Martinez was in the hospital under constant doctor and nursing staff observation for three days. For once, being a rare species was not a boon; usually, Martinez faded into the background or was only given a side-eye out of curiosity.
It was different here in Celna; every doctor wanted to swing by to poke and prod the strange alien in the bed and obviously speak with him and Dr. Harnsis over the phone about what makes Humans tick.
Hearing the never-ending influx of comments, compliments, and praise from Dr. Harnis while he prepared these doctors was genuinely sickening. Martinez was to the point where if he had heard one more question: oh, can you survive X or is Y reality, he was going to stab someone.
Luckily, the other two visitors during his stay kept him somewhat sane and didn't make him go stir-crazy.
It warmed Martinez’s heart, knowing that Nelya and Lysa were happy to keep him company; Nelya and he chatted about books, helped Martinez study, and even played some cards.
She even ate lunch with him and brought some of her cooking along. That made him genuinely feel better; Nelya’s blood and meat-based dishes cooking was far better than anything the hospital was forcing down his throat.
He knew the drab food was likely just an issue because the doctors honestly didn't believe everything he could eat, so they just opted to give him grayish gruel. Either way, having meals with substance was a godsend.
Unlike Nelya, who came and went, checking on both Martinez and Kyroll, Lysa essentially had to be dragged out of his room. She clung to Martinez for hours every day, eating, sleeping, and relaxing beside him.
The nurses provided her with a cot to use; they didn't want her sleeping in his bed for obvious reasons, but she never used it.
Initially, Martinez had assumed her clinginess had something to do with his being hurt, but nothing was off by far.
Typically, Lysa had reasonably solid control of her emotions; she had moments of looseness, such as when Shiksie attempted to seduce Martinez or when a particularly violent alien pushed her buttons a little too much. He might see an outburst from her at that point.
But under usual circumstances, she kept her emotions under control until she was alone and had the opportunity to express herself without worrying about anyone judging or belittling her for them.
It must have been at least a dozen times over the last few months that a particularly nasty customer or an event transpired on the streets of Draun. She would hold it in, suck it up until she got home, and would cry on his shoulder or get angry about it.
She never got wrathful at Martinez or anything, just at the world. But that was the typical way Lysa acted. These last few days, her emotions were as stable as the ocean during a hurricane.
The worst part about Lysa's seeming madness was that she had no idea why she was acting this way, which only caused further fits of crying and wailing.
Nelya was no help when Martinez finally had an opportunity to ask her alone; she just chuckled and chalked it up to her daughter being stressed and caring so much about Martinez.
That didn't seem to be the whole truth. Nelya and Lysa were similar in that they were both brilliant and cunning; Martinez refused to believe it could just be that. Between that coy smirk while answering and that when both of them were in the room, Nelya’s gaze would land on Lysa just long enough that Martinez could see gears in her head spinning.
She knew something was happening and wasn't telling him for some reason. Martinez prayed it was nothing horrible—life had been arduous enough the last week.
At least the majority of that hectic behavior diminished by the time they made it back to Nelya’s and Kyroll’s home—not entirely, but mostly.
It was still damn near impossible to get Lysa to let Martinez go: be it drinking his blood and wanting to snuggle more than usual or dragging him to their bedroom to have some alone time. She was insatiable and unrelenting.
Despite Lysa’s shifting demeanor, they were all attempting to enjoy their last bit of time before Martinez and Lysa had to return home.
Nelya, by some miracle, had managed to free Martinez from his Ruh'ah’s clutches and was upstairs with her, currently going over some recipes and preparing dinner for everyone.
Simultaneously, Kyroll had invited Martinez downstairs into his man cave of sorts, with the obvious intent behind the gesture: to clear the air and decide where they stood—over a few drinks, of course.
Kyroll walked ahead and gestured to the chair for him to take a seat, "You want something hard or something a little less potent?"
"I'll have what you're having," Martinez replied, lowering himself in the chair, enjoying the plush satin surface on his bare arms, having opted to wear his PT clothes for the time being.
Martinez had given that answer because his knowledge of alien alcohols was limited, and he figured putting the ball into Kyroll’s court wouldn't hurt.
"Suit yourself, but you might regret it," the old Aviex replied, pulling down several glasses and producing a bottle from underneath the counter.
Taking his time, Kyroll gradually poured each of them a drink on the rocks, mixing several different spices and garnishing them with some sort of purplish sliced fruit.
It was far more extravagant than what Martinez pictured the rough-and-tumble man to enjoy. But who was he to judge? Martinez’s favorite drink when in Human space was spiced Margaritas.
The Human thought it was fruity and extravagant until they were settled and he tasted the drink.
It was like an old-fashioned, combined with the sharpest, most pungent allspice and cayenne pepper. It wasn't unpleasant, but the flavor, mixed with the sweet maple scent of the fruit garnish, was nearly overwhelming and drew his senses in alternate directions.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
“So what do you think?” Kyroll questioned.
“A bit odd, but it’s good,” Martinez replied, leaning deeper into the seat.
They sat there, nursing their drinks for a moment or two. While there was a silent understanding between the two, putting it into words was a whole other hurdle.
"Well, now that we're settled in for the day, where do we go from here?" Martinez asked, breaking the silence and genuinely curious about where Kyroll saw everything going at this point.
Martinez certainly had never been in a situation where the man he was currently sharing a drink with had tried to kill him before. Kyroll likely had, but that comes in the territory of having been a spook, at least if the few Martinez had candor with where to be believed.
"Honestly, I'm not too sure. So, I might as well lay it out there. Thanks for not selling me out to the cops. I do appreciate the—I don't know, gesture of peace," Kyroll said with a hint of uncertainty.
"What did you tell them anyway? I figured you would have lied and have tried to get rid of me again," Martinez replied, stomaching another sip of the booze.
Kyroll hung his head ever so slightly, clicking his tongue. "I get why you would think that, but other than the drugs and the plan to kill you, everything. I wanted to leave it up to you altogether."
"Do you have any idea how long you could have been thrown away for if I had decided to still hate you?” Martinez gawked.
"Long enough that Nelly would have moved on. You and Lysa would have treated me like a distant memory, but it was nothing I wasn't prepared to face," the old Aviex replied in a surprising show of stoicism.
Martinez could not fathom doing something like that—facing one's destiny and handing one's fate to someone who might as well be a complete stranger. Kyroll proved to be more of an enigma than Martinez could have ever imagined, especially when facing decades of hard labor or life in prison as a possible sentence.
"Speaking of Nelya, did you lie to her as well? Because I haven't told Lysa anything yet." The Human said somewhat more hushedly while leaning in, knowing very well that because he could hear the girls, they likely could also listen to them.
Kyroll had no such qualms. "I wouldn't have been able to keep this secret from her if I wanted to," he wholeheartedly laughed. “If I had lied to her, she would have seen right through me and made me sing like a bird."
"You! Singing like a bird?" Martinez raised a brow.
That statement only made Kyroll laugh harder, so the air around them vibrated violently.
Martinez rolled his eyes, knowing Kyroll was just laughing at his expense. Instead of getting mad, he took another sip out of his drink, leaned back, and waited for the older man to regain his composure. This feat must have been herculean because it took him almost half of Martinez's glass to do so.
"For Nelya, of course! She just has a way about her when it comes to figuring out what's going on. She probably saw through anything you told her." Kyroll gasped, wiping away from his eyes. "Lysa can likely do the same thing for you."
Martinez didn't respond to that one. He knew very well that Kyroll was correct there; Lysa could see right through him no matter what, and there was no point in lying to her. He could easily do the same with her. That was one of the reasons they were so compatible—they had to be honest; lying was a moot point.
After fully regaining himself, Kyroll slammed back his drink and stood, extending a hand to Martinez. "Another?"
Martinez would not argue about getting a free drink, especially when he did not have to pour it.
With him and Kyroll finally having a chance to sit down, where hopefully there were no plots in the background, Martinez had to admit the situation was funny. Nelya was correct about them—he and Kyroll were uncannily similar in their actions.
They even had the same taste in women, wanting them to be headstrong, forward, and capable.
"Any idea what you're going to do with Lysa?" Martinez questioned as Kyroll began to pour one of the drinks.
Martinez saw his back and muscles tense the moment he spoke, causing him to spill some of the drinks. It wasn't lost on Martinez that this was still a sensitive subject for the older man, but this talk had to happen—for Lysa’s sake.
Kyroll replied after a few moments of cleaning up the bits he spilled, not looking up from the glasses and leaving his back to Martinez. “I don't know–wha–what we could even do. I'm not exactly a stellar father."
What could Martinez respond to him with? He wasn't a father and had no plans to be one anytime soon. He could make a few suggestions as to what Lysa liked, but acting on that might come across as Kyroll desperately trying to meet her at her level, which might be a bit condescending.
"Maybe you can sit down and figure out something you both enjoy," Martinez recommended, unable to think of a better answer yet.
"You make that sound like it's easy,” Kyroll said, turning around, tossing the rag on the counter, and moving to hand Martinez his drink back.
Kyroll groaned and cracked his neck before gesturing for Martinez to continue. “So how about it, wise guy? Why do you think that's easy?”
"It likely won't be that easy, but it is simple," Martinez responded.
"What the fuck do you mean simple?" Kyroll muttered around the rim of his glass, raising a brow.
Martinez took a few moments to consider how he could explain this to Kyroll—twirling his glass and listening to Nelya and Lysa’s chatter from upstairs.
From his days in the military, Martinez had learned the difference between easy and simple very clearly. Going on an 80-mile ruck march with only one night's rest in between was simple. But he had never met anyone so bold to say it was easy—it was just walking while carrying a backpack after all.
But once the fatigue, ill-fitting boots, cold weather, endless steps, and hours upon hours of silent marching hit you. Dear god, the trek was arduous.
That story was just the first example he had thought of. There's also the methodology of how you eat an elephant, but Kyroll wouldn't understand that, not because he was a dunce or anything along those lines; he just doesn't know what an elephant is. Simultaneously, the GU special forces generally had a light kit, so he might not understand the troubles of being a Doc with an 80-kilogram pack on a march.
"Let's say I had a 500-kilo ball and ordered you to roll it up a hill using only your strength; would you call that order easy?" Martinez questioned, having decided upon something that would be a far more universal explanation.
"No, it's not easy by any means. And if you think that's easy, I tell you to go rub a Coylets mane," Kyroll chuckled. "But I do think I get what you're saying—it isn't complicated, but by the stars, that is not an easy thing to do."
"I'm glad you get it, so when do you think you're going to try this," Martinez smiled and gestured the glass toward the stairs. “Lysa and Nelya aren't complicated to get along with but are worth any difficulty.”
Kyroll Paused and swirled the drink, tapping the glass with his finger. "I suppose after dinner. Nelly is making Orita'ke, one of Lysa’s favorites; no sense in ruining that."
Orita'ke was another traditional Aviex meal. Similar enough to the blood-based cheese sauce Lysa had conjured up that Martinez knew he would enjoy it.
This one was more like a stew with rare to medium-rare hunks of meat and almost no vegetables save for a few hardy tubers. Oh, and of course, the entire sauce was thickened blood, nothing but and nothing but.
Martinez knew the dish because Lysa had wished him to eat it several times when they were in Draun but had never convinced him. He was, at the time, still cautious about their foreign food.
At this point, Martinez was almost ready to convert to a nearly whole Aviex diet. Everything they traditionally ate was hearty, rich, and filled with meat, fat, and blood, but that did not matter. Everything was succulent and filling.
"I guess we'll see," Martinez said and lightly raised his glass in a readable salute. A gesture of which Kyroll returned as they settled in the next half hour and waited for dinner.