Atlas Six (Atlas Series, 1)

It had not been a very good day for Ezra, poor thing. This was a rather inevitable outcome, of course, considering he’d had to spend most of it with Libby’s parents at her graduation ceremony before she, admittedly, had skipped off mysteriously without warning and then returned to delay any explanation for her absence by tugging him firmly into bed with her. At least he’d gotten sex that day, which she presumed would be a lovely turn of events, but also, his partner in the act had clung to a secretive and knowingly manipulative agenda that had left her distracted and unable to climax, so that was… potentially less lovely for him. 

Subsequent pro: she had graciously made him dinner.

Subsequent con: she had also informed him over said dinner that she would be accepting the offer made to her by Atlas Blakely, Caretaker, despite being unable to properly explain why.

“So you’re just… leaving?” Ezra asked, warily bemused. He had been mid-sip when Libby began talking and had since forgotten about the wine glass that remained clutched in his hand. “But Lib—”

“It’s only two years,” Libby reminded him. “Well, one for sure,” she amended, “and then hopefully a second year if I’m selected.”

Ezra set down his glass, frowning at it. 

“And… what is it, exactly?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“But—”

“You’ll just have to trust me,” she said, not for the first time. “It’s essentially a fellowship,” she added in an attempt to explain, but this, unfortunately, had been exactly the wrong auditory cue.

“Speaking of fellowships, I’ve been meaning to bring it up,” Ezra said, brightening, “but I just heard from Porter in the bursar’s office that Varona turned down that NYUMA fellowship. I know you weren’t excited about the VC job, so if you’re still interested in that position, I’m sure I could put in a good word.”

Surely he must have known this was the exact wrong thing to say. Shouldn’t he? She wouldn’t want Nico’s cast-offs, and certainly not now.

Though it did leave her with one other thing to explain.

“Well, the thing about Varona is—” Libby coughed. “Well, Varona is… also invited.”

Ezra faltered. “Oh?”

“Oh, come on. You can’t be surprised.” She fidgeted with her utensils, pushing the pasta around on her plate. “You saw us this morning, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but I thought—”

“Look, it’s the same as it always is,” she said listlessly. “For whatever reason, Nico and I can do the same things, and—”

“So then why do they need both of you?” Ezra prompted. Again, the wrong thing to say. “You hate working with him. Not to mention everyone knows you’re better—”

“Actually, Ezra, they don’t. Clearly they don’t,” Libby added with a scoff, “since he got the fellowship I wanted. See how that works?”

“But—”

“I can’t let him win this time, babe. Seriously, I can’t.” She wiped her mouth with her napkin, setting it back on the table with frustration. “I’ve got to set myself apart from him. Don’t you get that?”

“Can’t you do that by, I don’t know,” Ezra posed with tacit disapproval, “doing something different?”

He made that sound so simple.

“Look,” Libby said, “chances are, only one of us is going to make the cut when the… fellowship,” she remembered, narrowly avoiding giving more details away, “determines the final members for its—” A pause. “Faculty.” Another pause, and then, “We have the same specialty, which means we’ll draw the most obvious comparison. So either he’ll be picked and I won’t, in which case I’ll be back in a year or less, or I’ll be picked and he won’t, in which case—”

“In which case you win,” Ezra exhaled with a hand around his mouth, “and we can finally stop worrying about whatever Varona is doing?”

“Yes.” That much, at least, was fairly obvious. “Not that you have to worry about Varona now.”

Ezra stiffened. “Lib, I wasn’t—”

“You were, actually,” Libby said, picking up her glass. “And I keep telling you, there’s nothing there. He’s just an asshole.”

“Believe me, I’m aware—”

“We’ll talk every night,” she assured him. “I’ll come home every weekend.” She could do that, probably. Maybe. “You’ll barely notice I’m gone.”

Ezra sighed. “Libby—”

“You just have to let me prove myself,” she told him. “You keep saying that Varona’s not better than me—”

“—because he isn’t—”

“—but it doesn’t matter what you think, Ezra, not really.” His mouth tightened, probably resentful that she was so dismissive of his admittedly very thoughtful attempts to reassure her, but on this, she couldn’t make allowances. “You hate him too much to see how good he really is, babe. I just want the opportunity to learn more, to prove myself. And proving myself by going up against the best in the world means going up against Nico de Varona, whether you believe that or not.”

“So I don’t get a say, then.” Ezra’s expression was slightly grim, but mostly unreadable.

“Of course you get a say,” Libby corrected him. “You can say, ‘Libby, I love you and I support you,’ or you can say something else.” She swallowed before adding, “But believe me, Ezra, there are only two answers here. If you don’t say one, you’re saying the other.”

She braced herself, waiting. She didn’t expect him to make any unreasonable demands, exactly, but she definitely knew he wasn’t going to be thrilled. Closeness was important to Ezra; it had been his idea to move in together, and he expected a certain amount of what a therapist might call ‘quality time.’ He certainly wasn’t going to savor the fact that Nico would be there in his absence.

To Libby’s immense relief, though, Ezra merely sighed, reaching across the table for her hand.

“You dream big, hotshot,” he said.

“That,” she murmured, “isn’t really an answer.”

“Fine. Libby, I love you and I support you.” She was briefly permitted a pause for relief; and then he added, “But be careful, okay?”

“Be careful with what,” Libby scoffed, “Varona?”

Nico was laughably harmless. Good, certainly, even great if he put his mind to it, but he was hardly capable of schemes. He could get under her skin, maybe—but even then, there was no danger of anything aside from losing her temper.

“Just be careful.” Ezra leaned across the table, brushing his lips against her forehead. “I would never forgive myself if I let something happen to you,” he murmured, and she groaned. Just the usual white knight shit, then.

“I can take care of myself, Ezra.”

“I know.” He touched her cheek, smiling faintly. “But hey, what else am I here for?”

“Your body,” she assured him. “Plus you make a mean bolognese.”

He had her out of her chair in a flash, pulling her into him as she laughed in unconvincing protest. 

“I’m going to miss you, Libby Rhodes,” he said, “and that’s the truth.”

So it was final, then. She was really doing this.

Libby wrapped her arms around Ezra’s neck, clinging to him for a moment. Maybe she wasn’t a damsel in distress, but it still felt nice to anchor herself to something before casting herself into the unknown.