Janx’s broad shoulders rose up and down. He had finished his bottle and opened a new one. His brief excursion on deck had evidently been the only levity he would allow himself. As he sipped, his eyes returned to their thousand yard stare, and Avery knew he would get no more out of the whaler tonight.
Too keyed up to sleep, Avery ventured to the officer’s mess two levels up, a small private mess hall complete with a bar in the corner, and ordered a glass of bourbon.
“Whatcha doin’?” said a voice from the shadows, and he glanced over to see Hildra nursing a beer. Hildebrand hunched on the table before her eating salted nuts.
Avery sat down across from her. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Don’t you normally drink with the whalers?”
“That’s where Janx drinks, and I normally drink with him. When I can keep up. But Barkeep—” she nodded to the man behind the bar, who nodded back—“was kind enough to let me sit and mope here, so here I am. Sometimes I like to drink alone.”
“I know the feeling.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Do you?” After a beat, she added, “I thought those days were over for you.”
“So did I.” He downed a sip and grimaced. In his mind’s eye, he saw the burning fires of Ethali. But he saw something else, too, something he was loathe to admit: Sheridan naked by candlelight, swishing her sword through the air.
“I’m worried about Janx,” he said.
“Changing the subject?”
He smiled. “I am worried about him.”
She scratched Hildebrand on the head, her fingernails scraping the fish scales where fur had been not long ago. “He and Mu were like brothers,” she said, her voice soft. “They went through a lot of shit together. I think ... I think Janx was still hopin’ that somehow Mu could be saved, that that bastard Uthua could be taken out somehow. But now, after putting a lance through him, even if Uthua could be taken out there’s no way Mu could survive, not with a hole in his heart.” She sighed and drained her beer. “Anyway. Life sucks. He’s lost friends before. He’ll come out of it.”
“Will he?”
She raised her hook, signaling the barkeep for another drink. “He better,” she said, and Avery could hear the emotion in her voice. It may have been his imagination, but he thought he saw something glisten in her eyes. When the drink arrived, she knocked back a long gulp, then belched. “Till then, though—well, sometimes he’s a bit much.”
Avery lifted his glass. “To Janx getting better.”
They clinked and drank.
“So,” she said, “back to you. Why’re you drinking alone? I know you used to do that a lot, but you’d come out of it, I thought. No more lush life for Doctor Francis Xavier Avery.”
He killed his drink, waved at the barman, and was soon served another.
“Maybe not,” he said, somewhat rueful.
“Fuck, bones, you saved the world. Well, helped.”
“Did I? Or did I damn it?”
“Bullshit. That’s not why. Oh, maybe that’s part of it, but there’s another reason you’re here, too, and it’s between the legs of a certain bitch whore of hell a couple levels down.” With sudden fire in her voice, she said, “You’re either tryin’ to drown that thought out or gearin’ yourself up to do somethin’ about it. Which is it, bones?”
He blinked. “I ...”
“Well?”
Slowly, he sat his glass down. His fingers were trembling. He wanted to defend himself, even tell her to mind her own damn business, but he held his tongue.
“Well?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe it’s time I found out.” He laid some bills down on the counter and stood.
“Holy shit,” she said, looking up at him. “You’re really going to do it? I take it back.”
“Well, if it’s a choice between that or hearing myself psychoanalyzed some more, I think I’ll take the first one.”
A dark look crossed Hildra’s face. “If you’re gearin’ up to do anything, bones, it better be to strangle that bitch.”
“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”
Five minutes later, he paused outside that certain door, the guard just outside it looking at him questioningly, and summoned his courage to knock. Sheridan didn’t respond, and at first he thought he’d missed her, or that she’d gone to sleep already, or was simply ignoring him, but then the door opened, revealing Sheridan with her auburn hair and slightly squared chin, the scar over her eyebrow.
She eyed him for a moment, and he felt the hairs rise on his arms. Does she really have that much power over me?
“Come in,” she said, and he did, closing the hatch behind him.
“Thank you,” he replied, for lack of anything better to say. Sheridan was dressed only in undershirt and panties, and the confines of her cabin seemed suddenly very small. He could smell her, all canvas and sweat and shampoo. She must have recently taken a shower, though her hair was dry. There was still that smell of soap and clean skin.
She reclined on her bed and patted the spot next to her. In one hand she held a glass of wine. Ignoring the offer, he perched on the opposite bunk.
“Would you like a drink?” she said. He studied the nearby bottle. “Given to me by the captain himself,” she elaborated, “in gratitude for the squid. He even offered me a cut of the proceeds. I declined.”
“How altruistic of you.”
“I think I have another glass around here somewhere.”
“I’ve had enough.”
