“Danya… Danya…?”
It was the best way in the world to wake up, so why did it always make me feel like I wanted to sleep a little longer?
I took her delicate wrist as gingerly as if I were picking up a porcelain doll. Being careful not to bend it, I tried to bury myself deeper in the sheets.
“Nyet, Danya. It’s morning!” Stasia giggled and briefly intertwined her fingers with mine. Then, like a cat, she slipped away.
The carpet was soft. The bed was beautiful. Every inch of the space couldn’t have been more different from the kvartira she’d been in before.
Actually, there were three things that hadn’t changed. Me, her, and the little samovar.
“Morning comes every damn day,” I said. “Just like the milk delivery at noon. Nothing unusual or surprising about it.”
“You think? You only get to see the morning sun once each day. Doesn’t that make it special?”
As always, Stasia was right. I couldn’t think of one time she had ever been wrong.
With her pale skin wrapped in equally white sheets, she smiled and opened the curtains. In the sunlight that filtered through the window, past the leaden clouds and the snow, her hair seemed to glow silver.
She was no longer the scrawny little girl she’d once been; she’d kept her features and her grace, but now she was a Venus, a goddess of beauty. Now I could touch her almost anywhere, except maybe her hips, and not feel bones.
When I brushed her abdomen with my rough fingers, she squirmed like a kitten, and even that made me feel a bit apologetic somehow.
Hmm… A goddess of beauty? Even I thought that was a tired expression. Shit. Could I come up with something else?
“There was that… What was it? The thing where a swan turns into a beautiful woman. It’s famous, right? You performed it once…”
“Swan Lake?” Stasia murmured. “You mean back when I was sixteen?”
“Yeah, that’s it.” I nodded. “That was really pretty.”
“Aw, spasibki <thanks>.” Stasia grinned and went over to the samovar with steps that could just as well have been dancing. She looked even lighter on her feet than usual, in a better mood—and if that was because of what I’d said, well, I would like that.
She could perform anything. Ballet, opera, stuff I hardly understood—all of it. It went over my head, but the one thing I knew for sure was that Stasia was the best part.
She picked up a tin of tea leaves, her perfect ass—so small and yet plenty large—swaying as she went.
“Would you like some tea?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said. Then I paused and said, “Hey, Stasia?”
“Yes?” That perfect ass disappeared as she turned, and her perfect face looked at me inquisitively.
I took my time, gazing at her for several seconds, and then studiously, casually, I said, “Dobroe utro <Good morning>, Stasia.”
“Yes, dobroe utro, Danya!”
Borscht was my favorite, but I didn’t have anything against dark tea.
Glazunya <fried eggs> and toast—that or blini <pancakes> with honey were the ticket.
Really, any breakfast Stasia made was going to be delicious.
She smiled when she noticed me taking my time at the table, savoring every bite.
Then she leaned forward and asked, “You’re not pushing yourself, are you, Danya?”
I licked the jam off my spoon, took a sip of tea, and gave her a look. “If you weren’t satisfied, it must be because I didn’t try hard enough.”
“Durak <Silly>.” She pursed her lips, almost as if she was going to give me a kiss. “This won’t do, Danya. You’re still organic. Don’t waste your money on me—you should spend it on mechanizing. Cyborg parts.”
Hmm. I leaned back in the gorgeous chair there in Stasia’s room, feeling the backrest behind me. It sure didn’t seem like it would hold a cyborg’s weight. Or maybe when she had cyborgs here, she brought out a chair that could handle them.
Chairs were all well and good, but I didn’t like thinking of Stasia trying to support a cyborg on top of her.
“Hey, it’s cool,” I said. “I like being organic.” I picked up my cup and sipped the tea that had spilled into the saucer. “I’m careful which jobs I take, too. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Talking about work again? I’m aware that what you do is really dangerous, you know.”
“Janitors do dangerous jobs, yeah.”
Stasia didn’t put her fingers through the handle of the cup, so I could see their every movement.
She put the cup soundlessly on the saucer. I smiled. “I’m telling you, I get my jobs from someone I can trust. I’ll be fine.”
“You mean Mariya, right?” Stasia’s expression and tone became about 20 percent softer when she spoke that name.
Mariya, Nora, Valery: She looked and sounded different when she said their names than when she said mine. But then, according to her, so did I.
I don’t know. I wasn’t so sure. What I did know was that at those moments, I loved the way she looked.
“You can’t put them through too much trouble, you hear me?” she said.
“I know, I know.”
Stasia puffed out her cheeks in annoyance. But it was fine. I did know.
I set down my cup with a clink—how’d she do it without making a sound?—and stood up.
I was done with my tea, which meant it was time. I had to go—no matter how much I hated to leave.
I picked up my Tokarev and carefully tucked it into my shirt. As I went to put on my neatly folded body armor, Stasia came over and stroked it—and me. Her fingers passed through the holes, gently brushing my side.
“Don’t stay away too long. I’ll be waiting for you,” she said.
“I won’t.”
“I’ll be very angry if you get yourself hurt.”
I was going to joke about how scary that thought was, but her soft lips prevented me.
“Mph… Mn… Ooh…”
I put my hands on her hips—she’d had to stretch up to reach me—and felt her tremble. I heard the gentle puffing of her breath; it was as adorable as it was eager. She wrapped her arms around my neck.
The smacking sound tickled my ears. The wet tip of her tongue. Sweet saliva. The taste of it—like jam—was almost electric.
Even after I went out into the hallway and closed the door behind me, the last fragrant notes of the tea lingered in my mouth.