“Myplace?” Julian echoes incredulously. His eyes, carefully monitoring the lines of Clarke’s body for a pain reaction, flick to her face. “My place is wherever the hell I decide it is.”
“Of course! Because the entire fucking universe revolves around you.”
Julian starts a sharp retort, but swallows it when he catches her wince as something pulls along her side. His free hand goes to her hip, the warmth and added pressure helping deepen the stretch in a way that doesn’t hurt. She shouldn’t be grateful thathe’s here, she shouldn’t be so comfortable under his hands, she shouldn’t keep letting him wedge the door farther open, but she does. She is. Doesn’t that mean something?
When he speaks again, he’s calmer than he has been this whole time. “I miss you, and I hurt you, and I’m sorry. I’m not willing to watch you walk away from me again. So whatever I have to do to earn your forgiveness, I’ll do it.”
It’s heartrendingly earnest. Clarke isn’t prepared for the tonal shift, and it cuts through what’s left of her shields. Her voice comes out fragile. “It’s not that easy.”
“I don’t need easy. I just need a chance. One more chance, Clarke. That’s it. Please.”
He’s hard to resist. And she wants to forgive him, she does—she lived alongside but without him for long enough to know she doesn’t want to do it again if she doesn’t absolutely have to—but it’s one thing when it’s just the two of them and another entirely once the whole solar system starts having opinions. “When Atreus tells people—”
“He won’t.” Julian helps Clarke straighten her knees out, then gets her to her feet. “Funny story about me overstepping—last time, I promise—I went back to him. Reminded him that he approached me, and it’s not a contract year for me, so that could look pretty bad for Provenance if anyone found out.”
Irritation takes a back seat to shock. “YouthreatenedAtreus Skordi?”
There’s an anti-poaching clause in FIC regulations. Team principals can talk only to pilots signed with other teams if their contacts are expiring at the end of the season. Everyone violates it, and everyone knows everyone violates it, but it’s not a good look to get caught in the act. And Provenance, in particular, hasa fastidiously cultivated reputation for staying above the squabbling.
Julian slides the door open. “Of course not. It was a perfectly friendly conversation. Diplomatic, even.”
“You. Diplomatic.”
He scowls. “Icanbe. I just choose not to, most of the time. It’s usually not worth it.”
Implying that in this case—because Clarke was on the line—itwasworth it. Affection seeps in through the cracks in her shields, and a sense of solace that Atreus will, at least for now, hold his tongue. She lets herself tiptoe back toward their banter, testing the waters. “You make PK’s life very difficult, don’t you?”
“I consider it a perk of the job.”
They walk slowly down the hall, sounds from the garage overlapping as the team packs up. Next weekend is a Martian race, too, and Elemental won’t return to Luna in between; the travel time is prohibitive. Instead, the team will move to the next site tomorrow and start working on repairs as soon as the paddock’s reconstructed.
Julian stops her with a hand on her elbow just before they round the corner that’ll put them in view of the garage. “When do you leave for Iani?”
“Tomorrow, late morning. Why?”
“Are you going to see a medic before then?”
Annoyance skitters over her skin. “Really? Wejusttalked about overstepping.”
“It’s not overstepping! It’s an offer. My private physician, in Olympic City. I trust her with everything. You could—if you don’t have a way to get what you need healthcare-wise, if you’reworried about—you could come back with me. Just for the night. You can see her first thing in the morning and still meet up with your team in the afternoon.”
Laughing jostles Clarke’s sore ribs, but she can’t help it. “Is this your famed diplomacy? Dancing around that I don’t like F0 Medical, and the Elemental medical staff…”
Julian’s eyes drop to Clarke’s forearm, to the chip under her skin. He brushes the thumb of the hand on her elbow over the offending spot. “Yeah. That. So, my physician?”
Clarke has been to Julian’s apartment in Olympic City, just a few hours from where they are now, several times before. The last time she was there…
A shiver runs up her spine, both at the memory and at the whisper of his thumb on her skin. She shakes her head. “It’ll just be inflammation and tenderness by tomorrow.”
“Great. I feel much better.”
Clarke gives him a hard look. “Don’t push. Not on this.”
Julian takes a deep breath. He lets go of the tension in his shoulders. He smiles. It’s small, but honest. “Okay. Not yet. I—Okay.”
They walk out into the garage together. Julian drops her elbow before they come in sight of the team, but Clarke feels the echo of his touch for hours.
29
