Clementine stared at the blank sheet music in front of her. She'd long since stopped trying to remember the music she'd already written. Even if she could remember more than just a few measures here and there, none of it would feel right anymore. That piece was full of adventure and drama. She'd had enough of that.

"No inspiration yet, angel?"

She reflexively wiped at her eye, and was glad to find it dry. She'd been crying a lot lately, but doing her best to hide it from everyone.

Forcing a smile, she turned to Mr. Crayden, standing in the doorway, and said, "Not yet. Are you off to see Zack? They're not transferring him, are they?"

Mr. Crayden's smile was sad, but at least his was sincere. "He's still at the local station. Because of you, and because he said guilty to being part of Humans Right, he's serving his sentence there. That way I can keep seeing him. We're starting counseling next week."

"That's awesome," said Clementine.

He wiped away a real tear. "He said he'd only do it if I quit smoking. I hope I can do it. I told Fabio not to come around anymore, but I'm an old man who's been set in his ways for a long time."

"First of all, you are not old," she said, getting up and walking over to him. "Second of all, I know you can do it, because you love your son more than you love weed."

She gave him a big hug. He still smelled like pot, but she doubted that would ever go away -- and she'd miss it if it did.

"You make me a better man, you kids," he said, wiping his eyes again. "Wanna come along? He was asking about you last time."

A small part of Clementine was tempted to go. Maybe they could patch things up and start over.

She shook her head. No, she might, eventually, maybe in fifty years, be able to forgive him for what he did, but not enough to let him into her heart again. She wished the best for him and his dad, but she couldn't be a part of his healing. Not anymore.

"Okay, angel," said Mr. Crayden. "Catch you later."

Clementine said goodbye and started back towards her desk, but veered to her window instead. She leaned her head out, breathing in the processed air, staring straight up at the sun because she knew it wouldn't hurt her here. It was only a bright light.

She heard a soft knock on her door and didn't bother looking. "Did you forget something?" she asked. But it wasn't Mr. Crayden who replied.

"Clementine?"

Her heart stopped. The hairs on the back of her neck lifted. Slowly she spun around.

Inlan stood there, in her house, right outside her room. He was watching her warily, perhaps waiting for her reaction. But she couldn't move. She couldn't speak. She could only stare.

"Didn't Commander Hoff notify you of my recovery?" he asked.

"Yes, but I didn't..."

I didn't think I'd ever see you again.

Those words were too intimate, referencing too much of what they'd gone through. Clementine searched for the right decorum while running her fingers through her hair. She hadn't even bothered to get dressed that morning, let alone brush out her bed head.

When did I even shower last?

"I went to rehearsal first," he said. "It had just started, but they said you weren't coming."

"Yeah, I tried going a couple times to listen and critique, but it sucked. I'm working on the concerto, though." She gestured to the manuscript paper on her desk, then wished she hadn't, as it was totally blank.

"I conveyed outside, right as Mr. Crayden was leaving, and he let me in." He was watching her expectantly, but she wasn't sure why. What was she was supposed to say?

"What a coinkydink," she said, then closed her eyes in humiliation. Whatever he was waiting for, that was definitely not it.

"I wanted to give this back to you."

He held something out to her, and for the first time she noticed that he was holding her cello.

"Daisy!" she cried, running across the room and taking it gingerly from his hands.

"I went back to where you left it," he said. Scratching his forehead, he added, "I guess that's obvious."

Clementine set it where it belonged, on the floor at the foot of her bed, and opened it. There she was, no worse for wear. Clementine plucked the strings; she was even in tune -- mostly. And her concerto -- there it was, in the pocket, along with... She quickly shut the lid. Inlan probably wouldn't know a condom if he saw one, but no need to risk the humiliation.

"Thank you so much," she said. She caught herself walking across the room and about to raise her arms for a hug, and stopped midway. "That was really nice of you."

He nodded -- was that disappointment in his eyes? Probably just relief.

"I have another surprise for you," he said, with a tentative smile. "But we should be by the window for this."

He stepped across the threshold of her room, and Clementine couldn't help but think of the last time he'd been there. She'd worried then, too, that she wouldn't see him again. She really needed to stop pining over this guy. He'd already made his intentions -- or lack thereof -- brutally clear.

She joined him by the window, but everything looked as it had a minute before.

"How are you feeling?" she asked. "I see you got your mechasuit fixed. Or is that a new one?" Her gaze traveled down his tight, muscular body. She balled her fists, her fingers tingling with the memory of gliding over those chiseled grooves.

He kept his eyes on the digital blue sky. "Yes, this is mine. I still don't understand what I did wrong, but I guess that's why I'm not in Trajectory."

"Well I'm glad you're still not using the translator. I could listen to your voice all day." The words slipped out before she could stop them, and her cheeks began to burn. She'd noticed the absence of the emotionless voice right away, but that was just about the worst way possible to point it out.

"Sorry," she said, staring at her hands. "I didn't mean that. I mean, your voice is better than the translator's, obviously, but I didn't mean... anything more than that."

Smooth.

She snuck a glance at him. He was smiling at the sky screen, politely ignoring her fumbling.

"As for your first question," he said, "I have to admit that while I'm almost fully recovered, I am feeling rather... disappointed."

Clementine turned back to the window. Her shoulder grazed his arm, sending a tremor of pleasure straight to her core. She crossed her arms to hide her stiffening nipples.

Why didn't I at least put a bra on?

"Because it's sunny?" she asked.

"No -- well, yes -- but mostly because your cello received the welcome I was hoping for."

Her heart jumped into her throat. "Was that... Are you... flirting with me?"

He turned an anxious smile on her. "I didn't do it right? I saw something similar on an Earthan wave and thought I'd try it out."

"No. I mean..." She moved away from the window, rubbing her arms as she paced across the room. "You said you couldn't do that. You turned that pod into a sieve because you can't do that."

"I was wrong," said Inlan, facing her. "I don't know what it is exactly that I feel for you, but I can't ignore it, and I won't give up on it." He took a few steps forward, watching her intently. "I want us to be joined at the hip. Like two peas in a pod. Snug in a bug in a rug. Birds of --"

Clementine laughed. She couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed. Had she been with him then, too?

He smiled and said, "I confirmed all of those before coming down here." He didn't stop moving closer until he was near enough to touch, but he held his hands at his sides. She pressed her hand lightly in the shallow between his pecs. A pulse of need coursed through her, heating her core.

"I don't want you to do something you'll regret," she said.

He put his gloved hand on hers and asked, "Do you want to try to be with me? I'll understand if you don't."

Her thoughts flooded with the horrors that had haunted her over the past week: that night in cart control, mass memorial services, family members sobbing for lost loved ones. Her eyes filled with tears.

"If you had killed me," she said, "they'd all be here. They'd all be alive and they'd be here."

His face collapsed with grief, but no tears surfaced.

Can Relicans cry? It was a fleeting thought, quickly lost beneath a sea of others.

"I couldn't do it," he said. "How could I?" His voice cracked. "I'd make the same decision again if I had to, even knowing what would happen." He pressed his forehead to hers and whispered, "Can you forgive me?"

Forgive him? She'd forgiven him the instant he'd done it.

Tears streaming down her cheeks, Clementine lifted her chin, pressing her lips to his. He started to pull away, but she threw her arms around his neck, holding him still.

His fingers dug into her back, gripping her thin shirt with such ferocity that she wasn't surprised when she heard it tear. Inlan let go immediately.

"Sorry," he said, breaking off their kiss.

He was so sincere -- so real. She craved his honesty. Her body called out for him, needing to feel him, needing him to prove that he meant what he said.

Stepping away, she closed her door and the window. After pulling the drapes, she went in her cello case and took out one of the condoms. Placing it on her nightstand, she turned on the lamp to brighten the now dim room.

She felt his eyes on her the entire time, but didn't turn around. Instead, she pulled the tattered shirt over her head and dropped it on the floor.

"Clementine," he said softly. Her name on his lips sent shivers through her body, gathering and tingling between her thighs. She hooked her fingers into her pajama shorts, and slipped them off.

"You don't have to do this," he said. "This isn't why I came here."

A stab of doubt pierced through her boldness.

"Do you want to?" she asked, not turning around.

The cool air breathed on her, sending prickles all over bare skin. She sensed him watching her, but resisted the urge to face him. When his fingers -- his bare fingers -- grazed her hips, she jumped at the unexpected touch. He didn't let go, sliding them under her panties.

"Yes," he whispered, tugging them down. He ran his hands all the way down her legs, his cool touch making them quiver. Leaving the sheer material at her ankles, he stood again, and pressed his naked body against hers.

Clementine gasped, the shock of so much skin against hers setting her nerves on fire. His balls were nestled right above her ass, while his cold, metallic cock reached almost halfway up her back. Her pussy throbbed at its nearness, sending dizzying waves of need coursing through her. His hands wrapped around her once again, resting on her belly.

"But I can control it," he whispered, his lips on her ear. "I will control myself, if this isn't what you want."

The memory of him being so furious that he punched through a metal wall surfaced, though only dimly. She was too hungry for him, too ready for him.

"Promise you won't hate me, or you, after," she said.

He slid his hands up to her shoulders, and gently turned her around to face him. Though she was completely naked, his eyes never left hers as he said, "Pinky promise."

Clementine laughed, tipping her head back as he leaned down to kiss her, a passionate, hungry kiss that she readily returned. His cock jabbed her in the stomach, and he moaned against her lips. She wrapped one of her legs around him, desperate for him to be closer, for his icy sword to soothe her burning, throbbing core.

Inlan slid his arms around her and squeezed, lifting her off her feet and onto the bed. He fell with her, and she groaned as his hard, heavy body pressed down on her.

"Oh, wait," she said, panting. Reaching for the table, she searched by feel for the condom, knocking books over as she finally found it.

"What is that?" he asked, his breath heavy as well.

Tearing open the foil, she tossed the wrapper on the ground. "This is a condom. It makes sure I don't get pregnant," she said, reaching down and squeezing his cock as she slipped it on.

He gasped, his hips surging forward. She barely got her hands out of the way before he plunged into her swollen lips. She was so wet that he glided in easily, yet she still cried out, unprepared for the unyielding metal rod that crashed against her from within.

He sealed her mouth with his as he hammered into her. She wrapped her legs around him, adding her own strength to every thrust. His cock was as smooth and steely as the rest of his body. Every inch of her rang out as he filled her again and again.

There was nothing fake about this. Inlan was real. He cared about her. He proved it with every kiss, with every pound of his hips. He was risking everything to be with her. This was what she craved. She could go on living in this pretend universe, as long as he was at its center.

His dick slammed into the depths of her, sending fresh shockwaves of fiery pressure racing across every nerve. Her body quivered and her core swelled with the need for release, but the exquisite tension just kept building on itself, driving her mad with torturous bliss.

She hugged him close, pressing her breasts against his hard, cool chest, needing to feel all of him against her skin. Without ceasing his relentless hammering, he slid his arms beneath her, returning her embrace.

There was nothing but Inlan -- above her, under her, inside her. His coppery scent was in the air, on her skin, on her tongue. As sudden and sharp as a cello string snapping, her body broke under the pressure. Wave after wave of suffocating ecstasy slammed into her. She wrapped herself even tighter around him, holding him in place.

"Clementine," he gasped as her core swallowed him deeper, gripping and clenching around him, demanding what he had to give. She tried to call out his name, but she was drowning in her bliss, and no sound would come out.

Even when she felt his dick relaxing inside of her, she didn't move. Tremors coursed through her body, aftershocks of pleasure that she wished could last forever.

"Clementine."

It wasn't a question, or the beginning of a sentence. He spoke her name as if it were a complete thought, as if that was all there was to say.

"I love how you say my name," she said, finally loosening her hold on him. He slipped out of her, the movement causing one final shiver of bliss, and lay on the bed beside her.

"You never call me by a nickname," she continued. Despite the coolness of his skin, she felt chilled without his body on hers. "Even when I introduce myself as Clementine, everyone always shortens it -- Clem," she made a gagging noise, "Minty, Tiny." She rolled her eyes. "I think my parents will be calling me that when I'm sixty."

Rolling onto her side, she traced his face with her finger. "Even Tierney calls me Clem most of the time, even though I've told her I hate that name. But you only ever call me Clementine. It's nice."

"Well I love your name, Clementine," he said with a smile. He leaned forward, pushing her onto her back with a kiss. "Clementine," he said, his lips brushing hers. He repeated it over and over, whispering it in her ear, until it became a song. He sang her name as he kissed a path around her face, down her neck, and along the top of her breasts.

Her body tingled at his touch, her nipples stiffening in anticipation of his lips, but she found herself distracted by his song. It was a sweet, sad, familiar melody. Where had she heard it before?

His tongue traveled down the valley between her breasts, and was spiraling closer to her nipple when she finally recognized it.

"That's the piece you played on the Irral," she said, "on the karmantui."

Halting his oral explorations, he said, "It is," the question in his voice implying that he failed to see the relevance at that moment.

But Clementine's mind was racing, inspiration overwhelming physical stimulation.

It could start with the cello, playing that melody by itself -- maybe even the entire first movement is theme and variations, solo cello. Then the orchestra comes in for the second movement...

"It's not completely unheard of, but it's definitely different," she said to herself.

Inlan was still hovering over her, watching her with amused bewilderment. "What is?" he asked. "That song? It's an old folk song. I was improvising that day... Uh, where are you going?"

She slid out from under him and off the bed, heading to her desk, the ideas coming faster than her pencil could preserve them.

"Leave it to me to find the one girl in the universe more obsessed with music than I am," said Inlan.

She smiled, but continued writing. She wouldn't lose it again. She could hear the whole thing from start to finish. It would be a song of celebration, of grief, and of hope.

It would be her masterpiece.