de? I don't actually work for you, you know. I've
been taking care of stuff offsite."

"Oh, sure. Art, if you get in trouble, I'll get in trouble, and you know
*exactly* what I mean."

"I'm not *in* trouble, Fede. I'm taking the day off -- why don't you call me
tomorrow?"

"What the hell does that mean? You can't just 'take the day off.' I *wrote* the
goddamned procedure. You have to fill in the form and get it signed by your
supervisor. It needs to be *documented*. Are you *trying* to undermine me?"

"You are so goddamned *paranoid*, Federico. I got mugged last night, all right?
I've been in a police station for the past eighteen hours straight. I am going
to take a shower and I am going to take a nap and I am going to get a massage,
and I am *not* going into the office and I am *not* going to fill in any forms.
This is not about you."

Fede pauses for a moment, and Art senses him marshalling his bad temper for
another salvo. "I don't give a shit, Art. If you're not coming into the office,
you tell me, you hear? The VP of HR is going berserk, and I know exactly what
it's about. He is on to us, you hear me? Every day that you're away and I'm
covering for your ass, he gets more and more certain. If you keep this shit up,
we're both dead."

"Hey, fuck you, Fede." Art is surprised to hear the words coming out of his
mouth, but once they're out, he decides to go with them. "You can indulge your
paranoid fantasies to your heart's content, but don't drag me into them. I got
mugged last night. I had a near-fatal car crash a week ago. If the VP of HR
wants to find out why I haven't been in the office, he can send me an email and
I'll tell him exactly what's going on, and if he doesn't like it, he can toss my
goddamned salad. But I don't report to you. If you want to have a discussion,
you call me and act like a human goddamned being. Tomorrow. Good-bye, Fede." Art
rings the comm off and snarls at it, then switches it off, switches off the
emergency override, and briefly considers tossing it out the goddamned window
onto the precious English paving stones below. Instead, he hurls it into the
soft cushions of the sofa.

He turns back to Linda and makes a conscious effort to wipe the snarl off his
face. He ratchets a smile onto his lips. "Sorry, sorry. Last time, I swear." He
crawls over to her on all fours. She's pulled her robe tight around her, and he
slides a finger under the collar and slides it aside and darts in for a