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...
They weren't alone.
There was warmth and weight at their side. And someone was touching them.
It took a good couple of seconds for Slate's brain to compute that this was not a dream. It required recalling the events of the previous night (which (apparently) were, likewise, not just phantoms of a pleasant dream).
...
...Ah, yes.
TrailBlazer was in the hangar.
And Feldspar was home.
Slate let out a sigh and relaxed into the rousing caresses on their chest and shoulders.
A second later, an impish smiling mug nuzzled their cheek.
"Mornin'," purred Feldspar.
"Mnnmng," grumbled Slate. So much for sleeping in...
"Hey, think I can't see that smile?"
Slate stopped smiling immediately.
"Oh, so that's how you're gonna play it, eh?" The weight on the bed shifted under the movement of their partner, "Let's see you pull that sourfish face when I do this..."
The air shifted as the covers were yanked upwards, then settled again.
Slate finally opened two eyes to the sight of a Feldspar-shaped lump tunnelling around under the blanket. They braced themself, trying to gauge whether the pilot was going to attack their sides or their feet or...
"Felds, don't even-"
...
Their warning died on their tongue when instead of wriggling or jabbing fingers, a pair of lips brushed over their stomach lightly...
...
...Oh.
This wasn't so bad...
Warm hands clasped their hips next, and those lips trailed lower, fingers tugging at their shorts...
...Yeah. Not bad at all...
The tension left their body (well, depending on where you pointed), and Slate was just about to surrender to whatever their partner was eager to bestow on them...
When a familiar sound drifted down the corridor and reached their sensitive ears.
...
"...They're awake," the engineer mumbled with more than a hint of disappointment.
"I only need three minutes," Feldspar retorted from below the blanket.
Sighing again, Slate wrapped their fingers around their partner's wrists to stay them.
"They're gonna start throwing things at the door soon."
As if on cue, a loud thump echoed from the room next to theirs.
"Two minutes, max."
Thump.
"Won't be able to focus much with that going on."
Thump, thump.
There was a disgruntled, incoherent mumble before the lump under the covers sat up and tossed the blanket off of the both of them.
Sharp golden eyes blinked at the engineer for a moment. Then Feldspar smirked and poked Slate in the chest, earning a grunt.
"Why d'ya put all their toys within reach if you know they're just gonna throw 'em around?"
Thump!
Slate grimaced as they rubbed a soothing hand over the spot where they'd just been assaulted.
"Because they refuse to go to sleep if I don't. And I'd swear that they can count already. They always know when one is missing."
"Hah! Wouldn't surprise me. Genius is in the genes, hehe." Feldspar's ear twitched a little as they pursed their lips and went silent. Then their smirk turned dark, "Gone quiet again. They must've run out-"
A high-pitched whinge with definite 'I know you can hear me' undertones silenced the pilot.
...
It was Slate's turn to smirk.
"I wouldn't try to ignore it. It just gets worse," they said, but by the look on Feldspar's face, it wasn't really necessary. Their partner's expression had already switched from mischievous intent to instinct-driven parental attentiveness.
"Ignore that?! You gotta be kiddin'," with that Feldspar scrambled off the bed in their shorts and sleeveless vest, threw the door open, and disappeared down the corridor, their rapid footsteps reverberating through the wood of the entire cabin.
Slate let their head sink into the pillow as they counted a short two-point-five seconds before another door swung open, and the elated cry of 'Beastie!' echoed immediately by a corresponding squeal and excited giggles made them grin and shake their head.
By the time they'd gotten out of bed, pulled on a shirt, rubbed the grit from their eyes, and were traversing the corridor, Feldspar came dancing out of the other room toting a very awake Mica on their hip.
"Here they are! Say, 'G'mornin' Slay!'"
Mica let out a joyful yell and extended an arm and tiny grasping fingers, smiling so wide their cheeks hid their secondary eyes.
Smiling themself, the engineer reached up and laid their hand on their tadpole's head, ruffling their linen sleep cap lightly.
"You want coffee?" They asked with a glance at their partner, who was thoroughly enthralled by the squishy bundle in their arms.
"They're a little young, dontcha think?"
"I was talking to you. 'Genius'," snorted Slate.
"You bet your sweet mallows I want coffee," Feldspar expertly sidestepped that little fumble and flashed them yet another toothy grin, "No one makes it like you do."
"Basic chemistry," Slate started down the stairs when Feldspar began to tail them.
"I'll handle breakfast!"
"No," Slate halted and turned when they were halfway down the stairwell, "I'll handle breakfast. You change Mica."
"Seriously?" Feldspar raised a disbelieving brow, "They just woke up."
"Exactly," the engineer didn't wait for a reply before they continued towards the kitchen.
"You in need of a fresh butt-kerchief, beastie?" Feldspar's voice chimed at the top of the stairs.
Slate left their partner to it and proceeded to boil the kettle, then put a handful of roasted pine nuts through the grinder to the background noise of exaggerated diaper-changing theatrics and tadpole babbles.
When Feldspar stepped into the kitchen with Mica a few minutes later, there was already a pot of porridge grits and a skillet of fry-up boiling and sizzling on the stove, and the air was permeated by the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee.
"Smells good in here," said Feldspar en route to the dining table, "Need any- hey, what's this?!"
Slate smirked, not needing to glance over their shoulder to know what had caught their partner's attention.
"Made that a few days ago."
They were, of course, referring to the custom seat they'd built using wood and old cushions and a prototype seatbelt. It had been secured to one end of the dining table by means of a pair of heavy-duty clamps that were bolted on to the frame. Slate was quite proud of it.
"So, I just drop 'em in and they stay put?" This time Slate did glance back, and saw Feldspar depositing Mica into the specialty tadpole chair with a look akin to the one they'd had when they'd laid eyes on their first pilot seat.
"As long as you secure the belt, they're not going anywhere. Table's bolted to the floor now too."
Feldspar glanced at the legs of said table, which were secured in place by means of steel brackets and bolts.
"Brilliant!"
Slate turned back to the hotplate, keeping their smile to themself. That was only one of the many tadpole-centric contraptions they'd built since Mica had hatched, and indeed, one of many more they still planned to build when they had the time.
Finding the time was the tricky part. Slate hadn't exactly planned on becoming a parent at thirty (that said, they'd never planned on falling for their best friend's best friend either, nor had they expected to be as caught up in the whole Space Program as they were). And as far as child-rearing was concerned, the fact that their partner was off planet for weeks at a time made it just that little bit more of a challenge. Some days...
They had help, at least. Mica had a pair of doting grandparents, and Gossan was almost as taken with Mica as they had been with Reg. It rarely got to the point where Slate couldn't juggle their new parental responsibilities with everything else.
That wasn't to say they weren't relieved when their partner returned from a space campaign. And whenever Feldspar came home, they stuck around for twice as long as they'd been absent to make up for it, which was cool...
The engineer ladelled porridge into a small bowl and scraped a mixture of fish sausage and vegetables onto two plates, which they brought to the table. Then they allowed Feldspar the messy honour of feeding Mica their breakfast while they ate and watched, snorting between mouthfuls at the comedy that ensued.
"Here comes the space ship!"
Mica opened their mouth impossibly wide for every spoonful of grits, and always bit down on the spoon before Feldspar could pull it free, so that the pilot had to coax it from between their sharp little teeth before attempting another. The engineer couldn't help but wonder amusedly just who between the pair was enjoying the game more...
By the soft light of the morning, Slate took the opportunity to watch their partner. Feldspar's skin was pale from lack of direct sun light, and their arms and face boasted minor scars here and there where they'd been a little too careless during training or on their expeditions. But their eyes were just as vibrant and full of life as always.
And as soon as Feldspar noticed them looking, they'd shoot Slate a grin that made those eyes spark even brighter like sunlight glinting off gold-lined glass, sometimes with mischief, sometimes with something else that Slate got to keep all to themself.
Yeah, they hadn't planned for their life to go like this. But Slate definitely didn't mind it either...
"Heeeey, you know what Mic needs? A couple of siblings!"
Slate promptly choked on their coffee.
"It's a great idea! Two or three pals to keep them company..."
Two or three?!
"That way, neither of you'll get lonely when I'm out on a long campaign!"
The engineer hastily shoveled what was left of their breakfast down their throat and stood from the table.
"Gonna go get dressed."
"I'll even let you do the carrying this time- ow! What was that for?!" Feldspar frowned and held their right ear, which Slate had just issued an enthusiasm-curbing flick.
"One's more than enough for now. What the hell do you think I'm made of?"
Their partner squinted one set of eyes at them, then chuckled and scooped up another spoonful of porridge grits for their hatchling.
"Yeah yeah, I was only half serious," Feldspar lifted the spoon to blow the steam off before popping it into Mica's gaping mouth, "This is perfect," they ended lowly on a softer smile as they watched their tadpole clap their hands with barely-coordinated glee.
...
With a roll of their eyes, the engineer retrieved their plate and was about to step around the table-
"Hey now, you can't leave without this."
A tug at the hem of their shirt made them stop and turn. Then a hand grabbed a fistfull of their collar and pulled them down until Slate was bent at the waist, their face hovering a few centimeters from Feldspar's.
...
"I haven't brushed my teeth yet, dumb ass," they knew this was unlikely to deter their partner, but felt the need to state the facts regardless.
"Never bothered me before," said the pilot matter-of-factly. They tugged a little more, and Slate relented, because resistance was a waste of effort.
And, okay, yeah, they also liked the feeling of Feldspar's lips smiling against their own...
Slate made sure to cover Mica's eyes with their free hand, though. It seemed like the appropriate thing to do on these occasions.
---
-End-