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ok so last month i wrote two weeks of my ftl characters interacting with each other bc it was fun and i wanted to, and midway through the challenge i got Back Into my mal and ariel feelings and scribbled this down. haven't been able to publish it because it was endgame spoilers, but i can now. don't read this if you're not completely caught up on dumb kids playing hero, even though this actually takes place mid season 3.
Mal was awoken from a half-doze by tiny paws climbing onto his chest.
For a moment, disoriented, he wasn't sure where he was, or when he was, or when he got a cat— but then he remembered. Arizona. 2005. The cat was his little sister.
That was a strange thing to think: "my little sister is a cat.” But, well, stranger things had been happening. Aliens were real and could hurt him. Did, in fact, hurt him. His sister being able to morph into a cat whenever she pleased barely scratched the surface anymore.
“Hey there, peanut,” he murmured. Ariel grumbled, a strangely human sound, before starting to knead biscuits into his collarbones. He winced; her claws were out. “Kiddo, ow, ow. If I say I’m sorry, will you put those away?"
Ariel shot him a disgruntled look, but sheathed her claws. Mal sighed; the massage was actually pretty nice. He reached up to scratch behind her ears before hesitating. "Uh— do you… not want to be treated like a cat when you're in morph?”
<It doesn't really bother me.> Thoughtspeak was not something he thought he'd ever be used to, not after years of living with a parasite in his head controlling his every move. <It’s not like you think I’m actually a cat or anything. Do what you want.>
He scratched behind her ears, and Ariel betrayed her dismissive tone by purring like a little thunderstorm. Mal settled more comfortably in the recliner, trailing a finger under Ariel’s chin. Her tail twitched.
He was careful to only pet her with his flesh hand. The prosthetic one, while advanced enough to move and grip like it was the arm he was born with— and he knew there were quite a few scientists who would be dying to look at the internals, once this was all over— didn't have the right nerve endings for true feeling. Skin felt strange under his prosthetic hand. Fur got caught in the joints. He had the scratches to prove it.
Minutes passed. Ariel was quiet when she was in morph, which didn't match at all with the way she never seemed to stop speaking the rest of the time. At first, it had just been an endless stream of stories, catching him up on her life and her friends; it had evolved, when she finally ran out, into whatever book she was reading, or the newest show Jaz was showing her.
And Mal held his end of conversation with her, of course— how could he not? Ariel was one of his favorite people in the world, alongside his old teammates and his partner at his old job. (All of whom probably thought he was dead. Oops.) But when she was in morph, the chatter suddenly ceased. She stayed near him, because neither of them had been able to let the other out of their sight since she'd first made it to the safehouse; but she never spoke to him.
“You're quiet,” he murmured. "Talk to me. You okay?"
Ariel shot him a dubious look. <You hate thoughtspeak.>
Oh, shit. “You noticed that?"
<Hard not to when you flinch every time I speak.> Ariel settled on his chest, licking her paw and using it to groom her ear. <It doesn't bother me. Like, I don't think you're sick of listening to me or anything. But I noticed. So I just don't talk unless you talk first, when I morph.>
“Ariel, you shouldn't be managing my trauma, I—,”
<It’s called being conscientious, dumbass,> Ariel said, sounding testy. <Besides. It's helpful for me too. I feel...> She hesitated. <Dysphoric, sometimes. It's easier to recalibrate when I’m a cat.>
Mal touched the tip of Ariel’s ear. "Ah, little tiger,” he said. "We're both kind of a mess, aren't we?"
Ariel let out a sound somewhere between a snort and a sneeze, and curled up into a little ball on his chest. <Not such a little tiger anymore,> she said, with a smirk.
“If you morph tiger and break this recliner Jaz will never let you live it down."
<I would never. You also would know, since I can't go straight from cat to tiger anyway. You'd get me first.>
Mal laughed, and, on an impulse he had refused to ignore from the moment he learned his little sister hadn't died, curled around to kiss the top of her head. “I love you," he murmured.
Ariel peeked one eye open, and then uncurled just enough to lick his nose. <I love you too.> No qualifiers, no insults, just pure honesty.
If there was one good thing to have taken away from the nightmare of the last years, it was that.
Mal settled in, one hand on Ariel’s back, to take a little mid-afternoon catnap with his little sister.
Mal was awoken from a half-doze by tiny paws climbing onto his chest.
For a moment, disoriented, he wasn't sure where he was, or when he was, or when he got a cat— but then he remembered. Arizona. 2005. The cat was his little sister.
That was a strange thing to think: "my little sister is a cat.” But, well, stranger things had been happening. Aliens were real and could hurt him. Did, in fact, hurt him. His sister being able to morph into a cat whenever she pleased barely scratched the surface anymore.
“Hey there, peanut,” he murmured. Ariel grumbled, a strangely human sound, before starting to knead biscuits into his collarbones. He winced; her claws were out. “Kiddo, ow, ow. If I say I’m sorry, will you put those away?"
Ariel shot him a disgruntled look, but sheathed her claws. Mal sighed; the massage was actually pretty nice. He reached up to scratch behind her ears before hesitating. "Uh— do you… not want to be treated like a cat when you're in morph?”
<It doesn't really bother me.> Thoughtspeak was not something he thought he'd ever be used to, not after years of living with a parasite in his head controlling his every move. <It’s not like you think I’m actually a cat or anything. Do what you want.>
He scratched behind her ears, and Ariel betrayed her dismissive tone by purring like a little thunderstorm. Mal settled more comfortably in the recliner, trailing a finger under Ariel’s chin. Her tail twitched.
He was careful to only pet her with his flesh hand. The prosthetic one, while advanced enough to move and grip like it was the arm he was born with— and he knew there were quite a few scientists who would be dying to look at the internals, once this was all over— didn't have the right nerve endings for true feeling. Skin felt strange under his prosthetic hand. Fur got caught in the joints. He had the scratches to prove it.
Minutes passed. Ariel was quiet when she was in morph, which didn't match at all with the way she never seemed to stop speaking the rest of the time. At first, it had just been an endless stream of stories, catching him up on her life and her friends; it had evolved, when she finally ran out, into whatever book she was reading, or the newest show Jaz was showing her.
And Mal held his end of conversation with her, of course— how could he not? Ariel was one of his favorite people in the world, alongside his old teammates and his partner at his old job. (All of whom probably thought he was dead. Oops.) But when she was in morph, the chatter suddenly ceased. She stayed near him, because neither of them had been able to let the other out of their sight since she'd first made it to the safehouse; but she never spoke to him.
“You're quiet,” he murmured. "Talk to me. You okay?"
Ariel shot him a dubious look. <You hate thoughtspeak.>
Oh, shit. “You noticed that?"
<Hard not to when you flinch every time I speak.> Ariel settled on his chest, licking her paw and using it to groom her ear. <It doesn't bother me. Like, I don't think you're sick of listening to me or anything. But I noticed. So I just don't talk unless you talk first, when I morph.>
“Ariel, you shouldn't be managing my trauma, I—,”
<It’s called being conscientious, dumbass,> Ariel said, sounding testy. <Besides. It's helpful for me too. I feel...> She hesitated. <Dysphoric, sometimes. It's easier to recalibrate when I’m a cat.>
Mal touched the tip of Ariel’s ear. "Ah, little tiger,” he said. "We're both kind of a mess, aren't we?"
Ariel let out a sound somewhere between a snort and a sneeze, and curled up into a little ball on his chest. <Not such a little tiger anymore,> she said, with a smirk.
“If you morph tiger and break this recliner Jaz will never let you live it down."
<I would never. You also would know, since I can't go straight from cat to tiger anyway. You'd get me first.>
Mal laughed, and, on an impulse he had refused to ignore from the moment he learned his little sister hadn't died, curled around to kiss the top of her head. “I love you," he murmured.
Ariel peeked one eye open, and then uncurled just enough to lick his nose. <I love you too.> No qualifiers, no insults, just pure honesty.
If there was one good thing to have taken away from the nightmare of the last years, it was that.
Mal settled in, one hand on Ariel’s back, to take a little mid-afternoon catnap with his little sister.