"You have an entire holiday to celebrate your broodmates?" Cochise asks in disbelief.
Tom marks his place in his book, looks over at Cochise and nods. "Yes, we did. Valentine's Day. I always really liked it."
"How did you celebrate?" Cochise asks.
His arm is wrapped around Tom and he's running his fingers through his hair, occasionally dipping down to play with his beard. Tom shifts and adjusts himself, feeling delightfully warm.
"There's usually a nice, romantic dinner. Somewhere too expensive and too nice, or else somewhere meaningful, like the place you first met them. When we were still poor grad students, Rebecca and I went out to the absolute nicest restaurant we could get reservations to. Then we couldn't afford to buy food for the rest of the month, but it was still worth it," Tom says wistfully. "We would usually go dancing after dinner, too."
There's a lot of things he misses from before, of course, but dancing is definitely up there. There's something about swaying against the person you love, totally in sync, that is intimately appealing.
"That sounds like an enjoyable time," Cochise says thoughtfully. "You and Rebecca celebrated Valentine's Day before you had offspring?"
"Of course, for years beforehand. Do you guys have kind of equivalent holiday?" Tom asks.
"We do not. We do not celebrate the relationships between two adult Volm until they have produced an egg," Cochise says. "Relationships are considered unimportant before such an occurrence."
"Too bad. Don't get me wrong, having kids is incredible, but there's also plenty to celebrate about your partner before you have kids. Or, at least there should be, if you're gonna have kids with them," Tom says.
"The Volm view things differently," Cochise replies. "We believe that there can be no love or permanent attachment until eggs are laid. In fact, 'love' is a very loose translation of how we express our emotions for broodmate."
Tom suddenly feels nausea sweep over him. "I think I'm going to sleep now, Cochise."
"Sleep well, Tom Mason," Cochise says. He gets up, turns off the light, and then returns to bed, wrapping his arms around Tom.
It takes forever for Tom to fall asleep that night, and for once, Tom feels no warmth or safety laying in Cochise's arms.
The next few days, Tom puts a lot of effort into avoiding Cochise. There's something about knowing that Cochise can't love him. There's something else about knowing that he can never, ever fully give the person he loves what he needs to be fulfilled. He can't even look Cochise in the eye.
It confuses the hell out of him because Cochise is so damn tender all the time. He insists on holding him every night, even when Tom tells him he doesn't have to if he doesn't want to. And when Tom wakes up in the night, he always finds Cochise stroking his hair or rubbing his shoulder gently.
And why? Why does Cochise keep doing these things when he doesn't love Tom? When he can't love Tom.
It's painful, discovering that the person with whom he somehow managed to make a meaningful connection- his first meaningful connection since the death of his wife- may just be using him as some kind of experiment or as a bit of fun. Maybe Tom is just the latest in a long string of interstellar playthings, sucked in by Cochise's good looks and adorable charms.
"Are you alright, Tom Mason?" Cochise asks him one afternoon. He's cornered him in a storage closet, pressing his hand against Tom's cheek. "You have seemed distant and unhappy recently."
Tom sighs, leaning into Cochise's hand despite himself. This isn't the best place to have this conversation. "I am fine."
"You are deceiving me," Cochise says. "I have learned how to tell."
"Don't worry about it," Tom says.
Cochise inclines his head. "I will attempt to worry only a small amount, but I cannot promise not to worry at all," he pauses, stroking his cheekbone. It's when he takes pauses like this, pauses where it feels like Cochise is turning him inside out just by looking at him, where Tom can almost convince himself that Cochise could love him. "If you are not already occupied tonight, I would like to see you after your last meeting."
Tom nods, despite himself. "Yeah. Okay." Maybe he can confront Cochise about breaking up, or whatever, tonight.
Cochise's face lights up. "Excellent. I will wait for you at the edge of the Volm compound."
"See you later," Tom says dully.
Cochise leans down and kisses him quickly before letting Tom go. Tom spends the rest of the day trying to figure out what Cochise could want to do tonight, especially so relatively in the middle of nowhere.
After Tom's last meeting of the day (he's trying to develop some form of legislature for Charleston, but there's a lot of disagreement about exactly how to do it), he goes back to his room to wash his face and grab a coat for the night- it's getting cold outside.
Feet dragging, he walks to the edge of Charleston, where he sees Cochise waiting for him. He's dressed a little differently than usual, wearing a cloak made of some shimmering material that Tom has never seen before. He looks handsome.
When Cochise sees him, he perks up and holds out his hand. "Tom Mason! You look exemplary this evening."
Tom mumbles a thank you and lets Cochise take his hand. He's led into the forest and Cochise pauses to face him.
"If there is anything distasteful or incorrect, please inform me," Cochise says.
Tom furrows his brow. "What do you mean?"
"I have attempted to prepare for you a Valentine's Day. Your sons helped me with some of the details, but I am not certain whether or not you will find it acceptable," Cochise says.
Tom shakes his head, trying to breathe. "No."
"What?"
"No, you can't. I won't… No."
"What is the matter, Tom Mason?" Cochise asks, voice full of hurt. "I thought you said that you liked Valentine's Day."
"I do. I did," Tom says. He tries to keep his voice steady. "With someone I love and with someone who loves me."
His last Valentine's Day had been with Rebecca, of course. Hal had watched Ben and Matt for them and they had flown into New York City to catch a show on Broadway. They had spent the night in a nice hotel and then flown back home the next day. It had been ridiculous and extravagant, but, god, it had been such a good night.
He's not spoiling years of good memories just because Cochise has decided to make a mockery of the day.
"But Tom Mason. I love you. I care for you greatly and I do love you," Cochise says. "On all the worlds that I have ever been to, I have never met anyone like you."
"Just stop! Okay?" Tom yells, backing away. "You told me that relationships didn't count until they produced an egg, that Volm don't love until then. And, well, we don't have an egg, Cochise, and we never will. Humans don't make eggs. You don't love me; you told me you can't!"
The silence stretches on, hampered only by the painful pounding of his heart. He looks up at the space above Cochise's head, staring hard at the pinpricks of light that mimic the prickling in his eyes.
"Tom Mason," Cochise's voice is low and rough as he takes a few steps forward towards him.
Tom steps back, shaking his head. "Don't touch me."
Cochise holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "I will not touch you, but, please listen to me."
Tom breathes shakily and then nods. "Okay. I'm listening."
"It is true that among my people, relationships require reproduction for validity, but it was not always so. Before we became embroiled in eternal war, love and affection abounded, even between Volm who did not have eggs. I did not understand the meaning of such things until I came to Earth." Cochise leans back, just a little. "I did not understand how much we have lost."
"What are you saying?" Tom asks quietly, daring to look down at Cochise.
Cochise is trembling lightly, arms crossed as he rocks back and forth. His face is in shadow, so Tom can't read his expression, but he suspects that he'd look agitated. "What I am saying, Tom Mason, is that despite the ideals that I have been taught and raised with, I am drawn to you. I do not care that we will never have an egg together. I care for you. I love you. That's all that matters."
Tom takes a shaky breath, starting to smile. "That's… wow, Cochise. Wow."
"May I touch you now? Please?" Cochise says, voice filled with desperation.
Tom answers by stepping forward and wrapping his arms tightly around Cochise. He stands up on his tiptoes so that he can rest his head on Cochise's shoulder. Warmth seeps back into him as Cochise holds him close.
"I am sorry for the unhappiness my carelessly chosen words caused you, Tom Mason," Cochise says, voice rumbling low in his chest. "It was never my intention to cause you distress, simply to provide the generalized Volm view on relationships."
"I'm just really glad we cleared that up," Tom says.
"Next time you are distressed, please come and speak to me," Cochise requests. "That way, you may spend less time unhappy."
"I just…" Tom breathes slowly and pulls away just a little, so he doesn't have to stand on his tiptoes anymore. "I didn't even know what to say. I thought I was just one of a bunch of alien playthings for you, which would have been embarrassing."
"Nothing could be farther from the truth," Cochise says, kissing him softly.
"Uh, if I haven't messed it up, I'm okay with Valentine's Day now," Tom says sheepishly.
"Excellent," Cochise says, keeping a hand on Tom's lower back as he leads him deeper into the woods.
A minute later, Tom finds himself in a small clearing. In the center, there is a small makeshift table with two place settings and a lit candle in the center. That's not the most impressive thing, though. The clearing is surrounded with little flickering lights. At first, he think they're candles too, but they're moving.
"Your children told me candlelight was essential, but I believed that filling the woods with fire would be unwise, so I compromised," Cochise says, breath tickling Tom's ear. "They are small drones. I hope it is acceptable."
"It's beautiful," Tom whispers.
He steps forward, walking into the clearing properly. Cochise's touch is light on his back as he guides him to the table and helps him into his seat. While Cochise walks to the other side, Tom examines the food on his plate. None of it looks familiar.
"What's for dinner?"
Cochise fiddles his fingers and coughs a little. "You have expressed an interest in Volm cuisine. Not all of our food is enjoyable to the human palate, as your sons discovered, but some is."
Tom laughs. "You had them try it?"
"They volunteered when I told them I wanted to surprise you for Valentine's Day," Cochise smiles and looks down. "It is a good thing. Ben Mason vomited one of the dishes that he tested. According to him, such an occurrence would have 'ruined the mood,' as he put it."
"Just a little bit," Tom says, making a mental note to thank his boys for being such good sports.
He takes his silverware and carefully cuts into a radioactively blue piece of food. Cognizant of Cochise's eyes on him, Tom gingerly takes a bite. It's slippery and it has an unusual texture, but once he gets to the taste of it, it blooms across his tongue, surprisingly zesty.
"You didn't tell me you were a cook, Cochise!" Tom says, delighted.
"Truthfully, I am a very poor cook," Cochise admits. "I had some help from my subordinates. Is that acceptable for a Valentine's Day dinner?"
"It definitely is," Tom assures him. He cups Cochise's cheek with a hand. "Thank you for doing this for me, Cochise."
Cochise turns to kiss his palm and they continue with dinner. The food explodes across his palate in ways that Tom's not used to, which makes eating the food kind of a mini adventure. There's some kind of stringy vegetable thing that gets caught in his teeth, but it's still all delicious. Even though it's chilly in the mid-February night, he's enjoying his night.
When they are done eating, Tom stands up and offers his hand to Cochise.
"Do you require something else?" Cochise asks as he grasps his hand.
Tom pulls him to his feet with a smile. "Dance with me."
"I am afraid that I failed to bring music. I do not know any human dances anyway," Cochise says.
"We won't do anything fancy, then," Tom says.
He takes one of Cochise's hands and places it on his shoulder before slipping his own hand around his waist. Holding Cochise's other hand, he starts to sway a little.
"It's easy," Tom assures him. "You just sway with me in time with the music."
"But Tom Mason, we have no music," Cochise says.
"Just a second," Tom says before starting to hum a random tune.
He doesn't think it's any particular song, but it's slow and easy. Kind of sad, but mostly happy. Cochise manages to step on his feet a few times, apologizing profusely each time. Tom can't find it in him to care, though, wrapped up in his lover's embrace in the twinkling lights.