“Hey-! Help! I’m being robbed!”

Who would commit a robbery in humidity like this? Sweat beading on Jack’s carapace, she felt like she was wading down the sidewalk rather than walking, her damp clothes clinging to her carapace. She couldn’t fathom running in this weather, much less robbing someone.

“Blue, stop him! My bag!”

Jack’s pupils constricted, her stomach dropping. Her eyes swam towards the source of the cry, scanning for a familiar face. She saw none. She did, however, see the thief barreling towards her.

The prawn swept low, her arm connecting with his midsection. Arm bar. She threw him to the ground, the air leaving his lungs.

“I’ll take dat,” the prawn grunted, yanking the satchel from the bewildered thug’s grasp. The man looked as though he wanted to speak, but after his lip trembled for a few moments, a scream escaped him, and he artlessly scrambled away. Across the street, into obscurity.

The prawn stood with the satchel clasped in a massive primary hand, peering up the street. A brown-haired kid, probably no older than twenty, was jogging towards her.

“Thank you so much,” the kid panted, extending a hand. Jack nodded, wordlessly placing the strap in his grasp, “I had my bus pass in there, and I don’t have enough money to get another one.”

The prawn folded her thumb in on one primary hand, and touched her two fingers to her brow, before quickly drawing them out—a salute, and her way of dismissing herself. She didn’t want to stick around and talk about it, she just wanted to get to Zinnia’s-

“Wait! Wait, wait, wait,” the brunette cried, jogging after her, laughing breathlessly. He skipped alongside her as the cerulean woman strode quickly down the street, “Listen, I don’t have much, but uh-“ he rummaged through his bag, procuring a can of soda after a brief search, “I want you to have this as a, uh, thank you gift.”

The soda can was held out towards the prawn, but she did not make a motion to grab it.

“I don’t-“

“Please, I insist,” the kid laughed, holding the can closer, practically pressing it into the prawn’s nearest hand, “It’s not much, but it’s the least I can do. Please.”

“I-“

“Here.”

He pushed the can into her hand, forcing her fingers closed with his other, before running past her, waving farewell from the direction Jack had just come.

“You’re the best.”

Had the kid given her a word-in edgewise, Jack was trying to tell him that she didn’t drink soda. She couldn’t. The acrid carbonation was an assault upon her delicate sense of taste. As it was, however—he hadn’t given her the chance to protest.

Jack surveyed the can, uttering nondescript grumblings. Maybe she could pass it off on one of Zinnia’s brothers. That’s where she was heading, after all, and it’d be a shame to waste a free drink. Jack slipped the soda into the main compartment of her messenger bag, begrudgingly continuing her walk.

Jack ascended the familiar steps towards the front door of Zinnia’s place, knocking lightly upon the door with her knuckles. From within, Jack heard the faint call of “Coming!” and hastily approaching footsteps. The prawn unhooked her surgical mask, balling it up and tucking it into a side pocket. The door swung open, revealing Zinnia. She managed to look luminous in the swampy summer heat.

“Babe, you look like you’re melting,” Zinnia commented, rising up on tiptoes towards the prawn. Jack stooped low, pressing her forehead to Zinnia’s as they exchanged a kiss. Jack smiled gently, touching a hand to Zinnia’s cheek.

“I’n sur’rised I hasn’t yet…” she said, straightening up once again. The two retreated into the air conditioned house.

“Was it a good walk, at least?” Zinnia pressed, “Water, dear?”

“Staw-t a raw-ery,” Jack said flatly, “Otherwise, it was sine. Yes, ‘lease.”

Zinnia had reached into the cabinet for a large plastic glass, which she dropped in alarm.

“A robbery?!”

“Yeah,” Jack huffed, “Nuh-sing crazy, just sun dude tried to take dis kid’s satchel. I caught hin dough.”

Zinnia recollected the glass, filling it at the sink. Her brow was stitched with concern, “Jackie, that’s so dangerous.”

“I know, darling, ‘ut I ‘as really care-sul,” the prawn purred. Zinnia smiled, or rather grimaced, as she shut the sink off, returning with the glass of water. Her smile faltered momentarily, her gaze dropping to the ground,

“Your bag is leaking!”

“My what?!”

Jack looked down. Lo and behold, a small, fizzling brown puddle was accumulating on the floor, fueled by a steady drip from one corner of her satchel. The bottom of her bag was tinged three shades darker around the drip.

“Duh soda!” Jack hissed, tossing the bag onto the tiled counter, "Duh kid gaze it nee, to say 'sanks'."

“I'll get a rag!" Zinnia declared as she retreated.

The prawn muttered curses under her breath as she lifted the flap and fished-out the soggy contents of her bag—her sketchbook, her woodworking tools, a few blocks of wood, the photo of her and Chelsea, a bottle of hand sanitizer, old receipts, and finally the offending soda can. F***ing thing.

Zinnia returned, dropping to her knees to mop up the floor with a tattered, red rag.

“We can toss your bag in the wash,” Zinnia reassured her, “It’ll be good as new when you’re ready to go home.”

“Don’t su’ose I could toss ny close in dere, too?” Jack sighed, shaking the loose beads of soda off of her sketchbook. She’d have to leave the paper products out to dry, was down the woodworking tools… come to think of it… Jack wadded up the small collection of receipts and stalked towards the garbage can, which was hidden beneath the kitchen sink, “I was so sweaty I didn’t e’en notice duh can ex'loded.”

“I’m sure Dad has some athletic clothes you could borrow while your stuff is in the wash,” Zinnia reassured the prawn, moving towards the counter to dry-off the woodworking tools. She paused when she noticed the old Polaroid. She shook the beads of condensation off, surveying it more closely.

A freckled-faced blond girl who hadn’t quite grown into her adult teeth laid forehead-to-forehead with a draconic-looking individual, both of them grinning. They seemed to be laying in grass, surrounded by patches of clover and clover flowers. It was obvious by the angle of the camera that the dragon was holding it.

“I haven’t seen this before,” Zinnia commented, handing the prawn the picture, “Who are they?”

Jack curled her mandibles awkwardly, groaning, “It’s nee and ny ‘est s’riend s’run when I was little.”

“That’s you!?” Zinnia grasped for the picture again, which the prawn willing surrendered, “I had no idea that you were-! You-!”

“Started out hyu-nan?” the prawn offered. An awkward silence settled.

“You were a cute kid.”

“I was.”

“You never told me.”

“I try not to sink about it.”

The silence returned, stretching between the two women. Jack cast a glance towards her belongings, which were splayed out across the counter. Although they’d been together for a few years, Jack held a lot of her cards close to her chest. She didn’t talk about her past, or her family, or… anything. Only the now. It hadn’t been an issue, before this.

Zinnia replaced the Polaroid on the counter, quirking a smile at her girlfriend.

“Well… let’s get your stuff in the wash. It’s a talk for another time.”

Relief colored Jack’s expression, and she nodded, fishing her keys, her wallet, and her phone from her pockets preemptively. These were also deposited onto the counter. The two of them padded off to the laundry room.

The messenger bag was tossed into the washing machine, followed by the surgical mask from Jack’s pocket. Jack quickly stripped out of her clothes, peeling off her tank-top. Her shorts, too, fell to the ground with a wet smack once her belt was loosened.

“Gross.”

Jack kicked-off her boxers, collected her outfit, and tossed it all into the wash. When Zinnia returned, Jack was adjusting the settings on the washer and adding laundry detergent to the appropriate compartment.

“Found some clothes for you to try,” Zinnia announced, wrapping an arm around Jack’s waist as she set the fresh clothes atop the washer, “And a washcloth, if you wanna wipe-off, and my deodorant.”

“Sank you,” the prawn murmured, kissing Zinnia’s forehead, “Where are duh terrors at?”

The “terrors” in question were Zinnia’s brothers. Zinnia laughed, “Upstairs. Playing video games.”

That meant momentary privacy—which, when living with one’s parents and kid-brothers, was difficult to come by. Jack’s hand ventured down Zinnia’s back, then slightly lower. The dark-haired woman laughed, smacking the prawn’s carapace. It didn’t hurt, but Jack flinched as though it did, chittering apologetically.

“Get dressed!” the smaller woman chastised, “Then I was thinking… perhaps a movie?”

“I like duh sound o’ dat,” the prawn agreed.

Moments later the prawn emerged, donning a pair of basketball shorts (which fit surprisingly well) and nothing more. Zinnia kneeled before the display of DVD’s, skimming the titles.

“Didn’t wanna stretch your dads’ shirts out,” the prawn said, by-way of an excuse. This earned a joking, “Oh nooooo,” from the other young woman. Jack daintily took a seat upon the couch, watching her girlfriend with ponderous eyes. How long had they been dating? And she never once talked about her upbringing? Not any of it? Not Chelsea?

“I was thinking of either… Lady and the Tramp, or… 101 Dalmations,” Zinnia announced, holding-up to DVD cases, “Something animated. With dogs. What do you think?”

A smile fractured Jack’s stony expression when Zinnia looked at her. Zinnia lowered the DVD’s slightly.

“Babe, you look miserable,” Zinnia sighed, “What is it?”

“I hasn’t told you any-sing… as’ter how long?” the prawn whispered, “We’s ‘een to-gezzer sore o’zer a year, and you don’t know any-sing a’out nee. Yet here ‘e are, here I an, in your house… watching new-zies wiss you.”

Zinnia’s jaw flexed slightly, as if she was chewing on her words. Zinnia rose quietly, setting the two DVD’s atop the DVD player, and moved towards the prawn. Jack didn’t move, but allowed Zinnia to take a seat beside her on the couch. The smaller woman tucked herself under one of Jack’s primary arms, looking up at her.

“How can you still trust nee? I could ‘e a dangerous ‘erson and you’d has no idea.”

“I do still trust you,” Zinnia affirmed, taking one of Jack’s secondary hands in her own. The secondary hand reflexively curled around two of Zinnia’s fingers, as a child might hold a grown-up’s hand, “Jackie, listen—do you know how many studies are out there, about the incidences of trauma in mutant youth?”

“No,” Jack admonished.

“There are hundreds upon hundreds of studies. And do you know what nearly all of those comparative studies found?”

The prawn shook her head.

“There is a significantly higher percentage of mutant adolescents who suffer trauma—abuse from their biological and immediate family—than an adolescent of human background.”

The prawn was silent. She wordlessly pulled Zinnia into a hug, resting her head atop the smaller woman’s. Her vision was starting to blur. Jack would be damned if she let Zinnia see her cry.

“I trust you,” Zinnia reiterated, “And I never asked. Because, statistically speaking, there is a high probability that you went through a lot as a kid. And while that may have helped you become who you are, I didn’t think it was essential information for dating you.”

Jack tightened her hold on Zinnia, burrowing her muzzle in Zinnia’s hair. Tears were dribbling out of her eyes, wetting the smaller woman’s hair.

“And I figured… if it ever did become essential information… we would cross that bridge when we came to it…” Zinnia concluded.

“I don’t deser’ze you,” the prawn whimpered, her head still buried in Zinnia’s hair.

“Nonsense.”

The two of them sat tangled like that for a few moments. Zinnia clambered into Jack’s lap and turned sideways, resting her head on Jack’s shoulder. They exchanged feathery touches and the occasional kiss, a sort-of physical conversation of “want” and “reassurance”. It might have been minutes, or it might have been an hour. However much time had trickled by, Jack was the first to speak-up and break the silence.

“Her nay-n was Chelsea,” the prawn began shakily. Zinnia lifted her gaze inquiringly, to which the prawn elaborated, “The girl… in the photo… the dragon-girl? Her name was Chelsea.”

The words creaked out of Jack’s mouth the way the wood of a heavy door might creak when being forced-open after a long winter.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Zinnia reassured Jack, “Not right now. If you don’t want to. When you’re ready.” Her hands traced over Jack’s mandibles, and Jack nibbled at her fingertips. Zinnia laughed softly.

“I want to,” the prawn murmured. She freed one hand and wiped at her eyes, “I don’t know why I hasn’t.”

Zinnia was quiet.

“Her nay-n was Chelsea,” the prawn reiterated, “She was ny dest sriend… and duh sirst ‘erson I e’er o’ened u’ to.”