The mercenary didn’t trust her.

Under other circumstances she would have found it hilarious that a man who takes money to kill didn’t trust her.

But under these she couldn’t really blame him.

She didn’t trust herself either.

That’s why she’d given him the guns, and the knives to hold.

It made him feel better.

But he still didn’t trust her.

And that hurt her, for no reason that she could find.

It hurt her.

The former companion hovered around her.

They had never said she was one, but she knew.

Her aunt, her mother’s favorite sister had been one.

She recognized her for what she was.

For all that she wore a wedding band and slept with the Captain, she was a companion.

Training went too deep to just stop; she’d be a companion ‘til the day she died.

Even if she never took another client.

She knew why she hovered.

Companion’s were trained to help their clients handle grief.

She supposed that she was the best person to help.

With the emptiness.

The nightmares.

And maybe with the guilt.

She reminded her too much of her aunt.

She was dead too.

And just now it hurt to be around her.

She much preferred the company of the pilot.

Though she was on occasion extremely strange.

Or the mechanic, who had annoyed her at first with her incessant cheer.

Until she realized that she was always happy and wasn’t putting on an act for her.

But the person she preferred to spend the most time with was the first mate.

She knew what it was like to lose your world and have to build another.

She never said anything about it.

Never tried to get her to talk.

But she knew, she understood and she was willing to be there.

She knew the woman had lost her husband.

Kinda obvious that.

She wore a wedding band.

But every man on ship (except the mercenary) was taken.

And the first mate would allow the human race to die out before bedding that...man.

But mostly she had her plants.

And the babies.

Beautiful little girls.

Creamy coff