5. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
It’s another night. There’s another portion of my story waiting to be told.
I don’t really want to return to my conversation with Tobago, not after the response I got from the men, but there is one last piece of that interaction that I must address. Perhaps if I skip ahead a little ways, the men won’t notice? It’s worth a shot, anyway . . .
Before I left his quarters for the evening, Tobago disappeared down the hall and returned a few moments later with an armful of jumpsuits. “The fit might not be exactly right,” he told me. “They were left behind by former crew. But they should keep you and Tarzan warm.”
“His name is Ursa,” I reminded Tobago testily, even as I accepted the clothing from him.
Tobago looked unimpressed. “I said what I said.”
I could have listed all the reasons why Ursa was so very different from the preposterously fictional character who couldn’t grow a beard and swung on vines, but I was too tired and too eager to get back to my room.
I also knew I was going to have a very long night ahead of me, trying to persuade Ursa it was in his best interest to wear one of these jumpsuits.
He was ever so fond of his nudity; but he didn’t realize just how cold it could get on a vessel like this.
The cold of Earth was nothing compared to the cold of space.
Even though I assumed the room would be thermalized, the bed artificially warmed, it wouldn’t fully dispel the seeping chill that never entirely dissipated.
I myself was rather looking forward to the thick, sleek, dark jumpsuit that would zip up to my neck and cover everything but my hands and face.
Perhaps that would deter the crewmen from devising any more shower-related “pranks.” Plus, these standard-issue jumpsuits were surprisingly comfortable, if not entirely form flattering.
As I was readying to leave, the door opened and a man entered the room.
He was of medium size and slight build, with dark hair and a face that looked extremely kind despite being pinched with pain.
I noticed the way he was leaning on the wall, bracing against it as he readied himself to take another cautious step.
At the sight of me, though, he paused. “Oh. Sorry. Thought you’d be done by now.”
Tobago’s expression softened into one I hardly recognized. “Are you ready for bed?”
So then, the man’s bedroom was here, which would make him Tobago’s . . . oh. He hadn’t said anything, the cheeky git!
Turning to my old friend, I raised a significant eyebrow, which I hoped conveyed, When exactly were you planning on telling me about this, hmm? Then, smoothing my expression, I faced the newcomer. “Sorry to have kept Tobago chatting for so long. You know how this one likes his whiskey.”
“I have no doubt he was the bad influence. Always has been.” But underneath the wryness, his tone was affectionate. He extended a hand to me. “Indy.”
He didn’t move away from the wall, but Tobago seemed to think he might try it, and he hurried to move to his side to help. The pain I’d read on Indy’s face must be pretty bad then. Something chronic? I couldn’t see any exterior injuries that would necessitate him leaning on the wall for support.
I crossed over to him and shook the hand he’d offered me. “Minerva Smithe-Canfield. Though I go by—”
“Mina,” Indy finished for me, exchanging a quick, small smile with Tobago that I couldn’t quite catch the meaning of. And I wasn’t meant to. It was a secret between just the two of them. “Tobago’s told me loads about you, even before we picked you up.”
“Is that so?” I glanced at my old friend meaningfully before looking back to Indy. “Bet he thought I’d be dead by the time he got to Earth.”
Indy laughed, rubbing a guilty hand over his mouth. “Not dead, no. But maybe in dire need of a rescue.”
“Jury’s still out on that,” Tobago muttered.
I raised my eyebrow at him to indicate he should introduce me to Indy properly. Clue me in on just who this man was to him. They might be smugglers, but manners were manners.
Tobago rolled his eyes, but obliged. “Indy, meet Mina, my oldest friend. And Mina, this is Indy . . . my husband.”
I don’t think it was only the whiskey loosening my tongue that made me gasp out loud. “Husband? Trini never said!”
Tobago sighed. “Trini doesn’t know yet. And I would very much appreciate it if you’d let me tell her first . . .”
It was extremely lucky for him I happened to be on the lam and couldn’t send my best friend any comm messages.
She was going to murder him when she found out her own twin brother had gotten married without her knowing—then probably throw him the most lavish party of the season to celebrate.
I shook Indy’s hand again, this time wearing my brightest grin.
“My deepest apologies for being saddled with this criminal. And also, congratulations on marrying one of the smartest men I know.”
Indy shrugged—just a little, since it was clear even that very minute gesture required an extraordinary amount of effort.
“Eh, he’s all right.” But his eyes shone with affection as he looked at Tobago; and even though Tobago kept his face devoid of emotion, as was his habit, I sensed he was pleased.
Content. Happy to be here in his new husband’s presence.
I would have liked to stay longer to get to know Indy better, but it was obvious from his pale face and tight smile that he was eager to rest.
On the way back to my quarters, I considered the impression I’d made on the crew of the Trojan Horse thus far.
Zenny seemed to dislike me on principle.
Val had deemed me an idiot. A handful of the crew I hadn’t interacted much with at all, but if they were anything like Croydon and the other two men, they must assume I was an easy target for sport.
Not to worry! First impressions were rarely in my favor. I had a way of growing on people, slowly but persistently—rather like black mold,1 only hopefully not quite as toxic, ha!
Things will get better over time, I reassured myself.
Reader, things did not get better over time. In fact, they grew far, far worse.
At first I didn’t notice it. In fact, I’m rather ashamed of how long it took me to realize something was wrong.
There was just so much going on, you see.
Adapting to space travel after being Earthbound for months.
Reuniting with my old friend and learning the ways he’d shifted over the years.
Trying to ingratiate myself with the crew.
This is not an excuse, my love, because I ought to have made the connections sooner. I just want you to know that I wasn’t intentionally neglecting you. I think about it all the time, what I should have done better.
It soon became clear that Ursa was terribly out of his element aboard the Trojan Horse.
He needed space to move, fresh air to breathe.
He knew all the sounds of the forest, but the whirring and clanking of the ship was foreign and frightening, turning him into a wary, nervous creature I barely recognized.
He needed my presence, my comfort, to anchor him, reassure him, keep him grounded.
Unfortunately, I had grown rather conscious of how much interest the others seemed to take in our relationship.
From the first day, there had been rumors, particularly since we had chosen to sleep in the same chambers.
There was no way around that, though; it would be too disorienting for Ursa if we stayed apart when we had slept side by side for so long.
Only, no—if I’m being honest, that wasn’t the reason I wanted to let him stay in my quarters.
Deep down I knew I had other reasons for wanting him in my bed.
I craved the comfort and security he provided, yes, but I also craved him.
On Haven 3, I’d always been taught that love should be more of a connection of the minds than a physical expression; only the most savage people couldn’t tell the difference between love and lust, the spirit and the body.
But I could no longer deny that I wanted him as much as he wanted me.
Sometimes (often) my mind would return to the feeling of being pressed against him, the taste of his sweaty, salty skin, his rough hands kneading my breasts.
Sometimes (often) from the look he would give me—the long stare and slow, arrogant smile that irritated me even as it sent a spike of feeling straight to my core—I knew Ursa was remembering, too.
But our circumstances had changed now. We were not alone. There were people around, watching our behavior, having opinions about it. So it was impossible to go on as we had before . . . wasn’t it?
The crew were obviously vulgar and uncouth, so I oughtn’t to have cared what they thought. Still, I couldn’t have the rumor going around that I was some sort of . . . well, floozy. It’s not a nice word, but there, I said it.
That decided, I determined Ursa and I would need to have a conversation about where things stood. One night when we were about to turn out the lights, I sat at the edge of the mattress and patted for him to sit next to me. “Come here, Ursa. Let’s have a little chat.”
How was it that a man raised by bears still knew to look wary when a woman suggested they needed to talk? He approached me cautiously, not sitting, so I patted the mattress again. “Come here. I won’t bite.”
Finally, reluctantly, Ursa seated himself at the edge of the mattress, peering at me out of the corner of his eye.
I cleared my throat, briskly brushing down the front of my jumpsuit to give my hands something to do.
“Listen, Ursa. I’ve been doing some thinking, and I don’t think we ought to be quite so free with each other. Physically, that is.”
Ursa just blinked at me.