The second reporter waited until the camera turned on him and then solemnly said, “Authorities were called to a local hardware store earlier this morning when a full-scale riot broke out after store managers refused to honor rain checks issued for air-conditioners. Over fifteen people rushed the warehouse of the D-I-Y Depot, knocking over dozens of displays and stealing merchandise, as well as assaulting employees. Two victims were taken to the hospital and released after treatment.”

The screen chanced to show a man in a store apron, his face still chalky with shock. There was a bloody scratch on his forehead, and one of the lenses of his glasses was cracked. “Air conditioners are considered a seasonal item by the district operators and I don’t have any control over ordering or shipping them,” he was saying. “I issued those rain checks in good faith, but the backlog on those items was…was pretty long, and at a certain date, seasonal items just aren’t restocked. I tried to explain that and offer refunds, but they…they…just swarmed me.”

Another screen change, this time to a furious-looking woman in a sweat-damp tank top. “I’ve been on that waiting list since the beginning of June and now they tell me they’re not getting any more?! They’re getting leaf blowers! They’re getting plastic pumpkins! It’s the middle of July! It’s a hundred and eight degrees outside! I’ve got kids!”

Daria switched off the television and rubbed at her forehead. She was sweating. This had to be hell for Tagen. But what was she supposed to do about it?

The thought brought back a crushing nausea and Daria got up and wandered back to the kitchen, fighting tears. Tagen had really picked a prize when he came to her for help.

She cleaned up the dishes drying sticky on the table and put them in the dishwasher. She wiped down the countertops, the cupboard faces, and then cleaned out the sink. She still felt sick and stuffy-headed, so she ran a bucket of mop water powerful enough to make her eyes water. She got on her hands and knees and started scrubbing the kickboards, letting the pine-oil scented steam blow out and fill her senses.

“Oh Gods, must you?”

She turned, hugging the scrubber to her chest, and saw Tagen in the doorway. He was bare-chested, physically dripping sweat, and he was pinching the bridge of his nose with the world’s worst headache painted across his face for the whole Earth to see.

“Sorry,” she said, and quickly began to gather the cleaning supplies. “I’ll open a window.”

When she returned from dumping her mop bucket, Tagen was sitting at the table, popping ice cubes from the tray one at a time and pressing them to his brow. His eyes were closed. He looked more than merely hot and hurt and tired. He looked like he was dying.

“I tried to call a repairman for the air conditioner,” she said. “It’s…not going to happen.”

He did not look up or respond in any way.

“They don’t have any in the stores right now, either,” she continued. “So we’re stuck with the heat.” Her hand was rubbing at the side of her face. She made it drop, and stuffed it into her pocket for good measure. “Tagen, I’m sorry. If I’d only known, I—”

“You would have done exactly what you did.” Now he looked at her, and the complete lack of accusation in his face was somehow the worst thing he could have done to hurt her. “You would have blamed me. Cursed me.”

“I was wrong. You didn’t deserve it.”

“I know.” His eyes slid shut again. He found another handful of ice blindly and brought it to his chest, rubbing slowly. “But that does not seem to stop you.”

Daria went to the freezer, blinking back tears, and brought him a bag of frozen peas. When she put it on the back of his neck, he hissed and leaned into her hand. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I keep forgetting you’re here to help me. Like you said, E’Var is hunting throw-away humans and you’re right. I’m one. It scares me…and you scare me…Tagen, everything scares me. Do you think I like that?”

“Sometimes.” His hand came up and pressed the bag of peas to his own neck, and she stepped away.

“I don’t,” she said. “I know I’ve done nothing but freak out since you got here. I hate myself for that.” She stood, twisting her hands together and staring at his unmoving back. “Please don’t give up on me.”

He sighed and finally glanced back at her. “I tell myself again and again to show you patience,” he said wearily. “I know that you are one of many, many humans I have known…but I am your first Jotan. I know you are doing your best.”

“I am,” she said. She pressed her palm over her bad side without any conscious thought, heartsick. “But my best sucks. I’m a horrible person. And it’s got nothing to do with you.”

Tagen sighed again, half-growling this time. He put the peas on the table. “Sit down,” he told her, and as she gingerly obeyed, he said, “Jota’s climate is very mild. Summer, as you call it, is short. We do not have heat like this more than a short span of days. My people live long. Our offspring are born two and three at once. We do not breed every time we sex. For us, breeding must be forced. The heat…forces us.”

She nodded, her eyes fixed on his. She was almost shaking with the effort not to look down, to see the monstrous bulge he had been gripping earlier. All of her best intentions would be shattered if she had to see that, to face what he was and what he wanted from her.

“It…is a terrible pain,” Tagen continued, and looked it. “That is part of the necessity, to force us together to mate. It has nothing to do with you. It has nothing to do with anything except the heat. We have medicines on Jota that prevent its effects, but I did not have enough and your Earth’s summer never ends. I cannot help it, Daria. I must do what I must do. It offends you, but I have no choice.”

“I understand,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. “And I’ve got to be the only woman on the entire planet who would let you deal with it on your own when you’re here to save us from someone like E’Var.”

His brows were knitting together.

“I know what you want me to do,” she went on, speaking fast before she lost her nerve. “And it’s not fair of me, but I can’t, Tagen. I just can’t.”

He stared at her for a long time, his face gradually losing expression, a thing that made him seem even more formidable than his frown had been.

“Lindaria Cleavon.” His voice was very low and even, but his eyes were blazing, molten with emotion. He stood up slowly and leaned forward over the table, his hands pressed flat but the claws flexing ever so slightly. He looked down at her, fierce, unblinking, and quietly said, “I did not ask.”

Daria sat, feeling stunned and faintly embarrassed. Of course he hadn’t. He hadn’t given any indication whatsoever that he was even thinking in that direction. And once again, she had jumped at the chance to slap him down, this time, before he could even make a suggestion. In a tiny, creaking voice, she heard herself say, “Christ, even when I’m apologizing, I fuck things up.” She started to stand, her eyes brimming.

Tagen sighed and dropped back into his chair. “Sit down,” he said, rubbing at his eyes.

She didn’t want to, but she’d already insulted him once today. She sat, but kept her eyes on her hands as they knotted nervously on the tabletop. When she finally glanced up, she found he was watching her hands as well.

“What happened to you?” he asked softly, and raised his eyes to hers.

She felt her breath freeze in her throat but she couldn’t look away. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, hearing desperation and despising it.

“And I did not want to ask,” he replied. “But it is better, I think, to do so than to go on pretending not to see it rotting between us in this way.”

Tears dug in at the corner of her eyes, blurring the sight of him and his unblinking patience.