"And conversations require trust."
I look at the code on his screen. Weeks of careful, deliberate, invisible adjustments. He learned me the way he learnseverything. Completely. And the precision of it, the sheer volume of attention it represents, should feel like a violation.
It feels like being seen by someone who bothered to learn the language.
"I'm done testing," I say.
"I'm done hiding."
The words settle between us like code committed to a final build. No rollback. No version history to retreat to.
Tommy reaches into his desk drawer. Pulls out a small device, a hardware key, matte black and unremarkable.
"Full co-architect access," he says. "Administrative privileges equal to mine. Every system, every protocol, every encrypted partition in Echo Base. This is the highest clearance level I can grant, and I'm granting it to you permanently."
I stare at the key. "Tommy."
"This is the thing that defines me. My systems. My infrastructure. The thing I built from spare parts and stolen cable." He holds my gaze. "Giving you equal access is the biggest thing I have to offer, and I need you to understand that I'm not offering it because the mission requires it."
He steps closer. Close enough that his breath stirs the hair at my temple.
"I'm offering it because you deserve to stand beside me in this. Not behind me, not in front of me. Beside me. In everything."
I take the key. The weight of it is negligible. The weight of what it means could collapse a star.
Then I open my laptop. Navigate to the last encrypted partition I maintained. The final exit strategy. Contacts. Routes. Alternate identities. Everything a person needs to disappear when the institution they trusted decides they're expendable.
"Watch," I say.
I select the partition. My finger hovers over the delete key.
Tommy's eyes are on my screen, and his face is very still, and the expression on it is one I've never seen from him. Reverence. Not for the gesture. For the cost of it.
I press delete. The partition fragments, overwrites, erases. The progress bar fills. One hundred percent. Gone.
"That was my last door out," I say. "My insurance against every institution that's ever discarded me. I'm closing it. Not because you asked. Because I'm done running from the one place that proved I don't need to."
Tommy's hand finds my face. His palm is warm against my jaw, his thumb tracing the line of my cheekbone with a gentleness that doesn't match the calluses on his fingertips.
The calluses are from keyboards and pull-up bars, from years of building and years of hiding, and the texture of them against my skin is the most honest thing about him.
"Dar."
The way he says my name is different tonight. Stripped of the humor he uses as insulation. Empty of the deflection. Just my name, spoken by a man who has taken off every layer of protection he owns and is standing in front of me with nothing but the truth.
I kiss him.
Not hard. Not competitive. Not the collision of two people fighting for control.
Slow. Deliberate. My hands finding the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to the bed, feeling the weight of him settle over me with a care that makes my breath catch because Tommy handles me like I'm important and capable of shattering and he's not afraid of either.
His glasses are already off. His eyes stay open. So do mine.
"I want to see you," I whisper against his mouth. "All of you. No screens. No code. No metaphors."
His hands move to the hem of my shirt. Slowly. His fingers trail heat along my ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts through the thin fabric of my bra, and the contact sends a jolt straight through my core that I feel in my thighs, in my jaw, in the involuntary clench of my fingers against his shoulders.
The shirt goes over my head. His follows.
