John stepped out of the teleporter. The change in the air between Berlin and New York confused his senses for a second, as did the shift of natural light. Neither distracted him enough to keep him from moving though.

The Transport Station on top of the Palace was a much larger version of its outposts. Fashioned from dark wood, the pavilion-like structure had a roof of bronze and golden tiles, Baelementium and Elementium respectively. Aside from the dominant main platform, there were also two smaller attachments. All of them shared the same design philosophy. Most importantly, all of them had the blue, glass-like floor that was the actual teleporter.

Stepping out of the Building, John was greeted by Aclysia with one of her fluid, little bows. The weaponized maid was the only one waiting for him, not that the Gamer had expected anybody else. “Whenever you have the time, I need you to take a look at the carpet in the living room,” he told her, pointing over his shoulder. “Lydia and I made a bit of a mess. Not too bad, but you know how this goes.”

“Of course, Master.” She simply nodded. “Do you wish to take a quick shower?”

“Would be awkward if I didn’t… well, I would feel awkward,” John responded, imagining sitting at the negotiation table with his dick recently having been in someone’s ass. There wasn’t any filth that remained on there, but it was still bad etiquette. “So yes, I am getting Scarlett afterwards. Should be quick enough to catch the flight, right?”

John had already calculated in his head the amount of time he had for everything. The schedule wouldn’t have worked even remotely if they didn’t have a teleporter that brought them directly to the airport. Just for reaffirmation, Aclysia nodded and, after a moment she spent thinking, followed the Gamer. “The stains can surely wait,” she simply stated when John threw her a questioning gaze.

One quick rinse in the shower, and a corresponding handjob, later, John was already on the roof again. Then he and Aclysia teleported over to the Fusion Trade Tower. Although Jeremiah had wreaked havoc on the stairways and some elevator shafts, the thing was still mostly intact. Especially those floors he had been conveniently able to bypass. Courtesy of Scarlett making the parts she didn’t want him to snoop around in the easiest to traverse.

Thanks to that, the teleporter had gotten away unharmed. From there, it was as simple as turning to the wall and entering Scarlett’s apartment through the opening she created. Except that, today, the wall stayed closed.

This immediately concerned John and he pulled his eyebrows together. ‘Is she sleeping or…?’ He kept his thoughts to more likely and less threatening causes for this uncharacteristic delay. He had received messages from her up to four in the morning, including when she went to bed. Although it was unheard off that the Technomancer slept more than eight hours, if even that, she had had a very stressful day yesterday. Maybe that was enough to knock even her out for a little bit.

As likely as that may have been, John’s trained inclination towards doubt made him too worried to just let this go without investigation. Especially after he dropped her a text message through his phone and got nothing in response. While he didn’t need Scarlett for the peace deal, she was supposed to be there as a representative of Amacat. Another layer to the lie they told the public about who she was. The redhead would have never missed out on her own plans, not even for sleep.

John let his hand glide over the wall. The wooden panels seemed inconspicuous, boring even, but he knew better. His fingertips soon noticed a miniscule bump in the otherwise smooth surface. It could easily be mistaken as a minor production error. From that bump, his hand trailed two panels downward, causing him to crouch. On that panel, he looked for a slash on the surface, another minor thing that could have a much more likely cause than wanted design. He found it, counted the number of slashes with his fingertips, then went that number to the left in panels.

That one, he pressed with his entire hand, providing an equal distribution of force. After five seconds, the panel gave just the tiniest bit and there was a clicking sound. John removed his hand and then the suddenly loose panel. Behind it was a safe. There were two codes for this one. One would open the safe itself, revealing a number of faked, important looking documents. That was the bait for anyone who could have gotten this far on accident.

The proper code, the one John punched in now, was the emergency entry option for Scarlett’s living quarters. John had insisted for some options like this to exist. Turned out it already did, he just needed to be given the proper instructions.

The machinations in the wall moved slow, compared to the swiftness that Scarlett’s guidance spurned them onto. Soon enough, the large room came into view behind gears and pumps. John and Aclysia stepped through, and after exactly ten seconds, the wall closed behind them.

Despite the four months he had known her, this was the first time he went in there and didn’t see her immediately. Most of the time she was behind the desk, the rest she was walking somewhere else around that massive hall, tinkering with some construction that she hid in the walls and under the floor. This also meant that this was the first time John walked towards those doors on the opposite wall that led into the actual living areas.

Now he just waltzed towards them, only stopping himself when he stood right in front. In case that she actually was sleeping, he didn’t want her to wake up to the sound of him bulldozing his way into her private chambers. As such, he opened the door carefully.

The smell of cold smoke wafted in his direction, causing Aclysia to let out an unappreciative sound. “Exactly this is the reason why she isn’t allowed to consume cigarettes indoors,” the weaponized maid whispered while they got in. It was cramped, long hallways leading to tiny rooms. All the machinery had to get its room somewhere and it clearly came at the cost of this segment. Everything was semi-clean. That was to say, there was some clutter left here and there, but generally the surfaces were clean. Really, the smell that stuck to the wood was just about the only thing that could be filed under unpleasant.

It was also rather clear that these rooms weren’t used as often as they had once been. The cupboards and other surfaces had a clear look of abandonment to them. Rings from formerly placed down pots or glasses paid testament to those things missing, having likely been moved to John’s own apartment. While Scarlett didn’t stay with him every day, the trend towards moving in permanently with him was clear. Really, she only stayed in this area to work or sleep directly after work. Also to drink.

At the very end of the hallway, having passed the kitchen and bathroom, John found the bedroom. He heard Scarlett before he opened the door, a muffled sobbing coming through the door. At that point, he threw caution to the wind and just burst in. “Scarlett?!” he almost shouted as he entered the tiny bedroom. It was hard to miss her, sitting cuddled up under the blanket, staring at her smartphone.

“Hey John,” she greeted him with a weak voice, sniffing, with tears rolling down her cheeks. “You are exactly what I fucking need. Cuddles, now!” That was not what he was expecting when he burst in there, but he obliged in a hurry. He had never seen the Technomancer cry, so he gave the situation a certain gravity.

Quickly, he got on the bed and, when she offered, under the blanket with her. She was naked, but he kept his hands off her lady bits and just held her like a good man should when consoling (one of) his girl(s). For a moment, he thought whatever was on the screen was the reason for her sadness, but it turned out to be the first episode of Spongebob Squarepants of all things.

“What’s going on, Scarlett?” he asked as gently as possible. Even Aclysia looked worried, closing the door of the windowless room. The artificial light from the lamp above kept everything illuminated properly.

“Drop,” she answered with a sniff and then giggled as if she had just said something ridiculous. Not quite sure what she meant with that, John blinked quizzingly a few times. “Sub-drop, sorry…” she elaborated. “Like, what we did on your birthday was too good apparently and now…” suddenly there were new tears rolling down her cheeks, “…and now biology just decided I am feeling unfathomably sad and everything fucking sucks because of endorphin crash or something!” Her voice got way too loud for what she said and John just held her.

“I didn’t know this could happen to you. I am so sorry,” he stated, holding her tightly. Certainly, he had read up on the topic beforehand, stumbling over it when researching other things about BDSM activities. Apparently, submissives could get quite a bit of a high out of being abused, and if that high lasted too long or ended too abruptly or if it was just a bad day for these things, there could be an emotional crash afterwards. For purely biological reasons. Burning through high amounts of endorphin and adrenaline simply had its side effects.

Not that there never could be any psychological reasons, but Scarlett didn’t seem like she was suffering from any guilt over her position in the bedroom. That would have been a paraphilic drop and a much bigger reason for concern.

While doms could also experience all of this, it was a whole lot rarer.

It hadn’t been a problem John had encountered so far. The only one he treated as rough (or rougher, a lot of the time) than Scarlett was Eliza. While the blood mage had her own basket of issues, needing to worry about biological complications like this wasn’t one of them. As such, John had simply forgotten about this being a possibility. To be fair, Scarlett hadn’t had this issue ever before either. The birthday orgy simply must have pushed things further than usual, which was a very fair statement to make.

“Not your fault.” Scarlett was surprisingly reasonable, despite her state. Still, she couldn’t stop crying. Which only made things worse. If there had been a cause, they could have talked about it and tried to solve it. As it was, this was more akin to a clinical depression. Nothing logical could immediately solve it. “Just too much fun and the stress from yesterday, I think… do you have a… I can’t even think of the word… paper thing for nose…”

John reached into his inventory and retrieved a package of tissues, opened it for Scarlett and let her pull one out. She did her best to dry her eyes, then blew her nose. At the very least, she stopped crying for the moment. She also leaned heavily against his chest for support. He wanted to tell her that she should have called sooner, but this really wasn’t the time for reprimanding words. Any negativity would be amplified tenfold, so it was something for later.

Instead he just stroked her shoulder while she put the Spongebob episode back on. “I don’t even know why I am watching that,” she confessed, talking over the squeaky voice of the cartoon character. “Who even thought it was a good idea to give people depression for fucking? It’s not fair…”

“Well, when was biology ever fair?” he asked, probing how she would react to humour. “You don’t complain when you get a hangover.”

“I’d take a thousand hangovers over this,” Scarlett mumbled, pulling the blanket closer around them. “I can’t control me. Everything sucks and I feel like nothing makes sense anymore and like nothing could ever convince me otherwise.” She took a trembling breath. “I don’t even feel like myself… do you think my dad loved me?” That was an incredibly loaded question and came out of nowhere. Before John could formulate as much as a hasty answer, she already shook her head and said, “Forget it, was a dumb thing to ask,” and started crying again.

The good news was that this was not going to last. Within a day, at most, her body would rebound and the chemical cocktail that was making her like this would balance out to normal levels. Sadly, John did not have all day. After they spent some time finishing that Spongebob episode, he had to bring up the urgent topic.

“Scarlett,” he kept his voice steady and calm, careful not to give her any reason to be disturbed in any fashion. “I have to go to the peace negotiations. You know I would be gone for a couple of hours. Do you want to try and come with me or stay here? You don’t have to sit at the table, but I would at least be around for the flight. Otherwise I would have someone stay with you here… Aclysia or Beatrice or Rave, whoever you think…”

“Don’t bother with that,” she sniffed. “If I keep sitting here, I think I’ll go crazy. Why doesn’t Undine’s healing fix this, huh?!” Honestly, John had no idea. It cured hangovers. Well, it cured the pain part of hangovers. Dehydration and other such things persisted. In all likelihood, it was a problem of Undine’s healing being not yet strong enough to heal something as complicated as hormone-based depression. Scarlett laughed again, to underline this was a joke, but she also sniffed in the same breath.

Aclysia and John helped her dress by gathering her clothes for her. With the slow moves of a sick person, the Technomancer got dressed and stood up. After they had gotten her to the teleporter, she was moving more steadily. Once they were at the airport, she seemed way better. Not good, by most descriptions, she had bags under her eyes from a lack of proper sleep and her eyes were further reddened by all the tears.

All of that got them some odd stares at the airport. Including from his girls. He had Aclysia explain the situation while he continued to tend to Scarlett. This whole thing had her so scatter-brained, the weaponized maid didn’t get through the security check the first time around. Luckily, their reaction to seeing someone whose entire skeleton was supposedly metal was not to press any emergency buttons but to make her walk through a second time.

It also earned John some Gaia’s Ire, but not enough to make him feel concerned. Second time around, Scarlett successfully tricked the scanner and things moved on smoothly. Except for that one time the Technomancer suddenly ran to the toilet. Rave set on after her for that, as John hardly could. Ten minutes later both returned, with the red in Scarlett’s eyes clearly renewed. It contrasted quite starkly with the blue contact lenses she was wearing to hide her naturally red eyes.

That was the last massive attack she had, luckily. They bought some of the unnecessarily costly chocolate in the airport and, once she had wolfed that down (and yet more cuddles later), she seemed to be on the road of recovery, finally.