Vartan scares her in the beginning. He's not the tallest -- Dhaval and Blue are taller -- but Blue is slender and Dhaval bony. Vartan is anything but. He's not fat -- there's no place on their crew for any obese person, the long-term repercussions on the fuel expenses alone would be a deterrent -- but he's broad, his limbs thick. His eyes are small, deep-set, watchful. And then there's the red, ugly scar on his jaw, and the close-cropped graying hair, and the way he moves, military through and through. At first she can't even be around him if Khiaw isn't there either.
But after he catches her sneaking a leftover baked potato out of the fridge, they start having it at dinner more often.
She gets braver. At least she doesn't leave a room if he comes in, not even if there's only one exit. He's good at standing to the side and leaving a way out. She would be embarrassed he noticed, but she thinks he likes being in a corner, with a wall at his back, with a good, direct view on all exits. They start settling on favorite chairs in the common room.
Khiaw gets the ship a cat, a tiny, runty, dust-gray thing that mews like a rusty seesaw. Oriana falls in love, and the cat loves her back. He winds around her ankles as she walks, and she laughs, making it a game. One day the cat isn't here when she turns around, and she looks and looks, ready to panic.
She finds the cat pretending to be Vartan's beard. The man is reclining in his chair, feet up on the table, and the cat nestles around his neck like a living scarf, purring for all he's worth.
She can't fear a man who lets a cat use him as a bed, ex-army or not.
Vartan still sneaks Oriana's favorites on her plate with alarming regularity. He feeds the cat, too. Khiaw smiles at him and he reins Darel in, and listens to Dhaval patiently, and even manages to get Lujayn to talk weapons until their steel woman is almost smiling a little. He fits, too.
Now Oriana wanders in the kitchen when she knows he'll be there, just to watch his large, steady hands move through the whole cooking process. They don't even talk, sometimes, apart from his appreciative nods and inquiries about the plants she cultivates in the cargo bay, and their quiet amusement about the latest cat antics.
Even when the cat knocks a glass to the ground around her bare feet and she stands unmoving, trapped on the spot by the field of glass slivers, Vartan doesn't touch her. He sighs and says he'll get her shoes. She's the one who reaches out, who holds out her hand.
Just help me up on the counter, she says, and laughs a little. She's not laughing when his strong hands close around her waist and he lifts her off her feet. He handles her like a porcelain doll, like she's precious and not for him and he doesn't want to dirty her.
So she sits with her feet dangling over the glass, and she leans into him, hands gripping the edge of the counter until her knuckles whiten, and she kisses him, with her lips just barely parted.
He watches her when she leans back, thoughtful, waiting. The cat is coming back, she says. You were getting the vacuum cleaner? And he chuckles quietly, and agrees.
Even when all the glass is gone, she stays perched on the counter, legs dangling,
and she watches him cook in silence, and she feels safe.