17

Realization

"You love me?" Stephen asked, intellectually puzzled by Janet's revelation, even though his heart soared, his entire body flushed with a warmth he hadn't felt in years, and he felt a familiar flow of ecstasy, one which started months ago when they first met, and was becoming all the more frequent these days. "But you barely know me."

Given that she had been through the emotional wringer today, even just a few minutes ago, Janet's voice was remarkably calm as she asked "Stephen, do you remember what we spoke about the last time we were on this ship?" He had to think for a minute. There was a conversation about how she quickly got to know someone, how it had been a survival attribute of hers to determine trust from suspicion when it came to people. He was about to answer when she beat him to the punch. "I said at the time that I didn't need long to get a good idea of who a person is, that years of surviving on the surface below had honed my instincts about people."

Stephen nodded. "I remember it now."

"You also said at the time that I sure moved fast," she told him with a one-sided smile, which quickly disappeared beneath her solemn gaze. Stephen had been surprised, since at the time when he made that quip, he was sure she hadn't caught his meaning. "I was right about you then, and I've never been more sure about anything in my life now."

Without thinking, he reached forward and kissed her on the lips, and then immediately pulled back, hoping he hadn't set off some kind of trigger. He needn't have worried, as her face was placid, with the barest hint of a smile on her lips, one that was reflected in her eyes. Her arms, already embracing him in an intimate embrace, tightened ever so slightly. He realized then, despite knowing her only a few months, that he knew her well enough to know he loved her too, even if there were times she could be infuriating with her hot-headedness. Instead of telling her, which would have been inappropriate given the way they were currently sitting with each other, he simply resorted to wrapping his arms around her waist again, pulling her gently closer to him and kissing her lips once more.

This time, she did not push back, and did not make any attempt to stop him, and within moments, their kiss had turned passionate, the heat within them rising quickly.

He had stopped them this time, pained by the look of hurt on her face as he did so. He did not push her back very far, only enough that they could talk, and he maintained his hold on her. "Can we talk about what happened earlier?"

With a deep sigh, Janet nodded. "I guess we should," she admitted.

"When I... Did what I did earlier..." Stephen felt himself unable to articulate what he wanted to say, in trying to avoid causing any upset. He wanted to avoid coming straight out and mentioning how he had started to explore her with his hands, and how it triggered a panic response, for fear of triggering another one.

Janet's head dropped slightly, and she rested it against Stephen's. "I was afraid of this happening," she said in an almost-whisper. "I've been worrying about it for weeks... That if we were going to start having fun together, I might be freaked out, and then you would see I was damaged goods."

Stephen was aghast. These words were literally out of the worst late 20th century attitudes to women and sex. Their attitudes to people having PTSD during sex, or to those who had even a cursory history of victimhood of any sex crime whatsoever, was to dismiss such people as damaged goods, as though they were property, as though they were only worth whatever fun their bodies could give to others. It was disgusting to Stephen as it had been to his parents, and to his friends, as Stephen would be sure it was to Helen, or to anyone else in civilized society were it to exist today. This was something he desperately wanted to set the record straight on.

"Janet," Stephen told her, maintaining eye contact. "I need you to understand something right now. You are not property. You are not goods, damaged or otherwise. You are a person-"

"Stephen, I know that," she protested weakly, though her heart wasn't really in it, he could tell.

"Then know this," he persisted. "Your worth to me is not defined by how you like to have sex, or whether you pushed me away in fright through something that happened long before you and I ever met." He stopped, holding her stare so that he could let those words sink in. "Your worth is far deeper than that. The only thing I would ever expect of you is to let me know what you feel safe doing... To set limits, and to let me know if you feel the need to step away for any reason. You have every right to expect me to immediately cool off if you panic and need us to stop whatever it is we are doing at any moment, and you have every right to expect me to treat you like a person, as someone who is desired and who desires in return. Whatever else you need, or whatever you want to give, all we need is to make sure we both understand each other, and most important of all, is that you feel safe around me. That's all that matters to me."

He meant every word he said.

The intense look she was giving him at that moment felt good. Somehow, he knew he had reached her at that deep core of her personality, and she understood his meaning. "And you are surprised I love you so fucking much?!"

His smile was one of confused joy. "It's only right, though, isn't it?"

Stephen noticed that Janet's face had suddenly streaked with more tears, even as she was smiling. The exasperated sigh she let loose as she impatiently wiped at her face again was endearing. "Fuck sake," she said, her tone frustrated. "I'm happier than I've ever been, and this is happening?!"

"It's because you're happy that this is happening."

She shook her head, letting out a shaky breath, almost laughing as she did so. "I don't think I'll ever understand."

That didn't matter to Stephen. He understood it well. In fact, with few exceptions, he was far more likely to shed tears at his happiest and most sentimental moments, like this one, than he ever was to do so at times of deep sorrow or crises. "Just go with it," he told her, pulling her back into a hug, which this time, she gracefully accepted, giving him a firm squeeze as she did. "There's always another time to talk about anything you'd like," he said, rather than try and ham-fist his way through the subject of her panic attack earlier. "Now's the time to just relax and rest."

"Will you stay with me for a little while?" She asked, her tone surprisingly playful.

Kissing the side of her head, he told her "As long as you'd like."