The driver pulled away, and as the engine noise rose, Thomas let himself groan.

"Are you sure about that hospital?" she asked.

"I need a bed," he said. "But not in a hospital.""I'm afraid to touch you."

"Oh, please don't be. I could use some gentle touch."

She laughed. "We've had enough of the other." She leaned over and kissed him, keeping her weight off. As she started to pull back, he stopped her, prolonging the kiss. She broke off to take a deep breath. "Ah. I've been wanting that. And more."

She cupped the falsies and pushed up. "You like my boobies?"

He laughed. "I'm grateful for your boobies, but I can't pretend to like them. If they keep you safe, hidden from harm, great. But what you were born with is more than enough for me."

She dropped her hands to her lap and sighed. Thomas wasn't sure whether she was sad or happy.

"What's wrong?"

She laughed. "Absolutely nothing. Every man I've interacted with in this outfit has had trouble meeting my eyes-except you."

Thomas smiled. "I did something right?"

She took his hand in both of hers and leaned against him.

The hotel was not on the water's edge and they had to go four hexes inward to reach it. Thomas tried to walk without limping, to present a tourist's facade, carefree. The room was on the third floor, but she knew where the freight elevator was, saving him from the stairs.

The room was small and the bed was large. She started to push him down on it, but he said, "Let me use the bathroom first. Once horizontal, I don't want to get up again."

She nodded. He closed the door and urinated, then washed his face and hands.

When he came out, he carried a glass of water and two tablets.

"What have you there?"

"Pain meds. I haven't had any yet, and I'm told with two I'll sleep like the dead. I figure we'll have half an hour after I down them. I'm sorry, but it's getting a bit much for me."

"Well, take them! Don't be a martyr for my sake."

He shook his head. "It's purely selfish. I'll take them when you come to bed."

She said, "Well, then, I'll be right there. Will you need help undressing?"

He smiled. "I don't think so, as long as I can drop these pants on the floor without bending over."

She turned off the overhead light and threw a room-service towel over thebedside lamp, muting its glow; then she went into the bathroom, closing the door.

Thomas undid the shirt, kicked off his shoes, dropped his pants and underwear, as promised, and was sitting on the edge of the bed trying to remove his socks with his toes when Patricia came back in, naked, her face scrubbed clean of makeup.

"I'll get those," she said, stooping. "You take those pills."

He stared at her, his mouth suddenly dry. "You know, the pain just went completely away." He swallowed the pills as she pulled his socks off; then, with her support, he lay back on the pillow. He was unable to take his eyes off her.

Patricia laughed. "Now you're having trouble meeting my eyes." She traced her fingers over the elastic dressing wrapped around his middle.

He reached up and lifted her short bangs, where they drooped over the stitches on her forehead, then traced his hand down the side of her face, then her neck, and down to the curve of her breast.

She inhaled sharply and pinned his hand there with hers, bending over and kissing him slowly.

They progressed carefully, gently, Patricia on top, and as they moved and kissed and touched, he felt the drugs take hold, modifying the sensations, making things less urgent. There was a bad moment when her knee brushed his bandaged side, but she moved it away immediately when she felt him flinch.

She came first but it triggered his climax, moving together like slow thunder, a velvet earthquake that lasted into ecstatic aftershocks.

With a sort of breathless laugh, spoken with lips against the skin of his neck, she said, "You see? We can do it without being shot at."

He felt her slide down beside him, nestled under his armpit on his uninjured side, head on his shoulder, and with this happy contact, fell asleep.

16.

Beenan: Muertes diminutas

Patricia drowsed initially, savoring the warm contact of Thomas's body down the length of hers. This is good. This is very good. She resented the few square inches of bandage that kept her from contacting him skin to skin everywhere their bodies pressed together and laughed quietly to herself about it.

Wake up, slugabed.She wanted to talk to him, to kiss, to touch, to make love again. She wanted to try things with Thomas that, with Geoffrey, she'd only done reluctantly. She felt hungrily wanton and eager.

Still, his face asleep was now relaxed, different, released from the pain. He did his best to hide it but you could see it around his brow, his eyes. It was probably better that he slept and recovered. -the death of each day's life, sore labor's bath, balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, chief nourisher in life's feast.

Yes, sleep, for now, she grinned. I won't be so gentle in the future.

He wasn't a mouth breather, she noted, nor a snorer. She wouldn't know for sure, she supposed, until she saw him asleep without drugs. She hoped he didn't mind that she snored.

Geoffrey had told her often enough that she did.

She remembered Thomas's face against her neck, her cheek, her breast, and she realized he'd had his facial hair suppressed. It made sense, she guessed, while he was in the military. She'd done the same herself with her leg and armpit hair when she was younger and though she felt differently about such things now, she'd never taken the time to have it reversed.

He had other scars besides the burns. There were three puckered spots high on his left pectoral and matching holes over his shoulder blade showing where the flechettes must've exited. Or entered-he could've been shot in the back. She smoothed her hand over the three on his chest, as if by rubbing gently she could erase them. Thomas slept on, oblivious.

She tried to sleep but her fatigue was not enough to overcome her joy, and her brain, untethered, flew from the past to the future, from the fantastic to the practical.

What does he like for breakfast? Is he pleasant when he wakes, or does he need time? Is he religious? Does he want children? Is he good with children? Does he like broccoli?

The things that had been worrying her all day, ever since he'd proposed, came back to her transformed. Whereas before they'd seemed like insurmountable obstacles, rocky mountains on the horizon, now they seemed like wrapped packages in some labyrinthine postal system, surprises to be opened and dealt with when they finally arrived on the doorstep. Dread had transformed into pleasant anticipation-even delight.

She wondered what their days would be like. Would he get a job? Would he like to work with her, learning to pilot SubLorraine or skippering Terminal Lorraine?

Maybe he really wanted to retire, though she found it hard to picture him working in a garden or watching television all day long.

She had an image of herself returning from a city inspection, surfacing in the pen, to see him waiting for her, a toddler on his shoulders.Damn, the city inspections. I've got to get going on them. They were how she earned her hex's utilities, municipal school fees, and city membership dues. She was able to keep nearly a hundred sponsored refugees in job training because of that arrangement.

She inhaled, her nose right against Thomas's skin. There was some sweat, some musk, a hint of deodorant. She darted her tongue out to taste him-slightly salty-and found herself intensely aroused.

What relish is in this? How runs the stream? Or I am mad, or else this is a dream: let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep; if it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!

She crept from the bed, sliding out from under his arm and covering him with the blankets. The muted light was still on, and she watched his face for a moment, the motion of his eyes behind the lids, in REM. Dream of me.

She turned off the lamp and went into the bathroom, showering with water colder than was comfortable. When she climbed back into bed, she warmed herself against him until sleep finally came.

And if she dreamt, the dreams did not trouble her.

Thomas's satphone woke them both to bright morning light shining around the edges of the room's drapes.

Patricia sat up, instantly awake, and heard Thomas grunt in pain as he tried to sit up directly, using his stomach muscles. She pushed him back. "I'll fetch it."

His phone was hooked to his pants belt and she retrieved it from the floor, flipped it open, and handed it to Thomas.

"H'lo?" he managed.

She looked at him. He was still fogged with sleep or the aftereffects of the pain meds, and he was blinking hard.

"Righ'," he said. "I need a shower to wake me up. I'll call back in five minutes."

He stabbed at the phone with his forefinger, trying to turn it off, managing it after two more tries. He stared at the phone for a moment and she took it from him. He focused on her and suddenly took a deep breath.

"You."

She grinned at him. "Tu. Recuerdas mi nombre?"

"Don't lay traps, mi dulzura. Drugs or no, I remember mi novia."

She kissed him."Help me up," he said, after. "I've got to get this fog out of my head."

She lifted his shoulders and he swung his feet to the floor, cradling his side.

"Does it hurt much this morning?"

He shook his head. "It's throbbing a bit, but not like last night. I'd like to take a cold shower, but I'm not supposed to get the dressing wet."

While he urinated, she found a plastic laundry bag in the closet. Splitting it, she was able to fasten it tightly around his chest, draping the bandage.

She hovered as he climbed into the tub, worried about his balance, but he managed and turned the cold water on, with no ameliorating warmth. She jumped back from the cold spray and, at arm's length, tugged the curtain shut. In her mind's eye lingered the vision of Thomas, teeth clenched, thrusting his face into the stream of cold water.

She hovered, listening for some cry or gasp, but he was silent. She laughed quietly. In voices well divulged, free, learn'd and valiant. Especially valiant. When he emerged, she handed him a towel and untied the plastic, then took another towel and dried his back. "Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake! Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England's sake!"

He mimed snapping his towel at her, then limped back into the room to his satphone. "Can we get coffee up?"

"Yes. And breakfast?"

"I don't know." His face fell as he added reluctantly. "I may have to leave."

She winced but turned back to the room phone as he turned to the satphone.

Rather than go through the hotel, she called to a coffee shop the next hex over and arranged the delivery of two large lattes and muffins. He can always take his with him.

By the time she was done, he was just finishing up.

"-at NGPD? Right." He looked at his wrist and, finding it bare, looked around the room until he spotted the television clock's readout. "It'll take you a bit, so oh-nine-thirty? Great." He looked at her and licked his lips. "We've an hour."

She threw herself down on the bed and said, "Then let's not waste it."

They took a water taxi to Palacios, hidden below the canopy, necking slowly.

She didn't wear her disguise. He got out at the NGPD public landing and she took the cab on, looking back from the window, not just because she wanted to watch him, but to make sure he moved inside quickly.

She had the taxi pull right up to her sub pen, alarming the police officers stationedthere, but they relaxed when she emerged. Perito had rehung the pen doors, though they were sadly bent and folded and didn't quite meet in the middle, and through the gap she heard salsa played loudly from within.

The dockside door was locked, and when she punched the combination the lock clicked, but the manual bolt was engaged and the door wouldn't open. She pounded on the door, hard, seeking to be heard over the music. Inside, the volume was turned down and Perito's voice said, "Who is it?"

"Su jefe."

He threw the bolt and opened the door wide. She walked in quickly, driven by an itching feeling between her shoulder blades that didn't subside until the door was shut behind.

"Que pasa?" She looked first at SubLorraine, noting that the floor panels were back in place, though many had new holes drilled for the bolts into the dock.

Looking over at the workbench, she recognized the stereo that was playing the music. "Isn't that Toni's new stereo?"

"Si. She, uh, she moved in with me." He looked up at the ceiling, toward the apartment. "But she's up at the school right now."

"Really? And how did her parents take that?"

"Bien y mal."

"Mixed feelings? How so?"

"They have more room with her gone."

Patricia laughed. "And on the other hand there is the hombre desacreditado their daughter is living with."

He drew himself up. "Claro que no! Am I not the trusted employee of the eminent assemblywoman?" He slumped back down again and tapped the back of his forearm. "But I think they're not so sure about el color de mi piel."