by S M Matthews
He’d stuck his head through my bedroom door and growled something before leaving again. I get dressed and go for breakfast. It’s been set out in front of my usual seat; but unlike previous meals, there was something new laid there.
Gloves! Gardening gloves. And there is a pair boots on the floor next to my chair! I can’t contain myself; I try them on enthusiastically. A grin splits my face before I can reign it back in. They both fit really well, and the gloves have grippy, protective palms. They actually fit perfectly, how have they done that? The boots are the same, they fit snugly, and I stomp around in them for a minute before realising I have an audience. I grin at Dark Tips and Doughnut before I can think about it. They grin back and…they look so happy. I sit down to my breakfast, suddenly feeling really sheepish again.
I don’t even want to take the gloves off to eat; I am that excited. I shovel my breakfast like...well, like Doughnut eats everything. I brush my teeth, get my gloves again and stand by the front door. Doughnut brings me a box with a handle from the fridge and as he hands it to me...he sniffs the top of my head. I am a bit startled by that, and I don’t exactly invite the invasion of my personal space but...I’m in a good mood. I tolerate it. Doughnut leaves me standing there and calls something. Dark Tips appears out of his room, fixing his uniform, and we leave together.
I am practically skipping. I try and contain myself enough to make an attempt to learn the route along the corridors, I don’t want to have to rely on them for this if I can help it.
Once we are there, I realise my plan is already flawed. I won’t be able to get in. Dark Tips scans his hand and the door opens, but I don’t follow him in. I need to get my point across. He goes in and when he realises I haven't followed, he does the follow gesture. I shake my head and press the panel; it turns a very alarming shade of red and a very loud angry sounding chirruping plays for around 10 seconds. I can feel myself getting embarrassed and flushing. I just deliberately set off an alarm! Part of my brain is shouting ‘you’re going to get us into trouble!’ But it’s childish and I try and squish it down.
Dark Tips’ ears rotate so that they are pointing backwards, and then they spring round again. It was like a frown. Then he grins and nods; he does the follow gesture.
I dither, but other than setting the alarm off again I don’t see what choice I have so I follow him. He leads me through the gardens, calling out in his rolling growl to someone and after a brief back and forth we head off again.
We meet the same gardener from yesterday; but then I rethink that. This could be a completely different guy. That’s a bit unsettling.
They stand talking, and I wait patiently next to Dark Tips. Their conversation seems to be turning into a long one, so I click open my box and look inside. I had suspected that it was lunch, and it is. I click it back together again. The conversation seems to have changed tone completely, and I take a step back from them both. All the tails are thrashing.
They both look to me, and then another growl calls across the gardens. Someone else arrives; it’s the same guy as yesterday. Well. I now have a two out of three chance that the guy from yesterday is here. I’m already confused and I only sort of know two sets of people. How do they make this work.
Arrival of...first guy’s twin...seems to have changed the course of the conversation. They seem to come to some sort of arrangement which everyone agrees to. Dark Tips speaks and the panel next to us lights up. Some information flows past, and then the outline of a rectangle lights up in the middle of the screen. Dark Tips speaks again, listing something off. The screen chirrups. Twin One does the same, and then so does Twin Two. I recognise this ritual, and lunge to put my hand in the box before anyone can change their minds about it. It lights up green and I firmly hold my hand there until it turns blue and chirrups.
I’m in!
Not long after, Dark Tips leaves me to it. There’s a lot to learn, but I like to think I’m picking it up quickly. Dark Tips comes and picks me up again after my first day; I begrudge leaving, to be honest. Getting totally absorbed in something familiar, something I’ve always wanted to do, has made me feel so much better. The prospect of at least having this has bolstered my spirits no end. Okay it hasn’t fixed everything, I mean, I want my family, and I want to go home. Those feelings of homesickness are so overwhelming I try not to even think about it. But it’s hard, and it’s oppressive, and I find myself getting suddenly upset over it.
We walk home together as I’m thinking about it. To be fair I think about it a lot. I try and shake it off so I can concentrate, I want to learn the route for myself.
Doughnut is in the kitchen; it smells good and my stomach is telling me it’s dinner. Dark Tips and Doughnut chat; I get a clean uniform and head for a quick shower.
Once I’m done I leave the dirty uniform in the basket and go and sit at the table. Dark Tips is sitting and eating. Doughnut is standing and shovelling, as he usually does.
They are talking away as per usual. I’m just starting to feel more relaxed, I realise. Their chatter is becoming an almost familiar rumble in the background. They all talked a lot when they came to visit me; like, they didn’t stop talking from the moment they arrived. But no-one was ever answering, now I am listening to the clear cadence of calming conversation.
I’m pretty sure they aren't watching me; they are engaged in their conversation so I take the time to study them a little whilst I’m eating. Their fur looks so soft, and although they are big, they are graceful. Again, I think about tigers I’ve seen in documentaries.
Doughnut puts down his half-finished meal, unclips his collar and then undoes the zip to the waist. He pulls his arms out of the suit and then casually ties them around his waist. He picks the plate back up and carries on eating. Nothing changes, no one reacts, and he did it with such practised casual grace that I know he must do it all the time. I have my face studiously down so that it is not obvious that I am staring. At least I hope it’s not. I think I’m blushing.
Doughnut is ripped.
His fur colour gives the impression that he’s wearing a pair of dark grey gloves. The solid grey starts to break up at his forearms, and turns into a pattern of spots which get smaller and more sparse as they approach his shoulders. His biceps bunch and move under his fur as he lifts the plate closer and eats. The freckles are tiny on his neck, giving the impression of just slightly off-white fur, and they extend across the top of his chest at around collar bone height, fading even further into bright white chest and stomach fur. This fur looks even shorter, and it makes his abs clearly defined. Some stray spots come around from his back, seeming to follow his ribs, but otherwise his stomach is a beautiful bright white. I couldn’t stop my eyes from going lower if my life depended on it. The dark grey spots appear again high on his hips, and I can just start to see that they cut in, following the line of muscle to create the top of the ‘V’ shape which leads to...lower. Whatever is lower than that.
It’s dead silent. I don’t know when that happened. I realise my head has come up on its own and they are both looking at me. They’ve caught me staring. It’s suddenly not quiet at all, there’s a rumbling. It’s coming from them.
It is really warm in here suddenly.
I look back at the last few mouthfuls of dinner on my plate, and decide it’s a lost cause. They are both blatantly staring at me. Dark Tips drags in a big lungful of air through his nose...and then starts to move towards me. It’s enough to get me moving. I abruptly abandon ship and go hide in my room.
How embarrassing was that?
MICKA
Titus just beats me to the bathroom, so I head to my room instead. I strip off everything, my erections are being pinched. We had joked about looser trousers, but suddenly that is not a joke. It’s going to be a necessity.
We have very firmly answered one question, we are physically not displeasing to her. I lie on the bed, waiting for Titus to finish with the shower. I half heartedly stroke my top cock, thinking. If this is going to be how
she reacts, we are all going to have to stay totally covered when she’s around.
My mind wanders as I give myself long, slow strokes. I’ve already seen her more or less naked. It’s easy to imagine her laid out on a bed, with all that dark mane fur fanned out beneath her.
I stop stroking. This is no good at all. She ran away.
I have to remember that.
POPPY
Over the course of a few days of work I am provided with tools. I know where to store things now, and am being schooled on the maintenance of some of the beds. I learn through watching and copying, and they seem to be more and more confident to leave me to it. Every time they want me to do something different, one of them will approach and do the follow gesture, and I go and learn something new.
Every morning now I get a wakeup call, I have breakfast, they give me my packed lunch and I tolerate the sniff on the top of my head. The sniff is something that seems to be randomly happening at bedtime now too, and I am becoming much more passive about them approaching me. There’s not yet been any actual contact though, so I feel fairly okay about them coming closer. They are good at respecting my boundaries. After a few days I am leading the way to and from the gardens...all the corridors still look exactly the same, I’ve just learned the number of turns. I’m not sure how many days it’s been, but I feel it’s about time to push the point with this now. I receive my packed lunch, tolerate the sniff and then put my hand out. Hopefully in a universally understood gesture of ‘stay,’ and I keep it there as I back out of the door...and go to work.
MICKA
Well. That told me. I start to send a message to Hydroponics. And then delete it...and then type it out again. I dither over sending it. And then send it anyway. I need to know she gets there okay. I go to get up and then sit again. And wait. A reply pings, it’s abrupt and perfunctory and stinks of ‘you’re wasting my time’ but I don’t care. She got there. Of course she did. There’s no reason she wouldn’t have. Is there? I scratch at my mane and huff. What is wrong with me?
“Look, all I know is it’s getting worse, much worse. And it’s been changing. It feels like it would be irresponsible of us to not try and do something.”
The Little One had gone to bed not long ago, and even though we could have had this conversation in front of her and she wouldn't have understood...that would have been wrong, somehow.
“Such as what?” I ask Acer, “Take her to medical and say: ‘well she smells like she’s going into heat?’”
We sit silently for a few beats and then Titus adds, “On one side, I’d worry there’s something wrong, and we are ignoring it, on the other...I don’t trust medical not to report something back. Especially if we go in and tell them our concern is she smells so good I want to fill her up with-’”
“Titus!” I launch a cushion at his face. I can’t really reprimand him though, as inappropriate as he’s being...he is right.
Acer shakes his mane out, “I think...I think we might be over analysing this. How long has she been in our care now? Would it be so odd if we requested a standard scan in medical, just to check her general wellbeing? I don’t think they could say that’s out of the ordinary. If anything, us not doing something like that might seem...remiss of us.”
Once Acer points that out it seems obvious; so obvious in fact I momentarily wonder if the Little One is making me irrational. Acer continues, “but...deliberately taking her into the presence of other males makes me feel...uncomfortable.”
“I know Acer but...she goes to work every day; she’s been walking herself there and back. It doesn’t make me feel like this.” Maybe she’s having that effect on us all.
“I didn’t say the feeling was logical, and like you said, she’s always been doing that, it’s part of the routine, but to take her to other males...to ask for their help to care for her...”
All of our hackles are up just talking about it.
“You wouldn’t feel like that if we’d mated her.”
“Titus!” It’s Acer’s turn to launch a cushion at him but...again; he is right.
“We would all feel better if she smelt of us. Really smelt of us.”
“And how do you intend to do that?” Titus shrugs his ears at me...but Acer says, “Actually, I might have an idea.”
POPPY
The inside of my uniform is dotted with fur. I’m getting ready to go to work, and the clean uniform I’d left out for myself is not clean anymore. I look through every draw and cupboard in the room, but all my spares are gone. Well, the two others I have aren't here.
Usually I get a clean uniform from my room after I get home from work, I go shower; leaving the dirty uniform in the basket. Since I only wear the clean uniform for a few hours before I go to bed, I throw it over the chair ready for the morning.
There’s always at least one clean one in the top drawer in my room. I’ve never really thought before about how they get washed and put back in the drawers because I never see it happen. That is irrelevant to me now because all the drawers are empty.
I know this uniform was clean last night – I know it was I wore it. But now the inside looks like one of them has been wearing it.
That’s just impossible, it’s been specially adjusted for me, none of them would ever get into it.
I open all the drawers and the wardrobe again; it’s all still empty.
I examine my uniform again. It’s only furry on the inside. I think a little more of my sanity breaks off. What if they are like were-cats and this is how it starts? What if it’s my fur?
Oh no.
I dive across the room to the mirror, turning to make sure I haven't sprouted a tail. Or two. I check my nails, my toenails even – everything looks the same as always.
I look the same as always.
I can’t be doing this to myself, this is madness.
Right. So I’ve got two choices: wear the furry uniform, or cave and go and try to talk to them.
I can’t do the second one, I just can’t.
I resign myself to wearing the furry uniform.
ACER
She eats breakfast, uses the bathroom...and then comes and stands expectantly in the kitchen. Right. Let’s see how she takes this. We actually sat down and planned this to try and make it as painless as possible. I go to the door and do the ‘follow’. Her whole face crumples up at me...and then she stomps to the refrigeration unit. I can’t help but grin. I know the lunch boxes aren't there, Titus has hidden them. She slams the door and then stomps back over to me.
Victory.
She follows me, begrudgingly...and somewhat anxiously, all the way to medical. Once we get there I pat a bed for her, and she does get up, but she doesn’t stop scowling at me. She sits, and a Med Tech comes and scans her. She tolerates this and dutifully ignores him, all her irritation is being addressed directly to me. I can smell she’s equal parts angry and apprehensive; but every time I catch her eye her face crunches up that same way. She’s mad and…it’s adorable. The Med Tech tries to speak to me, but I don’t want to linger, and ask for the information to be forwarded to us in a report.
We head to Hydroponics, she’s still anxious in the busier area of the station, but the nearer we get to home the more relaxed she smells. Titus meets us there with her lunch box and she practically launches herself towards him, giving him a hug around the waist that's so fierce and quick he doesn’t even know how to respond. He’s so surprised he’s just sort of caught with his arms hovering, and she is not shy about taking her lunch box from him. She starts to leave and then...comes back. She stands dutifully in front of Titus and he sniffs the top of her head, she pointedly looks at me whilst she allows him to do this. She shoots me another disgusted look, and then goes into Hydroponics. As soon as the door closes Titus dissolves into a mess of chuffing laughter.
I sigh. Plan accomplished. Maybe we are getting somewhere.
We’ve had the report back from medical, and I make a point of waiting until my brothers are home and the Li
ttle One has gone to bed so we can all look together.
We sit and read, everything seems relatively similar to when she left medical. Her muscle mass has changed, and so has her weight due to this, but it’s clearly down to the exercise she’s been getting at work. Overall she’s in better condition than she was then. Her hormone levels seem to be naturally fluctuating. Medical Officer Galen wrote the report, and he speculates that at some point, her egg sacks went though some sort of hormone driven change and possibly produced a number of eggs; it would take a slightly more invasive scan to be certain. The lining of her womb has certainly thickened.
We all just sort of sit there. I am pretty sure we are all thinking the same thing but it’s Titus that says it, “What if she goes into heat? She might need...help.”
Not even to have a real mate; that’s one of our social concepts that we can’t even apply to her because she’s an alien. It’s not to breed, it won’t produce any cubs. It’s just...mating for the sake of mating. All because she smells good. That’s just not a thing that we do. The concept is so foreign I don't know what to do with it.
I scrub at my face.
I say the thing that’s worrying me the most, “What about Kita?” Even considering this, and at the moment, it’s completely hypothetical...but it still feels like betraying them. Somehow. We're not meant to get a second chance at this. We are in, so far as I know, a completely unique situation. We had the ultimate gift, and we lost it. You only ever get one. To try again...even with an alien...it feels like a betrayal of the structure of our whole society.
Micka shrugs, “I feel what you feel, but as much as I miss our mate, to say no to this would feel...just as wrong.”
“It is what it is,” Titus adds. I find myself quietly agreeing.