An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“Hey baby,” Zaphod said into the radio. “How’s th-”
Trillian interrupted him. “Where are you?” she said.
Zaphod raised both sets of eyebrows and paused with his hand in his hair. Usually she indulged him at least a little bit.
“Well hey,” he said with a grin. “You finally ratting me out to the press, kid? How much are they paying you?”
“Where are you?” was all she said again.
(In which Zaphod is slightly too late.)
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