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If there was one thing Tommy hated most in the entire universe, it was people considering him stupid. He was not. Tommy had graduated the academy two full years early, for fucks sake, and with perfect grades too. There was a reason he was the Esmeralda’s chief engineer at eighteen years, and it was not his luck. Prime forbid should he ever have to rely on his measly fucking luck.
So no, Tommy wasn’t stupid. But right now, scrutinising Techno’s head, he sure felt stupid.
This was Wilbur’s forte, always had been––different species and their intricacies. Staring at the crown of Techno’s head, Tommy realised he was entirely out of his depth. Why on Veretoa should Techno’s fur change colour?
Now, Tommy wasn’t entirely unfamiliar with human biology: he’d needed to pick up some of the basics for regulating the ship’s living conditions, such as temperature and oxygen requirements. But the finer details? Hell, if he knew. His own species didn’t have fur, and he’d never been good with species-specific information. He was glad when he remembered not to crush Tubbo’s antennae. Speaking of which, maybe he should ask Tubbo. The K’lurha had always been better with this stuff, even back in their academy days. Of course, asking Wilbur would also be an option (and likely the most fruitful one), but Tommy was nothing if not prideful and would rather die than give his older brother an opportunity to poke fun at him. So, Tubbo it was.
Tommy gave one last good look at their pilot, poring over the nav system. Maybe he’d just imagined it after all..? But no, there it was, brown shimmering at the roots of his head-fur, and Tommy ached to know what it meant. A few years ago, he might’ve just asked the human outright, but he’d since learnt to be more careful with interspecies relations. And so he left the bridge and headed down to the comms deck.
###
Tubbo had just sat down to work on his report for the Interstellar Alliance Committee, when a knock sounded on his door. He sighed. The one time he actually intended to work was also the one time someone visited him, apparently.
“Come in,” he called, exiting the nearly-blank page of his document. Later, he told himself. Liar, his subconscious whispered back.
The door slid open, revealing familiar gold and orange scales. Tommy.
“Why are you in your room?” Tommy asked.
“What, do I not even get a ‘hello’?” Tubbo whined. “The youth have no manners these days.”
Tommy huffed, scales flaring. “Don’t act like you’re more than 10 orbits older than me, Tubs.”
“It’s 10.9, actually,” he answered, his voice in that singsong he knew Tommy hated. Tubbo was grinning, an expression he’d picked up from Techno, though Tubbo kept most of his teeth hidden. Tommy only huffed again. If his scales could stand up any higher, they probably would.
“Whatever you say,” he mumbled and crossed the room to sit on Tubbo’s perch––Tommy’s favourite spot. He’d been trying to convince Phil to get him one of his own for ages now, but the Acorrant didn’t budge. No wings, no perch, he always said. Good thing he wasn’t here to see Tommy balancing on the metal beam. Tommy would get grounded to the nest for an entire orbit probably. Maybe more.
“Why are you here?” Tubbo asked with a sigh.
“Why are you here?” Tommy responded. He was very obviously avoiding Tubbo’s gaze, busying himself with grooming his scales instead. It wasn’t really working, considering Tommy needed all his legs to keep his purchase on the perch and thus had to use his clawless tail. He tried straightening some of the scales on his hind leg and quickly lost his balance. He didn’t fall, but at least he abandoned the grooming pretence afterwards.
“This is my cabin?” Tubbo answered.
“Well, it’s not like you usually spend much time here. Wouldn’t even have come here if Ranboo hadn’t told me,” Tommy quipped. He wasn’t wrong.
“I’m working. Or, I was planning to work until you showed up. Now, why are you here?” Tubbo repeated his question.
Tommy sighed. The scales on his nape were ruffled in a way that screamed worried–confused–upset. It couldn’t be too serious, though; otherwise, he wouldn’t be sitting here. A really upset Tommy retreated to his den and refused to talk. Still, Tubbo was a bit concerned. Nothing knocked Tommy off his legs all that quickly. Something was up.
“I’m worried,” Tommy said finally. Tubbo nodded and waited. Whatever it was, Tommy would talk about it if he wanted to. It took him a long moment, but eventually: “Techno’s fur is changing colour, and I’m not sure what it means.”
Tubbo slowly retracted his mandibles and then extended them again, before cocking his head to the side. “Techno’s fur? Techno doesn’t have fur, Tommy,” he said.
Tommy sputtered. “Of course he has fur. It’s fucking… bright pink or whatever,” he said.
Tubbo retracted and extended his mandibles again. “You mean… Do you mean his hair?” he asked, exasperated. Yes, Tommy didn’t have any fur, but surely he knew the difference between fur and hair? Even Phil and Wilbur, his own family, had hair.
“Fur, hair, whatever. It’s changing colour is what’s important,” Tommy answered, his forked tail flicking back and forth with annoyance. Tubbo felt his right antenna twitch in amusement–interest–fondness.
“What do you mean it’s changing colour? What does it look like?” he asked, fully turning around on his stool. His exoskeleton scraped against the metal.
“I’m not sure. You know I’m not good with colours––”
“Shut up, your colour vision is way better than mine,” Tubbo interrupted him. “What colour do you think it is, then? And is it his entire hair or only the tips or something?”
“It’s the roots. And it looks brown, but I’m not sure. Could be red or purple; I’d need to ask Wilbur…”
Tubbo clicked his mandibles in thought. “Brown, you say… At the roots. So it’s growing differently. Maybe it’s just an age thing, like with Acorrants?”
“But he said he’s young! Only, like… 80 orbital decades, or something, no? Besides, Accorrants’ fur loses colour entirely, not just new growth,” Tommy argued.
Tubbo reached up to clean his antennae. “It’s hair. But I think you’re right. He said he’s a young adult... Though I have no idea what else could be the cause. Mating season could be coming up, or maybe he’s stressed or something... It could be anything, really. Why don’t you ask Wilbur?”
Tommy bared his teeth for a hiss, his tail flicking even faster. “He’s just gonna make fun of me. And Phil is off-ship, though he’s such a worrywart I wouldn’t wanna ask him anyways.”
Their captain had been planetside negotiating with their contractor for two days now. Usually, Techno would be accompanying him, both as moral support and for protection, but they had gotten an unexpected commission yesterday, and the pilot had to plot the quickest secure route to their next client.
Tubbo finished cleaning his left antenna and moved on to his right. “I think you should ask Wilbur. If it’s something serious, he should know as soon as possible.”
Tommy grumbled something to himself before retracting his claws and jumping down from the perch. He landed on all fours but quickly stood up on his hind legs, tail swishing behind him in a blur of yellow. “Where is he, anyway? I checked the galley and the comms deck before Ranboo told me you were here. It was all empty.”
“Maybe he’s in his cabin too? Not that outlandish of a thought, is it?” Tubbo answered, already turning back to his desk. The monitors above the desktop brimmed with data to be analysed. Tommy only groaned again before the swishing sound of the cabin door announced his departure. Tubbo clicked his mandibles together once more and pulled his tablet closer to himself. Time to get productive.
###
Wilbur hummed a little tune as he wrote. It didn’t sound half bad. Really, maybe he should lay down the pen and become a singer instead. A musician. Had a nice tang to it, the word. Less depressing than being a writer as well. Probably.
He was working on a new play––a tragic comedy about an Acorrant stuck on a ship with a fledgling Mentse who didn’t speak Common.
… so what if he liked to draw inspiration from his life? He adored Tommy, not that he would ever say that to his face, and it was hard to write about anything without including a little gremlin character. Maybe he should change the species, though. Make it a bit less obvious. Wilbur scratched the fuzz behind his ear. Yeah, Tommy probably wouldn’t be too happy reading this. Not that the little brat read much of his work. But he’d learn of it one way or the other, and then Wilbur wouldn’t hear the end of it.
Maybe he should switch the species to human? Now that would draw attention. His last two books hadn’t exactly made headlines, so his agent would probably be happy for some boosted sales. Wilbur didn’t care either way, but a human character could spice the plot up a bit as well. He’d just have to ask Techno for some more info on human fledglings.
The door swished open without warning. That could only mean one thing: Tommy. Wilbur checked the auto-save function on his writing doc––he had always been the paranoid type––before he swivelled around on his chair, careful to avoid crushing his wings. And there he was, in all his orange-scaled glory: his little brother.
“Wilburrrrr,” the younger whined.
“What’s bothering my favourite little brother?” Wilbur asked, wings twitching in amusement.
“I’m your only little brother,” Tommy said, one eye pinched and the other comically large in a sorry imitation of Techno’s characteristic eyebrow raise. Unfortunately for Tommy, it didn’t have as grand of an effect if one didn’t have eyebrows. Wilbur had to bite back a laugh.
“Techno’s younger than me,” he answered.
“In your dreams, maybe,” Tommy muttered and started heading for Wilbur’s perch.
“Nope. Don’t even think of it. You know it’s dangerous,” Wilbur scolded, feathers ruffling.
“Fuck off,” Tommy hissed but stayed on the ground anyways. After a moment of consideration, he flopped down onto Wilbur’s unused cot. “I need to ask you something,” he began.
Curiosity getting the better of him, Wilbur sat straighter on his chair, all four eyes focusing on Tommy. When nothing followed, he prodded: “What is it?”
Tommy heaved a sigh. “I noticed that Techno’s fu–Techno’s hair has changed colour. And I wanted to ask if you know what it means,” he said finally. Wilbur blinked with all his four eyes.
“Techno’s hair is doing what now?” he asked. Maybe he hadn’t heard it right?
“It’s changed colour. It used to be pink, but now the roots are growing in brown. Or, I think it’s brown. Your eyesight is better than mine,” Tommy said. Wilbur stared, trying to process the information in his head. Techno had always had pink hair, no questions asked. He never put much effort into cosmetics, so it was likely natural. But now it was growing in brown? That didn’t make any––
“Tubbo thought maybe it’s a mating season thing. Or a stress response. Do you have any idea?” Tommy continued, blissfully unaware of the storm in Wilbur’s head. What if Techno was sick?
“Uh,” Wilbur said intelligently. “Well… The only other advanced species I could think of that naturally changes fur colour like that are Elteans. But that’s just for maturity, and Techno’s way beyond adolescence. In less advanced species, there’s more variety, but it’s unlikely that…” he trailed off. “I haven’t heard about anything like this with humans,” he said eventually. “As far as I know, humans are continuous breeders, meaning they don’t rely on specific seasons to mate. It could be some kind of stress response, but I’ve never heard of something like that. I’m sure it’s nothing too bad?” That came out more like a question than he intended. Tommy was staring at him with wide, black eyes, tail entirely still.
“Okay…” Tommy said after a moment. “So… what do we do?”
“Well, we should definitely keep an eye on it. Maybe he’ll even talk to us about it––”
“It’s Techno,” Tommy snorted from his spot on the bed.
“Don’t interrupt me,” Wilbur chided. He sighed. “But you’re right. He’s not gonna say anything. I’ll see if I can talk to him.” Wilbur wrinkled his nose. “You, child, shouldn’t worry about it for now. I’ll take care of it.”
“Not a child,” Tommy answered. “And I’m not just going to ignore it, you know.” Wilbur wrinkled his nose even further until he could hardly breathe through it.
“Okay. Okay. That’s okay.” At this point, Wilbur was probably more worried than Tommy. He straightened his back and stretched his arms, letting his sails tauten and relax. Across the room, Tommy let out a comforting churr, recognising Wilbur’s stress. No matter how much shit Wilbur gave Tommy, be it for his lack of any and all self-preservation instincts or his brashness––the Mentse was attentive. Wilbur gave a hum of agreement–calm–safe. It wasn’t a lie: they would all be fine. Techno, most likely, was all right. Their pilot was responsible enough to talk to the crew if anything serious was going on, even though it was true that he often failed to communicate afflictions he deemed insignificant. It wasn’t entirely clear whether this stubbornness and lack of self-care (not unlike that of their resident Mentse) were a human thing or specific to Techno. In either case, while Techno might fail to consider his well-being as a good in and of itself, he did recognise that a significant limitation to it was also a danger to the crew. All that was to say, if Techno were in serious danger, he’d tell them. Which meant that he was fine. He had to be.
###
While Wilbur’s words had been reassuring––Techno was safe, he had promised––they had not offered any explanation as to what was going on. And so Tommy found himself on the ladder to the bridge, hesitating. Above him was the shuffling of their pilot moving about, accompanied by the occasional exchange with the Esmeralda’s AI ‘Emi’ and the clicking of buttons or Techno’s claws on the nav screen. Tommy had been here, perched a few rungs below the bridge opening, for longer than he’d like to admit. His forked tail curling around the side of the metal ladder, he was waiting. Building courage, maybe. Stalling. Why was he not up there yet? Why was he so afraid? Because you’re scared of losing him, whispered his mind. Because he’s family. Because you love him as your brother.
It was true, of course. Through the orbital decades that Techno had been with them, Tommy had grown to love the human like a second older brother. Techno had been the ship’s pilot and protector for probably ten o-decades now. He couldn’t imagine a life without him, just as he couldn’t imagine a life without his dad or Wil. And he didn’t have to. Techno would be fine. Wilbur had promised.
With a final push of willpower, Tommy uncurled his hail and loosened his grip on the rungs, pulling himself upwards the last few steps without allowing himself to stall any further. Techno would be fine. It would be fine. Rising past the floor, Tommy stepped onto the bridge (or the OPs and flight deck, as it was officially called, but bridge sounded way cooler) and rose to his hind legs. His tail instinctively curled around the metal railing behind him.
Techno was one floor higher, on the open loft that was the flight deck, tapping away on the computer. Probably still working on their flight route. It was always a bit tricky getting clearances in this area, Techno’d said at breakfast.
Breakfast with the other was Tommy’s favourite time of the day. Not that Tommy ate anything; he didn’t need to eat more than once a day, but he’d taken to sitting with Techno every morning for the sole purpose of hearing the pilot grumble about the day’s tasks. Though Tommy had devoted his life to engineering and would never regret that choice, he’d always had a thing for aviation.
Upstairs, Techno barely stilled before going back to tapping away. “What’s up, Tommy?” he asked, accent hardly noticeable. Wilbur liked to tease that Techno’s Inter was better than Tommy’s. He’d never say it aloud, but inside, Tommy agreed.
“Techno! My man,” Tommy greeted, claws tapping against the floor in unbridled excitement, worry all but forgotten.
“Wanna come up here? I’m not too busy,” Techno offered. His intonation was a bit flat, but Techno had once told him that was just the way he spoke, regardless of language. Not bothering to answer, Tommy launched himself upwards, his hind legs strong enough to propel him all the way to the loft in this mild gravity.
“You’re lucky Phil isn’t here, kid,” Techno said without turning around. While the human hearing was frankly shit, Techno compensated by having an eye on the security cams at all times. Tommy walked to the pilot’s side, watching himself get closer in the cam feed on the rightmost screen.
“Not lucky. All calculated,” Tommy answered. He suppressed the instinct to rest a clawed hand on Techno’s shoulder. After endless time in the Marine, the human wasn’t too fond of touch, instincts always poised to counter an attack. Tommy had discovered that the hard way, back in Techno’s first orbit on the ship.
Instead, Tommy leant on the empty co-pilot’s chair to the right, suddenly remembering why he was here. Right. Techno’s hair situation. He let his gaze wander from Techno’s hands, busy typing out something or other, to his face, expressionless as always (as far as Tommy could tell, anyways), to his hair. It fell in a loose braid over his shoulder, a light pink stream reaching almost to his stomach. And there, at the crown, was the cause of all his worries: warm brown roots, tinted orange in the screens’ light. Tommy gave a concerned churr.
Even after all this time, Techno still struggled with discerning the meaning of his vocalisations, and right now, Tommy was glad for it. Techno’s gaze flickered to him before returning to the large central screen. He hummed in an upwards intonation that indicated some kind of question. What or why, Tommy wasn’t sure. Same difference, really. Tommy’s claws were tapping against the floor again, but this time in anxiety. He churred again and ran his claws over the scales beneath his chin in a feeble attempt to self-soothe.
Techno stilled before pressing a button on his armrest console that caused the chair to spin around until he was facing Tommy. He raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong, dustworm?” he asked, the last word unfamiliar to Tommy––something Terran. Knowing Techno, it was probably some insult or other. Tommy clicked his claws together, felt the scales at his nape rise and lower. If he didn’t speak now, he would never do it. He needed to ask, needed to know. He opened his mouth, voice failing for a moment, before–
“Your hair,” he said. Techno raised his brow impossibly higher and cocked his head.
“My hair?” he asked. He didn’t sound offended or like he was making fun of him. Just… confused.
“Your hair,” Tommy agreed, tail swishing affirmative. The dim orange glow of the screens cast Techno in a half shadow that made it impossible to read his features. (Not that Tommy was particularly good at that at the best of times.).
“What about it?” Techno asked. He didn’t sound mad. Tommy took a final breath, cursing himself and whatever deity that had put him in this situation, and then:
“It’schangingcolourandIdon’tknowhatitmeanspleasetellmeyou’renotgoingtodie,” he rushed out, words falling from his tongue in a single breath.
Techno’s brows furrowed. “Tommy, calm down,” he said. “My Inter isn’t that good. Can you repeat what you said? Slowly?” Tommy breathed in, then out. Forced his scales to lie flat. His blood thundered in his ears, but it didn’t matter. He needed to calm down.
“Your hair is changing colour,” he said finally. Techno moved his head up and down in a human motion of agreement. “And nobody knew why and I was worried you–” Tommy choked back a sob, voice failing him. He curled his tail around himself and scratched the scales at his chin again. “I thought you were sick. Or… dying.” He avoided Techno's gaze, instead staring intently at the screen beside Techno’s head. It was showing a text in Terran letters, indecipherable to his eye. Maybe he should learn Terran sometime. Might come in handy.
“Oh, Tommy,” Techno said, and he sounded… Tommy didn’t know the emotion in his voice, but it was there, stronger than any emotion he’d ever heard from Techno. It wasn’t anger, though. That was the important part. He wasn’t angry.
“Come here, little worm,” Techno said, patted his thigh and opened his arms. In the blink of an eye, Tommy was on his lap, burying his head in the pilot’s shoulder.
“I’m not dying,” Techno said, and the voice rumbled strangely in his chest beneath Tommy’s head. “Or sick.” He raised a hand to Tommy’s head and gently stroked the scales around his ear openings. Tommy curled his tail around the other arm that rested on his back, heavy and grounding. Despite himself, Tommy felt a whizzing purr bloom in his chest.
“I’m sorry I worried you, Toms,” Techno muttered. The rumble of his voice was oddly comforting. “I promise I’m all right.”
Tommy warbled hesitantly, tail curling and uncurling. “Then why is your hair changing colour? What does it mean?”
Techno gave a chuckle. “You know how I’m a Martian, right? A Duster, the Earthers would say.” He chuckled again, Tommy’s head shaking slightly with the motion. “I used to be in the Marine, as all Martians are. Was a fighter pilot.” Tommy curled his tail tighter around Techno’s arm in acknowledgement. He knew this; he often begged asked Techno to tell him stories from that time.
“They trained all Marines for high-G, of course, but us pilots got a body-mod to allow us to stay conscious even past that. We needed to navigate the ships even when the combat divisions would go unconscious. It just happened that I had this certain genetic condition. All benign, don’t worry. But it interacted with this body-mod n’ made my hair grow pink.” Techno laughed silently. “In the beginnin’, I dyed it, but with time I kinda grew to like it. Felt fittin’, somehow.” That made sense. The colour looked neat on Techno. It did fit him.
The pilot continued: “But the hardware’s a bit outdated now, and since we have some time here on Silenus, I took out the main part n’ gave it to a planetside specialist. So now my hair’s growin’ all natural again. Figured I wouldn't need to do any high-G manoeuvres while docked here,” Techno said, voice warm with… mirth? Maybe. Tommy’s mind was going a bit slow, hazy with the warm embrace. Everything was all right. Techno was safe.
For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence. Leaning against Techno’s chest, the pilot’s pulse pounded a steady alien double beat in Tommy’s ears, and his head rose and fell as Techno breathed. “I’m sorry I worried you,” Techno said again.
“‘S’okay,” Tommy slurred. “Should’ve just asked you. Was afraid I’d offend you. And… maybe I was scared of the answer,” he admitted.
“You can always ask me. About anythin’, okay? I’d prefer it, honestly. Don’ want you worryin’ about nothin’.”
Tommy chortled. “And I got everybody else to worry too. The only good thing is that I didn’t tell Phil about it. He’d have a heart attack, probably.” Techno sighed deeply, but it sounded more amused than anything.
“Next time, instead of alarmin’ everybody on the ship, just ask me, all right? Can you promise me that?” he asked. Tommy warbled quietly and curled his tail tighter around his brother.
“Promise.”