by R. M. Olson
“I’m not sure that I have a choice, at this point,” said Ivan wryly. He paused. “But—I would have come anyways. I don’t like what Masha did, but she’s right that Gregory needs to be dealt with. And—well, I’ve never liked the idea of the pleasure planets.”
Tae nodded, and Ivan chuckled. “Go on. Get some sleep. All our problems will still be here in the morning.”
Tae chuckled reluctantly as well and stood. “Yeah. ‘Night.”
“Goodnight, Tae.”
He walked slowly into his room. It would probably hit him tomorrow, all those people they’d killed. Masha’s betrayal. The fact that they were now being hunted by Grigory Korzhikov, with all that entailed.
But right now, right at this moment—he was mostly just glad he wouldn’t be doing this alone.
Tanya’s face was set, her head turned away, hands moving restlessly. Ysbel sat down heavily on the bed in their small room and watched her, and something in her chest hurt a little.
“My love,” she said at last. Tanya’s shoulders tensed, and for a moment, Ysbel didn’t know if she’d respond.
Then she turned, and Ysbel stood and caught her, and Tanya, for the first time since Prasvishoni, relaxed into her embrace. Ysbel held her and closed her eyes, burying her face in Tanya’s hair.
“Ysi,” said Tanya at last, her voice muffled in Ysbel’s shoulder. “I’m—sorry.”
Ysbel pulled back slightly. “Sorry for what, my love? There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
“I’ve been so frustrated, and it’s not—it’s not your fault, I—”
Ysbel took her by the shoulders, gently. “My love. My Tanya. I’ve been so caught up in keeping you safe, you and the children. I forgot you don’t need a protector, you can do that on your own. You need a wife.” She paused, and gave her wife a small smile. “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I have forgotten how to be married to you. But—I would like to remember, if you’re willing to give me a chance.”
Tanya met her gaze this time, and with a jolt, Ysbel realized there were tears in her eyes. “Ysi. My heart.” She broke off, and Ysbel pulled her back into an embrace.
“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” Ysbel whispered. “I should have noticed sooner.”
“I—it’s been so long, Ysi,” said Tanya, her voice choked slightly. “I lost you for so long. And you were so alone, and I was so afraid that I’d lose you again—”
Ysbel pulled her closer. “Listen to me. I have loved you for as long as I can remember. What we built, my love—if it wasn’t strong enough, it would have broken a long, long time ago. It’s strong enough, I think, for you to be angry with me sometimes. If I remember, you’ve been angry at me before, and I’ve been angry at you too. And—” she found, suddenly, that she was blinking back tears of her own. “And Tanya. No matter how angry I have been, or how stupid I have been, I have never for one moment regretted marrying you.”
Tanya raised her head and looked up at her, tears glistening in her eyes. Ysbel ran her hand gently through her wife’s hair, marvelling at the familiar feeling of it, the feeling she’d once thought she’d lost forever.
“You can be angry at me, my Tanya,” she whispered. “You can be whatever you need to be. And I will try not to be stupid, although we both know that will be difficult. I will keep trying to learn to be your wife again. To be whatever you need me to be. And we’ll figure this out.”
Tanya nodded, wiping her eyes, and Ysbel leaned forward and kissed her, gently. And Tanya kissed her back, and for a moment she could hardly breathe at the terrifying, desperate gratitude that she was here, holding this woman she loved.
Yes, Masha had betrayed them, and yes, because of that every member of their crew was in mortal danger and would be until they carried out Masha’s sting. And yes, somehow she was going to have to find a way to stop that woman—kill her, perhaps.
But somehow, she was here, holding Tanya—and it would be alright.
Lev sat up abruptly, and tipped his head back against the wall, closing his eyes for just a moment.
He couldn’t sleep. He could hardly force himself to stay still, and in the back of his mind he wondered if this was how Jez felt, all the time.
And then the thought of Jez sent his thoughts spiralling again, over and over and over, and he couldn’t seem to stop them.
Jez, laughing in the pilot’s seat of the Ungovernable as they were hurled, out of control, through space.
The look in Masha’s eyes as she’d told him, calmly, what he’d already begun to guess, but hadn’t wanted to believe.
Jez pressed up against him in the lift, the restless, unbearable ache of her body against his.
Fifty people. Fifty lives with that explosive. He’d been the one to trust her. He could have told Jez any of the airlocks, but he’d listened to Masha, believed her. He was supposed to be the smart one, the one who could see through the traps. But he’d trusted her, and that had blinded him. And the worst part was, he wasn’t even sure, if she’d told him—he wasn’t completely sure he would have made a different choice. If she’d told him, told him exactly what was behind airlock two, he might have still typed the same coordinates into the ship’s com, and sent them over to Jez. And then it would be Jez looking at him with that expression of shocked betrayal.
He banged his head gently against the wall. Damn it to hell, he just needed to get some sleep, he just needed to be able to stop his brain from spinning out of control.
He just needed to stop picturing Jez every damn time he closed his eyes, stop feeling her lips on his so clearly that he’d open his eyes again to see if she was really here, stop the lightheaded dizziness of her absence, the aching need for her here, with him, somehow making sense of everything that didn’t make sense anymore.
He shoved himself to his feet and paced across the room, but walking didn’t seem to help, it just set his mind spinning faster, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could bear it.
Finally he stopped, resting his forehead against the wall, and swore softly.
He shouldn’t do this. He knew damn well he shouldn’t, but then again, after the last few weeks he wasn’t even sure who he damn well was anymore.
He hesitated for a moment more, then he tapped a number into his com.
Ljubika answered almost instantly. She was awake, he knew she would be, because she’d told him her shifts, and he was pretty sure she’d be off soon.
“Hello?” she said. “Lev?”
He managed a slight smile. “Hey Ljubika. Are you alright?”
She laughed, that low, pleasant laugh he remembered from his days back in government. “I survived, anyways. I still don’t know what happened, but they seem to have got it back to normal now.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” His smile felt a little more genuine. He paused a moment. “Um. Ljusha. I—I have a room upstairs. Would you—how would you like to come spend the night? For old time’s sake?”
There was a moment’s pause. Finally she said, quietly, “I’d—like that. I’m just getting off my shift, I’ll be up in a few minutes.”
Something like shame twisted in his stomach, but he shoved it down. “I’ll send the room number to your com. There’s a main room, knock when you get in.”
When she’d tapped her com off, he went back to pacing for a moment.
Damn it to hell. Damn everything to hell, the point was if he didn’t stop thinking about bloody Jez he was going to lose his damn mind.
Ljubika knocked on the door a few minutes later, and he opened it.
She was pretty—she’d always been pretty. More than pretty, really. And there was an air about her, a slightly-cynical amusement he’d always enjoyed, and he found himself smiling at her without even trying.
She came in and shrugged off her jacket, dropping it in a heap in the corner by the door and revealing a loose white shirt underneath. “Just got off work shift, and I didn’t take time to go change,” she said, with that teasing, slightly-amused smile he remembere
d so well. “So. You’ve become quite forward in your old age.”
He smiled back at her and reached out, running his hand along her jawline. “I don’t believe I was particularly shy last time we met, either.”
She laughed and slid her hand around his waist. “True enough. I always liked that about you, Lev.”
He closed the distance between them, and she smiled up at him, and damn caution and everything else because he couldn’t handle it right now, he couldn’t handle any of it.
He grabbed her and pulled her up against him and kissed her roughly, and she returned the kiss enthusiastically.
Her body, pressed against his, was wrong somehow, curvy where it should have been angular, soft where it should have been hard with wiry muscle, but her kiss brought the blood pounding through his head hard enough that he didn’t have to think about anything else, and that was all he was looking for. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling his lips down to hers, and her fingers fumbled at the buttons of his shirt. He loosened his grip on her long enough to let her slide it off him, then pulled them both down onto the couch, rolling her on top of him, ignoring everything but the feeling of her body, her lips on his, her hands clasping the back of his neck, and it was almost a relief not to have to think. He slid his hands up her back, under her shirt, and she moaned in pleasure.
And then he heard a small noise at the door, and he glanced over.
Jez stood in the doorway, staring at him, face bloodless, expression stricken.
She stood there for a moment, then turned quickly and disappeared.
And despite the warmth of Ljubika’s body, the pull of her lips on his, he felt suddenly very, very empty.
Because the thing was, she wasn’t Jez.
And he didn’t want to be with anyone who wasn’t Jez. He couldn’t be with anyone who wasn’t Jez.
Gently, he broke off the kiss. Ljubika gasped and tried to pull his mouth back to hers, but he pushed her gently off him and sat up.
She looked up at him in confusion, and he tried to smile.
“I’m—sorry,” he said.
“Lev?” she asked, frowning, her voice still breathless and thick with desire.
He dropped his head into his hands and forced himself to breathe in.
“Ljusha. I’m—sorry. I’m so sorry. I—I can’t.”
She was staring at him, and the hurt in her face cut him.
Slowly, he reached down and picked up his shirt from where it had fallen, and slipped it on.
“Lev,” she began uncertainly. “Did I—Perhaps I misunderstood—”
He shook his head.“No. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s my fault, and only mine. I—I’m sorry.”
He stood and reached down to help her up. She pushed herself to her feet, ignoring his hand, and as she turned, he saw tears glistening in her eyes. She didn’t meet his gaze as she pulled on her jacket and left, closing the door behind her. He watched her go, leaning his head against the doorpost, sickness churning in his stomach.
Damn Jez, and damn him, and damn this whole damn night.
He wasn’t sure how long he stood there before he heard the click of a door opening behind him.
He didn’t have the energy to look.
“Lev.” It was Ysbel, and finally he did turn. She was watching him, an appraising expression on her face, and maybe with anyone else he would have tried to smile, but somehow he knew she’d see through it.
“Sit down,” she said, gesturing at the table. He did as she asked, and she sat down across from him.
For a long time, neither of them spoke.
Finally, she shook her head. “Lev. That girl didn’t deserve what you did to her. You are being stupid, and you need to stop it, right now.”
He dropped his head into his hands. “I know, Ysbel,” he said quietly. “I—I’m not sure I know how.”
“You are very smart,” she said heartlessly. “You’ll figure it out.”
They were silent for a few moments.
“What would you have done, Ysbel?” he said at last. “If Tanya had never come back from university in Prasvishoni. If she’d come back, but told you she didn’t want to be with you. What would you have done?”
Ysbel gave a small snort of laughter. “What should I have done? I should have moved on, found someone else, got married, forgot about her.”
“That’s not what I asked,” he said, still watching her.
She gave a reluctant smile. “You’re right. It’s not what you asked.” She paused a moment, and her eyes had a faraway look. “So, what would I have done? If she’d told me she wanted nothing to do with me, I’d have respected that. Because I love her, and I couldn’t love her and not respect that. But—if she’d wanted me to be a friend, instead? Perhaps a babysitter for her children, or the person she called when she needed to talk? I’d take that, Lev. I’d take it with all my heart. Because even if she was never going to be with me—I would infinitely prefer a life with Tanya in it to a life without her.” She looked back at him, that soft smile still on her face, and for some reason, he had to choke back a lump in his throat.
Finally, she pushed herself to her feet. “Think about it,” she said. “Think about what you want. And—I’m not as easily hurt as all that, if you need someone to shout at. Also, I will shout back.”
He smiled, reluctantly, and she smiled back. Then she walked back to her room and closed the door.
It was late, too late, probably. But he sat at the table for a long time, staring at nothing.
I would infinitely prefer a life with Tanya in it to a life without her.
Jez had said she was crap at relationships. It appeared he could give her a run for her money on that score.
Hell, he was crap at friendships, apparently.
But—
But he would infinitely prefer a life with Jez in it to one without her. And maybe—well, if that was what it took, maybe not being crap at friendships was a skill he could learn.
Jez drained her glass and put it carefully down on the table.
She wasn’t particularly drunk yet, but she was getting there as fast as she damn well could.
The woman sitting beside her lifted her own glass to call a server over. She turned and smiled at Jez. “This one’s on me.”
Jez grinned back.
They’d been sitting at conversational distance when they’d started. Now they were much closer than two people who didn’t actually know each other had any right to be, and the woman’s fingers were trailing down Jez’s back, one leg thrown casually over Jez’s lap. And Jez’s hand, which had started at the woman’s knee, was now resting half-way up her thigh.
She figured they were about three drinks away from getting a bottle and going back to the woman’s room. Jez was pretty sure her companion had told her her name earlier that evening, but Jez had forgotten it a couple drinks back. Still—
Well, she figured getting completely smashed out of her mind and having sex with someone whose name she couldn’t remember was probably a pretty reasonable way of dealing with her life at this point.
Anyways, it didn’t matter. Every time she closed her eyes she could see Lev, half-undressed, tangled together with that girl, whoever she was. And it was a good thing, and it was exactly what Jez had wanted to happen. And Jez could always find someone to sleep with if she wanted to bad enough, so it was all good. It was all exactly what she’d wanted.
She had to choke back a sudden sob.
She wasn’t damn well drunk enough. She wasn’t sure she could get drunk enough, no matter how much she drank.
“Jez? You alright?” asked the woman, turning to her in concern.
Jez blinked hard and pasted on a grin. “Yep.”
The woman raised an eyebrow at her, smiling, and nestled in closer, and Jez watched her.
She looked—nice, actually.
She looked like, besides being hot and apparently available, she was actually a nice person.
Like, maybe the kind of pers
on who would hurt, when she woke up and found that Jez had slept with her, then taken off, like she always did.
And suddenly, she couldn’t do it anymore. She just couldn’t, because hell, she’d hurt enough people, and maybe it wasn’t until she almost walked in on damn Lev that she realized how much it could hurt.
And this damn woman, whatever her name was, actually looked nice, and Jez couldn’t do that to her.
She pushed back her chair, moving the woman’s leg from her lap gently. “Hey,” she said, trying to hold onto her grin. “I—guess I’ve probably had enough for the night. But—thanks. It was nice sitting with you.”
The woman smiled up at her. “It was nice.” She paused. “Give me your com number, if you want. I’ll call you. I like you, Jez.”
“Yeah.” She held out her com and tapped it against the com on the woman’s wrist. “See you round, probably.”
She held onto her smile until she made it out of the gambling hall. Then she sank down against the corridor wall and put her face to her knees.
Maybe she was more drunk than she’d thought.
She sat there for a few minutes, the world spinning slightly around her. Then, finally, she pulled out her com.
“Tech-head?” she whispered.
“Jez?” He answered a moment later, sounding half-asleep and worried. “You alright? Where are you? Are you hurt?”
“I—no. I just—I think I need to go home.” Her voice sounded small and lost, even in her own ears.
“Give me a sec,” said Tae, sounding slightly more awake. “I’ll get Ivan, we’ll be right there. Send me your location on the com.”
And she’d staggered home drunk plenty of times. But somehow it was different with Tae and Ivan there, walking beside her. And they didn’t yell at her, or cuss her out, and when she finally broke down and sobbed pathetically, leaning against Tae’s shoulder, he didn’t even seem to mind.
Tae walked her to her room and helped her to her bed. She dropped onto her mattress, and after a moment, he sat beside her.
“You want to talk about anything?” he asked quietly.
And hell, if she’d been sober she probably would have pasted on a smile and told him she was fine. But she wasn’t sober, and she wasn’t fine, and she pulled her knees up to her chest and dropped her head into her arms and sobbed out the whole damn story.
