34. Poppy
POPPY
Our new house on Sueva is a masterpiece… of compromise.
Nestled at the edge of a gorgeous green valley, it’s built from local timber and blocks of grey river stone. Vael-Torin, true to his military roots, initially drafted a blueprint that featured three defense trenches, a reinforced gatehouse, and narrow slit windows designed for plasma archers.
I had to step in with a red pen to negotiate the addition of a wraparound porch, floor to ceiling windows to let in the Suevan sun and insisted on absolutely zero tactical murder holes.
But the centerpiece of the entire structure is the bedroom.
Where the magic happens, as they used to say.
The bed is colossal.
It spans almost the entire back wall, piled three feet high with thick, cloud-soft alien blankets and cooling sheets. There are no cameras. No holographic artificial stupidity displays.
"Your breathing is uneven," Vael rumbles from across our half-unpacked living room. He is currently building a piece of furniture, his ruby wings tucked neatly behind his shoulders.
His long red tail, though, lazily sweeps the floorboards in a rhythm that matches my own heartbeat. I wonder if I could put a wet sponge on it and have him clean the floors like that.
"Are you alright?"
"I’m trying to mentally prepare myself," I say, leaning back against a stack of cardboard shipping boxes. "Therapy is intimidating, Vael. Especially when your therapist is an actual genius astronaut."
"Tati is a highly decorated medical officer," Vael says for the millionth time. "Her diagnostic assessments are without fault. If she requires us to examine our cognitive trauma, we would do well to listen."
“Knowing that and wanting to do that are two different things.”
Right on cue, the door swings open with a light creak.
Tati steps into the room, carrying a tablet and wearing a pair of the loose blue clothes they like here, hell, I like them too—and that look gorgeous against her coppery skin.
Her dark hair’s pulled back into a sleek bun, and her expressive eyes sweep over our unpacked boxes, the half-finished stone hearth, and finally, the two of us.
“Hi,” I tell her, hoping she didn’t hear my little admission.
“Hey Vael, Poppy. How are you today?”
“Fine,” I say automatically, which earns me narrowed eyes.
"Alright, you two," Tati says. She settles on the floor, her tablet on her knee. "Let's do our first check-in. The warlords want a full debrief before we clear you for colony integration. How are we sleeping? Any nightmares?"
"I am operating at peak efficiency," Vael declares immediately.
Of course he is.
"My defense protocols are in place, and my mate has successfully claimed eighty-five percent of our closet space without initiating a fight."
"He's doing great," I translate, offering Tati a sheepish smile. Word has it she’s married to a former assassin, so if anything, she gets this alien weirdness.,. "And I'm... getting there. Still having nightmares."
Tati lets out a soft, sympathetic chuckle, her fingers tapping a few notes into her tablet.
"That's normal, Poppy. You were in a highly volatile environment. It will take time for your nervous system to realize you’re safe.
We need to unpack that layer by layer. Today though, I want to talk about how the mating is going—"
A chorus of high-pitched giggles and running feet echoes from the path outside our open window.
I blink, shifting my gaze past Tati to look out onto the sunny lawn.
Marching in a somewhat orderly clump is a group of about five toddlers. But they aren't normal human toddlers.
They are the most adorable hybrid toddler babies I have ever seen in my entire life.
One little boy—no older than two—has soft, nearly human-colored skin covered in tiny, shimmering green scales along his chubby arms, jumping several feet off the ground as he tries to catch a glowing butterfly.
Another little girl, with peachy-yellow skin and a thick tuft of curly black hair, toddles along behind him, her tiny tail wrapped securely around a plush stuffed animal. They wear matching sun hats, led by a very patient-looking Suevan who is carrying a basket of fruit.
My breath catches.
"Oh my god," I squeak. I slide off my box and scramble toward the window to get a better look, my eyes wide. "Oh my god. Babies? We can... we can have babies together?"
I whip my head around to look at Vael. He marches toward me, eyes tracking the tiny toddlers outside.
"The biological compatibility metrics of our species are... highly functional," Vael rumbles. “Imagine your red hair and my red hide." He beams at me.
I turn around in his embrace, grabbing his shoulders. "Vael. We need to make one. Right now. We need to fill this house with chubby little winged babies."
"I am entirely prepared to work at this," Vael agrees. His tail wraps securely around my leg, pulling my hips flush against his solid thighs. "Now?"
"Hold your horses, ," Tati's voice is like a bucket of ice water.
We both freeze, slowly turning our heads to look back at the medical officer.
I forgot she was there.
Tati sits cross-legged on the floor, her tablet clutched to her chest, looking at us with the long-suffering expression of a doctor who has had to deliver this exact lecture to every single hybrid pairing on this planet.
"Let’s get through unpacking the trauma circus from the last few weeks first, shall we?
" Tati says. "Poppy, you literally just told me you have PTSD. You went through your first heat, and that’s no joke on a human body. Plus, you’re still getting to know each other.
The last thing you need right now is the hormonal chaos of a hybrid pregnancy and then to take care of a newborn. "
"I don't know, Tati," I say. "I think a little baby-making might be therapeutic. It’s a great way to relieve stress. Very low impact. Well, high impact, but in a good way."
"I believe we should practice making babies immediately. For morale," Vael says in the most deadpan way possible, and I bite my cheeks to keep from laughing.
Tati doesn't say a word. She just stares at us for three silent seconds, her eyebrows lifting slowly.
Then, with the motion of a woman who came prepared for this exact brand of idiocy, she reaches into her medical kit on the floor. She pulls out a syringe filled with a bright, glowing blue fluid.
She stands up, steps over the unpacked boxes, and stops right in front of Vael-Torin.
"Vael, arm," Tati commands.
Vael blinks down at the blue syringe, his jaw tightening. "Is this a supplement?”
"It’s a twelve-month hormonal contraceptive block for Draegon males," Tati says sweetly. "It’s safe, it’s highly effective, and it’s going to keep you from turning this construction site into a nursery before Poppy processes her trauma appropriately. Do you approve?”
“Poppy?” Vael asks.
“Well,” I trail off, then nod. “Yeah. I think a year with just the two of us actually sounds pretty wonderful. Then we can revisit. Yeah?”
Vael-Torin lets out a disappointed rumble, but he turns his shoulder, allowing Tati to take his bicep in her arms.
PFFT.
The pneumatic syringe delivers the injection instantly. Vael doesn't even flinch, though his lips pout in an adorable way that makes me want to squeeze him.
"There," Tati says, disposing of the syringe in a little box in her kit. "Now that you’re not adding to the family, we have some feelings to talk about."
Vael’s staring down at his arm as if it has betrayed him, and a laugh tears out of my throat. I press a kiss directly to the spot where he got birth controlled.
"Don't worry," I whisper. "We can still practice."
He smiles at that, and Tati sighs deeply.