Clairy reached out, her hand almost making contact with the front of his shirt before he shook his head. “I do not require you to pretend otherwise,” he assured her. She had made it clear from the very beginning that she loved her family with her entire being, and while she might not wish him outright harm, that did not mean that he began to compare with the people related to her by blood.
Her hands had obeyed him at first, but eventually settled anyway, clasping gently at the fabric, tugging and pushing in a strange conflicting tension.
What did she want from him?
But a single look in her eyes indicated that the disagreement was within herself most of all, and she finally rested her head against his chest, disallowing him the pleasure of ascertaining her more poignant emotion through visual assessment alone.
Inconvenient to be sure, but it was not disagreeable to feel part of her pressed against him.
A true embrace would mean that his hands would come to her shoulders, that he would coax her forward with gentle pressure, until suddenly there was a great deal more of her against him. But was that what she wanted? Or was she content with her forehead being the only point of contact as she successfully hid her eyes from him.
“I don’t know how to answer that part of things,” Clairy admitted at last, though she did not move from her chosen position. “I don’t know how to reassure you when... when I’m not certain I could make that choice. Not when it’s such a hard one.” A roll of her head, and a peek through wet lashes until a lone eye settled on him. “But I appreciate that you’d be willing to come with me. I don’t... I don’t know if I could bear if you just dropped me off and ran away, and I had no way to contact you or... or know if you were all right, or if you were keeping out of trouble or...” a sniff, and he realised that she truly was crying, and he could not imagine why.
She really should keep disposable cloths at the ready if she insisted on leaking tears at every turn.
His thumb would have to do for now as her wardrobe was not so vast as to make it worth ripping off a piece of her clothing to tend to her more immediate needs.
He’d done it before, but now was not the time.
“Is all that to indicate that you care for me in return?” he asked, unable to quite keep the disbelief from his tone. Surely he had misunderstood, though he liked to think he was of relative intelligence. Clairy was not one for plain speech, however, and it was possible her intention had been muddled through her disorganised mind and vocal patterns.
A fervent nod and a choked, “Yes,” as if the admission was pulled from some deep place that was reluctant to release it.
He was not about to speculate as to why that might be.
His hand came and settled on the back of her head because he was reminded of their time in the environmental shafts, when she had needed to be held and...
And he had wanted to be the one to do so.
He wondered if she would turn to him for such things when she was surrounded by family. He wondered a lot of things about what life would be in such a colony. It would be legitimate work, and that was more than most would offer given his lack of background information.
And he was not about to be truthful with an employer.
The thought of having one at all disgruntled him. He enjoyed his freedom, answering to no one, able to disappear at a whim, to change course and alter his destination based only on his own desire.
He glanced down at the head still buried in his chest, and realised that was all a fabrication. It had not been like that for a long while. Clairy had her say, and he was better for it. His first thought was always if she would be pleased with his choice, if it would earn him one of her genuine smiles or a scowl.
And he found that he did not mind.
She wasn’t a master.
She was his friend.
And if he could show her the logic to his reasoning, she would even be his wife before long.
“Then I find your argument to be flawed,” he began anew, his thumb tracing the wheedling through her hair to find the back of her neck, pressing lightly and tracing access codes into the flesh he found there. “Your refusal was based on the erroneous assumption that I did not care for you, and I have disabused you of such misinformation. And, by your admission, you care for me in return. So what possibly could be the basis of your continued refusal?”
She choked, and he nearly used his hold to pull her back so he could see if she was in need of medical assistance, but the sound came next, a gentle laugh buried amongst her rasping tears. “What are we going to tell my parents?” she asked, and that was not an outright complaint, so he perceived he was gaining ground.
“The truth,” he answered, and she looked up sharply in alarm.
His other hand skimmed her cheek, reddened and blotchy either from her upset or from her crushing it against the unforgiving fabric of his garment, he was uncertain. “That we came to know each other aboard the vessel that saved you. And that we decided it was better to be together than apart, so when we went to return you to your homeworld, it was decided I would stay.” He canted his head slightly. “Is that not truthful?”
A smile, real, though rueful. “In its way,” she allowed. “Mama is going to think this is very romantic, you know. She’ll corner you first chance she gets to try to get all the sordid details. Did it to Camter when he came home and said Ishta consented to be his wife. Wouldn’t let him leave for his shift until she’d pried it all out of him.”
“A dangerous method to attempt given what you have stated about the restrictions of your colony.”
That part troubled him. He could not promise that her home would remain that for the rest of her life, not if it truly was oppressive as she made it seem.
But regimes could be overturned.
The Project certainly had been.
His facial muscles made that odd pull, but he knew better than to grow concerned, certain now that it was the involuntary reflex to smile that caused them to behave so strangely.
Perhaps Clairy’s homeworld required liberation.
He could help with that.
“I would say that... that we don’t actually have to get married, you know. You’re very intimidating, and if anybody questioned if it was real, I doubt they’d confront you about it.”
She was chewing at her lip again, almost as if she regretted making the suggestion in the first place.
“You wish to deceive your parents in such a way?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“No,” she agreed. “Just trying to think things through. I... I want us to do this because we want to, not because it’s a solution to a problem.”
His thumb drifted over her lip and pressed lightly until she yielded, allowing it to be freed from the torment of her teeth. “We have already established that it is otherwise. You do not need to continue to fret over a decision well made.”
“Made, is it?” Clairy asked, a lilt in her voice that suggested she might be teasing him. “I don’t remember agreeing. All I did was ask for some clarification.”
“You are very cruel,” Cydrin informed her, only partially meaning it.
Clairy sighed and turned her head, her attention drifting back to their little stowaway. “All this doesn’t really mean anything if we can’t find that couple of yours. I already told you that I’m not leaving her parentless.”
Cydrin eyed her carefully. “You doubt my abilities?” He could not promise that he would find them quickly, but there was no question that he would do so. At least to him.
Evidently Clairy did not share in his confidence.
“No,” she murmured, almost sad in her admission. It should not surprise him that she was troubled by some of his capabilities, not when she largely disapproved of what he had been made to do—and likely even more so by what he had chosen to do with them. But he felt no need to hide them from her either, pretend that he was different than he was simply to please her.
Although he was fairly certain that w
ould be a great deal easier.
“All I’m saying is that she could be with us for quite a while yet. And... and I’d like you to be all right with that in the meantime.”
Her eyes returned to his, wide and beseeching. Did she know what stirred in him when she looked at him that way?
She took a breath, as if bracing for something. Perhaps rejection, perhaps for him to remind her yet again that she chose the responsibility of that child while he certainly had not. “I’d like to think we’re in this together, even if it wasn’t your first choice. Because... I’m not keeping score, but I think I’ve done that for you, if you’ll remember.” Had he given her reason to believe he would not? That some traumatic brain injury had taken place without her notice? “And... and I’d like to think that someone who is asking to be my husband would like to do that for me in return.”
He did not know the particulars of what she was asking of him, and he was reticent to make any form of agreement without a formal explanation of responsibilities and expectations. But another, softer part that had not existed until Clairy knew that it did not matter.
That she asked, and he would agree.
A dangerous precedence to be sure, one that should make him resent her and her powers over him.
And maybe he would have, if she wasn’t so...
Clairy.
Good in ways that he could never dream of being. Fair and kind, nearly to a fault. Unfailingly polite, even to a brute such as him.
“I will endeavour to be helpful while she is under your care,” Cydrin assured her, as close to a promise as he could give.
And when Clairy smiled at him, he supposed it was enough.
“Thank you,” she breathed, closing the small distance between them and holding on to his shirt again. It would be crumpled from her ministrations and would doubtlessly require time in the laundry cycler, but he supposed he did not mind.
And he did not mind it when she was suddenly a little taller, presumably the result of the additional inches provided from standing on the ball of her feet rather than the heels.
She was looking at him with a peculiar glint, as if purposed and shy at the same moment. He did not know her aim, though her hands moved to the back of his neck, a slight pressure suggesting she wanted something of him. “If you wish me to participate in some way, I am afraid I do not know your end goal.”
It was evidently the wrong thing to say for her cheeks flared red and she hung her head, although she did not take a step backward, which he supposed was a positive. Whatever she desired was clearly stronger than the intense bolt of mortification he had elicited in her, although it had not been his aim.
“I wondered...” she began, slightly mumbled and the words begrudgingly given. “I wondered what it would be like to kiss you.”
The thought had not occurred to him, and he wondered at her sudden urges to have her lips upon his person—first his cheek, and now presumably his lips. The act of course had come up frequently in his research on marital joinings, so it was not a shocking one, but he could not say that he had spent a great deal of time imagining he would engage in it.
But it was pleasant enough to have her so close. And if he had applied to be her husband, then it was only reasonable of her to presume he was interested in some of the more physical acts that accompanied such a title.
He was not disinterested.
It simply hadn’t occurred to him that she would need or want anything of the kind.
He was taking a great deal too long to decide on what to say in response, and the look of disappointment on Clairy’s face was not the reaction he desired from her.
“I am unpractised,” he warned her, deciding it was better to admit a lack of experience than allow her expectations to be too grand.
Her relief was nearly palpable, her smile warm as she regarded him. “That’s all right,” she assured him. “I’m actually... glad.” She eyed him worriedly, though he could think why. “Is that bad? I just... I figured that if you’d had many kisses before now, they wouldn’t really be your choice, so... I’m glad that...”
This subject was a distasteful one, and he did not wish to dwell on the particulars of his past when he was attempting to embrace a wholly new experience. Perhaps it would have been better to have silenced her with the press of his lips against hers, but he did not wish to be too forward, so he utilised his finger instead. “If you wish to kiss, then we shall.”
He allowed his hand to rest against her neck, his thumb pressing lightly so he could feel the fluttering staccato of her pulse. She was nervous.
Maybe there was a part of him that was as well, even if he did not have the physiological markers. He wanted to please her. Hoped especially that this was not some test at to his suitability as a husband.
“But you want to, too?” she asked, and he wondered why her tone suggested that was something terribly important. “I don’t... I don’t want you to just do things for me because I want to do them. That feels... terribly wrong, somehow.”
She was fretting, and about something that was entirely unnecessary. While he perhaps could allow that it would not naturally have occurred to him to suggest such exchanges, that did not mean that he was not... intrigued at the prospect of them.
Although if he was honest with himself, he was wary of it as well.
If they attempted even more personal acts, perhaps even to coitus itself...
And he learned that the Project had robbed even more from him...
He could not kill them twice.
Once would have to be sufficient, for what they’d taken from him.
What they’d taken from all of them.
He did not want her to presume her interest was one sided, and although he would have preferred her to be the one to instigate such an act, he was afraid that her constant need to speech would have them standing there for ages without accomplishment.
And surely the infant would wake soon and then Clairy would be gone.
So with that in mind, he closed the distance between them, uncertain what to do with his mouth, but deciding that surely having his mouth simply pressed firmly against hers was what was required.
She was warm and pliant, and he relished the small squeak of surprise that she emitted at his action.
Should he be doing something?
He wondered.
Her lips began to move. Coaxing, in its way, and he wondered if he was meant to mimic the action. Or maybe she was attempting to talk through their kiss, and he should pull away or...
She pulled away first, her eyes soft as she looked up at him. “Stop thinking so much, Cydrin,” she entreated, the fingers of her left hand coming to drift over the skin of his cheek.
He was not in the habit of putting aside thought in favour of... what? Feeling?
Surely she could not be thinking of emotion, as he considered himself forbidden from reminding her that he was not in possession of any of the sort.
So when she initiated another, he thought she referred to the sensation of touch, of the way her pulse increased even further under his thumb as her lips moved, of the gentle pull as he allowed his lips to meet hers, to move gently against hers.
The warmth of her as she was pressed so firmly against him.
His other arm moved to hold her about the waist, almost of its own accord. As if by action alone he could prolong their exchange, keep her close where...
Where he decided he quite liked her to be.
Not distracted with other things—either a neonate, or a family that missed her, or a Project that was not quite eliminated.
Just Clairy and Cydrin.
And if kissing could be so consuming that the rest of things fell away, if only for a little while, then it was an admirable pastime, and one he would encourage.
When they parted, Clairy was breathless and looked at him with more warmth than he had ever thought possible from her. Most especially for it to be directed at him.
“That was lovely,” she admitted
with a laugh, reaching out to squeeze his hand.
He said nothing, a strange tightness in his throat making speech inadvisable.
But he added pressure to her hand in answer.
For he quite agreed.
20
For all the faith that Clairy had that Cydrin would find the couple he sought, she did find it surprising that it was not with his usual ease and immediacy. She found him in the upper level many times, staring at charts and maps, silent and thoughtful as he pondered where they might be, and she would leave him to it, slipping back downstairs with her squirming charge in her arms.
Despite her efforts, it was impossible not to grow attached to the little thing. It was different than with her siblings, when her helping was perhaps a duty, but there was always the option to say no—assuming she did not mind her mother’s ire if she refused.
But now...
It was not her baby, if Cydrin was correct, would not be at all, but she had needs that had to be met, and Clairy had to be the one to do it. She did not resent it—unless she was particularly tired or Cydrin made some passing comment about spit up fused to her shirt or her hair that needed tidying.
Then she resented it a great deal.
However, that was also the moment he chose to accept the infant, allowing her to take her time in the ‘fresher and promising that the child would still be alive when she returned.
She had almost told him that was a foolish thing to say, as even he could not control everything, but she was too grateful to quarrel, instead escaping before he could change his mind.
The most difficult part of all was trying to keep from naming her. It felt wrong for her to go without, but Clairy was all too aware that in the near future—or perhaps not so very near—she would have to surrender her. She would go to her real family, the one that would raise her and enjoy the privilege of giving her a name, even if... even if they had not been the ones to save her, to choose her, to go through quite so many formulations of bottles before finding the one she liked best.
Cydrin had been the one to suggest altering Clairy’s usual selection, as apparently it was not ideal for her to possess quite so many bubbles in her stomach and bowels. It had been the first time he had offered any sort of insight or opinion, and while at first instinct insisted that he knew nothing of the matter at all and that she was doing fine, she realised that perhaps he was not solely dedicating his time to hunting down the brute and the woman with him.
Designation 261 (The Wholeness Project) Page 28
