In theory, after everything that's just happened, I should be moments away from one of the largest panic attacks in my personal medical history. The reality, however, is that I'm completely numb.

That's not a particularly good thing, because it means I'm so anxious I've come full circle and feel nothing again. Mind you, the other option is Zevran having to use a broom to coax me down from the ceiling as I rave like a coot with a half-eaten sock in my mouth. "The lesser of two evils" has never felt so personally applicable as it does right now.

We reach the foreshore. The afternoon winds have started up, and loose sand is blowing a handheight off the ground in a jet stream that deeply exfoliates the ankles. And there's us in our shorts.

Zevran doesn't appear to notice his lower legs being (quite literally) sandblasted, or if he does, he keeps schtum about it. He looks at the bluff on his right, and then at the endless yellow of uninterrupted shore to his left. After a moment, he holds his hand out in the latter direction, and we start walking again.

It's technically cause for joy that he's choosing something without appearing to voice some level of uncertainty, or gauge my reaction. The sense of jubilation doesn't come, though, and as the realisation sinks in that I didn't prepare Zevran or the parents anywhere near enough for today, guilt floods in and more than amply takes its place.

I sigh. "Hey, look. Before I get started, I owe you a big apology."

Zevran glances at me and raises an eyebrow.

"I know, I know. It was stupid of me not to consider that Mom and Baba might have reservations when they didn't know you like Shadi and I did." I sigh again and twist my hair around my fingers. "It must've made you feel like they're going to rat you out to the AU police. Don't worry. Shadi and I will talk to them some more. They will warm up to you, and I'm confident they'll help us get you registered, but I've really let you down here, and I'm sorry."

Zevran pouts his lips a little and gives an off-handed shrug. "If I had not suspected things might go this way, I would be a fool. Assassins were not appreciated in Antiva, either, my dear Van, even if we were a more common fixture there."

"But you didn't have a choice!"

"And?" He shrugs again. "It is not a profession many choose. I am what I am, whether or not I had a say in it."

"Well, the time of not having a choice is over," I insist. "Now you decide for yourself. I trust that you'll continue to follow the laws here and pursue non-lethal activities. That trust was enough for me, and I expected it to be enough for everyone else, too. Anyway, I'm not going to rehash all this now."

I rub my brows. "I still don't think you'll believe me at this point. I think my explanation will be implausible to you."

Zevran raises an eyebrow at me. "You think I am not capable of believing an implausible truth in the face of enough evidence? I can assure you, Van, I am flexible in more ways than one."

That flirty remark chills my insides. The way he uses suggestive innuendo when he feels threatened is enough to make me want to swear off sexy banter for the rest of my days.

"Mm…" I rub my neck. "I've certainly tried to give you enough evidence, but… well. I s'pose we'll see if you've gotten enough to believe me."

I stoop down mid-step to snap up a long hunk of driftwood. Holding one end loosely, I let the other end drag through the sand as we walk.

"Did I tell you I summoned you when I was a child?" I ask after a moment.

Zevran's eyebrows almost disappear into his hairline. "A… child?"

"Mmm. I was fifteen."

"Hmm? Fifteen is not the age of a child."

"It is here. You're a child until you turn eighteen, and sometimes you're not considered an adult until twenty-five."

He snorts derisively. "Then according to this system, I was a child assassin for most of my life."

"You were."

Zevran gives another tiny, bitter snort and falls silent.

"Anyway," I press on, "at fifteen, I was a bombastic little arsehole. Two years before that, I'd started medicine–"

"Mm?" he frowns quizzically. "I understood that children completed their schooling at seventeen here. Medicine is for university, is it not? For afterward?"

"Yes, but I started school very early and the material was more condensed for me."

"Why?"

I don't mean to sigh, but I do. "My older brother and sister started school at the normal age. They were taught at home by my mother, and I asked to join, so she taught me too. And I was good at academics, so I finished faster." I shrug. "Anyway, that's not important."

"Isn't it?" Zevran sounds unconvinced.

"It isn't," I say firmly. "Plenty of people finish school early, especially kids who were homeschooled. Tim finished three years early, too. I had no nefarious plans, if that's what you're worried about."

Something– I'm almost sure it's hurt– flashes across his face for a moment. Stifling a frustrated, guilty groan, I push on.

"I'd just finished the theoretical part of my medical training and was about to start the apprenticeship– the paid part. Medicine's notorious for working you to the bone and telling you you're a god, because it's considered a prestigious career and the training programme is difficult to get into. I was a young admission and winning prizes, so at fifteen…" I chuckle wryly.

"You were pleased with yourself?" Zevran smirks.

"I was high off the fumes of my own shit," I correct him delicately. "And so tired I was hallucinating on the reg. That was the state I was in when Shadi's fifteenth birthday rolled around and they got that laptop."

I shrug, adding, "Well, I'd slept for about twenty-six hours straight the day before, so I'd finally stopped hallucinating at that point, but anyway. Shadi pulls me into their room with the laptop and makes me watch them gad about in Ferelden, and there you were."

Zevran's smile hardens around the edges like he's bracing himself. "There I was," he echoes smoothly. "What then?"

I grin. "Well, I thought you were just great. You were cocky like me, and back then, I was angry at the world." He gives me an inquisitive look, and I briefly elaborate, "Mam had thrown my shitty father out for being a bastard to Tim and Linney, we were impoverished. I was badly overworked, had no friends, and pushed into learning instruments and pursuing a career I never wanted… it was a time."

His eyebrows rise. "You are very good at hiding the fact that you do not enjoy your job."

"Ah," I chuckle contentedly. "I like it fine now, but I hated having the choice taken away from me, so that soured it for the first little while. What I wanted to be, if you can believe it, was a firefighter."

His eyes fall into a squint. "Firefighter… you know, I think I have seen something about them. Where did I…? Ah! The calendar in the kitchen!" Zevran's mouth curves into a knowing grin. "Oh, Van! You wanted to be a scantily-clad… what is the term I heard…? 'Drink of water' holding the hose? Mmm! I say you should pursue your dream!"

I can't help but smile as I roll my eyes, false as I'm sure the compliment is. "Right. Thanks, Zev, I'll keep that in mind."

"They do say one should fight fire with fire," he winks with unabashed, hollow lasciviousness that I can't bring myself to acknowledge.

"Anyway, my point is, I felt like I could relate to you, even though I know in truth, my past was nowhere near as awful as yours. But you'd had such a shit time, and you made the best of it anyway. Laughed off the bad, embraced the good, and you were kind and loyal to boot. I really looked up to you."

I flinch back as Zevran belts out a wild, unrestrained laugh. He doubles over, props himself up by his knees, and eventually dries his tears with the back of his hand.

"My dear Van, you looked up to me?" he giggles wetly. "Oh, my. Goodness me. Things must have been desperate if I was the best of the bunch."

I shake my head. "No, they weren't. Anyway, stop derailing me."

"Ah, forgive me." He straightens up now, forcing stillness in his face (though there is still a somewhat prominent vein on his forehead). With a sweep of the hand, he invites me to continue.

The wind has all but died down now, and without announcing my intentions, I toss the stick away, flop down onto the sand, and start making sandcastles over my feet.

"How far did you get in the game?" I ask, not looking up from my construction efforts.

"No further than we got together," he replies, joining me on the ground. He picks up a handful of empty pipi shells and inspects them. "The battle of Redcliffe, I believe we made it to."

"Right. Well, not to reveal later events, but I saw one of your Crow initiation tests."

Quite calmly, as though I'd been making a remark about the tide, Zevran curls his palm; the shells make a soft, tinkling clatter as they tumble into each other. "That is how you know about the rack, then?"

I swallow once, twice. "Yeah."

His devil-may-care smile is wide as he glances up at me. "Mm. There is nothing like getting strapped down and stretched out on a warm day, is there?"

My jaw wobbles a little now. "You, ah…" I clear my throat. "Y'said something like that when it happened, too."

"Hah. So the apple never falls far from the computed tree, no?"

"That was when I summoned you."

Zevran's cheeky grin dies on his face. A beat passes before he raises an eyebrow. "You did it then?"

"Yeah."

He takes my answer with a thoughtful nod. "And what use does a cocky fifteen-year-old with the world at her feet have for someone strapped to a rack, hmm?"

"Well, that's the thing. Most people here don't think like that. It's not about your utility. You were a cool guy I looked up to." I shrugged. "If you find that hard to believe, you should ask Shadi what happened when I saw you on the rack. Christ, but I made a holy show of myself."

"Hmm? What happened?"

I chuckle weakly. "A lot of crying. Frantic crying. Shadi thought I'd finally snapped from not getting enough sleep, but truthfully, even thinking about it too much now makes me a little…" I gulp and wave a hand. "Anyway, the point is: all I wanted– all I ever wanted, was to get you out of there.

Zevran arches his brow at me, and I do it right back to him. "It's true," I insist. "I had an ego the size of a house, and for all its problems, I had a loving, musical family who was going places. Tim was winning prizes as a composer, Moustafa was doing world tours as a pianist. The whole family played instruments, and we'd have people standing on the street outside our house listening to us. It was... great." I chuckle and jab a thumb into my chest. "And I knew absolutely everything and was about to start making money out the arse! I thought I could give you everything you ever wanted and a bag of chips."

With a bitter laugh, I add, "Now, of course, I'm a small-town doctor with half of her big, successful musician family cold in the ground. I confidently know nothing about anything and goes to pieces under minor provocation. But that's the truth, I'm afraid." I shrug. "And now you see, don't you, that the reason is nothing complicated or glorious. You're here because a kid loved you and wanted better for you."

At the word 'love,' Zevran curls into himself as though he's bracing himself for a beating.

Shit. Shit. I hastily add, "It was a one-way friendship, I know. You didn't even know I existed, but even so, I did love you. My impression of you, anyway."

Oh, and now he thinks you don't love him any more. Grand, Van.

"A-and now you're here with me properly, I love you for who you are now, too!" I nod fervently. "God, I mean who wouldn't? Shadi does, Doug does. Squeaky does!"

Zevran stiffens further, and I will the sea to do me a solid favour and send a Van-sized wave to barrel in and sweep me away. The furrow between his brows deepens. His jaw shifts a fraction, and then clicks back into place.

"You… I do not know what you want from me," he says quietly, stiffly.

My heart sinks. "Nothing, sweetheart."

Irritability flickers in his eyes. "... Do you wish me to love you? Is that it?"

"No! Well, not unless you want to."

"And after all this? Hmm? What then? What would you have me do, once I am registered and such?"

"Dunno. Not my choice."

"Then whose is it?" he asks impatiently.

I give Zevran a meaningful look and gesture at him. It's like he hasn't been listening at all.

"Yours!" I exclaim. "You choose what you want to do in life, not me. Maybe you'll take up a trade, or spend your days in the library. Hell, you could get a one-way ticket to the other side of the world if you want. Carve out a life of fame and riches there, and the only time I'd see you is when you appear on the news."

He snorts. "You really believe I could do any of that, do you?"

"Ugh. I knew it was too soon to tell you." I groan and mash my hand into my face. "I don't know when or how I can get you to understand that it's the truth, and I really wish I did, because I genuinely don't have any control over your life. The reason you're living here right now is because I asked it of you and you said yes. It's not like I chained you to the verandah!"

"You say you want nothing from me, and yet you asked me to stay."

"For your safety!" I insist. "You don't know this place or how to get around without running afoul of the authorities. Stop making it sound like I'm trying to get something out of you, Zevran! My love for you isn't some sort of transaction!"

He wrinkles his nose in a tiny snarl. "Stop calling it that."

I hold up my hands. "Fine. I won't say it again if that's what you really want, but a fact's a fact. Keeping silent about it won't make it any less true."

Zevran lets out a loud, exasperated growl and leaps to his feet.

"Enough!" he snaps. "This is a fool's affair. We have been passing the time together, having a little fun. Why are we playing this game? You have been good to me as a favour, and I am indebted to you. Just take something, Van!"

Shaking his head furiously, he storms back toward the house without a backwards glance.

Alone in the sand, I heave a sigh and wonder how long it'll take before the panic attack sets in. At least being outside on a deserted beach means I can scream as much as I like– once Zevran's out of earshot, anyway. I'd rather go home, but it's better to wait until he's disappeared from sight before I make a move myself; I'd hate to make it awkward.

And, as if God thought it a stroke of perfect comedic timing, a weaker version of the rogue wave I'd wished for dashes up and over me before I can stand up. I'm unharmed but tumbled a short way, and my shorts and underwear (why do I keep wearing that ancient, borderline elastic-less pair?) are now full of sand. Thank God I left my phone at home.

With a groan and several choice curses, I'm on my feet and shambling like John Wayne all the way back to the house. Say what you will about having sand in your unmentionables, it does a mighty fine job of making you forget your other woes. When I finally make it home, the food is in the fridge, and the door to Zevran's room is closed. I don't hear anything from him for the rest of the night.

§

I eat breakfast alone the next morning. The kitchen is never especially noisy– nothing is, really, when Zevran's around. If a radio is playing, or the TV's on, it's always turned down low. I never could work out if it was because of simple preference, hearing sensitivity, or perhaps old reflexes of wanting to listen out for anyone approaching.

When we're eating breakfast together, though, there's at least the sound of us talking with our mouths full, and the cheerful clinking of utensils against glass conserve jars and cheap ceramic bowls.

Not today.

Gulping mouthfuls of yoghurt doesn't even make enough noise to drown out the soft, steady ringing in my ears that resurfaces whenever things are entirely silent. It's like he was never here. Some soft, stupidly optimistic part of me hopes Zevran is sleeping in. He deserves it.

I can't decide if I've fucked up or not. People need to hear that they matter to someone, but is there a better way to do it than brashly asserting love? God, there probably is. Maybe I should've just followed Tim's example and put a little smiley face after writing 'fuck off,' and maybe once Zevran had warmed up to that, I could make it two smiley faces. Baby steps.

Before I can think on it too hard and bring about the long-overdue panic attack, my phone vibrates. It gives me such a start I partially upend my bowl of yoghurt onto my hand, and I do , much to my embarrassment, briefly shriek.

"Who the fuck," I say– half-sing, actually, as I reach for the paper towels, "screams at their phone? Van, Van, Va-ha-haaan, the tweaky fuckin' dose."

The message, as it happens, is from Shadi.

Ugh Mom and Baba are being ridiculous

Oh?

SERIAL KILLER THIS SERIAL KILLER THAT

I don't actually know the technical difference between an assassin and a serial killer, but presumably there is one.

While Shadi begins typing an answer, I abandon the last of my breakfast, grab my things and make for the car. The unseasonable cold spell we've had is well and truly over now; at 8:30, the air is already warm. Combined with the humidity coming in from the sea, it'll be heavy and fragrant from the camphor and pine trees well before noon. Gorgeously hot and sultry. I'm glad I left my jacket behind.

I eschew the airconditioning and start the drive to work with the windows down, much to Shadi's displeasure as I call them.

"I didn't catch any of what you wrote after my last message," I say offhandedly. "Dictate, please?"

"Ugh! Why are you driving with your window down, you kook?" they grizzle back. "You have a perfectly good climate control system! Roll up your window at least– thank you."

"Have you played any of the game with them?"

"Yeah, for a lot of last night, but it was before Zevran cropped up." They laugh mirthlessly. "We're halfway through that Brecilian Forest quest. I think he turns up after that, but oh, my god. The comments from them!"

"Anything like the ones you mentioned just before?"

"That, and more. They wanted to call you, like, eight times to check on you."

I can't help but smile. "Well, sure you did a good job on it, because they didn't call once."

Shadi clears their throat. "Yeah, I… uh… might have ended up grappling with them a little at one point. You know, to get their phones out of their hands."

"Oh, god." A hand over my mouth doesn't even vaguely conceal my snorts. Shadi laughs, too, and I'm not sure if that's better or worse.

"Look," they say after a moment. "Once Zevran's in the picture, they'll calm down. End of next week, they'll probably have come around fully."

I grin. "I figured as much. Better let them have their phones back, though."

They groan. "Spoilsport."

"Listen, Didi, if you want an excuse to bodyslam your parents, you should tell the honest truth about how you're quittin' PT to be a pro wrestler."

"Ugh. Hilarious, Van, really. Anyway, I'm going to be late for the bus if I keep gasbagging with you."

I raise an eyebrow. "Sad days when the physiotherapist doesn't know they can walk and talk. All right then, baby. Best of luck with your expedition."

When the requisite 'love you, byes' are out of the way, dissatisfaction creeps back into my head, and I catch myself wishing I'd talked to Shadi about the conversation on the beach.

I call them back, because I'm a self-serving shit.

"What?"

I tsk at Shadi. "Well, that's a charming way to greet your sister who loves you."

"You just called me!"

"And now I'm doing it again. I just can't get enough of your dazzling conversation."

Shadi mumbles a choice stream of profanity-laden complaints.

"So I went to the beach with Zevran after you left," I say once I can get a word in.

"I'm happy for you," they reply with a scoff. "I went to church with Mom and Baba. Mom insisted on lighting a votive for you after her encounter with Zevran."

Mom and Mam have always been fiends for the votives. Big exam? Votive. Illness? Votive. Daughter living with a 'serial killer?' Votive, of course.

"I…" I swallow down a giggle, doing my utmost not to picture Father Tom's face in the event he found out the reason for yesterday's votive. "I promise I was getting somewhere with this."

"Ugh-h-h-h. Go on, then."

"Bless you. So Zevran wanted to know why I summoned him."

I can hear them squinting at me, and I start to regret bringing this up.

"Van," they begin slowly, "that man's been living with you for over two months. You're not tellin' me he's spent the entire time not knowing why he's here. Come on."

"Hey, hey. I asked him to wait!" I protest. "And he was willing to."

"Jesus, that poor bastard. Got people after him and he's in a new place, knows nothing about anything, and you told him to wait?"

"Well, yeah, because he wouldn't believe me! You think he'd just accept that some kid was wild about him and wanted him to have a better life, after all that he's been through?"

They give an exasperated sigh. "You could've toned it down or something. Given him a half-truth, or hell, just given it to him straight and let him sit with it."

Well," I laugh ruefully, "I gave it to him straight yesterday, so."

"... And?"

I let out a puff of air. "He got pretty upset. Didn't believe me, told me to think of something he could give me in return. I said no, of course, so he stormed back to the house and I haven't heard or seen a peep out of him since."

"God, Van." Shadi tuts wearily. "You've really got a thing for making life hard for yourself."

"In my defence," I offer in a weak half-joke, "I didn't have Tim's assistance. Anyway, work's around the corner, so I'd better go."

"Hey."

"Mm?"

"At least he knows now." Their voice is kind and soft, and I feel slightly less awful. "Just… try to be more upfront with him about things, all right? Poor bastard. I know you're trying to help, but I don't think this is the right way."

"Yeah."

I hear the small smile in their, "Okay. Go on, then. Love you."

"Love you, too, Didi."

Inside the clinic, I perch on the lowset filing cabinet behind Kelly while we wait for the first patient to show up. Kelly shows me an updated picture of his wife Vera's long-awaited baby bump– they've been talking about it with anyone who'll listen (we all will), and as a result I've been seeing the progress week-by-week for the last month.

Not to be 'that' person, but even at 35 weeks, the evidence is barely there. I still 'ooh' and 'ahh' over it, of course, lest I incur the wrath of a woman who now willingly eats ice cream and gravy together. Kelly does admit that in this shot, the bump isn't shown off to best advantage, and that it grows substantially when she slouches.

It's ironic, really, that today is the day of the weekly update, because Vera rings the clinic at about twelve o'clock and advises her terrified husband that the infant has decided that today is the day it will make its grand escape, and it's all happening terribly fast.

Naturally, twelve o'clock is my lunch break. I've found that the best way to get a baby out of a pregnant person, as a doctor, is to sit down and look comfortable, ideally with food in hand. Works better than syntocinon. Apparently this baby was able to pick up on my egg and lettuce sandwich from three-and-some kilometres away.

Don't mistake me, birth is all very well and good. The trouble with this particular case is that in addition to being fast, 35 weeks is a tad early, and thus we're all caught off guard. Kelly and I pack up the clinic in record time, not least because all the patients in the waiting room had the details shouted to them, and even stand by him throwing in their two cents on the best way to give an in-utero baby the old heave-ho. In addition to sharing their wisdom, they help by making a sign for the door (in big, red letters it reads: 'DR AWAY- VERA HAVING BABY!!!') and seeing themselves out, no doubt to spread the news and start making food for the pair, soon trio. I love this town.

When we get to Vera and Kelly's place a handful of minutes later, the front door is open. Vera's upstairs holding onto the bathroom sink, looking less than pleased with the entire situation. In her defence, though, labour is rarely anyone's idea of a picnic, especially on a stinking hot day like it is today.

"Hello Vee," I greet her with a smile. "Bubba's coming early, so."

"Came on real suddenly," Vera gasps, and with a loud groan, she snares Kelly's hand when he comes close enough and squeezes it loud enough that his joints pop. "Real hard and fast."

"Right," I nod and turn to Kelly. "Be a good lad and ring the ambulance, would you, Kel? No worries, it's not a death sentence," I quickly add to Vera, whose eyes widen at the mention. "I just want to cover all bases once baby's out, is all."

Kelly dials away with his free hand, and I get down to business. With a little examination, it becomes quite clear that not only is the baby coming early, it's coming now.

"I think baby'll be out before the ambulance arrives," I remark mildly to the parents and emergency services, who are now on the other end of the phone and having been filled in by Kelly. "No moulding, no caput so far. Six centimetres dilated, seventy effaced. Talk about precipitate labour, my goodness!" I turn to Vera and smile. "Not to worry Vee, love, you're doing a great job. This baby's hit the jackpot, so. We'll have her out and you'll see for yourself."

It's a damn quick birth. I've delivered my fair share of babies as the only qualified practitioner in town (my kingdom for a midwife!), and this one is far and away the fastest one I've dealt with. That kid lands in her father's hands in an hour and a half.

Not that it felt like anything so short. In fact, it was a series of small inconveniences that each could have made things go pear-shaped. The cord was wrapped tightly around the neck. Shoulder dystocia. Baby needed extra stimulation to start breathing. Sometimes I feel like God sends these things to remind us how much He chooses not to inflict on us, and I don't know whether to laugh or cry about it.

Vera and Kelly had it rough, too; going through it so quickly means the birthing parent has no time to adjust to the discomfort. No happy hormones to dull the pain or lift the mood, no gentle easing from smaller contractions into big ones. She was thrown into the deep end (on the first baby, no less!) and I had to have Kelly, who happens to not cope well when his wife's in pain, sit on the floor in case he passed out and cracked his head open on the toilet. It's a cramped bathroom, and our beloved neurologist would have to drag him out by his ankles to assess him properly.

If she were even in town today. Naturally, today's the day Tamika works in town, and it would have been utterly futile asking her to come out to help with a birth– not least when her specialty is at the opposite end of the body. In the end, it was just me and a couple of neighbours who heard Vera screaming through one of the contractions.

But we get there. Baby's well once she decides it's prudent to start breathing, and passes her very first examination with flying colours. Vera's well, if terribly rattled by the whole thing (same for Kelly), and complications are looking unlikely despite it all. I'd rather have an obstetrician's opinion on that, though, so Vera and Kelly and bubs are loaded up in the ambulance when it gets here.

Left alone, the neighbours and I clean the floor, and then they take all the towels back to theirs to wash. As for me, I make my way back to the clinic, with all my things in tow. I'm dirty, sweaty, overjoyed, and positively jonesing for the other half of that egg and lettuce sandwich.

When I get to the clinic, the last two patients for the day are standing outside, and I see them. One's a short appointment, revising a new blood pressure medication. Mercifully quick. The other, thankfully the second of them, is a long, long one which ends with an antidepressant prescription and a referral to psychological services– which, in practice, means they'll be coming back to me on the reg like Kayleigh because you can't get hold of a psych for love nor money.

It's dark by the time I close the clinic, and the only reason I'm not falling over from exhaustion is because I'm still riding the high from earlier. A good delivery sets me up for a week at least. Amid all that, though, I still feel lonely when I finally check my phone and see no messages from Zevran. No beach pictures, no snaps of a pot on the stove saying 'guess what's for dinner' underneath.

You didn't send anything, either.

That's fair. I climb into the car and go home. The ache is still there when I pull into the driveway and my heart sinks a little when I see a hint of Zevran's foot through the window as he disappears up the stairs and out of sight.

When I'm out of the shower, I shoot a message to Kelly. He arranged to take time off in two weeks' time in anticipation of looking after Vera and the baby, and I tell him to stay home these next two weeks as well. We'll see how good of a receptionist I make in that fortnight until his temp comes in to take over.

Kelly replies with a picture of the baby, now clean and dry and thoroughly milk-drunk. He tells me they've called her Tara Evangeline. I have no idea why my name features. Maybe it was the offer of time off during extreme exhaustion. I cry anyway.

I want to celebrate. My heart's set on it. It's been a magnificent day that almost very much wasn't. It feels like excuse enough to knock on Zevran's door, because why the hell are we even acting like this?

"Zev?" I'm barely done knocking before the door opens. Zevran waggles his eyebrows and leans against the doorframe, an empty smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"Well, well! The doctor is in." He gestures into his bedroom with no conviction. "Will you come in a little further? The chair in here is very comfortable, and so is the bed."

My smile feels sad on my face, and I shake my head. "No, no, it's okay. Ah… how was your day?"

"Oh, I am living a charmed life!" his manufactured grin widens. "I read a book from cover to cover, completed the laundering, and have made enough fresh pasta to keep us out of trouble for a while. A month, at least."

"God," I mumble. I begin to tell him he doesn't have to do that, and fail about halfway through under the look he gives me.

I pull at my curls so hard I nearly rip them clean out. "I delivered a baby at work today," I offer weakly.

Chuckling, he arches a brow at me. "And here I thought you were a doctor, Van. Where did you deliver the baby to, then?"

I burst out laughing, and just when I think I have a handle on it, nerves hit me and I laugh again. "Toad man," I manage to creak. "Look. I, ah… I'm really happy about it. It went so much better than it could have, and the next couple of weeks are going to be really busy. It was the receptionist's baby, see, so I'll be doing his job as well for a while."

"Oh! You are looking for a replacement, no?" He straightens up and gives me a wink you could flag down air traffic with. "I know a fellow who is available and would be perfect for the job! No payment necessary, even."

I shake my head sadly. "I'm not looking for a replacement, no. I just…" I trail off as the nerves threaten to kink off my windpipe entirely. Why the hell am I doing this?

"I just want to celebrate," I force out anyway. "If you feel like it, maybe you could celebrate with me? I didn't have anything too exciting planned, just going out to Doug's and getting some chowder. We don't have to eat in the restaurant if you don't want. We could just… I don't know… take it up to the lookout and have it there. We'd have it all to ourselves this time of day."

A beat of silence passes, and I shrug. "Anyway," I say quickly, "I'm going to put on something a bit cooler," I wave a hand over my foolish, jeans-wearing self, "and I'll have something to drink and leave, so just… see how you go, if you'd like to come, huh?"

Zevran smiles with an arched brow, making one of those 'mmm's he conjures when he's buying himself time, and that's my cue to depart. I excuse myself with a weak smile and a nod, and when I'm halfway to my room, I hear his voice from behind me.

"Van?"

I wheel around. "Hello."

What the fuck? 'Hello?'

He chuckles anyway. A hint of self-consciousness sneaks into the corners of his eyes. "I wonder if I might ask what I should wear," he says, adding, "for the celebration."

"Oh! God, right!" I laugh like a fool. "What you're in is fine. No dress code for eating outside." I shrug. "I'll be wearing a sundress, sure it's too hot for anything else. I'd say put on something you won't overheat in."

Zevran gives me a playfully challenging look. "Too hot? Surely you are not talking about this perfect, balmy weather?"

I roll my eyes, grinning despite myself. "Christ, another heat apologist. Shadi's going to be so smug. Put on a heavy coat, then, toad man, and see where that gets you."

When I re-emerge a few minutes later, Zevran is sitting on the top step of the staircase and is notably not wearing a heavy coat. In fact, with his t-shirt and Nice Shorts ensemble, he's only wearing slightly more fabric than I am. He stands up and runs his eyes over me, humming delightedly.

"Ooh, Van!" he smirks like a fiend. "I can see I will have to keep close tonight, so I can fend off all your unwanted suitors!"

I snort. "You mean the mosquitoes? They're awful at this time of the year. Thank God we're by the sea."

Zevran rolls his eyes playfully and follows me downstairs.

I can't help but gulp as we step outside into the balmy night air. He's probably still not pleased or comfortable to be around me, and the more I think on it that half-smile was probably a frightened one.

Happily, there's no time to hate myself, because I have made my bed and before I can lie in it, I have to scramble to find things to talk about with this guy for the next however long we're out. Oh, God.