Chapter Text
She will hang the night with starsso that I may walk abroad in the darkness without stumbling.
-- Oscar Wilde, "De Profundis"
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The world does not end where the sorrowing moon walks on high and the silent stars look down
in sadness.
-- F. W. Krummacher
He's asleep, finally. I had begun to think he wouldn't, but I can tell by his breathing
that he's drifted off at last. I'm not a bit sleepy myself, and I need to think about what
happened today... I don't sleep much, anyway, and I usually do my best thinking at night.
What happened this evening? Oh, I know what happened, the sequence of events and
who said what and did what. But why did it happen? And how?
And what are we going to do in the morning?
He'll say, get married. He already did say it. And it's not like I want not to. But...
On the other hand, it's not like he has anyone else to turn to. And we do get along. I mean,
now that I've realized romance is a fable men use to control us. Nothing like offering
your whole self, everything you've earned and done and become, to some man and having him
say, "Thanks, the sex was great, now run along and let me get back to my important
life" to make you understand that.
I should have listened to Roxolana, all those yahrens ago. What I thought was cynicism was
just clear-eyed vision. "Men don't marry us, dear," she said. "We're commodities. Oh, they
may like their habits, they may like having someone who knows all their little quirks and
turn-ons, someone they don't have to pretend to try for, but that's all it is. Don't mistake
proprietariness and laziness for passion and love. If he wanted to marry you, he'd have
bought out your contract so no other man could touch you and be all obsessive about your
spare time... there's profit in that, if you can put up with it, but it's not love, either."
But I knew better... starry-eyed idiot that I was.
So this isn't love. But it's more than habit. It's friendship... we do get along. We like
each other, and we can spend time together without driving each other up the nearest wall.
I just don't know if that's enough for a lifetime.
Sheba... How could I have ever thought I liked her? Tonight it was suddenly all so clear,
and all too late. I suppose she's happy now. I hope she at least makes him think he's happy.
Starbuck won't be happy at all otherwise.
He shifts restlessly in his sleep. He has bad dreams... god, I could be bounded in a
nutshell and count myself the king of infinite space were it not that I had bad dreams.
A good classy quote is worth fifty cubits, easy... Not that this one's true, exactly. He'd
go mad cooped up. But he does have bad dreams. Lots of people do, though for most of us
they're fading, or gone. I reach out and stroke his shoulder, very gently, so as not to
wake him. He's not a cuddler, not asleep; it's part of that 'cooped up' thing, I think.
But after a moment he sighs and quiets.
Maybe it will be good for him, after all...
So, what happened this evening? Maybe if I go over it, I'll understand what to do.
We went to dinner. He won a lot of money yesterday and felt like spending some of it. He
never hangs onto his money, he doesn't see the point. Expensive nectar, good food, a song
from the musicians... when he's flush, he certainly shows you a good time. And it's not
exactly a kick in the teeth when he's not, either... And best of all, of course, if you
say Good-night to him at your door, he smiles and accepts it and goes away. And still calls
again.
What an idiot that man is, to have all this his for the asking and never ask...
So we were eating that sinfully decadent dessert with the nectar and the chocolate when
Sheba and her friends came in. I was glad we were on dessert; she's enough to put him off
his food, though he tries so hard to hide it. Talking carefully loud enough that we could
hear her, she started in about her evening out with Apollo the night before, all coy and
"I could if I would". She all but pinned her name tag to him. She made it sound like they
were just waiting for his father's blessing... When she started in on how good a kisser
he was, I saw Starbuck swallow. So, I reached out and put my hand on his.
She's her father's daughter, I suppose. Not much ever got past him, either, and, though it
took me long enough to see it, he turned everything to his own use. She pretended to have
just noticed us and squealed (no other word will do), "Oh, what's this? Is there a secret?
Something you two want to share? Are you beating us to it?"
I felt his hand tense under mine, and, I admit impulsively, I said, "Shall we tell them?"
That's a question that can mean anything, up to and including, "What we do is none of your
fracking business."
He looked at me, and I could read the question in his eyes, so I nodded, and he said, "Looks
like it, Sheba."
So then, of course, she's absolutely thrilled... she's not too dumb to have noticed
who's her main competition, even if Apollo isn't up to admitting it. By the time she's done,
everybody in the dining room knew Starbuck and I were engaged. Toasts and kisses and good
wishes... though I'm sure, as soon as she's with her own kind, she'll start the 'only a slut
would marry a whore' chorus...
And then, as soon as we could, we came back here, to my quarters. And the first thing he said
was, "If you want out, just say so; I'll be glad to do something unforgivable."
"I don't want out unless you do," I said. I'd rejected him once, and been sorry for the hurt
it caused, and I wasn't going to do it again.
"You're sure?" he asked, those blue eyes so lonely it almost broke my heart.
"I'm sure," I said, and pulled him to me.
Marrying him will mean sleeping with him, of course, but I don't mind that. Sex with him is
good, as good as it gets. He's thorough and considerate and gentle when he ought to be and
hard when you want it... he knows you're there and he really takes the time to make you glad
you are. No satisfying himself and rolling over, or, worse, making a half-hearted effort and
leaving you all frustrated when he's done. Sleeping with him's not the problem. It's loving
him. It's making him happy...
But I can try to do that.
He makes it easy, after all. When I kissed him, he asked me if I was certain, if he might
stay. I smiled, saying that most men didn't go back to the BOQ the day they got engaged.
"This wasn't on the schedule for today, for either of us," he pointed out.
"I've always loved that about you," I said, "you don't assume. Even now, let alone the price
of a meal--"
He was too quick, understood far too well far too fast; probably he'd been thinking about it
for some time but not feeling as though he had the right to speak. Now he did: "That stairway
you said you fell down last sectare?"
I saw in his face that he'd seen the answer in mine, so I shrugged and nodded.
He touched my face, so gently. "Who?"
"Starbuck, it's not worth worrying about."
"It," he said, "is you. You and attempted rape--it was attempted?"
Not that 'rape' was the word I'd thought of, but... "Yes," I said. "He left."
"You're worth worrying about," he said firmly. "Who was it?"
"Starbuck--"
"Who?" He put his fingertips on my face, right where the bruise had been. "I want the name,
Cassie. Who?"
So I told him, and now I'll be waiting for Briard to be brought into the Life Center and
wondering what I should say... though it's likely enough Starbuck will just manage to get
him publicly and horribly humiliated. Still...
How easy he makes it to care about him.
I look at him sleeping, curled up on his side and peaceful. At least I can keep him from
being alone.
And it's not like Apollo wants him, after all... Or anyone wants me.
So, I suppose what we'll do in the morning is go on like this is what we want.
There's nothing either good or ill but thinking makes it so.
"Hey."
I look at him again. He's woken up, his eyes dark in the dimness. "What's wrong, Cassie?"
"Nothing," I say. "Just not sleepy."
"C'mere," he reaches and pulls me down to lie on his chest, his hand stroking my hair. "Okay?"
"I'm fine," I say, nestling against him just because it feels so warm, so good.
"Good," he says, kissing my temple gently.
I close my eyes. Maybe this isn't the smartest thing we could either of us do, but I think
there are a lot of things dumber.
I think, maybe, we'll be okay.
the end