The Good Samaritan

The back of Anita's neck prickled, as the Good Samaritan walked in. Tall, almost handsome in real life... No, the smirk was ugly. The eyes, too haughty. There was something repugnant about him. Or maybe, that's just how she was conditioned to feel about men like him. 

The officer seated him at the other end of the room, shackling him to the table. The table was bolted to the floor, thank God. He looked strong enough, still, to do serious damage. But then, he'd never killed that way. 

She lit up a cigarette and watched the smoke curl slowly to the ceiling. He watched it too. Small mercies that jails in India weren't non-smoking yet. 

"Can I offer you a smoke?" 

A flicker of a smile. The officer took the offered cigarette and lit it, before handing it to the man. 

He inhaled deeply, slowly; holding it in as if harvesting every last molecule of satisfaction from it, before letting it go. He leaned back, eyes raking over her. 

"These things will kill you, you know?" 

When he smiled, he looked like a different person, almost. 

"That's one thing less for you to worry about." she said, smiling. She pointed her recorder in his direction. "Did you think it would really come to this?" 

"Death sentence?" 

"Yes." 

"No." 

"Why not?" 

"Why not? Have you even read my case files? I'm an innocent man. A bystander. Someone who tried to help, in fact." 

"A good samaritan?" 

He chuckled. "Your boss send you here to be a smart mouth? Or to get an interview?"

Anita leaned forward. "So you still think you helped those people?" 

"Absolutely"

"They died, Mr Ramakrishnan." 

"It's a fucking pandemic, Ms Journalist whatever your name is. That's what happens in a pandemic. People die." 

"They didn't die of the pandemic though, did they?" 

"Really? 8 people, in ICUs across Mumbai, died of Covid related complications. That's what happened, last I checked." 

"8 people you helped." 

"There… you said it. I helped. And they died anyway." 

"That's not what their doctors said." 

"Oh really? You think they'd admit to the truth?" 

"What truth is that?" 

"That they're incompetent." 

"Competent enough to save thousands of other lives." 

"Are you saying they lost no patients?" 

"Of course they did. Everyone lost some, before the protocol kicked in. But these deaths were special, weren't they?" 

"That's what they're saying?" 

"You know what they're saying, Mr Ramakrishnan. Come on. This is your last chance to give the families some closure… help us understand this." 

"Their fucking families are why I'm in this mess. Those… people! They came to me, not the other way around!" A vein jumped in his forehead as he spat out the words. 

"The way I heard it, it was an appeal sent out on social media, and you responded." 

"Yes." 

"So no one actually asked you." 

"Madam, lives were at stake. Wouldn't you have done the same thing?" 

"Offered fake Remdesivir to families of critical patients?"

"I did not know it was fake." 

"Did you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was genuine?" His stare didn't intimidate her. 

"Here's what confuses me. Three of the families refused your help… didn't they?" 

"It was because of that bitch!" 

"Ah, I see. You're referring to Mrs Singh, the wife of your colleague Mr Ajay Singh… the one who uncovered your little scam." 

"There. Was. No. Scam! I found them the Remdesivir they were begging for. And then, they changed their minds. Like all that effort… it was nothing! All those strings I pulled, all th-" 

"You mean, bullying the hospital admins?" 

"Is that what they told you?" 

"That is what happened isn't it? You called them, impersonating the Drug Commissioner of Mumbai, and authorised each of these 8 admins to give the patients the drugs you procured for them… even when the families told you that they didn't want to go outside official channels! What I don't get Mr Ramakrishnan, is... why. Why do this?" 

"They were the ones who asked for the Remdesivir, they-" 

"But they changed their minds." 

"You can't do that." 

"Excuse me?" 

"You can't do that. It's not fair. I made so many calls. I found them the drugs. I spoke to the admins, the doctors. I organised all of it. And they changed their minds. As if it were all for nothing." 

"There were so many scams at the time Mr Ramakrishnan. Couldn't you see that? Couldn't you see how dangerous it was to go outside the system?" 

"Then why ask for help?" 

"The shortage ended that very evening, didn't it?" 

"Yes." 

"So if it hadn't been for your interference-" 

"I helped!" 

"If it hadn't been for your interference, each of those 8 patients would've received the real drugs." 

"I didn't know the drugs were fake!"

"But you knew the shortage had ended. Each of the admins told you they were getting their supply of drugs that evening." 

"They asked for my help. They can't do that and then toss me asi-" 

Anita ground the cigarette butt under her heel and stood up. "I'm done here." 

The jail security office was stinking hot. Anita collected her phone and her purse from the surly officer and texted just one word to Mrs. Ramakrishnan: Unrepentant. 

Mrs Singh was surprised to find a newspaper outside her door the following week. She was about to toss it to her neighbor's mat, when the pink post-it caught her eye: Turn to Page 6. 

She did. The headline read: Good Samaritan declared unfit for hanging. 

Wait, what? Unfit for hanging? What kind of joke was that? 

She read the article. The mighty Mrs Ramakrishnan had appealed her husband's fitness to undergo the death penalty after being paralysed as a result of a severe beating in jail. The man was eating, breathing, shitting through a pipe. In a dirty jail clinic, no less. 

Death, when it came, would be painfully slow. 

Wow.

Her mind flashed on the many conversations between herself, the other plaintiffs and Mrs Ramakrishnan over the past 3 years. They had built the case together, but never dared to expect real justice. Nothing as poetic as this. 

She read the article once, then twice. She savored every word, reading them aloud, tasting them.

Who knew justice tasted this damned good? 

Half Breed

Watching Purnima parry insults with the boys, Samira wished that she too had that kind of clever confidence. Maybe if she could just think of comebacks then, in the moment, rather than hours later. Maybe then she could stand up to Purnima. Pretty, perfect Purnima. Holiest of holies, the Jainest Jain that ever lived. 

She was awful. 

It had started 3 months ago, when Samira stood up to introduce herself to her new classmates. The teacher, in her infinite wisdom, had seated the two Jain girls together, probably thinking that it might mean an easier transition for Samira. Rubbish. Purnima was the queen bee of class 6 section C. 

She had picked on Samira almost instantly. It had started with the length of her skirt - too short; it seemed. Unladylike. Showy. Then it was her left-handedness. Her hands looked like claws holding a pen, apparently. And then the tiffin incident happened.

The. Tiffin. Incident. 

"What kind of Jaini are you?!?" She had screeched in a voice that scraped chunks off of Samira. She had felt small. Numb. Unable to respond. She had stood there, like an oaf, as Purnima took her tiffin of omelette sandwiches and flung it across the classroom. 

She was ten times the Jain Purnima was, her father had assured her. But then her father was always kind. He was a practicing Jain. He never pushed his beliefs on her or her mum. He never made gagging sounds when her mother cooked meat for herself and Samira. He lied a little to his side of the family. But that too, he said, was a kindness. They would never understand. They were "ritualist" Jains. Temple going vegetarians who didn't eat after sunset, but never hesitated to cut each other to ribbons with their words. 

She tucked that little nugget away for later use. I am a practicing Jain, Purnima. Not a ritualist like you! I practice non-violence. But then, as her father pointed out, if she intended to hurt Purnima with those words, that wasn't non-violence. Shit. 

"This Jainism stuff is hard" her mother said to her as they cuddled with a book later that night. "It takes people a lifetime. You don't have to figure it out all at once, okay?" She had snuggled so hard into her mother that she made her yelp. She loved that sound, and the tickle fight that invariably followed. She went to bed happy. 

She avoided Purnima as best she could for the next few days, but they were bench mates. Stuck together till a teacher separated them. She'd heard that class 7 onwards, you could pick your own bench mate. So it was just a matter of this school year. Not counting holidays, it was just 16 more weeks of school. Purnima hissing cut her reverie short. "Heard your mother's name is Shahnaz." Her eyes gleamed. "Filthy Muslim blood. That's why you love eggs so much!" 

"She's a Parsi. Not Muslim." 

"What's a Parsi?" 

"It's another religion. Lots of us in Mumbai."

"Are you a Parsi or a Jain then?" 

"Uh, both… I guess?" 

"Do Parsis eat meat?"

"Yeah" 

"What kinds?" 

"All kinds, I think." 

"Filthy." She looked as if she were about to spit. "Disgusting half-breed!" The insult landed in her solar plexus. She felt hot tears well up and all she could do was hide her face in her arms and cry and cry and cry. She couldn't even tell the teacher what was wrong. She didn't know why she was crying, or why that insult hurt her so. It just did. 

She could sense that some of her classmates wanted to talk to her, but didn't. Purnima was always around, always watching. And the insults got worse. 

"Heard Parsis are going extinct. When are you going to die?" 

"Did you know Parsi girls are either mad or dead?"

"So, when are you going to show me your tail? You have one, right?" 

"I think I'll call you a mutant half breed from now on" 

"Mutant Half Breed! Can you kill people with your egg breath?" 

There had to be a way to become invisible. There had to be. 

Shahnaz watched as her happy, eager little girl began to dread going to school. From what she had read, all the signs pointed to bullying. And it had to be that Purnima girl. Samira didn't really have any friends yet. None that she mentioned to her, anyway. She made discreet enquiries at school and enlisted the help of one of her teachers. Yup, it was Purnima alright. 

Samira begged her not to intervene. She was sure it would only make things worse. The principal agreed with Samira, but suggested a friendly chat with Purnima's parents. Purnima's mother was quite a surprise. And suddenly, Shahnaz knew what to do. 

Samira couldn't believe it. A picnic. With Purnima. And her mother. "Why???" 

She railed. She wailed. She threw a tantrum. And then it was picnic Sunday, and they were pulling into the car park. Her mother was in a great mood. She handed the badminton rackets to Samira and grabbed the food basket. Oh horror! Chicken sandwiches. 

A car pulled into the space next to them, and a taller, prettier version of Purnima stepped out and hugged her mother. "Diana! You look gorgeous!". Her mother had greeted her like an old chum. Wait, Diana? A smile started on the inside of Samira's belly and made its way to her face. Diana. A christian name. 

"Hi Diana Aunty. Lovely to meet you." Did her voice sound too gleeful? "Hey Purnima." Purnima was turning a pretty interesting shade of pink. Mother introduced herself to Purnima, who mumbled a greeting. This was great. SO great. 

"Are those your famous chicken sandwiches?" Diana Aunty was digging into their basket as they settled their rugs under a leafy tree. She opened the tiffin and took a deep, pleasurable sniff. "Ohhhhhh… these smell SO goood!" She took a bite and shoved the rest of the sandwich in Purnima's face. "You'll love these! They're better than Sana aunty's sandwiches!" 

Samira was grinning so hard all afternoon that she felt sure her face would get stuck that way. Purnima looked like she had swallowed a frog. Diana Aunty was a delight, and completely unaware of her daughter's discomfort. By her own admission, it thrilled her to be around another mother daughter pairing that had the same background as them.

"After all, it isn't easy being married to Jains, am I right?" The mothers laughed, and swapped notes, congratulated each other on their daughters' achievements, and took selfies. So many selfies. 

As the afternoon drew to an end, the mothers planned the next outing. Shahnaz turned to Samira. "Sam, you're good at naming things. Let's name our little group something fun… something that's just us, you know?" Was that a wink? 

"The Half Breeds?" It was out of her mouth before Samira knew it. Purnima looked like she was going to be sick. Diana thumped Purnima on the back and burst into peals of laughter. "What a sassy little thing you are, Samira! The Half Breeds it is!" Poor Purnima, she couldn't even scowl. 

The mothers air kissed each other's cheeks before getting into their cars. Samira waved and waved as Purnima and Diana pulled out of the parking lot. And then she turned to Shahnaz and squeezed her hard enough to make her yelp. She loved that sound. 

She loved this woman. She loved the tickle fight that followed. She loved the drive back home. She loved the warm, glowy feeling she had in her chest. She loved the way her body felt: light, and strong. Her arms were all tingly. She sang along the whole drive back at full volume. Her mother sang along, off key, and making up ridiculous words. 

She had never loved her mom more. And her dad, she reminded herself. How lucky. 

I'm a fabulous half breed! She couldn't stop grinning. Yeah, her face was definitely going to get stuck that way. 

An Act of Love

It was an act of love, she had said. Nonsense. 

I can't ever think of it that way. I watch Ananya fight for her life, and I know, I know I can't let her quit. I can't even let her think of quitting. Not for one second. Stupid, stupid doctors… what do they know? They don't know how extraordinary she is. How much spirit lives inside that little body. Nothing. They know nothing. 

She is in so much pain. Poor little thing. So much pain. Just a little bit more baby girl. Fight for papa, please. I can't let you go. I will never let you go... I will not let it happen again. 

Ah, Uma is here. What a ray of sunshine. She's had my back since 1976. Formidable Uma. Let them tell her it's hopeless. Stupid doctors. Stupid, stupid people. If I have to handle one more snivelling well-wisher… God. Just let us be. Let us cope. We can't be there for your emotions right now. Don't people understand that? 

I can't stop looking at how much Ananya's hands look like Shaila's. Clearly, Shaila and I aren't going to make it. It feels so inconsequential right now - I don't know if it always did, or if I don't have the headspace right now. Either way, the fact that I don't care is telling, I guess. We did make this beautiful girl together, so there's that. But little else. 

Uma looks like she's been crying. She keeps glancing at me and then glancing away. Something's up. 

There's a weird energy at the nurses' station. None of them meet my eyes. Uma's nose is so red. "We need to talk, Arun". Huh, that doesn't sound good at all. She looks off kilter. Shaky. I walk towards the waiting room and she grabs my arm. "Wait." Now she won't meet my eyes. What the hell is going on? "Mum is here." Now she looks at me, the only thing keeping me there are her eyes alone. NO. Hell no. "Just listen… just listen to what she has to say.." Et tu, Uma? 

"I know what I'm asking." She grabs my arm. There is so much pain in her eyes that it is breaking my heart. I hate this. Why would she do this? Why now? I let her lead me into the waiting room. 

Mother. Everlasting mother. So self contained, so cat like, so cold. Ah, she uses a cane now. There is nothing in those eyes but false grief. She should be sad, so she is. If Shaila were here, she'd lap it up. Thank God for Uma. 

"How is she?"

"She's fine. She'll get through this too. There was no need for you to come." Was that pity in her eyes? 

"Look son, I know you don't want to hear this-"

"Oh, here we go. The angel of death makes her case!"

"Arun." Yeah, I'm not cowed by that voice or that face anymore. Nope. 

"Why is it so easy for you to let go, huh? Why?"

"It isn't." 

"Right."

"Will you never forgive me?"

"Seriously? Is this why you're here right now?"

"No."

"So what then?" That came out louder than I intended. I sit, and take a breath. 

"Will you listen?" Oh, the drama. Someone give her an Oscar please. 

"Remember when this happened to papa? Of course you do. Stupid of me." She swallows as if she can't speak. What a performance, really. 

"Do you know who I've loved the most? Out of all of you?" If she says it's me, I'm out of here. 

"No, it's not you." There's that steely gaze I know so well. 

"It's Papa. I've never loved anyone the way I loved papa."

"Loved him to death, did you?" Ah, shit. Uma gasps and looks at me, daggers in her eyes. Mother looks at me pityingly. 

"I know you're hurting Arun. That's why I'm here." Of course you are. 

"I'll say my piece and leave. But do me the courtesy of listening. Just this once." There's that dramatic pause again. 

"I loved- love papa. I saw that man fight for 3 whole years... He was so brave." I feel that old ache in my chest open up once again. 

"We believed he would make it. He would be the one to beat it. Of course he would, right? I was there every step of the way. Every appointment, every procedure. There was no way I was going to lose this fight." For a moment, our eyes meet. I see my determination reflected there. 

"But he did lose. Long, long before he died, son. And he suffered so much. He hurt all the time, everywhere... You know, I think by the end, he was holding on by the sheer force of his will. Like that Kipling poem, remember? The one he had up by his desk?" I nod, awash in a flood of memories. The hole in my chest is a cave now. 

"If. It was 'If' by Kipling." Uma's voice. 

"Yeah, it was. That day, when I looked into that face I loved so much, all I saw was misery. All I saw was how much he was hurting. And for what? For me. Because he didn't want to leave me behind. He was worried about me. Me. When he was on his deathbed. Can you imagine love like that, Arun?" To be honest, no, I couldn't. I don't have that. I've yearned my entire life, for the kind of love I've seen my parents have. 

"I knew then that he was waiting for my permission to go. To let go and be free.

I didn't care what it would do to you or Uma or me… I put him first. Something I should've done ages ago." I watch her wipe her chin - the tears nestling in those soft folds. 

"I didn't need to possess him to love him, Arun... Did you?" There are knives in my chest now. It's so hard to breathe. 

"Please, don't punish Ananya for what you consider my sins." Oh no, you don't. 

"Love shouldn't bind us in misery, Arun!" I leave her and her wretchedness behind. I have a daughter to tend to. 

She's awake, but she isn't lucid. She whimpers so piteously. I call the nurse. She can't administer more, there's no relief for my baby. The nurse takes a seat, stroking my baby's hair. She whispers soft prayers. It is soothing. 

I wake up to screaming alarms. Ananya's little body contorts, her wrists grinding into the sheets, her back slamming into the bed. I step out and watch them work. It's a valiant effort. Never will I hear a word against doctors.

The nurse nods at me; I walk back in. 

Ananya is looking right at me. She's here, for now. The doctor is saying something about a locked jaw, but all I see are my daughter's anguished eyes. Ah, she can't speak. That's what the doctor is saying. She doesn't need words, anyway. Her eyes are doing the asking. The cave in my chest returns full force. I think about all the memories to come, that will never be. I would grieve them, but this is not about me anymore. It's about her. This is her life. Or her death. My job is to love her, as unselfishly as I can.

Relief mingles with peace as I stroke her cheek. The chest cave is... different.

It's okay, baby girl. Go, if you need to. It's okay.

I love you. 

Yoghurt Dip

 "Let's never do that again." Nicole sighed mightily, taking off those hideous heels that had been murder all night long. She spotted a smudge of that disgusting yoghurt dip on her skirt. 

"What, wear those shoes?" Said Tony. 

He wasn't even looking at her. He barely looked at her anymore. This is what happens when a marriage gets old. At least Joe had looked. He'd really looked. All evening. It was a miracle Tony hadn't noticed. Nor had Sharon. She never seemed to. 

"I really don't know why we have to keep up with this friendship. Neither of us likes either of them." She struggled out of the skirt. That yoghurt stain better scrub off. "Can't we just let them go? It's not like either of them can help us in any way…" Tony looked at her, disgust plain on his face. She felt her stomach drop. "I'm going to shower."

Tony watched her go. He rotated his neck, pulling to ease the kinks. This is what she does to me. Flopping into his favorite chair, he turned on the TV. He put on the headphones and made himself a drink. He glanced towards the bedroom and then switched channels to the Hindi shows he enjoyed. She hated them. But he found them relaxing. No demands. Just blandly pretty faces and banal storylines. It was easy. He keyed in the channel number for the news and then hit the previous button - back to the good stuff. 

This is what she does to me. In his own house, on his own TV, he needed to pretend to watch the news. Fuck this shit. His mind wandered over to Sharon. Now that was a woman. Intelligent but undemanding. An artist in the kitchen. And she didn't give a fuck about how "unhealthy" it all was. 

The scene on TV mocked him - a woman adoringly served her husband food, waited while he tasted it, and smiled in delight when he reacted. He sighed and shifted, trying to get comfy. The evening had been so great. He and Sharon had made the dip together. She licked the spoon with such delight. He'd licked it too. The others had droned on about some Netflix show, as if they were invisible. 

He was invisible. Fucking Nicole. She never looked at him the way Sharon looked at Joe. The way she had once looked at him. No, don't go there. The TV droned on, and his mind slipped into a memory of tangled arms and legs, choked sighs and sweaty, frantic lovemaking. They had been in such a hurry. It was almost as if she couldn't wait to have him. That mouth had  been everywhere on his body. She'd bit him and he'd counted them the next day as badges. It was never like that with Nicole. What would've happened if I'd kissed that mouth tonight? 

He jerked upright. His erection hurt. Fuck this. He walked into the bedroom and turned towards the in-suite bathroom. Nicole sat on the bed, applying moisturiser. She stretched her legs seductively as she saw him. "Sorry" he mumbled, "something I ate." He darted into the bathroom, locking it. 

Nicole snorted in disgust. "Must be that dip!" she called out. What a disgusting man. Does he really think I didn't see that erection? She could picture him standing over the toilet, wanking off, scrunching up his face into that stupid expression. It could kill anyone's sex drive, just seeing that face. She stopped. I'll show him. She took off her bottoms and slipped under the covers. He'd step out, and she'd ambush him. No way he'd be able to get it up now. Stupid little, sorry little man. 

It was taking him a while. I'll bet he's taking so long coz he's thinking of that fatty Sharon. Joe, on the other hand, now that man knew how to do it. He liked it rough. He'd taken her every which way. All those afternoons when her parents were out. She felt a rush of heat at the memories. She throbbed down there. She turned her back to the bathroom door and slipped her hand in, stroking. She remembered those times when he had pushed her against the wall, on the bed, on her knees… stroking in and out like a piston. She felt reamed afterwards. There had been a day when she couldn't walk right. She felt a shudder pass through her, filling her with a glow. Fucking Joe. You can still make me cum. 

The toilet flushed. Her hand leapt out and switched off the lights. She relaxed, breathing deeply. Let the fucker sleep. I don't care.

Tony cracked the door open. Good, no lights. He turned off the bathroom light and stepped out. Sliding under the covers, he peeped at her. Yep, definitely asleep. Sighing quietly, he melted into the sheets. Finally. 

The Inappropriate Wife

There were days when she really, really tried his patience. Like right now. She stood there, goofy expression on her face, arms held up like a T-Rex, swaying with the motion of the plane, stepping forward as if to start a tickle fight. Really. 

Shouldn't she know better? I'm working right now! I don't go prancing about like a moron when she's working. He turned his attention back to the log sheet, ignoring her. 

She actually roared. Not loudly, of course, but like a pretend roar. God, she's annoying. 

"Stop it." He held up a finger for emphasis. 

Suddenly, she charged, pretending to bite the emphasising finger. Oh, hell! Really. This is what happens when you marry a fucking kid. 

"Stop. It." 

He didn't know why he was laughing. This isn't funny. A passenger could walk in at any minute and see us like this! The whole world seems to think all crew do is screw. Really, this is the last time I bring her on a flight. 

She grabbed for his finger. Unsuccessfully. "Baby. Please stop." There was such a firm note of admonishment in his voice that she did. 

"Fine." She pouted. Then leaned forward and placed her forehead on his. Damn it. Shouldn't have sat down. She has the high ground advantage. 

"Babe, please. A passenger could walk in any minute."

And of course, right on cue, one did. 

"Whoops! Sorry…" she said, backing away. He wanted to sink through the floor of the aircraft, but instead, he smiled encouragingly at the passenger. "What can I do for you?" 

"A coffee... please?" She was looking at his stupid wife. He could see the questions in her narrowed eyes. His face flamed. "Sugar?" 

"Yes, please. Two." He busied himself, opening and shutting drawers. I'm NEVER bringing her on another flight with me. EVER. 

"Milk?" The passenger shook her head. She was avoiding looking at either of them now. 

I could kill her right now. He sneaked a sidelong look at the wife, expecting to see a sheepish, apologetic woman, but NO. She was looking at him, impishly. Shameless. The woman is shameless. . 

"Here you go Ma'am," He handed the coffee back to the passenger. She reached for it, but he found he couldn't let go. 

"That's my wife, actually." It sounded lame coming out of his mouth. He knew it. The passenger had to know it. 

"Oh?" The passenger was a thin, tired looking thing in an over large sweatshirt. But she brightened up at that. In fact, she could barely keep her face straight. 

"Yeah. She's coming along for New Year's Eve. We wanted to spend it together. We've never had new year's eve together" Stop babbling. "Yeah. We don't get much time together, with this job. It can be hard for couples" Oh my God. Stop. Talking.

He looked at the wife, who was, of course, being no help at all. Typical. The one time she chooses to shut up. 

"Well.., bye!" Said the passenger, skooching off, grinning. He rounded on the wife. His blood was up. He didn't want to say anything because he knew right now, he knew he would regret w-h-a-t-e-v-e-r he said. So he poured all his anger into what he hoped was an effective death stare. 

She looked SO stupid. She had that irritating face on, the one that precedes a stupid giggle fit. If she laughs right now… I swear to God… 

She laughed. Of course she did. It started out as a burst of air escaping her nose and mouth. She clapped a hand over her mouth, but then she couldn't stop shaking. She looked away, and that seemed to help for a second. But then each time she looked at him, it set her off again. Stupid. Stupid STUPID woman. What did I ever see in her? 

She continued to choke back her snorts and guffaws… and then gave up entirely. It was like watching a hyena. Her face was incapable of shutting her lips, her lungs incapable of drawing breath. She looked so stupid. 

"Oh my god. Your face!" She gasped out. Tears. Tears were streaming down her face now. She doubled over. 

"Your cute little, silly little face!" It took her a good long while to say that between gasps and bursts of laughter. 

She was pointing at him now, still doubled over and unable to breathe. 

"Oh. My. God. Your stupid little face!" And she let out another bark of laughter. 

A little guffaw escaped his lips. Why am I laughing? This isn't funny. 

"Your face is the stupid one." His voice wiggled, trying to hold back the laughter threatening to erupt out of him. His insides were aglow. 

She made another mad bark of laughter at that. She's lost the capacity for human speech. 

"You stupid, stupid woman." He took her in his arms. Why do I love this creature? He turned that stupid face up to kiss it. Full on the mouth. I just can't help it. She leaned into the kiss, the laughs morphing into something warmer. 

"Happy New Year, you silly cow." he said. She smiled up at him, mischief still glinting in her eyes. She nuzzled into him, squeezing him hard. 

"I love you too, baby". He felt those words more than he heard them. 

He just had to kiss her again. Damn the fucking passengers.