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Of course, he was. Patrick kept the snide comment to himself, but of course, the Turner brother was working on some new horror to inflict on some new enemy. He pressed his lips together to keep the judgment off his face. He had no right. If Dominic Turner came up with something to use against the Insects invading their sector, he’d use it gratefully. That was the uncomfortable truth.
“It’s still early days but I—” Dominic cut himself off as his head jerked to look off camera. His expression darkened into a scowl, and he snapped at whoever stood off screen. “I’m fine.” A pause. “I said I’m fine, and it’s not your fucking job anyway, Garin.” Dominic made a disgusted noise before looking back at his screen. “On the topic of overbearing, I have to go. Let me know the results of Tar’s tests, will you?”
“Of course.” Sazahk nodded. “And send over those chemical formulas when you get a chance and I’ll proof them. I’m sure they’re all correct, but I’m fascinated by the idea, and it may all be very relevant to me very soon, besides.”
“Thanks, Sazahk.” Dominic contorted his face into an awkward but painfully earnest smile. “It was good to see you all again. Um. Be well.”
He blinked out of existence.
Bar’in snorted and shot Patrick a mocking look. “Yeah, he’s just evil, that one.”
Patrick shook his head. “You don’t know him.”
“Neither do you.” Sazahk gathered his tablet and tools and set his workstation to rights with quick, sharp movements that made Patrick wince. Purple and blue gathered along the line of his jaw and peeked out through the flow of his long, silver hair. “No one does. He probably barely knows himself. And honestly, for someone so intent on second chances, I’m surprised at you, Patrick.”
Patrick held his ground when Sazahk faced him. “There’s a difference between ruining your own life and ruining the lives of others.”
Sazahk tugged his bulging bag over his narrow shoulder. “Is there?” He didn’t wait for an answer and charged for the door.
Patrick caught his upper arm. “Yes. There is.” He looked down into Sazahk’s dark eyes. “I didn’t say it was unforgivable or that no one gets to come back from it. But I get to be wary.”
Sazahk’s biceps unclenched in Patrick’s hand. “You’re right.” The purple faded down his temple, but the set of his mouth told Patrick something still festered in his mind. “Let’s go. It’s time for target practice.”
The qesh side-stepped Patrick and slipped out the door.
“We’ll go check on him,” Bar’in sighed and tugged on Tar’s sleeve. “He’ll probably get lost if we leave him alone for too long.”
If Patrick felt bad, he felt even worse when Bar’in patted his shoulder, as though Patrick should feel terrible. As soon as the door slid shut behind them, he slumped his shoulder and ground the heels of his palms into his eyes.
Fal’ran’s deep chuckle vibrated through his chest. The toes of his boots nudged against Patrick’s calves and spun his stool around to face Fal’ran’s. “It’s not all your fault. Sazahk’s been touchy since Emissary Serihk messaged him this morning.”
“Emissary Serihk?” Patrick dropped his hands from his face. “Messaged Sazahk directly?”
“Mhmm.” Fal’ran rested his elbows on the counter behind him and Patrick’s lower belly fluttered. God, he was hot like that. He was hot all the time, no matter what he was doing, but relaxing back with a teasing smile and a thoughtful look in his eyes made Patrick want to fall into the space between his thighs and lick up his stomach. Patrick twitched his head to knock the strange thought out—what the fuck, who thought that?—and focused on the words coming out of Fal’ran’s tempting mouth. “Apparently, the Emissary had the best lab on Base Ship Givast set aside for him, and apparently Sazahk took that as some grave insult.”
Patrick frowned. “I’ll have to find out more about that.” Lar’a would know. She’d been protecting Serihk for ages now and they were close.
“The insult might have something to do with that weird, qeshian…” Fal’ran waved a hand toward Sazahk’s workstation. “…mind technology stuff.”
“Their neural links?” Patrick raised an eyebrow with a shit-eating grin, and Fal’ran whacked Patrick’s thigh with his boot. Patrick caught his foot and pulled it into his lap, so Fal’ran’s heel rested on the top of his thigh.
“Yeah those.” Fal’ran’s eyes flicked down to where Patrick kneaded his thumbs into the muscle of his calf and licked his lips. “I kept waiting to see all the machines move on their own or some metal arms to come out of the walls or something, but he never did any of that.”
“Disappointed?” Patrick massaged up higher on Fal’ran’s leg. He had expected Fal’ran to be tighter after the wringer Patrick had put him through yesterday, but the muscles under his fingers were supple.
Fal’ran grinned sheepishly. “A little. I thought it’d be cool.”
“It is cool.” Patrick had seen Serihk use his flex metal a couple times, and it never failed to impress. “Maybe the lab isn’t outfitted for it.”
“It is.” Fal’ran pointed to the thin metal plates set into the wall above each workstation. “I’m pretty sure the arms come out of there. And a lot of the labels are written in Qeshian. And it’s the best lab on the Base, so it must be.”
Patrick admitted those were compelling arguments. “Maybe he doesn’t like his implant.” But he doubted the words as he said them. Sazahk was pragmatic. He wouldn’t have an ideological or emotional block against a useful tool.
Fal’ran’s expression said he had the same doubts. “Maybe. But I don’t think it helped his mood.”
“Didn’t seem like it.” Patrick dragged his fingers down Fal’ran’s calf, then lifted it off his thigh and set it back down. He dropped his hand down for Fal’ran’s other foot.
Fal’ran lifted his boot for Patrick to catch and place on his other thigh. “And you know his thing about defending Dom isn’t just about Dom, right?”
