Danny held on for dear life.

After all, he knew that if he happened to fly off the back of the jet ski, he would be lost in the middle of the harbor. As much energy as it took to hang onto Amber's backside, it would've taken even more to swim to safety once he went overboard. Better to prevent that from happening.

With each impact the watercraft made against the waves, Danny bounced up and down, and he yelped a bit whenever his left leg pounded. It was just like an infected tooth - the smallest stimulation would be enough to create pain.

"Do you want to try driving?" Amber asked him, shouting to be heard over the sound of the engine. "It's not as bouncy up here!"

"No" Danny panted. "I don't think I could."

Instead he kept clinging onto Amber's back. He'd wrapped his arms around the young woman as though trying to embrace her in a hug, which would have looked cartoonish to an outsider given the large height difference between the two.

For someone who claimed she didn't know how to do this, Amber drove the jet ski like a pro. She was able to weave in and out of the wakes left by yachts, and she floored it whenever they reached a spot where she could afford to do so.

"You're a natural" Danny mumbled, not expecting to be heard over the copious noise created by the jet ski.

But Amber did hear him. She chuckled nervously: "Thanks. Like I said, I've never done this before, but I guess adrenaline is one hell of a drug."

Danny had indeed heard about adrenaline's ability to mask pain, but it wasn't working for his bad leg. Not well enough. Additionally, the wind hadn't fully returned to his lungs after that belly-flop into the harbor.

Amber drove them past the Seaport District with its ultra-modern architecture, then past the New England Aquarium. Recovery crews were still stationed around the compromised structure searching for victims.

"I was there" Danny blurted out, unable to stop himself.

"You mean, when the central tank collapsed and flooded the place?"

Danny nodded; then, realizing Amber could not see him nodding, used his words. "Yeah. I was able to escape, but just barely. That's how I injured my leg - it's a glass wound."

"Yikes," Amber grimaced. "How did it happen, if you remember?"

"A Gyarados attack," Danny muttered. "Don't ask me how that creature got in the tank to begin with. Hard to believe it was just yesterday."

"I know. It must be so hard to think about. I'm really sorry you had to go through that, Danny".

She thought I was a hardened criminal, and now she's treating me with compassion? I didn't have that on my Bingo card for today, I will admit.

"We're almost there," Amber continued. "I live in the North End, and there are plenty of docks to put this jet ski."

"Isn't it pretty clear it isn't yours, though?"

Amber snorted. "Personal watercraft don't have to be registered in the United States. They're almost as poorly regulated in this country as guns, though that's a rant for another time."

"Right."

When they reached a dock somewhere in the North End, near an apartment complex, Amber shut off the engine, then climbed onto the dock and held out a hand for Danny to do the same. Danny accepted the hand, using as much strength as he could to avoid scraping his bad leg against the dock. He didn't want to even imagine the pain of a splinter right in his wound.

"All right," Amber said. She glanced at Danny with a "You Have Some Explaining To Do" frown.

"So where do you live?" Danny asked.

The blonde woman gestured at a long, low apartment building nearby that seemed to have a communal pool. "I'm in one of the apartments here" she said simply.

Amber produced a key that had somehow remained in her pocket through their escape from Clint, then inserted it into one of the doors. Once inside, Danny's mouth hung agape.

The apartment was far better maintained than the one he called home in Dorchester. The floor consisted of pristine white carpet, and the kitchen island was made of marble. Lights hung from the ceiling on poles, and Danny could tell there were two bedrooms.

"Do you live alone?" he blurted out.

Amber frowned. "Why do you ask?"

Perhaps that was a rude question to ask someone I just met, but I'm committed now.

"Because this apartment seems too big for one person. You've got two bedrooms. Don't you ever feel lonely?"

"Not anymore, I guess," Amber replied.

Danny's heart rose as he realized the implications of what his secular savior had just told him. Had she really said what he thought she'd said?

"You mean…I can live with you?" Danny asked, trying not to let his hopes get too high. Someone I just met? I'd never be so kind to a virtual stranger!

Amber shrugged. "Until we figure out what happens next, I don't see why not. It's clear you don't have anywhere else to go. Plus, like you said, this apartment's at least a size too large for me."

"Thank you" Danny responded, because he meant it. (Okay, more like and he meant it.) He could hardly imagine letting someone he just meant live with him under such short notice.

"You're very much welcome. You can make yourself at home, but first - your leg."

"Oh yeah."

As he looked down at his wound, he saw that the dressing he'd applied had come off and was likely floating around somewhere in Boston Harbor. The grisly sight was exposed to Amber's view.

"I'll play nurse, I guess," she muttered. "Sit down on the couch and I'll get the first aid kit."

"I can do it myself, thank you very much" Danny replied, blushing profusely.

"You are my guest, so you will do as I say. Sit the hell down, and I'll retrieve the bandages and rubbing alcohol."

Well, if she's going to play that card, I guess I don't have a great rebuttal. So sure - I'll let her play nurse.

Danny sat on the couch and propped his bad leg up on the coffee table. Within a minute, Amber returned with the first aid kit.

She got out a bottle of disinfectant and set it down beside his leg. "I'll apply some of this to your wound, and it's just going to sting a bit. But I have to do it."

"Thanks a lot, Captain Obvious."

Amber snorted. "Be nice, Danny. Anyway, I'll put some on right now, so brace yourself."

As soon as the disinfectant was applied to Danny's leg, the young man grimaced, then barked out a series of choice words as his face was scrunched up.

"I know. But I have to do it. I'm sorry."

When Danny could see straight again, and Amber was applying a series of bandages, another question occurred to him. But he struggled to think of a way to ask it tactfully.

"You seem to know a lot about medicine," Danny said eventually.

"I know a thing or two," Amber replied bluntly.

"Do either of your parents work in the medical field?"

She shook her head. "If you want to know the truth, they were both dirt poor, and they're both in the dirt now."

"Oh…I'm sorry for your loss" Danny responded, because he couldn't really think of anything else to say. It did, however, occur to him that they had something in common.

Our parents are both dead, in a sense. Mine are dead to me, and Amber's are flat-out dead.

"It's okay," Amber said. "I can't go back, so I need to move forward. As to how I got my skills, I'm a Chemistry major at Harvard."

"Oh wow. You must be very smart."

"I like to think I am. I got a full scholarship to attend the university so long as I stayed in the Chemistry major. They also gave me a stipend for this apartment, which is conditional on my maintaining a GPA of at least 3.5".

"Whoa" Danny mouthed.

"Yes," Amber replied. "In any case, though I have some medical knowledge, it's very much incomplete. In a perfect world, we'd take you to a real doctor to get your wound looked at."

"No. I don't want to do that."

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Amber raised an eyebrow. "Well, I'll respect that. But why not?"

"Because I don't want the doctors to ask questions. Clint mentioned that I had a fake ID, which is true."

"Have you ever figured out what would happen if you needed medical care? I'm sure there's a solution - doctors have to keep everything about their patients confidential, you know."

"There's a plan for that," Danny replied. "But I just don't want to go to the doctor right now, not when a bunch of people probably saw us jump off the dock."

"Fair enough. But if your wound should get infected, you can't say I didn't warn you. There's something else I wanted to address, though…".

Danny's stomach dropped. "What's that?"

Amber sighed. "I don't know how to phrase this politely, but I'll try anyway. Clint told us that you were at an Institute because your brain worked differently, and I'm curious as to how your brain works differently."

Oh wow. I don't know if I should tell her this - it's personal, after all. On the other hand, Amber's already opened up to me about how she got her apartment and her dead parents. So I'm sure I can handle talking about neurodiversity.

Danny made eye contact with Amber and said two words (though some websites would count it as three words.)

"I'm autistic."

"Interesting" Amber responded, interlocking her fingers together in a manner that caused Danny slight discomfort. She looked at him almost as though he were a specimen at a natural history museum (or, within the confines of her major at Harvard, a chemical reaction).

"Yes."

"So what does that mean for you? I'll admit that for all I know about physical stuff, I don't know too much about autism."

"Well, I was born with it," Danny muttered. "I guess Arceus, or God, or the universe made me this way. Where I came from we were taught that God ran everything, but I'm not sure I really believe that."

"The Institute was a religious organization?"

Danny nodded. "Catholic."

"Honestly," Amber replied, "I'm not sure what I believe in. I like to think that my parents are somewhere like heaven. But that could just be what I want to believe, you know?"

"Right."

"Like a dream that's too good to give up."

Danny smiled sadly. "I know a thing or two about those," he sighed. As he said this, he recalled that time he was laid up with the flu and had fever dreams about the power of flight, only to wake up to the nurse asking him if he was okay mentally. He'd had to accept that his flying dreams weren't real, and that was painful.

"You do? I mean, I guess we all do."

"Oh, trust me. I do. I used to want to be a conductor, but too many people at the Institute knew about that dream, so I had to switch to being a student pilot. That's one thing I had to compromise on to forge a new life."

Amber sighed. "Well, I guess none of us ever get what we want. At least, not all of it."

Danny did not know how to respond, but thankfully, he didn't need to. Amber kept the conversation alive for him.

"Well, I'll admit that I don't have much food here. I mostly use DoorDash. Would you like me to order some takeout? Pizza, Chinese, Mexican, burgers, sandwiches…?"

"Not sure."

"The choice is yours, Danny. You're the guest."

Danny shook his head. "I'm not hungry," he muttered. For he really wasn't, even though he'd scarcely had a bite all day.

"Very well, then," Amber replied curtly. But then she smiled. "You'd better be hungry for dinner, though. Because I'll treat you to a nice meal in the North End."

----------------------------------------

Several hours later, Amber led Danny out of her apartment and into the North End. After a couple summers spent here, she knew the neighborhood like the back of her hand.

The same could not be said of Danny.

For the last few days, Danny had been Amber's white whale. She'd constantly been trying to find him and turn him in. She'd assumed Danny was guilty of heinous crimes, but then, it was never kind to judge anyone by their reputation.

As Amber walked down the street toward Mike's Pastry, she noticed that her guest was interweaving his fingers with one another, clenching his hands into fists every so often, and looking from side to side as though nervous they'd be attacked at any moment. In her humble opinion, this was no way to live.

"Danny, what's wrong?" she asked eventually.

Her guest gently moved a hand through his fluffy hair, then sighed. "What isn't?" he replied.

"Don't say that" Amber responded sternly. "You're still alive after what happened at Castle Island. You've got a place to live. And we're going out to dinner now."

Danny sighed again. He glanced up at the red brick facades of the numerous Italian restaurants in the North End. It may not have been Christmastime, but the street was still packed with people who were clearly celebrating something.

"Yeah, true" Danny replied softly after a while. "It's just…I'm still worried that it's going to be torn out from under me. Clint offered to protect me from the Lobster Mobsters, and look how that turned out."

"But you're alive, Danny," Amber stated before she could stop herself. "You're safe with me."

Danny stared forlornly at Amber. "For how long?" he asked.

"I mean, obviously we're here for a good time, not a long time. After I lost my parents, I only became more aware of that."

But Amber wasn't kidding either of them. Both of them know what Danny meant; at any time, Clint might go after him again, and he might actually win if he struck when neither of them were expecting it.

"Here," Amber stated. "Let's eat at this Italian restaurant. It'll be really nice, just the two of us. How does that sound?"

Honestly, what is this? A blind date? After we just met each other today?

No. There's nothing romantic between us. At least, I don't think I love Danny that way; maybe he thinks I do. We're just here because…because of how circumstances played out.

The pair waited in line for a table, but they didn't have to wait very long. It was still on the relatively early side for dinner, after all - they'd beaten the rush. Now, if you wanted to beat the evening rush to Mike's Pastry, you'd be perpetually out of luck.

As soon as they'd sat down and the waiter had poured each of them a glass of water, Amber noticed that Danny chuckled nervously.

"What's so funny?" she asked him.

Danny smiled awkwardly. "Do you really want to know?"

"Yes," Amber said sharply. "I saved your life today, so you can trust me."

She hated herself almost immediately for having the gall to imply that Danny was under her command, but there was no going back. Besides, she was curious as to what made him laugh so soon after being so morose.

"If you want to know," Danny said eventually, "I was imagining that scene from the old Disney movie."

"There are a lot of old Disney movies, Danny. Are you saying you're a Disney adult?"

Danny snorted. "Not remotely, Amber. Not remotely. Anyway, the movie with the female dog from a wealthy family, and then the male dog from the streets?"

"Again, that fits the description of more than one film."

"You know which movie I'm talking about. The one where they share a single strand of spaghetti while being serenaded at an Italian restaurant."

Amber almost cracked up at that, but was barely able to stop herself from doing so. "Danny, this isn't Lady And The Tramp. We just met each other!"

"Right" Danny responded, his face turning red. "Forget I even mentioned it."

"I'll do my best."

The waiter came by a few minutes later with a basket of bread, at which time the pair ordered their entreés. Amber told Danny he could get whatever he wanted, no matter how much it cost - he was her guest, after all. But Danny did not take advantage of this, instead selecting lasagna to Amber's chicken piccata with linguine.

After the waiter was gone, Amber stared Danny right between the eyes. She tried not to smile too widely, but that was the nature of being a Harvard student. You couldn't lose your curiosity, even if that curiosity took a different form at age 21 than it did at age 7.

"So Danny," she said, "how does being autistic affect people?"

To her surprise, as Danny tore a bite off a bread roll, he answered right away. "It affects different people differently."

"Don't talk with your mouth full. That's not polite."

Danny blushed again as he finished his bite. "Yes, sorry. Anyway, I grew up around a lot of other autistic boys. That was the category of people in the Sacred Heart Institute."

Amber knew it was time to come clean.

"I guess I mean," she began, "what is it like for you?"

"Well, it means I'm intensely interested in some things," Danny replied. "For example, trains. I used to really want to be a conductor."

"You already told me that."

"Right, my bad. I don't know if this is specifically an autism thing, but sometimes I forget what I've already told people about my interests. It can drive some of them up the wall. And I was told we sometimes took things literally - to us, driving someone up the wall might literally mean getting your car to defy gravity."

"Huh," Amber sighed.

"We had a lot of social-thinking classes at the Institute, too," Danny responded. "And it's a bit difficult to tell if those worked. When we were stuck there, we didn't get any practice using those skills with anyone but each other."

"So you never left?" Amber all but gasped, trying to imagine what it must have been like to stay within the walls of what basically amounted to a mental hospital all day, every day, for years on end.

"We had some field trips, but they were few and far between. Also, we were only with each other when we did the high ropes course - even that was framed as a social thinking exercise."

"Noted."

"But I never got the chance to practice my skills with someone my age who isn't on the spectrum" Danny remarked. "It's like, Arceus, how are we supposed to develop social skills if they're constantly being stunted by the same people who say they want to help us?"

"I don't know," Amber admitted. "It's a good thing you're out of there now."

"Yeah, but at what cost?" Danny muttered.

Amber's phone buzzed in her pocket, but she would not answer it yet. It was considered rude, after all, to look at your phone while eating dinner with another person.

"We all have to make choices in life," she told Danny. "Sometimes we regret them, sometimes we don't. But we can't second-guess ourselves too much."

As the conversation continued, there were a few small things Amber noticed about Danny's body language and habits. For instance, his eye contact left a lot to be desired. Danny would avert his eyes away from Amber whenever he spoke, as though looking up from a computer to prevent eye strain.

Additionally, if Amber didn't prompt him to discuss her preferred topic, Danny seemed to default to discussing aviation. He wasn't content merely to fantasize about becoming a pilot, however.

"I sometimes feel like I ought to be a bird," Danny said eventually. It came seemingly out of nowhere a minute after their entreés had arrived.

Amber snorted. "Danny, you're a human. You're not going to fly."

"Who knows? Maybe they'll invent jetpacks during my lifetime. I'd love it if that happened in the next few years, because I just want to soar over the city."

"So you think about this often?"

Danny sighed. "Sometimes I do. I just wish things were different. I need to give up some dreams, but for others I just want to take the reins. I need to take control over my life, Amber."

"Who says you don't have control now? Even if you can't fly?"

"I do," Danny stated. "A few days ago, I failed my permit test to become a student pilot, and the way I failed has been eating at me ever since. Even before I met that traitorous coward Clint."

"Let's not talk about Clint right now" Amber offered, hoping to keep their meal lighthearted. "We're here on a gorgeous evening, enjoying a delicious dinner in the North End."

"Fair enough," Danny replied. "I heard your phone buzz a bit ago - maybe you should check your texts?"

Amber didn't want to break that conventional rule of table manners, but Danny had given her explicit permission to, so she reasoned it was okay just this once. She unlocked her phone and saw that she'd received a text from Rachel, which asked if she'd be willing to see The Toad Warrior in theaters when it came out.

She was just about to respond to that text with a polite declination when the phone buzzed again. Another text had just come in.

This text was from an unknown number, which Amber would normally have dismissed as another useless politician begging for her money. However, this message seemed more important than that; more personalized, at any rate.

Amber Hawkeye?

There was nothing else. No further text, no photo, nothing. It was not the number she'd used to contact "Chris Courtland" either - it was a different number entirely.

Who are you?

The person on the other end didn't seem eager to field that question, as evidenced by their response. It read as follows:

Where are you, Amber?

Why the hell should I tell you?

The other party to this message took their sweet time typing out a response, which contained surprisingly few words.

You and Danny Sham were last seen together leaving Fort Independence just after noon.

The other person had to be Clint, or maybe one of his cronies. Then again, maybe Clint's "cronies" comprised all of law enforcement, and in that case all Amber would accomplish by keeping Danny hidden would be harboring a criminal, a crime in itself.

Look, what do you want? Amber texted back.

She expected a long answer, one that would take at least a minute to compose. She expected an answer that would be thoroughly thought-out, one that described every aspect of their desires for Amber.

Instead, she only got two words. Two words, moreover, that nearly stopped her heart.

Kill him.