After I squeeze my way out my pod door, a thick silence permeates the air in the hallway. Noise has ceased to exist in the URE. Nothing stirs. It's as if the people of Earth have already left the planet behind.
A single phrase comes to mind as I head up the Rotunda toward the Freyer pod.
This is the calm before the storm—and from where I'm at, there's a massive shit-storm brewing.
We have twenty days before launch.
This sleepy shadow over the URE stretches all the way to Dean's.
He answers the door after the first buzz. The spell from the hallway breaks instantly. Now that he's ignored his regular military cuts, his thick, sleep-tousled hair flops to the side. It's impossible to stop the stupid grin as it cracks across my face. He's adorable—and he's alive.
Dean rubs the sleep off his face as he retreats into his pod. "Shut up and come in."
I stretch to ruffle his hair as I enter. He swats my arm away easily.
Warren sits up in his cot and smears away the sleep from his eyes with the side of his fist.
"How are you holding up, old man?" I lean against the door and fold my arms over my chest.
Dean meanders to his father's bedside to tidy the mess. My attention diverts to Warren mumbling into his lap and fumbling with the blankets. Grabbing his iron prosthetic, he throws it to the side of the bed where it clunks against the concrete floor and buzzes into activity.
"I'm fine."
"How's life off the Junk?"
"I said I'm fine."
"Dad," Dean warns.
"Listen, Lorn," he says in his gruff bass. "I wanted to say I appreciate what you did for me up there." His regional accent that had always been a background sludge around the noises of my childhood is nearly gone. It's replaced with a crisp, unfamiliar twang. It's Warren's regular voice, but in high definition.
I smile sweetly. "For you, Warren, anything." I hope he takes my comment in its intended sincerity. What I hear sounds like the bratty words of my youth. The accusation burns in Dean's eyes.
Attempting to appear more genuine, I continue. "Glad we could work this out. I run a tight ship and expect nothing but good humor and smiles from you."
I'm making it worse.
Silence intensifies the tension in the room. No one says anything as my condescending remark festers in front of us.
"Fuck off." His laser focus bores into my eyes. For the first time ever, the rage, the hate, the animosity in his eyes is unwavering. He means every syllable.
"And this is a perfect start."
Dean sighs. "Nika."
"The next time you're too stupid to listen to orders—" I enunciate, stabbing him with my point, "I'm just going to let the Xani have their way with you. I hear they especially like to probe fat assholes."
He sneers. "You should have let it kill me."
Dean's head snaps around to stare at the man in the bed.
Warren folds his arms across his chest, mirroring me."I'd rather be gutted by that alien trash than have to spend the next five years under you, cu—."
Dean cuts in between us and pulls me by the elbow out of the room as I lunge at the fat-fuck blobbed in his own sweat and sick around the bed. There's no choice but to follow him. I flick off the scum-faced dickhat over Dean's shoulder as he shoves me out.
When I pause to yell at Dean for getting in my way, I notice the anxiety etched in his features. Worry marrs his face in deep lines furrowing his brow. I want to ask what the hell he has to be anxious about. Despite the tone of the previous conversation, Warren is in good hands. But the question dies before it reaches my lips.
Of course he is worried.
"Okay, I'm sorry." My intention is to dive into a full apology, but I'm cut short by the sight of Dean's tight white shirt stretching over his broad chest as he raises his arm, squeezing his neck muscles. The words evaporate. All of them. I have nothing to say.
"He shouldn't talk to you that way." He massages the stress-points and glares at Warren's room with hawkish animosity.
Dean's body stiffens from the strain.
"Yeah, but it's your dad. He's hated me from the first day he met me."
Dropping his hand to his side, he advances. "He doesn't hate you."
I snort.
"No, he's still mad at you for encouraging me to join Earth's Militia. He had big plans for me in Ag, and you ruined that. He's never forgiven you. You remember what I said about the Freyer men, right?"
"You guys are a bunch of book-loving weenies?"
Dean laughs once before surprising me, capturing me in a languid, loaded kiss. His fingers weave into my dark hair. Mine explore the warmth of his chest under his shirt.
"I don't expect you'll ever be civil around him." He smooths the hair he mussed up. "I get that it can't get any better than this. For now."
"Or ever."
He pauses for a while, holding my head in his hands, staring into my eyes with his hazel fire. "You're hot when you lay down the law."
"Then you better get down here and kiss me again, Commander. That's an order."
He plunges deep, bending me until I lean back.
The heat returns. Before I can slam on the brakes, my hands weave through his hair. We tumble and smack into the wall where his knee rises between my legs. Using it to gain leverage, I wrap my calf around his, pulling his hips into mine. I grind against him and throw my head back to open myself for the trail his lips will take.
I live for these unexpected moments.
This slice of time must be made tangible if I'm going to safeguard my sanity aboard ARC10. It's just a few seconds where contracts and OPLANs haven't intruded. It's a memory I will take with me when our ARCs are hundreds of light-years away from each other and I won't be able to reach out and scrape my hand against the gruff hairs on his neck. Maybe I'll forget the scar on his left eyebrow I gave him when we were thirteen. Or the fact that his elbows are double-jointed. Or that his kneecap shattered once when we were nineteen because he tripped over my sleeping body.
There are a hundred different bits I never want to forget about Dean, but this bizarre little moment in our timeline must be guarded as a keepsake forever. I press my hand against his chest and rip the shirt pocket.
"This is mine now."
"Fine. Then I get this." He comes back for another kiss. "Mine."
This "mine" statement propels the fire right back down the problematic areas. If this were anyone else, this would be a very different blaze.
"Fine." I tear along the edge of my own shirt until I've ripped a jagged loop, revealing my midriff.
Dean traces the bare skin above my pants with his thumb.
Lifting his left arm, I tie the fabric around his wrist into a knot. "Yours."
I'm left frustrated when he lowers his knee from the blissful pressure point. Unceremoniously, I stuff his white pocket in my bra. "You're never getting this back again, by the way." I pat my breast softly where the pocket rests underneath.
"Good. Use it as a bookmark."
We bump heads as I spit out an ungodly laugh, ruining this moment.
"So, I'm going to leave before this turns into a nightmare." I nibble his soft earlobe.
Pinpricks of goosebumps rise on the back of his neck. His cheek rests against my head as I lose myself to his heartbeat for a few seconds more.
"Dean? Dean! Is that whore gone yet?" Warren calls from within the pod. His cot creaks under his tank-sized body.
"Ah, well, shit. Too late."
"Go." He pushes me toward the door, careful to make sure neither of us is within touching distance once the public has viewing access to our little affair. "Wait for me." His generic message is more loaded than an atom bomb.
I salute him and leave with the lingering desire for one last kiss.