Back at the Edificio Sola’s fifth floor kitchen, the plates are still warm. The air smells like ginger soy and tamale steam. Rosa’s conchas sit half-eaten. The light hum of Xóchitl’s holo-deck filters in through the balcony. Sam let his wings stretched lightly after helping Selena with the dishes, Cuauhtémoc and Delgato just got back from taking out the trash. 

“You know… I should really clean out that hotel room. No reason to waste the taxpayers’ dollars when… I’ve already got a home.” His voice softened, pouch patted briefly, before opening it to look at the family photo inside, the robots were crouching beside Selena with Cuauhtémoc standing next to her, confidently smiling. His optics gazed over to the Sheraton hotel across from where they were. 

Cuauhtémoc’s jade feathers glinted, beak smirking. “In that case, mi amor, I’m with you.” He nudged Sam’s wing, earning a flustered coo.

Delgato, licking a tamale wrapper, purred, “It’s not a palace, but you have familia here.” Outside, Tía Rosa’s holo-pan wafted concha scents, her drone streaming #SoláSafe, while Xóchitl’s balcony holo-deck pulsed Nahuatl-techno, neighbors chanting “¡EagletDaddies!”

Sam took Cuauhtémoc’s hand, holding it tight with their talons interlacing one another before leaving the apartment. “We’ll be back M’ma.” Cuauhtémoc said.

“You two take care mijos.” Selena smiled and waved them off, Delgato grabbed a pair of military grade binoculars from his unit and went out to the balcony. Selena’s eyes widened when she saw him climbed on the railing before making an acrobatic backflip to the rooftop, surprising Xochitl mid synth beat production. 

“Buenos dias.” Delgato casually remarked before taking up observation position on the corner of the rooftop, scanning the Embassy building’s top floor, where Henderson’s observation post and TOC was located. The robot jaguar could see Henderson and Ambassador Morales arguing with one another. 

“Uh sir… I think you need to see this. Sam and Cuauhtémoc—are heading back to the Sheraton.” Carter exhaustively cradled a holo tablet over to Henderson. Suddenly, the world became an irrelevant blur to the general hysterically screamed at the horrifying, nightmarish sight of seeing Cuauhtémoc and Sam’s talons interlacing. 

“And they’re holding hands, sir. Again. Interlaced claws. Real close. There’s definite thumb work happening.” Jenkins half-heartedly said, yawning, zooming the drone view on the two eagle’s hand holding.

Henderson’s eye twitched, saliva dripping. “Hand-holding in broad daylight?! Radio the retrieval agents—detain them at the hotel, NOW!” He grabbed a comm, ignoring Morales’ protest. 

“You’re risking an incident!” She ran for the radio, trying to wrestle it from Henderson’s hands. “Do not engage. This is sovereign territory. You pull anything and we’re in violation of—”

Henderson adamantly tried to push away and shouted into the radio headset. “Team Charlie: Apprehend the Target. Repeat: Apprehend both assets. Neutralize emotional bonding. I want hearts broken and hands separated!” 

“Uh… sir… we got a problem…” Jenkins hesitantly uttered, catching Henderson’s attention who then ran back. He saw Delgato perched like a smug jungle cat bare chested, holding up a pair of high-powered binoculars, licking a popsicle slowly like it was a dramatic soap opera reveal. He caught Jenkins’ eyes through the Embassy’s surveillance camera. “… he sees us…” Jenkins saw Delgato held up a sign that said ‘#YoureOnNestflix.’ 

“WE’VE BEEN COMPROMISED! CURTAINS DOWN! CURTAINS DOWN, PEOPLE!” Henderson panicked, trying to get curtains down, covering them up. 

“Sir, with all due respect—this is not Fallujah. It’s a wedding pregame and a sushi lunch.” Carter replied with a resigning sigh. 

Over at the Sheraton Hotel’s sleek lobby bustled with activity. Sam Spade and Cuauhtémoc appeared relaxed—undeterred, cool, and in step with their own romantic rhythm. Until it was interrupted by the southern drawl voice from the nearby mini-bar. “Is it hot in here, or is my future husband about to marry a communist birdbot?”

A blonde southern belle wearing a pastel peach or buttercream yellow vintage A-line tea dress, cinched at the waist with a bow—so sweet it hurts. Ruffled. Lace trim. Floral embroidery, probably with little bald eagles. She had a pair of white gloves that she refused to take off, and a wide-brimmed sunhat with a patriotic red-white-and-blue ribbon.  

Her perfectly applied eyeliners were beginning to smudge when she saw Sam and Cuauhtémoc holding hands. She raced for Sam, tucking up her dress with one hand, trying to cling to his left hand. As Sam and Cuauhtémoc moved through the hotel lobby Gracelynn trailed behind, trying to hold Sam’s hand at every opportunity but kept missing as he was holding Cuauhtémoc’s.

“Sammy, remember the barn wedding? The Liberty Bell choir? You said I made you feel like a McDonald’s commercial!” She recited her line, earning an amused snort from Cuauhtémoc.

“Is that girl okay?” A bystander whispered, visibly disturbed.

“Grace, I’m someone’s promise. But it’s not yours.” He coldly uttered to her, all the while she tried to trail him to the receptionist table, where the holo concierge asked “Are you two checking out?”

“No! No, they’re just… uh… colleagues in Christ!” Gracelynn awkwardly laughed, deep in denial. 

“Moving in officially?” He asked, seemingly enjoying the relationship they shared as much as anyone else. 

“Sí, oficialmente” Cuauhtémoc stated confidently, at this point, Gracelynn fell to her knees as though a spear impaled her guts. To rub salt into her emotional wounds, she saw them smiling and exchanged subtle glances as they disappeared into the elevator up to Sam’s room. 

Room 512 was was a sterile contrast to Solá, typical luxury accommodation, king size bed for two yet only Sam slept in there. As Sam packed, optics twitching at the content in his duffle bag and luggage, Cuauhtémoc teased, “Freedom fries in the mini-bar?”

“Nah, just ghosts,” Sam muttered, his optics flickering at the folder in his duffle bag before zipped it up.  

Delgato perching on the rooftop corner, scanned Reforma with binoculars, purring, “Gringo’s moving.” He alerted over their comms when he saw squads of men-in-blacks with tell tale poses, suits, shades and ear pieces walking into the hotel lobby. 

Cuauhtémoc nodded in reaction while glancing over the the window to see some of them were approaching. “Esta bien, check out in good time.” 

Solá’s neighbors sprang into action. Mateo, in the courtyard, hacked the block’s drone-net, scattering Henderson’s signals, his jaguar-drone posting #RaidRumble. Tía Rosa’s holo-pan livestreamed, “¡Protect our águilas!” trending citywide. Xóchitl’s holo-deck blasted a remix of Henderson’s “gay deviance” rant, courtyard tiles flashing holo-jaguars. Luz, on her balcony, wove a neural-linked rebozo, its hum calming Selena, who whispered, “Familia stays.” 

Mateo’s drone-net jammed the men-in-black AR glasses’ HUDs, static sparking “eval error.” Xóchitl’s techno pulsed through the lobby, scrambling their comms.

As the two eagles headed back down to the reception desk, the concierge there was presented with the checkout paper, he smiled and took the paper. 

“Esta bien senor, we’ll get it done in a moment.” The concierge happily replied.

Gracelynn clung to Sam’s side, trying to insert herself between him and Cuauhtémoc. “Sammy, eagle boo, I’m sure we can work this out. The whole thing with the nest… I’m pretty sure a little good ole’ fashioned fixer-upper with Patriotic boost will make it worth living.” She asserted. Much to Sam’s frustration.

“That nest… was a horror house. And I’m not going back to it, ever.” He let out a guttural growl, disturbing her to the point the constitutional cherry lipsticks began to lose their gloss. 

“I count five agents. Two behind the potted palms. One pretending to read a travel brochure. Two at the café ordering nothing.” Cuauhtémoc whispered to Sam, maintaining their cool while the agents were positioning behind them. 

“I clocked six. You missed the guy with the folded copy of ‘Wholesome Weekly.’” Sam countered, the agent holding up the magazine sank lowered into his seat with the magazine covering his face. 

“He’s just sad. But still counts.” Cuauhtémoc said. As the holo concierge handed them their receipts hard copy and wished them well, the agents bolted from their positions to surround them.

“Hold it right there!” Agent Marla called out. “Sam Spade! Cuauhtémoc! You are in violation of—of—the National Sanity Security! Halt immediately!”

Cuauhtémoc remained unamused and deadpanned. “Darling, I think they’re mad we didn’t leave a tip for heteronormativity.”

Sam grinned in return, “Let’s give them a tip now: never underestimate committed queers in peak cardio shape. You thinking what I’m thinking?” He asked, playing coy.

“First date skyhigh.” Cuauhtémoc slyly winked.

“Committed queers?!” Gracelynn panicked.

Sam and Cuauhtémoc took off, luggage backpacks bouncing, as they sprinted up the fire escape. The agents follow but were not built for this level of cardio or drama. One of them even slipped on the room service tray. Gracelynn was trailing behind trying to keep up as her dress became increasingly worn and tatters the higher they went. 

Delgato and Xochitl were observing from the Sola as Sam and Cuauhtémoc were climbing their way to the Skybar of the hotel’s 11th floor. “You’ve got six floors. Make it to the sky lounge. Winds are good. I’ve got pozole warming.”

“Pozole and a sunset? You spoil me, Gatito!” Cuauhtémoc spoke with a gleeful smile. 

“Let’s make it spicy.” Sam added. They bursted through the doors, crowds gasped as cameras trained on them as they ran for the balcony railing. Beneath them was the golden promise of CDMX sprawls. Cuauhtémoc and Sam held each other’s arms, readying for their jump, the two traded smiles and nods. Just as the agents came up to the sky lounge, trying to catch up, the duo jumped off with their wings unfurled, they flew back across the streets to the Edificio Sola to the triumphant sound of Xochitl’s beats and Henderson’s collapsing scream.

Gracelynn came up to the loung and grabbed the railing, and screamed “MY EAGLE BOO!!!” She collapsed to her knees, weeping at the sight of her world and promise collapsing, flying away further and further. 

Sam and Cuauhtémoc flew together in perfect formation. Their shadows passed over rooftops. Children pointed upwards, drones recorded them before they landed in front of the Edificio Sola. “How’s that for a first date, mi detective?”

“I like your style, mi amor,” Sam replied with a beak nuzzle with Cuauhtémoc before the two returned to the triumphant welcome of Edificio Sola, trading high fives with Matteo, Tia Rosa, and Luz before trading fist pumps with Delgato and Xochitl.