(This story is set a few days after Rosie and the other women decide to stay on Xentra station, but before the epilogue of The Junker’s Distraction.)
“Bad day?”
She shrugs. “Not particularly, I just…” she gestures at her empty glass. “Just needed it, you know?”
“Need another?”
I’ve been a barmaid for my entire working life. Not so many years, but enough to have a sense of when someone’s planning to nurse a hangover tomorrow. I don’t even need my Knowing to know that’s where Clarissa’s head is at.
“Need is the word,” she says, confirming my feeling.
I pour her another. “Maybe take that one a little slower though, okay?”
Clarissa nods, but the drink is gone a few moments later, all the same.
It takes another couple to get the reason for this mood out of her. By then, she’s slurring her words a little and gesticulating in an increasingly exuberant and clumsy way.
“Do you ever regret it?”
Again, I don’t need the Knowing to know what ‘it’ she refers to.
“Regret isn’t the word I’d use…”
Clarissa scoffs before I can elaborate. “Of course not, you’ve got Mr Shoulders warming your bed at night.”
I grin. “That definitely makes it easier, but…”
“I am so happy for you.” Clarissa grabs my hand and squeezes it, at first as if to reassure me, then as if she’s afraid she might fall from her barstool if she doesn’t hold on. “Barrand is a great guy. A really great guy.”
“He is. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have those same feelings you’re having, wondering about what it would have been like to go home.”
“Ugh, it’s stupid,” Clarissa says, even as tears start to bead in the corners of her eyes. She’s not much of a crier, Clarissa. The alcohol might be what’s allowing them to spill, but it must be a lot of emotional turmoil that’s shaken them loose.
“Nothing is stupid.” I keep my voice firm, but kind. “You’re in an impossible situation. You’ve made the best of it, but it’s only natural to have conflicting feelings.”
“I like it here. I do. I don’t even mind Doctor Grumpy and his patronising ‘competency tests’.” She shoots me a smug grin that’s far more ‘Clarissa’ than the weepy look. “I enjoy watching him bluster when I pass them with flying colours.”
“You’ll have your nursing license in no time.”
“I will.” For all her drunkenness and conflicting feelings, there’s no doubt here. “But, I don’t know… I just… I keep thinking about home. Not just family and friends. Things, too. All the experiences we’ll never have. Or never have again. I’ll never see the next Marvel movie, or read the next Nalini Singh. I won’t have another Easter egg or go to bonfire night. Or Christmas! No more Christmas trees. I’ll never hear another carol singer. I’ve never given a fuck about carol singers before, but now I know I won’t ever hear another one, suddenly I’m really sad about it.”
I’m equal parts amused by her ranting and struck by the same feeling of melancholy about it.
“It’s tough,” I say. “But we don’t know that Earth won’t be brought into the Protectorate in our lifetimes. Never say never.”
“I know, but…”
But it doesn’t help with right now. I take Clarissa’s hand again, holding it in both of mine.
“We’ve got each other,” I say. “And the other girls. As long as we have each other, we can keep some of that Earth stuff alive. I’ll come knock on your door and sing you a carol.”
Clarissa laughs, even as she blinks out a few errant tears. “I’ll hold you to that O’Mahoney.”
I don’t go to meet Rosie at Jarsiv’s bar like I normally do. A long day of dealing with the fallout from Kiffin’s betrayal has me feeling more exhausted than I ought to, and I don’t really want to look at any more Low Towners right now. I don’t like wondering if it’s going to be their doors I’m knocking on next.
So I head home, walking with the kind of urgent pace that prevents conversation.
Inside the sanctuary of my own four walls, I get a quick, blazing hot shower, trying to scorch away the grime I feel on my skin. Grime that has nothing to do with actual dirt, and everything to do with the stink of treachery. I’m towelling off when Rosie walks in.
“Well, hello there,” she says, her eyes raking over my exposed skin.
Heat – even more than the burn of the water – floods me, but before I can close the gap between us, claim her lips with mine, she flops into the couch with a heavy sigh.
“You okay?” I ask. “Sorry I didn’t come by Jarsiv’s.”
“He let me off early to see Clarissa home, so you wouldn’t have found me there anyway,” she says, and there’s a heaviness to her voice that cuts at me.
“Clarissa okay?”
“She’s going to have a splitting head tomorrow. I pity Doctor R’Shaad if he’s short with her.”
A flash of a grin graces her face for a moment, before the sadness creeps back in.
“Want to talk to me about it?”
I sit next to her, still wearing just my towel. I wonder if I should get dressed, cover the large amounts of flesh I have on show. But Rosie just snuggles into me, running her fingers across my skin, swiping away the drips of water as they trickle down my chest. Still not quite used to humans and their lack of aversion to touch.
“Clarissa was just thinking about all the things we are going to miss now we’re not going back to Earth. I think I’ve caught a bit of her melancholy, that’s all.”
My heart clenches in my chest. I know it’s ridiculous that Rosie can mean so much to me after a few short days, but that’s mate bonds for you. They ride you hard. Rosie hasn’t said anything about changing her mind, about wanting to go back, but even the thought that she might makes me feel physically sick. As does the thought that her being here with me causes her any kind of pain.
“What are you going to miss?”
“Not a lot, honestly. Clarissa was talking about films and books, but I feel like I’m living the kind of story I used to read.”
“You used to read stories about being abducted across the universe?”
Her grin goes naughty, making my cock twitch.
“More stories where young women are swept off their feet by gorgeous strangers with impressive skills in the bedroom.”
Her fingers trail idly up my leg to cup my hardening cock through my towel.
“If you don’t want to talk, you’re going exactly the right way about distracting me.”
My voice is a low growl, all want and need for her rumbling through it. So much vecking want. A single touch from her has me undone. Like always.
“Sex first, talk after?” she says, her own voice breathy with desire.
Which is how we end up talking about a very confusing human tradition called Christmas while lying tangled and naked on the couch together.
“So, a man breaks into your house, but rather than stealing your stuff, he leaves you things?”
Rosie laughs, the sound throaty and a little rough, her voice tired from her cries of pleasure.
“He’s not real. It’s a fairy story, for kids.”
“Yes, but we’ve established that there’s some truth to some of your fairy stories,” I say, referring to the Tuatha, who for her were creatures of myth and legend, but for me are just another species of person.
Rosie laughs again. “Imagine if Santa was an alien, and that’s where the tradition comes from? Some mischievous being breaking into houses to cause confusion. And now we leave him mince pies and brandy to coax him back.”
“And why does this involve growing a tree inside your house?”
“You don’t grow it, you cut it down and stand it up inside your house. Or you get a plastic one.”
“You kill a tree so a home invader leaves you gifts under it?”
I’m being deliberately ridiculous, because I love how it makes her laugh, chasing away the sadness.
“That’s about the size of it, yes.”
“And of all the things you left behind when you decided to stay here, this is what has Clarissa upset?”
“I don’t think it’s anything in particular, just everything.”
“And is it just everything getting to you?”
I try to keep the worry out of my voice, but from the way she catches my face in her hands, I gather I haven’t been successful.
“I think it would be a little strange if it didn’t get to me,” she says, pressing her lips to mine. “I’m not having second thoughts or regrets. For every thing I’ve lost, I’ve gained tenfold. But a loss is still a loss. I’ll still miss things from time to time.”
“Like Christmas trees?”
“Exactly.”
I’m mostly reassured, but also I want to be inside her again, to chase away this melancholy of hers with pleasure. I stroke my fingers up her thighs, dipping between her legs. She arches into me.
I move us to the bed. More comfortable than the couch, more room to love her thoroughly. And I do, working her body until I’ve wrung so much pleasure out of it, she all but passes out in my arms.
I watch her sleep. Wonder if she dreams of trees covered in lights and presents beneath them.
I hate that I still feel unsettled about it all. It’s the bond. Just the bond riding me, making me want to do everything I can to keep her close. To keep her mine.
It’s a level of possessiveness beyond reasonable, and I don’t think Rosie would appreciate it, but maybe there’s something I could do that would satisfy the bond and cheer her up.
I fall asleep thinking about trees.
Barrand’s strangely withdrawn for the next couple of days. It feels odd to describe anything he does as out of character when I haven’t known him long enough to truly know all the different facets of his character, but there’s a definite shift. I worry that he’s still worried about me having regrets. I worry that he’s having regrets. But my Knowning stays quiet – if anything, just providing a background hum of contentment. It doesn’t let me know that something’s wrong, and so I trust that it isn’t.
After nursing a hangover for a day, Clarissa perks up again, as if she’s got her grief out of her system for now. I’m sure it will flare up again – I’m sure it will for all seven of us who decided to stay – but for now she’s back to terrorising Doctor R’Shaad and enjoying the hell out of it.
On the third day after her drinking session, she comes by Jarsiv’s bar and drops onto a stool in front of me, absolute satisfaction on her face.
“Guess who passed the last test Doctor Grumpy could dig up?”
I grin. “Does that mean…?”
“You are looking at Xentra Station’s latest fully qualified nurse? Why yes it does.” She takes a moment to bask in the achievement. “I need to get a gift for Crelin – he’s been helping me study. I’d never have managed without him. Do you think Mr Shoulders might have an idea what I could get for him?”
“I don’t know how well Barrand knows Crelin, but if he doesn’t, I’m sure he’ll know who does. He usually swings by the bar after his shift. If you don’t have anything else on, you could wait here for him.”
“Perfect.” Clarissa eyes the drinks on the back of the bar. “Ah, got anything non-alcoholic?”
Barrand appears a short while later, and when he spots me sitting with Clarissa, a peculiar gleam comes into his eyes.
“Ladies,” he says, nodding to Clarissa, then leaning over to give me a far too brief kiss. “Are you busy this evening?”
“Not even a little,” Clarissa says. “You look like you have mischief on your mind, Mr Shoulders.”
Barrand quirks a brow at the nickname, but otherwise doesn’t let it put him off his stride.
“No mischief, just something I’d like to show you.”
“Oh?” Clarissa says. “Something he’d like to show us, hey?”
She laces her voice with so much naughtiness it makes Barrand blush. I swat her with a towel, though I’m grinning.
“I’ll be done in five minutes. Just need to finish cleaning up.”
I whip through the last of the washing up and tidy round the bar. Jarsiv gives me the nod, waving a greeting to Barrand as well, and then we’re heading through the winding streets of Low Town, down back alleys I haven’t explored before. It’s a maze of a place, and I imagine even the residents who’ve been here all their lives get turned round sometimes in the warrens of similar streets and the chaotic tangle of buildings. It’s one of the reasons why I love it here so much – always something new to stumble across.
We loop past some residential buildings into a more industrial tract – big hanger-like buildings that house the broken carcasses of ships that the junkers are either trying to fix up or break down to sell as parts. It’s noisy and hot in this part of the station, the air thick with fumes from the works. Barrand might be a UP-LE officer now, but he stands a little taller when he walks through the junker area, his fingers trailing along the edges of the buildings with a kind of reverence. It makes me smile.
We arrive at a small warehouse, the door heavy and rusted. Barrand grins as he yanks on the handle, pulling it open for us.
And we step into… a warehouse space. Full to the brim of scrap metal and ship parts. Clarissa glances at me, eyebrows raised, but as if prodding me to trust Barrand, my Knowing urges me onward. I reach for Clarissa’s hand, tugging her after me as I weave through the piles of scrap and junk and emerge into a clearing.
With a Christmas tree at the centre.
It takes me a moment to realise that’s what it is. Barrand’s interpretation of my admittedly poor description is a little off the mark, but from what initially looks like just another pile of scrap metal, the shape of a tree emerges. Shards of metal have been welded together in a roughly conical shape, their points lethal looking. Lights have been dotted throughout them, glued in place by a very careful hand, and other bits of scrap and junk dangle from the ‘branches’. Beneath it, grabbed at your own risk, are several brightly coloured boxes that also appear to have been welded together out of scrap metal.
“I know it probably isn’t quite the same,” Barrand says, “but you don’t have to give up your traditions just because you live here now. You just have to adapt them a little.”
He offers us a hopeful little smile. Clarissa turns to him.
“You made us a Christmas tree?”
“We tried to. Anshel and Zarren helped.”
He waves to two other junkers, both wearing welding masks, their faces concealed from view. They wave back, thick gloves on their hands. I smile in their direction, nodding my thanks. Clarissa’s eyes remain glued on Barrand.
“But this was your idea? You spoke to Rosie about Christmas, and you decided to make her this?”
“For both of you. For all of you, really.”
Clarissa gives him an indulgent look, and I expect she doesn’t believe him, but I do. I’ve been learning about mate bonds, and the drive they create to keep your mate happy. On a surface level, making me a nice surprise makes me happy, but it wasn’t even me who was overly upset about Christmas. That was Clarissa. But Clarissa is my friend, and making her happy makes me happy, too. A deeper kind of happiness than the fleeting joy of a gift.
The kind of happiness that strengthens bonds, not just papers over cracks.
Clarissa raises a very careful finger to touch one of the flashing lights, her face softening into an unguarded look of wonder. Then she straightens and rounds on Barrand, a look on her face so intense it makes him wary. I suspect he thinks she’s annoyed, but I know Clarissa better than that.
Sure enough, Clarissa launches herself at him, throwing her arms around him as she plants a kiss on his cheek. Barrand freezes, a look of utter panic on his face. I burst out laughing, and only when he sees my amusement does he relax, patting Clarissa gently on the back.
“You are a marvellous person,” Clarissa says as she steps back, swiping once again at the tears gathering in her eyes. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Barrand says, shuffling away from her to increase the distance between them to respectable levels, his eyes darting to me as if to make sure I’ve noticed he’s done it.
Clarissa doesn’t seem to notice his discomfort, instead turning to survey the Christmas tree with her hands on her hips, a delighted gleam in her eyes. I go to Barrand, wrapping his big arms around me, picturing a cold winter’s day in my mind, snow drifting around us, his body keeping mine warm.
“Clarissa kissed me,” Barrand says under his breath, and from his voice, I can tell he still feels uneasy about it.
“Sorry if that made you uncomfortable.” I pat his hands where they rest on my waist.
“You’re sorry?” Barrand sounds even more confused.
I turn so I’m facing him, looping my arms around his neck.
“She doesn’t mean anything sexual by it.” I keep my voice low. “It’s just a way that humans express happiness in something someone has done.”
I brush my thumb over his cheek where Clarissa kissed him, hoping to chase away any lingering discomfort.
“You’re the only one I want,” Barrand says, his voice full of growl, his hands going tight around me.
I know for some people this possessiveness could get old really fast, but my heart rushes in my chest to feel his fingers digging into my skin.
“I know that. Clarissa knows that too. She’s not interested in you in that way.”
“Do you know that, or do you Know it?”
“Both.”
I could tell him what I Know about Clarissa, but it doesn’t seem fair to me that someone else should know it before she’s figured it out for herself. So I just wink at him, keeping that little piece of Knowledge to myself for now.
“I love you,” I say instead, kissing his nose. “Thank you for our Christmas tree.”
“I want you to be happy here.”
“Well, good, because what comes after a ‘Merry Christmas’ is a ‘Happy New Year’.”
Barrand gives me a suspicious look. “Does this one involve strange men breaking into your house as well?”
I laugh. “No, just a kiss at midnight.”
“Well, that’s a tradition I can get behind.” He glances in Clarissa’s direction. “So long as it’s only you and me doing the kissing.”
I grin. “Definitely only you and me.” I’m filled with an urge to make some kind of vow to him, so I add, “Forever and always.”
Barrand’s smile is radiant.
“Forever and always,” he replies.