ACE 209.2 — JUST THE TWO OF US - World of Ace and Mai

## Chapter 1 — The Look That Stayed The safehouse was doing what it did best: pretending that people who could survive almost anything had somehow become incapable of surviving an ordinary quiet afternoon. Someone had left three mugs on the dining table. A fourth was in Brenda's hands, somewhere between coffee and a small electronics catastrophe. From the workshop came a short burst of laughter and a voice informing another voice that no, absolutely not, a power supply was not meant to make that sound. The balcony door was open a hand's width, letting Watson's damp air slip between the warmer smells of breakfast and solder. Ace had a mug too. She had forgotten to drink from it. For days her thoughts had been circling back to Halloween, that glorious, ridiculous court assembled at Bywater House under Wakako's amused imperial eye. Masks, costumes, the murder game, and the moment everyone discovered how much trouble their friends could manufacture when expressly instructed to have fun. There had been no shortage of attractive distractions afterward, either. Lizzie's had been its usual impossible combination of loud music, sharp jokes, hard work and people enjoying themselves with considerable determination. Two working nights after the Halloween spectacle. Not one continuous drunken blur, however convenient that would have been to the memory. Two distinct nights, with different rhythms and their own surprises. And Mira and Della. Their return had opened a door Ace hadn't expected to find unlocked. Not because the two women had brought an explanation with them; they hadn't needed to. Seeing them again was enough. The old place, the old pressure and the people who had helped them through it had all come back together in her mind. Specialist Camp came back in pieces: the hard edge of a day ending badly, exhaustion that seemed to settle in the bones, a half-heard laugh in the middle of a conversation that had gone on too late. There were memories Ace could have put in a report, and others no report would ever deserve. Iris belonged to the second kind. At Camp, intimacy had often begun as an answer to pressure. They had found in one another a way to stop carrying the day for a while. Neither had mistaken that for an empty transaction. They had trusted each other when trusting anyone had been difficult. Later, when life gave them room for pleasure instead of mere relief, the trust had remained. Ace set her mug down. In every memory she revisited, there was Iris looking at her. Sometimes with dry amusement, as if Ace had just said something that would have earned anyone else a reprimand. Sometimes with unmistakable desire. Sometimes with an expression so openly fond that Ace's instinct, every single time, had been to do something about it: reach for her, kiss her, pull her close, make her laugh. The look at Halloween hadn't been new. Neither had the ones exchanged in the days since. That was precisely the trouble. Ace had been answering Iris in moments: a sudden kiss while passing in a corridor, a private hour, a hand kept in hers when conversation was going on around them. Nothing false about any of it. But the moments had always had other people's schedules pressed up against their edges. And under all of it, almost too familiar to name, had been the thought of taking her somewhere simply because she wanted to spend time with her. Not to celebrate a successful job. Not to hide from a crisis. Not as the end of a working night. A date. A completely ordinary, absurdly romantic date. Ace stared out across the grey roofs of Watson and started to smile. "Oh, for fuck's sake," she told herself. It wasn't a problem to solve. It was a thing to do. Behind her, a familiar voice said, "That depends rather heavily on what you've just decided." Ace turned. Mai stood at the kitchen entrance holding the replacement coffee she had evidently known Ace would need. Naturally. ## Chapter 2 — I Have Been Thinking Mai set the fresh mug in front of Ace and collected the untouched cold one without comment. "You've been looking at the same building for twelve minutes," she said. "It's a fascinating building." "It has a roof and four walls." "Revolutionary design." Mai sat beside her. Her expression was composed, but the corner of her mouth had already betrayed her. "Is this about Halloween?" "In a way. And the nights at Lizzie's afterward. Mira and Della showed up, and I started remembering Camp." Ace turned the warm mug between both hands. "Mostly Iris." Mai didn't interrupt. That was another of her unfair advantages: she could make a silence feel like permission to keep talking. "We've had a lot of good times together," Ace said. "You know that. Brenda knows that. Hell, everyone knows that. But I've been thinking about the way she looks at me." "Iris?" "No, the terrifying woman in the neighbouring apartment. Yes, Iris." "I wanted to be certain." Ace nudged Mai's knee with hers. "She used to look at me like that at Camp," she went on. "When things were bad. When they weren't. Then she did it at Halloween. And afterward. I know she's been doing it for years. I just—" "Never made time to answer properly?" Ace regarded her wife for a long moment. "You have an annoying habit of finishing my sentences." "You have an annoying habit of bringing me problems you've already solved." "This isn't a problem." "Then why are you giving the opposite building a tactical assessment?" Ace laughed into her coffee. "I want to ask her out. Dinner. Dancing, if she wants it. A nice hotel afterward. The whole night. A morning when nobody wants either of us to shoot, fix or rescue anything." Mai's face softened. It was an expression Ace knew better than the shape of her own hands. "Good," she said. "Good?" "Yes. Good." "I have spent half an hour building up to this, and that's all you have?" "Would you prefer a formal review? Scope, deliverables, resource allocation?" "Please don't." Mai reached across the table and took her hand. "Ace. I know what Iris means to you, and I know what you mean to her. I've watched you come back from entire conversations with that ridiculous expression on your face." "I do not have a ridiculous expression." "You have several. This is one of my favourites." "Then take her somewhere lovely. And don't plan the whole thing as if it were an extraction." "I make no promises." "I am serious. You are allowed to enjoy being asked to dance without first surveying every emergency exit." Ace narrowed her eyes. "You have seen me dance." "Which is why I am recommending the activity for educational purposes." For a moment Mai simply held her hand. The mischief quieted, leaving what had always been beneath it. "Tell her what you told me," Mai said. "About her looking at you." "That may be the most terrifying part." "I thought you weren't afraid of anything." "Not true. I'm married to you." Mai leaned over and kissed her. "An excellent reason to remember your manners." When she stood, Ace caught her wrist and kissed it before letting go. "Thank you." "For the coffee?" "For knowing." Mai smiled. "I've had a little practice." ## Chapter 3 — Our Kind of Family Shammy found them in the Triad bedroom, where Mai was straightening an item of clothing that had not needed straightening and Ace was explaining why she did not, in fact, intend to wear tactical boots to a romantic dinner. "What have I missed?" Shammy asked. "Ace is planning an operation," Mai said. "It's not an operation." "It has transport arrangements and an overnight objective." "You are enjoying this far too much." Shammy came over, curled against Ace's side and examined both their faces with the alert curiosity that so often made her seem to know the atmosphere of a room before anyone spoke. "An overnight objective," she repeated. "I approve already." "I'm asking Iris on a date," Ace said. Shammy went very still, then grinned so widely that Ace braced for impact. "A *date* date?" "Why does everyone say it like that?" "Because, sweetheart, it's adorable." "There is nothing adorable about me." Shammy looked up at Mai. "Can you believe she says that with a straight face?" "I have learned not to argue with impossible claims before breakfast." Shammy threw her arms around Ace's neck and planted a kiss on her cheek. "I think she'll love it." Ace drew her closer. For a while they stayed that way, all three sharing the easy tangle of a family that had long ago stopped treating physical affection as an event requiring announcement. "I'm trying to decide where to take her," Ace admitted. "Somewhere she can hear you," Shammy said promptly. "She's heard me for years. It's one of her more questionable hobbies." "Not what I meant." Shammy gave her an affectionate poke. "Somewhere you can forget to be useful for a while. Somewhere she'll know you chose it for her." Mai looked pleased. "I've been telling her not to plan it as an extraction." "Oh, she absolutely will," Shammy said. "But perhaps a romantic extraction." Shammy shifted closer and rested her forehead against Ace's. Her white hair brushed the side of Ace's face. "Take your time," she said quietly. "You've both earned some." That was all. No grand declaration, no awkward reassurances. Mai's hand slipped into Ace's, Shammy kissed her again, and the ordinary room remained as secure as it had been ten minutes before. Then Shammy spoiled the solemnity by asking, "How many years did it take you to come up with dinner?" Ace groaned. "You are both impossible." "And you're going to ask her before you find another excuse," Mai replied. The very next time Iris crossed the dining room, Ace stood up. ## Chapter 4 — An Actual Date Iris was carrying a slim data pad and muttering something about Brenda's belief that a sufficiently interesting machine would eventually fix itself out of professional pride. Ace fell into step beside her. "Got a minute?" "For you? Usually. Is something on fire?" "Not yet." Iris gave her a sideways look and kept walking until they reached the quiet end of the balcony. The city below them sounded distant for once. In the room behind them, someone laughed, and a cupboard door closed. "All right," Iris said. "What's up?" Ace had faced things considerably more dangerous than this conversation. None had required her to notice that Iris had a small crease near one eye when she smiled. "I want to take you out," she said. Iris blinked. "You do take me out. Frequently. Usually with an extraordinary amount of trouble attached." "No trouble. Dinner. Somewhere good. Dancing. Just us." Iris's smile changed by a fraction. "Ace—" "A real date," Ace said. "Not a job, not an afterparty, not finding an hour because the rest of the world happens to leave us alone. I want to take you on a date, Iris. And if you're willing, I want the whole night. Breakfast too." The silence was so complete that Ace could hear water ticking against a distant metal railing. Then Iris gave one quick, helpless laugh. "You're serious." "Unfortunately for my reputation." "You know we've—" "Yes," Ace said, smiling. "I'm aware we haven't exactly maintained a chaste acquaintanceship." "That's one way of putting it." "I'm asking about the part we somehow never got around to." Iris looked at her. There it was again. That open, penetrating attention, the one that had followed Ace out of memories and into the present. Ace stopped thinking about the rehearsed version of what she meant to say and simply let Iris see how much the answer mattered. "I'd like that," Iris said, quieter now. "I'd like that very much." She hadn't released Ace's hand. Only now did she seem to notice how firmly she was holding it, and she loosened her fingers without letting go. Ace exhaled. "Good." "Dinner and dancing?" "Unless you have a better proposal." "I might. Later." "Noted." Iris caught the front of Ace's shirt, drew her close and kissed her. It was no tentative first kiss; it had years of knowledge behind it, and something delighted and almost disbelieving in the way Iris smiled against her mouth. "You're absolutely ridiculous," Iris murmured. "You said yes." "I know." Iris brushed Ace's hair back, looked at her once more, and this time Ace didn't look away. ## Chapter 5 — Brenda's Favorite News Brenda was dismantling a device on a folding workmat beside the bed with the fierce concentration of someone who had been personally insulted by the manufacturer's assembly choices. Iris shut the door behind her. "Ace asked me on a date." Brenda's screwdriver stopped in midair. "She what?" "Dinner. Dancing. An entire evening. Hotel after, apparently." Brenda set the screwdriver down with exaggerated care. "Holy shit." "That was more or less my reaction." "You? Ms. I-Can-Walk-Into-Any-Room-And-Own-It was rendered speechless by dinner?" "Only briefly." "I wish I'd seen it." Brenda rose and came over. Her smile was enormous, but when she reached Iris she put both hands on her wife's face and kissed her forehead with uncomplicated tenderness. "Oh, honey," she said. "That's wonderful." Iris slipped her arms around Brenda's waist. "It is, isn't it?" "You've wanted that woman to do something like this for ages." "I haven't exactly been standing in a window waiting for flowers." "No. You usually stand there making that face at her until she notices." "What face?" Brenda attempted an imitation so outrageously theatrical that Iris burst out laughing. "I do not look like that." "You're right. Yours is much worse. The poor woman never stood a chance." They fell back onto the edge of the bed, the device abandoned on its workmat. Iris rested her head on Brenda's shoulder. "I thought she'd ask if we could spend time together," Iris said. "I didn't expect her to call it a date. The whole thing. I suppose I didn't know I wanted that particular word until she used it." Brenda waited. Iris looked at her own hands, then gave a short, bewildered laugh. "She said she wanted breakfast with me. Can you imagine that being the part that got to me?" Brenda rubbed her arm. "You can want things you already have, just in a different shape." Iris turned to look at her. "You've become dangerously insightful." "Terrible side effect of marrying you." "Think there's a cure?" "Not one I'd take." Iris kissed her, gently this time. Brenda answered with both arms around her and then pulled back just far enough to grin. "Tell me everything. Not the private stuff afterward. The *date* stuff. Where's she taking you?" "She hasn't told me yet." "Oh, excellent. A mystery." "Brenda." "I'm going to enjoy this so much." "I know." "And before you say it: yes, you are allowed to be nervous. Even when you know someone that well." Iris's smile softened. "I think I am. A little." Brenda kissed her again. "Good. Means it matters." ## Chapter 6 — A Small Conspiracy Mai and Brenda held their planning meeting at the dining table, which was perhaps the most incriminating place in the safehouse for people trying to maintain the appearance of innocence. "Keep it small," Mai said. "Define small." "No orchestra. No fireworks. No paid actors pretending to be old enemies so they can stage a reunion." "You say that like I've tried it." "I know you, Brenda." Brenda leaned over the pad displaying the hotel arrangements. The place Ace had chosen was discreet, comfortable and close enough to the evening's other stops that nobody would spend half the night in traffic. Mai had confirmed the reservation only after Ace made the plan herself. She had also checked that the hotel could leave a small delivery without sending anyone to the room after check-in. Anything more would have turned a gift into interference. "Something for the room," Brenda said. "Something they'll know is from us." "Agreed." They considered an expensive bottle, flowers, a ridiculous edible sculpture and, briefly, a framed photograph of Ace looking sternly at a broken kitchen appliance. The photograph won the laughter and lost the vote. "A note," Mai decided. "And something nice they can actually use." "That's painfully responsible." "It is one of my defining charms." Brenda made a sound of deep skepticism. They settled on a small box of sweets selected because Iris loved them and a good bottle Ace would never have purchased for herself. The attached note took considerably longer. Mai rejected three of Brenda's suggestions on the grounds that a hotel employee might read them. Brenda countered that hotel employees were adults, a detail Mai surely knew from experience. Shammy wandered in halfway through the argument, read the latest draft and laughed so hard she had to lean against the counter. "That one's good," she said. "Thank you!" Brenda declared. "It is not going on the card," Mai replied. "You're crushing art." They eventually found a compromise: warm enough to make the recipients smile, wicked enough that nobody could mistake its authors. Shammy watched them seal the envelope. "You both look very happy," she observed. "We are," Mai said. Brenda nodded. "So are they. That should be encouraged whenever possible." No one said anything more serious. None was needed. ## Chapter 7 — No Masks Tonight Ace examined her reflection with the expression she generally reserved for unfamiliar weapons. "You think this looks all right?" Mai, seated on the edge of their bed, looked up from fastening an earring. "You've asked me four times." "That isn't an answer." "It looks wonderful. And you know it does." Ace wore dark trousers and a fitted jacket over a shirt that made no concessions to either tactical practicality or the possibility of crawling through a ventilation shaft. That was the point, Mai reminded her. Shammy had contributed a suggestion about hair and then wisely stood back when Ace and Mai began their usual debate over whether elegance required sacrificing pockets. "I kept two," Ace said. "I'm extremely proud of you." Mai came closer, adjusted Ace's collar by a few millimetres and kissed her. "You look like yourself," she said. "The version who has remembered that she's allowed to be happy for no urgent reason." Ace rested her forehead against Mai's for an instant. "I'll bring you something back." "Bring yourself back. The rest is optional." Across the hall, Iris stood in front of the mirror while Brenda considered three different accessories and rejected all of them in favour of the one Iris had picked first. "I should have learned by now," Brenda said. "It would be a startling break with tradition." The preparations had included a practical step neither considered romantic but both considered necessary: they had dealt deliberately with the remnants of their recent cover work. Lena's ChromeLock V2 styling did not dissolve because someone showered, and Victor's temporary voice changes had their own clock. They had deliberately chosen a night after the temporary voice work had finished fading; neither Iris nor Brenda was going to pretend a voice-sculpt could be switched off by taking out contacts. Lena's ChromeLock V2 styling had been released with the proper treatment and washed back to Iris's familiar look. Tonight was not a Nova performance. Iris slipped into a dress Brenda had declared unfair to everyone else in Night City. It was elegant without being precious, and she could move in it without thinking about it. Brenda came up behind her, folded her arms around her waist and watched her in the mirror. "There she is," Brenda said. "Who?" "My wife. About to go impress another woman who's been hopeless over her for years." "Hopeless?" "Sweetheart, you haven't seen her face when you enter a room." Iris turned in Brenda's arms and kissed her with real gratitude. "Love you." "Love you too. Go make her forget her own name." "I was planning on dinner first." "Such restraint." ## Chapter 8 — The First Step They met near the upper landing, where the warm light picked out Ace's dark jacket and the soft movement of Iris's dress. For one suspended moment they simply looked at each other. Ace recovered first. "Well." "That bad?" Iris asked. "Worse. I may have to cancel dinner and stare at you for the entire evening." Iris laughed. "Buy me something to eat before you become completely useless." Ace offered her hand. Iris took it immediately, then moved closer and touched Ace's lapel with her free hand, smoothing an imaginary crease. Mai came down the corridor with Shammy, and Brenda emerged a moment later. Their smiles were so synchronized that Ace pointed at all three of them. "No." "No what?" Brenda asked sweetly. "Whatever you're about to say." "We weren't going to say anything," Shammy replied, proving herself a better liar than the evidence suggested. Mai kissed Ace on the cheek and then embraced Iris. Brenda hugged Ace warmly, though not without whispering something that made Ace choke on a laugh. Shammy claimed a hug from both and wished them a splendid night without qualification. "Try not to rescue the city," Mai said at the door. "No promises," Ace answered automatically. Iris tugged her gently toward the stairs. "I have it under control." "That's what worries me," Brenda called after them. Outside, Night City flashed and hissed around the waiting car. Ace opened the door for Iris and received a look of mock astonishment. "Chivalry? From you?" "I'm conducting an experiment." "Excellent. So am I." The car pulled into traffic. After several blocks Iris slipped her fingers between Ace's, and their hands settled on the seat between them as if that had always been their place. "You nervous?" Iris asked. "A little." Iris's thumb moved across Ace's knuckles. "Me too." "You?" Iris tilted her head. "Do you suppose there's a law against being excited about someone I know?" "There probably is somewhere in Night City." "Then it's a very stupid law." The restaurant's lit terrace appeared ahead. Ace turned her hand and kissed Iris's knuckles just before the car stopped. "Ready?" Iris gave her that look. "Absolutely." ## Chapter 9 — Table for Two The restaurant occupied the upper levels of an old building whose owner had spent an unreasonable sum making it appear as though money had never been discussed there. There was real wood in the entrance, dark and beautiful. A wall of living green climbed beside a carefully engineered waterfall. Beyond a broad window, Night City shone through haze in a hundred incompatible colours. The soundproofing was good enough that the traffic became an abstract shimmer rather than an assault. The host led them to a table in a corner with a view and, mercifully, very little opportunity for anyone to study them. "Two," Ace said when the host asked if the reservation was complete. He glanced at his display. "Of course. Welcome." Iris waited until he was out of earshot before leaning closer. "You sounded like you were issuing an order." "I can try again." "Please don't. He'll call security." They sat opposite each other with a white tablecloth between them. Ace regarded the folded napkin. Iris regarded the impossible collection of cutlery. They both held their faces perfectly straight for perhaps six seconds. Then Iris lost the battle. "This is ridiculous." "You insisted on a real date." "You invited me, remember?" "Minor technicality." A server arrived with menus, explained the evening's specialties, and departed after Iris asked a question so precise that Ace watched the man realize he was speaking to someone who could distinguish useful information from ornamental nonsense. "You missed your calling," Ace said. "As what?" "Restaurant interrogator. He nearly confessed where they keep the actual ingredients." "I like knowing what I'm eating." "Such a demanding woman." "Yet here you are." They ordered more food than they strictly needed, knowing they would spend as much time stealing from each other's plates as eating their own. Iris chose the wine after consulting Ace with the exact seriousness she once applied to difficult decisions. Ace refused to make a joke about it until Iris caught the twinkle in her eye. "Go on." "Nothing." "Ace." "I was only thinking you'd run an efficient government." "Someone would have to." When the wine came, they clinked glasses without ceremony. The first dishes were beautiful and, much to Ace's annoyance, actually deserved the price. Iris fed her a bite from her plate. Ace reciprocated, then used the opportunity to brush a stray crumb from the corner of Iris's mouth with her thumb. Iris caught her hand before she could withdraw it. The server was approaching with the next course, but Iris kept hold of Ace until she had answered the look on her face. "You've been doing that all evening," she said. "Doing what?" "Finding reasons to touch me." "Object?" "Not remotely." She kissed Ace's knuckle and let go only when another dish arrived. The initial formality dissolved. They argued amiably about which plate was better, stole a second forkful from each other, watched the city change colour through the glass. Ace told a story about a deeply unimpressive attempt at domestic maintenance. Iris countered with Brenda's latest declaration that a device had been built by someone who clearly hated future repair technicians. Ace laughed hard enough to cover her face. It was almost embarrassingly easy. At another table a couple sat in exhausted silence, each staring into a separate screen. Iris glanced at them, then back at Ace. "I'm glad we're not doing that." Ace set her own empty hand on the table, palm up. Iris put hers into it. "Me too." For a while they looked out at the city together. Neither needed to fill the pause. ## Chapter 10 — Back at the Camp The second glass of wine arrived with the dessert menu, and Iris was midway through accusing Ace of pretending not to want anything sweet when the conversation turned toward Mira and Della. "They brought it all back, didn't they?" Iris asked. Ace looked up. "Camp?" "Yes. You had that expression when you saw them again." "What expression?" "The one you get when your brain is rearranging thirty things but your face is trying very hard not to advertise the fact." "I have never had that expression." "You had it five minutes ago." Ace gave in with a small laugh. "Yeah. They did. Halloween had already started the trouble. Then the working nights, everyone in and out, the familiar faces. Mira and Della just—opened the door, I suppose." Iris rested her chin on one hand. She had stopped pretending to examine the desserts. "I remember how tired we were," she said. "Not ordinary tired. The kind where you keep going because stopping means you might actually notice what the day's done to you." Ace nodded. She remembered that kind of exhaustion with unpleasant clarity. "And I remember you," Iris continued. "Being a complete menace when I was trying to be sensible." "Someone had to defend the camp against excessive good judgment." "You did sterling work." They smiled, but a softer silence followed. "We found each other when we needed someone," Ace said. "I can remember going into a room just to see whether you were there. Half the time I couldn't have told you what I wanted to say." "You usually thought of something irritating." "Usually." "And we didn't throw that away once things got easier," Iris said. "No." Iris traced the stem of her glass with a fingertip. "Sometimes I wonder if we gave ourselves enough credit. We kept calling it stress relief, as if the rest didn't count." "Did you think it didn't?" "Never." Her answer was immediate. "But we weren't exactly in the habit of sitting down and talking about what it meant. There was always another day coming." Ace knew the truth of that. At Camp they had been good at finding each other. They had been less practiced at stopping to take stock of why it mattered. "I think that's what kept getting to me this week," Ace said. "Not just the memories. The fact that all those years later I could look across a room and find you looking right back." Iris's eyes warmed. "I generally know where you are." "That's ominous." "It's useful." "For surveillance?" "For finding you when I want you." Ace felt the familiar urge to make a joke and, for once, let it pass. "You always could," she said. Iris reached across the table and folded her fingers around Ace's. The contact was steady, familiar, not at all tentative. "Still can," Iris answered. The server returned. They ordered a dessert to share, and the moment was allowed to settle without being chased into some more impressive revelation. By the time the last spoonful disappeared, Ace had stopped wondering whether the date was an odd idea. It had become obvious that they should have done this a long time ago. "I know a place with music," she said. Iris squeezed her hand. "Then what are we waiting for?" ## Chapter 11 — Dancing Without an Audience The music came from a small lounge several streets away, reached by a short drive through streets jeweled with rain. Ace had checked its programme and decided the live set would suit Iris better than somewhere louder. She had, in fact, made a remarkably careful plan for someone who claimed not to plan dates. Iris knew it, and enjoyed knowing it. Inside, the room held low amber light, a polished floor and a little ensemble playing as though the rest of Night City existed only as a rumour. Couples drifted between tables and the dance floor. Nobody seemed in a hurry to prove anything. Ace ordered water first. Iris raised an eyebrow. "Strategic?" "Preventive maintenance. I intend to impress you." "You've managed it already." "Don't undermine the mission." Iris rose before Ace could extend her hand. "Come on, then." The first song was quick enough to invite argument. Ace made a deliberate show of following Iris's lead. Iris gave her a skeptical look. "You don't believe that for a second," she said. "I am the picture of obedience." "You're trying to make me step into the table." "Allegations." Iris spun her neatly away from the nearest chair, and they both laughed. For a few bars they played with the rhythm, trading small challenges as their hands changed position and their bodies found the easy knowledge that came from years of moving in one another's company. When the song ended, Ace expected them to return to the table. Iris kept hold of her hand. "One more?" "You'd have to pry me loose." The next song was slower. Ace settled one arm around Iris's waist. Iris's hand found the back of her shoulder, and suddenly neither had anything particularly clever to say. They moved without counting. Iris leaned close enough for her cheek to brush Ace's, and Ace turned her head to kiss her temple. The musician at the piano let a phrase linger. Iris changed direction without warning; Ace followed this time without making a show of it. Iris's mouth twitched in approval. Beyond them, the rest of the dance floor kept moving, shoes whispering over wood in the amber light. Iris lifted her face. Ace kissed her once, gently, then again when Iris drew her back. "You know," Iris whispered, "this is rather nice." "Don't sound so surprised." "I'm not surprised by you. I'm surprised by us being able to do this without something exploding." "Give it time." Iris laughed into Ace's shoulder, and Ace felt the sound more than heard it. They stayed for another song after that. And another. Neither wanted to break the quiet understanding that had formed. When they finally stepped aside, Iris rested her hand on Ace's back even while reaching for her glass. Ace slid an arm around her chair. Small contacts, none remarkable in isolation, had become the natural punctuation of their evening. "I could get used to this," Iris said. "I was hoping you might." "That sounds dangerously like an intention." "It is." Iris looked at her for a long moment, and Ace knew she could not let the next words go unsaid. ## Chapter 12 — The Way You Look at Me They found a quieter stretch near the lounge's rear windows. The music was still audible, but nobody was close enough to require lowered voices. Ace stood with Iris's hand in hers, watching a line of distant lights move along the highway. For once she didn't feel the need to disguise what she wanted to say behind a joke. "I told Mai something the other day," she began. "Did she survive the shock?" "About you." Iris turned fully toward her. "I've been thinking about Camp since Mira and Della came back," Ace said. "Halloween too, and the nights afterward. I kept remembering everything we've been to each other. But what stayed with me wasn't any particular night. It was your face. The way you look at me." Iris remained silent. She was very good at giving someone the space to reach the difficult part. "You had that look back then," Ace continued. "When things were bad, or funny, or we were just happy to be in the same room. You still have it. I realized I'd got very good at answering it for five minutes at a time. And I wanted to answer it properly." She swallowed, although there was nothing frightening in Iris's expression. "That's why I asked you. I wanted to give you time. To have some with you. No other reason." Iris looked down at their joined hands. When she lifted her eyes again, there was a small shine in them that made Ace's chest ache. "Ace," she said softly. "I always thought you knew." "I knew you cared." "I didn't just care. I wanted you to know I was glad every time you came back through a door. I wanted you to know I trusted you with things I didn't always have words for. And sometimes, yes, I was looking at you because I wanted to kiss the smug look right off your face." Ace's laugh came out unsteadily. "You've managed that once or twice." "I should hope so." Iris moved closer. "But I didn't need you to take me to dinner to prove any of it." "I know." "That doesn't mean I'm not terribly pleased you did." Ace touched her cheek. Iris leaned into the hand, eyes never leaving hers. "I'm glad," Ace whispered. "Good. Then I have a confession." "Oh?" "I have spent the entire evening hoping you'll ask me to do this again." "I haven't even finished the first one." "True. Your performance review is incomplete." Ace kissed her. Iris drew her closer, and for a moment the rest of the lounge could have disappeared without either woman noticing. When they separated, Iris looked out at the lights and then back at Ace. "You mentioned a hotel." "I did." "Do you still intend to take me there?" "Very much." "Then, Ace Watanabe, I'd hate to be responsible for delaying the remainder of your plan." Ace laughed, put Iris's coat around her shoulders, and took her hand again. They left together. No hurry, no emergency, no secret to conceal. Their car was waiting at the entrance, and the hotel lay a short ride away. Iris kept Ace's hand in both of hers all the way there. ## Chapter 13 — A Room With No Deadlines The hotel entrance was almost aggressively discreet. No gilded statues, no towering advertisements, no velvet barricades designed to tell the general public where they did not belong. Just pale stone, polished glass and a doorman who knew how to welcome guests without memorizing their faces for later conversation. Ace considered that a mark of civilization. The room was booked in her own name. The clerk handed over the key without so much as a raised eyebrow, and Iris waited with her hand tucked through Ace's arm, studying the lobby's miniature forest of expensive indoor trees. "Quite the choice," she said as they entered the lift. "I was aiming for somewhere quiet." "You? Voluntarily choosing quiet?" "Don't tell anyone. I'll lose my terrifying reputation." The lift opened onto a softly lit corridor. Ace led the way, stopped at their door and offered Iris the key. "Honours?" "How gallant." "I'm practicing." Inside, the suite had wide windows, a seating area, a bedroom beyond a half-open partition, and a view of Night City that made the streets seem almost peaceful. Rain had begun again, drawing shifting lines across the glass. There were fresh flowers, a carefully arranged table and enough room to move without tripping over a piece of furniture designed solely to justify the price. Iris walked to the window. Ace set their things down, then followed her and stood just behind her, close enough that Iris could lean back against her without looking. She did. "It's beautiful," Iris said. "The city?" "The fact that you planned all this. Also, yes, the city, if we're feeling charitable." Ace kissed her shoulder. "There are at least six decent buildings in it." "You counted?" "Seven if you include this one." Iris turned to face her, slipped her hands beneath the open edges of Ace's jacket and kissed her. Nothing hurried them. The room did not contain a clock they had to obey. A soft notification sounded from the suite's table unit. Ace raised one eyebrow. "If that's work—" "It's probably the hotel," Iris said, laughing. A small box had been delivered with two glasses and a chilled bottle. Beside it lay a sealed envelope bearing their names in Mai's tidy handwriting and Brenda's unmistakable contribution: a tiny drawing of a heart wearing a wicked grin. Ace groaned. "Oh, no." "Oh, yes," Iris said, snatching the card before Ace could stop her. She read aloud. "'To two people who have done almost everything together except remember to make a proper evening of it: enjoy your night. No work. No rescues. No reports. Breakfast is taken care of.'" There was a pause before Iris reached the handwritten final line. "'And, Ace, if you try to schedule the romance in fifteen-minute blocks, Brenda will find out.'" Ace covered her face. Iris began to laugh, and the laughter grew until she had to set the card down. "I'll kill them," Ace announced. "You will absolutely not. I love them both." "That doesn't make them less dangerous." Iris opened the box. Inside were her favourite sweets, arranged with the same innocent precision as a small explosive device. She offered one to Ace, who accepted despite being morally opposed to the surprise on principle. Then Iris placed the card on the table, where it belonged: near the flowers, out of the way of the life they intended to have. "That was very sweet," she said. "It was. Irritatingly." Ace slipped her jacket off and hung it neatly beside Iris's. She silenced her phone except for the safehouse emergency channel, put it away, and turned back to find Iris standing in the middle of the room, looking at her with the same absorbed attention that had undone every clever thing Ace planned to say all evening. "What?" Ace asked softly. "Nothing. Just you." Ace crossed the room and kissed her. Outside, the rain kept falling. Inside, there was nowhere else they needed to be. ## Chapter 14 — The First Time Tonight It began with the sort of kiss they had shared often enough to know each other's answers before either had asked a question. Ace held Iris at the waist; Iris rested one hand against her neck and moved closer. Then Ace broke the kiss just far enough to look at her. "Still all right?" Iris gave a small, incredulous laugh. "Ace. I've wanted to be alone with you since you asked me on that balcony." "I know. I just wanted to hear you say it." "Then come here." Iris drew her back. The next kiss was slower, and the next quieter still. They moved from the window toward the bedroom with little stops along the way: a laugh at the absurd difficulty of a dress fastening, Ace catching Iris's hand when she would otherwise have stepped away, Iris pausing to take Ace's face between both hands as though that was the detail she most wanted to remember. At the bed Iris drew her down beside her instead of reaching for the next kiss immediately. They looked at each other. Ace smiled first, and Iris answered by bringing their foreheads together. They were not strangers trying to discover whether the other would welcome a touch. They knew. The familiar things mattered, and so did the unexpected hush that came over them when they recognized what was different tonight. "We can take as long as we like," Ace said. Iris's expression changed. Not into surprise exactly. Into something warmer and more vulnerable than either had expected from such an ordinary sentence. "I think," she said, "that's the nicest thing anyone's said to me all week." Ace kissed her forehead, then the corner of her mouth, then stayed there until Iris turned into the kiss properly. The slow undressing that followed had none of the efficiency they sometimes managed between other obligations. Buttons resisted; a zipper caught; Iris laughed against Ace's collarbone when the hotel lighting made the whole process feel absurdly formal. They left most of the clothes in a heap at the foot of the bed rather than folding them. Under the covers the first real contact of skin made both of them still for a breath. Ace felt Iris's hand settle at the small of her back, not pulling, just present. She answered by drawing Iris closer until their legs tangled and the warmth between them became impossible to ignore. Iris's eyes stayed open. Ace watched the way her expression changed — the small part of her mouth, the way her breath shortened when Ace's hand slid lower, over the curve of her hip and between her thighs — and slowed deliberately so she could see it. Iris noticed. She caught Ace's wrist, not to stop her, but to hold her there a moment longer while she looked back. The look was open, almost surprised by its own clarity. Ace felt the answer in her own body — the heat gathering, the way Iris shifted to meet her fingers — and leaned in to kiss the place just below Iris's ear, the one that always made her turn her head. Iris did, and the soft sound she made was half laugh, half something less controlled as Ace's fingers found her already wet and slipped inside with careful pressure. They moved together without needing to name it. Ace kept one hand against Iris's face, thumb resting near the corner of her mouth so she could feel the small changes there, while the other worked in a slow, steady rhythm. Iris's fingers dug into Ace's shoulder when the pleasure sharpened; Ace stayed with the pressure instead of chasing it, watching Iris's eyes close and then open again to find hers. When Iris's body tightened around her fingers and she pressed her face into Ace's neck, Ace held her through it, feeling the tremor pass under her palms, the wet heat pulse. Only after Iris's breathing began to even did Ace let her own response take her, her free hand guiding Iris's between her own thighs, quieter, her forehead against Iris's, the last of it easing into stillness rather than collapse as Iris's fingers answered in kind. They stayed exactly as they were. Rain ticked against the glass. Iris's hand remained on Ace's back, fingers moving once, slowly, as if confirming they were both still there. Later they lay tangled beneath the covers, neither interested in moving. Rain whispered against the windows. The glass of water Ace had left on the bedside table remained just out of reach until Iris finally stretched for it and handed it to her. "You know," Iris said after a while, "you could have suggested a night like this years ago." "I was busy being tremendously competent." "You were busy being a pain in the ass." "Also true." Iris kissed the bridge of her nose. "I'm glad you finally got around to it." Ace wrapped an arm around her and drew her close. Iris settled against her without hesitation, one leg lazily hooked over Ace's beneath the covers. The city below kept moving. Neither of them felt obliged to move with it. ## Chapter 15 — Everything Between After a while Iris declared that they had to do something about the scandalous absence of water within immediate reach. Ace volunteered to retrieve it, only to be informed that she had apparently failed to understand the meaning of the phrase *no more assignments tonight*. They compromised by going together. Ace wore her shirt, unbuttoned at the throat. Iris borrowed the hotel robe and announced that it was far better made than several items of clothing she had been expected to wear in more formal circumstances. They carried drinks back to the sitting area and sat on the couch, Iris curled into Ace's side while the city's reflected lights wandered across the ceiling. "When did we become people who book a hotel just to sit on a sofa?" Iris asked. "We haven't booked a hotel just to sit on a sofa. We've booked a hotel to sit on an *expensive* sofa." "An important distinction." Ace rubbed a slow circle on Iris's shoulder. Iris leaned further against her, pleased and unashamed about showing it. For a few minutes they listened to the rain. Then the conversation drifted back to Camp: not to a catalogue of their private encounters but to small things that had endured — the sharp humour, their stubborn ability to find each other in a crowded place, the relief of being understood without a long explanation. "I remember thinking you were impossible," Iris said. "And now?" "I have substantial evidence." "Devastating." Iris tilted her head to receive the kiss Ace had been about to give her anyway. A little later, when they had returned to bed, Ace took Iris's hand and examined it with grave professional interest. "Inspection?" Iris asked. "Routine." "Have you found anything?" "Only that I like your hands." Ace kissed her knuckles, then the tips of her fingers, one by one. Iris's expression softened. Ace took the next fingertip briefly between her lips — an outrageous little escalation of what had begun as a courteous kiss — and the sentence Iris had been saying came to a complete halt. Ace looked up, entirely too pleased with herself. Iris stared at her for a heartbeat. Then she looked at their joined hands, as though checking that the gesture really had happened, before her eyes narrowed with delighted recognition. "Watanabe," she said, very distinctly, "you are so fucking proud of yourself right now." "Should I not be?" "No, you absolutely should not." She pulled Ace close by the collar and kissed her soundly enough to ruin any chance of a convincing rebuttal. When they separated, Iris was smiling so hard that her attempt at sternness failed before it began. "You know exactly what you're doing." "Occasionally." "Infuriating woman." "Your words say one thing." "My actions are going to say another." Ace laughed, but Iris's next touch was unexpectedly gentle: fingers against the side of her face, thumb moving along her cheek, a small careful kiss at her temple. "I mean this," Iris said quietly. "I'm happy. Not just about tonight. About how easily I can be happy with you." Ace stopped smiling in that sharp, joking way of hers. What replaced it was softer. "Same," she said. It was a small word for a large truth. Iris accepted it without asking for embellishment. They stayed close and spoke of little things for a while: food, music, an old running joke, Brenda's ability to convert a minor inconvenience into a personal feud with the manufacturer, Mai's unnerving gift for knowing what Ace was thinking. When Ace turned toward the bedside table, Iris hooked a finger through the hem of her shirt to keep her within reach. Later, when Iris lay back against the pillows, Ace found her hand before the conversation started again. Neither bothered to comment on these small negotiations of distance. At last Iris set down her glass, turned toward Ace and took the lead with a look that was playful, intent, and entirely her own. "Now," she said, "I believe you owe me your undivided attention." "I thought you already had it." "I'm going to make certain." ## Chapter 16 — Your Turn There was no uncertainty in Iris's next movement. She kissed Ace, guided her gently back against the pillows and paused to brush a wayward strand of hair from her face. "You all right there?" Iris asked, her voice full of mischief. "I have suffered worse positions in the field." "God, you're insufferable." "And yet—" "And yet," Iris echoed, kissing her before she could finish. This time Iris set the rhythm of their closeness. Ace let herself be guided with an ease that would have startled anyone who knew her only when she was working. Iris noticed when Ace's next wisecrack died on her lips; instead of teasing her about it, she waited until Ace met her eyes. Ace lifted a hand to Iris's cheek, drawing her closer. Nothing in Iris's care felt like surrendering control to a stranger. It felt like trusting someone who knew when Ace was joking, when she was trying too hard to be strong, and when she wanted nothing more than to be held. Iris set the pace without announcement. She kissed Ace once more, then shifted so she could see her face clearly while her hands moved — slow, deliberate, learning the places that made Ace's breath catch even after years of knowing them. Ace tried for a remark and lost it when Iris's palm pressed lower, fingers sliding through heat and wetness; the sound that escaped her was small and unguarded. Iris heard it and smiled, not teasing, just pleased, and kept going, curling just enough to find the spot that made Ace's hips lift. She used her mouth next, settling between Ace's thighs with the same focused attention she brought to everything that mattered. Ace's hand found Iris's hair without thinking, not guiding, only holding. The attention was focused and unhurried: tongue tracing, then pressing, then the steady pull of her mouth as Ace felt herself answering more openly than she had earlier, a low sound she didn't try to turn into words. Iris lifted her head at one point to look at her. Whatever she saw made her expression soften; she kissed the inside of Ace's thigh, tasting the evidence of what she'd already done, then returned to what she had been doing until Ace's body arched and she pressed her wrist against her own mouth to stay quiet. Iris stayed with her through the peak, one hand steady on Ace's hip, the other still working inside her, until the tension eased and Ace could open her eyes again. For a moment neither moved. Ace's breathing was still uneven. Iris rested her cheek against Ace's stomach, smiling to herself, and Ace reached down to touch her hair. "Your turn," Ace said, voice low. Iris lifted her head. "You don't have to—" "I want to." Ace drew her up and kissed her properly, tasting herself there, then guided Iris onto her back with the same care Iris had shown. She took her time. Hands first, learning the way Iris's hips lifted when she found the right pressure, fingers sliding in and stroking until Iris made a small, helpless sound and then laughed at herself for it, which only made Ace more intent. Then her mouth. When Ace glanced up, Iris was watching her with that open look from earlier, no performance left in it. Ace answered by not looking away, tongue and fingers working together, and Iris's next response was quieter, deeper, her free hand finding Ace's shoulder and holding on as the rhythm built. Iris finished with Ace's name on a breath rather than a cry, body tightening, the sound of it soft against the rain. Ace stayed where she was until the last of the tremor passed, then kissed her way back up, settling beside her. They lay facing each other, close enough that their knees touched under the covers. Iris's hand rested on Ace's chest, rising and falling with her breathing. Neither spoke for a while. The quiet felt earned rather than empty. When at last they were still, Iris lay half across Ace with her cheek against her shoulder, breathing slowly. Ace stroked her back and waited while the silence finished becoming peaceful. "I feel," Iris said at length, "that my performance review has improved considerably." "You have a terrible review system." "It's extremely thorough." "Biased." "Wildly." Ace turned her head and kissed her hair. Iris lifted her face and returned the kiss, then rested her forehead against Ace's. "Thank you," Iris said. "For what?" "Not assuming you already knew how much this would mean to me." Ace considered that. It was the sort of thought she might have ignored once, on the grounds that understanding could be demonstrated more efficiently by action. "I did know some of it," she said. "But I don't think I knew all of it." "Neither did I." They stayed together through another unhurried stretch of quiet. Eventually Ace reached for the water, and Iris helped untangle the blanket before slipping under it again. When Ace offered to turn out the light, Iris caught her hand and drew it back between them. "Not yet," she said. "More talking?" "Maybe. Mostly I want to see you." Ace left the light low. Iris looked at her, no longer asking to be noticed. She already was. ## Chapter 17 — Because We Can Night settled more deeply around the windows. Below them, the city showed no sign of going to bed. The traffic never quite stopped; somewhere beyond the rain, a bright advertisement pulsed in a colour that had probably cost its creators a great deal of money and good taste. Inside, Ace and Iris had stopped caring what time it was. They talked about the ridiculous things their friends would say when they got home. They made a list of possible reactions, rejected the idea of keeping score, then agreed that Brenda would certainly demand enough information to be outrageous while Mai would need to say almost nothing at all. "Shammy will hug us," Ace said. "And then ask whether we had fun." "In that tone that says she already knows." "She's very good at that." Iris stretched, then promptly drew Ace closer when the space between them grew wider than she preferred. "Come back here." "I'm right here." "Closer." Ace complied. She nuzzled the side of Iris's neck and kissed her just beneath the ear. Iris laughed at the ticklishness of it and turned her face toward the next kiss before Ace could even offer it. "You're greedy," Ace informed her. "For you? Apparently." There was a particular luxury in the last part of the night: knowing that they had already been happy together, that there was nothing left to prove, and still finding themselves drawn to one another. Iris was drifting toward sleep when Ace kissed her again. She opened her eyes, took a moment to understand the question in it, and smiled as she brought Ace closer. Ace's kiss was soft, almost questioning. Iris answered by turning fully toward her, one leg sliding over Ace's, her arm coming around Ace's waist under the covers. They stayed like that for a while, kissing slowly, the kind of kissing that didn't need to become anything else unless they chose it. Iris's hand moved under Ace's shirt — the one she had put back on earlier — and rested warm against her ribs. Ace felt the sleepiness in both of them and the wanting underneath it, and she didn't rush either. "Still awake?" she murmured. "Enough," Iris said against her mouth. "Don't stop." Ace didn't. She kissed Iris's throat, then lower, while her hand found the place between Iris's thighs that was already warm and slick from earlier. Iris made a small approving sound and shifted to give her better access, her own hand sliding down Ace's back and then between them, fingers finding Ace in return. They touched each other that way, unhurried, faces close enough that they could watch the small changes in expression. Iris's eyes stayed half-open. When Ace's fingers moved in a way that made her breath catch — slow circles, then deeper — Iris smiled and did something similar in return, not matching exactly, just answering with the same unhurried pressure. The pleasure built slowly. Neither of them chased it. When it crested for Iris first, it was quiet — a long exhale against Ace's shoulder, her hand tightening briefly on Ace's hip before relaxing, the soft pulse of it under Ace's fingers. Ace stayed with her, kissing her temple, until Iris's breathing steadied. Then Iris's hand, which had never quite stopped, brought Ace over the edge a minute later, the rhythm easy and familiar. Ace pressed her face into Iris's hair and let the soft sound of it happen without trying to muffle it. Afterward they remained tangled, neither interested in moving farther apart. Iris's fingers traced an absent pattern on Ace's collarbone. Ace's arm stayed around her. The rain had quieted to almost nothing. There was time afterward, too. Time for Iris to lay her head on Ace's chest and listen to her breathing settle. Time for Ace to trace a light, absent line along Iris's shoulder while they spoke about nothing more consequential than whether breakfast ought to involve coffee or an unreasonable amount of pastry. Time for Iris to raise her head and receive a kiss as naturally as she might have asked for water. "You know what's strange?" Iris said finally. "We're in Night City and nobody's tried to ruin our evening?" "Apart from that." "Tell me." "I knew we were good together. I just didn't expect it to feel new and familiar at the same time." Ace tightened her arm around her. "I think I did. I just couldn't explain it." "You could have tried." "I did. I booked a table." Iris laughed so suddenly that her head slipped from its comfortable spot. Ace pulled her gently back, smiling into her hair. After a while Iris's answers became slower. Ace drew the covers around them, turned down the last light and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Iris caught Ace's hand beneath the blanket and held it against her heart. "Don't go anywhere," she mumbled. "Wasn't planning to." "Good." They fell asleep with their hands still joined, the rain soft against the windows and the whole unspent morning waiting for them. ## Chapter 18 — When She Wakes Iris woke because something pleasant had been happening for a while, and she had finally become awake enough to notice it. Ace was stroking her hair. Not deliberately, as far as Iris could tell. Ace was propped against a pillow with her eyes half-closed, watching morning light work its way across the hotel room. One hand lay against Iris's head, fingers making small, absent movements through her hair. It was the sort of touch people made when they had stopped thinking about touching at all. Iris kept her eyes closed a few seconds longer. The bed was warm. The air beyond the covers was cool. Rain no longer obscured the windows; Night City had emerged beneath a pale sky, the wet streets reflecting the first traffic of the morning. Somewhere a ventilation unit hummed softly enough to be mistaken for distant wind. She moved closer. Ace's hand stilled as Iris shifted, then settled into her hair again when she leaned closer. "Morning," Ace said. "You've been petting me." "Have I?" "For some time, I think." Ace looked down at her hand as if it had been operating independently. "Huh." Iris opened her eyes. "Please don't stop." "Wasn't going to." She kissed the top of Iris's head, and Iris turned far enough to kiss her jaw in return. They settled together again, neither ready to disturb the covers. "Did you sleep?" Iris asked. "Like a criminal who finally escaped the city." "You've become poetic." "Don't tell Mai. She'll expect me to keep doing it." Iris laughed quietly. Ace's fingers traced another small path through her hair. For a while they said nothing. It was different from the silences they had shared at Specialist Camp. Those had often been stolen from exhaustion, pauses when two people stopped fighting the world long enough to remember themselves. This one contained no bargain with the next crisis. They were simply there. "You know," Iris said at last, "I think I understand what you meant last night." "About your eyes?" "About wanting an entire night. At first I thought it was a lovely indulgence. Now I think the morning might be the best part." Ace considered that. "I don't know," she said. "There were some strong contenders." Iris laughed, shoved her shoulder lightly and then kissed her. Ace's answer was immediate, familiar and entirely awake. "Smartass," Iris murmured. "You knew that before dinner." "I did." She looked at Ace then — fully, directly, with that old expression that had been lodged in Ace's memory for so long. Ace no longer had to wonder what to do with it. She touched Iris's cheek and kissed her once more, slowly enough that the morning seemed to hold still around them. Iris smiled as they parted. "There," she said. "There what?" "You finally learned." "It only took a few years." "You're an exceptional student." Eventually they agreed on two practical truths: it was time to have coffee, and neither wanted to leave the bed to get it. After a spirited debate, Ace reached for the room-service terminal. "I have a proposal," she announced. "Another one? You're spoiling me." "Breakfast here. Then we can make a dignified exit at a time of our own choosing." "Dignified?" "Aspirational." Iris rested her head back on Ace's shoulder while the order went through. ## Chapter 19 — No Alibis Needed Breakfast arrived on a trolley with a silver pot of coffee, warm bread, fruit and the sort of pastries that made an adult seriously reconsider her commitment to moderation. Iris approved immediately. Ace wore the hotel robe now. Iris had retrieved a comb from her overnight bag and then decided that breakfast in bed was an experience best approached without unnecessary formality. They arranged the food between the bedroom and the sitting area and ate in stages, moving from one place to another whenever a view, a drink or the chance to curl closer made the new position preferable. "This is outrageous," Iris said after her second pastry. "The bill?" "The fact that I've survived this long without doing this with you." Ace raised her cup. "An oversight we're correcting." "I propose we correct it again sometime." "I was hoping you'd say that." Iris stole a piece of fruit from Ace's plate. Ace retaliated by taking the last bite of a pastry Iris had been saving. It could have become an international incident if Iris had not solved the problem by kissing Ace and reclaiming the pastry box. The hotel card remained on the table. Iris picked it up and reread Mai and Brenda's message, grinning at the absurd little drawing. "They really were happy for us," she said. "Of course they were." "I know. I just like seeing it in writing." Ace took the card when Iris offered it, reading the last line again with a long-suffering expression. "Brenda is going to be impossible when we get home." "She was impossible when I married her." "Fair point." Iris reached across the table and laid a hand over Ace's. "I should tell you something before we go back." Ace set the card aside. "Last night was wonderful," Iris said. "And I don't need every time we're together to look like this. Next time I'll happily settle for a quiet table and something good to eat." "I know." "I do want us to remember we can ask for time. Even when nothing's gone wrong." Ace squeezed her hand. "Then we'll ask." "Good." "Although I reserve the right to plan another grand gesture just to see your face." Iris gave her a delighted, wicked look. "I certainly won't stop you." They finished the coffee slowly. Ace found Iris's other shoe beneath an armchair, a mystery neither could account for with complete confidence. Iris discovered that Ace had left one cufflink on the bathroom shelf and held it up triumphantly. "Evidence," she declared. "Of what?" "That the terrifying Ace Watanabe can be defeated by an ordinary evening." "I demand legal counsel." "Your lawyer has already gone home." They dressed without haste. Ace straightened Iris's collar while Iris adjusted Ace's cuff. Iris found the emergency-only phone where Ace had tucked it away; there were no missed alerts. They checked the room, collected the little box and the card, and thanked the staff as they left. On the ride back toward Watson, the city was wide awake. Delivery vehicles pushed through crowded lanes, vendors were setting up beneath sheltering awnings and a billboard was offering discounts on a product whose actual purpose Ace could not work out. Iris sat beside her, their hands joined again. "Was it what you wanted?" she asked. Ace looked at her. "More," she said. Iris's smile was quiet and deeply pleased. They watched Watson approach, taking their time with the last private minutes of the journey. ## Chapter 20 — All the Ways Home The armored street door admitted them with its familiar discreet recognition. Ace held it while Iris passed through, carrying the small gift box as though it were a trophy. They climbed the stairs to the upper floor together. At the reinforced upper door Ace knocked twice out of habit, then opened it manually — the small ordinary action that meant she had finally come home. Coffee greeted them before anyone did. Mai stood at the kitchen counter, talking to Shammy. Brenda was seated at the dining table beside a collection of components she had evidently promised not to spread any further. All three looked up. Brenda's face transformed. "Oh, *look* who remembered where they live." "We were gone one night," Iris said. "An *entire* night," Brenda corrected. "A historic logistical achievement." Ace put the box down. "I can turn around and book another." "Tempting, isn't it?" Mai said mildly. She crossed the room and embraced Ace, then kissed her with a warmth that had nothing to do with making a point for an audience. Ace held her a moment longer than usual, grateful for the simple security of the welcome. "Good evening?" Mai asked. "Very," Ace said. "I'm pleased." "Your card was criminal." "Brenda wrote the last line." "Traitor," Brenda said from the table. Mai smiled. "I thought it was important that she express herself." Shammy was already hugging Iris. "You look happy." "I am." "Good." She turned to Ace, held out both arms and received a full, fierce hug, lifting her face for a quick kiss. Ace's hand settled briefly against her hair. Shammy leaned in again before stepping back, her smile bright and private and entirely free of any sense that someone else's joy had taken something from her. Meanwhile Brenda came around the table and took Iris into her arms. For a moment the teasing fell away. Iris kissed her wife, and Brenda kissed her back with that unmistakable mixture of tenderness and amusement. "You had a good time," Brenda murmured. "I had a wonderful time." "I knew you would." Iris laid her forehead against Brenda's. "Thank you for the surprise." "Wasn't my idea." "The offensive drawing was." "I will not apologize for my artistic contributions." Iris laughed, kissed her again and let herself be steered toward coffee. Breakfast, technically, had already happened, but the safehouse regarded second breakfast as a reasonable civic institution whenever enough people were present to argue over what should be eaten. Shammy found fresh cups. Mai produced something warm from the kitchen. Brenda tried to demand an exhaustive review of the restaurant's menu, the lounge's musicians and the hotel toiletries, insisting she had absolutely no interest in anyone's private activities while making it as obvious as possible that she would happily invent all of them. "The restaurant was excellent," Iris said. "The music was good," Ace added. "And the room?" Brenda asked. "Had a bed," Ace said. Brenda put a hand over her heart. "The level of detail overwhelms me." "And windows," Iris said gravely. "Stop. I can't take any more." Mai set a cup in front of Brenda. "You've been warned about making inquiries beyond the scope of the report." "There was no report," Ace said. "Exactly," Shammy replied, and dissolved into laughter. The room settled around them in familiar layers of conversation. Mai sat close enough for Ace to lean against her. Brenda pulled Iris's chair beside her own and draped an arm across its back. Shammy moved between the kitchen and the table and finally took her place with them, one hand resting easily on Ace's shoulder as they listened to Iris describe the evening's unexpectedly excellent dessert. Brenda reached for Iris's cup and topped it up without interrupting her story. At the other end of the table, Mai slid a plate toward Ace before Ace had even decided she wanted more food. Shammy caught Ace's eye over the rim of her mug, smiled and went back to listening. Nothing needed to be announced. At one point, while Brenda was telling a story with an unreasonable number of technical digressions, Iris glanced across the table at Ace. There it was: that look. Not a secret. Not a question she had to solve. Just Iris, happy to see her. Ace reached across the small gap between their chairs and took her hand. Iris's smile deepened. She squeezed back without interrupting Brenda's story. Mai noticed, because of course she did. Shammy probably did too. Brenda was too busy explaining why the manufacturer of a particular component should be prohibited from approaching a screwdriver ever again. Ace listened, smiling, her hand warm around Iris's. Brenda finally reached the outrageous conclusion of her story, nearly knocking over Ace's coffee with one sweeping gesture. Ace rescued the cup. Mai disagreed with Brenda on technical grounds; Shammy laughed; Iris argued that neither of them had noticed the actual flaw. Then she found it again.