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“The empire gave me everything.” Patrick jabbed a finger at his own chest. “Everything I am, I am because of the Klah’Eel.”
Fal’ran thought of the hatred in Yal’rest’s eyes when he looked at Patrick. He thought of the fact that for all his experience, and talent, and charisma, Patrick was here with them instead of the front lines where he so clearly wanted to be. “They scoff at you, and demote you, and—”
“Do you know why my last name is Smith?” Patrick demanded.
Fal’ran stopped with his mouth open. He narrowed his eyes as he closed it again. That was a trap of a question, and Fal’ran hated falling into traps.
Patrick raised his eyebrows. “Do you?”
“Because Humans always have a family name.” Fal’ran hadn’t known any humans back on the Projects, but he’d gathered that much.
“Exactly.” Patrick nodded. “So, when the matrons of the Klah’Eel orphanage I grew up in found me as an infant on their doorstep, they chose the most common Human surname they could think of.”
Fal’ran stared.
“Yeah.” Patrick nodded again. “They made sure I still had a family name in case I ever wanted to be Human.”
“But you never did,” Fal’ran managed quietly. He knew that, at least. Patrick was Klah’Eel, through and through.
“No. Why would I?” Patrick sat back in the chair and lifted the weights to his shoulders. “The Klah’Eel took me in. Fed me, sheltered me, educated me, raised me, made me one of theirs.”
Fal’ran spotted Patrick’s form, but he’d regained control, dropping and lifting the weights smoothly.
“It was humans that didn’t want me. Not klah’eel.” Patrick inhaled and Fal’ran winced in sympathy for the fact that Patrick couldn’t smell like everyone else. “The empire might not love me. But it never abandoned me. And I know it never will. I won’t abandon it either.”
Fal’ran’s frustration simmered down from a boil as he watched Patrick’s motions. It still wasn’t right, the faith Patrick put in people that didn’t have his back. The weight he gave their opinions. The loyalty they didn’t deserve. He wasn’t ready to concede defeat. “The matrons gave you the name.”
“What?” Patrick frowned, and Fal’ran waited until he lowered the weights to continue.
“The matrons at the orphanage named you Patrick Smith, not some faceless empire.” Fal’ran waved his hand. “They were the ones that cared about you.”
Patrick gave Fal’ran the same guarded look Fal’ran had given him when he’d quizzed him about his last name. “What’s your point?”
“And Captain Mal’ik?” Fal’ran loathed invoking his name, but he couldn’t think of anyone Patrick cared about more. “He doesn’t think you’re a fuckup with no business leading a team, does he?”
“Probably not,” Patrick conceded.
“And I don’t.” Fal’ran rushed to continue so he wouldn’t see how little Fal’ran’s word alone meant to Patrick. “And Bar’in doesn’t. And Tar doesn’t. And Sazahk doesn’t. He even requested you.”
“What—”
“We matter more.” Fal’ran stomped around the bench to face Patrick’s properly. “We do.” Fal’ran did. “We’re the ones that know you and the ones that need you, and you think you should have just left us? Without even giving us a chance to argue?”
“This isn’t about me.” Patrick stood from his chair, but Fal’ran pushed him back into it.
“Yes, it is.” Fal’ran grabbed Patrick’s shoulders and squeezed them hard enough to bruise, knowing the pain would anchor him. He thrust his nose into Patrick’s sweaty temple and inhaled: guilt, fear, longing. Fal’ran didn’t gentle his grip, but he nuzzled the side of Patrick’s head. “It is about you. We trust you, Patrick.”
Patrick’s shoulders curled in on themselves and his voice came out small. “You’re loyal to me.”
Fal’ran was glad Patrick didn’t smell his thrill of triumph. Finally, they were getting somewhere.
“I realized it after the Trial, when Bar’in said you wouldn’t accept another leader and when he and Tar got so protective.” Patrick leaned into Fal’ran’s touch and shuddered. “I thought I was going to be sick.”
Fal’ran pressed his lips to Patrick’s hair. “Why?”
“I’ve always been the loyal one.” Patrick's hands tangled in his lap. “No one’s ever been loyal to me.”
That wasn’t an answer, so Fal’ran waited. Was getting someone to talk about their feelings always like pulling teeth or was Patrick special?
