Description: A longer-form short story featuring Mads and Luc, and introducing Lottie (aka the baby). Set almost immediately after The Last Coffee Shop's epilogue. It's several stories within stories (like a nesting doll), and most likely indulgent, but it also sets up some other stuff that I keep wanting to write about.

TW/CW: Death. Blood and injuries. Capital Punishment. Mentions of brothels/prostitution. Minor cursing/language (all PG13)

Night #1

She didn't know why she didn't com the Peace Keepers immediately. Maybe it was the shock. Maybe it was the way he'd just sort of melted onto her carpet, blood pooling underneath him. Maybe it was the guilt. But for whatever reason, she didn't com anyone. She didn't call Krill, and she didn't wake Grandmere. She did the one thing she always tried not to do: she acted on impulse.

It took her five minutes to get him upstairs and into her bathroom. His face was a mass of cloth, only one languid green eye blinking slowly at her as she demanded he help her out here. When he didn't respond, she left him lying on the bathroom floor while she went back for Lottie. Once the baby was tucked into her bed and silent, Mads returned to the bathroom, armed with first aid supplies.

Luc . . . Jive . . . was still lying where she'd left him, propped against the giant tub she'd had put in . . . with the money . . . Mads closed her mind against that train of thought and nudged him with her foot.

"Baby," he said, in a slurry way.

Mads was confused, but she felt her cheeks heat up anyway, for some reason. Idiot. "Why are you here? You were supposed to be . . . being executed."

"On live broadcast." His voice was so soft she barely understood him. Then he cleared his throat and continued in a stronger voice, "Barbaric, don't you think? Speaking of barbaric, are you really just letting me bleed out on your floor? And where'd you get a baby? Uh . . . congratulations?"

Mads glowered at him as she bent to plug the tub and start it filling. "I am not helping you clean yourself up. But are you going to die or not?"

"Sounds familiar," he wheezed. "And it would be funny if you had to explain it, if I died here."

Mads paused, then swore under her breath as the water got too hot, "That would not be funny. You're a lunatic, and a criminal. Once you get cleaned up, get on your way, or I'll com the Keepers."

"You owe me," he whispered.

Mads flinched. "I'll get you some clothes."

She went and got some of Alan's things, refusing to think too closely about what she was doing. She moved like one of the robotics, not thinking, not feeling. She didn't see what she grabbed, and she forgot to knock when she returned. Somehow, thinking about Alan right now felt like a betrayal. It still hurt, almost two years later. It would always hurt.

Back in the bathroom, Luc/Jive was sitting up, and he'd unwrapped the cloth from his face.

Mads screamed. It was something she was ashamed to remember. But she screamed. And then she thought of the baby and clamped her hands over her mouth, still staring at Luc/Jive.

He blinked at her, his eyes still so impossibly green. The left half of his face was as beautiful as ever, maybe more so, his skin as fine as Grandmere's porcelain cups. But on the right side, starting from the hairline to the edge of his eye, his face was a confusion of blood and mangled flesh, ending in a slice that curved the corner of his mouth up in a bloody smirk.

Luc/Jive cleared his throat, "Could you help with my shirt? Damage isn't too bad, just painful. So stiff."

Mads gaped at him. She wanted to run, to cry, to keep screaming, but he was acting like it was nothing, and that awakened a familiar anger. How, is, he, so, damn calm?

Mads inhaled and exhaled with intent, and then looked to just about his chin. "If you really can't do it."

"If I could, I wouldn't ask."

And there it was, the clipped tone, the hint of pride. He wasn't as cool about all this as he was pretending to be.

Mads knelt down and helped him strip off the military-issue jacket and the threadbare tunic below it. His body was a mess of bruises and dirt, and Mads' kept her eyes averted. She didn't want to see. She didn't want to feel any more guilt than she already did.

"I can figure out the rest," he sighed, his voice still garbled. "And if I drown, well, it's not my problem anymore."

Mads shot him a glare, but she rose, leaving the door cracked just in case. And she prayed to anyone and everyone listening that he wouldn't 1. Die on her floor, or 2. Need her help.

Night #3

Mads didn't know how she'd managed to keep a straight face and act normal the next day, or the day after that. She thought about telling Krill, but the time wasn't right, and then . . .

It isn't Krill's problem, she told herself for the hundredth time, as she put Lottie down in her crib for the night. Across the room, Luc was asleep or unconscious in Mads' bed, where he'd been ever since she'd managed to get him out of her bathroom. Mads had tried to get him to eat something yesterday, but he'd refused to roll over or acknowledge her at all.

Mads curled up on her couch, the same way she had for the past two nights, and scowled furiously in the direction of her bed.

She could hear his breathing, a little shaky, and he sounded awake.

"Why?" she hissed. "Why did you come here?"

He inhaled, slowly, and then sighed. "Why do you have a half-alien baby?"

"How did you know?" She asked, before she could stop herself. "Did you even see her?"

"Not well," he admitted.

"She is . . . half-alien." Mads continued to scowl. "And don't ask me about Lottie, she's none of your business."

"She doesn't look like you." He sounded like he was smiling.

Mads rolled her eyes, "Was it the gold eyes, the pointed ears, or the white-blue skin that gave our lack of immediate relationship away?"

"Fair. But that doesn't answer my question."

"Answer mine first."

He sighed again. "My face hurts."

"I . . . can imagine." Mads found her anger-armor evaporating, and she tried to summon it back. "But it's not the same as being dead."

"That was the idea," he muttered. "I thought I wouldn't care so much. But it's horrible."

"It is," agreed Mads, before she could stop herself. "I mean, it was when I saw it."

"Swollen now," he said. "Looks even worse."

"What happened? Why are you . . ." Mads trailed off, too many questions rushing in at once.

"Where else would I go?" he whispered, sounding so young and lost that Mads was immediately stabbed by The Guilt.

Mads didn't know what to say. She could hardly think. So she did what she did best, she distanced herself from her feelings, her confusion, and thought practically. It would look incriminating if he died here, but if she knew he would live, she could say he came for revenge.

Not true, said her gut. She ignored it. Revenge made a better story.

"Please don't com the Keepers," said Luc, almost as if he was reading her thoughts. "I don't want them to see me like this. It's humiliating."

Mads scowled again. "They saw you as a drooling mess before."

"But that wasn't after one of the greatest escapes in Semi-Galactic Imperial history," he said, his tone still mournful. "I couldn't bear it. I have to at least have something for my face first."

Mads blinked, stunned by how outrageous he was. She didn't know what else to say, so she just said, "Okay."

A minute later, he seemed to have fallen asleep.

Night #5

"But why the dancing?" Mads had been lying awake on the couch for at least an hour, and her shoulder was sore. She really, really, missed her bed.

"Huh?"

"The dancing. Why not just steal stuff?"

Luc's snort was eloquent. "And why don't you just throw some dirt in with your coffee grinds, and while you're at it, grind the beans and let them sit for a few months before you make a cup of coffee. Maybe add some mold in for flavor." His disdain was so obvious, it caught her off guard.

Mads forced the smile off her face, even though he (probably) couldn't see her. She didn't want to think about him looking at her in the dark, so she thought about what he'd said. "That would be disgusting, and an insult to good coffee. But stealing is illegal, coffee isn't."

Luc's reply came almost before Mads finished speaking. "That is entirely beside the point. Heists, cons, elaborate deceptions, those are arts. Not just 'stealing.' Stealing is when you take something. But when you make it disappear with style, with perfectly timed planning, with balance? That's art."

Mads blinked, trying to understand this. "It's still taking something that belongs to someone else."

"But what does 'belong' even mean," mused Luc. "Most of those aliens or humans were so rich that they could afford to lose whatever we took. And the priceless or rare objects, well, obviously they weren't protected well enough. They weren't being appreciated properly. I never took anything from someone who needed it, and I only took things that were 'impossible.' That was part of the idea."

"You haven't said anything about the dancing." Mads pulled her blanket up tighter. Luc's explanations made sense, in a way. Even if she disagreed. Stealing with style was still stealing. But she was too tired and grumpy to keep arguing the point.

Luc shifted, and when he replied, he almost sounded uncomfortable. "I don't think you'd like that story very much."

Mads frowned. "Why do you care?"

"It might make you feel bad for me," his tone had gone from sheepish to sly. She could practically hear his smirk.

Mads' frown turned into a glower. "I doubt anything you tell me could make me feel sorry for you."

"Brave words, but I'll win this round."

Mads rolled her eyes. "You wish."

"Do you want the long version, or the short version?"

Mads nestled deeper into the blankets and yawned. "The short version, I have to get up early."

"It's who I am, what I do. I never thought about it. I just enjoyed each moment."

"Then it's pointless. And how is that supposed to make me feel bad for you." Despite what she said, Mads was intrigued. She'd never danced in her life. She'd never thought about trying.

"There's nothing wrong with enjoying something."

"I don't enjoy things that have no point," snapped Mads.

"But what if the point is to enjoy it?" He persisted. "Have you never done something just for the hell of it? Because it makes you feel alive? Because if you don't, you won't know the difference between yourself and that mass tomb out there." There was a feeling in his voice, some emotion that almost made his voice crack.

Mads looked toward him in the dark, trying to see his face. Was he messing with her? "No." Mads' response was gruff, forced. And as she said it she realized it wasn't exactly true.

Boxing, fighting, that was something that had made her feel powerful, feel alive. It had no function (or so she'd thought), and so she'd eventually put it aside to run the shop. She'd let it fade into a routine that she practiced as a way to keep herself fit, given it enough excuses to remain a small part of her life. But once upon a time. . . Mads closed her eyes, as if doing so would shut down the endless flow of regrets and memories.

"So, risking your life, stupid situations," she spat out the words, trying to distract herself from her tangled thoughts. "That's what gives you joy?"

Luc's laugh was bitter. "Not exactly. But the risk. Dancing with death. Danger." He sighed. "It makes me feel alive. Do you really know you're alive unless you feel how close you are to dying? It makes breathing a little less monotonous, you know?"

Mads scowled, considering what he was saying. "So the dancing, the thieving, it's because you were . . . bored?"

"Yes." He was definitely smiling. "I lived to risk it all."

"I still don't feel the least bit sorry for you. Boredom is a terrible reason to commit crimes."

"Boredom, and the need for a reputation. Surely you understand that much. Dancing and stealing, made me, Jive, feel like life was worth living. Why else would I pull those stunts, go to all that trouble and showmanship just to make myself one of the most hunted people in the galaxies?"

Mads shrugged. "I don't know, why does anyone want to be famous?"

"Because they were ignored, overlooked, thrown away," Luc's response was so soft that she almost didn't hear him. "Because they don't want to be 'nobody' anymore. Because they want the world to remember their name. Because they want to choose a name for themselves, and not be defined by anyone else."

Mads considered this a moment before she answered. "So you wanted attention?"

Luc heaved a heavy sigh, as if he was the one bearing with a lot of trouble and inconveniences here, and not the cause of the inconveniences. "Isn't that what every nobody wants, in the end?"

Mads shook her head, "Not what I want. I just want to run my shop in peace, and make enough money to survive. The rushes of tourists are bad enough without being famous."

Luc's voice had a shrug in it. "Well, then I guess you're different. But then, you weren't thrown away. You have a family, people who want you."

"So you're telling me you were thrown away." Mads crossed her arms over her chest. "And here's when I'm supposed to feel sorry for you?"

"How you feel about me isn't my concern. And thrown away isn't exactly right," he paused, as if thinking. "I guess, discarded, disregarded, that's more like it. But there are benefits to being underestimated."

Mads yawned again, and ignored the twinge of sympathy. "Look, I'm tired, and you haven't told me your sob story yet. So . . . another time?"

He gave an answering yawn. "Yeah . . . another time . . ."

Night #10

"Have you ever just lived in the moment?" Luc was watching her, his face buried in one of her pillows, and only his eyes, hair, and forehead visible.

Mads was sitting in the rocking chair with Lottie, and giving the baby her nightly bottle. Mads had been pointedly ignoring Luc's gaze, but his question surprised her. "What are you talking about?"

"Like, just said to hell with it and done what you wanted, just for one night."

Mads blinked at him, trying to wrap her thoughts around what he was saying. "I . . . don't get it."

"As Jive, I just . . . lived like I was immortal, like tomorrow didn't exist. Like a flame that thought it was a diamond . . .," he trailed off. He wasn't looking at her anymore. There was a wistful expression on his face, as if he was thinking of a different, happier time.

"What do you mean." Mads frowned, still confused. "A flame that thinks it's a diamond . . . what is that even supposed to mean?"

"Luc isn't my name. Jupiter Jive isn't my name."

Mads blinked at this sudden admission. "Uh, that's not surprising. Jupiter Jive isn't the kind of name you give a kid . . . and, well, I guess you could be . . . anyone."

Even in the dim light, with the pillow blocking some of his face, she could see that he was smiling. Despite the massive bandage, his left dimple was out in force, but his smile disappeared when he realized she was watching him.

Mads blinked, trying to recall the question she'd had before she was distracted by his smile. Stars, I hate that, she thought, still desperately seeking that thread. Ah, yes, Luc is not Luc is not Jupiter Jive.

"Garou."

"Excuse you?" Mads frowned, not sure what the word or sound he'd just made was supposed to mean.

"That was what they called me. When they called me something like a name. It was better than 'Runt,' which was the only decent alternative. Or Doll Celeste, which was my first name as an . . . entertainer. I have had so many names. But Luc . . . Jupiter Jive. I chose those names, those . . . personas, for myself. No one forced me into them. No one expected anything of them other than what I made. Luc was serviceable, reliable, but Jive was free. Hellscapes, Mads, can you imagine what it feels like to dance on the edge of a rooftop hundreds of meters above the ground, knowing that if you fail, if your foot slips, if you misjudge even one single step, you will plummet to destruction?" 

He rested his face back on the pillow. "It's . . . so beautiful."

Mads shook her head. "I don't want to know what that feels like. I don't even want to think about it." She shivered. "That sounds absolutely insane to me."

"I'm sure." His voice was almost wistful. "Garou was a flame. Jupiter Jive is a diamond."

Mads rolled her eyes, "Stars, you are so dramatic."

Luc's laugh was dry. "I did grow up in the only elite brothel and entertainment venue in 'l'empire de la Mort.' Being dramatic was just one of Doll Celeste's many charms."

Mads shot him a doubtful scowl. "Why should I believe anything you tell me?"

He shrugged, then groaned. "You're the one asking all the questions and things."

Mads shook her head. "Well, you're the one who doesn't make any sense!"

Lottie whimpered, startling them both into silence.

"We're being too loud," muttered Mads. "I need to put her to bed."

They were both quiet as Mads prepped to put the baby down. But when Lottie was in her crib and the lights were out, Mads paused on her way to the bathroom, one question burning too brightly to be extinguished just yet. "Did you really grow up in a brothel?"

Luc snorted. "Why would I lie about that? It wasn't glamorous. It was worse than any Ateli hellscape. I really, really, don't think you want to know about any of it. I danced as Doll Celeste, and stole as Garou, and spied as the Runt, and managed to escape to use those skills to become Jupiter Jive. And now I'm here. Your personal bedtime storyteller."

Mads flushed, and she didn't turn to look at him. "Until you're well enough to run. Then I com the Keepers."

"You keep saying that," his words followed her into the bathroom.

She locked the door, and refused to think about anything.

Night #15

"Is that the rest of the story," demanded Mads, thinking he was keeping a lot back from her.

Luc nodded, laughed, and turned his head as if he didn't want to look her in the eye.

"What," she said, slightly irritated. It was always like he was trying to tell her something without speaking and she was missing it completely.

"You remind me," he started, "of the murderous king in a story one of the Dolls told me. I think she was trying to make a point about how, if we were good enough at our art, we could turn a bad situation to our advantage. I haven't thought of it in years."

Mads raised a brow. "So are you going to tell me?"

"It was about – I think she was a peasant, some people said a princess, but I prefer to think she had nothing—from an ancient, ancient kingdom. Ancient before the world ended. Some people said it was just a myth, but I guess it doesn't matter. The point was, where this woman lived, the ruler of the land, he was a beast. He hated women, ever since he'd caught his wife cheating. So, because he was jealous, and because he was a king, and because no one could tell him no, he married a new girl every night and had them killed at dawn. It became so bad that people left the country, even though it was hard to escape. Other people disguised their daughters as boys, or did other things: maimed them, hurt them, killed them themselves rather than let them be shamed by the king."

"Is this going anywhere?" interjected Mads.

He looked at her again. A long, searching, inscrutable look. "It's a story. Of course it's going somewhere. Just listen."

Mads nodded and sat back, still watching him, as if he might jump up or pull a gun on her, or do something surprising – as if he could. She'd seen how badly he was hurt. It was totally irrational.

Luc continued, "There was a young girl, I don't remember her name. Something long and hard to pronounce. But every day she went out and looked at the wall around her father's garden, and thought about the young women and what was happening in the palace. 'That could be me, or one of my sisters, someone I know,' she thought. 

"This girl, she was not rich, but she was beautiful, and she was good at something else: she knew how to tell a story. So, one night, she made up her mind. She went to the palace and waited at the doors till dawn. She made herself listen to the gong that sounded each time a head rolled. Every time more blood watered the earth. The girl could almost hear the blood crying out to her, the screams of all of her sisters who'd gone before her. And she knew that somehow, she had to end this."

Mads sighed, but she didn't interrupt. She just adjusted the blankets over Lottie and sat back on the couch. She was getting strange aches from sleeping on it, but Grandmere or Krill would ask questions if she started sleeping downstairs. It was a miracle and a testament to Mads' private nature that they hadn't discovered Luc already. It was only a matter of time.

"You're not listening," Luc interrupted her thoughts.

"I was," she muttered, irritably. "You were taking too long getting to the point. So the girl was horrified by the king and sad about all the other girls. Makes sense, but what can she do?"

Luc rolled his eyes, "I'm getting to that. The girl asked for an audience with the king. And they brought her into the palace, because she was beautiful. She didn't say who she was, or where she had come from. She just said, 'I want to marry the king.' They laughed at her. They almost threw her in the dungeon. But the king overheard them laughing and came out to see what the fuss was about. He saw a beautiful young woman –her clothes worn and her fingers rough from hard work- but she looked him in the eye, which was against the law, when she told him she would marry him."

Mads snorted, "Why would she want to marry a psychopath? What could one girl do?"

Luc ignored her, continuing, "The king was amused, and sick of the blood, because he didn't really enjoy it anyway, he told her 'Sure, one night. And then tomorrow you die.' So, one night passed. He found her attractive; sure, she was just another pretty face. He was sick of women, sick of the killing, sick of his own rash words that he had to live up to in front of the whole nation."

"Sounds like he deserved to be miserable," muttered Mads.

Luc shrugged. "Yeah, he did. But like you said, it's just a story."

Mads scowled at him. "So did he kill her or not?"

"When they were lying in bed, and the hours were ticking away, when she felt her life fading as she lay beside him, she said, 'Gracious king, I know you will kill me in the morning, but I've left my family and I'm lonely. My mother used to tell me stories when I was lonely, could I tell you a story? It must be even lonelier to always live on like you?""

"And he said, "Within these walls, we're equals. I couldn't stop you from speaking if I wanted to."

"So she went on, and she told him a story about a young thief who had only desired another meal. But he found a magic lamp filled with a genie—"

"What's a genie?" interrupted Mads again.

Luc frowned, "I don't know, but it fulfills wishes."

Mads made a face, "This is ridiculous."

"Just listen, it's a story. It doesn't have to be real."

Mads shook her head, "Things that are fake are pointless."

"That doesn't have to be true. Just listen."

"Okay, so a genie, wishes, whatever, get to the point. Did he kill her in the morning?"

Luc made a face at her, and continued, "So there's a lot more story in this, but you're obviously too impatient to listen, unlike the king." 

He sighed. "The woman was clever. She stopped, you see, right when her story was at the most pivotal moment: when the corrupt official was going to marry the princess instead of the boy, when the boy had lost everything, even the magic lamp. When the boy didn't know if was going to live or die. And she said 'I heard a songbird: it's dawn. I suppose that means you'll have to kill me now.'"

"The king wasn't asleep. He'd been so quiet and she'd been so lost in her story that she'd almost forgotten all about him. But he was staring at her, and there was an expression on his face that she hadn't seen the night before. Almost as if, he'd been hiding behind a wall this entire time, and a tiny crack had just shown through. 'What happened to the boy?" he asked."

"She sighed, waved her hand, "Oh, it's a silly story, it's fake. None of it even happened, and there's a lot more to it. It would be well past noon before I could finish.' She stood up. Put out her hands. 'I know what has to happen. I know the law.'"

"He said, 'I am the king, I make the law. If I can't contradict it, no one can. She just stared at him, silent. He thought for a moment, watching her, and then he said, "Go to your chambers. They'll send you food. I can kill you tomorrow.'"

"The woman didn't say anything. She just bowed and left. And the next night, she told him the rest of the story. But it was earlier when she finished, and he was restless. Something was gnawing at him, something always was."

"She said, 'My king. I have another story. Whenever I was sick with fever or asleep, something bad had happened, mother would always tell me this one to make me laugh."

Mads had caught herself curling up, settling in like she had long ago when her mother had still read to her, so long ago she barely remembered it. This memory of maternal softness made her sit up straight, interrupting, "So she told him another crazy story?"

Luc sighed, "Stars . . . you are the worst. But yeah, that's what happened. It was a very funny story and the king found himself smiling, even though he didn't want to. But, the next time, they both heard it: the drums that sounded morning, and the birds. The woman didn't look at the king. She just got up and said, 'Hmm, not as good as the first story I'm afraid. I suppose you'll be ready to kill me now.'"

"The king was silent for so long that she dared to look at him. And when she looked at him, he was smiling. And he said, 'that's the first time I've smiled in a long time. I feel like if you told me more, well, never mind that.'"

"And she said, "my lord, there isn't going to be any more, is there?' He said, 'Probably not. Go to your chambers, await my further instruction. But he didn't come for her. In fact, no one came. She began to thing they'd forgotten all about her. She didn't hear a word."

"But that night, she was taken to the king's chambers like the nights before. He sat her down and said, "Tell me the rest of the story-it's been bothering me all day. I can hardly focus on what I'm doing. When I'm talking to the people, I'm thinking about the plight of those three men in your story."

"She didn't taunt him, she didn't tease him, she just told the rest of the story, and then started a new one. And so it went on, for a thousand and one nights. And halfway through, the king realized that not only did he not want the woman to die, he knew exactly what she was doing, what she had been doing –but he'd fallen in love with her. So he made her his queen. And the killing stopped."

"That's it," Mads ventured, cautiously. "Right?"

Luc nodded. "But I always wondered how the young woman felt. She'd sacrificed her life to stop something so terrible. Sure, she saved everyone, but she was married to a man who'd killed so many people. Not as bad as some of the regular players at the Dollhouse, where I grew up. I always wondered if she hated him, but the story never says that. I guess she probably did."

Mads sat back. "Was there a point?"

"Isn't it obvious? I just told you a story. I told you a story yesterday. I told you another one the day before."

"So I'm the murder-king, is that what you're saying? You'll keep telling me stories till I get distracted?" Mads fixed him with her fiercest glare. "I am not a murderous king, and you certainly aren't some pure princess."

Luc shrugged. "If that's how you want to interpret it, whatever. But I'd like to think that one morning, I won't wake up and be worried that they're going to take me away again. I know that if I keep your interest, you won't call them, 'cause that's the way you work." He gave her a sharp look, and then a half grin that was gone in a flash. 

"You're right." She continued to glare at him and ignore the swirling emotions, she couldn't let them sweep her away. "And if you compare me to serial-killer kings, I'm really, really, really not gonna be sympathetic."

He laughed. "I was just telling a story. No need to take it personally."

"Can't you just say don't call the Keepers?" Mads crossed her arms over her chest, watching him until he looked back at her.

"You forget, I know how you work. You will call them. Unless what I can give you is better." Luc's expression was grim, even though his tone was light, teasing.

Mads didn't let herself think, she just said the first thing that came to mind. "And what can you give me? You're a criminal. Every day you've been here you're a danger to me and everything I love. You have always been a danger to everything I love."

He looked away. "It doesn't have to be like that. 'Cause I'm just like that woman. We both came from nothing, both started with nothing, we're good at telling stories, we're both clever and pretty."

"Once," snorted Mads, gesturing to his ruined face. Though if she were honest, the heavy bandages didn't make him less pretty, not in a way that counted. Whatever scarring was left behind probably wouldn't be enough either.

He sighed. "You're horrible. Fine. Have it your way. But I have something she didn't have – I can do a lot more than tell stories. For instance, I can fix a leak, and a wall, and plumbing. I'm very useful, and I don't charge, remember. Pretend I'm someone else. And no one else will notice, 'cause that's the way these things work. Give me a thousand and one nights, if you want."

Mads looked at him. He was right. I do need him. Mads shoved that thought away, her cheeks burning furiously. Not him specifically. Just generally. Grandmere was old, Krill had her own life, the new robotics helped a lot, but. Anyhow, now she had Lottie, the ward she'd chosen, to care for, and no amount of money was helping Mads work through the mountain of problems she always had to face.

She'd always been too proud to ask, to admit she needed anyone or anything. And now, when help was sitting in her bed, looking at her, unable to move, and offering everything for free, was she still too proud to accept it? 

And why did she feel like that wasn't really what he was up to at all? Stars, why did the man hurt her brain like this?

"Okay," she said. "But I'm not making any promises. A thousand and one nights is more than three years, and I will go screaming mad if you stay half that long. So I'll only commit to a month for now. And if you step one foot out of line, if you do one thing that could possibly jeopardize us, if you think for a minute that I trust you, you're gone. Is that fair?"

He was still looking at the ceiling, his expression soft and disarming. "Fair enough."

"Alright." Mads rose and turned out the lights, pausing to hold up her com, its lights blinking bright in the sudden darkness. "I could change my mind. I'll probably com them in the morning."

She shut the door, and she didn't see him smile, as he sighed and sank back into the pillows.

"Yes, my lord," was all he said before he closed his eyes, and went to sleep.

https://youtu.be/gHZEtYgIJr8