Part of him wanted to join her, to give in to the temptation that had been building all night, but his resolve was unwavering.

With a resigned sigh, Hugo pulled out a blanket from the closet and laid it out on the couch. He stretched out, the cushions sinking beneath his weight, and closed his eyes, trying to block out the thoughts racing through his mind.

Faith's voice broke the silence, soft and pleading. "You don't have to sleep on the couch, you know. We don't have to do anything."

Hugo opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. "I know."

There was a long pause before Faith spoke again, her voice barely a whisper. "Goodnight, Hugo."

"Goodnight, Faith."

He listened as her breathing evened out, signaling that she had fallen asleep. But for Hugo, sleep was a long time coming.

Twenty

The first rays of dawn crept through the blinds, painting Hugo's spartan apartment in a soft, golden light. He stirred, suppressing a groan caused by his pounding head and the lingering ache in his muscles from the recent escapade at the dam. As he looked around, he felt somewhat disoriented until he realized he was lying on his couch. This revelation brought with it the memory of the evening he had shared with Faith.

He turned his head toward his bed to find Faith lying sprawled across the mattress, the covers having apparently been kicked off in the night. The blonde highlights in her mousy brown hair spilled across the pillow, a contrast to the pale skin exposed by the loose neckline of her blouse. One breast, full and round, threatened to escape the fabric entirely. Hugo could just make out the crescent of her areola, a tantalizing shadow of deeper color which swelled with each breath as she snored softly.

Hugo stared for a long moment. He had never considered himself to have a particular affinity for breasts. Not that he eschewed them; they were simply part of the larger package of feminine beauty. But he could not deny that Faith's magnificent breasts drew his eye in a way he had not thought possible. They were, put simply, exquisite. He was, in fact, captivated by every facet of her presence. She looked so peaceful, yet so effortlessly sexy. He felt a surge of desire, tempered by both affection and tenderness. He knew he was leering, but he found it nearly impossible to tear his gaze from the alluring sight. Then she moved ever so slightly, and her blouse lost the battle to hide her nakedness. A thick nipple popped free, and he felt an intense yearning to join her.

The siren song calling him to the bed felt like a physical force. He stood from the couch without tearing his eyes from the alluring sight and even took a step in her direction before his higher brain functions managed to wrest the controls to his movements away from his baser instincts.

"Get a grip," he growled softly as he forced himself to tear his eyes away from the alluring vision on his bed.

For want of a better idea, Hugo decided to make breakfast. His general ineptitude when it came to cooking was less pronounced with respect to the first meal of the day, so he extracted some items which he kept in his freezer on the off chance his sister came to visit and got to work.

Soon, the smells of crisping bacon, baking biscuits and rich coffee filled the tiny space. The omnipresent risk of ruining the food kept his attention focused and effectively distracted him from the knowledge that a gorgeous, partially nude woman slept just a few steps away.

Whether it was the scent of food, or simply her internal clock, Hugo did not miss the soft rustle of sheets as she stirred. He glanced over his shoulder to see Faith sitting up, rubbing sleep from her eyes. The movement caused her blouse to slip further down her shoulder, fully exposing her breast, but she made no move to adjust it. Instead, she yawned as she took in her surroundings with bleary eyes.

"Morning," she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

"Um... hi," Hugo stammered, his eyes flitting around the room as a war raged within him between the nearly crippling desire to stare at her exquisite perfection, and the certainty that honor required he look literally anywhere else.

"What's wrong?" she asked tiredly as she stood from the bed. Before he could answer, however, she glanced down. She snickered, "Oops," upon noticing her nakedness and languidly adjusted her blouse. "Sorry about that."

"It's fine," he grunted, still nearly overwhelmed by the awkwardness of the situation.

She quirked an eyebrow at him and quipped. "Guess you got halfway to seeing them thanks to a lucky bit of gravity."

"I didn't..."

A bark of laughter escaped her throat as she crossed the cramped space to stand before him and place her hand on his forearm. She smiled up at him and enthused, "Would you relax? It's just my tit. If I minded you looking, I wouldn't have offered to give you a show."

"But I thought you were... "

"I was merely mildly buzzed last night, Hugo. Not that I don't respect your consideration, but I definitely wouldn't have woken up hating you if we'd fooled around last night."

"Thanks," he replied softly. "And, same."

She looked around, spotting the bacon resting on the counter. "Do I smell biscuits?"

"Oh, shit!" he yelped, turning to snatch a towel off the handle to the oven so he could yank the thankfully unburned biscuits from the oven.

"I thought you couldn't cook," she teased, breaking off a bit of bacon and popping it in her mouth.

"I said I'm terrible at it, but I did manage to feed my sister for half a decade before her wish came true and she finally reached an age where she could move away. I'll warn you, however, my abilities when it comes to eggs start and end with scrambling. And even that I mess up as often as not."

Faith bent to pull a skillet from the shelf adjacent to the stove top, a move which emphasized the fact that she was still only wearing a loose-fitting blouse and a thong. The sight of her shapely behind peeking out from beneath her blouse nearly tore a groan from his lips. She held the pan up and asked, "Do you mind?"

"Not at all," he stammered.

She got to work, quickly scrambling a half dozen eggs with a fragrant mixture of herbs and spices. She plated the dish with flourish and led him to the couch with a swish of her alluring hips. They shared an intimate meal; their conversation stayed light as they discussed their coming day as though it was a conversation they had had hundreds of times. Hugo found himself surprised at the ease between them; the awkwardness from the previous evening having effortlessly faded into the annals of history.

Faith finished her meal first and leaned back on the couch, cradling her mug between her hands. She studied Hugo with a soft smile, her eyes warm and relaxed. "This was nice," she said, echoing his thoughts. "But I should probably get going."

Hugo nodded, feeling a pang of regret. "Of course. I should probably get to work as well."

She stood up, stretching again which attracted his attention to the tiny triangle of cotton covering the apex of her thighs. She noted his gaze by pretending to ignore it, keeping her arms raised as she turned to go in search of what remained of her clothing. Hugo jolted to his feet as though scalded and hastened to collect their dishes, keeping his focus on his work as she got dressed.

She returned to the kitchen, now regretfully dressed, and stepped into his personal space as though there was no where she would rather be. She looked up at him with an expression he had difficulty interpreting. She was so close he could feel the warmth of her body, smell the faint scent of her perfume lingering on her skin.

"I'm so glad you asked me over," she whispered. "I hope we do it again soon."

"What are you doing tonight?" he replied before he could second guess himself.

"I should be free. Text me later?" she asked coquettishly as she leaned close enough that he could feel the weight of her breasts against his chest.

Unsure of what she expected, Hugo hesitated before leaning in for a hug. As he leaned in, he noticed her eyes flutter shut, her lips parting slightly as though she were anticipating something more. He froze with his hands hovering just above her hips, caught between the desire to kiss her and concern over making the wrong move.

Faith pulled back, opening her eyes to find Hugo's eyes wide with worry. She blinked, then shook her head in amusement as a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. "Talk soon?"

Hugo could only nod, mentally kicking himself for being such a colossal cretin.

***

"Text received from Faith," Artoo announced from his position covering much of the dashboard.

Hugo smiled reflexively, just as he had upon the receipt of the last several dozen such messages. His day had mostly consisted of an errand Derek had sent him on which took him to a junk yard north of town to seek out some hard-to-find parts. It was a job that required little in the way of thought, which was just as well considering how his mind kept drifting back to Faith. His thoughts had been consumed with replaying their time together, analyzing every detail like a coach reviewing game film. He initially found himself obsessing over his missteps. Yet for every cringe-worthy moment, there were many more happy memories.

The drive back to town was uneventful until he approached one of the bridges that crossed the Tennessee River. Just as he reached the center point of the bridge, Artoo yelped, "Alert! Anomalous activity detected!"

Hugo glanced down to the dash to find video from high above the bridge. Before he could think to ask how such a perspective was possible, he noticed a vehicle weaving through traffic at nearly double the speed limit. Looking outside his truck, he saw the vehicle approaching from behind him. He pulled to the side, hoping to give the obvious maniac plenty of space.

"Oh shit!" Hugo muttered as he watched the speeding sedan veer in his direction. Hopes that the oncoming vehicle would turn away at the last moment fell on deaf ears and he was slammed back into his seat as the sedan struck the tailgate of his truck. The relatively sleeker design of the car caused it to tunnel beneath the truck, not coming to a stop until the vehicles were, as near as makes no difference, stacked vertically.

Hugo snatched Artoo from the dashboard and leapt from the truck, his eyes going immediately to the car beneath him. The vehicle in question was a late model E. V., complete with a polished stainless-steel exterior. The driver's seat was occupied by a middle-aged woman with terrified look in her eyes, her hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles were white.

He could hear the panic in her voice through the closed window as she shouted "It wouldn't stop! I swear, it just went crazy!"

Hugo clawed helplessly at the recessed door handle, but to no avail. He raced around the car to try the remaining doors, but none would open.

He shouted, "Unlock the doors!"

"I'm trying!"

He locked eyes with her, taking in the panic he saw there and knowing intuitively that she had somehow, impossibly, not been at fault. He gestured to the window, "Do you want me to break it?"

"Yes!"

Hugo dug behind the seat of his truck to extract a tire iron. He made sure the woman had covered her eyes before he shattered the window. The door was far too damaged to open, but he could see a measure of relief in the woman's eyes.

"What happened?" he asked, trying to keep the righteous anger he felt in response to his truck likely being ruined from his voice.

"I don't know," she declared, shaking her head in confusion. "I was slamming on the brakes, but it wouldn't slow down."

"Were you using self-driving mode?" he asked, recognizing the vehicle as one which had resulted in several high-profile national news stories concerning its somewhat spotty track record piloting itself.

"No. Never."

Hugo started to work at the door in an attempt to pry it open, but the screech of tires on asphalt interrupted his efforts. His head snapped around in time to see another vehicle, this one a clunky E. V. which looked like it had been designed by a blindfolded toddler. As he watched in horror, the car slammed into the barrier which bordered the road a short distance away. The impact caused the bridge to shudder worryingly as chunks of concrete exploded into the air. When the dust cleared, Hugo realized the car teetered dangerously on the edge of the bridge.

"Stay here!" Hugo yelped to the victim of the first wreck as he sprinted toward the scene of the latest accident.

The driver of the second car was also trapped, with the remains of the concrete barrier wedging the doors closed. Hugo could see the man inside, pounding on the glass with frantic desperation, his face a mask consumed by panic.

More crashes echoed down the length of the bridge as other cars careened out of control, slamming into barriers or each other. The chaos was escalating rapidly, and Hugo's mind raced as he tried to make sense of it all.

"What the fuck is happening?" he whispered desperately.

His phone buzzed insistently in his pocket, prompting him to yank it free without hesitation. The device doubled in size of its own accord and the screen showed an overhead shot of the bridge. Each crashed car had its own message box which indicated that they were uniformly electric vehicles with some measure of autonomous-driving capacity.

"I'll be damned," he muttered in amazement. "Artoo, is this limited to just the bridge?"

"Affirmative."

"Sent sentries to each end of the bridge. Have overwatch identify every car which can self-drive and attach a sentry to it. The instant they show any signs of deviating from the driver's input, disable them immediately."

"Program running."

Hugo looked around anxiously as a series of FWUMPs sounded from the rear of his truck heralding the deployment of dozens of tetrahedral drones. He ignored them, trusting in Artoo to put a stop to the carnage unfolding around him, and instead focused his attention on the wrecked cars surrounding him.

As he watched, a shiny E. V. car swerved out of traffic and headed in his direction. Two of his drones swarmed the vehicle and he heard the tires explode, but momentum was a cruel mistress, and the car continued unabated. Hugo leapt out of the way, taking refuge behind a semi. He heard rather than saw the crash, a sudden crunch of metal followed by scraping against concrete which continued long past when the crash should have concluded.

He glanced around the front of the semi to spot the second car which had crashed sliding precariously toward the river, having been given a generous shove by the latest out of control car.

Hugo raced over to the precariously balanced car. A closer inspection revealed it wobbling dangerously, ready to plunge into the water far below at any instant. He slammed the back of his elbow against the driver's side rear window, causing it to rebound painfully without doing any perceptible additional damage to the car.

"Dammit," he snarled at the car teetered dangerously.

He leapt onto the trunk of the car, hoping his body weight would keep it from tumbling over. He whipped his pocketknife from his pocket, palming it like a set of brass knuckles before slamming his fist into the back window. He howled in pain at the sensation of several bones in his fingers breaking, but he had the satisfaction of seeing the back window spider web. Leaping to his feet, he stomped his heel down on the glass. The spiderweb turned into a deep canyon of safety glass, capturing Hugo's heel as effectively as a bear trap.

"Fucking hell!" he shouted in agony as he wrenched his ankle free.

He slammed his heel down again on the glass, finally creating a hole big enough to work with. He nearly stumbled as he yanked his throbbing ankle free as his leg no longer seemed capable of holding his weight.

Dropping to his knees, Hugo shoved his arm through the hole he had created. He hooked his arm against the hole and began tugging on the glass. Blood streamed down his arm as he yanked repeatedly in a valiant effort to dislodge the glass. It finally game free with a sickening crunch and Hugo tossed it aside. He reached inside to help the driver, but quickly realized he would have to switch to an arm that was not sliced to ribbons and dripping blood.

The driver managed to crawl between the front seats and take Hugo's hand to climb from of his vehicle. Hugo kept his momentum moving, shoving him to the ground behind the car. He tried to jump free himself, but he slipped in the blood and faceplanted on the trunk lid. The car lurched alarmingly, prompting Hugo to pull his good knee under him and leap to the ground. A worrying series of crunches sounded behind him, and Hugo turned just in time to see the formerly pristine electric vehicle tumble into the abyss.

Hugo gulped in a breath of air as he lay sprawled on the concrete. Surrounding him, an anxious silence descended which heralded the last of the out-of-control vehicles finally having come to a halt. He looked over to the man he had pulled free and said, "You all right?"

The man nodded dumbly; his eyes fixed on the wounds covering Hugo's arm.

Scanning around the bridge, Hugo was relieved to see that no one else was in imminent danger. His surroundings looked little different from a war zone, or the aftermath of an extreme weather event. Countless cars were damaged, and people were walking around in a state of shock as they sought an explanation for the calamity. The sound of sirens filled the air as emergency responders neared the scene. To his fellow citizens, that sound was a welcome change. To Hugo, however, they signaled that it was time to leave unless he wanted to spend long hours responding to questions which had no answers.

"Artoo," he whispered wearily. "Get me out of here."

Almost immediately, several dozen tetrahedral drones surrounded him. They merged like droplets of oil poured into a pot of heated water, completely obscuring him for several moments as they shimmered dazzlingly. Soundlessly, they reformed into a single tetrahedron as tall as a phone booth and floated through the hole in the bridge left by the car before dropping out of sight.

Twenty-One

The youth center was nearly deserted as the mid-summer sun dipped below the horizon to cast long shadows down the darkened hallway. The echo of children's laughter had faded, replaced by the quiet hum of the building settling into the evening. Hugo leaned against the wall near the entrance, watching as the last of the children were picked up by their parents. It had been a long day, and he felt every moment in his weariness. Millions of nanobots coursing through his body had healed his countless injuries from the bridge catastrophe the previous day, but they could do nothing for his nearly overwhelming fatigue. He was lost in thought when a figure suddenly appeared out of the gloom, causing him to tense instinctively.

"There you are!" Eli chortled thunderously.

"Christ!" Hugo snapped. "What are you trying to do? Give me a heart attack?"

"Sorry," Eli enthused unapologetically. "I didn't mean to scare you, bro." He stepped into the faint light from the exit sign. "I was wondering... what are you doing tomorrow?"

"Work."

"But its Saturday!"

"Still ends with a 'Y', doesn't it?"

"I was asking because I've got an extra ticket to the race in Bristol. All you've got to do is give me a lift. I'll cover the rest."

Hugo didn't answer right away thanks to a buzz from Artoo in his pocket. He extracted the trusty device and glanced at the screen to spot a message reading, 'SUBJECT'S RECENT MESSAGES INDICATE HIS TRUE OBJECTIVE FOR TRAVELING TO VIRGINIA IS TO PURCHASE CANNABIS'.

Suppressing a sigh, Hugo looked back at Eli, who was grinning expectantly. It was the kind of grin that made it nearly impossible to dislike him, despite his frequently questionable life decisions.

Hugo forced a polite smile, hiding his frustration. "Appreciate the invite, but I've got too much going on right now. Besides, you're not the only one lacking for wheels right now. My truck is still trying to decide if it belongs in intensive care or hospice. Maybe some other time."

Eli's smile faltered, and he averted his eyes in embarrassment. "Yeah. I get it."

Hugo sighed in frustration, his disappointment over being misled warring with his companion's undeniable affability. "How about we grab a beer instead?"

The joy returned to Eli's round face. "Great! I know just the place. It's right around the corner."

***

The dive bar was exactly what Hugo had always imagined when he drove past: dimly lit, slightly dingy, and boisterous. It was the kind of place where the bartender was hard to spot, since he spent his downtime jawing with regulars on the paying side of the bar. Eli led Hugo to a booth near the back, where the shadows offered a semblance of privacy.

Hugo ordered a beer, while Eli opted for a soda. As they waited for their drinks, Hugo leaned back in his seat, studying Eli with a relaxed but attentive gaze. "So, what's the real reason you wanted to go to Virginia?" he asked, his tone casual but probing.

Eli hesitated, then chuckled nervously. "You don't like racing?"

"Never had much time for any kind of sports. More to the point, however, I don't get the impression you like racing."

Eli sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Okay, okay. You caught me. I'm just trying to keep my nose clean, man. You know weed's legal there, right?"

Hugo nodded slowly, taking a sip of his beer. "Why didn't you just drive yourself?"

Eli's eyes flickered with something which looked like shame before he looked away. "Lost my license," he admitted quietly. "Part of the whole arrest deal that got me community service. That asshole I was riding with was driving drunk. And high. And yeah, I guess he wasn't the only one acting like an entitled asshole when the cops pulled him over. I'm not proud of it."

There was a pause as Hugo considered this, then he nodded again, more thoughtfully this time. "I appreciate your honesty," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "But you still get high, don't you?"

Eli looked back at him, his expression defensive at first, then resigned. "Yeah, I do. But I'm not drinking anymore. Haven't had a drop since the arrest." He lifted his soda as if to prove his point, though Hugo didn't need the gesture. "We both know weed's a whole different animal from alcohol. In any case, even though I wasn't driving, I swore I'd never drive high again."

Hugo offered him a small, encouraging smile. "I believe you."

The conversation shifted after that, moving to lighter topics as they finished their drinks. Despite the initial tension, Hugo found himself enjoying the evening more than he had expected. Eli was occasionally a bit much, but it was impossible to spend time with him without smiling.

An hour later, they stepped out of the bar into the cool night air. The streets were quiet, the sounds of the city muted by the late hour. Eli's rideshare arrived first and he bid his companion a sincere good night. This was followed moments later by Artoo informing him that he had cancelled the first ride Hugo had summoned after performing a background check on the driver. As he sat on a bench outside the bar, waiting for Artoo to locate a driver who passed muster, he fell into a contemplative silence.

Tristan's voice broke through his thoughts, low and reflective. "An interesting man, that one. Reminds me Dionysus."

"Are we speaking euphemistically?" Hugo responded with a chuckle. "Or are you suggesting that Greek mythology is instead history?"

"All mythology has a basis in fact, dear boy. Dionysus was a fascinating man. It won't surprise you to learn his excesses spelled an early demise, but no one left his parties unhappy."

"He's the exception that proves the rule, though," Hugo muttered. "No doubt the friend he was with when he got pinched was lucky that he spent a night in the slammer instead of taking out a father of two who'd just worked a double." He took a long, weary breath before continuing. "Ninety-nine out of a hundred drunks are menaces. And that's before they get behind the wheel."

"Alcohol is such a complicated elixir," Isolde chimed in. "Without it, humanity would never have progressed past the hunter gatherer stage."

"How so?"

"Almost as soon as humans started to live in communities, they began falling victim to the specter of unhealthy water. It was only through the discovery of beer, and its cousins, that your kind was able to store water for any duration without it killing them. Don't forget, until very recently, beer or wine was what everyone drank, regardless of age. Nothing else was reliably healthy."

"Perhaps," Hugo allowed. "But that was a long time ago. Before drunk driving had become a scourge."

"Indeed," Tristan agreed. "Does that mean you intend to do something about it?"

He shrugged, his face scrunched up in thought. His eyes then widened in inspiration. "The cops already have a gizmo they give convicted drunk drivers. It disables their car if they're hammered. Couldn't I use the same nanobots which made Artoo to do the same thing?" His face then fell, and he grumped, "No. That would only work with cars new enough to have an onboard computer."

Isolde chimed in, her tone sharper, more decisive. "We could design a new kind of offspring; one that interfaces with any car's system. If the driver's blood alcohol content is even close to the legal limit, they could disable the vehicle until they sober up."

Hugo considered this, weighing the implications. "Two weeks," he responded absently. "There should be a penalty for bad judgement."

He leaned back against the bench, staring up at the stars just beginning to peek through the clouds. "Do it," he said finally, the knowledge that he had found a way to make a positive impact without endangering himself physically filling him with newfound serenity.

***

"Oh yeah," Hugo muttered as he eyed an upscale nightclub from a darkened alcove. "That's definitely a target rich environment."

He crossed the street moving as quickly as possible without breaking into a run, hoping to avoid the notice of the valets. He ducked through the hedge which marked the border of the parking lot and proceeded to creep down the rows of tightly packed cars, keeping low to avoid detection. He carried a satchel filled with devices the size and shape of a makeup compact. As he passed between the cars, he dropped one on the hood of each right below where the V. I. N. was displayed through the front window.

He had nearly cleared the parking lot when a whispered alto voice cut through the darkness, startling him. "What in the bloody hell are you doing?"

Hugo nearly dropped the cylinder he was holding. He turned to see Carrie standing a few feet away, her expression a mixture of curiosity and amusement. Behind her, a man lingered, clearly perturbed at the interruption of their evening.

"Just out for a walk," Hugo replied, trying to sound casual. "What about you?"

"Just stopped off at the pub for a pint. This bloke fancied taking me dancing."

Hugo cocked his head, not unlike a dog hearing a whistle. "Carrie?"

"I done told you already. Me name's Keeley."

"I see," Hugo said slowly, his eyes flicking to the man behind her.

She glanced back at the man, then shrugged. "Oy!" she called over her shoulder. "Fuck off!"

The man's expression darkened, his posture stiffening as he glared in her direction. "Are you serious? You're blowing me off for this guy?"

Hugo stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "Do we have a problem here?"

The man looked Hugo up and down, sizing him up, then shook his head in frustration. "Whatever, man," he muttered, turning on his heel and stalking away. "Not worth the trouble."

As soon as he was out of earshot, Hugo extracted Artoo from his pocket and instructed it to track the man down and bug his phone. A distant whirring changed in pitch as one of the overwatch drones sped to do his bidding. He looked up to find her watching him with a raised eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips.

"What's with the accent?" he asked softly. "Keeley."

"Guys gotta earn the real me," she replied easily, her tone teasing as her native New York accent returned. "Picked up a ton of accents in Europe."

"Fascinating. Seriously, I didn't ruin your date, did I?"

"Nah. I only said yes to dancing because I was bored. No way I was going home with that toolbox. Speaking of which, you didn't have to bro out on him. I had it handled."

"He needed to cool it," Hugo replied as he dropped a cylinder onto the parking lot's final car and synched his satchel closed. "There's no excuse for that kind of behavior."

Carrie rolled her eyes in response, but offered no reply. Instead, she looked around the parking lot, her expression softening. "Since you seem to be done with whatever the hell it is that you're doing... care to give me a lift?"

Hugo hesitated, his thoughts immediately going to Faith. The memories of their time together, the undefined yet undeniably growing bond between them, was never far from his thoughts. He had not seen her since she departed his apartment several days prior thanks to their schedules never cooperating by lining up, but they texted constantly. He knew he was not beholden to her. Nothing had been said beyond a shared desire to see each other again, but he felt a loyalty toward her, nonetheless. The fact that there was something undeniably magnetic about Carrie only strengthened his resolve to avoid anything which had the appearance of unfaithfulness.

And yet, he found it impossible to say no to a friend in need.

"Sure," he said finally, leading her toward the street where Derek's tow truck was parked. When Carrie saw it, she burst out laughing.

"Seriously?" she asked, climbing into the passenger seat with a grin. "This is your ride?"

"My truck's likely a goner," Hugo replied, trying to keep the resentment from his tone. "Derek insisted I drive this until I either fix it or find something else."

"How nice of him."

The drive to Carrie's apartment was filled with light-hearted banter, the tension from earlier easing into something more comfortable. When they arrived, Hugo was ready to say goodnight and leave it at that, but Carrie had other ideas.

"Do you mind coming up for a minute?" she asked, her tone casual but her eyes speaking of a deeper need.

"I really shouldn't," he began, but Carrie cut him off. "I need your assistance with something. I know it's totally a friend foul, but I was really hoping you could help me out. It'll only take a few moments."

Hugo chuckled despite himself, the tension easing slightly. "Okay"

Her apartment was modest, a sharp contrast to the luxury high-rise in which it resided. The decor was tasteful but simple, with personal touches that hinted at a life once lived on a much grander scale. Hugo could not help but feel a surge of empathy for her, but he was careful not to let it slip into pity.

She offered him a beer, but he shook his head. "I'm good, thanks. So, what do you need moved?"

"Moved?" she quipped, her voice teasing as she poured a glass of wine after providing him with a bottle of water.

"What else would you need help with?"

"How about explaining what you were doing in that parking lot," she retorted firmly. "To say nothing of helping me understand what the fuck happened on the bridge. For fuck's sake, Hugo! Are you trying to get killed?"

"I don't know," he muttered as he sank into her couch. "Those cars all just went fucking crazy. Artoo said their self-driving systems went haywire, but that just begs more questions."

"Like why only on that bridge," Carrie finished. "Are you ok? You were always blurry in the coverage I saw, but that didn't extend to the blood that was everywhere after you E. T. phoned home. That chick on the internet is going completely insane trying to figure out what happened."

"I know," he sighed. "She keeps trying to track me down, but Artoo's got her pegged and always keeps me one step ahead."

"You keep saying that. What's an Artoo?"

He extracted his phone, placing it on her coffee table demonstrably. "That is. Its far more than just a phone."

"Is that related to that thing that zoomed you away from the bridge?"

"I was given... help. Two helpers. They're... not from our plane of existence. But they can provide, really make, various types of self-replicating nanobots. That's how I'm able to do all these things."

He spoke without the benefit of a plan. But, as with Faith, he found that he had a complete absence of trepidation sharing anything with Carrie, no matter how personal.

"And the parking lot?"

"We made these gizmos that fuse with a vehicle and disable it if a drunk tries to drive it. Seems silly, I know, but..."

"Doesn't seem silly at all," she replied warmly. "Although it's a far cry from the superhero gig we all saw at the dam. Or the bridge."

"Lot less wear and tear though," he retorted with a wry grin.

Artoo vibrated insistently, drawing the gazes of both humans. Carrie snatched it up and breathed, "Whoa! What kind of phone is this?"

"I told you. It's Artoo. He's kind of one of a kind." Hugo's mind then went to Faith, and he added, "Make that two of a kind. Artoo, show the nice lady what you can do."

"Holy shit!" Carrie exclaimed as the phone doubled in size and displayed a wealth of information about their surroundings.

"I could do the same to your phone, if you like."

"Fuck yeah, I like."

Without waiting for permission from Hugo, Carrie's phone buzzed with a notification announcing the time required to complete the update. "That's incredible." She enthused as she continued to marvel out his phone. "Wait. What's this?" she teased, scrolling through his message history. Her playful expression quickly turned to one of knowing amusement. "Looks like someone's got a crush on you."

Hugo reached for Artoo, but she held it out of reach. "Come on, Carrie. Give it back."

"Why haven't you asked her out yet?" she asked, her eyes gleaming mischievously. "You're obviously crushing on each other. Is she pretty?"

"Gorgeous," he admitted softly. "But..."

"Then ask her out," she continued. "Here." She quickly typed out a message and hit send before he could stop her.

"What'd you do?" he exclaimed, reclaiming his phone indignantly.

"Relax," Carrie replied, tossing the phone back to him. "I just asked her out for you."

Hugo stared at the screen, his heart skipping a beat when he saw Faith's immediate reply:

'took you long enough... where should we go?'

He looked up at Carrie, who was watching him with a satisfied grin. "You're welcome," she said, taking a sip of her drink.

Twenty-Two

The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the city's art district where Hugo and Faith strolled along the cobbled streets taking in the vibrant atmosphere. The galleries were alive with the hum of creativity, each one a treasure trove of paintings, sculptures, and mixed media pieces. Hugo had chosen this place deliberately, sensing that the district's eclectic charm might evoke a sense of comfort in Faith, much like it did for his sister.

They wandered in and out of small galleries, pausing occasionally to admire a piece that caught Faith's eye. Hugo noticed the way her eyes lit up whenever they encountered something particularly striking. A burst of color here. An abstract sculpture there. Her passion for art was palpable, as was the joy she took from the artists' creations.

"So, what's your poison," he asked as they exited a gallery focused on digital art. "Artistically speaking."

"Lots of stuff. I like to paint, and even sculpt occasionally even though I'm not very good at it. But my real passion is drawing. I don't even care what style it is. Sometimes I'm just compelled to put pen to paper."

"Is that where those came from?" he asked, indicating her left arm which was more tattooed than not.

"These are shit," she retorted glumly. "Guy I dated right after high school saw himself as the next great tattoo artist. Convinced me to be something of a guinea pig for him."

"Have you ever considered designing something to cover them, turn them into your art?"

"All the time," she admitted softly. "But I'd have to pay someone to do it. And full sleeves cost a fortune."

"But you'd do it if you had the money?" he pressed.

"Definitely. Why?"

"Just curious. How about this place?"

They continued their walk in comfortable silence, each lost in their thoughts as they soaked in the sights and sounds of the district. The streets were lined with artists displaying their wares. Murals that told stories of the city's past could be spotted on the sides of buildings. It was a feast for the senses, and Hugo found himself appreciating the way it all came together to create something which enraptured his gorgeous companion.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the district, they made their way to a small, cozy café nestled between an art supply store and a dress shop. The interior was warm and inviting, the scent of comfort food wafting through the air as they settled into a corner booth. The atmosphere was relaxed, with low lighting and soft music playing in the background creating the perfect setting for easy conversation.

Faith gushed about the menu, giving him a measure of comfort in the face of his ever-present concern that he was going to commit some grave offense against common decency. He had resisted the urge to seek guidance when planning their date. He had no doubt that many of the people in his life would have leapt at the chance to offer assistance, but he had been determined to show Faith a good time on his own merits.

His satisfaction was short lived, however, as thoughts of his friends brought Carrie's meddling, welcome though it had been, to the forefront of his mind.

Faith seemed to notice his distraction. "What's wrong? You seem... on edge. Is there something happening?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know," she replied in a fierce whisper. "Is some disaster about to happen?"

He shook his head, forcing a smile. "No, it's nothing like that."

"Are you sure? Because it feels like there's something you're not telling me."

Hugo hesitated, then sighed. "It's just... I was with a friend the other night when I texted you. I was explaining what Artoo could do and showed her my phone. She was the one who sent that text asking you out."

Faith blinked, processing his words. "Wait, so you didn't want to ask me out?"

"No!" Hugo yelped. "I absolutely did want to, but I couldn't figure out how to do it. I didn't even mention anything to her. She just opened my texting app and asked if I liked you. She texted asking you out as soon as I responded. I'm sorry I wasn't honest with you from the outset. I shouldn't have deceived you."

Faith regarded him for a long moment before quirking an eyebrow and saying, "Friend?"

"Carrie. She lives in the building where I intervened when this asshole decided to use his girlfriend as a punching bag. She actually showed up while the two of us were fighting and helped make sure that piece of shit ended up in jail."

"You never told me about that!"

"Sorry. It happened before we went to Kentucky. I guess it got lost in the shuffle of all the crazy stuff that's happened to me recently."

"So, you're not dating her?"

"The woman who was being abused?" he responded, utterly bewildered.

"No," Faith retorted with a firm shake of her head. "Carrie."

"No! Definitely not."

"We're not dating, Hugo. I wouldn't have minded if you said yes."

"Regardless. There's nothing happening between us. We're just friends."

"Is she pretty?"

"Huh?" he grunted.

"It's a simple question, Hugo. Is she pretty?"

"Um," he hedged.

"What's her last name?" she retorted as she extracted her own upgraded phone.

"Pescatore," he sighed.

She typed on her phone for just a moment before her eyebrows went up alarmingly. "I see. I guess I can understand your confusion. She's not pretty, she's stunning. She was a model, for God's sake. Um... wow!"

"She doesn't hold a candle to you, Faith," Hugo said sincerely.

"Please," she huffed. "I've got eyes."

"I'm here with you."

"Hang on," Faith announced as she put her phone to her ear. "Hi? Carrie? This is Faith. I think we exchanged some texts a few nights ago."

Hugo tried to respect her privacy rather than trying to discern the details of their conversation second-hand. It was impossible to miss, however, the fact that Faith's tone suggested she was anything but angry. If anything, she seemed genuinely delighted.

"She's delightful," Faith enthused as she disconnected the call.

"So, now what?"

"Now we have dinner. Unless you're ready to go."

"No! I just thought maybe..."

"You thought I'd want to blow up our date because Carrie gave you a little nudge?"

Hugo shrugged helplessly. "I mean... I'd hope not."

"I don't care if she helped you out, Hugo. I think it's awesome that you guys are friends. She and I are having lunch tomorrow, so maybe we'll all be friends before you know it. The important thing is that you're here."

"I swear to you," he declared sincerely. "There's nowhere I'd rather be."

"I believe you. And I agree. I'm having a marvelous time with you. I can't wait to find out what else the evening has in store for us."

***

By the time they left the café, the stars were twinkling overhead, casting a soft light over the quiet streets. They walked back to Faith's car, the conversation flowing as easily as it had at dinner. Once they were under way, Faith stopped by a package store and suggested Hugo run in for a bottle of bourbon. He did as she requested without asking for an explanation. His eyes widened, however, when she shut off the ignition after arriving at his apartment and stepped from the vehicle.

As they entered his apartment, Hugo set the bottle down on the kitchen counter. He turned to find Faith standing very close to him, her eyes devoid of the sociopathic lust which had, in his mind, become synonymous with intimacy. Instead, he found only desire fueled by a deep-seeded affection.

"Hugo," she said softly, stepping even closer until he felt her breasts pressed against his chest. "I haven't had a thing to drink tonight."

"I know," Hugo replied, his voice barely a whisper. "But we bought..."

"I know what we bought, handsome," Faith interrupted gently, her gaze locking onto his. "But I'm not touching it until you kiss me."

For perhaps the first time in his life, Hugo was able to quell the impulse to hesitate when it came to seeking his own happiness. He smiled down at the beautiful woman before him as he leaned down to press his lips to hers. Their kiss started gentle, almost tentative, but quickly gained intensity as his dwindling hesitation aligned with her eager yearning. Faith's hands found their way to Hugo's chest, tracing the lines of his muscles through his shirt, while his own hands gripped her hips to pull her closer.

Their kiss deepened, becoming more urgent as the passion between them skyrocketed. Her gentle caresses of his chest became more bold as her hands dropped, and his eyes widened momentarily as she fondled his ass. She pressed her generous breasts against his chest lustily and there was no mistaking the peaks of her nipples through the layers of fabric separating them. Her soft sighs turned to throaty moans as he filled his hands with her magnificent tits.

She broke their kiss and enthused, "That's more like it!" as she removed her blouse.

He tore his own shirt over his head before reclaiming her lips. Their hands roamed as they helped one another out of more clothing until only their underwear remained. Faith's fingers trailed down Hugo's chest, her touch leaving a sensation akin to a trail of fire in its wake. She dropped to her knees, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for the waistband of his tented boxers. Hugo's breath hitched as she freed him from the confines of his clothing, her eyes widening slightly as she took him in.

"Wow," she murmured, her voice thick with desire.

Hugo was helpless to contain the groan that escaped his lips as she wrapped her lips around the crown of his manhood. Her lips and tongue worked together in perfect harmony to create a symphony of pleasure. He reached down to tangle his fingers in her hair, his knees almost buckling from the intensity of the sensations conferred by her talented mouth.

"Faith," he gasped, his voice strained. "If you don't stop, I'm not going to last."

She looked up at him, her eyes dark with lust. "Then stop me."

He took her hand and pulled her to her feet before lifting her onto the counter. She squealed in protest until he tugged the straps of her bra down and took one of her thick nipples between his lips. She encouraged him to continue by unclasping her bra and tugging him deeper into her soft breasts. His hands memorized her body as his kisses trailed down toward the apex of her thighs. She let out a soft moan as his hands moved to her waistband.

"Hugo, wait," she said suddenly, her voice tinged with embarrassment. "I... I didn't shave."

He paused, looking up at her with a gentle smile. "Good."

"Seriously?" she asked with a crooked smile.

"You're perfect," he whispered fiercely as he slid her thong over her ass. "And I aim to devour you."

"Yes!" she sighed as she lifted her hips to allow him to remove the last of her clothing.

He nestled his nose into her thick curls and inhaled deeply, shivering in response to her heady aroma. His tongue delved into her curls to tease her seam, and he groaned in response to the wetness which greeted him. Pushing her thighs apart, he sank his tongue into her femininity. She sank back on the counter, holding herself up with her elbows as she watched him with a hooded gaze. Her breathing came in short gasps as he dragged his tongue along her folds toward his prize.

"Holy shit!" she hissed as his tongue found her clit. "Just... just like... Yes! Just like that."

He continued lavishing attention on her pleasure bud as her moans grew louder. Within moments, she found her release with a desperate shout of his name. He continued his ministrations until a chattering sigh escaped her lips and he felt her muscles relax.

His heart swelled with emotion as he kissed gently back up her body, savoring her taste still lingering on his lips. Faith's chest rose and fell rapidly, her breath coming in soft, shuddering gasps as she slowly recovered. He paused to give her stunning breasts the attention they deserved, but she took his face between her hands and pulled him in for a deep kiss which had a tenderness that contrasted the intensity of her release.

As their lips parted, she murmured, "That was... wow." She reclaimed his lips hungrily for a brief, but memorable kiss. As they parted, her tongue traced along his jaw lewdly.

"Does it creep you out how much it turns me on when you're literally soaked with, well, me?"

"Not even a little bit," he replied softly.

She gave his jaw another long lick before saying, "Don't worry, I'm not expecting you to clean me up after you give me a facial."

"I mean," he chuckled. "I'll definitely clean you up. I might just use a washcloth."

"Fair enough," she snickered. "Speaking of orgasms... bed?"

"You read my mind," he whispered, lifting her from the counter with ease.

She wrapped her arms around his strong body, holding on as he carried her toward the bed. Her body pressed against his, warm and soft, sending shivers of anticipation down his spine.

When they reached the bed, Faith said, "Condoms?"

Hugo's excitement evaporated like he had been doused with frigid water. "I'm so sorry, honey. I don't have any. I never imagined that we'd..."

"Relax," she giggled. "There's a box in my purse. Can you grab them?"

"A box?" he asked as he walked to where she had dropped her things.

"Let's just say I had supreme confidence in my powers of persuasion. Now get over here."

He returned to the bed to find her lying back on the pillows with her legs spread wide. She teased her clit with one hand while she beckoned to him with the other. He pulled a condom from the box, dropping the latter and sheathing himself with the former before climbing between her thighs. She gripped his shaft and aligned him with her entrance, emphatically answering his unspoken final inquiry for her consent.

"Please," she whimpered as he gazed down at her jaw-dropping beauty.

He sank into her slowly, savoring her heated embrace as she adjusted to his intrusion. She pulled him down for a passionate kiss, wrapping her legs around him to pull him even deeper. He built his tempo with careful patience, reveling in the slow, thorough exploration of her body. Their bodies moved together at a deliberate pace, finding an easy synchronicity in the intimacy of the moment.

He was utterly captivated by the way her entrancing sapphire eyes gazed up at him. He saw the familiar expressions of lust, hunger, and desire. But those were overshadowed by genuine affection and unguarded trust.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered reverently.

"So are you," she replied with a happy smile. "And you feel amazing."

"So do you," he repeated with a goofy grin.

"I want to be on top," she sighed desperately.

He wrapped his arms around her and rolled until she was on top of him, much to her shrieking delight. The intensity of their passion grew as she took control. She rode him with a slow, steady pace, her hands splayed across his chest for balance as her hips rolled in a mesmerizing rhythm. Hugo watched her through half-lidded eyes, his hands tracing the curve of her waist, marveling at her beauty and the connection they shared.

Faith leaned down to kiss him, her lips brushing against his as she whispered his name, her voice filled with something akin to awe. Hugo responded by gripping her hips, guiding her movements as their pace quickened until the room was filled with the sounds of their shared pleasure. Her spectacular breasts surged with her every movement, and he was helpless to keep his gaze from locking onto them.

"You like?" she whispered sultrily.

"So much," he sighed. "You're incredible, honey."

"I'm so close, babe. Let me get on my knees."

She rose off him, ripping a gasp from his lips at the loss of her slick heat. She settled on her knees at his side, presenting her full ass to him lewdly. He positioned himself behind her, thrusting home into her welcoming core. This position, combined with their heightened passion, quickly brought both to the precipice of release. The lewd slapping of flesh battled with their gasps for breath until the entire apartment was filled with the sounds of their lovemaking. He could feel her trembling beneath him, her moans growing louder with each thrust.

"Oh, fuck!" she panted. "I'm cumming!"

He slammed his hips home a final time as his release consumed him under the eager enticement of her rippling inner walls. His body spasmed as he erupted deep within her welcoming heat. Beneath him, she fell forward onto the pillow as her orgasm left her helpless to support her own weight.

As their shared pleasure receded, he bent forward to kiss along her back before collapsing onto the bed at her side. She looked over at him with a gaze which heralded that she was at once spent and satisfied. He pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder, his hand gently caressing her back as they basked in their mutual afterglow.

She complained briefly when he silently begged her momentary indulgence to head to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. Upon his return, he carefully cleaned her with a warmed cloth, eliciting a contented sigh.

"Stay with me tonight," he whispered.

She smiled happily, causing his heart to swell with warmth as she replied, "Of course," her voice drowsy but filled with contentment.

They shared a deep kiss, filled with unspoken promises, before she nestled into him and drifted off to sleep. He gazed down at her, his own exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the face of his companion's priceless gift of soul-deep serenity.

Twenty-Three

Hugo pulled onto the vaguely familiar street in Knoxville, his heart heavy with a mix of emotions. The vibrant, artsy neighborhood stood in stark contrast to the weight he carried. The sun hung low, casting warm hues over the eclectic mix of buildings, and the air was filled with the distant hum of activity: people chatting, music playing from open windows, the clinking of glasses from nearby cafés. But Hugo barely noticed. All he could think about, indeed the single thought which had consumed his mind for the entirety of his cross-state journey, was what reaction both his presence, and his message, would merit from the person who meant everything to him.

He parked his rented sedan and stepped to the curb, steeling himself as he approached the pre-War house which an enterprising house-flipper had turned into a cluster of student apartments. His hand hovered over the buzzer for a moment before he pressed it, the sound echoing up the narrow stairwell. A few seconds later, the door buzzed open, and Hugo pushed inside and climbed the narrow stairwell.

"What are you doing here?" a shaky voice asked from the top of the stairs.

Hugo looked up, his gaze apologetic. "Hi, Jenneke."

"What's wrong?"

"I wanted to visit you. Can't a brother visit his sister?"

"You didn't answer my question, Hugo. You know how I feel about unannounced visits. So, I repeat, what's wrong?"

"I just needed to see you. All right?"

Jenneke sighed, rubbing her temples as she waved him into her apartment. "You could have called first. Or at least given me some kind of warning. I've got things going on."

Hugo felt the sting of her words and could not bite back the angry retort which sprang to his lips. "You would have told me not to come. Just like always."

"Is this why you came? To argue with me?"

"No," he replied, sharper than he intended.

A tense silence hung between them, broken only by the sound of footsteps from within the apartment. Hugo looked up just in time to see a man step out of Jenneke's bedroom, dressed only in white basketball shorts which stood in stark contrast to his dark skin. He noticed Hugo's presence and smiled in a way which was almost offensively charming. He was of modest height, with an approachable demeanor, expressive eyes that seemed to light up with curiosity, and a smile that was both genuine and inviting.

Hugo's protective instincts kicked in, and before he could stop himself, he stepped between Jenneke and her companion, his posture stiffening. "Who's this?"

Jenneke shot him an exasperated look. "This is Vann. He's my fiancé. Now cut the caveman act or get the fuck out."

Hugo stared agape at Jenneke. She had tended to keep Hugo at arm's length, especially since he had joined the army. And, while she had never hidden the fact that she had an active social life, he had never had the slightest inkling she had ever had a serious relationship. To discover that she was considering marriage without so much as a word mentioned to her only family in the world felt like a punch in the gut, and a reminder of how much distance had grown between them.

Vann, to his credit, seemed unfazed by Hugo's sudden appearance. He extended a hand with that same easy smile. "You must be the infamous Hugo. Jenneke's told me a lot about you."

Hugo hesitated only for a moment before taking Vann's hand. "Nice to meet you."

"None of that bone-breaking testosterone shit, Hugo. Vann's a very talented sculptor."

Hugo sighed and released his future brother-in-law's hand while the latter warned, "Honey. It was fine."

"You can never be too careful with this one," she grumped. "Speaking of which... seriously, Hugo, what's going on?"

"You mean since you scampered out of my hospital room a month ago, more annoyed that I'd interrupted your day than you were worried that I'd been shot?"

"He got shot?" Vann asked in amazement. "You said they got their wires crossed and he was fine, babe."

"He was fine. He left the hospital right after I did, according to the nurse I spoke to that night."

"You called the hospital?" Hugo asked suspiciously.

"Yes! I felt shitty for walking out, so I called back trying to get connected to your room. But they said you left against medical advice, something I had zero difficulty believing."

"Wait," Vann interrupted. "Was he shot, or wasn't he?"

"I was," Hugo supplied. "But I was healed."

"I'm not sure I can deal with this right now Hugo," Jenneke whispered. "Not again."

Hugo opened his mouth to reply, but the words caught in his throat. His decision to visit had been driven by an undeniable need to explain the fantastical events of his recent past in the hopes of assuring her that, no matter what she might see or hear, he was not endangering himself needlessly. But her tear-filled gaze, a haunting reminder of the night nearly two decades prior when they had lost their father in a senseless act of violence, caused his conviction to waver.

"I just wanted to see how you're doing, Jenneke" Hugo said, deflecting. "Maybe take you out to lunch? Both of you."

Jenneke's expression softened just a fraction, and she exchanged a quick glance with Vann before nodding and murmuring "Ok."

***

Their short drive to the campus was quiet. Hugo sat in the back seat of Vann's car, which only added to the awkwardness. He stared out the window at the passing scenery, trying to find his bearings, but everything felt off-kilter.

He had experienced a moment of inspiration as they departed Jenneke's apartment, asking if he could view her latest pieces. This had had the effect of snapping his sister from her funk, bringing a proud smile to her face.

When they arrived at the campus, Jenneke led them toward the school of art as she gestured to various points of interest. The walkways were quiet, no doubt thanks to the fact that the fall term was not set to commence for several weeks. The area felt somewhat surreal absent students walking to and from classes or groups gathered on the lawn discussing projects.

Hugo trailed behind, his gaze shifting between the omnipresent vibrant orange banners hung in preparation for the upcoming season that was an inextricable part of college life in America. It was a world he had never fully understood, one that seemed foreign despite his sister's deep connection to it. But as they entered the school of art and Jenneke guided them toward her gallery, Hugo felt a sense of familiarity and was reminded sharply of his recent, and quite memorable, evening with Faith.

The gallery was small but no less impressive than a professional exhibition. Paintings and sculptures filled the space, each one a testament to the talent of the school's doctoral candidates. Hugo walked slowly through the room, his eyes finding his sister's breathtaking pieces without effort. He was stunned by the depth of emotion in her work; the vivid colors, the bold lines, the way she captured movement and life with such precision. It was like seeing a piece of Jenneke's soul laid bare before him and a reinforcement of the rightness of every sacrifice he had made to finance her education.

"Your work... it's incredible, Jenneke," Hugo said softly, stopping in front of a large canvas that depicted a swirling mass of colors, like a storm captured in a single moment. "I always knew you were talented, but this... this is something else."

Jenneke paused, glancing at Hugo with a mixture of pride and apprehension. "Thanks. I've been working on this series for a while now. It's about... well, it's about a lot of things. Chaos, control, the balance between the two. Sometimes I feel like I'm painting my own life."

Hugo nodded, understanding more than she probably realized. "It's exquisite."

As they moved through the gallery, Vann acted as her biggest cheerleader. Hugo noticed the way Vann's eyes lit up whenever he looked at Jenneke, the way he spoke about her art with genuine interest. It was clear that Vann cared deeply for her, and that realization brought Hugo a small measure of comfort.

They stopped before a piece which carried Jenneke's name, but which looked nothing like her other works. It was dark and somber, even haunted. As Hugo stared at it, completely transfixed, he felt an unshakeable sense of déjà vu. He gasped at the realization that he had seen the piece before. Or, at the very least its doppelganger. It was the same piece which had caught his eye in the... other place where he had met Sam. It showed a lone figure, guarding a paradise which would remain forever alien to them. Gone were the vibrant colors of the mural he remembered from his vision; replaced by a sobering grey scale with the lone figure depicted in shadow.

"She did that the night she got back from Chattanooga," Vann murmured from behind Hugo's shoulder. "All in a single night. She said it was as though a muse guided her hand. She didn't want to display it, but I begged her to reconsider. It's nothing like her other work, but it's too tragic to not be shared with the world."

"That it is."

"She thinks that's you," Vann whispered, gesturing to the piece's lone figure. "She can't explain where it came from, which scares her. But not nearly as much as what I believe she views as the undeniable truth of what it represents."

***

They found a small sushi restaurant near campus, the kind of cozy, intimate place that seemed perfect for a quiet meal. The three of them sat at a table near the window, the warm light filtering in and casting a golden glow over the room.

For a while, the conversation was light, with Vann and Jenneke discussing their plans for an upcoming exhibit. Hugo listened, offering the occasional comment, but his mind was elsewhere, wrestling with the crushing weight of words left unsaid.

When Vann excused himself to use the restroom, Hugo saw his chance. He leaned forward, his voice low but urgent. "Jenneke, there's something I need to tell you."

Jenneke looked up from her menu, her expression heated. "I knew it! Why did you always do this?"

"I wasn't lying. I wanted to see you. I just also need to do this."

"You know texting exists, right?"

"Trust me... this isn't something you can do over text." He took a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. "Something happened to me when I got shot. Other than getting miraculously healed. I've been given... gifts?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Maybe it would be easier to call them tools. Tools which help me help other people."

Jenneke's eyes narrowed, and Hugo could see the tension building in her. "This again, Hugo? What is it about nearly getting killed that you just can't get enough of?"

Before Hugo could answer, Vann returned to the table. Hugo fell silent instinctively, even though he had little doubt Jenneke would pass along anything he might tell her.

Jenneke turned to Vann and, in a tone that was almost defiant, said, "Hugo was just trying, and failing, to justify the fact that he apparently can't, or won't, stop with the daredevil act. He's just bound and fucking determined to go out in a blaze of glory."

Vann looked between them, sensing the tension but staying silent. Hugo felt the weight of Jenneke's words pressing down on him, the unspoken accusation hanging in the air.

Hugo pushed his food to the side, the sight of it now turning his stomach. "I get why you're upset, Jenneke," he said, his voice flat. "But I'm not capable of ignoring people in need. Not when I can help them."

"You're suggesting I am?" she snapped.

"No! I'm suggesting I have the ability to do more. So much more that I'm not even sure where to start."

"Try," Jenneke shot back, her eyes locked on his. "Because I can't get another middle of the night call saying you're not expected to survive. I won't."

Hugo flinched at her words. "I'm not doing this because I'm an adrenaline junkie!" he hissed, his voice tight with frustration. "I'm doing it because if I don't, then people are suffering because I refused to help them."

"No. You're not some kind of fucking super-hero! You can just live your life."

Hugo seethed silently for a moment before reaching a decision. The fact that it was a rash, likely ill-advised, choice was something he refused to allow himself to consider. He reached into his pocket, extracting his pocketknife and flipping the blade open with one hand. He glanced around for a moment to ensure no one was paying them undue attention before lifting the knife above the table and slicing the back of his hand open.

Jenneke yelped, "What are you doing!" and started to stand up.

"Wait!" Hugo growled in a tone that demanded obedience. "Watch."

As they watched, the wound on his hand closed. He took his napkin and wiped the blood away, demonstrating that his skin was once again unblemished.

He looked up at Jenneke and repeated. "I have to help them, Jenneke."

"What... how..."

"It's complicated," he admitted. "But it all goes back to that shooting a month ago. I wasn't just healed. I was also given help. And it's not just for me. By this time tomorrow, you'll both heal just as I do."

"Does it hurt?" Vann whispered.

"Of course it hurts," Hugo replied dismissively. "But only for a few seconds. But there's more." He set Artoo on the table and said, "Give me a tactical overlay."

The phone grew to the size of a textbook and displayed a map of the local area along with a live feed from a pair of overwatch drones. As they watched, several icons popped up indicating convicted criminals and known provocateurs.

"How is this possible?" Jenneke breathed.

"I've got help from a higher plane of existence, which I know is an explanation that only begs more questions. The important thing is to convince you that I'm not crazy, and that I'm not needlessly seeking out danger. I'm sure you've seen some of the things that have been happening on the news..."

"I don't watch the news."

"Probably for the best," he muttered.

A long silence stretched between them until Jenneke reached across the table. "You have to promise me something."

"I'll do my best," he sighed.

"I'll accept that you have to use these... powers... to help people, but only if you also promise to help yourself."

"Huh?"

"You won't ever be happy so long as you refuse to entertain the possibility that you're allowed to not be alone."

Hugo felt a lump rise in his throat, but he swallowed it down and instead offered her a wry smirk. "I'm working on it."

Jenneke quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, really? And just how long were you planning on keeping her from me?"

"That depends," Hugo replied with a smirk. "How long do you plan to continue to screen my calls?"

Twenty-Four

"What the hell am I doing here?" Hugo muttered to himself.

"You were summoned by oh-woo-yah bravo," Artoo replied flatly.

"Not really what I meant," Hugo grunted. "Ever heard of a rhetorical question?"

"Yes."

The late afternoon sun reflected dazzlingly off the polished glass of the high-rise, nearly blinding Hugo as he approached. As he shut off the rumbling engine of the tow truck, a silence descended over his surroundings, creating a tranquil, almost dreamlike atmosphere that belied the jumble of emotions twisting in his gut. His carefully planned out evening of trying to pair a salvaged differential to his still immobile truck having been shattered by a single, very short, phone call.

He stepped out of his truck, the humid evening assaulting his skin like a water balloon filled with lava. He hurried toward the entrance, trying to straddle the line between too slow and breaking a sweat. His destination was on the third floor, just above the space utilized by the restaurant. He approached slowly, his demeanor not unlike what one would expect from a man about to receive a prostate exam. As he reached the door and raised his hand to knock, it swung open before he could make contact.

"About time," Carrie teased with a broad, mischievous grin. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten how to get here."

Hugo offered a sheepish smile as he stepped inside. The apartment was just as he remembered it: a small, cozy space which perfectly reflected his host. "I stopped to grab a shower," he mumbled, knowing how weak the excuse sounded. "I'd been in the garage all day. Figured you wouldn't want me smelling up your place."

"I like the way you smell," she retorted warmly. "So does Faith."

He grinned goofily for a moment before getting his features under control. "So, um, have you spoken to her?"

"Wrong question, sir," Carrie shot back, closing the door behind him with a soft click. "The better question is, why haven't you spoken to her? It's been three days since your date, Hugo. Three days. You haven't even texted her."

Hugo winced, feeling the sting of guilt prick at his conscience. "I... I wasn't sure what the rules were," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Fuck the rules!" she yelped. "How about common decency? How about giving a moment's consideration to how you would feel if you've just had what you thought was an amazing night with an incredible guy, only for him to ghost you!"

"God dammit," he whispered. "I'm such an idiot. I figured I had to... I don't even know what. Something spectacular, something profound. But I came up empty."

Carrie rolled her eyes, but there was a softness in her expression that took the edge off her words. "You don't have to be a poet, you know. She's not expecting Shakespeare. Just... call her. Tell her you had a good time and can't wait to see her again. You did have a good time, right?"

Hugo nodded, although the phrase 'good time' fell far short of his recollection of their evening together. In his mind, he was more apt to use phrases like 'life-changing' or 'profound' to describe the experience.

"Of course," he said quietly. "It was amazing. It's just... I don't want to mess things up again."

Carrie's expression softened further, and she reached out, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. "You're not going to mess things up. But you're not doing yourself any favors by hiding out, either. Look, why don't we call her together? I'll help you."

Hugo hesitated, the idea of calling Faith with Carrie by his elbow making him feel even more exposed. "I don't know..."

"Come on," Carrie coaxed, pulling him toward the couch. "It'll be fun. Think of me like your own personal Cyrano de Bergerac. I'll give you the lines, and you can just repeat after me."

Despite his nerves, Hugo couldn't help but laugh at the idea. "Sure. Because that always works."

"Exactly," Carrie said confidently, ignoring his sarcasm. She plopped down on the couch, a movement that left little doubt as to the fact that she was wearing nothing beneath a tank top and lounge pants. "Come on, sit down," she instructed, patting the cushion beside her. "Let's get this show on the road before you have chance to reconsider."

With a sigh that was more resigned than reluctant, Hugo sat beside her and extracted his phone. "Here goes nothing," he announced resignedly.

"Come on, you big baby," Carrie assured him. She nodded toward the phone. "Just call her."

Hugo's fists clenched for a moment before he finally instructed Artoo to call Faith. His heart pounded in his chest as the phone rang, each second stretching into an eternity. He glanced at Carrie, who gave him an encouraging nod.

"Just tell her you've been thinking about her," Carrie whispered.

The ringing stopped, and Faith's voice came through the line, warm and slightly breathless. "Hugo?"

"Uh, hey, Faith," Hugo stammered, feeling his nerves tighten their grip on him. "I, um, I've been thinking about you."

Carrie gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up, but Hugo was certain his voice sounded tinny, and his words pathetic. Faith's silence also did nothing to assuage his worries.

He glanced at Carrie, who nodded and mouthed, "Ask her how she's been."

"How are you... I mean... have you... how have you been?" Hugo repeated, his voice a little too loud and a lot too stiff.

"Confused," Faith replied somberly.

"Um... ok?" Hugo started, but his words faltered.

Carrie gestured for him to keep going, and mouthed, "Tell her you're sorry."

"You're sorry?" Hugo asked, his expression screwing up in confusion.

"What?" Faith asked heatedly.

Carrie sighed softly and, without warning, took the phone from his hand. "Hey babe, this isn't working," she said brightly, her tone smooth and confident.

Hugo cringed, feeling his face heat up. Faith's laugh came through the phone, light and teasing.

Carrie winked at Hugo, clearly enjoying herself. "I think our boy just doesn't do well without that non-verbal communication. So, why don't you come over? We're about to start dinner."

"Oh, my goodness?" Faith gushed. "Are you serious? I was just about to give up and make some mac and cheese or something."

"Totally. Get your fabulous ass over here pronto."

Faith's voice came back, bright and eager. "I'd love to. I'll be there in a few."

Carrie hung up the phone and handed it back to Hugo, her grin widening. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Hugo exhaled and sank back into the couch. "Now I know how MacArthur must have felt in Korea."

"You certainly weren't doing yourself any favors," Carrie agreed. "But don't worry, I have it on good authority that she's predisposed to forgive you so long as you continue to meet certain criteria."

Hugo quirked an eyebrow at her. "Such as?"

"A girl never tells."

***

"Wait a minute... you can't see anything when you're flying?" Carrie shouted with so much enthusiasm that she nearly spilled her wine.

"Did you see any windows?" Hugo replied with a grin. "Besides, I'm sure I could have used Artoo to look around if the need had arisen. As it was, I was a bit preoccupied."

"You mean on account of the fact that you were cut to ribbons?" she asked worriedly.

"I was fine," he soothed. "As you well know. I had nearly completely healed by the time I got back to my apartment."

"What did the cops say about you fleeing the scene? At least... I'm assuming you didn't fess up to being the guy who saved everyone."

"I wasn't the only one who quote, unquote, ran away during Car-mageddon," Hugo quipped, referencing the moniker the local media had given the disaster. "Fortunately for me, the CCTV cameras on the bridge are older than I am and thus basically worthless for reconstructing what happened. The cops seem to be working with the same information the media have."

"Meaning spliced together snippets people recorded on their phones," Carrie concluded. "How in the hell are you so blurry in all of them?"

"A little beauty my friends cooked up which interferes with any type of surveillance. It even works on people if shit gets crazy enough."

"That reminds me," she replied in excitement. "You really have two voices in your head all the time?"

"I mean... it's not like they're always talking to me. But... yeah?"

"Can I talk to them?"

"I..." Hugo began, but he was interrupted by the sound of the door opening.

Faith burst into the apartment in unison with Carrie springing from the couch. The two met halfway and embraced like long-lost friends. The newcomer was wearing cutoff jeans which left nearly the entirety of her creamy thighs exposed and a low-cut white top which was mostly obscured by the same heather-colored hoodie she had been wearing the night they met. He heard murmured whispers pass between them but was unable to make out what they were saying beyond a soft, "Thank you," from Faith as they parted.

"Hi," he offered hesitantly as the women turned to face him.

"Hi, yourself," Faith replied with a nervous smile.

Hugo felt himself coming to attention, almost as though the voice of his ancient master sergeant was barking in his ear rather than his celestial companions. "I had a wonderful time on our date, Faith, and I apologize for being such an asshole by not making certain you knew that. I have no excuse."

Faith glanced in Carrie's direction, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Really been raking him over the coals, haven't you?"

"Not at all," Carrie replied. "That's all him."

"Only the date?" Faith teased.

"The entire evening was without compare," he answered, still standing statue still.

"You needn't be so formal, soldier," she quipped, but the smile faded as he continued to stare at her stone faced.

"I do believe he's waiting for forgiveness," Carrie staged-whispered.

"Will you hug me if I forgive you?"

His expression finally cracked, albeit only fractionally. He opened his arms to welcome her embrace and sighed in contentment at the incomparable feeling of her soft curves molding into his body.

"That's more like it," Carrie remarked as she flitted around them to fill a wineglass for Faith.

He kissed the crown of Faith's head and whispered, "I really am sorry, honey. I was just so worried about saying the wrong thing. Then I ended up doing the wrong thing. I just can't win for losing."

"Don't be so dramatic," Carrie teased as she set a glass close behind them on the counter. "After all, you do have a stacked blonde who'd give pin-up models a crisis of confidence happily nestled in your arms."

"I'm not really a natural blonde," Faith sighed as she pulled back from Hugo and retrieved her glass.

"Oh, I remember," Carrie snickered.

Faith took a gulp of her wine and said, "I still can't believe you did this."

"Of course I did. He's obviously crazy about you, babe. He just needed a bit of a nudge."

"Tell me everything!" Faith enthused as she hooked arms with Carrie and led her toward the couch.

Hugo watched them for a few moments, his eyes drinking in the alluring sight of two devastatingly gorgeous women as they chatted happily. Faith removed her hoodie, revealing the fact that her cutoffs were in fact overalls, and that her top was a quite revealing tank top. With every word they spoke, the more evident it became that the two women had, in the span of mere weeks, vaulted past friendly into the realm of best friends.

The longer he watched, however, the more he felt like an interloper. The sense of awkwardness bloomed, and he felt himself starting to fidget. Unwilling to make a fool of himself, he took a long step backwards and ducked into the kitchen.

The kitchen was small but well-organized, with bright, cheerful colors and an array of gadgets arranged on the countertops. Hugo took a moment to quietly hunt around for the makings of a meal, eventually deciding that he could likely manage to assemble a reasonably edible pasta dish.

He started a pot for pasta filling in the sink as he placed a saucepan over medium heat and started the oven. He spent a few moments collecting the ingredients for both a salad and a vodka sauce. The sound of a waterfall behind him called his attention to the fact that the pasta pot was overflowing in the sink. He slammed the waterflow off and dumped out enough water to leave sufficient head room before placing the pot on the stove and cranking up the heat. He pulled out a cutting board and started chopping ingredients. Once the garlic and shallots were ready, he poured some olive oil into the saucepan. Unfortunately, instead of the mesmerizing sight of the oil shimmering as it came up to temperature, it immediately started belching smoke.

"Fuck," he grunted, yanking the pan from the heat.

This had the unfortunate effect of slinging some oil directly onto the flame of the burner, igniting it immediately.

Hugo reached through the flame to shut off the burner, hissing in pain as his skin charred. He looked around for a towel to beat out the still smoldering remains of the oil in the pan, but the only option he spotted looked like an heirloom. Left with no other option, he yanked his shift over his head and used it to smother the flame.

"What's going on in... oh my God!" Carrie yelped from behind him.

"What happened!" Faith called from the living room.

Carrie rushed around him to survey the scene before turning her gaze on Hugo. "What were you doing?"

"Trying to make dinner," he muttered. "Failing at it, in point of fact. Don't worry. I'll clean everything up."

"I'm worried about you, Hugo! Look at your arm."

She grabbed his arm, which covered in angry blisters and the singed remnants of his arm hair.

"I'll be fine," he grunted as he gently tugged his arm free. "See?"

As they watched, the blisters on his arm slowly started to fade.

"It still hurts, though," Faith interjected. "Doesn't it?"

"That'll teach me to be more careful next time."

Carrie sighed, a look of amusement on her face. "Speaking of teaching... I think somebody could use some cooking lessons. Why don't you plop that fine looking ass of yours down on one of those stools and pay attention?" She lifted her extended index finger skyward in response to his objection. "No arguments! Sit!"

"Fine," he grumped as a traitorous smile overtook his features.

***

The evening progressed easily once Hugo's wounds faded, with Carrie hosting an impromptu cooking class for both her guests. With each new demonstrated technique or instruction came a companion topic for discussion. Carrie showed an effortless ease when it came to entertaining, her skills no doubt honed amongst the elites of New York and western Europe. The conversation kept pace with the wine, with both flowing easily long past the time when the dishes had been cleared.

As they settled back into the living room, Carrie glanced between her companions before asking, "So, where are you guys going on your next date? And when?"

Hugo opened his mouth to speak, but Faith beat him to the punch. "It's my turn to pick, and I don't want to spoil the surprise yet."

Carrie grinned conspiratorially. "Sounds mysterious."

"You can't blame me for wanting to tick off a few bucket list items with our guy here, can you?"

"Ooh. Even better. Does this mean you're finally ready to see my esthetician?"

"My appointment is the day after tomorrow," Faith enthused. She then turned to Hugo and added, "But don't worry. I'm not going completely smooth like our supermodel friend over there. There will still be plenty for you to nuzzle against babe."

"You never told me he had a bush fetish!" Carrie yelped. "I just got waxed again yesterday!"

"Would you relax! He doesn't have a bush fetish any more than he has a boob fetish. If anyone has a reason to be nervous, it's me. Face it, babe. You're hot to death."

"What is happening?" Hugo muttered to himself.

Faith whirled to face him. "Tell her, Hugo! Tell her how hot she is."

Hugo gave serious thought to bidding Artoo to rescue him, or perhaps something less dramatic; like leaping out the window (it was only the third floor, he reasoned, almost certainly not so high that he would sustain damage the nanobots could not fix before he expired).

"Hugo?" Faith prompted.

"You're both very beautiful," he announced with a shaky voice.

"Thank you," she replied with a grin. "But that wasn't what I asked. Carrie, why don't you stand up and show him the goods."

"I'm not flashing him," she replied shortly, although Hugo did not fail to notice that she got to her feet and turned in a slow circle.

"Why the hell not? I found a clip online of you walking down a runway topless in front of at least a hundred people. And not in a see-through dress mind you, or the victim of a wardrobe malfunction. We're talking just a pair of slacks with suspenders and heels, like anyone would wear that in real life. But you and your perfect tits made it look fabulous."

"Please. You've got me beat by four cup sizes."

"And likely twice that many dress sizes. Now, quit changing the subject."

"I'm still not flashing him," Carrie retorted as she struck a pose that had been old when Eve convinced Adam to give apples a try.

"Maybe not yet," Faith quipped as she turned her attention back to Hugo. "How 'bout it, babe. One out of ten on the hotness scale, with one being Eleanor Roosevelt and ten being..."

"You?" he offered weakly.

"No. Someone genuinely hot. I'm talking about willing to give up vital parts of your anatomy just to get a peek at them, hot."

"So... you?"

"Have it your way, mister 'I'm going to pretend I don't know how to talk to women'. How hot is our girl here on that scale?"

"You are aware that I was extensively trained in the army on avoiding obvious traps."

"I'm not trying to trap you, babe," Faith replied warmly. "I swear on my grandmother's eyes that I have no ulterior motive or secret agenda. I know she's hot. So do you. So does she. You're just saying out loud something that's already an established, undeniable fact."

Carrie smiled down at them coquettishly. "Maybe if you go down on him while he answers, it'll allay his worries."

"Don't tempt me," Faith retorted with a wink. "But no deal. You're just trying to get a sneak peek at his amazing cock." For emphasis, she groped Hugo through his jeans, a movement which Carrie's eyes to widen in appreciation.

Carrie shrugged but did not refute her friend's assertion; something which only reinforced Hugo's sense that he had in fact sustained critical damage in the bridge attack and was in the throes of a particularly vivid, and likely terminal, fever dream.

"Just say she's a ten," Faith whispered in his ear. "Trust me."

"You're both beautiful," he repeated. "And gorgeous. And... how did you put it... hot to death. And sexy as hell. And... "

"See?" Faith interrupted triumphantly.

"Objection, your honor," Carrie declared as she took a seat on Hugo's opposite side. "Leading the witness."

"Oh, hush," Faith enthused. "You know he meant it with every fiber of his being. You're incredible, honey. Admit it."

"I still feel like you bullied him into it"

"Just like you bullied him to get the both of us over here?"

"That was different."

"Quit complaining. Face it, babe, everything worked out exactly as we planned. Now all we have to figure out is where you two are going on your first date? And when?"

Hugo coughed into his wine, nearly leading to the ruin of the shirt Carrie had lent him. "What!"

"You heard me," Faith snickered before flicking his earlobe with her tongue as she stroked his upper thigh. She glanced over at Carrie and added, "If you promise not to leave him completely spent, I'll even cosign you guys hooking up before I take him out on Friday. We're all going to have so much fun together!"