Shortchanged
Zack wasn't as predictable as he pretended. That was hard to remember most of the time, so Zack ended up surprising Krit more than he should have. Zack had sprawled on Krit's couch, comfortably unconcerned with the incongruous image he presented--all brown leather and black jeans--against the delicate flower print Judy had chosen. Zack's legs had been loose before him and his back curved so that his hips titled--and he'd said: "Krit, you should go see Syl." Krit had suspected something then because Zack was never mild and usually sat with his spine as straight and stiff as someone's spinster aunt (Zack did, didn't he? Krit had been sure of that). He hoarded information and authority and Krit sometimes thought that Zack found a sort of grim satisfaction in making sure that everyone had to justify themselves to him at some point or another.
"Talk some sense into her," Zack had said, and Krit had know that wasn't likely to happen even before he found himself in Syl's apartment, staring at her from across the living room. He watched her body stiffen, trembling tension from calves to thighs to belly to shoulders, before Syl's body went exaggeratedly loose. She quirked a carefully shaped eyebrow at Krit and her hands were slow and easy against the belt of her butter-yellow robe. Krit noted but did not watch the roll of her hips as Syl stepped out of the bathroom doorway, cranberry scented steam billowing out behind her.
There was no subtlety in her, Krit thought: she was all sharp edges, emotion and hard-eyed sex. Syl had been careful once, still and insular. Krit couldn't tell when Syl had lost that quiet control and could barely remember the last time she'd looked at him without muted resentment behind her moist smile and shining eyes.
Krit hadn't planned on what to say. "You two have always gotten along well," Zack had said, his fingers spread loosely against the back of the couch. Krit had followed the veins in Zack's hands towards the unbuttoned sleeve of his jacket and had grunted in response. Krit and Syl, Syl and Krit--and that hadn't been true in a long time, not really, and Zack had to know that. Or maybe "well" was relative, because Krit didn't know how or why, but Zack didn't know what to do with Syl either, and he'd stopped pushing her as he did the rest of them. But Zack's hands had flexed, knuckles sharp beneath his skin and Krit was here and he should have planned something--anything, really.
"Krit," Syl said, paused, "and how is Judy?" Judy was tall and dark, she never swore and she believed passionately in gun control. Judy hated Syl and Syl hated Judy. Krit ignored the question because Syl hadn't really wanted the answer. She slid over the arm of the couch, rear-first and her back curving to meet the cushions. Her bare legs hung over the couch's arm, feet swaying with deliberate casualness. Her robe had spilled open as Syl fell, flashing too pale skin. Maybe it had been flashing thighs that had made Zack retreat, Krit thought--sex was one thing Zack hadn't yet figured out how to bluff his way through. Maybe they should have spent more time in Social Interaction courses and less time shooting at each other back at Manticore.
"You know that Ben can't keep a secret from Zack," Krit said. His voice was too rough--he hadn't intended that, hadn't known that it would be--and Syl's eyes sharpened. That had been a joke once: "anything Ben knows, Zack knows." Maybe he was getting older, but Krit didn't find it quite so amusing any more and he had to consciously stop himself from wondering what the hell went on between those two. Even at Manticore, obedience to one's commanding officer had only gone so far. Not that he was one to talk, not really, not when he was standing in Syl's apartment because Zack had asked, even though he and Syl had picked up baggage somewhere along the way without Krit ever having noticed.
"That never seemed to bother you quite so much before," Syl said and her smile was more teeth than sex now.
Krit ignored the comment--well hell, he certainly was good at that. "What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded instead. It hurt that he wanted to hit her right then because they'd been best friends before Krit had even dreamed of the concept.
Syl pushed herself up on her elbows. "When did you start channeling Zack?" she demanded, irritated. Her teeth were sharp around Zack's name, and Christ, Krit thought, he should have known better than to give into Zack when he was in a mellow mood.
"Since you and Ben started screwing," Krit said. He could see traces of Ben everywhere in Syl's apartment--bad form, Krit thought, because they'd been taught to leave no signs of their presence at the places they'd been. They had learned to barely exist even in those places they called home. There were things in her home that must have become so normal to Syl that she didn't even notice them, and Zack hadn't said anything about how often Ben and Syl saw each other. It wasn't as if they didn't make use of their incestuous little circle--once or twice, now and again, but damn it all--Syl never made things easy.
Syl's lips thinned and she slid off the couch and to her feet. Her fists were clenched and Syl had broken his ribs once, and she hadn't looked half as angry as she did now. Krit might think about hitting Syl sometimes, but Syl did more than think, and he'd never been able to convince her that there was a difference between the two. "And since when do you care who I fuck?" Syl said, sharp and angry and Krit envied people who knew what it meant to forget.
She'd barely had hips or breasts, but her lashes had been heavy with mascara. Her cheeks had been marked by wavering blacks lines and Syl's hands had been tight above Krit's elbow. She hadn't cried gracefully or neatly: all gulping breaths and wet nose and mouth. "Syl--" Krit said, stopped, and couldn't say that he was sorry, so fucking sorry that he couldn't be what she'd needed--not then, not now, maybe never again.
Syl still knew him better than almost anyone else. "Oh, go to hell, Krit," Syl said. "This isn't about you."
Krit had never told her that he might have loved her if he'd been able to trust her. By the time he'd found her, she had no longer been the Syl he'd known at Manticore. Sharp and brittle all at once and far too wild for Krit's comfort. He had watched her twisting mouth and had thought that she'd get herself--both of them, everyone--killed. He wasn't about to tell her that now and Syl was lying, but not so much that it was worth calling her on it.
"So what is it about?" Krit asked and he hadn't realized how hard his voice had become until he softened it. He could do sympathy, he could do understanding, and Krit made sure that he kept his distance from Syl. No use inviting any more trouble than he was already in, was there? and Zack could go fuck himself the next time he had a suggestion.
"Had you ever imagined," Syl said, slow and thoughtful, "what the world was like? Before? Before we escaped? I mean, really, Krit. Did you?"
Ben had been the dreamer: full of stories about the Good Place and things Krit never would have imagined on his own. "No," Krit said.
Syl's mouth turned up slightly--no sex, no anger, but a soft sort of sadness that Krit hadn't imagined seeing in Syl. She sat down on the edge of the cushion, not so relaxed that she wasn't ready to fight. "Do you ever wonder whether it was worth it? So many of us left dead in the snow. All of that fear. All of the anger."
Krit drew in a long breath. "It was worth it. It is worth it,"--it had to be and he only wished that there weren't so many of them coming apart of the seams. Were they crazier than everyone else, or was the rest of the world simply better at hiding their own madness? "It is," Krit said again, firm.
"You want to know why? You want to know about Ben and I?"
"I asked," Krit said.
"You don't want to know--not really," Syl said.
"Syl," Krit said and he always felt like he was going around in circles when he was with her. "Talk to me, Syl. I'm here. I'm listening."
"I like Ben," Syl said, stopped, eased deeper into the couch. "Things are. They're easier with him. He doesn't talk about love and babies; he doesn't want me to meet his parents or to get married. I don't have to make up stories to make him happy." Syl's eyes caught Krit's. "You lied when you answered my question--you did, Krit, I know you, I know you did. Ben didn't. It isn't worth it, not always, and Ben understands that."
That sounded nice, that sounded just fine, except: "that won't last, Syl." Maybe he didn't know what love was any more than did Syl--but Ben and Syl couldn't be it. Being angry and frightened together couldn't be all that there was for them, the best that they could hope for, the only thing they knew of happiness.
Syl's mouth slanted and Krit knew that he had disappointed her again. "Go away, Krit."
"I know what you're like, Syl. And I know Ben. This is dangerous, you know it is," Krit said and took an unconscious step towards Syl before stilling himself. Syl was quicksilver: fluid lives and fluid relationships and she'd never committed herself to anything beyond her own survival. And Ben--Ben was obsessive; Ben fell hard and fast and never recognized his women for the dreams they were until it was too late for all of them. They were destroying themselves well enough already without help from the other, Krit thought.
"I know," Syl said, "I know it is. But fuck, Krit, I'm never going to settle down like a nice, normal girl. I'm dangerous. My life is dangerous--and at least Ben and I will have a bit of fun before we crash." Krit wasn't sure what Syl saw in his expression then, but she pressed her hands to her face and sighed. "I don't want to hurt him, Krit. I'm not going to."
"Syl--" Krit began, stopped, at a loss.
"Give it a rest, Krit. You aren't going to solve all my problems in a couple of hours. You aren't going to lecture me into submission. I love you Krit, I do--but," Syl shrugged, helpless, "but we're never going to agree on this, on a lot of things." Her fingers parted before her eyes and Syl stared up at Krit. "We're family, and that's the most important thing in the world--but sometimes, even that doesn't mean anything at all."
"I just don't understand you, Syl. We have everything--everything we could have ever wanted back at Manticore. And you--you're throwing everything away. You make things so much harder than they have to be," Krit said.
Syl's smile was lopsided, humourless and brief. "I know you don't understand. I know you don't. But you love me don't you, Krit? You do; you love me and that's all either of us really needs to know."
"Syl," Krit said and her voice was so desperate that his throat tightened, "oh, fuck, Syl." He moved forward and it was so easy to kneel between her legs and wrap his arms about her waist. Syl folded over him, fingers desperate against his back. "I just want you to be happy. I want you to be safe."
"I can't be both, Krit. I don't think I'd know what to do with either of those, either." Her cheek was dry against the crown of Krit's head. "This is it, babe. This is my life. It isn't so bad really."
"I don't believe you," Krit said against Syl's collarbone.
"You don't have to," Syl said, "you really don't."