Page 91 of Katya and the Young God

“I’m actively plotting with the rogue Demigod now,” she blurts out, and hears nothing but the buzz on the other side for far too long.

“You being safe about it?” Miri asks, after what feels like forever.

Katya sits on the porch swing, pulling one of the forgotten quilts over herself to cut down on the wind, and she can’t answer her friend without lying to her or getting her worried, and she hates it. Hates that feeling, hates that indecision. “Probably not,” she says, and there’s a lump in her throat, one she doesn’t know if it will go away. “Miri, I slept with him.”

Again, a long pause, and Katya closes her eyes to the glow of the moonlight on snow.

“That wasn’t what I was expecting you to say, but okay,” Miri says, and it’s years of knowing her that Katya can tell she’s surprised and keeping her voice very neutral. “Do you think he’s going to kill you? That’s what I meant?”

Katya heaves a sigh, one that Miri could probably hear over the phone, and the thorny knot in her chest doesn’t let up. “I don’t think so? He teleported to me with a stab wound, kissed me, then passed out a few days ago, and now we’re keeping him hidden while we plan to rescue the little girl.”

Katya almost said goddess, almost let on that more is at stake here than on the surface, but stops herself. Miri doesn’t need to know that, it could only endanger her if she knew.

“You slept with someone with a stab wound?” Miri says, and the lump in Katya’s stomach threatens to turn into a giggle. “That’s a bit beyond, even for you.”

“I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing,” she breathes, and because she feels like a teenage girl, she tucks her knees against her chest, wrapping them in the quilt. “This is a monumentally bad idea.”

“I’m not going to shame you,” Miri says, sharp, sharper than Katya expected, and it’s ridiculous, because of course Miri wouldn’t shame her. “You sleep with who you want, as long as they’re...not gonna go crazy and kill you. And if they do, just...kill them first?”

“Yeah I know,” Katya mumbles. “It’s just strange, and I usually have things under a tighter lid, and I...”

“Are you freaking out because of the sex, because it’s the Demigod, or because of some weird feelings thing?”

Again, the impulse to see her friend, to give her a hug, to go out for drinks, something, is so strong that tears prickle at the corner of her eyes, and she takes a moment to compose herself.

“Aww, Katya,” Miri’s voice gentles, even with the technological buzz in the background Katya can tell she’s flopped over on some couch, somewhere comfortable. “When was the last time this happened?”

Katya knows Miri knows the answer to that, and the answer is a lot longer than she likes, because Pieter isn’t wrong. People find her prickly, find her difficult to be around, find her over-paranoid and distrusting, and that tends to kill any budding relationship before it begins.

“Aimes is gonna kill me,” Katya says, instead. “She’s already out of contact right now because I asked for advice over the stab wound, and I might actually need Iakov’s help rescuing the child, because I have the blueprint now and Pieter says he doesn’t have the power to teleport in and I don’t actually know how the hell we’re getting in without that, and Pieter’s injured still— obviously—and I slept with him instead of just dedicating every moment to planning, and —"

“Katya,” Miri says, small, and it cuts off her rant before it even has time to really grow. “Katya, it’s okay. Let yourself feel things.”

Katya wants to grit her teeth, refuse that order, refuse anything of that ilk, to go back to just brutal efficiency and not doubting herself, not doubting her mind, not doubting her resolve, but it crumbles almost as soon as the impulse hits her.

“It doesn’t feel okay.”

“Practice at it,” Miri says, and Katya doesn’t know when her impulsive friend got so wise. “Practice at it, and it’ll get there.” There’s a long pause, where Katya doesn’t know what to say. “Maybe wait until he’s not injured to have truly crazy sex, but—"

“Yeah, yeah, good idea,” Katya says, and the moon glow is brighter than most street lights in Los Angeles. “I don’t want to ask Not-Thomas, but if we need to, can I —"

“I mean, obviously, give me a call,” Miri interrupts. “That’s where I thought you were going with this in the first place.”

* * *

Katya sitson the porch for a good while longer, even after Miri begs off the phone conversation, watching as the wind blows tufts of snow through her yard, and tries not to panic.

But even then, the cold takes over her instincts, and she heads back inside, to the blueprints with the impossible building, to the warmth, and to the man lying in her bed.

The coward part of her considers sleeping on the couch, right next to the bloodstains, but she makes herself change into her most comfy pajamas, and climbs in bed next to Pieter.

He barely shifts when she does, but the bed is warm and his breathing is smooth. Stepan is at the foot of the bed, another layer of heat after the snow and wind outside, and the dog merely thumps his tail once at her in greeting.

So she shifts close to Pieter, so close she’s almost touching him, and it’s...nice. Pleasant. She has had such few bedmates spend the night, that the mere act of sleeping next to another person is strangely breathtaking.

But despite her anxieties, despite the knot of uncomfortable emotion pressing against her breastbone, she falls asleep quickly, much more quickly than she ever does.

* * *

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