This could not be the way.
He’d tried to argue, and she loved him for it. Maybe that was wrong, but it made it no less true. Her papa was a good, honest man, one that worked hard for his family, and he wanted to provide for Clairy. But the very qualities that made her admire him so made it impossible for him to accept something under such fraudulent terms. Others in their neighbourhood might not have been, happy to defraud whoever they liked as long as life became easier on them.
But not her papa.
But it did add to the complications regarding home, and her ability to return there safely.
And without certain ramifications—ones that had driven her off planet in the first place.
“Cydrin,” she murmured, aware that she was using his name overmuch without offering anything of substance to aid in his understanding. But it was soothing to her, for him to be real and...
And hers.
If only in name.
“Honestly, I wouldn’t know where to go. And why would I want to leave my friend behind in order to make a new life with a bunch of strangers?” She offered him a dim smile, feeling no real joy to infuse it with anything warm.
Clairy had meant the words as a comfort, but he only looked at her, his eyes betraying even more misery. “Then again, I have not ensured that you have a true choice to make, and you would remain with me by default.”
Clairy’s brow furrowed. “Cydrin,” she said again, blushing as she did so. “The only person fixated on a choice is you. I don’t know why you suddenly need for me to have the perfect set of circumstances and choose you but...” She huffed out a breath, shaking her head as she did so. “I know the life you led, and I’m not saying mine compares in the amount of suffering endured, but I know what it’s like to live life with remarkably few choices. I don’t know why you suddenly need to provide me with a lot when I don’t particularly want them.”
Cydrin eyed her with some confusion, as if the thought had not occurred to him.
This time her smile held a hint of genuine humour. She did care for him. So very much. He was always so sure of himself, except when he was not, and something in her warmed when he could admit that. If only in expression, as he lost his careful composure when realisation came that he had miscalculated something along the way.
“Then... we may continue... as we are?” He sounded so uncertain, as if the thought had not been allowed purchase, not when it was so outside the realm of possibilities.
Is that what she wanted? To remain in this little craft and simply... drift?
Not exactly. Nor did she want to encourage him to seek out the third Project’s facility simply to have something to do.
“That depends on what you mean,” she answered truthfully.
“I don’t want to keep killing people, Cydrin. I don’t want that for you either.”
He shook his head once in denial. “You are not responsible for my actions,” he assured her, and she supposed that was a comfort, in its way. She wasn’t. He made his choices, and she did the same, but she could not help but feel some partial blame when she had done virtually nothing to stop him.
Although she had convinced him to leave. To allow the authorities to take charge of the doctors and researchers. To preserve the lives of those still trapped within their tanks.
Did that count for something?
Maybe. But it was too tangled and confusing, and far easier to simply push aside in favour of dwelling on other things, whether or not it was wrong to do so.
“That is true,” Clairy agreed. “But can you say that when you look at the whole scope of our futures, this is what you want to do? Dedicate your entire life to weeding out anyone involved with the Project?” He must realise there were plenty more not still living on the station. Subcontractors who built it for one, doctors who had retired or simply moved on for another. Would he feel the need to end their lives as well?
“I... do not know,” he answered haltingly, that peculiar look still in his eyes. It took her a moment to realise what it was, but when she did, it was with a startling, compassionate response. For she had felt it often.
He was lost.
She had convinced him to relinquish the only trajectory in his life that he had chosen for himself, and now he did not know what to do.
That was all right. She didn’t know either.
She abandoned her seat in favour of being closer to him, this time both her hands coming to cover his as she knelt by his feet. She wished there was another chair as she was not certain how long her knees would appreciate the action, but she was not about to insinuate herself on his lap simply in an effort to be near him.
He did not appear overly pleased by the action, though he did not move or censure her for doing so, although she had to stifle a light smile at his apparent confusion.
“I don’t know what I would choose to do with my life either,” she confided in him, knowing she would need to explain a great deal more of her history than would be her preference. But he had shared all, and it was far worse than anything she could pretend existed in her own, so that was something. “But, if you’d like, I’d like to figure out the next bit together.”
A slow blink, methodical and perhaps simply a way to block her out for the smallest of moments, to decide if she had spoken truthfully or not.
Or maybe he had simply grown used to seeing her blink and felt the need to mimic the action. Either was plausible enough.
“I do not understand why you would wish to stay,” he confessed. “And you should not be on the floor.”
So much for lacking in censure.
Clairy shrugged. She wasn’t uncomfortable yet, and it was worth it. He was worth it. “Not a lot of furniture at home so I’m used to it.” Or was. She had spoken truly when she had told him that she’d grown spoiled under the Project’s employ, even though the thought of it now made her feel as if she’d accepted something soiled.
Cydrin did not appear convinced, but he did not argue with her. “You wished to tell me something of your home,” he reminded her. “If it is another tale of how loved you are by your family, I am well aware. If it is a desire to submit a transmission to them, you know that you are free to do so.” A deeper breath than was his usual. “If you wish to tell them about me and what I have made you do, then I will accept that as well.”
He was acting so strangely that it discomfited her even further. He wasn’t looking at her again, so she untangled one of her hands to bring her fingers to his chin, pressing lightly until he was willing to meet her eye. Not forcing, but coaxing. “What is troubling you so much?” She did not know what to fight if she did not know her opponent, and this was not a part of the Cydrin she knew. Confident to a fault. Level-headed and logical.
Something had hurt him, and deeply, and evidently she centred greatly upon it.
Was it saving the baby? Or something Remy had said? She could readily admit that she had not listened to a great deal of their conversation, too focused on what was happening to the little one still sleeping downstairs. Clairy had agonised over what to do with her, uncertain if she would be able to sleep without a heartbeat to listen to while she slept—something her mother was adamant was a necessity for a baby her age—but sadly Clairy realised she would be unused to such comforts in any case. She didn’t know a mother’s interior, every thump and gurgle that came from living inside another being until size and maturity meant one was ready for the outside world.
Another robbery from one so innocent.
“I do not want a prisoner,” Cydrin said again, this time more firmly. And somehow the tone was a comfort to her. Better than the despondency he had been displaying, as if he was already mourning something he had not lost.
“All right,” she agreed. “But you haven’t had that for quite some time now. We agreed to be friends, didn’t we?”
He looked at her dourly. “I only allowed you access to the computers less than an hour ago.”
Clairy could not contain the breath
y chuckle that wanted to escape. “That is true. But Cydrin,” she soothed, her thumb brushing his cheek. She wondered why there was never any stubble there. Perhaps fastidious removal of the hair was a part of his routine. Or perhaps the doctors had seen to its permanent absence.
Or maybe that was a small glimpse into the genetics of a family that wasn’t quite his.
She liked to think that it was.
“You didn’t know me. How could you trust me when you didn’t know who I was? If I was really some foolish, idiot girl that accepted a job posting, or if I knew all that the Project was doing and was happy to work there anyway?”
His fingers tightened around the hand still twined with his, as if the thought was, even now, repugnant to him. And she couldn’t blame him for that, not in the least.
“You are not an idiot,” Cydrin retorted. “Prone to foolishness, perhaps, but you are not mentally deficient.”
Clairy gave him a rueful smile. “Thank you for that, but that was not my point.”
“No,” he agreed. “Your point was to absolve me of past behaviour by accepting that it was reasonable for you to be mistreated given my history.”
She could not fully deny that, not when there was truth to it. It was possible she was too hasty to defend him, to smooth away the edges of his wrongs through the light of so many abuses, but she was past caring. It was how she felt, and she did not seem able to change it. Didn’t particularly want to, for that matter.
Clairy sighed, uncertain how to help him when clearly he was intent on castigating for something that she had long ago decided to forgive him for.
She hesitated, wondering if that would mean anything to him. It was doubtful, but she found herself cupping his chin with her palm, her gaze steady so he would see her sincerity. “I realise you’re not ready to do this yourself, but I forgive you, Cydrin. Whether it’s my place to do it or not. I forgive you for bringing me here against my will. I forgive you for not trusting me as quickly as you think you should have.” The urge to lean forward was there, not dissimilar to the impulse she’d indulged so recently, to brush her lips against his cheek, a thank you and... and a great deal more than that.
He had given no real response to the action however, and she did not want to feel as if she was pressing advantage to an unresponsive recipient, so she refrained, chewing at her lip instead and trying to quell her desire to do so.
It troubled her a little that it should be there at all, but another part found it natural and... acceptable.
Perhaps not right. But not beyond reason.
“I will have to study that word,” Cydrin said in answer, and she smiled, a familiar twist of endearment and sadness mingling within her—for something to be so terribly Cydrin, yet remind her of all he did not know.
“If you have any questions, you can find me,” she promised. “I’ll be nearby.” If there was anything she’d learned living in such close quarters with so many people, it was how to forgive quickly and fully, as grudges led only to more hurt feelings and intolerable strain in a household with no room for either.
“Will you?” he asked, this time leaning forward, bringing their faces closer, her heart quickening at his movement.
She swallowed, trying to keep her composure. She should move back to her seat before she kissed him again.
Maybe even this time testing his lips rather than his cheek.
But she remained still, afraid to move, afraid to make a mistake and cause him to spiral into self-doubt once again. “I would very much like to be,” she answered, both hands still on his person, though one had drifted away from his face and she noticed ruefully it was lying against his neck.
Muscles were strong and taut, urging her to test and feel, to look for similarities and differences with her own figure.
What was wrong with her?
She had never... this wasn’t how she should...
“Good,” Cydrin responded simply, his eyes softening into something resembling warmth. There was a flutter in her belly to see it directed at her, and she was reminded of Camter when he’d come home and confessed that he would soon be wedding Ishta. Not because he’d had to as she’d worried at first, but because he loved her. And the look in his eyes made it so very apparent that the match was one of affection rather than necessity.
Not like...
She swallowed again, remembering what she needed to explain, dread spoiling the pleasant anticipation that had been spreading through her.
Clairy allowed her hand to fall away as she sat back on her heels, though Cydrin held the one in his lap firmly within his grasp, evidently not willing to relinquish it so easily. “What is wrong?” he asked, his eyes drifting to the viewscreen as if certain that the cause was their little newcomer rather than something within herself.
She gave him a grim smile. “I don’t need to go yet,” she assured him, knowing that a baby that young would have no qualms about waking and wailing at the slightest inconvenience.
Or would she be different? Somehow knowing even before her birth that none would answer her. Or if they did, it would not be with kindness? A lump settled in her throat just to think of it, and she prayed that those remaining in the laboratories would be sent to good families, to be raised with love and compassion rather than...
Best not to dwell on it. Things would be different now. They simply had to be.
“I am... unused to sharing your attention,” Cydrin confessed rather abruptly, and she blinked at him, surprised he should make such an admission without a great deal of wheedling on her part. “I am uncertain I shall like doing so.”
Clairy opened her mouth, ready to tell him that he was simply going to have to learn—and quickly too—because there was no possibility she was going to keep from tending to the baby when she was needed.
But she closed it again, considering her response. “I don’t intend to neglect you,” she said instead. “And... I hope you’ll tell me...” she looked at him rather pointedly, “nicely, if I am. Babies are wonderful, in their way, but I won’t lie to you and say they don’t take quite a bit of time and attention.”
He shifted, settling toward the back of his chair as he eyed her speculatively. Her knees were beginning to ache, and she shifted too, settling more comfortably on the floor. Her neck would likely protest next as she had to look up sharply to meet his eye, but it was fine for now. Better than being too far, at least. “And you are certain that you wish to remain as her keeper?”
Clairy eyed him mistrustfully for a moment. “I hope you are not suggesting that I fling her out the airlock, because then we would be having an altogether different discussion.” She very nearly pulled her hand away, anger already trickling in for a suggestion that he had not even made yet, but Cydrin tapped the back of her hand with his forefinger, drawing her attention back to him.
“I would not have done so,” Cydrin answered, just as dry and steady as he ever was, and it settled her quickly enough. He might have killed people as a profession—a previous one at that—but that did not make him cruel. For all he claimed she’d suffered in his care, he was not that. Never had been.
“Then what are you asking?”
Cydrin eyed her for a moment, evidently reformulating his strategy. “You made a decision with great haste back at the facility. All I sought to ascertain was whether or not you were determined that it be a permanent one.”
He’d asked her about motherhood, and she’d been truthful with him. She’d assumed it would be something that came later, with time and... well... a husband, but when she’d taken her little charge, she hadn’t actually put it in the perspective of choosing motherhood as well.
Should she?
She rubbed her free hand along her the leg of her trouser, suddenly nervous and uncertain. Her mother always told her she tended to crash headlong into her decisions rather than think about them properly, but Clairy had always seen it differently. That she allowed life to happen and adjusted along the way, without fussing overmuch about the
consequences.
Cydrin wanted her to begin making choices though. Real ones. About what she wanted, regardless of what it might mean for him—assuming she understood him correctly, which was always a little doubtful.
“I...” she began, suddenly wishing the baby would need her so she could avoid this topic for a while longer. “I don’t know,” she admitted when still she slept and Cydrin continued to look at her so expectantly. “But I know that she needs a good home, whether that’s with me or with someone else.” Clairy didn’t even have a home to offer. Not really. She had a shared vessel with a man that had not wholeheartedly agreed to the infant’s presence. She had a family that would welcome a baby just as they had always done. But they would expect a reason for her presence, and for Clairy’s guardianship, and then there was Cydrin...
Clairy’s eyes flickered to the screen, softening as she did so. “And she should be with someone who understands where she came from and any... any differences that might come from that.” She couldn’t give that to her parents. Not if she expected them to harbour good will toward Cydrin. She might have come to forgive him, but her parents would only hear the first part of their tale before pronouncing final judgement upon him. And that felt wrong to her, even if she understood it. She wanted them to like him, even with his eccentricities.
Wanted them to approve of him.
She chewed at her lip, feeling awkward and uncertain by the sudden shift in her thoughts, and she was reminded of her earlier urge to kiss him. And properly.
“Reasonable requirements,” Cydrin agreed, and her shoulders slumped slightly to hear it. He was tugging at her, with his free hand and she very nearly gave him a cross look for disturbing her when belatedly she realised he wanted her to sit in her chair rather than the floor.
She relented as obviously this was a matter of some importance to him, and they needed to talk rather than touch, most especially since their touches seemed to stir some long forgotten impulses that were much better buried.
Designation 261 (The Wholeness Project) Page 26