Bog is sitting in his house fiddling with some new implants - mostly just keeping their hands busy - when he gets a message from Henrik.

  Liebchen are you busy? I require your assistance.

  What do u need?

  I have a client, they're requesting a skin replacement - one of the new F8s. I have a lead on the appropriate implant but I may need backup.

  Bog just stares at the message for a couple seconds. He knows off the top of his head that those F8s are pretty illegal, although not quite as illegal as the implants they almost got their ass shot off for a while back.

  While he's thinking about that another message comes through.

  I'll split the fee with you, ja? the other sends, and then messages Bog a number.

  Henrik never, ever offers to split the fee, not even with Bog. He must be really worried about the people he's getting this implant from and that, along with the pay, makes the decision for them.

  Meet you at your place this evening around eight, he sends. Deal?

  I'll see you then, darling.

  Bog has as good a grasp on time as usual, which is to say that he's only mildly late. He parks his bike outside of his lover's implant parlor and hops into Henrik's hovercar. The other is dressed in close-fitting dark clothing, unusually missing the skirt he normally wears when he's not working. His long red hair is pulled back into a ponytail and he's wearing lipstick and eyeshadow to match, though in the glow of the instrument panel it looks almost black. He's not wearing his glasses today either.

  "Thank you for coming on such short notice, darling," Henrik drawls. I wouldn't want to do this alone, he means without saying.

  The demiguy doesn't want to admit that he came to keep his partner safe. "Yeah, well, it's a lotta money," he mutters. They leave the matter there comfortably enough.

  They're both armed pretty heavily - Bog carrying his standard laser pistol as well as a couple of holdout weapons concealed in his usual baggy clothing, while Henrik carries a gun of his own as well as some toxin-laden darts with a smaller, pressure-powered pistol.

  Better to be sure. Bog knows how quickly things can turn around. He's had a couple of close calls himself.

  They meet the contact on an out of the way rooftop in the Sludge Narrows. It's not Skinny Joe for once, although after what that asshole did last time Bog's not eager to meet up with him again anytime soon. The deal's almost over, the credits and implant have changed hands - and then Bog hears an angry shout from from above.

  There's no more than a moment's warning before a laser bolt zips past Bog's nose.

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  "Fuck!" he shouts, hitting the ground. Beside him Henrik follows suit, activating his emergency shield. He's really got go get himself one of those sometime Bog thinks, hearing laser bolts rattling overhead.

  "Now you see why I wanted backup!"

  "No shit."

  Their saving grace is it's dark out and Bog's already dimmed the glow of their implants, though he calls up his wings; they're almost as good as a shield if he keeps them between himself and danger. Crawling so as not to provide a visible silhouette he makes his way back to the car, implant in hand. Henrik comes up alongside him.

  "Heh, dangers of doin' business, huh?" Bog mutters.

  "Indeed. Now, I'm going to open the door and get into the driver's side, you come in after me."

  "Gotcha," Bog replies under the rattling laser fire.

  The maneuver is executed neatly, though there's a terrifying moment when laser fire impacts on his wings, jarring him to his very bones. Henrik opens the door and leaps into the car; seeing him settle in the dark Bog follows suit, scrambling into the passenger seat. Henrik doesn't wait for Bog to seat himself, nor would Bog want him to. Screaming in fear and exhilaration they shoot into the sky - with another pair of hovercars pursuing them hotly.

  Henrik guns it, acceleration pressing Bog back against the seat. "You may want to strap in, darling!" he shouts.

  "Yeah, no shit." Bog fumbles for the belt, struggles with it one-handed for a moment, then finally gets the thing fastened. "Hate these fuckers," he mutters under his breath. And it's true; they do in fact hate the way seat belts pinch. But in the next few minutes he really does see the necessity.

  Especially when they go screaming through the lower parts of the city, swerving seemingly at random to lose the cars behind them.

  "Gonna start callin' you leadfoot!" Bog yells over the whine of the skycar's engine.

  "You can call me whatever you like, just hold on to that implant, ja?" Henrik replies through gritted teeth.

  For once Bog decides to do as he's told, grabbing the oh-shit handle inset above the window. Of course he keeps watch on his device, watching the pursuers as Henrik drives like a maniac to lose them. Hell he's glad he's not prone to motion sickness, especially when the transmogrifier completely shuts off the hovercar's engine and drops twenty stories before turning it back on.

  "Fuck me," he shouts.

  "Later, perhaps."

  Bog can't help but laugh, despite the adrenaline-laced terror of the moment.

  It takes a while and Bog's not sure his fake heart's ever going to be the same. But finally, finally they're away. Or at least Bog's watch doesn't show any more pursuit.

  Henrik slows, pries his white-knuckled hands from the steering wheel. Flicks on the autopilot and just sets it to cruise for a while before settling back, breathing hard

  Bog, equally blown, tips his head back against the seat and just giggles. "Fuck me, princess, you're a hell of a driver."

  Henrik giggles too, reaching for Bog's arm. They sit that way for a while, just letting the tension drain out of themselves.

  "What are your plans for the rest of the night, liebchen?" Henrik asks suddenly.

  "Well, pretty much just this," Bog replies, holding up the implant they've spent so much effort obtaining. He suspects his lover has an ulterior motive in asking. And honestly? He doesn't mind one single bit.

  "Come over. Stay the night with me?"

  "Sounds great, princess."