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This was always her favorite time of the day, a moment just for herself, with no interruptions, no politics, no innate journalist nagging her for a quote. It was just her on the slightly tilted roof, as the sun was setting, taking the sweltering Mumbai heat with it. Autumn always did bring the unbearable warmth with it, which she had never liked, even as a child.
Allowing her eyes to close as the sun disappeared in the sea, Chrisjen tried to let the tension disappear from her shoulders. It wasn’t that she hated being a public servant, she loved it more than her father had prepared her for, but at times it was more tiring than it was rewarding. These quiet moments to herself were almost always what helped her relax, despite Arjun’s eyeroll whenever he had found her asleep under the stars, mumbling something about falling to her death one day.
“Maa.” She frowned. That had sounded suspiciously like her son, but he was on the UNN Kobara. She had personally seen him off in Kathmandu for his three-month mission to stop a Belter threat to Earth. “You’re going to give dad a heart attack one day.”
Definitely Charanpal.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in space?” Chrisjen sat up, watching as her son, in full uniform, climbed through the window. Sometimes she found it hard to reconcile that the young boy who ran naked through the garden as Arjun chased him with a hose had turned into a marine, but watching him in uniform, the buttons practically shining, it made perfect sense. It was like he was made for it.
“Nice to see you too,” Charanpal said without any maliciousness, an easy grin playing on his lips. Chrisjen smiled as he wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. Her son was home. But something inside her ached, like this wasn’t right, like it wasn’t real. “We ran into some trouble in orbit of Luna, we needed to return to Earth for supplies and repairs. I’m going back up day after tomorrow.”
“Trouble? I didn’t hear anything.”
“You’re not supposed to know everything. Don’t worry about it. Just a few Belters with more ambition than equipment. It was close, but nothing we couldn’t handle.” Belters this close to Earth, she definitely should know that. Any threats to Earth and therefor her district was something she was supposed to know. She was supposed be told if her son’s life were in danger.
“Hmm.”
“I’m fine. Stop whatever gears you have grinding. For once don’t use your clout to dig up stuff you don’t need to know.” She rolled her eyes at him. He knew her too well, not well enough to realize that his little admonishment would not be enough to dig up every little detail until she knew exactly what happened and how close he had come to dying. Her contacts high up the UN chain had to be worth something.
Chrisjen was about to offer some witty retort, when something on his uniform caught her eye. Blood staining his uniform, holes appearing in the previously pristine fabric, a smell of gunfire in the air, the faint echoes of shouting on the wind. She felt her blood turn to ice. She couldn’t watch this. An image flashed through her mind of Charanpal, lifeless in a cold morgue.
“No, please,” she whispered. He was home, he was safe. This wasn’t happening.
“Maa?” He looked at her like there was nothing wrong, like he wasn’t dying in front of her eyes. In a futile attempt she pressed her hands to the gaping wound above his heart, his blood warm and wet against her skin. It felt so real, too real. Tears were forming in her eyes. She couldn’t watch her son die. Not like this.
“No.” She kept whispering it over and over again, like a mantra, like it would somehow stop the nightmare that was happening in front her. Charanpal couldn’t die here, not in the suburbs of Mumbai. He wasn’t supposed to die for another hundred years. He was supposed to grow old, have children and yell at them when they snuck out to wake up their grandmother who had fallen asleep on the roof after a long day.
“Ma’am.” A hand closed over her own, but it wasn’t Charanpal’s. It was different, smaller, but still familiar. The blood continued to flow and for a moment she watched almost mesmerized as it glistened in the moonlight, dripping between their fingers.
“Bobbie,” she breathed, panic gripping her heart. Her son had disappeared and she knew she ought to be worried about that, but watching the Martian marine look at her with a placating smile as she seemed to be bleeding out, bullet holes in her undersuit, the red of her blood contrasting with the silver fabric.
Fuck. No. Not her as well. Her hands were shaking even with Bobbie’s steadying grip. It didn’t make sense, to have her here at her home, in the soft light of the Mumbai skyline. She had never been here, would probably never be there. This wasn’t real, it couldn’t be, and yet she felt fear coursing through her veins. She wanted to call for help, shout for Arjun, but her voice died in her throat.
It felt like pulling high G’s, being unable to move, to breathe. She could only watch as Bobbe bled out in front of her. Without warning, Bobbie lunged forward, grabbed her shoulders and shook her hard.
“Chrisjen!”
She gasped, struggling against the tight grip as her surroundings turned into the gray quarters she shared with Bobbie on the Rocinante. Mumbai disappeared, but the marine stayed, leaning over her, hands on her shoulders. Her hair was a mess and her eyes wide, full of concern, but she was alright. There was no blood, no bullet holes, just mild panic in her voice as she repeated her name.
“I’m awake, you can stop fucking shaking me,” Chrisjen said, hating it that her voice betrayed the fear she had felt in her dream. She felt like her heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest. She needed to breathe, needed space. Bobbie’s skin was soft, warm and so very real when she grabbed her wrists to move her hands off her shoulders.
The deck was cold against her bare feet, but it was exactly what she needed to fully wake her up. It was easier to try and find some semblance of control with her back towards Bobbie, taking a few steps away from her. The image from her dream was burned onto her retinas, but when she looked down at her hands, they were clean, there was nothing on them, not her son’s blood, not Bobbie’s. She brought them up to cover her face and take a few calming breaths.
Her cheeks were wet. Crying in her sleep, fan-fucking-tastic. She hadn’t had a nightmare about her son in years, not one that vivid. The fact that had morphed into another person she cared about didn’t make it any easier. Already unsure of Cotyar survival, she couldn’t bare the thought of losing Bobbie as well.
“You were dreaming, I couldn’t wake you.” Bobbie’s voice seemed to be coming from a mile away. She sounded soothing, but unsure. Chrisjen could only imagine what she was thinking right now. She ran a hand through her hair, trying to find some semblance of composure.
“I…I get them too. Nightmares. Ganymede, well, you know the story. That fucked me up pretty well. Of course, the stubborn UN Deputy Undersecretary who interrogated me about it didn’t help.” Chrisjen whipped her head around and glared at Bobbie who held up her hands. “Sorry, bad joke. I guess, what I’m trying to say is, I’ll always wake you up, if you want me to. Maybe you can do the same for me?”
She didn’t even want to think about the horrors that filled Bobbie’s nightmares, her dead team, a nearly unstoppable enemy. Nodding, she sat down next to the Martian, close enough to let their arms touch, to be reassured by warmth of Bobbie’s skin.
“I’d like that.”