AceAndMai:Ace 109.7 — One Small Favor
The Safehouse had settled into the rare kind of late morning that did not appear to require anything from anyone.
No calls from Rogue waited in the queue. No courier had left a sealed case outside the door. Nothing in Watson had exploded close enough to make the windows complain. Brenda and Iris had gone out before breakfast to collect a set of analog relays Brenda had described as perfectly ordinary. Iris had claimed she was only there to prevent the purchase from becoming a transport problem, which meant Brenda had taken two empty tool bags, Iris had taken one patient breath, and Mai had received three separate promises that nothing would follow them home under its own power.
Shammy occupied one end of the common-room table with a cup of tea and no visible intention of moving. A thin strand of pale charge occasionally crawled across one knuckle, disappeared beneath the heel of her hand, and returned somewhere else as if even the static had decided the morning was too quiet to waste.
Mai sat opposite her with a data slate open beside a cooling cup of coffee. She had been reading the same paragraph for several minutes.
Shammy had not mentioned it.
Ace came through from the storage room carrying a clean shirt over one shoulder and wearing the expression of someone who had just confirmed that a known threat remained where she had left it.
She paused in the doorway.
Then she looked back.
Only for a second.
The storage-room door stood open behind her. Beyond it, shelves climbed toward the ceiling beneath strips of practical white light. Cases, replacement filters, old mission gear, sealed medical stock, and three containers Brenda had been forbidden to label probably stable filled most of the visible space.
The long fabric bag rested on the highest shelf.
Exactly where Mai had placed it.
Ace looked at it.
The bag, as usual, declined to explain itself.
Mai lifted her coffee and took a measured sip.
Ace turned back toward the common room.
“You saw nothing.”
“I was reading.”
“You stopped blinking.”
“I do that occasionally.”
Shammy’s tea hid the lower half of her smile.
Ace narrowed her eyes at both of them.
“You’re doing it again.”
Mai glanced up. “Doing what?”
“The thing where neither of you says anything and somehow I am still being discussed.”
“We were not discussing you,” Shammy said.
“You weren’t discussing anything.”
“That would make discussing you difficult.”
Ace pointed at her. “That answer is atmospheric evasion.”
“I don’t think those words mean what you want them to mean.”
“They mean you’re guilty.”
“Of atmosphere?”
“Among other things.”
Mai set her cup down before the corner of her mouth could move far enough to become evidence.
Ace saw that too.
Her gaze shifted once more toward the storage room.
Mai saw that as well.
Shammy watched Mai see it.
Ace looked between them and made a low, dissatisfied sound.
“I’m taking a shower.”
“A strategically sound decision,” Mai said.
Ace stopped halfway toward the corridor.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you came back from training twenty minutes ago.”
“I don’t smell.”
Shammy considered the air with exaggerated care.
Ace pointed at her again. “Do not consult the weather.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“That is worse.”
Mai folded one leg over the other. “Ace.”
The single word carried affection, warning, and the very reasonable suggestion that there were battles not worth dying in before noon.
Ace held her stare for another second.
Then she turned and continued down the corridor.
“I know the bag is still there,” she called back.
Mai did not answer.
“That silence was suspicious.”
“It was not a question.”
“It was emotionally a question.”
The bathroom door closed.
A moment later, the shower came on.
Mai remained where she was.
Shammy took another sip of tea.
Water moved through the pipes in the wall. The familiar mechanical vibration settled into the Safehouse, steady enough to cover low voices without turning the conversation into a conspiracy.
Shammy looked at Mai.
Mai looked at the corridor.
Then at the closed bathroom door.
Then back at Shammy.
“The water has been running for twelve seconds,” Shammy said.
“I am aware.”
“You waited for it.”
“Yes.”
Shammy lowered her cup.
The pale charge around her fingers faded completely.
“All right.”
Mai closed the data slate. The motion was careful enough to be ordinary and exact enough not to be.
“Can I ask you for a favor?”
Shammy’s expression changed very little. The room changed more.
The quiet lost its lazy edge and became attentive.
“You can ask.”
Mai’s thumb moved once along the rim of her coffee cup.
“Ace’s birthday is coming.”
“I noticed.”
“I assumed you had.”
“She has mentioned not wanting a fuss six times.”
“Eight.”
“She only used the word fuss six times.”
“The other two were longer versions of the same threat.”
Shammy nodded. “Fair.”
Mai looked down at the table for half a breath before meeting her eyes again.
“I have something planned for her.”
Shammy waited.
Mai waited too.
The shower continued behind the wall.
Neither of them filled the silence for the other.
Finally Shammy said, “Something that requires the Safehouse to be quiet.”
“Yes.”
“How quiet?”
“Empty.”
There was no teasing in Shammy’s face yet. Only recognition gathering shape.
“For the evening?”
“And the night.”
Mai’s thumb moved along the cup again.
Shammy looked at it.
Mai stopped.
“I would like to have the Safehouse completely to ourselves,” Mai continued. “No interruptions. No one returning unexpectedly. No one deciding at midnight that a component in Brenda’s room is making a noise it has never made before, and no Iris coming in behind her because she knows exactly what that sentence means.”
“That does happen.”
“Frequently.”
“Usually because it is making a noise it has never made before.”
“That does not improve the situation.”
“No.”
Mai took a small breath.
“Would you take Brenda and Iris somewhere else?”
Shammy leaned back slightly.
“Both of them.”
“Yes.”
“Me specifically.”
“Yes.”
“Not ask them to make plans.”
“No.”
“Because Brenda would ask why.”
“She would ask several versions of why.”
“And then build a theory.”
“Several theories.”
“And tell herself she was keeping them private while thinking out loud in the workshop.”
Mai’s mouth finally moved, not quite a smile and much too warm to be irritation.
“And Iris would know you were avoiding the answer,” Shammy said.
“She would.”
“Then decide whether to help you without making you say it.”
“Exactly.”
Shammy considered her for a long moment.
Mai did not look away.
“You’ve been planning this for a while,” Shammy said.
“Yes.”
“How long?”
Mai’s fingers stilled around the cup.
“That is part of what I am not discussing.”
“So there are parts.”
“There are always parts.”
“Enough parts to make you wait for the shower before asking me.”
“I did not want Ace to overhear.”
“That was not what I meant.”
Mai held her gaze.
Shammy’s smile arrived slowly, without mockery.
“You’re nervous.”
“I am accounting for variables.”
“You have traced the same section of that cup seven times.”
Mai looked down at her thumb.
“That proves repetition.”
“It proves you’re nervous.”
“It proves the cup has a rim.”
“Eight.”
Mai removed her hand from the cup altogether.
For a few seconds, the only movement in the room came from the shifting light beneath the kitchen cabinets and the water behind the wall.
When Mai spoke again, her voice was quieter.
“It matters.”
Shammy’s expression softened.
“I know.”
“I want to do this correctly.”
There were a hundred possible questions inside that sentence.
Shammy asked none of them.
She folded both hands around her tea instead and let Mai decide how much of the next step belonged in the room.
Mai looked toward the corridor once more.
“She told me something a long time ago,” she said. “Something she wanted. Not immediately. Not as a demand. Just… something she trusted me enough to say.”
Shammy stayed still.
“I remembered,” Mai continued. “I have had time to think about it. To prepare. I want her birthday to be the right moment.”
The words were controlled. The care inside them was not.
Shammy understood at least that much.
“You don’t have to tell me what it is.”
“I know.”
“And I’m not going to ask.”
“I know that too.”
A faint line of charge appeared near Shammy’s wrist, curled around the edge of her sleeve, and vanished.
“But I do need to ask one thing.”
Mai waited.
“Does Ace get a choice?”
“At every stage.”
The answer came without pause.
Shammy nodded once.
“Then yes.”
Mai’s shoulders lowered by a degree most people would never have noticed.
Shammy noticed.
“Thank you.”
“You haven’t told me when.”
Mai named the evening.
Shammy’s eyes shifted briefly upward, checking memory rather than a display.
“Brenda and Iris have nothing fixed that night.”
“Iris is still on leave.”
“Yes.”
“And Panam is still out.”
“Yes.”
“I could take both of them to Pacifica.”
“That was what I hoped you might suggest.”
Shammy gave her a look.
“You already checked.”
“I checked the obvious conflicts.”
“Marco and Lena’s schedule?”
“I did not access their private calendar.”
“That sentence contains a very careful distinction.”
“I checked what was publicly visible.”
“Of course you did.”
Mai’s eyebrow moved.
Shammy reached for her phone.
“I’ll ask Lena.”
“Now?”
“Better to know.”
Mai glanced instinctively toward the bathroom.
The shower was still running.
Shammy noticed the glance, selected Lena’s contact, and initiated the call before Mai could construct an argument against efficient problem-solving.
The connection opened on the third pulse.
“Stormbird?”
Lena’s voice carried the low background texture of Pacifica through the speaker: distant traffic, a door closing somewhere, the muted rhythm of music from another room.
“Morning.”
“It is almost afternoon.”
“Then I’m early for tomorrow.”
A brief silence.
“Everything all right?” Lena asked.
“Yes. I wanted to ask you something.”
Shammy’s eyes stayed on Mai.
Mai sat very still.
“There’s an evening coming up,” Shammy said. “I may need somewhere to take Brenda and Iris. Overnight.”
“Need?”
“Prefer.”
“That is less alarming.”
“It should be.”
Shammy gave her the date.
On the other end, Lena was quiet for only a moment.
“We should be here.”
“Both of you?”
“Marco will be. I might have work earlier, but not late.”
A man’s voice, farther from the phone, said something Shammy could not make out.
Lena answered away from the speaker. “Shammy, Brenda, and Iris.”
Marco’s reply came closer this time.
“Tell them I’ll make breakfast.”
Lena returned to the call.
“Apparently breakfast has already been approved.”
Shammy smiled. “That sounds dangerously close to a commitment.”
“It is the only kind Marco knows how to make before knowing why people are coming.”
“I’m asking provisionally.”
“Provisionally, yes.”
Lena paused.
Then, with the kind of precision that proved she had noticed the shape around the request rather than only the request itself, she asked, “Does Mai need the Safehouse?”
Mai’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Shammy’s smile deepened.
“Yes.”
“For Ace’s birthday.”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
Lena did not ask what Mai had planned.
She did not need to know yet, and she knew the difference.
“Then stay as long as you need,” she said. “Bring them before dinner. Iris and I can keep Brenda occupied.”
“That may require tools.”
“We have tools.”
“Not Brenda tools.”
“We have a balcony.”
Mai covered the smallest possible laugh with her coffee cup.
Shammy watched her do it.
“Thank you,” Shammy said.
“Confirm when you know.”
“I will.”
“And tell Mai she can stop calculating contingencies for where Brenda and Iris sleep.”
Mai looked offended in a way that confirmed the accusation completely.
“I’ll tell her.”
“I assume she is sitting there.”
“Yes.”
“Of course she is.”
Marco’s voice arrived again from the background.
“Tell Mai not to worry about anything.”
Lena was silent for half a second.
Then she said, “Marco says something unrealistic.”
“I heard him.”
“Good. Then I don’t have to repeat it.”
“See you soon.”
“Call first. Brenda and Iris are welcome. Whatever Brenda brings with her requires negotiation.”
“That is fair.”
The connection closed.
Shammy set the phone on the table.
Mai looked at her.
Shammy looked back.
“Well?” Mai asked.
“You heard the call.”
“I heard a provisional agreement.”
“You have the house.”
“Provisionally.”
“You have the house.”
Mai breathed out through her nose.
“Thank you.”
“You already said that.”
“I am saying it again.”
“That is how I know you’re nervous.”
Mai gave her a flat look.
Shammy’s expression remained peaceful.
“Do you want me to ask them,” she said, “or do you want to do it?”
“I want you to invite both of them. I will support the invitation if necessary.”
“Without telling them why.”
“Without telling Brenda enough to turn curiosity into a project.”
“Iris will know.”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to lie to her?”
“No. Tell her I asked for the Safehouse for Ace’s birthday. Nothing more.”
“She’ll help with Brenda.”
“I expect she will.”
Mai accepted that with a slight inclination of her head.
Shammy picked up her tea again.
“What should I tell Brenda?”
“That you want to spend the evening in Pacifica. That Marco is cooking. That Iris is coming. That they can stay overnight.”
“All true.”
“Yes.”
“And when Brenda asks why that night?”
“Tell her you checked and it was free.”
“All true.”
“Yes.”
“And when she notices you are trying to remove both of them from the Safehouse?”
Mai considered.
“Distract her with Marco’s breakfast.”
“That might work.”
“It will work.”
“You sound very confident.”
“Brenda once abandoned an entire technical argument because Marco put fresh bread on the table.”
“That was good bread.”
“It was extremely good bread.”
For the first time since the conversation began, Mai’s smile appeared fully.
It was small, brief, and unguarded enough that Shammy’s answering smile lost all teasing.
“You really want this to be right,” Shammy said.
Mai’s gaze lowered again.
“Yes.”
“Then it will be.”
“That is not how preparation works.”
“No. It is how trust works.”
Mai went still.
Shammy let the sentence remain where she had placed it.
The shower stopped.
Both of them looked toward the corridor.
Pipes ticked softly in the wall as the water drained away.
Mai reached for her data slate and opened it to the paragraph she had not been reading.
Shammy lifted her tea.
The transformation was almost convincing.
The bathroom door opened.
Ace emerged a minute later wearing the clean shirt she had carried in, dark lounge pants, and no apparent concern for the water still trapped in the ends of her hair. A towel hung around her neck. Another narrow trail of droplets followed her across the floor.
Mai looked at the trail.
Ace looked at Mai looking at the trail.
“I’m drying.”
“You are distributing water.”
“Same process. Wider area.”
Mai held out one hand.
Ace stared at it.
“The towel,” Mai said.
“I’m using it.”
“You are wearing it decoratively.”
Ace surrendered the towel with the dignity of someone yielding a weapon under protest.
Mai stood and drew it over Ace’s hair with practiced hands. Ace permitted this while continuing to inspect Shammy over Mai’s forearm.
Shammy drank her tea.
Ace’s eyes narrowed.
“What happened?”
“Your shower ended,” Mai said.
“Before that.”
“Several minutes passed.”
Ace leaned slightly to one side, trying to see Shammy around Mai.
“You look pleased.”
“I had tea.”
“You had tea before.”
“It remained effective.”
Ace shifted the other way.
Shammy shifted her cup with her, preserving the visual barrier.
Ace pointed at her without looking away from Mai.
“That.”
“What?” Shammy asked.
“The coordinated obstruction.”
“You are four feet from me.”
“That is not a denial.”
Mai worked the towel more firmly through Ace’s hair.
Ace ducked half an inch and glared upward.
“You waited until I was in the shower.”
“For what?” Mai asked.
“I don’t know yet.”
“That makes the accusation difficult to evaluate.”
“It makes it more important.”
Shammy set her cup down.
“We discussed a possible visit to Pacifica.”
Ace’s attention snapped to her.
“We?”
“Brenda, Iris, and I.”
“You, Brenda, and Iris are going to Pacifica.”
“Possibly.”
“When?”
“Later.”
“How much later?”
“Not today.”
Ace’s stare moved from Shammy to Mai and back again.
“Why was that secret?”
“It wasn’t,” Shammy said.
“You discussed it while I was in the shower.”
“We discuss many things while you are in the shower.”
Ace went very still.
Mai closed her eyes for one brief moment.
Shammy’s expression stayed innocent.
“How many things?” Ace asked.
“That depends on shower length.”
“Shammy.”
“Yes?”
“You are making this worse on purpose.”
“A little.”
Ace turned to Mai.
Mai draped the towel back around Ace’s shoulders and smoothed the collar of her shirt.
“You did the thing,” Ace said.
“What thing?”
“The silent conversation.”
“We spoke out loud.”
“That is exactly how you hide the other one.”
Shammy’s mouth twitched.
Ace caught it.
“There. Again.”
“You are very observant this morning.”
“I live with both of you. Survival requires pattern recognition.”
Mai placed one hand lightly against the side of Ace’s neck and leaned down just enough to press a kiss to her damp temple.
Ace remained suspicious through the entire gesture.
It was an impressive commitment to the emotion.
“You are dripping on the floor,” Mai said.
“You are changing the subject.”
“Yes.”
Ace blinked.
The direct admission disrupted her for almost two full seconds.
Mai used them to retrieve a cloth from the kitchen counter and hand it to her.
Ace looked down at it.
Then back up.
“You want me to wipe the floor.”
“I want the floor dry.”
“This is tactical displacement.”
“This is basic maintenance.”
Ace accepted the cloth.
She crouched to wipe the small trail of water, muttering something about domestic counterintelligence.
Mai returned to her chair.
Shammy picked up her tea.
For a few seconds, the Safehouse looked almost normal again.
Then Ace straightened.
Her eyes drifted toward the storage-room door.
The movement was small.
Automatic.
Mai saw it.
Shammy saw Mai see it.
Ace turned back just in time to catch the last fraction of their shared glance.
Her face changed.
“Oh, no.”
Mai looked down at her slate.
Shammy examined her tea.
“That was about the bag.”
“No,” Mai said.
The answer came too quickly.
Ace’s eyes widened.
Shammy’s shoulders moved once with the effort of containing a laugh.
Mai realized the mistake at the same time Ace did.
“You know,” Ace said slowly, “I had almost convinced myself the bag was unrelated to whatever silent operation you two have been running.”
“We are not running an operation,” Mai said.
“Then why did you answer before I finished thinking?”
“I have known you for a long time.”
“That is not helping your case.”
“There is no case.”
“There is a bag.”
“Yes.”
“On the highest shelf.”
“Yes.”
“Placed there ceremonially.”
“I placed it carefully.”
“You used both hands.”
“It is long.”
Shammy covered her mouth with her cup.
Ace swung toward her.
“You know what’s in it.”
“I don’t.”
“You know something.”
“I know you think about it too much.”
“That is because nobody will tell me what it is.”
Mai turned one page on the slate.
Ace watched her do it.
Then watched Shammy not watch Mai.
Then looked toward the storage room again.
The bag remained where it had been.
Patient.
Silent.
Now, apparently, connected to Pacifica.
Ace drew herself up to her full, compact height.
“I will solve this.”
Mai’s eyes remained on the slate.
“I am sure you will try.”
Ace pointed the damp cloth at both of them.
“When I do, there will be consequences.”
“What kind?” Shammy asked.
“I haven’t decided.”
“That makes the threat difficult to evaluate.”
Ace stared at Mai.
Mai turned another page.
Shammy’s smile finally escaped.
Ace dropped the cloth on the counter and marched toward the kitchen in search of coffee strong enough to support an investigation.
The moment her back was turned, Shammy looked at Mai.
Mai did not look up.
But one eyebrow shifted.
The silent conversation lasted less than a second.
Ace spun around.
“I felt that.”
“You felt what?” Mai asked.
“That.”
Shammy’s smile became radiant.
Mai reached for her coffee.
Everything, so far, was proceeding exactly according to plan.
That evening, after Ace had finally abandoned the storage-room doorway and gone to help Brenda argue with a relay that objected to being tested, Mai closed the bedroom door behind her.
Iris had taken up position in the workshop doorway with the patient expression of someone supervising two people who had independently decided the relay was being unreasonable.
Mai waited until the voices from the workshop settled into the familiar rhythm of technical disagreement, dry intervention, and mutual accusation.
Then she opened the narrow wardrobe compartment beside her side of the bed.
Two garment cases stood behind their mission coats.
One was cut to Mai’s height and shoulders.
The other was much smaller.
Both had already been fitted.
Mai checked the seals without opening them, then touched the edge of the smaller case with two fingers.
Beside them sat a compact medical kit she had rebuilt herself, a pair of safety cutters in a sealed sleeve, and an encrypted checklist whose longest section was not about the evening itself.
It was about what came after.
At the bottom of the list, one line had changed from amber to green.
Privacy — provisionally secured.
Mai looked at it for a long moment.
Then she closed the display, shut the wardrobe, and returned to the sound of Ace threatening an inanimate relay on Brenda’s behalf while Iris asked whether either of them intended to let the relay answer.
She did not smile where either of them could see.
She did not need to.
