Yusuf

On the last group practice, I noticed. That is, I noticed that Ariadne was . . . how to put this delicately? In a particular state. If my sisters were here they would have several far more vulgar terms for the condition; indeed, given how they all had close to the same cycle it was inevitable that they freely tossed around euphemisms of all sorts, most of them bawdy enough to make me blush even now—needing mouse mattresses, and having the painters in, and wearing the sumo belt, and much, much worse-

Growing up as the only brother gave me an early and thorough education in the feminine reproductive cycle denied many other men, believe me, so I knew the signs even if the others did not. Even Arthur, who is extremely fond of Ariadne—and quite possibly in love with her—didn't seem to realize why she was so irritable and off her game. We all woke up at the same time, but it took her a moment longer to shake the effects of the sedative off, and she apologized for the dream collapsing so quickly. Eames didn't seem to mind and thought it all some sort of jolly lark, but Arthur was clearly annoyed, all the more to cover up his concern, I think.

I knew Ariadne would not tell him the reason, at least not with the rest of us around, so I bided my time in packing up the leftover vials of sedative, puttering long enough for Eames and eventually Arthur to leave. Ariadne stayed in her lounge for a while, and when she went to rise, I shook my head at her.

"Relax," I told her, and handed over a bottle of water from the little refrigerator. "Not too fast. Do you need an analgesic?"

She looked at me, forehead wrinkling in that very Ariadne way, and I knew I had to explain. "For your cramps."

Both of us blushed, then, but I fished out a bottle from my case and handed that over too. She took it, checked the label and swallowed two of the capsules very quickly. "Thank you. How . . . how did you know it was that, and not something else, like the flu?"

I smiled. "Six sisters, two aunties, a mother and a grandmother."

That made her blink and then laugh aloud. Ariadne has a lovely laugh; light and honest, the real thing. Hearing it, I knew she was going to be all right, even before the medication hit. I took the pill bottle back from her and added, "The waves rolling in across the lake. They were very odd. Stretched out, higher in the middle than on the ends. I watched them for a while and figured out what they were."

Ariadne blanched a bit. "Do you think the others noticed?"

"That's hard to tell, but I doubt it," I assured her. "Eames was more interested in reaching the castle and Arthur . . ."

" . . . was concerned with the dragon, yes," Ariadne sighed. "It was a pretty good battle."

"Given how you were feeling, I think *you* should have had a hand in slaying it," I told her gently, "instead of contending with the penguins."

"They were Isupposed/I to be peasants," Ariadne sighed. "I just can't do serfs—they always come out as penguins."

Now it was my turn to laugh. "Personally I think it's a marvelous touch, and assures the target that everything is a dream. I know if II/I came face to face with penguins fleeing from a dragon I'd think carefully about what was real or not."

She laughed again, this time more weakly, and I motioned for her to drink more of the water. "In any case, nothing too terrible happened, and in the future, all you need do is tell me, and I'll make sure your sedative has a pain reliever in it as well."

Her eyebrows went up. It's quite an adorable look on her, but I wouldn't risk telling her so—Ariadne detests adjectives that remind her of her diminutive size, and all of us have learned to be careful what we say. Well, all of us but Eames. He gets away with it because he calls everyone 'darling,' even nuns and priests.

"You can do that?" she asked me, and I nodded.

"Come now; you didn't think I earned degrees in pharmacology just to whip up blue Jell-o?"

That got another smile, and I was glad to see it. Ariadne and I shared a few things in common—devotion to science fiction, mutual delight in bad puns, and a love of oddly-coloured food. Silly things, really, but having a friend with similar tastes helped ease some of the loneliness of Paris sometimes.

"Blue Jell-O and black ice cream," she murmured. "I go for some ice cream right now."

"So let us do it," I agreed. "Food in your stomach will help get the medicine moving that much faster. My treat."

She hesitated, but I gave her my most pleading look and Ariadne gave in, as I hoped she would.

Ariadne

Yusuf Singh Mehra is a lot smarter than anybody gives him credit for. At least, anybody on our team. Eames rags on him, and I've even seen Arthur give him a little grief—usually over some minor gaffe here or there- but really, the man's incredibly smart.

And . . . kind. That's not a trait in high admiration around here unfortunately, so it makes me feel good to acknowledge it when I can.

He's like a big sunny koala, which doesn't sound flattering, but it is. He's just plain cuddly-looking, and out of all three guys, Yusuf is the one I feel most comfortable with. He's not playfully hitting on me, like Eames, or making me feel completely self-conscious all the time like Arthur—Yusuf is an all-round nice guy.

So of course he'd be the one to clue in that I wasn't feeling good, and the fact that Yusuf knew why didn't surprise me either. Maybe it's because he's a pharmacist and used to watching people closely, or maybe he's just better at picking up non-verbal cues, but whatever it was, I was grateful as hell. My period is awful, to be honest. I'm not regular, like most women, and when it does hit, it hits hard. Most of the time I can take a day off and do some serious pain-relievers, but Arthur made this practice session mandatory, and since it was MY turn to be the subject, I couldn't wiggle out of it.

Penguins. I'm sure Eames will be teasing me about that for weeks.

Anyway, Yusuf and I locked up, and headed down to the little park just off the main road. We walked because it was still sunny, and reached the entrance right as the ice cream van chugged by, playing a very battered recording of 'Für Elise. We waved to the driver who stopped for us, and bought some cones—two chocolate—and went over to the first free bench to enjoy them.

Heaven. I love a good chocolate, I really do. After the first nibble, I looked at Yusuf. "Ten females in the family, huh?"

"Oh yes," he nodded. "Father and I were out-numbered more often than he wanted to admit, but all in all things worked out for the best, I believe. I've had a thorough grounding in domestic tasks, for one thing."

I nodded. "Yeah, I can see that. No brothers?"

"No, but several boy cousins and neighbors and uncles," Yusuf told me, handing over some napkins. "And boarding school of course. Did you have brothers?"

It was nice to be able to share personal things, so I filled him in on my family situation, throwing in a few stories here and there. Yusuf laughed at the tale about my falling out of the apple tree and landing on my mother's fair entry pie. When I finished, I had to catch up on licks to my cone because it was melting quickly. "And I miss them," I added, because it dawned on me that I did.

Paris is lovely; going to school here is a dream, but every now and then—like when I was hormonal—thoughts of going home would sneak up on me.

"And I my family as well," he nodded. "And my cat, back in Mombassa."

"Cat?" I loved cats.

"Oh yes, Pharmakos. She's a busy beast, always wandering behind the counters looking for crickets—not that very many get in, of course. She was born behind my shop, and although her family all ran off, I kept her and raised her myself—would you like to see a picture of her?"

I was charmed. I mean, seriously—a guy who carries a picture of his cat is just . . . cute. I nodded, and he fished out his wallet and pulled a little snapshot out. There was a cat in it all right, a hefty tabby, but I was more interested in the thin, dark woman holding it. When I looked at Yusuf, he was looking at her too, and something in his gaze told me that she meant as much to him as the cat did.

When he saw me waiting for an explanation, he sort of blushed. "And that is Cecily."

I looked again, and his finger lightly touched her image. "Cecily Esiankiki Barongo," he murmured, and it was all in the way her said her name that I realized he was in love with her. Yusuf gave a little sigh and put the photo back, giving me one of those embarrassed smiles that come to him so easily, and I knew I had to be careful what I said.

"They're both gorgeous," I offered, and it was the right thing, because he chuckled, and nodded.

"Cecily is watching Pharmakos right now, in fact. I gave her strict instructions not to give into any begging, but if I know my cat, it is useless. Cecily has always had a very soft spot for animals—once she brought me a frog she'd found on her way to work, and wanted me to keep it until she could release it safely! A frog!"

"What kind of frog?" I wanted to know.

"It doesn't matter!" he told me with mock-indignation. "When people come to my pharmacy, they do not expect to see a frog on the counter! I run a modern facility, not some Chinese herbalist shop!"

I nodded smirking for a moment. "Is she . . . your wife?"

Yusuf gave a sad little shake of his head. "How I wish, but alas, no. She doesn't even know . . ." he hesitated, and I picked up the unfinished part easily enough so I reached over and patted his shoulder.

"So *tell* her how you feel."

He shot me an exasperated look over the top of his cone. "Oh yes, because it's such a simple thing to do, I suppose. Some of are not as brave as you, Ariadne; some of us cannot just stride in and announce the depth of our feelings so easily."

I wanted to laugh but I didn't; he was so indignant and wry at the same time, a little smile on his face. Yusuf laughed at himself though, and I shook my head.

"I'm not particularly brave, and in this circumstance, I choose to have her my friend rather than lose her," he admitted.

"How long have you known her?"

His smile was tinged with sadness. "Nearly five years now."