“Nate?” Naomi said. “You’re on a first-name basis now?”
“Don’t be jealous,” Alex said and pulled up a panel. Against the sun, the ship was nothing. A tiny darkness spinning below them like a fly. And then it was gone.
I’m sorry, Filip, she thought.
She turned her head toward the approaching Rocinante. It was closer.
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Chapter Forty-eight: Holden
If the medical bay could have raised its eyebrows and made judgmental little tsk-tsk sounds, it would have. Instead, the readout threw a list of amber-colored alerts so long that the first few scrolled off the screen before Holden could read them. Naomi grunted when the needle poked into her vein and the medical expert system’s custom cocktail started flowing into her. Holden sat beside her, holding her other hand.
The transfer from the Razorback had been easy enough. Once they’d matched course, Alex snugged the pinnace up against the airlock, and all four of them had come over together. Holden had been waiting on the other side of the lock, not quite willing to believe that they were really back. Fred Johnson was there too in his greeting-a-political-grandee outfit. It was strange to see Fred visibly change roles, holding his body differently, his expression changing so subtly and profoundly it seemed like the shape of his skull had shifted. It left Holden a little curious about how much the old man presented to him was also tailored to the situation. Chances were, he’d never know.
When the inner door cycled open, he’d forgotten about Fred and the prime minister of Mars and the destruction of Earth and pretty much everything that wasn’t Naomi. Her skin was ashen where it didn’t look slick and swollen from radiation burns. Her eyes were bloodshot and bleary with a profound exhaustion. Moving into the room, she was careful, like any unexpected bump would hurt. She was the most beautiful thing he’d seen in years. He felt like he was the one returning home now that she was here. When she saw him, she smiled, and he grinned back. Somewhere a few feet away or a few miles, Fred Johnson and Nathan Smith were making some kind of formal greeting. It didn’t matter at all.
“Hey,” he’d said.
“Hey. You take care of the place while I was out?”
“Had some trouble with the contractor, but I think we got it straightened out,” Holden said. Then Bobbie had put a wide, strong hand on his shoulder, shaken him slightly, and said, “Med bay.” And then Naomi headed for the lift, leaning against Alex for support. She looked wounded, exhausted, halfway to dead. But she’d seen him, and she’d smiled, and it had dropped the bottom out of his heart.
The alert sounded, counted down, and gravity came back. Naomi coughed. It was a wet, painful sound, but the medical bay didn’t seem concerned. The machine had a shitty bedside manner.
“Do you think we should get a medic?” Holden said. “Maybe we should get a medic.”
“Right now?” Naomi asked.
“Or later. For your birthday. Whenever.” The words tumbled out of his mouth without stopping by his brain once, and he didn’t care enough to rein them in. Naomi was back. She was here. A vast fear he’d been carefully not noticing washed over him and started to dissipate.
This was how she felt, he thought. With the Agatha King and when he’d headed off to the station in the slow zone. When he’d gone down to the surface of Ilus. All the times he’d thought he was protecting her from his risks, this was what he’d been doing to her. “Wow,” he said. “I’m kind of an asshole.”
She opened her eyes in two bright slits and made a small smile. “Did I miss something?”
“Sort of. I just went someplace for a minute, and I’m back now. And so are you, which is really, really good.”
“Nice to be home.”
“But while you were… I mean while we were… Look, when I was back on Tycho, I was talking with Monica. And Fred. I mean I was talking to Fred about you and us and what I was entitled to know and why I thought all that. And Monica was talking about why I lied and whether what she did had any power and how it was ethical and responsible to use it. And I was thinking —”
Naomi raised her hand, palm out. Her forehead creased. “If you’re about to tell me you had an affair with Monica Stuart, this may not be the best time.”
“What? No. Of course not.”
“Good.”
“It’s just I’ve been thinking. About a lot of different things, really. And I wanted you to know that whatever you were doing and going through that you didn’t want me to be a part of? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m really curious, and I want to know. But whatever it was, it’s only my business if you want it to be my business.”
“All right,” she said, and closed her eyes again.
Holden stroked her hand. The knuckles were raw, and there was a bruise on her wrist.
“So when you say ‘all right’ —”
“I mean I missed you too, and I’m glad I’m back, and could you go get me a bulb of green tea or something?”
“Yes,” Holden said. “Yes, I can.”