“Well, all of that could have gone worse,” Martinez whined about the rounds of bludgeoning he had just survived, still feeling a throbbing ache in his family jewels.

“I'm certain Lira had an enjoyable time with practice,” Lysa assured, squeezing Martinez’s hand slightly.

Martinez did not deny they both had an enjoyable time. He was not having a horrible time until they nearly made a game of seeing if they could make him give up by knee-striking his member. What red-blooded man would not enjoy spending time with the woman he cared about—even if she laughed at his expense?

“Probably, but can you two not use my groin as a target?” Martinez teased, “ How would you like it if I used your tits like that?”

“I would be cross with you for at least the evening,” Lysa assured, sticking her tongue out.

“Exactly,” Martinez replied, lightly flicking her shoulder, eliciting the slightest giggle and flutter of her four ruby-red eyes to smooth over any hard feelings. Fuck she knew precisely what he was a sucker for—and how to use it. And it wasn’t like he would hold it too much against her. Beyond that, instead of their usual tender love and care, he would likely spend the night icing his more sensitive area.

The area of Draun they were walking through was one of the main thoroughfares. If the city had what could be called an actual main street, neither knew where it would be. A massive grid was set up around the Medical station Martinez worked out of, with the rest of the city either organically winding around other buildings or just adding to that grid.

That made sense since the medical station was also named Draun, and Draun City grew naturally because the people working there and at the attached spaceport needed places to live, eat, and lay their heads.

Humans have done that for thousands of Earth years. That other sentients did similar things was not a shock to either of them; it was all they had known, so why question it—primarily when it resulted in this wonderous evening jaunt?

The autumn breeze played with Lysa’s hair, brushing up and flicking his neck. Hundreds of alien species traveled from stall to stall and doorway to doorway while shopping or going to the restaurants and clubs the nightlife offered. Not that either of them went out much; they both were more of homebodies than not.

The fact the aliens gave Martinez and Lysa a wide berth was something he enjoyed. It made potential threats easy to distinguish, something his PTSD and paranoia took as a boon because even with the moon high in the sky and the wan LED(light emitting diodes) street lamps, there were heavy, all-consuming shadows every few dozen meters.

Martinez had enough experience in his storied career as a Corpsman to know to give any dark blotches of the street that put his hairs on end a deserved respect. Shadows like those were all too optimal to stage an ambush out of, grab hold of a target, or lie in wait for an unsuspecting victim.

It was a shame that the GU was not keen on letting anyone who wanted to walk around with a concealed pistol or some other ranged choice. Lord knows he would feel more at ease with an 11.5mm caseless in a holster.

As for less-than-lethal, it was complicated. There were too many factors for chemical options; they just banned them nearly outright. What was lethal for one species was a harmless annoyance for others; for some, it might as well be a summer breeze.

The GU did allow pocket knives, having accepted that with thousands of species with their own built-by-nature weapons or through readily available augments, giving those without them some cold steel was perfectly fine. The lawyers and lawmakers had long ago declared a knife as a tool, not a weapon.

At least he wasn’t unarmed like his first date with Lysa. While the folder tucked in his belt was not ideal, it was better than grappling everyone. Even if he only carried it mainly for the intimidation factor, no one wanted to get cut, not even him.

Was shooting someone terrible, violent, and deadly—yes. However, those actions were over in an instant. Cuts and stabs took time and were never clean like they showed in movies for anyone involved.

Martinez also never forgot Sgt. Johnson’s golden rule of knife fighting.

“You will get cut,” even if you are the initiator.

—-

As they kept going, Lysa kept catching hints that Martinez was overly paranoid and was trying to hold him closer to relax him. Attacks against even her as an Aviex were rare, so much so in the city they were pretty much as safe as his home. She was glad it worked until every muscle in his body flexed tightly, and any calm she passed to him shriveled and died when his name was called out.

The gentle voice was one Martinez hoped he would not have heard her again after what happened.

“Martinez, how are you?” Verni said from just off the side of the street; Lysa’s clinging to his arm prevented him from seeing the pangolin-like woman. So, hearing her set off every ambush reaction he had for a split second.

They shifted to see her. Verni wore one of her usual apron-like clothes, which her species tended to wear. Today, it was bright orange and adorned with intricate angular stitching resembling flowers. Clutched in her claws was a small sampling of food on skewers—a sign that Martinez honestly dreaded seeing because it meant somewhere nearby was Ezol.

“Oh, uh, hi there, Verni," Martinez croaked.

“You never answered my messages or Ezol’s. Are you alright?” Verni questioned, tilting her head slightly while looking up at Martinez and Lysa.

Lysa gently squeezed Martinez’s hand in calm assurance, knowing very well that his nearly killing Ezol was what led him to basically drink himself to death. Between the guilt of that, Verrilon, and him not fully trusting Lysa or the others at the time to let him vent, he had fucked up and knew it—so she wanted him to feel safe here. This situation was likely volatile, to say the least.

“Oh, yeah— That was nothing. I just–” Martinez cringed out, not wanting to have this conversation.

How the fuck was he supposed to explain to Verni he did not want to answer her or Ezol because he felt like an uncaring asshole. His ignorance and failure to show the care that Ezol as a different species had led to a dozen of their family being hospitalized and a handful never making it out of the ER.

“Would you please come and speak with Ezol? His cart is just over there, and we are worried about you,” Verni insisted, gently stepping closer and grabbing Martinez’s hand. Her bright eyes looked at him with an earnest, gentle expression that reminded him of a caring mother.

The mere touch of her claws made Martinez grimace and want to retreat. This was not planned and already put him on the back foot.

“Oh–I don’t know,” Martinez said, looking off to the distance for something to use as an excuse to leave.

Verni gently nudged Lysa with her other clawed hand, something Henry never noticed, but the look and nod told Lysa what Verni was asking. Lysa was smart enough and knew how much that event weighed on her Ruh'ah. Granted, that never meant she would force him to deal with something like that—she would recommend or possibly nudge him toward moving past it, but not force him.

“Ruh’ah, perhaps it is best if we at least speak to your friend. I know they have been trying to reach out often,” Lysa said softly, emphasizing we and signaling her support.

Martinez whined, showing his apprehension while looking at Lysa. It took Martinez a few moments, but he eventually surrendered.

“Ok, let's do this,” Martinez said quietly.

“Marvelous, come on you two,” Verni said, guiding Martinez by the hand.

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—

The walk to meet up with Ezol was maybe less than a minute's walk just around the corner off the main road and into a smaller section of the city where hundreds of little mom-and-pop shops lined the road, along with just as many food and specialty item vendors hocking their wares from carts.

The city's scent shifted drastically from its usual somewhat fresh but welcoming scent to something similar to Martinez’s apartment building odor. It was filled with the delicate scents of foods of every kind and the sharp odors of their preferred colognes and perfumes.

The location even matched the usual welcoming comfort, filled with laughs and idle conversation of those both in and out of view. Filling the air with a cacophony of hundreds of languages.

However, Martinez was anything but calm, and he did not feel welcome. Each step was heavy and dragged. His heart pounded a million beats a minute, and both Verni and Lysa felt his pulse through his palms as he breathed heavier and broke out into a cold sweat.

“It is alright, Martinez, you are with friends,” Verni assured when Ezol’s cart came into view.

“Yeah—” Martinez agreed out of courtesy.

The cart looked almost identical to the last time Martinez had seen it, save for the lack of a crowd of jeering, eager-to-eat Valmin. The sign still had lights outlining the spicy, succulent meat skewers Ezol was known for around town. Food that, frankly, most species cannot stand to eat. Most could not, but those who could eat his food were regulars for the meter-tall Valmin man behind the smoking grill filled with skewers.

“Martinez, Lysa!” Ezol said, spotting the approaching trio and happily waving at them. “Come on over.”

As much as Martinez just hearing and finally seeing that Ezol was still alive gave him a bit of comfort in knowing he had not killed his friend, his voice was all wrong. Instead of the relaxed, laid-back, enthusiastic tone, his voice was harsh and growl-like, as if the Valmin man had smoked three packs a day for years.

That change, coupled with the garish scar on his neck from the emergency tracheotomy Martinez had given to shove a breathing tube down his gullet, did not make seeing his old friend easier.

“It’s good to see you, brother. Have you been busy? Oh, and Lysa, sorry about not stopping in as well; I’ve been trying to make sure I make up for some lost revenue,” Ezol said as calmly as ever while flipping the skewers over.

“That’s alright, Ez. Not many people come to the shop to buy your special peppers. Besides, I no longer work the night shift, so unless you arrive during the day, I will not see you,” Lysa assured.

“Yeah, I've been a bit busy,” Martinez said, still feeling awkward about being here.

“I can imagine. I've heard a lot about what was going on in the city with drugs and crime. Knowing you and the medical services, you likely have your hands full,” Ezol shrugged.

Martinez quickly shifted from awkward to confused based on their reactions. He might be able to justify Lysa just accepting this odd tension he felt because she was trying to be supportive, but Ezol and Verni? Do they not understand he nearly killed Ezol? No, he did kill several of their extended family. Why were they so unsettlingly nonchalant?

Verni let go of Martinez’s hand and scooted in next to Ezol, gently nuzzling his neck for a moment before looking back at Martinez with that same assuring look she had a little bit ago, though it included a wee smile on her snout.

“So Martinez and Lysa, would either of you like some dinner? It will be my treat,” Verni asked.

“Do you have anything not too spicy?” Lysa questioned.

“If you're anything like the big man here, nothing would be spicy to you,” Ezol laughed, his voice horse and painful.

“Ok, can we pause for a moment!?” Martinez blurted out in a half-shot, his confusion being far too much at this point.

Their attention turned entirely to him, With Verni jumping half out of her skin, surprised by his outburst.

He could understand trying to reassure someone all was forgiven and forgotten, but this was ridiculous. They were all acting like nothing had ever even happened, like he had not hurt Ezol and his family, nor that he had maimed Ezol to keep him alive.

“Yeah, what's up, buddy?” Ezol said, still cooking without pause. “You two got dinner plans already or something?”

“What–no–no. How are you so casual about this? I was nervous beyond belief; I was ignoring you and Verni because I was horrified about facing you after killing your family,” Martinez protested loudly enough some of the alien's nearby attention was drawn to the short outburst.

“A little too loud, Ruh'ah, no need for yelling,” Lysa whispered, drawing his attention to the few anticipatory looks.

Martinez looked around and politely apologized to the other vendors and patrons in the area. They were just as forgiving as Ezol and Verni, hardly even acknowledging him after seeing it was not a fight.

“Sorry, but Verni—Ezol, how are you two not furious at me?” Martinez questioned, nearly pleading for an explanation.

They shared a brief glance before looking back at Martinez.

“Brother, I don’t think you realize exactly how our family, well, specifically Valmin families, works,” Ezol almost shrugged. “I thought I explained it before.”

“Clearly, I am missing some information here,” Martinez said.

If anyone killed even his cousins, his family would likely never forgive someone for that. Hell, half his extended cousins would try to kill that person for years.

“I told you before how all those people from out of town were extended family. I will be honest: I only ever met half of them once or twice. Each Valmin has dozens and hundreds of brothers and sisters alone. Mine and Verni’s extended family are in the thousands. I could only name our two little ones and maybe a handful of the others,” Ezol calmly explained.

“I could never imagine that,” Lysa commented, squeezing Martinez's arm tighter. Aveix families never got much larger than a few dozen, even at the far reaches of extended families. Lysa could not even comprehend having a dozen siblings because she was an only child.

“Yeah, most species can’t,” Ezol replied, pointing his spatula at them.

“Wait, those numbers aren’t lining up, Ezol,” Martinez prodded, thinking they were essentially gaslighting him. “If you two only have two kids, those population numbers could not be possible.”

“Ah yeah, that,” Ezol said, awkwardly scratching his snout. “Well, that errr—”

“I think I might be able to clarify. Ez and I had some difficulties with having the typical number of children,” Verni interjected. “It's a bit personal if you would rather not dig into a medical issue.”

“Ok, ok, a bit of a perspective difference for the first part,” Martinez agreed. “What about the fact, I nearly killed you!” gesturing an on-safety knife hand at Ezol's neck scars.

“There was Nothing you could have done about that,” Ezol said flatly. “It was an allergy, nothing to do with the capsaicin like I heard you were on about.”

“But all the blood, the reactions? How?” Martinez interjected.

“Ruh’ah, perhaps wisdom would recommend you hear him out before you continue interrupting him,” Lysa said, bumping her hip into him.

“Ok, sorry, sorry for interrupting. Ezol, please lay it out for me," Martinez agreed after realizing he was interjecting too much again.

“I don’t doubt there will be some trouble getting around that part. So this is what happened—” Ezol began before explaining a series of astonishing, annoying, and upsetting events. So much so that Martinez was upset that he had not realized this was possible.

Ezol explained to Martinez the events that led to him being hospitalized, with them all having dinner for a visit. Followed by, as the Valmin’s doctor said, “The perfect storm of symptoms”.

There was an ungodly combination of Ezol's stomach lining being inflamed by the capsaicin and his own allergy to what they believe to be several chemicals in the hot sauce, causing internal hemorrhaging and anaphylactic shock. Additionally, the chemicals burned his vocal cords to a degree, causing his current issues with his voice.

According to the doctor, the allergy must run in his family because only those closely related to him were affected highly. In comparison, Verni and her side merely had a minor version of the allergy that led to them having a regrettable day-long case of food poisoning, but otherwise, no ill effects.

“So yeah, I’m still waiting on results for what it was in the sauce. Stars above know I can eat capsaicin,” Ezol chuckled, gesturing at the food he had just moved to the warming section of his grill and off direct heat.

Martinez was beside himself, not angry at any of them. He was furious at himself for not thinking about any specified allergies with Ezol. Martinez did that with Lysa because he cared about her but never considered it with Ezol.

How shit of a friend and corpsman can he be? That’s damn near day-one stuff. He checked for drug allergies with every patient, for god’s sake.

“Dude–I—Fuck!” Martinez exclaimed, his rattled brain unable to make anything else for a statement.

Ezol handed his spatula to Verni and walked up to his Human friend, patting his side heartily. “Brother, It’s all good. It’s just a fresh Oasis, as I see—and you should too.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Martinez replied.

“It means it's not that big of a deal. Was it a tragedy? Yeah. But don’t kill yourself over it,” Ezol assured.

“See, Ruh'ah, I told you you should have talked to them weeks ago,” Lysa purred.

Martinez looked over at her and chuckled, thinking about how many nights she told him to go and message Ezol to clear the air. Insisting this issue weighing on him was only making his sleeping problems worse— and if anyone could know that, it would be her.

“Yeah, you did,” Martinez admitted, regretting telling her he would not.

“Now, do you want to take them up on the offer for dinner?” Lysa said.

“Yeah, come on, I miss having someone who can sample new recipes coming around; you have left me high and dry for weeks,” Ezol smiled, rubbing his claws together in anticipation of an answer from the only sentient the Valmin man knew could outdo him in hot sauce.

Martinez glanced briefly at them and Verni, who was already serving them food, assuming she knew the answer.

“Yeah—I can eat,” Martinez said.

“Perfect. It was a slow night; I got plenty ready to go,” Ezol assured, turning back to Verni.