Alice missed the days of elementary school when the last day before winter break was reserved for nostalgic movies, hot chocolate, and wearing your pajamas to school. Instead, students completed their end-of-term exams. Instead of relaxing, kicking up her feet and putting on a movie, she graded first periods’ exams during second, and so on and so on. Those who finished before the end of the period could read or study for another exam. 

Stevie approached her desk, and she looked up assuming he had a question about the exam. Instead, he handed her a small envelope and whispered so quietly she could hardly hear him, “Merry Christmas, Ms. Greene”. Stevie turned on his heels and returned to his desk.

Curiosity piqued, Alice examined the envelope. She would recognize Stevie’s handwriting, so she assumed it must be Laszlo who scrawled her name on the front of the envelope. Alice noted the fancy stationery: the thick off-white envelope with a red wax seal. 

It was a simple but elegant Christmas card depicting a winter scene. Before she read it, she looked at the gift card tucked inside. It was for her favorite coffee chain and $15, plenty for two drinks or a drink and a snack. Inside the card, Laszlo wrote a brief thank you, Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays. He signed, as well as Stevie. 

Stevie watched her open the card. Not wanting to distract any students or draw too much attention, Alice mouthed thank you to him. She wondered if any other of Stevie’s teachers received a card. When she checked her phone at lunch, Bits answered her question. 

Nice Christmas gifts from the good doc 🎄🎁 I’m assuming you’ll get more than a card from him? 😏😉

Alice chuckled, knowing all the innuendos Bitsy meant with a simple wink and smirk emoji combination. They made plans for Saturday when Stevie was supposed to be hanging out at a friend’s house.

Oh hush you 🤫A lady doesn’t kiss and tell

She went back to grading, worrying if the gifts she bought him were enough. Saying he was difficult to shop for felt like a lame excuse, but Alice couldn’t think of anything else to get him. Unless… well she supposed it was more of a purchase for her, but he would certainly appreciate it.

Laszlo deliberated for two days about what to cook for dinner. It was not his first time cooking for Alice, but it was his first time in his kitchen amongst all his tools and familiarity. The expectations were higher. He wanted to do something delicious for her, showing her how much he cared for her. Once decided, he went to the markets in the morning. It was his guilty pleasure. Laszlo enjoyed carefully perusing all his options and leisurely strolling around. He could never stick to a list; he always bought things he didn’t need but decided at the moment he wanted. 

He returned, carefully holding a brown paper grocery bag to his chest. Stevie stood over the stove, cooking a late-morning breakfast of eggs and toast. Laszlo had to tease him as he slipped into a winter break sleep schedule. 

“Good morning. Any later and I would tell you good afternoon.” 

“Ha ha,” Stevie laughed dryly. “I’ve never heard that one before.” 

Laszlo unpacked his groceries and handed a party-size bag of chips to Stevie. “For tonight,” Laszlo thought it rude to go to someone’s house emptyhanded. “Do you need a ride or is Jake picking you up?”

“He said he’d pick me up at like four, and then…” Stevie trailed off, but Laszlo waited expectedly. “I was going to ask you how late I could stay.”

Curfew was, Laszlo didn’t like to call it a debate, but a matter of discussion. On school nights Laszlo stuck to 9:30, wanting Stevie home at a reasonable time. On weekends, however, he was more flexible. So long as Stevie was transparent about his plans, telling him where he wanted to go and who he would be with, Laszlo was willing to adjust the time. 

Laszlo trusted Stevie and he had yet to disappoint him, but for emergencies and peace of mind, they had each other’s location shared on their phones. It went both ways, Laszlo could see if Stevie was at school, home, or a friend’s house, and Stevie could see if he was at the university, the Institute, the police station, or the courts. As a show of faith, Laszlo told him he would only check if he had a legitimate concern or cause. He had yet to check, knock on wood. 

And of course, if Laszlo coincidentally had plans with Alice the same night, then perhaps Stevie could stay with his friends a bit longer.

“That depends,” Laszlo huffed a sigh in thought, “Will he be dropping you off, or will I pick you up?” 

Stevie didn’t bother to plate his food or sit at the table. He stood at the counter, scooping the scrambled eggs onto a piece of sourdough toast with his wooden spoon. At least he didn’t create many dishes… Stevie answered with a mouthful, “He can drop me off.” 

Perfect. “How does eleven sound then? Take it as an early Christmas present.” Then Laszlo could enjoy more time with Alice. “And text me when you’re on your way back.” That way they had a reminder when she needed to leave. 

“Thanks!” Stevie was a quick eater, a result of his childhood, and already he finished his breakfast. After cleaning the few dishes he used, he went back to his room.

Alice pressed her lips into a thin line in focus. It was an unconscious habit as she piped details on gingerbread cookies in royal icing: delicate buttons to the little men, twinkling lights on the trees, and fine lines on the snowflakes. Flour and icing smeared her cheek and dusted her clothes, and she was sweating from the residual heat of the oven. 

The timer on her phone startled her, making her smear the line of the snowflake. She cursed and set the cookie aside. Alice didn’t want to give Laszlo an ugly cookie. And, she sighed while brushing away an errant lock of hair, she didn’t want to look like an ugly cookie either. The timer reminded her to step back and start getting ready.

After hearing Laszlo had no Christmas plans, other than little celebrations with Stevie since John and Sara were on a much-needed vacation, Alice wanted to make sure their night was perfect. She debated what to wear, settling on a red low-cut sweater and a tight skirt. Classic, but enticing, and she could show off one of her gifts for Laszlo.

***

Alice parked on the street and waited in her toasty car. It was her first time visiting Laszlo’s house. She pulled out her phone, and rather than text Laszlo that she arrived, she typed a message for Bitsy.

Oh shit. He’s rich rich 💰

Bitsy responded quickly. oh??? 👀👀That’s good because you need to marry rich you’re a teacher

She took a picture of the front of the brownstone house and sent it. That should tell Bitsy all she needed to know. Then, she texted Laszlo that she had arrived. Taking a deep breath in, she left the coziness of her car and braved the cold night air. 

The front door was off street level; it was up a set of stairs. Alice was careful, her hand gliding over the railing as she ascended them. The last thing she wanted was to slip on icy steps: embarrassing herself and ruining her hard work that afternoon or Laszlo’s gifts. Before she could knock on the old brass knocker or ring the decorative doorbell, Laszlo opened the door. 

He radiated warmth, and not just because of the heat escaping the house. Laszlo wore a white apron over his clothes, a lock of hair fell across his forehead, his sleeve was rolled up, and he smelled like the delicious food he cooked. It made Alice’s stomach growl and her heart flutter. 

“Please, come in. You can put your coat there,” he gestured to a coat rack in the corner of the vestibule and took the platter of cookies from her hands, “and I can take these to the kitchen.”

He had a vestibule and a foyer beyond that. Alice knew he had money, but she did not realize how much until she saw his home. She shed her coat, and she caught Laszlo’s eyes appreciating the neckline of her sweater just as she intended. 

“I’m afraid I haven’t quite finished, but please, feel free to wait in the parlor and nibble on the cheese board while I return downstairs.”

“Your kitchen is downstairs?” Alice almost asked “you have a parlor?” but that was a less pressing matter.

Laszlo chuckled. “Yes, it’s an old house, so the garage, kitchen, and ironically Stevie’s room are all street level. I promise I won’t be long.”

“Good,” she pressed a kiss to his cheek, “I’m hungry and I’ll miss you.” 

His cheeks flushed, and he kissed her properly. “Then I won’t keep you waiting.” He disappeared down the stairs, readjusting the apron tied around his waist. Alice admired his ass as he left. 

Alice did as Laszlo suggested and wandered to the parlor. She nibbled on a cracker with brie and thinly sliced apple while she surveyed the room. A heavy, ornate fireplace warmed the room, and she relished its heat. Her sweater and skirt did little to keep her warm. Alice noticed there were no pictures on the mantle, just a television mounted on the wall. It was one of the fancy ones disguised as a landscape painting, complete with a gilded frame. 

Two bookshelves bookended the fireplace, and Alice skimmed through the titles. Some she recognized, like classic novels, whereas the psychological essays and journals were far from her realm of familiarity. Where did he find the time to read, she mused. A record player nestled in the corner, made to look like a vintage gramophone, filled the room with traditional Christmas music. Alice hummed along to the familiar song. Laszlo was a maximalist, filling his home with as much as he could in his eclectic style.

Alice heard footsteps coming up the stairs, so she went to the formal dining room. As she wondered how often Laszlo and Stevie ate there, he answered her silent question.

“We rarely use it, but I wanted tonight to be special.” 

“Please, let me help you,” she offered. Laszlo held a heavy tray laden with plates and bowls with one hand.

“There’s no need,” he insisted, setting it on the table.  “It’s part of why we don’t use the dining room very often.”

“I can imagine, but it looks lovely, Laszlo.” He dressed up the space with formal dinnerware and linens. He lit a candelabra on the table, and pitchers of water and bottles of wine waited to be poured. 

“Thank you.” He blushed again, clearly unused to praise. Alice wanted to make the tinge of pink darker. 

“You’ve put in so much effort, and I appreciate it. You’ve made tonight special and memorable, and we’ve barely begun.” 

Laszlo returned downstairs for the rest of the meal, and Alice stole a glance at what he brought up already. A basket of dinner rolls, small bowls of soup, and salads. This was meant to be the appetizer, and she wondered eagerly what the main course could be. With perfect timing, he brought the entrée: roasted vegetables, seared duck breast with a red wine sauce, and creamy mashed potatoes. 

Once everything was settled on the table, Laszlo could settle himself. He removed his apron revealing a white button-up and a Christmas-themed waistcoat: dark green with white detailing and gold buttons. Laszlo pulled out her seat for her, and then he poured them both a glass of water and a glass of red wine.  

“Please, enjoy. There’s plenty.” He offered her the basket of warm dinner rolls glistening with butter.

Laszlo was an excellent cook, and she was excited to try it. He waited until she tasted it and smiled before he ate anything.  

Over dinner, they reminisced on past Christmases: best presents, worst presents, family drama, vacations. Alice thought long and hard about the best present she ever received and decided it must have been when she got a Barbie dreamhouse. She knew what it was as soon as she saw the gigantic wrapped box by the tree, but her parents made her wait until the end to unwrap it. Laszlo smiled saying he had something similar happen when his parents bought the baby grand piano for the parlor.

“Do you play?” She noticed it, but the keys were covered and the music books were nowhere in sight. If he did, he left no clues. 

“No,” he frowned, “not since I was a young boy.”

Alice didn’t want to upset him, so she did not press it. She found it odd since he was the one who mentioned the piano, to begin with, but this was a happy night. From then on, Laszlo was more inclined to listen to her than share his memories. 

Alice insisted upon helping him clean up after the meal, and Laszlo found it hard to refuse her. He enjoyed simply being near her, and he admitted it was easier with an extra set of hands. Laszlo rinsed the dishes from dinner while Alice unloaded the dishwasher. 

“I wasn’t sure about making Christmas cookies,” Alice confessed.

Laszlo raised an eyebrow in playful alarm. “Why ever not? Your cookies are delectable.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m a one trick pony. You’ve had my cookies before at open house and the conferences, so I thought I should show you something new.”

“But they’re delicious, and I presume gingerbread to fit the season. I’ve not tasted those.”

“Which is why I went with it. You can really only do gingerbread this time of year. But I think next time, I’ll make something totally different.”

“I look forward to it.” Since his hands were covered with soapy water, he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Speaking of dessert, do you want it now or do you want to wait?”

Alice smirked. “Well, if dessert is a real kiss, I want it now.” 

How could he refuse? Laszlo kissed her again, his tongue slipping into her mouth. Alice pinned him against the counter, and since her hands were dry she ran them through his hair and rested them at the back of his neck. Laszlo leaned into her touch.

Abruptly, Alice ended their kiss. She stayed close to him, pressed to him. “But if dessert is the cookies, they can wait until we’re watching a movie on the couch.” Laszlo hardly understood what she said. He was too distracted by the way Alice kissed him. She giggled, clearly amused by his love-drunk expression, and smiled. “Come on,” she teased, “let’s finish this up.” Laszlo did not need any more encouragement. 

***

They set out all their gifts on the coffee table along with the platter of cookies and two mugs of hot chocolate. Laszlo insisted on preparing it for them, his recipe using dark chocolate and rich milk to create the most decadent drink. Stevie preferred the instant Swiss Miss powder, no doubt due to his unrefined palette, and Alice surprised Laszlo by asking for a sprinkle of cinnamon and nutmeg. Curious, he had to try it for himself.

Alice shivered once on the couch, so Laszlo found the red knit blanket he kept in the living room and draped it over her shoulders. She looked comfortable like she belonged there.

“Can I go first?” Alice volunteered, “My gifts for you require a little bit of explanation.”

“Well now you must. You’ve piqued my curiosity.”

She handed him one slim box, one wrapped present that could only be a book by its shape and size, and a flat, rectangular box. All were wrapped in delicate blue and white snowflake wrapping paper and finished with silver bows. Laszlo reached for the smallest box first. He tore the paper at the tape and lifted the lid from the box. It was a black and gold fountain pen, weighted in his hand.

“It’s supposed to be smear proof. All the reviews said it was left hand certified.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.” He reached for the book next, sliding his thumb under the edge of the wrapping paper. It was a well-read, well-loved paperback copy of her favorite book. Laszlo glanced at her before skimming through the pages. 

“We talked about books before, and how a person’s favorite book can tell you a lot about them, so I thought I would give you my favorite filled with all my thoughts and annotations.” It was a deeply personable gift. Laszlo was shocked, and he immediately tried to give it back to her. “I already bought myself another copy, please, keep it.”

The final present was a rich golden-colored cable knit sweater. Laszlo held it up, modeling what it would look like, and he saw her eyes light up. He would have to wear more gold…

“I had to guess your size, so I put the receipt in the box in case you need to return it or exchange it. But I thought the gold would suit you, and I see I was right.”

“Thank you, darling.” He kissed her cheek again. Laszlo enjoyed seeing her cheeks flush whenever he did. “It’s all so thoughtful.”

“Technically,” Alice said with a sly grin, “there’s one more gift, but you’ll have to wait to unwrap it.”

“Oh?” Laszlo checked the coffee table wondering how he missed it. Alice nodded, removed the blanket from her shoulders, and sat up straight, pushing her plentiful chest out. “Oh!”

Intentionally, her sweater slipped off her shoulder exposing a touch of lace. His eyes followed the movement. “It’s more of an investment, I think, but mutually beneficial.”

“Certainly,” he agreed, unconsciously licking his lips. 

“But not yet.” Alice fixed her sweater and re-wrapped the blanket. Laszlo blinked twice, refocusing on the moment. She knew how to tease him, draw him in, and turn his head all around. It was maddening and enthralling. He thought carefully about the order in which to give his gifts to her. Start small.

“The poinsettias on the table are yours to keep, so long as you keep them away from Georgie. I read they’re not good for cats, so put them somewhere high and out of reach for him.”

“They’re gorgeous, Laszlo, and I appreciate the research. All the other flowers you’ve given me have been Georgie safe, so I’ll have to find somewhere special for these.”

Next was a little gift bag filled with imported German chocolates, the best in his opinion, and cat treats for Georgie. Treats for both of them, he explained, with a sheepish smile at the pun. These were all small gifts, trivial really, but they all brought a smile to her face. It was time to step it up. He handed her a slim, unmarked envelope with two tickets to the Nutcracker, on Christmas Eve no less. 

Alice’s eyes glittered. “I thought this had been sold out for months! How did you get these?”

“I have a box, so I get the first pick of any tickets…” he trailed off. He always bought at least two tickets. In years past, he would take John, Stevie, or John and Sara and play the third wheel. This year, Laszlo would have a date. 

“Fuck off,” Alice said indelicately, but still alluringly to him. “You have a box?”

“I do,” he snickered, “It was my family’s before it became mine.”

“That’s incredible.” She still held the tickets in her hand, looking them over and over. His eyes met hers, a silent question. What are you thinking? “Honestly, I’m trying to think if I have an outfit worthy of this.”

“Whatever you wear, I’m sure it will be divine, and I hope you pair it with this.” He slid his final present over to her: a small jewelry box. 

Tentatively, she set the tickets down and picked up the box. It wasn’t wrapped; Laszlo thought the black velvet spoke for itself. Now he feared it was too much too soon. Jewelry set certain expectations. It announced intention. 

“Oh, Laszlo.” Her thumb rubbed along the edge of the box, and she tilted the necklace and earrings toward the light. “It’s- I don’t know what to say other than thank you.” Alice’s wide eyes met his, and he thought he saw the shadow of a tear.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” The troublesome tear slipped down her cheek when he asked, and more threatened to follow. Given the nature of his work, Laszlo was accustomed to tears, but he did not know what to do when Alice cried.

“You’ve done so much and given me such wonderful gifts,” she tried to steady her voice but was unsuccessful, “and I’m worried I didn’t do enough.”

“Don’t say that,” he rushed to assure her. In the unspoken silence, Laszlo sensed her true fear was that she wasn’t enough. He struggled for words, so he took her hand in his and squeezed it. “You have given me plenty.”

Alice smiled, tears still in her eyes, and nodded to herself. “Thank you, Laszlo, just-” she paused again, registering her hand in his, “Thank you.”

After Alice dried her tears, embarrassed she cried but comforted by Laszlo’s words, they dimmed the lights and turned on a movie. All playful bickering about what to watch stopped when Alice spotted an old stop-motion classic about the year without Santa Claus. She had not seen it in years, but she vividly remembered the song with heat miser and snow miser. Laszlo chuckled and indulged her, selecting the movie and letting the opening credits play. 

She cuddled up next to Laszlo, his arm across her shoulders, and she shared her blanket with him. Alice leaned her head on his chest, and he rested his chin at the top of her head. She was comforted by his slow and steady breathing. Laszlo was a rock: steady and reliable under her. 

Both their hands wandered, appreciative and lingering touches, until the movie was forgotten and Laszlo encouraged her to sit on his lap. Alice hesitated, biting her tongue at a quip about being more than he could handle, but he was insistent and unflinching. She straddled his lap, her already short skirt rising up even further, teasing him with the tops of her thighs. 

“There you are,” Laszlo crooned. He looked less perfect and more like a person. Toussled hair, pink cheeks, sly smile. Alice adored him like this. His hand circled her waist and pulled her closer, eliminating any space between them. His kiss tasted of their drink, rich chocolate with a touch of spice. Alice melted into his touch. Laszlo panted, whining into her mouth as he felt her chest pressing against him.

His hand slipped under the knit of her red sweater and traced the skin underneath. His fingers danced over the clasp of her new bra, her gift just for him to unwrap, asking her permission before advancing any further. She broke their kiss and nodded, a quiet “I want this” escaping her lips. Laszlo needed no more encouragement, and he deftly undid the clasp. She pulled the sweater over her head and tossed it aside. Her nipples pebbled in the sudden chill, and Laszlo was quick to latch himself to her. 

He took one into his mouth, lavishing it with attention, while he cupped her other breast with his hand. Laszlo did not want it to feel unappreciated as he nipped, licked, and pinched. Alice moaned his name and wriggled her hips against him, craving more in the heady heat of the moment. “I want to see you,” she huffed. 

Laszlo paused and drew back. A trail of saliva connected them, and Alice brushed it away with her thumb. “I’m all yours,” he murmured.

Alice hastily unfastened the buttons on his waistcoat and shirt, cursing him for wearing so many layers, but grateful for them too. Laszlo looked good in his layers, coordinated and well-put-together, but she wanted to see underneath his careful clothing choices.  Alice feasted her eyes on a broad chest, dusted with coarse hair and fine freckles, leading down to his soft stomach. Laszlo tipped his head back and groaned when she trailed her hand down his chest.

“Much better.” Pleased, Alice touched Laszlo’s chin and brought his attention back. His eyes were hazy, as if he’d drunk more than a glass of wine, as he studied her form. Laszlo ran an appreciative hand across her body: cupping her breast, holding her waist, and resting on her ass. He kissed her again, his lips wandering from her lips to her jaw, and her collarbone. 

“Laszlo, I-” His phone, forgotten on the coffee table, rang and interrupted her. She turned, glancing at the caller ID, and handed it to him. “It’s Stevie, he’s probably on his way home.”

Laszlo answered and held the phone to his ear. Alice was somewhat relieved he called. She wasn’t sure how much further they were going to go, and she was nervous to broach the topic. This was a natural end to the evening. When she went to move off his lap, he held her there with his right hand. Not firmly, but the surprising and warm touch was enough to keep her there. She slipped her hand over his.

Alice waited until he hung up to speak. “I think it’s time for me to go, Las.” 

“Please, darling, five more minutes.” His hips ground against hers, and his voice was as enticingly sweet as honey. 

“Five minutes, my final Christmas present for you,” she teased.

His lips reattached to hers, and his hand groped her breast. Her hips continued above him, and Laszlo followed every one of her movements. 

Hindered by Laszlo’s request, but hastened by his assistance to redress, Alice left without issue. She promised to text him when she arrived home safe and sound, and he reminded her what time they would leave for the Nutcracker. Laszlo waited for Stevie to return in the kitchen, hoping to ask about his evening before locking the front door and going to bed. 

“Hey,” Stevie entered through the more hidden ground-level door that connected through the garage. He preferred the direct access rather than messing with the front door. It was part of why he chose to live downstairs.

“How was it?” 

“Good,” he shrugged, “Caleb got a new game for us to play, so it took a while to figure out the rules, but it was fun.”

“Did they enjoy the chips?”

“Yeah, yeah, they did.” Stevie glanced at the sink, empty apart from two mugs of hot chocolate. “How was your evening?” 

One mug was still smeared with lipstick, and panic shot through Laszlo. Did he have any of her lipstick on his face? He wished he checked a mirror instead of presuming he looked okay. Laszlo flustered, thinking on the spot.

“Fine. Some people from the psychology department came over for dinner, part of a new tradition they’re trying to start.”

Stevie poured himself a glass of water and stood in front of the fridge. “That’s cool. Any leftovers? ”

“What? They didn’t feed you over there?” Laszlo chuckled, relieved by the change in subject.

“They did, but I’m still hungry. Growing boy and all.” Stevie ate a dinner roll without bothering to microwave it. 

Laszlo rolled his eyes. Ah, the youth. “Goodnight, and don’t forget to lock up.”

“Already did.”

Laszlo meant it when he said, “Good kid.”

***

Two days later, Laszlo picked Alice up from her apartment with a bouquet of pale pink roses. She wore a simple, elegant black dress and shawl. Underneath her silver shawl, Laszlo spotted the simple necklace he gave her and more than one purple hickey. He felt a sense of satisfaction seeing his work.

They arrived early to the theater and worked slowly through the crowds. People acknowledged him — former clients or students — and he stopped for a moment to chat with some of them. His chest puffed up with pride, talking to them with a woman as wonderful as Alice on his arm. She shimmered under the chandeliers.

Finally, Laszlo brought her to his box on the upper level. Alice whispered in his ear she always wondered what the view from the boxes was like rather than general admission. Laszlo promised to take her to more shows in the coming year. They enjoyed the show, her hand clasped in his, and her shawl slipping off her shoulders.

Laszlo asked if she was hungry, too, when they left the theater. Sheepishly, Alice confessed she was. He swung by a fast-food joint, one of the only things open at the late hour on Christmas Eve, and ordered fries and milkshakes. After their midnight snack, they made out like teenagers in the front seat. It was a complete contrast to the formality of their evening, but it was the perfect way to end the night.

Golden light filtered through Laszlo’s office window. One of Rachmaninov’s symphonies played softly over his computer speaker, and he graded student essays with a fine-tipped red pen. A soft knock on the door broke him from his focus which he did not mind given the poor quality of the writing. Alice stood in the doorway, two coffees in hand, and a smile a mile wide. 

“What a surprise.” He pushed the stack of papers away and leaned back in his chair. 

She shut the heavy door. Her hips shimmied in a way Laszlo knew was meant to entice him. It worked. “I thought you could use a little afternoon pick-me-up.” 

“From you? Always.”

Alice handed Laszlo his coffee, no cream or sugar, and sat on his desk. She crossed her legs, her skirt riding up her thighs, and took a sip from her drink. Laszlo looked up at her, admiring everything he saw, and set his coffee to the side. He didn’t need it when he had her. 

His hand ran along her calf prompting her to re-cross her legs. Laszlo’s eyes flicked back and forth, torn between the mischievous glint in her eye and her plush thighs. Alice leaned down, her chest eye level with him, and cupped one of his cheeks with her hand. Her fingers played with his beard, and he nuzzled into her touch. He took a deep breath smelling her floral perfume, his forgotten coffee, and the old books in his office. Divine.  

She kissed his forehead, and then she leaned back on the old oak desk. Entranced, Laszlo stood. He was a sunflower yearning for the sun. She spread her legs, and he stood between her thighs clasping her waist. Standing, he was a touch taller than her, changing the angle between them. He kissed her, tasting the cinnamon sweetness on her tongue, and searching for more. 

“Oh, Laszlo,” she pulled away from his kiss, but her hand laid on his chest over his heart. “Are you sure? Anyone could come into your office, and I would hate for us to be interrupted.” Alice played coy, but Laszlo knew better. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“Darling, you’ll be the only one coming in my office today. I promise.”

Laszlo pushed down the turtleneck of her sweater and kissed her neck. Impulsively, he wanted to leave a mark she would need to hide with another sweater. He cupped her breast, feeling the faint outline of lace under the knit, and he tugged on her sweater. It came loose from being tucked into her skirt, and he moved his hand under it. His thumb grazed the delicate lace, and he let out an appreciative chuckle.

“Please, Laszlo” she whispered in his ear, “more.”  

He clicked his tongue. “Greedy girl, aren’t you? Patience, and I will give you more.” Laszlo sank to his knees, and he guided her glorious thighs over his shoulders. He tugged at her lace underwear, and he wondered if it matched her bra. Alice giggled above him and wove her fingers into his hair, pulling him ever closer, not that he needed any encouragement. He lazily kissed each of her thighs, intent on leaving marks there too—

Laszlo woke with a start. Sweat clung to his flushed skin and shirt despite the late fall chill in his room. He was sticky with precome and tangled in the sheets. Laszlo groaned and ran a hand through his bedraggled hair. He didn’t need a doctorate in psychology to know the meaning of a sex dream. 

A cool breeze blew the long linen curtains, and a pale morning light filled the room. Glancing at his alarm clock, because he preferred the old-fashioned alarm clock to his phone, he knew he had a few minutes. For a moment, he thought about finishing the fantasy. Laszlo could easily imagine the ending, lapping at her until his beard was soaked with her, but he hesitated. 

With a groan that Stevie would certainly tease and call “an old man’s groan”, Laszlo left his comfortable bed. He rummaged through his bedside drawer for the pack of cigarettes he unsuccessfully hid from himself and shrugged on his warm robe. Laszlo didn’t have sex, but he still craved a cigarette. Only one, he promised himself, then he would shower and dress for the day. 

“Cheers!” Bitsy and Alice clinked their glasses together. Adorable, tiny rubber ducks floated in their mimosas, and despite the restaurant’s warning about a dollar charge for taking the ducklings, both women fully intended to slip them into their purses before leaving. 

“It feels like forever since I saw you! How was your trip?” Alice set her phone to the side and clasped her hands in front of her. A few weeks back during one of their planning periods, Bitsy booked the excursion. Alice joked she was planning, just not lessons or teaching. Over the three-day fall break, Bitsy and Lucius went upstate to a bed and breakfast, with the best reviews and amenities. 

“Amazing,” she sighed dramatically. “I’m so glad we did it. You know how everyone talks about going somewhere to see the leaves change colors and go apple picking?”

Alice grinned, imagining the leisurely autumnal weekend. “Yes, of course.”

Bitsy spilled all the details while they waited for their food. They took a gorgeous vintage-styled train upstate much to Lucius’s delight. She showed pictures and videos of the views and laughed recounting their apple-picking and cider-making misadventures. Apparently, both were more difficult than they seemed. Their bed and breakfast was a quaint cottage with a main hall for meals, and a precious elderly couple hosting. She raved about the cider donuts Linda made and passed the recipe along to Alice. 

“And you? How are things with the doctor? Or does he prefer the professor?”

“Please, you know I call him Laszlo.”

“Uh-huh, I just like to tease you, and by default him. So, how are things with you and Laszlo?” The waitress brought over their food, so Alice waited until they were settled to answer. 

“Well, without getting my hopes up,” Bitsy rolled her eyes, “it’s wonderful.” Alice blushed and not because of the mimosa. 

On their first date, he picked her up from her apartment with a bouquet of camellias. As soon as she commented they were cat-safe flowers, meaning she could place them on the coffee table without worrying about Georgie eating them, Laszlo produced a bag of cat treats from his coat pocket. He didn’t want Georgie to feel left out, he explained. Alice noted his thoughtfulness and attention to detail. 

Laszlo took her to dinner, as he promised at the conference, at Delmonico’s. Alice had never been, but Laszlo assured her it was his favorite restaurant. She could tell when the owner and the waitstaff greeted him by name, asking if he wanted his usual table, and bringing a complimentary bottle of wine. Alice was prepared to pay for her meal, but Laszlo insisted saying he should since he invited her.

Alice gently moved her drink from side to side to see the rubber duck move. “It feels silly to say, but I think we’re courting rather than dating.” 

“I guess that’s what happens when you date an older man,” Bitsy giggled, taking another sip of her drink.

“Shut up,” Alice couldn’t hold back a laugh either, “you know I have a type, but I’m serious. He’s been such a gentleman. Like he always brings me flowers or chocolates or coffee or something. And he brings something for Georgie too, I swear he has more toys and treats than I’ve ever bought him.”

“So how has he topped your first date?”

 Alice responded when she finished chewing her latest bite. Her sandwich was almost too good to put down, but she wanted to answer. “We’ve done a few more dinners, some after an event or some just because that’s what we could schedule. You know that cute little art museum a few blocks from here? We did that and had lunch last weekend, and he wants to go to the history museum soon too.”

“Wow, the history museum. Sexy.”

“You’re laughing, but it’s so sexy when he reads the little placards and stands there analyzing it, rubbing his beard in thought. Then he asks me what I think and we talk about it before moving on. And, Bits, museums mean he always dresses nice, too, like suits or sweaters.”

“Listen babe, I tease you, but you seem genuinely so happy. Better than I’ve seen you in months, easily. It sounds like he treats you well, and he should continue to do so if he knows what’s good for him.”

“He does, he really does. Did I tell you what happened when we left the art museum?”

“No, what?”

“Well, I stupidly didn’t check the weather that morning when I got ready, but obviously he did because he brought this giant umbrella. Laszlo left it in the lobby while we walked around, and of course when we went to leave it was an absolute downpour. The restaurant we wanted to try was only two blocks away, so we planned to walk.”

“Of course,” Bitsy commented between bites.

“So he gets out his umbrella, and it’s big enough for the both of us. Laszlo held it, and we walked arm in arm down the street in the rain. I felt like I was in an old Hollywood movie and we should start singing in the rain.”

“Adorable, and you should have.”

“Well,” Alice demurred, “we were so close together, arm in arm so you know we were kinda pressed against each other. I could smell his cologne, and Bits, I swear to God it felt like pheremones to me. We made out under that umbrella until the rain stopped.”

Laszlo knew he sounded like a technology-hating curmudgeon, but he preferred calling to texting. Of course, with their busy and ever-changing schedules, texting was far more convenient. However, Laszlo savored anytime Alice called him and he could hear her voice.

Typically, they talked after he ate dinner with Stevie and while she cooked her meal. Laszlo chided her for eating so late, but the timing was convenient. He could slip into his room or his office when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket without arousing undue suspicion. 

“What are you cooking tonight?” Laszlo heard the steady hum of a stovetop ventilation fan and a beeping timer. 

That was another advantage of the phone, or even better, FaceTime. There was so much more ambiance when he could hear or see. Sometimes he could spot Georgie or hear him meowing in the background. Laszlo felt he was there, despite the distance, and he could get a glimpse of her evening. It was almost domestic. 

“Pasta, hence the fan, and some chicken in the oven. I think it’s almost done, but I want to give it a few more minutes to be sure.”  

“Be careful,” he cautioned, “I know you’re worried about undercooking it, but you don’t want dry chicken either.”

“Yes chef,” she teased. “What about you? When are you going to cook for me instead of giving me advice?”

Laszlo leaned against the balcony railing and hummed in thought. He wondered that himself, but he didn’t have an easy answer. “I’m not sure, with Stevie, I-”

“-It’s okay. I would love to have you cook for me sometime, but I know with Stevie it’s more complicated. We can take our time.” 

“I appreciate it. Maybe I could cook for you in your apartment? We could have a nice night in.”

“I’d like that.” 

By now they had a routine. Laszlo would tell her about his day while she ate, and once she finished she would tell him about hers. They laughed at the similarities between her high school freshman and his college freshman. 

“Do you know what I heard today?” His students always assumed he couldn’t hear them, a fallacy of their youth. 

He could hear her setting her dishes in the sink. “What?”

“One of them said I must have ‘gotten laid recently because there wasn’t as much of a stick up my ass’.” Alice snorted, trying not to laugh. “It’s okay; it’s funny. You can laugh.”

“Mine told me something similar, but not like that. They said I must be in ‘looooove’ because I’m smiling more.” 

Laszlo rocked on his heels. “What do you think?”

“I-” she hesitated, and Laszlo instantly regretted his question. He was known for prying and pushing, and he feared it was too soon. 

“-You don’t have to answer that. I shouldn’t have asked-” Laszlo pinched the bridge of his nose and scrunched his eyebrows. 

“It’s okay, Laszlo. You didn’t push me too much.” He breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “I wouldn’t say I’m in love, yet, but I know I’m happier. What about you?”

“I feel the same.” Laszlo was glad she couldn’t see his cheesy smile.

November was chilly, even with a proper jacket. Stevie shivered and waited outside by the car line for Laszlo. Being late was unusual, so after fifteen minutes Stevie texted him. No response. At half an hour, Stevie called him.

On the last ring before going to voicemail, Laszlo picked up the phone. He immediately apologized, saying he didn’t realize what time it was and he was in the middle of an important meeting. 

“Will you be here soon?” Stevie glanced at the already fading sunlight and emptying parking lot. Laszlo paused, and from that alone Stevie knew the truth. “If you can’t, can you send Mr. Moore or Ms. Howard?”

“I need to get back to my meeting. Try Moore first, and again, I’m sorry.” Laszlo hung up quickly, barely giving Stevie time to think. He huffed a sigh and pulled up Moore’s contact information. Stevie decided to text him first: Doc’s in a meeting. Can you pick me up?

As Stevie waited for a response, he rubbed up and down his arm to warm up. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he eagerly checked. I can, but it could be half an hour to forty-five minutes. Is that okay?

Stevie thought it was better than nothing. He texted back that it was alright, and he thanked him. Since there were still cars in the parking lot, Stevie bet there were still teachers or other staff inside the warm building. He wandered down the main hallway, wondering if he should sit right there, in the library, or find an empty classroom. As he debated this, someone called out his name. His head flicked up, trying to find them. 

Ms. Greene stood at the door of the teacher work room with a stack of papers in hand. Stevie relaxed, knowing she wouldn’t get onto him about loitering around the school like some of his other teachers would. 

“What are you still doing here?” She gestured to him with her pack of copy paper. 

“Waiting to be picked up. Doc’s in a meeting so…” Stevie trailed off, not wanting to admit he had been forgotten.

She nodded once, understanding what he said between the lines. “Why don’t you hang out in my room?”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to keep you if you were about to head out or anything.”

“Please,” she scoffed, “there’s always something I can be working on. Don’t worry about it.”

Ms. Greene set her stack of papers on her desk and sat at her desk. Stevie slung his backpack off and put it by his desk. He looked around thinking how rarely he saw the room empty. It was normally packed with people, every desk was taken, and Ms. Greene would have to dodge backpacks and lunchboxes to walk around the room. By the end of the day, the desks were crooked and out of place, so Stevie started straightening them up.

“When you finish, do you want to clean them?” Stevie froze, not realizing she was paying attention to him. “There’s Clorox wipes in that cabinet.” 

“Sure, yeah.” Stevie was used to tidying up at the Institue when he was bored or restless, so he continued in her classroom. They talked while he worked making the time pass quicker. She asked about school and what other assignments he was working on in the week. He had a history paper coming up, and they were supposed to do another lab soon in biology. Stevie wasn’t worried about the paper, Laszlo taught him how to write an essay over the summer, but he was nervous about the lab. Biology wasn’t his strongest subject, but he liked Ms. Sussman’s class. 

Stevie crouched to pick up an errant highlighter, and when he heard Coach Connor’s voice cut the momentary silence he stayed where he was. In the corner, behind a group of desks, he wasn’t immediately spotted. He moved so he could see between a crack in the desks and watched.

Ms. Green recoiled, almost retreating into her desk corner. Stevie recognized her discomfort as she crossed her arms and furrowed her brow. Her eyes flicked to where he hid and back to Coach Connor. “What are you doing here?” she questioned.

“I saw your car was still in the parking lot.” What is he stalking her? She stayed quiet prompting him to keep speaking. “I wanted to see if you’d changed your mind since the conferences.”

She sighed, clearly at her wit’s end with him, “Patrick, I said no, and I meant it.”

“Are you sure-”

“-I’m sure. I have a boyfriend now, and I don’t appreciate your insistence. It is not professional or appropriate, especially while at the school.” 

Boyfriend? Stevie wondered if it was Doc. They certainly seemed to hit it off at the open house, and it would explain his weird behavior and change in mood. He would keep observing.

Coach Connor’s face flushed red, he grumbled an apology under his breath, and he turned on his heels. Once assured he was gone, Stevie sheepishly stood up from behind the desks. 

Ms. Greene’s face was in her hands. “I am so sorry about that. I don’t even know what to say…” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Stevie shrugged. “Clearly, you didn’t want him here either.

“I noticed you stayed hidden there. Has he been bothering you, too?”

Stevie sat on the desk, fiddling with the highlighter in his hand. “Yeah, kind of. He’s harder on me in P.E., that kind of thing.” He was quick to reassure her. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Are you sure? He shouldn’t be treating you like that, and I know you don’t want to be a snitch or anything, but it’s important to speak up.”

Stevie knew he should, but he didn’t want to create any problems. Doc was happier, possibly because of Ms. Greene, but this afternoon was a reminder of how much he juggled. Stevie would feel guilty adding anything else. 

In the meantime, he could deal with Coach Connor yelling at him or making him run more laps. He could stomach the football players' stupid jokes and isolation, done on Coach Connor’s orders, no doubt. 

“I’m sure,” he answered.

While Alice tweaked her slides for the week, Stevie worked on his homework. He sat at his desk for class which she chuckled at. A classroom of empty desks and students will naturally pick their own desks. Alice enjoyed having Stevie there and providing a safe space for him to wait for his ride, but she also wanted to go home. She was tired and slightly cold, and she wanted to change into a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt. 

“Hello hello.” Alice looked up from her laptop. A tall, well-dressed man with dark hair paused in the doorway. “John Schuyler Moore, and you must be Ms. Greene if the sign outside your door is correct.” He extended his hand for her to shake, and she took it. 

“Yes, I am. You must be here for Stevie.”

“I am, and hopefully he hasn’t given you too much trouble,” John winked. 

“No, he’s been wonderful-”

“-Oh, you thought I meant Stevie, no, no, I meant Laszlo.” He laughed, and she bit her tongue to keep from doing the same. “You’re the one who has to deal with him as a concerned parent.”

Alice smiled. “He’s been wonderful, too. Very communicative.” 

Stevie packed up his bag slowly, keeping an eye and an ear on their conversation. Alice was conscientious that everything she said was being analyzed. 

“It was so polite of you to let him sit in your classroom. You could’ve gone home an hour ago, enjoyed your evening, and yet here you are.”

Alice didn’t miss the way he said enjoy your evening. It was a clear innuendo that she glossed over. “It was no trouble at all. Stevie’s a good kid, and you’re a good friend to come pick Stevie up.”

“I would do anything for a friend like Laszlo. I’ve known him for almost twenty years, and I know he would do anything for me in return. He’s like that, you know,” John shrugged, “he seems tough, but he would give someone the shirt off his back if they needed it.”

“I’m sure he would.” Heat rushed to her cheeks, briefly imagining Laszlo without a shirt and the dark chest hair she would find there, and she cleared her throat. “Stevie, please, don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything. And Mr. Moore, have a good afternoon.”

***

At around nine, Alice got a text from Laszlo. She had just laid down in bed, ready to get warm and comfy for the evening, with a book and a mug of tea. She set her book aside on her nightstand and checked her phone. 

Darling, I am sorry for being so inattentive today, and I want to thank you for letting Stevie stay in your room. I appreciate it. 

Alice’s thumb hesitated over the Facetime button. She hoped Laszlo would pick up and that he didn’t text her and immediately set his phone aside. She didn’t look her best, her hair was pulled back in a messy bun and her face was still red from washing it, but she wanted to see him. 

“Hey Laz,” she smiled at him, but she was concerned. He sat at his desk, dark circles under his eyes, and creases deep in his forehead. She could see a stack of papers spread out in front of him, and he held a fountain pen in his hand. 

Laszlo smiled back at her, and it made her heart skip a beat. “I missed you today,” he drawled. “An emergency case came up, and they needed me at the courthouse and at the juvenile facility, and I have to read all this paperwork for tomorrow morning… But I needed to hear your voice and see your face.”

“Aww,” she blushed, but she knew her face was already red and he probably couldn’t tell. “Thank you, baby. It’s okay to be busy and do what you need to do.” He took a sip of what she assumed was coffee. “I just appreciate a heads up or something if you’re going to be unavailable. I could even plan to keep Stevie for a while or something if you let me know.” 

“That’s very generous of you.”

“But I must say, it was nice to finally meet one of your friends.” Laszlo groaned in embarrassment, and Alice giggled. “He was very complimentary of you.”

Laszlo set down his pen and ran his fingers through his hair. It was nice to see him relax and not think about work for a moment. “What did he say? You know he’s never going to tell me.”

Alice mocked offense. “What makes you think I’m going to tell you either?” He huffed a sigh and chuckled. “It’s admirable, really, the way he spoke about you. He would make a good wingman if you weren’t already taken.”

“John means well, obviously, he just doesn’t know everything yet.” Yet. She wondered when she would meet his friends officially, and he would meet hers. They were still in the beginning of their relationship, but she assumed since she told Bitsy, Laszlo must have told his friends something. Soon, she thought, but hopefully not too soon. Alice liked existing in their secret little bubble.

Although the university semester and the public school system did not line up exactly, there was enough overlap to swamp both Stevie and Laszlo in work. They were two sides of the same coin. Stevie worked his ass off studying and writing papers while Laszlo burned the midnight oil grading exams and essays. He almost fell asleep at his desk with his reading glasses on, trying to understand a student’s ill-conceived paper, when Stevie told him to call it a night.

Laszlo received an email from the school reminding parents, and guardians, the week after progress report cards the school would host a parent teacher conference night. He suspected it was to designate a night for all the overbearing parents to heckle the teachers after grades came back. After all, his office hours were always booked after midterms with crying freshmen begging for extra credit or another chance when they never did the reading to begin with. He always listened, some students had valid or extenuating circumstances, but he was better known for being unrelenting.

Stevie’s grades were excellent. Not valedictorian, but reflective of his work. Laszlo did not consider attending the conference until he received an email from Ms. Greene. 

Dear Dr. Kreizler,

I hope you are doing well, and I hope midterms have not overwhelmed you. As difficult as they are for students, I know grading is no walk in the park either. 

I’m sure you saw the school’s reminder about parent teacher conferences, but I wanted to personally invite you. I have some concerns about Stevie, and I would like to discuss them with you in person. If you are unavailable that night, please let me know and we can schedule another meeting. 

Thank you so much!

Ms. Alice Greene

Laszlo reflected on the last few weeks. In their weekly conversations, she mentioned she thought some of the students might be giving Stevie a hard time. He anticipated it would settle when the novelty wore off, but now he was not sure. Laszlo rearranged his schedule, ensuring he wouldn’t be stuck at the university or working at the Institute and miss the evening.

He asked Stevie if he would like to attend the conferences as well, not mentioning the email from Ms. Greene, but stating that if they were discussing him it was only fair for him to be present. Stevie declined and joked that with Doctor Kreizler there he had the best defense. Laszlo was glad Stevie still thought so, even in jest. Stevie’s only request was for him to bring back dinner after the conference. The refrigerator was empty after midterms, and he wanted to eat something other than eggs and toast. Laszlo laughed and promised to bring back whatever Stevie wanted. 

Apparently, Alice did not learn from her previous mistakes. At open house, the cookies she hand-baked and decorated were barely touched by the parents. And yet, she made cookies for the conferences. Alice decorated them like books, giving each of them a classic literature title, and arranged them on a cookie carrier. 

This far into the year, her classroom was not spotless and picturesque like it was at open house. She swept the floors again, finding half a dozen discarded pens and pencils, and rewrote the information she kept on the whiteboard. Parents and administrators loved to see objectives, standards, and assignments in clearly visible spaces. Looking around, she realized several of the desks never made it to their original places after their group discussions, so she rearranged them. A few desks positioned across from her desk would be suitable for the evening.

The first parent arrived with a sheepish student in tow, and she gestured for them to sit down and take a cookie. Neither did.

***

An hour later, Alice was dying for an iced coffee. She knew drinking one at this time would keep her awake half the night, but she needed something to make her smile. A few of her conversations were genuinely productive, exploring what she and the parents could do to better support the student, addressing her concerns, and building positive relationships. 

However, she had just as many discouraging conversations from parents insisting their child was right and she was incorrect. Bitsy warned her in a more affluent area the parents were more involved and typically more self-righteous, but her expectations did not match reality. They had the audacity to tell her all the ways she did her job incorrectly

She was tired, and she wanted to go home. Iced coffee wasn’t a strong enough drink, but she might settle for it on her drive home. 

Laszlo debated visiting Stevie’s other teachers. He performed well in their classes, and as far as he knew they had no matters to discuss with him. Still, since some of them were communicative with him when he emailed them, he decided to drop by a few classrooms. Laszlo kept his visits brief as he knew he was expected elsewhere. Additionally, he did not want the ice to melt in his surprise.  

“Are these the same recipes as before? 

“What?” Confused, Alice looked up from her desk. He stood by the cookies she no doubt painstakingly designed, and yet looked as if they hadn’t been touched all night. “Oh,” she smiled, “Dr. Kreizler.”

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Ms. Greene.” His sheepish smile was genuine. “I brought you a gift, but maybe I should call it a bribe in exchange for some of these cookies.” He set the iced coffee on her desk and sat down.

“You didn’t have to do that. I would have let you take some home anyway.” She picked up the coffee and read the label. “Decaf? You are intuitive, Dr. Kreizler.” Alice reached into the minifridge behind her desk and grabbed the bottle of coffee creamer. Laszlo did not know how she took her coffee, so once he learned she kept supplies in her classroom he reasoned black was fine and she could sweeten it to taste.

His cheeks reddened, and he hoped it was not terribly noticeable. “I thought you would appreciate a pick me up without it keeping you awake.” She thanked him and urged him to take some cookies. Laszlo debated between them, knowing the flavor was the same, but there were implications based on the titles he chose. 

“Dracula and In Cold Blood. Interesting. I’m totally not judging you based on that now,” she laughed.

“As a literature teacher, what’s your formal determination?” Laszlo evaluated people professionally, and for fun, so he was curious about her opinion. 

“Well,” she took another sip of her coffee and smiled mischievously. He liked the way she crinkled her nose. “Dracula is a classic, and honestly underrated. It’s much more humorous than people think, and the original sotry is often overlooked. And In Cold Blood, well, you must be a true crime junkie. Based on a true story, but obviously dramatized. You probably researched the real case while reading and felt better for knowing the truth.”

Laszlo wiggled his eyebrows. Impressive. He took a bite of his sugar cookie. “And you? What books would you choose?” This was his opportunity to read her.

She checked her watch on her left wrist and playfully sighed. “I was saving these two until the end of the night, but I think you will be the last parent I see tonight.”

“I’m honored,” he demurred.

“And it’s only fair since I judged your taste,” she hesitated for suspense, “so I’ll take Pride and Prejudice and Count of Monte Cristo.”

Laszlo thought for a moment. Her first choice did not surprise him, but her second did. He grappled with the Count first. “The Count of Monte Cristo is complicated, and so are you. You enjoy unraveling plots, and you’re a sucker for a tragedy. As for Pride and Prejudice, you are a romantic, but with particular taste. You want to be swept off your feet as if you were in a Jane Austen novel, but that has not happened yet.”

He tended to push people too far, and Laszlo feared he was too blunt. Ms. Greene was taken aback, the nervous set of her mouth said that, but her eyes told him it was true. She stirred her drink with her straw and took another sip. 

“You’re very insightful, Dr. Kreizler.” She met his eye and held it. He never noticed the flecks of color and how they glimmered even under the fluorescent light. Laszlo wondered how she would look in warm light, candlelight, moonlight. A door slammed down the hall and broke them from their trance. “But, I think we should talk about Stevie.”

“Yes, of course. You’re right,” Laszlo agreed. He pulled a small notebook and pen from his suit jacket pen. At the top of a clean page, he wrote the date and “Conference — Stevie”.

“Stevie is doing well in class. I’m sure you know that from checking his grades and his progress report. That’s not what I’m concerned about, unless his grades start to drop, of course.” Laszlo took notes as she spoke. “I noticed that in my class at least, Stevie doesn’t have a solid group of friends. Which, some kids don’t and that’s completely fine, but there’s a group that has been antagonistic toward him.” His pen scratched to a stop.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Pretty much since the beginning of the year. I know it can be difficult when you don’t fit in—” Laszlo arched an eyebrow, but she ignored it. “— and I’ve spoken with him several times. I’ve done everything except go to administration which he expressed he does not want. However, if the situation escalates then I will have no choice.”

Laszlo sighed wearily. “I have noticed Stevie being quieter, less chatty, than before. On the other hand, he has been out of the house more, too, and I think he has friends in another class”

“I’m glad,” she said. “At least he has some support even if it’s in another class.”

“Stevie has support in your class. You’re an excellent teacher, and I appreciate you telling me what has happened. If you had not noticed, I don’t think anyone would. They lack your observational skills.” She blushed, remembering their earlier conversation. 

Having settled their official business, the conversation wandered again. She asked about his work at the university and the Institute, and he happily answered. Alice noticed his chest seemed to puff up with pride when he spoke about his students and he grew more animated. She enjoyed listening to him, and he made sure to reciprocate and ask her questions when appropriate. 

Alice soon finished her coffee, but she made no moves to leave her desk or pack her stuff. It was only Bitsy’s knock on the open door, and immediate regret, that made her realize how late it grew. Laszlo’s head whipped around at the knock.

“Just checking on you and letting you know I’m headed home. I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Thanks, Bits. I’ll talk to you later.” While Laszlo was turned, Alice mimicked a phone by her ear, signaling Bitsy to call her later.

He arched an eyebrow. “Are you close friends with Ms. Sussman?”

“She’s my work wife, and before that, she was my school sister. Bitsy is the one who told me this school was looking for English teachers, so I have her to thank.” For more than just the job. Alice doubted she would have met Dr. Kreizler any other way.

“It’s good to have friends nearby. As much as John annoys me, I cannot imagine working without him.” He chuckled and glanced at the watch on his right wrist. “My, it’s grown late. You can’t have eaten if you’ve been here all night.”

“What do you mean?” She giggled. “You saw me eat these two cookies and drink this coffee. That’s my dinner.”

“That does not count as a meal.”

“Of course it does, when you count the half a dozen cookies I had between baking them and setting them out.”

He scoffed. “That is not a meal. Delicious, but not a meal,” Laszlo teased. “Would you like a late dinner and to continue our conversation?”

Alice froze. Laszlo’s piercing brown eyes never left her face even when she wished they would. Her cheeks flushed, and she knew if she spoke she would stammer. A million thoughts ran through her head, and she would trip over the words. Alice desperately wanted to accept. Laszlo was handsome, respectable, and polite. An excellent conversationalist, and he listened to her.

Conversely, he was a parent and she was his child’s teacher. It was a moral dilemma, and it must be a breach of ethics. If anyone knew, they could accuse her of favoriting Stevie at Dr. Kreizler’s request, or even worse exchanging sexual favors for better grades. Alice imagined the red tape they would have to go through to be together. 

She took a deep breath in before speaking. “I would like to accept, but I can’t.” The expectant smile disappeared from his face, and it tugged at her heart. “This isn’t a good night for me. I need to check on Georgie, and you need to get back home to Stevie.” He twitched at the mention of Georgie. Alice couldn’t resist a snicker. “Don’t worry, he’s not my boyfriend or anything. He’s my handsome tuxedo cat, and I fear what he will do if I don’t feed him dinner soon.”

Relieved, Laszlo chuckled. He was such a serious man that Alice liked seeing him laugh. She admired the crinkles by his eyes and the way he cracked a smile. His whole face scrunched. 

“Cats and children are not so different. I know Stevie is perfectly capable of making dinner, but I promised him I would pick something up on my way back.” He checked his watch again and stood. “It’s late, and I should leave.”

“Wait, Dr. Kreizler,” Alice scrambled for a post-it-note and pen. “Just because tonight isn’t a good night doesn’t mean I don’t want to have dinner with you.” She wrote her phone number in pink ink.

He blinked twice and accepted the sticky note. “Thank you.” His round cheeks flushed rosy red, and she found it adorable. “I will plan another night, and I should let you return home to Georgie.”

“Goodnight, Dr. Kreizler,” she grinned.

His brows pinched together in thought. “Please, call me Laszlo. There’s no need for such formalities.”

“It’s funny. I still want to call you Dr. Kreizler. Goodnight then, Laszlo.”

He entered the hallway, conscientious that half the lights were dimmed to denote the late hour. His leather messenger bag threatened to slip off his shoulder, but holding a paper plate of cookies he didn’t dare fuss with the bag. Laszlo glanced around for a desk or a table in the hallway to set them down so he could fix it, but instead, he found the blustering figure of Coach Connor.

Laszlo gave the coach an obligatory nod and continued on his way. He did not visit him during the conferences, and his absence was noted. Curious, Laszlo hesitated in the hallway. 

He heard Ms. Greene — Alice! — greeting the coach, and he noted the difference in her tone of voice. It was colder, more rigid and reserved, but still seemingly pleasant. However, Laszlo recognized the difference with a small smile. She wanted the conversation to end as quickly as she could. It was only a minute or two later that Coach Connor reappeared in the hallway, red-faced and grumbling. He became the target of his frustration. 

“Get the hell outta here, can’t you see it’s late?” Laszlo stepped back, but Coach Connor insisted on being in his face. “You shouldn’t be here.” Laszlo opened his mouth to protest, but when he did Coach Connor knocked the paper plate of cookies from his hand. He stormed off, but not before Laszlo could cut in with the final word.

“I see she didn’t offer you any, Coach. Perhaps there’s a reason why.” 

Once he was out of sight, Laszlo knelt to the ground to pick them up. He was not the type of man to leave a mess behind him, and he would hate for her to see them scattered on the floor when she left her classroom. 

***

Laszlo returned home with a box of pizza from Stevie’s favorite pizzeria. He sprung for garlic knots and extra marinara as a treat and poured himself a glass of wine. Stevie commented it was later than expected, considering the conferences ended at eight and it was going for ten now, but Laszlo insisted it was because of a big party at the pizzeria slowing down orders. Stevie shrugged, not pressing the matter, but clearly not believing him. He regarded Laszlo with a suspicious eye.

Laszlo ate and spoke normally, but the sticky note with her number burned a hole in his pocket. He thought about what he might text her, or if he should call her instead. Which restaurant would she prefer? If he went too formal would she be intimidated? But if he went more casual would she be disappointed? Laszlo knew he wouldn’t sleep, but he did not mind. 

Alice scratched Georgie’s ears. He purred while he ate, and he did not allow her to do anything else in her apartment until he fed her. She couldn’t set down her bag, slip off her shoes, or fill her water. Demanding, but her little darling, so she gave him his regular meal and a treat. 

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and sure enough Bitsy’s face covered the screen as her call came in. They shared locations once years ago trying to find the right café and never undid it. Now, Bitsy could tell precisely when Alice arrived home to ask about her evening. She spoke quickly and almost tripped over her words. 

“What happened with you and the doctor? And don’t you act coy with me or lie to me.”

“Well,” Georgie arched his spine as she ran her hand down his back, “he brought me another coffee, but it was decaf this time since it was evening. We talked about Stevie, of course, and you know my concerns about him.”

Bitsy cut her next sentence off. “You know that’s not what I want to know. Tell me what happened after!” 

“Okay, okay,” she laughed, knowing she had every ounce of Bitsy’s attention, “we talked for a long time, and he asked me to dinner. I said no—”

“—What?! Are you crazy?

“No to tonight, Bits, not to anything. I gave him my number so we could plan something for another night.”

“Thank God, you almost gave me a heart attack there.”

“I’m not stupid. Maybe a bit impulsive, or foolish even, but not stupid.” She thought for a minute, knowing she had been standing on the edge of a precipice. Alice took the plunge, giving him her number, and she knew everything would change. She just didn’t know how yet.

Late September, marked by the paling of green leaves to yellow and cooler temperatures, also marked three weeks of school. By this point, students and teachers alike fell into routines and began new projects. Ms. Greene assigned a variety of short stories to her students, and they completed several assignments in preparation for a class discussion. 

Knowing her students as she did, she knew talking would be no difficulty for the discussion. Would they stay on topic? Of course not, but she could always guide them back to the matter at hand. Once or twice in the past week, she needed to nip conversations in the bud, and it troubled her. 

Being a teacher meant picking and choosing her battles. Alice did not remark on every student conversation of questionable nature she overheard. If she did, she would never have any time to teach. However, when she heard rude comments about another student or anything to incite concern, Ms. Greene stepped in. 

Twice she caught members of the football team picking on Stevie, and twice she intervened. As cliche, as it sounded, she spoke to her students about respecting their classmates. Additionally, she rearranged the seating to put Stevie as far from them as possible. The third time, she discreetly asked Stevie to stay a moment after class. 

After a few weeks of school, Alice knew Dr. Kreizler’s assurances of Stevie weren’t just words. She saw how Stevie did the reading with her own eyes, knew the answer when called upon, and showed up prepared for class. True, Stevie kept to himself, but he behaved well and had yet to be spotted in silent lunch or detention. Stevie deserved to be in her class without fear of being ridiculed.

“Who do you have during sixth period?” She kept an eye on her incoming students in the hallway. They knew to wait at the door if she was talking to a student.

Stevie shifted his textbooks and binder from his left side to his right. “Bio with Ms. Sussman, why?” 

Perfect! “If you finish your work early with Ms. Sussman,” Alice almost said Bitsy rather than her surname, “Ask her if she can write a pass for you to come to my room. We can talk more then.”

“Alright,” he shrugged, “I’ll see what I can do.” 

“Don’t worry if you don’t have time today. I’m sure we can work something out by the end of the week.” She bit back a laugh at her good luck. Ms. Sussman. “Now go, before I make you late for your next class.”

“Uh, thanks, Ms. Greene.” 

Stevie left, and Alice hoped he didn’t have to go across the school in a minute. She waved the rest of her students who stood awkwardly by the door in, and she rewinded her powerpoint for the day. At lunch, she could ask Bitsy what her students were doing in class to find out if Stevie would have time or not. If she was lecturing, no chance, but if they did individual practice, Stevie would likely finish before the end of class.

Stevie sat in Laszlo’s office at the Institute whenever he needed to focus on his work. More often than not, the good doctor himself was busy moving from student to student, room to room, to sit in his office. He urged Stevie to sit at his desk when he needed to work, but it weirded him out. Too stuffy and heavy. 

He liked to sit by the window instead. Whenever he got bored and needed a break, he could look outside. Sometimes, he could see the kids laughing and screaming on the playground. Occasionally, Kreizler would stroll around or sit on a bench, watching how they played and taking notes. Seeing him served as a reminder to study. 

Stevie propped his heavy English textbook against the windowsill and sighed. He finished his science work with some time left over, and Ms. Sussman wrote the note surprisingly quickly after he said it was for Ms. Greene. They spoke about the situation, but he didn’t know what else she could do. She spoke to them, she rearranged the seating, and Stevie really didn’t want her to go to the counselor or an administrator or anything.

Stevie didn’t want to cause or be involved in any problems. He knew he was labeled trouble from the beginning, and there was a chance no one but Ms. Greene would believe him. People were dicks, especially Coach Connor’s favorites on the football team. No one would take the word of a teenager with a rap sheet over the star quarterback.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, so he dog-eared the textbook page and closed it. He found a group to sit with at lunch, and they added him to their group chat. They liked video games, cars, and weirdly enough to Stevie, tabletop and board games. Some horror movie was supposed to come out this weekend, and they wanted to see the midnight premier. 

He talked to Kreizler about it in the car. He’d never had friends or midnight plans before, or at least not while he had a guardian who gave a shit about him, and he felt weird asking for permission. But the good doctor encouraged the plans, even offering to drive them to the theater and drop them off. Stevie told him he didn’t have to and there was no reason for him to mess up his plans and be out that late when Mike’s mom already offered to drive. 

Of course, Stevie wasn’t going to tell him that it wasn’t Mike’s mom driving but Mike with his brand new driver’s license, with a curfew and limits still imposed. However, Stevie knew Kreizler would be sound asleep and snoring well before he was due back home.

It was an unusual Saturday night; both Laszlo and Stevie had plans. Stevie left the house in a rush to grab dinner before a midnight movie premier, and Laszlo waved him off from the foyer. In his hurry out the door, he promised to text when they were on their way back. Laszlo was pleased Stevie made friends and plans. It sounded like despite a few troubles here and there, Stevie was settling into school. 

Laszlo had a standing reservation on the last Saturday of every month for a party of three at Delmonico’s. John, Sara, and himself found if they didn’t put their plans in their calendar, it was difficult to ever see each other.  Charlie Delmonico, owner and host, grew accustomed to Laszlo’s peculiarities. He knew to reserve a corner booth on the second floor, with blue walls rather than olive or crimson. Their conversations could take hours as each person discussed their busy lives at the university and the precinct, but they were fantastic tippers. Charlie never rushed them out of their table but instead made them feel welcome. 

Laszlo arrived at the table first and took advantage of their absence, ordering his favorite lingonberry schnapps. He perused the menu in peace, mentally deciding which wine to pair with which course and what dessert to save room for until John and Sara arrived. After several tumultuous years, including John’s misguided engagement with Violet, John and Sara finally decided to be together. They moved in together a few months back, enlisting Laszlo and Stevie to help them, and Laszlo awaited the proposal. Privately, he suspected rather than John going down on one knee, it would be Sara taking the lead. 

“Laszlo! Good to see you again.” John sat down across from him and grinned. “What a hectic month it’s been, so I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you.”

“How are you and how are Stevie?” Sara left the menu folded in front of her. She never strayed from her standard order and hardly glanced at the menu anymore.

“Good and good, I suppose.” Laszlo refolded his napkin and set it in his lap. “Stevie seems to be settling well. He’s made friends, and he’s actually out with them tonight seeing some horror movie.”

“Exciting! Good of the kid. High school goes by much easier with friends, eh Laszlo?” John playfully nudged him, and Laszlo avoided the touch.

Sara, however, caught everything. “Seems to be, you said seems to be. So, why isn’t he?” She stirred her drink with her straw.

Laszlo sighed and leaned back in the booth. “Stevie’s teacher mentioned he’s being heckled by some boys on the football team. He hasn’t said anything to me about it, but then again, he wouldn’t. I’m hoping she and I can discuss it at the conferences in a few weeks.”

“Good,” Sara commended, “problems such as this should be dealt with quickly before they spiral out of control.”

“Don’t think I didn’t see that sly smile, you old dog.” John could be exceedingly astute when it suited him. “She?”

Perhaps it was the schnapps he drank before they arrived, but Laszlo was glad John pressed the subject. While he typically avoided discussions of feelings or romance since Mary’s passing, he wanted to talk about Alice with his friends. Laszlo was of two minds about her. 

“She and I have had a few conversations, mostly over email, but some in person. Obviously, Stevie and school were our main talking points, but the conversation wandered a few times.” Sara noticed a blush creeping up on his cheeks. “I may have shown up a time or two in the afternoon with two coffees instead of one and discussed books with her, but I was waiting for Stevie to finish at his locker.”

“How scandalous,” Sara joked wryly. 

“Well, it could be.” Laszlo set his fork aside. He adored Delmonico’s, but he could not enjoy his meal when he was at an impasse. “That is why I have not done anything more drastic. She is Stevie’s teacher, and if we were to pursue a romantic relationship it would pose a serious ethical dilemma. Not to mention, I am at least a decade older than her.”

“Oh, Laszlo, you’re thinking with your head again instead of your heart.” Laszlo rolled his eyes. John and his hopeless optimism when it came to love. “You should go for it, and that’s not the wine talking. It’s been a long time since you’ve been in a relationship, unless you’ve been hiding anything else from us?” he teased. “It sounds like this teacher is interested in you, so instead of conveniently bringing coffee to her, ask her if she wants to go get coffee.”

“As for the age difference,” Sara took a sip of her sparkling water, “some women find it appealing. You will never know if you don’t try.” Sara herself was several years younger than John, so she spoke from experience. 

“If she says no, then you have your answer and can move on. No more emailing, no more talking, and it’ll only be awkward for the rest of the year.”

***

Laszlo checked the time and decided to call a cab rather than drive. He would still be home well before Stevie, and it was the safe decision given how much he drank at dinner. It would give him time to think, as well, about their advice. 

Ms. Greene was young and bubbly. He did not want to misconstrue kindness as flirtation or politeness for eagerness. How embarrassing it would be to make that mistake, red-faced and ashamed. Laszlo would never be able to face her again. 

No, Laszlo knew someone as lovely as her could not be interested in him. Not at his age, checking for gray hairs every time he trimmed his beard, or with his harsh reputation for terrifying students and dissecting minds. And, especially not with his baggage. Laszlo was not sure anyone interested in him would stay after learning more.

He rubbed his arm as if it were sore. It did not ache, but holding it brought him comfort. He yearned to be home, in his four-poster bed, with a bottle of Tylenol in hand. Laszlo knew he would be sound asleep before Stevie came home, but he knew he would be safe and smart. Or at least, he hoped. Stevie still vaped despite his best efforts to make him quit, but Laszlo couldn’t chastise him when he craved a cigarette.

Next chapter

–

Days had gone by without sign of the boy. You haven't stepped a toe in the water, partly due to the anxiety. Convincing yourself it was a trick of the mind was easy, believable. But the soreness and lack of scabbing when you still had dry blood stains on your sandal was harder to explain.

It almost felt lonely for the first time on the beach. Despite no one ever being there prior, the boy seemed to have a lasting effect for the short time he was there. The warm sand wasn't as comforting as before, and the sound of the waves gliding up the shore didn't echo as a calming background soundtrack anymore. It stirred your emotions between sadness and anger. Anger that the town's superstitious ways possibly got to your new friend, sadness that you were now back to being the only person to step foot on the beach.

The anger was taking over, boiling in your veins as you stared out at the vastness of the water. Your brain was done with sensible thoughts, now turning against the water itself. Damn the water for ruining the friendship. Damn the water for being so mysterious that people make up stories just to explain strange occurrences. Damn the water for having so many secrets. Damn the water for scaring everyone away. Damn the water for housing unknown creatures that strike fear and cause harm. Damn the water for hiding whatever or whoever you met that day. Damn the water for not bringing him back.

Before you knew it, your foot was kicking at the incoming waves in frustration. The silliness of the action didn't overshadow how good it felt. You kicked again, relishing in the movement. Like throwing a pebble into a canyon, the action meant nothing, but the movement of your foot meeting the push of water brought a nostalgic feeling. One that reminded you of your small baby feet splashing in a pool, surrounded by family long gone now.

Perhaps this was why you craved the presence of the boy and creature to return. The overwhelming loneliness had gone unnoticed before, but seemed deafening now.

You stepped further in the water, willing for the creature to return. It had to, you needed it to.

He kept his distance for a while. Staring at you on the beach as he sat beneath the shade of the overgrown trees at the very end of the beach. Every bit of him was called to you. His waking thoughts pondered your movements while his dreams centered around you seeing him for the first time without the veil of the water. The dreams would usually involve that sweet voice of your's saying words he recognized but couldn't quite remember the meaning of.

Water droplets danced down his scales as he sat on a long-dead overturned tree, the trunk suspended above the waterline with the roots on land and the branches in the water. He was hidden enough under the canopy of leaves on the surrounding trees. Far enough away to blend in with the plants and water, but close enough to keep a curious eye. You spent almost everyday staring out at the water, glancing back at the entrance to the beach, sighing when neither gave you what you yearned for.

When the anger finally came to a head, you ran to the water, kicking it with a force he had never seen from you. It would have been humorous had it not tugged at his heart. He wanted to swim into your arms and assure you it would be okay, whatever it was you were upset about. Part of him believed it was because you wanted to see him again. He wanted that desperately to be true. With each kick you gave to the water, he felt the same emotion toward land.

Damn the land for hiding you for so long.

You walked further in the water, head held high and palms open at your sides. It felt like a welcome. A calling to him. Despite his earlier hesitations, he hopped off the tree and into the water. The sound of splashing alerted you to him, and though he was still a distance away, you flinched back. He continued on slowly toward you, his head nose-up above water. His eyes were trained on you, waiting for you to give any sign you would run, but as he grew closer your body relaxed. It was as if you were waiting for him all this time, like his hopes were true. Each inch closer, he could visibly see the tension in your muscles dissipating.

You stood in the shallow water waiting, the waves only coming up to your knees. He knew you hadn't seen his full face, and he wanted to change that, but he also knew to take it slow. This was new for him, as much as it was for you. His anxieties over losing you due to his non-human features crept under his skin, tingling at the back of his skull. He stopped deep enough in the water to sit comfortably with his tail tucked under him, his back hunched over so he could keep half his face under the water. It was your turn in this dance now. And he hoped with everything you would make the move.

Your legs felt like jello as they sludged through the water toward the boy. He didn't flinch as you drew near, a good sign. You paused two feet in front of him, taking in the visuals he allowed you to have. His soft eyes, the bridge of his nose, the curves of his cheekbones, his hair. The same hair you saw underwater on the other beach. Was he... Has the creature and the boy been the same person this whole time?

You held out your hand, the nerves raging under your skin prevalent in the unsteadiness of your arm. His brow knitted, eyes glancing between your face and outstretched hand, until he finally understood. His long nails appeared like razors rising out of the water, followed by his webbed fingers. His palm met yours delicately. You stared for a while at his hand, and he at yours. The difference in texture, colors, temperature. It was invigorating.

After a moment, you enclosed your hand around his, giving it a small shake. "Nice to finally meet you." His brow furrowed again before repeating your movement, his eyes focused on your joined hands. You smiled down at him as you released your grasp. His hand slid back underwater but your's remained outstretched. You can't officially meet until you see his face. You needed to know what he looked like, to put a full face to this creature haunting your thoughts.

Your hand slowly moved toward him, dipping underwater to find his chin. You waited a moment, in case he wasn't ready. But he straightened his back, his full face appearing from the water. The gills on the side of his neck wiggled as he breathed in the air. He was beautiful.

His pale neck led down to thin shoulders, slender collar bones jutting out at sharp angles. His skin had a bluish hue in the sunlight, an almost ghostly cast. A drawing on his upper chest caught your eye. A tattoo?

He looked up at you with wide eyes, waiting. Your hand remained on his chin as you bent down on one knee to get a closer look at him, the cool water seeping into your shorts causing a shiver to run through you, or was it him? Your eyes meeting this close felt right, like this was meant to happen. You turned his chin to the right so you could investigate his gills, now unmoving above water. Your other hand reached out and lightly grazed them causing him to flinch away with a smile. Did that tickle him?

Your hands on him rose his body temperature greatly, he almost felt like he was on fire. The flames eating him from the very tip of his tail, scorching him up to the placement of your fingertips on his chin. This felt so right, it was almost unbelievable his people kept him from this experience for so long.

After you explored his gills, he grabbed your chin and looked at your neck as you did to him earlier. He admired the veins running underneath the skin, the lines of blue and purple just underneath. The pulsing of your blood moving there. Your skin so smooth and soft, the lines and bends of your neck leading down to your collarbones. He brushed his palms down the curve of your shoulders and on the sides of your arms. You played with a curl of his hair.

You looked at him with such softness, he could never understand the need to hide from you. Years he had been alone, when you were right there on land. All this time a human with no ill will toward him. Damn, damn the land.

His patience never wavered as you examined his tail, playing with the scales, brushing the tailfin with amazement. Each touch caused a reaction from him, a preen almost. He would smile back at you with tight lips, but you didn't want to push his limits.

"Can you talk?" He stared back at you, unmoving. The blank expression on his face gave his answer. "So that's a no." His soft eyes took in your every movement, watching with curiosity as you tried figuring out next steps.

A sharp stab from your pocket hit you as you leaned forward on your knee. You reached in, pulling out the little shell for him. He gasped, finally opening his mouth to reveal his sharp teeth. Two rows of needles lined behind his lips. Lips that curled into the sweetest smile when he gently took the shell from your open palm. Though his teeth were unnerving, his giddiness at your gift made you smile back. He examined the shell closely, despite it only being an inch and a half big. He looked at it like it was the greatest gift he's ever been given.

His brain was going miles a second, not fully understanding why he felt the need to do it, or what it meant, but he choked out, "t-thank you-u." He realized too late what he had done, using his voice in the presence of a human. His kind only used their voices to lure humans to their ultimate death as a meal. To hypnotize them into a trance unbreakable by anything but the voice. He looked up in fear, only finding you in shock, your mouth hung open with wide eyes to match. You resembled the humans lured into the water when they realized, far too late, their destiny. He'd really done it now, ruining everything. He'd never forgive himself for bringing you harm.

His body temperature began to sink again, the heat leaving his body in shame. He dropped his gaze down to the water sloshing around his torso. He wouldn't know how to break the trance, having never done it himself before. Would you stay like this forever? Would it eventually wear off? Would he have to kill you to break you out it? The thought punched through him, the air feeling heavy in his lungs for the first time since the first moment he ever sucked in a breath of fresh oxygen.

"You can speak!"

He looked back up at you, finding utter joy and excitement on your features. The light in your eyes somehow brighter now, despite the sun not moving. Your happiness was contagious. The smile took over his lips, curling the corners of his mouth into a wide smile.

He had no idea what he said, but you clearly liked it. "Thank you," he repeated, the words foreign on his tongue. He didn't like their taste, but for you he would say them over and over. You practically vibrated at hearing him speak. He repeated the words again until they didn't taste so bad in his mouth.

Your smile fell as he continued repeating his gratitude. This must be the only phrase he knew. Something he picked up from overhearing humans. He could speak, but he didn't know words. The thought of teaching him warmed your heart, but the reality of coming to the beach daily to teach him was laughable. Afterall, you would only be teaching him to benefit you. To talk to you. What about him? He probably had a whole family to get back to. Other creatures waiting for him back in the depths of the water, worrying where he may be. Yet here he was, sitting with you, as he had for many days before (though you didn't know it until now).

The boy, the creature. The same being. It was impossible to believe this was your current situation. Sitting next to a mythical creature, one that not only isn't as dangerous as you've been told your entire life, but has the enthusiastic friendliness of a toddler. His wide eyes continue searching your body for differences. When he finds a freckle, he marvels at it, touching so gently. He attempts to rub it off, his brows knitting when he's unsuccessful. He's adorable, and you want to show him the world!

The world... a beach dropoff away. It's cruel and fearful of anything it doesn't understand. Anyone could look over the dropoff and see a creature caressing your body, thinking you're under the spell and in danger. The truth couldn't be farther from that, but no one would understand.

Regardless of your wishes, a voice shouts from the shore, "WHAT IS THAT?" A moment of silence is all you have for the realization to kick in. The shrill of multiple screams and the advancing steps through water as the townsfolk rush to 'save' you drown out your voice as you whisper to him, "I'm sorry."

He's wide-eyed, confused whether to protect you from your own kind, or let you go. Protecting you meant killing humans. He's never done that before. Though, he absolutely would if it meant keeping you safe.

But you stand, rushing toward the oncoming crowd as an attempt to cut the humans off from getting too close to him. Two large men sneak past you and head right toward him. He knows this is goodbye forever as he glances back at you. The final visual he'll have of you, holding your arms out in front of you as the other humans are shouting in your face, surrounding you, grabbing you. They pull you away, but you look back for him.

Your eyes meet, if only for a moment. The only thing he sees on your face is complete fear and as he ducks underwater to swim away, he knows why. One hand grips the edge of his tailfin so harshly, he's sure it's ripped. Another hand finds his arm as he fights against the restraints. Each strong whip of his tail rips the fin further sending shocks of pain and adrenaline through him. He can hear you screaming. Your cries sound pained, scared.

The water continues splashing as he fights for his freedom. He catches a glimpse of the shore, it's closer now. He's being dragged to it one step at a time. A crowd of humans has gathered at the edge of the water, their scent overwhelming. He thinks he can smell blood. Waves splash around him in crimson, his fin bleeding into the water. His head is full of energy– swim away, eat, scared, hungry, pain. You.

He catches sight of you, held back by other humans. You're not safe, fighting to reach him as multiple arms slide around your body as a barrier. Tears roll down your cheeks as you scream for him to be set free. Tears mean pain, and that's the last thing he ever wants you to feel.

His pupils grow dark, swallowing his iris. He's nearly to land now, and these humans look like a buffet.

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The warm wind of the afternoon rushed between your legs as you stood at the surface of splashing water. The pocket your hand rested in, previously home to the gifted shells from your newest 'friend', now storage for the little bits of sand remnants that fell from the shells. They prick your fingers, but it somehow feels nice. Like it's proof that you didn't imagine another person actually sitting in the water after all these years.

The water was empty aside from the little fish taking in the heat from the shoreline sand. He seemed to disappear in the time you left for lunch. Though, you're sure you never saw anyone like him walking around the streets from your house. Your house only separated from the little walkway to the beach by a street meant you could keep an eye on the visitors. Maybe he swam to another shore around the rocks. He seemed to love being in the water!

He was so odd, finding solace in the one thing the town seemed to fear. Perhaps he didn't know the tales of the hundreds of missing people, the sightings and sounds of something not quite human, but not quite fish. He seemed lonely with how he acted toward you. The gifts but lack of words, the inability to maintain eye contact. If he was scared, he would've left, but he didn't. Shy, that's what he was. He didn't know you. As far as he was concerned, you bothered him.

You needed to give him a reason to trust you!

The town you lived in was small, but had beaches galore. The one outside your house was closed in, high rocks separating it from other openings to the water. No doubt the guy had picked up every shell to exist in or out of the water there. So another beach nearly opposite your's was possibly unexplored by him. It was a distance away, a mile or so, with uneven ground on the path in between. Little shore towns like this are adamant they stick with their history, and that always means keeping the rocky footpaths that only get worse with age.

Riding your bike on the street would've been a better option, had it not been so hot, steam could be seen rising off the surface. Your rusty old bike would melt, knowing your luck.

Your sandals slid and flopped against the porous surface of the rocks. These rocks were probably here for thousands of years, before humans even lived on the land. Now they were merely a guide to your next destination. The blinding white of the worn rock contrasted the deep grays of the spots where rain would gather in tiny pools. Tiny pebbles gathering in the crevices, like small offspring. One pebble, about a third the size of your palm caught your eye. It was dotted with holes, white playing against black in a poke-a-dot battle of color. The texture was something to behold, like the scallop shell you were given. A perfect exchange.

The rock bounced in your pocket with each uneven step. The sun above was relentless, but the tall trees surrounding you on each side of the path provided enough shade to keep only a light sweat blooming from your skin. Sounds of water sloshing against land grew louder as you approached the shore, but the heat hit harder here. You cursed yourself for not bringing a bottle of water. The dryness of your mouth irked you as you imagined the cool waves clearly in your mind. Your feet couldn't carry you fast enough to feel the force of the chilly water as a release from the sun.

In the distance you could hear voices from the shops a few blocks away along the main street that circled the little town, like a barrier between the houses and water. Ice cream shops, restaurants, little boutiques. After your search, you'll have to stop at the ice cream parlor for a sweet, cold snack. For now, the shore lay ahead, the waves pushing and pulling against the golden sand– a welcome and a dismissal curled into one.

You finally reached the last step. The anticipation clouding your judgement as your sandal met rock but slid sideways on the unbalanced object. The skin of your knee kissed the sharp edge and you landed with one leg curled beneath you, the other awkwardly stretched in front of you. The scratch across your skin was felt long before you saw it. It pulsed with pain, buzzing incessantly against your muscle. It was more annoying than painful, and only soured your mood further. You sat there for a moment, gathering breath before finding your balance on your feet and assessing the damage. The scrape wasn't too deep, but ran along your mid-calf up to your knee. The skin was open and flushing with blood attempting to scab over. Small drops of crimson bubbling from the wound and starting to drip. You brushed a hand over it, attempting to flick off any little pebbles and specks of dirt. The blood smeared across your skin, shining against it in a crimson stroke. You sighed, further aggravated at your now dirty leg, before continuing your walk. The water would help clean it off.

He twiddled his webbed thumbs as he assessed his collection. Your reaction to his shells weren't telling in your preferences. He had given shiny and matte, textured and smooth. Different colors. Different shapes. You reacted the same to each. Maybe a conch would gain a better reaction, or a starfish. After all, these were his favorite of his collection and he cherished them. He wouldn't part with them unless it was for you. For you, he would give the ocean, his home. Just by hearing your voice, he was a goner. You would most likely never accept him, but he was your's. His first and only human. His... friend.

For a while after you left, he played your words in his head over and over like a trance. Questioning the meaning, the sounds, the way your lips moved around each word. He needed to see you again. The desire just to listen to you speak was enough to keep hopeful in his lonely, desolate life. Eventually you would stop talking, waiting for an answer that would never come from him, but for now you seemed satisfied with his presence.

The starfish was long dead, white with long spiked legs. The legs twisted in different directions. Had it not been found on land, the creature would have been eaten by now. But it's once slimy body was a solid shell now, even in water. He held it up to the sunrays sparkling against the water's surface a few yards above him. This was perfect, at least two visits worth, if not more. But he'll bring more shells to the next one, just in case.

As he studied the skeleton in his hand, the scent hit him like a wall. It was far. Miles. But it's a scent that hasn't graced his nose in what felt like centuries. Blood. Human blood.

His pupils grew large, nearly devouring the brown iris surrounding them. He was hungry now. An insatiable hunger he hasn't been able to curve in so long. The shell drops from his grip, long forgotten while his true nature takes over. He's swimming toward the scent faster than he's ever gone before. The teeth crowding his mouth ache with the anticipation, his fingers clenching so deep in his palms the sharp nails pierce his skin. He can't feel it, not when his brain has already pinpointed the exact location of his meal.

As he dives past the shore you would meet him, he can smell your scent. At first he thinks it's just a lingering thought of you held by the water, until he feels the small vibrations in his chest. You're in the water, just not here. It nearly knocks him out of the trance, but the scent of blood is stronger as he nears land. He rushes around the curves of the sand and rocks, desperately trying to satisfy his overwhelming desire.

The drumming in his chest grew stronger with each mile closer. His heart beating fast enough to drill his ears. The water grew warmer as the sand crept up on the surface of the water, but it did little to stir him. He spotted the crimson dancing in the water, floating around the open wound like an arrow pointing exactly where he wanted. The legs stood knee below the water, hands gliding over the damaged skin attempting to sooth the wound.

His tail shot him toward his intended meal, the hunger uncaring on how close he was to land, and who would see him. A distance away the legs dribbled sweet, luscious blood into the water, unable to clot the wound. His belly twisted with the scent being so close, and he could barely remember himself in the moment. He licked his lips, drawing closer to the legs, reaching a webbed claw out before stopping two yards away.

He knew those legs.

The moment your feet touched the water, instant relief overcame you. The crisp water between your toes, delicately licking your ankles. The water was nudging you further in with each pull of the waves, enough of an invite to abandon your sandals on the shore and walk in up to your knees. It soothed the scratch and brought comfort to your mood. The waves absorbing the strain in your muscles.

Had you not come here for a purpose, you would dive in head first, letting the water devour you in a chilly embrace.

The water on this side was lighter, more clear. It's color around your knees now tainted a purpl-ish with your blood. It flowed in concentric circles with the natural movement of your legs. The idea of being eaten by a creature on this side of the town seemed infinitely worse with how gruesome the water would get.

The clearness meant it was easier to spot the tiny creatures swimming around the floor below. Small fish and crabs scouring to get away from your feet, while some fish, slightly larger, took up their confidence in getting closer to you. You watched as they bobbed back and forth, as though debating the distance. Curious little things, with no concept of danger. Their little fins barely handling the movement of the water.

The bloody water had started blocking the view of your little onlookers. Though you didn't want to scare them away yet, you leaned down and brushed a hand over the wound to clean it off. The fish, now intimidated, disappeared further into the safety of the water. Little specks of dirt and rock began floating around your calf, and the blood didn't seem to stop. For such a small scrape, the water made it seem like an open gash in your leg. You continued rubbing it, hoping the wound would magically clean with the movement.

Ahead of you, a dark shadow moved in the water. It was too far for you to make out the shape, but it was big. Sharks would never come out this far, you're almost sure of it. You took a cautious step back, afraid moving too fast would signal an attack. The shadow remained still, waiting. It could just be a large fish investigating the aroma of blood. Or a creature... the ones you were told to fear. The ones you were reminded of day in and day out growing up. The reason you weren't allowed in the water in the first place.

This one stayed put, not advancing nor abandoning their prey. They were studying you, you could feel it. Never coming close enough to be seen through the clear water, but also not leaving you be. Was it waiting for something?

Every inch of you wanted to kneel down and look under the water at your observer. It was dumb and would get you killed. But odd men throughout past generations had seen these creatures, described them in a variety of ways. Now you had the chance to actually see one. Tell the town whether or not the tales they told were really true. Draw a vivid picture for the scientists who gave up searching years ago.

You took a step forward, back to your original spot in the sandy floor. The shadow remained still, floating like a dark cloud on a sunny day. It's attack inevitable, but the wait was worse. Your heart was beating so loud, you could have sworn the water was vibrating from it. The circles around your knees had nearly dissipated before you took another step into the water closer to the shadow. Still it remained. The water was now at your mid-thigh, bouncing around with small kitten licks up and down your skin. One half step forward and the water just barely grazed your crotch. Your shorts turning a deeper blue as the material sucked up liquid.

Your fists curled at your side, the anxiety consuming your senses. The world had grown quiet as you waited. Further in now, the water wasn't nearly as clear. The tint a bit darker, the floor murkier. Your feet were only a blurred shape now. But you waited, still. As did the shadow. With each dip and reach of the waves around you, the chilly water was starting to cause goosebumps across your skin. You barely noticed the blood on your wound had stopped flowing, too focused on the task at hand.

The possibility of the creature escaping was high, and much more frightening than the thought of what it could actually do to you. The idea, however, instantly fell away once it moved an inch closer. And then another. So slowly it crept forward, a long cylindrical shadow floating just above the sand, deep enough to stay blurred under the water. It had stopped about a foot away, weighing the next move. You could see the head, rounder than its body, swaying in the water. Hair.

Thoughts of your death overtook your mind. It could be a while before anyone even noticed you missing. No one would check the water. No one would think you were that stupid to do the one thing you were constantly told not to do.

The creature drew closer to your feet and you froze in place. It reached in front of it with a bright, pale arm, stopping centimeters from your toes. The hair floating around its head in a messy crown. You took a deep breath and held it before you felt the cold touch on your foot... of skin. The creature's other hand mirroring the same actions on your other foot. It was soft, delicate, experimental. The touch would have gone unnoticed except for the temperature, and the fact you were seeing it.

The hands slid up to your ankles, poking a little at the bone, feeling the curve and dip of it. It tickled a bit, but you remained still. This creature could change it's mind at any time, and you could instantly become food. If it wasn't just checking out its meal beforehand.

The fingertips glided further up, inspecting the bone running along the front of your calf, the muscles cushioning it around. You noticed the fingers neglecting to touch the wound. The touch had become firmer, more sure you wouldn't suddenly take off.

As the hands reached further, you were able to make out more features. Long nails at the end of each finger, the digits webbed together. The arms bony thin, but muscular enough to withstand the strength of the water. They contoured with each pinch against your leg, testing the dexterity.

You looked past the arms, to the hair. Little brown curls bounced with the sways the creature gave to stay afloat in the water. The hair was long, shiny in the sunlight. Under the hair was a thin torso, bones wriggling with every arm movement and rock of its body. The pale skin fades into a glittering collage of turquoise and blue scales. The tail was round around the hips and tapering off into a thinner shape near the tail fin. You could only really see up to the middle of the tail before the water blocked the rest from view. It was beautiful, awe-inducing.

Your attention was too focused on the shape of the creature to notice it had dipped its head closer to your legs. The eyes surveying the wound closely with a specific interest on the open skin and spots of clotted blood. The fingers poking at the skin around it, causing it to flush and return back to color.

What the fuck was he doing? He should have swam miles away by now, as far from the human standing before him as possible. Your presence unfaltering in the water was enough to keep close. He could still smell your blood, and his hunger never faded, but something new was happening. He could feel it.

Your foot had brought you closer once. Then twice. Then again. He could see up to your round thighs now, and felt the urge to feel them. Your legs looked so lively, pumping with blood, your muscles moving under your skin. He was almost jealous. You had legs.

He approached cautiously, afraid he would scare you off, but you stood your ground. From the floor, he could barely make out your face. Your head a featureless circle sitting atop your shoulders. He probably looked the same to you.

Your feet looked so strange, little toes leading into flat-topped feet. And you had two! The veins jutting along the top reminded him of the shell he gave you. Textured, but soft. He felt along your ankle, wondering the mechanics behind it. His fin flowed, no bones to withhold movement. How did humans swim with such strict bodies?

As he came up to your shin, he did his best to ignore the wound and instead took to studying your muscles and bones. Your skin was slightly thicker here than your foot, more porous, but less bumpy than the veins on your feet. You were so warm, so soft his hands could glide along your skin. You were everything he wasn't.

Your skin was flexible when he pinched. He could push and pull it to his every whim. The skin would grow lighter under his pushing fingertips and then back to normal when he pulled them away. Dead bodies never did that.

He really did his best to ignore the wound, but the look of the open flesh was magnetic. He was so hungry, but the thought of hurting you made him nauseous. Instead, he inspected it closely, pulling himself closer to look at it. His nose inches away from your leg. The blood was no longer drifting into the water, but scabbed. The skin was still open, a pink-ish hue peeking through the skin. Something in his brain flipped and he did it without second thought. Sticking his tongue out, he leaned in and licked along the open skin. It tasted divine. He gripped onto your ankles holding you in place as he licked again. And again.

He nearly dug his teeth in, letting his instincts take over and shutting his brain off the world, but then he remembered it's you. He let go of your ankles quickly, pushing himself back a bit as if he was the one hurt. His arms hugged his torso in comfort, his tail curling under him. How could he go against his true nature like this? Turning down his own needs simply because you interested him? His people would be so disappointed. They would scorn him, banish him to the deepest, darkest parts of the ocean.

You stood there still, probably worried you did something wrong. Your feet digging into the sand beneath in anxiousness. He hugged his tail closer as you started turning away to head back to shore. The thought of chasing after you to continue this little introduction was enticing, but he was already disappointed in himself enough. He stayed curled up there long after your feet left the water, even after the sun went down.

His stomach gurgling in his little ball was the only sound he let himself hear.

You were admiring the figure when it had jerked back suddenly, as though your skin had burned it. One moment it was exploring your legs, the next it was curling up on itself. Was this something natural? Did you scare it? Your thoughts were racing, your toes digging into the sand. It stayed like that for a bit, not attempting to move toward you again. You had overstayed your welcome in the water, and the creature had enough.

Turning back to land, you glanced once behind you to see the creature still in the same position. Maybe another time you'll meet again. For now, this was over.

You reached the shore, your shorts dripping at the bottom, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care. Your sandals lay in the same spot you left them on the sand and you dug your toes into them with a slight hint of fury, aimed at yourself. You didn't think you did anything wrong, but your focus was so occupied, you may have flinched and scared it. Or maybe something on your skin hurt it. All your thoughts were blaming you for ruining the moment.

You glanced down at your legs for a moment to notice the wound was gone completely. As though it was never there in the first place. The creature had healed you.

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When humans stopped entering the water, his people left in search of a better hunting ground. Sirens need food to survive, and although they prefer humans, they can survive off the creatures of the water. He had never taken a human life, merely fed off the scraps of a kill brought in by another siren. It was said, the more a siren kills, the stronger they become, the more irresistible. For this reason, he never appeared to humans. He feared he would scare them before even getting close due to his lack of irresistibility. He could practically hear his people lecturing about the dangers of being seen by the wrong human. "They'll spear you, and scale you before you're even dead. Maybe put you in a glass bowl so they can point and stare. No humans unless they're food."

His tail bobbed in the shallow water, scales glittering in the soft, hazy sunrise. Each thrust of a wave against him felt like a beckoning to go back home, to go back to safety. Yet he felt you were different. You waited for him, didn't you? He watched while you looked through your reading, took in your gentle movements with each page flip.

The sandcastle stood tall on the beach still. The shell on top a shiny white. He had heard about the ways of humans raising a white cloth to signify peace, but he had no cloth and was forced to work with what he had. After all, the shell was pretty enough, despite its little size. Had he not seen you, he would have added it to his collection.

You made him a giver, not a taker, combatting his true nature. He had barely even smelled you, and you were already having such an effect on him. The moment you entered the waters, his waters, he knew he had to act. But humans look so different alive than they do when floating dead. He had no idea what to do other than gawk at you beneath the water. Your legs glided through the water flawlessly and you didn't even have fins! Your body heat charged the waves with electricity, giving the water a new life it yearned for after being empty for so long. He had to touch you just once. Reaching out a webbed hand toward your hip, where your tail would have started if you were born in his world, he pinched the skin. Immediately pulling away when you ran, but needing more. The electricity shocked him. You were so warm and soft, no slime or scales. Your energy was a magnet, or perhaps he was lonely after all this time.

The sun had reached over the water's horizon fully, but the sand was still empty, aside from the castle. With each passing moment without you, the castle felt like a taunting joke to him. A glimpse into the world he could never enter, cursed to the water to live in darkness, surrounded by dead things. Perhaps, you would come back if he brought more gifts. You came when he gave you the shell, what about more?

Swimming as fast as his tail could glide, he dove through the schools of fish on their daily route in search of food. The little ones ducking behind their elders as he dove around. At any other time, they would be food, but he was on a mission. The cove was a distance and he wasn't as fast as before. Fish weren't nearly as nutritious to a siren's system as humans, but he made do.

The rock formations wound in wide loops, openings peaking out every which place. It was perfect for him. Enough light streaming in from the distant surface to signify the time of day, deep enough to prevent any surface creatures from finding him during rest, and large enough for his collections. The shells clung to the floor in their dead state, lacking algae or sand. He was peculiar about his collections, making sure they were clean always. In a siren mate, this was respectable and sought after. Even with no one around to impress, he found it helped pass the time.

Did you prefer flat shells? Shiny? Shells with intricate designs? He had so many, he wanted to show them all. Grabbing a maroon-and-white scallop with deep ridges, and a pure white tulip shell with a shiny outer-edge, he set off back to the beach. The water was becoming crowded with the day fish, commencing their business as they did a few hours prior. Dodging his fellow water creatures was a task, and the shells slid around in his slimy hands. If he didn't get them to the beach, the possibility of you not coming back was likely, and it was something he couldn't risk.

The fish parted as he passed, letting the larger body through to prevent harm to their smaller frames. They were aware of him in these waters, swimming around carelessly with no tasks. Many had fallen prey to his hunger, but he didn't seem interested for now. No cause for concern.

The shallow edge of the water was approaching and his speed decreased with every inch. The doubt began setting in that he chose the wrong shells. Now you would never come back. When his tail began dragging along the floor and the crown of his head kissed the water's surface, he stopped. Sinking to the floor in a huff and staring daggers into the gifts in his webbed fingers. He barely noticed your foot dipping into the water's edge in front of him. But then he felt it, that electric charge. A human in the water. Your scent permeated his gills and nostrils. You were here!

How would one approach a human without intent to eat? This was never covered by his people, and his ancestors would surely scorn him for even thinking it. But then you were approaching and he was crawling back with intense fear. You were feet away, staring right at him. His hair floating around him in a crown on the surface being a dead giveaway.

"Hey, it's okay! I won't hurt you," you tried. He stopped moving at hearing your voice.

Slowly raising his head above water, he did his best to keep you from seeing the parts of him non-human. You stood tall above him, the water only coming up to your upper-thigh.

Your giggle was like a melody he would never stop replaying in his head. Were you a new form of siren? Was this why he was drawn to you so much?

"You can really hold your breath! How have I never seen you before?" Your inquisitive nature was unnerving. His human language skills were a little rusty from time. He could always just nod and smile wide, like he would do during lectures from his people. But his teeth! The sharp needles filling his mouth weren't human in the slightest. You would know. He clenched his jaw shut tightly, looking anywhere but you.

"Alright then. Secretive. I like it. Well, this beach is public, so you can use it whenever you like. I'm just happy it isn't only me out here!" Your arms are swinging everywhere while you talk, gesturing at the sand, the ocean, the sky, him. He wants to disappear beneath the water but then he remembers the gifts. You're about to turn around and head back to the beach when he shoves a shell into your hand and hides his webbed fingers beneath the water quickly. You look at him concerned, then to your hand. The shell is beautiful, full of rich browns, reds, and whites. It's a scallop, one of your favorite shells. You run your fingers over the ridges, taking in the texture from years of formation.

"Is this what you were doing down there? Searching for shells?" Your wide eyes draw him closer by a few inches. Should he speak? What if just talking causes you to fall under the siren spell? He nods awkwardly, not wanting to risk it.

"This is a good find! You deserve to keep it," you tried handing it back to him. He dipped his head lower under the water until the tip of his nose was beneath the surface. His head was searching for the gesture for 'no' but his brain was short-circuiting. This was overwhelming and beyond comprehension. He was trying to befriend a human! What would his people think if they were here? On second thought, if they were here, you'd be dead already. Your lifeless body leaving a crimson trail in the water, body chewed through like nothing.

His head was screaming to leave, but his body was drawn to you like a spell. You were so warm, and he was so cold. The water was cruel in temperature. It's why he liked swimming in the shallow edges, where the sand soaked up the sun's heat. He would lay there for hours, warming his body up for the cold nights.

Your hand pulled away at the lack of answer from him. The confusion wracked through you, but this town had its fair share of.. interesting people. And the tourists weren't any better. You closed your other hand over the shell, holding it to your chest. "Thank you." The only answer in return was him rising his chin against the surface again. You smiled and turned back to the beach. He wanted to follow you on your journey back to land but decided that would be unsafe. He'll have to take his time with this. You were worth it. Your voice, your body, your being. He wanted to drown in it.

It felt like hours you sat on the sand reading from your book while he pretended to search for more shells in the shallow water. He would lift his head up every few minutes, pretending to catch his breath. In reality, he was checking to make sure you were still there. The task of hiding his tail beneath the water was tremendously difficult. He had to practically sit on it to keep the fins from appearing. You were a distance away, and would probably say it was a wave anyway, but he didn't want to risk it.

After some time, he got tired of pretending to swim around. He wanted you near again. Without second guessing, he threw the second shell in your direction. The hollow shell bounced off the tip of your book and landed on your reclined chest with a little bounce. You closed the book and picked up the object to examine closely, admiring the shiny surface and bright color. Sitting up, you look at the stranger and smile. "It's beautiful! A tulip!" Covering your eyes from the sun, you spot him nodding from the water.

The sun's heat sizzles off the water, reflecting in a blinding light that hurts. You can barely see anything, can barely even see him. It was getting hotter by the second, and your body was suffering. Looking at your phone, you realize it's past noon. A good time for lunch.

"Hey, I think I'm gonna make something to eat." His throat lurched at the human, something he would usually see as food, say the word 'eat.' "You're welcome to join me! I live right over the dropoff." That awkward silence again. Not an answer, but enough to guess from. "Or you could keep looking," you trailed off with a frown. "It'll give you some alone time on the beach, I guess. But I'll be back in a bit, if that's okay?" He nodded from the water at a hurried pace. He didn't want you to leave, but it would give him enough time to grab more shells for this pretend game. You waved him off and headed over the dropoff, glancing over your shoulder once out of curiosity. He hadn't moved an inch.

When you were out of sight, he pushed his tail out from beneath him, finally flattening it out straight in a long stretch. He floated like that for a while, taking in the possibilities that could come from this breakthrough. Regardless of the outcomes, he had to make you see him. And for that, he needed more shells.

One afternoon, you built a small sandcastle using a bucket borrowed from the neighbor children. Putting a small rim around the castle, you intended to make a moat. The sun was past setting, the light already dimming, and your stomach gurgled with hunger. You left the beach that night with the intention to finish your creation tomorrow.

The next morning woke you with a small chill from the open window. The wind blearing in from the water was always coldest in the morning and you decided to drink your coffee on the beach with a book. Nearing the sandcastle, you notice water twinkling in the little makeshift moat, and a small shell was placed gently at the top of the castle. You stop in your tracks and look around, searching for any forms of life but can't seem to find any. The sun had only just started peaking over the horizon. No one would come out here during the day, so it was doubtful they would be around here at night. Not to mention there weren't any footprints in the sand, aside from the ones you made last night and this morning. Even with the slight wind, there would have to be some footprints. It unnerved you as you sipped at your coffee. You opened your book and began reading, peeking up at every sound and movement.

After three chapters, you gave up on waiting for this stranger to show themselves and headed inside. By noon, the air was warm enough to swim so you changed into a swimsuit and headed back out to the beach. The sandcastle looked untouched from how you found it this morning, standing tall amongst the flat sand. You shed your coverups, walking into the water and shivering at the temperature. It was cold, but it was welcome against the summer sun. You dived in, swimming only until you could barely keep your head above water. You left your hair down to float alongside your shoulders, feeling ethereal. Moving to float on your back, you closed your eyes to take in the feeling of pure bliss. Only the sounds of birds and the water hitting the sand could be heard. The sun was shining down on you from above and the water was hugging you from beneath. You could stay like this forever.

The sound of water sloshing a few feet away from you, knocked you from your state. You planted your feet on the soil beneath the water and looked at the area the rings were coming from. Only a bubble remained on the surface there. Probably just a fish, but if something were to bite you, no one would know you were out here. You started swimming back to shore at a slow pace, enjoying the feeling of weightlessness. The bands of seaweed kissed along your ankles and lower calves, twirling their hair against your skin. You saw movement of a small fish below you, gliding along the floor, minding its own business. Then you felt something brush against your back, almost grab the meat of your hip. You swam faster, nearly running out of the water only to turn back at the water's edge to emptiness. No one was there, how could they be? They would need air and definitely can't survive under the water's surface that long.

They spent days pouring over Nagel’s books. Helmut brought them into their room and spread them across his desk, the table, and even their bed when they ran out of space. Mary teased him endlessly when he fell asleep at his desk, his cheek pressed to the page of a book, but it masked her worry for him. He hardly slept, he barely ate, and he did nothing but read, take notes, and grumble. Nagel coded all his books, which Helmut expected, but he did not predict it to be so maddening. 

Mary offered to help him once, and she quickly realized she did not understand anything about ship logistics, travel logs, or finances. There was no way she could even begin to understand the encryption when she did not understand what it mimicked. Sheepishly, she admitted this to him when he checked up on her. Given his stress and frustration, she expected Helmut to snap at her or make fun of her, but he did not. 

Instead, he sat down next to her and patiently explained each column and row. He commented Nagel’s were far more confusing than necessary, part of his coding process, so he used one of his ledgers to further her understanding. It was important, he claimed, that she understood the logistics behind a ship. Helmut answered all her questions, and when he noticed her confused expression he elaborated. 

Mary pushed the books aside whenever her eyelids grew too heavy and sleep was imminent. On the other hand, Helmut would stay up for hours burning candles to puddles and muttering all the while. It was one of those long nights Helmut pieced together several entries. He sat in his chair a moment, tapping his foot against the floor, his fingers against the desk, smiling in disbelief, as he relished the moment. 

Once Helmut realized the late hour, he joined his wife in their bed. He gently prodded her shoulder and whispered to her so she would wake up. 

“What is it?” Mary could not hide the sleep in her voice, and she blinked slowly at him. Their room was dark, and she could barely see him in the shadows. 

“I know Walker’s routes.” 

Although she could not see the proud grin on his face, she could hear it in his voice. Mary wiggled closer to him, finding his face by touch, and kissed his cheek. “I knew you would,” she whispered in his ear. Helmut draped his arm over her waist and fell asleep soundly, snuggled next to her, for the first time in days. For once, she did not mind his snoring in her ear.

In the morning, Helmut stood by the railing of the quarter deck and thought. Knowing Walker’s routes meant he would choose the moment to strike, and he needed to be smart. The dice were in his hand, yet he hesitated to cast them. Helmut stared into the rising sun, cresting pink over the horizon, and took stock of his life. 

A new ship and crew were necessary for revenge. The Bloody Baron was a lucky find, a schooner he acquired through questionable means, and it suited him well. Helmut built up his crew over several years, taking in the looked-over and downtrodden, but it meant they were fiercely loyal to him. Obviously, he was not as wealthy as he was before, but five years as Captain of the Bloody Baron allowed him to accrue a considerable amount of wealth. By all accounts, he was strong enough to confront the Admiral whenever he wanted. 

However, Helmut had one vulnerability. Mary could not fight, she could not swim, and she could not aim a pistol. He had the passing thought to coop her up in their room, but his knuckles tightened on the railing as he remembered the officer who cornered her on the loft. She was not weak by any means, her courage was greater than any man’s, but her skill set was not that of a pirate. If anything happened to her, Helmut did now know what he would do. Eight years of loss, loneliness, and despair were enough for him.

That was why Helmut must make good on his promises to teach her. In such a short amount of time, it would not be enough to make her proficient, but it might be enough to survive. If she could wield a sword with confidence, aim a pistol with conviction, and swim for her life, then he could have a modicum of peace of mind. 

He put his plan into action. Not too far from them was an island with freshwater streams and lagoons. The crew could refill their water supplies, comb the island for game, and take a break while Helmut taught Mary to swim. Helmut predicted she would resist him at first, he saw her fear when she drew near water, but he hoped she would recognize the importance of the lesson and feel safe with him.

Mary still slept in their bed, and Helmut thought it would be nice to surprise her with breakfast in bed. Over a cup of tea and a plate of toast, she would be more agreeable, and if he promised a picnic he was sure she would agree.

Truthfully, Mary did not listen to Helmut. Once he brought in the breakfast tray and tea her attention shifted. She thanked him of course, smiling wide as she shifted the tray to rest on her legs, while Helmut sat at the edge of their bed. He rambled on, and Mary nodded her head at the right time while she ate her toast and sipped her tea. 

“That is all to say, I think you should come with me.” Helmut finished his monologue and waited patiently for her response. She nibbled on a piece of bacon. “Sternchen?” he asked, bringing her back to attention.

“What?” Mary saw his playfully annoyed expression and profusely apologized. “I am so sorry. You distracted me with this wonderful meal, and I could not focus. Can you repeat yourself, please?” 

She fluttered her eyelashes and looked at him demurely, so he could not refuse her. He patted her leg and chuckled. “I have a plan, and while you may grimace when you hear it, I think it is vitally important.” Mary popped a slice of fruit in her mouth and listened. “There is an island about half a day from us with a lagoon where I would like to teach you to swim.” 

True to his prediction she grimaced and winced. Deep down she knew Helmut was right, if she was to live as a pirate she needed to swim, but a fearful part of her did not want to believe it. “Are you certain?”

“I am.” The playful look in his eye was gone, and in its place was a serious, almost sorrowful look. “I know the water makes you fearful, rightfully so, but I need you to be able to swim. The first step toward that is being in the water.” 

As much as it pained Mary to consider, she remembered how Heike passed. There must have been a dark cloud in Helmut’s head, wondering if she could have survived. Mary wanted to ease his worries if she could, so she agreed to go with him. 

In a few hours, a luscious green island appeared in the distance. Rocky mountains rose behind the tree line, and clouds clung to the rocks. Mary could not spot the lagoon, not even through the telescope Helmut handed her, but she trusted him. He had no reason to lie to her. She waited on the quarterdeck by the helm while he laid anchor offshore. It was much easier, he once explained to her, to depart from further out than bringing the boat ashore. 

Helmut saw the crew first. He dispatched them with tasks and chores, sending them out on rowboats to the shore. Knowing the island as he did, he saw no need for a scouting party. They were well acquainted with the island’s freshwater streams, harvestable plants from the forest, and what small game they could hunt. Billy volunteered to accompany them, and Helmut encouraged him. 

Once Helmut sent the crew on their way, he beckoned Mary to the edge of the ship. A rowboat waited for them, hoisted up by ropes and cinches, and he assisted her into the boat. Seeing the blue waves below made Mary queasy, but Helmut murmured assurances to her. He shed his black coat, folding it neatly and setting it beside the wicker basket, and commanded the crew to lower them. 

“The lagoon is around this curve,” he gestured errantly with his left hand and spotted her nervous expression, “but we will lay our boat at the shore with the rest of the crew. I would hate for you to spend more time on the water when you are not yet at ease with it.”

It was not a long trip, but it felt arduous when the rolling waves incited anxiety. Mary distracted herself from her fear by watching his muscles move and flex as he rowed. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, and she could see how powerful his forearms were. It was hot under the Caribbean sun, and sweat beaded on his forehead. Helmut pushed a stray lock of hair out of his face and caught her watchful eye. Mary blushed, and Helmut grinned. 

He pushed their rowboat far enough ashore it would not be dragged back by the tide. Mary steadied herself with an arm on his shoulder to step out, and she wobbled on the sand. They always teased each other for their odd stride on land after growing accustomed to walking on the ship. The ground could be smooth and flat, and Helmut would still walk with a sailor’s swagger. Mary soon developed her own, a sign she grew into the pirate’s life. 

They walked along the treeline for shade, and Helmut carried the wicker basket. He explained his intention for them to spend the day at the lagoon, slowly getting her more familiar with the water and working her way up to swimming. The meal he packed could be an afternoon snack or an early dinner since he wanted to return at sunset. Whenever she wanted a break or a rest, they could spread out the woven blanket and sit down. 

Mary paused when she saw the lagoon. Helmut told her it was a body of water separated from the sea by a sand barrier, but he did not tell her how beautiful it was. The water was a painter’s mixture of blue and green, brackish water Helmut called it, and the sand was a dark color, gray like the rocks and tan. The treeline curved around the lagoon, shading everything in green, and a few large rocks poked up through the water. 

Helmut spoke softly beside her. “The water here is calmer since it is separated from the sea. I thought it would be a good place to begin.” 

“How shall we start?” She shifted uncomfortably beside him as her feet sank into the dry sand. 

“Take off your shoes. I want us to stand in the water first, ankle deep or so, to get the feeling of the waves. These will be far calmer than the open ocean, but you must learn slowly.” 

She did, and the sand was warm under her feet. Hot, if she was honest with herself, and it hastened her approach to the water. Mary picked up her skirt, raising it a few inches to avoid being covered in the dark sand or drenched in water. Helmut walked with her after rolling up his trousers. They stood there a few minutes, hand in hand, taking in the view. 

“Do you feel it? The crash in and the drawback of the waves?”

“Yes,” Mary giggled, “it tickles my toes.” She wiggled them in the water, and the sand squished around her toes. “But I feel the pattern. It washes over me, and then it pulls back.” It felt similar to the lake she visited as a child.

“Good, remember that feeling, the ebb and flow of it.” Helmut mimicked the motion with his hand that was not holding hers. “When you leave the water may try to drag you in, so you must be strong when you step.”

Helmut took a few steps further in, letting the water come up to his shins, and Mary followed him. She hiked up her skirts higher, wondering how much deeper they would go and what exactly his plan was. If they went much further they would have no choice but to soak their clothes.  

He did not hide the small smirk as he said, “If you do not wish to wet your clothes, you will need to take them off.” 

She playfully smacked his side. “Did you contrive all of this to see me in my underclothes?” Mary knew the lesson was important, but she also knew Helmut enjoyed seeing her out of her clothes.

“I will happily join you if it bolsters your confidence.” 

Mary glanced over her shoulders, ensuring they were well out of sight of the crew. Stripping in front of Helmut was one thing, he encouraged and praised her every time, but anyone else was another issue. Helmut tugged on her hand to draw her back to the blanket. He unbuttoned his vest first, carefully folding it before setting it on the blanket, and pulled off his shirt. Mary pulled her hair to the side and turned her back toward him so he could unlace her dress. She set about undoing her small clothes, and Helmut arched an eyebrow at her.

“I don’t want them to get wet either,” she explained as if it should have been obvious to him. “Besides, you promised there was no one around, Hel.” 

Helmut had been staring at her curvy form in the bright sunlight, admiring every mark from her new freckles to her faded stretch marks, and he snapped to attention when she said her nickname for him. “Of course,” he rasped, “whatever makes you comfortable, Sternchen.” Helmut stripped off his pants and undergarments as she did the same. 

They walked back into the water naked as the day they were born but shrouded in their love for each other and the warm sun. They waded out until they were waist deep in the waves, being of a similar height, and stood there. The waves were bigger now, and Mary was reluctant to take her eye off them should one surprise her. 

“My father told me when I was a boy that if I want to feel more secure standing in the water I ought to turn so I am standing perpendicular to the waves.” He turned as he spoke, and he saw Mary’s arms crossed in front of her chest. Her nipples pebbled, and it was difficult to break old habits. Still, she reminded herself it was progress. Mary did not need to ask if it worked; she mirrored his action and saw for herself. 

“Did your father teach you to swim?” He did not often talk of his family or his former life, but Mary thought it was a safe question to ask. If he did not like her prying he would tell her or swiftly change the subject. 

“He did,” Helmut moved his hand through the top of the water as if he played with it. “Of course we had proper bathing suits then, and I was a slip of a boy when he taught me.” He smiled happily at the memory, and Mary swirled her hand in the water too. It danced around her fingers. “It was my first time seeing the sea, and it was much colder than this. No one else wanted to be in the water, but my father did not want me to be alone.” Mary nodded along as she listened and pictured a younger Helmut. He might have been blonder, less freckled, and happier. “I wanted to go where the sea met the sky, but I did now know how to get there. The water soon went over my head, so my father pulled me out and taught me to swim.”

Mary studied his pensive face. She wanted to comfort him, so she cupped his round cheek with her hand. Water dripped from her fingers and down his neck, but he did not seem to mind. “He must have been a great man.”

“He was,” Helmut nodded, “and I wanted to teach Carl to swim, but I never had the time.” He never would. Mary lightly rubbed his cheekbone with her thumb. He took a deep breath in and let it go as if he were grounding himself in the moment. “But that was then, and this is now. I am here with you, my lovely wife, teaching you to swim.”

Helmut encouraged her to go deeper. Although Mary’s head was well above the water, she stood on her toes and bobbed in the water. It was good practice, he promised, for being in more open water. If she wanted, but he never pressured her, she could move out of her depth and try staying above the water. Mary told him she wanted to wait a moment before doing so, and he happily agreed.

 When her nerves started to rise and she considered bolting toward the shore, Helmut spoke to her and assured her. His voice soothed her. She knew he would not let her drown and she could leave whenever she wished, but it was nice to hear. Mary pushed herself to be brave, for him and her, and she moved out of her depth. Daunted by the waves, her breath quickened, but she kicked her feet as Helmut told her to do. 

“Good girl, look at you!”

Mary could not believe she was in a lagoon, naked, learning to swim. Weeks ago she would never have believed it, but now it felt right. She felt stronger than ever, conquering her fears, and she wanted to do more. What else could she do? Mary felt capable of anything.

They took a break soon after and spread out under the trees. The linen blanket was frayed and tattered, but it suited their picnic. Helmut packed cured meats, hard cheeses, a loaf of bread, fresh fruit, and two bottles of wine in their basket. He cut what he could with his knife, and the rest they ate with their fingers. With a laugh, they realized he forgot to pack cups, so they drank the wine straight from the bottle, passing it back and forth. 

“After so many years at sea, you must be a good swimmer.” Mary tore off a chunk of bread and ate it with a bite of cheese. 

He laughed as he peeled fruit for her. “Is that a presumption or a challenge?”

“Well,” she shrugged nonchalantly, wondering what she could convince him to do, “you speak of swimming so much in the ocean and its importance, but I’ve never seen you swim.”

Helmut handed her the citrus fruit and smirked. “That sounds like a dare. Tell me, is this your curiosity or your desire to influence me?” 

Mary admired his dark brown eyes, flickering from warmth to mischief in seconds, and resisted a smile. “It is no such thing. I simply think an experienced man such as yourself ought to prove his prowess. Think of it as a demonstration.”

He huffed and rolled his eyes, but he acquiesced. After finishing their picnic, wrapping the leftovers in cloth napkins in case they grew hungry later, they went back into the water. They stood waist deep again, face to face, scrunching noses at each other. Finally, he swam deeper before diving under the water, and he disappeared from view. 

Mary thought he would swim across the lagoon and back, but under the water, she did not know what he did. Helmut resurfaced with a triumphant grin, and she wondered what he was so happy about. He beckoned her closer, and she met him in the chest-deep water.

“For you, Sternchen, think of it as a trophy.” 

He echoed her earlier words, but she did not notice. She was distracted by the shell in his hands. It was a pink spiral roughly the size of her palm. Mary examined it, feeling the smooth edge and seeing the pale and dark colors. 

“Thank you,” she pressed a kiss to his cheek, “this is so thoughtful.” Mary did not want to risk losing it, so she left the water to place it on their blanket. After ensuring the first of many shells, she returned to him in the water.

Helmut kissed her again, but not as chaste. Mary leaned into his salty kiss. His tongue slipped into her mouth, and his arm snaked around her waist. She draped her arms around his neck, trusting him to steady her against the waves. 

“I think it is time for you to swim, Sternchen,” he whispered in her ear. As of yet she practiced staying afloat, bobbing in one place, but she had yet to take the plunge. Of course, he waited until she was distracted by his kiss to press his point. 

“Must I?” Mary would much prefer to continue their kiss. She would not even be opposed to returning to their blanket.

“I would never pressure you to do something,” his eyes flicked to hers, “but I think you ought to try.” 

Mary scrunched her nose and rolled her eyes. She sensed some hidden reward in his tone, so she peered around the lagoon and formed a plan. There was a large, relatively flat rock not too far from them, and she would swim to that. Mary intended to lay out on the rock after swimming to it. 

The sand dropped off below her, the waves threatened to overwhelm her, and yet Mary persisted. In all honesty, it was more of a paddle than a stroke, and it was no match for Helmut’s grace. However, Mary tried. Surely, Helmut appreciated that. None too graciously, Mary pulled herself onto the rock and laid out on her back.

Helmut, who watched her the entire time ensuring she was alright, followed her to the rock. She admired his form both to learn and to appreciate her husband. He was effortless and refined even in the water.

“I’m proud of you.” Helmut swam to her side and kissed her cheek. The only space on the rock was between her legs, so he happily situated himself there. Helmut lay on his stomach and bent her legs at the knee, propping them up on either side of him. He pressed kisses on each thigh as he did and licked the water that dripped off of her. 

Mary arched her back against the rock, scraping a touch, but it was forgotten against Helmut’s kisses. He nipped her hip and her thigh, and she twitched under his touch. His fingers held her in place as he behaved like a starved man. He worked a dark mark on her plush thigh, and once he finished he kissed along her hips and waist. 

“Helmut…” she pleaded. One of her hands tangled in his hair and tried to move him where she wanted. He resisted, biting where he just kissed, and he chuckled against her. “Please.”

“Ah ah ah,” Helmut clicked his tongue and dragged a finger against her, “I am following a map, and I cannot be rushed.” He loved to tease her, and he would do so for hours if given the chance.

“I think your treasure lies further south,” she said pointedly. Waves lapped at the edges of the rock, and part of Mary enjoyed the exposed nature of it. There they were, the boundless blue sky above them, the waves against the rock and occasionally splashing her, and Helmut made love to her. It filled her with energy that tingled from her head to her toes. 

At long last, Helmut licked a long, slow stripe up her slit. She hissed through her teeth knowing the touch she craved was yet to come. Her hips rolled slightly against his mouth, encouraging him to do as she wished. Helmut knew her game, and he held her in place with his strong hands. The tip of his tongue tasted every part of her, relishing her whining and pleading, before softly rubbing her clit with his thumb. 

“I believe I’ve found my pearl…” He sucked on her clit and heard her cry out. His hands held her hips in place as she wriggled against him and the rock. 

Mary could not hear the waves anymore. All she heard was the lewd sound of Helmut’s tongue on her. Her fingers, tangled deep in his hair, clenched and unclenched as she breathed. His hot tongue pushed inside her, and he fucked her as best he could with it. Helmut pulled on her hips to bring her closer to him and she stretched her neck back in pleasure. 

It was difficult for Mary to string her words together, but she tried. “Helmut, God please, take your treasure.” 

Slowly, agonizingly, delightfully, he dragged his tongue across her clit and sucked hard. Mary’s free hand smacked against the rock, splashing the water there, as pure pleasure shot through her veins. She stared sightlessly at the sky and caught her breath. Her hand skimmed and swished in the water. 

Mary propped herself up on her elbows to see him. A red flush colored his cheeks and spread across his chest, and his eyes were wide and dark with lust. He smiled like the cat that got the cream, or rather the pirate that found the treasure. “Was that my reward for swimming?” 

“You deserved it, Sternchen, did you not?” His fingers traced against her calf, and she rested her leg against the rock. He continued to run his fingers over her. “You were brave, and I am incredibly proud of you.”

“Hmm,” she hummed contentedly, “what a pity I am not swimming back.” The shore seemed so far from their spot. 

“Oh?” he pinched her thigh, “and why is that?”

Mary laid back on the rock and placed her hands under her head as a statement of her intent. “How am I supposed to move after that? I can hardly feel my legs, and you want me to swim back to shore?”

“Then I suppose we will be stuck here forever as I could never leave you.” Helmut sighed pitiably, “Marooned on our own tiny island. Not even room for the both of us to lay.”

She fought hard not to laugh and match his wistful tone. “Precisely. You’ve doomed us here for eternity. The crew will have to go on without us.” 

Late in the afternoon, Helmut and Mary returned to the ship. She put her shell and all the others he collected for her in the basket, and they carried their shoes in their hands. The walk back to the boat felt long, and the rowboat ride even longer. Mary yearned for the shade of their room and a light breeze from the open windows. 

In their room, Mary teased Helmut that she would have to sleep naked since her clothes irritated her. Her cheeks, chest, and back were all flushed pink from the sun. Helmut mixed a poultice for her skin using a mortar and pestle, but she knew by the way he paused her comment amused him. 

“Would you like me to rub this in for you?” he offered. Mary knew he would cover every pink or reddened part of her and even some that weren’t. Sitting in the middle of their bed, she pulled off the linen shirt she wore and cast it aside. Helmut smiled broadly, “I will take that as a yes.”

Helmut started with her rosy cheeks burned a brighter red by the sun. Mary grinned and made it easy for him to rub smooth circles on her face. She hummed and crooned as the green salve brought relief. 

“I see the sun did not affect you today as it did me.” There was a pink undertone to his chest and face, but it was not nearly as severe as hers. They spent equal time in the sun.

“I have seen more than my fair share of sun. In time, your skin will adapt too.” Helmut made sure to cover her ears and her neck, and he hummed appreciatively as he did.

“Will I get as many freckles as you?” His hands moved to her chest, and he started with her shoulders and collarbone. Mary’s nipples pebbled, and it was not from the cooling sensation of the cream. 

“Perhaps,” his fingers rubbed against the top of her breasts, and she wanted him to move lower. That seemed to be a common theme for the day. “Fair skin does freckle in the sun.” Already there were a few freckles on her breast, and his fingers lingered there. 

Mary beamed mischievously. “But if I do that then you won’t have an excuse to touch me.” Her breasts were covered, but he did not remove his hands.

“Do I need an excuse?” Helmut pinched one of her nipples. Some of the poultice stayed there, and Mary enjoyed its cooling touch there. 

“No,” she admitted with a shaky breath. She was certain Helmut could feel each breath, and with the way he admired her she did not mind.

“Good.” 

Helmut lay awake in their bed. It was moments after sunrise, so morning light spilled through their curtains. He heard the constant creaking of the ship, footfalls above and below deck. And if he strained his ears he could hear the waves. The room smelled of Mary’s preferred floral soap as she insisted upon bathing with a basin every morning and night. 

Mary sat at the foot of their bed and worked a comb through her hair. Helmut knew she would style it for the day in one long, sleek braid. In the evening, she would unbraid her hair and let it cascade down her shoulders. He admired the subtle traits of her previous life as she embraced her new one. 

He sat up in their bed with his back resting against the pillows. “I have been thinking of what you said…” His voice was low and rumbly in the morning, and it caught Mary’s attention. 

“When?” She looked at him while she braided, her nimble fingers working without her sight.

“Before our wedding.” Mary pursed her lips in thought, so he elaborated. “When you said your time was necessary in Charles Town, I questioned you. Now I have been wondering if you’ve changed or if you’ve come into your own.”

She glanced away to secure the ribbon. Satisfied, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and clasped her hands together. Mary turned to face Helmut. “What made you think of that?”

He shrugged lightly with a coy smile. “Nothing specifically. You simply seem more comfortable, confident in a way, and it made me curious.”

Mary hummed and nodded. “Good question. Both, I think. Clearly, I am not the same person I was in England. There are traces of my past,” Mary gestured vaguely to her dressing robe and her hair, “but I embrace my future as well.” She fiddled with her wedding band. “If I am more self-assured, it is because I am happy.”

“I am glad to hear it.” He was reminded of his thoughts over the years. Helmut would never be the man he once was, but he carried parts of himself in his life. It was difficult to begin anew, Helmut knew that well, and a pirate’s life was not for the faint of heart. He avoided the grittier and more gruesome parts for her sake, but he could not do so forever. “Please, tell me if you are ever uncomfortable or uneasy.”

Mary reached for his hand and squeezed it. “I promise, Helmut. I am not easily frightened.” 

Helmut believed her. It took a courageous heart to leave everything she ever knew and the life planned for her behind. It took a brave mind to face her fears of the water head-on. And, it took everything combined to love a man like him.

Mary held a flintlock pistol in one hand and shielded her eyes from the sun with her other hand. She squinted to see her targets across the deck, and unsurprisingly she had yet to hit a single one. “It must be easier on land,” she sighed and complained.

Helmut chuckled beside her. “It is.” Mary cast an annoyed glare at him. “But more of our fights and our time are on the ship than on land. You must learn to hit your targets here.”

“I doubt you learned to shoot on a boat,” she grumbled. Mary raised her pistol to try again. As she settled into form, Helmut clicked his tongue beside her. 

“I did not, but regardless of land or sea, your stance is still incorrect.” Helmut repositioned her with his hands, and he pressed close to her. His fingers curled around hers, and his breath ghosted against her neck. “Do you see your target now?”

Mary wished she could see him… She could feel his warmth and his firm grip, she could hear his raspy voice, she could smell his aftershave, but she could not see Helmut. Mary nodded, and Helmut practically purred against her. 

“Good, now feel the movement of the ship. See how it changes your aim ever so slightly?” Mary barely trusted herself to say yes, but she did. “Do not fight it. When you feel yourself moving toward your target, fire your pistol.”

Mary did as Helmut said and saw the glass bottle shatter before her eyes. She screamed out in excitement, and Helmut kissed her cheek. His hands moved to her waist and squeezed appreciatively.

“I knew you could,” he praised. 

“That’s easy for you to say,” she retorted playfully, “According to Billy you never miss a shot.”

Helmut laughed. “The boy exaggerates. Everyone misses a shot now and then, it is inevitable…”

Mary heard the leading tone in his voice, and she encouraged him. “But?”  

“But, I am known for my impeccable aim.” He smiled smugly and puffed out his chest. 

Helmut was just as proud as he had been in the lagoon, if not prouder, and Mary knew what she needed to do. “Why don’t you show me some of your impeccable aim?” She offered his pistol in her hand.

Once the challenge was offered, Helmut could not refuse. He relished any opportunity to show his skills, and Mary offered plenty of chances. Crewmembers on deck elbowed each other when they saw Helmut with the flintlock. Someone reset the bottle Mary shot, and they added a few trick shot bottles to see if he could.

Mary watched him size up the targets. His eyes narrowed as they flicked from mark to mark, and his lips pressed into a thin, firm line. Helmut raised his left arm, curled his fingers around the flintlock, and pulled the trigger.

The bottles nearest to them shattered spectacularly. He fixed his focus on the trick shots the crew set up, and he easily hit each one. One by one they broke, and Helmut grew cocky. For the last shot, he looked at Mary while he shot and unintentionally missed. His eyes widened in shock while Mary couldn’t stifle a laugh. 

Billy, who idolized Helmut, cried out. “What? How could this be!” He smacked his hand against a nearby railing and uttered a curse. 

“You’ll understand when you’re older,” Mary assured him. Helmut blushed next to Mary, and he holstered his pistol. She grinned as she pat Helmut on the back, “It seems even masters can make mistakes.” 

“They can,” Helmut matched her smile and playfully scrunched his nose, “especially when looking at such a beautiful woman.” 

He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. It was Mary’s turn to blush. She errantly wondered after their swimming adventure and shooting fun what Helmut would come up with for their sword fighting lessons. Then again, anything was fun when she was with him. 

The following morning, Helmut procured two wooden swords to begin their training. It would take weeks, he reminded her, possibly even months, before she felt she was making progress. However, in a life or death situation, the lessons would be useful.

Mary remarked the wood felt heavy in her hand, and Helmut assured her the cutlass would be lighter. “And,” he subtly flexed his arm, “you will grow stronger.”

Helmut taught her to hold the blade first, his fingers over hers as they curled around the grip. His hands were bigger than hers, and sometimes Mary purposely held the sword wrong so he could correct her. After the second time, Helmut caught on and planted a quick kiss on her cheek. “You think you’re smart, don’t you?” he teased, still close enough to kiss her on the lips.

“It worked, didn’t it?” Mary leaned into the kiss and slipped her tongue into his mouth. He could hardly refute her, nor did he want to. 

 Years of ballroom dancing paid off as Mary took quickly to the footwork. “It’s like avoiding some loathsome man stepping on my toes,” she giggled while sidestepping.

“To think, you spent countless evenings with graceless partners…” Helmut lamented her unsuccessful seasons and clumsy suitors. It was not the false pity meant to console her, but true sorrow. He appreciated her, and he did not understand how anyone could not treasure such a star. 

Once Mary mastered holding the sword and positioning her feet, Helmut taught her to combine the two. Mary thought they would be in a wide, clear space where she would not hit anything, such as the deck, but Helmut insisted on the hallway. Most fighting took place in close quarters. 

“What if I hit you?” Her eyebrows pinched together. “Even with a wooden sword it must hurt.” 

She could tell Helmut resisted a laugh, and a touch of it snuck through in his voice. “I promise, as long as you try not to hurt me, you will not. It is a wooden sword, so the worst you can do is bruise me.”

For all the little marks he left on her, fingerprints on her thighs, kisses on her breast, and much more, Mary realized how little she left on him. While she certainly did not wish to mark him with a weapon, she would not mind seeing him with lovebites. Mary nursed a purple mark on the inside of her thigh, and she wondered what Helmut would look like with the same.

The easiest place to slash was the throat, and the deadliest place to strike was between the third and fourth rib. It was near the heart, and Mary joked aloud if it was the closest way to his heart. With a smirk and a raised eyebrow, he said there were other methods of getting to his heart. Mary quickly learned one of them. 

They practiced in the hallway, their usual spot, and on occasion, Mary landed a hit. She was careful to draw back her strength and hit him with the flat edge of the sword. Still, Helmut bore each red mark with pride as a sign of her progress and kissed her after every success.

One heated bout ended with Mary’s sword pointed at his neck, resting over his jugular. Helmut glanced down at the seemingly precarious position she put him in. His eyes flicked up and met hers to see a triumphant glint in the candlelight. Mary arched one eyebrow, as he had done to her countless times, and confidently jutted out her chin. Helmut peered down again, more self-consciously, and Mary followed his dark eyes.

It seemed their fight was rousing in more ways than one. Mary tilted her head to the side, mimicking another one of Helmut’s inquisitive gestures, and Helmut nodded slowly. She held him at bay with her sword, but as soon as she lowered it Helmut closed the gap between them. His kiss was as passionate and desperate as their sparring had been. 

“I have an idea…” she whispered in his ear. Helmut held her waist as he listened, and he squeezed her with one strong hand at certain details. Eager to see her plan in action, he urged her toward their room. “Ah ah ah,” Mary asserted with her hand against the plane of his chest, “not so fast, sir.”

Helmut paused as her fingers tangled in his chest hair and grasped his gold chain necklace. “Your wish is my command, Sternchen,” he promised.

Under Mary’s direction, Helmut angled his plush armchair away from his desk. He sat back in the chair, his legs spread and his back relaxed as his hand twitched against the armrest. Mary took her sweet time sashaying across the room as she knew Helmut’s molten eyes focused on her. She knelt on the floor in front of him, the perfect picture of subservience, and yet it was him who was compliant. His hands gripped the arms of the chair, and he breathed slowly, waiting for her to do something. 

Mary drew the knife he bought her from her belt, and she cut the laces of his pants with it. Using one hand, she worked his pants down to his knees. Then, she trailed the blade down his inner thigh as he resisted the urge to buck into her touch. Remembering the dark mark she sported on her thigh for a week, Mary brought her lips to his thigh. He squirmed and wriggled, but she held him in place with one of her hands. If he truly wished to be free of her he could, but he played into her wicked idea. 

Once satisfied he would have a matching mark, she cut the ties to his breeches. At the slightest touch, his cock was hard and leaking at the tip. This was Mary’s first time taking control, and she intended to enjoy every moment. Delighted frustration flashed in his eyes as she smeared precum across the tip with her thumb. Helmut tipped his head back as his desperation began to outweigh his patience. 

Mary held her knife in one hand and Helmut in the other. She licked his cock, getting a sense of its size and taste, and pressed the tip of the blade against his hip. When Helmut tried to rut and feel the heat of her tongue, he felt the chill of her steel too. He cursed in another language, but Mary could guess what it meant. 

She took him as deeply into her mouth and throat as she could, and she gagged when she went too far. He looked at her with lust and concern, but Mary was not deterred. What she couldn’t fit in her mouth, she wrapped with her free hand. Helmut tried to tangle his hands in her hair, but she pressed the tip of the blade into him. His hands returned to the armchair and tightened their grip. He would play her game as long as she wished. 

This was Mary’s first time pleasing him orally, so she listened to him. Groaning and moaning meant she did something right. Writhing under her, risking the sharp edge of the knife, meant she did better yet. Whining and whimpering, cursing in a mixture of English and his native tongue, meant he was very close. 

“Sternchen, please,” he begged, his voice ragged. Helmut warned her he was about to come, and Mary wanted to know what he tasted like. She ran the tip of her tongue against the sensitive tip of him, and she soon found out. He was overwhelmingly warm, a touch salty, but not altogether unpleasant. 

Mary released him with a soft pop, and a string of saliva and his cum trailed down her chin. Helmut held her jaw with his fingers, and he wiped her mouth with his thumb. She took his thumb into her mouth to lick up the last of him. His chest heaved, and he breathed a heavy sigh as he watched her. 

“That,” he sighed contently, “was an excellent plan.” 

Mary smiled, incredibly proud of herself, and purred. “Thank you. We should add that to our daily lessons, don’t you think?” She wanted to leave far more pleasurable marks on him than accidental injuries, and this was one way to ensure she did.

“What am I looking at?” Mary stood on the quarter-deck with Helmut, dressed up in her blue gown, and squinting against the sun. It did not look like any city she had seen, but across the ocean none did. 

“Madripoor. It’s a sovereign city-state spread on a cluster of islands.” Helmut glanced from her to the city. “It is a lawless sanctuary for people like us, but with hidden dangers.”

Mary nodded, surveying the island terrain. It was all flat, but half of the city was raised on stilts while the other half appeared to be sinking. Rope and wooden bridges connected the various islands, and at times seemed to be the only thing holding the city together. Even at this distance, she could see it was teeming with life, and every inch of the city was alive. 

“I see. You said we would be going to Hightown?” She guessed that was the elevated part of the city.

Helmut’s hands moved ever so slightly on the wheel, and yet it changed the angle of the ship. His hands were exceptionally talented, capable of the greatest of things with the smallest of movements. “Yes. Hightown is that way,” he gestured to the region on stilts, “Not a bad place to visit, full of shops and markets. Lowtown is the other way, with a less, shall we say refined, clientele.”

She knew his business would take him to lowtown, but he intended to show her Hightown first. He promised to indulge her with gifts worthy of his new bride, and she blushed at his insistence. No one ever wanted to lavish her as he did. Mary was excited to peruse the shops, but she also wished to explore the city as much as possible. She could count the number of places she had been in her life on one hand, but with Helmut, she would see the world. 

The pier went directly to the ship in Charleston, and she did not need to worry. However, in Madripoor, the anchor points were further from the main islands. As the crew readied several rowboats, Mary fought back her growing uneasiness. She had not been in one, or so close to the water, since the storm. Here, she could see the waves rocking the rowboat back and forth, tiny and insignificant against the water, as the crew rowed toward the show. 

“Come, Sternchen, this one is ours.” One of Helmut’s hands rested against the small of her back while the other motioned to Sam and James wrangling a raft. He sensed her nerves, brittle as ice, and he sought to calm her. “It may not look like much, but I promise you, it is.” 

Helmut assisted Mary in getting into the boat, and he held her hand until they reached the shore. She did not look at the water around them or the island looming in the distance. Mary focused on Helmut: the way his brow creased when he studied the island, how he prepared to jump into action when a large wave threatened to overturn them and the comforting way he reassured her.  

They tied up the rowboats on the dock, and Helmut helped Mary step onto the pier. His hands were strong as he gripped her, and he was steady. He paid the harbormaster to use the dock for the next few days, telling him to keep the remainder. The crew spread out under Helmut’s direction. One group would go to the markets in lowtown, one would visit his usual buyers, and another would pick up on any news or rumors. 

Mary tried to absorb every detail of Hightown. It was filled with so many people, hurrying about their business or leisurely strolling, and so many lives. Every vendor was a person with a family and a life, and every customer must have dozens of stories to tell. Swathed in finery, swords, and pistols at the waist, this was nothing like the London or village markets. This was Madripoor. 

Mary was distracted by a lady selling perfumed soaps, but Helmut brought her back to attention. She could admire the soaps later. “This,” he led her through a doorway with a slight tug on her hand, “is a fine tailor.” He murmured in her ear how he always had luck with the shop, but he worried they may specialize in men’s clothes. If so, he would ask their recommendation for a women’s seamstress.

“Théo!” Helmut beckoned to a well-dressed man who turned and acknowledged him with an easy-going smile. He excused himself from his conversation with the clothiers.

“Baron! It has been too long since you were last in my shop.” Mary recognized his thick French accent and wondered how he wound up in Madripoor. “Was it the purple vest and half a dozen shirts?” Théo remembered his favorite clients and their purchases.

“Good memory, Théo, I commend you. I have a different request today, and I understand if you cannot fulfill it, but I am looking-”

“-you want clothes for this beautiful lady at your side, no?” Mary knew his flattery was a sales tactic, but she appreciated it. “True, my specialty is men’s clothes, but I have a team of dressmakers that would be delighted to meet with her.” He snapped over his shoulder, “Jane!” 

An equally well-dressed woman appeared, Jane, she presumed, flocked by a pack of seamstresses. “My, that’s a fine dress! The color suits you well.” Mary blushed lightly knowing she had more unusual requests besides dresses. 

“Jane can tend to your amour while I see to all of your needs.” Helmut nodded, pleased The Golden Thread proved suitable. “But you must tell me, how long do I have? I know you and your type prefer a hurried job, and I wish to be prepared.”

“Four days, counting today.” Helmut bristled as he did not like revealing his plans, but he understood Théo’s point. It would be a waste to craft a dress or a coat that would not be bought. At least Théo’s employees were used to such quick work while maintaining high standards.

“I see! Then we cannot waste a moment!” Théo clapped his hands, and Helmut gave Mary a reassuring smile. Already Théo started urging them toward opposite ends of the store, Helmut to the left with him and Mary to the right with Jane.

Before they were separated to ogle fabrics and swatches, Helmut told Théo, “And my wife can get anything she wants.” Dresses, fabrics, jewelry, nothing was off-limits for her. Mary blushed and smiled, never having been spoiled before. When she asked her mother for new dresses she would huff and complain about the cost, asking why she could not reuse the previous season’s in a different style for a lower cost. 

Jane guided Mary into a bright room with mirrors lining one wall, a pedestal in the second presumably for her to stand on during alterations, and armoires of textiles and materials. Ladies hustled about the room, spreading out swatches and unraveling small sections of bolts. In the corner. Mary noticed a plush armchair and table with a teapot and pastries set out. 

“Please, sit down,” Jane ushered her toward the chair, “let me fix you a cup while you tell me about what you are looking for today. After all,” she indulged, “the Baron said you may have anything you want.”

“I would not want to overwork you and your ladies,” she sipped from her tea, adding another sugar cube. “Admittedly, I lack the wardrobe I once had and look to rebuild it, but that may be too much for this trip. 

“Do not concern yourself with that, lady?” Jane waited for her name.  

“Mary.” She wondered if Jane called her lady because she arrived with the Baron or if she sensed Mary’s origins.

“We will do our best to suit your needs, and if you must come back you must convince the Baron.” Jane pushed the pastry plate closer to Mary, and Mary took one on the edge. Their hospitality stemmed from their future profits, but still, she appreciated it.

“Well, I would love a new formal dress, or two. I enjoy the blue,” Mary gestured to her skirts, “but I enjoy having options.” If only she could have taken the emerald green and the light pink gowns with her.

Jane motioned for one of her ladies to join her. They spoke quickly in French, and Mary used her Governesses lessons to her advantage. “Perhaps some blouses and skirts? That would allow you to coordinate pieces and have choices.” 

“What a wonderful idea!” Mary had not considered that; she had been more preoccupied with her other idea. She spoke in a rush, worried it would sound ridiculous. “And pants? Would it be possible to tailor several pairs of pants, durable, but still fashionable?” 

Mary knew Helmut’s pants she borrowed were far better for activities on the ship, and as she grew more into the pirate's life she would need some of her own. She also knew Madripoor suited the unconventional, but she feared perhaps it was too unusual.

“Absolutely. Would you like several pairs of those as well? We can design them to contemplate the blouses.” 

If all the assistants were this helpful, no wonder Helmut favored the shop. 

“I would, and there is another matter we have to discuss, something more delicate…” Mary had no qualms discussing intimate items, they were a necessity, but she did about decorative intimate items. 

“You would like some clothes to please you and your husband?” 

Mary appreciated how Jane asked. It was for both her and Helmut. He indoctrinated her into the belief of mutual pleasure. She would feel seductive in her new lingerie, and Helmut would be seduced.

“Two formal gowns, six blouses, three skirts, three pants, and lady’s intimates. Does that sound right?” 

“My goodness,” Mary giggled, “that is quite the collection.”

“The Baron did say you could order anything. Would you like to add something?”

“No, no,” she said firmly, knowing the ladies would be spread thin to accomplish this, “it is plenty.”

Jane clapped her hands together. “Then let’s get started,”

Once they left the tailor’s, Helmut gave Mary an extensive tour of Hightown. He wanted her to feel comfortable returning with a guard while he attended to business. They spent the afternoon perusing the perfumer’s platform and the cobbler’s corner with his hand resting on the small of her back. Helmut bantered that for every coin he made, she would spend. As soon as she opened her mouth for a rebuttal, he cut her off. 

“I have collected much over the years, our cabin is still practically mine and you wore half my closet. You are entitled to have your own possessions and clothes just for you.”

Mary was touched by his statement, and she spent his money with less guilt. Sure enough, over the next few days, every shipment offloaded from the ship was countered by a delivery boy bringing books, flowers, perfumes, whatever caught Mary’s fancy. This was in stark contrast to the arrival of ammunition, dry goods, water, and rum. 

Every night, Mary wanted to show Helmut her latest purchases. She waited for him to finish working at his desk, pouring through ledgers and comparing, and she should have noticed the dark circles under his eyes. Too excited, she did not and she instructed him to wait a moment in their bed while she applied the perfume. 

Helmut was half asleep when she returned, slumped against the pillow and with his eyes closed. He was busy, often leaving before she awoke and returning long after she did, and still sitting at his desk long before sleeping. Mary wanted him to sleep, so she did not mind terribly. 

She blew out the candles and crawled into bed next to him Unconsciously he moved closer to her, nuzzling into her neck where she applied the perfume. Mary chuckled, glad to know he enjoyed the scent on her, as she came up with a new plan. 

The following night Mary did not wait for Helmut to finish at his desk. She moved about their room without him noticing, he was too engrossed by his work, but that worked to Mary’s advantage. Her lingerie was miraculously not ripped or torn, but Mary was not sure how much longer that would last. Helmut was reverent of her, but his respect did not always extend to her nightgowns.

Helmut did not notice Mary, or her state of dress until she pushed his papers aside and sat on his lap. His nostrils flared as his eyes fell to the excited rise and fall of her breast and the dark outline of her nipples under the lace. 

“Did you need something?” Helmut fought to keep his voice even, but he could not hide the smirk on his face and the delighted shimmer in his eye. 

Her hands held solidly on his shoulders, trying to push the immovable man to make room for her in the seat, and she shifted her hips as she wriggled into position. Mary’s knees rested on either side of his hip as she lowered herself to meet him. Helmut groaned when she did, not only smelling the wet heat of her but feeling it as well on his pants. For a fleeting moment she worried she would be too much for him, but he encouraged her with a nod. 

“Not at all,” she huffed, impressed by her own confidence. Mary moved her hips against his thigh, and one of Helmut’s hands dropped the book he had been holding to grip her waist and feel the soft flesh there. 

“I suppose I have been ignoring you of late, Sternchen.” Helmut was certainly not ignoring her now. Not when he strained against his trousers and was split between waiting to see what his wife had planned and pinning her across the desk. At the moment, she rocked herself against him in a steady rhythm, but he wondered what else she was capable of. “And I am terribly sorry about that.” 

His other hand cradled the back of her neck, pulling her to him, and Mary leaned in. She kissed his lips chastely and sat nose to nose for a moment as his brown eyes searched hers with adoration and wonder. His freckles dotted his cheeks and made her think of little stars dusting the plains of his face. Mary trailed kisses along his jaw as he had done to her, and he melted under her soft lips. Helmut’s eyes fell shut, and he tipped his head back in pleasure. 

“Are you?” she asked, her breath ghosting over his neck. Her hands gripped the back of his chair for better support as she dragged herself against his thigh. Mary barely brushed against his hard cock, and he resisted the urge to rut against her. She taunted him. “Can you prove it to me?”

Helmut growled under her, his fingers digging in with a pleasant pain as he held her. “What would you have me do?” 

“Love me.” If her shallow breaths and quiet moans were music to him, her commandment was a symphony. He fought with the fiddly buttons and eyelet lace of her nightgown, tearing it when it did not come undone for him. Mary gasped as the garment fell apart. “That was my only one,” she pouted. Never mind the half dozen she received from the tailor.

“I will happily pay for a hundred, each more maddening than the last, if you will wear them.” His voice was almost a purr, humming under her.

Mary blushed, and Helmut dipped his head to take one of her heavy breasts into his mouth. She moaned wantonly at the wet touch of his tongue on her nipple, the scratching of his stubble, and the soft bite of his teeth. Jolting suddenly against his thigh was not her intention, but she enjoyed the rumbling groan it pulled from him as she rubbed his bulge. He released her right breast, a string of saliva falling from his lips, before promptly attaching himself to her left breast.

She ran one of her hands through his hair, gently pulling and smoothing it back. His devoted eyes flicked up to hers as he continued suckling her. Helmut intended to leave a dark mark on her, something that only he would see and know. One of his hands held tight to her waist while the other inched up her thigh. Mary tugged on his hair when his fingers teased her clit, surprised by the lightning thrill it gave her.

Helmut was submissive under her, and she relished it. “Please Sternchen, let me make it up to you. Let me love you.” He was overjoyed she initiated their evening, often too shy to outright say what she wanted, and he played into her fantasy. 

“I want you to.” 

At this, Helmut moved her thighs to wrap securely around his hips. “Clasp your hands around my neck, and hold on tight,” he instructed. Mary did not realize what he planned until he stood from the chair, holding her to him by grasping her thighs. She tightened her legs around him on instinct and panic. 

“Helmut, stop I-” 

His desk was covered in papers and books, so he carried her to the round table in the alcove. Helmut set her on the table, her hips at the perfect height for him, and he pushed up her nightgown’s skirt to ruffle around her waist. “You are never too much for me,” he assured her, petting her exposed thighs. 

Mary reached to undo his pants, tugging and pulling them down. Helmut shivered under her touch, surprised by her assertiveness. She stroked him, already hard and eager, and he whimpered softly. 

Mary thought he would wait, press gently in as he had before, but she was glad he did not. The first slam of his cock was fierce, decisive, and precise. It was a pleasure beyond anything she felt before, radically different but just as good as the slow sex in their bed. Although she sat on the table, cradled by the way he loomed over her, Mary still felt she was in charge. He made her feel larger than life, greater than she could describe.

The peaks of her naked breasts grazed his loose linen shirt, and she would have torn it from him if she had the thought. It was difficult to think with the deep thrusts he gave her and the way he angled his hips to brush her clit with every stroke. 

Her release came quickly, to neither of their surprises, and she held tight to Helmut’s shoulders, squeezing him for something to ground her. Mary’s hands were not the only thing that gripped him for dear life, but Helmut never faltered. All that was evident of his immense struggle and pleasure were his panting breaths and a thin trickle of sweat that rolled down his forehead. 

Helmut achieved his own peak when she tightened around him and kissed his neck. He called out her name, and several obscenities, before tangling his fingers in her hair. His hips slowed to a gentle roll, but he did not immediately pull himself from her. Their combined mess dripped from them onto the wooden floor, but they did not care. His forehead rested on her shoulder, and she pressed sweet kisses to his temple and cheek. 

“Will you carry me to our bed?” He did not lift his head at her voice, but he hummed into her shoulder in contentment. “I am not certain my legs would work if I tried.”

“What? All ten steps?” He teased. She shook her head, and he chuckled. Helmut picked her up as he had before, but this time he placed her in their bed. He left her there to wet a cloth, cleaning both them and their floor. 

Mary waited until Helmut settled in bed next to her to ask. She traced her fingertips over his chest and through the furry patches there, feeling the steady thumping of his heart. “Is your meeting tomorrow?” 

“How do you know about that?” he rumbled, torn from his half-awake state. Mary’s hand stilled, and he corrected himself. “Nevermind, I must have foolishly assumed you were not paying attention.” Her hand continued caressing him as he spoke. “Yes, it is, and it will be dangerous. It always is when meeting other pirates and our ilk, but do not worry. I promise to return in one piece.”

“You better because I will be coming with you.” Mary said it in a joking tone, but Helmut knew she sincerely meant it.

“Mary,” he thought for a moment to protest and then thought better of it. She was determined, it was one of the qualities he most admired about her, and he knew anything he did to prevent her would cause a rift between them. “I cannot stop you, can I?”

“Not unless you tie me to this bed or lock me in our room.”

“Now that is an interesting idea…” Helmut pressed a kiss to the closest part of her, her arm. 

“Is it?” She asked, intending it as a laugh but fascinated by his comment. 

“It could be, some other night. Sleep, liebe, you will need it for tomorrow.”

Helmut’s meeting was not until the evening. He wandered Hightown in the morning with Mary, ensuring she went everywhere she wanted to go and received all of her purchases, not saying they would be unable to return after but heavily implying it. Although he could not predict how the meeting would go, he knew he would either depart quickly with new information or be unwelcome in Madripoor much longer. 

They returned to the ship in the afternoon with Helmut carrying all the little items that needed picking up or Mary decided she needed. He could not resist a little smirk as he set the dainty packages on the table, thinking how wonderful Mary would look again with a necklace bouncing on her chest. 

“How should I dress for the meeting?” Mary stared at the chests Helmut set aside for her. All her new purchases were neatly folded and stored away, waiting to be worn. Helmut rested his hand on her back, admiring her new clothes, and considering the choices before him. 

He knew dresses were not the most capable, and he did not want her to be confined if they were forced to run. Of course, he did not say that to her… “What would you be most comfortable in?”

“Well,” Mary rummaged through the chest for a moment before pulling out a pair of pants. “I did commission these.” She pressed her lips into a thin line, an expression Helmut knew to mean she was worried. 

“They’re lovely,” he assured her. They reminded him of his pants, only more fashionable, more feminine. The fabric was strong yet flexible, allowing her to move easily. He set a pair aside. “They will be perfect, Sternchen.”

Mary smiled, and her nose crinkled in delight. “I can wear one of these blouses with it, and I bought new shoes from the cobbler that are more appropriate.” 

“That is not all you will need.”

Her eyebrow arched, “Oh?” 

“Yes, and it is necessary.” Helmut opened one of his desk drawers and revealed a knife in its sheath and a leather belt. “There is nothing more important to me than your safety, and if we are to be together, you will need a way to protect yourself.” 

Mary picked up her gift and admired the sheath first. It was leather and hand-tooled, decorated with a crescent moon and dozens of little stars. Her name was inscribed at the top in silver thread: Mary Zemo. She had not seen many blades in her life, but she knew what a beautiful blade looked like when she saw it. Mary went to run her finger along the flat part of it—

“—Careful, it is sharp,” he warned her. Helmut studied her face attentively. A small part of him worried it was too much, it was not what she wanted, and it reminded her of the dangers a pirate faced. Instead, she smiled and a tear threatened to roll down her cheek. 

“It’s wonderful, Hel, truly.”

“I am afraid I do not have time now to train you to use it, but hopefully you shall not have to today.”

“Hopefully,” she agreed, “and I am sure we will have time after for you to teach me.” 

Mary changed into her new outfit, and for once she did not ask Helmut to turn around. He openly admired the way her pants clung to her thighs as she pulled them up, and he spotted the dark purple mark he left on her breast. The wine-colored blouse she chose covered it, but Helmut took pride in knowing it was there over her heart. 

“Allow me to help you,” he offered. Helmut picked up the belt from his desk and helped fashion it around her waist. Mary watched him through hooded eyes as his hands traced over her. The knife was sheathed on her left hip, easier access he explained for her since she was right-handed. He pointed out he put his on his right hip since he was left-handed. 

“How do you feel?” Helmut did not say it, but he offered her another out before the meeting. If she felt too nervous or scared she could back out and he would not think any different of her. This life was not for everyone, and she did not need to accompany him into trouble.

Mary took a deep breath in. She checked her shoes, her pants, her shirt, and her knife before answering. “Anxious, but alright. How do you feel?” 

Helmut shrugged and checked his own outfit because of her. Mary left her own mark on him on his neck, but the collar of his coat mostly covered it. He held more than just a knife on his belt; he stored his sword and his pistol there too. He wore his leather gloves to protect his hands should the situation turn.

“I have spent years hunting people who knew of Walker's movements, routes, and whereabouts. I have no intention to leave my work unfinished. I feel certain, but to do this we will have to scale a ladder of lowlifes.” Helmut glanced at Mary before continuing. “Our first stop is a woman named Selby. She is a mid level fence and tavern owner I still have a line on. From there, we climb.”

Captain Helmut Zemo was no fool. He would not attend a meeting with Selby without backup. Sam and James accompanied them as they were intelligent and strong enough to suit his needs. They could tell when the situation was turning and just how much force was necessary. 

Mary stayed close to Helmut’s side, never wandering as she did in Hightown. Her eyes went wide as she took everything in, and she appreciated his hand at the small of her back. It was a much different environment than anything she had ever been in, and Helmut knew because he once had the same feeling about such places. Brawls and fights, drunken stumbling, armed guards and weapon sellers, and much more differentiated Hightown from Lowtown.

“You smell this?” He leaned in so only Mary would hear, “Lowtown. It is built on stilts over the marches giving it this smell of acid and sulfur.”  Helmut gave her a moment to take the city in. 

Helmut prepped her on the boat ride over and again on their walk. He knew how intelligent and observant she was, but he needed her to act clueless during the meeting. Given her history and her status, it was not wise to draw attention to herself or be noticed.

“No matter what happens, stay in character and play dumb. Our lives depend on it.”

As they journeyed deeper into Madripoor, Helmut led the way past several bars and taverns. He knew to look for Brass Monkey Saloon and recognized it by the iconic monkey head on the sign above the door. Helmut glanced at Mary again, wondering if he ought to ask her to stay with Sam outside the building. Her face was impassive until she turned toward him, taking a deep breath in and smiling.

One wall was lined with small monkey skulls, stacked on top of each other from the floor to the ceiling, all covered in gold-colored paint. Zemo steered them toward the bar in the center of the room, crowded with people who pushed past him. Is that the Bloody Baron? One man in the crowd whispered. Helmut became synonymous with his ship.

“Hello, gentlemen. I was not expecting you, Baron.”

“My plans changed. We have business to do with Selby,” Zemo explained curtly. The bartender poured Zemo a shot of whiskey from a top-shelf bottle, and he accepted it. He did not intend to get drunk, but he needed to drink it as a show of good faith.

Another man, heavily tattooed and pierced with a long beard, shoved through the crowd and accosted Zemo. “I got word from on high that you ain’t welcome here.”

Zemo was not easily intimidated, and he held his ground and his composure. "I have no business with the powerbroker, but if he insists he can either come and talk to me—" he gestured to the pistol on his hip, “or bring Selby here.” The man backed off, and Mary moved a half step closer to Zemo.

“A power broker?” she whispered, barely heard over the noise of the room.

He shrugged, “Every kingdom needs its king. Let's pray we stay under his nose.”

Her eyebrows pinched together and she pressed her lips into a familiar thin line. “Do you know him?”

“Only by reputation,” he murmured. “In Madripoor he is judge, jury, and executioner.”

Distracted by Mary, he did not notice another gruff man closing in until his hand was on his shoulder. James jumped in to his defense, playing the role of bodyguard well, and Sam joined him once a second man appeared. Helmut pulled Mary closer to him, holding her by the waist in case they needed to run. People drew back from them and the bar as more became involved in the fight, Sam and James incapacitating each man as he drew near.

He did not want it to escalate, yet one hand stayed on his pistol. “Stay in character or the bar may turn on us,” he whispered to Mary. People were more willing to let a clueless Captain’s sidepiece go than someone who seemed ready to fight. At the glimpse of a gun being drawn, Zemo ordered them to stop. 

“Selby will see you now.”

“Thank you,” Helmut said as if they were not moments away from an all-out brawl.

The bartender directed them to the back room. Helmut again led them there, ensuring Mary stood behind him, and Sam and James trailed along. He wanted her in the middle so she could feel protected. Weapons, drinks, and money were laid out on the table, and several high-dollar card games and backhanded deals happened in the dim light. 

“You should know, Baron.” Selby tapped her fingers against the back of a couch in a pattern. “People don’t just come into my tavern and make demands.” 

Zemo tried to shield Mary from Selby’s discerning eye, but he knew it would not help. “Not a demand, an offer,” he insisted. Helmut sat on the couch opposite Selby, and Mary sat next to him. Sam and James stood on either side flanking them. 

“A lot has changed since you were here last.” Selby looked pointedly at Mary. Rather than wither under Selby’s gaze or try to meet it with her own intense stare, Mary blushed and giggled, feigning ignorance perfectly. “By the way, I thought you were held up by a British officer. How did you escape?” Selby eyed Mary again as if she were trying to place her face. 

“People like us always find a way, don’t we?” He shrugged nonchalantly, trying to draw the attention back to him. “And I am sure you have already figured out what we are here for.”

Selby settled into her seat, more confident now. She smiled as she spoke, “You’re a pretty girl. Where did the Baron find you?” Mary laughed again and pushed her hair off her shoulder. Selby turned back to Zemo. “What’s the offer?” She emphasized the word since Helmut corrected her earlier.

“Tell me what you know of Walker’s route, and I will give you her. She is worth quite the ransom, or you could do with her as you like.”

Selby laughed, Helmut smiled, and Mary’s eyes went wide. He did not tell her his plan because it made her surprise genuine. “Now that’s the Zemo I remember. I’m glad I decided not to kill you instantly.” She looked at Mary again and nodded in recognition. “Yes, you were right to come to me. Arrogant, but right. Walker was here a week ago to see Corporal Wilifred Nagel. Apparently they had unfinished business that drew him into murky waters.”

Zemo tilted his head and waved his hand, “Is Nagel still in Madripoor?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Selby admonished, “The breadcrumbs you can have for free, but the bakery is going to cost you, Baron. And before you try something, don’t think you can find Nagel without me.” Zemo sighed in dissatisfaction while Selby prodded. “So tell me Baron, how did you acquire Admiral Walker’s long lost fiancé?” Zemo shifted uncomfortably in his seat and hardened his jaw. He hoped to gain more information from Selby before having to cut their meeting short. “Did you attack her ship? Or did you steal her from the Governor’s house? Tell me, Baron, was this part of your long scheme for revenge? To kidnap the Admiral’s fiancée, fool her into loving you, and then leave her out to dry?”

Helmut knew the salacious rumors they said of him, but he did not know how far the story spun out. Of course, he knew Selby only did it to get a rise out of him, but he resisted the urge to meet it. Mary protested beside him, and he turned to her in shock. “Helmut did not steal me or manipulate me. He saved me, and I chose to be with him.” Sam and James moved closer to the Captain, and he took her hand in his.

“Of course you did darling, after the Baron deceived you for weeks. He’s been after revenge for what, eight years now?” Selby glanced at him and smiled wickedly. “I am sure there is no room in his black heart for love.”

“That’s enough,” he said. Selby continued to berate him, but the words faded away. Zemo stopped listening to her when he realized there was only one way out of their meeting. His hand inched toward the pistol on his hip and he knew he would need to act quickly. He would only have one shot.

In a moment, Selby was slumped on the floor with a bullet hole in her chest. Sam and James fought her two guards, and Helmut pulled Mary from the couch. Once the guards were immobilized, Zemo locked the door and looked at their group. 

“They will have heard that, so keep your pistols ready.” Sam and James nodded while Mary held her hand over her knife. It was all she had, but she prepared herself to use it. People banged at the door, with one or two shots being fired through it, and they moved toward the back of the room. Zemo checked an open window while Sam opened another. “This will be our exit. We were spotted arriving, so we should leave in two groups. It will force anyone trying to follow us to split up as well. Mary will go with me. Sam and James, I trust I will meet you back at the ship.”

He helped Mary through the window, letting her grab his arm and hand for support. Luckily they were on the first floor or they would be pushing through the angry crowd. Helmut fended off enemy shots while urging Mary through the street. Once they escaped Lowtown, they would make a break for the docks. 

The group reunited on deck of The Bloody Baron. The crew expected a hasty return once they returned from their meeting, so they set sail without wasting any time. Oeznik met them on the quarter-deck eager to know what they learned. Aggravated, James snapped at Oeznik before Zemo could answer. Zemo frowned and sighed. 

The old man stared at them in disbelief. “What do you mean?”

Sam crossed his arms, understanding James’ frustration, but finding his flippantness with Oeznik unnecessary. “Our Captain here shot Selby after his plan fell apart.”

“Do we really have to litigate what happened?” 

“There’s nothing to litigate. You straight shot the woman.” Ironically, Sam did not mind being impertinent with his Captain.

Helmut held up a gloved finger to both Sam and James. “Not before hearing something very important.” Now that he held their attention, he smiled. “I believe Selby said Dr. Nagel and Admiral Walker had business in murky waters…”

James was still annoyed, but he was interested now. “So what does that mean to us?” 

 “If I recall correctly, not far from Madripoor there is an island surrounded by mangroves.” Zemo smiled smugly, “Perhaps Nagel is hiding there.” Incredulous, Sam and James laughed. “If I change our course now, we will arrive well before morning.” 

The men left Zemo at the helm, wanting to clean and reload their weapons knowing they would need them for tomorrow. Mary, who had been quiet since their escape, stood next to him. She placed her hand over his, holding a rung on the wheel, and pressed her lips into a worried thin line. 

“I know Selby must have upset you, but do you realize the danger you put us in by protesting?” Helmut did not want to chastise or criticize her, it was her first mission he supposed, but he needed her to understand.  

“I could not stand by while she said those horrible things about you. Saying you kidnapped me, you ransomed me, and much worse. I wanted to defend you, to speak up for you.”

“Oh my sweet Sternchen,” his hand squeezed hers. “Far worse has been said of me, and much worse will continue to be said. I cannot control what rumors or salacious gossip people spread. I can defend myself perfectly well, if and when I choose to.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “But I appreciate you wanting to defend my honor.” 

“Of course, now that I have my new knife I can defend you with more than just words,” she teased. 

“Bold words for someone who has not learned how to use their knife yet.” Helmut kissed her again, but not on her forehead. His tongue slipped into her mouth, and his hand cradled her cheek. 

Helmut left with a group of men early in the morning. The sun barely started to rise, pink and purple in the east, when he left their bed. Mary missed him and worried over him, but there was nothing she could do for him on the ship. 

She wanted to read, but the words danced on the page and made no sense to her. So, Mary stayed busy to distract herself. She found clean sheets for their bed, straightened Helmut’s desk, cleaned their windows, and reorganized their trunks all before lunch. 

Billy, left behind for being too young and inexperienced, brought in a tray laden with more food than she could eat on a nervous stomach. She offered for him to sit and eat with her. He gobbled up the food, not hindered by a queasy stomach and relishing the Captain’s fancier fare, and listened to Mary ramble. 

“As I cleaned the window I kept staring out them and at that island, wondering where he was and if he was alright. What if he’s injured and needs help? What if they’re lost? Oh God, what if he’s dead?”

“He’s not dead,” Billy said with a mouthful of food. “The Captain is too good to die. He never misses a shot, and he’s fantastic with his sword. I’ve never seen anyone fight like him. It must be that classical training, and he said he would teach me to fight like him.”

Mary forced herself to eat a bite of food, and it sat in her stomach like a rock. “Helmut is not some character, destined to be lucky in every scenario. What if something happens to him?” 

“He has been our Captain for five years, and in that time he has never come in harm’s way. Trust him. He knows what he is doing.” Billy punctuated his statement with an overfilled fork, eyeing Mary’s abandoned plate. She pushed the plate toward him knowing she was unable to eat it. As a growing boy, he might as well. “Would you like me to bring you some tea?” 

“Yes, please, if you do not mind.” 

Billy brought the tea after clearing up his meal, and Mary drank it slowly sitting in the window seat up in the loft. She felt safe there, above everything else, and with a substantial viewing point, and she hoped Helmut was safe wherever he was. Hours passed, but it felt like days to her.

Mary fitfully tried to sleep in their bed, but it was not the same without him. In such a short time she could not sleep without his warm presence, light snores, and cologne smell. She stared at the ceiling, her eyes well adjusted to the darkness, and willed him to return. Mary could imagine it all: 

Helmut would waltz right in the door, a proud smile on his face, and pull her into his arms. He would smother her in kisses and tell her how he never wanted to let her go. Then he would strip from his combat-ready outfit, giving Mary the chance to admire him again, before crawling into their bed and helping her fall asleep. 

She heard yelling first, excited shouts and clamoring, and then boots stomping around on deck. The crew only moved like that when something was happening, and the return of their Captain more than counted. Mary sprung from their bed and threw on a robe to cover her nightgown. Since she unbraided her hair for sleep, it spilled over her shoulders and back. 

“Helmut!” She saw his rowboat out in the waves, closing the gap to the ship. He waved to her, sitting near the front of the boat and helping them row. The crew threw a rope ladder over the ship's side and prepared the rigging to lift the boat. Mary waited and anxiously rocked back and forth on her feet as she stood by the railing. 

He was the last man to climb up the side, and Mary ran to him for a hug just after his feet hit the deck. “Mary,” he sighed in relief and pleasure, his head resting on her shoulders. He stayed there a moment, breathing in her smell and relishing the feeling of her warmth. “Your nightgown!” Helmut quickly pulled away and saw the muck of his clothes transferred to hers. “I am sorry, I did not think-”

“-Nevermind my dress, what happened to you?” Mary gently traced the gashes and mud splatters on his face, careful not to aggravate them. His eyelashes fluttered and his breathing stilled under her touch. 

“Later,” he murmured.

Mary nodded once in understanding, and she returned to their room. While Helmut spoke with members of his crew, Mary prepared water basins, cloths, mild soaps, and alcohol to clean him up. Warm candlelight filled the room, and she remade their bed. When she looked up, Helmut stood in the doorway. 

“It is nice to see you again,” he smiled. In their room, she could see the weariness in his eyes and the tired slump of his shoulders. Helmut did not need to pretend when he was with Mary. He could be himself. 

He stripped off his outfit layer by layer. Mud splattered across everything, his boots and socks soaked, and threads pulled by thorny plants. Mary would have a hell of a time cleaning it, but first, she attended to Helmut. She used a wet cloth to clean the mud and dried blood from him and looked him over for cuts or injuries. 

“What happened out there?” Mary tried to mask the concern in her voice, but Helmut knew it was there regardless. She dabbed at the shallow cuts with alcohol, and he did not flinch.

“We left early, as you know, and rowed through the mangroves. You can see some of it from the ship, but the further you go the more outlandish it seems.” He smiled faintly, “There were so many creatures, big and small there, that I have only seen in books. Remind me sometime and I will find the book to show you.” 

Mary knew he would have more important things to do than show her the landscape and the animals, but she encouraged him anyway. It was sweet of him to want to show her. “It sounds amazing.”

“We looked for a house or a building, anything to show signs of human life. Just when we thought of giving up, seeing nothing but trees, I spotted a small building in the distance. The closer we were the more abandoned it looked, but something told me it was just the place someone in hiding would choose.”

Mary finished tending to him, but he stayed seated. It must not have been a conversation he wanted to have in their bed. She laid out his sleep clothes and sat in the chair across from him. 

“I brought Sam and James with me. By the way the old boards creaked I was sure he must have heard us, but he did not. Sam approached him first, guns out of course, and it was him. He was angry, understandably so, but I suppose I was angrier.”

His eyes darted around the table, and Mary realized he wanted a drink. She reached for a bottle of wine, but he asked for something stronger. She poured him a glass, and she poured one for herself too. His cheek twitched just below his eye when he spoke

“I told him who I was, and he knew me. When I looked in his eyes there was no hint of regret or guilt, only anger that I found him. Then he demanded an offer for him to talk, so I shot the wall next to his head to send him a message.” He glanced quickly at her, worried she would disapprove, but Mary was not so fragile anymore. “It convinced him to speak, yes, glorifying his own achievements in Walker’s crew. He was the brains of their operation, it was his careful study of ship routes and ledgers that told them who to ambush. He was the reason Walker is held in the king’s heart and coffers so well.”

Mary noticed the was Helmut used when describing Nagel. She knew the end of his story before he told it, but she listened to him. Helmut needed a sympathetic ear and someone to care for him.

“I could not bear listening to his boasting.” His expression soured and his voice turned acidic. “What power or authority did he have? Why should his greed outweigh an innocent person’s life? Who was he to play with my life like a God?” Helmut finished his glass and tapped his fingers against the table. 

“I am so sorry for what he did to your family, Hel,” Mary reached for his fingers and intertwined them with hers. “Nagel abused his position, as did Walker and countless others, but you can sleep tonight knowing he is dead.”

He kissed her knuckles, ran his thumb over them, and smiled. It was small but triumphant. “We took Nagel’s books. Hopefully if we pour over his accounts and his habits directly from his so-called mastermind, we can track him down.”

“Tomorrow, after a big breakfast,” she teased, “because now is for sleep.” Helmut laughed at her comment and agreed. It had been a long day, and he needed the rest. Mary blew out the candles while he changed, and they lay in their bed together. With his warmth and scent of something indescribably Helmut, Mary fell asleep.

Zemo noticed when Mary was sluggish in the morning, not getting out of bed until he plated the food and poured the tea, and he observed again when she was reluctant to do anything on deck. He offered for her to just sit near him, conversing or reading while he oversaw the men, but she dismissed him with a little frown claiming she was tired. Then he suggested a nap in the sun, something she often did while he worked, but she rejected that too. Of course, Helmut suspected there was more to it, but he needed to leave, so he vowed to inquire later.

In the afternoon, he returned to their cabin and found the curtains drawn and most of the candles blown out. What little light there was flickered across the room casting long shadows. Mary lay on her side, curled up and clutching a pillow, so he sat down on his side of the bed facing her back. Helmut suspected she wasn’t asleep, and she took a deep breath in. “What’s wrong?” He placed a hand on her arm and reassuringly moved it up and down, “And don’t tell me you’re merely fatigued.” With a little pinch to her arm, he lightly teased her.

Mary released the pillow, but she still avoided his discerning eye. “I feel awful, Hel, it’s…” she trailed off, out of embarrassment he suspected. Helmut was not an idiotic or unsympathetic man, he had a wife before, and he recognized the signs: headaches, cramps, and a number of maladies she refused to mention. He loved Mary, and he understood many private subjects were still difficult for her to discuss despite his attempts to normalize them. She developed a tendency to hide when she had her “lady time”, as she put it delicately, but he knew it pained her greatly.

“What can I do for you?” Helmut asked softly, tucked in a lock of hair behind her ear, and kissed her cheek. “Would you like a special tea, chocolate, or perhaps something to eat?” He did not mind preparing or fetching her something if it would alleviate her misery.

“I don’t know,” Mary whined, finally rolling onto her back. Her brows were pinched and her lips downturned. She kept one hand pressed to her abdomen, massaging the pain he supposed. “It hurts so bad, worse than usual…” He nodded in sympathy and held her other hand. His thumb rubbed circles on the back of it, but she flipped her palm so she could hold his hand instead. “Do you have anything for pain? Besides rum,” she mused. It was always the quick solution, but it had a habit of making her feel worse later.

He laughed a little at her eye roll. “I don’t have anything for pain, but I may still be able to help.”

“What?” She grimaced through another cramp, and she squeezed Helmut’s hand the entire time. He didn’t mind; he assured her the entire time. Anything to lessen her suffering. “I’ll take anything.” Mary would even drink the rum if it would help. She just wanted the excruciating pain to stop for a moment.

Helmut hated seeing her in discomfort, and he wanted to help her, but he knew she might not like his suggestion. “It’s not so much something you take as something you receive, Sternchen.” Mary looked at him with skeptical eyes, and he continued, still holding her hand. “Pleasure,” he said politely since she was still warming up to other words for it, “can overcome pain. So if you were to receive pleasure, it might help you.”

“But,” she protested, ready to spout more sexual misinformation from her mother. Mary entered their relationship with many misguided preconceptions, and he worked to rid her of them. Helmut encouraged her to speak up, say what she felt and desired, yet he knew it took time and effort.

“But,” Helmut cut her off, “it’s simple logic, Sternchen. Pleasure beats pain.” He lifted her hand and placed a kiss on the back of it. “That is, of course, if you desire. I would never pressure you to do something you did not want to do.”

“What about swimming?” she quipped with a wry smile. “I did not want to do that, yet someone forced me, insisting it would be for my benefit.”

“That was for your well-being,” Helmut maintained with a smile. “Did you not learn a valuable lesson and have a lovely time?”

Mary nodded fondly at the memory — his hot mouth on her, teasing her with his tongue, and promising X marked the spot — and then she yawned. Somehow, even doing nothing exhausted her. “Can I think about it, Hel? I just want to sleep now.” She clutched the pillow again, intending to curl up with it when he left. It was a sorry replacement: it wasn’t warm like him, it didn’t smell like him, and it didn’t hold her like him.

He smiled kindly at her, letting her know it was perfectly alright. “As you wish, my dear. Would you like me to blow out the candles on my way out?”

“Yes, please.” Mary was spoiled by him, but he would not have it any other way. She knew when he returned later it would be with piping hot tea or the comforting chocolate drink. He gently teased her when he blew out the candles, wishing her a good night and sweet dreams, and she muttered her thanks.

After he left, she considered what he said. The reasoning was sound, she felt immense joy and euphoria with him, but the idea of doing that with him given in her current state perplexed her. Mary thought it was messy, unclean, and unseemly. How could Helmut still want her? She settled into the sheets, content to sleep for the moment to mask the pain, and would think more about it later.

Night fell before Helmut returned, and it took all of Mary’s energy to open the curtains and light the candles. She wanted a low light in the room, enough to welcome him but not enough to disturb her, and the combination of moonlight and candlelight was perfect. Mary grew bored without him, and lonesome, and a heap of other emotions, and she wanted him to come back soon. The next time they docked at port she needed to buy more books; she’d almost read through what they bought, and it would be a cold day in hell before she read a nautical navigation book.

A gentle knock announced his return, and she enthusiastically told him to enter. Helmut carried a teapot and a platter of goods, and Mary was eager to investigate. Without her asking, he brought it to her at the bed and set it on her lap. He poured her a cup of the rich, chocolate drink while she picked through the assortment of fruit.

Helmut sat by her feet on the bed and watched her eat. “How are you feeling?” The cramps could throw off her appetite, and while he missed dinner he knew from Billy she did not eat much of her meal. Still, Helmut ensured she ate.

“Not much better,” she admitted with a sigh. “My headache passed, but…” instead of finishing her sentence, she nibbled on a soft, sweet fruit. Mary couldn’t remember what Helmut called it, something that started with a “C”, but that wasn’t the point.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He stood up from the bed and went about his evening routine. Helmut changed out of his day clothes, tossing them into the dirty pile, and found a pair of loose black sleep pants. In the tropical summer, he preferred to sleep without a shirt, and Mary watched the gold chain necklace glitter in the candlelight. She thought of all the times it dangled above her and she almost reached out to grab it. Mary shook the thought from her head when he stepped into the water closet. He always brushed his teeth, washed his face, and scrubbed his hands before bed. For a pirate, Helmut was fastidiously clean.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Helmut arched his eyebrow, genuinely inquiring. He noticed her staring as he changed, and he wondered if she thought any more of his proposal.

She studied him, his exposed chest and kind eyes, and cursed herself. Mary wanted him, more than she wanted the chocolates and fruit, but she was afraid. What if he was disgusted with her? What if he didn’t enjoy it? Sure, it was all his idea, but what if? What would she do then?

“Well, I’ve been thinking about what you said…” at this Helmut sat on their bed, very near to her, “and if it will help the pain stop, then we might as well give it a try.” Mary chewed her bottom lip in thought and nervously met his eye.

“Oh Sternchen,” he leaned forward and cupped the side of her face with his hand, “are you certain?” Unconsciously, he licked his pink lips.

Mary nodded slowly to give him her assent. “Hold that thought,” he quickly stood up and returned with a tattered old cloth. “Lift up,” he gently instructed her. She obeyed, moving her hips, and realized she was doing it. Mary stared at him with wide eyes and a touch of fear, not regretting her choice but obviously nervous, so he took her hand. “It’s quite alright. Your menstrual cycle is completely natural, nothing to be ashamed about, and so is sex.” He moved his hand to cover her abdomen, “and I am not bothered by a bit of blood,” Helmut joked.

She kissed him, lightly at first, but it deepened when she opened her mouth and allowed his tongue in. He tasted the heady chocolate, saccharine fruit, and something otherworldly and indescribably Mary. Her hands tangled in his hair, near the base of his neck pulling him closer, while he worked to divest her of his shirt. He did, and he tossed it onto the floor. This was not the time to worry about a mess; it would all be cleaned later.

His lips trailed down, grazing against her neck and collarbone to find her tender breasts. She moaned a little when he cupped one with his hand and laved at the other, relieved at his surprisingly gentle touch. They ached, like the rest of her, and her firm hands were a comfort. Encouraged, he moved his hands lower to remove her pants. Mary glanced at him nervously when he tugged at the waistband, but he looked at her adoringly.

“I love you, Sternchen, you have nothing to fear.” He kissed away her worries and slowly dragged his finger through her wetness. When he circled her clit, she gasped and jolted at his touch, not realizing how much more sensitive she would be. Helmut smirked as he set a leisurely pace, focusing on providing her with much-needed relief.

Wordlessly, Mary spread her thighs for him and he settled between them. Helmut traveled the world, sailed the seas from shore to shore, and yet between her thighs was his favorite place to be. He pressed his lips to one plump thigh, intent on sucking a dark bruise there while he toyed with her. Mary playfully swatted his head and grabbed his hair, and he chuckled against her leg. Helmut knew without asking — wetness weeped from her, painting her thighs a light pink, and making a mess on his fingers — but he still delighted in asking. “Excited, are you?”

“Oh my God, Helmut…” Mary would never question his ideas again. Not when he made her feel so intoxicated without a single drink. Not when he made her feel like the prettiest, most well-loved woman alive. Not when he made her feel like a shining star.

Just like a shooting star, she felt like she was exploding. Gone was all of her pain and in place of it an incredible euphoria. He muttered encouragement to her, easy, there you go, that’s it, and prolonged every stroke of his deft fingers. Helmut relished the glassy look in her eyes and removed his fingers when she stopped twitching. “Good girl,” he praised. “So beautiful for me.”

“Helmut, please,” she whined, reaching for him. Mary needed him more than she could express with words, but he understood nonetheless. A star and a navigator did not need words to comprehend each other; they could feel it. He nodded against her, kissing his way up her body. Helmut was there for her.

Haphazardly, he wiped his fingers on the cloth and positioned himself above her. His cock was leaking before he could get it out of his pants, and he kissed her again. Her hands were all over him, running across his back and neck, tangling in his hair, and tracing the planes of his chest and stomach. Mary adored his every hair, scar, and freckle. She wrapped her fingers around him, dripping and throbbing, and he groaned into her neck. Mary released her hand, and he shifted to grind himself through her wetness. He paused, however, before pushing into her to look into her eyes.

“Don’t make me ask you again,” she sighed, frustrated with his taunting pleased with his consideration. He made it a habit to ask her before continuing, but it was also a way to build tension. Helmut could tease her until the end of the world, but Mary learned he was a surprisingly impatient man when the roles were reversed. She would have to do that again sometime.

With ease, he pushed his hips forward and moaned into her ear. She loved that sweet, lustful sound; it meant he could be vulnerable with her. Mary stretched to accommodate him, gasping at the pleasure of being filled, and tightening her grip on his shoulder. His hips settled flush with hers, and he muttered something she couldn’t discern but knew intuitively. He loved her, he wanted her, he would never let her go.

He rasped into her ear, in English this time, smugly inquiring if her pleasure was beating her pain. With a giddy laugh, she assured him it was, and then he kissed along her jaw, searching for the pressure point of her pulse. He set his own measured pace, perfectly strong and steady to drive her wild as he hit every sensitive spot. Each stroke of his ridges and veins flayed her nerves and made her fingers dig into his back. He didn’t mind; he never did.

Helmut was always vocal when they made love: complimenting her, encouraging her, teasing her. Mary, on the other hand, was still learning to be vocal. She would whimper, whisper, and gasp, but his goal was to make her lose all sense of propriety and sensibility. There was no sweeter sound to Helmut than her falling apart at the seams: begging and screaming. He never felt satisfied until he did, so he moved one hand back to her clit. Helmut wanted to make her see stars when she closed her eyes, and he was close.

“Helmut… Hel,” Mary grasped him tighter and tried to warn him. She was not capable of coherent speech, but they did not need words.

“I know, I know,” He strengthened the snapping of his hips, quickly pushing her over the edge. The obscene sound of skin on skin, sweaty and sticky and wet, filled the room, as well as Mary’s cries of pleasure. She didn’t just see stars, she saw whole constellations and solar systems. The shooting pleasure took over every sense of decorum, and yet Helmut continued the steady movement of his hips drawing every sinful sound from her.

His lips brushed hers, and he groaned her name as his hips stuttered against her. Helmut brought his hand to her hip, pressing himself as close against her as possible, and he muttered a string of curses as he came. She felt the warmth of his release filling her, and he clung to her like he was reaching for the stars. Just to tease him, Mary tightened her muscles around him as he pumped his release making him shudder above her and let his head fall into the crook of her neck.

They stayed there for a moment. It could have been minutes or hours as they steadied their breathing and soaked up the feeling of being loved so completely. Mary pushed him lightly then, not enough to disturb him, but enough to make him realize that as much as she loved having him above her, he felt quite heavy when he rested entirely on her. With another grunt and a laugh, he rolls off of her and to his side of the bed.

“How do you feel?” Helmut asked with a proud grin. “Any better, Sterchen?”

Mary lightheartedly hit him again, on the chest instead, and took in a deep breath. “Much, much better, Hel.” She turned to look at him, both their cheeks still flushed and a lock of hair curling on his forehead. “Thank you.” Mary brushed the errant curl away.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Helmut quipped, investigating the mess. They were both damp and sticky, a bloody mess coating both their thighs, and he stood up to clean. Despite the cloth on the bed, he still wanted to freshen the sheets, and he returned with the sheets, wet cloths, and a change of clothes for her. He delicately cleaned her before sending her to the washroom so he could remove the sheets.

They laid down again, and she clutched him tighter than she had the pillow earlier. Helmut was much better than any cushion. He was warm, and when she pressed her head to his chest she could hear the reliable beating of his heart and the leveling of his breathing. Helmut also kissed her on the top of the head and traced his fingers along her neck and scalp, massaging away any possible headaches.

“I love you, Helmut.” Mary never tired of saying it, and he never tired of hearing it.

“I love you, too.” His chest rumbled as he said it, and to Mary, it was better than a lullaby.