Yes, jackass. Calm down.

It’s a good thing you can see as clear as day in here, because you don’t want a filter for this. Alex sits in front of you, across the table, smiling nervously. She fidgets a little, brushing a few strands of her immaculate dirty blonde hair behind her ear as her deep, blue eyes look in your general direction, hoping for you to say something first. Her dress is wonderful, a dark blue (not quite navy, though) piece that branches just a bit at the shoulders to cover them, but then plunges into a wide, v-neck rift that hugs her firm breasts tightly to keep them safe from a possible wardrobe malfunction. The silver earrings have an almost dreamcatcher-like appearance, which you wonder at the significance, if any, of beyond “they’re quite pretty.” To be fair, they are.

“Would this be better if I had a hat on?” That’s what you’re leading with, huh? Alex laughs, burying her mouth in her hand, snorting just a little. At least you’re entertaining.

“Adam, how in the hell would you expect me to tell whether or not you have a hat on?” she asks, positively beaming once she manages to stop giggling. Well. Mostly stop. She breaks again when you laugh, cackling right along with you, seemingly unfazed by the admittedly-sinister tone you produce.

“I, uh …” you tell her, recovering, “I’ve been obsessing over if I should have worn my hat since the foyer. The, um … that didn’t even occur to me.”

“Well, if I were to put money on it, I’d guess you were in the same place as me,” she admits. “Freaking out, not sure if you were here or if you’d want to jump up and run or something?”

“My favorite so far was whether or not you’d be there when I opened my eyes.”

“Step above me, I can’t see anything in here. You can see me?”

“More or less.” More, but not technically a lie.

“Someone ate all their carrots,” she notes, sounding a bit impressed. It gives you a fleeting rush, maybe that she’ll like some of your other … unique qualities. But that’s getting ahead of yourself. “I’m glad it’s not just me, though.” You can see her extend her hand across the table, quietly reaching out for you. Your hand moves on its own, gently embracing hers. She squeezes her fingers gently around yours. “God, that feels so good.”

“I don’t get to touch you enough, I know,” you answer, twining your fingers together. “I … do you want to see me? Not here, obviously. In private.”

“Of course I do!” she tells you incredulously. “But not until you’re ready, sweetheart. No need to rush for me. Let’s not dwell, though?”

“Agreed,” you say with a nod, trying to slice past the chaff of your neuroses. “Huh.”

“What?”

“You know, you never actually DID tell me what you do for a living,” you note, leaning back in your chair and thinking on it for a second. “You don’t have to, but I assume you’re pretty invested in me sticking around by now.”

“God, really? I talk about work all the time … but mostly my co-workers,” she starts, then frowns as she continues. “Yeah, I guess I haven’t. Do you want to know? It’s not that fascinating.”

“Hey, I like animals. Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll like it. Unless you’re some kind of deranged dog serial killer.”

“No such luck for you tonight, mister,” she sighs, holding one hand palm-up in defeat. “I’m a zoo vet, though. You know, the one of the edge of town?”

“What do you mean ‘not that fascinating?’ That’s so cool!” you hiss back in an excited whisper. One of the first things you did when you changed was hang around the zoo since the animals seemed completely at-ease with your presence. It was a good way to get some kind of companionship without having to settle down in one place for a pet, at least until they upgraded their security system and being caught on tape became a much harsher possibility. “I just chase down assholes all day, you get to save tigers! And alligators! And otters!”

“Well, that’s WHY I do it …” she allows, “but it’s not what the job’s been ‘about,’ for a minute.”

“Because David.”

“Because David,” she answers with a heaving sigh. “He’s just such an asshole. You can’t treat the animals like they’re products. Yes, we need to keep numbers up for their benefit. Yes, some level of acclimation is probably best for the ones who are going to be in human care their whole lives. But he’s pushing everything too hard. Have you ever seen a housecat get oversimulated? Imagine what tigers are like when that happens.”

“I’d rather not,” you have to admit. Less fear, more … some of your best friends in early days were big cats. Hurting a human, especially killing one, was a sure way to euthanasia. And it’d hardly be the animal’s fault for acting on instinct after being prodded and pushed and hurt.

“They’re getting sick,” she continues, bitterness tinging her tone along with sarcasm. “I don’t know exactly why. He thinks I can just ‘fix it.’ You know, how doctors always have an instant fix for humans, who way more money goes into caring for.”

“Is there anything you can do?” You ask carefully, not wanting it to sound accusatory.

“There is that, at least.” She allows herself a little smile. “I’m hard to replace. My only worry is that if any of my protests endanger his precious reputation, he’ll sack me anyway.”

“Well, probably stupid to ask, but anything I can do?”

“Distract me.”

“Well.”

“Oh my God, we’re in public!” she hisses back at you, but unable or unwilling to hide the grin that plants on her face. “Not that that’s a no …”

“I’m proud of you for standing up to him. I never really … standing up to my boss was never something I could afford to do. Or had the spine to.”

“Hard to imagine you not having much spine. Or being afraid of someone because they’re mean.”

“Yeah, but I’m afraid of people looking at me, so you can kind of see the roots,” you say with a shrug. “I’m serious, though. It’s hard to take a moral stand, especially with big risks. It’s badass that you’re doing it anyway. You’re probably saving their lives and holding back the zoo from collapsing.”

“You’re sweet, but I’m sure I’m not doing all that,” she argues, smiling even more broadly. As much as she’s trying to deny it, it’s clear that it’s validation she needs, and you’re not even sort of lying.

“You’re not giving yourself enough credit,” you tell her, pointing across the table despite knowing she can’t see it. “Every drop helps.”

“Said the old woman as she pissed in the sea.” A whirring noise signals the serving cart approaching. Watching it, it’s a little surreal to see what looks like a normal serving cart slide forward, then lever the plates on to the table once it’s flush. You’re a bit surprised, frankly, that it doesn’t spill anything, but you imagine the menu’s crafted with that in mind. Alex retrieves hers with a little fumbling, but of course, you have no issue getting your plate from the table’s edge. You look down at the mix of vegetables and meats in the soup, unable to remember even what it actually is. It’s been so long since you’ve eaten human food. It probably won’t make you sick?

Glancing up, readying to ask Alex if she remembers what in God’s name you two ordered during the booking, you start a little to see she’s not there. Her plate is, bowl still standing on it. The liquid is sloshing very gently; you weren’t imagining her being there. Your mind begins to fill with dark possibilities, of her being **** or an alarmingly quiet heart attack that’s put her on the floor just out of sight. As your mind races for an answer, you keep asking yourself the same question.