Looking at it objectively, the bonding isn’t the problem. The problem is my fear of how much my life is going to change, and whether I’m strong enough to handle the implications.
But when have I ever backed down from a challenge?
A soft warbling sound from the ventilation grate above me announces Jitters’s arrival. The little shapeshifter drops down in a cascade of worried colors—muddy brown anxiety, orange distress, with flickers of pink affection.
But then he does something I’ve never seen him do before.
He lands on the counter, goes perfectly still, and his entire surface ripples with what looks like a sneeze. His pseudopods flare outward, sampling the air around me with the intensity of a chemical analyzer running a full spectrum scan.
Then he explodes into the most brilliant, triumphant gold I’ve ever seen him produce—so bright it’s almost blinding in the small refresher. The color is pure, uncut joy mixed with something that looks suspiciously like vindication. Like he’s been waiting for this exact moment and finally, finally, it’s arrived.
He doesn’t just look at me. He smells the change. The bond. The claiming marks that have altered my biochemistry in ways even my own scanners can’t fully detect yet.
And he knows. He knows I’m pack now. Not just a temporary ally or a tolerated presence, but family. Permanent family.
“Yeah, little guy,” I say softly, my voice catching slightly on the emotion. “I’m yours now. Both of yours.”
Jitters bounces once—a movement of pure elation—then flows across the counter to press against my hand with a purr so deep and satisfied it vibrates through the metal surface. The sound is happiness made audible, contentment that resonates in my chest and makes my eyes sting with unexpected tears.
He shifts through a sequence of colors that I’m beginning to interpret as communication. Gold for courage, pink foraffection, a brief flash of protective orange, then settling back to a steady, reassuring blue-green that seems to say ‘everything will be okay.’
“You think so?” I ask him, and he bounces once in what I take as confirmation.
The little shapeshifter has more faith in me than I have in myself right now.
I take one last deep breath, square my shoulders, and open the refresher door.
Crash is leaning against the wall opposite, exactly where he said he’d be. His golden eyes immediately lock onto mine, scanning my face with the intensity of someone trying to assess a situation from limited data. Through our shared connection, I feel his love, his concern, his desperate desire to make everything okay for me without taking away my agency to process this on my own.
“Better?” he asks softly.
“Getting there,” I reply honestly. “I needed a few minutes to have a minor existential crisis about permanently bonding myself to an alien warrior during asteroid navigation.”
His mouth quirks up in that almost-smile that makes my heart skip. “And how did that crisis resolve?”
“I decided that I’m an engineer,” I say, stepping close enough to touch him. “Engineers adapt to new parameters. And you... you’re definitely new parameters.”
“Is that a good thing?” There’s vulnerability in the question, carefully hidden but present where we are joined. He’s been giving me space to process, but he’s been worried that I’ll decide this was all a mistake.
“It’s the best thing,” I tell him, reaching up to cup his face with one hand. “Terrifying, life-changing, completely impossible to plan for... but the best thing.”
The relief that floods through our connection is overwhelming, mixed with love and gratitude and a fierce possessiveness that makes me shiver with want.
“I was afraid,” he admits, “that once the claiming hormones wore off, you’d realize you’d made a terrible mistake.”
“Oh, I definitely made a terrible mistake,” I say, and feel his alarm spike through the bond before I continue with a grin. “I should have claimed you back instead of letting you do all the work. Next time, I’m taking initiative.”
The sound he makes is somewhere between a growl and a purr, his eyes flashing with renewed desire. “Next time?”
“Well, we have to properly establish the bond, don’t we?” I say innocently. “I assume that takes multiple... sessions... to complete correctly?”
“Many sessions,” he agrees solemnly, though his eyes are dancing with amusement. “Very thorough, very... comprehensive bonding. Could take weeks to complete properly.”
“Good thing we have time,” I murmur, then lean up to kiss him softly. Along the thread connecting us, I let him feel my love, my choice, my commitment to whatever comes next.
When we break apart, Jitters has appeared at our feet in a cloud of happy pink, bouncing with excitement that his family is back in harmony. His joy is so pure and uncomplicated that it makes both of us laugh.
“He was worried too,” I observe, bending to scoop up the little shapeshifter. He immediately forms himself into a comfortable weight in my arms, purring with contentment that vibrates through my entire chest.
