The following week I got a text from another mystery number (turned out to be Lana) giving me the address of a specialty dress shop around Greektown which was the unofficial-official rental store of city galas.

When I arrived, the employee (a human!) asked for my name. I gave it to her and she went back to grab a list from under the front desk.

"I'm going with Hank, Hank Anderson. D-do you need to know that?" I felt so uncomfortable standing in this doorway, there was no fucking way I could afford any of the pieces I spied in the background.

"Yup, got you both right here. Will this be on his bill?"

I am gonna owe this man something fierce.

"Yeah, yeah it will be." He obviously had known about this procedure and called in. Thanks for telling me!

"You can come in now."

"Right."

I was immediately met by another employee this time (android) who offered to take me to a back room and pull a small selection to try on.

Within ten minutes my brain was wracked and I had no idea what looked good on me. I've never worn anything like this in my life and my nerves were beginning to take over.

I was all ripped jeans and t-shirts and bomber jackets, not… lace or satin or things made in... Italy?

Fuck.

"Would you mind if I invite a friend to help out. I don't know if she's available, but if she is -"

"Sure thing, darling." The android employee seemed offended that I would need further help. Truly, she had been amazing so far at finding the precise correct fit and some very flattering cuts, but I needed another opinion. I swallowed my pride and texted Lana back.

About twenty minutes later, we were between two final choices and Lana was very adamant that Hank would enjoy either of them.

"Sorry! But isn't that why you asked me here? Help you figure out which one you're gonna bone Hank in finally? Don't give me 'pshhhhh,' okay, this entire thing's making him really nervous, too. Yeah, don't think the boys don't talk about us, 'cause they do. Connor's turned into a total pervert under that roof and Hank is mush about this whole ordeal. You wouldn't think it, but the silent stoicism with the anger and the dirty comments, that's all just built up tension that needs to be released because I cannot take him making fun of Connor and me anymore. So for the love of Christ, buy the one you're wearing right now and fuck his brains out for me? Please?"

We looked at each other with noted sincerity before laughing our asses off in the pristine silent shop.

"Has he really been talking about this?" I asked.

"Well, not to me, I haven't been over there recently. But the little that Connor's passed on, Hank's nervous. Connor insisted they go tux shopping over the weekend, I didn't hear from him for hours. And it wasn't because Connor was having a problem picking out a suit! He said Hank's distracted at home but he's also got a lot of work to catch up on. They're working really late nights and some tough cases and of course since Hank does run the place, he's up to his eyeballs in assignments and political red tape and you know the whole, enforcing new laws thing. He needed the time off but he's making up for it now."

I felt my face redden at the thought of Hank getting flustered over the gala and my joining him. Still wavering but a contrast to the stern and consumed man he was before. I could only imagine how that shopping must have gone with Connor.

'Too tight on my balls, Connor! Loosen that shit up!'

'Just pick a fucking lapel style, I don't fucking care already.'

'Ties? What ties? I haven't worn a fuckin' tie since my wedding.'

I giggled internally at the imagery before turning back to Lana to ask another question.

"Do you think that if I wasn't here, would he be taking his friend? The android woman?"

I could tell she wasn't sure how to respond at first. "Probably. Hey, I'm not saying that to make you feel bad. It took me some convincing too, but they really are just friends. I'm not sure you'd get along though, no offense, but she's very uh….proper. This tall prim older woman, closer to his age. Well, appearance-wise. Really nice and sweet, reminds me of my old teachers back in elementary school. Nice lady. Only seen her a handful of times since they met but definitely not lately."

I looked back at myself in the mirror; this really was a gorgeous dress. Deep blue, cap sleeve, ruffle-accent at the thigh, ending with a subtly flared floor-length mermaid skirt.

"Can I ask you something now?"

"Okay," I said, turning back around.

"What're you doing for his birthday? We were thinking of a little something quiet at the house but if you want him to yourself, we won't interfere."

Birthday? Oh God, I forgot - when the fuck was his birthday. Last time around he didn't even mention it to me until weeks after the fact.

"You forgot, didn't you," she laughed. "Frankly, I wouldn't even remember my own if it wasn't for Connor being a walking talking dictionary. It's the sixth, next week. The day before the gala. I'm guessing by the look on your face you didn't realize that either. Hank has got to start writing himself sticky notes!"

"These weeks are going by way too fast. I feel like I just got here yesterday. That we just talked yesterday, and next week is his birthday?"

"Oh yeah. Connor's been reminding me incessantly; he wants to plan something special this year, but he wanted your permission."

"Oh. Actually I think you should go on with planning something, I'm sure he'd really like that."

"You're invited too, obviously."

I smiled weakly. I was ashamed I hadn't even thought of this, I was so damn nervous about this event and everything was just happening so quickly now, I felt like I couldn't take a breath. Coming back to the city where Hank had established himself a new life and I was trying to find a way to get to know this man all over again but alone time simply wasn't happening. But again, in a way this wasn't the worst, I had enjoyed the few get-togethers so far. Less pressure perhaps, but also I was able to experience him through the eyes of his friends and colleagues, to see him in social situations which I couldn't have imagined three-plus years ago. So yes, I concluded, this would be good for me. For us.

"Okay, but that means you're going to have to put up with one more night of sexual tension, Lana. Get out that steak knife."

I came up with the absolute perfect - if not also the most depressing - birthday present for Hank. It wasn't appropriate to wrap in nice paper with a pretty ribbon, so I tucked it in my purse.

When I knocked on the door, Connor let me in. "Hank is in the bathroom. Unfortunately, he's not feeling very well. I'm sorry, we should have let you know."

"Probably just nervous stomach about tomorrow," Lana chided.

I set my things aside and went to lightly knock on the bathroom door.

"Whatda want," he groaned.

"It's me."

"Ah fuck. Fine."

To my relief, he wasn't sitting on the toilet, but rather hunched in front of it, both hands crumpled in his hair. I closed the door behind me and went to sit on the edge of the bathtub.

"Happy birthday. This is familiar, isn't it?"

"Yeah, 'cept this time I think it's just food poisoning. Sorry to disappoint you."

"Is it just out of one end?"

"Oh yeah, you missed the first half."

"Sorry I was late then! You know I always did enjoy wiping your ass."

"Ha. Ha." He slowly collapsed back on his hands, blessing me with that not-so-amused sideways grimace. "When did you do that?"

"You don't remember the rolls of paper towel, the boxes of Immodium, menthol wipes, the -" I broke to laugh at his confusion and then the realization that I was a big fucking liar.

"You're making shit up, Al. I woulda remembered that," he said.

He craned to stare up at the ceiling. "Bad idea," he said, immediately shooting forward to upchuck.

I kept his hair out of his face during this, lightly rubbing his back between bursts that only lasted an intermittent fifteen minutes at worst. I grabbed a fresh towel, wet it under the sink, and helped wipe his face down from the sick and the sweat. He managed to sit back again and I grabbed a comb I had spied on top of one of the cabinet units, running it through his hair, before loosely tying it back into a short ponytail.

"Thanks," he muttered. "Hey, can you grab me a clean shirt?"

I slipped into the hall and into his bedroom, eyes flitting over the bed before I refocused and grabbed another t-shirt from his closet. Back in the bathroom, he had stripped off the sweaty one and was now brushing his teeth. I set the shirt atop the small organizer and was about to turn back out when he asked for me to wait through garbled toothpaste and spit.

"One sec," he said.

I did my best to avert my eyes as all I wanted to do at this moment was run my hands over that chest tattoo and press myself against -

"Al," he said. "Thanks."

He snapped me back to reality as he put on the new shirt, a very small sly smile snuck out of one corner of his mouth. He kissed my cheek sloppily and then asked me to fuckin' move. He exited and I trailed and the other two snapped up from the sofa to clap.

"I give up…" Hank muttered. This must be a common occurrence, I thought. Connor and Lana adjusted themselves and as I stepped over to join them, they pulled out their gifts for the birthday boy, who was currently gulping down water and popping medicine.

"I'm fucking beat guys. We do this and I'm going to bed." He looked at me and added, "Sorry you had to come out here just for that."

"Don't be. It was a nice trip down memory lane."

I wasn't being (entirely) sarcastic and I hoped he noted it as such. He pushed to sit between Connor and me on the sofa and kicked up his legs to disturb the card game between the other two. ("Whoops.") It was nice to feel him flush against me.

They presented their gifts first; Connor's was a custom cross-stitch he made with the phrase, 'Behold! The field in which I grow my fucks. Lay thine eyes upon it and thou shalt see that it is barren.'

Next was a vintage pint glass of the Spongebob character, Mr. Krabs. They did sound alike.

"Oh God, mine is not going to be nearly as lighthearted, I'm sorry. They helped me with this though, Hank. I hope - well we hope it's all right."

I took out the bubble-wrapped item and handed it to Hank. In a separated picture frame, we consolidated the photo of Hank, Connor, and Sumo, an inked print of Sumo's paw which Connor was able to retrieve from the veterinarian, and his collar and tags, squished under the glass.

He didn't respond immediately and I was so scared suddenly he'd break down again. Instead, he took a deep inhale, tightened his grip on the frame, and thanked us. "This is nice. Thank you."

"Maybe we can hang it in the hall?" Connor offered.

"Hm. I'll think about it."

I missed that dog. Why did we have to come up with such a depressing gift? But it was a nice collection and Hank was appreciative, even if he couldn't show us that outwardly.

His face contorted then and he muttered, "Oh fuck ," before handing over the frame to Connor and scrambled up to reach the bathroom again.

"Should I - ?" Connor asked.

"No, I'll go check on him."

Returning to the bathroom door, I laid my head against the door itself first, but I didn't hear sounds of splashing or vomiting. I pushed it open slowly, craning my head in, before entering completely and softly closed it again behind me.

Hank was sitting against the wall between the sink and the bathtub. I went to join him, pushing the trashcan out of the way to make room for myself.

With heads back and extended legs, we sat in silence for a few minutes as I held his thigh and thumbed at his jeans' seam.

"Hank," I finally said.

Grunt.

"Would you like me to kick them out?"

Grunt. And then, "Yeah. Would you mind? God, I feel like fucking shit. Hey -" he cleared his voice, possibly to push down some lingering vomit - "Thank you. It was a nice thought. And uh, maybe if I hadn't already puked my brains out, I wouldn't be such a fucking mess right now. Just gotta get to sleep."

"Okay." I pushed up. He grabbed my hand on the way and gave a weak squeeze.

I found the other two talking at the kitchen table. They stopped when I reappeared.

"How is he?" Connor asked.

"I think he just needs some peace and quiet. Told him I'd kick you out. I'm going to get home as well. I think he just wants the house alone tonight."

I lingered and let them leave first. I honestly had every initial intention of following them out, but that old habit of hanging around kicked in and I wavered.

"Goddammit," I whispered to myself. I turned back to the bathroom and heard that Hank wasn't done. From the kitchen, I poured a full glass of water and brought it to the man now stretched out spread-eagle on the tiled floor.