"you wear my face; I bleed, I bleed"

You were currently seated on a spare examination table in the makeshift lab that Meesa and Andrew had set up with the help of the clan, getting a full checkup despite the fact that medical staff had released you from the medbay with a clean bill of health not ten minutes ago. As soon as you signed the release form on the tablet that a nurse had brought you, the feline had all but herded you straight to the lab so he could run a few tests of his own.

“Gepatica Latifolius. Though its name has been shortened to ‘Patica’ by those who are familiar with the flower. Its pollen is usually harvested to be sold on the black market, the raw product can be used in any number of drugs.” Bailey piped in when it became clear that Meesa was distracted by his current task of giving you a thorough examination to make sure that the pollen had no lingering effects on your health.

“That explains why I felt weird after I inhaled it, like I was drunk.” You sighed, glancing at Meesa when the feline turned away to start delicately tapping the screen of the nearby terminal, probably logging down whatever results he’d gotten after taking a few chest scans and listening to your troublesome lungs.

“That’s because the pollen was a defense mechanism to protect the flower from consumption.” Meesa grunted, the feline still preoccupied with the information displayed on the terminal as he continued. “When inhaled, the pollen causes similar side effects to being inebriated, such as disorientation and sluggishness.”

“Makes sense.” You sighed, absentmindedly swinging your legs for lack of anything else to do at the moment. Once Messa let you out of his clutches though, you had a daunting amount of tasks and projects to catch up on. You had been out of commission for nearly seven days now, with Andrew kindly stepping in as head scientist for the duration of that time just to make sure your department didn’t fall too far behind on its quotas.

“So, basically, your shitty lungs going on strike was just a happy little accident.” Ian drawled with a smirk, leaning against the examination table. He was most likely off duty since he was dressed down for once, his tactical gear and firearms absent. But the fact that he was currently spending his time off loitering around you was telling, his wooden tone and the almost mean quirk of his lips were meaningless since his actions gave away his true feelings more often than not.

“Dude, do you have a death wish? You’re lucky Butcher isn’t here.” Andrew hissed, looking around the lab as if he expected Butcher to suddenly stalk out of some dark corner and promptly remove Ian’s head from his neck.

“That would be a hell of a way to go out.” Ian snorted, the slight upturn of his lips stretching wider in amusement. His head tilted a bit, the man looking dangerously contemplative for a moment. Thankfully, before Ian could get any ideas, Meesa smoothly cut in.

“Please do not refer to the life-threatening incident in such a flippant manner, it is offensive.” The feline said sternly and Ian’s mouth twisted, his posture stiffening as he haltingly turned his contrite gaze to you.

“Sorry.” Ian grumbled as his expression pinched, as if it physically pained him to address the matter of feelings. Emotions weren’t his strong suit, but putting aside his own discomfort to make sure you weren’t hurt by his words was very sweet. “You know I didn’t mean it like that, right? I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Meesa, it’s fine. I’m used to Ian’s particular brand of worry.” You assured, offering both Ian and the feline a soft smile. Your obvious lack of indignation toward Ian had the stiff line of the man’s broad shoulders easing some, which was as close as an emotionally constipated man like Ian could get to outwardly showing his relief without breaking out in hives or something.

“If you insist.” The feline mused, one of his hands reaching for Ian even as his attention returned to the terminal, lithe fingers adorned with retractable claws carefully curling around Ian’s hip. Meesa’s hand was so big that it covered the majority of Ian’s side, the feline’s thumb rubbing back and forth over Ian's lower ribcage. 

When Ian made no indication that he was uncomfortable with the intimate touch, you found yourself wondering if you were still in a coma and this was all some bizarre dream. To help alleviate the disturbing notion, you glanced at Bailey to see how she was fairing with the baffling development, relieved to note that she looked almost giddy as she watched the two.

The soft hiss of the door opening drew your eyes away from Bailey, your confused expression overtaken by a smile when Butcher stepped across the threshold. He seemed to already be looking at you as he entered the room, but you couldn't be sure since he was wearing his biomask, indicating that he had been communicating without his usual giant furry translator because Meesa was busy looking after you.

“Hey there, big guy.” You said cheerfully, pleased to see him without the weird haze of drugs that made you embarrassingly touchy when Butcher or Meesa were in your immediate vicinity. Andrew will never let you live it down, the traitor having recorded a short clip of you practically petting Butcher’s bare chest while rambling on about a completely unrelated topic.

“Hello, malen'kiy myslitel.” Butcher greeted with a nod, crossing the room to loom at your bedside in a manner that would've been intimidating had you not spent the past two months living in close quarters with Butcher and his clan. “Are you well?”

“Messa’s just doing a few extra tests, big guy. I was already cleared by medical.” You assured, resisting the nearly overwhelming urge to reach out and pat him. You've always been a tactile person, a byproduct of your unabating curiosity, so your first instinct when it came to both discovering new things and comforting others was to get your hands involved.

“I do not trust their primitive procedures and medicine.” Meesa muttered, aggressively stabbing at the terminal screen with the soft pad of his finger, his striking green eyes narrowed at what was displayed.

“I see.” Butcher hummed, smoothly rounding the examination table that you were seated on to join Meesa at the terminal. However, instead of immediately looking at the screen, his head turned to look at you through his tinted visor. “May I view the data that Meesa collected?”

“Sure, go ahead.” You said with a shrug, your attention promptly shifting to Bailey when she started gesticulating at you with a sense of urgency, your eyes narrowing as you tried to figure out what she was trying to convey through her movements. It seemed like she was miming the action of picking up something heavy and moving it, the young woman pointing at the examination table underneath you afterward.

“Oh!” You exclaimed when it suddenly dawned on you, turning to Butcher and Meesa only to find them both already staring at you, which saved you the trouble of having to get their attention. “Could I borrow a few of your clan members? We need help with moving the equipment here back into storage now that the lab has been thoroughly sanitized.”

“Da, of course.” Butcher said agreeably, raising his arm to start hitting buttons on his gauntlet, presumably to summon some of the clan members to his location.

“Not even forty-eight hours have passed since you woke up from a coma and you’re already raring to go back to work. You’re fucking crazy.” Andrew huffed, sidling up next to you in order to lean against the examination table. You swatted his arm, drawing an undignified yelp from him. Andrew didn't leap away like you had anticipated, but he did rub the affected area with a petulant glare.

“Rest is for the dead.” You said with a dismissive shrug, shifting forward to hop off of the examination table. You made sure to move gingerly considering that your chest was sore, your poor abused lungs aching with each breath. Your throat was raw too, but that was due to being put on a ventilator for a few hours. You also had a few scrapes and bruises from collapsing, but those were well on their way to healing.

Your eyes were drawn to the door once again when a handful of Yautja filed in, and you were proud to say you recognized a few because of their coloring and personalized biomasks. Butcher began to click and trill at them, presumably giving instructions. And the clan members set to work as soon as Butcher dismissed them, maneuvering around each other with a practiced and graceful ease, lifting the examination tables and various machinery effortlessly.

To your amusement, you noticed that one of the Yautja that Bailey had taken samples from what felt like forever ago –you recalled that he preferred to be called Void, which is basically what his name translated to in English– tended to default to her when it came to what to move and where. It almost came off as doting, like Void was trying to demonstrate how cooperative and useful he was.

It was charming. And, if the shy smile that Bailey offered Void every time he strutted back over to her for another task was any indication, she thought so too.

You startled when a familiar mask was gently pressed over your nose and mouth from behind, muscle memory prompting you to inhale, the cold medicine easing the persistent ache in your chest. You made an appreciative noise, raising a hand to pat Butcher's arm in silent thanks before taking over for him, holding the mask on your face for a couple seconds. When you could take a deep breath without any twinges of pain, you tucked the mask into one of your oversized lab coat pockets.

“Is there a painkiller mixed in with the altered inhaler medication?” You asked, turning to face Butcher, who tilted his head at you in a manner that was almost –dare you even think it– cute as he answered.

“Da, Meesa performed tests with different analgesics to be certain that there would be no adverse effects.” Butcher gestured at Meesa as he spoke, the feline preoccupied with effortlessly manhandling the examination table that you had been sitting on earlier out the door, impressing both Ian and Andrew with his casual display of strength. “It is perfectly safe.”

“You wouldn't give it to me if it would harm me.” You said with a nod, completely missing how Butcher practically preened since you were distracted by watching Ian and Andrew direct Meesa toward progressively heavier objects just to see if the feline could pick them up. “It's just incredible how quickly Meesa can develop medicine that can cope with two completely unrelated objectives.”

“Meesa is… quite impressive.” Butcher haltingly agreed, his voice oddly robotic and his pronunciation stiff. You looked at him with furrowed brows, wondering if the translator program was malfunctioning, because he sounded like an AI reciting a script.

“With how smart he is, he'll balance out Ian's stupidity nicely.” You hummed, deceptively casual. Maybe Butcher didn’t approve of Meesa and Ian’s closeness and was being awkward because of his own prejudice against humans? Most Yautja saw humans as inferior, after all. It only made sense that Butcher wouldn't believe a human to be worthy of his best friend, but in the end Meesa would make his own decision regardless of Butcher’s feelings on the matter.

“What? Don't tell me you haven't noticed.” You prompted when you realized that Butcher had yet to say anything in response to your comment, which was pretty telling all by itself. You really hoped that Butcher didn’t have a negative opinion of humans, and it would honestly be a surprise if he did since he certainly didn’t treat any of the crew members on this ship as if they were lesser than him. Everyone who had interacted with Butcher only spoke of how courteous he was to them, even if he was quite reserved.

So did Butcher dislike Ian in particular then?

“Da, I have noticed.” Butcher grunted with a sharp nod, his unexpected answer dragging you out of your thoughts and back to the matter at hand. You noted that his voice was back to normal now, though you’re not entirely sure if the brief malfunction had merely been a fluke or if it was somehow related to something else.

In any case, why would you stand here and stress about whether Butcher disapproved of Meesa and Ian’s flourishing relationship because he thought humans to be beneath him when you could just ask? It would be easier to clear things up now instead of letting your thoughts fester since it could impact your friendship with Butcher.

“You have something against cross-species relationships then?” You asked, far more composed than you thought yourself capable of considering the topic. To his credit, Butcher’s body language remained relaxed. So if he did happen to have certain opinions about humans hooking up with aliens, he was very good at hiding it.

“Nyet, I do not.” Butcher stated, and you could find no signs of deception in either his posture or his tone. Granted, it would be hard to determine whether he was being truthful with his words alone due to his biomask having the option to filter emotion out of his voice when he spoke. But, considering that Butcher had never given you a reason to doubt him before, it was only fair that you take him at his word.

“What the fuck is going on!? Is it the engine room!?” Someone shouted, their question nearly drowned out by all the ruckus that the panicked humans were making. Butcher stood in the middle of the hallway, impassively watching several humans narrowly avoid crashing into him in their rush to leave the sector, dodging him at the last second with a curse or a hastily muttered apology or both.

“It’s the lab!” A man that Butcher immediately recognized as Jerome from communications called out in answer, the words seizing his attention in a vice grip. Butcher whirled to face where Jerome’s voice had originated from, head on a swivel as he searched for the human. Because as much as he would like to head straight for the laboratory, he hadn’t survived as many hunts as he had by blindly rushing in.

Butcher caught Jerome by his bicep, bringing his run to an abrupt halt that most likely wrenched something in his shoulder if the sharp hiss of pain was any indication, the human instinctively lashing out at Butcher in the same fashion as wounded prey that’d been caught or cornered. Butcher let the hits land since avoiding a few minor aches that would be gone within the hour was not a priority, not when gathering information was integral to planning how to proceed.

“What’s your fucking problem? Get offa me, you overgrown toad!” Jerome barked, desperately prying at Butcher’s fingers in an pitiful attempt to free himself. Butcher simply tightened his grip, silently demanding Jerome’s attention, which was given to him in the form of several vulgar comments about his mother. Though Butcher didn’t hold the crude language against the human since he’d had more than enough hunts on Earth to know that scared humans will say all sorts of offensive and vile things.

“The lab. What happened?” Butcher rumbled, the biomask translating his question as he voiced it with only a slight lag. Jerome’s brows furrowed in blatant confusion, his struggling coming to an abrupt end as he stilled in favor of craning his neck to peer up at the biomask that concealed Butcher’s face.

“Some kind of foreign substance breach from alien plant life, that’s all I know.” Jerome explained with both mild annoyance and a fair amount of urgency once it became abundantly clear that Butcher wasn’t about to horribly maim him, pointedly tugging the arm that the Elder held hostage. Butcher obediently released the human since he had served his purpose of giving Butcher the knowledge he needed to organize his thoughts.

Jerome immediately made himself scarce, leaving Butcher's line of sight long before the clang of his rapid footsteps faded. However, Butcher didn't linger for longer than a moment before he himself was moving as well, heading in the opposite direction at a full sprint. He leapt down a few stairways in order to get to the lower levels of the ship where the lab was located, turning corners so violently that he very nearly had to anchor his claws into the wall to steady himself on several occasions.

Butcher knew that he was almost there when he heard Meesa's raised voice, the Lururian demanding entry only to be denied if the aggravated hissing that followed was any indication. Butcher rounded the last corner just in time to see Messa slam his fist against the square window on the lab door in an uncharacteristic fit of rage, the glass cracking under his knuckles as he bared his teeth at whoever was on the other side.

“Let me in.” Meesa snarled, low in his throat, his towering frame coiled with aggression. Meesa didn't even seem to notice Butcher's arrival, as caught up in his anger as he was, leaving himself vulnerable. But that was fine because Butcher was here now and he looked after his own, he would viciously protect his friend to his dying breath if need be.

Butcher retrieved the customized half-mask from the Lururian's utility belt, Meesa stiffening as his brain finally registered that there was another being in his immediate vicinity, though anger was quick to overtake confusion as he began to turn. Butcher was unperturbed by Meesa's hostility, simply securing the mask over the lower half of the Lururian's face as the opportunity to do so presented itself.

“Butcher.” Meesa murmured with visible relief, his voice slightly muffled by the mask, and Butcher grunted in response as his touch automatically gentled. Meesa's expression was pinched, an almost guilty slump to his tense shoulders as his gaze jumped from Butcher to the lab door several times.

“What's the sit–” Butcher's inquiry was interrupted when a commotion erupted in the lab, Meesa and Butcher moving to the cracked window in tandem. Butcher had to duck a little in order to peer into the room since the doorways were built for smaller bodies, a not entirely unfamiliar emotion seizing his chest in a constricting grip at the scene he was met with.

You were laying on the floor, your slack face barren of any protective gear, your scrubs and exposed skin tinted with an orange dust. Bailey and Andrew were kneeling beside your unmoving body, the latter holding his ear to your chest with a stricken expression. The other scientists in the room stood on the sidelines, displaying their uselessness as their wide and frightened eyes watched things unfold from what they believed to be a safe distance.

You were still. Too still.

Butcher reluctantly tore his eyes away from you and redirected his focus to his wrist gauntlet instead, deftly tapping on the controls in order to hack the ship's system and override the lockdown. Blood was roaring in his ears, deafening him to his surroundings, as the door hissed open. He was easy prey in such a compromised state, and it was quite unbecoming of an Elder of his status to act akin to a mindless beast, but all rational thought had been discarded the moment that he realized your life was in peril.

Butcher forced his way into the lab as soon as the opening was wide enough for him to fit without damaging the door, Meesa only a step behind. Though the hydraulics groaned in protest when Meesa recklessly bullied his substantial frame through the partially-open doorway, a low and displeased growl rumbling in his chest. But the possible destruction of property would be dealt with later, your well-being was more important than a door.

Meesa was barking orders at the scientists before he even made it past the doorway, the humans all scrambling to obey. They hastily took turns in the adjacent decontamination rooms, stripping out of their sullied clothes and changing into a new set of scrubs. The vents overhead were humming as the polluted air was filtered out, Meesa busying himself with collecting a sample of the orange dust from your shirt.

Andrew and Bailey were the first to purge themselves of the strangely fluorescent substance, rushing around the lab to gather the supplies that the Lururian needed to keep you alive as soon as they emerged from decontamination. Thankfully, the lab stored medical equipment in case of emergencies, and Meesa had even had the foresight to store the personal medkit that he had brought on board with him at his workstation.

Butcher carefully scooped your limp form up off the ground once Meesa had scanned you to check your vitals, gently depositing you onto the nearest examination table before stepping back to ensure that he was out of the way. Meesa proceeded to cautiously guide a tube down your windpipe to feed your lungs oxygen via ventilator, Butcher keeping tabs on your breathing in a borderline obsessive fashion. Meanwhile, Andrew skillfully drew a vial of your blood, handing it off to Bailey so she could identify what you had inhaled and create an antidote.

“There's traces of the pollen in her bloodstream, but I ran some quick tests to break down the components and it doesn't carry any toxic properties. The extent of the pollen's effects are disorientation and sluggishness, similar to being drunk.” Bailey called out, preoccupied with examining the sample through a microscope, Andrew tapping her shoulder in a silent bid to take a look himself. She obediently shifted aside, allowing Andrew to lean down and peer into the scope while she studied the data that was displayed on her tablet.

“Maybe it was an allergic reaction?” Andrew pondered aloud, looking to Meesa for a second opinion as he straightened. The Lururian managed to spare the human a brief glance as his digital pads delicately tapped at the workstation's terminal screen, his mouth twitching like he wanted to snarl but ultimately refrained lest he accidentally give off the impression that he was upset with Andrew instead of the situation in general.

“Holy shit.” Bailey gasped, Butcher and Meesa both looking in her direction to make sure that they didn't have another crisis on their hands. Fortunately, Bailey was unharmed, though she appeared to be shaken by the current state of affairs. “She breathed it in. The pollen might've induced an asthma attack.”

“It is plausible. I will perform additional tests in order to determine if your suspicions hold merit.” Meesa announced, aiming a meaningful look at Butcher before he crossed the room to join Bailey at the counter, leaving the Elder to keep an attentive eye on you as a precaution. Should your condition suddenly worsen, Butcher would be able to call on Meesa to assist you.

Butcher resisted the intense desire to touch you, to use your warmth to reassure himself that you were alive, because you weren’t in a position that allowed you to consent at the moment. The last thing he wanted was to disrespect your boundaries, he would sooner step down as clan leader. So until you regained both consciousness and awareness, he would content himself with the steady rise and fall of your chest.

"It was amazing, Meesa! You really should’ve come with us. Theeruta is a beautiful planet, teeming with floral life. We actually collected a few flowers that we came across that weren't in the planet's species log." You gushed, waving an enthusiastic hand at the tubes that said samples were sealed in, mostly to ensure that there was no tampering or contamination during transport.

"So it is safe to say that there was no trouble?" Meesa slyly prompted, about as subtle as a brick to the face, and you snorted at how utterly transparent he was. Oddly enough, you found it refreshing after spending the majority of your life surrounded by other humans like yourself, who rarely said what they really meant, forcing those around them to read between the lines in the hopes of gleaning so much as a modicum of understanding.

"Well… we did have a bit of a scare with a particularly aggressive Raxdian because we stumbled into its territory. But Ian took care of it." You revealed with no small amount of reluctance, experiencing a case of what one might call ‘instant regret’ when Meesa’s face twisted, mouth pressing into a hard line.

"Ian handed it? And what of your escort?" Meesa sounded calm enough, but the way his pupils narrowed into thin slits as his claws lengthened another two inches told another story entirely.

"Oh, right! That reminds me, I still have to thank Butcher for letting us take A’sa and Dearil down to the planet with us." You chuckled nervously, hoping that your attempt to shift the topic into safer territory would help your aforementioned escort avoid a potential mauling via Meesa. Although, the prospect of stealing a few moments with Butcher was already the plan. If he wasn’t otherwise busy, of course.

"But if they didn't assist you when your exploration party was attacked, why would you offer your gratitude?" Meesa asked, trailing behind you like a particularly murderous duckling, head tilted in a manner that would be adorable if not for his predator-like stillness.

Well, at least you tried to change the subject, so you had done your due diligence to stall Meesa’s righteous anger. Unfortunately for poor A’sa and Dearil, the feline was prone to tunnel once he set his mind to something, like any bonafide medical-scientist would. In this particular case, it happened to work against you and your efforts to circumvent a savage beatdown.

"Well, actually, Ian made a bet with them." You hastily explained, rummaging through your desk for a moment before suddenly remembering that you had forgotten your handy anti-asthma attack mask in your room. Though, to be fair, you had been abruptly roused from your slumber to the exciting news that the Titan was coming up on Theeruta, so grabbing it in your haste to make yourself presentable and report to the laboratory had simply slipped your mind.

"A bet?" Meesa raised one of his fuzzy brows, crossing his first pair of arms while the second set settled on his hips. The combo reminded you of a disappointed parent that was wringing every last detail about their child’s most recent idiotic venture out of them, and it certainly had a similar effect on you because you found yourself responding in a stilted, awkward manner.

"Yeah, a bet. He said that he could take down the Raxdian by himself. Which he did." You shrugged, personally unruffled by Ian’s most recent suicidal stunt. Ian had done far more dangerous things and survived to tell the tale in the past three years that you had known him; this latest incident didn’t even make it to the top ten.

"What did he get out of it?" Meesa asked as he sidled up beside you, smoothly dropping into a crouch that decreased his usually towering height significantly. It was an intentionally thoughtful gesture considering that many of the scientists that worked with him –including yourself– had mentioned that holding prolonged eye contact while he was standing made their necks hurt.

"Respect, I think. Word traveled fast and now the clan members are less dismissive of him." You hummed, wandering over to the assembly of scientists that had been on the excursion that were all huddled around the table that the samples had been set onto.

"I was unaware that Ian was having trouble befriending my fellow hunters. I can't fathom why anybody would turn down his company, he is very kind." Meesa appeared troubled by this information, his concerned gaze briefly darting to the security guard in question before settling back on you.

"We are talking about Ian, right? Ian Thorne?" Andrew unexpectedly piped in, hiking a thumb over his shoulder to rather rudely single Ian out.

"I can hear you, asshole. If you absolutely must slander me, do it quietly." Ian retorted, preoccupied with smugly examining the large skull that he was carefully cradling in his hands.

"Oh good, your ears do work. Funny, because they seemed to be causing you trouble earlier when I told you not to fight a damn Raxdian with nothing but your tactical knife." Andrew snapped, rounding on Ian to level the distracted man with a fierce glare.

"My ears are perfectly fine. I was ignoring you." Ian grunted, his sharp eyes finally sliding off of the skull to fix Andrew with a bored stare.

"You're gonna get yourself killed one of these days." Andrew huffed, resolutely turning his back to Ian in favor of helping Bailey open the samples and prep them for a thorough examination.

"Oh no, that would be so tragic. You'll play my favorite song at my funeral, right?" Ian drawled, sarcasm all but dripping from his words. Andrew’s back stiffened in response to the comeback, but he made no other indication of deigning the comment with a response.

"Your favorite song is too inappropriate to be played in public." Bailey snorted, her head raising to grin at Ian’s faux solemn expression.

"So that’s a no then? Shame." Ian heaved a regretful sigh with all the dramatics of angsting teen, though he was quick to discard the topic of his preemptive funeral altogether when he finally noticed Meesa’s presence. "Hey Meesa, check it out. Dearil used some of this helpful spray that makes the fleshy bits melt right off the skull so I could keep it as a trophy."

"It will look good mounted on your wall." Meesa mused, taking the offered skull to look it over with a critical eye.

"Right? I was thinking of hanging it above the sofa that you're so fond of shedding all over." Ian teased, the playful jab at Meesa’s more feline characteristics completely lacking any heat.

"Hm, yes. It will look very nice there." Meesa concurred with a decisive nod, momentarily running his claws over the skull to gently trace the Raxdian’s distinctive bone structure before handing it back to Ian. Also, the fact that Meesa had successfully evaded acknowledging Ian’s good-natured joke was quite the impressive feat. "Would you like some assistance with putting it up?"

"Sure." Ian said agreeably, tucking the skull up under his arm like a football before tipping his head to pointedly nod at the lab’s exit, eyebrows raised in a silent question. Meesa answered with a toothy grin, eagerly returning to his workstation to log out of the terminal, smoothly slinking over to Ian on all fours once the screen went dark. Then they left, side by side.

“Holy shit.” Andrew blurted, jaw slack with shock as he stared after the duo until the doors slid shut, blocking their swift departure from view.

“What?” You asked, squinting at the man in confusion as realization dawned on his face.

“The furry has been in his room before.” Andrew stated in a tone that indicated that this was somehow significant.

“Yeah? And?” Bailey voiced your exact thoughts on the matter aloud, her head tilted as she regarded Andrew with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

“Ian has had someone other than us in his room and it wasn’t for casual sex. They’re just… hanging out together. Outside of our group activities. Voluntarily.” Andrew stressed with a searching gaze and you blinked dumbly, eyes widening when the implications of what he was hinting at suddenly clicked.

“Oh my god.” You gasped, sharing a knowing look with Bailey.

“Exactly!” Andrew exclaimed, flailing in the general direction of the laboratory door as if that would somehow accentuate his sudden and shocking revelation.

“He probably doesn't even realize that he likes Meesa.” Bailey sighed, shaking her head.

“Oh, definitely not. He’s so emotionally constipated it’s depressing.” You snorted, crossing your arms as you tried to figure out when exactly Meesa and Ian became so close, brows furrowing when shuffling through your memories of the last few weeks garnered no clear answer.

“So what do we do?” Andrew asked, volume dropping into a conspiratorial whisper.

“We open these samples up, for one. We’ll figure out what to do about Ian’s crush later, preferably when we’re not in a public space.” You declared, gesturing to the examination table that said samples were lined up on.

“Good idea. On both counts.” Bailey said agreeably, tapping Andrew’s shoulder in a silent bid for him to follow as she passed him on her way over to the nearest workstation, the girl snagging a pair of black latex gloves and pulling them on.

“Thank you.” You hummed before turning on your heel to face the various flowers that were neatly placed on the metal tabletop, A familiar bare face hovering over them at a distance that was far too close for comfort.

“Jennifer? Why’re you only wearing gloves? Where's the rest of your protective gear?” You called, hurrying to her side to take the girl’s shoulders in a gentle but firm grip to guide her a good five steps away from the table and its contents.

“Protective gear? They’re flowers.” Jennifer’s incredulous tone made it clear that she didn’t quite comprehend the potential danger that foreign plant life might pose.

“Just flowers– how that hell did you graduate? Jesus.” Andrew scowled, fitting his goggles over his eyes before attaching an air filter mask over the lower half of his face.

“Hey, easy. This is her first deep space voyage.” You brandished a finger at him and he raised his hands in surrender, turning away to start collecting the tools that they would need for dissection.

“We don’t know if the flowers have properties that are harmful to us, so we need to take precautionary measures before working with them.” You patiently explained, amused and relieved in equal measure when your warning got through to her.

“Oh. That makes sense.” Jennifer nodded, eyes wide as they darted over to the flowers with newfound wariness. You gave her shoulder a reassuring pat, movement out of the corner of your eye briefly drawing your attention to Bailey as she stepped up to the examination table. Though your gaze was brought back to Jennifer when she shifted, so you offered her a warm smile to ease her nerves.

“Great, so let’s just get you some goggles and–” You were unceremoniously cut off by the loud clang of metal hitting metal that was followed by the squeal of rubber against linoleum, your head whipping around just in time to see Bailey scrambling away from the table.

“Everybody get back!” Bailey cried and then the world exploded into a disorienting neon orange, the massive cloud of pollen swallowing Bailey almost immediately. It was expanding at a rapid rate and you shoved Jennifer away from you on instinct when you realized that it wasn’t slowing down, your vision colored orange a moment later as the plume of pollen enveloped you.

You had about three seconds to be relieved that you were still alive and seemingly unharmed before you caught a glimpse of a navy blue sleeve in your peripheral vision as someone sprinted past you. Then the wail of the emergency alarm started to blare over the loudspeakers, the ear-splitting sound accompanied by a rhythmic pulse of red light. You sucked in a surprised breath as your hands shot up to your ears, coughing when you promptly inhaled pollen.

“No! Turn it off!” You shouted in between bouts of painful hacking, forced to breathe in more of the orange dust with each shallow inhale that you managed to take when you weren’t busy coughing up what felt like a damn lung. “Security is going to respond to the alarm and the room is contaminated with a foreign substance! We can’t let that door open!”

“Someone turn on the fucking air filter!” Andrew barked from somewhere to your right, his voice severely muffled by his mask, which meant that there was a good chance that no one had heard him over the shrieking siren. Although, when you opened your mouth in order to helpfully repeat his command with significantly more volume, you were unceremoniously distracted by the way that your sight went all fuzzy.

“Oh no.” You mumbled, tongue heavy in your dry mouth. And unfortunately, your limbs were similarly uncooperative, somehow feeling heavy as lead and light as air all at once. Your knees suddenly buckled and you barely felt the impact as you hit the floor, sprawling over the cool linoleum in a passive daze that reminded you of the one time that you had gotten absolutely fucking plastered at a bar with Andrew, Bailey, and Ian.

You sluggishly blinked, which generally only took half a second, but you had on good authority that your eyes had been closed for a bit longer than that because the pollen was gone when you opened them again. And, confused by the sudden disappearance of the orange cloud, your head lolled to the side to lazily squint at your surroundings for any hints that might shed light on what had happened.

Andrew was in front of the door, peering out through the square window as he gesticulated wildly in a manner that indicated that he was talking to someone on the other side. And, if you really strained your strangely unfocused gaze, you could make out what looked like… fur? And it was familiar in a way that you couldn’t quite put your finger on for some reason.

Before you could consider why it was worrying that you couldn’t remember much of anything, your thoughts were wandering in a different direction entirely. It suddenly occurred to you that Bailey wasn’t at the door with Andrew and you had a moment to wonder where Bailey had gone before hands grabbed your face, carefully guiding your head until you were looking up at the blurry face of the very woman you had just been thinking about.

You greeted her with a warm smile since your tongue wasn’t being very helpful in that regard, but doing so just made her face pinch, so you let your face fall into something more neutral. This wasn’t good either because she tensed, her fingers going stiff against your cheeks. Bailey abruptly broke eye contact as she raised her head, mouth moving as she said something that you couldn’t seem to hear over the ringing in your ears to someone you couldn’t see.

Then Bailey flinched and you frowned at the stark fear that painted her face a pasty white, tilting your head in order to follow her gaze to the door, blankly staring at the spider web of cracks that spanned across the window from the point of impact in the center, a hulking dark figure pressed up against the fractured glass and holy shit that was a lot of sharp teeth. What the hell was on the other side of that door and why the fuck was Andrew talking to it?

Bailey’s hands coaxed your face back toward her hovering figure, the girl’s mouth moving far too fast for you to keep up with even if you had  been trying to as her imploring eyes stared down at you. However, you soon found yourself distracted when it abruptly occurred to you that there was something important that you were supposed to be doing, something that involved the uncomfortable tightness in your chest and the black that was steadily creeping in from the edges of your vision.

Oh well, you would worry about it later, when you weren’t so out of it.

You reluctantly drifted back into awareness when your limp body was deposited onto a hard surface that you vaguely recognized as a metal table, the chill that radiated from beneath you seeping through your scrubs and leeching the heat from your skin. Fortunately, it was a fleeting discomfort because your senses were rapidly dimming as the black that impaired your vision grew until there was nothing but blissful darkness.

After spending so much of your free time with him and Meesa, you had on good authority that you might be something like a friend to the clan leader despite your malfunctioning lungs. In fact, Butcher had never once come across as professionally polite when you spent time together, as he often did with others on the ship. Also, he had yet to signal that he wanted you to leave him alone or get annoyed with you when the two of you happened to cross paths during the day and you started talking to him about something or another.

The amicable behavior was odd considering you were a weakling by their species' unreachable standards, but you weren’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

And then, as if feeling your gaze like a physical weight, Meesa twisted in his seat to scan the mess hall for the source of the feeling of being watched. During which, you briefly considered turning your attention elsewhere before he caught you staring at their table longingly like some kind of neglected child begging their disinterested parent for attention, but decided against it at the last minute because this was the perfect opportunity to see if Meesa might extend an invitation to sit with them to you.

Still, you startled a bit when your eyes met, and Messa tilted his head in a wordless question that you answered with a casual shrug. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to buy it, his assessing gaze boring into you until something seemed to click in his head and he suddenly perked up. Then he aimed a toothy smile and a beckoning hand your way, and like hell you were gonna turn down the wordless request to join him, so you grabbed your tray and eagerly pushed to your feet.

“Wait, where are you going?” Andrew blurted and you paused, glancing back at him from over your shoulder. He looked not unlike a confused puppy with his head tipped to the side like that, his heaping forkful of pasta hovering just in front of his mouth as if he had been about to take a bite before you distracted him.

“Over there.” You casually waved a hand in the general direction of the Yautja, who were preoccupied with devouring their meal with all the gusto and cleanliness of overeager toddlers.

“Really? You’re fearless.” Ian hummed, head tilted thoughtfully as he reached for his umpteenth cup of steaming black coffee. “Or stupid. Who knows?” He shrugged, indifferent to your usual antics. However, he grunted a colorful curse into his mug of glorified sludge when you petulantly kicked his shin.

“You’re gonna sit with the Predators?” Bailey looked up from her enormous pile of lime jello, brows raising in disbelief as she nervously glanced at the table of hunters. She was still cautious around the clan as a whole, but you had noticed that she got along just fine with the three Predators that had let her take samples from them a few days ago. It seemed like having a large group of them near her was the source of her unease, which was understandable because of the Yautja horror stories that Ian’s fellow guards were spreading like wildfire.

“Yeah, why not?” You shrugged, brows furrowed at the disbelieving stares you got from Andrew and Bailey. Although Ian looked like he couldn’t really be bothered to talk you out of joining the Predators, which was great because when Ian did feel like putting up an actual fight –verbal or otherwise– he almost always won.

“First of all, they’re eating raw meat.” Bailey pointed out with a shudder, mouth twisted into an unhappy line, and Ian made a soothing noise as he awkwardly patted her knee. The guy had grown up as a big brother back home and it definitely showed, especially when it came to Bailey seeing as she was the youngest in your friend group.

“I’m not squeamish.” You assured, which seemed to assuage Bailey’s worries a little, the girl nodding as she briefly turned her attention to her fruit cup. She made a face at the cubed pear and peeled grapes before spearing a bit of peach instead, her mood brightening significantly when Ian quietly offered to eat whatever was left when she was done picking through it so she didn’t feel guilty about wasting food.

“Unless it comes to deep sea creatures, at least.” Andrew quipped, drawing your undivided focus away from the rare treat that was Ian being a total softy.

“Shut up, I’m allowed to hate on those ugly as fuck nightmare-inducing abominations.” You retorted, brandishing a finger at him, narrowed eyes all but daring him to oppose you on the subject. Fortunately, Andrew seemed to have discovered the concept of self-preservation after the ‘special treatment’ incident because he wisely kept his big mouth shut.

“Secondly, they don’t like us humans.” Bailey tentatively piped in, having finished her task of fishing out the peaches and cherries from the cup, which was now in Ian’s hand as he shoveled the rest of the fruit into his mouth before washing it down with the last of his coffee with a grimace that you seconded because that was obviously a disgusting flavor combination.

“That’s not quite right. They just think that the majority of our species consists of weaklings.” You dutifully corrected with a sagely air, your wisdom going unappreciated when Andrew decided to be, well, Andrew.

“Wow, thanks for clearing that up. I feel so much better now.” He deadpanned, profoundly unimpressed with your extensive knowledge on Yautja culture, which was just utterly ungrateful of him considering that it was your tireless questions for both Butcher and Meesa that made it possible for you to educate everyone on your team about how to decidedly not gravely insult their guests.

“You’re welcome. See you guys later.” You flapped a dismissive hand at Andrew as you turned away, just barely catching the way that the man wrinkled his nose at you before his figure left your line of sight, prompting you to return the favor by subtly aiming your middle finger at him as you walked away.

“Hello Miss.” Meesa greeted you warmly once you were near enough to the Predator’s table to hear him, the feline shifting over a seat so you could settle into the offered space between Meesa and Butcher.

“Hey Meesa, is Butcher okay with me sitting with you guys?” You asked, fixing your hopeful gaze onto Butcher, who clicked and trilled in a melodic fashion that was actually quite pleasing to the ears.

“He doesn't mind.” Meesa hummed, abandoning his half-eaten meal in favor of twisting to face you. The shift in posture was a subtle hint that he was looking to chat with you, which was great because you weren’t all that inclined to focus on eating either, not when you had been looking forward to your next opportunity to spend time with Meesa and Butcher seeing as the three of you were usually busy.

“Awesome, thanks.” You chirped, contorting to look at Butcher, who was already watching you with an adorable tilt of his head, those lovely ombré dreads of his spilling over his shoulder.

“You’re always welcome here, Miss.” Meesa murmured, expression earnest and fond in equal measure. The unexpected declaration hit like a gut punch, your chest tightening with a familiar yet completely foreign emotion that you weren't quite ready to acknowledge yet.

“Hey Butcher, could I ask you a few questions?” You inquired, steering the topic into safer territory, which didn’t go unnoticed if the way that Meesa shifted closer to press his thigh against yours in a comforting and oddly knowing gesture was any indication.

“He said yes, but he reserves the right to refuse to answer any question he finds inappropriate or invasive.” Meesa diligently translated Butcher’s garbled reply, the both of them proceeding to stare at you in an attentive manner that indicated that they were patiently waiting for your questions.

“That’s fair.” You concurred, rocking back in your seat as you considered what to ask first, perking up when you suddenly recalled a rumor you had overheard when the lab guards rotated shifts the other day.  “So, I’ve heard that Yautja can speak english. Is that true?”

“Yes, in a sense. It’s more the biomask that speaks. Like a text-to-speech program.” Meesa haltingly explained, gaze flicking to Butcher a few times as he spoke, as if to confirm that he was allowed to talk about their technology.

“So the biomask records snippets of English and repeats it back when Butcher strings together a sentence?” You pressed and Meesa chuckled at your overwhelming enthusiasm, nodding.

“Precisely.”

“That’s amazing. But why have you act as a translator if he can speak for himself?” You asked, brows furrowing as you turned to Butcher expectantly, the Predator studying your perplexed face for a moment before reaching down to retrieve his biomask from his hip and secure it over his face.

“Many are intimidated by voice I have chosen, malen'kiy myslitel. I also prefer to only wear biomask during combat. I leave it magnetized to my belt if I am not fighting.”

Butcher’s voice was somehow both distinctly human and distinctly not, the miniscule part of your brain that wasn’t preoccupied with screaming about his unexpected accent recognizing the undertone of robotic stiffness in his response.

“Is that… a Russian accent? You have a Russian accent?” You were floored by the revelation, blinking up at Butcher’s expressionless mask with wide eyes.

“Da.” Butcher grunted before he seemed to catch and correct himself. “Yes.”

“His first hunt on earth was in Russia. He saw the unideal and hazardous winter climate as a challenge.” Meesa seemed awfully amused by your reaction, watching you with an affectionate intensity that flustered you a little.

“Of course he did, I’m not surprised. But why keep the Russian accent? I’m sure that you’ve been on plenty of hunts on Earth since then.” You wondered aloud, bracing your elbow on the tabletop so you could rest your chin on the palm of your hand, fingers curling up over your cheek.

“I look back on first hunt with pride. I brought much honor to my tribe, returned to mothership with many trophies.” Butcher divulged, his hand raising to his dreads to thumb an intricately laced leather chain of what looked suspiciously similar to human teeth, which was a little disturbing but not really all that alarming considering that their hunters code would have ensured that the fight had been won fairly.

“So it’s an honor thing. Got it.” You hummed, nodding along.

“I have a question, Miss.” Meesa unceremoniously cut in, delicately tapping your shoulder with the pad of his finger, mindful of his claws.

“Go ahead.” You encouraged, politely twisting in order to properly chat with the feline without having to awkwardly look over your shoulder.

“What are you eating? Those red things smell good.” Meesa pointed at your tray, drawing your gaze down to the item in question, and your brows rose when you spotted what exactly he was so intrigued by.

“The strawberries?” You prompted, picking one up and noting how Meesa’s eyes followed the fruit.

“Strawberries…” Meesa parroted slowly, as if he were getting a feel for the word. “Yes, those strawberries.” He agreed fervently, scooting closer to you and leaning in to audibly sniff at the fruit as he scrutinized it with narrowed eyes.

“Wanna try one? Here.” You extended your arm to offer the strawberry to him and Meesa’s keen, unblinking stare suddenly shifted away from the fruit in favor of fixing you with an oddly childish look of surprise that was quick to morph into equally childish delight.

“Thank you, Miss.” Meesa murmured reverently –as if you were bestowing some kind of award to him instead of a mere fruit– as he carefully plucked the strawberry from your fingers, popping the entire thing into his mouth without a moment of hesitation.

“Mhn, they’re sweet. Delicious.” He praised, all four of his hands flexing happily in a rhythmic movement that reminded you of a kneading cat.

“They're pretty good, huh? Especially if they’re ripe.” You snorted, passing him another strawberry because you couldn’t help but give in to the urge to elicit that strange and endearing kneading motion again because it filled you with such tenderness that your chest nearly cracked under the pressure.

“Would you like to try my meal? It’s cooked.” Meesa pushed his own tray toward you with a blinding smile, pointedly nodding at what remained of the grilled hunk of purple meat.

“Oh, well… sure. If you’re offering. What is it?” You hooked a finger into the edge of the feline’s tray and pulled it closer, curiously examining the unidentified slab of protein.

“A temperamental reptile from Elnoliv known as a Wronin. They are around twenty feet long when they reach maturity and are quite territorial.” Meesa excitedly described the creature, gesticulating in wide sweeps of his arms to help create a clear picture of the beasts. “They have nasty spines running down their back from head to tail that hold a paralytic agent that can cause fatal organ failure in a full-grown human in under five minutes.”

“I hope the Wronin’s meat tastes as impressive as its reputation sounds.” You glanced down at the meat with newfound admiration, frowning when you realized that there was no silverware around for you to use, which made sense considering that Meesa and the Predators had those sharp claws to tear their meat into bite-sized pieces. Unfortunately, you didn’t have this hardware.

“They are formidable prey.” Butcher allowed, one of his hands engulfing your shoulder to guide you into scooting back some so he could lean into the space provided without his considerable bulk crushing you, using his other hand to effortlessly tear a moderately sized piece of meat off and present it to you.

When you accepted it, Butcher settled back in his seat, his hand lingering on your shoulder for a few seconds longer as you tossed the bite into your mouth before the appendage moved up to his dreads to grab something and unwind it from the various other knick-knacks, lowering his fist and uncurling his fingers to reveal a large black tooth.

“Whoa, is that a Wronin’s tooth? It's huge!” You nearly choked with how fast you swallowed, coughing into your arm. When the fit tapered off after a few seconds, you harshly cleared your throat and reached for the trinket before you remembered your manners, pausing to look to Butcher for permission, which he swiftly granted with a slight incline of his head.

“Butcher personally killed this one –he kept its skull as a trophy, of course– but it was twenty three feet long and it only took Butcher two days to track and kill it by snapping its neck.” Meesa smugly recounted while you cautiously poked and prodded at the tooth, happily snatching it out of his hand when Butcher raised his open palm up a little further in order to coax you into taking it.

“That’s incredible, I can’t believe you got close enough to kill it with your bare hands. You, my friend, are one scary guy.” You said absently, preoccupied with inspecting the tooth, pressing your finger against the tip to test its sharpness. However, your attention was quickly diverted to Meesa when the feline made a sound of despair.

“Scary? You find him frightening?” Meesa looked utterly stricken, his owlish gaze darting to Butcher, who had suddenly gone awfully still.

“What? No. I meant that I wouldn’t want to fight him, is all.” You clarified and the tension that you hadn’t even noticed until it was suddenly absent broke all at once, Meesa heaving what sounded like a relieved sigh before a thoughtful look crossed his face.

“So you are acknowledging his strength in combat then?” Meesa prodded, helpfully ripping off another piece of meat when he noticed that you were eyeing it, depositing the morsel into your eager hand.

“I suppose I am, yeah.” You mused, haphazardly throwing your arm behind you to pat Butcher’s massive thigh, which flexed under your hand. The skin seemed to exude heat like a furnace and it was textured, like scales but different. You thoughtlessly ran your hand down to the metal guard on his knee before letting your touch slide off and away from Butcher’s person, hand returning to your lap while the other continued to absentmindedly fiddle with the tooth.

Andrew didn’t answer right away and, when you finally looked at him after a moment or two of silence, he seemed to be seriously contemplating making a break for it if the intense way he stared at the exit was any indication. Which, hell no. You were getting answers out of him even if you had to lock everyone in here until you all spontaneously up and died of sheer boredom to do it.

Andrew seemed to sense your fraying patience because he sighed explosively, shoulders slumping in defeat as he haltingly spoke. “Because Butcher let you examine him even though he personally told Captain Harris that he would strictly be overseeing the initial collection of data and not actively participating.”

“But I– And he said– Oh my god I hate you.” You spluttered as your cheeks warmed, shielding your face from view with your hands as you groaned miserably.

“I told you so.” Andrew said unhelpfully, looking wary and smug in equal measure.

“I hope you’ve made peace with whatever god you believe in Andrew, because you’re dead.” You seethed, brandishing a shaking finger at your wide-eyed colleague, who raised his hands in a placating gesture that did little to appease your anger.

“Wait! Wait a minute! Hold on!” Andrew protested, ducking behind the relative safety of an examination table when you lunged for him, narrowly dodging your reaching hands.

The commotion drew the attention of Ian –one of the few security personnel that didn’t hold an unfounded grudge against the Predators– who was stationed at the entrance to the lab, his perpetually exhausted and grumpy resting face exuding boredom.

And although he perked up a bit at the prospect of doing something other than standing around while armed to the teeth and embodying an unhappy house cat, once he saw that the cause of the ruckus was just you and Andrew, he merely heaved a long-suffering sigh that only people with younger siblings could pull off before going back to tiredly lounging against the wall.

“No! You knew! You set me up, you asshole!” You bit out, slamming your hands down on the cool metal surface to brace yourself before leaning forward, glaring daggers at Andrew’s pleading expression.

“Is something wrong, Miss?” Meesa piped in, suddenly appearing at your side, and you startled a bit as your head swiveled to blink up at the towering feline owlishly. However, your focus was quickly latching back onto Andrew when he shifted nervously, his wide gaze anxiously darting between you and Meesa.

“Yes.” You declared hotly, crossing your arms as you scowled at the rapidly paling Andrew.

You noticed that the feline was watching you for a lingering moment out of your peripheral vision before he nodded with an oddly serious look on his face, turning to aim a truly intimidating sneer at the other human with an impressive set of glossy white fangs.

“Has this human male upset you, Y/n?” Meesa calmly asked and Andrew stiffened in terror, mouth briefly opening and closing like he wanted to say something but thought better of it.

You narrowed your eyes at Andrew’s horrified face, baffled by the man’s odd reaction for the five seconds that it took your brain to register Meesa’s words.

“Wait. You didn’t call me Miss.” You blurted, confusion momentarily forgotten as you openly gawked at the feline, although the severe expression twisting Meesa’s usually open and friendly features had a chill crawling down your spine.

“Do you prefer Miss?” Meesa mused, the dark look that dominated his face gentling a considerable amount as he tilted his head to look down at you.

“Not exactly, more like I got used to it.” You said distractedly, bewildered by the decidedly weird exchange.

And what was up with Meesa’s sudden hostility toward Andrew? Had your idiotic colleague done something to offend or insult the feline in the time between collecting samples and now? Surely one of them would have come to you if they had an issue with each other, you were in charge of keeping the peace after all.

It was something to bring up to Andrew later, then.

“In that case, I will continue to refer to you as such, Miss.” Meesa mused, clearly pleased by your lack of objection on the matter of nicknames.

And, while you admit that hearing the honorific and knowing that it meant Meesa was looking for your attention was jarring at first, you soon found that it wasn’t actually all that annoying or uncomfortable once you got used to it. You’d grown… not fond, per say, but you had grown accustomed to Meesa calling you ‘Miss’ and to hear him say your name was far more strange.

“Fine by me.” You shrugged, crossing your arms for lack of knowing what else to do with them.

Although Meesa seemed to take your stance as an indication of your mood because he shifted his piercing gaze back to a cowering Andrew, drawing up to his full height with his teeth bared in what an idiot might mistake for a smile.

“Now, what to do with the human male who has upset you.” Meesa hummed, head tilting as he regarded Andrew in the same manner that one might look at a cockroach. “I could kill him, if you wish.” He offered, tone so casual that he could’ve just been making a comment about what was for dinner instead of threatening to maim someone.

“Tempting.” You snorted and Andrew seemed to finally find his voice, though it was small and feeble under Meesa’s oppressive gaze.

“Hey! I object!”

“Don’t act like you have a say, Andrew. I told you what would happen.” You scoffed dismissively, rolling your eyes.

“You gave him a verbal warning? And he still–” Meesa sounded downright offended and you were half convinced that if he were wearing a pearl necklace at that moment, that he would be clutching it like a scandalized 90's housewife.

“Yep. He sure did.” You sighed with a solemn nod, internally delighting in the way that Andrew stiffened as you blatantly egged the feline on.

“What a… what do you humans say? Ah, yes. A pig.” The feline sneered, a dangerous edge to his tone that made goosebumps erupt on your arms. However, Andrew had a much more severe reaction, the man twitching violently like he wanted to run but was resisting the instinct because he knew that Meesa would chase.

“See? Meesa gets it.” You stated with an air of smugness, patting the feline’s hip in a gesture of gratitude considering that it was really the only place you could reach that was an appropriate area to touch him.

Well, as far as you knew, at least. You could have been asking for his hand in marriage and not even know it seeing as you weren’t as familiar with Lururians and their culture as you were with the Yautja.

“The furry doesn't even know what we’re arguing about, but he’s taking your side!?” Andrew exclaimed, throwing his hands up into the air like you were the one being the difficult here, before he continued. “Two words.” He accused, eyes narrowed, and you suddenly got the unshakeable feeling that you weren’t gonna like whatever those two words were.

“Don’t–”

“Special treatment.” Andrew unceremoniously cut in, gesturing at Meesa like that even proved anything.

“That’s it.” You growled, lurching forward to brace a hand onto the examination table before vaulting clear over it, snagging the back of Andrew’s shirt before he could make a break for the exit.

You landed on your ankle funny, but ignored the sharp pain in favor of taking Andrew down to the ground with you, the two of you hitting the linoleum in a flailing tangle of limbs and cursing.

“Fuck! Stop that! Get off me!” Andrew yelped, ineffectually shoving at you as he bucked wildly. You were unrelenting, pressing your weight forward onto your hands –which were anchored on his shoulders– in order to pin him.

“Shut up, traitor.” You bit out through gritted teeth, muscles straining as you struggled to hold him more or less still.

All you could say was thank god that you had accepted Ian's offer to help you brush up on your self-defense, it sure came in handy.

“This isn’t very professional!” Andrew cried, thrashing beneath you like some feral animal in an effort to unseat you.

“You know what else isn’t professional? Setting up your colleague in order to feed the rumor mill for the rest of eternity!” You retorted, digging your palms into his shoulder joints just to hear him hiss, the man releasing your hips in favor of grabbing your wrists to relieve the painful pressure.

“Don’t be so dramatic!” Andrew shot back, boots squeaking obnoxiously loud in the silent lab as his feet scraped against the floor, and the stifling quiet had you raising your head.

Meesa was just off to the side, lurking with a predatory stillness that you would find intimidating had his expression not been open and obedient, like he was simply waiting for you to give him instructions regarding which limbs to remove first.

Behind the feline, Bailey was watching the commotion with crinkled eyes, hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter, but you could clearly see her shoulders shaking. Meanwhile, Ian had relocated in order to stand next to Bailey in an unusual show of tolerance to people in general, his fancy rifle lazily braced on his shoulder as he aimed a judgmental stare at both you and Andrew, who slapped your hands away when they went for his throat.

“Hold still so I can strangle you!” You growled, undeterred by the sting.

“Who in their right mind would just let you choke them!” Andrew balked, craning his head away from your reaching hands.

“I believe Butcher would, should you ask.” Meesa piped in unexpectedly, the furry skin between his pale gray brows wrinkling thoughtfully.

Since the day you met him, you thought that his capacity for expressiveness was extremely impressive, especially since his feline features would undoubtedly make such a thing difficult.

“Really not the time to play matchmaker, buddy.” Andrew pointed out, sparing a moment to glare up at Meesa, and the feline flapped a hand at the man with a harsh noise that was somewhere between a hiss and a scoff.

“I was merely making an observation based on fact. Although your hands are quite small for the task, Miss. I think your thighs would be a better alternative.” Meesa advised sagely, which was bizarre because why the fuck would he insist that Butcher would allow anyone –let alone a puny human with asthma– to choke him?

Well… maybe for like a millisecond at most, but then the person in question would promptly be relieved of their arms.

“What makes you think that I want to choke Butcher?” You blurted, adding your own two cents because why the hell not? There's no way this day could get any more humiliating for you; no thanks to Andrew.

Suddenly, your breaths started to become shorter and shorter as your lungs decided to up and cease their main function of providing your body with necessary oxygen, which meant that revenge on Andrew would have to wait.

But before you could sit up, there was warmth against your back as another body pressed against it, the soft tickle of fur on the exposed skin of your neck sparking recognition. Two hands settled on your hips, a third rubbed your arm soothingly, and the fourth pressed a familiar mask against your nose and mouth.

However, you made no move to take over holding it there, stunned into stillness by the intimacy displayed in Meesa’s closeness.

“Ian divulged much on the subject of human mating rituals, apparently it’s quite demanding in terms of physical activity.” Meesa mused and you just about swallowed your tongue, repressing the unhelpful urge to laugh because Ian was honestly the worst person to go to about that stuff unless it came to very specific preferences.

“Oh god, please don’t listen to a word Ian says about sex. He’s a freak in bed.” Andrew groaned, throwing an arm over his face, his complaints nearly drowned out by Bailey's howling laughter, the poor girl clinging onto Ian for support as her legs threatened to fold underneath her.

On a whim, you reached up to tug on Meesa’s wrist in a bid for freedom from the mask, and he allowed it.

“Hey, we don’t tolerate kink-shaming in this lab.” You snorted, just to hear Andrew make a noise that perfectly telegraphed his eternal suffering as Bailey choked on her next breath, the girl practically burying her face into the gray body armor that covered Ian’s chest.

Ian himself merely rolled his eyes as he begrudgingly wrapped an arm around Bailey’s quivering shoulders to help hold her up, but his mouth had twitched, so you considered it a win.

“Ugh, shut up. This is important, so I’m allowed to be nervous.” You groaned, wiping the sweat that had accumulated on your horribly clammy palms onto the navy blue scrubs that encased your legs.

“Hey, at least you’re all buddy-buddy with their boss. The rest of us don’t have the insurance that our arms won’t be torn off if we poke them in the wrong place.” Andrew shrugged, although his attempt at nonchalance and disinterest was effectively ruined by the searching manner in which he side-eyed your puzzled expression.

“The correct term is clan leader, not boss. And why do you say that? It’s not like I get special treatment either.” You protested, arms crossing defensively as you frowned at Andrew, who looked profoundly unconvinced.

“Oh really? So why did Butcher and his cat friend help you rearrange the entire lab then?” Andrew stared expectantly with a familiar triumphant yet miffed look on his face that seemed to be reserved solely for you and your usual antics, all but daring you to defend yourself against his utterly ridiculous claim.

“That’s not special treatment, I needed to make space for Meesa’s workstation and they wanted to help.” You objected, waving an arm at the station and the eight-foot-tall, feline alien that had been brought into question.

Thankfully, Meesa didn’t appear to be paying attention to the outrageous exchange happening not ten feet away, preoccupied with adjusting the examination table’s height so it was less human sized and more Predator sized.

“Alright then, if it’s really a purely professional relationship… prove it. Ask Butcher to be your personal pin cushion.” Andrew challenged, looking so obnoxiously smug that you knew that he was somehow setting you up. You weren’t sure what his angle was and –frankly– you weren’t exactly keen on finding out, but Andrew had talking you into doing stupid shit down to an art form.

“How would me doing my job indicate that I get special treatment?” You scowled, resigning yourself to holding out as long as you could despite knowing that resisting Andrew’s ultimatum was futile.

“If I told you, you wouldn’t do it.” Andrew said ominously and you snorted, shaking your head at his usual brand of evasion.

“Not really helping your case, Andrew.” You pointed out, although you had to admit that he had you more or less intrigued about whatever he was trying to insinuate.

“Well then I guess the outlandish rumors will continue to spread.” Andrew mused with a knowing smile that stretched into something decidedly more wolfish when you visibly perked up.

“Rumors? About what, exactly?” You prompted, eyes narrowing.

“That you have somehow managed to domesticate the clan leader with your truly overwhelming charm.” Andrew chuckled, looking so terribly amused that you found yourself grinning right along with him.

Well, at least Andrew’s pestering made a hell of a lot more sense now, he was obviously just teasing you about the crew’s baseless gossip.

“You’re right, that is outlandish. Who in their right mind would think I could charm someone?” You laughed, rolling your eyes at the complete absurdity of this entire conversation.

“So you admit that you think they’re hot?” Andrew hummed, head tilted as he considered what about them might be attractive to you.

“Andrew, have you looked at them?” You scoffed, throwing your hands up into the air as if the gesture alone would somehow convey the sheer amount of sexual frustration you had been subject to thanks to the Predators. “They’re practically flaunting themselves in those scraps they call clothing. Not to mention they’re all corded muscle and fucking massive. They are literally every woman’s wet dream and every man’s ideal body type. What’s not to like?”

“So the fact that they’re aliens doesn't bother you?” Andrew asked, sounding genuinely curious about your opinion on the matter.

“Why would that bother me? To them, we’re the aliens.” You said with a sagacious air, pointing at yourself and then at Andrew respectively in order to drive your point home.

“You are officially the weirdest person I’ve ever met.” Andrew sighed, head tipping back to aim a beseeching stare at the ceiling, as if it could possibly hold the answers that would help him understand you.

“We both know that ship left the station long ago.” You dutifully reminded him with a friendly pat on the shoulder, smiling when Andrew barked a laugh that had several eyes turning away from whatever task they had been occupied with to glance at the two of you.

Meesa was one of the many intrigued individuals that was looking your way, his thin pupils contracting further as his gaze flicked from the hand that you had on Andrew to your inquisitive expression.

“Okay, so we’ve established that they’re unfairly attractive. But that still leaves the issue of the whole ‘special privileges’ thing.” Andrew commented, drawing your focus away from Meesa’s intense stare.

“Oh my god, fine. But if I embarrass myself, you owe me.” You huffed, your hand falling away from his shoulder.

“I can’t wait to see the look on your face when I say I told you so.” Andrew snickered, swaying to nudge you with his elbow. You leveled his self-congratulatory expression with a flat look that only made him smile all the wider, clearly feeling prematurely triumphant. It didn’t exactly bode well for you, but you weren’t about to back out right after you had agreed to his stupid plan.

“If that happens, I promise that my face will be the last thing you see.” You declare with all the severity you could muster, which happened to be a fair amount if the faintly alarmed look on Andrew’s face was any indication.

He suddenly looked tempted to call off your little bet, although he didn’t get the chance to because the lab door hissed open and Butcher stepped in with his crew obediently trailing behind him like a mob of overgrown, homicidal ducklings.

“Butcher, it’s good to see you.” You greet warmly, and the sound of your voice had him abruptly abandoning his lazy once-over of the room that he helped rearrange in favor of making eye contact with you, which was polite of him and you definitely appreciated the fact that he bothered to give you the time of day. “Could you instruct your warriors to pair off with a scientist? There’s gonna be some of us that get two or three, but that’s to be expected since there’s so many of you.”

Butcher inclined his head sharply in what you recognized as a nod before he turned to his crew and made a sound that somehow contained both a hiss and several clicks that held various inflections that distantly resembled human speech. Then the crowd of Predators immediately scattered, wandering over to a scientist of their choice and hovering in a way that indicated that they were awaiting further instructions.

Surprisingly, three of them had prowled over to Bailey, who looked startled but not frightened or intimidated by their looming. Meanwhile, Andrew got two of his own, the poor man blinking up at the significantly taller individuals owlishly. Clearly, he was completely floored by the fact that they had come to him of all people, and you could practically see the gears in his head turning as he tried to make sense of their apparent interest in him.

You bit back the urge to laugh at his expense and opted to take the opportunity to snag Butcher before he could pair off as well, looking around to search for the blue leader and finding him with Meesa. They appeared to be communicating in their respective native tongues, probably to prevent any humans from eavesdropping on whatever they were discussing.

You weren’t all that inclined to interrupt them, especially since it would be rightly seen as disrespectful to butt in, so you decided Andrew and his dumb plan were just gonna have to wait and turned away to head toward your own station to get started with examining the three Predators –one of which you recognized as Butcher’s Adjutant, Mauh'kall– that were patiently waiting for you to come tell them how to proceed.

You got maybe three steps in before a warm hand that was roughly the size of your head was engulfing your shoulder, the unexpected touch making you jump. The warmth immediately disappeared as the hand retreated with a speed that was jarring, prompting you to twist around and blink at Butcher’s equally startled face, the Predator’s hand awkwardly hovering in the empty space between you.

“Oh, Butcher, hi. You snuck up on me.” You heaved a relieved breath with only slight difficulty, offering a reassuring smile that had the rigid line of Butcher’s shoulders relaxing, losing the tension that you hadn’t even realized was there until it was draining away.

You figured that it was as good a time to ask as any, averting your eyes as you cleared your throat, suddenly finding it hard to dredge up the will to speak. Thankfully, you managed to just spit it out, like ripping off a bandaid. “But since I’ve got your attention, I was wondering if I could take a few samples from you? Just blood and the usual.”

When there was no indication that Butcher was planning to respond, you braved a look at him to try and gauge how he felt about your request. However, you weren’t able to garner anything from his expression other than confusion and something that resembled either disbelief or incredulousness, and you were really hoping it wasn’t the latter.

“Sorry, I– um… sorry. Forget I asked.” You shrugged with a forced casualness that you certainly didn’t feel, desperately wishing the ground would open up and swallow you.

You shuffled back a step and Butcher matched you with a step forward without hesitation, your attempted retreat seeming to snap him out of his daze because he started to chitter and click at you.

“He is curious as to why one of his clan members will not suffice for such a task, Miss.” Meesa piped in, making you jolt with an embarrassing squeak when you suddenly noticed that he was standing right beside you with a curious furrow between the two lighter patches of gray fur that you assumed were the Lururian equivalent of eyebrows.

“Oh, well… uh… honestly? You’re the only Yautja I’ve interacted with consistently this past week and I would feel a lot more comfortable if it was you.” Your voice grew quieter until you were all but mumbling by the end, losing steam and any modicum of courage you had scrounged up.

It wasn't necessarily a lie though because Butcher was, in fact, someone you were completely at ease around. And if it also so happened to coincide with Andrew’s bet, then great.

Butcher made a rumbling noise that morphed into a low –almost annoyed– growl when Meesa giggled, the sound unexpectedly high and sinister –reminiscent of a hyena– which was definitely not something you would want to hear on some planet at night, that’s for sure.

But you had more important matters to focus on, like why Meesa seemed so amused all of a sudden.

“Meesa? What did he say?” You looked from Butcher to the feline and back again, brows raised in a wordless plea for a translation that Meesa mercifully provided between bouts of eerie giggling.

“He said that he does not mind. Please lead the way, Miss.” Meesa snickered, ducking behind you in a move that probably looked ridiculous considering the substantial height difference between the two of you with a loud bark of laughter when Butcher made an aborted move for the feline. The Predator looked pretty peeved, mandibles flared in an open display of anger.

“You’re sure? He looks like he doesn't agree.” You whisper as you cautiously shrunk back and away from the intimidating figure that Butcher made when pissed off, your shoulders bumping into Meesa’s chest when the feline dropped into a crouch in order to angle his mouth closer to your ear.

“You are not the one that he is upset with, Miss.” Meesa murmured in a low rumbly voice that was suspiciously close to a purr, the short fluffy fur on his cheek brushing up against your jaw in a tantalizing caress that reminded you of your favorite blanket.

You were suddenly struck with the inane urge to pet him, absently wondering if the rest of him was just as soft. But thankfully, before you could give in to the desire to pet him like some kind of animal and not the sentient being he very clearly was, Butcher stormed forward and more or less scruffed Meesa.

Butcher used his tight grip on the back of the feline’s neck to drag him out from behind you, making unhappy growly noises that sounded an awful lot like a stern reprimand as he manhandled Meesa over to your work station.

Still reeling from the brief skirmish, you numbly followed them, blinking uncomprehendingly as Butcher practically shoved Meesa into the arms of the three Predators that were lined up beside the examination table –who obediently caught the cackling feline before he could go face first into the cabinets with practiced ease– before he stalked over to the cloudy tabletop and gracefully sat down.

“Alright then.” You tentatively drew the words out, utterly baffled by the confusing exchange but more than willing to let it go since Butcher didn’t look like he would be particularly forthcoming on the matter. “I’ll start by checking your heartbeat, breathing, and blood pressure and we’ll go from there.” You explain, moving over to the small rolling cart that sat next to the examination table to gather what you would need for the first task.

You had heard a fair amount about them from the security team on the ship during mealtimes and none of it was particularly good, the group quite loudly depicting the numerous bloody encounters that their friends and colleagues have had with the warrior race. And although none of them had ever personally stumbled across a Predator, that didn’t stop them from forming some… decidedly hostile opinions about their species.

So when the news of the impending arrival of the Titan’s guests was released to the crew during a meeting on the main deck, the security people’s protests were the loudest among the clamoring voices.

As a scientist, you were more curious about the whole thing than upset or fearful. Because while you’ve come into contact with several species during your five years of employment, you had to say that this would be your first time meeting a Predator, let alone an entire crew of them.

You would be lying if you tried to claim that a part of you didn’t become as giddy as a child on Christmas morning when –after the deafening cacophony of protests had calmed some– Captain Harris announced that the contract that the crew of Predators had signed dictated that they were to cooperate with the science team, which meant that you would be able to get your hands on samples and bloodwork and literally anything else you could think of.

So when the day finally came for the Predators to come aboard the Titan, you were practically vibrating with a mixture of excitement and nerves.

You had been one of the first people to show up at the door to the bridge that the Predator’s ship had connected to, fidgeting with the lapels of your lab coat as you stared at the sealed metal barrier that separated you from the deadly race of prideful hunters.

A sharp beep of warning had your thoughts coming to a shrieking halt, the door that you had been longingly staring at for the better part of an hour opening with a loud hiss of compressed air.

You squinted into the corridor beyond, unsure of why it seemed to be so dark inside. But then something shifted and a sliver of light peeked out from the space between two bodies and you came to the sudden and jarring realization that the sheer amount of massive figures within were –in fact– blocking out the ceiling lights.

The first Predator to emerge from the darkness was tall, tall enough that it had to duck in order to get through the human-sized doorway. And once it was fully illuminated by the bright fluorescents above, you were able to see the Predator in all its intimidating glory.

It was blue and gray, which was… unexpected. You had heard that they came in a variety of colors –albino being the most rare– but you hadn’t heard any mention of a blue one before. Thankfully, despite the uncommon coloring, it still resembled a typical Predator otherwise. The pale bits were a grayish blue, while the rest of it was a solid gray with a smattering of dark blue spots and black spikes here and there.

Your eyes followed it as it marched right up to Captain Harris, who had stepped forward to greet the assemblage of Predators, your hands twitching with the urge to reach out and touch when you saw that its dreadlocks were a gradual black to blue ombré. Not to mention that they were long, reaching about mid-back while pulled up in a loose ponytail. The fleshy tendrils were decorated with silver clasps and delicate chains and random knick-knacks, the adornments jingling gently when it moved.

“Welcome aboard… Butcher.” Your captain said with hesitation, looking mighty uncomfortable with the way that the Predator effortlessly towered over him. And your captain’s six-foot-four stature was certainly nothing to sniff at. “Our AI, Michael, will show you and your crew to your section of the ship. Feel free to distribute rooms as you please.”

The Predator’s head tilted down some as it raised its arm, scrutinizing a high-tech gauntlet –although you couldn’t see anything, which led you to believe that whatever it was looking at was a hologram projected by its biomask– before nodding.

You squirmed with the desire to get a closer look at its equipment, which appeared equal parts minimalistic and sophisticated. Hell, just thinking about getting up close and personal with one of those gauntlets had your breath catching.

Or, well, maybe that was just the asthma.

You cursed your traitorous lungs, which had so unhelpfully decided that now was a fantastic time to cease functioning. How embarrassing. You would probably be more self-conscious about being surrounded by others if you weren’t too busy patting yourself down in search of your inhaler, finding it just in time if your wheezing breaths were any indication.

You fumbled with it in your mounting panic, your clammy hands losing their grip.

The inhaler hit the floor with an echoing clatter that drew the collective attention of everyone in your vicinity, including the Predators. You briefly wondered what they thought of you, standing among your significantly more formidable peers with lungs that have been trying to suffocate you since birth.

You startled when something large kneeled down in front of your inhaler, a scaly gray hand sporting some wicked claws carefully picking it up. The inhaler was laughably small in the palm of the Predator’s hand, which stretched to offer it to you. And, even down on one knee, the Predator –Butcher, you reminded yourself– was still significantly large.

You must’ve stared for too long –and, to be fair, you definitely had because you were starting to feel lightheaded from lack of oxygen– because Butcher shuffled a few inches closer before pausing, as if to gauge your reaction to its approach. You weren’t sure what exactly it had been expecting you to do, but you were much too disoriented to think harder on the subject.

You swayed and suddenly Butcher was in front of you, its hands taking your waist –surprisingly mindful of its claws– to lower you to the ground to sit before a big four-armed dude with feline characteristics handed Butcher something. Then the blue Predator pushed into your personal space, fitting some kind of mask over your nose and mouth.

You inhaled and blinked uncomprehendingly when cool air spilled into your mouth and down into your constricting lungs with every breath. And, as the medicine worked its magic, your head cleared enough to take stock of the situation.

You flexed your hands, which seemed to have latched onto something, your eyes dropping down and immediately widening when you saw that your fingers were currently clinging to Butcher’s hips.

You ripped your hands away as if burned, and were dismayed when the giant in front of you warbled questioningly, its head tilted as if to accent its confusion. You mumbled an apology, hands clenched into tight fists in your lap. Thankfully, Butcher didn’t press the matter, not that it even had the necessary vocal cords to do so in a language you could understand.

You braved a peek at the blue Predator and felt your face heat when it suddenly occurred to you that it was still dutifully holding the mask against your nose and mouth for you.

Your knuckles knocked into Butcher’s wrists with how fast your hands came up to take over, clutching the mask to your face. The Predator obediently relinquished the task to you, pushing to its feet and making as if to turn before pausing, its gaze feeling like a physical weight despite the fact that you couldn’t see its eyes.

Butcher crouched before you with all the grace of a… well, predator, easily reaching around you in order to give your back a gentle rub that felt soothing and reassuring all at once. And you hadn’t even realized how tense you were until it melted away, comforted by the weight of its touch.

You adjusted your grip in preparation to pull the mask away from your face, but the blue Predator’s hand caught your wrist before you could, as if it had somehow read your intentions. And, recognizing just how unmatched you were against its sheer raw strength, you reluctantly conceded defeat.

You offered no resistance as Butcher gently guided the mask back snugly against your face, and you opted to just say thank you and hope the Predator was able to make sense of your muffled voice.

Fortunately, it seemed that your message was received and understood because Butcher rumbled in a manner that sounded suspiciously like a purr before pushing to his feet and turning to address his crew, which had swarmed around their leader, who spoke to them in a series of complex clicks and chirps with a few growls mixed in.

Conveniently, their mountainous stature made a makeshift barrier, shielding you from the prying and judgmental eyes of your peers.

Too soon, the Predators were backing off, Butcher pushing upright to loom over you in a way that should probably have all sorts of alarm bells going off, but there was nothing. Apparently, your brain had already gone ahead and deemed the blue Predator not a threat to you, which was just typical really. Damn your lack of self-preservation, seriously.

Butcher spared you one last glance –probably to make sure that you hadn’t removed the mask– before following Michael, his hunting party of Predators and singular cat-like alien right on his heels.

Part 2 | Take A Deep Breath And Try Again

“I wish I could say it was a good morning, but then I’d be lying.” You groaned, shrugging with all the gusto of an angsting teen. “What qualifications need to be met in order to make a morning considered good, Miss? If I may be so bold as to ask?” A voice that was very much not Andrew’s replied, the words thick with an accent that you couldn’t place.

Part 3 | Inhale Confidence, Exhale Doubt Part 1

“Alright then, if it’s really a purely professional relationship… prove it. Ask Butcher to be your personal pin cushion.” Andrew challenged, looking so obnoxiously smug that you knew that he was somehow setting you up. You weren’t sure what his angle was and –frankly– you weren’t exactly keen on finding out, but Andrew had talking you into doing stupid shit down to an art form. “How would me doing my job indicate that I get special treatment?” You scowled, resigning yourself to holding out as long as you could despite knowing that resisting Andrew’s ultimatum was futile.

Part 4 | Inhale Confidence, Exhale Doubt Part 2

“Andrew,” You hissed, side-eyeing the man in question in an accusing manner as he walked past, your colleague obediently pausing when you called out to him. You took a calming breath when he looked at you questioningly, opting to focus on diligently tidying up your workstation instead of Andrew’s face lest you give in to the urge to throttle him. “Why is everyone staring and whispering?”

Part 5 | Make Every Breath Count

You found yourself once again tempted to ask Meesa if it would be considered rude to sit with the clan for one meal a day as your gaze slid over to the sizable length of table that the Predators occupied for the umpteenth time since you sat down to eat lunch, picking at your sandwich as you watched the hulking aliens interact with one another. Surely Butcher wouldn’t mind your presence?

Part 6 | It's In The Air, It's In My Lungs Part 1

“Everybody get back!” Bailey cried and then the world exploded into a disorienting neon orange, the massive cloud of pollen swallowing Bailey almost immediately. It was expanding at a rapid rate and you shoved Jennifer away from you on instinct when you realized that it wasn’t slowing down, your vision colored orange a moment later as the plume of pollen enveloped you.

Part 7 | It's In The Air, It's In My Lungs Part 2

Your slow return to consciousness came in stages, each sense trickling back in as you steadily gained more and more awareness until you were practically overwhelmed with the influx of data that your body was receiving. However, you weren’t all that tempted to do anything with the input that you were collecting, not when your throat felt like someone shoved a cheese grater down your esophagus and went to town while your chest ached something fierce with each inhale.

Part 8 | Don't Forget To Breathe

The soft hiss of the door opening drew your eyes away from Bailey, your confused expression overtaken by a smile when Butcher stepped across the threshold. He seemed to already be looking at you as he entered the room, but you couldn't be sure since he was wearing his biomask, indicating that he had been communicating without his usual giant furry translator because Meesa was busy looking after you. “Hey there, big guy.”

You Are The Air That I Breathe

“What the fuck is going on!? Is it the engine room!?” Someone shouted, their question nearly drowned out by all the ruckus that the panicked humans were making. Butcher stood in the middle of the hallway, impassively watching several humans narrowly avoid crashing into him in their rush to leave the sector, dodging him at the last second with a curse or a hastily muttered apology or both. “It’s the lab!” A man that Butcher immediately recognized as Jerome from communications called out in answer, the words seizing his attention in a vice grip.