Page 31 of Alien Mercenary's Wife
"This is excellent."
"Sparky insists on quality coffee. Says life's too short for bad stimulants." T'Raal arranged food on two plates with the same precision he'd shown during yesterday's firefight. "Though he usually adds enough sugar to kill a Vraxian."
"Where is everyone?" She settled onto one of the benches, testing her mobility. Moving felt natural instead of requiring careful planning.
"Ship's on night cycle for another hour. Most of the crew won't surface until then." He set a plate in front of her, loaded with enough food for three people. "Thought you might appreciate a quiet breakfast."
The consideration should have made her suspicious. When was the last time someone had done something nice without expecting payment? But the smell of real food killed her skepticism.
"Thank you." The words felt inadequate for everything he'd done. Not just for breakfast, but for everything. Yesterday's rescue, the medical care, and a safe place to sleep. "I know you didn't have to?—"
"Yes, I did." Same intensity as last night, cutting through her attempt at politeness. "Eat. You need the calories."
She took a bite of bacon and had to stop herself from groaning. It had a perfect crispy texture with just the right amount of salt. The eggs were just as good, with yolks still runny. Even the beans tasted better than anything she'd managed to afford in recent months.
"How's the leg?" T'Raal asked, settling across from her with his plate.
"Better. Much better." She flexed her foot under the table. "Whatever Tal did, it's working."
"Good. He knows his business."
They ate quietly for several minutes. The food settled warm in her stomach, chasing away the hollow ache of too many missed meals. She watched T'Raal cut his sausage with the same controlled movements he used for everything else. His dark hair had come loose during cooking, framing his face in a way that made her pulse quicken.
"Can I ask you something?" she said finally.
"Depends on the question."
"Why help me at all? You didn't know me. Eris asked, but you could have said no."
T'Raal set down his fork, fixing her with those blue-green eyes. "Because Eris asked. And because everyone deserves a chance to fight back."
"But I'm not your responsibility."
"You are now."
The simple statement hit harder than any grand declaration. No conditions, no negotiations. Just acceptance.
"Just like that?"
"Just like that." He resumed eating like he hadn't just redefined her world. “Eris asked for help. That makes you family. Family looks out for each other."
She stared at her plate. Hope was dangerous territory, but this felt different. More solid.
"What happens now?"
"Now we figure out how to keep you alive while you finish what you started." T'Raal's tone was matter-of-fact, like discussing ship maintenance. "Eris mentioned you have evidence?"
"Boxes of it. Medical records, correspondence, financial documents." She took another bite. "Enough to prove the implants are defective and the company knew it. But every time we get close to court, something happens to witnesses."
"Accidents?"
"Car crashes, equipment failures, sudden illnesses." Bitterness crept in despite her efforts to stay neutral. "Always plausible, never provable."
T'Raal nodded grimly. "Professional killers. They know how to make it look accidental."
"You sound like you've dealt with this before."
"Different companies, same tactics. When you have enough money, problems disappear." He met her eyes across the table. "But they're about to discover that the Warborne don't disappear easily."
