THE SPACE NAVY AU (18+)

You wind your fingers in his hair and rest your cheek against his horn, just as in need of comfort as he is. "I can't kiss you, I'm contagious," you chuckle regretfully. "Maybe Lainey could gnaw on you a little as a special favor to me."

When you consider trying to deal with Whitey, something inside you collapses like a gum bubble, a slow gooey deflating of hopelessness. Murfey must see it on your face, because he speaks up: "Hey Deuce. Let me talk to Whitey. He likes me."

"Because you're a delinquent," you point out.

"Not gonna deny it. Authorize me. Do it. I ain't tired."

"You should be, you mineralized coconut. I don't know what's wrong with you. Okay, yes, you're probably our best chance of getting Pancho a fast ride without signing over the carrier. If the captain says it's okay," you add, because this isn't your decision alone.

"I'll flag you when it's rich and angry time," he says to Aspera. "See, I wanna work on his number one minion first. She has a crush on me. She might put in a good word before handing the phone to him."

 

"Oh, that's now, right, okay— make it so," you say. You give your best approximation of a regal wave as you can while climbing carefully into Kadros's lap. Parking your hind end on his undamaged thigh, you tuck your chin over his shoulder.

"Lainey!" you call.

"What!" she snaps.

"Kadros's moirail-medic is going to come and save us but only if I look very fancy at some other tyrian with a fast ship. Get someone to run and fetch me something I won't like a heap of flotsam in, will you?"

There's a bit of an excited burbling around the block, and someone zips off to go do just that. Lainey comes over to talk Communications Business with Murfey and brush your hair, and soon it becomes very difficult not to purr right into Kadros's ear. You're nearly undone with relief.

((welcome to the family, bel, you will never have personal space again. also if lainey finishes with erskin's hair she'll probably start in on bel's. she's just as frazzled and clingy as anyone right now.))

 

It feels a little weird to trust so many trolls so close to you, to have both Erskin and Lainey touching you, but it's definitely not a bad kind of weird. In the background, behind Erskin's purring and the red nothings Lainey is murmuring at him, you hear Murfey sweet-talking that Jay girl Whitey's always dragging around. Big rust girl, built like a brick house, kinda pretty but extremely batshit aggressive, has wanted to do sexy fisticuffs with Murfey since they first met. You think he enjoys stringing her along. Tonight, though, he all but promises her a spade-shaped sapphire to hang from her anatomy of choice if she'll butter up her boss for him.

Trusting that the business is well handled, you just purr into Erskin's hair and ride out the adrenaline letdown. They'll tell you when to call Pancho.

 

You're peeled away from your somewhat heated contemplation of Lainey brushing Kadros's hair— it's just very pretty, is all, her lovely violet-painted claws with the pale wood brush, grooming out all the grit and tangles— and what if you'd put the tangles in?— anyway— the chap who'd gone to get your kit shows up and you have to get off Kadros and suffer yourself to be cat-bathed, toweled off, and bundled into your stiff formal uniform. You grumble while Lainey clips in your earrings but it's mostly for form's sake, as are her scolding fin-tweaks.

"You get prettied up too," you tell her, rubbing one of her horn-tips. "You can be my, hm, my close second?"

"Your love slave," Lainey teases, shrugging into the version of the formal uniform that shows rather a lot of cleavage.

"You can't be my love slave, I'm your love slave," you protest. You pull her hair out of its usual oink-tails and give it a tousle.

"We'll both be Arguus's love slaves," Lainey says. She lets you take her chin and apply a bit of purple lipstick.

"Well we can't very well haul him in front of some random highblood to look intimidating, Kadros will have to do— here, Kadros, d'you want a pair of love slaves? Can't get a better price than free—"

But whether or not Kadros wants any love slaves at all will have to remain a mystery, because it's time to cluster around Murfey's communication device. You and Lainey are elbowing one another companionably for space, and then—

and—

and then— dad? your brain says. No, no, that's not— that can't be him, that's a— it's troll-shaped, but–

white, and violet eyes, a lusus— your lusus— you can feel your fins fold back, down, you draw in on yourself. Dad. A low, urgent noise is building in your throat, something like a hopeful purr, something like a godawful pleading moan. Dad, that's— that's my— I need— so many sweeps alone, I NEED— dad, dad, oh, please—

Lainey elbows you back, her eyes wide and worried, shoves forward to speak— that's yours he's yours you— very carefully don't hurt her for it. You break that violet gaze, finally, manage to focus on the dark far wall. You're trembling all over, rattled to your very soul, every thought in your head but a starving desperate love shaken clean out.

 

Lainey takes over from Murfey smoothly, positioning herself front and center in the white troll's viewscreen, one hand possessively placed on her matesprit's hip, keeping him in place. Whitey's interested in the Captain, and clearly pleased enough with himself not to bother hiding it— though he negotiates for cash and credit, his bright pink gaze lingers on Aspera. For his own part, Aspera shivers witlessly, wide-eyed, slack-finned, his entire body curled forward into a supplicating cringe, and when his eyes meet the mutant's he chirrs low in his throat and tries to squirm forward to reach the screen, as if he might somehow be able to touch the man behind it.

Lainey keeps Aspera as managed as a summoner might keep an impatient thrall, nudging him back, patting him quiet, but she doesn't remove him. She displays him: his fixation, his trembling desperation, how lost he is to instinct, how frantic for the white troll's regard. As numbers are tossed back and forth and favors are discussed, she asks the Captain idle, teasing questions. "Do you think that's too much, hon?" or "Hmm, we might be able to work with that," or "Oh, I don't know— sweetie? What do you say?"

It serves to wrench his attention back from wherever patch of floor or wall he's managed to pin it, each time destroying what little control over himself he's attempted to exert. He gasps "Yes, yes," or "Of course," or "Anything," driven nearly to a frenzy of desire, and the white troll preens.

Eventually the terms are set: very little cash, some nebulous fortune's worth of credit, and a standing invitation to drop by— Lainey pulls Aspera close, rests her head on his shoulder— whenever he likes. Any time.

"Be there in a week, ma'am, sir," Whitey says, and blows a self-satisfied little kiss at the Captain before turning his side of the screen off. Aspera stares at the darkened tablet dumbly for a long moment, then begins to weep.

"Fuck," Lainey hisses, smoke and sparks flickering from between her gritted teeth, and she gets her arm around his waist and bundles him out of the Medical block.

 

You move to follow, but Murfey's prosthetic clamps onto your wrist, strong as an industrial robot, and after a half second of irrational anger you realize that yeah, you should definitely not witness him like that any more than you already have. You may be friends, but you're also rivals; this is matesprit/moirail territory.

"What the fuck did we just see," Murfey growls.

"Looked like grub/lusus courting behavior," you answer quietly. "I've seen it a few times with Pancho's zoo. Some tough motherfucker who's been fine without a lusus for sweeps, something white in the right hemochrome comes near them and they turn into a chirping, cringing pupa. I didn't think it could happen over video, but..."

"Cap's an orphan? But no, what the fuck was the LT thinking, ain't she his matesprit? The fuck kind of matesprit uses her heart bro for pedo bait?"

"The kind that needs to save her crew's lives, Murfey," you snap.

He drags his metal hand down his face, gives an explosive sigh. "Sorry, Deuce. Don't tell her I said that."

"I won't," you promise. "It's been a night."

"That it fuckin' has."

 

Lainey stomps back into the medical block not more than ten minutes later. She glares around at everyone who's paused to look at her, and when she catches Kadros and Murfey she seems to bristle up to twice size.

"What." It comes out as a puff of bright flame.

 

"How's he doing?" you ask quietly. "And how are you holding up, Lainey? You want me to cover for you while you go find Arguus or like... take fifty showers?"

 

She deflates a bit, and pinches the bridge of her nose.

"No, he's getting Galley back online, and anyway you need to be taking it easy with the rest of the zombie chow. Which reminds me— do you and Murfey, like, wanna share a quarantine block, or have your own? A few guys're double-bunking already— one matesprit pair's decided they're on fucking vacation, they haven't stopped sucking face since we herded them into their quarters with a broom."

She endeavors to waggle her eyebrows. "Though I'm sure none of us would mind the show if the two of you wild stallions decided to take a little comfort in one another's manly arms."

 

You blush. Murfey laughs. He says, "If I'da filmed last drone season's black bucket utility hookup I could be an internet superstar." You punch him in the arm, and he laughs while you shake your hand and wince, because his arm is metal and you're an idiot.

"I want to help out as long as I can," you say. "Do we know how long it takes? Before... before we can't be trusted?"

"Shit, let's be roomies," says Murfey. "Maybe if we go on a punching spree we'll be lucky enough to go after each other instead of through the wall. I know for a fact we can wear each other out."

"Please stop trying to give my rival's matesprit a boner, it's weird," you grumble, and he snickers.

You're so glad he came aboard. He's the next best thing to having Pancho around. You're not pale for him, you don't pity him one bit, but he makes you laugh and he has your back, and that's worth a lot.

 

Lainey grins and climbs into Murfey's lap, giving him a faceful of barely-uniformed rumblespheres and a loud mwah! to one of his horns. She shifts her weight around in his lap for significantly longer than it should take anyone to get comfortable.

"Right," she says finally, one arm slung around Murfey's neck. "I've been giving this little lecture all morning, though not, of course, in front of such a pleasant view. Incubation follows a predictable pattern across all bloodtypes, though onset varies by immune system, general health, et-cet. You've got tomorrow night in the clear, and you'll be using it to get your affairs in order— let your quadrants know what's up, finish up what work you can and appoint proxies for what you can't, write a will if you're feeling pessimistic and also don't just want to let me have all your stuff. Also set up your quarantine room, drag some books over, movies, dildos, whatever. We want to keep interpersonal contact minimal—" she wiggles again, grinning, "—because your blood and spit and tears and ahem other fluids are spore vectors from like hour one. Definitely night one.

"Nights two through three's your immune system getting rowdily fucked in the face, you'll feel an onset of fever, muscle aches, nausea, that'll be about when you're specifically restricted to quarters. All the apologies in the world won't make up for spore-barfing on someone's shoes. After that, the synthetic aggression hormones the spores are dumping into your bloodstream stop getting cleared by your shagged-out immune system and you get cranky. I was joking around earlier but you will be getting a solo block at this point. We're making a lot of extra quarantine blocks just in case, I might need one myself. Anyway, give it too long and you'll get disordered thinking, paranoia, defensive and then uncontrollable rage, and, like, uh, brain damage. Sergeant Pancho will be here before the braindamage, but, uh, the calmer you can keep yourselves until then, the better. Self-control's going to count for a lot, especially because everyone's getting dialysis twice a night cycle and you two are like kinda a daunting proposition to haul around with a pole leash. We're thinking about putting together some muzzles, if it comes to that, but... yeah."

She tugs Murfey's dirty, scruffy ponytail. "Can I brush this?"

 

"I think I would appreciate that, ma'am," he says, visibly a little shaken, but his smile comes back quickly. "Well, we're real good at self-control. Lots of practice stonefacing while a DI spit-hollers in our faces." As Lainey starts in on his hair, he sighs and relaxes a little. "Oh, hell yes."

You put in, "Do we know if alcohol makes it worse or better?"

"Don't matter," Murfey says, "I'm getting cargoed anyway."

"Amen."

 

"Better get on it, Sergeant," she says, flicking his eartip. "It's clean living come nightfall, sorry. The less stress on your system the better, you know?"

 

"You go ahead and get started without me," you tell Murfey, "there's a bottle of good bourbon hidden behind my 'cupe in my quarters, don't finish it off before I get there." Standing up, you do a bit of a shuffle-hop before you get the hang of walking with your lower leg stiffened up like it is. "I'm gonna go see if Aspera and Galgal want any help."

What you mean is, you want to see them, and reassure yourself they're both okay. Murfey knows better than to call you on it.

 

"You might want to put some pants back on, stud," Lainey points out. "Enkidi's in his, uh, block, and I turned Aspera loose in the nearest maintenance shaft to kinda do his own thing for awhile. He was, uh..." she looks miserable, shrugs one shoulder. "Yeah. Uh. Like...If you find him he's probably gonna claw your face off for it, so. I do not advise."

 

"Think I'll go see Galgal first," you decide prudently.

You put your chewed-up, bloody pants back on, because hell if you're putting clean clothes on before you shower, you're not going to spend your Possibly Last Nights Alive doing laundry.

Limping to Galley's door, you knock briskly. "It's me, can I come in?"

 

The door's opened briskly by Arguus, who sees Kadros's pants and goes pale. He's pulled into the warm, humid, static-prickly room and pushed on to pillows as Arguus peers into every rip in his clothing to make sure of the bandages.

"Bel," Galley says, leaning down from his hammock. "You're alive? The captain ordered you not to die, you know. We don't brook disobedience on this ship. You're alive, aren't you?" His eyes are wide and frightened, and he clutches Aspera's phone in one hand. The screen is a monitoring program, flicking from one ship's camera to another each second. With his other hand, he reaches out hesitantly for the Commander. "I— sorry, you don't have to, you don't have to, but I can't tell."

"He is," Arguus says quietly, not looking at either of them. "Helmsman." He perches on a pillow nearby, and buries himself back in communion with his array of tablets and computers. Galley snatches his hand back and looks awkwardly miserable.

 

You catch Galley's hand before he can totally pull away, and give it a warm squeeze, meeting his eyes. "I'm alive," you say firmly. "I'm okay. Thank you for your concern," you add awkwardly, hoping he can some how figure out you're really saying It means so much to have you worry about me. You pull up your pant leg to show him the bandages: "The bites aren't bad. I'm infected, obviously, but I've got a strong immune system and a lot of self-control. I may not even need to be quarantined, depending on how fast the antiparasitics get here."

Then you realize he's not hooked into every camera on board like usual, so he and Arguus might not know what's up. You give them the quick summary.

 

Galley doesn't let go of his hand. He stays leaned on his side, examining it, while Kadros explains. When the deal with the white troll is sketched out and Aspera's dramatic reaction is mentioned, Arguus and Galley both wince. They share a brief moment of eyecontact before Arguus turns back to his computers and Galley focuses on Kadros's fingerprints one-by one.

"The Captain's an orphan too," Galley says distantly. "I like that about him."

Arguus growls very quietly. Galley shrinks back into the hammock again, then sits up and bares his teeth in an exaggerated howlbeast threat-display at the back of Arguus's head.

"He's bugfuck," Galley snaps. "He's a graceless pissed-pants screwed-up heap of bugfuck like us and you know it."

Arguus doesn't turn around, but his growling gets a touch louder. Galley's phone shimmers iridescent and turns off. Galley yelps, lets go of Kadros's hand, and frantically tries to turn the device back on.

 

"Is that Aspera's phone?" You chew your lip in thought for a moment. "That means he hasn't leaned on Pancho's base commander for the medicine and sending Pancho out early. Galley, we should get you a phone of your own. Arguus, do you --?" You break off when you see Arguus's scowl. You finally start to register the way they've been acting toward each other these past few minutes. You gesture between them: "Am I... interrupting something? I can go."

(ok now for reals i sleep)