Chapter Text
The oldest of the pups was a 12-year-old girl named Takomi, who Amos affectionately referred to as Taco. Takomi was withdrawn and silent as a wraith, and she followed Amos around like a tall, thin shadow. It was clear he had a soft spot for her, letting her tag along and occasionally help with small projects in the machine shop, which was strictly off-limits to the other pups. Prax knew Alex would kill Amos if he ever found out, despite him being meticulous with safety equipment and only allowing Takomi into the shop once his more dangerous projects had been safely stowed away. But every time Takomi emerged from the machine shop with grease-smudged clothes and a timid smile on her face, beaming up at Amos when he ruffled her hair, Prax felt justified in keeping the secret.
It had been Prax’s unofficial job to find records of the pups’ families, to contact them if they’d survived the Ganymede incident or find relatives for the pups to live with if they hadn’t. Takomi was an only child, and her parents had both died when the orbital mirrors fell. Prax hadn’t been sure how to break the news to her, but when he sat her down to talk about it, she just nodded silently like she already knew and withdrew to her room.
“Amos thinks she might have seen it,” Naomi said when Prax mentioned it to her. “Her parents’ deaths, I mean. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t talk.”
“Terrible thing for a pup to see,” Prax agreed. “It’s nice of Amos to try to take her mind off it.”
“That’s not what he’s doing,” Naomi said. Prax glanced up in confusion. “Amos knows what it’s like to have nothing. He’s trying to give her something she can use, something that might give her a chance at a better future. Things are going to be rough for her now that her parents are gone, but having those skills will open doors for her. Internships, career paths, that sort of thing.”
For perhaps the hundredth time since they’d met, Prax was forced to reevaluate his view of Amos’s character. For the second time that week, he reflected that Amos was far more suited to parenthood than he claimed.
After their conversation about her parents, Takomi didn’t come out of her room for the rest of the evening. Amos hovered around the living areas like a mother hen searching for her chicks, anxiety rolling off him in waves. He only stopped when Avasarala shouted at him for stinking up the place, chasing him away before the pups could pick up on his stress. Prax had it on good authority that Holden was mysteriously abducted from ops shortly afterward, then reappeared over an hour later, disheveled and drenched in the scent of protective alpha.
“Good nap?” Alex had asked, trying not to laugh at Holden’s mussed hair and wrinkled clothes.
“Somebody just get the man his pup back,” Holden sighed.
By the next morning, Takomi had resumed following Amos around like his own personal shadow. She didn’t say anything about the previous night, and Amos didn’t ask. Maybe that was exactly what she needed.
When after weeks on the float it finally came time to say goodbye to Takomi, Prax wasn’t sure Amos would be able to do it. He was no alpha expert, but he knew they were notoriously protective, and Amos had practically taken Takomi in as one of his own. Surely his instincts would rebel at the thought of letting her go. But when they met Takomi’s aunt at the docks, Amos just smiled and nudged her forward gently.
“Go on, pup,” he said. “Ship life sucks anyway.”
Takomi glanced back and forth between Amos and her aunt, tears welling in her eyes. Then she grabbed Amos in a fierce hug. Prax was just close enough to hear her whisper a thank you before she pulled back and pressed something into Amos’s hand. She rushed into her aunt’s arms, tears running down her face, and the woman thanked them profusely, clutching her niece like she’d never let go of her again.
Takomi had given Amos a small pendant fashioned from scrap metal, the edges carefully soldered together and sanded down. Amos put it on a string around his neck and wore it every day since.