Page 15 of Origin (Deridia #13)

His hand moved without much thought on his part. Away from a friendly clutch of arms. Up toward her face. He moved slowly, fully aware this was something that could be mistaken for something else. A force of control. A moment of violence.

Or something tender. Which is what he felt when it came to her. A flood of warmth and gentleness, and he would never hurt her, never strike her, never treat her callously as the guards did.

As the people did about them. Thinking she could take every ill word, every gesture of disgust. That she wouldn’t feel it. Carry it down deep. And when she wept, it was for them. For their place a maze of tunnels in the dark.

She saw his hand. Gave him a questioning look, but did not move away.

He didn’t exactly know his aim. To touch her cheek? To curl his palm against her ear and hope she would lean into him, trusting and sure that his intentions were good ones.

And they were, weren’t they?

He swallowed, this throat tight. His heart hammering away in his chest for entirely new reasons.

He took a curl and wrapped it about his forefinger. Watched it bounce, this time not laying exactly as it had before. Not damaged, not exactly, but bearing evidence it had been touched. By him.

“I should like to kiss you,” he blurted out, more sure than he’d realised until the words came.

She quirked a brow at him. “Know what kissing is, do you?”

He was surprised at himself. Because even if there wasn’t a memory attached to it—a face. A companion.

There was an acknowledgement of the pull he felt. The desire coiling in his belly. To lean forward. To cant her chin up just so.

To touch his lips to hers.

Just for a moment.

They couldn’t be long, exposed as they were. But he wanted to offer something real. Some measure of just how highly he regarded her. That she was his friend and his boss, but maybe...

Maybe there was something more. Or might be. If he could prove himself to her.

A different sort of dance.

She was the one that tilted her chin. That waited on him, to see what he might do. If he would follow through.

Talk himself out of it. Decide on a different course.

His hand cupped her cheek. Kept her close.

And he leaned downward.

More instinct than choice.

First, a soft brush of his lips against hers. A test. To see if she minded. If he was any good at this.

But then her hands crept up and tangled in his shirt, pulling him ever so slightly closer.

And new instincts flared. That he needn’t be so careful, because she would not break. This was right and real, and kissing wasn’t as hard as all that, not when she was the one doing it with him.

They bumped teeth once. Or maybe he did it. Or it was both of them. Which was jarring and not at all a sensation he intended to repeat.

Nor was he willing for it to end just yet.

He adjusted slightly. Hopefully so subtle she wouldn’t grow nervous about it. Switching their positions. So that her back was to the building’s wall. So that he was surrounding her. Able to ward off any nefarious intentions while they were busy.

Distracted.

And she was distracting.

Enticing.

A hand crept down to hold her waist. The other had tangled in her hair, and he really would have to make sure she had a comb or else his apologies would also be punctuated with assurances he would help her tease the knots out.

Later. After.

After what, exactly?

He was the one to break away first. Which was not what he’d expected to happen. Not when he was the one to instigate.

She was so beautiful. Her lips a little damp. Her eyes a little wild. Cautious, yes. Perhaps even a little concerned.

And he didn’t want that. Not about him.

So he pecked an extra kiss jus to smooth the way. “Breakfast,” he reminded her. “We shouldn’t be late.”

She blinked.

Nodded.

“Right.”

He didn’t know what to do next. To talk about what happened? She seemed to like that. The talking. Knowing what was in his head. Did she realise she kept things to herself as well? Perhaps she did not spiral as he did. Not that he’d seen yet, anyway. He knew so little of her history. Of the people she’d left behind. Where she lived. How she lived.

But then, he’d never asked, had he? It had seemed reasonable at the time, when he’d no stories to offer in exchange. Nothing to make it seem reciprocal.

It burned in him, now. All the unknowns. Wanted to pepper her with questions. Know all the little bits of her.

She took a step away and smoothed her hair, tugged at her clothing. She looked fine. More than fine.

She caught him looking and shook her head, mumbling something beneath her breath.

Something about men and breakfast. He couldn’t make out the rest.

He reached for her hand. Caught it just as she made to walk off. “You were saying?” he urged, because he wouldn’t have her angry with him. He wanted no awkwardness, either.

There was too much room for doubts. That seemed to be the biggest trouble with an empty head. Like, what if she was only indulging him? Or worse, what if she thought she had to simply to keep him friendly?

She knew better than that, didn’t she? That she was the boss, and he hadn’t exactly waited for her to say that he was welcome, had he?

He felt suddenly colder, his hand slackening around hers.

Until it was her fingers that squeezed his. That drew his attention back to her. “That you must not have liked it as much as I did if you could think about food in the middle of it,” she explained, eyes not quite meeting his. Darting. Peeking.

Glancing away again.

He couldn’t have that. Not when the relief he felt was startling. Filled him with something near to exuberance.

It was an easy thing to tug at her hand. For her to stumble back to him just before they cleared the shield of the building.

To reel her in when she was breathless, and a little startled.

To grasp wherever he could, which ended up being a hand to the back of her neck and a hand that left hers so he could hold her firmly by the waist.

And kiss her again.

Not a brush. Not a peck.

But something so she could be certain he liked it just fine, liked her even more, and he was thinking of her safety, that was all, rather than his own stomach.

Her hands went to his back. Resting at first. Fingers curling after. Bringing him close. Pressing near.

His favourite memory, he decided. That feeling. One he’d keep close and think of often. Bring it out when his thoughts were dark and remind himself that he’d had something perfect, if only for a moment.

She broke away first, that time. Mumbled about breakfast. Cheeks flushed and a smile a little sheepish, and he hummed at her, likely looking far too full of himself as he smirked back at her.

He was even more certain when she reached over and smacked him lightly on the chest and called him a cad. Which he couldn’t quite remember what that meant, but if it meant a man that gave satisfactory kisses to the woman he cared for, then he would gladly accept the title.

He wanted to keep touching her. To hold her hand. All the way into the mess hall. He’d give it back in the kitchen when she accepted her breakfast tray. He wasn’t as ridiculous as all that.

But Hana gave him a look when he reached for it. And he would not be hurt about it. He wasn’t.

Maybe a little.

And she noticed, because she was Hana, and she took a step closer to him. “An escort is one thing. I don’t want them harassing you for...” she shook her hand between the two of them. Not a flattering gesture. He would have preferred linked fingers, or something more than something that might have been considered a dismissive wave, but he wasn’t about to argue with her.

He wanted to remind her he’d held her hand before. That their harassment had been minimal since he’d come, so perhaps she was overreacting just a little.

But that would be arguing.

Or would start one.

Because she had more experience than he did, and she’d confided in him the smallest bit of her treatment here, and he’d not give her cause for worry. More worry. Since he’d already done that this morning.

Shame was still close to the surface. For troubling her. For being unable to get out of his head without her help. He needed to be better about it. Needed to be an asset to her, not another burden.

He shoved that thought down. Those were ruminations for his cot, not for walking through the populace.

They did not like to make space for her. That much was obvious. He was walking behind, covering her back in case anyone wanted to take advantage. The previous shift pushed through the doors, and she waited to the side for them to funnel through, yet a few managed to jostle her, anyway.

He put his arm out. Gave as stern a look as he could as more passed.

“You don’t need...” Hana began, and he would have liked to look at her. To give a sardonic glance because yes, he very much did need.

“If you’d like to be touched, I hope you choose for it to be me. And a lot more gently than that.” He nodded toward where an elbow had clipped her.

Wanted to know if he’d made her cheeks flush with colour. If she’d duck her head, or if she’d glower at him for saying something so personal.

It was presumptuous of him. Two kisses did not guarantee anything at all. But there was hope in his chest that hadn’t been there before. That maybe she felt as he did.

The line seemed longer than usual. There were arguments with the kitchen staff about portions.

Hana slipped away from him into the kitchen and he made to follow, but she waved him off. “I’ll be finished before you at this rate. Just stay in line.”

He didn’t like it. He felt antsy, his skin itching that he wasn’t at his post.

Now he had to pay attention both to her and to the dispute itself. Voices rose. More of the line got involved.

An elbow was thrown, and a tray followed, and the kitchen worker received a face full of porridge.

Or not so full.

Since the portion was evidently inadequate.

“A pot burned. What do you want us to do?” he addressed the room, scraping it off and looking at the thrower with obvious disdain. “Takes almost an hour to make this stuff. You want to explain to them why you’re all late for your shift?”

“No,” the instigator growled. “You’ll be doing that. All the way to the tunnels where you belong. Can’t starve a rock.”

There were a few agreements thrown in support, and another staff member stepped forward to support his fellow. “No one is starving,” he countered. “It’s half-portions. You’ve had it before and you’ll do it again. Now get this line moving!”

He used a spoon to punctuate his point, which shot out a remnant of something green and murky.

Which landed on the instigator’s shoulder.

There was no surprise about what happened after. When the table between them was thrown, the food tumbling out and spilling on the wood floor.

Others piled in, obviously intent on storming the kitchen and taking what they could.

Ellion didn’t wait. Not when Hana was standing there, eyes wide as she clutched at her tray, backing away as quickly as she could before she was caught in the brawl.

Or they noticed her finer foods. The ones she couldn’t share.

Where were the guards?

He couldn’t take the time to look. A man came at him as he entered the kitchen, and he couldn’t blame him. It made his counter a shove rather than a punch, pushing him backward. He fell, but he was moving. Ellion made it to Hana just as the guards entered the worst of it.

They stood taller than the rest. Their movements were swift and merciless.

Clubs came down with decisive force. Shirts were grasped by their collars, choking others as they were pulled off the kitchen staff.

Arms were thwacked as they held illicit ingredients snatched from the pantry.

From the sound, a few were broken.

There was a shift in the air. Ellion couldn’t explain it. Did not know how a glance about the room could make him so certain a riot was coming.

But he was.

And they were standing too close, and they were supposed to sit at that table there until the shift changed. Eating. Exchanging quiet words. Pretending others couldn’t see. Couldn’t overhear.

They’d come for her. Tensions were too high, and their resentments were higher still.

“Come on,” he whispered in her ear, as another batch of men flew at the guards to avenge their battered inmates.

She didn’t argue with him. Her hands were shaking, and she was going to drop the tray. He took it from her, not because he much cared at the moment if she missed a meal, but because the clamour would draw attention. And they couldn’t afford that.

Hands were grasping at them as they pushed through the doors.

To bring them back or aiming for the food, he didn’t know. Didn’t much care.

He swatted them away and trusted Hana to keep up with him, out into the yard where people were mingled, peering into the mess hall and talking amongst themselves.

A few even dared to mention making a run for the gates. Because more guards would have to come to settle the disputes, and it would be easier.

And go where?

Shouts. No, more of a roar. They got a guard down.

There was a sick feeling in his belly as he pushed her toward the office. Stood guard while she fumbled for her key, too pale. Her eyes too wild.

More guards were running across the yard. Shouting for the others to disperse, that they were to return to their dormitories and await further instruction.

Then they pulled more people from the mess, shoving them out the doors as they plunged inward.

Ellion took a breath.

Bolted the door.

“We can’t,” she reminded him.

He grunted. “We can’t keep a guard locked out,” he agreed. “So we’ll need to pay attention to who is approaching.”

He set the tray down at the desk and went to the window. Reinforced. He knew that. They were fine. Would be fine.

The window gave an adequate view of the gate. And sure enough, three were poking around it, trying to make out how to open it. They were going to die for that.

He forced his eyes back to Hana. To assess her condition and make sure she hadn’t been hurt without his notice.

Her sleeve was damaged at the shoulder. It hung loose from its seam. Her hair was dishevelled, as if someone had pulled it. Or was that a remnant of their kisses?

His chest tightened.

He nodded toward the chair. “You can sit. Eat. I’ll keep watch.”

Hana blinked, her arms coming to wrap about herself. “You think I can eat right now?”

A guard ran toward the gate. Then another. The prisoners’ hands went up defensively. They weren’t doing anything. Just walking. Couldn’t get in the mess hall, so what were they supposed to do?

He couldn’t hear them. It was all conjecture. But not the club that fell between neck and shoulder. That was real.

The way the inmate crumpled. The way the others ran, abandoning their comrade in order to save their own skins.

He took a breath. The tunnels would be a mercy. One the guards did not seem keen to provide.

Hana came to stand beside him.

He wanted to send her back. To remind her she needn’t look. Not when he was there to watch out for them. But she was a woman grown. And the boss. And she could look if she wanted, without him fussing at her.

“We should really unlock the door,” Hana murmured. “We can watch for people just as easily as we can for guards.”

He refrained from offering another grunt, but it was a near thing.

“A guard won’t be in a panic looking for a place to hide. A guard won’t want to take hostages.”

She closed her eyes. “I don’t want trouble.”

He couldn’t take his eyes off the window. Because yes, there was trouble out there.

But it didn’t mean he couldn’t put his arm about her shoulders. Acknowledge the feel of her skin against his fingertips where her sleeve was damaged.

Should he apologise for that? Offer his shirt in return?

He didn’t know if she had a mending kit. If they’d need to scavenge to replace it. Did they burn the bodies here? Or bury them. Perhaps there was even a work assignment, just for that.

It shamed him, that what he was really wondering was if bodies were interred clothed, or if those could be taken and given a good wash, ready for next use.

He didn’t ask Hana.

She might know the answer, but the question was hardly a flattering one of his character. He might make an argument that he was only being practical, but that didn’t make it welcome.

Not when she saw lives. That mattered.

“Will you have to jot down all their numbers?” Ellion asked, trying to brace himself for what would come next. “To record what happened?”

Hana shuddered. “Yes.”

This time he couldn’t have managed a grant even if he wanted to. “You’ve done that before?”

She couldn’t say it. But she gave one small nod, and that’s all he needed.

“I’ll be with you,” he reminded her. Reminded himself. “You won’t be alone.”

She didn’t answer him. Didn’t acknowledge his words. Which might have been hurtful if she hadn’t softened. Hadn’t leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed just a little, which warmed him through in ways that shouldn’t be possible.

An awful day. The best day. All at once.