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“That doesn’t look right.”
“Oh, really? I never would have guessed that the flashing red lights all over the console meant that something was wrong,” Tommy snips, digging through his toolbox. A few loose gears float out. Technoblade catches one with his finger and guides it back inside.
“If you aren’t going to be able to reactivate the gravity field—”
“Fuck off,” Tommy growls. “I’ve got it under control. The storm just made the power grid go all fuckin’ haywire and I have to replace some of the circuitry and shit. It’ll be running again soon.”
Technoblade lets his eyes scan over the panel Tommy is working on. He can see exactly what’s wrong—the switch connecting the gravity field to the ship’s secondary energy core is turned off. With the primary on half power to conserve fuel while they’re waiting on parts to fix the reactors that broke during the solar storm, the gravity field doesn’t have enough power to run without the secondary core. “Do you need any help?”
“Yeah, you can fuck off and let me work in peace, dickhead.”
“Okay.” Technoblade grabs one of the safety bars bolted in over the electrical panels and uses it to turn himself around. The lack of gravity didn’t take him much adjustment; he grew up in the bowels of piglin warships, which didn’t have artificial gravity installed outside of the command decks and the bridge.
“Wait, no,” Tommy says, a whine lacing his voice. “I didn’t mean it. Bitch.”
Technoblade huffs out a laugh and pulls himself back around. “If you’re gonna keep harassin’ me I don’t think I want to stay,” he says.
A spark flies out of the panel. Tommy mutters a few colorful curses under his breath.
“Do you need help?” Technoblade repeats, staring pointedly at the switch that will connect the gravity field to the secondary energy core.
“No, I’ve got it,” Tommy bites out. He’s got his face twisted up into a cute, focused little pout. “I just need to—”
Technoblade reaches out and flips the switch. A low humming sound rumbles up from below them, and then the gravity field switches on. Tommy’s toolbox clatters to the floor, spilling its contents out across the room, and Tommy lands on his ass with a thud, the hard little scales adoring his half-human body spiking up in surprise. Technoblade, prepared for the sudden reactivation of the gravity field, lands safely on his feet.
“What were you saying?” he asks, looking down at Tommy.
“You bitch, ” Tommy whines, flopping onto his back. He turns his head and sinks his pointed teeth into Technoblade’s ankle, which Technoblade can barely feel through his thick pink skin, built for surviving in the heat of the piglin homeworld. Satisfied with his living chew toy, Tommy’s shoulders relax and he works his jaw a little bit. The scales running down his neck and under his shirt make a happy little clicking sound as they shudder back flat. Through a mouthful of Technoblade, Tommy mutters, “I had it under control.”
“Okay,” Technoblade replies. He crouches down and ruffles his split hooves through Tommy’s hair. “Stop biting me.”
Tommy’s teeth chomp down harder.
Rookie mistake, on Technoblade’s part. He sighs and wiggles his leg out of Tommy’s grip. “I’ll carry you back up to the bridge if you clean that up,” he says, inclining his head toward the spilled tools.
“What if I want to stay here,” Tommy grumbles. He rolls over with an exaggerated grunt of effort and pokes at the toolbox. “Fuckin’ secondary core,” he mutters under his breath. “Stupid fuckin’ shitty energy cores.”
“Then I’ll leave you here alone,” Technoblade replies easily. He pats Tommy’s head and stands up. “We still have work to do, Tommy. I can’t stay here and watch you roll around.”
“Ughhhhh, fine.” Tommy drags himself to his feet and starts picking up the tools. He works relatively quickly; thankfully, the toolbox wasn’t very full, and most of the bigger tools were strapped to the inside—Tommy just hasn’t gotten into the habit of keeping things strapped down, since the whole ship usually has gravity on.
When he finishes, he shoves the toolbox under one of the panels, then hops to his feet and tugs his hoodie back down from where it’d ridden up when he was crawling around picking up tools. He grabs onto the leather harness Technoblade wears over his shirt and climbs up onto his back, hooking one leg over Technoblade’s arm and squishing his face against his neck. He’s much smaller than the piglin, so Technoblade can easily carry his weight with one arm.
“Alright, take me away,” Tommy announces once he’s wiggled himself into the most comfortable position.
Technoblade chuckles, and shifts his head so he can rub his cheek against Tommy affectionately. “Whatever you say, Tommy.”
Tommy responds with a pecked kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Bitch,” he giggles.