This chapter is entirely Jaele/Zihrait-centric. The others will be back in the next for those who can't get enough of our best boy-Riot and the blue-eyed hardass-Ah'kiat.

For now, enjoy your favourite 'awh' moment couple!

Zihrait had not enjoyed the healing pools. Jaele had hoped the outing might prove an opportunity for him to regain access to some other areas of the ship in a safer manner, accompanied by Riot. She knew the self-imposed seclusion was providing him time to grow accustomed to relying on his remaining senses, but the abnormality of being cooped up was evident in his constant level of frustration; with his surroundings and with himself. He was restless and aggravated easily, usually keeping distance between them when she visited.

She wondered if she wasn't crowding him, spending hours each evening in his quarters after finishing her training session in the armory. Her mentor had said nothing regarding her pregnant state when she'd summoned the courage to return, simply set her back to work on the as yet uncompleted guard she'd been labouring on when Vechaath had broken the news to her. Her normal routine was to collect food for both herself and Zihrait from the mess and join him in his cabin until she grew too tired. But maybe this was the wrong approach? Maybe she should leave him to his own devices, forcing him to venture out for his own meal?

Staring up at his unadorned dreads swinging back and forth as he competently stalked from the lift, certain of the route to his quarters, she fretted over her interference in Zihrait's recovery. If she wasn't there, she knew no other Yautja would deliver him meals. He would have to fend for himself, as he ostensibly always had.

The rumble he released pulled her from her thoughts. Expecting another Hunter, she hurried to peer around him, but found the way ahead clear. His steps had slowed. Rolling clicks permeated the quiet hall as he took stalk of something her inferior senses weren't picking up on.

Was there someone there? Watching them?

Disturbed, Jaele remained close as they rounded the last bend and paused before his door. Without turning his head towards her, Zihrait swept an arm back and ushered her to the side. His mandibles were twitching as the barrier slid open, his posture rigid - it was obvious he was anticipating danger. Her heart froze when he disappeared into the dimly lit room, only the sounds of the snarls underlying his continued clicks giving her any indication of what was happening. There was a crunch followed by the scrape of metal on metal and then silence.

She shook. The seconds ticked by. Swallowing, she eased herself to the edge of the doorway and looked inside.

He'd lowered himself to one knee in the middle of the room and clutched a piece of his armor - the warped alloy and busted screen of the badly damaged wrist device spoke to the amount of force which had been applied. All around him the contents of his trophy wall lay scattered and broken, half smashed skulls and fragments of bone littering the floor along with the remnants of the remainder of his armor - also all appearing to have been purposefully destroyed beyond function.

All breath left her lungs.

Zihrait was quivering, his frame taut. She waited for the impending outburst of fury, but when he instead remained where he was in the suspended state of building rage, she risked approaching.

Someone had done this to malign him. This was how little regarded he was in the clan now, they'd invade his private domain and ravage his possessions.

Before she'd crossed even half the distance to where he crouched, he rose up abruptly and whipped around. Wrath was painted in every line of every tendon and muscle which stood out beneath his hide and she tripped in her haste to move from his path as he stormed from the cabin. He'd never lashed out at her before, and yet she knew how foolish attempting to get in his way or assuage him would be. As much as it turned her stomach, this needed to play out as it would. This sort of insult could not go unanswered, even with her limited knowledge of their ways, she understood that much.

It didn't mean she wasn't ill with distress over the prospect he wouldn't return.

Needing to busy her hands and mind, Jaele set about cleaning up the havoc which had been wrought. She gathered together the ruined pieces of Zihrait's armor and returned it to its rack as best she could - some of it was simply too heavy for her to lift. Next she piled the cracked and crumbling skulls and their broken bits in a corner. Even the pelts had been ripped from the bed, some of them shredded. She shook out those that seemed usable still and spread them out once more, all the while pushing away thoughts they might never be slept on again.

When the door again slid open, how much time had passed, she had no notion. She'd curled up on the furs to wait after she'd finished tidying, but sat bolt upright now, heart thundering.

The sheer volume of vibrant green blood bathing Zihrait's figure made it impossible to tell whether he was the source or not. He strode through the room without any indication of whether he'd noted her presence or not, heading straight into the wet room. The shower turned on a moment later and she slipped off the bed, unable to endure another second not knowing how badly he might be injured, following in his wake.

Water filtering down the grate in the floor decking ran thick with the lifeblood it carried. Jaele followed its path, worried gaze travelling up from his clawed feet, processing each wound as she came across it. One of the spiked growths on the outside of an ankle had been torn free and small lacerations tracked up his calves and thighs, a deeper set of gashes along his lower back weeping green blood. His torso and arms had been scored many times over, the flesh ragged in places, and in the meat of one bicep something appeared to be embedded.

Easing closer, she touched her fingers tentatively to his forearm to alert him she was there if he hadn't already ascertained it. Apart from a brief rumble, he made no other acknowledgement of her, standing still beneath the hot spray. Perhaps worst of all, she saw at least two of his smooth black tubules had been severed halfway up. They bled copiously, drenching his shoulder, the green tinged rivulets rolling down his back with no signs of relenting. Drawing her lip between her teeth, she focused on whatever had found its way into his upper arm. It took several attempts before she was able to sink her fingernails far enough around the edges to get a secure grasp on the foreign object and wriggle it loose. Zihrait failed to react to what she was sure had been a painful process and she stared down at the gore coated sliver for a beat before recognizing it to be a fang.

Just imagining another Yautja with its teeth sunk into his hide gave her chills. She'd seen from Riot's injury what the result could be. Flinging the curved tooth away, she eyed his multitude of bleeding wounds with worry. Had she the supplies, she'd learned enough from Pheist and Lola that she could have bandaged at least some of them. She reached for his hand to attempt to communicate this with him, but he snatched it away twice before turning his back on her. Flustered, she stepped around to face him again and tried for a third time with similar outcome.

"Stop it! I'm trying to help you!"

His answering growl only served to frustrate her further.

"I need you! I need you to be okay!" A future without him was not something she could contemplate just then, for far more reasons than clan politics and the fact she was a human amongst Yautja.

Grabbing for his hand once more, she was prepared for him to pull it away, but not to raise it with talons curled as though he meant to strike her. Shockingly, it was indignation and not fear which filled her at the menacing overture. "You stopped scaring me a long time ago, Zihrait," she informed him, for all that he wouldn't understand the words. Her indifference would be obvious.

Mandibles tightening at this failed effort to scare her off, he released a contentious snarl but ultimately lowered his talons.

Oddly emboldened, Jaele untied the corded belt holding her robe closed and shrugged out of the oversized garment. He didn't have to cooperate, but that didn't mean she would allow him to bleed out as a result of his obstinacy. She'd bathed in the oasis plenty of times while he'd stood watchfully nearby, so any inhibitions she'd had about nudity had long since vanished. She tugged the belt free and rolled the robe up, then leaned in to loop it around him and secure the makeshift bandage in place by tying the sleeves together, an act that required the full reach of her less than lengthy arms and brought their wet bodies flush. It was an inadvertent intimacy, and one she could tell by the stiffening of his spine he hadn't anticipated. She stepped back again quickly and tied the sleeves, all too aware of his sightless eyes fixated on her and his absolute stillness. Satisfied the robe was applying some pressure to the gouges in his back which should stem the flow of blood, she skirted around behind him and carefully took hold of the injured tubules.

Zihrait spun on her, issued a pained protest, and promptly stalked out of the wet room, having had enough it seemed. By the time she'd disengaged the spray and trailed after him, he'd situated himself on the pelts and spread his tusks unwelcomingly upon hearing her approach.

"Be grumpy, I don't mind," she assured him, finding it calmed her nerves to address him even if he might not know what she said. Ignoring the hostile display, she grasped his jaw and pushed until he relented and turned his head for her, giving her access to the severed dreads. She used the corded belt to gently tie off the bleeding ends, a process during which he grumbled continuously. "There."

Head turning towards her again, his disgruntled complaints petered off. His talons sank into one of the furs and he plucked it up from the bed, shoving it at her and prompting her to take it, which she did. He waited while she obediently wrapped it around herself, clicking.

"Now what?" she challenged him afterwards, unsure what it was she was meant to do now and sensing his own uncertainty. The prospect of returning to her cabin clutching a pelt to herself was far from an appealing one, and she was tired and overwrought - a condition which had plagued her too often lately. So when his only contribution was more rolling clicks, she took matters into her own hands and climbed onto the bed and laid down.

There was a definite pause during which she imagined him leaping up in outrage at her presumptuousness, but he eventually just laid back himself and produced a halfhearted objection she was convinced was simply for show.

It wasn't long before her eyelids grew heavy in the semi-dark stillness.

Zihrait's broad chest rose and fell evenly, and yet Jaele was under no illusion he was still sleeping when she awoke - if he'd even slept at all. That he'd laid down had been surprise enough. He'd never slept in her presence on the twin sunned planet, but perhaps the blood loss had made him drowsy? Either way, she was convinced the moment she stirred he would be up, a theory she tested with a soft yawn.

As predicted, his eyes opened. He made no move to get up, however, and since it was cozy wrapped in the fur, neither did she. They laid in silence for some time until she worked herself up to stretching her arm out and touching his injured bicep. The puncture was deep, the mossy hide surrounding it dark with bruising, but it wasn't swollen or leaking any fluid which might suggest infection. Propping herself up onto an elbow, she took his lack of protest as permission to inspect the other wounds. His dreads had stopped bleeding so she carefully loosened the tourniquet and slipped the belt off, only realizing when she felt a small tug that her own braids had fallen across his chest. She'd been so absorbed in handling the sensitive tubules with care she hadn't noticed that his talons had become entangled in her hair, perhaps while attempting to push it away.

A low rumble built and she leaned back, trying to free his hand before he became too agitated. The way his fingers flexed and moved through her braids was not helping matters any. She belatedly recognized the noise he was producing, not as one of irritation, but as the same reverberating purr he'd used to soothe her in the lift. Intrigued, she stilled and watched as he gently grasped a handful of the braids and allowed them to slide through his grip before repeating the motion. For some reason, the simple ministration warmed her soul. Slowly lowering herself down to rest against his side, she laid there enjoying the light pressure and soft tugs of his ragged talons scraping down the length of her braids, purring vibrations carrying from his body through to hers.

There were few instances Jaele could think of that he'd touched her without the pointed intention of propelling her here or there, and even then rarely. She dared to lay her palm upon his chest, feeling the pebbled heat of his hide, and the pitch of the low reverberations changed noticeably before breaking off in a frustrated half-growl, half-groan as he abruptly rolled away from her and left the bed.

Looking on in bewilderment as he stomped towards the entry to the wet room and then whirled, the last thing she was expecting was the message he signed.

You test me.

Test him? She racked her brain for alternate meanings of the gesture; try? Challenge? It made no sense. "I don't understand," she told him, exasperated. If he didn't wish to have physical contact with her, why play with her hair? Was she meant to let him touch her but not reciprocate?

Snarling, he paced across the cabin again, supplying no clarification whatsoever.

Confused and humiliated by his conflicting responses to her proximity, she slid from the bed with every intention of leaving him alone and returning to her own quarters when her heel struck something. She glanced down at the bone fragment - one she'd missed, it seemed - and in a moment of pure willfulness, snatched it up and threw it at him.

It flew well wide of the mark, but the sound of it striking the wall alerted Zihrait to her audacity just the same. Clawed feet rasping on the metal deck, he turned towards her. She'd clapped her hands over her ears, expecting an angry outburst, but a series of erratic clicks was all he emitted.

"I don't understand," she repeated, willing him to see that his actions weren't making sense to her.

Inclining his head, he brought his hands up to sign again. Swollen females no touch.

Jaele frowned. Swollen as in pregnant? Pregnant females weren't to touch others? She considered this, factoring in what Pheist had previously explained about the female's being the dominant sex, even if as far as she was aware it was Vechaath who was in charge of the cruiser. Maybe he meant males weren't to touch pregnant females? It seemed more plausible, especially knowing what she did about the nursery and that no males were permitted there.

She walked over, giving him plenty of time to back away or move if he so chose. "I'm not a Yautja female." He shifted his weight but remained where he was, mandibles tense as she captured one of his hands and brought it to her cheek. Compared to other areas of his body, the hide of his palm and fingers - which could easily cup the entire side of her head - was rough with wear.

At first he stood rigidly as she held his hand to her face, trying to impart that she permitted his touch. Then slowly his muscles relaxed and his fingers slid over her skin, down her jaw and the column of her throat. She recalled the last time he'd held her by her neck, his grip firm but never actually cutting off her air supply - even in his displeasure, he'd handled her carefully. She was still gripping his wrist, but released it as his hand came to rest splayed across her collar bone, the torn edges of his talons lightly scratching. Her own pulse was loud in her ears as she stared up into his once-beautiful eyes, captivated by the intensity of his posture and concentration. Only the noise of her own shallow breaths broke the silence of the room.

The fur slipped lower down her torso as her grasp on it slackened. Jaele reached to readjust it, but paused, her heart thudding. Too many emotions battled for prominence, too many thoughts skittered through her mind. Something fundamental was changing between them, even she could sense that, but whether it was something she was prepared for just then - that was what she struggled to come to terms with. Zihrait was her safety, her anchor - if anything happened to alter that, she didn't know how she would cope, or if she could cope.

Swallowing, she glanced to the rack where she'd stowed his demolished armor, the remains of his impressive trophy wall piled on the floor beneath it. He'd lost everything since choosing to take her from the mining asteroid. And yet, he'd given no indication he resented her, or regretted his decision. He protected her still, trusted her in his quarters, and allowed her liberties she was sure he'd allow no other. He'd comforted her when desolation had threatened to swallow her whole and valued her despite her many shortcomings.

With a steadying exhale, she let the pelt fall away.