Dev watched as Dr. Rook showed Bowie how to spar. How to guard his face and shoulders. How to take a hit and how to hit back. After each round, Rook would help him up, and then they’d be too close and Dev would feel a sudden and unwelcome tightness in his chest. At first he thought he'd just leave it, but seconds turned to minutes of him watching from the doorway. He'd be here all night at this rate.
“Dr. Rook.”
The doctor looked up from where he held Bowie by the shoulders as the other human laughed and leaned into his chest. Dev tried not to catch his eyes and scrambled for words in his haze of frustration. He was acutely aware of how close they were, all the places that their skin touched, all the ways that Dr. Rook held Bowie like he was something that needed to be protected.
Dev casually adjusted the sleeves on his admirals coat, and fixed the doctor with a hard look, “Dr. Freemen was looking for you.” He said as he stepped further into the dojo. The lights had been dimmed, but they brightened when he entered. “Something about synthetic skin grafting and trial samples.”
Dr. Rook made a face, his grip tightening on Bowie's shoulders. As if he didn’t want to leave Bowie alone with Dev.
And Bowie? The human was watching with lidded eyes where his head rested on Dr. Rook’s clavicle. The unspoken challenge in them only served to increase Dev’s agitation. Somehow, Dev suspected that Bowie knew what he was doing, knew the effect he had on him. Dev never should have taken him to Scintilla, never should have shared so much time with him.
It was time he couldn't take back.
“Alright"
Dr. Rook pulled away first, his hand lingering on Bowie’s shoulder. They were communicating with their eyes the way humans do, and then suddenly, unexpectedly, Dr. Rook reached up and brushed his knuckles under Bowie’s chin before leaving. Slipping past Dev as though he weren’t even there.
Dev found his tail smacking against the dojo's floor before he could stop himself. Bowie folded his arms over his chest, brows arched. When he folded his arms like this, the muscles were made more pronounced. There was an uneven tan, too, that stopped just above the bicep. Dev exhaled, taking in all that was Bowie, his disobedient charge.
“Something wrong, Admiral?”
Yes, Dev had wanted to say. He knew being possessive-- of a human, no less-- was unbecoming of his kind. His mother would have scolded him for it, his father would have demanded someone else.
Always someone else.
“You’ve learned a lot since you first boarded my ship.” Dev said instead, trying to sound apathetic and failing.
“You don’t like it when I’m with him.” Bowie mused, sinking back onto his heels, “what are you going to do about it?”
Dev’s tail kept jerking around in half aborted movements. What was he going to do about it? He wanted to transfer Dr. Rook to another squad, another battalion if he could.
“If you want help sparring,” Dev said, having turned away, “Come to me next time, and I will teach you. You won’t be fighting other humans in space, you know.”
“Preferably I won’t be fighting at all.” Bowie said mildly, and then abruptly took Dev by the collar of his jacket and brought him down. He was always so much stronger than Dev anticipated. All humans were.
Bowie did not want to do the training simulator. He didn’t want to do anything, actually, and whenever he didn’t want to do something he’d find his way up onto the viewdeck and laze around until Captain Morozov or General Eliza came to find him.
Rarely would Dev come to the viewdeck without purpose so Bowie hadn’t been caught on one of his many excursions… until now.
The door slid open with a hiss and Bowie made a pathetic and disgruntled sound, expecting the usual stooges.
“If you are dying, Ensign Lapietra, please do so quietly.”
Bowie sat upright at the echoing sound of Dev’s voice. The admiral was watching him from the doorway, brow quirked and a smirk playing on his lip. Bowie’s face went red as he scrambled up to attention.
In every way, Dev was his opposite. Standing at about seven feet to Bowie's five and ten inches (his license said he was six feet tall) and all icy blue to Bowie's sun baked farmers tan. They made quite a pair standing next to each other. A moon and its sun. An ocean and the sand its waves would kiss at high tide.
“Why are you here?” He asked, accusingly, even though he wasn’t really in a place to make accusations.
“I was looking for you.” Dev says, striding into the room with his arms behind his back, “you weren’t with the others in the evacuation simulator. You weren’t in the barracks. Captain Morozov suggested I check here, though I don’t know how you would get inside without a card key.”
“There’s a panel— you know what, never mind, if I tell you you’ll get rid of it.”
“Bowie.” Dev says, trying to sound stern. He sounds more endeared instead, all his hard edges softened up when he was around the people he liked, “you really should be going through the simulators with your squad.”
“I just didn’t feel like it today.” Bowie moped, letting his shoulders sag and his eyes drop. He hoped he looked wounded enough for Dev to let it go.
“Not just today, you‘ve been this way all week.” Dev said knowingly, “something is wrong.”
Bowie scoffs, “yea, well unlike you who can go home whenever it suits you, I’m stuck here on this glorified frisbee.”
Dev tilted his head, “you don’t want to be here?”
“I miss Earth. Ask any human and they would say the same.” Bowie said, scuffing his boot on the metal floor, “I’ll be going now, sir. Thank you for checking in, or whatever.”
With that, Bowie made his exit, feeling Dev’s eyes on his back until the door slid shut behind him, and then through the door as he made his way back down to the lower levels of the star craft.
###
“What's all this about, boss?” Bowie asked as the members of Squad Zero deposited him at the entrance of the viewdeck before vanishing back into the hall. Bowie could hear the scuff of their boots echoing further and further away with each passing moment.
Dev was standing with his back towards the glass star shield, a triumphant look on his face.
“I’ve been a very good human since we last saw each other, Dev, why do you want to talk to me right now?” Maybe he hadn’t been as good as he thought. Was he about to get scolded for something frivolous like not making his bed?
Or not wearing his uniform jacket? He wasn't wearing it right now, after all, just the black shirt beneath that fit him like a second skin.
“You have been, I’m told you even advanced to the final stage of your flight training.” Dev said, “I wanted to congratulate you. The flight simulator, even for the dev, is quite challenging.”
Bowie narrowed his eyes, “Are you patronizing me right now?”
Dev cocked his head-- an animal gesture, one that reminded Bowie that he was a human and Dev was... something other-- “No, I’m being genuine. Come here, close your eyes and put your hand out.”
“Are you gonna lick it or something?”
“No, I don’t trust that you’ve washed them.”
“Rude!”
Even as he bickered, Bowie obeyed Dev’s command and stood a few paces in front of him, closed his eyes, and dubiously held out his hand. He felt especially juvenile doing so. Dev deposited something hard and plastic in his palm and he closed his fingers around it, frowning.
“Open your eyes.”
And Bowie did, brows raising at the little gift Dev had given him. It was an old cassette player, loaded up with a single tape.
“Where,” Bowie said slowly, turning it over in his hand, “did you find this?”
“All human contraband is seized from members of Project GATE to be analyzed. The administrators don’t want humans sending signals back home, as the operation is classified.”
Bowie snorted, “I sincerely doubt any human technology is advanced enough to phone home.” He says, curiously turning the player on and grinning when it clicks.
There’s a bit of distortion, but soon a song starts to play. Bowie doesn’t recognize it, but the familiar timing and the sound of a base line makes his heart beat a little faster. He glanced up to see Dev observing him expectantly, tail flicking like he were some agitated cat.
Bowie snorted, taking a step closer and standing on his toes. Dev, courteously, bowed to accept the kiss Bowie gives him on the cheek.
“You’re a real peach sometimes, you know that?” Bowie murmurs, still turning the cassette player in the palm of his hand. The song has ended, another scratches to life midway through.
“What does that mean?” Dev asked, "What is a 'peach'?"
“Nothin, don’t worry about it.” Bowie said, and he laughed when Dev scowled.
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