What I thought was a rather hospitable offer is met with a squint.

"Press… the button?" he echoes, not even bothering to conceal his disbelief.

I tsk at him in joking disapproval. "Are all Antivans this hard to please?"

He is quick to backtrack, and I feel a stab of guilt for joshing around so thoughtlessly.

"I… did not mean to appear ungrateful. I just… mmm… so people here like buttons, do they? Is this a national pastime?"

I hold up my hands in a conciliatory gesture. "No, I was just playing. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-- never mind. We'll just go to the clinic, hmm?"

Eager to move on, I don't wait for a response and press the button. With a small ping , the lights come on and cool air flows through the vents. Zevran looks around as a friendly voice with a stronger accent than mine comes on, and I stay still and calm in the hopes my lack of alarm will put him at ease, too.

"Hello, Van. My magnets will need to be re-aligned soon."

"Hi, Zippo. I understand, thank you. Please take us to my clinic."

"You want to go to the Camphor Bay rural clinic. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

Zevran twitches as the doors close and seal us in before the car performs a three-point turn and drives out of my driveway.

I start out with the intention of using the twelve-minute drive to the clinic to fill Zevran in on cars and road safety, but I end up spending the majority of it explaining to him what Zippo is and proving there isn't a man of the same name hiding in my car. By the time we pull up at the clinic, I think I just about have him convinced enough that he would be willing to get into the car for a return journey– thank god.

Outside the clinic, I catch sight of one of my regular patients sitting on a bench with her leg on her walker. She is rubbing her knee-- the one that I know has rather bitey osteoarthritis that hasn't responded to any of the conventional treatments. Must be giving her grief again.

"Hi there, Hennie," I say to her cheerfully as I take out the key to the front door of the clinic and unlock it.

Hennie looks up in surprise. "Van, hi! I thought you closed at four today."

"I did, but something's just come up. Do you need something? If you're happy to hang around in the waiting room for a bit, I can see you too."

"You sure that's okay? I can wait until my appointment this Tuesday." My older patients are so sweet and patient. God, I love them.

I wave a hand. "Perfectly fine. Want some help getting up?"

"I think I can-- oh, actually, maybe just a little support under the elbow there-- yeah, that's great. Thanks, Van."

The three of us wander inside and after I close the door and help Hennie into one of the seats, there's a knock at the door. I look up and see Tamika striding and waving pleasantly to everyone.

"Tamika, fantastic. Thanks so much for coming in like this," I give her a grateful smile.

"Hah. Like you don't drive my mother places two or three times a week for me," Tamika snorts. "Now, who's the patient?"

"This lovely chap here," I gesture at Zevran and then turn to Hennie. "One person ahead of you, Hennie. I'll be back out as soon as I can, okay?"

"Huh?" Hennie looks up from a woodworking magazine. "Oh! Yeah, yeah, take your time. They got an article on building a garden bed in this issue."

"I'll photocopy that for you before we close up for the day," I say through a grin before I follow Tamika and Zevran into the small scan room.

With the door closed behind us, I stop Tamika as she goes to open the centralised patient database.

"He's undocumented," is all I say, and it's enough. With a nod, the program is closed, and she turns to Zevran.

"What can I call you, sir?" she asks with a kind smile. Zevran glances at me, and I shrug.

"How about Carlos?"

Tamika keeps her eyes on Zevran. "Is Carlos all right?"

He nods quickly. "Yes. Yes, thank you."

She nods back, much slower and more relaxed. "Thank you. Well, Carlos, if you're happy to get started…" she looks over at me and returns to the computer, giving me my moment to excuse myself.

"I can wait outside if you'd like to talk to the doctor alone," I say to him, "or I can stay if you'd rather have me close by."

Zevran pins on a smirk. "Oh, now, why would you want to miss out on the fun, eh? Do stay. It will give us plenty to talk about later, I am sure."

I sit beside Zevran on the consultation table as Tamika takes him through a full neurological examination. She's the consummate Kind Doctor, taking all the time needed to explain each step to him, what she's looking for, and getting the green light every time she goes to do something with his body. I think he ends up reasonably comfortable around her, because the flirty comments die down to almost nothing– until, of course, the moment when I've spoken too soon.

"Right," Tamika says. "So far, so good. No signs of concussion or other head injuries, aside from that painful-looking lump on your head, of course. Since you lost consciousness, though, Carlos, I'd like to do a scan of your brain to make sure there's no small injury that might need to be watched, all right?"

Zevran's eyes widen briefly. "Well," he says with a chuckle. "Which of you would like to hold me down while the other cracks my skull open?"

Tamika looks at me, and then at Zevran. "Not sure if you're joking there, Carlos, but for a CT scan you can keep your skull completely intact."

"If anything, it's encouraged," I pipe up now. "If you can spare a minute or two, Tamika, you can show Carlos how to do one on me."

"Hah. Beat me to it, Vannie." Tamika grins. "C'mon, let's go. You're in for a treat if you've never seen a brain before, Carlos."

Zevran gives me the biggest side-eye once Tamika's looking away, and I'm trying not to piss myself laughing. The assassin who's never seen a brain before. Good lord, what a thought.

In the scan room, once my earrings are out, I lie on the table and watch Zevran and Tamika standing behind the glass. Tamika's pointing at this, that, and the other, and Zevran's got eyes like saucers. What I wouldn't give to see his face as the slices pop up on the screen. Still, better to be a good example of a well-behaved patient than indulging my curiosity; I keep my eyes heavenward while the scan runs.

When it's done, I stroll back over to the doctor and her patient with a grin. "So how was my brain? Big and wrinkly?"

"Gorgeous," Tamika chuckles. "Plump, neuronal, functional… a textbook brain, if ever I saw one."

I flick my hand. "Oh, stop it, you. Sooo… whaddaya think, Carlos? Will you hop on the table for ten seconds and the doctor have a little look?"

"It's painless, remember," Tamika adds, "like we discussed when Van was getting looked at. No side effects, only thing you need to do is take your earring out, so it doesn't make the picture strange."

With a nod, Zevran passes me his earring, heads into the scan room, and lies down on the table. Tamika turns on the microphone.

"Great job, Carlos," she says encouragingly. "Lying nice and still for me, and counting back from ten in your head starting… now."

Zevran's good as gold, doesn't move a muscle until Tamika says the scan's over, even though by this point the machine has been quiet for a few seconds.

I smile at him as he comes back in and hand him his earring. "Nice job, Carlos! You know, some people won't sit still for their scans and we end up having to redo it once or twice."

"Hah," Tamika says under her breath, not looking away from the screen as she clicks through the slices. "Once or twice? Keep going… anyway, it's all looking clear here. See up here?" She moves the cursor around a bit of brain. "This is the part just under where your head got hit, and I can't see any signs of damage there… or on this other part, where it might have ricocheted in your head… in fact, everywhere looks completely fine to me. I don't think there's anything more for me to do here, actually. Just keep an eye on yourself, and if you start getting any of the things I mentioned during Van's scan, let her know and we'll take it from there."

Zevran nods, and Tamika prints out a couple of the images and hands them to him. "Here you go. A little memory from your first CT scan. Give him my number if you like, Vannie, huh?"

I nod. "I will. Cheers, Tamika."

With a wave to both of us, Tamika shows herself out. I turn off the lights and computer in the scan room, and in the waiting room I put Zevran behind the desk so he's not visible to the outside, and bring Hennie into my own consultation room.

As soon as the door is closed and my rubber ducky lab coat's on, Hennie gives me a knowing look. Exactly what knowledge has prompted this expression, I'm not sure, so I get down to business, sitting at my desk and checking over my last clinical notes for her on the computer.

"So that knee's not behaving itself, it seems."

Hennie chuckles and nods. "It's been pretty angry. Guess you wanna have a look at it, huh?"

"If you wouldn't mind."

She adjusts her skirt so her knee is visible, and while I palpate and assess range of motion, we go through the same questions of stiffness, pain, walking, and the like, all questions we've done since she was diagnosed some five years prior. Questions and answers both are reeled off like a script between us, and once my hands are free again, I note that the baseline level of pain is about the same. Her current pain, however, is much worse than baseline, and normal household painkillers aren't touching it.

"Sounds like a nasty flare-up you're having there, Hennie," I say as I turn away from the computer. "Usually we just do the hyaluronic acid to oil up the joint, but since it takes so long to kick in, I want to combine it with a small dose of corticosteroid to tamp down that inflammation and give you some quick relief. What do you think?"

She nods. "Sign me up."

I nod and after wiping down her knee with an alcohol wipe and applying a numbing spray to the spot I'll inject, I go to my drug cupboard

"You got a handsome man in your waiting room, kiddo," she informs me while I'm rummaging for the hydrocortisone that I re-stocked two weeks ago , and how does it disappear like this? Does it just grow legs and run away? Oh, no, wait, here it is. Right at the front, beside the bloody hyaluronic acid you put out for Tuesday.

I turn around, drugs in hand, and she is giving me an impish grin. "You should get his number. He couldn't take his eyes off you, you know," she continues pointedly, even as I wash my hands and get the syringe ready.

Oh, Hennie, darling, he's watching me to make sure I don't murder him.

"I hope you don't mean literally," is all I murmur as I check the computer for her dosage for her hyaluronic acid. 48mg, 2.0%. We'll try a dose of 25mg for the hydrocortisone. I wash my hands again, glance over the knee and look up at her.

"So it's still a no to the knee replacement?"

Hennie nods firmly.

"Righty-o. Well," I pick up the needle, drawing the doses and aspirating, "we'll just get down to it, yeah? There'll be a little swelling for the next few days, but you should find it's hugely improved after that."

When the injection's done and the needle is disposed of, I sit back in my chair. "So how's the rest of you?" I gesture at her hands. "Are the fingers giving you much grief?"

She waves one of the aforementioned hands and shakes her head. "Nah, they go okay. The knee's the only thing being a real bitch."

"Well, that's something. Was there anything else you wanted to see me about on Tuesday?"

Hennie gives me a half-shrug. "Well, not about medicine, exactly."

"Oh? Something psychological? Diet?"

"Nah, it's not about me. We got a huge crop of tomatoes, and you look like you could use some." Hennie purses her lips at me. "Alongside a burger."

I chuckle softly. "Don't hold back, Hennie. Tell me what you really think."

I regret my response instantly as she proceeds to chastise me in earnest.

"You're too thin, Van! Look how much weight you've lost," Hennie gestures at me with open palms, her reproachful expression softening. "Skinny as a rabbit! Y'had such a good thing goin' on there, and now you just look so… sick. Rings under your eyes, all these bones! We're worried about you, honey. If you're too busy to cook, just cut back the hours here, or let us bring you some home-cooked meals. God knows Georg makes too much."

Her care is touching, and it's hard to conceal that. There's a small prickling in my eyes, which is mercifully waylaid when a morbid fact leaps to mind.

"As a matter of fact, my fridge is packed right now. I bought all my favourite foods, and I'm going to get started on them when I get back." I smile carefully, only allowing it to touch my eyes enough so no sneaky tears spill over. "You're right, though. I need to take better care of myself. I'll have a good, proper meal tonight--"

"With dessert!" she interjects, pointing a knotted finger at me for emphasis.

"With dessert," I agree with a slightly wet chuckle. "And I'll take a look at my schedule, see if I can't plan things a little better."

"Don't burn yourself out, kiddo," Hennie warns. "You're a young thing. Live a little, huh?"

My smile broadens, but I keep my eyes out of it this time as I feel a fresh swell of tears coming on. I manage to go for years without crying in front of anyone, and then of all the fucking days to hear this. You couldn't make it up, honestly.

"I'll do that."

"Good. Now throw me out, lock this place up, and get yourself and that man something to eat, for God's sake."

"Yes, ma'am." I help Hennie to her feet and hit the switch that powers off the lights and computer before joining her down the hallway. In the waiting room, once she has her photocopy of the magazine article, Hennie bids me goodbye and informs me that I will be accepting a delivery of tomatoes next week. There's no way to decline without appearing churlish at this point, especially living in a town as small as this, so I nod and thank her. She goes, mumbling something about her husband's recipe for tomato pasta salad, and Zevran and I are left alone in the clinic.

He runs his eyes over me and grins broadly. "My, my. What a treat you are in that coat!"

I look down and a groan escapes me before I can help it. "Bugger, I knew I'd forgotten something. Just let me hang this up and then we can leave."

His chuckle rattles in my head as I run back to my office, throw my coat on the hook, and scuttle back. The cheeky bugger is still smirking.

"Yes, yes, curb your enthusiasm," I wave a hand. "Now, let's get you some clothes before we go home, hmm? There's a place over here where we can pick up some things for you," I point at the hypermarket across the road, visible through the glass doors. "We can get some foods you like there, too."

Zevran nods. "I must admit, a change to these pants would be welcome. They are a little tight in… how to put it… strategic areas."

"Ah," I nod understandingly. "No, they're not the right cut for people with your body configuration. Don't worry, though. By the end of our little expedition, you'll have plenty more suitable things to wear."

Wincing ever so slightly, he gets to his feet and follows me out. "You are very hospitable to visiting assassins, dear Van," he says with a chuckle.

I frown a little as I lock the door. "Well, I hope I'm being hospitable, but I've already told you I didn't summon you here because I wanted someone dead, so you must realise by now that your career isn't what distinguishes you to me."

Eyes the colour of burnt honey scrutinise me deeply. "Perhaps. You are not very forthcoming with the reason I was summoned." His voice is quiet, smooth, vaguely dangerous, and it makes me hugely uneasy. All the same, though, he has a point.

I go to speak but stop, quickly throwing an arm out when we reach the road to cross it and Zevran doesn't stop on his own. He knocks into my arm and jumps back in time for a car to zoom past us a moment later.

"Always look both ways before you cross the street," I inform him matter-of-factly before we go over the road. "Cars aren't looking for you."

"You are excellent at evading questions," is all he remarks through a smirk.

I scoff, a little rankled now. "Apparently it's considered evasion to keep you alive long enough to answer your bloody question."

Zevran chuckles softly. "Such a temper on you! What about when you changed the topic to tell me about how there is no man living in your vehicle, or how I may return to Thedas whenever I wish?"

He does have a point there. I sigh (sighing seems to be something I do a lot these days) and continue walking into the hypermarket, taking a trolley on the way.

"I'm sorry," I keep my voice quiet but clear. "I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. Of course you'd want to know. There's so much you must be wondering, and I do want to tell you."

Zevran waves my apology away with one hand. "Do not trouble yourself over it. It was nothing. Today is an unusual day, no?"

I shake my head. "It wasn't nothing. I should have controlled myself better. I don't want you to feel like you're walking on eggshells with me. To tell you the truth, I'm…" I shrug, pulling us up beside the clothing section. "I'm quite nervous. Not because I think you're going to slit my throat, but because I feel… ah… responsible for you, I suppose you might say. I want to make you as comfortable as I can, but truly, I've no idea how to go about it, and the anxiety of it is a little overwhelming at times. But it's on me to manage it appropriately and not take it out on you, and it won't happen again." His face immediately goes blank, and I smack a hand to my head. "Argh. And here I am, not answering the question yet again."

That wins a little laugh from him. "Perhaps we should buy clothes first, maybe inspect the food, and then you can tell me in the… ah… car , was it?"

"Car, yes. We'll resume the topic there. Now, go ahead and choose some things. I'll walk on and leave the trolley-- this thing-- here so you can put your selections in. Dressing rooms are there, and hang whatever clothes you don't want back on that little rack there."

Zevran fixes me with a debonair smile. "You do not wish to admire me in various states of undress? I assure you, I look quite fetching in minimal clothing."

I catch him glancing farther ahead momentarily, eyes darting to the exits, and I can't help but get a hunch that he's not keen to be left alone, closed in though the shop is. It's either that or he wants to make a break for it. He looks back to me and arches an eyebrow, kittenish as all-get-out.

"If you're looking for an audience to show off your outfits to, I'm happy to oblige," I offer. "Choose the things that make you feel happy and comfortable. Now I think on it, I wouldn't say no to a few new work shirts, myself…"

He gives a low, warm chuckle. "Marvellous. Shall we, then?"

Helping Zevran navigate clothing is a little more involved than I would have guessed. Getting the sizing right is one thing, and style is another entirely, but it never occurred to me I would have to explain how various clothing and the associated bits and bobs work. I explain the function of zippers, why he should wear socks with sneakers, how elastic makes clothes stretchy. He soaks up the information like a sponge, no detail seeming too small or un-fascinating for him.

Of course, it can't be all laughs and overalls. He constantly eyes the price tags, and even though I try to put a few of each thing he likes in the trolley, he keeps taking half of them out when my back is turned.

Obviously, that can't continue, so eventually, I speak up.

"You'll need more than one pair of underpants, Zevran," I advise quietly when I look in the trolley and see that the other three pairs have been put away.

He puts on his deflection smile and shrugs insouciantly. "Ah, surely it is healthier for those parts to be in the open anyway."

"In the wide open spaces of your jeans?"

Zevran blinks winsomely at me. "I knew I chose a larger size for a reason."

I roll my eyes in amusement. "Well, just in case something else is influencing your choice… things like, say, money, you have nothing to worry about there."

He raises an eyebrow. "Oh? Is my summoner a member of the nobility?"

"Me?" I cackle. "Oohoo, quite the opposite. But doctors are paid very well. For perspective…" I cast around, stopping at a thirty-dollar bomber jacket. "I can afford almost fifteen thousand of that jacket there each year after paying tax. Two-thirds of what I earn goes to charity, and I still have plenty to spare. So please, get what you want. In truth, it's nice to have someone to buy things for."

His quirked brow is frozen in place, and I shrug and turn to the patterned shirts.

I had hoped he would be encouraged to fill the trolley after hearing of my financial status, but that was unrealistic of me. Still, when we approach the food section with enough clothing for Zevran to keep him kitted out for two weeks, plus two pairs of shoes, I take it as a win.

The food catches his eye even more than the clothes. I doubt he's ever seen such a vast selection of fruits and vegetables in one place before.

Not keen to rehash the money conversation to stop him putting food back after we've picked it, I try a different tack.

"Do you cook much, Zevran?" I ask in what I hope is a casual voice.

He gives a nod while he examines the vegetables.

"Only the upper echelons in the Crows were kept well-supplied," he explains as he turns around, holding a particularly nice eggplant. A smile comes to him, astringent to begin with, but it softens as he regards the vegetable approvingly.

"The rest of us had to make do with what ingredients we could acquire, which was limited or rather aged, but even those things were able to be turned into memorable dishes with a little effort. I made something of a name for myself in our cramped kitchen. It was even how I got into poison-making."

He looks nostalgic for a moment, but offsets it with a hasty shrug. "Ah, but it is pleasant enough to chat about… we did not come here for me to bore you with stories."

"You don't bore me," I shake my head. "If you like cooking, get some ingredients to make a couple of meals, show me what you like. I'll get a few things, too. Think of it as a culinary exchange, a mutual learning opportunity."

This is taken very well, and Zevran leaps into action, prowling the produce boxes for god-knows-what. His warp-speed shopping pauses occasionally when he looks around to see where I've gone, which is seldom very far.

The only issue with all this is that I don't have any decent recipes of my own to share. Cooking was my sister's job while I cared for my brother and worked. I'm useless at it. I honestly cannot imagine how smiley face ketchup toast will stack up against some Mediterranean-esque masterpiece that is putting stars in Zevran's eyes.

I have a sigh and forlornly peruse the vividly colourful seasonal produce. This was supposed to be fun, but now I feel overwhelmed. I've painted myself into a corner and I can't just throw money at this to make it go away.

Though…

Who said I had to cook from scratch? Or have it be impressive? No, if anything, outstripping me substantially on the quality of meals prepared would probably give Zevran a boost. Besides, has Zevran ever had stir fry? Bagged wok vegetables, meat, sauce in a jar, sorted. Nothing wrong with ready-made things; God knows my patients swear by them, and a thousand five hundred people can't be wrong. Mollified, I make my way to the ready-made section and stock up.

We meet back up at the trolley and, after collecting a few more odds and sods, pay and leave.

Once we're back in the car, my nervousness starts up again in earnest. I can see in my periphery that Zevran keeps glancing at me, and to be fair, I did promise to at least revisit the topic we had saved for now.

"So about summoning you here," I begin slowly. I keep focused on the road we're cruising down, even though the vehicle is driverless. Zevran's eyes are glued to me now, I can feel it. Not helping, my dude.

"To be truthful, I'd rather wait a little to tell you. Not that it's bad news or anything," I add quickly as I glance over and catch his head tilting just a fraction. "More that I doubt the explanation would seem plausible to you right now." My stomach is churning querulously. How do you explain to someone who has by all accounts known nothing but cruelty, that you summoned them because you wanted better for them? There's no way he'd take it seriously; if anything he would probably be very uncomfortable.

"I think we already established that very little is what I would call plausible at this moment, Van," he returns, looking at me like I had offered a very feeble excuse-- which was well deserved, really. "You are more than welcome to test me. The Crows prize adaptability, and I flatter myself that I did very well with them."

Oh, god. I don't like where this is going. The more seconds that pass, the surer I am he will hate my answer, no matter what I say at this point.

I sigh. "If you're certain you want to know right now, I will of course tell you, but I strongly recommend that you give yourself a few months here first. The explanation will make more sense when you have a little more context of everything. If you have the patience to wait, I would appreciate it, but I understand if you don't."

We sit in silence for a short while as Zevran chews over my request. I hate the quiet. It feels awkward, and I can't tell if it's my own hatred of silences tainting my view of things, or if this is legitimately uncomfortable for us both. When it becomes too much to stand, I speak again.

"You should know that I'm happy to answer any questions you might have. Sure you must be teeming with them at the moment, and a large part of my career revolves around education, so you'll find I've got huge reserves for this kind of thing."

He doesn't respond immediately. He looks… tired. Whether the exhaustion is physical or mental, I don't know. His posture is a little slouched, eyes not looking quite so alert any more, and he brings a hand up to--briefly-- rub his brow. When he goes to speak, my car pulls into the dirt driveway, slowing to a neat stop in front of the house, and his mouth closes again.

"Perhaps we should eat first?" I suggest. "You must be quite hungry."

This is accepted readily, which is a good start. I take the bags of shopping out of the back of the car and hand Zevran the keys to the house when I guess he plans to help with the bags.

"I'll get you a key to the house in the coming days so you can come and go as you like, but for now, the key to this door is the green one there."

He blinks a little, but nods. Together, we walk up the few steps to the porch and he unlocks the door.

"My keys live in that, if you could drop them in, please." I point at the bowl sitting on the counter by the door. Handmade by Shadi and me using the driftwood on the beach my house backs onto, it's a curious-looking thing, and has enough big gaps that nothing would stay in there if it weren't for the extra wooden bowl we lined it with. We agreed that it was unlikely to be stolen in the event of a break-in, though, and considered the finished product a winner.

I deposit the bags on the kitchen table. Zevran comes over after putting the keys away and stands nearby, peering into the bags, with his eyes darting up to me occasionally.

"I've spent the day bustling you about," I broadcast my thoughts with a mirthless chuckle. "You've barely had a say in what we do so far, but I promise tomorrow will be better. We just had to sort these first few urgent things out. There's only one more thing that needs to be done."

Zevran rests his palms flat on the table and leans against it. He really does look worn out now. "Oh?" he asks with a smile that doesn't touch his eyes. "And what might that be?"

"The food I had in that basket needs to be eaten today, otherwise we'll have to throw it out, and it would be a shame to waste it. Could we eat that tonight and then cook things tomorrow?"

I think he might have been expecting something a little more complicated than the evening's dinner plans, judging by the flash of surprise that crosses his face. All the same, that versatility he bragged about comes to the fore as the empty smile returns. "Of course."

I smile back, genuinely. "All right. If you'd like to eat together, pick a place for us to sit. Anywhere you like is fine, but through that back door is a verandah with a table and chairs. If you'd rather eat alone, just put your clothes in your room and I'll get the food ready, and you can eat wherever suits you."

I can't tell if giving him options is the better or worse thing to do as he stands there for a moment, eyes darting from the back door to the table with his clothes, to the living room, to the stairs, and then back to me. You can see him carefully weighing each outcome in his head as his gaze lingers in each spot before moving on. If he weren't so quick to jump into action, I would have called him stumped, or even lost. Guilty, I leave him to his cogitations, busying myself with putting the groceries away and taking out tonight's meal.

Eventually, there is a rustling behind me, followed by footsteps that go up the stairs. He moves slowly but quietly-- louder than he needs to though, I'm sure, and returns shortly after, donning a pair of the shorts we bought and a white t-shirt. Looking far more comfortable in them, too.

"Your outside area has a magnificent view," he broaches. "Perhaps if you are inclined for company, we could eat together out there?"

I smile, relieved he chose something in the end. "Great. Well, let's get this stuff outside and get to it, hmm?"

He returns a smile of questionable authenticity but seems happy enough to collect some of the things and carry them out. I take the rest, and once we're set up, the table is burgeoning with stuff, most of which I doubt he's seen before.

"Right, so, before we start: are there any foods you are allergic to, or your body cannot tolerate?"

When he assures me there are none, I open the boxes for him to inspect.

"These are various types of sushi. The white stuff is a starchy grain called rice, the meat you probably know, and the green stuff is seaweed. These dumplings here are called gyoza- meat wrapped in pastry then steamed or fried. Usually meant to be eaten hot, but they're quite good cold, too. This is potato salad, I dunno if you have this in Thedas or not. And this is called mettbrötchen- raw minced pork on bread, better than it sounds. Go ahead and grab as much of everything as you like."

Zevran eyes the mettbrötchen with some distrust, as he does with the sushi, but he takes some of everything anyway. I can't help but watch on as he proceeds to try each of the foods. The potato salad is up first, and it's met with a hum of approval.

"Potatoes are not such a common food in Antiva, but the Fereldans were wild about them," he explains, spearing another piece of potato with his fork and eyeing the bits of chopped celery and bacon that adhere to it via the mayonnaise and salad cream glue. "But they never did anything quite like this. Just boiled them overmuch and spooned on the salt. It was... depressing." He brightens and points his nose at the spud. "But this! This I like a great deal."

I wince sympathetically. "It's hard to fuck up a potato, but when it happens, it's a sad moment. The Fereldans don't know what they're missing."

Nodding, Zevran observes me with an infinitesimally small squint as I take some mettbrötchen, and ooh, his stomach must be turning. I chuckle through a mouthful.

"I remember when a foreign classmate brought this into my school. The kids in my class all had the same look as you do now."

I don't think he likes being caught out like that, but it's hard to conceal disgust when you only have politeness to cover it up. His lips thin a little as he gives me a pursed, slightly guilty smile.

"I was wary of it, too," I assure him. "Not many people fantasise about eating raw mincemeat. None who should be allowed in a kitchen, anyway. But none of the other kids would touch it, and she looked so sad. I felt terrible for her, so I went and tried some, and I just loved it." I take another bite and sigh happily. "Don't try it if you don't want to. We have enough food and money to eat the things we enjoy."

I don't know if he takes my offer to pass as a challenge or what, but Zevran takes a swig of water and then quickly bites into his own mettbrötchen, probably so there's no time to chicken out. His eyes go from saucers to squints and back again as he chews it up. When he swallows, he speaks in a soft voice.

"Mmm. The meat is very subtle. I was not expecting that. There is no acid or iron flavour that I usually taste." He nods a little. "Yes. Yes, this is very good, too." The rest of the mettbrötchen on his plate disappears in short order. The gyoza, predictably, follow quickly after; they're always a crowd-pleaser.

Finally, he comes to the sushi.

"Seaweed, you say this is?" He looks much more relaxed about this than the other things; I think his previous successes have emboldened him somewhat.

I nod. "Quite a strong flavour, and admittedly an acquired taste. There's chicken, eel, sweet omelette, and spicy beef." I point at each flavour respectively.

He takes a spicy beef roll and pops the whole thing in his mouth. The confident look stutters as soon as he starts to chew.

"Mm," he concedes, eyelids fluttering just a tad. The revulsion is clear, but he's so determined to be polite that he looks like he's trying to hide an orgasm at a dinner party. "I see what you mean about the acquired taste."

A snort tears out of me before I can help it; a disgusted Zevran is a sight that the computer screen never gave me, and gamers everywhere are missing something spectacular. My laughter builds into paroxysms, and I think he relaxes a little because of it, his true suffering shining through as he forces himself to get through the rest of the mouthful.

By the time his mouth is empty and he has had some water and a gyoza, no doubt to take the taste out, I've got my breath back enough to speak.

"You won't be able to separate the seaweed and the rice, as the rice is very sticky, so how about… 'scuse fingers… you have my nigiri, and I'll take your rolls. There. You can peel the little seaweed strip off those without losing two-thirds of the meal."

Zevran gives me a grateful nod and predictably, the seaweed-free options win good reviews, especially the eel. When his plate is clean, he leans back in his seat, gazing out at the waves crashing against the bluff. On occasion, his eyes dart back at the rest of the food on the table.

"If you're still hungry, you should eat some more," I offer, pushing the boxes a little closer to him.

"You have barely eaten, yourself," he says pointedly, gesturing at my plate. "One piece of the meat bread, and a little sushi. I have eaten a good half of all this, so what remains is yours by rights."

I freeze, surprised to be called out. But called out I am, and it doesn't help to ignore it.

"Hah. I haven't had much of an appetite this last while, and my stomach has shrunk. I fill up quite quickly now." I give him a laissez-faire smile-- or at least I hope I do, but the only thing I get is an arched brow.

"Then perhaps," he pushes the boxes back toward me, "it would be well to stretch your stomach back out. My questions will be relentless, and you will need the energy."

I hate being a doctor sometimes. I know exactly why my appetite is gone: nonstop anxiety means elevated cortisol levels, which can cause nausea and appetite suppression. And now it's spiking again, and the cycle continues. But whatever explanation I give will not change the fact that to him, I need to eat and that's that.

I let out a puff of air and take a sip of water, willing some sort of hunger to start up again. It doesn't, of course; such things never take off under pressure, and I can't will my stomach to become more capacious.

"All right, I'll have some gyoza and you can finish the rest."

I grit my teeth a little behind my closed mouth and take a couple.

"There is one more." Zevran tilts the container so that the last gyoza rolls toward me.

"I'm going to feel awful if I eat all this."

"Only briefly."

"Wow, hah. I thought I was supposed to be looking after you."

"You have to not die of starvation to be able to do that," he retorts through a wry grin.

I roll my eyes and stab the gyoza with my fork. "Point taken. I must say, of all the conversations I expected we would have, you verbally trying to poke food into me like I'm a baby bird was among the least of them."

He gives a low chuckle. "You remain a step ahead of me even so. I had not expected any conversations at all."

"Don't worry, you'll be brought up to speed before you know it," I assure him. "There's a lot to cover, but we'll get there."

This time, when he nods, it almost looks like he believes me.