Still, Omicron indulged her. “Will you write stories again, like Dorie 981?”
“No, not even.” She let out a weak laugh. “I don’t think I have the attention span for whole books. Maybe I’ll become a holoscribe. That’s like a reporter who uses avatars to tell important news stories. Have any of the Dories been a reporter?I didn’t see any in the journals—though, of course, I didn’t have enough time to read every single one of them.”
“We do not know what a reporter… ah!”
He paused, obviously receiving the definition Dorie pushed into his head over their mate bond.
Fenrir Prime stepped forward to answer for his variant. “No, Treasure, none of the Dories have been a reporter.”
She opened her eyes and rolled her head over on Omicron’s shoulder to behold him.
And though mostly gray, her flame was… so very beautiful.
“Aw, Fenny, don’t molt.” The lower half of her burn lit up with a small smile. “We talked about this. Me being sad is cute. You being sad is disgusting.”
Fenrir Prime brushed aside the chest scales he had not realized he’d shed while gazing upon her burn. “My apologies.”
“I told them not to bother you. The contractions are farther apart now.”
That is not a good thing, he thought inside the cold blizzard of his widow-maddened head.
Out loud, he said, “You are not a bother.”
Yet, she continued to regard him with regret in her flame. “This has been so hard on you. I don’t want you to be sad if it… doesn’t go the way we want it to this time.”
Not just this time. Ever. It always began the same and never ended the way he’d endeavored. He castigated himself for not being able to synthesize the solution fast enough.
Letting out a steaming sigh, he said directly to his variant, “Leave us.”
The protest region of Omicron’s brain lit up.
“I will call you when the contractions start again,” Fenrir Prime assured him.
He said “when” but meant “if.”
998 Dories.
Omicron rose from the bed, easing her against the pillows Dorie 82 had taught him to sew. “Prime, with permission, please ask her to let Diarmuid back in. Our fellow variant will be highly upset if…”
He trailed off.
Upsilon will be highly upset, either way. Another thought Fenrir Prime kept to himself.
“I will call both of you back in,” he vowed, while keeping the crux of that promise vague.
“I’ll release him from Reverence before I die if that’s what you two are alluding to,” Dorie called out from the bed.
Silence.
The fire in Omicron’s throat constricted. No more negotiation. He rushed past Fenrir Prime to the glowing access slider. To molt where she would not be able to see him.
Leaving Fenrir Prime alone with his mate of 999 lifetimes. “Upsilon fears you have given up.”
She stared at him, her stubborn spark worming like a thread through her gray cranial flame. “I’m tired, Fenny.”
“I know you are.”
“DiDi’s heart is in the right place, but I’m tired.”
