Madlands

21. The Bitter Gift

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The sky was clear and the sun newly risen, sending a shaft of light onto the ceiling above the bed from where the two neat piles of Grey's belongings stared back at him. Mando sat, statue-still, on the small bench that lined the wall dividing the two rooms of their... his... lodging.

Having read the note, and only once, he had set it back down and went methodically about his usual, efficient personal preparations—shower, armour check, and re-dress—in semi-numbness.

But now he had to make choices. He had to decide what to do next, and he found that every course of action that he considered, no matter how logical or mundane, seemed irrational. He couldn't picture doing any of it—diving into a search for the meaning of the Deep Fountain, getting food, taking off in the Crest, even simply figuring out what to do with the things that Grey had left behind—none of it felt real.

There was a new rift within him that did feel real, and even though he knew that acknowledging it would only increase its size and scope, he couldn't help but peer into its depths. I wish I had a home for your affection. He may have only read the note once, but the words echoed back from the rift.

He'd been so sure, in the moment, that what he'd offered her would be wanted and valued. Or perhaps he'd just been blinded by the hope that it would be—causing him to misconstrue Grey's simple desires as true tenderness. But the way it had felt when she'd kissed him, when he'd kissed her back, with the burdens of the past, of mistakes, of loss, of regret all giving way to a perfect present, made it hard to accept that he'd simply misread everything.

Allowing the memory of their kiss to take hold in the daylight toppled the mental barrier he'd put up to avoid dwelling on the details of their encounter. He felt her willing wrists as he'd bound them, her waist between his hands, her luminescence under his finger-tips, her breasts between his lips, her slick warmth around his curled fingers, and her writhing body thrown back in his lap. It hadn't been easy to hold back from taking her then and there.

But then there wouldn't have been any turning back, no letting her go, and, clearly, she'd wanted the option to leave.

He had to acknowledge the possibility that she simply didn't want any more than what they'd already shared—an unusual search, an adventure across the sector, mutual respect, quiet conversations, and an intimacy that had felt electric and deep. She could be moving on to her next venture, melancholy to leave but ultimately finished.

Or she could be like him, with an unmendable wound right through her core, inflicted by the unfairness of a galaxy that could pick out a person, destroy everything they cared about, and leave them to survive alone—all while giving no reason why. Mando was only starting to learn that the risk of caring again may well be worth it, an unexpected lesson from a small and mystical child. Not everyone got the chance to find that out.

Whatever her reasons, they were hers, and he was still here, and he had to keep moving.

He crossed to the bed and picked up the datapad from the top of the pile. Perhaps she'd left him with whatever information she had on the Deep Fountain. It activated as he lifted it, and the screen revealed an existing search for the phrase, with zero results. He was on his own.

His best course of action was to head back to Torin's. The man had known what those words meant and where it was, and his room was a trove of things to search. Too many. Mentally preparing himself for a day of reading and deciphering, he accepted that he might be there a while... might be on Rin for at least another night.