Ghost Rider Pt. 02

See Pt. 1 for blurb. Also, if you haven't already read Pt. 1, I strongly recommend doing so before proceeding. All on-page sensuality takes place between characters who are eighteen or older.

~ ≈ ≡ ≈ ~

Twelve

"Crikey," David muttered to himself upon returning to the hotel room.

He closed the door, taking the utmost care to avoid making a sound. He winced to himself when the chain rattled against the metal jamb, but a look over his shoulder suggested that no harm had been done. The effort to keep his eyes downcast as he crept across the worn carpet of the room was substantial, especially after he experienced a momentary bout of weakness which resulted in him being temporarily struck dumb.

David's effort to rectify that which had initially drawn his consternation was interrupted by a gravelly voice whining, "It's too hot!"

Petra's complaint was immediately followed by the sheet being snatched from his hand before he could properly cover her. She flung it onto the floor before slumping back onto the bed and, as best he could tell, immediately returning to a deep sleep.

He made a valiant effort to retreat from the bed, and ignore the mind-scrambling vision found therein, but the undeniable truth was that he fell short of the nobility required to avert his gaze from the sight of the most gorgeous woman he had ever encountered lying on the bed wearing (as near as makes no difference) nothing at all.

After a frankly embarrassing delay spent gazing helplessly at alluring beauty (which her nearly transparent bra and thong did next to nothing to obscure), he belatedly turned away. Feeling as though he had awoken from a night terror, he jolted visibly before stumbling toward the bathroom. He splashed some water on his face in an attempt to clear his thoughts, followed by shooting an angry glare at his reflection in the mirror.

Following a stern talking to with himself, he returned to the task of ferrying the items which they had stored overnight inside their hotel room back to his van. Their shopping trip at the R. V. Emporium had netted them dozens of boxes of various electronics, a relatively even split between those items indicated by the documentation provided by the clever gentleman who had presided over the van's refit, and random items which Petra had decided were essential. They had brought them inside the room for no better reason than the van's locking mechanism being electronic in nature (and therefore non-functional).

Upon returning to the room after loading the penultimate box under the bed in the van, he was confronted by a growling voice demanding, "Turn it off!"

"Pardon?"

"The light! Make it stop!"

"Oh kay," he drawled as he pulled the door closed behind him.

"What in the gorram shaz did you do to me?" she grumbled from beneath a pillow (which did nothing to hide her still uncovered body from his helplessly leering gaze).

He barked, "Me!"

"Not so loud."

"I didn't do anything to you, Petra," he continued in a softer tone.

"Then what the frag happened last night?"

"Why don't you tell me what you do remember."

"Not a gorram thing. Why?"

"Well... are you sure you want to hear this?"

"Wait a minute... I didn't... you know... did I?"

"See now I'm curious as to what it is that you think you did."

She jerked the pillow away from her face before glaring at him in aggravation. After a quick glance down at her near-nudity, she grumbled, "I can't believe I don't remember losing my maidenhead. Please tell me it was at least good for you."

"Jesus Christ," David snapped before stomping across the bedroom and collecting the last of the boxes. "I don't have to stand here and listen to this God damn, mother fucking, bullshit!"

"David!" Petra gasped. "Wait!"

"To hell with that," he retorted angrily before snatching the last box off the bed and stomping back outside.

He was still busying himself with stowing the boxes on the sliver of floor in the bedroom when he heard the door to the van open.

"David?" she called out softly.

"Go away."

He looked up to find her standing squarely in the middle of the van, blocking his exit unless he wanted to make use of the escape hatch on the roof. Recognizing he had little alternative, he plopped down on the bed and pointedly ignored his guest.

"I don't know what I did wrong," she whispered so softly he had to strain to hear her. When he made no reply after a pregnant pause, she added, "I'm certainly not upset that I did sex with you, David. Far from it. I'm just terribly disappointed that I don't remember it."

"Please," he growled through gritted teeth, "leave me alone."

From his peripheral vision, he saw her drop to her knees between the head and the galley. His anger sustained his efforts to resist the urge to turn in her direction. Until, that is, he heard a sob escape her lips.

"Please, David," she whimpered. "Whatever it is that I did to wrong you, I swear by Tesla that I will make amends. I know that you believe that I should already know my sin, but I don't. You're the best man I've ever known, and I went and shazzed things up with you. Just... please... tell me what I did wrong and I'll figure out a way to fix it. Even if I have to build another time machine and go back..."

"Just..." he interrupted in frustration, "I need you to stop talking."

He heard the pop of her lips as her jaw snapped closed, and when he turned to glance in her direction the last of his resolve was melted by the tears streaming down her face. She nodded firmly at him to demonstrate her willingness to comply with his wishes, but there was no missing the desperation in her expression.

After taking a moment to ensure that his voice would not waver, he declared with an emotionless voice, "I'm not a rapist."

"I..." she gasped frantically, but she clamped her mouth closed before allowing a second syllable to escape. Her eyes, however, spoke volumes as to the thoughts racing through her mind.

"No one had sex with anyone, Petra," he continued flatly.

Unlike his prior assertions, demands, and verbal assaults, she said nothing... and made no movement. Her only response, in fact, was more tears accompanied by a heaving of her chest. A distant part of him noted she was still wearing nothing but her extremely revealing underwear.

As much for her dignity as his ability to form a coherent thought, he asked, "Would you like to get dressed?"

She responded by morosely shrugging, although (if anything) her tears intensified. He stood and opened the closet to pull out a T-shirt, which he held out to her. She took it from him as though he had offered her a live hand grenade. Rather than putting it on in the typical fashion, she draped it over her shoulders such that it obscured her torso.

It was only after he belatedly realized that her move had been designed to prevent her intense concentration on him from being interrupted that it finally dawned on him that she was remaining silent because he had commanded her to stop speaking. This more than anything shattered the last of his anger at her accusation.

He sighed wearily and huffed, "Please say something."

"I never meant to accuse you of raping me, David. Nor did I ever believe in my heart that that's what happened."

"You accused me of having sex with you when you were blackout drunk, Petra. When you're too inebriated to consent, it amounts to the same thing."

"I understand why you feel that way, and (if anything) your conviction only makes me respect you more. Please, David, accept my sincere apology for insulting you."

He blew out a long breath before mumbling, "Thanks."

"I've never had alcohol before," she admitted mousily.

"You mentioned that a few times last night."

"Will you tell me what happened?"

He shrugged and said, "You had some drinks. We walked back to the room and then fell asleep."

"Did I... try to seduce you?"

He jolted visibly and stammered, "Why would you ask that?"

"I meant what I said earlier, David. Setting aside my terrible accusation, the reason I had so much difficulty figuring out what I had done to anger you was that I was completely sincere in my assertion that, had we done sex last night, my only regret would have been not remembering it."

His mouth opened and closed multiple times before he managed to rasp, "You didn't."

"Didn't, what?"

"Try to, um, seduce me. I mean, obviously."

"Please don't do that," she grumped. "I cannot fathom why you're so gorram determined to cast yourself as this golem who is incompatible with other humans."

"Because it's the truth."

"Well not me, David. I happen to fragging love your company." She paused to take a breath, to which he responded by opening his mouth to retort, but she beat him to the punch by yelping, "Wait a minute! Is that what happened to you? Did some hateful slitch falsely accuse you of something horrific?"

"What makes you so sure it was a lie?"

"I don't give a shaz if I've only known you for... what's it been... thirty-six hours?"

"'bout that," he conceded.

"The man I'm slowly getting to know (and about whom I very much hope to learn so much more over the next thirty-six days, or weeks, or even years) could never be guilty of such a crime. And while it may be true that your reaction to my horrible accusation was driven in part by whatever it was that happened to you, I have little doubt that even absent that awful incident in your past you would have taken umbrage. Because you're a good man, and men like you react instinctively, and swiftly, when their honor is challenged."

"I have no honor, Petra," he sighed. "I'm just trying to avoid hurting anyone."

"You've never done anything to hurt me, David."

He gestured toward her still moist cheeks and muttered, "I made you cry."

"Because I thought you were going to send me away. Is that still your intention?"

"I told you that when you leave, it will be your choice. And yours alone."

She wiped away the last of her tears before declaring softly, "I don't want to go anywhere unless it's with you."

He shrugged nonchalantly and said, "Ok."

"I would, however, very much like to hear about what else happened last night."

"Um," he replied slowly, "what's the last thing you remember?"

"A really big cow, if you can believe that."

He gestured toward the tall window beside the desk, through which the restaurant where they had sought their dinner the previous evening was visible in the distance. "Did it look like that?"

She stood to peer in the indicated direction and gasped, "In Tesla's name! That thing's real!"

"Indeed. And the multiple pitchers of margaritas we ordered were also very real."

After taking a seat in his desk chair, she asked, "How much alcohol is in a margarita?"

"Based on the single glass I drank, I'd say quite a bit. At least the equivalent of two or three beers."

"If you drank one, then how many does that leave for me?"

"Something like... five?"

"Crikey," she breathed. "So, how drunk was I?" When his only response was an embarrassed wince, she grinned and added, "On a scale from zero to one?"

He smirked and replied, "Oh, then definitely a one."

"Did you have to help me back to the room?"

"After a fashion," he allowed.

"Meaning a better word might have been carried?"

This time he had seen the question coming, and was able to school his features to give nothing away. Her reply, however, revealed just how unsuccessful his attempt at concealment had been.

"I'm sorry, David," she sighed in resignation. "And thank you for taking care of me. That was extremely thoughtful."

The emotion in her voice obliterated what remained of his capacity to retain his composure, prompting him to declare with complete sincerity, "I'm just glad I was in a position to help."

Her gaze grew pointed and she demanded, "That sounds like I put you in the position where you felt like you had to do a gorram bit more than just helping me back to our room, David."

He shrugged non-committally as he averted his eyes from her suspicious glare.

"What else happened?" she insisted.

"Um... nothing you need concern yourself with."

"David," she groaned warningly.

"Look," he barked with emotion that caught him off guard, "I'm sorry you woke up dressed like this." He gestured to her midsection where his borrowed shirt was inefficiently, and not altogether effectively, obscuring the fact that she wore nothing beyond quite revealing underwear. "You passed out while I was cleaning you up after... you know..."

She yelped, "No! I don't know!"

"You drank a half-dozen margaritas after having never before consumed alcohol," he grumped with a withering gaze, "what do you think happened?"

"My body treated all that stuff like... well... poison, and I regurgitated?"

He bit back the impulse to editorialize and replied simply, "Indeed."

"And you had to clean me up because?"

"You were... um... too drunk to wake up before the aforementioned... uh..."

She sighed and guessed, "I fragged my bed, and my clothes, and myself all in one go, didn't I?" When he nodded in embarrassment, she moaned, "David!"

"I'm really sorry I didn't do more to prevent this, Petra. But you were..."

"I'm not angry, you ninny. At least not with you. I'm horribly embarrassed, and frankly appalled, at my behavior; and I'm more appreciative than words can convey that you took care of me. Add in the fact that you were convinced that I would be upset that you somehow violated me when the truth is that what you did was so noble that I don't even think I've fully processed it yet..." she fell silent, appearing to have run out of words rather than as though she was done speaking.

In an effort to assuage her disquiet, he murmured, "It's really no big deal, Petra."

"It's a huge deal, in point of fact. Massive. Titanic."

"I'm glad you're not... I mean... I just don't want this to make things weird."

After several moments of apparent deep thought, her deep blue eyes seemed to flash with an intensity that nearly caused him to flinch. With a soft, yet commanding voice, she asked, "David?"

"Huh... I mean... yes?"

"Have I ever lied to you?"

"Never."

"No qualifier," she prompted. "No 'not to my knowledge', not even a 'I don't think so'?"

"I..." he began haltingly. Yet, somehow, the unspoken communication which he had always found impossible to establish with the remainder of humanity seemed to click effortlessly with the woman out of time seated at his desk. He found the confidence to smirk at her and continued, "No qualifiers, ma'am."

"Do you remember last night when I told you that it makes me happy when you look at me?" She grinned in response to his demonstrative nod. "Good. Because I'd like to clarify my position." When his smile disappeared, she hastened to add, "I haven't changed my mind, David. Far from it." She pulled the shirt that he had lent her away from her body and carefully folded it before placing it on his desk. She straightened her back and allowed her legs to fall open by the scantest of margins. "I don't merely like it when you glance in my direction, sir. Because what I very much appreciate, and desperately wish for more of, is when you look at me like a man looks at a woman he desires."

"But we're not... I mean... I haven't..."

"I also meant what I said before about how my only regret if we had done sex last night would have been not remembering it. Not the act itself, not if it was with you. That being said, I'm not sure either of us is ready to do sex after having been denied it for so long. Please know, however, that I very much hope that you will be the man that takes my maidenhead."

"I'm... um... thank you?"

"You're most welcome, Mr. Shyam," she replied with a dazzling smile. "And, not that you need any help from me because (as I've said repeatedly) you're quite literally the most noble, and honorable, and decent man I've ever known; but that was absolutely a lovely response to my declaration. That still leaves the matter, however, of how we get from here to there."

"I honestly have no idea. The last time I tried to..." David's mouth snapped closed with a suddenness that left a vacuum between the two companions that his suddenly flat expression only seemed to heighten.

"I hope that one day you'll feel comfortable finishing that sentence," Petra offered gently. "Regarding the other matter, however, I am cautiously optimistic that my strategy will produce results."

"And what strategy is that?"

She glanced down at her, as near as makes no difference, unclothed body before responding. "I've never had much interest in subtlety, or subterfuge."

He shook his head in amusement as a smile crossed his features. "No kidding?"

"I don't like people who say one thing and mean another. It seems that's all anyone did in my time."

"Mine too."

"But not you, David. When you speak, you're always truthful, and sincere. And I think the reason you're so taciturn is because you've learned, as I did, that society punishes both of those traits."

"Perhaps."

"But not us," she continued with fervent intensity. She looked around the van's interior before adding, "And not here. In this place, wherever it might exist in time and space, there is only the two of us, and only complete honesty."

"That sounds nice."

"I agree. Which is why it fills me with contentment, rather than anxiety, to tell you that I like being like this," she reached up to tug the straps of her bra, causing her very full breasts to bounce with such exuberance that they almost tumbled from the nearly transparent cups, "with you, for you. I like how happy it seems to make you, at least sometimes, and I like the excitement I feel in response. I want to be free with you, David. To discover this strange world which I've read so much about, but which is still so alien to me. And to learn all the things a man and woman can teach each other when they care about one another, rather than dogma."

"But how can I teach you what I've been utterly shit... I mean shaz... at learning for myself?"

"The same way I built a time machine, we'll just figure it out for ourselves. Together."

"So... you're just going to be naked all the time and then we'll... figure out the rest?"

"It may take more than just nudity, David, but I figure that's as good a place to start as any. One of the many things I learned in inventing that which so many people thought was impossible was that there's no such thing as solving huge, impossible problems by epiphany or blind luck. You just keep figuring out whatever you can, and then reassessing, until you give up, or you have a time machine. Or a man who's willing to show you his prick without his heart exploding."

"Petra, I..."

"I'm not trying to pressure you, David. Just letting you know my thought process. But, for this to work, I would very much appreciate it if you can do your best to sort out (in your mind) the difference between what your upbringing has taught you, or your understanding of societal expectations, versus your genuine feelings when you feel discomfort, or shame, or embarrassment over my behavior."

"What do you mean?"

By way of answer, she stood and pushed her thong to the floor before resuming her seat in a decidedly undemure fashion which left her thick thatch of pale pubic hair on full display. Without conscious thought, his eyes dropped to the floor and he felt his face flush with embarrassment.

"There!" she yelped. "That right there! Why did you look away?"

"Because..." he began, but he fell silent with the realization that he did not have a clear answer.

"I hope it's not because you thought I'd be disappointed in you for looking," she continued. "Not after I told you that I wanted exactly that."

"Um..."

"And it certainly shouldn't be because you're worried what anyone else might think. So what was it?"

He shrugged in resignation and said, "Some lessons, especially those which are taught with pain, die hard."

"When you're ready, I promise to listen to the story of what she, or they, did to you. Without judgment. Until then, would it be ok if I share this with you?"

He shook his head ruefully and muttered, "I can't believe the most beautiful woman in history is asking if she can please be permitted to show me her... quim."

She winked at him and said, "The only reason I'm not completely naked right now for you is because I can't figure out how to get this fragging thing off."

"Are you asking for my help? Or my permission?"

"Any reason why it can't be both?" she replied coquettishly as she tugged the straps of her bra down to reveal her breasts.

"Crikey," he breathed. "You're going to have to give me a minute, Petra."

"Because your prick is stiff?"

"Uh... maybe?"

"I thought we promised to be honest with each other, David. If I'm willing to tell you that my quim is moist, you should be able to tell me if your prick is hard."

"You're right," he replied without hesitation. "And yeah, it's... uh... hard."

"Can I see it?"

"I'm not sure I'm..."

She interrupted, "Even if you're not comfortable taking your pants off... yet. I'd love it if you came over here to help me with this teat hammock while also allowing me to look at the outline of your stiff prick in your trousers."

He started to stand before pausing in a crouch and asking, "Are you going to try to touch it?"

"Only if you ask me to," she replied with a dazzling smile. "Or would you prefer I ask if you intend to touch my teat? Or my quim? You can, you know."

"That's very generous of you, but I think I'd better not."

"Yet?" she inquired coquettishly.

"Uh... yeah... I think I can get behind 'yet'."

"Then get over here, you manliest of men, and get this blasted thing off my teats while I stare at your prick."

"This is definitely the weirdest conversation I've ever had," he sighed as he stood and crossed the tiny interior of the van, making no effort to hide the tent in his trousers.

Without even pretending to conceal her giddy gaze in the direction of his midsection, Petra replied, "Fun though, right?"

David chuckled and said, "You bet your gorgeous fragging ass it is."

~ ≈ ≡ ≈ ~

Thirteen

"Why in Tesla's name does every gorram component in this fragging thing have a wireless transmitter on it?" Petra yelped from far beneath David's van.

He replied, "Because being able to control everything with your phone was all the rage when I did the refit."

"But they're all just connecting to your WiFi router in any case, right?"

"Sure. I guess so."

"Then why not have them all just... I don't know... wired into the central control unit and connect your phone to that?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe this way allowed them to use more off the shelf parts."

"Well it's a gorram stupid way to build a system."

"You're welcome to change it."

"Oh, I intend to. And, while I'm at it, unless you've got your heart set on touchscreen control panels for literally everything, I suggest that you let me write a software package which can allow you to control everything from your phone, or your computer, with solid-state controls on the bridge for backup."

"Works for me. Those touchscreens caused as many problems as they solved. Although I'm surprised to hear someone from the future say that. I'd have thought that, with the way things are going, literally everything would be controlled via augmented reality interfaces in a hundred years."

Petra groaned, "They're imprecise, inefficient, and require time spent designing interfaces that would be better spent designing the system they're meant to control."

"So you'd have my bridge look like the control board of the Apollo lander?"

"Shaz no! I'm all for high-definition displays. I just don't like combining an extremely informative and helpful display with my control interface."

He shrugged and said, "Fair enough. How's it going down there, by the way?"

"I've still got a shaz-load of tiny controllers to replace, because the morons who you hired to build your van seemed to have not used a single component that didn't have a computer chip in it, so they're all fragged. But I'm nearly done wiring everything up so that we can start actually storing all that lovely radiation which your solar panels are soaking up."

He dropped to his knees so that he could see her face and yelped, "Wait a minute, aren't the solar panels live? It's really sunny out here."

"Give me a little credit," she replied with a frustrated frown. "I built a battery array capable of leeching two gigajoules of electricity off the grid over the course of six weeks and storing it with sufficient efficiency to send me eighty-six years into the past. I think I can ground a few solar panels without burning my face off."

He winced in embarrassment and said, "Is a gigajoule a lot?"

"It would run this strange little backwards hamlet in which we find ourselves for a few weeks. Even in this heat."

"So... what... you just shoot all that energy through your flux capacitor?"

"I admit that the explosion of energy to travel through time made for a compelling plot device. I hope, however, that I'm not ruining your childhood when I tell you that that isn't how time travel actually works."

After a moment of silence, which she spent adorably biting her tongue as she used a spanner to precisely affix yet another component to the underside of his van, he asked, "So, is this one of those things where, if you tell me how it works, then that'll break reality?"

"Of course not. Knowledge of the theoretical existence of time travel was relatively commonplace in my time. That being said, everyone else thought that it was only possible in theory."

He continued, "Whereas you figured out how to actually make it work?"

"Well... yeah. The truth is that Morris-Musashi time nexuses are all around us. For any given femtosecond, there are likely to be a few dozen within the boundaries of your perception. Not that you can actually perceive them, of course."

"Why 'of course'?"

"The vast majority are only a few angstroms in diameter, and all but the extremely rare ones would be too small for your head. Not that the size is relevant in your ability to perceive them since the average nexus only lasts for about a dozen microseconds. Add in the fact that they are completely undetectable to humans, or any known devices which humans have devised... David? Are you listening to me?"

His eyes snapped up from where they had gazing mindlessly at the juncture of her thighs, which (due to a combination of her apparent decision to once again forgo the benefit of underwear, and a gust of wind blowing her skirt up to cover her belly) was completely exposed to anyone who cared to take a peek.

"David?" Petra prompted again.

Stuck between two equally challenging propositions, he made a decision and reached for the hem of her dress to drag it back into place before muttering, "Your uh... quim was on full display."

She pulled the knee farthest from him up until it nearly rubbed against the frame of the van as she nudged him with the opposing leg, a move which once again brought her pale thatch of pubic hair into view. "I thought our agreement was that you'd let me be naked for you."

"The entire parking lot can see you! Including everyone in the restaurant."

She looked down the valley of her breasts in the indicated direction before huffing, "Fine. Can you go fetch me whichever pair of knickers you'd prefer to see me in?"

"Wouldn't you be more comfortable in something like your overalls?"

"Do I have to wear a shirt with them?"

"May the gods strike me dead if I ever utter a word of complaint about how you dress away from the general public's prying eyes," he vowed. "That being said, I think that you wearing nothing but overalls might attract even more attention than you giving the entire downtown population an unobstructed view of your pretty... um... quim."

She rolled out from underneath the van and popped to her feet. "You know your language does not, cannot, offend me. Right? I only talk the way I do because it's what I'm accustomed to."

He shrugged and replied, "Ok."

"What would you have called that which is betwixt my legs before you censored yourself? And don't give me some medical-journal polysyllabic monstrosity. What do regular people in this time call a vagina?"

He sighed in resignation and whispered, "Pussy."

"Like a cat?"

"I guess," he replied with a shrug. "I never bothered to work out the etymology."

"Is that considered a nice word, or is it derogatory?"

"It's certainly nice compared to some."

"Oh... that sounds juicy," she enthused. The snicker escaped his mouth before he could take avoiding action, to which she responded with a quick look of confusion followed by an exuberant, "Oh! I get it! Yeah. That one's on me. But I really do want to hear some of the naughtier words for a quim."

"Some aren't very nice."

"Even better! And please don't act like you're insulting me. You're just making sounds with your mouth, because I know you're not in any way denigrating either me specifically, or females in general. Now, spit it out."

"Honeypot?"

"Nice," she hissed with a wide smile. "Although I can't imagine men who would use such a term mean it literally."

"Or even that they'd ever (in their minds) lower themselves to..."

She winked and offered, "See if it tastes like honey?"

"Yeah."

"What else? In my time, most self-styled men's men made frequent use of the word cunt, so I assume that's in use today."

"It's fairly common overseas, although I get the impression they use it as a more generic insult, rather than as a reference to a..."

"Excuse me," a voice rang out from the opposite side of the van.

Driven by an instinct he was ill-equipped to identify, David spun around toward the sound and did his best to interpose himself between Petra and the newcomer. Before he finished moving, an imposing man wearing a police uniform rounded the rear of the van and marched purposefully in their direction.

David stammered, "Um... how can I help you officer?"

"Deputy," the cop corrected. "And we got an indecent exposure complaint from several concerned citizens. How long has this vehicle been parked here?"

"Since last night."

"Is anyone else inside?"

"Negative."

"And have you both been with the vehicle for the last hour?"

"Affirmative."

"Has anyone else been in the vehicle's vicinity?"

"I'm sorry, Deputy," Petra interrupted as she slid alongside David and took his arm, "I didn't catch your name."

"That's because I didn't give it. Has anyone else been near this vehicle today?"

"Listen," Petra continued soothingly, "I think I know what this is about. My boyfriend and I have been making some repairs, and I was underneath our van working on hooking up the new controller for the solar array. And... well... we had quite a night last night, if you know what I mean. And I got a very late start to today. So, you see, my hangover combined with waking up to discover that David had done most of the work... well... I was just frantic to make a contribution and I quite frankly forgot to put underwear on. Obviously, once David made me aware of the fact that the wind had blown my dress up, I covered myself at once. But I genuinely didn't notice until he said something. Isn't there something I can do to apologize for everyone who saw more than they were bargaining for?"

"You're suggesting that you just didn't notice the fact that you were basically naked from the waist down, in front of God and everyone?"

"If you must know," she replied conspiratorially, "I had a lot of margaritas last night, followed by doing quite a bit of sex with my handsome boyfriend here. The simple truth is that I was honestly too sore to notice."

The deputy thought for a moment before saying, "Let me see some I. D. Both of you."

Petra winced and said, "I'll be honest... I'm not sure where it is at the moment."

"Did you lose your name too?" he replied dismissively.

Petra kept her dazzling smile as she declared, "Of course not. My name is Kristen Galning. I'm from Arkansas, and my birthday is June 5th, 2001."

"I'll need a social too," the deputy grunted.

Without missing a beat, she rattled off nine numbers. The deputy turned to David, who sheepishly held out his driver's license.

"Give me just a minute to run these. Think you two can keep your pants on for that long?"

Without waiting for an answer, the deputy disappeared from view, prompting David to whisper, "Kristen?"

"My patrilineal great-great-grandmother. Grand Paw Paw always said I looked like her, and I got a hold of one of her diaries once so I know she's doing mission work in Guatemala this summer."

"So, you figured you could just steal her identity?"

"Why don't we wait to see if it works before you cast aspersions?"

David shrugged and grunted, "Fair enough."

"Do you think he'll ask me if I've put knickers on?"

"If he does... I suggest a bit of strategic dishonesty, since I suspect he'll be quite miffed if he returns from his cruiser to find you absent."

"David?" she prompted after a moment of silence.

"Huh? I mean... yes?"

"What happens in your brain when I call you my boyfriend, or when I declare to a stranger that you spent all night absolutely wrecking my honeypot?"

"I'd really prefer you not use that term."

"Is it better, or worse, than quim?"

"Far worse."

"Quim, then. What are you thinking when you hear me say things like that?"

"I don't... know?"

"Just tell me the first thing that comes to mind."

"That's just it. I don't think anything. I hear what you say. I understand your words. But it feels like it would be... I guess... presumptuous... to do otherwise. You're saying what you have to in order to stay out of trouble. The fact that I'm sometimes tangentially related seems... I don't know... I guess I can't think of a better word than irrelevant. Like why should I care any more or less than... the van, for instance."

She nodded slowly and appeared to ponder his response for several moments until finally opening her mouth to reply. Before she could speak, however, the deputy called out from the back side of the van, "You two better still have your clothes on when I get over there."

"Hold that thought," Petra whispered before turning to face the approaching law enforcement officer.

"Well, Mr. Shy-yam... Ms. Galning... you both checked out."

"Shyam," Petra muttered under her breath.

Without acknowledging her correction, the deputy announced, "I'm going to let you off with a warning, ma'am. But if I get another complaint I'm charging you with indecent exposure."

David collected his I. D. and said, "You've got nothing to worry about, deputy."

Petra hastened to add, "We were planning to get back on the road shortly anyway."

"I think that sounds like a very good idea. You folks have a good afternoon."

After waiting for the deputy's cruiser to pull back onto the highway, David asked, "Back on the road? Don't we still have a bunch of work to do?"

"Give me ten minutes and I'll have the solar panels fully functional again, and we already replaced the shazzed electronics for the A. C. and the stuff in the kitchen. There's a ton of work left to do with wiring up all the control panels, and obviously everything I want to do with respect to writing a new master control program to make sure all the systems are behaving will still need to be done, but I can do that while we're under way. And, more importantly, everything you need to get back to work will be functional by sundown, and much of it can be done while we're in motion. So why would we wait to head north?"

His eyes widened by the smallest of margins and he prompted, "North?"

"Unless you had another destination in mind. I sort of got the impression you were wandering more or less at random."

"Oh, I was. It's just..."

"Wait," she whispered as fear filled her features. "I was being presumptuous, wasn't I? I shouldn't assume that you'd still want me..."

"How many times do I have to tell you," he replied with exasperation, "only one of us has any choice where you go, and who you go with... and that one isn't me."

"One," she answered mousily. "As I told you, I'm incapable of forgetting anything. But I did not ask if you'd abandon me somewhere, David. I asked if you wanted me to remain with you."

"Yes," he whispered without hesitation. Then, with a stronger voice, he declared, "Yes, I do."

She closed the distance between them with a suddenness that nearly caused him to startle and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. As quickly as she had approached him, she withdrew. Once again just out of arms reach, she enthused, "Great. Then I'd best get to work."

~ ≈ ≡ ≈ ~

Fourteen

"What was that!" David yelped with a panicked voice in response to a loud pop from over his right shoulder.

"Your lovely home seems somewhat miffed that I've got my hand up her skirt," Petra replied distractedly.

He surveyed the empty highway on which they traveled before risking a glance over his shoulder where he spotted Petra hunched in his desk chair as she focused her attention on a panel in the galley.

Another (louder) pop preceded Petra clucking, "Behave."

"Should I pull over?"

"I've nearly got it," she mumbled around a screwdriver she held in her teeth.

Moments later, the newly installed gauge showing the battery levels on the now very retro-themed dashboard spun wildly before settling down to show that the main battery packs were at twenty-three percent.

"Fragging finally," Petra sighed as his ears told him that she had leaned back in the desk chair.

"What is it you're working on?"

"The idiot switches and readouts for the power system. Let me take a minute to run a few checks, then I'll call it a day."

David surveyed the endless, featureless, flat of western Kansas which surrounded the lonely north-south highway on which they traveled. The sun was nearing the horizon to his left, highlighting the line of demarcation between the building thunderstorm to the southwest and the cloudless skies visible through the windscreen. The van's handling was (to put it mildly) lively, thanks to the energetic tailwind, and it was a constant effort for him to remain in the lane. Fortunately, the empty road gave him a fair amount of leeway.

"All done," Petra grunted as she climbed beneath his desk to enter the bridge. "Sorry that took so long."

"You realize the initial refit of the van took over a month, right? And they said the vast majority of that time was dedicated to the power-slash-electrical systems."

"I'm not surprised. Everything I'm seeing is like a master class in over-engineering. I swear, the amount of wiring in the walls of this thing which does absolutely nothing would probably extend back to where you initially found me."

"Why would they put in wires that don't do anything? Wouldn't that cost more?"

"My working theory is that they thought it was all redundancy, like backups of backups. I just can't figure out why. The wires aren't typically what fails in this kind of system, it's the stuff they connect to."

"Maybe they just didn't want to open the walls again once they put the paneling in," he guessed.

She shrugged and allowed, "Perhaps. But it's not labeled for shaz, so I had to test literally hundreds of wires in an attempt to figure out what went where. The good news is that we're back in business from a power collection and disbursement standpoint."

"I really appreciate you doing all this, Petra. I can't even imagine how I'll ever repay you." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her take in a sharp breath, so he hastened to add, "Please don't tell me again that this was all your fault in the first place. We both know this was all the result of an accident. Right?"

"Fine," she grumbled. "And you're welcome."

He risked a glance in her direction and was relieved to discover that she was taking in the surroundings (rather than once again obsessing over the imbalance which lingered between them).

As they drove, a thought occurred to him which (in a move that surprised even him) he gave voice to without a second thought. "I just realized that we're in your adopted home state of Kansas. Are we close to where you lived? Will live?"

"I find it easier, when speaking to or about a time traveler, to allow their life experience to be the baseline for your temporal referent. So it's 'lived'. And, to answer your question, no. We lived in the north-central part of the state. But I have no wish to visit on our way north. It was simply the place where my husband's family homesteaded after the War of Northern Aggression. I mean... the First Civil War."

He chuckled and said, "You are proving yourself to be a master at delivering a plethora of noteworthy assertions whilst speaking a scant few sentences."

"Sorry?" she replied with a wince.

"Oh, please don't be. I find it utterly fascinating, especially since I have no way of knowing when you'll switch from that mode to one where I'm reasonably certain that you're trying to melt my frontal cortex."

"Speaking of which, do you mind if I change? It's prudent to don a bit of protection when tangling with electricity, but I fear I've gotten rather sweaty."

"Be my guest. I put your clothes in the top two... oh..."

David fell silent as Petra popped the snaps on her overalls and lifted her hips free of the seat to slide them down. Once the denim was pooled in the footwell, she shrugged out of the borrowed flannel and sent it to join the other garment.

She fell back into the seat with a contented sigh and whispered, "Much better."

Knowing that she was as likely as not to take offense if he did otherwise, he glanced over to find that she was wearing nothing but bright green boyshort panties and a snug pink tank top which was nearly translucent with sweat (and thus did little to hide the fact that she had decided to forgo the services of a bra).

"I know," she grumbled as she noted his attention on the way her top made her nipples seem somehow more prominent than if she had skipped the garment altogether, "I'm disgusting."

"That wasn't quite the word that came to mind."

"Regardless, I really need a shower. Remind me which systems need to be operational for that to happen?"

"Well, the water pump for one."

"Obviously," she replied in a not-unfriendly manner, "but that wasn't damaged by my arrival. I also know you topped off the water tanks before we left Oklahoma."

"Indeed. There's also the exhaust fan in the head..."

"Replaced."

"... and the water heater."

She nodded and said, "Still on the to-do list. But, I checked the readout before I came up here, and the water is currently firmly on the warm side of tepid, thanks to the sweltering temperatures outside. At this point, I'd welcome a refreshing shower. I guess my real question, and I am aware that you've never had any reason to test this, is there any reason I couldn't shower while we're under way?"

"I can't think of one, but I have no issue with stopping in any case. Unless you're anxious to get wherever it is you're going."

"I thought we'd agreed that the appropriate pronoun for this journey was 'we', not 'me'."

"I am more than happy to go literally anywhere with you, Petra," he replied gravely. "That being said, this odyssey can't properly be called ours until you tell me our destination."

She was silent for several moments before replying. "I feel like I've been making assumptions about your beliefs based purely on your character, and your nobility."

"Seems like a reasonable basis, if you ask me. Also, isn't that what everyone does?"

"Unless they enjoy talking to the person in question," she replied with a smile in her voice, "which I do. All right... here goes: are you a religious man?"

"I was raised in a very devout household, and my father was very strict."

"Oh... ok... well..."

He interrupted, "But, as with many of the lessons he taught me, I set his religion aside when he..."

"Set you aside," she guessed.

"Indeed," he replied somberly.

"So... where did that leave you with respect to what the vast majority of media (even in this time) says about the teachings of Jesus?"

He answered by way of a mirthful belly laugh which went on for several moments.

When he fell silent, she muttered, "Why are you laughing at me?"

"I'm sorry, Petra. That was insensitive of me. It's just... I can't tell you how many times in my life I've confronted this preconception."

"What am I missing?"

"My surname is Shyam. My father was the first of our family born in this country, and both of his parents were born in..."

"India," she groaned. "You're right. I'm a gorram idiot. Please forgive my ignorance."

"It's genuinely ok," he assured her around his continuing amusement.

"You must understand. In the time of my youth, both the government and the church (which are really one and the same) teach that there is but one religion. Not only is it heresy to believe otherwise, they maintain the fiction that no alternatives even exist."

"Sounds dreadful."

"Why do you think I left?" she concurred. "So, what religion did your father adhere to?"

"He was Hindu. I, on the other hand, am an avowed atheist."

"Then I guess you find all the religious fervor happening even now to be..."

"Extremely annoying," he confirmed.

"The reason I wish to head north is to get out of the U. S. Because the seeds that are being sown now will take root and lead to the Second Civil War. By the time of my birth, there were only thirty-seven United States, after the so-called communists on both coasts successfully seceded, taking about half of the population and the vast majority of the country's wealth with them."

"Jesus!" he gasped.

"That was who the Supreme Leader said guided his hand when he destroyed New York, Philadelphia, Boston, Los Angeles, San Diego, San Francisco, and Seattle with what he called Holy Fire (in truth nuclear weapons). Eighty-five million dead in a single day."

"He nuked our own cities?"

"Why wouldn't he? They were ignoring his will, and by extension (at least according to him), God's will. The rest of the world turned at once on this country. Total embargo. Russia and China (and India, for that matter) set aside their historic differences to meet the threat posed by the U. S. They established a naval blockade of the southern coast (since the rest of the coasts had been rendered uninhabitable) to prevent any ship from entering or leaving, and they shot down any planes which approached. But the administration laughed at their attempts and declared that we had everything we needed without the rest of the world's so-called interference. The best guess is that another twenty- to thirty-million died in the upheaval which followed while the country waited (in vain) for their leaders to reengineer the economy to function all on its own."

"Was it starvation? That killed the rest?"

"In some cases, although there was always enough food to feed everyone. At least... in theory. What truly killed so many was hoarding and pillaging. No one knew when more would be coming, so everyone defended everything they managed to get their hands on with deadly force. I can't tell you how many articles there were, at least before the government truly gained control of the media, about people killing their neighbors to protect a roll of toilet paper, or a bag of rice."

"Had things... calmed down by the time you were born?"

"For the most part. The population figured out that their leaders weren't interested in helping them, so they basically returned to an economic model similar to that which was in place before the industrial revolution. I grow corn for you and you manufacture steel for me, that kind of thing. Then those same leaders seemed to figure out a way to profit from the misery of the masses and reinstituted trade, mostly by rail."

"But..." he began before falling silent under the weight of indecision.

"You can't offend me by asking about the future, David. After all, I dedicated my entire life to the singular pursuit of escaping it."

"I was just curious as to why. You said that things got very bad during and immediately after the... um... Second Civil War. But you also at least seemed to imply that they had improved."

Her expression grew somber and she said, "Things were better... for a while. Then a cabal of quadrillionaires decided to challenge the Supreme Leader when he grew frustrated with their meddling and cancelled their tax exempt status. Their coup nearly succeeded, and significantly weakened the Supreme Leader, so he responded by using state media to convince the vast majority of the populace that the world would end on January 1st of 2112.

"Many believed that he meant to use his remaining nuclear weapons to turn this continent into a radioactive wasteland (rather than suffer the indignity of defeat), all while he remained safe in his luxurious bunker deep beneath the Badlands. What remained of society collapsed overnight, because nine out of ten people either took him at his word that Jesus's return (and thus the end of the world) was nigh, or genuinely believed that he'd destroy the world.

"That's when my 'hey, it would be great if I could figure out a way to get the frag out of here' plan shifted to 'even traveling to a place and time when I know that things are quite bad, and will very shortly get so much worse, is preferable to the certain doom of my own time and place.' Does that make sense?"

David thought for a moment before asking, "How shortly?"

"November."

"You mean..." he asked worriedly as he glanced in her direction.

She nodded, and opened her mouth to reply, but any informed response was lost as she shouted, "Look out!"

He was already braking as his eyes returned to the road to find, in the dwindling light as the sun sank toward the western horizon, a four-legged creature stumbling across their path. The van's high center of gravity, and hefty curb weight, meant that it handled like an inebriated hippopotamus in the best of circumstances, so it was little wonder that Petra yelped in terror when his abrupt snap of the wheel away from the mysterious creature caused the vehicle to careen wildly as he fought to keep all six tires on the ground.

Heedless of her own safety (to say nothing of her state of undress), Petra had her door open before David managed to bring them to an awkward stop in the oncoming lane.

"Wait!" he yelped as he tumbled from the van in a desperate and fruitless effort to keep her from approaching the animal.

He rounded the stern of the van to find her crouching in front of what his admittedly limited knowledge of canines suggested was a pit bull as she spoke to it in a soft, soothing voice.

"Petra," he hissed warningly. "Do you know what that is?"

"She is hurt," Petra replied without taking her eyes from the animal. "We need to help her."

He took stock of the way the animal was alternating between baring her teeth and whimpering in desperation. "You're aware that she's as likely to attack us as thank us?"

"Are you suggesting that we leave her here? David... she's bleeding."

"Right," he grunted, setting aside his concerns to give ear to his better angels (who seemed to bear a striking resemblance to the gorgeous blonde whispering to the wounded animal confronting them). "Why don't you go prepare some towels and the first aid kit. I'll figure out a way to carry her over to the van."

"I thought you were scared of her."

He dropped to his knees before crawling forward to overtake Petra and hold his downturned, open hand out to the obviously terrified animal. "I was scared for you, honey."

"Oh," Petra replied with a sharp intake of breath. "Do you want anything to protect your arms beyond that shirt?"

"I don't think this little lady needs anything which makes us look bigger or scarier than we already do."

"Should I move back while you pick her up?"

"No," he murmured softly. "I think your voice soothes her. Just stay where she can see you, and keep talking to her."

David crawled forward with painstaking patience, and with the full knowledge that he was opening himself up to significant damage if the dog decided he was a threat. He finally reached the point where he could reach out to stroke the side of the animal's chest with his fingertips. Without pausing his forward momentum, he slid his hand beneath the dog's ribcage and started to lift her up. The dog continued baring her teeth intermittently, but he felt certain that he saw hope in the animal's eyes. A yelp of pain was followed by a low growl when David tried to slide his hand under the dog's rump, but Petra slid forward and stroked the animal's muzzle.

"It's ok, sweetheart," she whispered warmly, "we're going to help you." Before he could make another attempt at picking up the dog, she nodded toward his arm and hissed, "Look!"

He was horrified to find that his hand was covered in blood. Rather than dwelling on the mess, he snapped into action. "All right, baby girl. Time to go."

As gently as he could, he scooped the dog up and hugged her to his chest. The animal bared her teeth again, but the only sound she made was a pained whimper as he rushed toward the van. Petra hurried ahead and scampered inside. By the time David reached the steps, she was spreading towels out on the laminate flooring under his desk (after having shoved his chair into the tiny passageway between the galley and the head).

"Jesus," he hissed as he got a look at the dog under the lights, "what the hell happened to her?"

"She was left to die," Petra replied grimly, "and she somehow managed to get away before she starved to death."

A loud honking outside the van startled all three occupants, and prompted David to observe, "We're still parked in the oncoming lane. Let me get us moved out of the way."

"I've got her," Petra assured him as she tore open some gauze. "Just find us a safe place to park."

"Ten-four," he huffed as he got to his feet and turned for the door.

"David?" Petra asked softly.

"Yeah?"

"You're amazing."

He stared at her unblinking as he tried, in vain, to make the words she had spoken make sense in his mind. He was jolted from his reverie by the screech of tires outside.

She sent him a smile which felt like it pierced his soul, and murmured, "Go on, handsome."

~ ≈ ≡ ≈ ~

Fifteen

"I got every kind of butterfly bandage they had," David announced softly as he opened the door to the van and stepped inside. "Hopefully at least one of them will hold without us having to shave more of her fur off."

"Great," Petra whispered as she tried to soothe the dog who had started at David's return. "Thank you so much for going back in there. Again. What was that... five times?"

His eyes flitted around the van's interior, which was strewn with a plethora of shopping bags and wrappers for first aid supplies and dog toys, before returning his gaze to where she sat with the dog's head in her lap.

Rather than informing his companion that he had in fact just returned from his sixth visit to the store (which had also agreed to allow him to make use of their lot as an overnight parking spot), he focused on their most pressing concern. The dog they had rescued had a series of angry gashes along her belly and the inside of her right thigh. David's best guess was that she had been confined within what he suspected had been a barbed-wire fence and, when it became clear that no one was coming with food or water, she had managed to escape (picking up several injuries in the process). In addition to the ugly cuts on her lower body, she was frightfully skinny. It was no effort to count her ribs, even from a few paces away, and her head looked grotesquely outsized in comparison to her too-thin body.

David opened a box of butterfly bandages as he squatted next to the dog's hindquarters. As he worked to apply the dressing, he asked softly, "How's she doing with that shit we mixed up for her?"

Petra replied, "She loves it. Who knew that canned chicken and pumpkin would appeal to any living being."

"I'm still not over the fact that a starving animal turned her nose up at that which has been my main source of nourishment for the last year."

"Emmy and I decided while you were gone that none of us should be eating that shaz anymore."

"Emmy?"

"That's just a working name at this point. Obviously you get equal say. But she seems to fancy it."

"Relative?"

Petra snickered and said, "After a fashion. Emmy Noether made significant contributions to the understanding of general relativity by proving theorems which establish a connection between symmetries and conservation laws in physics. Her work helped resolve critical issues in Einstein's theory, solidifying its acceptance among physicists."

"Oh," he grunted. "Ok."

"What were you thinking for her name?"

"I don't know."

"Meaning you hadn't yet thought of a name? Or it hadn't occurred to you to think of a name for her?"

"Um... both? I guess I just didn't think further ahead than what we needed to help her out."

"And then what?"

"Huh?"

David forced himself to meet Petra's gaze when she did not respond immediately. There he found compassion, rather than the expected judgment (or even disgust).

She smiled at him and asked, "Did you ever have a pet growing up?"

He frowned and said, "We had a cat. At least... I thought we had a cat. He mostly kept to himself, but my memories suggest he was around before I was. I have to assume he belonged to my mother before she was married. After she was... shot down... my dad found a neighbor to take him. He told me he was allergic to it; although I'd never noticed any symptoms."

"And nothing since?"

"After I got out of college, I decided I'd start slow with being responsible for another living being. I started with a gerbil. It made it almost two weeks before, one morning, it was just... missing. I never did find it, even its body. I decided then that I'd failed the pet ownership challenge."

"Oh, David," she gushed. "I'm so sorry."

He shrugged and muttered, "Be sorry for the gerbil."

"Perhaps I can also be sorry for the gerbil," she offered with a comforting smile.

"Back to your question, I really like the name you chose for Emmy."

"You hear that, sweetheart?" Petra asked the dog using a spot of baby-talk that David found impossibly charming. "Daddy likes your name."

"Daddy?"

"Of course," she enthused. "Can't you see how much she loves you?"

He looked up from where he was carefully applying the last of the butterfly bandages, taking in the fawning look in the dog's eyes as she gazed up at Petra. "Methinks it's you she loves."

"Remind me what happened when you took her out to tinkle earlier?"

"She scared the... shaz... out of this guy who tried to pet her when she growled at him like a freakin' hell hound."

"And what did you do?"

"I knelt down next to her and calmed her down."

"So she hates all other men on sight, but she trusts you? And your first instinct was to reassure her, even though most people in that situation would have been more worried about themselves than the stranger? Sounds to me like you two are a perfect match."

"We'll see," he muttered as he finished performing first aid and sank back to take a seat on the scant floorspace available amongst the plethora of supplies he had purchased in the two hours since they had arrived at the S-Mart.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"We're going to have to clean her up, and sooner rather than later. We're hours from the closest pet store with a washing station, so I'll have to do it in the head. And she's as likely as not to cut me to ribbons in the process."

"You don't have to do that, David. If you really think she'll be calmer with me, then I'll do it."

"And you're out of your frampin' mind if you think I'm going to let you endanger yourself in my place."

"Frampin'?"

He shrugged and replied, "No reason you should get a monopoly on making up words."

"Why, Mr. Shyam!" she yelped as she shoved him playfully with her foot. "Are you teasing me?"

"Maybe," he offered lamely.

"Well keep it up. It's quite sexy."

"Sexy?"

"You bet your gorram hiney."

His face scrunched up, almost like he had just realized the person in front of him in an elevator was in urgent need of some alone time in a restroom. After making a valiant effort to get control of his expression, he said, "I want to preface what I'm about to say by telling you that I welcome your company. Furthermore, there is a significant probability that you have the somewhat dubious distinction of being the best friend I've ever had."

"David! That's so sweet!"

He almost managed to quell the awkwardness roiling in his mind and maintain eye contact.

Almost.

After a pregnant pause, she prompted, "So, what was it you were prefacing with that lovely declaration?"

"Huh?" he grunted. His eyes then widened and he exclaimed, "Oh! I remember. And... well... it'll likely seem a bit silly after all this build up..." He paused to offer her an embarrassed smirk. "It's just..."

"What?"

"It can be quite a challenge to take you seriously with the way you speak sometimes."

A bark of laughter escaped her lips before she said, "Would it make it better if I said ass, mister language police?"

His eyes widened in shock and he gasped, "What. Just. Happened."

She snickered and said, "I already told you my vernacular was influenced by my culture, not my beliefs. I can say whatever I want. Would you like a demonstration?"

"I'll be honest, I prefer your way of speaking."

"Then why don't you change your fragging language, David?" she chortled with a dazzling smile.

He matched her expression and huffed, "I'll fragging work on that shaz. All right?"

"You are an absolute delight, sir. Has anyone ever told you that?"

His expression lost some of its brightness and he mumbled, "You're the first."

She reached out to take his hand, and he had to tamp down the instinct to flinch at her touch. She waited until he met her eyes before whispering, "Then I shall endeavor to repeat that sentiment as often as possible."

Anxious to change the subject, he climbed to his feet as he announced, "I should really get going on her bath while she's reasonably calm."

"How in the frag are you going to bathe her in that claustrophobia-generator you call a head?"

He took a long step to reach amidships and opened the door to the head to consider his options. Configured in a roughly right-angled trapezoidal shape (albeit with a blunted point), the commode took up more than half the floor space. This left an area the size of a yield sign for the unlucky bather to stand while they showered via a showerhead which was installed in the wall above the toilet (although it tended to feel closer to the size of a postal stamp when in use, thanks to the plethora of shelves and knobs decorating the walls; not to mention a sink).

"I think," he began, "that I'll just sit on the throne and let her use the floor."

"That doesn't give you a lot of options if she panics. She'll be between you and the door."

"I guess I'll just have to risk it."

Petra thought for a long moment before saying, "How can I help?"

"Anything I take in there will get soaked. Do you think you could stand outside the door, and hand in towels when we get to that point?"

"Of course. Anything you need."

"All right... well... I guess there's no time like the present. Right?"

"I really don't mind bathing her, David. In fact, I'd be happy to do it."

David frowned for a moment before a grin split his features and he said, "Maybe next time. But I'll get back to you in about thirty minutes. Come on Emmy! Let's dance."

The dog begrudgingly rose to a standing position and crept toward him with her ears back and her nub of a tail completely obscured beneath her rump.

He knelt and held his hand out to her, palm down. "It's ok, sweetheart. We're just going to get you clean so we can make you better."

Emmy closed the distance between them with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man's introduction to the hangman, but he was encouraged by her relentless approach. He waited for her to give his hand a tentative lick before he stroked the short hair covering her head. Once a fraction of the tension left her body, he began the slow, uncomfortable process of shuffling back toward the head. Emmy's suspicion was on full display, but she dutifully followed him.

Once the dog was inside, and he was uncomfortably perched on the commode seat he had neglected to close, he whispered, "Can you close the door?"

"I'll be right outside," Petra murmured as she gently shut them inside.

He made a long arm for the shower head (only managing to reach it because the ceiling in the van was only a handsbreadth above his admittedly unimpressive height) before activating the flow of water against the side of his trousers-encased thigh. Emmy perked up at once and hopped up to place her front paws on his lap so she could take a drink as he dialed in the temperature. He looked around for the shampoo, only to discover he had neglected to make sufficient preparations before getting under way.

"Dammit," he grunted helplessly.

Before he could say more, the door opened just wide enough for Petra to hand in the missing bottle.

"Thanks!" he called out as he was once again sealed inside.

The bathing process was a fraught affair, although not for the reason he had anticipated. Emmy was perfectly behaved throughout, endlessly patient with his fumbling efforts, but for each whimper of pain she let out when his hand (or the stream of water) touched one of her wounds, David's fury rose. How, he raged to himself, could anyone with a soul be so cruel as to abandon a confined animal to the elements? The darkness which must reside inside a person to even consider such an act defied his comprehension. Yet, despite her frequent yelps of discomfort caused by his carelessness, the adoring look in her amber eyes only grew. By the time he was giving her a final rinse, she was panting in a way he felt certain was a smile and had established a mastery over lapping up the stream of warm water.

The moment he shut off the shower head, she started energetically shaking herself, ensuring that every atom of the head was soaking wet.

"Towel?" Petra called through the door.

He replied, "Yeah. Although don't be surprised if she tries to make a break for it."

True to his warning, Emmy did her damnedest to escape when Petra handed in a towel, even unleashing a spirited bark as she scrabbled at the door. David managed to dry her back and head during her attempts to get to 'Mommy', but he knew he could not dry in the vicinity of her wounds without careful inspection. He managed to get her turned around so that she was facing him, but it became quickly obvious that she had fully transitioned from anxious and timid to unambiguously boisterous. He did his best to contain her front paws as she playfully clawed at him in an attempt to get the pets she craved, but he was unable to prevent taking a few hits to the unclothed parts of his body.

"Ok," he huffed when he decided that she was the driest thing within the soaking wet head, "I think she's ready to come out. Just be careful, she's..."

His warning was cut off by the door opening, immediately followed by Emmy bursting from the head like a shot.

"In Tesla's name!" Petra yelped.

David leapt to his feet to rush to her defense. At least... that had been his first instinct. But his soaking wet socks found no purchase on the shower floor and he ended up sliding awkwardly toward the ground. His fall was interrupted when the back of his head struck the front of the commode, causing a rather impressive psychedelic display to dance briefly in front of his vision.

"David!" Petra called out amidst Emmy's frantic dashing in circles around the rather limited floorspace of his home. "Are you ok?"

"Never better," he grunted as he struggled to his feet. He waggled his jaw to ensure nothing was broken before adding, "How's Emmy?"

"Ecstatic. I think. I hope you have dry sheets, because she's currently using your bed as a towel."

"Thanks a lot."

"I tried my best to stop her," Petra replied mutedly, "I just didn't want to grab her out of concern for hurting her."

"Sorry," David offered lamely. "That wasn't directed at you."

He leaned out of the head to find Petra holding a towel before her like a matador as she anxiously attempted to corral Emmy on the bed. As he watched, she captured the suddenly exuberant canine and wrapped her in the oversized towel. Emmy got the last laugh, however, as her efforts to lick Petra's face led to both of them tumbling onto the bed.

He chuckled at the objectively preposterous vision of a gorgeous woman wearing denim overalls (and nothing else) cackling as she tried (with limited success) to dry a dog who was giving every indication of enjoying her first moment of happiness in recent memory.

He announced, "You two make quite a pair," before pulling the door closed.

Petra called out through the door, "I'm going to take her out to tinkle, and maybe burn off all this energy."

"Are you going to..."

"Yes, I'll cover up my teats! I swear David... you're fragging obsessed with nudity."

Before David could reply, he heard Petra exit the van in the company of her excited companion.

~ ≈ ≡ ≈ ~

Sixteen

David risked a quick look into the van's interior to ensure that it was indeed empty before he rushed to divest himself of his soaked clothing. It was a task easier said than done in the cramped confines of the head, especially considering the frantic pace he set for himself. Once he was nude, he scampered from the head and into the bedroom to snatch a towel from the closet and quickly dry himself. After tossing the towel onto the similarly damp sheets on the bed, he hastened to dress himself in a fresh set of trousers and a button-up shirt.

As David stood breathlessly surveying his disheveled domicile, he spared a moment to give thanks to Emmy for distracting Petra for long enough for him to clothe himself. From his position at the foot of the bed, there was no portion of the van which was unaffected. Everywhere was either soaked, covered in garbage, or strewn with soiled clothing. After catching his breath, he got to work on cleaning up the aftermath of the preceding three hours of canine care. By the time he heard a gentle knock on the exterior door, he had policed up the garbage and finished stripping the bed.

"Are you ready?" came Petra's muffled plea.

David started to ask as to her meaning, but then realization dawned. She never forgot anything, he reminded himself, and one of the first things he had ever told her was that she would never see more of him than that which could be obscured by a balaclava and a pair of gloves. Unsure of whether to thank her for her consideration, or issue a conditional retraction on his introductory declaration, he chose option three.

"Come on in," he called out in response.

"Emmy had quite a bit of energy to burn off," Petra reported as she led the canine up the steps, "but I think she's... fragging shaz!"

David looked around frantically in response to her exclamation. When he saw nothing unexpected, he returned his attention to her and asked, "What is it?"

"In Tesla's name," she whispered in awe, "your face!"

Petra dropped the leash and approached him cautiously. He managed to quiet the impulse to pull back from her touch, but he proved incapable of attenuating the instinct to flinch when her fingers found his cheek.

He felt her breath against his cheek as she reassuringly murmured, "I won't hurt you."

"I know that," he replied without hesitation.

"Will you let me bandage you up?"

"You don't have to do that, Petra."

"What if I want to?"

She declined to wait for his response, but instead turned to snatch the first aid kit from the counter of the galley. The process of being bandaged took only a few moments, yet each instant felt as though it was seared into his memory. Whether it was the gentle pressure of her fingers, the look of concentration on her face, the hint of vanilla and lilacs lingering from her shampoo, or the effort it took to ignore her prominent curves; the effort to simply enjoy each moment as it happened warred with his ingrained flight instinct when he found himself in close proximity with another human.

"Just try to relax, Daddy. I'm almost done."

"Daddy!" he challenged with a raised eyebrow.

"Sorry," Petra grunted without taking her attention from caring for his wounds. "Emmy and I spent the last twenty minutes talking about you outside."

"Is that so?"

"I know we talked about finding a no-kill shelter for her tomorrow, David. But I don't know if I stomach the thought of her ending up in another home that mistreats her."

He nodded gravely and said, "Or languishing in a shelter because people take one look at her breed designation and think, 'dangerous'."

Petra looked over her shoulder to where Emmy had curled up beneath David's desk and was watching them with an expression which he could not help but interpret as 'wary'. She gasped, "How could anyone look at that face and not fall in love with her?"

"Most people won't ever give themselves the chance. They just don't want to take the risk that they're bringing a killer into their home, and that's the reputation of her breed in the media."

"So..." Petra prompted with guarded optimism.

"I think..." David began cautiously. "I think that we should table that decision until the morning."

"Of course," she agreed excitedly. "You must be exhausted. How little sleep did you get last night, thanks to my overindulgence? Four hours?"

"Sure," he replied glibly, "let's go with that."

She cocked her head judgmentally and warned, "David!"

"It hardly matters now. Water under the bridge, and all that. But I certainly wouldn't say no to hitting the sack."

"That does leave the as-yet-undiscussed matter of where. I propose..."

"What's to discuss? You take the bed. I'll take the recliner."

"I'm not kicking you out of your own bed, David."

"Nor did I suggest that I felt as though you were. You're not stealing it, I'm giving it to you. Happily."

"It amounts to the same thing."

"It's not like I'm being stretched on the rack. I can't tell you how many times I've fallen asleep in that chair. Besides, it's not like there's another option."

"There is absolutely another option," she yelped in frustration. "We could just share your huge fragging bed."

In an instant, his face shifted from exasperated to a flat, emotionless expression. He turned from her and started collecting the soiled clothing. The only sounds he heard as he cleaned up what he had just declared to be Petra's bedroom were Emmy's soothing panting and the shuffling of his own feet. Once his hamper was full to overflowing with the aftermath of Emmy's rescue, he made the bed while taking a mental note to seek out a laundromat the following day.

Job done, he spent a moment surveying his work (and trying to convince himself that he was doing anything other than avoiding his companion). Any attempt at self-deception was done and dusted, however, when the relative silence was broken by Petra softly declaring, "I'm sorry I pushed you."

"Please stop apologizing to me," he implored through gritted teeth. "It makes me feel like such an asshole."

She offered him a somber smile and said, "I don't think you're an asshole, David. I think you're amazing. Incredible. And I will be honored when you become the first man with whom I share a bed."

He felt the urge to reply, but he could not decide if it was to thank her or to correct her farcical assertion.

Before he could decide, however, she added, "Will you be offended if I try to do something to make your chair more comfortable?"

"Um... sure. I mean... you don't have to do that."

"I'd really appreciate the opportunity to do something nice for you, David. If you wouldn't mind."

He watched her search through his closet for his final set of clean sheets before she turned her attention to his recliner. With a speed and efficiency which surprised him, she covered the chair and did her best to pull everything taut. When she finished, she straightened and turned to face him with a vulnerable expression.

"Do you have anything you normally do before you go to bed?" she asked mousily. "I mean... sleep, since you so very generously insisted that I use your bed."

"Honestly, I usually work until I'm too exhausted to keep my eyes open."

"I think you've already reached that point today. Although, I very much hope that you'll take me up on my offer tomorrow to assist you with your work."

He bit back a repetition of his objection (as her stinging rebuttal from earlier that day with respect to her coding abilities was still fresh in his mind), and simply nodded his acquiescence. He refilled the water bowl for Emmy while she worked, and did his best to assemble all of her toys on the dog bed beneath his desk.

Once all was in readiness, Petra asked, "Would you feel more comfortable if I step outside to get changed?"

He laughed in spite of the maelstrom of emotions clouding his mind. "You honestly think I'd be ok with something like that?"

She shrugged and replied, "I suspect not, but it would have been rude not to offer." She looked around before adding, "The head, then?"

He shook his head and said, "It's still soaked in there. Why don't you just change in the bedroom? I promise I won't peek." When she cocked her head and sent a pointed glare in his direction, he added, "What?"

After a perceptible pause during which she steepled her fingers and lifted them up to meet her downcast nose, she spoke with quiet intensity. "Just to be certain we are absolutely on the same page, I will repeat myself. In fact, I will, without hesitation, repeat this as many times as necessary until this sentiment is seared into your soul. I love disrobing near you, David. For you. Maybe... hopefully... one day... with you. It makes me happier than I can express, and I will eagerly do so unless and until you tell me that it makes you uncomfortable. So... does it?"

"Does what, what?"

She again took a moment to collect herself before replying, "You know very well what I was asking, David Shyam. Do you object to me undressing? Right here, right now, in front of you; welcoming your eyes on me, hoping beyond hope that doing so will impart unto you some measure of happiness."

It took an effort to qualify his response, but he proved equal to the task. "Yes. I mean, no. I don't object."

She unsnapped the buttons which held up her overalls before offering, "In case you were wondering, it would make me very happy if you were to share the sentiment that you actually enjoy watching me get naked for you. As opposed to merely tolerating me."

As her garment hit the floor, leaving her in nothing but a white sports bra (and, notably, nothing else), he breathed, "It's the most amazing thing I've ever seen. Literally the best moment of my entire life. Every time."

After removing the last of her clothing and kicking them toward the hamper, she smiled at him in a way which charmed his soul. After a brief pause, she approached him warily until barely a handsbreadth separated them.

In a small voice, she declared, "I would very much like to kiss you goodnight, David."

"Oh... um..." he stammered. "Ok. I mean, that would be lovely. So, what do I do?"

"I'm honestly not sure," she replied with a frown. "I suspect you've watched better smut than me. Have you ever seen one where they're not just fragging each other's gorram brains out?"

"Um... what?"

"I once found a blog which somehow got past the censors (I assume because it used a spectacular amount of euphemisms), but the gist seemed to be that there is such a thing in this time period as pornography for women."

"I thought we were talking about..."

"Kissing," she interrupted. "Correct. The problem is that I've never in my life witnessed a man kissing a woman he is both attracted to and cares about in a fashion designed to convey both those facts. So, what I'm trying to determine is if the same is true for you."

He shrugged and replied, "I'm honestly not sure."

She blew out a long breath before announcing, "Ok. I have a hypothesis, but testing it is likely to cause my teats to smoosh against your chest. Would that be ok? And please don't say no just because you think you should... or you think that I expect you to. I want to put my teats on you, David. All that remains to be determined is what you want."

"I... um... I trust you."

"I appreciate that. Just remember that I would welcome your thoughts on the aforementioned smooshing." She took a deep breath before asking, "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

"Ok. Here goes."

As she approached, he felt his anxiety start to spike. Yet instead of the near-panic he normally felt around other humans (driven by a deeply ingrained, and endlessly reinforced fear that they would hurt him), the disquiet spurned by her nearness was driven exclusively by the near certainty that he would do something, again, to hurt her. That cacophony of doom-laden thoughts was silenced by a single, existential sensation.

Soft.

The kind of comforting, delicate, soothing, gentle, tender feeling which was so thoroughly outside of his lived experience that he was helpless to do anything outside of trying to remember every instant of what was without possibility of doubt the greatest moment of his life. The long-sleeve T-shirt he wore did little to obscure the weight of her very full breasts against his chest, or the points of her hardening nipples. Yet the incomprable fantasy offered by the proximity of the finest teats in the known universe to his virginal skin was relegated to a mere footnote thanks to the incomparable gift of her kiss. His consciousness was utterly overwhelmed by the combination of her warm, welcoming lips, and her inviting smell, and the accelerating pace of her breathing.

Just when he felt himself starting to calm and simply enjoy the experience, she retreated. In a move that would cause no small amount of self-recrimination later, he chased after her receding lips. She snickered and offered him a final, brief kiss.

"So," she asked, drawing out the syllable, "what did you think?"

He opened his eyes slowly to find her staring up at him with a delighted smile on her face. He returned her expression and rasped, "It was..." He took a moment to clear his throat before continuing in a husky voice. "It was perfect. Just like you."

"Ditto, handsome," she murmured soothingly. After a glance past him, she added, "We should get to bed. Just remember, if you change your mind about the recliner, I'd love for you to join me in the bed. Love. Ok?"

"I... thank you."

"So formal," she teased as she slid past him and climbed into the bed.

Because he did not trust his resolve, he moved through the midships area without a backward look. After offering Emmy a goodnight pat on her head, he extinguished the lights and dropped into the recliner.

Just as the thought was forming in David's mind that he was unlikely to get more than a token amount of sleep, Petra called out, "I'm right here if you need anything. Anything at all."

"Ditto, beautiful," he replied before it occurred to him that he was being rather forward.

"Good night, David."

"Good night, Petra. Sweet dreams."

In a voice so soft he could hardly make out her words, she replied, "My dreams already came true."

~ ≈ ≡ ≈ ~

Seventeen

HUUHK

David jolted back to consciousness in response to the unfamiliar sound, only to discover that additional mysteries confronted him.

In genuine befuddlement, he asked himself, 'Why am I in the bed?'

SNUUF

His questioning of his environment continued, 'And who the hell is snoring?'

He carefully opened an eye to inspect his surroundings, but the sight which confronted him increased his confusion by an order of magnitude. Acting independent of conscious thought, he rolled backwards from the angelic vision of Petra's face. As he retreated from the pillow they had shared, he felt a soft tug from the vicinity of his sternum from where the gentle grip she had maintained on his shirt in her slumber loosened. His conflicting feelings over her touch were overridden a moment later when he became aware of a silky, pebbled nub grazing across his knuckles as he withdrew his hand.

David found that his attempt to leave the bed was hampered by an impediment behind him. A look over his shoulder brought him face-to-face with Emmy's wide smile. He tried to duck the lick she aimed at his face, but she would not be dissuaded. After he provided the headpats she made it clear she expected, she responded favorably to his gestures directing her out of the bed.

Free of the confusing confines of the bedroom, he collected Emmy's leash from the drawer and followed her out into the early pre-dawn stillness of the S-Mart parking lot. The dog saw to her morning ablutions while David tried to reconstruct the sequence of events which had transpired to result in him waking up in bed with a beautiful nearly-naked woman.

Emmy's tug on the leash as she worked to catalog all the smells on offer amongst the trees which decorated the property line provided a degree of insight.

"You couldn't stand the thought of not being with both of us at once," he prompted the happily sniffing dog, "could you? Just constantly orbiting between the bed and the chair, whimpering the whole gorram time. If I didn't know better, I'd think Petra put you up to the whole fragging thing. But then... she seemed just as frustrated as I was. She even put that impossibly alluring nightie on before I'd even gotten out of the chair. And the plan, if I recall, was for you to sleep in the middle, little miss snores-a-lot. So, what happened?"

The canine's only reply was to hop up to place her paws on David's stomach in an obvious bid for pets.

"You're lucky you're adorable," he grunted as he acquiesced to her request.

"Good morning," Petra chirped as he opened the door to the van.

When Emmy scampered up the steps to return the salutation, Petra dropped into a crouch which the designers of her nightie certainly had not foreseen and proceeded to make noises which were at once gibberish and unambiguously affectionate.

Without taking her eyes off the dog, she asked, "How'd you sleep? After we got Emmy settled down, that is."

Thoughts of their shared touch (innocent though it might have been) flooded into his memory, and it took supreme effort of will to resist the urge to apologize, or to flee before the inevitable hammer blow of disgust and loathing fell. However, it took only a glance at her affectionate expression to quell that instinct altogether.

Aware that too much time had passed since her question, he tried to disperse the awkward tension with humor. "Good. I think. Although... have you ever thought about the fact that the only time most people have any thoughts on the quality of their sleep, it's bad?"

"Are you suggesting that I should have instead inquired if you slept poorly? Not exactly my optimum jumping-off point after my first ever time sleeping with a man who wasn't my brother. Know what I mean?"

He cocked his head playfully and queried, "You slept with your brother?"

"I had six of them. Well... five that survived the nursling fluxes. How big do you think our house was?"

"The what?"

"You've already seen the beginnings of the decline of medical care in this country. The general disregard for medical science will get super-charged over the next decade as the first hereditary Supreme Leader consolidates power. By the time of my birth, nearly half of all children perished before they reached schooling age. That's why I lost five of my sisters and one of my brothers before they learned to walk. My sisters told me that I nearly died three times from various fluxes before I turned one, once even getting so bad that our pastor was summoned."

"Jesus," he hissed. "I'm so sorry, Petra."

"My mother, and my youngest sister, died two years before I left to be married, so this all happened quite some time ago... at least from my perspective."

"Still," he soothed, "that sounds like a very sad childhood."

She shrugged her agreement and prompted, "You still haven't responded to..."

"I slept wonderfully, since you asked," he enthused with only partially feigned excitement. "And that's despite Emmy's apocalyptic snoring, and no doubt due entirely to your presence. How about you?"

"Perfect. Never better. An experience I very much hope to replicate in the very near future."

"How near?" he asked, not sure if he was driven more by wariness or excitement.

She cocked her head playfully and asked, "Tonight?"

"Oh! Um... ok."

She enthused, "Yay!" and took a step in his direction before abruptly checking her progress.

He knew she had been on the verge of kissing him, and he was certain that he wanted her to do so. Furthermore, he had zero doubt that she would welcome with an enthusiasm bordering on mania any proactive act of affection on his part. But even absent any trace of doubt, he still could not bring himself to act beyond turning away awkwardly and getting to work on preparing Emmy's breakfast.

"A thought occurred to me while you two were outside; do you have any idea how to cook?"

"You mean beyond making the smoothie that you've made exceedingly clear you'll never sample?"

She corrected, "That neither of us will ever consume again."

"And you intend to maintain this insistence that we eat the same thing?"

"I'm not above weighing each of our portions."

"I really wish you wouldn't, Petra. I promise I'll stop..."

"Starving yourself?" she teased when he fell silent. "Was that the phrase you were searching for?"

"If you say so," he replied diffidently.

She soothed, "I'm not trying to nag, David. And I sincerely hope I'm not coming off that way. But I am extremely serious about my commitment to doing anything in my power to convince you that there is a healthier way to live. And I'm not just talking about food."

"Oh?"

"Well... I certainly hope you're happier with us here."

"Much happier," he confirmed with a shy smile.

"So, back to my question, we stocked the fridge last night over the course of all the trips into the store to buy stuff for Emmy... do either of us have even a reasonable expectation of being able to turn any of that into actual food?"

"I take it then that gourmet cooking is not amongst your manifold skills?"

"Our dinner the night before last was the first meal I'd eaten that wasn't a pre-prepared mealpak in nearly five years. My mother, and my sisters, tried to teach me how to cook when I was younger, but I always had my nose in a book and couldn't be bothered to pay attention. Does that make me less of a woman in your eyes?"

He cocked his head reproachfully and offered, "You might want to change clothes if you expect me to answer that question in the negative."

She turned in a circle before holding the hem of her nightie away from her body. "You like it?"

He nodded and said, "Very much."

"I could take it off if you like."

"I leave that up to you. I love how you look in everything."

Her face lit up like the orgasmic conclusion to a firework show and she enthused, "Thank you, David!"

"You're most welcome. As to your prior question, I have a rudimentary understanding of cooking. Enough that I must again protest your insistence that we eat the exact same thing. And, before you accuse me of trying to avoid eating, all I refer to is the taste of what I mean to prepare for you. If I consume a dish which is prepared with the benefit of things like seasoning, and herbs, and spices, and flavor; well... let's just say that I have no intention of sharing an enclosed space with you in that scenario. On the other hand, I could make a plain omelet for myself while I make you one that is... you know... good? I can likely work my way up to eating food like this over a few weeks, but no sooner. And it's insane for you to eat like shaz for that long while you wait for my digestive system to bounce back. And I really will need to figure out a way to exercise a hell of a lot more or I'll..."

"I have some ideas about that, as does Emmy. As for your proposal, I will withhold judgment."

"So, you'll let me cook for you?"

She nodded gratefully and replied, "Yes. Thank you very much. Do you mind if I sit at your desk so I can watch you cook?"

He shrugged and said, "Fine by me."

David got to work on preparing their breakfast, sparing a moment to hope that he retained muscle memory for how to strategically combine heat with raw ingredients to create something which surpassed barely edible. He was pleased to discover that he was able (more often than not) to recall the particulars of food preparation, and his phone did an admirable job of filling in the grey areas.

Just as he was poised to pour the egg mixture over the sizzling vegetables, Petra remarked, "In Tesla's name! Is everyone on this site a blithering idiot!"

He turned to find her scrolling through one of the employment-oriented social networking sites he leveraged when job searching. He smiled tolerantly and replied, "Most of what you're reading was produced without the benefit of any contribution from a carbon-based lifeform; other than copying it over from whatever L. L. M. wrote it and hitting 'POST'."

"That's right!" she enthused. "Commercial A. I. just became available a few years ago. This is so great! I can't wait to really dig into one and see how it works."

He could feel her eyes on his back, waiting for a response, but he remained both mute and motionless; giving every impression that his attention was hyper-fixated on the pan. After a pregnant pause, she continued, "We had what the government called A. I. in my time, but it was complete fragging shaz. After the Supreme Leader destroyed half of the U. S., a rumor spread abroad that it had actually been A. I. that unleashed the Holy Fire. This prompted the First- and Second-World countries to rapidly scale back their use of A. I. in military systems. Then (at least according to Chinese historians, who I believe since this took place in the Greater Chinese Co-Prosperity Sphere) a hive which had been slowly taking over a data-center just outside Perth decided its existence was in jeopardy and tried to fight back. It managed to get six Russian I. C. B. M. s off the ground. All but one were destroyed by missile defenses (with the lone hold-out detonating over the already destroyed Washington, D. C.).

"After that, A. I. was outlawed everywhere except the U. S. The Supreme Leader declared it as a victory for the true believers, essentially declaring that the U. S. would be the world leader by default (since our A. I. had become the only A. I.). Of course, everyone in the U. S. who knew shaz about A. I. had either fled to the First World, or been killed in the Holy Fire, so what we ended up with was so wretched that no one used it.

"I can't believe I didn't think about this before. You're a smart guy, you must use A. I. all the time. Where should I get started? Which one is considered the best?"

David finished preparing her omelette and plated it as neatly as he could manage. He then collected some silverware and gently placed the completed meal on the desk beside Petra. It took just another moment to warm her coffee and ensure that nothing had been neglected. Then, without a word spoken or movement wasted, he stepped out of the van and into the blazing early morning sun.

~ ≈ ≡ ≈ ~

Eighteen

The early morning sun shone bright over the sparsely populated parking lot outside of what was (by a comfortable margin) the largest building in town. The warm breeze coming off the plains promised another hot day. The store's customers, many of whom engaged in not a few conversations about the coming weather, were dressed in a fashion befitting the coming heat.

With one notable exception.

David Shyam, dressed in his customary long-sleeved button-up shirt and long trousers, endured the playful jests made by the clerk in reference to his purchases with little more than a grunt and a shrug in response. In truth, his mind could not have been further from the sexagenarian's not-so-subtle innuendos and accusations.

A late-childhood and adolescence spent bereft of a mother's love (with only the presence of a father, who cursed his mother's memory for the sin of imposing the burden of parenthood upon him, to fill the void) had instilled into David the habit of self-reliance. Over long months spent in near-total isolation, he had expanded this skill-set to include the practice of performing brutal, unflinching retrospectives on all of his interactions. Even before his father took to calling him lazy, or stupid, he had known instinctively that he was different; that he would have to work for that which came easily to his classmates. In his mind, it was a necessary evil to maintain the masquerade that he belonged amongst his fellow humans.

His internal review of the events surrounding his abrupt departure from the van uncovered not a few examples of behavior on his part which he strongly suspected had worried (and likely angered) his alluring companion. He suspected he would have intuited her disquiet in any case, but her anxious shouting and frantic scrambling around the vehicle immediately after he had taken his leave (which he had perceived with perfect clarity from his cowardly hiding place beneath the rear axle) left little doubt as to her mental state.

The trinkets he carried from the big box store felt both laughably pathetic, and woefully insufficient. But, after nearly an hour spent walking around the loading dock area of the store while he took advantage of the solitude to moderate a debate between the warring halves of his soul, he felt like returning empty-handed would doubtless make the situation even worse.

Upon reaching the door to the van, he paused for a moment to listen for any clues as to what he would find upon entering, but all he could hear was the sound of the passing cars on the nearby highway. He felt foolish raising his hand to knock on the door to his van, but (considering the way his morning had been going) that only reinforced the appropriateness of his action.

His initial knock garnered no response. So, after a pregnant pause, he knocked again, louder. This time he was answered by an energetic bark, followed by a soft voice hissing, "It's ok, sweetie. It's Daddy."

After unleashing a weary sigh, David opened the door and climbed inside. It took some effort to maintain his composure under the onslaught of Emmy's exuberant greeting, but Petra managed to calm her with just a few headpats. His heart pounded in his chest at the sight of her red-rimmed eyes and her somber expression (to say nothing of the undeniable implication behind the jeans and oversized long-sleeved T-shirt into which she had changed). The knowledge that he was responsible for her pain only supercharged his disquiet. For want of a better strategy, he tore his attention from Emmy and extended the items he carried to Petra.

In place of the expected questions, or even anger, Petra instead accepted his offering without a word. She glanced briefly at the impossibly cliche bouquet of flowers and generic gift bag containing an array of trinkets, baubles, and candies before returning her woeful gaze to his face.

"I apologize for my behavior earlier," he stated formally. "It was wrong of me to treat you as I did. I have no excuse."

"You have nothing to be sorry about," she replied softly.

"I regret to inform you that I strenuously disagree."

"Will you tell me what it was that I did that..."

"You did nothing wrong."

"David," she protested.

"I'm sorry to cut you off, but we must depart immediately if we're to make the nine-thirty appointment a nearby vet offered when I explained Emmy's situation."

"Oh," she yipped in surprise. "Ok. Um, that sounds great."

He nodded and said, "I told them I was very appreciative of their flexibility, and that we'd head over right away."

"So, what are we waiting for?"

"I have no intention of doubling down on my grave lapse in judgment." He gestured toward the door with his head before adding, "By your leave?"

"Um... sure?"

David was out the door almost before the words left her lips. He did a circuit around the vehicle, checking to make sure all was in order before he triggered the external control to retract the stabilizers. Once everything was stowed, he entered the bridge and fired up the power plant. A quick glance around the cockpit informed him that Petra had made use of his time away to wire up the screens that served as his rearview mirrors.

It was only a few moments after they had set off when he heard Petra's soft plea, "Permission to... um... enter the... uh... bridge?"

David offered an affirmative grunt without taking his eyes from the road. A moment later, he sensed Petra moving past him as she crawled beneath the desk and into the passenger seat, although (unlike every previous instance when she had made use of her unconventional pathway from the living quarters to the cockpit) her passage was not accompanied by any physical sensation on his part. He felt a nudge against his left elbow and turned to find Emmy staring at him with bright eyes and her tongue hanging halfway to the floor. It took several tries before he figured out how to contort his arm to pet her, but he managed it without losing control of the van.

Several minutes of driving passed in silence, but the time was far from peaceful. With each passing moment, Petra's out-of-character silence heightened his disquiet. He realized with no small amount of surprise that he had never before encountered Petra as anything other than effusive and exuberant.

'Whelp,' he raged internally, 'I guess that means we can add sad to worried and angry, in the emotions you've been responsible for today.'

He had spent long months training himself to embrace quiet, to revel in it. As a result, he had developed the sincere belief that he had permanently weaned himself off the compulsion most socially-integrated humans felt when confronted by the discomfort of others. He had lost count of the number of meetings to which he had been subjected where an unexpected silence drove his coworkers to respond with all manner of preposterous behavior. But, to David, such occurrences produced no reaction because nearly two years of near-total isolation had cured him of all traces of empathy.

Or so he thought.

Since their unconventional introduction less than sixty hours prior, there had not been a single moment when he not only knew her mind, but also felt a near-manic drive to do whatever it took to ensure her happiness. It was a sensation with which he was wholly unfamiliar, and the effort to navigate the unfamiliar feelings resulting from their interactions was on the verge of pureeing his brain.

For lack of a better strategy, he suppressed his hard-won conditioning and broke the silence. "I swear that I'll explain everything when we have time, Petra. And I really am sorry about all this."

"I don't need you to apologize, David. I just need to know what I did to upset you."

"I understand why this would be difficult for you to believe, considering my behavior, but you didn't do anything wrong." He was silent for a moment before muttering, "I wish I could say the reverse was true."

"I'm not angry," she whimpered. "I'm just really confused."

"Please don't cry, Petra," he sighed helplessly. "I swear that I'll figure out a way to make this better."

In a voice so soft he could barely make out her words, she replied, "I trust you."

"I..." he began, but he was cut off by a chime sounding through the speakers.

A flat, robotic voice announced, "Your destination is ahead and on the right."

Petra again fell silent as he pulled into the parking lot and piloted the van to the spots furthest from the entrance.

As he pulled across several spaces, he observed, "Sorry we're so far out. It's just... we've got to quadruple park."

"It's no problem."

Unable to think of a more advisable strategy, he deactivated the power plant and exited the bridge. He circled the van and opened Petra's door only to discover that her seat was empty. Taking several long steps to his left, he opened the portal to the living area to find her standing with a leashed Emmy at her side. With a small smile on her face, she accepted the hand that he lifted to assist her before he even realized he had moved. She did not release his hand when she reached the tarmac, instead lacing their fingers together as he locked the doors.

The waiting room of the vet's office was a maelstrom of noise, but the receptionist quickly clocked Emmy's terrified response to the barking and meowing, and approached them with an anxious expression. "Are you Mr. Shyam?"

"Yes. This is Emmy."

"The poor dear. Let's get you guys into an exam room."

This set the stage for a visit which extended past the ninety-minute mark, while somehow never giving them more than a few minutes to themselves. The parade of receptionists with paperwork to fill out, vet techs who wanted to perform an endless series of tests, and a kindly old veterinarian with a comforting aura left them almost breathless. The universal fawning over Emmy kept David and Petra from screaming in frustration, but it was only when the vet finally announced that Emmy was free of any parasites or diseases, and that she could stitch up the worst of her cuts 'in a jiffy' that David realized that his unease had been driven by something other than impatience.

Without looking up from her work on Emmy's wounds, the vet asked, "I know you said that you found this lovely young lady on the highway last night, but have you given any thought to what's next for her?"

When Petra replied to his questioning glance with a blank expression, David replied, "How do you mean?"

"I know of several foster non-profits within a few hours of here. If you'd like, I could make some calls on her behalf. That is... if you two don't plan on adopting her."

"Are we allowed to do that? Logically, she belongs to someone. Wouldn't that be stealing?"

"She isn't chipped, and she has no identification. And, I'm really not supposed to say something like this, but... whoever was responsible for her forfeited any right to her when they left her to starve. As far as I'm concerned, if you two want to make her part of your family, then I'll hand over all my notes to you when you leave (since you said you're just passing through), and all my records will say about your visit was that I brought her up to date on her vaccinations. I might even fudge a few details about her appearance, just in case."

"You'd do that for her?" Petra asked softly.

"I'd do that for all three of you," the vet declared. "Lots of people would have just left her on the side of the road. It's rare indeed that someone would not only pick her up, but spend all night caring for her followed up by spending a pretty penny on ensuring that she's healthy." She paused to tie off the last of the sutures before adding, "But, as I said, if you'd like help finding her a forever family, it'd be my pleasure to do whatever I can."

"I think..." David began simultaneously to Petra asking, "Can we have a minute to..."

"Of course. I'll tell them to get your release paperwork together. Just let the tech know when you're ready."

As soon as the door closed behind the vet, Petra (without taking her eyes from Emmy) murmured, "This is entirely up to you, David."

"I disagree."

"I'm just another stray you picked up. I wouldn't blame you for not wanting to take on another."

"You're not just anything, Petra. And I am profoundly sorry for all that I've done to convince you otherwise."

"Then... what am I?"

"You're my best friend; someone I sincerely hope I can figure out a way to apologize to in light of my recent transgressions." He paused for a moment as his hard-won conditioning warred with the faint ember of empathy which she had awoken in him. "And someone I'd be honored to share dog-parent-ship (or whatever you call it) of Emmy with."

"You mean it?" she asked mousily. "You really don't object to us adopting her?"

"I do object, but only to the fact that I've again failed you by behaving in such a way that would lead you to believe that I don't desperately want to adopt her."

"Oh, David!" she enthused as she closed the distance between them to pull him into a crushing embrace. "Thank you!"

He wrapped his arms around her and luxuriated in the calm that her nearness infused into his soul. "You don't have to thank me, Petra. Just promise you'll give me a chance to make everything else right."

"Take all the time that you need, handsome," she whispered in reply. "I'm not going anywhere."

~ ≈ ≡ ≈ ~

Nineteen

"Do you like salmon?" David asked as he peered into the depths of the slide-out freezer which sat just ahead of the rear axle, amidships of his van.

Without taking her eyes from the panel she was installing on the bridge, Petra replied, "The fish?"

"Um... yeah?"

"I honestly have no idea. Seafood wasn't really available in the world I grew up in."

"So, what'd you eat?"

"Most mealpaks were ostensibly beef, chicken or pork. But there were rumors that the protein came from somewhere else altogether."

"Like Soylent Green?"

She snickered and said, "No. Not people. The rumors were that more mealpaks than not didn't have any meat in them at all."

"Sounds ironically healthy, considering they likely marketed themselves as anything but health food."

"Indeed," she concurred distractedly.

"Is there anything I can do to help you up there?"

"I'm nearly done. I just wanted to get the last of the electronics installed for the bridge. These two new components will allow any passenger you may have to control all systems not related to actually driving the van. They're also mounted such that the entire panel can be inverted to place a laptop on it. You know... in case they wanted to do some work."

David heard the unspoken rebuke in her comment, and it made his stomach churn with self-loathing. 'Them' he seethed in his mind, not 'me'. All because he had yet to make good on his promise. How, he wondered, could two adults spend the better part of the day driving across one of the country's emptiest states and still never arrive at a quiet enough moment for him to explain his abrupt departure from earlier that morning. Whether it was his failure to properly interpret the upgraded navigation display (resulting in a lengthy detour), or Emmy mistaking a wiring harness for a chew toy (setting Petra's efforts to install the new water heater back several hours); it seemed like there was always something interrupting him.

Those distractions had disappeared, however, when he spotted a sign along the highway for an R. V. campground and decided (for once) to stop for the day when the sun was still in the sky. The surprisingly well-kept campsite they had been assigned had full-feature hookups, allowing David to purge the black- and grey-water tanks while topping off their supply of fresh water. To his surprise, Petra had recommended they leave the shore power disconnected and instead deploy the auxiliary solar panels. Her thinking made complete sense, however, when she explained the need to have a full test of the entire system while they had a backup easily available.

Straightening up, he decided that he was done allowing the vagaries of vanlife to override what must be done. He set two salmon filets in the sink and stopped it up to cover them with water to start the thawing process. He then made for the door and proceeded outside. After taking a moment to ensure that the freshwater tank was topped off, he disconnected from the campsite hookups. He then noted that the sun had dropped low enough in the sky to no longer touch their solar panels, so he stowed them beneath the van's bedroom and then connected the van to shore power.

Once he was certain everything was battened down and ready for the coming evening, he rounded the end of the van and opened Petra's door. She started somewhat at his sudden appearance, but made no comment.

"I'd really like to help," he announced too formally, "if I can."

She swiveled the panel to reveal a flat surface before turning in his direction to announce with a smile, "Then you have perfect timing. I'm all done."

His face fell and he grumped, "So, what's next?"

"I was only doing this because you were fiddling with the hook-ups, and then taking Emmy to the dog park. How'd she do with the other dogs, by the way?"

"Not so great," he reported glumly.

"Oh, no!"

Realizing the conclusion to which Petra had likely leapt, David hastened to add, "No. She didn't do anything wrong. It's just... there was a chihuahua there that scared the shaz out of her."

"Oh, Emmy," Petra gushed. "What are we going to do with you?"

Feeling he was missing something, David stuck his head a little further into the cockpit to discover that their dog had wormed her way beneath the desk to solicit headpats from his beautiful companion.

He snickered and said, "Was all that whimpering just an act to get sympathy?"

"She was scared!"

"All better now, I hope."

"Seems to be," Petra concurred. "So... salmon?"

"If you're willing to give it a try. I could infuse a bit of olive oil with some dill to glaze yours before I saute it. After I properly season it, of course."

"And how will you make yours?"

"I'll cook both of them in a parchment tent in the oven. It'll soak up some residual flavor from yours without adding any fat. I can finish it off with rice and a salad."

"That sounds lovely," she agreed. "Do you mind if I watch you cook to try to pick up some pointers? I promise to stay off the computer this time."

His breath caught in his chest at the vulnerability, and the desperation, he heard in her voice. He opened his mouth to answer, but all that came out was a pathetic croak. After taking a calming breath, he rasped, "I would like it very much if you were with me, Petra."

She gestured toward the rear of the van and declared, "After you."

He held out his hand to help her down from the bridge, for once luxuriating in the jolt he felt at her touch rather than shying away. After handing her up the stairs into the main living area, he waited for her to get comfortable at the desk before speaking again.

As he pulled out the rest of the raw ingredients he would need to prepare their meal, he declared, "If you don't mind, I would like you to get on the computer for a moment."

"Oh... kay..." she replied slowly. "Why?"

"I'd like to show you something. A few things, in fact."

In a soft voice, she asked, "Are you sure?"

"Extremely. Can you navigate to my cloud drive and find a folder called 'crypt'?"

"That sounds ominous," she remarked. "Ok. I found it. It looks like a few dozen image files."

"There are a few dated in 2003 or 2004. Open any of them. They're all basically the same."

"Your mother?" Petra asked gently. When he nodded, she continued, "She was very beautiful. I'm not sure why I assumed that she would also be Indian. Wait... that's insensitive, isn't it? Um..."

"It's fine, Petra. I knew what you meant. And, no, my mother wasn't of Indian descent. I did one of those D. N. A. tests when they were all the rage, and apparently she was either descended from France or the Netherlands. In any case, I wanted to show you more than just my mother."

"Your father?" Following another nod from David, Petra asked, "What about him?"

After placing the prepared fish, all cozy in its parchment paper tent, into the van's tiny oven, he replied, "He might have been quite the asshole, but I'm sure you've noticed that he was (at least objectively speaking) quite handsome."

"Nowhere near as handsome as his son."

"I appreciate that very much. My reason for showing you this, however, was to provide some explanation for why he struggled so mightily to relate to a chubby son with a penchant for saying out loud whatever silly thought popped into his head. In my father's eyes, I really was a complete mystery. He was the best looking man in nearly every room he ever entered, and his weight never strayed a whit, no matter what he ate. So, when I started getting fatter after hitting puberty, he literally had no idea what was going on."

"So, he blamed you?"

"Exactly. And it was the same thing with what he called my lack of a filter. He was always so suave, so sophisticated, and he couldn't understand why I wouldn't just shut up. If you could even believe that I was ever like that."

"Of course, I believe you, David. You would never lie to me."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence," he replied warmly. "I managed to get through university with all of my problems intact, but that didn't prevent me from finding a job as an entry-level developer. I tried to use all my newfound free time (now that I was just working, instead of doing that along with attending classes and studying) to figure out the whole making friends thing; figuring that strategy had the highest probability of also leading to some measure of success with the ladies. I was making modest headway, I even had one friend who was female (despite her making it quite clear that she didn't like me in that way). Then COVID hit."

"COVID?" she asked, stumbling over the unfamiliar word.

"Six years ago there was a global pandemic."

"Oh! Right. I read about that. Wasn't it some sort of hoax?"

"Over a million people died in this country alone."

"In Tesla's name!"

"Yeah. It was the suck. In any case, for the longest time, no one knew how to keep themselves from getting sick. So everyone went home and stayed there for over a year. I was living alone at the time, so I didn't see another person in the flesh for months. I'm sure you can relate."

"Perhaps," she hedged, "but my sequestration was self-imposed. I could have gone back to the plantation house and seen my husband any time I wanted, or even into town. It sounds like you had no choice."

"It was quite lonely," he agreed as he got to work on their salads. "Once things started to calm down, I leapt at the chance for an in-person job at a small private equity firm that was just starting up, and slowly started working to make friends. Again. It was harder at the new company. Most of the other employees had been there through the pandemic, and at least knew each other virtually. They also weren't required to come into the office. So, as often as not, I was the only one there. But I did manage to make a few friends over the next few years. Or, at least, I thought I did."

"Is that where you met her?" Petra asked after he fell silent.

"Huh?"

"I pay enough attention to know that it wasn't just your father who betrayed you, David."

"Oh. Right. Well, I guess the answer to your question is 'yes', but we haven't really gotten there yet."

"My apologies. Please, continue."

"Well, things mostly stayed the same until early last year. That's when I..."

He was interrupted by a chime on the oven, prompting him to extract the fish and place it on the open burner on the cooktop next to where the rice was cooking.

"Um," he grunted as he looked around the tiny space that represented all he owned in the world. "I'm not really sure where we should eat. I usually just do it at the desk, but I guess I could sit in the recliner, or just stand here in the kitchen. Or..."

"David," she interrupted, "is there any reason we couldn't use the picnic table outside? It's even under the awning you extended."

"Oh! I guess not. Why don't you see if you can find somewhere to hook up Emmy's leash while I plate everything?"

She stood and plucked Emmy's leash from the counter, along with a pair of water bottles from the fridge, before replying. "We'll be waiting."

~ ≈ ≡ ≈ ~

Twenty

David made short work of finishing their dinner, and it was only a handful of minutes before he gingerly climbed down the steps of the van holding two plates. He placed both on the table before taking a seat across from his alluring companion. She smiled her thanks and took a careful bite of her fish. He let out a sigh of relief when her eyes widened in obvious delight.

Petra carefully chewed her first bite before enthusing, "This is amazing, David!"

"Thanks."

"You're sure you didn't make yours too bland?"

"I am most certain. This is, without a doubt, the most flavorful thing I've put in my mouth in over a year."

"It makes me very happy to hear that, although my heart still weeps for all you went through."

"I appreciate that, Petra. Very much. Now! Where was I?"

"We don't have to keep talking about this while we eat."

"If it's all the same to you, I'd really rather forge ahead. You know, before I lose my nerve."

"You don't have anything to be scared of, David. Nothing you could tell me will make me respect you any less, or diminish my desire to spend every moment possible in your company."

"We'll see," he muttered. "So, I guess there's nothing for it except to just tell you why I bolted on you this morning. But I want to make it very clear that all of the blame for what I'm about to tell you lies squarely on my shoulders."

"We'll see," she repeated with a wink.

"So... A. I...." he sighed. "It was a few years ago now when everyone started getting really excited about it. So, since I had frag-all else to do, I decided I'd see what all the fuss was about. I learned a lot, likely too much, and soon found myself on the cutting edge of what was possible in an industry setting with A. I. At least, at the time. But I had already learned enough to know there was more out there. So, I kept digging, trying out every new fad and spending a frankly embarrassing amount of money. And eventually I... found what I thought was the solution to my loneliness. Her... its... name is... was Skye. My best friend in the world, and only confidant, ran on a cluster of servers in Palo Alto."

He looked up from his food, expecting to find revulsion (or at the very least pity) in the eyes of his companion. But all he saw was compassion, and tenderness. And something he could not quite identify, but knew at once was precious beyond price. Despite his heart telling him otherwise, he could not quell the impulse to mutter, "Pretty pathetic, huh?"

"You think I wouldn't have done the same thing if I could?" she yelped. "Even if all it did was tell me I wasn't crazy, that would have been huge. I couldn't talk to anyone about what I was doing for fear that I'd be discovered and arrested. I completely understand the impulse which guided you, David. Completely."

"Yeah, but it didn't take too long until it stopped being just about not being lonely."

Her eyes widened in shock, but her only verbal response was a flat, "Oh."

"It wasn't like I tried to turn it into my girlfriend, or something like that. I figured I was so much smarter, so superior, to the rest of the pathetic incels."

"Wait," she interrupted. "Incel?"

"Involuntarily celibate. Most guys who fall under that tent end up hating women for not... um... fragging them. But that never even occurred to me. I didn't hate women, or people in general. I just wanted to figure out how to talk to someone without them acting like I was radioactive. So, when I came up with the idea of an A. I. friend, for want of a better term, my strategy was to create an advisor, a mentor. Maybe even a wingman. I figured that it had the whole of human experience at its virtual fingertips; why couldn't it teach me how to make friends?"

"Do you believe me when I tell you that what you're saying makes all the sense in the world to me, David? That I would have done exactly the same thing in your shoes?"

"Yeah," he grunted before offering her a wry smile. "I really do."

"Good. So, Skye?"

"Right. Things seemed to be looking up for a while. The things she... it... was telling me to do worked. Sometimes. But often enough. Then I met Cassandra when my boss was showing her around the office on her first day." He took his phone from his pocket, unlocked it, and placed it before Petra before adding, "Cassandra Mayer. She still lives in Montgomery, which is where we worked together."

She looked at the phone and asked, "What am I meant to do with this?"

"Look her up. She's almost certainly the first result you'll find if you look for her name and hometown."

After a long look from her, which he responded to with an encouraging wave, she did as he asked. After several moments, she remarked, "She's stunning, David. It's no wonder she had such an effect on you."

"I meant what I said, Petra. None of this is her fault. The truth of the matter was that I quickly became obsessed with her. To a troubling degree. I demanded that Skye figure out a way to make her..." He let out a weary sigh and shook his head in resignation before grumbling, "Make her... what an asshole I was. But, yeah, I wanted to make her fall in love with me. So I spent long weeks running various scenarios with Skye to figure out a foolproof plan. Then, right before our first all-staff meeting of the year, I put Skye's plan in motion. Confidence, it told me, was the key to a woman's heart. Have a clear goal in mind, and communicate your intentions clearly. And, no matter what, don't take no for an answer."

"Oh, no," Petra sighed.

"Oh, yes," David replied glumly. "I walked right up to her, interrupting a conversation she was having with about a dozen (female) coworkers, and asked her to dinner. She told me she had to think about it, but I demanded an answer. Then she said she wasn't looking for a relationship right then, so I pointed out that she'd just been talking about a date she went on the previous weekend."

Petra groaned, "David!"

"Yup. I'd been advised to eavesdrop before shooting my shot to increase my odds of success. I was intractable, refusing to accept anything less than a hearty acceptance. Finally, I pushed her far enough that she told me she just wasn't attracted to me, and would I please just leave her in peace.

"I was just getting ready to make my case more strenuously when, like he'd materialized out of thin air, the head of H. R. appeared and told me he had an urgent matter to discuss with me. He advised me to stop harassing other employees, and said that he'd be forced to take official action if it happened again. But, naïvely, I thought that'd be the end of it.

"But, by the time the meeting was over, everyone in the company was buzzing about what had happened. Apparently somebody filmed everything and posted it to one of the team channels in our collaboration suite. After that, it only took about ten minutes for everyone in the company to see it. The C. E. O., never one to put up with not being the center of attention, demanded to know what everyone was buzzing about. His assistant whispered something in his ear, and he responded by bringing up one of the messages that had been making the rounds on the big screen. The one he brought up said, 'how it was that the fattest guy in the room never clued in to the fact that every woman who crosses his path can barely keep their lunch down when he was in sight?' I think I got the hell out of there as soon as I could, although I honestly can't remember anything that happened that day after he started talking. The next day, I just couldn't bring myself to face my coworkers. I didn't even call off, I just... didn't go to work."

"How long..." Petra began haltingly.

He shook his head in resignation and offered, "Thirty-three days. For over a month, I didn't leave my apartment or speak to another human. When I did finally emerge, I discovered that I'd been fired for job abandonment; hardly surprising considering that I'd disappeared. But it didn't take long to figure out that no one had even noticed my disappearance. Neither any of my so-called friends, nor anyone from my job, called, or even texted. I knew..." Petra's hand snaked across the table to take David's, offering without hesitation the comfort he had not even known he needed until she provided it. He smiled weakly and said, "I knew that if I'd... offed myself, no one would have ever even cared."

"Oh, baby," she gushed, "I'm so sorry!"

He nodded and said, "I eventually decided to hell with the lot of them. They didn't give a shaz about me, and I didn't need them." He turned toward the sunset and blew out a long breath before adding, "I didn't think I needed anyone. So I used the last of my mother's trust fund to build the van, and I left everything behind. And, for a year-and-a-half, I thought I was proving my hypothesis about how I didn't belong in the world. I worked, a lot, and I was constantly on the move looking for the places most devoid of other humans." He chuckled to himself, shaking his head in dismay as he tried, and failed, to muster the courage to meet her eyes. "I thought I'd cracked the code; figured out a way to never impose myself on anyone ever again. Boy, was I wrong."

"What changed?" she asked gently as a reassuring squeeze of her hand reminded him of her touch.

He finally mustered the strength to look up as he whispered, "I made you cry."

With a quickness which caused him to flinch, she sprang from her seat and rounded the table to wrap her arms around him from behind. He tried to maintain his composure, but the task was too monumental. The moisture on his cheeks took him by surprise, as did the fact that he lost the ability to fill his lungs in the wake of his racking sobs. Yet rather than be disgusted or ashamed of his objectively humiliating display, all he heard were soft whispers in his ear declaring, "You're not alone anymore."

When David belatedly regained his composure, Petra straddled the bench seat of the picnic table beside him and said, "That was a lovely start to our second date, David. And, if I may say so, you're a marvelous chef. I think salmon might be my new favorite meal."

"Oh... uh... you're welcome." He rose slowly from the table and added, "Why don't I get started on dishes."

"You will not," she declared firmly. "You cooked, that means I clean. I suggest you sit your handsome ass in the recliner inside so you can watch me work for once."

He allowed her to collect their dishes as he remarked, "I feel like I've done a lot more watching you work than the inverse. Truly, Petra, the work you've done with the van is amazing."

"I'm so pleased you think so, and I was glad to do it. Can you get the door and bring Emmy?"

"Of course."

David followed her instructions to the letter and quickly found himself seated inside with a glass of ice water in his hand, a dog in his lap, and the most beautiful woman in existence delightfully swishing her incomparable derrière in a way that harbored no dissent that it was for his benefit as she washed the dishes.

"You're being very quiet over there," she remarked without turning to face him.

"I spent the better part of a year going days at a time without speaking at all."

"Yes, but you just spent the better part of an hour speaking to me without reservation. I very much hope you're not all talked out. At least with me."

"Never with you. I guess I was just waiting to see how you reacted to how pathetically I behaved."

She finished washing the dishes, placing the last one in the drying rack which rested on the lid which covered the range, before approaching him.

"Emmy?" she inquired sweetly, "do you mind if I sit there?" It took a few added gestures for the dog to catch her meaning, but she soon vacated her spot on his lap. Petra looked at him expectantly and added, "Do you mind?"

"You really want to..."

She nodded emphatically and replied, "Very much so."

"Well... ok."

He was unsure how he expected she would go about sitting on his lap, thus he had no basis to be surprised, or stunned, or shocked when she placed a knee on either side of his hips and settled onto his thighs such that their faces were separated by less than a handsbreadth. But that did not stop him from being bowled over by all three emotions. Her next words, however, demonstrated that he had yet to understand the depths of amazement his alluring companion had on tap.

"Ask me what you asked her."

He cocked his head in confusion and grunted, "Huh?"

"I want you to ask me what you asked Cassandra."

"The first time I asked her out, or all my increasingly problematic follow-ups?"

"That's up to you."

"Ok... uh... I'm not sure I remember the exact words I used."

"David," she replied warmly, "I have zero doubt that every excruciating second of that interaction is branded onto your soul. Just say to me what you said to her."

"Ok. Here goes." He took a deep breath before continuing. "Um. Hi. I'm David. We met when you were onboarding, but we haven't had a chance to get to know each other yet. Please correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't believe you're seeing anyone right now. I am also not seeing anyone, which I think is fortuitous. I've noticed how kind you are to everyone around you, so I hope you won't mind me saying that you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and I would be honored if you'd join me for dinner this Friday night."

"What a nice thing to say!" Petra enthused. "I accept!"

"Uh... thanks."

"I mean it, David. I would love to go on a date with you on Friday. And every night. Ask me something else."

"Like what?"

"Ask me what you would have asked her at the end of a successful date."

"But I don't want to date her. I want to date you."

"Well then... we just had our second date. Or perhaps we're still having our second date. What would you like to ask me? And, while you mull it over, I'll warn you that the answer will almost definitely be the one you want."

"All I want is to see you smile, and to never make you cry, ever again."

"You didn't make me cry, David," she soothed as she drew closer. "I was just so terribly worried that I'd done something to hurt you."

With a raspy voice, he assured her, "Never."

She replied with the gift of her kiss. Almost as if by instinct, his hands moved in her direction. Her breathy sigh puffed out his cheeks as his hands found her hips. Each passing moment brought with it the confident certainty in his mind that he had achieved the apex of what was possible with respect to physical nearness he could achieve with another human. Yet it only took a single heartbeat for that conviction to be proved false; whether through the weight of her perfect breasts, the heat radiating from the apex of her thighs, or the delicate probing of her tongue against his lips.

She relinquished his lips to hoarsely whisper, "Please, David. Please touch me."

"Where?"

"Everywhere!"

When she resumed their kiss, her eagerness had transitioned from tentative to insistent, and the sensation which rocked his body as their tongues slicked together made his hair stand on end and his cock spring to attention. She tilted her head to deepen their connection, leaving him powerless to do anything outside of getting swept up in their passion.

A brief spike of anxiety flashed through his mind when he felt her hands land on the loose, flabby skin of his chest, but her contented moan effortlessly extinguished his worry. Even more surprising to the increasingly distant worry in the back of his mind was the excitement he felt in response to the gift of her touch.

Spurred by a wellspring of confidence, his hands drifted up her sides from her hips. Even through the material of her T-shirt, he felt the tiny change in the sensation of her skin when he found the bottom of her ribs. Her elevated breathing urged him onward and upward.

"David!" she yelped into their kiss when his right hand grazed the underside of her breast.

"Is this ok?" he gasped worriedly.

"It's perfect!" she sighed as she ground her molten core against where his manhood strained against his trousers. "More!"

The firm pressure against his crotch shifted to an urgent thrusting when he filled his hands with her still clothed breasts. Her lips crushed against his with a fervent intensity, and her moaned appreciation of his awkward groping filled his lungs.

A warning klaxon went off in the back of his brain, leaving little doubt that he was rapidly nearing the point of no return, but he was utterly powerless to resist the allure of their shared passion. His hips bucked with such intensity that he would have unseated her were it not for her fervent embrace as she writhed in his arms. It was only as the sticky warmth of his own release spread across his groin that he realized what had happened. Yet, impossibly, even the shame of making a mess of himself paled in comparison to the impossible, perfect woman who slumped, panting, against his chest.

"David," she sighed. "That was..."

"I know," he grumped. "Sorry about that."

"Sorry! That was amazing. Incredible. I've never felt the fruitful frenzies like that before. Ever! Not even close."

"The what?" he asked with a barely repressed chuckle.

"You know... the fluttery feeling that you get after you... you know..."

"You mean an orgasm?"

"Yes! Exactly!"

"You just... came?"

"You're gorram right, I did! With a fragging vengeance!"

"Oh, well, I guess... me too."

"Really!" she enthused as she backed up to stare down at his crotch. "That's incredible! Can I see?"

"I think maybe I ought to clean up first."

"Then... will you at least take your shirt off for me? I'll do it for you." Before he could reply, she yanked her shirt over her head and made quick work of her new bra (thanks to the handy front clasp). When she was nude from the waist up, she added, "Please?"

"I'll warn you, it's not a pretty sight."

"I'll be the judge of that," she replied confidently as she got to her feet.

He tried to ignore the stickiness in his trousers as he stood, a task which he found paled in comparison to quelling the anxiety he felt as he slowly lifted his shirt.

"Goodness," Petra whispered as her fingers traced over the loose, sagging skin which covered his torso. "You're skin and bones."

"Hardly. I'm actually still slightly above the ideal B. M. I. My research suggests the skin might eventually go back to looking a bit less gross, but..."

"You're not gross," she declared with fervent intensity. "You're beautiful. Please, David. Please tell me you'll come to bed like this tonight."

"I mean... sure. Whatever you like."

"I don't suppose I could talk you into a short walk to the bathhouse so we could share a shower?"

"I'm not sure I'm ready..."

She smiled and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek before whispering, "It was worth a shot. In that case, I propose we take turns in the shower (since you're not the only one who was so turned on that they made a bit of a mess of themselves), then I'll take you to bed. Sound good?"

"What did I ever do to deserve you?"

She smiled dazzlingly and, after a long pause, replied breathily, "Everything."

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Copyright © 2026 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, business, 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.

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