Page 89 of Salvation for the Alien Mercenary
The thought lodged in her chest as she watched him across the room, taller and moving differently, yet still at the center of the crew that had already adjusted to his changes.
“I don’t know, buddy,” she whispered, her eyes drifting between Davis and the medbay door. Between staying and running. “But I need to decide. And soon.”
* * *
She fucking hated feeling helpless.
The wound in Mira's side pulled as she eased herself down onto her bunk. She grimaced, peeling back the temporary dressing to examine Covak's patch job. The Vorrtan's work was neat as always, but the injury still throbbed with each heartbeat, a reminder of how close she'd come.
She traced the angry red line with her fingertips. Davis had insisted on carrying her back to her quarters despite her protests. She'd felt small in his arms, cradled against a chest that seemed broader than it had been just days ago.
That was the problem. Everything had changed so fast. He had changed so fast.
A soft mechanical chirp broke through her thoughts. Spot scuttled over to the bed, his movements jerky and uneven from the damage he'd sustained. Three of his legs were bent at awkward angles, and his sensors on the left-hand side flickered a little.
"You should be resting." She smiled as the little drakeen core ignored her, climbing with determination onto the bunk next to her.
Spot nudged her hand, his blue lights brightening slightly. He held something she hadn't noticed before… a small metal stylus.
"What are you doing with that?" she asked, taking it from his grasp. It was Davis's; she'd seen it on his desk. The weight of it in her palm reminded her of their nights together. Before the lies.
Spot chirped again, the sound both insistent and comforting.
"Yeah, I know," she sighed, setting the stylus aside. "I need to figure this out."
She shifted positions, wincing as the movement pulled at her side. Spot settled beside her, his lights dimming to a soft blue glow.
She closed her eyes, exhaustion tugging at her limbs. The events at K’ell's lab replayed behind her eyelids… the M'Suun ambush, the desperate battle, Davis moving with inhuman speed to reach her. The memory of his face when he'd found her surrounded by enemies sent a shiver down her spine. Those alien eyes burning with something primal, something possessive.
Was that protection or control? Where was the line?
Rettnor's face swam into her mind unbidden, his clinical detachment as he'd tended wounds. Mostly ones he'd caused. He'd called it care, too. Called it protection when he'd isolated her, when he'd monitored her every movement and communication… when he'd taken away her gaming rig because "she was getting too emotional" during tournaments. Too hysterical.
"It's for your own good, Mira," he'd say, his voice dripping with false concern. "You're fragile. Delicate. You need someone to take care of you."
She opened her eyes, bile rising in her throat. Davis wasn't Rettnor. He'd never tried to diminish her, never belittled her skills or intelligence. But the secrecy, the decisions he'd made without her input...
"Is it the same?" she whispered to the empty room. "Is it the same thing all over again?"
Spot's sensors swiveled toward her, blinking in what seemed like disagreement.
The silence of her quarters pressed in around her, broken only by the steady hum of the ship's systems and Spot's occasional electronic whirring. She pushed herself up from the bunk, restlessness driving her to movement despite the pain. Pacing the small space, she tried to organize her chaotic thoughts.
Davis had lied to her. Or at least, he'd kept the truth from her. He'd decided she shouldn't know about the Ophiuchian DNA or the extent of his transformation. He'd made that choice for her, just like Rettnor had made so many choices.
But Davis had also risked his life to save her. Had fought through a hail of enemy fire to reach her when she was surrounded. Had helped save Spot when the drakeen core was hurt. Had given her space when she needed it, never forcing her to accept his new reality.
She found herself thinking of the gaming rig in engineering… the one Davis had built for her those first weeks aboard. She'd been so surprised by the gesture. There had been no strings attached, no expectation of gratitude beyond a simple thank you. He'd given her a way to reclaim something Rettnor had taken, had recognized what gaming meant to her without her having to explain.
That wasn't control. That was understanding.
Spot chirped beside her, having followed her across the room. She frowned when he nudged a small object with his functional front leg. It was the neural band Jex had made for her to connect with him during the battle.
"Are you trying to tell me something?" she asked as she picked up the band.
The neural connectors glinted in the overhead lights. She'd trusted Spot with her mind, had felt his consciousness brush against hers. They'd shared memories, sensations, and purpose. It had been terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
Maybe that was the difference. Trust versus fear. Sharing versus submission.
