CHAPTER 4
March strides toward me like a conquering hero.
Instinctively, the people between him and me clear out of his path, recognizing the determined demeanor of a military man even if he doesn’t sport a Conglomerate uniform anymore. I quicken my pace toward him, a walk becoming a run, until I close the distance between us. He catches me up in his arms and swings me around.
I’ve dreamed of this moment for a turn.
Vid-mail tided me over until the next time I could see him, touch him. He waited so long for me, five times this long, in fact, but I’m impatient as hell, and it feels like an eternity since I walked out of his apartment on Nicu Tertius. He promised we’d comm—that he’d visit—but this is the first time I’ve seen him since that day. Work kept me busy, but deep within their compartmentalized slots, my yearning for him—and grimspace—never faltered—twin insatiable addictions.
He cups my face in his hands and kisses me like my lips will save his life. An ache springs up, and I wrap my arms around him, heedless of the jostling passersby in the spaceport. He tastes of mint and a darker tang, expensive liquor. I lose myself in March, as I’ve always done, then I hear his voice in my head: Mary, I missed you.
Me, too, I think.
March leans his brow against mine until the kid, his nephew, intrudes. “Are we going to stand here all day? People are staring.”
Stepping back, I glance around March to greet Sasha. He’s less timid than he was when I came by for dinner. Taller, too. I don’t know enough about kids to be sure if he’s big—or small—for his age, but I glimpse the gangly promise of the young man he’ll become—he’s twelve now—and definitely not as childish as he seemed before.
“Sorry,” I say. “I really missed your uncle.”
“I get that,” he mutters, but it’s not fear or even hostility I see in his face this time. It’s just simple distaste for being part of a public spectacle.
“It’s good to see you,” I say because it is, as it means March is here.
At last.
First order of business is to get out of the spaceport and take him home. We have two glorious weeks together before Sasha’s school term resumes; he’s doing well enough for Psi Corp to sanction a trip. Unlike when March dragged him to Gehenna, this journey’s been vetted and approved. This holiday falls during the calm before the storm. Since Flavius forewarned me with his taunts, I know it’s going to come down to my lack of citizenship. When they block my latest petition—and I foresee no other outcome—then we have no legal recourse. Which leaves illegal ones.
Loras has always been prepared for that eventuality. He understands that you can’t negotiate with those determined to strip a planet of its resources and who prefer to keep the native populace in chains. Historically, no homeworld has been occupied so often.
Putting those dark thoughts aside, I lace my fingers through March’s, noting he’s got their bags slung over one shoulder. He’s taller than I remember, but just as ugly-handsome, with a strong, harsh face, golden hawk eyes, and the bumpy, oft-broken nose. It doesn’t look like he’s cut his hair in months; I wonder if he did that for me. I’ve always preferred it long.
Of course, he tells me.
A warm shiver quakes through me. Two weeks aren’t enough. It’s going to half kill me when he leaves, but until then, I have fourteen days with him. Resentment flares that he can’t stay—just a spark—quickly quelled. Intellectually, I understand why he must go. He has to look after Sasha. So I’ll store up memories to last. I tell myself I’ll be busy forging ahead in the liberation of La’heng, then put the prospect of another farewell, another separation, from my mind.
I smile up at him. The things I’m gonna do to you in thanks…
“You’re talking silently,” Sasha guesses, as we walk. “That’s rude, you know.”
March grins down at the kid, and my heart actually stutters a little. I’ve never seen him so…free. Words like contentment and peace didn’t use to apply to March, but they do now. My resentment fades; it’s impossible for me to doubt his choices when parenthood so obviously agrees with him.
“We’re not talking about you,” I assure him.
“Then it’s sex stuff.” Sasha sighs.
I’m not sure if I should show amusement, but March gives me permission with a nudge in my head, and pretty soon, all three of us are laughing like mad, loud enough to draw a few looks from other travelers, but this time, Sasha’s in on it, too, and he doesn’t mind the attention. From what I remember of being a kid, mood swings like that are normal. You’re surly, then not-surly, all within half an hour, thanks to the crazy hormone cocktail running amok in your bloodstream.
“So where are we going?” March asks, for Sasha’s benefit. He’s gleaned everything he needs to know, and more besides, hanging around my head.
“I’ve got a place.”
Guilt surges. I refused to stay on Nicu Tertius with him, but here, I have my first dirtside residence since Gehenna, when I worked at Hidden Rue and lived in a garret above Adele’s place. I miss her so much; and I know that Vel is still hurting. It’s ironic that the same woman meant so much—in different ways—to both of us; doubtless she would argue that’s evidence of the divine. For him, the pain bleeds on and on until such a time when he doesn’t feel like it’s killing him, measured in tens of turns. He’s good at covering, but he’s heartbroken, and I make an imperfect consolation prize.
I wonder what March will make of the fact that Vel and I are roommates. It made sense to take one place, divide up the space, and share costs. Loras, Constance, and Zeeka are there, too, so it’s not like it’s a romantic arrangement.
It’s all right, he tells me silently. I understand why you’re here.