Chapter 6: Wrists Only

His mouth was a breath from mine, and I broke it with a joke.

"Terms, Commander," I said. "Wrists only."

He went still.

Then he stepped back, and let my hands go, and the corridor felt very cold.

"So they are," he said. "Thank you for the reminder."

"You're welcome."

"You flinch like a woman with somewhere better to be."

"I didn't flinch."

"Then say wrists only and mean it."

I did not say anything.

He looked at my face for a second longer than he should have, and I saw my silence land in his eyes.

"Medbay," he said roughly. "Now. Show me your hands."

I had not noticed them.

My palms had blistered white and raw where I had held his arm, and the skin of my wrist was already puffing up.

The medbay was empty and bright.

The medic had gone to the bridge crew, and the Commander shut the door with his foot and did not call her back.

He sat me on the edge of a cot.

He took a tube of burn gel from the shelf, uncapped it, and knelt on the floor in front of me.

"You don't have to do this," I said. "I can do it."

"Give me your hand."

I gave it to him.

His fingers were enormous and perfectly careful.

He spread the cool gel across my palm in slow strokes, and I watched the top of his dark head bent over my hand.

The scar through his eyebrow was white with strain.

He was not looking at my face.

He was breathing carefully, in and out, and it was not quite steady.

I knew what that meant.

It had been a long time since anyone had looked at me and wanted me, and I knew it when I saw it.

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