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Oliver flicked his eyes back up to Mal’ik’s face, and he could tell by the twitch of his lips around his tusk that he’d been caught staring. “Why did you do that?”
“Because the Gat’Raph was pulling out of Southern Tava, and I wanted to stay.”
That chased out the thoughts of Oliver’s tongue running up the column of Mal’ik’s throat. Oliver set his plate down in his lap and turned to face him more fully. “Why?”
Mal’ik’s small smile spread to a larger, almost bashful one, and he shook his head. “You have a lot of questions.” But he continued before Oliver had to reply. “The people still needed me. I didn’t want to abandon them.”
Somehow that answer didn’t surprise Oliver. He didn’t know this Captain Mal’ik, but Oliver could tell he was the type to give of himself for others. What a foreign concept. Oliver looked away, took a sip of that burning liquor, and tried not to flinch. He didn’t think he’d ever cared about anyone enough to… Well, he didn’t know if he’d ever cared about anyone at all.
He cared deeply about his father’s opinion, but that wasn’t quite the same. And perhaps as a child, he had cared about his brother, but the foolishness of that had been driven home quite quickly in the Turner household. His mother? But he didn’t even remember her; she left them before his brain was capable of forming long-term memories. He knew of her only from the tabloids and upper crust gossip.
“I think you’ll help them.”
“What?” Oliver’s head popped up and yanked his thoughts away from his dismal family. He found himself caught in Mal’ik’s thoughtful gaze, and his heart skipped. He licked his lips.
“The things you say in the meetings you go to. About systems, and infrastructure, and investment.” Mal’ik leaned forward. “Do you mean them?”
Strangely, Oliver had to bite his tongue to hold back a denial. Mal’ik was looking at him with too much intensity and too much…hope? Oliver’s first instinct was to crush that hope because surely it was misplaced, but he made himself sit still and answer honestly.
He nodded. “Yes. I believe the region has a lot of potential. I believe it’s plagued by incompetence and corruption, and”—he shrugged—“I believe I can do better. I’m good at improving things.”
Mal’ik smiled at him in a way that made Oliver’s heart race.
The words were out of Oliver’s mouth before he could stop them. “It doesn’t mean that I care.” He swallowed. Those warm eyes on him felt too good. Better to rip off the Band-Aid and set the record straight now. “I came here to do a job. That’s what I care about.”
“Alright.” Mal’ik nodded, but his eyes didn’t harden in the way Oliver had expected. They stayed soft and warm. He put another dumpling into his mouth, as though Oliver’s clarification didn’t bother him at all.
So, Oliver followed his lead and turned his attention to the succulent cubes of meat he’d decided were his favorite. His heart rate slowed to a normal level, and after a few moments, he felt comfortable sneaking glances at his companion again.
Captain Mal’ik was clearly strong and capable; he was definitely old enough to have been in the original invasion of Southern Tava. And judging from his words earlier, he had been part of the occupying force for years afterward.
“Do you have any advice?”
Mal’ik froze. Then his brows furrowed as he finished chewing and swallowed. “What?”
“Advice,” Oliver repeated. “Concerns, thoughts, opinions, etcetera. On Southern Tava.”
Mal’ik frowned. “Me?”
Oliver frowned back and squinted at him. “Yes, of course. You were there for years, right? You chose to stay there. You clearly care.”
“Very much.”
“So, what are your thoughts?”
“I—” Mal’ik looked away, his frown deepening.
Oliver cocked his head in bafflement. Surely the man had thoughts, especially on something he cared about. Oliver had thoughts on everything, including things he didn’t care about.
Finally, Mal’ik shook his head. “It’s never been my place to have any thoughts on the matter. I do my duty. I do my job. It’s people like you that have thoughts on things.”
“That’s silly.” Once again, Oliver’s mouth ran away with his thoughts before he could stop it, and his hand gesticulated wildly. “You have years of experience, probably decades. You’ve had a closer look at the problems than any of us, and you’re not an idiot. Why the hell shouldn’t it be your place to have thoughts?”
Mal’ik gaped at him, and Oliver flushed.
“Sorry.” He dropped his hands. “I shouldn’t push.”
“No, it’s fine.” Mal’ik inhaled deeply and sat up straighter. His brows furrowed again, but he spoke. “I think the Klah’Eel forget the region’s history and underestimate the effect that history has on the people.”
