The Leopard never really slept.
Even when the engines were cold and the pad outside was quiet, the ship still breathed—fans cycling, relays clicking, coolant pumps humming somewhere behind bulkheads. Metal expanding and contracting with temperature. The faint smell of hydraulic fluid and old heat baked into the deck plates. A machine pretending it wasn't alive.
Dack lay on his back in the narrow bunk, staring at the underside of the top rack like it had answers.
Jinx was sprawled across him like she'd decided gravity was optional. One leg hooked over his thigh, her hair a mess against his chest, mouth curved in a satisfied little smirk every time she breathed out.
Taila lay on Dack's other side, closer than she used to ever let anyone be—her bare shoulder pressed to his upper arm, fingers laced into the fabric at his ribs like she needed proof he hadn't vanished. She was quiet, but not tense. That alone was new.
The air in the compartment was warm from bodies and recycled circulation. The kind of warmth that made you forget for a few minutes that outside the thin hull, the universe didn't care if you were happy.
Jinx broke the silence first, because she always did.
"So," she said lazily, voice rough from laughing and kissing and not pretending. "We did that."
Taila made a small sound that was half mortified, half pleased. "Jinx…"
Dack didn't shift. Didn't joke. Didn't dodge.
"Yeah," he said. "We did."
Taila's cheeks went pink in the dim light. She still had that reflex—the part of her that expected to be shamed for wanting anything. It flickered, then weakened, then died again when Dack's hand settled over hers. Simple contact. No pressure. Just steady.
Jinx propped her chin on Dack's chest and stared at him like she was studying a targeting display. "You regret it?"
Dack answered immediately. "No."
Jinx's grin widened. "Good."
Taila whispered, almost like she was asking permission. "Me neither."
Dack turned his head enough to look at her. He was more talkative lately, but the words still came blunt, like they were expensive.
"Okay," he said. "Then we talk like adults."
Jinx's eyes lit up. "Oh, I love when he says 'adults.' Like we're in a contract negotiation."
Taila let out a nervous laugh, then quieted again. Her fingers tightened in Dack's shirt. "Talk about what."
Dack exhaled once, slow. "What it means. What we're doing. What happens if it keeps happening."
Jinx didn't flinch. "It's going to keep happening."
Taila made a small, embarrassed noise. Jinx kissed her cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Dack stared at the ceiling a moment longer, then said it clean.
"Birth control."
Silence.
Not uncomfortable. Just heavy.
The kind of pause where you could hear the Leopard's systems humming through the wall. The ship pretending not to listen.
Taila swallowed. "We… we should, right?"
Jinx rolled onto her side, elbow on the mattress, eyes bright and serious in a way she didn't show often. "No."
Taila blinked. "No?"
Jinx's smile went sharp. "I don't want to dull it. I don't want to turn it into something we have to manage like ammo counts. I want it real."
Dack watched her. "That's not an answer."
"It is," Jinx said. "I want a baby."
Taila froze. Not the battlefield freeze. Something softer. Something stunned.
"A—" Taila's voice caught. "Now?"
Jinx shrugged like she was discussing a refit schedule. "Soon. If it happens, it happens."
Taila stared at her like she couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry. "You say that like it's easy."
Jinx's grin faded a fraction. "It's not easy. It's just simple. I want one."
Dack's voice stayed blunt, but there was something under it now—care, caution, the weight of consequences.
"You understand what you're asking," he said.
Jinx didn't look away. "Yeah."
Dack's jaw flexed. He didn't like the feeling in his chest. Not fear. Not softness. Responsibility—sharp and unfamiliar.
"A kid on a merc ship," he said. "In the Periphery."
Jinx's eyes narrowed. "So we don't stay in the Periphery forever."
Taila's voice came smaller. "We don't even have a real base. We barely have enough to keep the Dire Wolf from getting patched with scrap."
Dack didn't correct her, because she wasn't wrong. The Dire Wolf was a monster, but monsters still needed parts. The Highlander drank maintenance like water. The Centurion was improving, but it was still a working machine, not a showroom trophy.
Jinx reached out and traced the edge of Dack's jaw with a finger. "We'll build it. We're building it."
Taila's eyes flicked to Dack. "I… I want one too."
Jinx's grin returned instantly. "See?"
Taila's cheeks flushed. "Not— not right now. Not yet."
Jinx tilted her head. "Why."
Taila hesitated, then forced herself to say it like it mattered. "Because I want to pilot my 'Mech first. For real. I want to be good. I don't want to be… baggage."
Dack's hand tightened over Taila's, just a little. He didn't say "you're not baggage." He didn't do reassurance like that. He said the thing that mattered.
"You're not staying behind," he said. "Not if you don't want to."
Taila's throat worked. "I'm scared I'll have to."
Jinx leaned in and kissed Taila's mouth—short, warm, confident. "You won't."
Dack's voice cut through, practical. "Pregnancy changes things."
Jinx smirked. "You're really good at killing the mood."
"I'm keeping you alive," Dack replied.
That shut her up for a second.
Taila whispered, almost apologetic. "I want a family. I just… I want to earn it. I want to be proud when I do it."
Jinx's expression softened. "You already earned it, Taila."
Taila shook her head. "Not in my head."
Dack stared at them both. Two women who'd started as problems on a contract and had become… something else. Something he didn't know how to name without making it smaller than it was.
"I didn't plan this," he said.
Jinx snorted. "No kidding."
Dack kept going anyway. More talkative, still blunt. "I thought it would be work. Credits. Repairs. Leave before the port gets curious. That's it."
Taila watched him like she'd never seen him say this much at once. "And now?"
Dack's throat moved. "Now I care."
Jinx's smile turned slow and satisfied. "There it is."
Dack didn't laugh. "That means if you get pregnant, it's my problem too."
Taila's voice was soft. "That sounds… good."
"It is," Dack said. "And it means we don't pretend it's nothing."
Jinx leaned back, eyes bright. "So what are you saying, boss."
Dack looked at the ceiling again, like the Leopard might give him a clean answer. It didn't.
"I'm saying," he began, "we don't take birth control if you don't want to."
Taila's breath hitched.
Jinx's grin widened.
Dack held up a finger, like he was laying down a rule on a contract. "But if it happens—if either of you gets pregnant—we change how we fight. We don't get stupid. No hero runs. No 'I'm fine' lies."
Jinx opened her mouth.
Dack didn't let her. "You'll hate it. I don't care."
Jinx's eyes narrowed. "You'd sideline me."
"I'd protect you," Dack corrected, blunt and unyielding. "There's a difference."
Taila's fingers trembled against his shirt. "And me."
"Yes," Dack said.
Jinx's smile sharpened. "You're kind of hot when you're controlling."
Taila made a strangled noise. "Jinx!"
Dack's face stayed flat. "Focus."
Jinx laughed, but she didn't push. Not this time. "Okay. Fine. Conditions."
Dack nodded once. "And Taila—if you want time to pilot first, we do it your way."
Taila's eyes went wet. She blinked hard. "You'd wait."
"I'm not in a rush," Dack said. Then, quieter: "I'm not going anywhere."
That hit Taila harder than any kiss.
Jinx stared at Dack like she was seeing the outline of something she'd wanted for a long time. "So we're doing the 'if it happens, we handle it' plan."
Dack's answer was immediate. "Yeah."
Taila whispered, barely audible. "Okay."
For a moment, none of them spoke. The Leopard hummed. Somewhere down the corridor, a pipe ticked as it cooled. The ship kept pretending it wasn't alive.
Then Dack's comms pinged softly—internal channel.
Lyra.
Dack didn't answer right away. He didn't need to look at the display to know who it was. Lyra didn't call unless she had a reason. She was calm and collected like that. Precise. Controlled.
Jinx noticed the ping and grinned like a predator. "Ohhh."
Taila's eyes widened. "No."
Dack finally keyed it. "Lyra."
There was a pause long enough to feel.
Then Lyra's voice came through, soft and very carefully neutral. "Sorry. I— I didn't mean to interrupt."
Jinx's grin widened further. "You didn't interrupt. We finished."
"Jinx," Taila hissed, mortified.
Lyra made a small sound—something between a cough and a choked laugh. "I… gathered."
Dack shut his eyes for a second.
Lyra continued, voice still controlled, but the embarrassment leaked through the edges. "I needed to confirm the yard invoice. The refit schedule. And—" Another pause. "Also… the bulkheads on a Leopard aren't exactly soundproof."
Taila covered her face with one hand. "I'm going to die."
Jinx looked delighted. "Lyra heard us."
Lyra's voice went even quieter. "Yes."
Dack's reply was blunt. "Sorry."
Lyra exhaled. "It's… fine. I'm not angry."
Jinx leaned over Dack and hit the comm switch, voice bright and shameless. "Are you jealous, Lyra."
Taila made a distressed sound. "Jinx!"
Lyra's silence lasted exactly one beat too long.
Then: "No. I'm… happy."
Jinx's smile softened slightly. "Yeah?"
Lyra cleared her throat. "It means the crew is… together. It's good for cohesion."
Jinx laughed outright. "Cohesion. Sure."
Dack's voice cut in before Jinx could turn it into a sport. "Invoice."
Lyra sounded grateful for the rescue. "Yes. The yard is charging extra for the Dire Wolf torso work. They're claiming specialty materials. I can argue it down, but they'll want a face-to-face."
"I'll go," Dack said.
Jinx immediately: "We'll go."
Taila: "We—?"
Dack: "Later. Tomorrow."
Lyra hesitated. "Understood."
Then, softer, before she cut the channel: "For what it's worth… I'm glad you're happy."
The comm clicked off.
Silence again.
Taila peeked out from behind her hand, eyes wide. "She's… happy."
Jinx smirked. "She's adorable."
Dack's voice stayed blunt. "She's professional."
Jinx rolled her eyes. "And she's also not blind."
Taila's cheeks went pink again. "I can't believe she heard."
Dack stared at the ceiling. "Bulkheads are thin."
Jinx snuggled closer, smug as hell. "Good. Let the ship know we're alive."
Taila swallowed. "I feel like I did something wrong."
Dack's hand slid up Taila's arm and squeezed gently. "You didn't."
Taila stared at him. "How do you say that so easily."
"Because it's true," Dack replied.
Jinx hummed, satisfied. "Okay. Back to baby talk."
Taila groaned. "No."
"Yes," Jinx insisted. "We're making decisions."
Taila's voice went small again. "I want one. I do. I just… I want to be good first. I want to pilot my Centurion without feeling like I'm going to embarrass myself."
Jinx softened. "You're already better than you think."
Taila shook her head. "Not enough."
Dack spoke, and when he did, it was the kind of blunt that didn't cut you—it steadied you. "Then we train. Harder."
Taila's eyes lifted. "You'll keep training me."
"Yes," Dack said.
Jinx grinned. "And I'll keep motivating you."
Taila narrowed her eyes. "Your 'motivation' is mostly spanking."
"It's effective," Jinx said.
"It is not," Taila snapped.
Dack's voice cut in, dry. "It works."
Taila stared at him like she'd been betrayed.
Jinx laughed so hard she nearly fell off the bunk.
Dack didn't smile, but his eyes looked less dead.
Taila finally huffed, then leaned into Dack again, quieter. "If it happens… if I get pregnant… you won't hate me."
Dack's answer came fast enough to be a reflex. "No."
Taila's throat tightened. "Even if it means I can't fight."
Dack stared at her, blunt truth like a weapon. "If you're carrying a kid, you don't fight. That's not hate. That's me not being stupid."
Taila blinked. "So you'd be… strict."
"Yes," Dack said.
Jinx purred like she liked that answer more than she should have. "He'd be strict."
Taila's face went red again. "Jinx, stop."
Dack exhaled. "We're not doing this right now."
Jinx grinned. "We literally just did."
Dack: "Jinx."
Jinx shut up—mostly.
Taila shifted, then spoke carefully. "And you. Dack. Do you… want one."
Dack went still. Not frozen. Thinking.
He'd killed people. He'd watched people die. He'd spent his life treating the future like something you didn't plan for because it got stolen anyway.
A baby wasn't a plan. It was a declaration. It was saying you believed the universe could be beaten into giving you something good.
He didn't like hope. Hope made you soft.
But he cared now.
And caring had already softened him in ways he couldn't undo.
"Yes," he said finally.
Both of them went quiet.
Jinx's eyes widened like she hadn't expected him to give that away so cleanly.
Taila's lips parted, trembling. "You do."
Dack didn't dress it up. "Yeah."
Jinx's grin returned slowly, warmer than her usual chaos. "Okay. Then we're doing it. Not rushing Taila. But we're not preventing it either."
Taila swallowed hard. "Okay."
Dack nodded once. "Okay."
Jinx sat up, suddenly businesslike in her own deranged way. "Rules."
Dack sighed. "Here we go."
Jinx counted on her fingers. "One: if one of us is pregnant, the other two protect her. No arguments."
Dack: "Yes."
Taila: "Yes."
Jinx: "Two: if Taila wants more time in sims and live drills before trying, we respect it."
Taila blinked. "You mean… before—"
Jinx smirked. "Before we start aiming for it, yes."
Taila's face went red. "Okay."
Jinx: "Three: if it happens by accident anyway, we don't panic."
Dack: "We plan."
Jinx grinned. "Same thing."
Taila whispered, "And Lyra…"
Jinx's eyes gleamed. "Lyra is going to die when she realizes we're talking about babies."
Taila groaned into her hands again. "Stop."
Dack's voice cut through, blunt and steady. "Lyra's not part of this conversation."
Jinx pouted. "Yet."
Dack didn't respond.
Taila glanced at him, tentative. "Yet?"
Dack's answer stayed blunt. "She's crew. Good pilot. Professional."
Jinx smirked. "And she heard us."
Taila made a distressed sound.
Dack's voice went flat. "Drop it."
Jinx dropped it—barely.
---
They didn't sleep much after that.
Not because they started again. Because the talk had changed something.
It made everything sharper.
It made Dack stare at the bulkhead and think about the Dire Wolf—how it carried him, how it made him a weapon people feared. How the Highlander was a hammer with a mouth. How the Centurion was becoming something Taila could actually trust.
How the Leopard was still just a small ship with thin walls and thinner margins.
A baby didn't belong in a world like this.
And yet.
He thought of Jinx—how she laughed at danger because she'd never had anything safe to hold onto. He thought of Taila—how she'd been ashamed for so long she'd convinced herself she didn't deserve love. He thought of Lyra—quiet, steady, trying to pretend she didn't want more than professionalism because wanting things was risky.
Dack didn't like risk.
But he'd started choosing it anyway.
He spoke into the dark, more to himself than them. "I was wrong about that raid."
Jinx lifted her head slightly. "Kappa-Seven?"
"Yeah," Dack said. "I thought Sable was behind it."
Taila went still. She knew that name had an effect on Dack after finding out what he had done to his father. The kind of name that sat in your spine like a shard.
Dack continued, blunt. "He wasn't."
Jinx muttered, "Nope."
"Yeah," Dack said. "But it means he won't be back for a while, we hit him hard and broke him."
Taila whispered, "To another system."
"Yeah," Dack replied. "He's running because he's a coward."
Jinx's voice went cold. "You still want him? You were talking about waiting for at least a Star Lance."
Dack didn't hesitate. "Yeah."
Taila's fingers tightened on his shirt. "We will get him."
"Yes," Dack said. " Just not now."
He stared at the ceiling and said the vow like he was signing it in blood.
Jinx's voice softened. "And finish him."
"Yes," Dack said. "And whoever he's working for."
Taila swallowed hard. "Promise?"
Dack's answer was simple. "Promise."
Jinx kissed his chest once—soft, almost reverent. Taila pressed closer, breathing steady.
For a while, that was enough.
Not peace.
But something close.
---
Morning came with the smell of recycled air and ship coffee that tasted like burnt regret.
Dack stood in the 'Mech bay—still on the Leopard, ramp sealed, clamps holding the machines steady for maintenance. The Dire Wolf loomed over him, panels open, tech lights illuminating the guts of the beast. The Highlander sat beside it like a bored giant. The Centurion looked smaller between them, but less fragile than it used to.
Jinx walked in wearing a tank top and shorts like she owned the universe. Taila followed a step behind, looking more confident than she had any right to after last night. Still blushing, but not hiding.
Lyra was already there, checking the invoice pad on a tablet, posture too straight.
She didn't look up right away.
When she did, her ears went pink.
Jinx grinned like a knife. "Morning, Lyra."
Lyra cleared her throat. "Morning."
Taila looked like she wanted to die again. "Hi."
Dack nodded once. "Invoice."
Lyra clung to professionalism like it was armor. "Yes. The yard is claiming specialty materials for the Dire Wolf's torso plating. I believe they're inflating cost because of the Clan chassis. I can push back."
"Do it," Dack said.
Lyra nodded quickly. "Yes."
Jinx leaned in, voice sweet and dangerous. "Also, you okay? You sounded so happy last night."
Lyra's face went red. "I—"
Dack's voice cut in, blunt. "Jinx."
Jinx held up her hands, innocent. "What? I'm building cohesion."
Lyra looked like she might short-circuit.
Taila whispered, "Please stop."
Jinx smirked and backed off—barely.
Dack looked at Lyra. "We're leaving this port soon. Pick contracts that don't get stupid."
Lyra's relief was visible. "Understood."
Dack glanced at Taila, then at the Centurion. "Sim after lunch."
Taila nodded, determined. "Yes."
Jinx grinned. "And after sim…"
Dack: "Work."
Jinx: "And maybe baby practice."
Taila made a strangled sound.
Lyra's ears turned even redder.
Dack didn't react. He just kept looking at his machines, at the work that needed doing, at the future he'd accidentally started building.
He'd been a lone merc with a Dire Wolf and a death wish for most of his life.
Now he was a man with people behind him.
People who kissed him in public.
People who wanted children.
People who made his choices matter.
He didn't know if the universe would let him keep it.
But he knew one thing for sure:
If it tried to take it, he would make it pay.