2005-10-16 - 8:16 p.m.

At this moment, the candles are burning steadily on the table I’ve set up here in my lab. Their flames lean to the left, an enchanting effect brought about by the circulation vent on the rightmost wall.

Spinning through space, the massive ball of ice and rock is older than mountains, and, indeed, probably has mountains on it. Having circled our yellow sun for ages beyond reason, our path through space and its own have finally come into synch.

The food is almost ready; I make some last arrangements to the table. Salad fork, diner fork. Three spoons. Two knives. I hope I did this right- I know how much details matter to you.

I fold your clothe napkin into a swan and place it atop your empty water glass. I hope you find it charming, or at least cute.

It wasn’t easy getting a formal dining table in the lab, what with it being a Sunday and no one but me still being in the facility. But my work needs me, and I can spare little time away. Our world needs me. You need me.

But I wouldn’t miss our anniversary, my dear. Never.

Until tonight, I’d hardly ever used the kitchen area out back. I’d subsisted on preprocessed snacks and whatever you brought me during my work.

I hope I chose the right wine for the meal. You chill white and serve red warm, right?

My thoughts drift towards the comet. Spinning as it is, we have to time a missile strike perfectly to knock it off course, rather than blowing it to countless pieces that would rain down upon our wor- enough about work. I have time still for calculations. Tonight is our own.

I’m wearing a suit. The only suit I have. I love watching you stifle laughter when you see me in it. My tail always pulls my shirt up in the sides when it moves for balance. Whoever designed men’s formalwear wasn’t a velociraptor.

The food is ready.

I hear the elevator descending; you’re here. I quickly remove my spectacles and put them in my breast pocket. I want to take them out and snap them open when you come in the room. You always say I look sexy putting on my glasses.

The doors open and out you step. My, you’re a vision. A sweeping gown that seems to lay on you like a cobweb sheet. Cobweb, because you always hated the word “gossamer.”

Your hands, tucked up against your chest, both hold on to the handle of your purse. Adorable. Your shoes are simple and elegant, with your slicing claw resting daintily atop them.

I have no words to tell you how much better you look than this explains. I simply stare as you enter the room, looking at me. I take a step forward and stumble over a chair. You laugh.

Damn presbyopia. My glasses, I need my glasses. Flustered, I pull them out and put them on. Why did I take them off?

Then I look up, and see one delicately clawed hand covering your mouth, holding in a torrent of hysterics. But your eyes. Your eyes smolder with longing. We’ve had so, so little time for each other.

Vision restored, I continue forward, and you come to meet me by the table. I take your hand in both of mine and gaze upon your soft, leathery scales.

“I’ve missed you, my Mireille. I wish every night could be like this,” I say.

“If only,” you say, drawing yourself close to me. “Your work will be done soon enough, my four-eyed claw foot. And then we can always be together.”

I hold you close. Tomorrow, I will wrestle an ice giant from his celestial trajectory, and throw him helplessly into the blackness of outermost space. For you, I am strong enough to do this.

But this night is our own. The food on the table is warm, the candles are lit, and a pack of dino-condoms awaits. Tonight belongs to us.

-fader