Page 48 of Alien's Love Child

I glance up. Sure enough, his cheeks have darkened to a deeper blue - the Kaleidian equivalent of a blush. Leo's observation sets off another round of giggles.

"The boy needs to learn about practical nutrition," Davin mutters, but there's less edge to his voice.

"The boy needs to learn that food can actually taste good." I toss him a protein pack. "Here's your boot leather dinner."

He catches it one-handed. "It's not that bad."

"Says the man who probably hasn't tasted real food since-" I catch myself before saying 'since that night in my kitchen.' "Since who knows when."

There's something there. Something familiar coming back to his eyes.

I've found a thread, now I have to keep pulling

I follow him out of the kitchenette, leaving Leo happily munching away at his meal. "Your nav system's outdated. That's at least three generations old."

"It works fine." He strides down the corridor, but I notice how his steps slow just enough to let me keep pace.

"Sure, if you enjoy taking the scenic route everywhere. Those algorithms are ancient. No wonder it took you so long to track us down."

He stops abruptly, turning to face me. "I found you, didn't I?"

"After three years. Not exactly a speed record." I tap the corridor wall. "Bet your drift compensation's off too. That would explain the wobble during takeoff."

"There was no wobble." His blue skin darkens again, that familiar flush creeping up his neck.

"Please. I could feel it from the cargo hold. When's the last time you calibrated your thrusters?"

"Last week." He crosses his arms, mirroring my stance. "And my drift compensation is perfect."

"Is that why your shirt's buttoned wrong?"

His eyes drop to his chest, where sure enough, the buttons are misaligned.

"That has nothing to do with-" He stops, frowning. "How did you..."

"Know?" I step closer, close enough to smell that familiar scent of starship fuel and leather. "The same way I know you double-check your six before turning a corner. The same way I know you hate the taste of caffeine but drink it anyway because you think it's practical."

His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see something spark behind them - recognition, confusion, fear. His hand moves toward his chest, where the scar lies beneath his misaligned shirt.

"You don't know me," he says, but his voice wavers.

"Yeah, actually, I do."

"Go watch your damn kid and leave me alone." He spins away, stalking toward the cockpit. "Some of us have actual work to do."

I lean against the wall, watching his retreat. His shoulders are tight, fists clenched at his sides. He's rattled, I know he is. I'm getting through to him.

"Sure thing, boss." I push off from the wall. "Wouldn't want to distract you from your very important brooding."

He stops mid-stride, and I can practically see the muscle jumping in his jaw. "I don't brood."

"No? What do you call this whole dark and mysterious act then?"

"It's called doing my job." He doesn't turn around, but his voice has lost some of its edge. "Which would be a lot easier without your running commentary."

"Right, because silence is so much better for thinking." I start walking back toward the kitchenette. "You know where to find us when you're done pretending to check those perfectly calibrated thrusters."

A grunt is his only response, but I notice he doesn't correct me about the thrusters this time. And as I round the corner, I catch him glancing over his shoulder, that familiar crease between his brows - the one that always showed up when he was puzzling something out.

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