"You are more...foul than the Perstat carrion lizards. They at least have the carrion sparrows to pick their teeth clean."

A roar of laughter went up from around the fire. Despite the fact that it was his teeth Genesis was criticizing, K'aekniv guffawed along with everyone else, shaking his head and ignoring the rude gestures the other Easterners made in his direction. "But you didn't answer my question! Come, Snegurockha. Tell us. Whose tent do you like sharing the most?"

"And why, that's the important part," Slava added, elbowing K'aekniv and grinning.

Genesis was an interesting drunk.

It was the oddest thing Mirk had ever seen. Once they'd finished feasting, the Easterners had all assembled for a second toast to honor both Danu and Mordecai's engagement and that year's dead. Glasses were pulled out of coats and packs for the occasion, along with bottles to fill them. But rather than abstaining like he had for the previous toast, that time Genesis had silently summoned a glass of his own out of the shadows. It was the one time of year Genesis drank, K'aekniv had informed Mirk. He felt the need to show some respect for the dead in the way that the Easterners’ customs required.

When the bottle had reached Genesis, he'd poured himself a half-measure of the Easterners' pungent liquor, staring down into his glass with a strained expression as K'aekniv gave his rambling eulogy for the dead. And when everyone threw back their drink at K'aekniv's shout for good health and good luck, Genesis did the same. That was where their common ceremony ended — while the rest of the Easterners went in for another round, Genesis had meticulously cleaned his glass with a handkerchief and tucked it back into the shadows. Mirk assumed that so little liquor would do nothing to him, the same way that no pain blocker or sleeping draught ever seemed to touch Genesis's aches and fatigue.

And it didn't appear to, at least not immediately. Genesis had retired to the far end of one of the logs the Easterners had dragged over close to their fire, extracting one of his endless, black-bound grimoires from his coat pocket, and had settled in to read. But the Easterners had kept an eye on him, had kept asking him his opinion of this or that thing. Genesis dismissed every question with one word answers and a wave of his hand. Then, abruptly, upon being asked what he thought of the Cossacks Orest had brought back with him from the east, Genesis had closed his book and given the question an undue amount of serious consideration, blinking slowly down at his boots as he thought.

The blinking was what gave it away, K'aekniv had whispered to Mirk. The half-angel had invited Mirk to come sit against his inhumanly warm right side after noticing him shivering away back by Mordecai and Danu, who were wrapped up together under the same fur cloak. After another minute or two of silence, Genesis had finally said, without any trace of spite or malice, that the Cossacks smelled of horse no matter how often they bathed and were even worse drunks than the rest of the Easterners. But Genesis was willing to concede that they were serviceable fighters.

Everyone had laughed. Especially the Cossacks, who seemed to accept Genesis's judgment as a testament to their dedication to their traditions. Then the true interrogation had begun.

It wasn't as if Genesis was a habitual liar. He was always truthful, never one to lie to save face or spare feelings. But he'd learned over the years to be somewhat diplomatic, leaving out his more critical opinions, lest he get in a fight with every braggadocious man he came across. However, when Genesis was drunk — and how anyone Genesis's size could get drunk off a half-measure of liquor, Mirk hadn't the faintest idea — everything was laid bare. He spat up all of his opinions without reservation as he blinked owlishly against the light of the fire and drummed his long fingers against the cover of his book propped in his lap.

The Easterners were never mean about it. They never asked him any questions that were too personal, nor any that could reveal any of the men's more painful secrets. It all felt like an extension of their usual practice of hurling insults at one another when they got drunk to strengthen morale, with no one spared or treated any more harshly than the rest. Usually, Genesis considered it to be too frivolous of a custom to waste his time on. Now the commander was at the center of it all, everyone leaning forward and grinning as they awaited Genesis's verdict.

"What about Pasha?" K'aekniv prompted, when an answer to the question about the tent wasn't forthcoming. "He's pretty clean. Maybe you like sharing with him best?"

Genesis snorted. "He talks to himself all night. And clings to you...like a leech."

Snickers percolated among those who'd gathered around the fire as Pavel heaved a shrug and went red in the face. "I See things all night. Dreams make it worse."

"You once...informed me of the weather forecast for the...next five months. Day by day. For the entire night." Genesis considered this for a moment, frowning. "You were mostly incorrect. And you...clung more tightly every time you predicted rain."

"I hate the damp," Pavel grumbled, as those nearest him turned and grinned at him.

"How about Ilyusha?" Slava suggested.

Genesis shook his head without hesitation. "He smells strongly of cabbage and...takes my socks. I tire of it."

"Socks?" Pavel asked, trying to redeem himself by shooting Ilya a cool, skeptical look. "For what?"

But Ilya was unbothered, his usual pleasant demeanor unwavering. "He's got magic in them. The thread's so shiny...you can make so many things..."

Slava, sitting on K'aekniv's other side, gave him a pointed jab in the ribs. The half-angel cleared his throat and pestered Genesis again, though he didn't look over at the commander. Instead, he was leering at Mordecai. "So then it must be Mordka, eh? He's the only one left."

The hopeful expression that'd appeared on Mordecai's face vanished as soon as Genesis answered, with another curt shake of his head. "No. He is...possibly the worst. He either moans for his...grandmother all night while crying...or begs you to embrace him like his wife. Also while crying." Genesis paused. "Future wife. However, he decided she would take this position in his life...ten years and seven months ago, and has not relented since. It is a matter of...intense preoccupation for him. That manifests in constant chatter and an...undue amount of self-obligation while asleep. It is intolerable. I am hopeful all of it will cease now that the issue is settled. As it were."

Mirk clapped a hand over his mouth, unable to keep from laughing despite how crude the revelation was. The Easterners all stared at him, confused. Apparently the euphemism Genesis had tactfully chosen wasn't familiar to them. Since Danu only looked and felt mildly annoyed, her exasperation tempered by the revelation that Mordecai had been steadfastly devoted to the cause of winning her affections for a full decade, Mirk elected to satisfy the Easterners' curiosity. He looked away from the crowd as he raised his hand, making an obscene gesture that was fairly universal.

The Easterners exploded into laughter. Mordecai went alarmingly red, turning to face Danu with a frantic, apologetic wave of his arms. "I'm sorry, Danny! I'm a man! You don't get to say when that happens! And at least it was you?"

"You're hopeless," Danu replied, shaking her head. But she didn't move to get up either, even though there were now other healers from the Twentieth around she could have abandoned Mordecai in favor of. A fight had broken out between the men of the First and the Second and Emir had dispatched a team to handle the aftermath.

K'aekniv decided to have mercy on Mordecai too, turning the focus of Genesis's annoyance back on himself. "If it's none of them, then it has to be me, yes?"

Genesis brooded over this for a time, continuing to drum his fingers on the cover of his book. The shadows moved along with them, dancing and leaping behind the commander at the very edge of the ring of light cast by the fire they were all gathered around. "You are terrible. Your feathers are...filthy. You never remove your boots. You snore. You...manhandle me in your sleep. However. Tactically speaking, you are the best line of defense against a...surprise assault. Were I to...drag you on top of me in the event of an...unexpected engagement, doubtlessly no one would find me. Thus, from a strategic perspective, you are the most rational preferred choice."

The commander paused, frowning. He did that more often when he was intoxicated, Mirk noticed, just as he seemed to lose the ability to shorten his words. Usually the opinion he chose to divulge after a lengthier pause was particularly sensitive. "Additionally, you are quite warm. Which is also essential in...adverse conditions."

All of Genesis's criticisms and the snickers they drew out of his comrades meant nothing to K'aekniv in light of Genesis's admission that he preferred his company over that of the rest of his officers. K'aekniv heaved a wistful sigh, draining the remainder of the bottle he'd been working on for the last half hour as a smile spread across his face. "Ah, you're my favorite too, Snegurockha. You're a bony bastard, true, and maybe you only want me to stay warm, but that's a kind of love, yes?"

Scowling across the fire at K'aekniv, Genesis crossed his legs, shifting his book onto his knee. "I do not understand your reasoning."

"Never mind. Too bad for you, I'm not giving you my wing to hide under tonight," K'aekniv said, catching sight of a cluster of shapely figures making their way into the second clearing from the direction of the track through the woods. As Danu had predicted, a group of Fatima's ladies had snuck through the transporter, there to offer the K'maneda's fighting men entertainment and companionship. For a reasonable price. K'aekniv, Mirk could sense, was determined to get a sleeping partner that night who wasn't liable to knife him between the ribs if he tried to embrace them.

"Are you good, Mirgosha?" K'aekniv asked him, putting one giant palm on the crown of his head for a moment to grab his attention. "You should go back to the City, I think. A place like this isn't so good for someone with your kind of head magic at night."

Mirk nodded. "Things seem to be ending anyway. But thank you for having me, Niv."

K'aekniv patted his head a final time before hauling himself to his feet, stretching his arms high above his head and shaking out his wings. "You're always welcome with us. You make things more fun! And anyway, none of us would know half the shit Snegurochka says without someone here to tell us what he means with all his stupid long words." He ambled off toward the women who were setting up shop at the edge of the clearing, making a show of forcing more of his magic back into his wings to make them glow more brightly than usual. The extra light more or less made up for the dismal condition of his feathers.

Sighing, Mirk took a sip from his own nearly empty bottle. The Easterners were fun to be around, even if they were also a little strange. They had a way of approaching life that appealed to Mirk. Though they were always ready to complain about the difficult life they'd chosen, they also never hesitated to take full advantage of all the small delights they could find within the drudgery of mercenary life. Mirk wished he could take such a clear-headed approach to his troubles; he longed to be able to let go of all of his responsibilities and enjoy himself without always thinking of his family's reputation and what sort of impression he was making. His family's ledgers seemed far less appealing than the freedoms of a simple life. But Mirk supposed that was easy for someone who had always had those ledgers to draw on to say, and much harder to live out in fact.

K'aekniv did have a point about him being better off in the City, however. It was bitterly cold in the forest. Not as cold as it'd been in the City a few weeks ago, but at least he'd had thick stone walls between himself and the elements then. Even if the trip back through the transporter to the City made Mirk throw up the feast he'd had with the rest in honor of Danu and Mordecai's wedding, it was better than freezing solid out in the woods and coming down with a cold. Mirk got to his feet, finishing his bottle before going to set it down by the rest of that evening's empties. Then he pulled his cloak tight around himself and started making his way through the gloom and the dispersing crowd around the fire toward the path to the transporter.

"...Mirk. A moment."

Surprised, Mirk lifted his head and looked back at Genesis. He was still perched on the end of the log furthest from the fire, staring at him, blinking slowly as he thought. The blinking really was disconcerting. Genesis hardly ever blinked, not when he was in a normal mood. Now he was doing it constantly, like a contented cat. Mirk pushed the association quickly out of mind. "Yes, messire?"

"It would be...a trouble for you to return to the City, correct? Being transported so many miles in a...short span of time will...make you ill."

Mirk shrugged. "It's not too bad, messire. Methinks it'd be better if I got used to it. Besides, I didn't bring anything to sleep in. And...well." Mirk gestured off at the Easterners — most of the ones he would have felt comfortable sharing a tent and a sleeping roll with were well on their way to finding more pleasurable companions for the evening than him.

Genesis seemed disapproving of the Easterners' tastes, but evidently didn't find them worth commenting on. "I would take you back myself, however, it is...disrespectful to leave the dead before the bodies are...fully consumed. Also, I am...indisposed. At present."

Unable to keep from chuckling under his breath, Mirk shrugged again. "It's kind of you to let them have a little fun with you. You know it's just their way of showing they appreciate you, non?"

"Irrelevant," Genesis said with a sweeping gesture of his left hand, while he tucked his book back inside the breast pocket of his coat with his right. "In any case. I anticipated this turn of events and made efforts to...prepare for them. Should you be...positively disposed toward it, you may pass the night with me. If you prefer."

Mirk knew he shouldn't. The temptation to see what he could get away with, to indulge his dark thoughts, would be high in such cramped quarters, especially when Genesis was being so much more open than he usually was."It's very kind of you to offer, messire, but I don't want to be a bother."

Genesis considered this for a long time, like he seemed to do in response to everything when he was drunk. He rose to his feet in an uncannily quick rush of blackness that put a lump in Mirk's throat. "I am...unbothered."

"Euh...well...if you're sure..."

Mirk waffled about uselessly as, without further comment, Genesis went about assembling the tent he dragged out of the shadows. It wasn't terribly big, at least from the outside. Genesis chose a place far away from the others’ tents to pitch it, at the very edge of the clearing, beside a giant pine with thick boughs that'd prevented the snow from piling too deep beneath it. As Mirk had anticipated, Genesis completed the whole process without lifting a finger. Instead, he stood back and watched fixedly as the shadows did it for him. They seemed off that night, just like their master. Usually, the shadows had a creeping, deliberate air about them. That night, they did their work with playful flourishes that weren't ordinarily a part of their deadly repertoire.

Once the tent was assembled, Genesis went to its front flap — he'd practically have to crawl to get into it — and began the laborious process of taking off his boots. Despite being drunk, Genesis was capable of standing on one leg indefinitely once he'd removed the right one and had moved on to the left. Mirk would have fallen over in a second or two, even if he hadn't been tipsy. Genesis didn't look back at Mirk once he'd unlaced and unbuckled his lefthand boot and moved to enter the tent, to have something clean and dry to put his stockinged foot down on. "If you decide to remain...remove your shoes. The interior is clean."

With his final missive delivered, Genesis disappeared into the tent. Mostly. His left leg hung outside just long enough for him to remove his second boot. And for him to arrange them neatly beside the flap.

Mirk wrung his hands behind his back, staring at Genesis's boots. It was the point of no return. He could open the flap just long enough to call out an apology, then hurry off back through the woods to the transporter and his own bed. Or he could venture into the tent and come face to face once more with the challenges and opportunities posed by his unnatural desires. The sensible thing to do would be to go back. Two drunk men sharing such a small space hardly ever ended well, even in the best of circumstances.

Quickly, Mirk worked his way out of his shoes, leaving them in a heap beside Genesis's immaculate boots, and ducked into the tent. It was pitch black inside. He fumbled for the magelight strung on the cord around his wrist.

Just as Mirk had suspected, the tent was larger on the inside than it should have been. It wasn't palatial, but at least its roof was pitched high enough that Genesis wouldn't have to crawl around on his hands and knees inside, long enough to accommodate Genesis's height when lying down and wide enough not to cramp K'aekniv's wings. Mirk imagined that was the whole point of the tent: if Genesis was going to be forced to share a space with K'aekniv, at least he'd be doing it in a tidy, well-magicked place rather than underneath whatever cast off bit of sackcloth K'aekniv deemed good enough to serve as shelter in the wilderness.

There was something on the floor that could pass for a rug, though its pile was thin and unforgiving. But there was little else inside the tent other than a small trunk that doubtlessly contained Genesis's collection of cleaning supplies and spare uniforms. The uniform Genesis had worn to the ceremony and his coat were neatly folded on top of it. Though it hadn’t felt like Mirk had spent a long time dithering outside the tent, Genesis had already changed into his odd, heavy sleeping clothes and tucked himself into his bedroll. He was lying in the same position he always did when he tried and failed to sleep: flat on his back, the blanket pulled up only to the midpoint of his chest, his arms and hands left exposed and rigid at his sides. Ready to leap back to his feet, but hardly ready to get a good night's rest. Though he was still blinking too much for Mirk's liking.

Mirk hesitated. He hadn't brought anything to sleep in; he hadn't been planning on spending the night in the forest. "Euh...I didn't..."

For once, Genesis was perceptive enough to pick up on things without having them explained to him. He lifted one hand to make a slight, dismissive gesture. "Removal of your outermost garments will...suffice." He paused, frowning up at nothing. "It is better than K'aekniv. Anything...is better than K'aekniv."

Despite the situation, Mirk couldn't keep from laughing as he unfastened his cloak and did his best to fold it, leaving it near the flap rather than putting it near Genesis's still-pristine clothes atop the trunk. "You said he never takes off his boots."

"And yet...he removes everything else."

That drew a real laugh out of Mirk, some of the tension going out of him as he pulled his robes off over his head, leaving himself in nothing but his braies and chemise. His unnatural longings aside, Mirk doubted he'd ever work up the nerve to do anything as shocking as lying on top of Genesis naked like K'aekniv probably did. "But you still said he was the best to share a tent with, messire."

Genesis mulled this over as Mirk hunched beside Genesis's bedroll, considering his own options. There was only one pillow, one blanket. But Genesis was so thin that he took up less than half of each, his broad shoulders aside. K'aekniv must have brought his own things when he and Genesis were forced to share. That or K'aekniv was always so hot he never bothered carrying around blankets.

"I am accustomed to him," Genesis finally said, while Mirk was still battling with himself over what to do. "I only had...five months and two weeks to myself before K'aekniv and the others came to the City. Then Senkov forced me to be with him. K'aekniv has always been the same. He is...odious, but predictable."

"I'm sure he's just trying to be nice. You're always so cold, after all. And he’s very, euh, warm."

"All of your...touching rituals were foreign to me. At the time. I responded to them by attempting to take back my space with force. K'aekniv told me this was unacceptable. So he...made me learn to accept them. To a degree. He claimed that if I was more...normal...others would listen to me with less reluctance. They would not...be afraid. I believe he was incorrect."

Sighing, Mirk got down on his knees and lifted the edge of Genesis's blanket, then eased down onto his side next to him, leaving Genesis as much space as he could. Then he tapped off his magelight, blinking hard against the dark. "Methinks it just takes people a little longer to get to know you than it does everyone else, messire. No one's afraid of you. I'm not, anyway."

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Despite the rug on the floor, the ground beneath it was hard and cold. Mirk wouldn't be getting much sleep, even though he'd drunk enough of the Easterners' homebrew liquor to have ordinarily made him pass out the instant he settled down.

Behind him, Mirk heard Genesis sigh again. "You will not...sleep in that position."

"It's fine, messire. I don't--"

"As I said. I am unbothered." Again, Genesis paused. "Come…here. If you wish."

Hesitantly, Mirk turned onto his back, leaving them pressed shoulder to shoulder. "I don't mean to be cold. It's only hard to tell with you, since I can't feel anything."

"I am making the appropriate gesture. No one...is ever perceptive enough to notice."

Mirk shoved himself up onto one elbow, tapping his magelight on again and looking down at Genesis. He didn't have the faintest clue what the commander was talking about. Genesis looked the same as always: blanket neatly folded up, his arms still stiff at his sides, staring up at the ceiling. Well. Staring at him, now that he'd noticed Mirk looking at him. "I'm afraid I don't really see anything different..."

Genesis sighed, adjusting his posture slightly. He made it a point to lay his hands perfectly flat on the blanket, palms up, then craned his neck to one side.

Mirk still felt lost. "I don't know what that means, Genesis."

"This is...c'ktac position. One leaves all...critical points exposed to convey that one is....not a threat. And accepting of closeness."

That was why it didn't make any sense. The "appropriate gesture" was yet another relic of Genesis's strange birth culture, the one nobody understood but him. And that Genesis never felt the need to explain. On top of that, Genesis had been making the gesture subtly before, the turn to his neck and wrists too slight to notice. "It would help me if you explained your gestures instead of just doing them and assuming I'll know what you mean. You know I can't feel you, messire."

"I thought the meaning of this one was obvious. Apparently I was...incorrect."

"I suppose it does make sense," Mirk said, as he tapped his magelight back off and settled in to try to sleep once more. "In an...euh...combative sort of way."

He really should leave Genesis alone and try to sleep. But since the commander was being so much more talkative than usual, Mirk felt the urge to question him a little longer. Genesis hardly ever revealed anything about the way he'd been raised. Perhaps if he understood more of it, they could all get along better. There wasn't anything underhanded in that. It was a matter of trying to understand a friend better, just like he'd questioned K'aekniv and the other Easterners on all of their odd traditions. "Are all of our gestures so strange to you?" Mirk asked Genesis. "Do your people not hug? Or kiss?"

The second question was out of his mouth before he could think to stop his curiosity from going too far. Mirk cringed at the darkness above him, scolding himself mentally as he waited for Genesis to reply.

"Those are not foreign gestures. The...process and context are different, however. One does not...simply walk up to any person and embrace them without question."

"People don't do that here either. Methinks maybe you just don't understand how they ask. Just like I didn't know you were doing...euh...ca..."

"C'ktac position."

"Yes, that."

Genesis was silent for a time. But he continued before Mirk muster up the courage to ask him anything further. "The gestures you named are...reserved for one's c'aytka. Or someone who has...returned c'ktac and been negotiated with. Once the arrangement has been...agreed upon, a second negotiation is not necessary. But it is still...polite to perform c'ktac first to confirm that they are...inclined toward closeness at the present moment."

Mirk was losing track of Genesis’s explanation — he really was too tipsy to be navigating the finer details of Genesis's complex birth culture. But Mirk felt it'd be rude to dismiss him when he was being so open about how he understood the world for once. That aside, Mirk had his own reasons to be curious about the way Genesis understood relationships. Selfish ones. "C'a...euh...is that first word what you call the person you're married to in your language?"

"Marriage...as you people practice it...did not exist in the ancient K'maneda. But it would be the closest concept you are familiar with."

"No one got married? How did you all have children? Or start a household?"

"All of the K'maneda lived in the City. You are...aware of housing operates there. You simply...shared a space and your possessions. Upon negotiation. As for children...they did not live with those who birthed them. They lived in the children's home and were...cared for by those who were to old to go on contract. Or not inclined toward it. Those who birthed a child...were not as important to them as their nis'yk. One cannot choose...who one is born of. One chooses their nis'yk."

Mirk struggled to wrap his head around the details, all the words he couldn't pronounce and could only tell apart by whether they began with a hiss or a click. "So...these kay...euh..kay-ka..."

"C'aytka."

"They aren't like husband and wife? They didn't have children together?"

"C'aytka...is separate from children. C'aytka can be negotiated with whomever one wishes. Children may or may not be a part. As...children are not a necessary part of the arrangement, unlike your...marriages. Reproduction...in the strict sense...may be impossible between c'aytka. But that does not make it...not c'aytka."

Mirk's heart leapt into his throat. It was difficult for him to keep track of the conversation, but he had an inkling of what Genesis was getting at. Still, he felt the need to be careful. To not jump to conclusions that could reveal the darkness lurking inside of him. "Really? I hadn't expected your people to be so forgiving. Barren women here have such a hard time of things..."

Genesis made a hissing noise — Mirk thought it might be one of frustration. "Women and men...as you understand it...did not exist in the ancient K'amenda either. There always were...differences in physical form. But these were irrelevant. Both in terms of...what tasks one could perform, and who could be one's c'aytka."

"Then...euh...how did one decide...?"

"You negotiated," Genesis said, simply. "With...whomever was open to it. Although there was a preference for...a t'ksyn to be with a cys'kat."

"Euh...um..."

"They are dispositions. Roughly translated...one who attacks, and one who defends. Or one who moves, and one who thinks, when...translated on the second level. The third and fourth are too...abstract to explain in English. Regardless. One's physical form is irrelevant to one's...disposition."

Mirk still felt like he had to be missing something important, something that Genesis considered too elementary to explain. But if he had understood things correctly, Mirk got the distinct impression that Genesis would be more offended by someone who chose not to take off their shoes indoors than by the thought of a man who preferred the company of other men. "I see..."

Genesis sighed again. That time, Mirk was certain: the commander was frustrated. Though it seemed like it was more at himself than anything else. "One's disposition is a...process. I was told by my nis'yk that it is better for someone with our particular magic to be...balanced. Neither t'ksyn nor cys'kat. Yet he could never overcome his...inclination toward t'ksyn. Nor can I...the tendency toward cys'kat."

That Genesis would call himself that made sense to Mirk, if he remembered the commander's explanation of the foreign words the right way around. Genesis was always thinking, always watching, always waiting for some unspoken signal to move. "Is it a bad thing to be one or the other?"

"No. There are strengths and weaknesses to both. They are merely...different approaches toward living. But balance is essential. When everything else is…chaos."

"It all sounds very complicated, messire. Methinks I couldn't make sense out of all of it. And I'm not sure what way I'd take, really. There's good things to both, like you said."

That time, Genesis responded without hesitation. "You are t'ksyn."

"I...what?"

"When there is a decision...you do not think. You move. You have...your belief in what is the correct path to take. No amount of thinking...will convince you otherwise."

Mirk sighed, lifting his hands and pressing the heels of them into his eyes, trying to force the certainty Genesis claimed he possessed into his skull. At that moment, he didn't feel certain of anything, least of all what he was doing discussing philosophy half-drunk after a day spent mourning the men he and the other healers couldn't save. Or of what bearing Genesis's strange beliefs had on the problem that'd been plaguing him ever since he'd plunged headlong into autumn and damnation. They shouldn't have any bearing on what he did, rightly. Genesis had his beliefs, and he had his. And his said that turning over in the bedroll and embracing Genesis like he wanted to wasn't the correct path to take, as Genesis put it.

Before Mirk could find any words to explain himself, Genesis spoke again. "Nevertheless, this is all...irrelevant. My nis'yk prepared me for a world that no longer exists. I must adapt to your way of thinking. Regardless of my...opinions on the matter."

Despite his own racing thoughts, Mirk couldn't help but feel bad for Genesis. He still felt out-of-sorts trying to navigate all the customs the English favored. And the English were far closer to the French than they were to the ancient K'maneda. Genesis must have felt impossibly lost as a child, cast out into a world he didn't understand. "I'm sorry, Genesis. Methinks there isn't much I can do to help."

Genesis was silent for a few long moments. Then he spoke again, in a voice that was low and hissing and dark. "...teach me."

"Euh...what?"

"I...care little for what most people think of my ideas. However. I wish...to learn. To be a better...friend. If that is the proper term. K'aekniv and the rest are...transparent. They always demand what they want of you. I will not always comply, as I have...every right to refuse. But in situations where it is...crucial to show support, I wish to be able to do so. I suspect there are some...touching rituals involved that I do not understand."

Mirk struggled to think of a response, fighting against all the dark thoughts that instantly sprung to the front of his mind. Genesis had no context to understand what was right and wrong, aside from what he'd observed from the Easterners. And though they were always fighting with one another, they were also much more ready to embrace and kiss than the restrained way that the English mages he'd met behaved. Especially K'aekniv, who seemed to communicate only through touch when he was upset or trying to help someone else who was having a hard time.

With that in mind, Genesis probably wouldn't think it odd to embrace someone who was struggling, even if they were a man. K'aekniv did it, after all, showering kisses on all his friends he hadn't seen in a long time, despite their complaining about K'aekniv being too old-fashioned. But it wouldn't mean the same thing coming from him as it did coming from K’aekniv.

That aside, the smacking, forceful kisses K'aekniv inflicted on his friends wasn't the sort Mirk had in mind. He wanted tenderness, gentleness paired with the deliberateness that characterized everything Genesis did. That careful precision that still put a tremble in Mirk for some reason, especially when it was directed toward him.

Squeezing his eyes shut against the dark, Mirk bit his lip. He had to stop. He had to be honest. At least as honest as he could be. It wasn't as if he was going to act on his impulses anyway, no matter what Genesis's customs said about them. And no matter what Genesis thought about two men being together theoretically, Mirk knew that he was likely to be dumbfounded by the proposition if he was confronted with it in real life. Especially coming from him. "You already are a good friend, messire," Mirk said, quietly. "You don't have to do anything else."

"...is that so?"

"I wouldn't want you to be any different. Besides, I know you don't like it when people touch you. Methinks it's only right to respect that. You respect all my things, even when you think they're silly."

Again, Genesis fell silent as he mulled this over. "I...do not dislike closeness, if it is from an appropriate person. I am only unaccustomed to it. These…touching rituals weren't common between a nis'yk and their syk'ca. Regardless, I only met with my nis'yk every fifth day, once I became capable of caring for myself. And there was no one else. In my rooms."

"Oh? When was that?" Mirk thought Genesis had said that he’d come to the City when he was young. But he wasn't certain what Genesis considered young.

"Once one is...able to read the old script, one can care for themselves. As one can then learn anything they need themselves, if they are provided with the...proper materials. I was...four years, seven months when I mastered the old script."

Instinctively, Mirk tapped his magelight back on as he rose up onto his elbow again, looking down into Genesis's face. His expression was blank, without any hint of strain that always came over Genesis when he was trying to keep some strong emotion to himself. But Mirk was certain that even Genesis would recognize the appalled look on his own face. "That's horrible!"

Genesis sighed. "This is what I knew."

"Who would do that to a child? Leaving them alone for days when they're only five...how long were you kept like that? Locked up alone?"

"Until I was...nine years, ten months."

Mirk couldn't help himself. He flopped back down on his side, facing Genesis that time, and wrapped his arms around him, embracing him tightly. "That's not right, Genesis. I'm so sorry."

Judging by the tone of his voice, Genesis was genuinely confused by his reaction. "I was not harmed. The rooms were comfortable. I had...many books. I wished to return there for a long time after I left."

"But you were all alone!"

"There are...worse things."

Reflexively, Mirk rubbed at Genesis's back with the hand he'd shoved underneath his thin frame, despite the commander showing no sign of distress. What could be worse than being left utterly alone for days, expected to carry on without the help of a mother's warmth or a father's guiding hand? He'd sobbed for weeks after his mother had left him at the abbey, even with all the brothers and sisters there to support him and his hellhound Tournesol to wallow in bed with. And he'd been nine then, as old as Genesis was when he'd left whatever prison he'd been in. Mirk shuddered to think of what Genesis must have endured afterwards to make being shut up alone preferable to being around other people. "I'm sorry, messire," Mirk said, his face pressed against his bony shoulder. "This is silly. I'm more upset over it than you are..."

"Yes. You are upset. This is...exactly my point. I am supposed to be doing something about it. Some...touching ritual. Like you're doing."

Mirk's hand froze on Genesis's back. Then he laughed, shaking his head. "It's fine. But I suppose, if it'd make you feel better..."

He allowed himself to think back to when things had been simpler, easier. When he'd assumed that his desire to be close to Genesis was nothing more than the instinctual urge to help a friend who was lost and bewildered by the world. "Do you remember when you were sick? Before the ball at Madame Beaumont's? We've sort of been through this already."

"I was uncertain whether or not those gestures were...specific to times of illness."

"They're not. The...euh, hair petting was nice. But, really, you can do whatever you want, Genesis. I'm not like you. But not in a way that's good or bad. Just different, like those, euh, dispositions you were talking about before. You can do whatever you want and I won't mind." More than not mind: he would savor the memory of any shred of closeness he got, would keep it locked up tight in his heart to remember with fondness when he felt lost and alone.

"...anywhere."

Mirk nodded against his shoulder. "Really, I should be the one asking you what's best. Isn't that what you said your people did? Some kind of negotiation? Methinks that's the word you used..."

"Technically, you did not...return c'ktac. But I assumed you agreed. Considering."

"I do."

Genesis paused yet again to think the matter over. Mirk lifted his head just far enough to be able to see his expression in the glow of the magelight around his wrist. While Genesis had been completely blank while recounting the story of his childhood, the question of what sort of touching he'd prefer to allow seemed to be causing him more trouble. His expression was strained, his eyebrows lowered. And he was still blinking more often than he usually did. "You may...also touch me however you prefer. If there is something...objectionable, I assume you would not be opposed to renegotiation."

"Bien sûr, messire."

Genesis made a hissing noise through his teeth, low and tinged with something like a growl. "I am still unfamiliar with how...friends touch. Beyond K'aekniv's customs."

Mirk let his head fall back on Genesis's shoulder, laughing softly. "He is a little friendlier than most people, maybe. But it's mostly the same."

"I do appreciate the warmth," Genesis said, after another pause. "Although you are not as...overwhelming as he is. And you do not smell. In an...objectionable way."

"But I do smell, though?" Mirk asked, despite knowing full well he probably wouldn't like Genesis’s answer, considering what an excruciatingly honest mood the commander was in.

"Everything smells. Everyone...smells. Some are tolerable, others are not. You smell of camomile and liquor. Whichever...sweet smelling one you prefer, not the one K'aekniv and the rest drink. That is foul."

Mirk had to resist the urge to sniff his chemise to confirm Genesis's judgment. "Well, as long as it doesn't bother you, I suppose it doesn't matter. If everything smells."

"However, I would be...appreciative if you dispensed with the magelight. I cannot focus long enough to...compensate for the brightness."

That explained the blinking. Mirk lifted his hand to tap the magelight off. Under the cover of darkness, Mirk found it easier to settle his hand back down where he wanted to, in the middle of Genesis's chest. Over his heart. There was nothing untoward in that, was there?

That aside, all the talk of Genesis's grim childhood had chased most of the dark thoughts from Mirk's mind. All Mirk wanted to offer Genesis then was comfort. Reassurance that there were things out in the world worth enduring its trials for, even if a solitary life consisting of nothing but silence and books might have been easier. "You did good work today, Genesis. With your new company, and with the rest. I can see why it's hard for you to be...hmm, understanding? Warm? But you've been very kind to everyone. And methinks they can all tell you mean well."

"I do not require your reassurance."

"I'm sure you don't. But I like it when someone notices that I've been working hard at something difficult."

"I...see."

"Tiens," Mirk said as he pressed himself closer against Genesis's side, to make sure he wasn't leaving any gaps in the bedclothes that cold air could get through. And to better savor the comfort of being close to him. "Try to get some sleep. This isn't too much, is it?"

"...no."

Mirk considered his position, weighing his desire to comfort Genesis against his own longing to be close to him. He settled for a half measure. Mirk shifted his cheek on Genesis's shoulder so that he could rest his forehead against the cool curve of his neck. It was probably his imagination, some delusion brought on by a combination of drink and desperation, but Mirk felt like his head fit perfectly there. And it made it easier for him to fully appreciate the steadiness of Genesis's body under his hand and against his forehead, his inhumanly slow heartbeat and his even slower breathing.

He hadn't been expecting Genesis to do anything in return. But he felt Genesis shift, sliding the arm that Mirk had ended up lying on top of out from underneath him. A moment later, Mirk felt his fingers in his hair, stroking it lightly. Deliberately. Genesis was always so careful. Like he was convinced that a gesture he made out of a desire to comfort someone could easily turn into something that'd hurt them instead.

It made Mirk want to reassure him. He lifted the hand he'd placed over his heart, feeling around at Genesis's side until he found his other hand where it always was, down at his side. Mirk clasped it in his own, trying to press some extra warmth into his slender, icy fingers. But, as always, his efforts didn't seem to do much good.

For once, Genesis didn't keep quiet at this. He remarked on it in a voice that Mirk thought had a bit of warmth to it, even if his fingers didn't. Or maybe the liquor was playing tricks on him. "This," Genesis said, squeezing Mirk's hand, slightly, "was also a common gesture among the K'maneda. But it was not as...easily given. As it has the potential to spread disease. But...among the ancient K'maneda, there were three forms. Not one. With...three words."

First, Genesis held Mirk's hand loosely in his own. "Clasp."

Then his hand shifted, and he laced their fingers together. "Treaty."

Finally, very slowly, Genesis moved his thumb lightly over Mirk's knuckles. "Sweep. As...one does a floor. Roughly translated."

Mirk sighed, relaxing further against Genesis's side. "That's nice. At least your...euh, person held your hand when he visited."

"He did not. I...read of it in the book of gestures."

Though Mirk's heart ached at this, at knowing Genesis understood closeness from reading about it in books instead of experiencing it himself, he was too tired and distracted to dwell on it for long. The combination of feelings, of having Genesis both stroking his hair and the back of his hand, made something inside Mirk feel wobbly, like the frozen ground beneath him was churning. He could feel himself starting to drift off under its influence. "What is touching hair called?"

"There is no specific word for...this," Genesis said, moving his hand more firmly through Mirk's hair. "The book said that hair touching was...not preferred. As hair is more difficult to keep clean than one's hands."

"I don't mind it."

"I...see that."

What did Genesis see, truly? What did he understand, and how did he understand it? How was he slotted into the complex web of relations Genesis had described to them, with all their clacking names that Mirk was already forgetting? Was there some relationship in that long-forgotten world of his that fit theirs better than the paltry selection Mirk knew of? Something more complex than friends, something closer, but not as close as lovers?

Mirk had half a mind to ask Genesis while the commander was still under the influence of that paltry half-shot of liquor he'd drank earlier in the night. But Mirk decided to let it go, instead yielding to the sleepiness that being touched in such a gentle way was dragging him fast down into.

Whatever they had, it was better than nothing. And that was good enough for him.