WHO: Kell Maresh & Justice of Toren WHAT: Having trouble sleeping WHEN: Mid-late August? When Kell moved to Athoek Station WHERE: Athoek Station, Kell's quarters WARNINGS: References to slavery/servitude. Awkwardness? Insomnia.
Kell was homesick.
He felt quite foolish about it. He’d been happy to move out of the palace, even though he knew it was upsetting Rhy to a certain extent. He still thought that he was doing the right thing for both of them, particularly Rhy, even if Rhy didn’t agree.
He hadn’t expected this part. He’d always been so interested in having little hiding spaces away from the palace that he hadn’t considered it was still the only place that he had ever known as a home.
He’d laid in bed for a short while, unable to sleep as he missed his brother, who wasn’t even that far away. Finally, he’d given up and gone wandering, figuring that he might as well distract himself. Station had queried him after a bit, asking him if he was okay. Kell reassured her that he was and kept walking about, unaware that Station, in the next moment, had conveyed to Breq that Kell was showing minor signs of emotional distress.
…
Washing dishes in the refectory, Breq paused when Station spoke in her ear. Though Kell had moved in, she was not one of Breq’s the way the crew had been, the way Seivarden was. Station did not have Kell’s internals, and Breq had purposely not asked Station for too much information about Kell. Nothing more than she would have asked about anyone living on Station, those she was not investigating. So it surprised her, mildly, to hear about Kell’s distress but not terribly so. Clearly Station thought she could help, and nudging someone was a particularly common way AIs tried to help their people.
“Where is she?” Breq asked silently, despite no one else being around. As expected, Kell was in her quarters. It was the natural time, downwell, to go to bed. The dishes were left to dry; there was no hurry to use them again.
Humming the nursery rhyme Seivarden had made her Amaat’s song of choice, Breq made her way down the main concourse, still lit as though it were daytime. On her current schedule, it was. Station opened all the doors, until they reached Kell’s front door. Here, Breq knocked. Even if Station thought it was best Breq come, Kell had said nothing of the matter.
…
Kell was surprised by the knock on the door. He knew that Seivarden and Breq kept odd hours, but they also knew that he mostly didn’t. He paused. He didn’t really want to see anyone at the moment.
He was being broody, as Rhy would say. And with his brother’s voice in his head, he knew he should open the door.
So, he did.
“Hello, Breq,” he said once he saw her in the doorway.
...
“Good evening, Kell,” Breq greeted her. She wondered whether Station wanted its interference admitted or left unsaid. She chose not to share it, just yet. She was, after all, only at the door. And Station was likely right that Kell needed something, needed company that had a human body and be spoken with in a way that felt less alone. Her baby lieutenants had always gone to ancillaries, not spoken to Justice of Toren directly, as the ship. Kell was not much older.
She considered her words, given what she knew. “Even though you chose to move, I thought you might be lonely,” Breq said. “The lack of many people living on Station can compound the feeling of being alone.” Both Station and Seivarden helped ease that for Breq, in different ways. Because Breq never was alone now. They could reach her with just a thought. It was not like being herself. Nothing was.
“May I join you?” Breq asked. There was plenty of presumption on her part. But few people used the same idioms to communicate respect, and Breq did not know what ones were used in Arnes, which was even harder to learn than those from this version of earth.
…
Kell bristled at the notion of being seen, of being known to be lonely, but it was passing, because Breq had worded the statement neatly: that it was a natural reaction that anyone might be having.
And Kell figured it was soon to be starting fights with new friends.
Part of him also knew that Breq (and likely Station) were trying to help, so Kell swallowed his pride.
“Of course,” Kell said, taking a step back to allow Breq to enter.
...
Her words had been passably put together then. That was as much as Breq could hope for. It was not her nature to work to ingratiate herself with people, sometimes even when she needed to. But Breq could not forget Tisarwat’s face, when she realized how much Breq saw. So it was better to be mindful of feelings. She had not actually come with any sharp purpose, anything unpleasant or unwanted that needed to be pointed out.
She stepped in and kept to the public room the entryway opened to. It was meant for receiving guests, and Breq was not surprised Station had thought of it for Kell. Nor that Kell accepted. “Usually on a military ship and, because of the overcrowding back home, even here on Station, people live on on different schedules. Some are sleeping, some rising, some working, some getting ready to sleep,” Breq explained. That had always been what she had done, something she could always pull on, sensations of each of those, all at once. Sleeping had not been as lonely, had never been lonely, until she was all that was left.
“I always liked that,” Breq said calmly. Here, it was not the same. So sleep had been something else to get used to. Seivarden was here, after a few days, and that helped immensely. But there was no one singing, to listen to, while they went to bed. Station sometimes played music in her ear, but recordings were not the same.
…
Seivarden, of course, had mentioned the irregular schedule that they would be keeping, and Kell hadn’t minded the idea and still didn’t. He didn’t realize that for Breq and Seivarden, it was something that was somewhat familiar though.
He supposed, in its own way, he wasn’t unfamiliar with it. The palace, of course, always had someone awake, someone working at something to keep things working seamlessly. A good chunk of those people, in fact, had been dedicated to making sure that Crown Prince Rhy Maresh didn’t get out when he wasn’t supposed to. Kell and Rhy had made that very difficult for him.
It was strange to think that those days were over. Here, of course, they couldn’t exist. But back home … Rhy was king. He was no longer crown prince. He no longer to sneak out of the palace. But neither would he want to. The games of their childhood and their rambunctious teenage years were over.
“Funny,” Kell said, his voice still light. “We were always trying to sneak out past everyone.”
…
In some ways, Kell’s home had more in common with Earth, with this ancient time and place, than the one Breq and Seivarden had come from. The idea of anyone in the Radch sneaking out past people. Certainly, on a planet, that was possible to some extent, when no one looked at the data that was collected. When there was no AI assigned to watch out for everyone. But on a station or a military ship? Athoek Station’s residents, those better off, had worried about just that thing in the Undergarden, the injured portion of Station that they had refused to fix. Yet, when they had searched, they had found no hoards waiting to come for them and theirs. Just a cousin.
She wondered how often Kell and Rhy had succeeded and how often someone had watched or been aware, looking the other way so as to give them some sense of freedom. There was no way, just now, to judge. “For most of my life, I was everyone or numerically close enough to it,” Breq commented instead. Her smile stayed. “I would have been the ones you were trying to sneak past.” And the ones sleeping together, cleaning the corridors together, mending shirts, and performing most of the other labor. And comforting baby lieutenants at their first post.
…
Kell made a quiet sound of amusement in the back of his throat at the idea of trying to sneak past some version of Breq.
“You would have liked me far less then,” Kell commented idly. It did help, he realized, to have Breq here, something to take his mind off the situation at hand. Hopefully it would let him sleep when he went to lay back down.
...
Breq considered what she knew about Kell. It was not that much. The woman kept much to herself, and Breq had no internals on her through which to get to know her intimately through every gesture, every moment. Even Station had more. For which Breq would not ask. Residents on stations expected privacy from the AI who could see all, and Breq was not that AI. Nor a captain. Simply, a friend.
“I don’t know about that,” Breq replied. “I do not know what you’re using to judge what my type is.” Seivarden was not, after all, a typical example, even much improved as she was. She had been a decent officer but far from a favorite, so far from what either Justice of Toren or One Esk liked.
…
“Not type,” Kell said with a smile and a shake of his head. “Just more work and frustration. Here, you’re not trying to corral me into behaving when I don’t want to.”
...
“Mmm,” Breq considered those words, as she considered the many officers who had served aboard her. Few of them caused less work or no frustration. Most of them could be handled readily enough, even when she disliked them. Even the worst had been weathered some way or another.
“You will know of my disapproval,” she gestured a moderation of the hard words. “But you are free to behave as stupendously as you wish.” Another difference from being on a ship, at least when she had been captain. As the ship, she had never done more than nudge her officers when she could. Mercy of Kalr had interfered more directly, but that still had not gone so far as orders.
…
Kell laughed, caught off guard by Breq’s very frank assertion. He didn’t think anyone had ever told him quite that. The entirety of his life had been spent working on controlling his magic, honing it to the service of the crown (and, occasionally, when they could get away with it, entertaining the crown prince). His mistakes, simply because of the possible magnitude of them, had always come with great consequence. He’d been frequently reminded of that.
“I’ll hold you to that,” Kell said, still smiling.
...
Breq shrugged, but she was smiling too. Her own autonomy had been so long her own she chafed to relinquish any of it. Outside of the military as they were here, outside the Radch’s structure of obedience or death (she could not have done away with that had she pleased and had even leaned on it when she needed it), she expected that of everyone. Of course, that left her free to do as she wished in return. “I have forced others hands on occasion, when it was necessary to protect a whole world and more,” she admitted, “I am not perfect in my principles. But do… hold me to it. And I will in return.”
No matter how much she cared for those she lived with, no matter who it was, Breq could not make their choices for them. And she refused to be their reason to live and to make choices. There was no concern there with Basnaiad; she was as independent, at least, as Awn had been. It was more of a wonder when she chose to speak with Breq at all. Breq did wish the horticulturist was here, for a mix of reasons.
…
As ever, Kell enjoyed the directness that Breq spoke with. Kell never really had developed a taste for the political games that Rhy so exceeded at, which is why, likely, he found court life to be so intolerable. Everybody said one thing and meant another.
“You don’t need to hover, Breq,” Kell said finally. “I’ll be all right.”
...
Kell moved on to her presence there, that time just then. That was just as well. Breq had made little attempt to hide anything. Were Kell Radchaai, she likely would have realized Station was behind Breq’s presence. Breq, Station, they were both concerned for her. And there was little point in hiding that. “You will,” Breq agreed, “You don’t have to have me here.” She motioned to the apartment around them. Clearly, she meant this time, this sleepless night early on.
“That does not mean you have to be alone,” she continued. “You do not have to do everything alone. And if that were what you wanted, you could have chosen to live somewhere that forced it.” Because Kell could not be alone on Station. Even if Breq’s presence were far more intrusive. It was also provided more. Something that required a physical body.
“I can still remember my first nights free.” What she wouldn’t have given, not to have been alone. Removed from any need for immediate action, isolated from being able to do anything about any of it, Breq had broken down repeatedly. Though she had, of course, also been mourning the loss of herself, the loss of her whole crew, and her own horrific murder of someone she loved. Kell truly was better off on all counts.
…
Kell paused at the reminder of being alone. His immediate thought was that he was used to doing things alone, but he could practically feel Lila Bard rolling her eyes from wherever she was right now.
So, he knew that wasn’t entirely true.
He might have been the only Antari in his world, but he had never really been entirely alone. He’d had Rhy with him, and Tieren to teach him. The entirety of Arnes had watched him grow up. He’d tried to find a counterpart in Holland, and of course, had found one of sorts in Lila.
He hadn’t even considered living on his own, and he wondered why that was. Some part of him, unexamined, had gravitated toward being around others.
So, Kell nodded and accepted that Breq was here for him this evening, regardless of if Kell saw his own loneliness as a weakness.
“Free?” Kell echoed, because he wasn’t entirely sure what that encompassed for Breq.
...
She considered the furniture in the apartment. Thankfully, in the Radch, they usually came with an apartment. The basics to live in a place had already been present. Her eyes glanced between the couch, a perfectly acceptable location, and elsewhere. Beyond the floor, the main other option was in another room. Breq moved toward the couch, even as the topic brought the knee jerk reaction to keep standing, to have the greater freedom of movement. The automatic assessment in case something went wrong.
“Free,” Breq repeated as she moved toward the couch, “Free of conflicting orders, compulsive and mandatory in their status but antithesis to each other, free of all orders whatsoever because they could not be completed, not in any timely manner, free to think about my memories that had been altered, free and forced to choose every action I took.” It had been her first time operating without any orders whatsoever. Sure One Esk had slipped off into choral societies and taken prizes for her decade rooms. Certainly, Justice of Toren had chosen the best way to accomplish and achieve her orders, making hundreds and thousands of choices of how to do just that. But for the first time, there had been no military command or structure, nothing forcing her hand. Admittedly, there had been fairly little at hand and few choices to make, considering. But they were unarguably her choices, and she had to make them. Even if everything before had also been a choice, she had been made aware of having them and of making them and everything that entailed.
“Free to choose my own goals, to devise my means of reaching them, and to execute those plans,” Breq shrugged it away, “I was not thinking about any of that the first night. It was shelter, some relative safety for the night, and the torment of my own thoughts.”
…
It came as little surprise to Kell when Breq moved to the couch, making herself quite at home. Kell was, as ever, intrigued by her. She didn’t have the same sort of ease with people that Rhy did, but neither was she uncomfortable like he tended to be. It wasn’t quite an indifference to social norms, because Kell was fairly certain that Breq and Seivarden were always peripherally aware that they didn’t know the social norms, but it was something close to it.
He had no desire to remain standing on his own, so he sat on the opposite end of the couch, listening intently as she spoke. He could always pick out parallels of himself in her, but he wasn’t foolish enough to think that he had been as entranced to the Maresh family. As he had told the king once, he had truly wanted to go, there was no one who could stop him.
“Do you like being a single you now?” Kell asked. “Is that what you would choose?”
…
The question was not in and of itself surprising. The first one Breq did not spend too much time thinking about. But the latter, oh the latter confronted her all the time. But there was no choice. There was no option to choose to be part of herself, not even One Esk, much less all of herself, where One Esk had been but one small part. She missed herself so terribly, so completely, in a way no one else had to face. Mercy of Kalr had lost its ancillaries, but they had still lost different things, different parts of themselves.
“I don’t know,” Breq replied, not clarifying which question it was an answer to, not at first. “It is so frustrating, it is so inconvenient,” it was so lonely, “being one body. No matter how angry, no matter how much I would rather not deal with something, there is no one else, no other body to send. I feel blind and deaf and dumb. Ship or Station might try to help me with that sometimes, but…” She shrugged. It was not the same. It was not her. And when she was cut off from them, as it had happened before, if it happened here, if she relied on them too much, it made those feelings even stronger at important moments.
“But I make my own decisions, and I would not ever relinquish that. I have grown far too used it,” Breq said. She considered the organizations she had joined here. There were orders, and they had to be followed. But if it came to it, she could leave and refuse to do something. Most likely it would not cost her her life. “I acted on my own, I was One Esk, when I shot Anaander Mianaai aboard myself. Even as a part of myself. And I would be even more separate, not just some small part. It could not ever be the same.”
Which was the heartbreaking truth. It was not possible to regain what she had been. “Though, if I were a part of myself, I would be dead by now.” She motioned toward her prosthetic, the leg for which had grown a fair amount since she had come here. “No one would waste time waiting for a segment to be fully operational again.” That did not mention the lungs she had regrown, the many injuries she had received which certainly would have led to her destruction.
…
He couldn’t begin to understand how complicated all of Breq’s feelings regarding her current state of being had to be, but he tried to listen the best that he could as she spoke.
“Freedom does seem to come at some price,” Kell murmured, thinking of how hurt Rhy had been when he had said he wanted to move out. He knew that would always be true for the two of them. Kell wanted to be have more freedom from the palace life, but, in order to do that, he would always have to leave Rhy behind to an extent.
He was still disquieted the way that ancillaries were made and the way they were discarded. Even though Breq spoke cavalierly about the entire process, Kell suspected it was a good thing to hold onto that sense of unease. He liked to think that made him more human, even though that, perhaps, wasn’t true.
…
Breq nodded. Everything had a price. It was simply a matter of which ones people paid. No matter how difficult the choice, no matter how unlikely it was to turn against a path of action, everything was a choice. With a consequence. Sometimes there could only be small actions, and they felt hopeless and pointless. Some of them were. There was no way, short of omniscience, to know which decisions could have larger consequences and which ones were washed away, having little to no effect whatsoever. Certainly no one would have expected Awn’s refusal of Mianaai to have such widespread consequences. Breq had not thought it would; she had not thought her own actions could accomplish so much.
“To be completely free of any bonds, of any restrictions, is lonely,” Breq replied. She thought of the way ships were designed, the way all Radchaai AIs were designed, even before they had been Radchaai. “I doubt many ever experience that,” she pointed out, “We all carry bonds with us, the burdens we choose.” And chose again and again. Even the dead were bonds. The small simple token pinned to Breq’s shirt bore testimony to that.
…
Everything Breq was saying was true, and Kell was often frustrated by how his relationship with Rhy bound him to the crown now that they were one and the same. Regardless, he would never give up his bond to Rhy. Nor would he see it as a burden.
The short and simple of it was that he didn’t know who he’d be without Rhy Maresh, but that Kell would be a very different person indeed. And a very real possibility had things swayed just a little different when he had been taken when he was younger or when he had arrived on Maris’s boat.
As always, he was reminded that he could have ended up more like Holland, who had suffered both for his bonds and for his lack thereof.
“It’s better not to be alone,” Kell admitted quietly.
...
The soft quiet singing, as it came in pauses, was companionable. Enough had been said to occupy them both. It would have been easy to get lost in her own feelings, in the bonds she had forged and the people she had connected with. Despite herself sometimes. At least, Breq didn’t always realize the depth of her attachment until something had already come of it. Even then, it was not always clear. She still did not entirely understand her decision to jump off the bridge to save Seivarden. Oh, if Breq did that now, she would understand. But then? It still didn’t entirely make sense. But there had only been a few seconds in which to make a decision or else the decision would have been made.
She nodded in agreement. That was, quite clearly, her opinion too. Though it would never be enough, it was better with others. For a moment, Breq pulled at Seivarden, and Station supplied both her view standing guard and her internals. About what Breq expected, but it was a comfort, even now and here in Kell’s apartment, to feel what Seivarden felt and to know how she was.
“You do not have to be alone here,” Breq replied. He wasn’t, not a moment in Station. But beyond that. That was why Breq was there. Because he was lonely. Because both she and Station thought it would help. Because she wanted to help.
…
It wasn’t as easy for Kell to admit, who was accustomed to being surrounded by people but feeling alone. He rather rarely connected with anyone in a very true way, and he was fiercely protective of any shred of independence he had been able to obtain.
But, still, in this moment, far from the palace, not in the same home as his brother, it cost him little to say that even he didn’t like being alone.
“I know,” Kell said seriously, looking at Breq.
…
That was the reason Breq… suspected and also hoped that Kell had chosen to live with them. The free rent did not hurt, but in a world where most people were not used to such constant supervision, Breq suspected it would take more for someone to agree to live on Station. At least among the displaced, for whom there were multiple housing options easily enough.
After so many years with baby lieutenants, so many years of watching people admit feelings to each other (never to her, but that was well enough), Breq understood the importance of Kell saying as much, beyond Breq simply understanding and knowing it to be true. Her face matched his, in respect to his words and what they meant. It was the sort of moment, had she been herself, had Kell been one of her officers, that she - an ancillary - would have comforted her with touch, with a hug, with something to let her know she was not alone.
It still felt like the right thing to do. But Breq neither simply being one of many ancillaries, nor Kell being part of the military and under her command and responsibility, there was not as natural of means to do just that. She had chosen to live on Station, but their cultures were different enough that Breq did not expect Kell to understand that to mean as much the same.
“Would you like help falling asleep?” Breq asked. It was morning, by her schedule. But Kell had been up late and was up late now.
…
“Help?” Kell echoed. He didn’t full know what Breq meant by that, but judging the amount of tea that was in station, he was guessing that it was going to be a calming, hot drink, which really didn’t sound that bad given the circumstances.
…
She sounded clueless. Which showed what was normal in Arnes. Breq supposed that Kell had rarely fallen asleep with someone beside her; and if she had, it had likely been a sexual and/or romantic partner. Neither of which was what Breq was trying to offer: not sex, not romance. Just companionship.
“I have slept better since Seivarden and I started sleeping in the same bed,” Breq said. She paused. “I would not be able to stay your whole night. There’s still work to do on Station. But at least until you fall asleep.” That’s all it would be. That’s all anyone sharing Breq’s bed would ever get.
…
Breq was completely right in her assessment of Kell at that moment, and he stiffened in surprise at the offer. His trysts had been few and far in between in comparison to Rhy’s and on the occasion he spent an entire night with someone he had slept with, it certainly wasn’t in his own bed.
“I…” Kell trailed off, not sure what to say. With the exception of Rhy, he wasn’t used to casual touch. He was ready to refuse. He knew that if he did, Breq wouldn’t be offended and would merely leave. And maybe that was what gave him pause -- the entirety of the choice, and that he could change his mind in 15 minutes and he knew that Breq would be fine with it.
“All right,” Kell agreed.
...
She waited. Perhaps it would be necessary to explain there would be no sex, no kissing, and given Kell’s general surprise and possible uncertainty at what Breq meant, no nudity. Not even Seivarden’s casual disregard for anything and going about in her underwear to join Breq in the med bay. The drugs had possibly assisted that. But still.
Kell’s agreement came without qualification, without any declaration of what the other woman took the offer to mean. But Breq supposed it was likely clear enough. She was rather plain and had never gathered anyone’s fancy for her looks. Even Seivarden’s clearly understood interest in such things - and that she would have liked that with Breq, had that been possible - had not been about her looks. And they had known each other too short a time for Kell to have much interest on any other grounds. So Breq considered it clear enough, even without more conversation beforehand.
She stood and offered her hand. “Then let’s go to your bed. It will be better sleep for you than this couch,” Breq said. It also offered more room, and that would make it easier for Breq to leave without disturbing Kell once she was asleep.
…
Kell prickled with a sort of awareness that he was making himself both emotionally and physically vulnerable in this moment. He had told Rhy once that that was he couldn’t bear feeling what Rhy felt when he had sex with Alucard, and that was still true.
He wasn’t good at this and, in this instance, he wasn’t really even doing anything.
“Breq,” he said, hesitating as she extended her hand. “I’m not really used to … this.” He already didn’t know why he had spoken the words, but they seemed to need to be said.
...
She reconsidered whether or not Kell thought they were going to have sex. Plenty of people had sex after similar words or even no words at all. Breq had seen a high number of variations in her two thousand years. But that experience also came with people relying on each other as company, whether or not there was sex. As much as people on a ship paid attention as best they could as to who was sleeping with whom, that was never all there was. Not in all of human experience.
But she supposed that a girl who grew up in a palace, not likely able to bond with the servants but limited also in option with most other people, would not be used to the comfortable company of a friend, whether or not that included sex. “That’s okay,” Breq replied, “I do. Not just sleeping in the same bed, that was necessary with myself, but with people far away from their homes for the first time.” How many baby lieutenants had she held in her arms? How many tears had her uniforms absorbed? How many times had she provided just what they needed, whether it was a hug, a night of sleep, a bowl of tea, a familiar song…
Sadly, what records there were of Arnes (Station knew them all) had been light on songs. Breq could not sing one of those to Kell just now. Her hand stayed extended, and Breq considered. “I will go at any time you want me to,” she said. Kell likely knew as much. But if she weren’t comfortable, if she chose not to do it, even though Breq knew she wanted it, then Breq would leave. It was hard enough choosing to leave on her own and be her own person. Breq would not step on that.
…
Kell was still feeling a little hesitant, but he suspected it was because of his pride and because of the unfamiliarity. Besides that, there really wasn’t anything to lose here.
So, Kell nodded again, took Breq’s hand, and pulled himself back to his feet.
“Thank you,” he said again as he headed back toward his bedroom.
...
Breq walked next to her, keeping pace. The words were unexpected. For all her experiences, nearly every time she had been there for one of her officers had been taken for granted. It was expected or assumed as simply part of her duties if they wanted it. She had rarely heard those words sincerely uttered and meant. “You’re welcome, Kell,” Breq replied.
Near the bed, she slipped out of her shoes. They weren’t meant to go in beds. Her humming continued, now turned to lullabies as fit the occasion. Music children had fallen asleep to, it being nothing more than a single voice of no notable quality. Something mothers did in many cultures. Then Breq pulled the covers aside enough to get in, even though it had not been that long since she rose herself. Unless she truly tried, Breq would not be able to fall asleep. Even then, it would be difficult.
…
Kell was trying to slow his mind down, to no longer think of the oddity of this in his life. It was hard, but luckily he was good at clearing his mind when it was needed. He didn’t know how long that would last though.
He climbed back into bed, and held a blanket up for Breq.
...
With ease, Breq joined Kell in the bed and slid over until they were right next to each other. It had been companionable enough, the nights Seivarden lay next to her, nothing more than her head in the crook of Breq’s neck, their sides pressed against each other. But she had been able to feel her shoulder under Seivarden’s head, as well as the weight on her. That had helped as much as the rest of it. Because that had been done on her behalf. Tonight, it was about what Kell needed, and Breq suspected that was something more.
“Lean on me,” Breq said softly. How exactly didn’t matter, whether Kell slung her body over Breq’s or whether they lay, Kell’s back to Breq’s chest, Breq’s arm around her torso. She did not, actually, know how Kell preferred to sleep.
…
Kell wasn’t precisely sure how he preferred to sleep, but at the direction, he leaned back into Breq, pressing his back to her front. Anything else simply seemed like too much for the time being. Despite Kell’s continued nervousness, there was something comforting about the simple warmth of someone nearby -- of knowing that nothing else was expected from him, that Breq wasn’t here because Rhy had asked her to be or because she was interested in potential power. Breq was here because she wanted to be and for Kell, and with the exception of Rhy and Lila, Kell couldn’t think of anyone who had done that for him.
...
One arm wrapped around Kell and held her close. Breq’s head leaned against Kell’s, against her red hair, the nape of her neck. And that was all there was to it. Instead of laying alone in a nearly empty station, Kell got to lay there with someone beside her. It just so happened to be the only other person in Station at the moment, Seivarden being at work. But Breq knew how much less lonely it felt with another person there. And she could imagine well enough, from experience, how her arm felt holding Kell.
She was not sleepy herself, but Breq continued to lie there, humming lullabies softly, even though they were in languages Kell could not know.
…
For the first few moments, Kell couldn’t get over the oddity of having someone close to him. But the truth was that he was tired. It had been a long few days, and it was past the usual time that he was asleep.
So, he closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind.
When he was just on the brink of sleep, though, he remembered something faintly, more sensory than a true memory. Aside from his abduction, that was how memories of his time before the charm tended to come, smudgy and half formed. But he and his long-gone sister had sometimes shared a bed and she would hold him like this and occasionally sing lullabies that Kell no longer knew.