There was a soft sound of metal on metal as Haven slid the tray into the countertop oven, and a gentle click as she closed the door. The elements inside turned a brilliant orange as they heated up, and soon the oil the green beans had been coated with began to sizzle and pop. Haven watched it with a kind of empty fascination, leaning up against the counter.

  Tara's kitchen was easier to cook in — she didn't need to get up on a stepstool to access the counter, for one thing — and was quite a bit smaller than Anix's. So was the entire hab, really, which made sense. It was designed for a terran, not an affini. Anix had to squash herself down a little to fit, but only a little. It made her look like she'd been stretched out sideways more than anything. She was leaning down behind Haven, vines stroking her back. "Ah, you've put the beans in? Good, good. And Tara, my dear, how are the kotleti coming?"

  "Almost done," they said as they rolled out another ball of ground meat and mashed it ft between their palms. It joined the others Tara had already finished on the tray next to the stovetop. "You want to start frying them up?"

  "I think I can manage that," Anix said, sweeping in a single smooth motion through the kitchen and setting a big bowl of mashed potatoes on the counter. "And I think I've got the seasoning right on those, but do check, will you?"

  "Will do," Tara said, mashing out one more patty before they took the now-empty ground meat mix bowl to the sink and began to wash it out. "Hey gorgeous," they added, "you lookin' forward to this?"

  It took Haven a moment to realize that, by 'gorgeous,' Tara meant her. Gosh, it was nice to be able to just hear that, and not have to fight an internal war over exactly how she was undeserving of a compliment. Even if it was a little silly to call her gorgeous when her only actual feature was her mouth.

  Oh, wait, they asked a question. "Yeah," she said, turning to look at Tara after a few seconds of insisting on it. "It sounds good. And I'm looking forward to actual solid food, too."

  "You will be chewing everything thoroughly," Anix said without turning around. The loud hiss of meat on a hot pan punctuated her statement. "At least thirty chews before swallowing, minimum. We've picked soft-ish foods to start, but we're not taking any chances with your tummy."

  "Yes, ma'am," Haven said, smiling.

  "The kotleti should stay pretty moist," Tara said, washing their hands off now, "and the recipe for the potatoes involved a bunch of butter and cream, so that should be real easy for you. And the beans, if we cook them down enough, and you listen to Ms. Anix, shouldn't be a problem either." They dried their hands on a dish towel and swept in behind Haven before she could react (which was not, at this point, particurly hard). Their arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her in close for a hug. "It's nothing fancy, but it's a good home cooking."

  Haven leaned back into Tara's embrace, her smile only growing broader. Stars, but this felt good. "I like cooking with you."

  "Cooking is always better when it's shared," Tara said, winking down at her. "It's how it's meant to be."

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah. I mean, sure, you can make something for yourself, but when it's you and someone else, there's a synergy to it. The communication, the prep, the whole process — it just makes it better." They let their chin rest on top of Haven's head. "I haven't gotten to do it in a long, long time. Since I left home, honestly. Stars, I'd forgotten how much I missed it."

  "Well... if I don't mess up too much," Haven said, "I'm always happy to cook with you."

  Tara reached down and gave one of Haven's butt cheeks a squeeze. She had no hope of reacting in time, and simply let out a little eep! "I thought we weren't gonna self-deprecate anymore, hm?"

  "Yes, sir," Haven murmured, taking her lip between her teeth to keep herself from moaning out loud. Not that Anix would probably have minded, but it was important to keep controlled. Ms. Dvoretskaya would do this sort of thing at the office all the time, and it would not do to make a noise like the one she wanted to make right now at the workpce.

  The kotleti didn't take long to cook, finishing up just as the beans were ready to come out. With a side of mashed potatoes, the result was a lovely looking dinner pte — nothing like the haute cuisine her father had demanded for the purposes of conspicuous consumption, but the simple attractiveness of a meal made by hand. She tried the kotleti first, cutting a little bit from the patty. It was, as Tara had promised, still quite moist, juices running as she settled it onto her tongue.

  She had liked the feeding tube. There'd been something comforting about the way it separated her from her body, made the whole process mechanical. But this was bliss. The warm spices and rich savory essence of the meat filled her mouth and seemed to permeate her entire being for a moment. She began to chew, and the fvor only intensified.

  "This is absolutely delicious, hon," Tara said, taking another bite of the green beans. "You did great. And Anix, you nailed these mashed potatoes."

  "I'm gd you think so," Anix said, "but you remember to slow down and chew your food too, flower."

  "Can't help it," Tara said, grinning and scooping up another forkful, "it's too good!" They added a wink — only kidding. They did take their time after that.

  Haven tried the potatoes next. They were creamy and rich, with notes of garlic and just a hint of pepper. She chewed, though she barely needed to. The texture wasn't much firmer than some of the heartier tube meals she'd been given.

  "All in all, though," Anix said, "I think this is quite a promising little meal. I'll be mentioning this to the wardship review meeting in a few days."

  "That soon?" Tara said, pausing with fork halfway to their mouth. Haven, too, froze in pce, though with another bite of kotleti already in her mouth, it was probably less obvious.

  "Well, we have enough data, I think, to make an assessment on Haven's capacity for independence. There's still some questions to be answered, of course, but that's more a function of specific training than of additional time spent on evaluation."

  Haven swallowed the kotleti with maybe just a couple fewer bites than she was supposed to. "Do you... think I'm gonna get domesticated?"

  "I think it's still a bit of an open question, flower," Anix said, gently patting Haven with a vine. "You show a lot of promise, but your pses in executive function are quite significant. A hab AI might not be able to fully manage you living on your own. I'll keep an eye on you over the next few days, and that'll give me the answer."

  "But she won't be living on her own," Tara said, setting their fork down. "I mean...not if she doesn't want to, anyway. This pce is more than big enough for both of us. Do you want to move in with me, Haven?"

  Haven felt the internal flush, even if her cheeks didn't necessarily warm. "Y-yes," she said, after a short pause, not entirely sure whether this was happening or whether she was dreaming. "I'd like that."

  "That is very sweet," Anix said. "And I think it'd be marvelous for the both of you. Though, it will have to wait until her physical recovery is a bit more advanced," she added. "She does still need specialist monitoring and care on a daily basis, more than could be handled with a simple outpatient visit to a clinic."

  "Okay, fair enough. But Haven?" Tara reached across the table and took Haven's hand in theirs. "I meant what I said. We're a package deal. No matter what, we're going to stay together. Got it?"

  Haven nodded. "I know." It was something that still gnawed at her, not an intrusive thought but a bog-standard worry. Even if Tara wanted to be with her, she didn't want to force them into domestication. "I know," she repeated.

  "Good," Tara said, smiling and letting go of Haven's hand. "Now stop avoiding those beans, you did a really good job with them."

  "If you say so," Haven said, spearing one with her fork. She tasted the bitterness and the salt and the heat of the spices she'd added, with a bright citrus note — a perfect counterpoint to the richness of the potatoes and the savoriness of the kotleti.

  It really was good.

  "We could have just stayed at your hab."

  "Yes, but I prefer in-person colboration on matters of such import. Besides, it'll give you a chance to do what you need to do as well. I told you, I don't want you stewing."

  Trish let out a dismissive snort and looked away from the path, gring. A few days had lessened the shock of Koer's revetion, but they had done nothing to make Trish want to be around others. The knowledge that she'd been used the way she had still seethed in the back of her mind. How she was getting through every night without nightmares about it, she didn't know.

  The route they took was familiar, as was the hab they arrived at shortly after they stepped off the train that carried them between hab rings. The time between the door opening and her being swarmed with vines couldn't have been more than five seconds. "Oh, you poor thing," Polyphyl said, her floral scent surrounding Trish almost as firmly as her foliage, "come in and sit down, I have a variety of chilled juices for you to pick from and the girls have been baking all day."

  "I don't need to be babied like this," Trish grumbled, powerless to resist as Polyphyl effortlessly tugged her along.

  "Disagree." Polyphyl lifted Trish and sat her on the sofa, no less a part of the seemingly-magical floral woodnd than the rest of the fairy-tale hab. "If there's one thing I know about humans, it's that you require pampering most precisely when you most vociferously reject it."

  "Gd to know the trauma of my trauma hasn't changed your essential nature."

  "Oh don't worry about me, flower. It's very sweet, but I'll be fine," Polyphyl said, either missing Trish's jab entirely or simply choosing not to engage — she couldn't tell. "Now, Tsuga and Scoparia and I will be discussing the technical end of things and how we pn on engaging with the Nascent Feralism Polrding Office and especially the Long-Term Nothocultural Regution Division over this. No doubt they have their own internal error-correction procedures they're running through, but we're not going to simply assume that."

  "Gee. Thanks."

  "You're very welcome, petal," Polyphyl said, patting Trish gently on the head. "And don't worry, we can even do something about that sarcasm problem you seem to have."

  That answered that question. "It's not a problem. I like being sarcastic."

  "She said, in a tone of voice still heavily den with sarcasm, indicating that she in fact does not like being sarcastic." Polyphyl winked at her before straightening to her full height. "But I have to get to work, little one. The girls will be along shortly I think, if the scents and sounds from the kitchen are any indication, so sit tight, rex, get comfortable, and drink at least one of these." She plunked a basket down on the couch, in which were a half-dozen bottles of vibrantly colorful liquids. "It's important to hydrate and get lots of electrolytes when you've been crying."

  "I have not been crying," Trish insisted. She could feel her nails digging into her palms as she said it.

  "Oh, flower..." Polyphyl simply sighed, gave Trish another gentle headpat with a vine, and left her alone with her thoughts.

  It didn't take long for them to turn inward. She didn't understand why she was here, or why she'd let Scoparia drag her along — not that she could stop her, admittedly. But this was the st pce she wanted to be right now, she wasn't ready for this, and-

  "Trish?"

  Her eyes darted to the edge of the sofa. Cass stood there, her head and shoulders the only part of her that was visible, her gray hair bound up into a simple ponytail. Worry was written all over her face.

  "Hey, Cass," she mumbled. "Lay. Whatever."

  "Whichever works for you. Want some bakva?" She lifted a small bronze tin up and set it on the sofa. "Fresh baked. Walnut, pistachio, honey with orange zest for syrup. Sound good to you?"

  "Maybe in a bit. Think your co-owner's going to have kittens if she comes back and sees I haven't had any of these probably-drugged juice bottles." She reached over and flicked one with a fingermail, making a soft ping.

  "They're not drugged, for what it's worth. Miss Phyl said they weren't, and I've never known her to lie to me."

  "Which doesn't preclude her erasing those memories," Trish retorted. "It's apparently one of their go-to solutions."

  "You know, that's fair." She braced herself against the sofa and, with practiced ease, swung herself up onto it. She was wearing nothing but a tank top and pair of loose scks, both a dark green shot through with little slivers of color like flowers catching the light. A moment ter she was leaning up against the back of the sofa with Trish. "Right now, I don't bme you for thinking that way. And it is entirely possible that my memories have been, in an immediate sense, somewhat doctored. But I think it's very unlikely. Mistress wouldn't stand for it, and Miss Phyl would never cross her like that."

  Trish felt her gut clench itself into a Gordian knot. "And if your precious mistress decides to change her mind?"

  "Well. I wouldn't be compining, would I?" She smiled. "I know that's a very floret sort of thing to say, and it's probably a little unnerving for you. Sorry. But I have been a floret for sixty years. Half again as long as I had to be on my own. Mistress likes me the way I am, and she changed very little about me when she domesticated me, but six decades of being a floret has left a mark nevertheless." She ughed, and added, "I am a part of all that I have met."

  A familiar tickle made itself known at the back of Trish's mind. "I've heard that from you before."

  "Tennyson," she said. "Ulysses."

  "Mmmm." Trish sat with that a moment. "I've been thinking of something else you told me about once. Back at Bulwark, I think. Maybe before. Some old story about a perfect world that only worked because there was a kid locked in a basement whose suffering fueled it all."

  "Mmm. 'The Ones Who Walk Away From Omes.' Le Guin." She ughed again. "We live in capitalism, and its power seems inescapable; so did the divine right of kings."

  Another familiar tickle. This one found its pce in Trish's memories immediately. "You quoted that in Freedom's Ember, you know. Second volume."

  "I did, didn't I?" She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "I suppose you bring this up because you're suddenly feeling a lot of sympathy for the child from Omes?" When Trish nodded, she added, "I can understand that. It must certainly feel that way, to have been held back the way you were. But this isn't Omes, Trish. And you aren't the tortured child." Trish felt the hand on her shoulder, the touch light but firm. "You are not trapped, and you are not condemned. You're going to be alright."

  "Says you."

  "Says Mistress, and Miss Phyl and Miss Scoparia, and probably every affini who finds out about this." She hesitated a moment, then leaned in closer. "You know, 'Omes' is as much about the human incapacity for imagining paradise without attaching some horrible fw or drawback to it as it is about utilitarianism."

  And being brainwashed isn't a massive fucking drawback? But Trish held the remark back; the st thing she wanted to do was start a fight right now. "Seventeen million."

  "Hm?"

  "That's how many were domesticated because of me."

  "Because of you? Or because of the broad distribution of my book, absent the third volume, under the close supervision of an affini who was using you for the purpose of drawing out tent feral sentiment in a controlled fashion sooner than it might otherwise express itself?" Now her arms were around Trish, squeezing her tightly. "Trish, anyone who was domesticated because they read Freedom's Ember was going to get domesticated anyway. You are not responsible for their ultimate destination, only the road they chose to get there."

  Trish couldn't hold it in any longer. What had began as a burning and a pressure in her throat burst out, a torrential flow like the catastrophic failure of a dam. She sobbed, tears streaming down her face as the weight of all the emotion she'd been holding in crushed what little will she had left to hold it back. She sucked in short, gasping breaths, her head rushing as her brain struggled under the twin burdens of emotional overload and oxygen deprivation.

  And through it all, she felt those strong, familiar arms around her, felt the weight of the woman she'd followed to hell and back against her, a rock to cling to in the storm just like she always was, always had been.

  "I'm sorry, Lay." It was less speech than a mangled sob that sounded vaguely like words, squeezed in between gasps, but it was what she could managed.

  "Shhh, shhh." Lay stroked her hair and gave her a tight squeeze, tighter than Trish would have credited those soft arms with being able to manage. "You're okay. You don't have anything to apologize for."

  She shook her head, just barely holding a sob in, her body desperately pulling what oxygen it could from the breath before she let it back out. "They didn't make me," she finally blurted out. In between gasps, she continued. "Koer. They kept me that way. But I chose it. I'm the one. Who walked away from you. I'm the one. I ignored your letters when they came. I refused to accept the third book. They kept me that way. But I chose it. And I'm sorry." The tears redoubled, and she twisted in Lay's arms to bury her face in her shoulder.

  "Shhh. If there is anything I need to forgive you for, you are forgiven. You are my friend, and I love you, and you are here, now, and we are together. That's what matters."

  Trish had no more words. Tears had clogged her nose, but she could still smell the faintest hint of baking on Lay, flour and sugar and spices, overid atop her natural scent. There was a time, when she was younger, when she would have done horrible things to have Cass Hope hold her like this; now, Lay Sequi gave it freely.

  She cried on her for a very long time.