Page 10 of Dax: Gratefully Bonded (Rogue Bonds #2)

Zeke

A iden left soon after lunch, and I had to work hard to push down the rising sense of panic I felt as I closed the door behind him. I was now facing a solid eight hours of having to find something to do that didn’t involve alcohol, while simultaneously having to face up to all the mistakes I’d made with Dax.

“Okay,” I said, turning to face him, trying to sound far more confident than I was feeling. “How about I let you get started on the cleaning, while I do some research on potential hobbies?”

“Yes, sir,” Dax said. Was it my imagination, or did he sound apprehensive about that? And if he did, then was it because of the cleaning, or my attempt at finding something useful to do with my time?

Aiden had been stern and insistent about finding a hobby. “It could be something creative,” he’d said, as he’d listed a handful of options. “Painting, or drawing. It could be a team sport. There’s a tackleball team in this neighbourhood. You could grow herbs in that courtyard of yours. You could study interior design. To be honest, Zeke, I don’t really give a shit what it is, but you will find something useful to do with your time. And just in case you’re wondering, no, video games do not count as a hobby.” If it was just him, I might have ignored the lecture. But I’d figured out very quickly that any conversation he had with me would inevitably be repeated to my psychologist – once the doctor got around to assigning me a new one, that was – and then there was a high risk that any misbehaviour on my part would be reported up the chain of command. And while I had little expectation of ever being on active duty in the military again, it was also a chapter of my life that I was not yet ready to close.

Dax set to work while I settled on the sofa with my comm, running a few generic searches on popular hobbies and what local community groups there were. I watched as Dax gathered scattered clothes from around the house, ferrying them to the washing machine, and then I heard water running in the kitchen.

Was this really the right course of action? Aiden had explained in detail this morning about the dimari’s need to feel needed. They didn’t just tolerate having to do menial tasks for their master; they actively thrived on it. The idea was so foreign that I’d baulked at it, at first. Who the hell liked being ordered around and made to clean up someone else’s mess?

But Aiden had been persuasive, and when questioned, Kade had backed up everything he’d said. Hearing it, spoken clearly and frankly by another dimari, had finally convinced me to give it a try. And to be fair, Dax did seem a little more chipper now than he had before. Okay, so he was a long way from how happy and relaxed Kade was, but any improvement was a step in the right direction, wasn’t it?

But there was one more thing causing me a whole pile of anxiety. Dimari didn’t just need a purpose, Aiden had said. They needed to be rewarded for carrying out their orders. And there were three types of reward a master could give a dimari. The first two were praise and affection. The third one, Aiden had said, was more complicated, and he’d flatly refused to tell me about it, saying I’d have to wait a few days to find out what it was. Evasive bastard. But to be fair, even the first two rewards were causing me plenty of consternation.

Praise was simple enough; whenever Dax finished a task, tell him he’d done it well. But the flip side was that, if he hadn’t done it well, I was supposed to give him constructive criticism and teach him how to do it better.

That was all well and good in theory, but after a year of watching his crestfallen expression every time I’d told him not to do a task, I didn’t think I could bear the emotional pain of disappointing him again.

But the second part of that was even more confronting. Dimari, according to Aiden, needed affection. Hugs. Pats on the shoulder. I’d seen Aiden kiss Kade’s forehead, and then watched Kade fawn like a fan with their favourite rock star. Kade, Aiden had told me, was a combat specialist. He went on missions with Aiden through the jungle, shooting the Alliance’s enemies like some kind of stealth assassin. But a simple touch from Aiden had him weak at the knees and blushing like a schoolgirl.

Okay, so Vangravians didn’t actually blush, but that was beside the point.

So I was supposed to stroke Dax’s hair, like he was a fucking puppy, or some shit? I didn’t think I’d be able to do that without dying of embarrassment. And if Dax started fawning over me like Kade did with Aiden?

I tried to focus on my comm. There was a community gardening group. Boring. A group that met to play cards. That sounded promising… until I looked at a couple of the group photos and saw that everyone seemed to be at least eighty years old. There were two sports groups, but I hadn’t seen the inside of a gym in nearly a year, so I couldn’t see that going particularly well. Not to mention the difficulties caused by the nerve damage in my leg. I reached out to take a drink from the glass beside me… and realised with a start that there wasn’t a glass there. Fuck, I could really do with a drink right about now. Aiden had made the point that I didn’t need to pick a hobby right away, but more than a couple of days without something to occupy my time was going to drive me insane.

Okay, back to the search. There was a dance studio that taught ballet – a hard no on that one – and a Denzogal style of dance that seemed to involve a lot of foot stomping and shouting. Given my anxiety levels, that didn’t sound like a great idea. Actually, on that note… I pulled up a reminder and typed in a message to myself to talk to the base doctor about getting some anti-anxiety meds. Take away the inhibition-loosening effects of alcohol, and I was getting jittery.

Maybe I should sign up for a gym, at the very least. I could take Dax with me. It would be good for him to get some exercise.

The afternoon drifted on, with Dax flitting in and out of the room, carrying things here and there, fetching a mop and bucket, hanging out the laundry. After a couple of hours of dead ends, I gave up on the hobby search and turned on one of the sports channels instead. The Ice Relay had had its grand final a few weeks ago, at the end of winter, and the Sand Relay was starting up. The current episode was a longwinded discussion on which teams were choosing which players, with copious commentary about what that might mean for the season as a whole. Not the most exciting thing to watch, but at least it created some background noise. The silence was oppressive.

Dax came into the room at one point and turned on the lights, then closed the curtains. I reached for my glass for the fourth time, and had to bite back a curse when it once more wasn’t there.

How long was it before I could go to bed? I checked the time. It was only seven o’clock. I had to stay up for at least two more hours to have any chance of falling asleep. Christ, how had I never noticed how fucking boring the commentary on these sports teams was? The commentators just kept repeating the same statistics, rehashing every single play from the previous season, as if the viewers had never heard of a fucking Relay before. No, the players were not ‘pulsing with anticipation’. They were standing around, as bored as I was, while a referee explained some complex rule that they all no doubt knew already.

“Sir?” Dax’s voice broke into my irritated mental rambling, and I craned my neck around to see him standing in the kitchen doorway. “I’ve made some omelettes for dinner,” he said, indicating the table. “If you’re hungry,” he added, more diffidently this time.

“Yeah, I’m not hungry,” I said, turning back to the screen. One of the commentator’s voices was high pitched and nasally, and I dreaded the idea of having to listen to it for the rest of the season. I wanted a glass of vodka and an action movie, but there was nothing available that I hadn’t seen at least twice already. Damn stupid fringe-planet backwater.

Abruptly, I became aware of the silence in the rest of the room. At my dismissal, I’d assumed that Dax would go and eat his meal, and maybe put mine in the fridge, on the hopeful assumption that I might want to eat it later. But aside from the voices from the wall screen, the room was quiet, with no clinking of cutlery, no rustling of fabric as he moved. It was just… dead silent.

I glanced over my shoulder, and as I caught sight of the scene at the far end of the room, my heart dropped to my knees. Oh, fucking hell. Dax was sitting at the table, in front of one of two neatly set places. But rather than eating, he was just staring at his hands, folded neatly in his lap. I couldn’t quite see his face from this angle, but I swear to god, if he was crying, I was going to stab myself with a butter knife.

Did dimari even cry?

Yeah, this was going really well. Not six hours after Aiden left, with strict instructions to be nice to my dimari, I was being a right dick to him.

I tapped my comm and shut off the wall screen. Dax didn’t look up at the sudden quiet. I hauled myself out of my chair and crossed the room, taking a seat opposite Dax and feeling ridiculously apprehensive about it. I’d lived in the same damn house as him for a year. Why was sitting down to dinner with him suddenly such a big fucking deal?

“Sorry. I’m being an ass,” I said, not quite mustering the courage to look at him. “Thank you for cooking dinner.” I picked up the knife and fork – for fuck’s sake, when was the last time I’d eaten with proper cutlery? – and sliced the corner off the omelette, shoving it into my mouth. It was bland – he clearly hadn’t added any salt – and while there were a few hints of meat and onion in it, the ratio of egg to filling was well out of balance. It was cooked through to the middle, and the outside wasn’t burned, so it wasn’t terrible… but at the same time, it was pretty mediocre. Much like the rest of our lives right now, I supposed.

I forced down another bite… then decided I couldn’t choke down the rest of it the way it was. “Do we have any tomato ketchup?” I asked. I knew we had done at one point, but it was anyone’s guess whether the bottle had been sitting there long enough for the stuff to have solidified in the bottom. Or started growing mould.

“I’ll have a look,” Dax said, jumping up. I half expected him to slouch over to the pantry, dragging his feet and moping at what was essentially one more declaration that he sucked. I couldn’t even manage to eat a not-terrible omelette that he’d gone out of his way to cook for me. God, I was a bastard.

But instead, he trotted off to the kitchen all peppy, retrieving the bottle and bringing it back to me. He set it on the table, beaming like I’d just given him a gold medal. The light in his eyes as he sat down again, having completed his task, was like a punch to the gut. I’d made him happy. By asking him for a bottle of fucking ketchup.

“Thanks,” I managed to say, feeling stupid tears pricking at the back of my eyes. Bloody hell, no way was I crying over a fucking omelette. I grabbed the bottle, relieved to find that it was brand new – it must have been part of Aiden’s delivery today – and squirted a streak across the food, smearing it around with my fork. It tasted better after that; it still wasn’t going to win any awards, but at least the salt and the tomato gave it a bit more flavour.

Halfway through the meal, I picked up the glass of water Dax had so thoughtfully set out for me… and saw the pill sitting behind it. “Aiden told you about the pills, I take it?” I asked, though the answer to the question was obvious.

“He said that you were not well,” Dax replied demurely. “He said the pills would help improve your health.”

It was impossible to know how much Dax really understood about my condition, but I supposed it wasn’t really important anyway. I took the pill, washing it down with some water, then went back to eating.

After we’d both finished, Dax got up and cleared the plates away. He started washing up, and for the first time since I’d brought him home, I didn’t feel a wave of guilt at watching him clean up after me. Aiden had said dimari took satisfaction in looking after their masters. And my best course of action was to let him.

I headed back to the sofa, intending to turn the Sand Relay back on. But then it occurred to me to wonder if that was it? Was that my full interaction with Dax for the evening? He’d cooked for me, we’d barely spoken to each other while we ate, and now I was going to try and distract myself from my hideous life by watching sports, and he was presumably going to go and sit in his bedroom, like he usually did.

If Dax had been a dog, I’d have been arrested on animal cruelty charges by now, for the sheer neglect of how I’d been treating him. Not allowing him to exercise. Not making sure he ate properly. Not even noticing that he hadn’t set foot outside the fucking apartment in a goddamn year.

I stood up and went to the kitchen. Dax tensed as I arrived, and I wondered what the hell he was expecting me to do. Hit him? Scold him? I thought frantically back to all the convoluted instructions Aiden had given me during the day. What were the things that could upset a dimari?

Fuck, I was too tired to figure it out now. “I just wanted to say… come and sit down with me once you’ve finished here,” I said, feeling unbearably awkward about it. “We can watch a show together.” Fucking hell, I felt like I’d just asked him on a date.

I was completely unprepared for the beaming smile that lit Dax’s face. “Yes, sir,” he said, before swiftly renewing his efforts to tidy the kitchen.

I felt a little spark of relief at the form of address. It was so much better than ‘master’. Master had always made me feel like some seedy dictator.

I wasn’t sure what I’d actually achieved with the invitation, but at least I had bought myself some more time to actually… I don’t know… have a conversation with Dax? He’d never taken much of an initiative in talking to me, so I’d ignorantly assumed that it meant he had nothing to say. What Aiden had explained today was that he’d been waiting for me to start the conversation. I was supposed to be the leader. He was the follower.

But I wasn’t good at conversation. Not since Ixralia. All the important things were too hard to say, and none of the easy things mattered. I could drop some cool-sounding sports banter into the silence between us; ‘Oh, that Denzogal’s a great player’ or ‘That team won the competition last year, they should do well this season’. But it was really just empty noise.

But how was I supposed to say the stuff that actually meant something?

I dread going to bed at night, because I wake up alone from my nightmares, and I can’t remember if I’m at home, or back in that hellish pod in the creature’s lair.

I think about the ones I left behind. I couldn’t rescue everyone. But I know not everyone we left was dead.

I wonder what they did with the piece of me they took out. What if they used it to make a new version of me, one who’s still there, trapped in that place, with no idea how he got there and no way to get home?

This was why I drank. To stop these thoughts, this noise. This was why I kept the screen turned on, so that its noise could drown out the noise in my head. This was what I wanted so fucking badly to get away from.

The couch dipped beside me, and my eyes snapped open, my body jumping an inch off the seat before I realised that it was only Dax.

“Sorry,” he apologised, eyes wide as he hastily retreated up to the far end of the sofa.

“No, it’s okay,” I said, as I forced myself to relax. As much as that was possible, at least. “I wasn’t paying attention.” I stared at the blank screen, with no idea what to say next.

“What would you like to watch?” Dax asked. He looked less happy now than he had in the kitchen, sounded less certain about this half-baked plan of mine.

Well, fuck me, but I hadn’t even thought about what we were going to watch. I didn’t want to listen to any more of the sports commentators’ drivel. I would have liked to see a decent action movie, but Rendol 4 was a bit of a backwater, and we didn’t generally get great licencing agreements. Too small a population to get much other than the mainstream blockbusters, which I’d either seen, or were complete rubbish.

“Um…” I said helpfully, scrambling for an idea that wouldn’t put me to sleep instantly.

Dax pulled up a holographic screen on his comm. I could see the symbols he was looking at, but none of them meant anything to me. “What language is that?” I asked, then felt like punching myself. How had I got through a whole fucking year without realising he read in a different script from me?

“Eumadian,” Dax replied. “We’re taught the Eumadian, Fortusian and Basubian scripts as part of our wider education. Everything else is just translated via comm.”

He could read three different scripts? Fuck me. We were only ever taught Alliance Common.

“There are a couple of different documentaries, if you’d like to see one of those?” Dax suggested hopefully, once he’d scrolled through a couple of pages of options. “There’s one on the history of the Sedgegeds and how they developed space travel. And one on the five most accomplished Fortusian sand artists. Or there’s one about the native fauna of Rendol 4. According to the trailer, it has some very interesting research into the role of land-dwelling reptiles in the disbursement of seeds.”

“Uh… let’s have a look at the art one,” I said, picking that one more by a process of elimination, than because I actually wanted to see it. I knew plenty about the history of the Sedgegeds already, having taken that as an elective in high school, and if I spent too much time thinking about seeds travelling through a lizard’s digestive tract, I was going to have nightmares. There were too many other things that had been eaten and shit back out again that should never have been eaten in the first place…

Dax activated the wall screen, and we were treated to a burst of soothing music and fancy swirls of colour as the documentary began, before the image slowly, slowly zoomed in on a piece of art. Delicate lines were drawn into a bed of coloured sand, impossibly intricate details carved out with tiny implements. And then the commentary started up, about how this particular artist had begun learning the art of sand drawing at the tender age of seven years old.

By the time the show ended, my head was drooping and I was having trouble keeping my eyes open. The wall screen shut off, and I looked over to see Dax watching me with an oddly tender expression. “Perhaps it’s time to go to bed, sir?” he suggested softly.

I glanced at the clock. 8:52. It wasn’t particularly late, but I was exhausted. Why was I so tired? Was it the new pills? Or the day of attempting to learn about the dimari and organise my house? Or the stress of having to face the future stone cold sober? Whatever the cause, I was past fighting it.

“Yeah. Bed would be great,” I agreed. I hauled myself to my feet and padded down the hallway. Behind me, Dax paused to turn off the lights and check that the front door was locked. I stopped in the middle of the hallway. When the fuck had he learned to do that? He was usually in bed by the time I passed out, and I’d woken plenty of times on the couch, the living room lights still on. Had Aiden said something to him? Or Kade? I felt an odd sort of resentment for Aiden’s dimari. He was like one of those honour-roll students at high school, naturally gifted at everything and so nice to everyone that you couldn’t even hate him for it.

Dax saw me watching him and stopped in his tracks. “Is something wrong, sir?” he asked, glancing back towards the living room.

“No, it’s fine. I’m just… I’m going to bed.” I wandered into my bedroom, flicking on the light and pulling my t-shirt over my head. I moved to undo my belt… but then realised that Dax was standing in the doorway watching me.

“Um… I… Uh… It’s good dental hygiene to brush one’s teeth before bed,” he blurted out finally, taking a step back as he said it. As if he expected to be punished for the observation.

My first reaction was to snap at him that I wasn’t some fucking toddler who needed my diaper changed. But before a single word of the retort left my lips, I remembered the fact that without Dax, I wouldn’t have any clean clothes to wear, I wouldn’t have had real food for dinner, and I still didn’t have a clue how to pay my own electricity bill. So maybe he had a point.

“Yeah, that’s… true enough,” I grumbled. I wandered into the bathroom, feeling self-conscious as Dax came and brushed his teeth beside me. It was likely just a practical move – he needed to do it, just the same as I did – but at the same time, it felt a bit like he was trying to be some sort of cheering squad for me.

Once that simple job was done, I headed for bed… but I found myself stopping in the bedroom doorway. I didn’t like going to bed. I certainly didn’t like going to bed in the dark. That, as much as the alcohol, was half the reason I spent plenty of nights falling asleep on the sofa. My bedroom without the light on was too narrow, too confining, too pod-like…

I glanced behind me, the two scant steps away where Dax’s bedroom door was. I could see him sitting on his bed, removing his socks, and he looked up as I stared at him. He sat up, his posture expectant, his head tilted slightly to the side. I entertained the idea of asking him to come and sleep in my bedroom with me. It was a big bed. I had a queen size in my room, while Dax had just a single in his. But with someone else there, maybe the nightmares wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe, if I did wake up, he could talk me down, remind me where I was, tell me to take a couple of deep breaths, and turn on the lights, and…

Or maybe, ordering a slave to sleep in my bed would be a gross violation of his privacy and would imply a level of intimacy between us that would be deeply inappropriate.

“Good night, Dax,” I said to him, my eyes on the floor at his feet.

“Good night, sir,” he replied, sounding… disappointed? But that couldn’t be right.

I left my bedroom door open when I went to sleep. Just to provide an easy exit if my sleep addled brain decided it needed one.

I wasn’t completely certain, but I never heard Dax’s door close, so I thought perhaps he was sleeping with his door open as well.