She knew it was a bad idea, right from the get go. He wasn't an issue at first, well he wasn't a huge issue at first, but he just kept growing on her, taking up space in her mind, until she was worried, terrified even, that he had been killed in Madripoor. And when he showed up out of the blue she was thrilled, thrilled, to see him...and that unnerved her still. She couldn't though; she couldn't actually do anything with him. It would be a dead end road with his nature and, well, her nature…in fact she deeply doubted she would ever have a "real" relationship, whatever that meant. But she couldn't help what she wanted, no matter how much she tried to reason herself out of it. And still, she was too disciplined, or scared, or inept, to actually convey that without getting drunk. So when he offered his flask she upended it into her mouth like it was lifesaving medicine.
Ten years ago she kissed a boy. He was beautiful and strong and young like her and what happened to him didn't make any sense. She remembered stretching up on her tiptoes to reach his mouth and when their lips touched he convulsed ever so slightly. She thought that was normal, thought he was just excited like her, but then his kiss pressed into her, then his face, then his body, until she realized that he was collapsing. She screamed when he hit the floor, rolled him over, looked into his eyes that moved up and down and up and down as though his pupils were on a vertical track. The medics came, then the doctor, who placed him on life support. She brought him flowers but he slept until they withered and dried. She brought him more. An Aneurism, deep in his brainstem had rendered him insensate and a few months later he died.
She felt the predictable emotions, sadness and guilt, but something more had happened, some stray part of her mind had rattled loose. And she thought, she swore, that she could hear him still, calling her name, talking to her. When she told Kurt he betrayed her and told Raven…
A decade of self-denial passed. There were too many complications to having a relationship, both within her mind and without. Hell, there were too many complications to live in the world apart from the one Raven had built for her to inhabit. So she sat in her ship, in the cockpit chair, the throne of her tiny kingdom, and she lived this life because it was what she knew.
But she wanted a man. It was engraved on her DNA and there was no amount of oversight from Raven or Kurt, no amount of carefully formulated pharmaceuticals, no amount of political intrigue or interstellar drama could change it. And she had the opportunity if she would avail herself of it. Raven's shadow government was full of would be up and comers who might find favor if they allied themselves with her daughter. There were maintainers and comm. guys. The regulars at the local bar. But none of them seemed quite right. So what was she looking for?
From those early teenage years when she first awoke to the world of men she was often confused by what exactly it was that made some of them so damn interesting but not others. Looks seemed important but she had ignored many attractive men, many smart, accomplished, wealthy men. Had they ignored her too? What was necessary for attraction?
She remembered an avionics guy came out to the flight line and replaced an amplifier on a KAS jet. All she saw was his silhouette, the shape and length of his frame as he braced the weight of it over his head. The width of his shoulders as he swung it lithely down onto a dolly. The ease and grace with which he handled a hundred and twenty pound box of electronics. It was hard to look away. But there had to be more than angle, proportion, and grace. What had it been with Cody that made her kiss him?
And here it was sitting in front of her. All the intangible things that made her want. His half smiles, his cocksure glances, his witty banter, his long limbed body just sitting there, right there, conversing with her. Perhaps the beauty that needed to be explained was no beauty at all. She wondered what her hand would look like pressed against his.
She abandoned reason. She became distracted. At a break in the conversation she had lost track of what they were talking about and said what was really on her mind.
"Why didn't you want me…when we were in New Madripoor." The words had already come out before she could catch them back and she had no recourse but to sit there solemnly and hear his reply. He looked sorry or something, telling her it was supposed to be special, that she shouldn't be drunk. But she needed to be drunk for the words to come out. She was drunk now, wasn't she?
And then he kissed her and it was like everything emptied out of her but for the knowledge of how to move her lips, of how to hold him in her arms and press her body to him. The knowledge passed down to her by the first woman.
She was bolder than she thought she would be, trailing her mouth down his neck, glorying in the feel of his stubble against her cheek, the smell of his skin, fisting the fabric of his shirt as he ran his hands along her back to her waist. It was as though she had fasted so long she forgot she was hungry, and here was a feast. He threaded his fingers into her hair and pulled her head back to kiss her mouth again, greedily, almost angrily and she couldn't help but roll her hips into him utterly pleased with herself when he broke their kiss to curse.
But it was too much to ask for…just as he leaned back to grab the hem of his shirt they both heard the heavy clomping of boots below and the telltale clanging of a tool bag hitting the floor.
"Anna?" Joe's voice echoed from below as Remy's had just an hour before.
"Oh my god." She whispered as much to herself as to him, then she called out louder, "Just a minute!"
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