Page 44 of Dax: Gratefully Bonded

He turned back to his puzzle, and I noticed the intense concentration he was giving the task. That drew my attention for an entirely different reason. I couldn’t say for sure yet, but I was developing the theory that he tended to focus on the puzzle when he was craving alcohol. His mood was often lower, his patience thinner, and I suspected he turned to the task when he found himself unable to concentrate on other things. He was still supposed to be searching for a proper hobby, but he hadn’t said much in the last few days about any options he was considering. Then I noticed that his left hand had started tapping on the table.

I left off the dusting and went to the kitchen, quickly preparing a cup of herbal tea. I took it back to him… and sure enough, he greeted the gesture with a scowl. “For fuck’s sake,Dax, I’m going to drown if you keep pouring tea down my throat.”

I was surprised at how little the reprimand affected me. After this morning, I knew my master was thoroughly pleased with me, at the same time as understanding his frustrations with his current situation. And I’d already anticipated that he’d be in a poor mood. A moment later, despite his protests, he wrapped his fingers around the handle of the cup and proceeded to slide it in small circles, over and over again, presumably just for something to do with his hand. If he found that helpful, then I decided not to be concerned about whether he actually drank it or not.

“Is there anything you would like to talk about, sir?” I asked, taking a seat opposite him. “Are you still thinking about yesterday?” My job as a domestic companion was to engage my master in conversation, and I understood enough of his medical condition to know that sometimes, he might just was to get some stress off his chest, without there necessarily being anything I could do about the situation.

“No,” he snapped, angrily sorting through a couple of puzzle pieces. I waited, prepared to give it a bit longer before I returned to my duties.

“I’ve got to talk to this fucking psychologist this afternoon,” he grumbled, when the silence stretched on. He rubbed his face then rolled his eyes. “Starting out with a new person is always awful. She’s going to be either too judgemental or syrupy sweet in trying to be empathetic about the whole thing. I wish someone would understand that this is just my fucking life now, and I don’t need someone to pat my head and tell me it’s all going to be okay. What I need is someone to give me real, practical advice about what the fuck I’m supposed to do when I’m out in public and I lose my shit. What do I do when I don’t want to get out of bed in the morning? What do I do when I’m-” He sloshedthe mug a little too forcefully, liquid spilling over the side. He cursed, both from the pain of the hot water and the mess he’d just made. “Motherfucking bastard,” he grumbled, waving his hand in the air.

I dashed to the kitchen to fetch a towel to soak up the water. “Did you burn yourself?” I asked when I got back. It was a deliberate choice to deal with the mess before any potential injury. Hopefully that way, my master would see the question as an offhand query, rather than an attempt to smother him with excessive care.

“No, I’m fine,” he muttered, but nonetheless, he got up and headed for the kitchen, and I heard water running as I mopped up the spilled tea. I took the wet towel to the washing machine, and by the time I got back to the kitchen, he’d turned the water off and was staring out into the courtyard.

“My last psychologist kept telling me I wasn’t to blame for any of this,” he said, not looking at me. “But I don’t fucking blame myself. I blame the military. And not Henderson, either. The decision to go back through the wormhole came from higher up than him. They should have stopped after the first mission. At the very most,maybethey were justified in sending the second one. But after that?” He trailed off, muttering curses to himself. He reached for the towel hanging from one of the cabinet handles and dried his hands.

“Would you like me to sit in the session with you?” I offered. At least for the first session, I might be able to provide a bit of a buffer between him and any overzealous intrusions by the therapist.

My master considered that seriously for a moment. But eventually, he shook his head. “No. I can deal with it. I’ll have to make a point to book a morning session next time. I hate having all day to think about it.”

I made a mental note of that, to send a message to Doctor Green at the military base later on. Standing close to my master, I felt an unconscious pull towards him, and I found myself leaning in his direction, wanting to hug him, or to rest my head against his shoulder. Or to allow him to lean on me. But given his current complaints about being coddled, I didn’t think he’d respond well to such an attempt just at the moment.

I stood there a moment longer, then decided that just staring at him while I loitered wasn’t actually helping him. “I’ll get back to the dusting,” I said, hoping that my own impetus might get him moving as well.

“The house is looking a lot better,” he said, before I could get as far as the doorway. “I know there’s still a bit to do, but it’s a lot cleaner. So… thank you.”

I felt a warm flush through my chest. I’d been working hard over the last few days – during the time when I hadn’t been attending to my master, that was. And now, all of the surface dirt was gone, the floor vacuumed, the laundry done, and stray bits and pieces put away. Some areas still needed a deep clean – inside the kitchen cabinets, for example – but I was pleased with the progress. And even more pleased that my master had noticed.

“It’s a pleasure to be of service, sir,” I replied. And that sent me spiralling back into my earlier distraction, my mind replaying just how pleasurable it had been to be of service in his bedroom. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to return to the living room, determinedly focusing on the dusting while I willed my erection to go away. Stars above, in all my time longing for my master’s approval, I had never considered all the ways in which gaining it might actually be a problem.

◊◊◊

Kade came over that afternoon to give me another cooking lesson while my master shut himself in his bedroom for his therapy session. I gave Kade a brief explanation of what was happening – and, of course he understood my concern for my master, being the well-trained dimari that he was – but even so, I knew I was distracted all through the lesson, always keeping one ear on the bedroom, to be alert for any sign of distress. After an hour and a half, we’d succeeded in making a chicken pie for dinner, as well as a lemon tart for dessert. The first therapy session, I’d been told, would take about two hours, while the therapist went through a bit of my master’s background and reviewed the work of his previous psychologist, and then laid out a plan for his ongoing therapy.

I was saying goodbye to Kade at the front door when the other dimari stopped, casting a wary glance towards the hallway that led to the bedrooms. “How are things going?” he asked in a soft voice. “You seem happier. More confident.”

I felt my scales ripple… and then I gave in to the urge to share my news with someone. Kade and Aiden could both be trusted to keep personal details private. “We had sex this morning,” I blurted out, my feet tapping on the cool tiles as I fidgeted. “But he had a panic attack yesterday, while we were out at the physiotherapy session. So it’s very much an up and down thing. He’s very pleased with me,” I said, hoping it didn’t sound like I was boasting. I knew for a fact that Kade’s own master was entirely satisfied with him. “But it’s a lot. Keeping up with his mood swings and figuring out what’s going to cause an issue. I think I still have a lot to learn,” I added, trying to keep a balanced perspective on the whole thing. “But it’s so much better than it was. So thank you,” I finished, beaming up at him. “Thank you so much for helping.”

Kade smiled, and it struck me once again how much confidence his master must have in him, to send him off to assistanother household unaccompanied. On many planets, dimari were never allowed off their master’s property without an escort, for fear they would make a poor decision or run into a problem they couldn’t solve. “I’m glad it’s getting better,” he said. “And remember, you can always call me if you run into any problems.”

I grinned and nodded. It was starting to feel like I had a real friend. Back on Eumad, we’d always been cautious about making friends with other dimari, aware that as soon as we were ready to be sold, we’d be sent off to far flung regions of the galaxy, with little chance of ever seeing our childhood companions again. “Thank you,” I said again. “I’ll see you in a couple of days.” We’d already scheduled our next cooking lesson, and Kade thought I was making good progress.

After he left, I spent twenty minutes scrubbing two of the kitchen cabinets, taking everything out and making sure I got all the dust and grease out of the very back corners. I was just finishing putting the last of the pots away again when I heard the bedroom door open.

My master came into the kitchen, walking slowly, and stopped in the doorway when he saw me there. He blinked a few times, as if he’d forgotten I was here. “Hey,” he said. “Um…”

Moving stiffly, he walked around me and took a cup out of the cupboard. He set the kettle on to boil and rummaged around for a tea bag. Normally, I would have offered to make the tea for him. Normally, I would also have been disappointed if he’d said no. But today, I simply let him do it for himself. He seemed lost in thought, and I wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing. If he was pissed off with the therapist, he’d have been ranting about it. But this quietness was disconcerting. Was he simply processing what she’d said, or was this a symptom of a rehashing of trauma, a reopening of barely closed wounds?

“Are you all right?” I asked, uncertain as to whether the query was going to set him off or not.

My master finished pouring the hot water into the cup, then shrugged. “It was… better than I expected,” he said slowly. “She’s…” He sighed and spun the cup in a slow circle. “She’s good at her job.” Given the expectations he’d had a couple of hours ago, that was high praise. “I’m gonna go sit outside for a bit,” he said next, gesturing vaguely towards the back door. He picked up his tea and retreated to the back patio, and all I could do was let him go.

I spent the next hour continuing my thorough clean of the kitchen, though it was really just an excuse to keep an eye on my master. I could see him through the window, though his back was towards me, so I couldn’t gauge his expression. But his posture was not displaying any particular distress. His shoulders were not hunched. He was not slumped over the table. He seemed pensive, but not unhappy.

I wanted to go outside and ask what he and his therapist had talked about, but I knew it wasn’t my place. Instead, I tried to focus on my cleaning, on improving the small details of my master’s life that I did have control over.

A little over an hour later, I saw my master stand up, and I braced myself for some sort of announcement. Had he made some momentous decision? Or put some small sliver of the past to rest? Was he going to ask me to do something? Ask Doctor Green for a new therapist, for example?