It was not a subject they broached often. For him it was a reminder that the work had not fully been completed, and for her...
She had admitted to him that she wondered if he would come to resent her. For taking him elsewhere when his true desire was to see to the annihilation of an evil that had done him so wrong. Had done so many wrong.
But as he had helped care for their little stowaway, he had, perhaps, in the smallest measurement, understood that they had done good for people as well. Fulfilled their promises and granted biological children to those who otherwise would have none.
It did not make it right. Did not make it worth it. But he would no longer pretend that there were not some who had benefited from the Project.
And his hatred for them was slight and easy to ignore.
“I have not altered my thinking, no,” Cydrin assured Clairy, finding the sight of her in her huddle of blanket oddly endearing. “Although I do wish there was more evidence that something was being done about it.”
Life with Clairy had not softened so completely that he wanted the survival of an entire facility. He had soothed himself in the darkest moments, when he had wavered and considered a detour to visit the place, that Remy would handle it, would guide the investigators to what they needed to see.
That all would come out right even if he was not the one to initiate it. In bloody and satisfying ways.
Clairy hummed lightly, releasing her hands from their fabric prison, before she began tapping at the computer. She clearly enjoyed her privileges—or perhaps they were her rights—and it pleased him to see her comfortable enough to use them, although he was curious as to her intentions.
Where she intended to look was remembered, and she brought the page to the main viewscreen.
Where once she had made their appointment that allowed them to infiltrate the second facility now was emblazoned with the galactic authority’s emblem.
Their practices under review.
Their assets seized.
Those with legitimate medical requirements would be contacted directly.
Clairy blinked at the screen before her attention shifted to Cydrin who continued to watch it with...
He did not quite know what.
He supposed there was some measure of relief, that something was being done. But investigation did not promise prosecution. And how many would flee, would escape justice through careful bribery or simple access to a vessel faster than the galactic council issued to their men?
“Well done, Remy,” Clairy announced, still glancing at him every few moments. “Yes? This... this is what we wanted.”
No. It was what he’d accepted, but his wants were entirely different. And he would not pretend otherwise.
But... perhaps it would be enough.
He finally turned and met her gaze. It would have to be enough.
Because she deserved a life that included more than endless time aboard ship, lies and deceit tainting every transmission with her family.
And somehow he doubted she would be so eager to accept the proposal of a man who was determined to remain a killer.
And... he was growing rather fond of the idea of being married to her.
And it was quiet enough to shift his priorities in ways he had never thought possible.
Or even agreeable.
Yet they were. When plans for larger beds seemed more pressing than ending more lives, no matter how deserved.
“It will do,” Cydrin allowed, reaching out so her hand would settle into his, just as it knew it would once he offered.
A gentle pressure was added to his hand, a reminder of her presence. As if he could ever forget it.
“I’m sorry it wasn’t more,” she murmured, and he wondered if she truly meant that. He could not imagine her being regretful of witnessing fewer horrors, or watching the man she loved utilise his skills precisely for what he was trained to do.
He wanted a change of topic, before they settled in to more morose subjects that threatened to cause tensions between them.
“You placed something in the infant’s blankets before surrendering her. What was it?”
From the way Clairy immediately looked away and very nearly pulled her hand from his as well, perhaps his chosen subject would not meet his previous criteria in avoiding tension. “Clairy?”
She coughed a little, using one hand to huddle back into her blanket as best she could, and she looked down at the hand he refused to surrender, as if slightly betrayed that it had not re-entered the cocoon as the other had done.
Curious.
“I don’t want you to be cross with me,” she admitted when he continued to stare at her expectantly, unwilling to allow the matter to drop now that she’d had such a reaction to its presence.
“You are fortunate, then, that I do not become so.”
Another one of her laughs, incredulous yet affectionate in tone, and he still wondered why comments such as that should bring about such humour to her.
“Yes, of course,” she agreed aloud, although her expression indicated she was not being truthful.
He rubbed his thumb across the back of her knuckles, trying to reassure physically what she had not accepted vocally.
She bit her lip, watching his attentions to her hand. “You will tell me eventually,” he reminded her. She always did, even when she feared his apparent mood at the end of it.
“I suppose,” she acknowledged with a grimace. She glanced up at him before she stood, and he wondered what could possibly have been so terrible that she would choose to flee downstairs rather than discuss it with him.
But rather than break away, he found her drawing closer, choosing to settle in his seat rather than her own.
Evidently forgetting that he was already positioned there.
“Clairy...” he began, trying to ascertain what had failed in her faculties that she should have made such an error, but she hushed him and wriggled, evidently trying to find a comfortable way to sit while his body was trapped between anything that would actually make it so.
When she settled, her body close and his arm clasped behind her back to offer her the support that her own chair should have done, he supposed it was not a dreadful position.
Although the use of his legs would likely be impeded, and his reactionary times would be stunted since he would be required first to situate her properly.
But if she desired closeness... he supposed he would not begrudge her for it.
He very nearly prompted her to again answer his enquiry, but thankfully she blurted her transgression before he needed to do so.
“I didn’t want to disappear without the possibility of contact. Of... hearing how they’re doing and how... how she is doing. I wanted to know that she’s happy and thriving and...” she was very close to crying once more, he had seen quite enough of her tears within too short a period.
“You gave them the coordinates for transmission,” he finished for her, his hand moving lightly along her spine, trying to communicate without words that he was not angry with her for it. It had not occurred to him to supply any such thing, but it was not unwise to have formed such a connection. Not when it meant an ally belonged in the universe, and he had few enough of those already.
“I don’t know if they’ll use it,” she admitted, her lip wobbling, but it stabilised well enough when he brought his head down and placed a kiss there, distracting her from her woes, if only for an instant. “But at least they can if they want to.”
“From what I have witnessed of our charge’s new mother, she will want to,” Cydrin assured her, confident in his assessment.
Clairy offered a watery smile. “I hope so.” She glanced down at the flooring and released a deep breath. “So I didn’t... I didn’t make a mistake? Didn’t put us in danger?” Her eyes came back to his, apologetic and worried. “I should have asked you first and made sure it was all right.”
Probably. But she was testing the bounds of her new freedom, and of the methods she coul
d have used, this was not one that would bear too many consequences. “This ship was created for stealth, and its communications are encrypted. It will receive transmissions without allowing our location to be tracked.”
Clairy eased back against him, losing tension he had not realised she’d possessed. “Good,” she breathed. “But I am sorry I didn’t tell you that I was going to do it.”
His hand drifted to her shoulder, tangling in her mess of hair and pulling lightly, tangles yielding at his touch. The wind had not been kind to it, but he would help as he could. “I would not be averse to conferring with you about such decisions in future,” he acknowledged, accepting her smile as a subtle victory against the guilt she apparently harboured.
Another of her laughs, light and easy. A pleasant sound, although he was not certain why he amused her so.
“I do love how you speak,” she answered his unasked enquiry, turning to place a kiss to his cheek. If she lingered in such a position any longer, he would assume she was waiting for him to initiate a kiss to her mouth.
And perhaps he acted a little more quickly than was strictly necessary, lest she depart before his excuse had been removed.
He did like this. This... kissing. And maybe he even decided that perhaps he was not so displeased with her faculties if they should have led her to such closeness with him and such ready access to her mouth.
Perhaps not everything was as he would like it to be. There were still people guilty of many evils still alive in the world that should not have gone without a fuller sense of justice.
Their destination was imperfect, the society built upon codes and dictates that, politely put, were distasteful.
But with her nestled so close, as he experienced the sweet exchange that came from two participants very much in love...
The timing was right.
And Clairy was happy.
And he...
If he was capable of such a thing...
Then he was too.
When inevitably they had to cease their efforts in favour of recovering their normal breathing patterns, Clairy’s smile was bright. And he believed it was a positive indication that she was equally pleased with the exchange when she placed one more kiss upon his cheek, an arm coming out from beneath her blanket to hug about his neck, as if eager to participate in holding him in return.
He had never expected this. Never expected her.
And he did not want to imagine what he might have done without her.
“I love you,” she reminded him, as if he would have forgotten in such short a span since her last declaration.
“That is pleasing to hear,” he complimented, and he wondered if he had done wrong when she rolled her eyes, even as her smile remained bright.
“I love you,” she continued, “and that is why I am going to do this quickly before you can work yourself up with all the reasons why you don’t want to.”
She shimmied, her fingers tapping quickly, the transmission sent before he had time even to remove her from his lap.
They had not practised for this. Her lips were reddened and ever so slightly swollen, and she was still seated on that which was not truly a seat, and they had not discussed any of his fabricated history and...
The transmission indicated it was connected with their recipient, and Clairy turned to face him, her thumb smoothing across his cheek, down to a mouth pressed into a firm line of displeasure.
“Just trust me,” she urged, her eyes holding promise that all would be well.
And despite the instincts that screamed at him that he was inadequately prepared, that she was far too confident in the reaction of her family...
He did.
He had guided her through far more tumultuous situations, ones he had no business taking her into. Not really. Beyond desire for a companion, for someone to provide the conscience and emotions that had been robbed from him.
He could do this in return.
The transmission created a successful connection, and soon Martna’s face appeared. He was uncertain of the time on their planet, but Clairy did not seem concerned, and any hint of tiredness was pushed away when she took in her daughter’s features.
And then her eyes flickered to his, surprise evident.
But not the censure he’d expected.
Not the suspicion and derision.
That was a start, and more than he’d expected.
Clairy cut in before her mother could make any enquiries, her smile just as bright as it had been, if not even more so.
“Mama?” Clairy began, a catch already in her throat to share news long desired even as her hand twined about his, clutching tightly. Perhaps for his sake. Perhaps for hers.
He did not particularly care, grateful for the contact. Always grateful when it came from her.
His Clairy.
“We’re coming home. And... and there’s someone I’d like for you to meet.”
Also by Catherine Miller
The Wholeness Project
Designation 932
The Deridia Series
Mercy
Trade
Thrall
Additional Works
Remnant
Destruction of Obsession
A Rose in Winter
A Civic Duty
A Nymph Without Mercy
The Making of a Lady
The Phantom’s Witness
Designation 261 (The Wholeness Project) Page 32
