FRAN

I wake up with a yawn. It’s early, the faux window in the room set to simulate a sunrise. Kivian’s cabin doesn’t actually have any windows at all, so the settings are based around what the user desires. I love waking up to a sunrise, and Kivian can sleep through pretty much anything, so the setting is set to my liking. I smile and watch the “sunrise” for a minute, admiring the thick, fluffy clouds. I don’t even mind that the “sky” in the picture is a watery sort of green. It’s the thought that counts.

Mornings are one of my favorite times on the Fool. None of these guys are early risers, so it’s kind of “me” time. I like that little window of quiet. Normally I get up and start digging through the food stores and watch mesakkah vids, trying to pick up language basics. This morning, though, there’s a big blue arm sprawled through the pillow fort, and I can’t help but lift the pillow and peer over the side at Kivian.

No peeking any lower, of course. I still can’t bring myself to do that even though I’m itching to check out his equipment. Doing so feels like it would break the fragile boundary we have on our relationship.

Kivian’s a deep sleeper, all right. His mouth is parted, his hair disheveled over his hard, craggy brow. His clothes are pulled up, revealing washboard blue abs and obliques that make my fingers itch to touch them.

No lower, Fran, I tell myself. That’s a line you can’t cross.

Instead of scaring the shit out of me, it makes me feel…curious. Yeah, that’s the word. Just curious. I squeeze my thighs together tightly.

Just curious. That’s all.

I study him for a bit longer. It’s been weeks since Kivian rescued me and brought me on the Fool. It’s been three weeks for me to find my feet again. I’ve gone from having everything ripped out from under me to a weird semblance of normal, and I’m starting to like the new normal. It’s different, but it’s not all that bad. The crew’s nice and I’ve fit in surprisingly well with them. I thought Kivian would be a problem with his early forwardness and chest-thumping declarations of MINE, but he’s been a perfect gentleman so far. In all this time, he’s cracked jokes, teased me, played games with me, been bossy and pushy, but he’s never frightened me. He’s never put a hand on me or even tried to get fresh with me. If anything, he dotes on me like a little sister.

I’m not sure how I feel about that.

I mean, I’m thankful. I’m so thankful he’s not a big rapey son of a bitch. He’s a big tease and a flirt, but he’s not malicious and he’s rarely serious. His personality is a fun one, and I actually enjoy being around him. I never thought I’d say that about an alien, but he’s quickly becoming one of my best friends.

But as time passes, I’m not so sure if how I feel about him is “friendly” or something more. I find that I’m living for his laughs, his smiles. I eagerly anticipate each night in bed, hoping our limbs are going to brush against each other. I pace around the cabin all day because I feel it’d be too puppyish to follow him around the ship. I live for our sticks games. I’m addicted to his smell and switch out our pillows on the sly so I can breathe deep of his scent.

And I masturbate. Lord, how I masturbate. Daily. Sometimes twice a day. Once I even did it under the blankets while he slept. I can’t help it.

I’m getting increasingly frustrated by the fact I’ve been firmly placed in “little sister” territory. Part of me thinks that I’m an idiot for even contemplating such a thing, but I can’t help it. I’m fascinated by him and the fact that he made such strong claims about me belonging to him…and then doesn’t act on it.

Not that I want him to act on it.

I think.

Actually I don’t know what to think. All I know is that I’d love for him to grab me and pull me against him in a passionate kiss, and I’m pretty sure that’s wrong of me to even contemplate.

I should be grateful that Kivian’s treating me like an honored, welcome guest.

Yeah. Grateful. I’m feeling something, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t gratitude. And I squeeze my knees tightly together again.

Kivian sleeps on, blissfully unaware of the conflict in my head as I lie beside him. Ironic that I used to be annoyed that I had to share a bed with the guy. Now I get irritated that he’s so good at staying on his side. Why can’t he be a grabby snuggler?

I have issues.

Duh, Fran.

I crawl out of bed and pad toward the water closet in Kivian’s apartments. I wash up and dress in one of the three outfits I can claim as my own. Since we haven’t gone back to a station to restock, I have to make do with a few of Kivian’s castoffs. His shirts have been converted to belted dresses, and I wear a pair of blowsy harem pants underneath. Apparently there’s a type of material that will conform to the body of the wearer, but Kivian’s a snob when it comes to clothing and all of his are tailored instead. So I get to dress like a hobo as I wander around the ship.

Truth is, I don’t mind it. His clothes are comfy and soft, and they’re made well even if they’re a bit more intricate than I’m used to. The man likes his details, that’s for sure. I do up the dozens of zig-zagging clasps up the front of my shirt dress and on the sleeves, then tie my hair back into a ponytail before heading to the front of the cabin. I glance back at him, wondering if I should just crawl back into bed and act on my impulses. Climb on top of him, confess my silly crush, and let the chips fall where they may.

But I don’t. My safety here on the Fool depends on his goodwill, and I don’t want to ruin that.

Kivian snores on, blissfully ignorant of my early-morning troubles. He doesn’t even wake up when I signal over the doorlock that I want out and the portal opens.

I head to the mess for morning tea and breakfast. There’s no coffee substitute, but there’s a tea from an unpronounceable planet that tastes kind of like a paint-peeling version of Earl Grey, and it’s quickly becoming my favorite. I make a cup of it and the strange soup they like for breakfast, and move toward the window so I can gaze out on my surroundings. It’s an asteroid belt in the middle of the endless black of space, but I find it fascinating to watch anyhow. There’s a distant nebula that looks like splashes of red and green stained the galaxy, and it’s all a gorgeous sight. I might miss the sunrise or sunset back on Earth, but I’m getting pretty used to a view of the stars.

I could be happy out here if I can’t make it back home again. I think.

It’s taken me time to get used to the idea of not making it back to Earth. I sip my tea and contemplate the stars. Maybe it’s that I was thrown into such a crazy situation that I never had time to properly grieve until I was already numb. Kivian and his crew have made it pretty clear that going back there isn’t an option, no matter how much they like me. If they do, they run the risk of having the Fool confiscated and spending their days in an intergalactic prison. No one likes the idea of that. I can’t let them destroy their lives just to…what? Bring me back to my dead-end receptionist job? My family is distant, my friends moved away after college, and my job sucks. I’ve had relationships, but nothing exciting. I’ve just been drifting since college, not really sure what to do with my life. Seems like fate stepped in and decided for me.

No matter how I look at it, Earth—and my life there—are distant memories.

But even if I want to stay, I’m not sure I can. Will they want to keep me? Right now I’m an interesting houseguest that tries to stay out of the way. I’m also going to eventually be a drain on resources, because I need to eat and breathe and use water. There’s no room for another bunk on the Fool and I don’t know any useful skills.

I’m also a highly illegal species. All of this could be bad if they decide that I’m too much trouble, and no matter how much Kivian thinks of me as a little sister, even little sisters can get annoying.

My fate continues to hang by a thread. I’m still at the mercy of others.

That sucks.

Duh, Fran.

I finish my breakfast soup and put the cups in the cleanser. As I step out I head toward the bridge to see who’s on shift. The cloaking signal that keeps the Fool hidden has to be continually re-jiggered, from how I understand it, so someone always remains on the bridge to keep an eye on things. It seems that even in their very high-tech society, some things just can’t be trusted to a computer. I’m a little surprised to see the big medic, Tarekh, seated at Alyvos’s seat at the bridge. “Is it your shift?” I ask him, moving to sit in Kivian’s chair. Not because I envision myself as the captain, of course, but because I know he won’t get mad if I curl up in it. I’m not there with the others yet.

Tarekh just shakes his head and leans back in Alyvos’s spot, looking bored and lazy as lines of positions and codes and star charts scroll past his screen. “Just giving Alyvos a break today. He’s a little frayed at the edges. Waiting’s not his favorite thing to do.”

I know how that goes. We’ve all been in limbo the past few weeks and it’s making Alyvos and Sentorr prickly since they’re the ones constantly monitoring the feeds. I think they’ve been expecting to get a go-ahead to move on from Kivian, but we’re still waiting. I’m not exactly sure what we’re waiting for, just that Kivian isn’t ready to move us on yet. I worry that I’m the reason and the others are going to resent me. We all get along fine, but I know it can quickly flip if tempers get short. “Do you know what we’re waiting for?”

Tarekh shrugs. “A sign that it’s safe to move on and deliver our cargo. Don’t worry. Kivian’s got good instincts for this sort of thing.”

I think about Kivian, asleep in the bed we share, and I get that weird flush moving through my body again. If he’s got good instincts, then maybe I really am just a little sister to him or he’d have realized how much I’m hung up on him. Maybe he does realize it, and he’s waiting for it to fade.

Ugh.

“You look unhappy,” Tarekh points out as I chew on a fingernail. “Everything well?”

“Just thinking.” When he gestures that I should continue, I hesitate and then decide to pour it out anyhow. I need to talk to someone. “Do your people have something we humans call Stockholm syndrome?”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s where a woman falls in love with her captor just because he’s the one with power over her. She glamorizes him and the control he has over her life, and she makes her entire world about pleasing him.”

“Ah.” He thinks for a minute and then studies me. “Yeah, we have a word for that.”

“You do?”

“Foolish.”

I frown at him and resist the urge to throw something at his big ugly head. “You suck.”

“That’s a human phrase saying I’m unpleasant, yes?” He chuckles.

“It’s a real thing, you know.”

“Oh, I know it’s a real thing. We’ve a similar sort of mental illness in our civilization. In many civilizations, actually. It happens anytime there is power inequality. But I don’t think that’s what’s happening to you.”

I feel a little hint of relief, but I wonder if I’m being set up for another joke. “Why’s that?”

He spreads a hand in a gesture toward me. “Think about your interactions with our dear captain. Let’s say he comes in and tries to steal your morning meal as you eat it. What would you do?”

“Uh, slap his hand?” That’s pretty much what I did yesterday when the exact same thing happened. Kivian just laughed at my outraged expression and tweaked my chin. For a man that goes on and on about hygiene laws, he sure does like touching me.

“Mmmhmm. And if he told you to cut your hair off because he likes a female with a shaved head?”

I chew on my lip. “I’d tell him to go kef himself—like you guys say—because I don’t want a shaved head?”

He gives a sharp bark of amusement. “So you don’t feel the need to change yourself to please him?”

I’m surprised he’d even ask such a thing. If there’s a poster child for obedient slave, it’s sure as shit not me. “God, no.”

“Do you think you’re in danger if you disobey him?”

I shake my head slowly. If anything, Kivian likes it when I’m sassy to him. My tart retorts sometimes get the biggest smiles…and I admit it makes me get a little mouthier as a result.

“Exactly. Then you don’t have this ‘syndrome’ you think you do.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t sound pleased.”

I cross my arms under my breasts, thinking. “It was a lot easier when I thought it wasn’t my own decision. I still feel it’s wrong to have a crush on him.”

“Why? Because he’s blue?”

“No, because…” I stumble around for an answer and can’t find one. Not really. Because he looks different? I actually really like the way he looks. I’m itching to touch that chamois-soft skin again. I’m dying to touch his tail and his horns to see what they feel like. And those obliques… Yeah, his looks aren’t the problem.

I think I’m afraid of rejection. I don’t say it aloud because it sounds so childish, but it’s true. What if I fling myself at him only to find that he thinks humans are ugly and the wrong color and we don’t have horns? What if he really is just tolerating me like a sibling and then little sis tries to make out with him?

“I’m dependent on him for safety,” I say after a moment. “Without the protection of you guys, I’m doomed to be a slave again. Or worse.”

He nods, considering this. “There is a power imbalance, true. Perhaps that’s something you should talk with him about.”

“I’ll think about it,” I tell Tarekh. I’m pretty sure I won’t say any such thing to Kivian, but I’ll sure think about it.