"I should have known." It's clear he's not going to give himself any leeway. "I'm supposed to protect you and I let you get hurt."
"Your mom…is a bitch," I manage, opening my eyes. I want to reach out and touch his face, because he looks like he could use a hug, but I'm too tired. "You look like hell. How long…have I been sick?"
"A week," Straik says, and he looks so miserable that it makes me ache.
"Aw, baby." I find the strength to pat his hand. "And you've been…here the whole time?" My mind fills in blanks, of warm hands and caresses and serving me soup. Of washing my skin when I'm too warm and just holding my hand when I'm not. They all drift together to form a picture of Straik, utterly attentive and devoted.
"You think I would leave you to suffer alone?" He squeezes me tighter. "It should have been me."
"Shut up," I tell him fondly. "And give me some of that broth. My mouth tastes like…dirty sock."
That seems to put him in the right frame of mind. "Can't have that," he says, and he sounds a little easier as he lifts a cup to my lips. "Your mouth is my favorite part."
That's better. I'm too tired to laugh, but I'm pleased that he's able to joke with me again. Someone needs to make him smile. He takes himself way too seriously. I sip the broth, drinking as much as I can. It hurts my stomach, but I don't complain. I need to eat something to regain my strength, so I can get better and Straik can finally sleep.
When I'm finished with the broth, I feel exhausted. Like I just ran a marathon. Straik strokes my hair and doesn't seem like he's going to let me go anytime soon, which, honestly, I don't mind. It's nice to know that even when I was unconscious and helpless, he took care of me. It makes me feel…safe. Safe in ways I haven't felt in a long, long time. "Are we still on station?"
"Prefalon? No. We left days ago."
That surprises me. "Heading for…Star?"
Straik hesitates. "Not that, either. We're not safe to head there again until we're certain no one's on our tail. I'm afraid we've taken a bit of a detour."
I think about how he pulled the gun on the frog-man with the fries. "Let me guess. Going after…poisoners?"
"You know me well." He rubs my back. "We're closing in on them. My mother sent another ship—this one bounty hunters—and I plan on making them pay for hurting you." He pauses, glancing down at me, and a rueful look crosses his face. "I'm afraid I'm a little vengeful."
I manage to pat his hand. "Me too. S'all good. Blow ’em out of the skies."
He grins. "I hoped you'd understand."
I smack my lips, which still feel dry, and he gives me a sip of water that helps, carefully holding the cup to my mouth. Once I've drank, I smile up at him. "Just wish I could help."
That makes him stiffen. "You're not leaving this bed until you're well. By then, the ship will be in a salvage yard and the crew will be nothing but a smear in space."
"Kinky." I snuggle against his chest. "How long until you catch them?"
"Several hours. Why?"
It's effort, but I manage to reach a hand out and pat the bed. "You can nap with me until then. Doctor's orders."
Straik gives me a frown. "You need the bed."
"And you need to be on your A-game." I sit up, exhausted. "Are you going to fight with me while I'm weak and helpless…or are you going to get in bed and hold me?" It's not hard to make myself sound pathetic. I feel pathetic.
He sighs heavily, but settles me back on the bed, and in the next moment, the small, thin mattress sinks in, adjusting to his heavy form. Straik takes up almost all of the bed, but that's fine. I don't need a lot of room. He gets comfortable and I tuck myself against him, pleased when his tail brushes over my leg, like he's touching all of me to make sure I'm good.
"You sleep, too," I tell him with a yawn.
"As you command, my demanding little human." Straik presses a kiss to the top of my head and relaxes.
I want to stay awake until he goes to sleep, but I'm too tired. Something tells me he stays, though. He wouldn't want to disappoint me.
58
STRAIK
Knowing that Ruth is on the mend means I can breathe again. This last week has been the longest, most rage-fueled, most helpless week of my life.
I tell myself that she's just a human, and an ornery one to boot. That she tried to kill me and therefore I shouldn't be so upset that she's shuddering for breath, that her pulse is far too quick, and that the med-bay systems are struggling to keep up with the poison racing through her system. Doesn't work—I can't function knowing that Ruth is hurting.