Chapter Text
Jaal's smile was infectious. Even as Ritika fought off a migraine from insomnia and a deep ache ran up her back, she returned the gesture from her bed aboard the Tempest. She leaned, half asleep against her pillows as the mauve Angaran crafted sewed fabric at the foot of her bed.
"What was that called again?" she asked.
Jaal glanced sideways with wonder-filled eyes. "A Roftiir," he said, rolling his 'R.' "It's similar to my Rofjinn, only longer, enclosed to keep the child warm."
Riti laid a hand on her belly. Child—the word still sounded surreal. For weeks she had convinced herself that her swollen stomach attributed to nothing more than PMS, but without any spotting and Lexi's insistence on monitoring the Ryder sisters, Riti had slowly begun to accept her new reality.
"Ah!" Jaal jerked his fused hand back, and his lover sucked on her lips to keep from laughing.
"Yo—you okay?" she asked.
"Yes. Though I can't say the same for this." The Angaran lifted his work. Best Riti could describe it was as a decorative potato sack with six sides, only two of them even. "I've never made one before, not even for my nieces or nephews. You can see why."
The laughter in the young woman's throat left in a sudden burst. She pressed both forearms against her stomach, which budged from humor and a six-week-old hybrid.
"Well," Jaal added, "traditional Roftiir require a joint seam to account for Angaran legs, but..." His gaze fell like Riti's smile.
Both felt unsure of what traits their child would inherit. Angara and Humans had many things in common; leg types were not one of them. Would its legs stretch straight or be disjointed? Would it have one, two, three, or more knees? Would it even be able to walk? Would it be teased for the possible abnormalities?
The young woman swallowed thickly then glanced down. "Who knew I'd grow an alien among aliens, eh, little guy?" she asked.
Warm fingers descended over Ritika's belly in an instant. They found their way under the hem of her shirt—as they often did—and Jaal's lips followed not long after.
"My deevan, my child," he murmured against her stretched skin, "no matter your image, your trails, your faults, or persecution, know you will want for nothing in a galaxy your parents helped free from Kett. You mark a new dawn in many ways, and I will protect you with my life."
Tears slipped down Riti's cheeks. A few at first until they dripped from her chin, drawing Jaal's attention with spots along his prominent eye ridge. His gentle, galaxy gaze shook his lover's shoulders, left her trembling under the weight he took care in keeping off her abdomen.
"Darling One," he started. His touch was painfully soft and riled a staggering sob from the Pathfinder. "Ritika." Panic tainted Jaal's deep voice, but Riti hadn't the strength to lift her face.
"You're still excited," she whispered through chattering teeth. "You...you still want it."
When the Angara shifted, he pushed back sections of Riti's purple braids, saying, "Why would I not? A child is a blessing."
"My first wasn't."
"What?"
Riti closed her eyes. If Jaal looked at her with even a fraction of the pain felt behind his question, her tight throat would render her mute. She swallowed again, though it did nothing to clear her airway, and pulled the Angara's hand to her exposed stomach. She needed the warmth, the pressure, the love, an anchor to keep her grounded to the present, not horrible memories from dark times.
"Remember," she started, "when I told you about Omega?"
"Yes," Jaal spoke in a measured tone.
"Re—remember I said I had an ex there?" The air tensed; guess the Angaran understood that his lover resolved to tell him everything she had held back before. "Tamir." Riti gagged at the name. "Mi—Mira had a hard time, too. That place messed us up, and I—I don't know how she shouldered so much. The pain. The uselessness. The guilt. Tamir...Tamir—"
"Thon rev, Darling."
God, Jaal's tenderness made Riti ache, even more so since she understood his Angaran phrase as the kindest form of reassurance, and her fat lips quivered with her next words, "I was young, stupid, so stupid. Seventeen. Sure I could handle Omega. I thought I was strong enough for Mira, to lend her strength. I didn't want her alone, but she spent so much time with Marcus sometimes, I—"
The young woman's nose began to sting. She felt dirty for the first time in Jaal's hold and feared no amount of soap could make her feel clean again.
"I met Tamir at Afterlife," she continued. "He was suave, handsome, the kind'a guy who women clamored over. And he loved my voice. He was always requesting me, even when I was off work. Tipped well. Praised me. When he asked me out, I considered myself lucky, but...the luck wasn't good at all."
Jaal tensed in his hold around Ritika, maybe in part to her curled fists.
"He abused me, Jaal. Isolated me, held me down, made me bleed, told me I'm nothing without him."
"Rit—"
"No. Listen, please. He lied to me. Used me. Broke me. And I was dumb enough to believe it was my fault. That pain...that was all on him. My baby, though? That was on me."
Memories struck Riti in snort snippets: an overheated room, Omega's station's oily stank, satin sheets wrapped around her bare body, and the sound of her ribs cracking against a wall.
"Stupid me thought maybe if I told him, things would change," she croaked. "I couldn't go home pregnant. I hadn't even graduated school. And Tamir had the funds to care for us. We—we were supposed to be okay. It was his baby, right? He had to care. He should've cared. It was his baby!"
Riti's scream hurt Jaal; she saw it in his tear-stained face and the way he pulled her towards him by the shoulders. However, she locked her elbows when her palms met his Rofjinn to keep them separated. She couldn't fold. Not yet. Jaal had to hear the rest of the story and the only way to continue would be to recall latent anger she had buried almost a decade ago.
"He—he didn't smile or jump for joy or tell me what a wonder I was. He accused me of sleeping around. Said he only used protection, but what did that drunk-ass care when in the mood? He acted like his shit never stunk, and he crushed me! Crushed us. And I can never give that child another chance at life. I'm awful, Jaal; I got my baby killed! How can you stand...?" Hot sobs cut off the remainder of the Ryder's rant. The lump in her throat felt like she had swallowed a golf ball that inflated to a softball when Jaal kissed her.
"I love you," he whispered.
The electric tingles in her mouth lingered as he brought his thin lips to her wet cheeks and sent jolts through her nerves when gathered her atop his bowed legs. She meant to push him away—she still felt filthy—but his strength overpowered her. He said nothing more, only held her as she lamented a life lost and let his body encircle her and their child.