She didn’t stop smiling even after Assistant had fled from poetry into the thick of the garden. Assistant had changed everything. Ari hadn’t wanted her here, but now her life before seemed sterile and lonely. She didn’t ever want to go back to that.
It was true that Ari didn’t know much about the world, as Assistant had said over and over again. But she did know that having Assistant around made her happy—happier than anything else ever had. Happy enough that she wouldn’t trade anything for the experience.
A feeling like that had a name.
And it only seemed right to let Assistant know, to tell her how much Ari valued—treasured—her companionship. Pirate slaves probably weren’t told that kind of thing very often. Assistant had lost her parents when she was very small and didn’t remember much about them. Maybe nobody had ever told her that she was valued and treasured.
Or loved.
Ari could relate. She couldn’t remember the last time anybody had told her that, either, certainly not since her mother had died. Her father showed he cared through actions, not words; he didn’t even sign birthday or holiday messages with “Love”—just his name. It would have meant the galaxy to her as a young girl to hear her father say, “I love you.” How much more would it mean to someone raised among murderers, whose instincts were to kill at the first sign of a threat?
Maybe Assistant didn’t love her back. Not yet, anyway. But she must care, at least. Otherwise why would she still have those bruises on her wrist that hadn’t faded after three days? The evening afterward had been so pleasant, too. They’d teased each other, and though Ari hadn’t been up for sex, Assistant had allowed Ari to hold her hand when they went to sleep, the better not to hurt her side with the usual embrace.
I’ll tell her. Ari swallowed hard as she looked back at the datapad, not focusing on hummingbirds, or on anything but this idea that refused to let go of her. She doesn’t have to say it back. I just want her to know. She needs to know.
So, that night, after Assistant had given her the usual tender, sticky kiss, Ari struggled to get her breath back. Then she said, “You remember that poem from earlier today?”
Assistant rolled off her with a faint groan. Yet again, she had refused Ari’s touch, but maybe that would change now. “How could I forget bird bones?”
“It wasn’t about birds, and it wasn’t about bones.” Ari hadn’t meant for her voice to sound so tight or so nervous. She was usually relaxed and happy when Assistant had driven her out of her mind before holding her close. At least her quarters were completely dark tonight, so Assistant wouldn’t be able to see how nervous she probably looked. “Those were metaphors.”
“Metaphors. My favorite. For what?”
Ari swallowed. “Well, taken in context, you see, the bones symbolize death.”
“You don’t say?”
Ari elbowed her. Did she get to make this declaration or not? “And loss. The poem means that it’s better to—” To love. Say it. “To…have something meaningful and lose it, instead of never having anything meaningful at all.”
“‘Better the bones’,” Assistant mused. “So, you’d prefer to have dead hummingbirds than none? That doesn’t sound like y—”
“I’d rather have you,” Ari said.
Silence. Maybe the absolute darkness wasn’t such a good thing after all. What did Assistant’s face look like? Ari couldn’t quite get up the nerve to roll over and turn on the lamp.
“Have me,” Assistant said.
“Well, yeah—I mean, no!” Shoot. “Not like that. Not like own you, I meant I’d rather have you here with me. Because I…” Say it, say it. She could hardly bear to voice the thought. It had seemed easier in her head. “I love you, you see.”
Assistant’s body went very still. Tense. Ari did, too; she couldn’t help herself. She’d been right about one thing, though, she certainly hadn’t sounded like a poet. But she had gotten to the point, which Assistant should appreciate.
Oh gosh, and she’d forgotten to add something absolutely essential. “Of course—”
“I doubt it,” Assistant said.
“Huh?” What was that supposed to mean?
“People often say things like that post coitum.” Assistant stroked Ari’s hair. “Think nothing of it.”
Oh. Assistant thought it had just slipped out of her because she felt so good. That seemed like an easy fix. “No, no,” Ari said quickly. “I’ve been thinking about it for days. I really do.” She considered. “What if I tell you again tomorrow morning?”
“No,” Assistant said, her voice surprisingly sharp. “I suggest that you don’t.”
“Oh.” Ari’s heart was turning into a cold lump. So much for this going over well. She really had to say the second thing. “Listen, I don’t expect you to—”
“You have no idea what love is,” Assistant said, and Ari’s eyes went wide in the darkness. “You don’t know.”
“What?” Ari tried to sit up, but Assistant’s arms, as strong as ever, continued to hold her down. “What do you mean? Why shouldn’t I know?”
“How could you? I’m the only person you see. Of course you’re attached to me. This is an infatuation.”
Infatuation? Ari cringed.
“No doubt it feels real enough to you,” Assistant added. “But don’t get too carried away.”
“Carried…” Ari hadn’t felt this hurt since Assistant had accused her of being a recluse. “H-how do you know how I feel? You aren’t me.” She heard Assistant take a breath, ready to say something, and added, “That’s an awful thing to say to somebody.”
“You don’t—”
“And if you just listened for a second, I’d tell you that I don’t expect you to love me back.” Was Ari going to cry? Oh no. That would only make things worse. She sounded too strangled for her peace of mind when she added, “I don’t expect anything. I just wanted you to know, I wanted you to hear me say it. That’s all, just hear me.”
Assistant sounded wary. “Ariana—”
“What’s wrong with being told that you’re loved? I’d think it would feel good!”
In the darkness, Assistant took in a sharp breath. Then she said slowly, “You’d think?”
Ari froze against her. She’d said more than she’d meant to, and Assistant never missed anything. “I meant—that was rhetorical.”
“No, it wasn’t. You think it would feel good, but you don’t know. Is it what you want to hear from me now?”
This time, when Ari struggled away from Assistant, she meant it. She shoved with all her strength, and Assistant let go with a surprised-sounding oof. “I don’t expect anything. I never have. I just wanted to tell you—that’s all. It doesn’t have to change anything.”
“You don’t even know me. You know nothing about me. You have no idea—”
“Just because you won’t tell me! But what do you mean, I don’t know anything about you?” Ari sat up and fisted the sheets in her hands. “I might not know everything, but I know some things. I know you like praying mantises, and having sex with me, and Q’heri, and you’re funny sometimes, and…”
“That is hardly a basis for—”
“And I know sometimes you can be horrible! Like right now!”
Then Ari put her hand over her mouth. She certainly hadn’t planned to say anything like that tonight. How had it all gone so wrong, so fast?
“You know I’m horrible, do you?” Assistant asked, a definite edge to her voice. Ari heard her sitting up too.
This was ridiculous. She turned around and fumbled in the darkness until she found the lamp by her bed. When the room filled with soft light, she turned back to scowl at Assistant, only to find Assistant giving her a cold look that Ari hadn’t seen on her face in a long time.
If she is dangerous, Ari’s father had warned, what seemed like an eternity ago. Ari should have listened. Yes, Assistant was dangerous, in a way he could never have anticipated. This woman with the cold eyes could break Ari’s heart into pieces i
f she wanted.
“Not always horrible,” Ari managed, trying to keep a lid on her temper. They both needed to be reasonable about this before Ari’s heart did, in fact, break. Why had it gotten so complicated? Why couldn’t anything ever be simple and straightforward where Assistant was concerned? “I mean, most of the time you’re really ni—” Nice was not correct. “You’re only horrible sometimes, and everybody is sometimes.”
Judging by Assistant’s expression, that hadn’t been the right thing to say, either.
“Oh, shoot. I’m sure I am, too—”
Assistant ground her jaw and looked away. “I’m going to my alcove.”
“What? No!” Ari said. “What’s going on? Why are you upset? How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t need you to say it, too.”
“Good.” Assistant rose from the bed. Her face was flushed, though whether that was from anger or sex, Ari couldn’t tell. Her silver forelock dangled over her brow, a stark contrast to the black hair Ari loved running her fingers through. It was one of the few parts of Assistant she’d ever been allowed to touch. Assistant had her arms down by her sides, but she’d curled her hands into fists.
“Because I’m not going to,” Assistant continued.
Ari’s heart fell. She hadn’t realized until now how much she’d sort of been hoping that Assistant would after all.
“Because I don’t,” Assistant said. “Because love is not what I know. In the world of pirates, loves makes you stupid. Love makes you weak.”
“But you aren’t with the pirates anymore!” Ari leaned forward, clasping her hands. She was stark naked, and Assistant’s slave tunic somehow seemed more impenetrable than armor. “You’re with me!”
For some reason, Assistant’s lips pulled back over her teeth for a second, just as they had when she was furious at the guard. Only a second. Then she said, her voice hoarse and brimful of rage, “I know!” She whirled on her feet and stalked to the door, her hands still clenched into fists. The door hissed open.
It had taken Ari far too long to get enough breath to speak. She managed to croak “Wait,” but Assistant was already gone without another word as the door closed behind her.
Ari didn’t move. Everything in Assistant’s face and body had warned her not to follow. Ari had never seen her so angry. She’d never seen anybody so angry. Why?
She flopped back down on the bed while her heart hammered in her chest. Why so angry, indeed? Ari could only think of one thing—Assistant might be tired of Ari’s constant reminders that she was safe here, that she never had to go back to Mír’s crew. Maybe it sounded like Ari was trying to lord it over her instead of being a friend and protector. It was just so hard to figure her out, and Ari didn’t have the best insight into the subtleties of social cues.
Assistant usually knew what Ari meant, even if she expressed it clumsily, but she seemed to have missed the mark tonight. By a lot.
Realizing she was trembling, Ari slid beneath her blanket, alone for the first time in eleven nights. Only eleven nights after twenty years of solitude, and sleeping alone already felt unnatural.
So much for love.
~ ~ ~
The next day, they didn’t say anything about it. They ate both breakfast and lunch separately. Assistant didn’t make advances to Ari in the garden, or the kitchen, or the bathroom, or anywhere else.
This might or might not have been a good thing. On the one hand, Ari was still working through the bizarre fight they’d had the night before, and she wasn’t sure she even wanted advances; on the other hand, everything felt wrong today. She and Assistant should either be working in companionable silence, or talking about gardening, or Assistant should be listening patiently while Ari chirped at her, watching her with that odd affection.
Or pouncing lustfully on her. Either one.
Assistant always did the pouncing. She didn’t want to be touched, so Ari was sure she didn’t want to be pounced on, either—especially given her usual reaction to being surprised.
She’d sure seemed surprised last night, though. Assistant hadn’t thrown a punch, but Ari had felt winded all the same. Now, after hours of the silent treatment, her anger and confusion were beating a retreat, and she was left only with the urge to apologize to Assistant. That was unthinkable, though. Why apologize for loving somebody? How was Ari supposed to see the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her as something she ought to be sorry for?
But they couldn’t go on like this, either. One of them had to say something. Assistant never would. Surely, she’d said her piece last night by insisting that Ari didn’t truly love her and that she didn’t know anything about love herself. The second thing explained the first, since Assistant obviously wouldn’t recognize love if it bit her on the ankle, but there didn’t seem to be anything else for her to say on the subject.
Ari should have predicted that Assistant might not say anything, but she would most certainly do something.
They did eat dinner together because Ari couldn’t stand another silent second. She wouldn’t take back her confession of love, but she could apologize to Assistant for making her uncomfortable with it. Say she hadn’t meant to. Maybe that would be enough and they could go back to normal.
She didn’t get a chance. The words kept sticking in her throat. Then, in the middle of dinner, Assistant threw down her spoon, stood, and pulled Ari out of her chair. Ari gasped, but Assistant silenced that with a hard kiss. Then another.
Ari wrapped her arms around the woman she loved and kissed back with her whole heart. Kisses seemed to solve everything.
She’d never known that before.
When they stopped for breath, she gasped, “Um…I—”
“Hush,” Assistant said roughly, and dragged Ari to her alcove without another word.
They hadn’t done it there yet. They had a tacit understanding that the alcove was Assistant’s space alone. But this evening Assistant pressed Ari down on the narrow bed, muttered, “Here—yes—in here,” and did her very best to devour Ari whole.
And tonight, Assistant—who was usually very quiet, compared to Ari—moaned while Ari writhed beneath her, growled when she had her hand between Ari’s legs, hissed and sighed as she took Ari’s nipples in her mouth. She made Ari come again and again, melted her right into the thin mattress that felt as heavenly as a cloud.
And when Ari was whimpering with exhaustion and sensory overload, when she just couldn’t take any more, Assistant kissed her and whispered, “We do not need love, you and I. Do you see?” She kissed Ari’s throat as hungrily as if they hadn’t been going at it for over an hour. “Don’t you understand?”
“No,” Ari whispered. But then, before Assistant could get any ideas, she grabbed her arm and said, “That’s okay, though. I mean, I, I don’t mind.”
She did mind. But what could she say? She couldn’t make Assistant love her. She could only make Assistant not want to leave their bed in the middle of the night. And Assistant liked her, anyway, which was better than nothing.
Anything was better than nothing. That was practically a scientific truth, wasn’t it? And she’d had nothing before, so anything was better now. It was perfectly simple.
“Good.” Assistant finally gave her the usual gentle kiss. “Good,” she repeated softly, and stroked Ari’s hair.
Ari tried to be as happy as she’d been twenty-four hours ago. Her love confession hadn’t exactly gone as she’d planned, but now she could see that things could have been a lot worse.
Then Assistant said, out of the blue, “Did you ever send your letter to that botany magazine?”
“Huh? I mean, no,” Ari said, nonplussed. “I got a little, er, distracted.” She paused. “By you.”
Assistant chuckled. “Do you still have the draft?”
Ten minutes later, they were curled up on Ari’s bed, Ari resting her head on Assistant’s shoulder while Assistant made suggestions on how to write an extremely nasty letter. Ari refused to follow all of them—she e
specially thought the insinuations about Dr. Phylyxas’s parentage were inappropriate—but by the time they were done, they had a letter that she never would have written by herself, but which she had to admit was both accurate and cutting. As it happened, Assistant had quite a lot to say on the subject of “pillaging,” as she called it.
“Am I really going to send it?” Ari asked breathlessly, her fingertip hovering over the ‘Send’ key.
“If you’re not, I am,” Assistant said. She took Ari’s hand in her own and bore gently down on it until Ari, laughing, hit the key and watched their letter go flying off into the Infonets, toward a junior editor at Botany Today.
“Oh, wow,” she said.
“I couldn’t have put it better myself,” Assistant replied.
~ ~ ~
They were at opposite ends of the garden three days later. Assistant was bedding down some Filas mnthali while Ari checked on cambrensium. His weekly nutrient infusions were going well, and his grafts were taking excellently. She remembered the first time Assistant had helped her with the infusions—she always did, whenever she worked with cambrensium—and blushed yet again, thinking of Assistant’s legs. She hadn’t realized what she was feeling, not exactly, not then. But in hindsight it seemed so obvious. And just thinking about it now, she got the usual little tingle between her thighs; the little shiver up and down her spine.
“Are your grafts coming along?” Assistant called, and Ari almost jumped.
She thought about saying that the grafts were fine and maybe they could have sex now. Assistant might not like being pounced on, but she loved it when Ari made the occasional suggestion or overture. But for some reason Ari didn’t reply today. She wasn’t sure why she was being so quiet, or why her heart had suddenly started thumping pleasantly.
“Ariana?” Now Ari could hear the frown in Assistant’s voice. “Where are you?” She sounded puzzled, and maybe even a little concerned.
Ari got a warm glow that had nothing to do with sex. Maybe it had a little to do with love.
She heard a faint rustle. Assistant standing up.
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