Andrek's voice.
Without thinking, and drawn by something I couldn’t name, I stepped forward.I shouldn't intrude on a private moment. I should go back to bed; let them have this time together.But my feet carried me to the door, across the hall anyway.
The door to the nursery was ajar, a sliver of soft light spilled into the hallway. I pressed myself against the wall and listened.
The language was nothing I recognized. Not Standard, not any Earth language, not even the simple Yxian phrases Andrek taught me. This sounded older, more primal. The words were complex, full of sounds my human mouth could never hope to reproduce. Vowels seemed to have three syllables each. Consonants clicked and trilled and resonated in ways that defied translation.
Though I didn’t understand all the words as my translator struggled to keep up, my heart soared with emotion. Andrek’svoice, so controlled and measured, was raw with feeling. Each phrase dripped with love so intense it made my chest ache. I didn’t need to understand the words to understand the meaning: You are precious. You are loved. You are safe.
Through the gap in the door, I could just make out the outline of them. Andrek sat in the rocking chair I’d tried and failed to use properly earlier that day, Pip cradled against his chest. The child was awake, one small hand twisted in Andrek’s shirt, staring up at her father with complete trust and adoration. And Andrek sang, his tail wrapped around them both, his eyes closed, tears tracking silently down his face.
Something in my heart cracked open.
I’d spent my whole life surrounded by people, but I’d never witnessed love like this. This was pure love that asked for nothing in return.
My mother had loved me, I supposed, in her way. But it was love contingent on my compliance, my success, my reflection of her values. Anthony Louis never once claimed to love me, but he loved the idea of me; the version that fit into his planned future. Even my friends’ affection had always felt transactional. We maintained relationships because they were beneficial to our status in society.
But this? This was love in its purest form. And I wanted to be loved like that.
The song wound down to a gentle hum. Andrek didn’t stop. He kept humming, kept rocking his daughter as if she were the most precious thing in the universe.
Because she was.
I backed away quietly, my eyes burning with tears I didn’t understand. I made it back to my quarters before they fell, and when they did, they didn't stop for a long time.
I cried for Pip, who deserved a caregiver better than me. I cried for Andrek, who was carrying so much alone. I cried for myself,for all the years I’d spent believing that love was supposed to be a transaction within boundaries. I cried for my parents, who’d never learned to love any other way.
But mostly, I cried because I understood what I was trying to become part of. This wasn’t just a job; it was a family. A broken and struggling family, trying to hold itself together, and they were letting me in. They trusted me with their most vulnerable moments.
And I was failing them.
I’d been so focused on not failing, on doing everything right, on proving I’d made the right choice by coming here, that I’d lost sight of what actually mattered. Pip didn’t need me to be perfect. She just needed me, even when - especially when - things were hard.
Andrek warned me that Yxian children felt the truth beneath the surface. Pip knew I was anxious because I was anxious. She knew I was uncertain because I was uncertain. She knew I was performing confidence rather than embodying it.
So maybe I needed to stop performing. Stop trying to be the caregiver I thought I should be, and start being the caregiver I actually was: flawed, learning, terrified of failing this child but determined to try.
The empathic bond Andrek described required vulnerability. I needed to be willing to let Pip feel not just my calm moments, but my struggles too. To let her know that I was trying, even when I failed. That I cared, even when I didn’t know what I was doing. She needed to know that I chose her, and chose a life with Andrek every single day.
I couldn’t do a lot of things like the hum, or replicate Andrek’s understanding of Yxian needs. But I could be honest with myself and be there for Pip and Andrek. I could love them both, as imperfect as it would be.
It wasn’t much. But maybe it was enough to build on. It had to be, because that was all I had to give.
I pulled out my datapad and started making notes about Pip. Nothing about my notes was clinical. I wrote about the way her eyes lit when she saw the moon rise, and the soft chirping she made when content.
I wrote until my eyes burned with exhaustion and the sky lightened with pre-dawn colors. Then I got up, washed my face, and prepared to start day eight.
This time, I wouldn’t try to be perfect.
I would just try to be real.
Chapter 6
Dani
Thestormhitonday nine, just when I thought things might actually be improving.
That morning, I woke with renewed determination, armed with my notes about Pip’s actual personality rather than textbook theory. Breakfast had gone marginally better. Pip had cried for five minutes instead of fifteen, and she ate half of what I had prepared. A minor victory, but I celebrated it. I considered breakfast a win.
