Chapter 116

#Day 34 - 21:35

Zhao came back to the treatment suite, and the warmth of the corridor gave way to something softer. The ship had been cruising slow for days now, conserving fuel, letting the crew prepare for the hunt ahead. Linh had been working on navigation, charting a path that would cross a few uninhabited islands—potential stops, potential resources. Nothing decided yet. Just options.

He hadn't been scheduled for any treatment today. Aida's doing, probably. She wanted him to rest. He was glad for the break.

The moment he stepped inside, he smelled something different. Sweet, with a hint of sour. Herbal, but not like Mei-Lin's usual teas. Something new.

He put his fishing gear in the walk-in closet and peeked into the kitchenette.

Mei-Lin stood at the counter, naked except for an apron tied loosely around her waist. Her back was to him, her shoulders bare, the curve of her spine disappearing into the white cotton. She was grinding something in a mortar—slow, deliberate circles—and beside her, a pot of herbs boiled on the stove, steam curling toward the ceiling.

Her mobile phone was propped against the spice rack, the screen glowing.

That surprised him. Most people had stopped using their phones weeks ago. No cellular network, no internet, no point. But the screen wasn't dark. It showed a logo—a woman with a snake's body, her torso curving in a circle, her long hair flowing like water. NUWA.

Mei-Lin was talking to her.

He walked closer, his bare feet silent on the floor. He wanted to sneak up on her, wrap his arms around her from behind, feel her jump. But she detected him anyway—she always did—and turned, giving him that usual welcome smile.

"Welcome home," she said.

His body reacted.

No sex tonight, he told himself. You need the break.

He held back. Walked toward her. Grabbed her petite body and lifted her slightly into the air, kissing her playfully the way he always did when they were alone. She laughed against his mouth, her hands finding his shoulders, her legs wrapping around his hips.

Mei-Lin was home. She was comfort and warmth. Her skin was smooth under his hands, still warm from the stove, and he felt his body reacting again.

So much for that plan.

He was losing the battle. He could feel it.

"What are you cooking?" he asked, pulling back just enough to see her face.

Her smile widened. There was an enthusiasm in it that he rarely saw—not her usual gentle warmth, but something brighter. Excited.

"I'm working with NUWA," she said. "Turning my body into a herbal medicine production unit."

He blinked. "What?"

She slipped off his lap, took his hand, and led him to the counter. The mortar was full of ground herbs—something dark green, almost black. The pot bubbled beside it. She gestured at the phone screen, where lines of text scrolled.

"I have enough herbs now. Enough ingredients. Not just to make medicine, but to induce medicinal production through my body." She touched her chest. "Mothers eat certain foods, and the nutrients transfer to their babies through milk. I'm experimenting with what I can express through mine."

Her face glowed. Literally—there was a flush across her cheeks, a brightness in her eyes that he hadn't seen since before the world ended.

"Today I made a breakthrough."

She moved her apron aside, slipping it off one shoulder, then the other. The fabric fell to her waist, and she cupped her right breast, lifting it toward him. It was engorged, heavier than usual, the nipple rosy and glistening.

"Taste it," she said.

He stared at her breast cupped in her palm, at the milk beading at her pink nipple, at the way she presented it to him like an offering.

No sex tonight.

He was going to lose.

She pinched her nipple—gently, just a little—and warm milk streamed out, dripping down her fingers, catching the light. Her face was very inviting. Her eyes were on his.

He bent down slightly in front of her and tasted her milk.

It was warm. Herbal. But also sweet and creamy, nothing like her normal taste. There was something underneath—something floral, maybe, or spicy—that he couldn't quite name. It was delicious. Unique.

He lost it.

He drank hungrily, without asking what she had put into her milk, without caring. His mouth closed over her nipple, and he sucked, and she gasped, her hand coming up to cradle his head. The milk flooded his tongue—thick, sweet, with that strange herbal undertone—and he couldn't get enough.

He lifted her onto the counter. She sat on the edge, her legs parting, her breast at the perfect height for him to suckle. He took her left breast in his hand, felt its weight, the firmness of it, and brought his mouth to it. Milk sprayed—on his face, on the counter, on the floor—leaving that unique scent in the air. Sweet and herbal and something else. Something that was just Mei-Lin.

She moaned softly, her fingers threading through his hair, her hips shifting on the counter. Her other hand found his shoulder, gripped it.

He suckled until the left breast was dry, then moved back to the right. The milk was still flowing, still warm. She had produced so much. He drank until his stomach was full, until he was dizzy with it.

His hand moved down her stomach, over her hip, between her legs. She was wet—already wet—her juice slick on his fingers. He found the clitoral ring, still with its three stones: white for Vivienne, red for Aida, yellow for him. He traced it, played with it, pulled at it gently.

She shifted her hips, reacting, pressing into his hand.

He wanted her. He missed home. He had been so focused on everything else—on Carmona, on the Commission, on the weight of being the vector—that he had forgotten what it felt like to just be with her. To be held. To be wanted for no reason other than being himself.

He massaged her clitoris between his fingers, and she squirmed, her breath coming faster. She held his head tighter, pressing his face into her breast, and he sucked harder.

Then he felt something on his crotch.

He looked down. She had unzipped his pants. Using her legs.

He didn't know she could do that.

Her feet—small, dexterous—had worked the zipper down, and now she was using her thighs to rub his cock through the opening of his boxers. The fabric was rough against his skin, but her legs were smooth, warm, and the pressure was surprisingly good.

"Where did you learn that?" he asked, breathless.

She just smiled.

He didn't ask again. Some mysteries were better left unsolved.

He slipped two slick fingers inside her, and she gasped, her inner walls clenching around him. She rubbed his cock harder with her legs, the friction building, and he felt himself climbing toward climax.

He held back. Barely.

Then he lifted her off the counter, her legs still wrapped around his hips, and slowly lowered her onto his cock. He slid into her entrance—slowly, so slowly—and she kissed him as he filled her, her mouth soft and warm against his.

Her legs tightened around his hips. She began to move, riding him as he stood there, holding her weight, his hands cupping her ass. They found a rhythm—hers urgent, his steady—and the world narrowed to the heat between them, the sound of her breath, the taste of her milk still on his tongue.

They gyrated faster. Her nails dug into his shoulders. She came with a cry, her body clenching around him, and that pushed him over the edge. He unloaded into her, deep, holding her there as he shuddered.

He carried her to the bed and sat on the edge, still inside her. She stayed there, her legs still wrapped around him, her forehead pressed to his. They breathed together.

After a moment, she kissed him gently.

He pulled back, his hand cupping her face. "Your milk was different," he said. "It tasted delicious."

She tilted her head, waiting.

"It reminded me of bubble tea," he said. "The kind I used to drink at home. I didn't think I'd ever taste anything like that again."

Nostalgia filled his chest—warm and aching, the memory of a world that no longer existed.

Mei-Lin lifted her left breast and sucked on it herself, tasting. Her eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yeah." He leaned forward and sucked on the same nipple, tasting the milk again. "Even the sweetness is similar."

She laughed softly. Then she leaned down and sucked on the other breast, her mouth meeting his on the same nipple, their tongues mingling, sharing the taste of her milk. They giggled together, their foreheads touching, their breath mingling.

Mei-Lin was a treasure. Nostalgia and sweetness and home. She never failed to amaze him, even after all this time.

He pulled back, still catching his breath. "So what is it supposed to do? The milk?"

She giggled.

"What?"

She giggled harder.

"Mei-Lin—"

"I made it for Vivienne," she said. "To help her lactate."

He stared at her.

She was laughing now, openly, her whole body shaking.

"Am I going to lactate?" he asked.

She laughed harder.

He groaned, but he was laughing too. "That's not funny."

"It's a little funny."

They showered together, the water hot, the steam thick. She washed his back, and he washed hers, and they didn't talk about the milk or the lactation or any of it. They just were.

Aida returned from her feeding duties—Chen was stable, her meter holding—and joined them for tea. The three of them sat on the lounge, cups warm in their hands, the candlelight soft. They tried to stay awake, tried to wait for Vivienne, but the day had been long and the tea was warm and sleep crept up on them.

They fell asleep before she returned.

#Day 35 - 1:27

Hours later, Zhao woke to an empty bed.

The warmth of Mei-Lin's body was still on his skin, but the space beside him was cold. He sat up, blinking in the darkness, and saw her.

Vivienne sat on the mattress underneath the slanted window, her silhouette clear against the star-filled sky. No moon tonight—just the stars, thousands of them, scattered across the black like scattered salt. Her back was straight, her shoulders bare, her hands moving in slow, deliberate circles on her breasts.

She was massaging herself. Trying to induce lactation.

Beside her, a cup of tea sat on the windowsill—the lactating tea Mei-Lin had made for her earlier. The steam had long since dissipated. It was cold now.

Aida and Mei-Lin were fast asleep, curled together on the far side of the bed. Their breathing was slow, even, undisturbed.

Zhao was naked. He didn't bother with clothes. He walked to her, his feet silent on the carpet, and sat behind her. His arms wrapped around her waist, and he pulled her back against his chest, sharing his warmth.

She leaned into him, her head finding the hollow of his shoulder. She kissed his jaw—soft, absent—and settled against him.

He didn't speak. His eyes moved to the window, to the dark horizon beyond the stars. He scanned the water, searching for lights that weren't there.

The Mother Mercy. Gone. He knew they were gone. He looked anyway.

He held her tighter. Kissed her shoulder. Her scent was warm and slightly spicy, the way she always smelled at night, when the day's tension had faded and only she remained. He breathed her in.

Then he remembered.

Sabine. The knife. Sophie falling. Victoria's blade through Sabine's skull.

He hadn't been there. He had been in the treatment suite, packing for evacuation, doing nothing important while Vivienne and Sophie almost died.

He held her tighter. His arms locked around her, pulling her closer, as if he could protect her from the past by holding her in the present.

She noticed. She always noticed.

She turned in his arms, facing him, her knees on either side of his thighs. Her hands cupped his face, her thumbs tracing his cheekbones.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He shook his head. He couldn't speak.

His mind was spinning. Where was I when Sabine tried to kill her? Packing. Doing nothing. Chen was protecting the ship with her mind. Vivienne was leading with her courage. Sophie took a knife to the shoulder. And what did I do?

Had sex with women. Because I'm the vector. That's what I do.

What would I be if I wasn't a vector?

He knew the answer. He had known it for weeks. A nobody. A dock worker. Stuck in some cabin on the lower deck, probably alone, getting ignored by the elitist women of the Oasis.

Would he be holding her like this—naked under the stars—if he wasn't a vector?

No.

He wouldn't.

He had to do more. He had to deserve her. He couldn't keep pretending that his sacred job—saving lives by having sex—was enough.

Vivienne's voice was soft. "Tell me."

He swallowed. "I wasn't there. When Sabine tried to kill you."

She held his face steady. "I'm glad you weren't."

He stared at her.

"The entire ship needs you more than it needs me," she said. "You should be out of harm's way."

He understood the logic. He did. But he could never feel comfortable being treated like the ship's treasure. He wasn't born for this role. When he was young, he always chose to stay on the sidelines. He enjoyed orbiting the world at a safe distance—watching, studying. Sometimes he would find another person orbiting at the same speed, and they would drift together for a while. Friends. Lovers. Never anything permanent.

But now it felt different. When people talked about safety, his name was first on the list of what to protect.

"There must be other ways to protect you," he said. "Other than just treating people."

She waited.

"I want to learn how to fight."

Her hands stilled on his face.

"Not like Victoria," he said quickly. "Not lone wolf missions. Not like Maggie—no suicide charges. But I can't just... sit here. I helped Kim with engineering because that's what I learned in school. But her new trainees are trained now. She doesn't need me. I taught people how to fish, and now they fish around the clock. They don't need me either."

His voice dropped.

"I need to be more vigilant. For my family. No one knows where the next threat is coming from—monsters, Commission agents, something else. Chen, Vivienne, Aida, even me—we're all vulnerable. If there are more agents on this ship, we need to be ready."

He hugged her tight, his face pressed into her neck. "I will find a way to protect you."

She was quiet for a long moment. Then her arms came around him, and she held him back.

"No woman will reject a man's offer to protect her," she said softly. "Even if she's the captain. Even if her job is to keep everyone safe." She pulled back, looked at him. "I find comfort in it. Is that strange?"

He shook his head.

"Promise me," she said. "No stupid things. No putting yourself in harm's way just to prove something."

"I promise."

She kissed him. Soft. Long.

Then she pulled the blanket from the back of the lounge—neatly folded, always ready—and spread it over them. They lay down together under the slanted window, the stars bright above them, the ship humming beneath them.

Zhao held her, and she held him, and somewhere in the darkness, he stopped searching for lights that weren't there.

The Mother Mercy was gone. But Vivienne was here. Mei-Lin was here. Aida was here. Chen was here.

His family was here.

He closed his eyes and let himself rest.