Arthur surfaced from sleep gradually, awareness returning in pieces. Warm bodies pressed against him. Soft breathing. The faint scent of sweat and intimacy still lingering in the air. He opened his eyes to find Soda curled against his right side, green hair splayed across his chest, one leg thrown over his. On his left, Makima lay with that ever-present slight smile, even in sleep, her red hair catching the dim morning light filtering through the bedroom's privacy screens.
The previous evening played through his mind in fragments. Soda arriving to clean his penthouse quarters, her maid outfit doing nothing to hide her curves as she bent and stretched and reached. The way she'd looked over her shoulder when she caught him staring, that shy blush spreading across her cheeks. How he'd finally abandoned all pretense of working and pinned her against the wall, kissing her until she melted against him.
They'd barely made it to the bedroom. And then Makima had arrived—the Devil Hunter entering without announcement, taking in the scene with that unreadable smile before simply joining them. The night that followed had been intense, passionate, leaving all three of them thoroughly exhausted.
Arthur carefully extracted himself from between them, his prosthetic limbs making the movement easier than it would be for someone with flesh and bone. Soda mumbled something incomprehensible and rolled into the warm space he'd vacated. Makima's eyes opened briefly, tracking his movement, before closing again.
He pulled on pants and a shirt, leaving his tactical coat behind. The morning demanded comfort, not combat readiness. As he moved toward the bedroom door, voices drifted from the living area—high-pitched, young, familiar.
"No, Cocoa, you need to make the lines smoother. Like this, see?"
"But I think my way looks good too!"
"Jackal, stop eating the crayons. I mean it. Those aren't food."
"They taste like food."
"They're *wax*. Spit that out right now."
Arthur emerged into the living area to find Anne sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by art supplies. Cocoa—the small pink-haired Nikke from the Maid Café—sat beside her, clutching a drawing pad. Jackal lounged nearby, red crayon protruding from her mouth like a cigarette, defiance written across her features.
Anne looked up as Arthur approached. "Papa! Tell Jackal she can't eat crayons."
"Jackal." Arthur's voice carried gentle reproach. "We talked about this. Not everything goes in your mouth."
Jackal immediately spat the crayon into her hand, expression shifting to eager attention. "But I was good! I waited! I've been waiting for three whole days like you said and I didn't break anything and I didn't bite anyone and I sat really still when Anne was teaching us to draw even though sitting still is really hard and—"
Arthur knelt beside her and placed his hand on her head, stroking once. Jackal's rapid-fire explanation cut off mid-sentence, replaced by a satisfied hum as she leaned into the contact.
"Good girl," Arthur said. "I'm proud of you."
He moved to Anne next, kissing the top of her head. "Good morning, sweetheart. Teaching art class?"
Anne beamed up at him. "Jackal wanted to learn to draw, and Cocoa said she wanted to get better, so I thought we could all practice together. Is that okay?"
"More than okay." Arthur smiled at Cocoa, who returned it shyly. "How's the lesson going?"
"Anne is a very good teacher," Cocoa said softly. "Even if her standards are very high."
"Standards are important," Anne declared. "If you're going to do something, do it right."
Arthur felt something warm settle in his chest—pride, affection, the quiet joy of watching his found family expand. Anne teaching others. Jackal learning patience. Cocoa finding a place among them. It was everything he'd fought to build with the Outpost, distilled into this small domestic scene.
"I'm making breakfast," Arthur announced. "Pancakes sound good?"
"Yes!" all three chorused.
Arthur moved to the kitchen. Fresh ingredients were expensive and hard to source, but he'd made connections. Called in favors. The ability to cook real food for his people mattered more than most realized.
He was mixing batter when footsteps approached from the bedroom. Makima emerged first, fully dressed in her usual attire—white shirt, black tie, dark pants. She'd somehow managed to look completely composed despite the previous night's activities. Her golden eyes found Arthur's, and that subtle smile deepened fractionally.
"Good morning, Commander," she said, voice carrying its usual controlled warmth. "Thank you for last night. It was quite... educational."
Before Arthur could respond, more footsteps announced Soda's arrival. She appeared in the kitchen doorway wearing nothing but Arthur's discarded shirt from the previous evening and a pair of panties, the shirt's hem barely reaching mid-thigh. Her long legs were bare, feet padding softly on the floor. Her green hair was tousled, face still flushed with that post-intimacy glow, and when she saw Arthur looking, that shy smile spread across her features along with a deep blush.
Arthur's hands stilled on the mixing bowl. The sight of her—radiant, vulnerable, comfortable enough to walk around his quarters half-dressed—made him want to abandon breakfast entirely and drag her back to the bedroom.
Soda noticed his stare and the blush deepened, but she held his gaze. "Good morning," she murmured.
"Morning," Arthur managed, voice rougher than intended.
Then Soda's eyes tracked past him to the living area, and her expression shifted to surprise. "Cocoa?"
Cocoa looked up from her drawing pad, saw Soda, and froze. "Soda! What are you—why are you—" Her gaze dropped to Soda's bare legs, traveled up to Arthur's oversized shirt, and comprehension dawned. "Oh. *Oh*."
"I didn't know you'd be here," Soda said quickly. "I mean, not that it's bad that you're here! Just surprising!"
Cocoa's face had gone bright red. "I came over to visit Anne for a drawing lesson. I didn't mean to interrupt anything!"
"You're not interrupting," Arthur said, forcing his attention back to the pancake batter. "You're welcome here anytime. Both of you."
Anne, oblivious to the awkwardness, waved from the floor. "Soda! Are you staying for breakfast? We're having pancakes!"
"I—yes, I suppose I am," Soda said.
Makima claimed a seat at the small dining table, watching the scene unfold with evident amusement. "How domestic. The Commander truly has built quite the family here."
Arthur poured batter onto the heated griddle, letting the familiar rhythm of cooking settle his thoughts. Jackal appeared at his elbow, watching the pancakes bubble and brown with intense focus.
"Can I flip them?" she asked.
"Can you flip them without eating them raw or destroying my kitchen?"
Jackal considered this seriously. "Probably?"
"Then yes. Carefully."
She wielded the spatula with surprising delicacy, flipping each pancake with complete concentration. When she successfully transferred a golden-brown pancake to the waiting plate, she looked at Arthur with such pride that he couldn't help patting her head again.
"Good job," he said.
Soda moved to help, reaching for plates in the overhead cabinet. The motion made Arthur's shirt ride up higher on her thighs, and Arthur had to physically turn away to maintain focus. Makima's quiet laugh suggested she'd noticed his struggle.
They assembled around the dining table—Arthur, Makima, Soda, Anne, Cocoa, and Jackal. The table wasn't really designed for six, requiring chairs to be crowded together, but nobody seemed to mind. Arthur served pancakes while Soda distributed syrup and butter. Anne chattered about her drawing lessons. Jackal ate with dedicated intensity. Cocoa slowly relaxed despite the initial awkwardness.
It felt right. Complete. Like this was what the Outpost was supposed to be—not just a military installation or political experiment, but a home where people could simply exist together.
Arthur's comm device chimed mid-breakfast. He considered ignoring it, but the priority tag made him check. A message from an unfamiliar sender: Cervan Cornell.
He scanned the contents quickly. Rich civilian. Surface retrieval request. Military medal from some pre-war officer's remains for bragging rights to his wealthy friends. Arthur's first instinct was to delete it—he didn't run a personal shopping service for spoiled Ark citizens.
Then he saw the offered compensation: one million credits, plus a full year's supply of Nikke replacement parts delivered to the Outpost's medical facility.
Arthur paused, pancakes forgotten. Mary and Pepper were constantly scrambling for medical supplies. Manufacturers deliberately limited access to parts, forcing Nikkes to remain dependent on corporate support. A year's supply would give the Outpost genuine independence, let them repair and maintain Nikkes without begging Missilis or Elysion or others for permission.
One million credits would fund expansion projects, upgrade defenses, improve living conditions for everyone under his command.
All for retrieving a dead man's medal from the frozen wastes.
"Something wrong?" Makima asked, reading his expression.
Arthur set down his comm. "Job offer. Surface retrieval. The compensation is... significant."
"How significant?" Soda asked.
"Life-changing for the Outpost's medical operations."
Anne looked worried. "Is it dangerous?"
"The surface is always dangerous," Arthur said honestly. "But this is just retrieval. No combat objectives. No Tyrant-class threats. Just find something and bring it back."
Jackal perked up. "Can I come? I'm really good at finding things! And I've been waiting patiently like you taught me!"
"We'll see," Arthur said, which made Jackal bounce excitedly in her chair.
He looked around the table—at Anne's concerned face, at Soda's shy smile, at Makima's knowing expression, at Cocoa's quiet presence, at Jackal's barely contained energy. His family. His responsibility.
The supplies would help so many Nikkes. But accepting meant dealing with exactly the kind of entitled civilian he typically avoided. Meant another surface mission. Meant risk.
He set the comm down and picked up his fork. "First, we finish breakfast," Arthur said. "Then we figure out what comes next."
Anne smiled and went back to her pancakes. Soda's hand found Arthur's under the table, squeezing gently. Makima raised her coffee cup in a small salute. Cocoa relaxed further. Jackal continued eating with single-minded focus.
For this moment, at least, everything was exactly as it should be.