Enver spent the rest of the morning watching Imogen closely. He hadn't missed her delicate manner or shapely silhouette, he just forced it out of his mind as a no-fly zone. He relegated her to no more than one of his patients keeping his distance and maintaining a certain professionalism.

The longer she remained at the ward, the more she worked her way under his skin. He had been catching himself watching her more and more often, the way her lips moved when she spoke, the way her hands were so confident and sure whenever she treated a patient. But the vibrant woman he saw on the rooftop changed everything. He could no longer pretend she was nothing more than a patient needing refuge. Or that she was somehow the broken and damaged one.

When he listened to her talk about having a garden so they could grow herbal medications, he realized just how much he had missed out on by not taking advantage of what Imogen offered. Kindness, gentle assurance, and creativity. None of these things had been a part of his training in the military.

Imogen hovered around the edges of the industrial kitchen they used to prepare food for the patients and themselves.

"You sure you don't need any help?" She tittered.

Enver turned and glared at her for the forty-seventh time in the last five minutes. "I can make rabbit stew just fine on my own. Thank you."

“You know what would make it fabulous?" She asked before continuing without waiting for an answer. "Rosemary. Rosemary with potatoes and rabbit, we could even make some gravy if we could find flour."

"There's some protein substitute you can use for flour in the pantry," Enver said over his shoulder. He was delighted to see her wince and then laugh, the sound worming its way through his oversized boundaries without his consent. "Give me a couple of minutes to serve this out to the patients—Amanda can take over the cleanup since she's really fine, just waiting for Mason to stop by—then we can go in to the city and grab some food I didn't try to whip into something edible out of the donations we get."

Imogen squealed and clapped her hands. A childish reaction that showed Enver just how cooped up she'd been in the ward. He was so used to it that it didn't occur to him she might need to get out. Working the fights at the Ball & Joint, he saw more than enough people for his taste.

"Really? Can we really go? Maybe you could give me a tour. I've never seen anything."

"Sure," Enver said. "I know a great place to sit where you can see over the top of the Deluge and take in the ocean."

Imogen’s eyes grew seven times larger. "I've never seen the ocean," she said and her eyes drifted off.

"Well then, that's decided. We’ll head to the overlook and pick up something on our way. You better change though, you need something you can ride on the bike in.

"I don't own any pants." Imogen admitted.

It was a conundrum that hadn't occurred to Enver. It was possible to ride a motorcycle in a skirt if you girded the fabric up around your legs. But he really didn't want to risk anything getting caught in the wheels or gears of the machine he painstakingly maintained. And having her skirt ripped off would be a surefire way to guarantee Imogen refused to ever get on the thing with him again, and that idea made his chest ache.

I have some things that might fit you in the bottom drawer of my dresser. Just don't go snooping around." He said with narrowed eyes and mock seriousness.

His attempt at teasing her couldn't undo Imogen’s mood. She vibrated with excitement. Her skin glowed a rosy color making her appear to have spent a day out in the fresh air. When she walked away to go find pants, he found himself cold without her brightness and sun-kissed hair.

Once he finished delivering issues of rabbit stew to the patients who were up for eating and quickly chatting with Amanda about what to do while he was gone, he made his way into the stairwell. Fortunately, the Ward had its own comm system, so if there was an emergency, Amanda could comm him or Chance and someone would come right away. It occurred to him he should find a comm for Imogen, just in case she were ever away from the Ward alone.

The thought of her being out alone without him made his shoulders to tense. The cyborg she’d treated hadn't woken up yet and no cynkers knew what she had done, but the threat still loomed over them. Hopefully, they'd be able to sneak the guy back into the slums without anyone the wiser as to the extent of the damage.

The sound of Imogen's familiar compound clomping boots drew Enver’s attention and his breath caught in his throat. She wore a tight-fitting button up blouse, as usual, but the top two buttons were undone, allowing the collar to flutter around her neck. The cream-colored shirt should have made her appear pale and washed out with her light hair and delicate features, but instead she took his breath away. A cornier a man would say she radiated like an angel, but Enver certainly wasn't that man.

She had chosen a pair of his black cargo pants which he rarely wore because they were too tight in the thighs. On her, they fell perfectly. Hugging her hips and accentuating her curves in a way that would make any man drool.

Enver swallowed, to avoid doing just that.

She had filled out in the time she been staying with him. The food might not be gourmet, but he always made sure to have as much fresh protein and healthy ingredients as possible. His patients needed the nutrition to heal, and she had needed it to regain the weight she’d clearly lost during her punishment at the compound. Her arms and thighs had filled out with muscle and the soft swell of her breasts proved to anyone who took the time to notice that she was a young healthy woman.

Enver glanced away, afraid his eyes would betray him once she came the rest of the way down the stairs. In a matter of seconds, he’d gone from budding friendship to lusting creep. The last thing Imogen needed was for him to start acting like some hormone riddled teenager. But damn, if he didn't want to feel the curve of her hip under his hands as he moved it back around to grab her—

"Enver,” she snapped her fingers in his face, “what are you thinking? Come on. Let's go.”

The beauty of Imogen doubled with her excitement the closer they got to leaving the ward. Shit, he thought to himself. He’d been keeping her prisoner here just as much as they done had at that fucking compound. And he hadn’t even realized it.

As they walked outside Imogen peppered him with questions about what kind of food they could get and what shops were located in the slums. He was barely able to keep up well enough to answer before they got to the motorcycle.

"Oh, you'll need these,” Enver said, taking his dust goggles out of his back pocket and handing them to her.

Imogen shook her head no. "I got my own." She took hers out of one of the cargo pants pockets and slipped them on her head. She should look ridiculous with her hair matted down and the oversized goggles cinched around her face, but once again she surprised him by remembering to bring them at all. He found himself speechless.

Without a word he climbed on the bike and motioned for her to get on behind him.

"But where do I fit?"

Enver chuckled. "Behind me, unless you want to drive."

Imogen pursed her lips and gave him a scowl similar to the one his mother used to give his brother when they were younger. The memory was bittersweet, and he forced it out of his mind.

"You sit behind me, up close, and wrap your arms around my waist. That way when we move if you hold on, you won't fall off the back."

Imogen scowled at him again, and he discovered he enjoyed inspiring her to irritation quite a bit. What was it about seeing her annoyed that made him want to kiss her?

"So, I'm going to sit behind you, hold on, and pray I don't fall off this thing, with you between my legs. That doesn't seem proper." Imogen crossed her arms across over her chest.

"Oh, and here I thought you had given up on being proper. If you'd rather stay here…"

Before Enver could finish the sentence, Imogen had hopped on the back of the bike, placed her feet on the drop-down petals, and wrapped her arms around his chest. It surprised him so much he let out a deep breath and leaned back into her. When was the last time he’d been touched by someone who wasn't trying to kill him because they were already injured and afraid?

After a moment Imogen squirmed. "So, are we going?" Her warm breath came out so close to his ear his body trembled from the vibration of her voice.

Get your fucking shit together.

He turned the key and the bike roared to life.

He took off at breakneck speed, enjoying her squeal behind him.

She wrapped her arms tight around his chest, one hand placed directly over his heart.

Since they were in the deadlands and no one else bothered traveling out this way, he took the time to weave across the dirt and dust, letting Imogen acclimate to the movements of being on a motorcycle. She took to it naturally, like she'd been riding her whole life. Every time he took a curve her hips shifted, pressing her pelvis tight up against him. If he wasn't careful, he was going to end up getting to the city with a huge ass boner and no excuses.

After a few minutes of letting her adjust, Enver pressed down on the pedal and took off in a flurry of dust and Imogen’s scream.

She gripped his torso and laughed in his ear.

It took twenty minutes to drive from the deadlands, across the dropoff, and into the heart of Cyn City. Enver was used to only driving in the middle of the night after the fights. He never had to deal with rickshaw traffic, or people who walked in the middle of the street. Eventually, he made his way to the market district and parked the bike against a streetlamp. He waited for Imogen to get off before dismounting and turning toward her. She pulled off her goggles, and her windswept hair stood straight up, giving her a wild affect.

"That was the most fun I think I've ever had." she said. "Does everyone know what that's like? Why doesn't everyone ride one of these?"

“Most people are too afraid. They think they'll fall off and explode into a fiery inferno." Enver made an attempt at joking, but it only semi-landed.

Imogen frowned, "Aren't most people here cyborgs? I mean, it's not like they can’t just have a new one popped on if they break something, right?"

Enver frowned and turned away, trying to get her words out of his head. He didn’t like the idea that she saw cyborgs as nothing more than interchangeable pieces of metal and gears. There was more to him than that. And for reasons he couldn't begin to fathom, he wanted her to see that.

The market exploded with color and noise. It was enough to block out the mounting disappointment growing in Enver’s gut. Unlike most Cyborgs, he was proud of what he was, what he could do. He was proud to have given everything for his country and for someone to see something less than human stung every time. Even the military had sent him on his way with a, “Thank you for your service, son,” and a check good for barely a month’s expenses.

But that didn’t change his reasons for what he’d done and didn’t make him regret the decision even once. If there’d been a medic like him around when he was younger, his brother would still be alive, and his mother wouldn’t be strung out on synthtax. He saved lives, and his hands made it so he could do twice as more good than any unaltered human. So, fuck anyone who thought –

“Enver?” Imogen’s voice broke through his thoughts and he turned to find her bright blue eyes gazing up at him in question. “Where did you just go?”

He shook his head. That shit didn’t get spoken about to anyone, certainly not some girl who had somehow gotten a hold of him like a magnet that kept pulling him closer no matter how he tried to shut her down.

“Hey,” she reached out and wrapped her long fingers around his cybernetic forearm. “If you don’t want to be out, we can go back to the Ward. I don’t mind. Or we can go somewhere quieter.”

Her fingers heated through the plasteel and titanium that replaced his human limb. His military-grade cybernetics made him precise and allowed him to feel even the slightest change in heartbeat or temperature. Things that made him an excellent healer. Things that made it impossible not to notice that her hand didn’t shake or hesitate when she touched him, that her grip was firm and confident, that the pout of her lips made her heart shaped face even that much more alluring.

Ok, maybe that last one had nothing to do with being a cyborg.

But fuck if he didn’t want to bite that lip.

“No, it’s okay. I’m just not usually out this time of day,” he forced a smile.

“Then let’s just get our food and go. We can do the market another day.” Imogen held his eyes and nothing about her betrayed disappointment or blame.

They wandered a bit further to Enver’s favorite food cart but the pursed expression on Imogen’s face at the suggestion that they get spicy patties pulled a laugh from Enver he hadn’t expected. It burst from him in a moment of pure surprise at the ridiculousness of her reaction.

“I’ve had them before,” she whined before lowering her voice. “They’re horrible.”

He chuckled again and took her hand, slipping his sleek digits between her fingers and pulled her along. Real human contact served as a balm. He hadn’t been touched in so long.

Imogen fell into step next to him, his longer legs no issue for her to keep up with. They wandered longer than he had expected, taking in the people. Imogen had a running commentary on everything they saw, what kind of job did this person have, what kind of fabric was that garment made out of, what kind of place had that building been before being taken over by the slums.

Enver relaxed into her voice, no longer holding her hand to pull her along through the crowd but now simply for the enjoyment of being with her. When his stomach began to growl audibly, she asked if he had accidentally ingested something still alive, and they stopped at one of the better vendors for food.

Imogen brightened even further. “Cricketmeal? I didn’t know you had cricketmeal in Cyn City!”

“Of course we do.” he laughed. “Otherwise, we’d all be eating clonewheat, and that shit is toxic.”

“I tended the cricket farms sometimes back home. I loved all the noises they made.”

“But you have no issues eating them even though you liked them?”

She gave him a bewildered look, “Of course not. They’re bugs. Grind ‘em up and add some sugar! I’m hungry.”

They ordered cricketmeal crepes with protein substitute and whatever flavors they each thought would hide the taste of the protein best and two bottles of tea. Enver paid and handed Imogen the sandwiches to put in the small bag they’d brought with them.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her downturned lips a disconcerting sight.

“For what?”

“I can’t pay you back. You do everything for me, and I can’t even buy my own lunch.”

“You work for everything. You’re at the Ward when I have to come into the Ball & Joint, and you have made the patients so much happier and healthier. We’ve even been able to take more people in at a time. That’s invaluable.”

Imogen shrugged, and they started back toward the bike.

“I should pay you.” Enver blurted out.

“No, why? You feed me and give me a place to sleep. I don’t need more than that.”

“But you should have more than just what you need. We should figure out how much on top of room and board a full time nurse would cost me. I don’t know if I can pay you what you’re worth, but I should pay you something. I’m sorry it didn’t occur to me. How have you been getting fabric and seeds?”

“Verity buys them for me. Or I find them”

Enver huffed, frustrated with himself for not realizing how he’d been taking advantage of Imogen’s talents. “I’ll figure something out, so you don’t have to ask her to do that.”

“It’s okay, I really don’t mind.”

He stopped walking, turned toward her and took her hand in his again. “I want to. I want to be fair to you and make sure you’re happy. Having you at the Ward has meant everything… to the patients… and with the garden. You deserve to be treated better.”

The blue of Imogen’s eyes blurred as tears welled up, but she sniffed and forced them away. “Whatever you think is best,” she said, taking his hand in hers again.