"And the coffee. That was a very indirect apology."
"It was coffee."
"It was an apology in coffee form and we both know it."
Something happens at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile. The ghost of the idea of one. "Go to sleep, Tia."
I look back at the ceiling. His hand is still on my hip. The warmth of it has spread up through my whole side. My brain is finally starting to blur at the edges the way it does when sleep is actually coming.
"I know you want to," I say quietly. Not a come-on. Just honest. The dark makes it easier. "I'm not trying to make it weird. I just. I know. And you know I know. And I think we're both pretending very hard and I don't totally understand why."
The room goes still.
He doesn't move his hand.
"Because you're here for protection," he says. His voice is level. Controlled. "Because the situation is dangerous and your judgment and mine can't afford to be compromised right now."
"Those are real reasons."
"Yeah.”
"Okay." I close my eyes. "I just didn't want to keep pretending I don't notice."
Another silence. Long enough that I think he's not going to answer, that I've pushed past the edge of what he's willing to do.
Then his hand moves. Just slightly. His thumb traces one slow circle on my hip, once, through the fabric. Like he's answering a question he doesn't have words for.
I don't say anything. I don't push it. I let it be what it is, which is the closest thing to an admission either of us has made out loud.
“I should have grabbed Kevin," I say finally, because I need to say something lighter or I'm not going to be able to breathe.
I hear the exhale from his side of the bed. Not quite a laugh. But something that would be, from a different man in a different life. “Who the fuck is Kevin?”
“The spider plant. He’s my friend.”
"Go to sleep," he says.
"Okay." I pull the covers a little higher. His hand stays where it is, steady and warm. "Kraken?"
"What?”
"Thank you. For listening tonight. Eventually."
He doesn't answer with words. His hand shifts up slightly, settles at my waist, and holds there. Solid and deliberate.
I close my eyes and focus on that weight and let it push everything else back. The fear. The noise. The images from the fence line. The question of what happens to Finn. All of it goes quiet under the pressure of one steady hand.
I fall asleep faster than I expect to.
The last thing I'm aware of is him, still on top of the covers, still in the same position, like he plans to stay awake all night and maybe he does.
I feel anchored. And for the first time since this started, I feel like something other than the thing being protected.
10
Kraken
Early morning light slips through the narrow window of my room. The compound sits quiet after the violence of last night. I wake with Tia curled tight against my chest. Her soft breathing brushes warm across my neck. The covers are gone. One of her legs drapes over mine. That ridiculous pineapple sleep shirt has ridden up enough to bare a strip of smooth skin at her hip. Vanilla and coconut cling to her hair and skin. I stay perfectly still and savor the feel of her.
