Home Is Where the Heart Is (But What A Shame Everyone's Heart Doesn't Beat The Same) - Chapter 1
“Cap’n, come welcome the new passenger. He’s all settled in. Just waitin’ to meet you,” Alona cupped his elbow and guided him to the far wall of the cargo bay and their newest fare. “This here,” Alona’s quick intake of breath made Jensen look down at her, “is Milo Padalecki.” Her face lit up as she introduced the newcomer, beaming a bright smile.
“Jensen Ackles. Welcome aboard,” Jensen shook Milo’s hand, wondering if he was going to have any trouble. Alona was like a sister to him and he wouldn’t put up with anyone hurting her. The guy was a few years younger than Jensen. Tall and reasonably good looking, but guarded. His eyes held a wariness that Jensen had seen during the war. His clothes spoke of Core wealth, but his hands belied any notions this man led an aristocratic life. The younger man opened his mouth to respond when a heavy crash sounded from the end of the bay where the cargo was being stacked by a broad, long-haired man.
“Hún dàn!” (Bastard!) Jensen’s attention snapped back to Milo as the curse fell sharp and hard. Milo hurried to the fallen crate and inspected the side, “Try to be careful you ox.”
Chris, former mercenary and loose cannon, regarded the man with surprise that quickly morphed into anger. “Accident, man. The hover lift shorted. It ain’t a big deal.”
Jensen hurriedly approached. So far Chris had said three times as much as would normally upset folk and he needed to diffuse the situation before his luck ran out. “Machines can be squirrely sometimes,” he smiled charmingly, “you wanna check it and make sure nuthin’ shifted?”
Milo continued to smooth his hand over the crate, checking each joint for separation and each side for cracks. At Jensen’s question, he snapped his head up. “No! I mean, no. I’m sure everything’s in order. I apologize for overreacting, Captain Ackles.” He held out his hand to Chris who viewed it with a sneer. “Milo Padalecki.”
“Chris Kane,” Chris growled, taking the proffered hand. Jensen rolled his eyes when it appeared that Chris was trying to break Milo’s hand.
“Well, that was pleasant,” Jensen slapped Chris on the back. “Why don’t you gently finish here, Chris, while our guest gets freshened up.”
Milo made his way to the scaffolded stairs that led to the upper deck where the passenger accommodations were housed. His eyes continuously flicked back to the crate that Chris was making a show of being careful with.
Meals were one of the few times the ship’s entire compliment was together, and at dinner that night, Jensen took the opportunity to introduce Milo to the rest of Persephone’s crew. “Everyone, this is Milo Padalecki. He’ll be with us until we reach Ariel. Milo, this is my crew.” He gestured at the gathered people, naming them as he went. A shapely blonde: “Annie Palicki, my second in command.” The broad man he’d yelled at earlier in the cargo bay: “Chris Kane, who you’ve you already had the pleasure of meeting.” A man with blonde hair that fell to his shoulders in lazy curls: “his better half and our pilot, Steve Carlson.” A dark haired man with piercing blue eyes: “our resident shepherd, Misha, who has the fool notion he can guide us band of sinners to righteousness.” A demure dark haired woman wearing a long velvet robe, fringed at the cuffs: “Sophia, here, is a bona fide Companion. People tend to be more accepting of us knowing she’s on board.” And, finally, he motioned to the petite blonde with the bubbly smile: “and I assume you remember Alona. Currently have an opening for a doc if you know anybody who’d be interested.”
“And don’t expect a regular paycheck,” Chris groused.
Jensen ignored him, continuing his welcome, “We’re a friendly crew and she’s a good ship. Treat us and her right and you’ll receive the same in kind. You’re welcome in any of the areas below deck, but the bridge, engine room and cargo bay are off-limits. Those areas can be perilous and it wouldn’t do for you to get hurt.”
“But I have things in the cargo bay that I’ll need during the voyage,” Milo protested, his face paling.
“After supper, we’ll go down to the cargo bay and get the things you’ll need,” Jensen nodded judiciously, taking the bowl Annie passed him and scooping a helping on his plate.
Milo nodded his head in reluctant agreement then turned to the crew. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
Jensen watched as Milo greeted everyone, the young man’s eyes shrewdly cataloguing each person before moving on to the next and Jensen was once again reminded of his Browncoat days. Kid was too young to know the horror of that war. Jensen himself was barely of age and had lied to make up the difference, but Milo had a look about him that plainly said he’d seen more than most. Milo was cagey and that made Jensen uneasy. In his experience, cagey people were usually running, either from something bad or something worse and those were two things Jensen didn’t need right now. Behind the false panel on the starboard side of the cargo hold were two crates of guns they’d liberated from the Alliance outpost on Tarsus, safe and snug and awaiting delivery to Quinto. It was more than Jensen was worth to be in debt to that ruthless bastard, so being boarded and searched by the Alliance looking for a fugitive was not high up on Jensen’s list of favorite things. From the corner of his eye, Jensen could see Annie considering their newest passenger as well and he knew she was of a similar mind. They’d watch him and the first sign of trouble, they’d leave him on the closest planet.
“She’s a beautiful ship, Sarge,” Milo looked around at the eclectic interior of the ship, “Had her long?”
Jensen’s body tensed and he saw Annie shoot him a surprised look. “Guess I need some more R&R if I look old enough to have fought in the war, let alone been a sergeant,” Jensen chuckled casually, leaning back in his chair and resting his left arm on the table. “What makes you think I served?” It wasn’t like the kid was wrong. Hell, if anything, he was a little too spot-on for comfort.
Milo blanched and his placid expression fell for a moment before he snapped it back into place. He shrugged, twisting his lips into a charming grin that looked as painful for him to make as it was for Jensen to witness. “Just a guess.”
“You missed your calling. With those kinda instincts you’d be real good at the street fairs on Dalin as one of them weight or age guessers,” Alona smiled, chin nestled in the palm of her hand and dreamy look on her face.
“Or as an Alliance profiler,” Annie added, giving Jensen a pointed look.
Chris sat up in his chair and Alona lifted her head, eyes dancing around the table. She laughed nervously at the sudden tension in the air, “He’s not one of them.” She turned an uncertain gaze to the young man next to her, smile faltering. “You’re not, are you?”
Milo leaned back mirroring Jensen’s posture at the end of the table, an easy smile that seemed so out of place ghosting over his lips. His muscles had tightened at the mention of the Alliance, the change so slight that Jensen was sure that no one other than him and Annie had noticed. “Not a barker or a bastard. Just a tailor.”
“I’ve been anxious to see the new fashions on Ariel,” Sophia said softly, the atmosphere changing deftly with the topic, her skills as a Companion settling the uneasiness. “I heard the styles this year are some of the best in nearly a decade. Are you visiting there to get new ideas?”
“Actually, no,” Milo’s voice was less edgy, but his body didn’t relax, “I’m going to Ariel to meet my fiancé. His parents don’t approve of us being together so we have decided to run away and start a new life on another world.”
“Oh,” Alona mumbled, her face crestfallen, “that’s - that’s wonderful.”
“Yes, it is, and romantic,” Misha added. He’d been quiet so far, taking in the stranger in that calm manner that came so naturally to him.
“Must be one sweet piece of ass for you to give up everything for him,” Chris whistled, shaking his head. “Bet he’s a little wildcat in bed. Is he kinky?” He leaned forward stage whispering the last question. Steve’s elbow caught him hard in the ribs and he grunted.
The change wasn’t subtle this time, Milo’s face hardened immediately, all pretense dropped and Jensen prepared for a fight. “Don’t speak about my br-bethrothed that way or I’ll cut out your tongue!” Barely controlled rage reverberated in his voice with each measured word.
“Chris,” Jensen looked stonily at the renegade, his peripheral focused on the angry newcomer, fingers of his right hand rubbing slowly against his thigh, “your mouth is moving, see to that.”
“Hey, now,” Chris put his hands up, “I didn’t mean no disrespect. There’s no call for him to be so riled up. Just never heard of anyone willing to walk away from their life for nothing. Figured this fiancé of his must do some pretty interesting shit.” Then as if unable to help himself, Chris’s face took on an excited look, “He does, doesn’t he?”
“Hun dan!” (Bastard!) Milo moved faster than Jensen thought humanly possible, jumping across the food-laden table to lunge at Chris, and it was only because of the sheer girth of the table that Misha was able to grab him before he landed a punch.
Jensen stood shocked. He’d barely gotten to his feet and Milo was all the way across the table. He moved over to insinuate himself between a fairly agitated Chris and Misha, who was struggling to restrain a furious Milo, his outstretched arms maintaining six feet of neutral space between the feuding factions. He stared pointedly at Chris, his gaze warning him to, for once, keep his shă zì (idiot)mouth shut. “Walk away from the table, Chris,” Jensen kept his voice even and calm but the order was unmistakable.
Chris balked, “What? Cap’n!”
“Walk away from the table or I will walk you away from it,” Jensen growled through gritted teeth.
“Chris, come on,” Steve urged, tugging on his lover’s arm when it appeared Chris wanted to continue defending his words, “I think you talked yourself into enough trouble for one sitting.”
Jensen watched Steve escort his husband from the room, not dropping his extended arms until the couple was out of sight. Turning to their new passenger, he fixed the most apologetic expression he could muster on his face. “You’ll have to forgive him. Chris’s mouth is partial to running off without consulting his brain. Great to have around when there’s heavy lifting needing to be done, not so much with the social graces. I assure you he’ll mind his manners for the rest of your trip.” Or I’ll sew is goram (goddamn) lips shut, Jensen added in his mind.
“Yeah,” Milo replied disbelievingly, eyes trained in the direction Steve and Chris had gone, “you see that he does.”
“How about we all sit down and try to enjoy the rest of this wonderful meal that Alona made for us,” Misha patted Milo on the chest. “At least what was spared from Milo’s clothes,” he frowned at the stained splotches on the young man’s shirt and the upturned dishes on the table.
“Good idea, preacher,” Jensen smiled, warily watching as everyone resettled into their seats to salvage the remainder of the meal. His right hand rested again on his thigh, his thumb carefully resituating the leather thong on his gun holster around the hammer.
Milo slid the door to his room open and slipped into the hallway. He’d always hated space travel, the cold and the silence too reminiscent of a grave to be any comfort to him. He padded quietly on bare feet down the corridors and across the catwalks over the cargo hold, wincing as the grids dug into the soles of his feet. At the bottom of the stairs, he squinted to peer through the darkened space for his crate, sighing when he found it set off to the left side. With a few efficient strokes he checked the read-outs and dials, holding his breath that that clumsy oaf hadn’t done damage. Pressing his thumb to the scanner, the red light on the display turned green and the lid released with a vacuous hiss, a cold fog creeping and slithering over the sides of the container and chilling his skin. A pale blue light emanated from inside and cast a deathly pallor over his face as he lifted the lid to see into the depths.
“Hold it right there.”
Milo froze as the entire bay was flooded in light, trying to blink away the temporary blindness and assess his situation. Chris and Steve were on the scaffolding overhead, positioned at opposing corners, armed with weapons trained at him and steely resolve. He could just make out Misha near the entrance of what Milo believed was Sophia’s privately rented shuttlecraft, the holy man blocking Alona and Sophia from any direct line of fire. Annie was on the loading bay floor near the control console, her gun held deceptively casual at hip level. The captain stood on the stair landing, elbows leaning against the railing and gun aimed at Milo’s chest. Milo slowly stood, his eyes darting to the inside of the crate then to each of his captors. He was outmanned and outgunned.
Jensen read each emotion that flitted across Milo’s face: fear, protectiveness, anger, calculation and finally reluctant resignation. “How’s about you open up the lid nice and easy and let’s have a looksee what’s got you so twitchy you came down here in the dead of night to check?”
For a moment Jensen thought Milo was going to refuse and he sured his grip, but, after a slight hesitation, Milo lifted the lid to reveal an unconscious naked man lying in the fetal position.
“Is that,” Annie lifted to her toes for a better look, “Is there a person in there?”
Jensen’s anger flared and he quickly descended the stairs to come up beside his passenger. “Is he a slave? I don’t care how much money you have, Mr. Padalecki, we don’t abide by trafficking human slaves on this ship.”
“He’s not a slave,” Milo defended angrily, “He’s my…”
A low moan stopped their conversation, Milo’s full attention on the man in the container. He leaned over the side and brushed a hand across the man’s head, getting a whimper in response.
“Fen? Fen, can you hear me? It’s okay. I’m here,” Milo soothed.
Fen? Jensen’s eyes fell to the phoenix tattoo on Milo’s right shoulder and quirked an eyebrow.
A low groan and the man began to uncurl himself, stretching his cramped limbs. Jensen’s eyes widened at the length being revealed. The man had to be tall, taller than Jensen. “Chris, get down here. Let’s get this guy out of this thing.”
Milo growled over his shoulder. “I’ve got him. I don’t need your help.” Turning his attention back to the man, he cooed, “Okay, let’s get you out. Can you try to stand?”
Muddy hazel eyes gazed out from behind a curtain of bangs and locked on Milo. Nodding, the guy pushed up from the bottom and stood, legs unsteady and threatening to buckle, like the colts Jensen had seen as a child on his momma’s farm. Milo easily reached over the side and picked the guy up bridal style and set him on the hangar floor, shielding him from curious eyes with his body. The man whimpered at the feel of the cold metal against his skin and shivered violently.
Annie walked up with a blanket and handed it to Milo, exchanging a disbelieving look with Jensen. Once the man was bundled and the deep quaking had subsided to slight tremors, Jensen cleared his throat. “You wanna finish explaining why you were transporting a slave on my ship without telling me?”
“Quit calling him that! He’s not a slave,” Milo snarled, shifting the man to lean against the crate. He stood and met Jensen’s gaze head on, “This is my husband, Jared.”
Chris whistled from his perch as he got his first good look at the man. Looking at Steve, he smirked, “You looked like that I’d keep you in a box, too.”
Jensen clenched his jaw, glad to hear the grunt of Chris getting another elbow to the ribs. “Yeah,” Jensen said disbelievingly to Milo, “Forgive me, but I don’t right believe you. I’ve seen some bad unions in my time, disgruntled husbands and wives, but I ain’t never seen anyone travel with their loved one in a container.” Jensen kneeled down next to the pale, trembling man. “Jared?” Those cloudy slanted eyes slowly looked his way. “Is that your name?”
There was a long pause where the guy just blinked at Jensen before his head moved in a small nod. “J-Jar-ed,” he mumbled.
“Good.” Jensen looked the man over, suppressing the odd desire to gather him in his arms. “Jared?” The man raised an eyebrow. “Do you know who this is?” Jensen pointed toward Milo.
Eyes following Jensen’s arm, Jared rolled his head to see Milo kneeling beside him on the other side. He smiled and sighed, “My Milo.”
“Satisfied?” Milo spat.
“For now,” Jensen answered, still considering the semi-lucid man on the floor. “We’ll talk about this more later. Get him to the med bay. He’s not looking so hot.” As the words passed his lips, Jared retched and vomited on the floor at Jensen’s feet, splashing bile on his shoes.
“Aye, aye Captain,” Milo smirked, scooping Jared up and carrying him toward the infirmary.
Jensen frowned at his soiled shoes, shaking them from side to side and slinging droplets of vomitus on the floor. Annie came up beside him, carefully side-stepping the mess. Looking up at the retreating back of their enigmatic passenger and his cryogenic spouse, Jensen’s frown deepened.
“Contact Mr. Universe and see what he can tell us about the newlyweds.”
“Jensen Ackles. Welcome aboard,” Jensen shook Milo’s hand, wondering if he was going to have any trouble. Alona was like a sister to him and he wouldn’t put up with anyone hurting her. The guy was a few years younger than Jensen. Tall and reasonably good looking, but guarded. His eyes held a wariness that Jensen had seen during the war. His clothes spoke of Core wealth, but his hands belied any notions this man led an aristocratic life. The younger man opened his mouth to respond when a heavy crash sounded from the end of the bay where the cargo was being stacked by a broad, long-haired man.
“Hún dàn!” (Bastard!) Jensen’s attention snapped back to Milo as the curse fell sharp and hard. Milo hurried to the fallen crate and inspected the side, “Try to be careful you ox.”
Chris, former mercenary and loose cannon, regarded the man with surprise that quickly morphed into anger. “Accident, man. The hover lift shorted. It ain’t a big deal.”
Jensen hurriedly approached. So far Chris had said three times as much as would normally upset folk and he needed to diffuse the situation before his luck ran out. “Machines can be squirrely sometimes,” he smiled charmingly, “you wanna check it and make sure nuthin’ shifted?”
Milo continued to smooth his hand over the crate, checking each joint for separation and each side for cracks. At Jensen’s question, he snapped his head up. “No! I mean, no. I’m sure everything’s in order. I apologize for overreacting, Captain Ackles.” He held out his hand to Chris who viewed it with a sneer. “Milo Padalecki.”
“Chris Kane,” Chris growled, taking the proffered hand. Jensen rolled his eyes when it appeared that Chris was trying to break Milo’s hand.
“Well, that was pleasant,” Jensen slapped Chris on the back. “Why don’t you gently finish here, Chris, while our guest gets freshened up.”
Milo made his way to the scaffolded stairs that led to the upper deck where the passenger accommodations were housed. His eyes continuously flicked back to the crate that Chris was making a show of being careful with.
Meals were one of the few times the ship’s entire compliment was together, and at dinner that night, Jensen took the opportunity to introduce Milo to the rest of Persephone’s crew. “Everyone, this is Milo Padalecki. He’ll be with us until we reach Ariel. Milo, this is my crew.” He gestured at the gathered people, naming them as he went. A shapely blonde: “Annie Palicki, my second in command.” The broad man he’d yelled at earlier in the cargo bay: “Chris Kane, who you’ve you already had the pleasure of meeting.” A man with blonde hair that fell to his shoulders in lazy curls: “his better half and our pilot, Steve Carlson.” A dark haired man with piercing blue eyes: “our resident shepherd, Misha, who has the fool notion he can guide us band of sinners to righteousness.” A demure dark haired woman wearing a long velvet robe, fringed at the cuffs: “Sophia, here, is a bona fide Companion. People tend to be more accepting of us knowing she’s on board.” And, finally, he motioned to the petite blonde with the bubbly smile: “and I assume you remember Alona. Currently have an opening for a doc if you know anybody who’d be interested.”
“And don’t expect a regular paycheck,” Chris groused.
Jensen ignored him, continuing his welcome, “We’re a friendly crew and she’s a good ship. Treat us and her right and you’ll receive the same in kind. You’re welcome in any of the areas below deck, but the bridge, engine room and cargo bay are off-limits. Those areas can be perilous and it wouldn’t do for you to get hurt.”
“But I have things in the cargo bay that I’ll need during the voyage,” Milo protested, his face paling.
“After supper, we’ll go down to the cargo bay and get the things you’ll need,” Jensen nodded judiciously, taking the bowl Annie passed him and scooping a helping on his plate.
Milo nodded his head in reluctant agreement then turned to the crew. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
Jensen watched as Milo greeted everyone, the young man’s eyes shrewdly cataloguing each person before moving on to the next and Jensen was once again reminded of his Browncoat days. Kid was too young to know the horror of that war. Jensen himself was barely of age and had lied to make up the difference, but Milo had a look about him that plainly said he’d seen more than most. Milo was cagey and that made Jensen uneasy. In his experience, cagey people were usually running, either from something bad or something worse and those were two things Jensen didn’t need right now. Behind the false panel on the starboard side of the cargo hold were two crates of guns they’d liberated from the Alliance outpost on Tarsus, safe and snug and awaiting delivery to Quinto. It was more than Jensen was worth to be in debt to that ruthless bastard, so being boarded and searched by the Alliance looking for a fugitive was not high up on Jensen’s list of favorite things. From the corner of his eye, Jensen could see Annie considering their newest passenger as well and he knew she was of a similar mind. They’d watch him and the first sign of trouble, they’d leave him on the closest planet.
“She’s a beautiful ship, Sarge,” Milo looked around at the eclectic interior of the ship, “Had her long?”
Jensen’s body tensed and he saw Annie shoot him a surprised look. “Guess I need some more R&R if I look old enough to have fought in the war, let alone been a sergeant,” Jensen chuckled casually, leaning back in his chair and resting his left arm on the table. “What makes you think I served?” It wasn’t like the kid was wrong. Hell, if anything, he was a little too spot-on for comfort.
Milo blanched and his placid expression fell for a moment before he snapped it back into place. He shrugged, twisting his lips into a charming grin that looked as painful for him to make as it was for Jensen to witness. “Just a guess.”
“You missed your calling. With those kinda instincts you’d be real good at the street fairs on Dalin as one of them weight or age guessers,” Alona smiled, chin nestled in the palm of her hand and dreamy look on her face.
“Or as an Alliance profiler,” Annie added, giving Jensen a pointed look.
Chris sat up in his chair and Alona lifted her head, eyes dancing around the table. She laughed nervously at the sudden tension in the air, “He’s not one of them.” She turned an uncertain gaze to the young man next to her, smile faltering. “You’re not, are you?”
Milo leaned back mirroring Jensen’s posture at the end of the table, an easy smile that seemed so out of place ghosting over his lips. His muscles had tightened at the mention of the Alliance, the change so slight that Jensen was sure that no one other than him and Annie had noticed. “Not a barker or a bastard. Just a tailor.”
“I’ve been anxious to see the new fashions on Ariel,” Sophia said softly, the atmosphere changing deftly with the topic, her skills as a Companion settling the uneasiness. “I heard the styles this year are some of the best in nearly a decade. Are you visiting there to get new ideas?”
“Actually, no,” Milo’s voice was less edgy, but his body didn’t relax, “I’m going to Ariel to meet my fiancé. His parents don’t approve of us being together so we have decided to run away and start a new life on another world.”
“Oh,” Alona mumbled, her face crestfallen, “that’s - that’s wonderful.”
“Yes, it is, and romantic,” Misha added. He’d been quiet so far, taking in the stranger in that calm manner that came so naturally to him.
“Must be one sweet piece of ass for you to give up everything for him,” Chris whistled, shaking his head. “Bet he’s a little wildcat in bed. Is he kinky?” He leaned forward stage whispering the last question. Steve’s elbow caught him hard in the ribs and he grunted.
The change wasn’t subtle this time, Milo’s face hardened immediately, all pretense dropped and Jensen prepared for a fight. “Don’t speak about my br-bethrothed that way or I’ll cut out your tongue!” Barely controlled rage reverberated in his voice with each measured word.
“Chris,” Jensen looked stonily at the renegade, his peripheral focused on the angry newcomer, fingers of his right hand rubbing slowly against his thigh, “your mouth is moving, see to that.”
“Hey, now,” Chris put his hands up, “I didn’t mean no disrespect. There’s no call for him to be so riled up. Just never heard of anyone willing to walk away from their life for nothing. Figured this fiancé of his must do some pretty interesting shit.” Then as if unable to help himself, Chris’s face took on an excited look, “He does, doesn’t he?”
“Hun dan!” (Bastard!) Milo moved faster than Jensen thought humanly possible, jumping across the food-laden table to lunge at Chris, and it was only because of the sheer girth of the table that Misha was able to grab him before he landed a punch.
Jensen stood shocked. He’d barely gotten to his feet and Milo was all the way across the table. He moved over to insinuate himself between a fairly agitated Chris and Misha, who was struggling to restrain a furious Milo, his outstretched arms maintaining six feet of neutral space between the feuding factions. He stared pointedly at Chris, his gaze warning him to, for once, keep his shă zì (idiot)mouth shut. “Walk away from the table, Chris,” Jensen kept his voice even and calm but the order was unmistakable.
Chris balked, “What? Cap’n!”
“Walk away from the table or I will walk you away from it,” Jensen growled through gritted teeth.
“Chris, come on,” Steve urged, tugging on his lover’s arm when it appeared Chris wanted to continue defending his words, “I think you talked yourself into enough trouble for one sitting.”
Jensen watched Steve escort his husband from the room, not dropping his extended arms until the couple was out of sight. Turning to their new passenger, he fixed the most apologetic expression he could muster on his face. “You’ll have to forgive him. Chris’s mouth is partial to running off without consulting his brain. Great to have around when there’s heavy lifting needing to be done, not so much with the social graces. I assure you he’ll mind his manners for the rest of your trip.” Or I’ll sew is goram (goddamn) lips shut, Jensen added in his mind.
“Yeah,” Milo replied disbelievingly, eyes trained in the direction Steve and Chris had gone, “you see that he does.”
“How about we all sit down and try to enjoy the rest of this wonderful meal that Alona made for us,” Misha patted Milo on the chest. “At least what was spared from Milo’s clothes,” he frowned at the stained splotches on the young man’s shirt and the upturned dishes on the table.
“Good idea, preacher,” Jensen smiled, warily watching as everyone resettled into their seats to salvage the remainder of the meal. His right hand rested again on his thigh, his thumb carefully resituating the leather thong on his gun holster around the hammer.
Milo slid the door to his room open and slipped into the hallway. He’d always hated space travel, the cold and the silence too reminiscent of a grave to be any comfort to him. He padded quietly on bare feet down the corridors and across the catwalks over the cargo hold, wincing as the grids dug into the soles of his feet. At the bottom of the stairs, he squinted to peer through the darkened space for his crate, sighing when he found it set off to the left side. With a few efficient strokes he checked the read-outs and dials, holding his breath that that clumsy oaf hadn’t done damage. Pressing his thumb to the scanner, the red light on the display turned green and the lid released with a vacuous hiss, a cold fog creeping and slithering over the sides of the container and chilling his skin. A pale blue light emanated from inside and cast a deathly pallor over his face as he lifted the lid to see into the depths.
“Hold it right there.”
Milo froze as the entire bay was flooded in light, trying to blink away the temporary blindness and assess his situation. Chris and Steve were on the scaffolding overhead, positioned at opposing corners, armed with weapons trained at him and steely resolve. He could just make out Misha near the entrance of what Milo believed was Sophia’s privately rented shuttlecraft, the holy man blocking Alona and Sophia from any direct line of fire. Annie was on the loading bay floor near the control console, her gun held deceptively casual at hip level. The captain stood on the stair landing, elbows leaning against the railing and gun aimed at Milo’s chest. Milo slowly stood, his eyes darting to the inside of the crate then to each of his captors. He was outmanned and outgunned.
Jensen read each emotion that flitted across Milo’s face: fear, protectiveness, anger, calculation and finally reluctant resignation. “How’s about you open up the lid nice and easy and let’s have a looksee what’s got you so twitchy you came down here in the dead of night to check?”
For a moment Jensen thought Milo was going to refuse and he sured his grip, but, after a slight hesitation, Milo lifted the lid to reveal an unconscious naked man lying in the fetal position.
“Is that,” Annie lifted to her toes for a better look, “Is there a person in there?”
Jensen’s anger flared and he quickly descended the stairs to come up beside his passenger. “Is he a slave? I don’t care how much money you have, Mr. Padalecki, we don’t abide by trafficking human slaves on this ship.”
“He’s not a slave,” Milo defended angrily, “He’s my…”
A low moan stopped their conversation, Milo’s full attention on the man in the container. He leaned over the side and brushed a hand across the man’s head, getting a whimper in response.
“Fen? Fen, can you hear me? It’s okay. I’m here,” Milo soothed.
Fen? Jensen’s eyes fell to the phoenix tattoo on Milo’s right shoulder and quirked an eyebrow.
A low groan and the man began to uncurl himself, stretching his cramped limbs. Jensen’s eyes widened at the length being revealed. The man had to be tall, taller than Jensen. “Chris, get down here. Let’s get this guy out of this thing.”
Milo growled over his shoulder. “I’ve got him. I don’t need your help.” Turning his attention back to the man, he cooed, “Okay, let’s get you out. Can you try to stand?”
Muddy hazel eyes gazed out from behind a curtain of bangs and locked on Milo. Nodding, the guy pushed up from the bottom and stood, legs unsteady and threatening to buckle, like the colts Jensen had seen as a child on his momma’s farm. Milo easily reached over the side and picked the guy up bridal style and set him on the hangar floor, shielding him from curious eyes with his body. The man whimpered at the feel of the cold metal against his skin and shivered violently.
Annie walked up with a blanket and handed it to Milo, exchanging a disbelieving look with Jensen. Once the man was bundled and the deep quaking had subsided to slight tremors, Jensen cleared his throat. “You wanna finish explaining why you were transporting a slave on my ship without telling me?”
“Quit calling him that! He’s not a slave,” Milo snarled, shifting the man to lean against the crate. He stood and met Jensen’s gaze head on, “This is my husband, Jared.”
Chris whistled from his perch as he got his first good look at the man. Looking at Steve, he smirked, “You looked like that I’d keep you in a box, too.”
Jensen clenched his jaw, glad to hear the grunt of Chris getting another elbow to the ribs. “Yeah,” Jensen said disbelievingly to Milo, “Forgive me, but I don’t right believe you. I’ve seen some bad unions in my time, disgruntled husbands and wives, but I ain’t never seen anyone travel with their loved one in a container.” Jensen kneeled down next to the pale, trembling man. “Jared?” Those cloudy slanted eyes slowly looked his way. “Is that your name?”
There was a long pause where the guy just blinked at Jensen before his head moved in a small nod. “J-Jar-ed,” he mumbled.
“Good.” Jensen looked the man over, suppressing the odd desire to gather him in his arms. “Jared?” The man raised an eyebrow. “Do you know who this is?” Jensen pointed toward Milo.
Eyes following Jensen’s arm, Jared rolled his head to see Milo kneeling beside him on the other side. He smiled and sighed, “My Milo.”
“Satisfied?” Milo spat.
“For now,” Jensen answered, still considering the semi-lucid man on the floor. “We’ll talk about this more later. Get him to the med bay. He’s not looking so hot.” As the words passed his lips, Jared retched and vomited on the floor at Jensen’s feet, splashing bile on his shoes.
“Aye, aye Captain,” Milo smirked, scooping Jared up and carrying him toward the infirmary.
Jensen frowned at his soiled shoes, shaking them from side to side and slinging droplets of vomitus on the floor. Annie came up beside him, carefully side-stepping the mess. Looking up at the retreating back of their enigmatic passenger and his cryogenic spouse, Jensen’s frown deepened.
“Contact Mr. Universe and see what he can tell us about the newlyweds.”