Dreamhearth

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  Later, after his partner had retired to read the obligatory book, Jahir went up to the rooftop. The sky remained convincing, and breathtaking, a black sward that lightened to a luminous purple in a halo around the starbase’s spindle of glittering lights. It also brightened at the apparent horizon, over the commons; the city did not sleep as early as the Garden District did. Here it was softly glowing lanterns in gold and rose, and the dim silver lights lining the walkways, and a velvety purple dark with the silhouettes of decorative plants bordering the welcoming glow of the houses. It smelled of foreign flowers, like a world, and again it struck him, the enormity of the Alliance’s capabilities. This marvel, inconceivable to his people, was a way of life for the Pelted….and he was privileged to be among them to experience it. When his time here was done, would he come home grateful for having had the journey? Or would he cavil at the restrictions?

  He was here now, at least. And thinking that far forward did him no kindnesses. He thought instead of the surmountable problems facing them here and smiled. They could wait. First he had an unexpected letter from his brother to read—that would prove interesting, for Amber was usually a indifferent correspondent. Then… there were no pet shops on Veta, but perhaps an ad in the local stream would net him a dog he might give to Helga as a gift for her help. It might take him the remaining two months to find one…!

  Sensing the nearness of his friend, Jahir spread his brother’s message and began reading, feeling again the juxtaposition of his cherished but prior life and the joys and astonishments of the new.

  What’s-his-name and What’s-her-name had finished decorating the nursery in the book and were back to gooey love scenes dripping with enough adjectives to fill a dictionary, so it wasn’t surprising that Vasiht’h’s mind wandered as he read. Inevitably, he thought of Tiber, and his empty nursery. Maybe his divorce had been amicable, or maybe it had been acrimonious, no matter how he and his wife conducted themselves in public. But it was hard not to feel sorry for him when that divorce had not only deprived him of a partner, but of a possible future as a father. Vasiht’h hadn’t given much thought to children, except to assume he would have them, but making himself imagine it now—really imagine it, holding a squirming baby, teaching a kit how to lick a spatula clean of cookie dough, dancing for a grown daughter at her wedding—he couldn’t imagine taking the amputation of that future well. Tiber looked to be about middle-aged for a human, so there was no reason he couldn’t marry again… but he’d thought he’d had things worked out, and then it had all been taken away. Vasiht’h had seen plenty of traumas caused by similar scenarios while working in the student clinic.

  Had Tiber gone to a therapist himself? Or had he just soldiered on, and held onto that dog as the only thing that hadn’t abandoned him? And the Pelted all around him, with their subconscious prejudices against animals… no wonder he was prickly.

  Vasiht’h sighed and set aside the tablet to fluff up his pillows. He didn’t want to like Tiber, but Sehvi would be the first to tell him that he should accept his inability to hold grudges. Tiber was apparently successful enough, so his clients must like him. He couldn’t be all bad. Or even mostly bad. Even Helga said so, and Helga… well. If you couldn’t trust a mischievous Hinichi great-grandmother, who could you trust?

  Something, Vasiht’h thought, had to be done.

  Chapter 17

  Vasiht’h was still contemplating this the following morning when a stranger showed up on their doorstep. He was a male Asanii felid with orange tabby markings and golden eyes, wearing the sort of stylish and comfortable clothes associated with service jobs: a white shirt tucked into dark teal pants, and over it a breezy sarong in shades of blue and gold. He offered Vasiht’h his palm. “Hey. I hear you’re taking clients? Can I sign up?”

  “Sure? Want to sit and fill out the intake form? Then we can make an appointment.”

  “All right.” The male padded in and dropped onto the couch, wriggling until he made himself comfortable. He studied their office as he accepted the data tablet and stylus. “This place is nice. Doesn’t look like a den of iniquity or anything.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Jahir said, entering with the coffee he’d gone to fetch for them both.

  “You know. A place where therapists prey upon the subconscious minds of their innocent victims.” The Asanii grinned easily, arm resting on a cushion as he went to work on the form. He had long fingers and broad wrists, corded with muscle; it made Vasiht’h wonder what he did for a living.

  “Doctor Tiber did not say anything that prejudicial, if I recall correctly,” Jahir said.

  “And we’re definitely not into… preying on victims while they’re sleeping,” Vasiht’h added, ears sagging.

  “I know.” His smile became more natural, faltered. “When I read that bit, I went looking to see if anyone else had talked about you, and the people who’ve actually had you as clients liked you a lot. So I figured I’d try you, if you’re still looking for new clients.”

  /As if we have so many we don’t have time for new ones!/ Vasiht’h said.

  /I would not mind being somewhat closer to that situation than the one we are in now./

  Vasiht’h refrained from glancing askance at the Eldritch. /Don’t tell me you’re worried about money now./

  /No, arii. But you are, and what concerns you concerns me./

  Vasiht’h tried not to wince. So much for keeping his worries from bleeding into the mindline. “We’d be glad to take you on. What days and times work for you?”

  “And perhaps you could tell us a little of what brings you to our office?” Jahir said.

  “Sure.”

  The Asanii’s name was Rook Talben, and he described his issue with a casual air that fooled no one in the room: the loss of his older brother had disturbed him ‘more than I feel is normal.’ By trade, he was a physical therapist, with specialties in massage and kinetic movement, “So you see, I’m used to people waxing hyperbolic about the dangers of a profession they think salacious. You see people while they sleep; I touch people while they’re naked. It can scare people.”

  After he’d departed with an appointment to return later that week, Vasiht’h said to Jahir, “So Tiber lost us one client and got us another one. I’m not sure now whether to be glad or angry at him for his public accusation.”

  “It was not accusation, so much as strongly-worded warning.”

  Vasiht’h snorted.

  “He is doing what he believes necessary, as are we,” Jahir said. “Perhaps you should consider it more in light of a favor. We want only those who are certain of their choice to be our client, yes?”

  Saying he didn’t want to forgive Tiber for being obnoxious was getting old. Especially since Vasiht’h wasn’t sure if it was true or not. Instead he asked, hesitant, “Are you really worried about money because I am?”

  Jahir looked at him over the rim of his tablet, his mug in hand. “You have tried not being worried about money because I am not,” he said finally, “And that has not worked for you. I thought I might try your way instead?”

  “My way is neurotic!” Vasiht’h exclaimed.

  Jahir set the cup and tablet down and folded his hands in his lap.

  Blushing, Vasiht’h said, “Well, it is. I know it is, it’s just…” He scrubbed at his face and sighed, irritated with himself. “I should be over this by now.”

  “You did just tell Rook Talben that the amount of time an issue takes is the amount of time it takes.”

  “I’m great at giving advice,” Vasiht’h said, rueful. “That’s why I’m doing it, instead of sitting on the couch and listening to it.”

  Something about that…

  Shaking himself, he said, “But if you think we’re fine for money?”

  “Arii,” Jahir said gently, “In less than two months, either it will matter a great deal, or matter not at all. To spend these weeks in fretting is…”

  “Stupid?” Vasiht’h said, rueful.

  “Profitless
,” Jahir said firmly. More kindly, “Veta is beautiful, our neighbors congenial, our work pleasing, and our cottage comfortable. If we are to have only six months here, let us enjoy them.”

  Vasiht’h sighed. “You’re right.” He smiled a little. “The food’s amazing, too.”

  That night, though, he couldn’t resist looking at their joint account and wondering at the stubborn stability of the numbers. He knew how much should be coming in. He knew what should be going out… at least, for groceries. Leaning back, he struggled not to rub his paws together. There was no universe in which he should be upset about this. Sehvi was right: he should enjoy it. Even Jahir had said so, and his partner wasn’t known for his ability to relax. The very idea made him smile.

  He didn’t go to bed until after his partner had. Sitting amid the pillows, Vasiht’h looked up at the Eldritch and watched him breathe. This part felt perfect, still. The comfort of being near him. The satisfaction of knowing him, of knowing that he braided his hair back for sleep, that he wore long sleeves because he got cold despite the heaps of covers he preferred. That he was Vasiht’h’s, in some small ways, to protect and to slowly understand. To… to savor. The mindline was like an extra blanket cuddled around him, a heart’s warmth that never left.

  This was precious. The idea that his worries might be jeopardizing it was unbearable.

  If Sehvi had been more available, she might have talked him out of it; but his sister was busy with her wedding plans and her finals. As it was, he could hear her objections in his head: that after filling her ears for days about Tiber, he was going to do this? Was he crazy?

  Yes, he thought, trotting toward the commons. Yes, he was. That was the reason he was doing this.

  Fine, his invisible sister insisted. Then try that other girl. Or your crazy adopted grandmother.

  But this was the person he needed. And who needed him, Vasiht’h thought.

  You know this is going to end in tears. Just like the story of Thaddeus and Name of Girl You Can Never Remember. I totally would remember, though. You should have had this conversation with the real me instead of the fake me in your head.

  Yes, he thought with a rueful smile. He certainly should have.

  Even so, Vasiht’h would have never tried it had Tiber not had an open office hour every week for walk-ins. Had he had to make an appointment in his own name, he wouldn’t have found the courage. Even sitting in Tiber’s waiting room was hard, and he thought about leaving. The receptionist—Tiber had a receptionist!—was a soft-spoken young Seersa female, nothing like what Vasiht’h would have expected him to choose. And the room itself was the opposite of the conglomeration of odd pillows and blankets and trappings he and Jahir had begun to acquire. At some point they’d ceased to be clean and professional and had become… homey and quirky, he guessed. Tiber’s waiting room looked more like the one he’d imagined himself having, with elegant plants, a small trickling fountain, and sleek sofas arranged around a rectangular rug.

  He was still staring at the patterns in the rug when he heard boots on carpet. Looking up, he found a Malarai walking down the hall toward the reception desk. Her mask-like face would have been more beautiful had it been wearing more expression; as it was, between her solemn countenance and the black dye job on her wings, Vasiht’h didn’t have any trouble guessing what she’d come to Tiber about.

  The little top hat jauntily perched on her dark curls, though… that was a nice touch. Maybe she wasn’t completely sunk in her depression.

  The Malarai exchanged quiet words with the receptionist, confirming next week’s appointment, and then she left. Not long now. Vasiht’h pressed his paws onto the carpet to keep them still. What would he say? How would he explain himself? Would the receptionist politely look away while they had their fight? Or would Tiber wait until they’d gotten back into his office? Vasiht’h’s shoulders tensed; he could hear Sehvi now: This is a dumb, dumb idea.

  But Tiber did not come down the hall. Trusty did. To his astonishment, the Seersa reached down and ruffled his ears. “Hi, Trusty. Is Allen ready, then?”

  Trusty wagged his tail and grinned.

  “Great, here’s his walk-in, then. Alet, if you’ll follow the dog, please?”

  “I… sure. All right?” Bemused, Vasiht’h rose to his feet and came to a halt before the animal.

  “Trusty. Take him back to Allen. Take him to Allen, Trusty.”

  The dog wagged his tail and turned that grin up at Vasiht’h, then set off back down the hall.

  No help for it now. Besides, he was curious. He hadn’t realized Tiber brought his dog to work. Vasiht’h followed.

  Trusty padded into the office at the end of the hall, which shared aesthetics with the waiting room, except instead of soothing blues and greens, this one was more warm soft golds and sage greens. Instead of a fountain, there was a rock garden the length of Vasiht’h’s arm with a little rake set into a table. There was no desk, which he’d expected somehow… only a sofa and a few chairs arranged around the table, with enough space on the floor for larger aliens to settle if they preferred that to furniture.

  Tiber was leaning down to caress Trusty’s head. When he looked up, though, he froze.

  “This is not a joke,” Vasiht’h said, holding up his hands.

  “It had better not be,” Tiber said. “Because it would be a damned poor one. What are you doing here?”

  “Believe it or not,” Vasiht’h said, “I’m here for therapy.”

  Tiber’s eyes narrowed.

  “Also not a joke?” Vasiht’h offered weakly. “I could really use someone to talk to who hasn’t heard all this before, and who isn’t involved.”

  “Why didn’t you go to Minette then? Or Helga, since you’re in her pocket?”

  See? Invisible Sehvi said. You should have had a good answer ready for that question before you walked in.

  “Because Helga’s involved. Or at least, I think she is. And Minette’s your friend, and I don’t want to put her in the weird position of seeing me as a client when you’ve made your opinion of us clear.”

  “And yet it made sense to you to come to me. Despite knowing that opinion.”

  “I’m not asking for you to evaluate me as a therapist,” Vasiht’h said. “But as a client.” The longer he talked, the more settled he felt. As unlikely as it seemed, this felt like the right course of action. “If you don’t think you can, then I’ll go. But… I think you’re a fair man, alet. And your clients speak highly of you. If you can help me, I think you will.”

  Tiber scowled at him. “This is not some backhanded way to make me trust you.”

  “If it makes you trust me, I won’t be sorry,” Vasiht’h said. “But mostly I’m hoping you’ll help me with something that needs fixing, before it breaks the best thing in my life.”

  Tiber paused, his hands stilling on Trusty’s neck. “All right,” he said finally, and everything about him shifted. His body language, his voice, his expression… all of it felt receptive, suddenly, and competent. “That sounds serious. Get comfortable, then, and tell me what’s on your mind.”

  Here was the man Vasiht’h could imagine clients returning to continually for help. Satisfied—and hopeful—he sat sphinx-like alongside the table and started to talk.

  Of course, talking made him face that he hadn’t come here solely to try to fix the rift between Tiber and himself and Jahir. He started with his nebulous feelings of inadequacy, branched out into specifics about his family, explained Sehvi’s opinion of the matter, tried not to bellyache about the money situation and his sense that he wasn’t contributing enough. It just kept going and going, like he was emptying out a bucket without realizing it had been attached to a lake.

  “Am I crazy?” he said, when he was done. By then Trusty had inched over to him and had set his muzzle on Vasiht’h’s paw.

  Tiber frowned, but not in anger. He looked pensive, instead, as if he was giving serious thought to the gestalt. “You have a lot going on. But no, of course you’re
not crazy.” He eyed Vasiht’h and smiled a little. “As you should know. Mister ‘also a therapist.’”

  “I know what I should know,” Vasiht’h said. “That doesn’t mean I always listen to myself.”

  “Yes,” Tiber said. “That describes us all, more often than we wish. Would it be accurate for me to say that your issues began prior to meeting your partner?”

  “Yes,” Vasiht’h said slowly, because it was hard to remember his life before Jahir. He skipped back to those first years in the university, floundering his way through learning how to budget, being embarrassed at all his mistakes, slowly getting it right and wondering when he was going to get it wrong again. “Yes.”

  “Then this situation with your partner only exacerbated a pre-existing condition.”

  Vasiht’h nodded. “I’d agree with that.” He hesitated. “You want me to pay attention to that. So that I don’t go blaming the relationship, I guess.”

  “I think one of your significant concerns is whether this relationship is good for you,” Tiber said. “But relationships that encourage us to confront some of the issues we should be working on aren’t always bad. They can be growth opportunities, especially if your partner is committed to your well-being.”

  “I don’t question that.”

  Tiber cocked his head in a way eerily reminiscent of his dog. “That sounded definitive.”

  Vasiht’h rested his hand over his heart. “I feel it here. Literally. That would be the mindline.”

  “A bond, you said earlier,” Tiber said, with more interest than Vasiht’h expected given the human’s problems with their methodology. It was a clinical interest, but Tiber could have chosen not to ask. “A rare one.”

  “Right. No one knows how it works, but sometimes people are just compatible with you, heart and mind,” Vasiht’h answered. “Sort of the way people are sometimes sexually attracted to one another, I guess. You just are, the chemistry’s there.”