“Dirt and space, probably,” comes Caelan’s answer, just a little lower, a little rougher now that they’re outside of the elevator. “Cassius would know the dimensions better than I would. Probably be best tucked up against – whatever those useless things in walls are – recesses?”
If they get an answer, they don’t hear it. Not when they catch Cassius’ scent, his whole scent, not just a piece of a bigger puzzle. He’s squirming loud, so loud, the happy writhing of him rippling through the air like open arms. They almost let the bag go in their focus, but – no. Cas still needs to eat, still needs to -
They turn the corner, two, and he’s -
God. Pressed up against the glass in his eagerness, his skin writhing with all that pent up emotion his face is stiff to show. Usually, anyway. He’s got a small curve to his lips, their Cassius, and – yeah. Yeah, they’re just as happy to see him too.
(it’s been way too fucking long)
The rabbits (fucking bug-eyed things, looking at Cassius like they’re at the circus and he’s center clown), scatter when they approach, when they see their mouth stretched to show too much white.
Go on, Hugh says, and god, it’s a fucking fight to stop at the door. To give him that glance followed by a muttered thank you that curls so warm at their lips – and then they’re taking too-long strides, Hugh all but forgotten as they pile into Cassius’ waiting arms like they belong there. Like they were made for it.
His shell caves a little under the force of their hug, but he doesn’t complain, he never complains, and – the tension leaks out of them as he sinks around them, seams splitting in places to encompass them in a way they have missed, the mass of him circling tight and steady and kneading at them right to the bones.
“I have missed you, Hunter,” Cassius murmurs into their ear, the drone of him drowning out the beats of the song. Wiping away the last of their teeth.
They bury their face into his neck. Inhale the comfort of home.
Hugh waits a good half-minute or so. Gives them time that he spends sending pointed looks at anyone who might think to stare, to intrude, stance squared until they slink off under the chill of his mismatched eyes. He's run them all off before long, no doubt scurrying off to tattle. To gossip. To talk about how the ship's token freak found another one, fuck, why do they let him keep doing that shit? Captain's gotta be going senile, oughta find someone who'd actually deal with it, they should--
They should fuck off. And they do.
Hugh's steps into the room itself are slow, languorous. Easy. His words, when they come, are just shy of outright cockiness.
"Told you I'd find them." He's got Cassius' worm on his hand now, letting it work its way across his knuckles like rolling a particularly slow, fat quarter. "Could've warned me about all the teeth. Might've taken a few years off my life with that scare, you know."
He's teasing, tries to communicate as much with the raised brow and the curve of his mouth.
"They'll want my neck for this one. Fortunate for me that I've got the two of you here to make sure it stays in place, aren't I?"
It's not extortion or a demand. His tone is too light, too conspiratorial for that.
“But Doctor Hugh,” hums up Cassius’ voice against their ear as they keep themselves molded to him, let him work all their muscles loose, “I did tell you about the Hunter’s teeth, did I not? When you had asked if the Hunter was like you and I, and I had said -”
“He was making a joke, Cas,” Caelan cuts in lazily, voice just as melty as the rest of them. They really don’t want to know the type of horror movie poetry Cassius has been sprouting about them while they weren’t there. Don’t need the reminder, even. Not when they’ve just calmed down.
He makes a sharp little hiccup of a squirm at that. Changes course as easily as they change skin. Focuses on what Hugh says next with an intensity that burns in Caelan’s nose.
“They will not have your neck, Doctor Hugh,” Cassius agrees, and Caelan finally pulls themselves away from him so that they can face Hugh, too. “Your neck belongs to you and you alone. If the ones up higher wish to change this, they will have to go through the Hunter and myself first.”
Telling, isn’t it, that Caelan doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even remind Cassius that rabbits are off limits.
(There are exceptions to every rule. Fucking with their family is one of them.)
“They touch you and they’ll be missing fingers,” comes their response, languid and easy. For Cassius, of course. Hugh makes him happy, and that means everything. (And maybe they kinda sorta like him, too. Fuck if they’ll say it out loud though.)
They peel themselves from Cassius entirely, then, and he lets them go with only the slightest reluctance, knowing not to push. Moves over to Hugh and soaks up his body heat instead, arm against arm, his head against Hugh’s shoulder like he’s done it before.
Caelan doesn’t comment at it, just rolls their eyes and leans down to pick up the sack. Drops it off on the bed, where Cas’ smell has gathered in a thick, squiggling mass. Clever, isn't he?
“So, what’s the game plan, then?” they ask, before pausing and eyeing Hugh over their shoulder. “You should probably look away. Or cover your ears or something.”
Hugh's turned himself a bit, angled so that anyone brave enough to try to stare through the glass won't see the way his arm snakes up Cassius' back, petting absent through his hair the way he's always liked himself. Steady, long pulls over what passes for his scalp, blunt grease-darkened nails scraping ever so slightly on the way back down. Petting.
"I suppose we have two options. One is that I go alone, negotiate - make it clear that a lack of cooperation could very well be incongruous with, ah. Life. For all of us. That the two of you could be a benefit to this ship at the very least. I'm not certain what you could possibly offer, but there you go." A hum. "The second is that I wait here, and negotiations happen with all of us present. Highly risky. Could end in a bloodbath, depending on the players."
He only just refrains from glancing at Caelan. Yes, he means you. Keeps his stare even for a moment.
"And I'll do no such thing. This is as much a part of knowing Cassius as any." A little huff. "Trust me when I say that I've seen worse. It's just... blood. Is new. YS was never so outwardly gory about it."
Caelan watches Hugh from the corner of their eye for a long moment at that. Watches the way Cassius’s form sags just a little against him under those fingers, skin trembling in the equivalent of a wormy sort of purr. Guy can’t stomach seeing a hollowed out corpse drop from a vent, but is all too willing to watch Cas eat. All because it’s who he is. Who he can’t help but be.
(God. Maybe Hugh is worming his way into their heart, too. No wonder it took less than a fucking week.)
“Mn, alright,” comes their neutral answer. They don’t bother dumping the remains out – another mercy in the form of baby steps. They do, however, untie the thing and let the mouth of it drop wet and leaking onto the mattress. “Don’t eat the bag, Cas. Plastic’s not good for you.”
“Of course, Hunter,” patiently said, followed by a louder hum of squirming as the worms chew through the mattress in their haste to get to the meat. Been busy, hasn’t he? Almost enough of them to fill up an extra pair of legs. Suppose he’s had the time to, not like Hugh could entertain him all hours of the day.
Caelan watches as the mass piles into the bag, hears the squishing wet thing that indicates he’s eating. The scraping of tiny mouths against bone. The bag undulates as he works, leaks through accidental holes in their eagerness.
They pull their eyes away. Shove their hands into their hoodie.
“You said two options,” they start, half-turning in their direction, “but one’s shit and the other’s – yeah. Risky.” A thumb tossed over their shoulder at the bag. “Especially if they’re anything like that guy’d been. Going alone’s not better though. Can’t really keep them from wringing your neck if we’re not there, and we know how that’d end.”
A lot of people dead, and not just from their teeth. Not just from them.
A dismissive gesture. “So. I stay here, and you take Cas. If they feel skittish, they vent me, and we’ll all find out together if it’ll be the thing that kills me.”
A short stop. Hugh's - okay, yeah, the sounds aren't great, but he's trying to tune it out in favor of Caelan now. (Not looking at the bag as it undulates and writhes with all those hungry little bodies helps.) In favor of turning, fitting them with a lingering look. Searching. Uncertain, despite himself.
Worried, maybe.
"...Understand. It's as good a plan as any." Hugh rocks on the balls of his feet, on his heels. Shifts his weight from one to the other, the hand that isn't petting at Cassius tensing absently at his side. "If you--"
A pause. His voice lowers.
"If you do end up out there, I've installed patches across the hull. Flimsy things. You'll know them on sight. They'll..." A sigh. "They'll let you back in. At a cost of whoever's nearby at the time. Although I desperately hope it doesn't come to that."
He swore to protect this ship and its people. That this was his magnum opus, this bucket of bolts and irritable bastards - his life's work, his legacy. That nothing would come first. And now--
"You're needed here."
(Now he's letting something else come first, isn't he. Himself, again. The things he wants. These creatures that make him feel like he has a home in someone else, for the first time since he left Earth. Before then.
“They will not vent you, Hunter,” Cassius reassures. It is a struggle to keep himself together under Doctor Hugh’s rhythmic strokes, the light graze of his nails at Cassius’ nape (gentle in a way that Cassius has never had before, in a way that vibrates through his shell in a shiver. His Hunter is kind, yes, but gentleness – it does not come to them easily). “Doctor Hugh and I will not let them.”
His Hunter looks at him, amusement in the curl of their lips. Seeing something that he cannot, perhaps. Smelling it.
(Cassius worms a hand up between Doctor Hugh’s shoulder blades, an attempt to ease, even if not successful. His Hunter, he knows, will be fine, but Doctor Hugh has not had the time to build such confidence. He will. He cannot shake them, now.)
“Yeah, I know you won’t,” they drawl, most of the edge of it gone. They take a few steps back towards the bed, and Cassius moves what worms are in their way out of it. They settle into the reddening sheets with their legs outstretched, their back firm against the wall. Their eyes drag over to Doctor Hugh, unbothered by Cassius’ feasting a foot away. “Patches. I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”
(And does that not warm at his worms? That his Hunter is fond of Doctor Hugh as well? He knew they would be. Doctor Hugh is so kind.)
Another dismissive wave. A confident one. “But don’t let me keep you. The sooner you get through your fancy peace talks, the sooner we can get Cas’ Garden set up, the sooner I can get a fucking burger.”
It is the mention of his Garden that finally has Cassius peeling himself away little by little from Doctor Hugh’s side (from that body-hot warmth that Doctor Hugh lets him soak up without complaint). The hand at Doctor Hugh’s back is the last to be withdrawn, fingers lingering over where he knows those pits to be, the ones that worry his Doctor Hugh so.
“Yes, I would like to access my Garden soon,” he says, once he’s completely removed himself from Doctor Hugh’s side and his hands are once more folded at his waist. “I worry for my lilies.”
Faint amusement. “Not your cosmos?”
Cassius tilts his head. “No. My cosmos are sturdy.”
Have those here. Not the way they'd want them. Soybean patties probably aren't to Caelan's taste. Hugh falters off, listens to that little exchange instead. Lilies and cosmos. They have the seeds here on the ship, but the two of them talk as if it's just - a matter of a hop and a skip before Cassius can return to his own. As if this Garden of his is somewhere that could be reached, found again.
Hm.
"We won't be long." Hugh paces to the door, punches in the numbers again. "Ready, Cassius?"
He might be lying. They might be long, from the uncertain stirring of the ship around him. Can practically feel it in his bones at this point. He's trying not to consider the fact that it might be more than theoretical, these feelings. These senses.
Cassius turns his head to watch his Hunter for a moment, feels something inside of him shift as they give him a lazy wave and tug their hood over their head a little further. Settling in for a nap (much needed, Cassius thinks. His Hunter does not sleep well without his squirm). A confident send off – one that says that they are not concerned, so Cassius should not be either.
So, he turns away. Follows Doctor Hugh out of the door and hears that mechanical whirring click of the door relocking.
(His hunter drops a hand into his mass, digs careful fingers deep into him. Lets his worms wriggle over their hand and soak up their heat. “Anything happens, you let me know,” said low and meant only for him.
He does not let it show on his face when he agrees.)
Cassius looks to Doctor Hugh, the drone of him quieting now that they’re outside of the glass. “I am ready to follow, Doctor Hugh,” he says, before pausing as a question strikes. “What shall I be doing while you are ‘negotiating’?”
"You're there to look pretty and nonthreatening, essentially."
Hugh doesn't butter up the phrasing - that is the plan, here. Cassius is their ambassador, essentially, here to make it clear that he's only interested in existing, not in taking over the ship or eating everyone alive. To be - well. Not meek, but certainly inoffensive. To be what Caelan can't.
Hugh's steps are... not quick. Not eager. Almost as if he'd like to take as much time getting up to the Captain and the no doubt quickly called meeting up there as possible, soak in the pleasure of Cassius' company before anything else can try to ruin it. And it will. They'll try. He hopes they don't get too rude, too nasty - not with him, he's used to that, but with Cassius. Hugh has enough trouble keeping his temper in check without two lives he gives a shit about on the line.
(His own is not included in that number.)
They're at the elevator quicker than he likes. He takes his time pushing in the buttons.
"Just be friendly, they'll love that. Don't take anything rude they say to heart. Half of them are morons and the other half are badly raised, with a slim margin of decency in there somewhere. There's a man - wears a doctor's coat, ties his hair back in this ridiculous messy bun? Friendly sort. Stand near him."
S i n g h.
Hugh won't go into his personal grudges against the man at the moment, even if just referring to that asshole gets his weird blood up. He's a goddamn show-off, with his esteem and his friendliness and his medical degree, sure, but he'll be kind. One of the few assured warm presences in the whole goddamn room.
"His name is Hieronymus Singh." A sharp little scoff. Hieronymus. God. "He'll talk your ear off, I'm sure. Never shuts up."
“Thank you, Doctor Hugh. You are nice to look at as well,” Cassius starts, a pleased little squirm to him as he follows his companion closely, much closer than he had the first time he had been led through the ship. Cassius is grateful for his consideration, for the opportunity to remain in range of his heat. “I will do my best to remain friendly, so long as they do not make to harm you.”
(He will not allow Doctor Hugh to suffer more bruises. Never again.)
Cassius steps closer to Doctor Hugh once they are on the elevator, one hand slotting along his spine like it has always belonged there. His worms pile against the spaces between his pits, circle tightly, aggressively, so that Doctor Hugh can feel the pressure through his clothes. Can feel the reassurance for what it is.
(Cassius does not need to be well versed in people to know that his Doctor Hugh is tense. Nervous in ways his Hunter is not. Fragile in ways his Hunter is not.
So similar are they that their differences are made all the more pronounced for it. He prefers it this way, he thinks. Prefers that their edges groove into different parts of him. That their pieces do not clash when they complete him.)
“I would prefer to stand near you, Doctor Hugh,” said with simple honesty and an absentminded stroke of fingers along the hard bumps of his not-quite spine. Doctor Hugh might not find comfort in the parts that make him More, but Cassius – Cassius is grateful for them. (Knows that without them, he would not have been Doctor Hugh. Would have been – afraid. Of him.) “But if that is not what is best for our negotiation, then I shall do as you ask and find this Hieronymus Singh.”
A pause, before Cassius lets his cheek rest against Doctor Hugh’s shoulder. “I will do my best for you, Doctor Hugh, to not be frightening. To be friendly. It will be alright.”
Hugh has words, of course. (Always does, usually too many.) But he feels that touch at his spine and - jolts, at first, tenses up because he's so self-conscious about those. Showing them is one thing, an effort at establishing camaraderie, but... this is different. And they're - sensitive, honestly. That brief touch before, that had been different. This is--
Hugh's pulse is in triplicate again. He lets out a shuddering sigh, fingers curling in and out of a fist at his side as he gently - so gently moves Cassius' hand off his spine, presses it to his side instead. No pits there. Just the warmth of his skin.
"That's - hah. Sort of a. Sensitive spot." He's nearly mumbling, fighting for composure. This is not the time, holy shit. Cassius is leaning his weight into him and Hugh can nearly see the shape of him through closed lids, squeezing Cassius' hand reassuringly. Nothing has been done wrong, nothing is bad, just-- "Not awful, but maybe. Later. Hm."
Get it together, Anastasios. Get it together. He has to get the slur out of his tone, school his expression back into cool and collected, not - heated, buzzing pleasantly in ways that he shouldn't be when he's about to walk in front of a goddamn firing squad. Possibly literally, if the Captain's little brat is there (and she absolutely is).
"Yes. Singh is - he'll be on our side. We'll need him. Obnoxious show-off twat that he is, he's still useful." Hugh sighs, long and lingering. "Things could get... heated, Cassius. I'm not known for deescalation, and they're afraid. Of me, of you. Of Caelan. You have to promise me you won't act against them unless I ask."
Softer. Nearly desperate.
"Please."
(He worries. He worries for Cassius so much. Earnest, loyal thing that he is, he'd burn the ship down to its fastenings to see him safe.)
Cassius lets Doctor Hugh reposition his hand without a word, takes in the shuddering breath, the way his words falter, the slight – roll to his tone when he speaks. Cassius takes it all in and sets it aside for later (because there will be a later; he is too curious, too comfortable with Hugh’s heat for there not to be).
Instead he looks away, the ghost of a frown pulling down at his face, because – he does not know if he can promise that. Does not know if he can – stand aside and watch. If Doctor Hugh were to get hurt. If it were his Hunter - they would be fine, his Hunter has always been fine, has always tested their limits to newer and newer heights.
Cassius does not wish to know of Doctor Hugh’s limits. Wishes to test them even less. Still. Still -
Doctor Hugh has never sounded so… small. Has never used that tone with Cassius – not even when he had been held up by the throat.
(he does not like it)
“...I will try,” Cassius says finally, the drone of him just a whisper under his voice, his squirm stuttering into Doctor Hugh’s warmth with anxiety. He draws his eyes back, gaze solemn. “I cannot promise you that I will not act if you are hurt, Doctor Hugh, but – I will try. For you. Because you are my friend.”
That part comes so genuinely. A rush of breath. Relief. He doesn't - doesn't want Cassius to make himself any more of a target than he already is. And he very much is. The whole ship knows about him now, maybe even half the entire orbital fleet. As many people may be curious, the number that will fear and resent him comes in triplicate. And at this early stage - before they can know him, before they can grow as fond as Hugh has - they're going to have to eat some shit on this one. Not a lot, he hopes. But some.
Ting. Hugh's tension winds through him like a living thing, curling and uncurling his muscles tight as he steps out. There are voices up ahead, barely audible through the door - the conversation sounds... terse. Maybe angry. A back-and-forth for certain.
Hugh breathes in steady, on the approach. Lets it out slow. Turns to Cassius, now, with a smile that looks worn at its edges.
Whatever emotion that had taken Doctor Hugh is eased with his words and Cassius – Cassius is all too grateful for it. To have that small, distressed thing inside of his Doctor Hugh be melted away like mud in the rain. (The tension that replaces it is not one Cassius likes, either, but. But. He much prefers it over that - desperation.)
The elevator doors slide open, and as Doctor Hugh takes in his breath, Cassius gathers in his squirming until it slows. Quietens into a whispered rhythm that matches the not-quite human heartbeat under his palm.
(Back in decontamination, his Hunter cracks open an eye when the worms piled into their side start squirming loud, loud, loud with nerves. They throw open their arm and scoop as much of him as they can on top of their chest. They pick out one of his fatter worms and press a finger to its head.
“It’ll be fine, Cas.”)
Cassius peels himself away from Doctor Hugh slowly, stretching out the time and giving Doctor Hugh another few precious seconds to regain his composure. To put together his teeth and his claws. Cassius returns Doctor Hugh’s smile with a small, bland one of his own.
The room explodes into noise the moment Hugh steps in, is the thing - they've been expecting him, expecting the both of them, and Hugh wades in like he's going to war. Squared shoulders, rising voice, shouldering his way past a couple of them to dive into the center of the maelstrom. The fuck do you think you're doing, Argyros and we have that other thing in containment but not this one? and Hugh's rising shove a cock in it, Kosovo, I'll have you know--
There's no violence. Cassius' presence seems to dissuade that, from the amount of looks he gets, all fleeting and halfway nervous. There's a woman barely out of her teens with SECURITY across her chest and an edgy, nervous look every time Cassius moves, fingers twitchy at her side, as if waiting for the excuse to dive for the hip holster. Hugh jabs a finger at her at one point, don't you goddamn dare, you little monster--
And then there's the one that settles at Cassius' side. Taller than Hugh, dark hair pulled back in a messy ponytail-bun-thing that can't be categorized fully as either, wearing a well-washed white coat starting to lose its color under the pressure of constant bleaching. A little tattered at the edges, now. He pulls his glasses off, polishes them on it as he leans in.
"Pretty crazy crowd, huh?" He goes to offer his hand, but realizes he's still got the glasses in that one. Stuffs them back on his face (they slide down the bridge of his nose immediately) and offers that hand with a little smile. "Dr. Singh. Just call me Singh. How's your stay been, Cassius?"
Cassius lingers just off to the side, his hands folded at his waist as Doctor Hugh marches forward not unlike his Hunter on a hunt. True to his word, he tries to reel in his more frightening traits – the squirm of him is kept to a minimum, his eyes trained only on Doctor Hugh and those immediately around him (and even then, he does not meet their eyes if he can help it).
His attention is only drawn away when – he is approached by a man in a doctor’s coat. Offered a hand and a name, and – oh. This is the one that Doctor Hugh had mentioned, is it not? The obnoxious show-off twat that does not shut up. The one that Cassius was supposed to stand near.
Friendly sort, Doctor Hugh had said. Cassius believes it. Can feel that warmth when Hieronymus Singh gives him a smile and calls him by name.
(Cassius has never felt so welcomed by a human of all things. It is - nice.)
It is hard to keep his squirming low, even harder to convince himself to take Hieronymus Singh’s hand into his own. He does not want to scare him, this Hieronymus Singh. Doctor Hugh said that they need him. Cassius is careful, so careful, when he wraps his fingers around Hieronymus Singh’s warm ones.
“My stay has been… nice, Hieronymus Singh,” Cassius says (because Doctor Hugh had called him that, and Doctor Hugh comes first). “I have seen the stars, have made a friend of a fellow monster, and the room gifted to me has been visited many times by many people.” He pauses. Remembers to let go of Hieronymus Singh’s hand. “I have enjoyed it. Even more so now that we have found my Hunter.”
He glances over to Doctor Hugh, to the people surrounding him, before his attention is drawn back. “You are not concerned? With my stay here?”
Hieronymus Singh seems to stab into him like a knife, but he tries not to let it show. Only the pull of his mouth into a wincing line for a half-second gives him away, and it melts into a smile a moment later.
"I see Hugh's been talking about me. Hope it's flattering." The lilt to his tone says that he knows it hasn't been - that he knows how Hugh feels about him, nevermind how he feels about Hugh. He glances over now, watches the man in question gesticulate wildly at a seemingly bored Captain Kennedy. The man's eyes are bright and darting beneath heavy, dark brows nonetheless. "Me? I'm not worried. If you wanted to... you know. Whatever they say you'll do. You would've done it already."
He gestures limply at the crowd, picking up intensity in their argument. It's nearly at a fever pitch.
"Hugh's got a good head on his shoulders. I trust him." A beat. A little softer, almost reluctant to say it at all: "But, uh. Between you and me, can we just... stick to Singh, maybe? Hugh and my mom are the only ones who call me... y'know."
A little flickery wave. Hieronymus. He hates the name.
With a sort of bite that Cassius is still trying to puzzle out, if he is being honest. Hieronymus Singh has been nothing but kind so far, much kinder than the rabbits that had prodded at his room’s glass. Doctor Hugh had described him obnoxious. A show-off. Neither of them kind descriptors.
The words themselves and Hieronymus Singh’s tone is why Cassius does not repeat them. Merely settles for, “Doctor Hugh had told me that you are a friendly sort -” he emphasizes it with a curl of his fingers that lace together a moment later “- and I am pleased to know he is correct.”
Cassius pauses, looks back to the crowd. Has to hold back the anxious squirm of him as the voices grow louder. He told Doctor Hugh he would try to restrain himself, and oh, he is trying.
“Very well, Friend Singh,” he says, dragging his eyes away back to his new human friend. “If it causes you discomfort, then I shall not address you as Hieronymus, however pleasant it may sound.” And it does. Sound pleasant. Rolls off of Cassius’ worm-stuffed tongue like a melody, like a poem. Friend Singh has that in common with Doctor Hugh, he thinks – not liking the prettier parts of themselves. Parts that Cassius himself is fond of.
His shell does a little roll as a sharp tone cuts through the air, his worms shifting tighter, seams rippling, but not tearing.
"Friendly? Huh." An easy shrug of his broad shoulders. He's got a few inches on Hugh, and a bigger spread when he folds his arms and watches the conflict with just as much care as Cassius does. "Probably the nicest thing he's said about me."
There's no I don't know what his problem is or wish I knew what was up with him, nothing like that. No hurt, no judgment. Just an easygoing acceptance, there. He watches Hugh and only glances back at Friend Singh, a little smile eking its way onto his face. A warm, charmed thing. It shifts into faint worry when Cassius' skin starts to writhe and buzz with nerves, the seams of him rippling - his hand falls easy on Cassius' shoulder, seemingly unbothered by the rippling beneath.
(Maybe he gives a curious squeeze. Lingers a bit. He's a doctor, after all, these sorts of things are curious.)
"Doubt it'll be long. Hugh's got a way of--"
The buzz stops abruptly, Kennedy's raspy voice cutting through like a knife. He's pulled the younger woman back by the arm, stopped her from marching off towards Cassius' spot - stopped her from running into Hugh's bristling form, hands hooked at his sides, readied.
"Stop. Shit. Everybody shut up." He lifts his other hand - the one not holding his daughter in place - to his brow, rubs at his eyes. The man looks like he's made of exhaustion given life. "We're not gonna tear this shitbucket apart fighting over this. They stay for now. We'll... keep talking about it. Anything happens--"
"And what if it does?" Adamska rumbles. "What the hell would we even do about it? Pretty sure we all know what was in that fuckin' trash bag, Argyros."
"Yes," Hugh sneers, stepping back. "What would you do about it?"
Kennedy's sharp, then.
"Easy. Problem comes up, we'll take care of it." A jab of his callused finger. "So make sure there's no problems, Hugh. That's your whole job, right? They're your issue now."
"Captain--" comes the younger woman, squirming out of his grip. "We--"
"We're done here." Kennedy wheels his chair around, back to a volley of screens. This is his office, clearly. The head of the ship, the controls, the monitors. "Everybody piss off."
Hugh's quick to make his way to Cassius' side. Gives Singh a look, simmering distaste melded with - something else. Something almost like--
"Thank you, Singh." To Cassius now, tone softer. "You're alright, I take it?"
Cassius looks to Friend Singh with an ever-calming shell, worms piling under the faint warmth of his palm like they are starved of it. The squeeze that follows is one that slots Friend Singh firmly into Cassius’ good graces.
(Perhaps even just behind Doctor Hugh himself. When has a human ever touched him so without the influence of a monster? Never, never.
Before his Hunter and he had appeared here, on this ship that sails through stars, they only had each other. Now they have Doctor Hugh, and once Cassius introduces him to his Hunter, they will have a Friend Singh, too.
Cassius really is lucky to have found himself here.)
As quickly as the crowded tension had reached a boil, it disperses just as fast, much to Cassius’ relief. Allows Doctor Hugh to come back to him in impatient strides, and he takes a stuttering step to meet him, one hand automatically reaching out to Doctor Hugh’s arm before he thinks better of it. Lets it drop to his side instead.
“Yes, Doctor Hugh,” comes Cassius’ answer, warm in ways he is not. The smile he feels does not reach his face. “I am alright. I have even made a friend of Friend Singh. He is not afraid of me like the others are.” A small, happy roll of his shell that softens as he glances over Doctor Hugh’s shoulder. “Has it all been settled, Doctor Hugh? They will not - vent our Hunter?”
(And it is our, now. The Hunter is as much Doctor Hugh’s as they are Cassius. As much as he is Doctor Hugh’s and theirs.)
"A friend. That's - hmm." A beat. A glance at Singh, brief as can be. "Very nice. Good to have friends, isn't it?"
"Yup," Singh replies, easy as ever. Gives Cassius' shoulder another squeeze and steps past, already looking to join the little crowd while it speaks amongst itself. "Take it easy, Cassius. Come see me when you can, if you feel like it. I'm down in--"
"In medbay, we know," Hugh finishes for him (interrupts), not sparing a glance back. Barely containing the roll of his eyes. "You're wearing a white coat, we all know you're a doctor. And no, the--"
A pause. Softer, now, as Singh departs. As Hugh refocuses entirely on Cassius.
"--our Hunter will be quite alright. Another few days of observation and you both should be fit to mingle in the ship, in fact. Go where you please." A tired wink. "Wasn't easy to negotiate that bit, you know. Should we head back now, tell them the good news?"
There’s another pleased roll to his shell as Doctor Hugh’s words wash over him. With Friend Singh gone, Cassius is almost eager to step closer to Doctor Hugh, to rest his head against his shoulder just barely, just enough to feel his warmth.
“I look forward to it, Doctor Hugh,” he says, and he does. He looks forward to accompanying his Doctor Hugh as he works, looks forward to visiting Friend Singh in the – medbay, was it? (Why Doctor Hugh assumed Cassius knew is beyond him, but he is sure he had his reasons.) “It will be nice to… mingle freely.”
He pauses then, hand just grazing against Doctor Hugh’s own, fingers brushing along his knuckles. He cannot be overly affectionate, no, not with the crowd so close, but – surely this is okay?
“We can head back if you think it best,” Cassius says after a moment, “but – the Hunter is resting now. They have been – exhausted, I think, from enduring their Song for so long on their own. I would like to let them sleep, if possible.”
(They must have been terribly worn, he thinks, from how they have now splayed out across the mattress, how his worms have spread over them like a blanket. The tension has bled out of them, their teeth as human as they’ll ever get. They never relax so unless it is in his garden.)
“...I know you have done much today for us, Doctor Hugh, to go against your peers. You have my appreciation.” He casts a look up at Doctor Hugh from under his lashes. “And my apologies, for - asking for more. Would it be possible to see this vivarium you had mentioned to the Hunter? The sooner I have access to my Garden, the sooner they can rest easier. The sooner that I can as well.”
"Ah, yes. The--" Hugh's fingers link with Cassius, just - for a moment. So briefly. Just long enough for a reassuring squeeze, to share his warmth before their company forces him to affect indifference. "Vivarium. Of course."
The crowd is shooting suspicious looks at their backs, now. Ignoring the way Singh comes in with something easy, a little laugh - raised hands and a smile and a joke that doesn't quite land as Hugh glances back, slinks an arm around Cassius' shoulders protectively. Gives the slightest urge towards the door, as if he thinks they might turn on them.
Singh is trying, though. And Hugh - Hugh values that, despite himself.
"Certainly. It's not much of a vivarium, to be quite honest, but you might enjoy the greenery. Talking about your Garden the way you do." A beat. Lower, conspiratorial: "Let's talk more about that on our own, shall we? Prying ears, all that."
Cassius’ shell hums with a purring wave as Doctor Hugh’s arm winds around his shoulders and soaks him in that all-too-but-not-quite human heat of his. It takes him a moment to reel it in, to make sure he does not seem too comfortable, but when he does, he allows Doctor Hugh’s anxious guidance to lead him towards the door. His mouth opens -
Let’s talk more about that on our own -
- and it falls shut a moment after, expression thoughtful as he casts a look behind him.
“Very well, Doctor Hugh,” said in a slightly softer tone, one learning how to be conspiring, but not quite landing just yet. “Until the vivarium.”
Cassius waits until they are safely outside of the room to lean a little into Doctor Hugh’s side, waits still until they’re hidden away by elevator doors to slot his hand along Doctor Hugh’s spine, before remembering himself and looping it around his hip instead. A quiet, pleased sigh escapes him as his worms loosen into a thrumming duplicate beat.
(He thinks he understands, now. How his worms provide his Hunter comfort.)
“I am glad that the decontamination process is almost over.” A half step further into Doctor Hugh’s side, his cheek pressing into his shoulder borderline needy (greedy, even). “It is… difficult to keep from you so. I miss your heat.”
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If they get an answer, they don’t hear it. Not when they catch Cassius’ scent, his whole scent, not just a piece of a bigger puzzle. He’s squirming loud, so loud, the happy writhing of him rippling through the air like open arms. They almost let the bag go in their focus, but – no. Cas still needs to eat, still needs to -
They turn the corner, two, and he’s -
God. Pressed up against the glass in his eagerness, his skin writhing with all that pent up emotion his face is stiff to show. Usually, anyway. He’s got a small curve to his lips, their Cassius, and – yeah. Yeah, they’re just as happy to see him too.
(it’s been way too fucking long)
The rabbits (fucking bug-eyed things, looking at Cassius like they’re at the circus and he’s center clown), scatter when they approach, when they see their mouth stretched to show too much white.
Go on, Hugh says, and god, it’s a fucking fight to stop at the door. To give him that glance followed by a muttered thank you that curls so warm at their lips – and then they’re taking too-long strides, Hugh all but forgotten as they pile into Cassius’ waiting arms like they belong there. Like they were made for it.
His shell caves a little under the force of their hug, but he doesn’t complain, he never complains, and – the tension leaks out of them as he sinks around them, seams splitting in places to encompass them in a way they have missed, the mass of him circling tight and steady and kneading at them right to the bones.
“I have missed you, Hunter,” Cassius murmurs into their ear, the drone of him drowning out the beats of the song. Wiping away the last of their teeth.
They bury their face into his neck. Inhale the comfort of home.
“I’ve missed you, too, Cas.”
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They should fuck off. And they do.
Hugh's steps into the room itself are slow, languorous. Easy. His words, when they come, are just shy of outright cockiness.
"Told you I'd find them." He's got Cassius' worm on his hand now, letting it work its way across his knuckles like rolling a particularly slow, fat quarter. "Could've warned me about all the teeth. Might've taken a few years off my life with that scare, you know."
He's teasing, tries to communicate as much with the raised brow and the curve of his mouth.
"They'll want my neck for this one. Fortunate for me that I've got the two of you here to make sure it stays in place, aren't I?"
It's not extortion or a demand. His tone is too light, too conspiratorial for that.
It's the three of us, now.
For better or worse.
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“He was making a joke, Cas,” Caelan cuts in lazily, voice just as melty as the rest of them. They really don’t want to know the type of horror movie poetry Cassius has been sprouting about them while they weren’t there. Don’t need the reminder, even. Not when they’ve just calmed down.
He makes a sharp little hiccup of a squirm at that. Changes course as easily as they change skin. Focuses on what Hugh says next with an intensity that burns in Caelan’s nose.
“They will not have your neck, Doctor Hugh,” Cassius agrees, and Caelan finally pulls themselves away from him so that they can face Hugh, too. “Your neck belongs to you and you alone. If the ones up higher wish to change this, they will have to go through the Hunter and myself first.”
Telling, isn’t it, that Caelan doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even remind Cassius that rabbits are off limits.
(There are exceptions to every rule. Fucking with their family is one of them.)
“They touch you and they’ll be missing fingers,” comes their response, languid and easy. For Cassius, of course. Hugh makes him happy, and that means everything. (And maybe they kinda sorta like him, too. Fuck if they’ll say it out loud though.)
They peel themselves from Cassius entirely, then, and he lets them go with only the slightest reluctance, knowing not to push. Moves over to Hugh and soaks up his body heat instead, arm against arm, his head against Hugh’s shoulder like he’s done it before.
Caelan doesn’t comment at it, just rolls their eyes and leans down to pick up the sack. Drops it off on the bed, where Cas’ smell has gathered in a thick, squiggling mass. Clever, isn't he?
“So, what’s the game plan, then?” they ask, before pausing and eyeing Hugh over their shoulder. “You should probably look away. Or cover your ears or something.”
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Hugh's turned himself a bit, angled so that anyone brave enough to try to stare through the glass won't see the way his arm snakes up Cassius' back, petting absent through his hair the way he's always liked himself. Steady, long pulls over what passes for his scalp, blunt grease-darkened nails scraping ever so slightly on the way back down. Petting.
"I suppose we have two options. One is that I go alone, negotiate - make it clear that a lack of cooperation could very well be incongruous with, ah. Life. For all of us. That the two of you could be a benefit to this ship at the very least. I'm not certain what you could possibly offer, but there you go." A hum. "The second is that I wait here, and negotiations happen with all of us present. Highly risky. Could end in a bloodbath, depending on the players."
He only just refrains from glancing at Caelan. Yes, he means you. Keeps his stare even for a moment.
"And I'll do no such thing. This is as much a part of knowing Cassius as any." A little huff. "Trust me when I say that I've seen worse. It's just... blood. Is new. YS was never so outwardly gory about it."
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(God. Maybe Hugh is worming his way into their heart, too. No wonder it took less than a fucking week.)
“Mn, alright,” comes their neutral answer. They don’t bother dumping the remains out – another mercy in the form of baby steps. They do, however, untie the thing and let the mouth of it drop wet and leaking onto the mattress. “Don’t eat the bag, Cas. Plastic’s not good for you.”
“Of course, Hunter,” patiently said, followed by a louder hum of squirming as the worms chew through the mattress in their haste to get to the meat. Been busy, hasn’t he? Almost enough of them to fill up an extra pair of legs. Suppose he’s had the time to, not like Hugh could entertain him all hours of the day.
Caelan watches as the mass piles into the bag, hears the squishing wet thing that indicates he’s eating. The scraping of tiny mouths against bone. The bag undulates as he works, leaks through accidental holes in their eagerness.
They pull their eyes away. Shove their hands into their hoodie.
“You said two options,” they start, half-turning in their direction, “but one’s shit and the other’s – yeah. Risky.” A thumb tossed over their shoulder at the bag. “Especially if they’re anything like that guy’d been. Going alone’s not better though. Can’t really keep them from wringing your neck if we’re not there, and we know how that’d end.”
A lot of people dead, and not just from their teeth. Not just from them.
A dismissive gesture. “So. I stay here, and you take Cas. If they feel skittish, they vent me, and we’ll all find out together if it’ll be the thing that kills me.”
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A short stop. Hugh's - okay, yeah, the sounds aren't great, but he's trying to tune it out in favor of Caelan now. (Not looking at the bag as it undulates and writhes with all those hungry little bodies helps.) In favor of turning, fitting them with a lingering look. Searching. Uncertain, despite himself.
Worried, maybe.
"...Understand. It's as good a plan as any." Hugh rocks on the balls of his feet, on his heels. Shifts his weight from one to the other, the hand that isn't petting at Cassius tensing absently at his side. "If you--"
A pause. His voice lowers.
"If you do end up out there, I've installed patches across the hull. Flimsy things. You'll know them on sight. They'll..." A sigh. "They'll let you back in. At a cost of whoever's nearby at the time. Although I desperately hope it doesn't come to that."
He swore to protect this ship and its people. That this was his magnum opus, this bucket of bolts and irritable bastards - his life's work, his legacy. That nothing would come first. And now--
"You're needed here."
(Now he's letting something else come first, isn't he. Himself, again. The things he wants. These creatures that make him feel like he has a home in someone else, for the first time since he left Earth. Before then.
You're so selfish, Anastasios.
He knows. Always has been.)
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His Hunter looks at him, amusement in the curl of their lips. Seeing something that he cannot, perhaps. Smelling it.
(Cassius worms a hand up between Doctor Hugh’s shoulder blades, an attempt to ease, even if not successful. His Hunter, he knows, will be fine, but Doctor Hugh has not had the time to build such confidence. He will. He cannot shake them, now.)
“Yeah, I know you won’t,” they drawl, most of the edge of it gone. They take a few steps back towards the bed, and Cassius moves what worms are in their way out of it. They settle into the reddening sheets with their legs outstretched, their back firm against the wall. Their eyes drag over to Doctor Hugh, unbothered by Cassius’ feasting a foot away. “Patches. I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”
(And does that not warm at his worms? That his Hunter is fond of Doctor Hugh as well? He knew they would be. Doctor Hugh is so kind.)
Another dismissive wave. A confident one. “But don’t let me keep you. The sooner you get through your fancy peace talks, the sooner we can get Cas’ Garden set up, the sooner I can get a fucking burger.”
It is the mention of his Garden that finally has Cassius peeling himself away little by little from Doctor Hugh’s side (from that body-hot warmth that Doctor Hugh lets him soak up without complaint). The hand at Doctor Hugh’s back is the last to be withdrawn, fingers lingering over where he knows those pits to be, the ones that worry his Doctor Hugh so.
“Yes, I would like to access my Garden soon,” he says, once he’s completely removed himself from Doctor Hugh’s side and his hands are once more folded at his waist. “I worry for my lilies.”
Faint amusement. “Not your cosmos?”
Cassius tilts his head. “No. My cosmos are sturdy.”
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"We don't--"
Have those here. Not the way they'd want them. Soybean patties probably aren't to Caelan's taste. Hugh falters off, listens to that little exchange instead. Lilies and cosmos. They have the seeds here on the ship, but the two of them talk as if it's just - a matter of a hop and a skip before Cassius can return to his own. As if this Garden of his is somewhere that could be reached, found again.
Hm.
"We won't be long." Hugh paces to the door, punches in the numbers again. "Ready, Cassius?"
He might be lying. They might be long, from the uncertain stirring of the ship around him. Can practically feel it in his bones at this point. He's trying not to consider the fact that it might be more than theoretical, these feelings. These senses.
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So, he turns away. Follows Doctor Hugh out of the door and hears that mechanical whirring click of the door relocking.
(His hunter drops a hand into his mass, digs careful fingers deep into him. Lets his worms wriggle over their hand and soak up their heat. “Anything happens, you let me know,” said low and meant only for him.
He does not let it show on his face when he agrees.)
Cassius looks to Doctor Hugh, the drone of him quieting now that they’re outside of the glass. “I am ready to follow, Doctor Hugh,” he says, before pausing as a question strikes. “What shall I be doing while you are ‘negotiating’?”
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Hugh doesn't butter up the phrasing - that is the plan, here. Cassius is their ambassador, essentially, here to make it clear that he's only interested in existing, not in taking over the ship or eating everyone alive. To be - well. Not meek, but certainly inoffensive. To be what Caelan can't.
Hugh's steps are... not quick. Not eager. Almost as if he'd like to take as much time getting up to the Captain and the no doubt quickly called meeting up there as possible, soak in the pleasure of Cassius' company before anything else can try to ruin it. And it will. They'll try. He hopes they don't get too rude, too nasty - not with him, he's used to that, but with Cassius. Hugh has enough trouble keeping his temper in check without two lives he gives a shit about on the line.
(His own is not included in that number.)
They're at the elevator quicker than he likes. He takes his time pushing in the buttons.
"Just be friendly, they'll love that. Don't take anything rude they say to heart. Half of them are morons and the other half are badly raised, with a slim margin of decency in there somewhere. There's a man - wears a doctor's coat, ties his hair back in this ridiculous messy bun? Friendly sort. Stand near him."
S i n g h.
Hugh won't go into his personal grudges against the man at the moment, even if just referring to that asshole gets his weird blood up. He's a goddamn show-off, with his esteem and his friendliness and his medical degree, sure, but he'll be kind. One of the few assured warm presences in the whole goddamn room.
"His name is Hieronymus Singh." A sharp little scoff. Hieronymus. God. "He'll talk your ear off, I'm sure. Never shuts up."
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(He will not allow Doctor Hugh to suffer more bruises. Never again.)
Cassius steps closer to Doctor Hugh once they are on the elevator, one hand slotting along his spine like it has always belonged there. His worms pile against the spaces between his pits, circle tightly, aggressively, so that Doctor Hugh can feel the pressure through his clothes. Can feel the reassurance for what it is.
(Cassius does not need to be well versed in people to know that his Doctor Hugh is tense. Nervous in ways his Hunter is not. Fragile in ways his Hunter is not.
So similar are they that their differences are made all the more pronounced for it. He prefers it this way, he thinks. Prefers that their edges groove into different parts of him. That their pieces do not clash when they complete him.)
“I would prefer to stand near you, Doctor Hugh,” said with simple honesty and an absentminded stroke of fingers along the hard bumps of his not-quite spine. Doctor Hugh might not find comfort in the parts that make him More, but Cassius – Cassius is grateful for them. (Knows that without them, he would not have been Doctor Hugh. Would have been – afraid. Of him.) “But if that is not what is best for our negotiation, then I shall do as you ask and find this Hieronymus Singh.”
A pause, before Cassius lets his cheek rest against Doctor Hugh’s shoulder. “I will do my best for you, Doctor Hugh, to not be frightening. To be friendly. It will be alright.”
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Hugh has words, of course. (Always does, usually too many.) But he feels that touch at his spine and - jolts, at first, tenses up because he's so self-conscious about those. Showing them is one thing, an effort at establishing camaraderie, but... this is different. And they're - sensitive, honestly. That brief touch before, that had been different. This is--
Hugh's pulse is in triplicate again. He lets out a shuddering sigh, fingers curling in and out of a fist at his side as he gently - so gently moves Cassius' hand off his spine, presses it to his side instead. No pits there. Just the warmth of his skin.
"That's - hah. Sort of a. Sensitive spot." He's nearly mumbling, fighting for composure. This is not the time, holy shit. Cassius is leaning his weight into him and Hugh can nearly see the shape of him through closed lids, squeezing Cassius' hand reassuringly. Nothing has been done wrong, nothing is bad, just-- "Not awful, but maybe. Later. Hm."
Get it together, Anastasios. Get it together. He has to get the slur out of his tone, school his expression back into cool and collected, not - heated, buzzing pleasantly in ways that he shouldn't be when he's about to walk in front of a goddamn firing squad. Possibly literally, if the Captain's little brat is there (and she absolutely is).
"Yes. Singh is - he'll be on our side. We'll need him. Obnoxious show-off twat that he is, he's still useful." Hugh sighs, long and lingering. "Things could get... heated, Cassius. I'm not known for deescalation, and they're afraid. Of me, of you. Of Caelan. You have to promise me you won't act against them unless I ask."
Softer. Nearly desperate.
"Please."
(He worries. He worries for Cassius so much. Earnest, loyal thing that he is, he'd burn the ship down to its fastenings to see him safe.)
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Instead he looks away, the ghost of a frown pulling down at his face, because – he does not know if he can promise that. Does not know if he can – stand aside and watch. If Doctor Hugh were to get hurt. If it were his Hunter - they would be fine, his Hunter has always been fine, has always tested their limits to newer and newer heights.
Cassius does not wish to know of Doctor Hugh’s limits. Wishes to test them even less. Still. Still -
Doctor Hugh has never sounded so… small. Has never used that tone with Cassius – not even when he had been held up by the throat.
(he does not like it)
“...I will try,” Cassius says finally, the drone of him just a whisper under his voice, his squirm stuttering into Doctor Hugh’s warmth with anxiety. He draws his eyes back, gaze solemn. “I cannot promise you that I will not act if you are hurt, Doctor Hugh, but – I will try. For you. Because you are my friend.”
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That part comes so genuinely. A rush of breath. Relief. He doesn't - doesn't want Cassius to make himself any more of a target than he already is. And he very much is. The whole ship knows about him now, maybe even half the entire orbital fleet. As many people may be curious, the number that will fear and resent him comes in triplicate. And at this early stage - before they can know him, before they can grow as fond as Hugh has - they're going to have to eat some shit on this one. Not a lot, he hopes. But some.
Ting. Hugh's tension winds through him like a living thing, curling and uncurling his muscles tight as he steps out. There are voices up ahead, barely audible through the door - the conversation sounds... terse. Maybe angry. A back-and-forth for certain.
Hugh breathes in steady, on the approach. Lets it out slow. Turns to Cassius, now, with a smile that looks worn at its edges.
"Ready?"
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The elevator doors slide open, and as Doctor Hugh takes in his breath, Cassius gathers in his squirming until it slows. Quietens into a whispered rhythm that matches the not-quite human heartbeat under his palm.
(Back in decontamination, his Hunter cracks open an eye when the worms piled into their side start squirming loud, loud, loud with nerves. They throw open their arm and scoop as much of him as they can on top of their chest. They pick out one of his fatter worms and press a finger to its head.
“It’ll be fine, Cas.”)
Cassius peels himself away from Doctor Hugh slowly, stretching out the time and giving Doctor Hugh another few precious seconds to regain his composure. To put together his teeth and his claws. Cassius returns Doctor Hugh’s smile with a small, bland one of his own.
“Yes. I am ready, Doctor Hugh.”
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The room explodes into noise the moment Hugh steps in, is the thing - they've been expecting him, expecting the both of them, and Hugh wades in like he's going to war. Squared shoulders, rising voice, shouldering his way past a couple of them to dive into the center of the maelstrom. The fuck do you think you're doing, Argyros and we have that other thing in containment but not this one? and Hugh's rising shove a cock in it, Kosovo, I'll have you know--
There's no violence. Cassius' presence seems to dissuade that, from the amount of looks he gets, all fleeting and halfway nervous. There's a woman barely out of her teens with SECURITY across her chest and an edgy, nervous look every time Cassius moves, fingers twitchy at her side, as if waiting for the excuse to dive for the hip holster. Hugh jabs a finger at her at one point, don't you goddamn dare, you little monster--
And then there's the one that settles at Cassius' side. Taller than Hugh, dark hair pulled back in a messy ponytail-bun-thing that can't be categorized fully as either, wearing a well-washed white coat starting to lose its color under the pressure of constant bleaching. A little tattered at the edges, now. He pulls his glasses off, polishes them on it as he leans in.
"Pretty crazy crowd, huh?" He goes to offer his hand, but realizes he's still got the glasses in that one. Stuffs them back on his face (they slide down the bridge of his nose immediately) and offers that hand with a little smile. "Dr. Singh. Just call me Singh. How's your stay been, Cassius?"
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His attention is only drawn away when – he is approached by a man in a doctor’s coat. Offered a hand and a name, and – oh. This is the one that Doctor Hugh had mentioned, is it not? The obnoxious show-off twat that does not shut up. The one that Cassius was supposed to stand near.
Friendly sort, Doctor Hugh had said. Cassius believes it. Can feel that warmth when Hieronymus Singh gives him a smile and calls him by name.
(Cassius has never felt so welcomed by a human of all things. It is - nice.)
It is hard to keep his squirming low, even harder to convince himself to take Hieronymus Singh’s hand into his own. He does not want to scare him, this Hieronymus Singh. Doctor Hugh said that they need him. Cassius is careful, so careful, when he wraps his fingers around Hieronymus Singh’s warm ones.
“My stay has been… nice, Hieronymus Singh,” Cassius says (because Doctor Hugh had called him that, and Doctor Hugh comes first). “I have seen the stars, have made a friend of a fellow monster, and the room gifted to me has been visited many times by many people.” He pauses. Remembers to let go of Hieronymus Singh’s hand. “I have enjoyed it. Even more so now that we have found my Hunter.”
He glances over to Doctor Hugh, to the people surrounding him, before his attention is drawn back. “You are not concerned? With my stay here?”
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"I see Hugh's been talking about me. Hope it's flattering." The lilt to his tone says that he knows it hasn't been - that he knows how Hugh feels about him, nevermind how he feels about Hugh. He glances over now, watches the man in question gesticulate wildly at a seemingly bored Captain Kennedy. The man's eyes are bright and darting beneath heavy, dark brows nonetheless. "Me? I'm not worried. If you wanted to... you know. Whatever they say you'll do. You would've done it already."
He gestures limply at the crowd, picking up intensity in their argument. It's nearly at a fever pitch.
"Hugh's got a good head on his shoulders. I trust him." A beat. A little softer, almost reluctant to say it at all: "But, uh. Between you and me, can we just... stick to Singh, maybe? Hugh and my mom are the only ones who call me... y'know."
A little flickery wave. Hieronymus. He hates the name.
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With a sort of bite that Cassius is still trying to puzzle out, if he is being honest. Hieronymus Singh has been nothing but kind so far, much kinder than the rabbits that had prodded at his room’s glass. Doctor Hugh had described him obnoxious. A show-off. Neither of them kind descriptors.
The words themselves and Hieronymus Singh’s tone is why Cassius does not repeat them. Merely settles for, “Doctor Hugh had told me that you are a friendly sort -” he emphasizes it with a curl of his fingers that lace together a moment later “- and I am pleased to know he is correct.”
Cassius pauses, looks back to the crowd. Has to hold back the anxious squirm of him as the voices grow louder. He told Doctor Hugh he would try to restrain himself, and oh, he is trying.
“Very well, Friend Singh,” he says, dragging his eyes away back to his new human friend. “If it causes you discomfort, then I shall not address you as Hieronymus, however pleasant it may sound.” And it does. Sound pleasant. Rolls off of Cassius’ worm-stuffed tongue like a melody, like a poem. Friend Singh has that in common with Doctor Hugh, he thinks – not liking the prettier parts of themselves. Parts that Cassius himself is fond of.
His shell does a little roll as a sharp tone cuts through the air, his worms shifting tighter, seams rippling, but not tearing.
“How long will they continue like this?”
(How long until Doctor Hugh is safe?)
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There's no I don't know what his problem is or wish I knew what was up with him, nothing like that. No hurt, no judgment. Just an easygoing acceptance, there. He watches Hugh and only glances back at Friend Singh, a little smile eking its way onto his face. A warm, charmed thing. It shifts into faint worry when Cassius' skin starts to writhe and buzz with nerves, the seams of him rippling - his hand falls easy on Cassius' shoulder, seemingly unbothered by the rippling beneath.
(Maybe he gives a curious squeeze. Lingers a bit. He's a doctor, after all, these sorts of things are curious.)
"Doubt it'll be long. Hugh's got a way of--"
The buzz stops abruptly, Kennedy's raspy voice cutting through like a knife. He's pulled the younger woman back by the arm, stopped her from marching off towards Cassius' spot - stopped her from running into Hugh's bristling form, hands hooked at his sides, readied.
"Stop. Shit. Everybody shut up." He lifts his other hand - the one not holding his daughter in place - to his brow, rubs at his eyes. The man looks like he's made of exhaustion given life. "We're not gonna tear this shitbucket apart fighting over this. They stay for now. We'll... keep talking about it. Anything happens--"
"And what if it does?" Adamska rumbles. "What the hell would we even do about it? Pretty sure we all know what was in that fuckin' trash bag, Argyros."
"Yes," Hugh sneers, stepping back. "What would you do about it?"
Kennedy's sharp, then.
"Easy. Problem comes up, we'll take care of it." A jab of his callused finger. "So make sure there's no problems, Hugh. That's your whole job, right? They're your issue now."
"Captain--" comes the younger woman, squirming out of his grip. "We--"
"We're done here." Kennedy wheels his chair around, back to a volley of screens. This is his office, clearly. The head of the ship, the controls, the monitors. "Everybody piss off."
Hugh's quick to make his way to Cassius' side. Gives Singh a look, simmering distaste melded with - something else. Something almost like--
"Thank you, Singh." To Cassius now, tone softer. "You're alright, I take it?"
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(Perhaps even just behind Doctor Hugh himself. When has a human ever touched him so without the influence of a monster? Never, never.
Before his Hunter and he had appeared here, on this ship that sails through stars, they only had each other. Now they have Doctor Hugh, and once Cassius introduces him to his Hunter, they will have a Friend Singh, too.
Cassius really is lucky to have found himself here.)
As quickly as the crowded tension had reached a boil, it disperses just as fast, much to Cassius’ relief. Allows Doctor Hugh to come back to him in impatient strides, and he takes a stuttering step to meet him, one hand automatically reaching out to Doctor Hugh’s arm before he thinks better of it. Lets it drop to his side instead.
“Yes, Doctor Hugh,” comes Cassius’ answer, warm in ways he is not. The smile he feels does not reach his face. “I am alright. I have even made a friend of Friend Singh. He is not afraid of me like the others are.” A small, happy roll of his shell that softens as he glances over Doctor Hugh’s shoulder. “Has it all been settled, Doctor Hugh? They will not - vent our Hunter?”
(And it is our, now. The Hunter is as much Doctor Hugh’s as they are Cassius. As much as he is Doctor Hugh’s and theirs.)
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"Yup," Singh replies, easy as ever. Gives Cassius' shoulder another squeeze and steps past, already looking to join the little crowd while it speaks amongst itself. "Take it easy, Cassius. Come see me when you can, if you feel like it. I'm down in--"
"In medbay, we know," Hugh finishes for him (interrupts), not sparing a glance back. Barely containing the roll of his eyes. "You're wearing a white coat, we all know you're a doctor. And no, the--"
A pause. Softer, now, as Singh departs. As Hugh refocuses entirely on Cassius.
"--our Hunter will be quite alright. Another few days of observation and you both should be fit to mingle in the ship, in fact. Go where you please." A tired wink. "Wasn't easy to negotiate that bit, you know. Should we head back now, tell them the good news?"
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“I look forward to it, Doctor Hugh,” he says, and he does. He looks forward to accompanying his Doctor Hugh as he works, looks forward to visiting Friend Singh in the – medbay, was it? (Why Doctor Hugh assumed Cassius knew is beyond him, but he is sure he had his reasons.) “It will be nice to… mingle freely.”
He pauses then, hand just grazing against Doctor Hugh’s own, fingers brushing along his knuckles. He cannot be overly affectionate, no, not with the crowd so close, but – surely this is okay?
“We can head back if you think it best,” Cassius says after a moment, “but – the Hunter is resting now. They have been – exhausted, I think, from enduring their Song for so long on their own. I would like to let them sleep, if possible.”
(They must have been terribly worn, he thinks, from how they have now splayed out across the mattress, how his worms have spread over them like a blanket. The tension has bled out of them, their teeth as human as they’ll ever get. They never relax so unless it is in his garden.)
“...I know you have done much today for us, Doctor Hugh, to go against your peers. You have my appreciation.” He casts a look up at Doctor Hugh from under his lashes. “And my apologies, for - asking for more. Would it be possible to see this vivarium you had mentioned to the Hunter? The sooner I have access to my Garden, the sooner they can rest easier. The sooner that I can as well.”
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The crowd is shooting suspicious looks at their backs, now. Ignoring the way Singh comes in with something easy, a little laugh - raised hands and a smile and a joke that doesn't quite land as Hugh glances back, slinks an arm around Cassius' shoulders protectively. Gives the slightest urge towards the door, as if he thinks they might turn on them.
Singh is trying, though. And Hugh - Hugh values that, despite himself.
"Certainly. It's not much of a vivarium, to be quite honest, but you might enjoy the greenery. Talking about your Garden the way you do." A beat. Lower, conspiratorial: "Let's talk more about that on our own, shall we? Prying ears, all that."
Translation: everybody else fuck off.
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Let’s talk more about that on our own -
- and it falls shut a moment after, expression thoughtful as he casts a look behind him.
“Very well, Doctor Hugh,” said in a slightly softer tone, one learning how to be conspiring, but not quite landing just yet. “Until the vivarium.”
Cassius waits until they are safely outside of the room to lean a little into Doctor Hugh’s side, waits still until they’re hidden away by elevator doors to slot his hand along Doctor Hugh’s spine, before remembering himself and looping it around his hip instead. A quiet, pleased sigh escapes him as his worms loosen into a thrumming duplicate beat.
(He thinks he understands, now. How his worms provide his Hunter comfort.)
“I am glad that the decontamination process is almost over.” A half step further into Doctor Hugh’s side, his cheek pressing into his shoulder borderline needy (greedy, even). “It is… difficult to keep from you so. I miss your heat.”