#prospect fic

It’s her.

Cee stared at the computer screen, eyes wide as she read the name at the top of the Central Mining Investigations employee file she’d accessed for the third time. Her heart pounded from a rush of adrenaline and dopamine as she let out a burst of air through her gaping mouth. It’s gotta be. Licking her lips, she gave a quick shake of her head, the small, loose bun atop it wobbling side to side. Let me just check one more time before I... 

Her fingers flew over the keys to bring up another page - a certified name change form, filed with the Puggart Bench Registration Department. Holding her breath, she compared the two documents. Everything was identical, apart from the woman’s last name. Current residence, birthdate, homeworld. Cee brought her fingertip up to the screen, using it to underscore each digit in the woman’s I.D. number as she cross referenced the CMI employee sheet. 

“-seven, five, nine, three,” She breathed out the last four numbers as another wave of excitement hit her bloodstream. “I found her.” 

Immediately, she opened up another tab, keys clacking as she signed in. She bit her lip and eyed the clock at the bottom of the screen as she waited for the private channel to open. Ugh. It’s late. Her thumb tapped impatiently against the edge of her laptop. I hope he’s still up. 

Her computer trilled a pleasant three-note tune as the connection was made, and she wasted no time in sending a message. 

_02/02/3096  _LST 12:47:45 AM  _PBST 10:47:45 AM {PRIVATE CHANNEL SECURED} 

[CeeGull78]: Hey you there?? 

[CeeGull78]: Ezra? You awake? 

[CeeGull78]: EZRA??? Wake up! 

[SilverScoundrel]: I am awake, Birdie. I am just not as quick with the keyboard as you are. Is everything alright? It’s late there, isn’t it? 

[CeeGull78]: You definitely aren’t. And yeah everything’s okay. Better than okay actually. 

[CeeGull78]: Ezra I found her. 

[SilverScoundrel]: Now I know you did not send me a message in the middle of the night to mock my typing speed. 

[SilverScoundrel]: Birdie? What do you mean? 

[CeeGull78]: Dagger. I found her. You were right about her working for CMI. 

[CeeGull78]: I missed it the first time I accessed their personnel files because she changed her name. 

[SilverScoundrel]: I don’t understand. We went through those files together with a fine tooth comb last time you were home. 

[SilverScoundrel]: Which, by the way, I should remind you, is not what you are meant to be spending your time at school doing. 

[SilverScoundrel]: She changed her name? 

[CeeGull78]: Relax, I’m getting all my schoolwork done on time and I’m using secure access points for this stuff. I won’t get caught. 

[CeeGull78]: But yeah. She changed her last name. First name’s still the same. I double checked the registration number. It’s her.

[CeeGull78]: And before you ask, she didn’t get married. I accessed the Puggart Central hall of records database. No registered marriage licenses, just a standard name change. 

[SilverScoundrel]: A marriage would explain her taking a new surname, are you certain that she did not wed? 

[SilverScoundrel]: Oh. I see. Well what is her new name? 

[CeeGull78]: Fagan. And according to these records, she was recently promoted to Lead Field Investigator for the Lau sector. 

[CeeGull78]: You know what that means, right? 

[CeeGull78]: I can contact her anonymously and set up a meet for you right here on Lau! Or Yonto since it looks like that’s where she’s headed next. 

[SilverScoundrel]: Birdie, do not attempt to contact her. 

[CeeGull78]: What?! Ezra why skuffing not? 

[CeeGull78]: You said you’ve been looking for her for years and now that I found her you don’t want to see her? 

[SilverScoundrel]: Of course I want to see her. 

[CeeGull78]: Then let me help you do that! 

[SilverScoundrel]: But I do not want to cause her any trouble and I fear that is all I ever do for others. 

[CeeGull78]: Untrue. We both know I would have never made it off the Green without you. We both know Damon would have left me with the Sater. 

[CeeGull78]: I wouldn’t be enrolled at Cobalt. I wouldn’t have a future. 

[CeeGull78]: I hate to break it to you, but you’re not actually the scoundrel you think you are. 

[SilverScoundrel]: Perhaps not anymore, due in large part to you, little bird. 

[SilverScoundrel]: But Dagger knew a very different version of me. And I do not want to cause her any trouble in her new life. 

[CeeGull78]: Ezra with all due respect I think you’re being skuffing stupid. 

[CeeGull78]: What if she’s been looking for you too? Don’t you want to at least know that? 

[SilverScoundrel]: Cee, please. Let this go. Do not try to contact her directly. 

[SilverScoundrel]: I appreciate that you are trying to help me. Truly I do. Thank you for letting me know what you found. 

[SilverScoundrel]: It’s late. You should be sleeping. Do you not have a class at 8:30 your time? 

[CeeGull78]: Yeah. Intro to Computer Science. Which I could probably teach. 

[CeeGull78]: But I can take the hint. I’ll let it go. 

[SilverScoundrel]: Thank you. Now go and get some sleep. Or at least allow me to get some. Goodnight Birdie. 

[CeeGull78]: Night Ezra. 

_02/02/3096  _LST 01:05:23 AM  _PBST 11:05:23 AM {PRIVATE CHANNEL CLOSED} 

Cee closed her laptop and set it down on the bed beside her. Her dorm room was dark, save for the reflection of blueish moonlight Yonto threw down at Cobalt Bay that managed to slip through the blinds. Nash, her roommate, was out for the night, so she didn’t have to make sure the other girl was sleeping before she climbed down from her lofted bed and opened the chest beneath it. 

Removing the top compartment, she revealed the lower part of the chest, which currently held the bulky sweaters she’d need in a few weeks when the weather changed. She shoved her hand between two folded piles and pulled one stack out, letting them drop to the floor as she grabbed the little purple pouch that had been under them. The contents rattled and she felt them move inside as she took it out and opened it. 

Peeking inside, she counted thirteen crust-nugget quality Aurelac gems. They weren’t worth much, and if she was being honest with herself, she didn’t really know why she kept them. Especially because raw mined materials from off-world were prohibited on Lau. Tossing the bag in her palm, she rolled her eyes. If I was worried about getting caught doing things I shouldn’t, I wouldn’t be hacking the CMI and PCRD databases from my dorm.

She glanced over at the small desk that she hardly ever sat at, which was also tucked under her raised bed frame, eyes landing on the photo there. It was taken the day that Ezra helped her move in for her first year at Cobalt, his arm slung around her as she leaned into his side. Both of them were grinning like skuffing fools. It was her favorite that they’d ever taken together. 

Giving the pouch another gentle toss, she swallowed. He said not to contact Dagger… directly. Looking down at the gems inside, she reached in and plucked one out. It was cloudy and slightly off-color, harvested too soon. Suitable only for button making or costume jewelry, if that. But what if I left her a message another way? 

After all, she did have a field assignment at the Central Mining outpost at Cobalt Bay the following afternoon, working on the computers that monitored the pumps. She could plant a few Aurelac gems by one of the Glossoil rigs. She could even fudge the security footage. She could be invisible. And then when one of the miners finds it, they’ll have to call CMI. 

Chewing her bottom lip, she dropped the gem back into the pouch and pulled the drawstring to close it. “I shouldn’t,” she said aloud, hoping that the sound of her own voice could dissuade her from making a mistake that could cost her. 

She placed the pouch back at the bottom of the chest, covered it with the displaced sweaters, covered those with the top compartment, and shut the chest. That done, she climbed back up to her bunk, and took her computer down to charge it on her dust-catcher of a desk. She looked at the photo one more time, her heart sinking at the thought of Ezra choosing not to reunite with the woman he’d told her once had been the love of his life. 

“I shouldn’t…” She said it under her breath and clicked the desk light off. 

But by the time she’d climbed back up into her bed and had situated herself under the lumpy comforter, she knew that even though she shouldn’t… she was going to. 

He’ll thank me for it later. She imagined some nebulous woman, the sketch of a person she’d never met or seen, based only on the handful of things Ezra had told her about the woman he’d called Dagger. Maybe they both will. 

——————————————————————————————————

The express shuttle from Lau Prime to Yonto, its closest and only habitable moon, took just over three hours. Pulling your laptop from its case, you decided to use that time - or at least some of it - productively. 

The sooner I file this report the better. 

It was standard CMI practice for inspectors to file their reports within a twenty four hour period of making their field visit. But your standard practice had always been to file as soon as possible, so that not even the smallest detail was at risk of being forgotten. You’d made waves at the bureau as a junior agent, when your diligence on a case resulted in finding a connection that your senior partner missed. 

Since those days, you’d climbed through the ranks to senior agent, and now chief field investigator of an entire sector, and through it all you had always filed your reports as close to immediately as possible. It had become expected of you. If you were to go longer than an hour without at least filing an initial report, you’d likely start to see messages from your team piling up on your wrist comm, asking if you were alright or if something had happened. It would raise questions, which was the last thing that you wanted. 

Especially because of… You glanced down at the clear, plastic evidence bag resting on your thigh, and at the cloudy yellow stones inside. Your heart thumped heavily against your ribs as you let out a slow, somewhat shaky breath. Because of my history. 

It was true that you had become a jewel in CMI’s crown in regards to closing piracy cases and making sure that mining protocols for safety, productivity and loss prevention were being carried out. But there were still those, like Vayne, your Inspector in Command, who remembered  how you came to work at the bureau in the first place. There were still those who called you a poacher, a pirate, a backstabber. There were some who cherished any chance they got to remind you - or anyone who would listen - that you only had your job because you had been caught violating mining law on Bahkroma Green, and that you were hired as part of a now defunct program that sought to get inside the minds of the criminals they were tracking down. Of the twenty agents hired through that program, you were the only one who hadn’t returned to illegal activities, the only one who hadn’t somehow used your position to feed information to anyone on the outside. And some at the bureau said it was only a matter of time before you did the same. 

Which was why this report specifically could not wait for your arrival on Yonto. You didn’t want anyone catching wind that it involved Aurelac, the very gems you had once been found guilty of stealing, and then hear that you had waited to file the report. That would look fishy. 

You cast another downwards glance at the bag of gems balanced on your leg as you set the laptop on the shuttle tray table. How did these… You licked your lips as blueish light streaked across the windows of the craft. How did these get there? 

Like any prospector, you’d know your first pull anywhere. You were looking at the fuck-nugget gems that you had scored over a decade ago, back when you were running with a pirate crew out in the Fringe. But I left these with Ezra. So how… 

Your computer finished booting up and you shook your head to clear your thoughts. Doesn’t matter right now. First, you needed to keep up appearances, which meant filing the report. But you needed to do it in a way that framed the incident as harmless so that it didn’t attract more attention from other agents. 

And to buy myself time to get to the bottom of this. 

Cracking your fingers, you opened a fresh report document, and then began typing. 

Field Report #0473 Sector: Lau  Planet/Moon: Lau Prime  CMI Respondent: Insp. Fagan  PB Registration #xxxx-7593 Date: 02/04/3096 Priority Level: Low 

Reason: Unauthorized raw materials (Aurelac pearls, grade C and lower) found at Central Mining owned site in Cobalt Bay. 

Observations: Glossoil miners contacted CMI when they came across four mid-sized, low quality Aurelac pearls which they claim appeared to have been “left there on purpose”. I was escorted by the site manager to the pump station where they were found. (It should be noted that the site manager and shift workers complied fully with the investigation.)

There were indeed four pearls on the ground near the pump controls, however their placement did not seem intentional but random. The pearls were all extremely clouded, though smooth. Initial scans showed no prints on the gems or on any surface nearby. 

No damage was done to Central Mining property or assets, and nothing has been reported as missing or stolen. 

Security footage of the area showed no trespassers. Black and white footage was clear, though did appear to glitch for <1 second, but no change in light, shadow or clarity was detected. 

Analysis: Based on my own observations, accounts given by crew that found the pearls, security footage and quality of the gems (black market/unregistered provenance) it is likely that the pearls were dropped by a crew member unknowingly. Given their low value, it is not, in this inspector’s opinion, a case that warrants further investigation. 

Suggested Action: Gems seized as evidence. Continue to monitor security footage. Weekly check-in video calls with Cobalt Bay Refinery manager for three months. If three months pass without incident, discontinue check-in protocol. 

Additional Comments: None at this time. 

You read your write-up once more. It seemed innocuous and bland enough, but not too sparse. It would be sufficient for your boss, anyway, and that was really all that mattered. 

It would also be the first time that you had ever intentionally lied on a report. 

You knew without a doubt that the gems had been left at the Cobalt Bay facility on purpose, and you knew that purpose was to get your attention, not CMI’s. You knew the glitch in the security footage was cause for concern, or at the very least, further investigation. And you knew that these specific gems - worthless as they were - resurfacing meant that the only scenario in which you would abuse your station like your rivals at the bureau said you would was playing out. 

Ezra’s alive. 

Your heart slammed at your ribs. 

And I have to find him before they do. 

——————————————————————————————————

The day after planting the gems at the Glossoil pump, Cee logged back into the CMI database with the false credentials that she’d used to find you. They still worked, like she knew that they would, and within a few minutes of finishing her assignment on the importance of using secure passwords and protecting sensitive data online, she was deep into the recently filed reports tab in Central Mining Investigations’ internal system. 

Scrolling through the linked documents, she stopped when she got to the one with your name on it - Field Report #0473. She clicked it to open the report and sat back against the pillows on her bed as she scanned through what you had written. 

Let’s see… Unauthorized raw materials… Random placement, not intentional. She swallowed. Oh, crud. 

She sat up and used both hands to sweep her blonde hair out of her face and behind her ears as she read over the next portion. 

Glitch in security footage. Skuff it, she noticed that? 

Her heartbeat picked up as she brought one thumb to her mouth and chewed at the nail. Ezra had told her that you were extremely detail oriented, that nothing got past your sharp eye. “She told me her surname meant Dagger,” he’d said, “And I’m certain that it does. But that is not the only reason that I used that moniker for her. She is the sharpest person I have ever met. Her eyes can cut through anything, Birdie.” 

He wasn’t kidding. 

If she noticed that, then… Cee blinked. Then they might make her look closer at it and then she might see that the cameras were accessed on site and then-  She squeezed her eyes shut and clutched her head. She’ll figure out that it was one of the student interns. 

As though she needed another kick of adrenaline, her door swung open and the lights clicked on, Cee letting out a gasp and nearly falling from her lofted bed. 

“Shit, sorry, it’s just me, Cee!” Nash called out as she tossed her bag on her bed. “I didn’t know you were back from class yet. The lights were off and-” 

Peeking over the side of the bed, she forced a smile that she hoped didn’t look as tight as it felt. “No worries. Just, uh-” She minimized the tab she was reading, even though there was no way Nash could see it from where she stood. “Just working on my cyber-sec project.” Good thing I finished it last week. 

Nash groaned. “I still haven’t started mine. But it’s not due until next week, right?” Cee nodded. “Okay, good. I’ve got time.” Her roommate smiled then, taking a few books out of her bag and replacing them with the folded blanket from the end of her bed. “And so do you. I’m meeting up with Shayla and Pax down by the cliffs for lunch. It’s so nice out, Cee! You should come!” 

Truth be told, there was nothing that Cee wanted more than to jump down from her perch and join her friends. It was the first time in her life that she had any, and she’d been thoroughly enjoying learning what it was like to find a group of people who had her back, who helped her figure out how to become herself. Prior to her enrollment at Cobalt, the only experience she had with friendship had been what she’d read in The Streamer Girl. Now that she’d met Shayla, Pax and especially Nash, she finally understood the bond between Clo and Reevie. 

Her eyes shifted to the computer, a slight frown pulling her mouth downwards. But I have to fix this. Like right now. She sighed, gesturing at her screen. “I’m kinda on a tear right now with this, but I’m almost done. Maybe I can meet you guys down there in like, I don’t know, an hour?” 

Nash put on an exaggerated pout. “Fiiiiiine. But you better come. If you don’t, we’re all gonna come drag you out. You’ve been all work and no play lately.” She dropped the pout and tilted her head, a flash of genuine concern in her eyes. “Everything okay with you?” 

No. I skuffed up and hacked the CMI database, planted illegal gems at the refinery, manipulated the security footage, and now I have to cover my tracks before I get caught and expelled, maybe arrested… Oh, Kevva, could Ezra be arrested for this? Technically I’m his responsibility, and- 

She plastered on a smile. “Yeah. Everything’s creamy.” She shrugged at her computer. “I’m just locked in with this project. And hey, if I get it done now I can help you with yours tomorrow. That way we’re both done before the Myllock festival this weekend.” 

That seemed like a good enough response, because Nash gasped and broke into a grin. “I almost forgot about the festival! Okay, finish your project,” she said, flicking her hands up at Cee. “But hurry!” 

Cee promised that she would, and with that, Nash headed back out. Opening the report she had been reading just moments before, Cee let out a heavy sigh. Okay. Damage control time. 

With a few keystrokes, her heart racing, the sound of it loud in her ears, she was able to open up the editing function on the report. Luckily, the report was still flagged as “needs review”, meaning that it hadn’t been processed yet. That gave her some relief, though there was still a nervous shake in her fingers as she dragged the cursor to the section in question and began deleting the words you’d written. 

Security footage of the area showed no trespassers. Black and white footage was clear  though did appear to glitch for <1 second, but no change in light, shadow or clarity was detected. 

She read the report one last time, making sure that there was nothing else that she needed to clean up. Satisfied that there wasn’t, she re-submitted the file and logged out of the CMI database. At that exact moment, another window popped open on her screen and for a brief but terrifying moment she was convinced it was some kind of alert or message from the bureau or even her school, telling her that they were aware of her tampering and that she was in big, catastrophic trouble. 

But then she blinked and the terror passed and she saw that it was only her chat screen, a new message from Ezra coming through. 

_02/05/3096  _LST 12:09:25 PM  _PBST 10:09:25 AM {PRIVATE CHANNEL SECURED} 

[SilverScoundrel]: Cee? Are you there? 

[CeeGull78]: Nope. Sorry, you just missed her. She’s definitely not here. 

[SilverScoundrel]: You are hilarious, Little Bird. 

[CeeGull78]: Thank you, I know. 

[Silver Scoundrel]: Well, if Cee returns, oh benevolent message keeper, please let her know that I have successfully booked my ticket to Lau for family weekend, and that I look forward to seeing her. 

[SilverScoundrel]: Oh I see we’ve dropped the game. 

[CeeGull78]: No way! You did? You’re coming?? 

[SilverScoundrel]: I am indeed, Birdie. 

[CeeGull78]: Ezra, that’s great! You can meet my friends! And I can show you the computer lab since that’s where I spend most of my time. 

[SilverScoundrel]: I did not realize that you would be so excited to have my company, but I can’t say that it’s not a welcome surprise. 

[CeeGull78]: Oh stuff it, you know I miss you. Can you see my eyes rolling from the Bench? Because they are. Hard. 

[SilverScoundrel]: I cannot. However, having witnessed it so many times, I can clearly picture the expression. And I miss you too, for the record. I never imagined a wild Fringer like myself would be fortunate enough to find kin like you, but I am more than happy to have been wrong. 

[CeeGull78]: Sap. 

[CeeGull78]: For the record, I’m happy you were wrong, too. Who knows, maybe you’ll really shock yourself and be wrong about Dagger being in your past, too. 

[SilverScoundrel]: Are you still on that? 

[CeeGull78]: Am I still on trying to get you to reunite with the one person who has ever made you happy? Who you said was the only woman you ever loved? Um, gee, let me think. 

[CeeGull78]: Yeah, I am. 

[SilverScoundrel]: It isn’t going to happen, Birdie. It can’t. We live different lives now. It wouldn’t be safe. 

[CeeGull78]: What do you mean it won’t be safe? She’s not gonna like stab you or anything, is she?

[SilverScoundrel]: No, nothing like that. I don’t think, anyway, though I would likely deserve it. But the danger I am referring to doesn’t come from her. She would be the target of that danger in this case. As would you, should the wrong folks catch wind of our reunion. 

[SilverScoundrel]: And I have already promised you that I will never knowingly put you in harm’s way, Cee. 

[CeeGull78]: Me?? Why would I be in any danger? 

[CeeGull78]: Ezra, what actually happened between you two? And who are the “wrong folks”? CMI?

[SilverScoundrel]: You would suffer simply for your connection to me, and that is not something that I will sit idly by and allow. 

[SilverScoundrel]: Kevva bless it, Birdie, not on here. Don’t mention things on here that might catch the wrong attention. 

[CeeGull78]: Would you relax? I told you a million times, it’s a secure channel. It’s invitation only. No one but you and me can see this conversation, and it gets deleted after we sign off. 

[CeeGull78]: And yes, I’m sure. Like I told you, I could teach the Intro to Computer Science class. 

[SilverScoundrel]: Still, I would feel better if you did not broach such topics here. 

[CeeGull78]: And I would feel better if I knew more about all of this. 

[SilverScoundrel]: Then I will make you a deal, Birdie. When I come to visit next weekend, I will answer any and all of your inquiries. All I ask is that you save them for when we can talk about it in person. 

[CeeGull78]: Fine, but there’s going to be a lot of them by then. 

[SilverScoundrel]: I would expect nothing less from an inquisitive spirit such as yourself. Do try to spend some time on your school work or even with your friends, though, and not all of it compiling your list of questions. 

[CeeGull78]: Oh, crud! Actually, I have to go. I’m late to meet with Nash and them. 

[CeeGull78]: But I really am glad you’re coming. Thanks for letting me know. And for, you know, actually wanting to come. 

[SilverScoundrel]: Of course I want to. I am proud as a puffed up dune-piper that I get that honor. Now go on and have fun with your friends. 

[CeeGull78]: I will! Talk to you soon!

_02/05/3096  _LST 12:24:25 PM  _PBST 10:24:25 AM {PRIVATE CHANNEL CLOSED} 

Ezra watched the screen until the conversation vanished as Cee said it would, letting out a small sigh of relief as soon as it did. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her expertise. The list of people he’d trusted more or even as much as Cee was a short one. The same could be said for the list of people who he gave a channel rat’s behind about, though, and he’d never forgive himself if she ended up being punished for his past discretions. 

For the things he did when he was with you. 

Closing his eyes, he leaned back in the olive plaid armchair, pinching the bridge of his nose and then flattening his palm against his brow. Your face filled his mind then, as vividly as if he’d just seen you that morning. As if it hadn’t been over a decade without him knowing your fate. 

Since Cee had sent him the message that she had found you, Ezra’s thoughts and emotions had been all over the place. Hearing that you were alive and well had been a gift that he feared he would never receive, and in the moment, he was thrilled. But it was only mere seconds before that euphoria was overridden by guilt and regret for allowing Cee to put herself in the midst of his mess. He’d entertained her offer to look for you while she had been home from school on break, and that had piqued her curiosity to the point of no return. He never meant for her to continue the search, to push the limits and keep digging. 

But I should have known better. She is a small thing, but deceptively hard to move. 

Ezra wondered, briefly, if perhaps he did know better. If he had let the devil on his shoulder whisper in his ear to let her look, what could it hurt, surely even if she was caught CMI would go easy on her, she’s a student after all. Maybe he was still the scoundrel that he thought he was. 

No. It was done subconsciously. I would never knowingly encourage Cee to put herself in harm’s way. Certainly not on my behalf. 

Shaking that from his thoughts - not that he absolved himself completely - they turned back to you. You were alive. Not imprisoned. Not stranded on some Kevva forgotten moon, left to the moss and fern. Alive. His heart thumped happily at that news as years of fear and worry and shame fell away. You were alive. 

He had spent the last twelve years thinking that he’d gotten you killed. Thinking that when things had gone sideways on the Divin job with those mercs, when he’d woken up in a pool of his own blood and you were gone, that he had failed to protect you at the cost of your life. 

And of course he had searched for you. Stumbled across Divin’s entire eastern plain with a concussion and at least three cracked ribs, bordering on hysterics as he cried out your name to no avail. Tracked the mercs back to an abandoned camp and dropped to his knees in the circle of charred dirt from where the thrusters had shot fire into the ground upon takeoff, letting out a hideous, shattered howl. Tore through the remnants of their camp for any clue as to where you’d been taken and found nothing. Dragged himself, still bloodied and battered, back to his ship which had blessedly been left undamaged, and somehow flew back to Central. Tried like hell to convince himself that there was a chance you might be able to get away from your captors, mostly so he wouldn’t crash the jumper straight into the Divin asteroid field. 

The two of you always knew that the jobs you took attracted trouble. You always knew that there might come a time that you’d have to split up for safety, lay low for a spell. You had a contingency plan for that, a place to regroup or to safely leave messages for each other - Coney’s billiards hall on the third level of Central Prime. Ezra had gone to Coney’s every damn day for a month only for the retired pirate turned business owner to shake his shaggy head with an increasingly grim look on his face. Only for Ezra to end up leaving a letter that would still be there in three months when he returned from searching for you on Kren. 

He’d left it again and gone off to Helpha next, then the Ephrate and then every place the two of you had been together, every place you ever mentioned in that dreamy voice you’d use when you talked about the days after all of this. He spent the better part of a year searching for you, all the while hoping that when he got back to Coney’s, you might be there waiting. Or that a message from you would be. Or at the very least that his letter would be gone. 

“‘M sorry, sonny,” the man had said upon Ezra’s return, his gray-blue eyes brimming with genuine sadness - Coney always liked you, everyone did - “Think maybe you should have this back.” He’d handed Ezra back his letter with the promise that if he did see you, he’d not hesitate to reach out. “‘M hopin’ I do see ‘er, Ez, really I am.” 

But that call never came. And Ezra still had the letter. 

He stood and crossed the small sitting room to the desk in the corner. Pulling open the top drawer, he reached in and retrieved the folded and refolded piece of paper, then slumped back in the armchair and opened it. His formerly jaunty but legible handwriting glared up at him, another reminder of how much time had passed, how many things had changed. But he ignored that and read the words he’d written to you all those years ago despite the fact that by now they had been fully committed to memory. 

Dagger, 

I failed you, and I lack the words to express how sorry I am for not being able to keep you from harm. (Imagine that. Me, speechless.) I hope that if you are reading this letter now that you are safe, that you’re whole and well and far from the villains who took you from me. I hope these things even if you choose to tell Coney that you don’t want to see me again. I long to hold you again like a drowning man’s lungs long for air. But simply knowing you are alive would be enough. I’d learn to breathe water. 

But I must admit that I am riddled with fear that I am too late. And so in case you never read this letter, this next part is a vow that I make to myself as much as it is to you: There’ll be peace and harmony in the wildest reaches of the Fringe before I give up hope of finding you again. I’ll search for you everywhere I go, until Kevva claims my wretched soul and even then I’ll look for you. 

No one else will ever carve their name in my heart. I love you, endlessly. 

Ezra 

He stared at the page, silently berating himself for believing it when the rumor went around at Coney’s - it had been sold to someone named Jak a few years ago but it would always be called Coney’s - that you had turned up dead on Helpha. It hadn’t stopped him from keeping his eyes and ears open for any mention or trace of you as he moved through the Fringe. But it had killed the hope of ever holding you again, and it had fed the guilt he felt because he knew that you were only dead because he’d failed you. 

But she’s not. She’s alive. 

He glanced back at the computer, at the blank screen where his conversation with Cee had been displayed. He still wouldn’t ask her to contact you. You working for CMI had likely been part of a deal sparing you from spending the rest of your life in one of the Fringe’s less desirable prisons. And it likely meant that they closely monitored all of your reports and communications, scanning them for any connection to his name or to your old life. It likely meant that you were just a different kind of prisoner, and he wouldn’t involve Cee in a jailbreak. 

But he would, when he answered all of her questions regarding you, ask her for all the information he needed to contact you on his own. 

Because I lied, Dagger, my girl. Unintentionally, of course. 

Knowing you were alive was everything. But until he knew whether or not you’d allow it, having you to hold again was all he could think about. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The screen on your wrist comm blinked red, and you felt the blood drain from your face as you gaped down at it. 

Report to Insp. Vayne: IMMEDIATELY Reason: IRREGULARITY ON REPORT #0473

Irregularity? What irregularity? How? You shook your head. Vayne wasn’t there, how could he know that I downplayed it? 

Mouth going dry, you tried to calm yourself as you made your way to Vayne’s office. Maybe you’d forgotten to add your registration number, something simple and easy to rectify, the urgency only due to the fact that the report couldn’t properly be filed without it. But there was a little voice in the back of your head that told you not to be so foolish. This was about Ezra, somehow. You were sure of it. 

Fuck, why did I believe it when they told me he was dead? Why didn’t I take the risk and fucking make sure for myself? 

But you knew why. CMI, though they treated you well enough most of the time, held more than just your freedom from imprisonment over your head. They threatened to go after your family and Ezra’s - he had a brother and two nephews - if you ever stepped out of line and turned traitor. So you knew you hadn’t done the wrong thing in protecting them. 

That didn’t stop the ache that cleaved through your heart, because you knew that if you had found Ezra again, the two of you would’ve found a way to break free from CMI, to keep everyone you loved safe. It didn’t stop the shiver from trickling down your spine at the thought that if they’d gone as far as to lie about his death, it must mean they’d do anything to keep you from knowing the truth. 

Pulling yourself together as best as you could, you knocked on Vayne’s door, dropping your hand as it slid open. “Come in, Fagan.” 

You had gotten good at not doing it outwardly, but inwardly you cringed every time someone called you by that name. It wasn’t yours, and the only name you ever wanted to take other than yours was Ezra’s. But Fagan had been given to you along with your shiny new life as CMI’s most well-broken wild horse. 

“Sir,” you managed with a nod as you entered. 

“Take a seat.” He gestured to the lone chair that sat opposite his own and you did as you were asked. “Do you know why I called you in?” He raised one brow but kept the rest of his facial muscles eerily still as he measured your response. 

You cleared your throat and turned your wrist so that he could see the display on your comm. “Says here that you found an irregularity in my report from the Cobalt Bay facility.” Tilting your head to the side, you let your arm rest in your lap. “Did I not add my registration number or something?” 

Vayne blinked once, then the corner of his mouth twitched. “No, all of your t’s and i’s are crossed and dotted procedurally speaking.” He clicked his tongue. “As always.” 

“Oh.” You hoped he couldn’t hear the slam, slam, slam of your heart as you worked to internalize your panic. “Okay, well, good. Where was the irregularity, then?” 

“Well that’s the thing, Fagan, you see-” His twitchy smirk grew a tick and he held up one finger. “The report itself is perfect. Well written, thorough. Honestly, we could add it to the training manual as an example but the manual is already chock full of your reports.” 

Then what… You sat there silently, breathing through your nose to keep the rhythm even, and waited for him to drop the other shoe.  

“What’s irregular about this report is that you waited a day to file it when your MO has always been to file-” He snapped his fingers, “- like that.” 

That made no sense to you at all and you did nothing to hide your confusion. “Sir, I filed the report from the Yonto shuttle as soon as I left Cobalt Bay.” You shook your head. “You can ask Murph or Reece. They saw me writing it up and gave me flack for it because they said it makes the rest of them look bad, how quickly I file.” 

“Then the irregularity is that you re-opened it before I read it, then. Typically if you recall a detail that you want to add, you file an add-on page.” He blinked again, that fucking smirk ticking higher and tinting his eyes with something threatening. “So why didn’t you do that this time? You know, I did wonder whether or not I should trust you on a case involving Aurelac, but I-” 

“Excuse me, sir, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You interrupted him, some of the initial fear melting and boiling into something else. “I didn’t reopen the file. I submitted it, and then I read my prepwork for the case on Yonto.” 

You didn’t understand why he would even bother to lie about that, though, because you could easily prove him wrong by showing him the date. That wasn’t something that you needed to remember to add. The date stamp was programmed into the CMI system so that all reports would correspond with Central’s calendar without having to do any conversions. The only way the date could be changed on a report was by reopening it as Vayne had accused you of doing. 

But I didn’t do that. So what in Kevva’s name is he on about? 

You leaned forward in your chair. “The date that I submitted it on was the last time that I touched that file, sir. And as for my credibility regarding the Aurelac, I-” 

He spun the screen on his computer to face you, and what you saw made the rest of your sentence die on your tongue. But that makes no fuck-crusting sense.

“Tell me, Fagan, you took the shuttle to Yonto on the second, did you not?” 

You nodded, still stunned by what you saw. 

“Then pray tell, why does this say that it was last opened on the third?” 

“I-” You moved your chair closer to the desk so that you could read the report more clearly. “Sir, I can’t explain that. All I can say is that I give you my word that I filed it on the second and haven’t thought of it since.” 

That last part was an elaboration. Actually it was an outright lie. You’d spent all of your unoccupied time thinking of ways to start searching for Ezra again without drawing suspicion, wondering if Coney still owned the pool hall, agonizing over whether or not it was still a safe place for Fringers like Ezra. Like you. But Vayne had already called your loyalty into question and you needed him to think he still had it. Or that he ever truly did. 

You continued to scan the report, an incredulous look on your face, when you noticed an irregularity of your own. Hold on. That’s not right. “Wait.” You pointed at the screen, at the last paragraph in the observations section. “That’s been changed. Something’s been deleted there. I wrote that there was a glitch lasting less than a second on the footage. But it’s been taken out.” 

“So is that the edit that you made when you reopened the file on the third?” Vayne’s question was more baited than any hook on Lau or Yonto’s fishing lines. 

“As I said before, sir, I did not open the file on the third. Go ahead and strap me up to a lie detector if you really want to.” You hoped the extra bravado would make him fold. While you’d easily pass if asked about reopening the file, you knew that if the questions shifted to Aurelac, your former life of piracy, or Ezra, you wouldn’t be able to fool the machine. “What I think is more likely,” you went on, setting your expression into something serious and grim and taking care to put ice in your voice, “is that someone accessed our system and tampered with this file.” You lifted one brow. “Now, I don’t know about you, sir, but I think that is a far bigger problem than the one that you seem to have with me.” 

The man went pale at the prospect of someone on the outside digging around in the bureau’s data. You knew, and so did he, that there were so many things that CMI never intended anyone to see. Evidence which proved that inspectors had violated local laws while investigating incidents at Central Mining outposts. Accounts that paid hush money to thousands of citizens on dozens of planets so they’d keep their mouths shut about something that wouldn’t look good if it got out. Lists of individuals that CMI sent mercs after when they couldn’t catch them themselves, lists of people who they falsified information about to better suit their optics. 

Like Ezra. Like me. 

“How likely do you think that is, Fagan?” He’d suddenly dropped the accusatory tone and shit-gobbling grin, stress instantly rearranging his features into something small and pathetic. “And how far do you think… How many files do you think they could have-” 

“Well, I can’t know for sure unless I look through every last file…” You trailed off, relishing the way it made his spirit visibly drop even lower. Because that would take years. “I think I should go back to Cobalt Bay and take another look at that footage. Do another round of questioning, see if there could’ve been an angle I missed. Someone that could have known how to erase the-”

Some of the patheticism left his eyes then, and he shook his head. “Send you back to Cobalt Bay? To do further investigation on an Aurelac case that appears to have been tampered with? Fagan, I am still not sure how much I trust you with this. Frankly-” 

“Frankly, sir, your options are send me, or let someone else in on the fact that CMI has been infiltrated.” You sucked air through your teeth. “I wouldn’t think you would want that getting out.” 

You knew you had him but it was still satisfying to watch him sink again. 

“Fuck.” He muttered it under his breath, covering his eyes with one hand and rubbing it back over his head. “Alright. Go. You have an hour to catch the next shuttle back to Lau.” He peered over his shoulder at the shuttle schedule. “Looks like it’ll get you there by local midday. I want check-ins every three hours once you land, is that clear?” 

“Loud and.” 

With that you left Vayne’s office, legs wobbling like the rubbery vac-packed noodles you used to live on out in the Fringe from the adrenaline throbbing through your body, grabbed your things from your office, and made your way to the shuttle station. 

Please, you begged, of Kevva or whoever else might be listening, let this give me the time I need to find him. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cee nearly passed out when she got the notification that all students doing their practicals at Cobalt Bay needed to report to the facility that day - whether they were scheduled or not - to comply with CMI proceedings regarding the Aurelac incident from the previous week. 

Oh, mother-crusting skud balls I really stuck my foot in it. I’m done. Fried. They’re gonna- Wait. 

She read the message again. 

All student interns at Cobalt Bay will need to comply with CMI proceedings as the facility will be visited by Chief Inspector Fagan, and all crew members including students will be required to give a statement regarding last week’s incident. 

That’s Dagger. Fagan, that’s… I thought they’d send someone else, but- She let out a sigh that turned into a nervous laugh. I can work with this. 

“Ceeeee,” Nash groaned from the bed across the room. “Why are you up and on your computer so earrrrllllly?” 

“Sorry,” she mumbled, moving her screen so that the glow wasn’t directed at the other girl. “Although it’s not that early, you know. We have class in twenty minutes.” 

Nash yawned. “Yeah, and my alarm was gonna go off in five. Early.” She rolled out of bed with far too much reluctance for someone who slept for ten hours straight, and started gathering her toiletries to go wash her face and brush her teeth. 

Before she left the room, though, Cee cleared her throat and spoke. “Hey I’m not gonna be in Chem this afternoon.” She cocked her head towards her computer, the headphones around her neck shifting as she did. Nash, still only half awake, gave her a confused look. Yeah I know, I’m always in class. “Got a message this morning about the refinery practical I’m doing at Cobalt Bay. They need all of us to report today for some big meeting.” 

It wasn’t a lie, just an omission of the fact that the meeting in question was actually an ongoing investigation. But the less she knows about it the better. The last thing Cee wanted was any of her friends being dragged into the mix because she’d shared with them stories of her little foray into evidence planting and database hacking. 

“Can you just let Professor Gatlin know? I’m gonna send him the same message I got from them, but we both know he’s not gonna check his inbox before class.” 

Nash rolled her eyes. “I’m still waiting for a response to a message I sent him last week, so yeah, don’t hold your breath. But I’ll tell him.” 

“Thanks, Nash.” Cee gave her a small smile. “Now go get ready. I’ll wait for you but not if you’re gonna make me late.” 

Nash made an exaggerated show of skedaddling towards the door. “Okay, okay, I’m going.” 

Cee waited until the door clicked shut before leaving her computer on her desk and going into the chest beside it. She removed the top compartment, dug her hand through the sweater piles, closed it around the small sack of gems, and pulled three of them out. Those she stuck in the inner pocket that she’d added to the old flannel she liked to wear as a light jacket - it had been Ezra’s, from when he was around her age, and it was the closest thing to a family heirloom that she had - and closed the chest before Nash returned. 

She had a plan for what to do at the refinery to get your attention. It was an even bigger risk than her last plan, and she didn’t know if it would even come to fruition, but it was all she had as backup. She couldn’t leave the facility without getting you a message, and the gems hidden in her smuggler’s pocket were her emergency exit route. 

And if I need to use them, I will. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You waited as the student interns filed into the room that had been designated for your investigation, carefully watching them for any signs of suspicious behavior or nerves. You’d already finished with the actual crew that worked at the refinery, and none of them had tipped you off to anything out of the ordinary, so you knew that it was likely that you’d catch something with this group. 

And when the room was about two thirds of the way full, you did. Oh, that one knows something. 

The one in question was a feathery girl with short blonde hair that was drawn back into a ponytail. Her eyes, though, dark brown and determined, were what made you certain that she might be helpful for your case. Most of the others seemed timid, uninterested, bored, or even despite the time, still half asleep. But not this girl, who seemed to be measuring you just as acutely as you were doing to her. 

She gave nothing away during the group discussion, though, answering your questions as benignly as the others. You were getting ready to tell them that they could go unless any of them had anything more to add in private, when your wrist comm beeped with an incoming transmission from Vayne. “Excuse me for just a moment,” you asked of the students. “I’ll get you out of here soon, I just need to take this.” 

None of them seemed to care, probably because the longer they sat there, the more likely it was that they would be given permission to miss their next class back on campus, so you stepped out into the hall to answer. Twisting the dial to the holo setting, you waited for Vayne’s small, projected image to emit from the device. “Sir,” you greeted him. 

“Fagan. Have you finished speaking with the students? I want to sit in when you go over the footage. You haven’t done that yet, have you?” 

And he wants to bust my ass for irregularities? You trained your face into an expression of compliance. “I haven’t done that yet, no. And I’m just finishing up with the students now. I can dial you back when I’m done there, I don’t think it’ll take too long.” 

“No need, Fagan, I’ll stay on. If it’s only a few minutes it’s no problem.” 

For you, maybe. It’s no problem for you. You nodded. “Alright.” I doubt this will inspire any of them to pipe up, but… 

You re-entered the room, thirteen pairs of eyes going directly to the hologram on your wrist. “This is Inspector Vayne,” you informed the kids, gesturing with your free hand. “He works with me.” 

You knew that he would hate the implication that you were equals, but you had already established an easy atmosphere and you didn’t want to ruin that by telling them that an authority figure who had even more authority than you did was now listening to their every word and watching them like a hawk. Apart from a nod and a curt hello, Vayne had nothing to add, the room going silent for a few seconds. Clearing your throat, you changed that. 

“Right. So, you’re all clear to go unless any of you have anything else to add.” 

You directed your gaze to the girl you’d clocked at the outset - Cee, as her name tag said - but she was focused on the hologram, jaw tight and eyes a little wider than they were before. See? She definitely has something to say but this fuck-nugget being here is gonna spook her off. No one said anything, the students casting curious glances around the room to see whether anyone would, but you were far from shocked by that.

“Okay then,” you said with a smile that you hoped would soften the blow of Vayne’s holographic presence. “Thank you all again for coming in today. Your recollection of the timeframe we’re looking at has been very helpful. If any of you think of anything else that you think I should know, you have my contact information and you can use it anytime, day or night.” 

As soon as you were done talking, chairs started scraping as the students wasted no time in filing towards the door. You noticed, though, that Cee was doing her best to linger without blatantly appearing to do so, allowing several of her classmates to pass her as she slowly put the flannel she had draped over the back of her chair back on. Once she had, she shot you a pointed look, then looked down at her seat and back up to you. From there she’d made up the tail end of the line, and then she and the rest were gone. 

The security guard came in almost immediately, carrying a small, portable screen for you - and Vayne - to review the footage on. As he set up and Vayne made small talk with him from your wrist, you walked around to the other side of the room and took the seat directly next to the one where the girl had all but told you to look. And what you saw there stilled the air in your lungs. 

A folded piece of paper that said: DAGGER, with three more gems from the same Aurelac pull as the last ones sitting atop it. 

You used your free hand to covertly palm the objects, sliding them into your sleeve while the security footage began to play. It wasn’t until after, when the guard had left and Vayne had ended his transmission and you were alone, that you peeked into your cuff to make sure that the items were still there, and then you excused yourself to the restroom before heading back to the shuttle station. 

Securely pocketing the Aurelac in an inner pocket of your blazer - Ezra had shown you that trick ages ago - you opened the note with shaking hands. 

I know who you are. We have a mutual friend and we need to talk. I’ll send you a secure link tonight. 

It was short and unsigned and your heart slammed at your ribs as more questions than answers started filling your head. 

Who the hell is this girl? 

How does she know Ezra? 

And what in Kevva’s name has she gotten herself into? 

You composed yourself, splashed water on your face, and headed for the shuttle. The only thing you could do was file your next report and wait for whatever message was coming. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

She did say any time, day or night, right? 

Cee chewed her thumbnail and stared at the message she was about to send you. All it had was a link to a chat, one that she had coded to look like a photo she’d taken at the refinery just in case that stuffy guy from your wrist comm was monitoring your mail. There was no downside to sending it, and it was the only way she could think of to talk to you off the record. Nash was visiting her girlfriend for the night, so Cee had the room to herself and wouldn’t have to worry about hiding her screen. It was now or never, and it had to be now. 

She sent the message, and then waited. 

Less than ten minutes later, a new window popped open, and she sat up against the pillows in her bed, pulling her laptop closer so she could more easily respond. 

Here we go. 

_02/06/3096  _LST 09:13:22 PM  _YST 10:13:22 PM {PRIVATE CHANNEL SECURED} 

{INVITE SENT TO CMI EMPLOYEE 7593}{USERNAME CREATED FOR CMI EMPLOYEE 7593 = “SharpDagger”} 

[SharpDagger]: What is this? 

[CeeGull78]: I thought this might be a better way for us to talk. 

[CeeGull78]: Safer. 

[SharpDagger]: How do I know I can trust you? Who are you? What do you want? 

[CeeGull78]: How can you trust me? Because I have arguably more to lose than you. That work? 

[SharpDagger]: I doubt that. 

[CeeGull78]: It’s not a contest, it’s a fact. I’m a student at Cobalt. On a full scholarship. If I get caught I lose both of those things and I end up back where I was: A drifter out in the Fringe forever. 

[CeeGull78]: And my name is Cee. We met earlier. 

[SharpDagger]: So is this some kind of student prank? The Aurelac? A dare or something? 

[CeeGull78]: Skuffing crust-nuggets, lady! 

[CeeGull78]: Sorry. 

[CeeGull78]: It’s just… No. It’s not a prank. Like I wrote you in that note, we have a mutual friend. I care about him a lot and he seems to really care about you. All I wanted to do was help you both. 

[SharpDagger]: How did you get that Aurelac? 

[SharpDagger]: How did you get those exact pieces? 

[CeeGull78]: He gave them to me. Told me the story behind them and I liked it so he let me have them. I keep them for good luck I guess. 

[SharpDagger]: Ezra? How do you know him? 

[CeeGull78]: We met on the Green and helped each other survive. Now he’s basically the only family I have. 

[SharpDagger]: And he’s alive? 

[CeeGull78]: Yes? Why did you think he wasn’t? 

[SharpDagger]: Because on record, he’s not.

[CeeGull78]: Well your record is a lie. Which is pretty skuffing shady if you ask me. 

[SharpDagger]: You’re sure? 

[CeeGull78]: I mean I’m not talking to him right now, but yeah. I’m sure. He’s coming to visit for family weekend. 

[CeeGull78]: Do you love him? 

[SharpDagger]: Excuse me? 

[CeeGull78]: It’s not a trick question and I’m not trying to mess with you. Do you love Ezra? Because it’s clear that he loves you from how protective he got when I mentioned reaching out to you. 

[SharpDagger]: I’ve never stopped loving him. 

[SharpDagger]: Wait a minute. Cee, how did you find me? My name was changed. 

[CeeGull78]: Easy. I got into the PBR database, and then CMI’s. Compared your registration number. 

[CeeGull78]: So you didn’t change your name to keep Ezra from finding you? 

[SharpDagger]: No, it was changed by CMI. Not my call. 

[SharpDagger]: Hold on. Do you mean you hacked CMI? Were you the one who deleted information from one of my reports? 

[CeeGull78]: Yeah. I was trying to make sure no one looked at that footage too closely.

[SharpDagger]: Oh, kid. 

[SharpDagger]: I guess you didn’t know that the date stamp on those reports changes every time the report is opened, did you? 

[CeeGull78]: I didn’t. Crud. Does that mean that guy Vayne knows? 

[SharpDagger]: Yes. You cannot do that again. I was able to smooth it over this time because I don’t want him looking too closely, either. I can’t have him know that Ezra is alive or that he’s connected to this. 

[CeeGull78]: Why? What happened with you two? 

[SharpDagger]: I think I should let him answer that. If he’s like family, I don’t want to tell you anything that might upset you or change how you look at him. 

[CeeGull78]: I know who he is. There’s nothing you could tell me that I couldn’t already guess, but I get it. 

[CeeGull78]: So will you come see him when he’s here? Can you come back to Lau in a few days? Say it’s for the investigation?

[SharpDagger]: I can’t do that. I can’t contact him while on the job. They’re always watching me. Especially on this case because I have ties to Aurelac. 

[CeeGull78]: How can we make it happen, then? 

[SharpDagger]: We can’t, kid. 

[CeeGull78]: What if I went digging in the records again and saw what they had on him? If they wanted you to believe he was dead, there must be a reason that they didn’t want him on your radar. Or anyone’s, I guess. Does he know something that he shouldn’t?

[SharpDagger]: Kevva fuck it. Why didn’t I think of that? Of course. He knows about the mercs that CMI hires to kill and capture violators that they can’t pin down. He knows because they came for us. He survived, and they didn’t want that getting out. So when they couldn’t find him after that, they reported him as dead. 

[CeeGull78]: Woah. 

[SharpDagger]: He must be using a different name then, if he’s got a place? If he can book travel? 

[CeeGull78]: I don’t know. It’s been the same since I met him. Ezra Silver. 

[SharpDagger]: Silver? 

[SharpDagger]: That was my nickname for him. Because of his silver tongue and that streak in his hair. And because I always teased him about coming in second to me in our silly little dig competitions. 

[CeeGull78]: I told you he loves you. 

[CeeGull78]: Are the reports the only things in the CMI database that have date stamps? Like if I go through the records will it leave a trail? 

[SharpDagger]: Yes. The reports are the only documents that have that function. But does he know you’re doing this? 

[CeeGull78]: No, in fact he told me not to. But he also told me to leave him to die on the Green and I didn’t listen then either. 

[SharpDagger]: Oh I can see exactly why he took a shine to you. 

[SharpDagger]: This is dangerous though. And like you said, you have a lot to lose. You really shouldn’t. 

[CeeGull78]: Look he’s the only reason that I have anything to lose at all. So I’ll risk it if you’re in. Just say the word. 

[SharpDagger]: Okay. Just stay out of the field reports. I’ll do what I can to steer Vayne away from this for as long as I can. How long will you need? 

[CeeGull78]: I’ll start as soon as we log out here. If I work all night… Maybe a day or two? I’ll message you when I have something. 

[SharpDagger]: Be careful. Please be careful. 

[CeeGull78]: That’s my middle name. ;) 

[SharpDagger]: That was not at all comforting. But I trust you. 

[CeeGull78]: Smart. See you soon, Dagger. 

_02/06/3096  _LST 09:36:22 PM  _YST 10:36:22 PM {PRIVATE CHANNEL CLOSED} 

Okay. Cee cracked open a carbonated zinger drink and took a sip before opening a new window on her screen. She adjusted her headphones and selected a playlist, and then got to work. 

Let’s see what I can find. 

Five hours in, she had found several documents connected to Ezra. The first was the false death certificate that had been filed by CMI with Puggart Bench’s hall of records. There was another that looked like a contract with some mercenaries stationed out of Kren that had been tasked with the kill or capture of both you and Ezra, but she couldn’t be sure because it was written in Krenish, and that wasn’t a language that she was familiar with. I can run it through my translator program though, no problem. 

The last thing she found made her stomach sick - a wanted poster, presumably from before CMI decided that simpy killing him on record was enough if they couldn’t actually do it. But it wasn’t the list of offenses that she found so upsetting. She’d known half of those things about him before she even knew his name. It was the fact that Ezra, the man she’d come to care about more than anyone else, the man who cared for her like she was his own kin (That’s exactly what we are, Birdie, she could hear him say) was the one being targeted. 

She stared at the poster, that uneasy feeling turning to heavy anger in her belly as she imagined bounty hunters and mercs spread out all over the Fringe, ready to kill him without hesitation. 

Oh, Ezra. 

She always knew he’d had it hard in life. She never expected that he’d have a two hundred thousand credit price on his head, though, and while there was still more exploring to do in CMI’s records, Cee decided that it was enough for the night. I don’t want to see anything worse than this right now. The translator would take all night, anyway. 

Climbing down from the loft, she plugged her laptop in to charge and pulled Ezra’s old flannel on over her t-shirt before climbing back up again with her headphones. Music helped silence her thoughts when they got too loud sometimes, but that night it did little to squat to help clear thoughts of Ezra being hunted. It did nothing at all to stop her from wondering if Damon hadn’t considered going after that bounty back before he started toting her along on every job. 

I wish I was home right now. Or that Ezra was here. 

Tears slipped from her eyes, dampening her pillowcase as she finally drifted to sleep. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

True to her word, Cee had gotten back to you less than two days later. 

She sent another link, this one disguised as blueprints and specs from the Glossoil pump where she’d left the original pile of Aurelac gems. But when you clicked it, it opened as a packet of documents that Cee had downloaded from CMI’s classified database. 

A wanted poster that you’d never seen but that made you gasp and cover your mouth. Look at him. Look at what they tried to do to him. 

The false death certificate, which you had seen before but was just as painful to see again. Even though I know he’s not… Kevva, Ezra, I shouldn’t have believed them. I’m so sorry. 

And the most damning piece of information by far, the fully translated contract that had been put out on both of you, all for the high crime of digging on sites that Central Mining had already abandoned commercially. This is… This would cause big waves. Especially because we can’t be the only ones they put contracts out on. 

The last thing was a note written by Cee that she’d uploaded instead of putting in the body of the message. 

Dagger, 

By the time Ezra gets here this weekend, I’ll have more documents to send you. Proof of more shady crud that CMI tried to hide. Will that be enough to go public? Or at least to get them to let you out of all this? If so, come to Cobalt Academy this weekend. Say you’re visiting a student for family weekend if you can’t say it’s for your case. We can all go public with it together. And you and Ezra can finally see each other again. 

Don’t reply. 

-Cee

A sudden flicker of adrenaline turned into a flood as you considered that you might only be days away from seeing him again. From being in his arms again, maybe. Or I might be only a couple days away from being responsible for his death, my imprisonment, and Cee being left to the Fringe. You let out a slow, shaky breath. No. This is going to work. We’ll finally be together. 

You saved the documents that Cee sent you to an external drive and slipped it into your smuggler’s pocket, then deleted the hidden documents and saved her message to the folder labeled “Cobalt Bay”, since anyone else who looked at it would only see the spec sheet she’d programed it to read as, and then you headed home to pack for a weekend trip to Lau. 

The most important weekend trip of my life. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“And we had our faces done with paint made from crushed Myllock shells, so it glowed all night long, and-”

Ezra beamed at Cee as she and her roommate regaled him with the stories they’d brought home from the previous weekend’s Myllock festival. The celebration of Lau’s most famous fauna, the bioluminescent cephalopods that were responsible for giving the planet its bright blue glow from space, was one of Lau’s most important annual cultural events. It had also been one of the things that Cee had been most excited about when she had been accepted into Cobalt Academy. Hearing that she’d been able to realize that wish alongside her desire for a formal education filled him with happiness. 

She has finally found a place to spread her wings. 

The three of them were sitting on the ledge of a large fountain in the center of Cobalt Academy’s quad, sun shining through the spray of water, breeze ruffling the reed grass surrounding the campus and playing with their hair. It was brisk, a reminder that cooler weather was right around the corner, but Ezra felt nothing but warmth. 

Eventually, Nash received an alert on her comm device, telling her that her parents had just arrived, and she excused herself to go meet them. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Silver,” the girl said through a grin. Turning to Cee, she continued. “Maybe we can all go out for dinner tonight? You guys and my parents and I… I could see if Shay wants to come?” 

“That sounds delightful, Nash,” Ezra answered. 

But Cee responded differently. “Maybe,” she said with a soft smile. “Sounds nice, but maybe tomorrow?” She shrugged, rolling her eyes in Ezra’s direction. “Haven’t seen this one in a while. Kinda want to catch up tonight.”

Nash grinned. “Yeah, tomorrow works, too. You guys have fun. I’ll catch you later, Cee!” With that she was off, jogging towards the campus gates, long braids swinging side to side with her movement. 

“Well now, Birdie, I do believe when last we spoke you called me a sap.” Ezra raised an eyebrow, but couldn’t keep from also raising his mouth in a slight smirk. “It seems that the tables have been turned.” 

Cee shrugged and tried to keep a straight face. “Whatever.” 

Ezra laughed, the sound carrying across the quad. “Alright then. What would you like to do next, hmm? You mentioned that you wanted to give me a tour of the computer lab, did you not?” 

The girl closed her eyes and gave a dismissive shake of her head. “Yeah, but… tomorrow.” She sighed. “Right now I just want to sit here and-” She turned to look at him. “Just talk.” 

He tilted his head and gave her a small nod. “We can do that, Little Bird. I imagine that you have got that list of questions we spoke of ready to go?” 

She looked over his shoulder then, sucking in a breath as her eyes went wide. “Actually,” she said, bringing her gaze back to meet his, chewing her bottom lip. “There’s one more person we should talk to.” 

“Another friend? Someone who-” 

And then he heard it. The undeniable, soul-moving sound of your voice speaking his name, cutting deep into the center of his heart. Dagger? 

Mouth dropping open, he spent half a second giving Cee a questioning look, then slowly turned towards where he’d heard your voice. When he saw you standing there, dark glasses covering your eyes and a scarf tied around your head to hide your hair but still unmistakably you, he felt his lungs go empty and his heart stand still. It’s… she’s… He stood slowly, vaguely aware of Cee also rising to her feet. 

“Ezra,” you said again, a warble in your voice this time as you reached up to remove your glasses. “Oh, Kevva, Silver, it’s you. It’s-” You took a step closer, Ezra doing the same. “I-” 

He said your name then, reaching for you but holding back. Your eyes had fallen to the abrupt end of his right arm, and he saw them fill with shock. Of course. He swallowed hard, trying to get his heart back into his chest instead of clogging up his throat. Of course that would give her pause. Its-

But to his complete and utter surprise - which he realized, once he was able to access the rational part of his brain, where the memory of how deep your love had always run was kept - you were not deterred by his missing limb, nor did you give him a pitiful frown or treat him as though he were made of glass. Instead, you rushed forward and wrapped him in your arms, one going around his neck and the other slipping beneath his right arm. He immediately reciprocated your hold, his palm flattening against your shoulder blades, and when he felt you take a shuddering breath, he brought you even closer to his chest, bowing his head down to press his  cheek against your temple. 

How is this possible? 

“Are you really here?” He took a breath and flexed his fingers. “Is it truly you?” 

He knew it was. He knew it was you. Felt it in his bones, in his blood, in his very soul. But he had to ask anyway, had to hear you confirm it. Because he couldn’t for the life of him figure out how you were here, how he was breathing you in and feeling your heartbeat against his chest. 

“It’s me, Ezra,” you replied, nodding without pulling away. You were crying, he could hear it in your words and felt your tears dampen his shirt. “I’m so sorry it took me so damn long.” 

At that you both let out huffs of laughter - incredulous, effervescent, tear-tinted laughter - and he put enough distance between you to look into your eyes and swipe the wet skin beneath them with his thumb. “All is forgiven, Dagger.” You brought one hand up to the side of his face, your fingers sliding over the thin, curved scar there. “For there was never anything to forgive. Not for you. I am the one who failed to protect you. I’m the one who-” 

But you stopped him, in the best possible way, by pressing your lips to his in a lingering kiss. “You didn’t fail me, Ezra. You never could.” You kissed him again, then rested your forehead against his. “We were ambushed. Outnumbered. I never-” You sighed, closing your eyes and shaking your head. “I never blamed you, Ezra. Never.” 

He was about to respond when Cee cleared her throat, stepping closer to where the two of you stood and crossing her arms. “This is super heartwarming and all, but I think we should move it inside.” To you, she said, “Your disguise is nice and all but if you were followed, we shouldn’t be out in the open.” Turning to Ezra, she smirked. “Plus, everyone’s staring. You two are like maxing out on PDA right now and-” 

Ezra chuckled, releasing you to ruffle the girl’s hair. “Point taken, Birdie.” He frowned at her then, but the expression didn’t hold because he was far too overjoyed to even fake it. “Though I do remember telling you not to interfere here,” he cocked his head towards you, “I am very glad that you did not listen.” 

She scrunched her nose. “I knew you would be. Now c’mon.” She sighed. “We have some things to discuss and some shady skuffing stuff to blow wide open.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was summer when the three of you moved into the dune house in Sand Harbor. 

And it was the best summer of your lives.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

thank you for reading!

tags: @something-tofightfor @alraedesigns @pheedraws @shoopidly @fific7

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@jedi-in-crocs @anoverwhelmingdin @chiyo13 @myloveistoolittle @spishsstuff

“We suffer, I think, from a lack of stars.” “A lack of stars.” First time you’ve been able to enjoy the fire pit in months, the ground bone dry for so long, and now the air smells of rain and wet earth and worms and the smoke of the low embers. Cee ate her weight in s’mores and hotdogs toasted on sticks, and then retreated to her room to game. You look at Ezra, laid back as far as his battered lawn chair will allow, expect a smirk, but his face is grim. “You’re serious.”

"When’s the last time you saw a proper sky of stars? When’s the last time you saw the Milky Way?” You frown. “I don’t know really. Probably not since I still lived at home. I used to go and stand in the driveway and smoke when I couldn’t sleep. You remember the comet?” “The one that hit Jupiter?” “No the other one. I was home for Easter Break. It had two tails—“ “That was Hale-Bopp! Me and Damon dragged a couple of lawn chairs and sleeping bags into Ma’s back field. Damon filched some cigarettes and a bottle of some gruesome fruit wine. Wild Irish Rose if I recall correctly.” “Oooogh,” You shudder, recalling your own experiences with Wild I, namely being hauled back into your dorm room by well meaning friends, waking the next day with puke crusted in your hair. Ezra chuckles. “Me and my friends thought it was some kind of omen. My back home friends, not my college friends.”

Not sure why that distinction popped out of your mouth, brings back the judgement flickering in their eyes, the sense that they were all smarter than you despite your grades. Not smarter, but maybe better? More worldly at the very least. That small town dumb hick shame clings even now, decades from there, people closest to you then now facebook profiles that haven’t updated in years.

“You okay, honey?” You turn and Ezra’s eyes are fixed on yours, low cherry red glow of dying coals, ugly sodium street light shining them. “Yeah. Just thinking about back then. It’s funny, you know? We could’ve been watching that comet at the exact same time, couldn’t we?” Ezra stands suddenly, rusty lawn chair creaks in protest, squeal of metal and soft slither of wet grass and he hoses the coals, steam hissing and billowing up into the black. “Ez?” “Let’s go for a ride. Let’s go see some stars.” “What about Cee?” “What about her? She’s so embroiled in, what’s it? Baldur’s Gate? She likely won’t even notice we’re gone. She’s nearly grown. She’s not gonna burn the house down. How bout it, Sunny-girl? Take a ride with me.”

Drive a little ways out of the city in Ezra’s rattlebox truck, warbling AM station tinny through the speakers, I fall to pieces, Ezra’s rough voice threaded through with Patsy Cline’s, each time someone speaks your name, soft slither of slide guitars, soft glow of the dashboard lights ghosting him against the dark outside. You frown. “I thought there’d be more fireflies this time of year,” you say, thinking of late Sunday nights in the back seat, watching the fields light with green fairy fire, background noise of grown up conversation, your folks just talking about the week to come without any care for the green stars stuttering in the grass, so many, driving so fast that the light pulled into elongate streaks like hyperspace in Star Wars. “Haven’t been as many lately,” says Ezra, “Not like it used to be growin up.”

He steers you down a narrow gravel road that opens up onto a wide field, pulls off into a bit of mowed berm bordered by row on row of corn, blade-like leaves stretching skyward, smell of ripening, a bit like the smell of come. Signs posted every few feet with the brand and variety. Ezra kills the engine and hops out. You hook the sweaty sixer from the foot well and follow him, climb up in the truck bed beside him. Pop a beer and hand it to him, clink your bottles together and drink. “Close you eyes,” “Why?” Ezra smirks, that slow smile that you sometimes want to slap but more often want to kiss off his face. “If we’re gonna really see the stars, we’ve got to get our night eyes on. Close ‘em. I’ll set a timer. Three minutes should do.” “Hmmm, you’re just going to get up to shenanigans while my eyes are closed.” “Oi! I am an honorable man! I am offended that you think I would use your temporary lack of sight to my advantage!” You hear the smile in his words. “I’m counting on it, handsome.”

Ezra has always loved beautiful things. Since he was a child, his mother taught him to instill an appreciation for beauty into all facets of his world. She herself, a gorgeously beautiful creature, was well versed in such a life. But beautiful as she was, she was also cruel, selfish, capricious to her very core, and she’d turned him into a strange amalgamation of a man by proxy. At once also cruel and selfish and capricious, but hurt and soft and gnarled, as well, so that he was also made gentle and aware and hopeful. That above all else, his greatest weakness, always hopeful. Perhaps, to the point of naivety, the point of peril. For he looked for beauty in all things, and to do that, he was forced to bestow his hopeful eye upon even the ugly and harsh things of the world. 

And so he’d dedicated his life to finding those beautiful things. An art collector by virtue, they called him. A vulture, a scavenger, a treasure hunter. A man full of greed and pride, demons and too much money. All he thought of himself as, was hungry. So yes, perhaps a scavenger, a morsel of greed within the marrow of his bones, always looking for the next sublime artifact, painting, statue – person. But he also liked to think of himself as a protector of those beautiful things, of historic things. Things that changed the very face of humanity, shifted the tide of the world. A collector – always in search of the next life changing sight. Always certain the world was filled with endless possibilities for beauty, for loveliness, for sensuality, for something to captivate, to overwhelm him.

-

The first thing he sees are your feet. Standing in the gallery over from the one you’re inhabiting, people he doesnt know or give a fuck about talking at him, schmoozing and preening and prostrating themselves. Probably hoping he’ll cough up a couple million euro for whatever cause they’re pretending to crusade behind at the moment. He can see only the quarter bottom half of the famed performance artist he’d heard so much about. The entire exhibit tonight had been built around you, and it had the whole of Paris raving and ravenous for a piece of the lovely morsel they so claimed you posed as. Shallow and vain creatures that the peers of his echelon were, they were easily amused and easily bored by the smallest passing fads. At once desperate to be the first to see or speak of a thing, and consequently, the first to discard it as dépassé. 

He’d made the trek all the way to the Left Bank from his townhouse in the 16th arrondissement, to see the performance of the woman whom his associate, Oruf, had said would change the way he thought of a living creature forevermore. Big words from a little man, Ezra had no real inclination to believe. 

The angle of the wall blocks most of you from his view – granting him the sight of only your knees down. Your feet are small, he can see the tiny square shape of your nails, the gleam of them under the soft warm overhead light – lying on your side, one slotted above the other. The fine architecture of your ankles – delicate, the blue hued veins crawling like vines up the top of your foot, lost to the pale of your skin. The smooth, glossy slope of your calf, up to the flat round of your patella. It’s all he can admire from where he stands. Pretty legs, but nothing to lose one’s head over so far. 

The person talking at him is interminably long winded. Ezra would like nothing more than to beg them to shut the fuck up and be on his way. He wants another drink. He wants to see you in full. He’d heard so much about the woman sitting for the live art exhibit. You’d been heralded into a creature of myth by the wagging tongues of Paris. He wanted to discern for himself the level of sanctity you deserved. He wanted to see your face. 

Finally, he’s able to demure from the conversation, the promise of ten million euro for the charity of the sycophant’s choice, promised off-handedly – any amount of money would’ve been too little to get the gaping, begging maw to quit it’s yapping. 

He slinks along the shadows of the walls, a vulture in its natural habitat. The lights brought down to a low warm hue, meant to shape itself along the contours of your skin, bring out the soft gleam within you. Surely the oldest trick in the book, that of light and shadows. He moves further into the room slowly, your back to him. The plush round of your bottom comes into view, two little dimples gracing the low of your back, the notches of your spine, up, up, to the heavy mantle of your hair. You’re resting on your hip, your torso twisted so your chest is pressed to the chaise you lounge on, your head laying cradled in the circle of your bent arms. There is a tiny, delicate outline of a sparrow tattooed at your shoulder. He watches the slow rise and fall of your back, the shadow of your ribs – he’d feed you more if you were his. The thought comes unbidden – a little shocking – a lovely bottom, beautiful, long hair, but for a man like Ezra – one who so wholly avoided any sort of ownership by another or over another, the thought of such intimacy, something to cause revulsion, not desire, coming from his own psyche, it’s almost distressing to acknowledge as his own. 

The crown of your head gleams like a halo in the soft overhead gallery light. The room is muted, voices hushed, and the patrons rove around your unmoving body, the rhythm of your breath the only discernible sign of life on your form from back here. Oruf had claimed that you did not move a single millimeter during the entirety of the three hour long performance. He sure as fuck didn’t believe that. He was having a quite, self proclaimed, contrary and bitter season, by his own choosing, and was prone to bouts of obstinance and general disagreement at anything and everything that presented itself to him. He was choosing, as of now, to not believe in your myth.

He moves further around the center where you lay in repose. He needs to see your face. That will give him the answer he’s come here for. 

There’s a large group standing right in front of you – rudely pointing, whispering, and he feels a surge of annoyance at the sight of them. You were here to be observed, appreciated, not fucking ogled like some cheap attraction, and he was here to see you – they needed to get the fuck out of his way. 

Finally, they shuffle off, leaving the space directly in front of you open. He makes the final round above your head, comes to stand before you. Oruf had said the only part of you that moved were your eyes.

They fall on Ezra now. 

It could have been as if, in that moment, you’d gotten up, naked as Venus, to shriek directly in his face. That powerful was the force behind your gaze – a punch to the gut, his mothers handbag swinging unexpectedly, purposefully into his stomach as he scurried meekly behind her as a child. 

He pulls his Jacques Marie Mage frames from his nose. He needs to look away from the searing power of your attention. He needs a moment to collect himself, taking deep breaths as he studies the glasses, runs the tip of his finger over the bridge. He’s held frozen in place by the feel of your gaze still upon him. 

He decides in that very instant he has to have you. 

When he looks back at you, your eyes flit away. He is dismissed – made ravenous. On the verge of tears, perhaps. Look back at me, look back at me, look back at me. What sort of reaction is this to a woman whose name he doesn’t even know? Nonsensical. Perhaps it’s the sleep deprivation – the edibles he’d downed before coming, maybe he’s having a bad reaction. 

But the gift of your slow, lazy gaze roves around the space he inhabits now, everywhere but directly at him, almost like a punishment for having looked away from you first – even for a second. 

He’s never considered the prospect of trying to buy a person. The moral question or dilemma of it. He decides he doesn’t necessarily care. Whatever he has to do to get you to leave this place with him, he’ll do. What he’ll be able to bring himself to let happen after that,  if he’ll even be able to touch you, be brave enough to let you touch him, remains to be seen. Inconsequential too, he finds. 

He circles the gallery for close to an hour before he can no longer help himself, can no longer feign casualness. The rest of the art here is pale and dull in the light of your luminescence. He finally comes to a stop in a corner diagonal from where you face, in the shadow of the sculpture of Paolo e Virginia. At this moment, he feels certain Puttinati prophecised your existence, to so depict the vision of reverence he’s feeling for you in this moment. 

The performance is three hours long. In that time you don’t move your body at all, Oruf was right – lying with the stillness of marble. The only thing that moves are your eyes, and you watch the patrons closely, examine them. Your gaze is part of the art, part of the power of it. 

The visage of you is shocking, not for your nudity, but because in a lifetime filled with unimaginably lovely things, you are, by far, the most magnificently gorgeous creature Ezra has ever laid eyes on. It is like a recurring bullet to the temple over and over again for the visceral shock you pull out of him. 

Finally, finally, your gaze falls on him again. The meeting of your eyes, like the strike of lightning against the earth. He can feel his cock thicken, grow heavy, just at the touch of your gaze. It’s voyeuristic – unexpected – he can’t remember the last time he got hard. He feels almost perverted, sporting an erection at the mere sight of you, surrounded by all these people in this crowded gallery.

He can’t see your breasts entirely, pressed to the chaise as they are, only the full, pale sides. He wonders desperately at the color of your nipples, the shade, the hue. He’d like to imprint it in his mind. Know the taste of them, as well, of all your skin – wonders if the color there matches that of the skin between your legs. The thought causes hunger to climb like fire up his chest into his throat, saliva pooling heavy in his mouth at the mere suggestion of your cunt in his mind.

His eyes leave you for a moment, to cast the wide net of his gaze around the room, at the other men. He wonders if they’re hard too, if only your naked skin, lying still in repose, has the power to make their blood rush, their muscles thicken. He is not pleased by the thought of that. And when he comes back to you, you’re still on him. Gaze roaming down his body, taking in the fine cashmere sweater, his perfectly tailored suit, built to hang in a precisely designed loose cut over his shoulders, down his long legs, the incongruous sneakers, back, back up to his face, the spot of blonde at the front of his hair. A single delicate eyebrow crooks in a minute arch at him. It is all the answer he needs

You are looking back at him. It’s all he needs to know. 

As the three hour mark comes to a head the lights dim even further until only a singular overhead spotlight falls upon your form. Your skin glows, seems to flare brighter for a single moment, and then a golden sheet of gossamer begins to slowly fall from the ceiling, and right before it lands upon your body, you finally move. Your body stretches, toes pointing and curling, long arms stretched in an arc over your head. The fine lines and slopes of your body coming into startling clarity for one moment, and then you turn over, away from him, where he can’t see your face anymore, and curl in on yourself. The golden gusset falls upon your coiled form, as if you’ve finally been put to rest. The lights dim until all that’s visible is the luminous gleam of the shroud over your curled body. 

You are a girl made of golden myth and gossamer, and he must have you. 

-

“Hello, Sparrow.” He steps into the small, warm space of your dressing room.

You turn to face him, you’ve been waiting for him. “Hello,” you say slowly. “You were watching me.”

“Everyone was watching you.”

“Not like you were–”

“No… not like I was.” His accent is some strange sort of concoction of eclectic European – at once French, but also slightly Germanic, with an inflection of deep American South at the end. The vowels and consonants rolling off his tongue, smooth and hypnotizing like the warm pour of honey, and then, suddenly, inflected with a bout of sharpness. Something that snaps you awake, forces you to come to attention, to pay attention to him. That was all it was really, you could tell, a forceful, demanding grab for attention at all times. He called it to himself, seduced the people around him into ardor. Whether they knowingly chose to be entranced or not, was not up to them.

“Ezra,” he gives an imitation of a little flourished bow. You give him your own name in return. “You were watching me back.” 

“I couldn’t help it.” He had demanded it of you, after all, no need to lie now. 

“I was wondering if you’d have dinner with me.” You turn back to continue packing your bag. 

“I’m not very hungry.” You feel him come closer, hear the subtle hint of pleading desperation in his sensual voice that has pleasure coiling deep in your belly. 

“A drink then.”

You’d like to be on clear ground with this man who you can see, even now, is an enigma not to be trifled with unconscionably. “Where? At your house?” you turn to crook a sardonic brow at him.

“Would you like me to take you to my house?”

“Yes. If that’s what you want too.” You’d already decided, didn’t see the point in prolonging the game. 

-

His security takes you out the back of the gallery, dark Maybach rolling smoothly up as soon as you reach the curb, and you feel the searing phantom  heat of his large palm hovering over the small of your back. 

He hasn’t touched you a single time yet, and everything within you is coiled tight, waiting for that first graze. 

He pulls the car door open for you himself, and then his driver is there, smoothly offering you his hand to help you step into the sleek interior. The leather beneath you is buttery chocolate brown and you press your thighs together. His security had taken your bag from you, and you felt bereft and listless without the protective clutch of it within your hands now. 

He follows after you, sliding gracefully onto the seat across. You can see he’s wearing two gold chains around his neck that rest in the dip of his collarbones, and your mouth waters at the sight. The car pulls quietly away from the curb and then you’re merging into the busy city traffic, ensconced in the quiet of this liminal space he’s stolen you into with him. 

He crosses one knee over the other, one thick arm thrown languidly over the back of the seat. You can see a small gold signet ring gracing his pinky – some sort of crest emblazoned on it. 

Fucking family crest kind of rich. God. You don’t know if you’re prepared for this. 

You cock your head to the side, the muscles in your neck are a little stiff and sore from holding your pose for so long, and you let your neck roll back on the head rest. 

He’s quiet, still observing, as if you’re still existing within the walls of the gallery, and not being spirited away to his home so that he might have his way with you. 

“Are you going to fuck me?” Might as well be blunt, you think, now that you’re here. He was so gorgeous in that room, watching you, circling you like a beast hunting in the wild. There was really no other way this night was destined to end, but with you beneath him, taking him into your cunt. 

“Would you like me to fuck you?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t respond, only gives you a melodic little non-committal hum, continues to look at you from the seat across with those deceptively guileless eyes. You want him to snatch you by the chin and spit in your mouth.

-

The drive ends in front of the grand façade of a pristine Parisian townhouse on a secluded street in the 16th arrondissement – flanked by national embassies, no less. 

You are very, very far from home. In a Paris you’ve not ventured into in all your years of living here. 

He helps you from the car, finally, finally, finally, thick palm wrapping entirely around the thin of your wrist. Everything within you coils and pulses, tight and wet. His skin is warm and dry, you can feel the pull of rough calluses on his palm. You’re sure he can feel the hammering staccato of your pulse through the thin membrane as you stare at the way his fingers overlap completely around the circumference of your limb.

He lets you step into the foyer ahead of him as one of his staff sweeps the door open for the two of you, ready and waiting for their master to return with a respectably quiet, monsieur, mademoiselle, in greeting. There’s a huge Basquiat in the entrance hall, across from the sweeping staircase.

“Lots of his art came my way,” he says at your obvious admiration, shock, desire to tuck tail and run back home. “We weren’t friends, but I was roommates with a guy he’d lived with. His last girlfriend was best friends with my girlfriend at the time, so when he died we had one of the first calls.”

“It’s wonderful–” Your voice is full of awe, eyes taking in a type of home you’ve never seen before up close like this. Something out of a picture book that sits on the coffee table of someone wishing for more. 

“How many bedrooms does it have?”

“Well… they get used for different things – so I’m not sure. Let’s call it eight.”

You huff a small laugh, run your finger along the keys of the opulent crystal Steinway. “Let’s call it eight, sure.”

Now that you’re here, that he hasn’t overtly said he’s brought you here for sex, you don’t really know what it is he wants from you. A bad thought, but an honest one. 

“Drink?”

“Yes, please.”

He leads you into an elegantly lush reception room, hovering hand again at the place above the small of your back. There’s a gargantuan crystal chandelier hanging at the center of the room, two enormous elephant tusks flank the elaborate mantelpiece. The room is a mix of eclectic eccentricities, both neutrally elegant and demure in its obvious wealth, but inflected with touches of vibrant color and idiosyncrasies to bring the room together in a way that you think must reflect the house’s owner. 

He moves to the bar, choosing the green bottle of twenty year Laphroaig and pours a knuckle into two crystal tumblers. He’s quiet, subdued, and the lack of small talk to fill the silence has the backs of your knees itching and sweating. 

There’s a glossy red panther sculpture prowling across a gold and ivory lacquered coffee table. He comes to hand your glass to you. “That’s a museum piece. I can’t remember where I got it, but it’s rare.” You can’t tell if he’s trying to boast, to impress you, or merely share his satisfaction at owning a piece of art worthy of a museum's gallery. You’d already discerned that at the Basquiat’s first glance, shit, at the first sight of the house. It was a veritable museum on its own. You were sure the number of museum pieces in every room were too many to count in a single night, nay week. 

You don’t sit as he goes to do, but start to slowly circle the room. An imitation of his slow roving of you earlier at the gallery. The peat whisky is bold and smoky, a surprising hint of something akin to seawater, but also mellowly sweet. You think that this must be what his skin tastes like, his come – an amalgamation of all the different flavors on the wheel. Saliva pools heavy on your tongue and you take a deeper sip, eyes flitting to him. 

“Three hours is a long time to lay so still,” he says. 

“It is. But I’m used to it by now.”

“You must be tired.”

“Not particularly – perhaps a bit stiff.”

“Have you been doing this for a long time?”

“Not so long, but not so short, either.”

“So just the right amount?”

“Yes.” He’s quiet for a moment then, still watching, watching, watching. His gaze upon you feels like the drag of a specter’s fingers along your skin, goosebumps rising in its wake. You wonder if this is how he felt while you watched him in the low light of the gallery. Hunted. But no, you imagine there isn’t anything that could make a man such as this feel like prey. 

“Can I draw you a bath?” You pause at this – firmer, more familiar ground, finally. This is what you’ve been waiting for. His request for you to get naked for him, to let him into your body. It’s what you want also. He’s not rushing this, and it’s making you feel unstable, unsure of the ground you’re treading here together. 

“Yes, I’d like that.”

-

He leads you upstairs, to one of the guest bedrooms. The en suite, one of his favorites in the house – dark marble tub in the center of the room under a low hanging crystal chandelier. The French windows let in the soft glow of the moon outside, and he draws the bath for you as you peer through the glass. The reflection of your face in the windows, eternally distracting. 

When the water is warm and ready, a splash of Neroli Portofino Body Oil poured under the stream, he turns to you. He’s hesitant – both of himself and you, equally. It’s been a long time since he’s touched a body not his own, and he feels the slight anxious tremor of his hands. Although he can’t be sure if that’s strictly attributed to nerves, or all the blood in his body pooling in his cock at the moment. 

“Can I take your clothes off?” said as gently as possible, so as not to spook you.

Your gaze is as direct as it was while you lay watching him, surrounded by half of Paris. “Yes.”

He starts at the tiny bow holding the front of your soft silk blouse together – the weave so fine, it’s almost translucent, and he can see the outline of your evasive nipples he’s been so desperate to see. He pulls on the string letting the neck of the blouse fall open, then down to the tiny pearl buttons holding the rest of it together. All without touching your skin. 

You’re panting, face already flushed, eyes bright, almost fevered. His balls are tight and heavy, ready to come, just with this. Just at the mere fucking vision of you ready and panting for him. His belly clenches and then he pushes the silk off the fine bones of your shoulders. The wings of your collarbones, the shadow of the dip in them the most tempting image he’s ever beheld in his entire life. He wants to dip his tongue into the tiny pool, fill them with ambrosia and drink directly from your skin. 

He feels his cock begin to leak. 

The zipper at the side of your skirt is next. He watches the rise and fall of your ribs, the tremble of your throat as he pulls it down slowly, revealing the rest of your skin to him. There’s a tiny lace thong around your hips, robin's egg blue. Oh, he will be stealing that for himself. 

He finally lets himself touch your skin as he pushes the scrap of lace down your legs, crouching smoothly to his knees to help you step out of it. He takes in the sight of your small feet up close now. The fine tendons of your musculature entirely too fucking beguiling. He ghosts the tip of a single finger over the top of your foot and you moan for him. So goddamn sweet and wanton. 

He unfolds to his full height and pockets your panties. To be inspected at a later time, pressed to his nose and mouth so that he might drink the scent of you down into himself. He tips his chin at the tub now, holding your wild gaze, breaths coming in short little gasps. Your cheeks are flushed the color of your nipples. The tiny wisps of hair at your neck and temples beginning to curl deliciously in the humidity of the bathroom. He could spill his seed just at the look in your eyes, he’s sure of it. 

“In,” he orders, crowds you towards the edge of the tub and grips the bend of your elbow between his thumb and index finger – as little contact as possible – to help you into the water. “Sit.”

You immediately obey, and that fills him with more pleasure than the sight of your naked skin. The control you’re granting him right now, allowing him the privilege of ordering you for the sake of his own comfort – he’s going to reward you very well for being so good for him.

He bends over the edge of the tub, hovering over your beseeching upturned face. He brushes his thumb softly over your full bottom lip. “Good girl.” Your eyes flutter shut, you look down into the water, a lovely pink blush blossoming over your cheeks. “Relax. Soak for a while.”

He can tell you want him. Badly. The flush of your cheeks down to your breasts, rosy little nipples peaked, your quick breath. That want, compounded doubly by his refusal so far to really touch you — his inability. The more he stays his hand, the more you want him, and the more you want him the harder his cock grows, the more frightened he becomes. He thinks it’s very true, that old adage, the harder you try to push a woman away from a man, the closer she will go to him by virtue of rebellion.

You sit in the warm bath for close to an hour, and he watches rapturously, hypnotized by the slick wet of the water rolling over your skin, from his seat on an ottoman at the center of the room. The weight of his gaze on your skin, almost violent in its intense desire. He wants to lick every single droplet from your body and then bite into the heavy lush weight of your tits until his teeth are imprinted in the soft flesh, bruises sucked into the pale globes. He hopes you’ll let him. He hopes he’ll let himself. 

Your returning look is equally wanton. He watches your gaze trained and hungry on the heft of his cock hiding beneath his trousers. You spread your legs for him beneath the water as you wash yourself, putting on another show, private, just for him. An unjustly jealous wrath stirs within him, coiled and hissing, at the thought of any other human on earth ever getting to see you the way he is now. Largely a passive man, the violence that surges within him has him surprised and not, in equal measures. For he thinks that no being ever having beheld you, could ever possibly be driven to feel any other way than obsessively possessive over such a creature as yourself. You’re like a siren in this moment, languishing in the warm water of his bath, in his house, where you agreed to come with him tonight. A nymph willingly slinking into the depth of Tartarus, knowing she’s in peril of being wholly devoured by the beasts that lay at its depths, and still going anyways. 

He helps you out after a while, tiny little fingers and toes soaked to wrinkles, elbow once again caught between his two fingers, and the heat rolling off your skin sears him. Has a violent tremble running jaggedly down his vertebrae. 

He wraps you in a plush white towel, pulled from the warming rack, helps you dry your long hair. Then goes to his room for one of his shirts to put you in. He pulls one he’d worn a few days ago off the pile from the chair in the corner. He wants to know you’re sleeping in something that’s already been on his skin, that smells like him, that you’re soaking now in his own scent. 

As he pulls the towel from around your body to once again reveal your bare form to him he presses a soft kiss to your naked waist – can’t help himself, the soft slope entirely too beguiling. Overtaking any apprehensions he may have, and his gut clenches with fear and desire. He can feel the weeping of his cock dribble down his thigh as he presses his lips to the warm, fragrant skin. 

You’re quiet, watching him, letting him do with you as he wants. His own little sentient doll, created for his pleasure only. “I have a farm in Brazil,” he says. He rounds your form, starts to braid the long strands of your hair into a single plait. You put up no protest – it feels like water, slipping through his hands.  “We grow organic fruit and vegetables and there’s cows, lots of cows. We never kill them, they just live there, graze.” One of his favorite places in the entire world, but perhaps, second to the place he resides now, staring at you, dressing you, touching your hair. “I love it there, I’ll take you.”

“Okay,” you say easily. “I’d like that,” the gift of the gentle curve of your smile. He wants to lick into your mouth, fuck you with his tongue, slap your pussy and watch the blood rush to the surface, feel the tight clench of your asshole as he fills you with his come. 

“Will you let me watch you play with your cunt?” he asks gently.

“Won’t you do it?”

“I’m scared to touch you yet – to find out if you’re actually real.” He feels an uncharacteristically self conscious blush mar his cheeks. “I–I’m not ready. I want to watch first.” He comes to kneel between your parted thighs that dangle off the high bed. “Pet your cunt for me – show me how you like it, sweet girl. Please.” He is not above begging. Not for this. Not for you – for the sight of you playing with your wet, pink pussy. 

You spread your legs wider, give him the tantalizing peak of your bare sex, your glistening folds. You’re already fucking wet for him. He feels an unrestrained growl claw up his throat like fire. His mouth goes dry, parched. The only way to sate himself, to drink straight from the source of your glossy slick. 

You press your fingers to the pearl of your clit, swollen and needy already, he can see. You start to swirl little circles over your slippery flesh, your wet mouth falling open in a gasp. “That’s it, yeah–” he whispers, bringing his face in closer to the apex of your thighs so he can smell you directly from the source. His eyes flutter as he breathes in the scent of you, the deep amber and citrus from the bath oil, but beneath that, entwined in the rich notes, the musky scent of you. Fucking mouthwatering. He hears himself moan, the sound pulled almost unconsciously from his body. 

“Inside– put your fingers inside. Let me see you fuck yourself.” You press a single finger in, all the way to the last knuckle, and start to rock your hips. He can feel your gaze on his face, the weight of it heavy and pleading.

“Ezra– p–please, please, you do it,” you beg, let your head roll back as you press another finger in and start to rock your clit against the mound of your palm in earnest.

“But you’re doing so well, sweet girl. About to make that little cunt come for me. Look–” He gives you the weight of a single palm on the bend of your knee and you moan deep and ragged at just that compact touch. He can’t help himself – he pulls the edge of the t-shirt up to bare your tits to him and holds it up against the base of your throat where he cradles the delicate column in his hand – the entire large span of him completely engulfing your smallness. “Your thighs are trembling, treasure. You’re going to do it just for me, aren’t you?.”

“Y–Yes, yes–” 

He pushes your knee in his grasp wider, opening you more for the fileting of gaze. “Make yourself come – I want to see it. Fucking come,” it’s a demand you answer, just the sound of it causing the heat of your skin to seemingly ricochet even higher. You start to come – he watches the clenching of the muscles in your stomach as you grind your fingers deep. He can hear how wet you are, the sopping wet squelch of your pulsing cunt, and he worries for one second that he’s about to come in his pants. 

You let out a reed high mewl, like you’re singing just for him. “What a good, good girl you are,” he praises, and your eyes flutter shut, pulling your fingers away so that he’s left to admire the clenching of your stretched hole. He can see the glossy shine of your slick sliding down the crevice of your ass, and he wants to lick through your sticky arousal so fucking badly he bites down on his cheek until he tastes blood. He bends his head to press his brow to the edge of the bed between your spread thighs, tightening his grip around your knee until you whimper in pain. He loosens his hold immediately, thumb brushing soothingly over the bend before he stands, lets out a long breath. He stares down at your panting, flushed form. Wet and sated after your orgasm. Fuck all the art in the world. He’d set fire to every single masterpiece he owns in this very moment if he was granted the gift of getting to watch you come even one single time more. 

He passes his palm over his mouth, feeling the soft bristles of his scruff. He’d like to see the smooth insides of your thighs rubbed raw with it, he’d like to see the stretch of your cunt as he stuffs you full of himself, the milky white of his spend leaking from all your holes. 

“It’s time to put you to bed,” he says instead. 

Your brow creases in the sweetest little frown, red mouth puckering, still panting. “You’re not staying?” 

“No, sweet girl. I think it’s best if you sleep here tonight. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“But–”

“It’s alright. There’s no rush.” He leans over you to press a lingering kiss to your brow, pulls his shirt down to cover your breasts. You give him a little whimper, and he allows your hand to come up to clutch the thick swell of his bicep, the heavy muscle there bunching at the feel of your grip. He moves to help you settle beneath the silk duvet, pleased beyond belief at the sight of you tucked into a bed in his home, wearing his clothes, flushed and wearing the sated look of a recent orgasm. 

“Goodnight, treasure.”

“Goodnight, Ezra.”

-

You find his room later. You can’t help yourself, following the glow of the soft light spilling between the crack of his slightly open door, like he’d left you a bread crumb trail to follow, like he knew you’d come searching. You can’t sleep knowing he’s so close, this dazzling creature come straight from a dream. Twisting and turning in the plush monstrosity of a bed he’d left you in. His shirt, butter soft, the dark, gray blue swimming around your much smaller frame. It smells like him, his cologne – you recognize the scent of Le Labo Another 13. Musky with the softest most subtle hint of jasmine, paired with something earthier – greener, and folded between all that: the soft saltiness of his sweat.  Why would you sleep when a figure from your very fantasies was right here in the flesh. Your cunt clenches, wet and aching, even after he’d watched you make yourself come. You need more, want to feel the press of his cock inside of you, the heavy weight of it. 

He’s sitting up in bed, reading something on an iPad, glasses propped low on his nose. He looks up at your small knock, not waiting for his permission to slip inside. 

“I promise, I’ll be good.” You hold your hands up in surrender. “I won’t touch you. We can put a pillow between us if you like.” You move towards the bed.

There’s a large stack of books sitting on his bedside table, flooded by the warm moss stained light of the antique Tiffany lamp. A single idiosyncrasy of old world charm in a room made stark by its bright modernity. The pile is made up of a book of paintings by Howard Hodgkin, the diaries of Alma Mahler, The Spectator Bird by Wallace Stegner, the fourth volume of In Search of Lost Time – you appreciate his excellent taste – and at the very top, laying open, facedown, as if he’d just put it down a moment ago, My Struggle by Karl Ove Knausgaard. You find it fascinating to see a book that spoke of life in such a granular way — realistic, simple, a normal man in a normal world, speaking in such extensive, caring detail on the small things in his life — on the bedside table of this enigma, this person who seemed to be, by far and large, a different species to all other men you’d ever met before. To see the spine so cracked and worn — as if he’d read it over and over again, in search of the equation for that simplicity, to thus inject into his own existence – a way to embalm his own world in such appreciation for the small but infinitely significant moments. You wonder if it’s taught him much— if he’s been able to find and implement whatever it was he’d searched for through so many reads. 

“Alright,” he says easily, but the look in his eyes is slightly wary. You recognize Glenn Gould’s rendition of the Goldberg Variations playing softly on the surround sound as you crawl into his bed – under the silk smooth sheets, bringing a pillow to blockade you from him, protect him. You don’t want him to be uncomfortable, but you desperately want to be close to him also. The two of you have barely talked tonight – too caught up in the observation of one another, like two animals circling in the wild. You want to talk to him. Want to hear the sound of his deep voice vibrate through your nerve endings. 

“Intimacy is… difficult for me,” he says slowly, swallowing. “It’s hard for me to get close to people… emotionally, physically. I need time to — I suppose, to warm up to them.”

“That’s — that’s okay. I understand,” you say, because you do, because you’re the same in many ways. 

“It’s why I love art,” he continues. “You can be close to something, feel its warmth, beauty – whatever feeling it is the artist intended to pull out of you, from a distance. Untouched – it’s untouchable. That comforts me for some reason.”

“I think – I think I understand that as well. Something, perhaps, about the idea of a thing remaining as it was initially conceived as, for all time, undisturbed by outside influences.”

“Yes – yes, exactly.” His eyes are alive with the fire of being understood.

You look down at his straining erection. You can’t help it. “You’re hard,” you say. You want to touch him so badly it’s a physical ache inside of you. 

“I’ve been hard since I first saw you.”

“Let me help.”

He shakes his head, “Not yet.”

“I was embarrassed that the other patrons would be able to tell how wet my pussy was lying there staring at you.” Shocking words. His eyes flutter shut, fuck, he murmurs under his breath, brings his hand up to rub at his jaw. You’ve noticed he does that a lot – a tell of sorts. He takes several deep breaths, the tension seeming to seep out of his body by sheer force of will. 

You take him in as he settles back into the pillows, relaxing, or at least pretending to. His face, smooth and serene, laying there watching you, despite his heavy erection, but the look in his eyes – it’s also slightly provoking. As if he wants you to challenge him, question him, but also afraid, perhaps, that you’ll force his hand, that he’ll be forced to give in to what you both want before he’s ready. You decide to choose mercy – change the subject. More curious to see how he chooses to play this out.

“Let’s play the question game.”

“The question game?”

“Yes.”

“Very well,” he turns to lay on his side, facing you. Both of your hands are tucked beneath your cheeks. He’s wearing a soft, worn sweater, a tiny hole at the collar, the sleeves stretched and overly long. Oh, this may just be too much for you to handle. 

“We’ll start with something easy – what’s your favorite color?”

“That’s easy?”

“Yes.” You roll your eyes at him, laughing.

“Depends on the day,” he says very seriously. His blinks are slow, his pupils huge and dilated in the warm light of the lamp. You wonder if he’s taken something. Every time he blinks the thick fringe of his lashes fans over his cheeks, the pause of his languor allows you a moment to appreciate them.

“That’s not an answer – you have to give a real answer.” You want to reach your finger out and brush along that thick fringe, through the patchy hair on his face, threaded through with the smallest hint of silver, stick your nose in his hair and smell him right at the source. 

“It’s the only real answer there is – no one’s favorite color stays their favorite color forever.”

“Do you do this a lot?”

“What’s that?”

“Make things purposely difficult.”

A flash of his brilliant white teeth, “Oh, always.” You want very badly for him to bite into your flesh. 

“Okay, fine. What’s your favorite color right now?”

Without hesitation: “The color of your eyes – they’re very strange,” you can tell it’s a compliment, and he finally touches you again. A single finger, just the tip, to the point of your chin, tilting your head back slightly for his inspection, as if you were one of the pieces in his collection. You think you may become one by the end of this. You think you’d like that very much. You can feel the slight edge of his fingernail dig into your soft skin. 

“I already agreed to fuck you. You don’t have to woo me,” you breathe. You realize that, as of yet, he’s not overtly asked you to have sex with him – you throw the words out anyways, hoping to provoke him. This is too much. This man is too much. You don’t know what it is about him, but you want him desperately, like no one you’ve ever wanted before. You want him to overwhelm you – to take you by force. To take all choice and will and autonomy from your hands. You don’t care what will come of this, what will become of you after he’s done with you, if he discards you, forgets you –  none of that matters. All you care about, in this moment, is that he finally decides to take you, that he gives you the opportunity to let go, to relinquish control. To unfold from the pose for just a moment. A slightly deranged spark fizzes in your belly. Your heart pinches a burning little pain at the thought that he hasn’t kissed you yet, that you still don’t know the taste of his mouth. 

“None of my answers satisfy you. And yes, I do need to woo you. I find it very necessary.”

You try and emulate an unaffected scoff, his finger is still on your chin, but you feel your brow unwittingly fold into a confused frown. There is a tight knot of want coiled at the very center of you, burning hot and smoldering, and you need him to pick it apart with these strong fingers. He takes his hand away. The look on his face is very telling. He can read everything going on in your mind, you can tell. He looks like the cat that ate the goddamn canary. You try and take a deep, calming breath. “Alright, now you have to ask me one?” you divert. 

“Me?”

“Yes, you – that’s how the game works. I do one, you do one.”

“Alright,” he’s quiet for a second, contemplating, “Do you have siblings?”

“No, I’m an only child. Do you?”

“I had a brother, Damon. He died when we were younger.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Yes, well– it was a very long time ago. But thank you. His daughter, Cee, is my ward now. ” Not his niece, not someone mentioned in any capacity as his family. The connection, maintained as if at a distance — his ward — cold. But he gives himself away, his tender vulnerability made transparent, with the sudden flash of bright fondness in his eyes at her name, despite his trying to remain aloof. You are not so easily fooled. You see him despite his attempts to deflect from the true core of himself. 

His gaze is so mercurial – at once relaxed, uncaring, and then flaring into something bright hot like a flash fire. But remote, remote always. Like the very center of him, his true gaze is very far away, very deep within him, and this gaze, the one he presents to the world, is merely a farce, a mask. A shroud he pulls over himself to keep others out. His own golden gossamer. You’re shocked that he’s shared this with you. 

“My parents died when I was very young,” you offer, your own morsel of ragged soul in the face of his sudden vulnerability. 

“I’m sorry to hear that, as well.”

“It wasn’t so bad, after the fact. I went to live with my aunt – my mother’s sister. She was a dancer. My childhood was… unconventional, but wonderful.”

“What about it was unconventional?”

You laugh a little, looking up at the coffered ceiling above you, the thick beams a rich, glossy mahogany. You feel his gaze on your face like a brand. He has not stopped looking at you since he first started. In a sea of years being observed, his gaze is singular in the pleasure it brings you.

“She was a dancer. I mean—” you hum, “What wasn’t unconventional about it? We lived in New York for several years, then Budapest for a time, and then she brought us here, to Paris, where we stayed until her death – where I’ve stayed since. Her girlfriends were always around – fellow dancers, costumes and makeup, drinking and men. They taught me how to smoke when I was eight — Gauloises like a fucking chimney, at all hours of the day, after that — I forced myself to stop a few years ago. Now I only have one on special occasions, sometimes.” He looks at you like he knows you’re the sort to make a special occasion out of a trip to the market. “She had many lovers. Parties… disaster everywhere, but the riotous, happy sort – not the tragic kind.”

“No?”

“No. Perhaps, to the outside eye it may have appeared different… I don’t know. No life for a child, I think. But it was wonderful. She always protected me. But– but never like a mother. She was never like a mother – more like – a friend, or an older sister.” You laugh fondly at the memories, but also a little sadly. In the eyes of an adult now, you’d never want such a life for a child of your own, as exciting as it was at the time.

“One time someone told me I ended up as I did, naked for the world to ogle at, as a means to earn money, because of her. Because of how she was. And perhaps they were right, but… but not in the way they meant —  to insult me. She taught me what art was, gave me the means to turn myself into it.” 

“Who the fuck said that to you?” His tone makes you look back at him now. All the mystery in his gaze is gone, only fury burns now – very clearly. If he’d let you, you’d cup his cheek, soothe him. 

You can see he isn’t ready yet, though. So all you say is: no one that really mattered – the truth, but you can see that it does not soothe him. 

 “What about you? What was your mother like?” You can appreciate how easily distracted he pretends to be, the deception of it, merely another shroud. 

Another one of his long pauses, filled with his eyes on you. He gives you the gift of his touch again. Thick fingers picking up a strand of your hair, running it between his grasp. You feel the slight ghost-like tingle of the tug along your scalp, there but also not, and a jerking shiver moves through you. All the hair on your body standing on end. Fuck, this man. 

“She was very beautiful – very cruel,” he says slowly, mesmerized by your hair sliding through his fingers. 

“Cruel to you?”

“To the world.”

“Why?”

“But also me.” Succinct in its truth. The thought is a terrible one – for anyone to have been cruel to this magnificent dream of a man. The backs of your eyes pinch. Another long pause. “Hmm,” he tilts his head side to side, still sliding your hair through his fingers, twisting it gently around his hair. He gives it a tiny tug, and you want to scoot forward, even just the smallest bit, just to be a little closer to him, to feel the brush of his belly against yours with the movement of his breathing. “It’s difficult to say – unhappiness, bitterness, boredom. A great and complicated concoction of things that made her into the eternally complex creature she was.”

“She died?”

“Yes. She killed herself.”

“Ezra– I’m so sorry,” the words leave you choked and breathless. 

He says it so plainly, starkly, like a slap to the face, one not meant to cause pain or harm, but shock. One meant to cause fear, something to say, look at how fucked up I am, stay away or I’ll infect you with it too. You scoot closer now, you can’t help it, and he goes immediately still, frozen – eyes wide, hesitant, but you don’t touch him. Your hair is still clutched in his hand, and his eyes move back and forth between your own and his hold on you. You’re close enough now, though, that you can feel the heat rolling off his body. Your eyes flutter shut, you say again: “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“She was too vain to grow to old age.” You feel him relax, comforted by the indication that you’re not going to touch him just yet. “I think she felt it was the only recourse for her.”

You open your eyes again, and he’s still staring at you. You so badly want to know what he’s thinking, to feel the press of his mouth against yours, to know the taste of his tongue, the feel of his incisors pressing into your skin. 

You pivot three-sixty again: “Do you want kids?” He lets out a loud barking laugh at that, head thrown back so the tendons in his neck jump out starkly. Your cunt clenches around nothing. Wet and jealous. 

“This is a very difficult game,” he says, giving you a sly look. 

“We don’t have to play anymore, if you don’t want to.” A great lie – you never want to stop playing with him. 

“No, I want to keep going.” He slides his whole hand into your hair now, palm cupping the entire side of your head in its broad expanse, and you can’t help the desperate moan that claws out of your throat. His responding hum is all-knowing.  “I don’t know. But I love being… I like being able to imagine it.”

Your mind has been lost to a daze induced by the heat of his palm. “Children?” you murmur.

“Yes.”

Your fingers are twisted into the front of your shirt, clawing at yourself to maintain respect for his boundaries. “I want them. Lots of them. I hated being an only child. I always felt alone. I want to have lots of babies.” And his eyes flare with heat at that. The first blazing sign of lust in them tonight. Everything else before this, you realize, was merely a low simmering boil. The fist in your hair tightens so that your head tilts back slightly, the line of your throat exposed for his eyes to follow. 

“Lots of them?” You nod your head minutely, wide eyed, equally ensnared by that look in his gaze as you are by his hand. 

“Then you shall have them, Sparrow.” You let out a shuddering breath, turn your face into the pillow, enjoying the slight pull to your sensitive scalp as his hand follows, try to breathe deep, temper your racing heart. You’re so wet, you can feel it seeping out of you in a constant throbbing stream. The conversation serving as a more intense form of foreplay than anything else you’ve ever done with a man. 

“It’s my turn again. When was the last time you fucked someone?” Blunt – thrown at your face to throw you off kilter. Oh, he fucking loves this. A broken little whimper claws out of your throat at that. Your cheeks are flushed, you can feel them burning, and he knows exactly what he’s doing. The smug look in his eyes taunts you, tells you he knows just how soaked you are. But it is also wild, as wanting as you are. 

“Hmm?” he presses.

“Three years ago.” It’s his turn to be shocked now. You see the pause of surprise in that bright light within his gaze. 

“Three years? Why?”

“You’re not the only one who finds it difficult to be close to people.”

“And yet you agreed to come here with me?”

“And yet I agreed to come here with you.” You don’t return the question. You wouldn’t like to know, you don’t think. And you can tell he sees that in your gaze, for he doesn’t offer up the information either. You like the mystique of him. Like some eldritch beast, a deity of old, something amorphous, not to be contained or understood. The unknowable aspect of him is appealing to you for reasons you haven't quite figured out yet, despite this game of questions you’re flirting with. 

You go next: “Are you lonely?”

“Yes, very.” A pause, and then: “You are too.” This is no question. He can see it, recognizes the same scent of it that permeates the air around him, following you. “You seemed it, laying in the center of that crowded room, naked – bared for everyone to see.” It is not said cruelly. He is only telling you that which you already know about yourself, that which is plain for the whole world to see. “And then shrouded in gold, as if you wanted to hide that vein of aloneness that flows through you – it didn’t work very well.”

“Do you think everyone could see it?”

“No.” Good. You only wanted him. 

You take another turn, you can’t help but break the rules with him. “Have you ever been with someone who– who you didn’t really want to be with, but you were– you were so lonely and needed… something… or someone?” All the surety you’d posed your previous questions with is gone now. He’s already discerned so much of you, what’s a little more bared skin? “So you just– you just settled for being with that person even though you knew it was wrong, and the only thing on your mind was the other person you really wanted to be with?”

Without hesitation: “Yes.”

“I think that’s the only type of relationship I’ve ever had. Although, the other person hasn’t really existed – just – just something I’ve thought up in my own head.”

“I accidentally called her by the other person’s name. She never spoke to me again. It was terrible– terrible of me.”

“I want to touch you so badly,” you plead suddenly. Unable to hold it in anymore in the light of all he’s shared with you. Your voice cracking and begging. “I want you to touch me, so badly.”

“I know.” Yes, he does. “You want me to fuck you.” All you can do is let your eyes flutter shut, try to continue to breathe, nod your head. 

“Why was your mother cruel to you? What did she do?” You feel like crying now. 

“Many things… I had terrible night terrors as a child. Scared her half to death. I’d scream and cry and sleep walk. For years. She didn’t know what to make of me. Some sort of demon come from her very womb to possess and haunt her house. She hated me – would lock me in a closet furthest from her bedroom to keep my howling away from her.” 

The blazing heat of anger floods your cheeks, your eyes filled with tears, and he clicks his tongue, smoothes his thumb over the slope of your cheek. “None of that, sweet girl.”

“You were just a little boy – she should have– she should have comforted you. Helped you.”

“It wasn’t in her nature. You cannot fault a thing for not being what it was never made to be. She was a killer of soft things – within herself, within me too, I think. Or she tried, at least. She tried to kill everything soft she came into contact with. But she did love me. In her own way – a wrong way, but she did. That comforts me immensely.”

“That she loved you even if it was the wrong way?”

He nods, “And that I loved her – despite all her flaws.”

“Why?”

“I… I appreciate the idea of being a bad person, and still being able to find someone to love you.”

“You’re a killer.” It is not a question for you already know the answer – you can see it in his eyes, it is his inheritance. You know that either way, it won’t make a difference to you. 

“I am, indeed. But, are you?.” The soft curve of his cunning smile is so incredibly beguiling. The most tempting thing you’ve ever seen in your entire life. You shake your head, you’re not, you never have been. You think it must be very obvious at first glance, for the patronizing look he gives you as he asks anyways. 

“Sometimes I can be very bad,” he whispers slowly, drags the tip of his finger over your shoulder, down the swell of your breast, stopping just shy of your peaked nipple, circling the point. 

“What do you do?” your voice is breathless, beseeching. 

He smooths his thumb over your bottom lip, pushes between to get inside, presses down on the hard edge of your bottom teeth to inspect the wet gleam of your tongue. “I steal beautiful things for myself–” His voice is like smoke – his confession fortuitous, on the verge of disappearing. His mystique enshrouds the both of you. You hope you disappear alongside him. 

“Is that what you’re doing now? Stealing me?”

“Yes.”

“I think I like being stolen.”

-

He wakes, very late into the night, or very early in the morning, the confounding blue hue of the outside world seeping in through the heavy drapes over the tall windows. Shielding the two of you from the real world.

Your body is entirely draped over his own. You’ve invaded him in your sleep, taken over all the space and air and thought he’s ever possessed. The soft weight of your breasts presses into his chest, your head tucked in the hollow of his clavicle so that he can feel each pass of your damp breath wash over his throat and chin. He expects to feel overwhelmed, uncomfortable, perhaps even disgusted, so much skin, so much heat, your legs intertwined with his – but all he can focus on is the fullness of your tits pressed up against him, the hot wet apex of your cunt against his thigh. You’re wet in your sleep for him – he can feel your dampness seeping through the silk of your extra panties. 

One of your hands is curled over his shoulder and he brings it to his mouth, presses a kiss to the soft, small palm. His hand dwarfs yours, swallows it whole. He sucks each one of the tips of your fingers into his mouth, bites down as gently as he can. Your hips start to shift over him, needy cunt trying to unconsciously rub up against his thigh. 

He’s going to fuck you now. His cock is hard, aching, leaking, balls heavy – has been for ages, but finally, finally his mind has caught up. Thank fuck. 

He passes his palm down the smooth line of your back, pushes his t-shirt you’re wearing up your back to get to your skin. This lovely smooth back he’d spent almost an hour staring at in that gallery. He feels a terrible, unfounded curl of jealousy, once again, that anyone else in the world has ever gazed upon the magnificence that is your skin. He wants it to be only for him, he wants you to be only for him – to own you.

His hand moves down to clutch the full swell of your bottom, pushes under your panties to take a handful of your bare flesh. He bends his knee slightly to put more pressure on your core and starts to roll your hips over him. You let out a soft little moan, sleepy, so sweet. 

“It’s time to wake up, Sparrow. I’m going to fuck you now.”

“Ezra–” you murmur, coming to. Your body seems to take stock of the situation before your mind does, little cunt suddenly grinding down more firmly onto his thigh. You let out a moan that goes straight to his cock. He grips your hips and flips you over, settling between the spread of your thighs, slotting his length into your wet cleft, he starts a slow rock that has his head pressing up and into your clit. 

“Tell me how you want to be fucked.”

Your eyes are glassy, dazed and confused. He says again, “Tell me how you want to be fucked, or I will decide for you.”

And then your soft little voice, grabbing him by the balls and showing him that as sleepy or drowsy or small as you may appear, you’re still aware of the power you hold over him: “I think I’d like you to decide for me, please.”

Fuck– he deepens the pressure of his thrusts so that his tip presses into your opening over your panties. Your jaw is hinged open, panting wet breaths as you moan for him. 

He sits back on his heels then, pulls his t-shirt up over your head and then slides your panties over your hips and down your legs, grips your knees to spread your legs wide for him. 

He was right, your cunt is the same color as your nipples. Beautiful. 

It’s drooling, begging for him, and oh, how that fills him with pleasure – for such a beautiful thing to desire him, as much as he desires it. He ghosts the back of his knuckles over your slit, using his thumbs to spread your lips wide – he bends for a taste, moans deep and long from his chest. 

“Fuck, you’re so sweet. Do you want me to feed your cunt, baby?”

“Ezra, please – yes – I want it so bad.”

“I know, I could see – all night, I could see how hungry you were. I’m going to eat you now.”

Please, please. 

He settles between your thighs. Soft little licks to your swollen clit, then down to thrust his tongue into your hole. He grips the back of one thigh to press it up and back into your chest, uses his other hand to press down low on your pelvis, gives you more pressure as he sucks your clit back into his mouth. He can feel the clench of your pussy around his tongue, the shake in your thighs. Your keening moans move through him, have him grinding his aching cock into the mattress. You’re going to come in his mouth, he can feel it, taste it, your slick running from you, sweet and musky, all for him. 

Your hands clutch at his curls, pulling and tugging hard as you arch your back and start to orgasm. Ezra, Ezra, Ezra. It’s a litany, a benediction. You are a work of art come to life to sing into his ear. 

He gentles his mouth over your quivering sex, laps slowly at your pulsing entrance. He wipes his mouth over the tender slope of your inner thigh and goes back to his knees, licks his palm of your wet as he watches your gaze on him. 

He cradles your small foot in his hold. He likes the thought that he can grasp that which has carried you through your life, in his hand. For some reason, it fills him with immense pleasure, the feel of your soft foot, the thought of you walking through life, walking through the world, towards him, to find him. Always him, only him. 

There is a wound in him, dark, and putrid, overwhelming his existence always. It was only through the cathartic fulfillment of holding a beautiful thing in his hands that he felt reprieved of the terrible thing. He feels that reprieve in this moment, with the delicate weight of your small foot cradled within his palm. 

He brings it to his mouth and digs his thumb harshly into the elegant arch, forcing a moan out of you, deepening the curve of your spine, then drags his teeth along the instep, presses a soft kiss to your first toe. He can see the clench of your little hole at his ministrations, the flush of your skin from the peaks of your breasts to your cheeks. 

Your breath is hitching, breasts quivering with your gasps. He bends to lick into your mouth, thin ankle still held in his grasp, finally, finally taking the taste of your tongue onto his own and you moan, wanton and desperate, your legs wrapping around his waist to bring him closer. 

“I’m going to give you my cock now,” he presses into your skin, open mouthed kisses to your throat, your neck, your breasts. He nips a gentle bite to one swollen little nipple. 

He grasps the base of his cock, passes his hand slowly from root to tip once, twice, and then presses the flushed head to your clit, grinds there for a moment, you jerk, then moves down to your hole, feeds you just the tip. You cant your hips, try and take him deeper, but he holds back, pulls out and moves back up to circle your clit again, and then back down again to press inside. “No, no, no, Ezra, please – I need it so badly – so badly.” He watches a tiny tear, track down your temple and back into your hair, and he gives you the entire thick length of him at that, fucks inside, all the way to the end of you. 

“There? How’s that?” He presses a kiss to your breast, sucks it into his mouth. The taste of you is godly. “Is that better, needy thing?”

“So good – so good,” you sigh. Stretching your arms high above your head, arching your back to let him in deeper. 

“Fuck, yes–” he groans. He sits back on his heels, grips your hips and starts to give it to you hard. The strong swing of his hips causing the soft jiggle of your tits with every thrust. Your eyes are closed, lashes fluttering, soft mouth open and wet. So fucking beautiful. 

“Will you let me fuck your ass too?” Your head is already nodding, all rational thought currently being fucked out of you. “You will, won’t you?”

“Yes, yes – anything you want.”

“Good girl.”

He changes the angle, fucks up into that spongy devastating part of you he plans to own after this is done, and he starts to feel the tight pull of your inner muscles working to suck him deeper. “That’s it, beautiful, just like that. Taking me so wonderfully.” 

“God– I– I’m–” you press your palms to his belly and he brings one of your ankles up to his shoulder, presses a kiss to the bone. 

“God isn’t here right now – just me–” He grits his teeth, gives it to you harder. He can feel his orgasm start to pool, hot and liquid, at the base of his spine, balls drawing up tight. 

“Give me another, Sparrow, one more. Need to feel it around my cock,” spit through clenched teeth. 

“Oh, fuck – that’s so good,” you moan, and then you’re milking him, pulling his come out of him with the tight wet clutch of your muscles. 

“Fucking perfect, yes – just like that.” He lets his head roll back on his neck, hand grasping your ankle as he fills you. 

-

He watches you eat your pain au chocolat. Sitting in the warm morning sun of the observatory. Tiny bites of the flaky sweet bread, dollop of chocolate sitting at the corner of your mouth that he plans to lick off in a second. He is mesmerized. He knows, empirically, he probably looks like a fucking creep, staring you down as he is, but he can also see the subtle preen in your gaze when you glance up at him every so often. You enjoy this part of your play as much as he does, so it seems. The watching. 

“Will you let me take you somewhere today?”

“Yes, I will.”

“Brazil? I’d show you the farm.”

You swallow, the most guileless eyes he’s ever beheld, shining in the light. “Brazil? Really?”

In the moments where you were still coming to, heartbeat racing in your ears, you were reminded of the time he’d been gone - and how much those rotations had hurt. You remembered every night that your eyes had opened and you’d reached for him, only to remember that he wasn’t there, and that your hand would only find smooth, cold sheets, the silence feeling as suffocating as the suit he wore likely was. 

But that night, you weren’t greeted with silence or empty space. You still woke with a start, but almost immediately after opening your eyes, you heard him, the sound of Ezra’s deep, even breaths almost as soothing to you as his words were. And the warmth of him beside you was even more comforting, the scent of his freshly washed hair filling your nose with each breath you took to steady yourself. 

It didn’t take you long to calm down entirely, your eyes adjusting to the almost perfect darkness of your room. When you moved closer, you were careful because you didn’t want to startle him. That was important, because Ezra’s lengthy recovery process and reintegration into everyday life wasn’t as simple as either of you had hoped it would be and you didn't want to reverse any of the progress he'd already made.

But he didn’t move, even when you pressed your lips to the back of his shoulder, his skin warm to the touch. And his breathing didn’t change when you took a deep breath and turned your head toward the pillow, pressing your cheek against it while your forehead made contact with the space between his shoulder blades. 

Ezra did react, though, when you didn’t move to touch him further, the man sighing and inching backwards, closing the space between you. “I’m awake, and I know very well that it is you here with me.” His voice was thick with sleep, but at the sound of it you felt yourself shiver, your right arm immediately rising so that you could wind it around his body. 

You were careful of the still-tender wound on his stomach, but didn’t shy away from trailing your fingertips over it, choosing to do exactly what Ezra had told you that he preferred you do and face his new condition head on. He already felt sorry enough for himself, he’d said, his eyes blazing with anger and shame, and he didn’t need you to pity him, too. 

You showed him that you didn’t as often as you could, your hands and mouth on him, your gaze never dropping, even when he was being difficult, your spoken promises aligning with your behavior. It was slow and it was hard, but as the cycles passed and both of you began to understand that Ezra was home, and that you were too happy about that to care about the parts of him that hadn’t made it back, it became easier. 

“Go back to sleep, Ezra. I just …” You swiped your thumb across his skin in a slow arc, smiling at the sound of your name as it reached your ears, his voice a little stronger than it had been only moments earlier. “I woke up, and I had to make sure that …” 

“What time is it?” He turned slowly, rolling onto his back and then turning his head toward you, clearing his throat. “How long have you -”

“Only a few minutes. And I don’t know. It’s got to be almost morning, but …”

“If it’s morning,” he began, carefully shifting his weight. “Then it means that today is my favorite day.” You sucked in a breath, unable to form words before Ezra continued. “Another rotation. Another trip around the suns. The anniversary of your creation, something that Kevva herself could not have -” 

You felt the tears leaking down your cheeks as he spoke, your hand reaching out again and sliding slowly up and down his side as you inched even closer, though you were mindful of what remained of his arm on the bed between you. “I’m so glad you’re home, Ezra.” 

You choked the words out, the tears coming harder. Somehow, he found you in the dark, his lips kissing the tear tracks on your cheeks before they retreated and then landed against yours briefly.

You tasted salt when you licked them, but didn’t get a chance to speak before you felt his hand on your cheek, the man’s palm warm and welcome, though his fingertips were rough as they circled over the space in front of your ear. “There aren’t adequate words to describe how glad I am to be home with you, Starlight. And that is on a regular day. Today?” He leaned in again, kissing you softly. “Today I have even fewer.” 

You gasped, fighting back another sob. 

That time, you didn’t hesitate to tighten your grip on him, your lips already parted when they met his. He kissed you hard, his fingers sliding over to curl around the back of your head. And when he deepened the kiss, tongue pushing past your lips to meet yours, it was him that reacted first, the man’s sigh turning into a groan. 

“Then show me, Ezra.” Kissing your way over his cheek and then taking his earlobe between your teeth, you tugged on it. “Don’t tell me, show me.” 

-0-0-0-

You’re little more than breeding stock. You know that now. On this planet, to this endless parade of doctors and scientists, your entire worth has dwindled down to your fertility…what you can grow in your womb to repopulate a planet devastated by civil war.

You never thought you would long for the mining colony you’d been kidnapped from…for the hardships of your life before. You’d spent cycles in the mines without rest or food, scrabbling to make points from what you could unearth from the gas-ridden caves. But you were free. Your body was your own, until one day a routine blood test changed your life forever.

You’ve been in the same room for so many cycles you’ve lost count. You’re intimately familiar with the tiles on the ceiling, the harsh fluorescent lighting, the low couch by the window that looks comfortable, but that you’ve never been allowed to sit on. You’re strapped to a table, legs spread and cunt on display. It horrified you at first…the clinical exams, the blatant disregard for your comfort. Your cheeks burn with the memory of your first “trial.” You had kicked and screamed until they’d sedated you. You woke up sore with cum dripping out of you, no question as to what had happened.

Now they don’t bother with sedatives. You no longer fight. The punishing march of cycles has sapped your will. You’re never getting out, not unless you give them what they want. Unless your belly becomes round with new life, your life, as far as you can see, is over.

Tears are dried on your face from the last trial. It’s your fertile time, they’ve informed you, so the trials are daily now. The next man, one of the institute’s finest specimens of virility, no doubt, fucks you with a bored expression on his face. You look at the ceiling. You can feel his cock twitch after about a minute, feel his precious seed fill you to overflowing. He snarls as he comes, digging his blunt nails into your thigh.

The only mercy is that it never lasts long.

He backs up from where you are laid bare to him and puts himself away. “Did you come?” he asks perfunctorily. “The doctors say it’s more likely to take if you do.”

You say nothing. Of course you didn’t come. You never have. You were a virgin when they brought you here. You’ve never even touched yourself. Daily rape is not going to change that.

He shakes his head at your silence. You can feel his seed running out of you. A single tear tracks down your face, and you hear the door shut behind him.

A nurse comes in once a day to clean you up. It’s not enough. You have at least three trials a day, different men each time, and multiple blood tests. Your menses comes when you’re due, without fail. No pregnancy. No hope of ever escaping this hell you’re trapped in.

You’ve thought about killing yourself, but there’s no way to do it. Your arms are tied down away from your body. Your feet are secured and your legs forced apart. You’re never given sharp objects; your meals are liquid. Every cycle the sun rises and you wish again that you were dead.

It’s another early morning when you hear a soft knock at the door. That’s new, you think. No one ever knocks. They come in, use your body for tests or trials, and leave, usually without a word. If you don’t die from the abuse they are putting you through, then maybe you will die from loneliness. It would be a mercy.

Another knock on the door, and it piques your interest like nothing has in a long time. “Come in,” you say in a raspy voice. It’s been so many cycles since last you spoke, your lips can barely find the words. The door opens, and you brace yourself for what comes next.

You crane your neck up to look toward the door. A tall, broad man in blue scrubs walks toward you. He is tan, his eyes a deep brown. There’s a curious white patch at the front of his hair, and it’s brushed downward, making him appear boyish.

But he is no boy. He has strong shoulders and large hands…a well-defined nose. He approaches your head where you lay against the table and looks down at you.

That also, is new. Most men who come in go straight between your legs. You almost never see them up close. Sometimes you never see them at all.

“Hi darlin’,” he says, his peculiar drawl thick and syrupy. He’s smiling down at you a little lopsided, his head cocked slightly. “Let’s get you all undone, now. Let you stretch your legs a bit.”

You blink up at him, trying to comprehend this radical change in protocol. He’s already working on the restraints binding your arms, then the large one across your middle. He moves down to your feet, and your gaze immediately finds the ceiling, expecting the worst.

Instead, he loosens those restraints as well. When he sees the reddened skin around your ankles, he tuts, taking one of your feet and gently massaging it. You say nothing, wondering if this is some sort of cruel joke. You’ve never been unrestrained during a fertile time before, not since you first arrived.

The man returns to your head. He takes one of your hands in his, thumb making little sweeps over your skin. It’s the first time someone has touched you with any sort of kindness in a long time, and tears spring to your eyes. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he says softly. “My name’s Ezra.”

You look up at him and reflexively draw your hand away. You marvel at being able to move your arms. They’re stiff and tingly from being bound, but you relish the sensation. You whisper your name and he smiles.

“That’s beautiful darlin’,” he says pleasantly. He holds out his hand again while his other hovers near your shoulder. “Need some help sitting up?”

The first thing you do is close your legs, wincing at the pain in your atrophied muscles. Your modesty intact for the first time in a long time, you let Ezra gently pull you to a sitting position. The hospital gown covers you, finally, and you let your legs dangle over the side of the table.

You still avoid his gaze, though you can feel it burn you where it lands. You chance a glance at him and his eyes are soft, thoughtful.

“I bet a shower would do you a world of good,” he says, still congenial…still seemingly kind. You’re unused to it. It makes you immediately suspicious.

“Are you…are you a nurse?” You ask him. The only time you’ve been cleaned up (and those were hasty wipe downs with a cold basin of water) was by nurses during your scant few bathroom breaks. A shower, as unbelievable as that sounds, still feels like a trick.

He chuckles at that. “Not a nurse, sweetheart. Here to take care of you, though. Here to make you feel good.”

You frown. How could you possibly feel good in a place like this? After all that’s been done to you? You shake your head in refusal.

He sighs, leaving you sitting on the side of the table. “Let me start the shower for you, darlin’. You think you can manage by yourself?” His brow is furrowed, his eyes sympathetic. “I know it’s been a while since you stood.”

Suddenly you see the adjacent bathroom. You watch Ezra as he walks into it; you listen as the water turns on. Hot steam wafts from the open door, and you close your eyes.

Then you remember…the door to your room. It’s probably open. You can get away, or try to. This is the first time you’ve had any actual hope of escape, and you’re drunk off of it.

You bolt toward the door, but your numb legs betray you. You fall on your face, crying out, the hard floor jarring your bones. Ezra is by your side in moments.

“Ah, now,” he soothes, taking you up by your shoulders. “Can’t be running off like that. I’m trying to help ya honey. Nothing more.”

You look up at him where he holds you in his arms. He’s handsome, you think distantly, but the realization has no physical effect on you. You lost any sexual desire you had a long time ago, when these people weaponized reproductive organs as a means to an end, a tool to be used for the greater good.

Ezra helps you to your feet. His hands are big and calloused, but they’re warm. You’re not used to gentleness. It makes you wary, but you find yourself craving it all the same.

He leads you into the bathroom…stands you up by the sink. He offers you his arm, looking away as you step out of your hospital gown.

The steam feels so good on your skin; you’ve been cold for so long that your very pores starve for warmth. Ezra leaves you and you step under the hot spray. A wanton little sound of relief, the nearest sound you’ve ever made to pleasure escapes your lips, and you snap your mouth shut.

You spend the next few minutes washing your body, your hair, letting the suds run over your skin and down the drain. You clean the dried semen from your folds, scrubbing just a little too roughly. You stand there swaying under the water. You haven’t had a hot shower since your youth, since before you were sent to the mines. You huff a disbelieving laugh at how good it feels. You forget about Ezra and stay there until the water runs cold.

When you step out of the bathroom, there’s a fresh gown waiting for you on the counter. You towel off, slipping it on over your head. Feeling the cool, threadbare cotton against you just reminds you of where you are, what your purpose is, and the previous contentment from the shower, scant as it was, immediately evaporates.

You pad out of the bathroom and onto the cold tile. Your legs are still wobbly. You’re lightheaded from the hot shower, and before you know it the entire room tilts.

But you never hit the floor. Ezra catches you under the arms, sweeping you up to cradle against his chest like you weigh nothing. He murmurs something, his voice a low and pleasant rumble, but your ears are still ringing. He sits you down beside him…not on the cruel examination table, but on the couch.

You come back to yourself, and Ezra is tucking your wet hair behind your ear. He lets his hand linger by your cheek in a soft caress. You blink up at him, not understanding.

“Why am I on the couch?” you ask. Ezra looks confused, then his face transforms into a wide smile.

“Well, it seemed a mite more comfortable than where you were,” he says softly. He ducks his head, trying to catch your furtive gaze. “You feel better?”

The question catches you off guard. You do a quick, basic self-assessment and realize that you do feel a tiny bit better. “Yeah,” you breathe. “Thank you for the shower.”

Ezra preens, seemingly pleased by your gratitude. He tracks his thumb back and forth across the soft skin of your cheek, humming to himself. After a moment, he leans forward, pressing his lips to your forehead.

You instantly recoil, pressing your back to the end of the couch. He scoots forward, crowding you a bit. Your heart picks up.

“Mmm,” he hums, that low rumble coming from deep in his chest. “Y’ smell good.”

You bite your lip, refusing to meet his eyes. “I smell like hospital body wash,” you say, still trying to parse what’s actually going on.

He drags his knuckles up your bare leg, and you look at him. His eyes are dark, his strong nose scenting the air. “Wasn’t talking about the soap,” he says, grin lopsided, and then you realize.

He’s here for a trial.

You swallow hard. He’s got his arms braced on either side of you; it unfurls a strange warmth in your belly. It feels like fear…anticipation, but you’re not really afraid of him.

“If you’re gonna fuck me then just fuck me.” You look up, your mouth a firm line. “Why play all of these games?”

He tuts again, eyes bright and looking at you softly. He floats his hand down the column of your neck, settling at your shoulder.

“Such harsh words, sweet thing.” He gives your shoulder a little squeeze, and your skin burns with his touch. “I’m going to make it so good for you. You have my word.”

A little thrill goes through you, and you shiver. Without a word he pulls you to him, wrapping you up in a warm embrace. He’s speaking, but you don’t register much of it. It’s soft nonsense, words you would use to calm a frightened child or animal. You close your eyes against the white noise, and your nose catches his scent.

It’s uniquely masculine, something earthy and rich. Saliva pools in your mouth.

He holds you there for a long time, whispering soothing words into the shell of your ear. He trails his hands down your arms, smoothing the gooseflesh he finds there.

“You cold baby? You need a blanket?”

He leaves you on the couch, going to a closet and withdrawing a blanket. In all your cycles here, it’s a comfort you’ve never been offered. He wraps it around your shoulders, rubbing his hands over it like he can stoke warmth into your bones.

“Th-thanks,” you say, your teeth chattering. You realize it’s not entirely from cold.

Once you’re wrapped up, Ezra leans in again and you stiffen but do not pull away. You realize this is a foregone conclusion. Ezra is here for a trial, and nothing you do is going to change that.

He noses the skin beneath your ear, and you exhale. He presses his lips in a trail down your neck, gentle little pecks. When he reaches the fluttering pulse there, he seals his mouth over it and sucks.

You gasp softly and arch against him, feeling the warmth in your belly from before travel lower and settle between your legs. You feel your heartbeat throb in your center. That’s never happened before, and it makes you want to squeeze your thighs together to make it stop.

You reach up between you and press a hand against his chest.

“I won’t fight you,” you say. Your voice is thready and soft, and you hate how demure it sounds. “Just do what you have to do.”

He ignores you, letting his tongue wet your skin where his mouth is still sealed over your neck, then he teases it with his teeth. You tremble again, from nerves or cold you know not. “Ezra,” you whisper breathily, and he groans.

“You got me so worked up, darlin’,” he breathes against your neck. He kisses down to where your collarbone juts out of the wide neck of the hospital gown and closes his lips over it. He pulls away, observing the flush of your cheek, your shallow breath.

“Gonna take care of you,” he murmurs. “Gonna put a baby in you. Maybe two. Right here.”

You look down and he has his large hand splayed over your stomach. Your pulse quickens. Your gown is hitched up, and your legs are on display.

You shake your head. “Can’t get pregnant,” you say, “no matter what the blood tests say.” You turn your head, cheeks blooming red. “Been through many trials. Nothing’s ever worked.”

Ezra pouts, pecking at the line of your jaw. “Bet no one’s ever made you feel good though,” he says, his hand sliding from your stomach down your thigh to catch the edge of your gown. “Bet no one’s ever fingered this pretty little pussy before.”

Your mouth pops open, and he uses it as an excuse to claim your lips. His are full and soft, and your eyes slip shut. You’ve never kissed anyone before, so you have no comparison, but you like the way it makes you feel…warm, wanted. His whiskers tickle your chin. He slips his tongue in your mouth and your eyes fly open, a little noise purring deep in your throat.

He moans into the kiss, probing your mouth with his slick tongue. Tentatively you kiss him back, unsure of exactly how, so you simply touch your tongue to his and hope it’s enough.

His hand slips up your thigh and you feel a gush of liquid between your legs. You pull away, mortified, and move to stand. “I think I need to go to the bathroom,” you stammer. You feel strangely off balance. Your skin’s on fire, and there’s a steady ache between your legs.

You’ve never felt this way before. Something’s wrong…Ezra has done something to you and you don’t understand what.

Your legs are shaking, and you look down at the wet spot on the couch. “Oh no,” you murmur, face red. You feel the sudden need to hide, but there’s nowhere to go, and Ezra has both hands on your arms.

“Sit down, sweet girl.” There’s color to his cheeks, too, and you can see his hard cock tenting the front of his scrub pants. He pulls you back down and gently kisses your cheek. “It’s normal, honey,” he says sweetly. “It’s what’s ‘sposed to happen. That little pussy just needs a cock is all. It’s crying for one.”

Your core throbs, and you feel even wetter at his crass words. The dull pulsating sensation is now more urgent, sharp and unceasing. You want to touch, thinking that would make it go away, but you’re not sure how or where.

Ezra places his hand back on the inside of your leg, slowly dragging it upwards. He kisses you again, gentler this time. His hand reaches the humid juncture of your leg and pelvis, and he pets through your damp curls with the back of his hand.

“Unngh,” he moans into your mouth, then pulls away. He withdraws his hand, and his knuckles shine in the sunlight coming through the window. “Haven’t even got my hands on you properly and you’re already soaked. Kevva’s sake, girl.”

You’re trembling again, gripping Ezra’s upper arms. He slips beneath your gown once more, parting your seam with two big fingers.

“Oh shit,” he breathes, scooting up some on the couch. “You’re dripping, babygirl.” He locks eyes with you, and his are impossibly dark. “This all for me?”

You bite your lip and tell him the truth. “I don’t understand,” you say, trying to keep the tremor from your voice. “This has never happened before.”

He smiles, his eyes sparkling. “Good,” he says around a smirk. “You mean you’ve never touched this pretty thing, not once?”

He pulls your gown up, exposing your soaked cunt to the cold air. You shiver. “Kevva be damned, you’re beautiful darlin’.”

He drags through your folds with those same two fingers, groaning at the wet heat. He finds your clit, giving it an experimental little tap, then circling it with his thumb. Your legs quiver and your head falls back.

Your panting now, chest heaving, arms braced against the couch. You unconsciously widen your legs and feel yourself leak onto the cushion.

“Goddamn,” Ezra groans. “You’re unbelievable baby.” He makes another gentle circle over your clit, and you can scarcely believe the sound you make.

You can feel your body tightening. Your muscles go rigid and your toes curl. The warmth in your belly returns, spreading out to your limbs. “Ezra…,” you say, tears in your eyes. He continues his ministrations, shushing you gently. “You’re just aroused, sweet girl.” He dips into your folds, bringing more of your essence to your swollen clit. Something’s about to happen…you can feel it. Your heart beats faster…your skin feels tight. Ezra presses one of his fingers against your entrance and locks eyes with you. “Gonna give you one finger, my good girl. Just one. Give you something to clench around.”

You nod, not sure what you’re agreeing too. It’s all so much so quickly. Ezra smiles and looks down to where his finger enters your body.

You cry out, and he’s barely a knuckle deep when your walls close around him. He pumps his finger in an out, hooking it just so. You see stars. Your vision goes black at the edges, and your legs shake. He coos, laying you back onto the couch. He’s still working you through it until you start to whine, overstimulated.

He’s showering your face with kisses when he finally stops circling your clit. He withdraws his finger, giving your pussy a slap. His palm falls wetly against your folds, causing a pleasurable little sting.

You’re still catching your breath when he’s opening your thighs again. “You were so good for me, sweet girl, taking that finger. Did I hurt your little clit, rubbing it so hard?” He’s trailing his hand over your abdomen. It tickles, and the skin there quivers. You shake your head.

“Uh huh.” His hand slips down between your legs, cupping your pussy. You groan, arousal stirring again. “I’m gonna kiss it better all the same.”

He slides down the couch, kissing his way over your belly, to the top of your mound. “Ezra,” you moan, and he has to palm himself. “Ezra, please.”

He noses your curls, chin bumping against your folds. You groan louder, feeling the pressure build inside of you. He seals his lips over that tender bud and sucks.

You arch off the couch, crying out. Your heels dig into the cushions and your hands drop to his hair. He nips your clit with his teeth, stealing your breath, and still travels lower.

He looks up at you, eyes hooded. Your slick paints his mustache and patchy beard. You feel a fresh gush of it coat your thighs at the sight.

He probes your entrance with his tongue, and you twist under him. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. There’s pain in the pleasure, but you also need more. He licks a stripe up your seam, and it makes you shake. “You taste so good, sweetheart,” he murmurs against you, and the vibrations of his voice against you almost send you spiraling. “Could stay here all cycle.”

His lips return to your clit, swirling his tongue around the little bundle of nerves. Two fingers probe your entrance, and he slides them in without warning. It’s a stretch; your walls flutter around him to accommodate the intrusion. Then he starts to move.

“Goddamn pretty girl. I think you can take another.” He slides in his ring finger aside the other two after just two pumps, and you groan at the stretch.

“So full,” you murmur, already cock drunk and you haven’t even had it yet. He pumps his fingers in and out of you while eating you out, feeling your cunt tighten and clench around him.

“Gonna give me another sweet girl? One more before you take this cock?”

You find yourself nodding…anything just so he doesn’t stop. He crooks his fingers and presses into that spongey spot inside you, and you keen.

It hits you like a lightning bolt. The tension in your belly unspools, and before you can stop yourself you’re riding his face, hands clenched in his hair. You know it must hurt, but you can’t be bothered to care.

He coaxes you back down with soothing words, his soaked hand rubbing little circles on your inner thigh. “That’s my good girl,” he says to you over and over. “Gonna take this cock so well.”

When you finally come down he’s holding himself, languidly stroking your juices over his shaft.

Your eyes immediately go to the cock in his hand. It’s big…you’re not entirely sure it will fit. Your mouth goes dry as you notice the little bead of precum clinging to the tip.

“It’ll fit, darlin,” he says, reading your mind. “Gonna fill you up good. Like nobody else.”

His cock twitches, and he gives it a squeeze. “Gonna put a baby in me,” you murmur, and he smiles, cock lined up at your entrance. “That’s right, sweetheart. That’s what I said.”

The fat head of his cock breaches your entrance and you gasp. It’s a stretch, and once you’ve adjusted he eases a few inches inside you.

You both groan in unison. You can feel yourself relaxing around him, the initial twinge and stretch all but gone. It’s always hurt before. It’s never felt like this.

He’s got both elbows planted on either side of your head. He bends down to kiss you, and sinks his cock to the hilt.

You moan into the kiss. For a few moments neither of you move. His breath is coming in warm puffs. His hips are moving in little thrusts; he’s not fully fucking you yet…it’s like he’s settling in.

“Knew this pussy would take me,” he grits out. “So perfect. So tight.” He pulls out and then slams back in. It takes your breath. He finds a rhythm, pulling all the way out before thrusting back into your tight heat. His pelvis grinds against your clit. He balances on one arm, pulling up your hospital gown and exposing your chest.

You blush. He looks at you in awe, then bends and licks a stripe up your sternum. “Knew these tits would be perfect, too,” he says before taking one his mouth.

Your mouth drops open. He’s fucking you hard, and you’re so full you wonder briefly if they’ll be any room for his seed. You wrap your legs around him, the wet squelch of your bodies joining and your harsh breathing the only sounds in the room.

He pulls off your breast, a string of saliva dragging from his lips. “I’d come on these pretty titties if it wouldn’t be a waste of seed,” he stammers out. His hips are stuttering…there’s high color to his cheeks, and his hair is soaked in sweat. He flicks one of your hard nipples and it goes white at the sting. “Maybe next time.”

You clench around him at the thought of a next time. He pulls out suddenly and flips you on your belly. He slaps your thigh. “On your knees for me, sweet girl. Gonna pound you deep.” You’ve barely processed what he’s saying before he’s slipped inside you again, fucking you at a furious pace. He is hitting you deeper at this angle, you marvel, and a blooming warmth starts unfurling in your body even more rapidly than before.

Ezra reaches for your clit with his free hand, and it sends you over the edge. You soak his cock, and he groans, pulling you up and grabbing your hips in a bruising grip. A few more thrusts and he’s spilling inside you; his hot release branding your insides.

He collapses against you. You’re both breathing heavily, your body slicked in sweat. Ezra stays there for a long time, pressing sloppy kisses into your shoulder.

You feel sleepy, fucked out. Your eyes slip closed as Ezra slips out of you. He presses what seed escapes back into your loose hole, holding it inside with his fingers.

“Gonna take, pretty girl. We’re gonna populate the new world, you and me. Gonna be a regular Adam and Eve.”

You moan into the couch cushion. You’re pleasantly sore, and your mind is blissfully blank. Ezra’s fingers wiggle within, and you clench around him, trying to keep him inside.

You never wanted to help repopulate the world, you can’t help but think. But if Ezra was by your side, maybe a baby wouldn’t be so bad.