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Jamey

The bear pilot's name was Decklan. Jamey learned this when he heard Safrilly squeal it, her voice carrying even through the closed door of the room he'd tucked himself into.

When Jamey made his way out onto the bridge to investigate the noise, he found Decklan looking begrudgingly domestic as he deposited an armload of shopping bags on the table. Safrilly slid into the booth and immediately began pawing through the bags; she came up for air a moment later, triumphantly clutching some kind of monstrous-looking hybrid fruit that was labeled 'EXTRA SOUR!!!' with a graphic that implied it was the sort of thing ten-year-olds dared each other to eat for entertainment. "Thank you, Decklan!"

Jamey wrinkled his nose involuntarily, and was a little amused to see Mr. Prost, who was standing beside Safrilly, eyeing the fruit with similar dismay.

Decklan grunted and nodded to Safrilly, then turned his back on the group--a bit bashfully, Jamey thought--and went to busy himself with something at the pilot's controls. Jamey slipped quietly closer to the table to get a look at what else Decklan had bought, besides Safrilly's weaponized fruit. The first bag he opened was, perplexingly, full of board games.

Mr. Prost pulled a comfortable-looking cotton shirt from one of the other bags and held it up. "Here you go, Safrilly."

The fox in question, who was busying herself with unpacking various other food treats from the bag and lining them up on the table, barely glanced in his direction. "Oh, I'm alright." Decklan looked up from his screens, as if to see what she was rejecting.

"Safrilly," Jamey said, quiet but sharp. She looked up to meet his gaze, her eyes wide and startled, then turned to look properly at the shirt Mr. Prost was holding out to her, but she still didn't take it.

"It's nice, I'll put it on in a minute."

The fur along Jamey's spine lifted. "Safrilly, our host was nice enough to buy you something to wear, and I don't think he appreciates you turning his ship, which is his home and his workplace, into a nudist colony!"

He didn't raise his voice--at least, he was pretty sure he hadn't--but the silence that fell on the bridge rang as if he had. Safrilly stared at him for a moment, then looked over at Decklan, her ears flicking back in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry. Thank you, Decklan," she said again, accepting the shirt from Mr. Prost before disappearing back into the crew quarters.

Mr. Prost watched her go, then turned his gaze on Jamey. Decklan had turned in his seat to look at Jamey, too. They both looked...concerned.

Jamey grabbed the bag containing the rest of the clothes and retreated, following Safrilly. "I'm going to change, too. Thank you, sir," he added to Decklan, who responded with a surprised chuffing noise that just made Jamey scurry out of the room faster.

***

Decklan

The two pets disappeared into the crew quarters for several hours. Marley and Decklan, by mutual agreement, left them alone; Decklan concerned himself with the undocking and departure procedures to get them off of Huntsman Station, while Marley unpacked the rest of the shopping.

The departure procedures were routine, something Decklan could have done in his sleep, which meant his mind was free to wander. He found himself thinking about how Jamey had spoken to Safrilly, his voice quiet but sharp as a whip-crack.

Marley was clearly bothered by it, but Safrilly hadn't reacted like someone being bullied. She didn't seem to be afraid of Jamey. They were shut up in the same bedroom together, and Decklan occasionally caught her high, chittering laugh, barely muffled by the doors.

Maybe he needed to invest in better soundproofing for the PENNY.

Then, of course, that was that sullenly respectful sir, which Decklan was certain he shouldn't make too much of, but...well. Jamey hadn't addressed Marley that way; he barely seemed to acknowledge the stoat's existence.

Once they were safely out of the Huntsman's orbit and the autopilot was engaged, Decklan stood up and checked the time. "Dinner?" he asked, and Marley looked up from the laptop he was tapping away on, then glanced at the clock as well.

"Oh! Yes, I think so."

Dinner was prepared by the ship itself. The programmable commissary--a squat machine installed in one of the corners of the bridge--was one of the few expensive upgrades that Decklan had been able to justify; he had to feed passengers often enough that it was a reasonable investment. It definitely wasn't a top-of-the-line model and he didn't stock any especially exotic ingredients, but the machine could prepare over a hundred dishes from the basic freeze-dried supplies he kept in stock.

He showed Marley how to operate the thing--the technology was commonplace, but most furs generally only encountered it in the form of hot vending machines with limited options, or operated for them by employees at convenience stores--and Marley selected some kind of glazed meat dish. As soon as the smell of food started to fill the ship, Safrilly popped out of the crew quarters, her nose twitching. "Is that Mongolian beef?"

She was dressed in the cotton shirt that Marley had tried to give her earlier, along with a loose, wrap-style skirt. As she entered the bridge, Jamey drifted into view behind her as if he was attached to her by an invisible line, being dragged out of hiding against his will. He lingered at the far end of the bridge and watched as Marley showed Safrilly the programmable commissary.

Marley's explanation was interrupted by the machine's chirpy tune. The compartment slid open to reveal a family-sized bowl of the Mongolian beef, along with rice, a side of snap peas, and a stack of clean plates and utensils. Safrilly squeaked in delight and helped Marley carry the food and dishes to the table as Decklan got glasses of water for everyone.

Jamey waited until everyone else was seated before he finally approached, sliding quietly into the booth beside Safrilly. His shoulders were tense, his ears held rigidly straight like he was controlling his reactions. Decklan made a point not to watch the jackal too closely--he was well aware of how intimidating his attention could be, given his size--but Jamey's discomfort didn't escape his notice.

Jamey watched everyone else serve themselves before he took a portion, and he ate in small, careful bites, casting increasingly appalled glances towards Safrilly as she dug into the food with enthusiasm. Decklan anticipated the disaster a moment before it happened, but wasn't sure how to stop it. Jamey looked at Safrilly one more time, then said, quiet but sharp, "Safrilly, slow down."

Safrilly paused, chopsticks halfway to her mouth, and gave him a surprised and confused look.

"Jamey," Marley said, frowning, "I don't like you speaking to her that way."

Jamey's ears tilted just slightly and he turned to stare at Marley, as if startled to be addressed. He must know that they could hear him, but apparently he expected his comments to Safrilly to be ignored.

Marley opened his mouth again. Concerned that he was about to say something harsher, Decklan spoke up first. "He's worried for her. He doesn't trust the food."

Jamey turned his stare on Decklan, his ears flattening against his skull like Decklan had growled at him. Decklan stared back and waited to see if Jamey would try to contradict him, not that it mattered; the disapproving frown had already dropped off of Marley's face, replaced by dismay as he obviously reached the same conclusion Decklan had. The jackal had spent the last month guarding Safrilly against drugged food, and he clearly hadn't let go of that mind-set yet. Given how careful he was with his own food, Decklan wondered if Safrilly was really the only one who Wrath had tried to drug.

Jamey's uncomfortable silence was as good as an agreement. Safrilly reached out to him as if to put a paw on his arm, but he startled away from her and then slid out of the booth, disappearing back into the crew quarters without a word.

Safrilly hesitated only long enough to cast an accusing glare at Marley and Decklan both, then she followed Jamey, calling his name. The bedroom door slid shut audibly behind her.

Marley sighed heavily and slid down in his seat. "Well. I guess I handled that poorly, didn't I? Be honest."

Decklan considered his words carefully. "You're protective of Safrilly."

"And not so much of Jamey," Marley said for him, giving him a wry look. "I know. I'm afraid I don't know what to do with him. You've seen how he ignores me."

"He doesn't know you."

"He doesn't know you, either," Marley replied archly. Decklan wasn't sure what to say to that, but Marley didn't seem to expect an answer; he poked at his food with his chopsticks, then sighed. "It's his age, too. He's old enough to be a mentor to her, and I suppose that's the role I keep expecting him to play."

"A mentor?"

"All of our pets in training are assigned a mentor--a pet who's already graduated the program. An experienced submissive they can go to with questions, to talk out their career planning, things like that." Decklan nodded, and silence fell for a few moments as Marley took another bite of food, then he said, "Jamey's mentor was the only person I was able to reach who still remembered him, actually. He hasn't mentored for the VDA in years, though, and he's several star systems away, I didn't ask him to join me because I didn't want to wait. But it would've been helpful to have someone with us that Jamey knew."

Decklan shrugged. He wasn't sure it would have made a difference, after nearly ten years. He picked up his chopsticks again, too, and they ate quietly for a while before Marley spoke again.

"He needs someone on his side."

"Safrilly is on his side," Decklan pointed out. Marley shook his head.

"He's used to protecting her, not the other way around, don't you think? He needs someone he can let his guard down around, someone he trusts to keep him safe." He gave Decklan a significant look. "I'm focused on Safrilly, and you seem to understand him better than I do."

Decklan frowned. "You were right when you said he doesn't know me. He has no reason to trust me."

"Hmm," Marley responded, and didn't push the topic any further. But the thought wiggled into Decklan's brain and stayed there.

***

Jamey

Jamey hid in his room for the next two days.

Everyone knew where he was; he had no illusions about that. He locked the door, but Decklan certainly could've overridden it somehow. If they'd wanted to, Mr. Prost or Decklan could've dragged him out any time.

Neither of them even knocked on his door, and the few times he encountered them in the common room on his way to and from the restroom, they didn't try to corner him or talk to him. They let him scuttle around the ship like a feral animal and nobody seemed to mind how rude he was being, and he wanted to be pissed about it--either at himself or them, he didn't know--but he was too grateful for the space.

Safrilly didn't leave him alone, of course. She brought him two hot meals a day and kept leaving snacks in his room even when he told her not to. She spent hours in the little bedroom with him, sitting on the floor or the bed together, browsing the visual and audio media available in the ship's library. She even slept there with him the first night, both of them tangled together like children at a sleepover, but the next night she spent in Mr. Prost's room; he was helping her sleep, she said, by putting her into subspace.

"You should try it," she suggested on the second afternoon of Jamey's self-imposed confinement. They were sat on the bed together, watching an old movie that she'd badgered Jamey into admitting he'd seen before and enjoyed. "Especially if you're having trouble sleeping. It's been a while for you, hasn't it? At least, I never saw you go under for...you know." She didn't like to say Brandin's name.

"So you think I should for Mr. Prost? Why, to make sure I'm not broken?" Jamey asked, a little too sarcastically. Safrilly gave him a look that immediately shamed him. "I'm sorry. I just--I'm happy he can do that for you, but I don't think I want to kneel for Mr. Prost." The very idea felt like trying to proposition his elementary school teacher: bizarrely sexless and likely to end with both of them irritated.

"It wouldn't have to be him. Decklan is a dom, you know. He's not from the VDA, but he's been to clubs and things--he and Marley talk sometimes while I'm under. He's sweet, really, not nearly as scary as he looks."

"He doesn't look scary," Jamey said, and then scowled in response to Safrilly's innocently vulpine smile.

"Oh? How do you think he looks, then?"

"Shut up," he muttered, knocking his shoulder into hers, and she laughed, but changed the subject. Jamey's brain didn't, though: he kept thinking about what she had said, even after she left for the evening. His imagination helpfully conjured up images of Decklan at a BDSM club, surrounded by pretty, fawning submissives.

He was handsome enough, and his size would be a major advantage for a dom. He would have to be popular. The idea of asking for Decklan to put him under--even platonically--felt like asking for a pity fuck.

But the problem was, Safrilly was right: he was having trouble sleeping alone. He'd barely slept the night before, coming awake at even the smallest noises, and a ship like the PENNY created plenty of noise--little creaks, soft hums as systems kicked on, sudden silence when they finished their work and switched off again. The sounds would be soothing white noise for most people, but without Safrilly's reassuring presence, Jamey's brain had reacted to each one like it was a potential threat, yanking him out of sleep in a panic.

It was miserable. He was dreading another night like that, but he was hardly going to ask Safrilly to sacrifice her own rest to stay with him, if she was sleeping better with Mr. Prost.

So he lay in bed and stared at the ceiling and let himself think about Decklan, how the huge bear might dress when going to a club, what sort of submissives he might pick up. Younger and prettier ones than Jamey, certainly.

The ambient lighting dimmed as the ship transitioned into night mode. Jamey groaned and dragged his pillow over his face, feeling the bizarre need to be even more hidden than he already was.

A long time ago, before Brandin, he'd been able to put himself into subspace whenever he wanted to, with enough time and quiet to himself. But Safrilly was right, too, about the fact that he hadn't been under in a long time--Brandin had been very focused on Safrilly after he brought her home, and Jamey had been fine with that, because he needed to stay alert anyway, to be sure she was alright--and the idea of trying to go under alone after everything was...frightening. Something in his gut told him it was a bad idea, and that it definitely wouldn't help him sleep.

He pulled the pillow off his face and rolled restlessly onto his side, then sighed and sat up. If he wasn't going to sleep, he might as well do something else with his time.

There had been a deck of cards in with those games Decklan had bought. Solitaire would keep him awake, and he could find something to listen to in the ship's library.

The door to his room slid open quietly, well-maintained despite the age, like everything in the ship. The common room was even darker than his bedroom, lit with just enough soft ambient light to let him safely navigate around the furniture. He crept quietly through the darkness to the shelf where the games were stacked, and it took a moment of searching before he realized the cards weren't there.

His ears flicked in annoyance. Someone must have left them somewhere they didn't belong. Maybe on the bridge?

He thought about the others playing a game of poker at the table on the bridge, imagined them laughing and enjoying each others' company while he hid locked away in a bedroom, and swallowed down a queasy mixture of yearning and anxiety.

Well, he could check the bridge, at least. If the cards were on the table, he could clean them up; Decklan surely didn't appreciate passengers leaving clutter around his ship. Jamey straightened up and padded quietly to the open doorway of the bridge, and paused there for a moment there to let his eyes adjust to the light cast by the various screens and terminals.

Then he inhaled a nosefull of bear scent, and he froze, his brain making an important connection a moment too late.

None of the bedrooms in the crew quarters had been occupied when they had boarded the ship. There was nowhere else that Decklan could be sleeping, except...on the bridge.

Jamey glanced around without moving his head. He spotted the bed first, an extra large cot pulled out of the wall near the pilot's controls. It was empty and neatly-made.

He looked to the other end of the bridge, and found Decklan staring back at him.

The bear was seated at the table, illuminated by the overhead light, which had been dimmed down to its lowest setting. The cards Jamey was looking for were spread out on the table in a game of spider solitaire. Decklan was sitting just as still as Jamey, eyes wide, like he was looking at a ghost.

Jamey wanted very badly to turn tail and disappear back into his room, but the mortification he felt at the idea of being so rude won out, so he stayed where he was, frozen in place.

Decklan cleared his throat with a quiet rumbling sound, then asked, "need something?" His voice was gruff, and some furs might have interpreted the question as aggressive, an implication that Decklan resented being disturbed, but Jamey was fairly sure that was just how he always sounded.

"I was looking for the cards. I didn't mean to--I didn't know you'd be out here."

Decklan shrugged one of his massive shoulders. "It's convenient."

To sleep near the pilot's station, Jamey interpreted. He glanced involuntarily towards the cot again. It didn't look especially comfortable, even if it was sized for Decklan's massive frame, and he couldn't imagine that many midnight piloting emergencies came up on a small passenger ship.

"Do the quarters feel lonely without a crew?"

Decklan lifted his snout, eyeing Jamey. Jamey heard his own words a moment too late and winced, his ears flipping back. Clearly, somewhere between being awake for thirty-six hours straight and keeping himself isolated for even longer, he'd forgotten his manners.

"Sorry, that's--I didn't mean--don't answer that, please," he said desperately. Decklan just tilted his head, staring at Jamey like he was trying to figure something out, and Jamey took a step back. "I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone."

As he turned away, though, Decklan said, "hold on."

Jamey stopped, shoulders hunched, braced for the lecture he assumed was coming. He'd earned one: avoiding everyone for days like a sulking child, and then invading Decklan's privacy in the middle of the night, asking personal questions that bordered on insulting.

When he glanced back over his shoulder, though, the bear didn't look angry. He looked...thoughtful. His dark eyes were intent on Jamey in a way that made Jamey's spine prickle.

Decklan gestured a heavy paw at the cards spread out in front of him. "Did you want to play?"

Jamey stared at him stupidly for a moment, then said, "you're in the middle of a game."

"Just passing the time. It's more fun to play with someone."

Decklan's voice wasn't soft, exactly--there was probably only so quiet his deep voice could go--but there was a gentle, coaxing edge to it, and Jamey got the impression he wasn't just being polite. He really was doing his best to talk Jamey into staying.

Jamey wasn't stupid, despite recent evidence to the contrary. He knew Decklan was probably worried about him; maybe he wanted to make sure Jamey wasn't going to go nuts and disappear into the ship's air vents. It was embarrassing, being the problem, but...it would be rude to say no. And sitting with Decklan on his own in the dim, tranquil light of the ship's night cycle felt manageable, in a way that facing all three of them in the day didn't.

"Okay," he said finally, so quietly that he was afraid Decklan wouldn't hear, but Decklan's eyes immediately crinkled in a small, satisfied smile.

"Okay? He repeated, then swept up the cards to re-shuffle them. "Okay."