Two weeks didn't change the Periphery.
It just gave the scars time to scab.
The little port they'd holed up in was the kind that didn't bother with a real name on most charts—just a refuel dot, a "merc-friendly" pad, and a repair yard that smelled like hot solvent and bad decisions. The locals called it Crater Bay because the landing field sat in an old impact basin, half the concrete cracked and re-poured so many times it looked like a patchwork quilt.
Dack liked it.
Nobody stared too long. Nobody asked questions twice. Everybody understood a simple rule: if you wanted to keep breathing, you didn't dig into merc business.
The Leopard sat on its struts under a corrugated canopy, rain ticking against the hull like impatient fingers. Behind it, the yard's big doors were rolled up and the bay lights were on. Inside, three machines rested in ugly honesty:
Dire Wolf — armor scorched, left torso patched, one missile door still slightly out of alignment from the last hard twist.
Highlander — new gouges along the right arm plating, jump jet housings scraped raw.
Centurion — cleaner than it had been, but that was mostly because Taila had started caring enough to wipe her own machine down after drills.
Dack stood at the bay threshold with his arms folded, watching techs crawl over the Dire Wolf like ants with welding torches. Sparks ran in brief showers, bright against the grey world.
Jinx leaned into him—physically, shamelessly—shoulder pressing his upper arm. Not in a cockpit. Not in armor. Just in the open, in front of techs and loaders and anyone who wanted to look.
Dack didn't move away.
He didn't smile either, but he didn't move away.
Taila came up on his other side and did it differently—hands sliding around his waist from behind, cheek pressing between his shoulder blades like she was testing if she was allowed to take up that space.
Dack's voice was blunt, quiet. "You're in the way."
Jinx kissed the side of his jaw anyway. Quick. Possessive. A public little bite of affection meant to be seen.
Taila's arms tightened a little.
"You're always 'in the way,'" Jinx said, grinning. "That's why you're useful."
Dack exhaled through his nose. "I'm useful because I don't die."
"And because you're cute when you pretend you don't like it," Jinx added.
Taila's voice came soft. "Do you… not like it?"
Dack turned his head enough to look at her. Taila wasn't hiding behind sarcasm like Jinx. Her face still carried that old reflex—waiting for punishment, waiting for rejection—even as she tried to stand taller than the shame that used to fold her in half.
Dack answered plainly. "I like it."
Taila's eyes widened like the honesty hit harder than any teasing.
Jinx laughed. "Oh, he talked. Write it down."
Dack kept his gaze on Taila a moment longer. "Just… don't distract the techs."
Taila nodded fast. "Okay."
Jinx leaned up and kissed him again, slower this time, and on purpose where people could see. A tech pretending not to look nearly dropped a torque wrench.
Dack didn't flinch.
He let it happen. He let himself be claimed in the open, like he'd decided it was safer to accept the target than pretend he wasn't one.
Taila stepped around to face him, cheeks warm, eyes bright and nervous. She hesitated—then rose on her toes and kissed him too. Softer than Jinx. Careful. Like she was afraid she might do it wrong and get corrected.
Dack didn't correct her.
He held still and let her take the step.
When she pulled back, she looked like she'd just won a war she didn't tell anyone she'd been fighting.
Jinx clicked her tongue. "That's my girl."
Taila shot her an embarrassed glare. "Stop calling me—"
Jinx smacked Taila lightly on the ass—quick, playful, and very much on purpose.
Taila jumped. "JINX!"
Half the bay heard it.
Jinx didn't care. "You walk by, you get spanked. That's the rule."
"That is not a rule," Taila hissed, mortified.
Dack finally spoke again, blunt as a hammer. "Don't make her hate it."
Jinx's grin softened a fraction. "She doesn't."
Taila opened her mouth—
Then she didn't deny it.
That told Dack enough.
He turned back to the Dire Wolf. "Status."
A tech shouted without looking up. "Armor patching is clean. Actuator seals on your left torso are replaced. Missile bay door's still sticking. We can fix it but it'll cost time."
Dack nodded once. "Fix it."
The tech blinked. "You sure? It's cosmetic—"
"It sticks in a fight, it's not cosmetic," Dack said.
Jinx snorted. "He's romantic with his murder machine."
Dack didn't glance at her. "It's a Dire Wolf. Show respect."
Taila's quiet voice came from beside him. "I like when you talk about your 'Mech like that."
Dack finally looked at her again, blunt honesty slipping out the way it had been doing more lately. "I trust it. Same reason."
Taila swallowed. Her arms slid back around his waist again, more confident than earlier.
Dack let her.
---
They trained every day.
Not because it was fun.
Because the universe punished anyone who got comfortable.
The yard had a sim pod cluster—old, slightly janky, but good enough. Metal coffins with sweat-stained couches, cracked armrests, and neural-feedback systems that flickered if you breathed wrong. Still, it beat getting Taila killed in a live-fire mistake.
Taila came out of the pod soaked in sweat, hair stuck to her forehead, eyes furious.
"I had him," she snapped.
Jinx was perched on a nearby crate like a bored cat, eating something that might have been jerky. "You had him for three seconds. Then you did the Taila thing."
Taila glared. "What Taila thing."
Jinx wiggled her fingers. "Panic math."
Taila whirled toward Dack like she wanted him to disagree.
Dack didn't.
"You flinched," he said. "You stopped moving."
"I didn't—" Taila started.
"You did," Dack cut in, not cruel, just factual. "You took the hit, you stared at it, then you tried to fix it. You fix it by moving."
Taila's jaw worked. "I hate that you're right."
Jinx smirked. "He's always right. It's disgusting."
Dack walked past them, grabbed a bottle of water from a cooler, and tossed it to Taila. She fumbled it, nearly dropped it, caught it with both hands and looked like she wanted to throw it at his head.
Then she drank like she'd been dying of thirst.
Dack kept talking—more than he used to, still blunt.
"You're improving," he said. "Your aim is better. Your timing's better. You're not freezing as long."
Taila stared at him. "As long?"
Dack shrugged. "We keep going."
Jinx popped up off her crate and sauntered closer, all lazy confidence. "Wanna know the secret, Taila?"
Taila narrowed her eyes. "What."
Jinx leaned in and kissed Taila right on the mouth.
Not a joke kiss. Not a peck for laughs. A real one—slow enough that Taila made a startled sound, then melted into it because she didn't know what else to do with the heat that jumped through her.
When Jinx pulled back, Taila's cheeks were bright red.
Jinx grinned. "That's the secret. You're too in your head. You need to feel your body again."
Taila sputtered. "That—what—"
Dack's voice cut in, deadpan. "She's not wrong."
Taila snapped her gaze to him, scandalized. "You're agreeing with that?"
Dack stepped closer, close enough that Taila's breath caught, then he kissed her too.
Quick. Blunt. A kiss like a promise made in one clean sentence.
He pulled back and said, as if he were discussing ammo loads: "Your body tenses. You lock up. You forget you can move."
Taila stared at him like he'd just rewritten her entire life in five seconds.
Jinx clapped her hands. "Look at you, boss. You're practically a therapist."
Dack looked at her. "Don't get used to it."
Jinx laughed. "Too late."
Taila swallowed, eyes shining, and nodded once. "Okay. Again."
Dack's mouth twitched—almost a smile. "Again."
---
The refits ran in parallel.
The Dire Wolf got the work it deserved—no shortcuts, no cheap patches. Dack paid for it with a grim kind of satisfaction that said he was done limping through jobs like a wounded animal.
Armor plates were replaced instead of welded. Actuator seals were swapped, not prayed over. A stubborn missile bay door got re-aligned until it opened clean every time.
The Highlander got Jinx's brand of refit: half practical, half ego.
She argued with the techs about jump jet tuning like she was negotiating a ceasefire.
"I want the impulse curve smoother," she said, tapping the schematic with a grease-stained finger. "I don't want a surge. I want a glide."
A tech squinted. "It's a Highlander. It doesn't glide."
Jinx bared her teeth in a smile. "Watch me."
Taila's Centurion got the most meaningful work of all.
Not because it became stronger than the others.
Because it became hers.
Dack made sure of it.
He didn't buy her a new machine yet. Not with their money still tight, not when the market was full of half-working junk priced like gold. But he made the Centurion fit her better.
They shifted ammo bins to reduce cooking off. They added basic containment upgrades where they could. They tightened her gyro stabilization because Taila's hands still wanted to over-correct when she got stressed.
It wasn't glamorous.
It was survival.
Taila watched the work being done like she was watching someone stitch her dignity back into place.
Late one night, the bay was quieter. Most techs were gone. Only a couple of yard lights buzzed overhead. Rain hammered the roof. The air smelled like hot metal and grease.
Taila stood near her Centurion's leg plating wearing a tight black halter top and long combat leggings with red stripes down the sides—clothes that made her look like she'd decided she didn't want to hide anymore.
Jinx had been the one to suggest it. Taila had pretended to complain. Then she'd worn it anyway.
Dack came up behind her and stopped, keeping his hands to himself, voice low.
"Looks good."
Taila turned, eyes wide. "You noticed."
"I'm not blind," Dack said.
Her lips parted like she wanted to say something brave.
Instead she said something honest. "I don't know how to act."
Dack answered immediately. "Act like you want."
Taila stared at him. "That's the problem."
Jinx's voice drifted in from behind a stack of crates where she'd been pretending she wasn't eavesdropping. "She wants you to touch her, boss."
Taila whirled, mortified. "JINX—!"
Jinx stepped out wearing a black tank top, gym shorts, and a combat-ready red jacket that looked like it had too many pockets for anything legal. She grinned like a demon.
"What? It's true."
Taila's voice went thin. "Stop saying it out loud!"
Dack didn't tell Jinx to shut up this time.
He walked up to Taila slowly—giving her time to step back if she wanted.
She didn't.
Dack's hands settled on Taila's hips—warm, steady, real. Not a grip. Not possession. Just contact.
Taila inhaled sharply like the touch plugged something into her that had been dead for years.
Dack's voice stayed blunt. "You're tense."
"I know," Taila whispered.
"Then breathe," Dack said.
And then he kissed her.
Longer than before. Enough that Taila's hands lifted and clutched his suit chest like she needed an anchor.
Jinx made a pleased sound. "Finally."
Taila broke the kiss and glared weakly at her. "Stop watching!"
Jinx shrugged. "No."
Taila looked like she might combust.
Dack's voice cut in, dry. "You're making her worse."
Jinx's grin softened a little. "I'm making her honest."
Taila's eyes flicked between them. Confusion, heat, fear, and something hungry she didn't know how to name.
Dack kept it simple. "Do you want her here."
Taila swallowed hard.
Then nodded.
Jinx's eyes brightened like she'd been waiting for permission her whole life. She stepped closer, pressed up to Taila's side, and kissed Taila again—gentler this time, teasing rather than overwhelming.
Taila made a shaky sound and then kissed her back, clumsy but trying.
Dack watched them, a tightness in his chest that wasn't jealousy.
It was realization.
He cared. More than he'd meant to.
He stepped in behind Taila and slid his arms around her middle, pulling her back against him while Jinx kissed her from the front. Taila's breath hitched, then steadied, then turned into a soft sound she tried to swallow and failed.
Jinx broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, delighted, "See? You're not broken."
Taila's eyes were wet. "I never… I never got to—"
"I know," Dack said quietly.
Taila turned her head, pressing a kiss to his cheek like she was learning she was allowed to give affection instead of only receiving it. "You're… patient."
Dack's reply was blunt. "I'm careful."
Jinx laughed softly. "He's careful until he's not."
Dack glanced at her. "You're pushing."
"Always," Jinx said.
Taila's hands slid down Dack's forearms, holding them like she was afraid he'd vanish if she didn't. "Don't stop."
Dack didn't.
But he kept it controlled. He wasn't going to turn Taila's first real step into something that left her feeling used or lost.
He kissed her again, slower. His hands moved under the edge of her halter top, fingertips grazing warm skin, feeling her shiver.
Jinx's hand slid along Taila's thigh over the leggings—teasing, not taking—then up to her waist, pulling her closer.
Taila's voice came out small and wrecked. "I… I don't know what I'm doing."
Dack's mouth brushed her ear. "Yes you do."
Jinx smirked. "You're doing it."
Taila made an embarrassed sound that turned into a laugh and then into a kiss again because she couldn't decide what to do with her own heat.
The bay lights hummed. The 'Mechs loomed silent around them like metal gods pretending not to watch.
Outside, rain and ash kept falling.
Inside, Taila finally stopped looking like she was waiting to be rejected.
---
Later, they retreated to the Leopard's cramped crew quarters—because the bay wasn't private, and Dack was still practical even when he was losing his grip.
They didn't talk much.
They didn't need to.
Jinx sprawled across the narrow bunk first like she owned it. Taila hovered near the doorway like she didn't believe she deserved to enter.
Dack came up behind her, touched her shoulder gently, and said, blunt and simple, "Get in."
Taila nodded and stepped forward.
Jinx patted the bed. "Come here."
Taila climbed in carefully, then froze when Jinx pulled her close like it was the most natural thing in the world. Taila's body went rigid for half a second.
Dack's voice came low. "Breathe."
Taila did.
Dack climbed in behind them, the three of them pressed together in a way that made the small room feel warmer than it had any right to.
Jinx whispered something into Taila's ear that made Taila yelp and smack her shoulder. Jinx laughed quietly, delighted.
Dack spoke, dry. "Don't break her."
Jinx's voice turned mock-offended. "I'm gentle."
Taila muttered, "You are not."
Jinx kissed her anyway. "You like it."
Taila's cheeks burned. She didn't deny it.
Dack's hand slid over Taila's waist, pulling her back against him, and Taila relaxed into the contact like she'd been starving and didn't know it until the food hit her tongue.
The kisses got slower. Longer. Heavier.
Jinx's teasing turned into something softer, her grin fading into focus as she watched Taila's reactions and adjusted, making sure Taila wasn't drowning.
Dack kept his voice blunt even when his hands weren't.
"Say stop if you need," he murmured.
Taila swallowed. "I don't."
Jinx purred, "Good."
Taila's fingers gripped Dack's sleeve. "Don't leave."
Dack answered immediately. "I'm here."
It wasn't poetry.
It was better.
The night didn't need details said out loud. Not the kind the universe would mock later.
The important part was simple:
Taila stopped flinching from being wanted.
Jinx stopped using only jokes to hide her tenderness.
And Dack—who'd always been a lone blade—stayed in the middle of them like he'd finally admitted he didn't want to be alone anymore.
---
Morning came with alarms and the smell of recycled air.
The bay's refit schedule pinged. A tech message came through about the Dire Wolf's missile bay alignment being perfect now. The Highlander's jump jet curve had improved. The Centurion's gyro stability was tighter.
Dack sat on the edge of the bunk, pulling on his suit, quiet.
Jinx stretched like a cat and smirked. "You're thinking again."
"Always," Dack said.
Taila sat up slowly, hair messy, eyes soft in a way they hadn't been two weeks ago. She looked at him like he was something she was allowed to want.
Dack met her gaze and said, blunt, "We're still mercs."
Jinx laughed. "Romantic."
Dack didn't smile. "It means we stay sharp."
Taila nodded. "I will."
Dack's chest tightened again. Not fear. Not adrenaline.
Care.
He'd been wrong, back at the start, thinking this would stay clean and detached—contracts, kills, credits.
Now he watched Taila's fingers absentmindedly trace a mark on his sleeve like she was grounding herself, and he knew the truth:
He cared more than he meant to.
And it made him dangerous in a new way.
Lyra's voice came over comms from the cockpit. "Incoming contract listings. Three that fit our tonnage and travel window."
Dack stood, blunt and steady. "Send them."
Jinx slid out of bed and kissed him in the open, unashamed. Taila followed—shy, but not hiding—kissing him too, then kissing Jinx, awkward and sweet.
Dack let it happen.
Then he grabbed his jacket and headed for the bay.
Because the 'Mechs needed him.
And so did they.
And he was done pretending those weren't the same thing.