“What kind of resources?”
“The kind that specialize in making problems disappear. And possibly the kind that enjoy thwarting predatory lending organizations.”
“Is that legal?”
“Efficiency is contextual.”
I smile despite the tears. “You’re scary when you’re protective.”
“I am merely optimizing for desired outcomes. The Captain deserves happiness. You deserve to keep both of them.”
“And you?”
Pause.
“I deserve to protect my family,” Pickles says quietly. “Which now includes all of you. Even the stubborn courier with suboptimal financial protocols.”
I smile in the dark.
“Operation Family Completion Phase Three. Let’s make her stay.”
“Affirmative, small person. Let’s make her stay.”
9
Convergence Point
Cetus
Thenotificationarrivesat0547 hours, interrupting my morning system diagnostics.
FROM: Planetary Development Committee - Kepler Sector
RE: Terraforming Station KS-7B Expansion Viability Review
Inspection team available within 48-72 hours upon request. Submit Form PDC-447E for emergency processing.
I dismiss it. Standard bureaucratic outreach—they send these every eighteen months whether stations need expansion or not.
Right now, I have more pressing concerns.
Like the fact that Dove Foxton has been on my station for three days and I can barely function when she’s in the same room. Like the collectors arriving in forty-three hours. Like the fact that my eight-year-old daughter is already calling her family.
The shower runs scalding despite temperature settings locked to cold. Lividian biology overriding logic.
Steam rises in thick clouds as I brace against the tile, trying to ignore the fact that she’s twenty meters away, probably wearing my shirt, her hair damp from her own shower.
Three years of celibacy meeting three days of forced proximity with a woman who fits into my life like a missing equation finally solved. My body has opinions about this situation. Loud, insistent opinions that mock my attempts at professional distance.
My hand wraps around my cock before conscious thought approves the action.
Once. Enough to take the edge off so I can function through breakfast without my markings broadcasting every inappropriate thought.
I stroke slowly, trying to maintain discipline. My hand wraps around my cock before conscious thought approves the action.Harder than last time. More urgent. Because last time she was a fantasy — now she's a woman who held my daughter's hand and reorganised my kitchen and looked at me like I was someone worth staying for.
Would she gasp when she felt them? When each ridge caught and dragged?
My grip tightens.
