Chapter 19
Tea Time
The intentional hiccup in their route didn’t seem to dampen Fia’s mood much, at least as far as Davik could tell.
She seemed pleased to have time between shipments to delve into the tank and compile her research.
Maybe it was just his own mind playing tricks on him, goading him into optimism and hoping beyond hope that a few more days on this rust bucket somehow stirred her to see this place as home.
The gritty clank of the door seals was not really helping him imagine that.
He saw the charm in The Argent, but stale air and recycled water were not very conducive to setting the scene for romantic alchemy.
So, his plan revolved around getting her off the ship.
Hopefully, this time, he wouldn’t get interrupted by an unexpected bit of gambling and a brush with the law.
As if on cue, the fuzzy pink outline of her in her new hooded sweater popped around the corner and into the cargo bay.
“Good morning,” she yawned as she made her way down the stairs.
The pants she was wearing were just snug enough that he could see the shift in the muscles of her legs with each step. He was so entranced watching the movement that he forgot to say anything in reply. He just wanted to reach out and glide his thumbs where his eyes lingered.
Did she have scales between there? What do they feel like?
“Are you alright, Davik?” she asked, now just a few paces from him. He snapped to attention and fumbled with the tools he had in his hands. What he was even doing with them had evaporated from his mind.
Something about opening a hatch? It was probably important, but it’s gone now.
“Oh, uh. Yeah! Loopy. Pulling all-nighters to get this little detour back on track. We should have the repairs all done in a day or two.” He was a terrible liar, but he hoped the very real exhaustion would help detract from the distortion.
Fia reached up to cup his chin, tilting his face up towards hers. She really needed to stop doing that. Or never stop doing that. Preferably the latter. His pulse pounded against her fingers, but her eyes were soft and full of concern.
“You need to rest, Davik. You are going to get sick if you keep this up.”
Her words were even softer than her touch, and the skin where she brushed his chin ached.
“I will, I promise,” he breathed. “I’m almost done here.
Then, for once, I’ll be ahead of schedule.
” He cleared his throat as she pulled back and looked down at his hands, idly plucking at his shirt.
“How about we get some coffee? Out of here, I mean. On the station. There’s a really nice spot I know, and—”
“Caffeine is not a replacement for proper sleep,” she interrupted, crossing her arms in front of her chest disapprovingly.
“Indulge me?” he asked, his voice a bit more pleading than he had hoped.
“I feel like we’ve not had a lot of chances to do …
normal people things. Not that it gets any less strange than this.
But still. I want to make sure that you have some good memories from your time on The Argent to look back on that aren’t just getting used like a bloodhound or helping descale the plumbing. ”
“I will admit, scraping rust off pipes is not the most charming thing, but everything else has been—” She paused, mulling over her words. “Colorful.”
“Colorful?” He cocked a brow. “Ambiguous, but I’ll take that as a positive. And hey, this cafe has very colorful drink options. So,” he said, pulling up a timeline on his datapad, squinting. “Meet me at the dock in two hours?”
She dipped her head in a combination of a nod and a resigned bow. “I will see you then, Davik.”
As she strode off, he had a moment of fear that the pseudo-grav of the ship was going haywire.
Oh, nope. That’s just my stomach doing cartwheels. Don’t fuck this up.
He got dressed quickly, but his options were slim. He found his least-crumpled work pants and donned his favorite jacket: a denim-ish number sporting colorful patches from different stations.
With an excited tremble in his hands, he dragged a comb through his waves once more and brushed his teeth for the third time. Just in case.
Better safe than sorry. But if you show up late, you’ll be more sorry than safe.
He strode out of his cabin and did his best to leave his jitters behind.
She was already on the exit ramp, surveying the edge of the station. She hardly seemed to notice his late arrival.
“Enjoying the sights, Fi?” he asked, and she met his glance with a beaming smile.
“It is a strange station. Quite dark, and warm.”
“That’s Tescatua for you. It’s a quirky place. C’mon, let me show you around. To the tea shop!”
They linked arm in arm, and Fia asked about the eclectic decor of the little shops as they traipsed. The storefronts and signposts all had a common aesthetic of gothic creepery, with lots of joyous skeletons and cauldrons.
This station had a reputation for hosting pleasantly macabre denizens. Tescatua was built to process hazardous bio-waste through fungal decomposition, so fringe spookiness was their way of embracing being an orbital graveyard.
They walked beneath a massive banner proclaiming “Keep Tescatua Wyrd” to find the tea shop in question, a quaint little nook with a few chairs and tables on the sidewalk.
The shop’s sign was a curling neon banner.
One that would normally be illuminated with “The Happy Hollow” in bright green letters. But it was dim when they arrived.
Davik felt his stomach drop.
It can’t be closed, I double checked. I triple checked, and then made sure my shipboard clock was properly synchronized, and then checked again.
He walked up to the door and peered in through the glass. The short, bespectacled auntie who ran the shop spotted him and beckoned him in. The place was empty, the menu boards were unlit, and the only light in the room came from tiny lanterns scattered about.
The atmosphere within was inviting and warm, despite the darkness. Eclectic furniture, walls adorned with drapery, and oddities displayed on mismatched shelves. It would have been a perfect spot to sit and enjoy a drink together.
“Ah, I’m sorry, Davik,” the older woman said as the pair entered the shop. “Can’t do much in the way of brewing today. Power is out for who knows how long. You know how these things go,” she said as she made a dismissive hand gesture. “Should be fixed within the next six to eight business decades.”
“Auntie Kobi, you know I can't leave you in the dark,” he sighed, setting down his backpack and rolling up his sleeves. “Where’s your breaker? Your son probably overloaded the damn thing again.”
Her age-weathered face lit up with a smile as she gave Davik an excited pat on the arm. “Ooh, I did not want to assume. You and your friend look so nice today, and— Oh, thank you!” she cooed, ushering him towards the back wall, pulling a large painting of an ox aside to reveal the breaker box.
Yet again, things are immediately off the rails.
“What happened, Auntie?” Fia asked as she looked around the room.
“Your guess, good as mine. I don’t fiddle with these things. My son does. Or, did, but…” she trailed off as she spoke.
“Oh, no,” Fia gasped. “My condolences. To lose a child is a devastating thing.”
“Oh, little petal, no, no, no,” she made a little hushing noise and grabbed Fia’s hand to pat it gently. “No, the little scamp is just not in the system anymore. Got a ticket out of Tau, thinking he will find greener pastures elsewhere. It’s nonsense, but if it makes him happy, I am happy for him.”
“If it’s anything like last time, I can fix it for you, Ajumma,” Davik said as he fished out his multi-tool. “Just sit back. Shouldn’t take more than ten — maybe fifteen — minutes.”
Auntie Kobi offered an appreciative dip of the head before linking her arm in Fia’s, which was a difficult feat with their significant height difference. “We’ll leave the strapping young man to it. Oh, I should show you, there is this little bakery down the way…”
When Davik and Fia left the now-illuminated cafe, they were absolutely overladen. Both of their packs jingled softly with the glass jars full of gifted loose-leaf tea, and their hands stayed toasty warm with a red bean bun each.
“I am starting to understand,” Fia stated after finishing a hefty bite of the delightfully soft steamed bun.
“Oh?” he asked, clearly lost by whatever prompted her to say that.
“Why you always wind up delayed at ports. You have found an excellent way to secure baked goods in exchange for labor.”
“Promise, that wasn’t the plan. But there’s one more thing I wanted to show you.” Davik pulled up his datapad to check the route and beckoned Fia to follow. “We can nosh and walk.”
“Nosh…?”
Smells of spice, cinnamon, and something savory wafted up to meet them as they descended the concrete stairwell.
They walked past the threshold and into the side entrance of a massive, thrumming night market.
Stalls with red paper lanterns, Icthian glowsilk banners, and real wax candles replaced the harsh neon from the upper floors, and bathed both of them in a haze of warm orange and purple light.
All the splendor and color reflected in Fia’s deep and delighted eyes, and he wanted to lock this moment in his mind forever.
Davik felt her clutch his arm as she pointed at the throng of people milling about before them, and he felt instant heat rising in his chest.
“Davik!” she gasped, gesturing to the crowd in front of them.
“Yeah, I thought you might like this. It’s not anything fancy, but,” he trailed off, but she didn’t seem to mind his silence. She swayed from side to side slowly, her eyes closed.
“Do you hear that?” she murmured.
He heard a lot, so it was not a straightforward question to answer. A myriad of dialects and languages clashed in the chatter: accented English, Teelish, and otherwise. He had an inkling it was the “Teelish and Otherwise” aspect that she was swaying to.