“I will slaughter that fatuous feline!” Lysa shouted, attempting to push past Martinez and out the door, her rows of needle-like teeth fully bared in indignant fury.

Lysa was taking the news about what Shiksie had attempted to do far better than Martinez imagined she would. More accurately, it was precisely what he had expected his Ruh'ah to do, trying to slaughter his mentor. On the bright side, Lysa heard him out and did not choose the worst-case scenario he imagined: Blaming him like one of his previous flames would have.

Martinez did not genuinely believe she would do that to him; while somewhat territorial about him, Lysa was more level-headed than jumping into the deep end of wrong perceptions. And she especially took the news of him folding Shiksie in half very well, a bit too well in Martinez’s mind, but she always had a bit of a cruel sense of humor.

“Ruh’ah move! I must skin Shiksie alive,” Lysa hissed as Martinez pulled her in front of him.

“No, you're overreacting,” Martinez said firmly.

“I’m not in any way. That filthy hussy was rubbing her cunt on you!” Lysa replied, stepping back and gesturing up and down at him, then crossing her arms defiantly. “I knew that whore would try something again, but this is insanity.”

Lysa was right about how insane this was; Martinez did not think Shiksie would attempt anything so brash. His mentor was calm, level-headed, and in no way the sexual deviant he saw a few hours ago—at least, he thought that.

Ruh’ah had been suspicious of Shiksie for almost two months now, especially right after they all went over and helped Martinez when he disappeared in a drunken PTSD-induced binge. During that time, Shiksie was confrontational and was constantly trying to keep Lysa from Martinez, using her experience as a nurse, his mentor, and the fact she spends so much time with him as leverage to keep Lysa distant.

Now, Shiksie had finally played her hand and given Lysa all the vindication she could ever want. She was far too eager to kill that abhorrent hussy—even if she had to fight her way past Martinez, Shiksie’s pelt would be a throw blanket on their bed.

“Ruh’ah, yes, you are overreacting,” Martinez said firmly, grabbing her shoulders.

He did not manhandle Lysa by any means; he merely got ahold of her tightly enough that she could not easily slip free and out the door. That Martinez was putting his foot down here did not help him; Lysa shot him a vicious glare and damn near growled at him.

Fuck, that made his heart skip a beat. Martinez was used to violence and fighting, but that was when he dealt with aliens the Human Navy sent him to war with. He could just shoot them—he could not do that here; peaceful resolution was his only option.

“I am not; that vestigial whore thinks just because she is helping you study, she had the right to do that. I will show that filthy man-stealing slut just who she is fucking with!” Lysa snapped.

Martinez damn near rolled his eyes at that comment; Thankfully, he did not. Lysa would be furious if he did not take her emotions seriously. Just that phrasing was almost comedic to him and showed off Lysa’s odd speech patterns flawlessly. Lysa always had a colorful vocabulary, but calling Shiksie rudimentary and having evolved past usefulness was something he, as a medical professional, could not help but find amusing and creative.

He wrapped Lysa in a taught, warm, welcoming hug, running his hand through her silken hair while she thrashed bitterly, still trying to get past him.

“She did not steal me, Lysa. I’m not going anywhere. Shiksie made a drunken mistake, and the issue has been dealt with. I don’t need you getting in trouble for doing something you would regret afterward,” Martinez assured.

Lysa grumbled and growled for a few more moments but eventually stopped struggling against Martinez and joined him in a calm embrace. “Do you mean it?”

“Yeah, I mean it. I’m not leaving, we are going to meet your parents tomorrow after all,” Martinez replied, leaning his head against Lysa’s while she clutched tightly to his shirt, clinging to him as if he was moments from fading away.

Lysa's behavior was not surprising, considering the horror stories she had told him about her previous attempts at romance being little more than opportunities for others to mock or belittle her. Martinez was the first real relationship Lysa had ever had.

“Still, I do not wish for her to steal you away. I refuse to trust her,” Lysa pouted.

Lysa did have a point; Shiksie crossed a rigid no-go boundary with Martinez. He would have to do something to assure Lysa everything would be alright, and that Shiksie understood how wrong what she did was.

“I will figure something out. Maybe Harnsis can change my shift,” Martinez replied after racking his brain for a few moments. “But we will have to see about that when we get back.”

Lysa sighed and nodded in agreement. “If we must. Considering how late it is, I doubt anything could be done about it now.”

“Exactly. Don’t worry, I will handle it,” Martinez assured, leaning back and giving a reassuring, warm smile. A gesture Lysa returned, although Martinez could still see the worry in her four ruby-red eyes and the gentle upturn of her plush lips.

His Ruh'ah had much to worry about. Between Shiksie’s attempt, her new work shift, and them going to meet her parents after years of isolation certainly gave his Aviex lover many things to juggle in her mind.

“Come on, let's get some rest; we have a long day tomorrow,” Martinez said, kissing Lysa’s cheek and softly guiding her toward the bedroom.

—

The following morning, Martinez and Lysa were up early, far earlier than usual on their day off. Typically, the happy couple was more than happy to sleep in until well after noon when they had no pre-existing commitments.

Today, however, before the twin suns were high in the Renoural sky, Lysa poked at Martinez to get him up and at ‘em. Martinez rolled over to see why she was awake so early but kept his mouth shut, seeing the look in her eye and the odd way she carried herself.

Almost all of her usual grace, tranquility, and soothing aura were gone, replaced by quick, jerky motions. Additionally, unlike her typical morning smile, she was blank-faced, with deep bags under her eyes.

If Martinez was a less tactful man, he would tell her she looked like hammered shit, but he was at least wise enough to know you should not tell your girlfriend that under any circumstance. Much less when she likely did not sleep at all.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Did you not sleep well?” Martinez questioned, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes.

“I did not,” Lysa yawned, “I was too nervous.”

Martinez propped back against the headboard and wrapped Lysa in a one-armed hug, letting her rest on his shoulder. “Do you want to try to sleep more? We don’t have our flight for a few hours.”

Lysa snuggled closer, her bare chest pressing tightly against his arm. “No, I would not sleep anyway,” she admitted. “I will try to get some rest on the flight. We will be in the air most of the afternoon anyway.”

That was true; the shuttle flight from Draun to Cellna would be six standard hours long, so Lysa would have plenty of time to sleep there. Lord knew Martinez had spent many shuttle flights blissfully napping, either that or reading.

Martinez hoped that reaching Cellna would ease Lysa's tension. He believed this would be the case because Lysa always spoke fondly of the town and surrounding mountain ranges, even if the topic of her father would sour those memories.

“Alright, I suppose we should get ready then,” Martinez said.

“In a moment,” Lysa replied and nuzzled against his neck. “You’re warm, and I do not wish to let you go yet.”

Smiling widely, Martinez leaned closer against his gothic lover and ensured the blanket covered them entirely. The Human had no reason to argue about some time snuggling; with how hectic work had been lately, their usual nightly cuddling had been reduced to a few days a week—to both of their discomforts, so savoring this before packing and squeezing into a cramped and crowded shuttlecraft was perfect.

Eventually, after both had their fill of gentle beatific cuddling, Lysa’s house became a flurry of activity as they got ready to rush out the door to get to the shuttle port on time and with all the essentials on hand.

Because Martinez had already packed and left his luggage at Lysa’s the previous day, he prepared them some easy-on-the-go meals while Lysa packed her suitcase, diddy bag, and anything else she wished to bring along.

Lysa leaned in a bit to some of the customs and courtesies her mother had ingrained in her soul, specifically the tradition of bringing gifts to one's parents when visiting. The custom was a holdover from the desolate planet Verrilon, but it was still regularly practiced as a sign of care and love to those letting you stay within their abode.

Her form of tribute took her some time to consider, mainly because she knew so little about her father that it was impossible to give the horrible man something befitting his taste that she was willing to buy.

For her mother, Lysa imported a bottle of Human wine, specifically a bottle from Martinez’s home state of California. She placed the bottle in her carry-on and carefully wrapped it in clothes to ensure it did not break. Mother did adore wine, and gifting her a sample from Martinez’s origin home would be perfect for his future, Jaru’ha—-hopefully future Jaru’ha.

Her father's gift received no such care or reverence. Lysa had purchased the cheapest Hemozin possible and tossed it into her checked bag, uncaring if it survived the journey. Unlike Mother's gift, his was still wrapped in the cheap brown paper bag from the convenience store.

As Martinez cooked, he regularly peeked over at Lysa in the bedroom, trying to gauge her state of mind and how she was affected by all that was happening. What he saw was both concerning and unsurprising.

Lysa was trying to look composed but was clearly off in the stars. Periodically, while folding a piece of clothing, she would stare at the garment as though it would tell her the mysteries of the universe.

When she returned to Draun and resumed packing, almost all of her fluidity was gone. She was ambling listlessly around the bedroom and would have to look around for each item. Both behaviors were significantly out of place for the usually composed and assured gothic woman.

Martinez was unsure how much of it was nervousness about reconciling with her father, Shiksie’s debacle, or sleep deprivation. Either way, seeing her like this was depressing, but Martinez knew there was not much he could do about it in the short term; all he could do was help her through the day and the next two weeks.

Shortly after eating the simple steak sandwiches Martinez had prepared, Martinez double-checked that everything was packed, paying especially keen attention to Lysa’s gear. Once he had a warm and fuzzy feeling that there was nothing vital being left behind, they hailed a taxi and were on their way to the shuttleport.

The ride there was uneventful but somewhat strange. It wasn’t until they were almost at the port that Martinez realized why it felt odd, and a thought came across his mind: How long had it been since he had been in a vehicle?

Draun was built from the ground up with pedestrians in mind, with separate streets for vehicles and foot traffic crisscrossing and alternating within the skyscrapers. Doing his best to recall, he realized it must have been at least half a standard year since he was in any vehicle, and that was a military truck, not a plush taxi.

That thought made him have another idea. What about Cellna? Would it be the same? Would they rent a vehicle? Or would Lysa’s mother drive them around?

“How are we going to get around once we are there?” Martinez questioned.

Lysa took a few moments, and Martinez repeated the question several times before she focused. “Oh—we can rent a vehicle at the shuttle port. I have a license and can drive anyway.”

That was good news; Martinez knew Cellna was an out-there, more country kind of place. It was called a city because it met a certain population threshold, not because its description was anything like Draun, Los Angeles, or New York. According to the pictures Martinez had seen, Cellna was a small, humble place that was welcoming.

Once at Baribla Shuttleport, checking in and loading up was smooth and straightforward. The air transportation inspectors scanned their luggage and checked identification cards and tickets before ushering them aboard the civilian transport craft and to their seats.

Lysa settled into the window seat while Martinez took the adjacent one. Like all the other civil transport shuttles Martinez had seen, this one only had two rows of seats on each side, with an aisle in the center.

Not unlike the airplanes still used on Earth.

The chief difference between Human airplanes and this shuttle was the propulsion and aerodynamics. Instead of diesel-fueled turbine engines and a well-designed airfoil, the shuttle was powered by four rotating noise-suppressed repulsers and was shaped like a brick.

Martinez had been on plenty of aircraft like this during his stint in the Human Navy; most non-human-designed aircraft were similar in their shape and function because when your engines were so fuel efficient, they had to be refueled every few decades and not after each flight. The efficiency of the building and replacing parts took precedence over a sleek exterior. At least the interior was comfortable enough, if not a bit cramped.

Just before take-off, one of the flight attendants worked their way up and down the rows of chatting aliens, ensuring everyone was buckled and seated, and asked if they wanted a snack for the trip.

Upon reaching their row, she asked Martinez if he could wake Lysa and ask her to put on her belt. He had not even noticed she had fallen asleep already, having instead kept a close eye on the other passengers as they were loading.

Martinez acknowledged the request but did not wake Lysa up. Instead of interrupting her foray into dreamland, he buckled her in and turned his attention to his datapad, pulling up one of the novels written by Lysa’s mother to pass the time on the flight. He had promised Lysa he would read her novels.

While the book was not in the genre Martinez would usually read, preferring to read thrillers, he would still push on. The stories of Kirkai Lourin were not written with him as the target audience; they were romance mysteries with a James Bond-esque character targeted toward women.

At least Lysa’s mother was an outstanding novelist, and having something to read was better than him sitting here and stewing in what was making him nervous, meeting the parents. Martinez had never been in a relationship that was serious enough for him to meet the family. So all of this would be new unmapped ground for him. And nothing made him more worried than having no idea what he was about to walk into.

Lysa had already briefed him on her parents, their lives, and the situation that caused her to leave, so he knew the big landmines going forward. However, that left a lot of the area a gray space—possibly filled with dangers to him or Lysa.

Martinez sighed, flipped to the next page of the novel, and did his best to focus on the story, trying not to let his mind conjure up thousands of violent scenarios with Lysa’s father. A man that all he knew of was former special forces and was more than willing to be cruel to his daughter.