(Genesis) Chapter 7

Pride: Genesis

Chapter 7

After Action

Hunk was in the rec room, watching Indiana Jones on the main holoscreen. The 2253 reboot of Indiana Jones, to be exact; nothing could ever replace the original, but somehow the original was not in the entertainment system's databanks. Oh well. This was the best reboot, so whoever had made the decision got half credit.

Preoccupied with the movie, he didn't hear the door slide open. Keith had just wanted a little quiet time somewhere that wasn't his tiny bedroom. Good theory, but the rec room was definitely not quiet right now. He paused in the doorway, debating whether to enter or not.

"Turn around, dude!" Hunk bellowed. "There's snakes!"

What? He blinked and looked around on reflex, then stopped and shook his head. "What am I doing? There's no snakes on a ship!"

That seemed to startle Hunk as much as Hunk's yell had startled him; the big man jumped and looked back at him. "Oh! Uh, hey boss." He pointed a little sheepishly at the screen. "They're uh… they're there."

Keith looked. Sure enough, there was a wide shot of a floor covered in at least a hundred of the things. "Oh…"

"Indy hates snakes," Hunk explained helpfully.

Oh, well alright then. "Can't say as I blame him." He shrugged. "I see I'm not the only one who needed some downtime."

"Nope!" Hunk chuckled and pointed to the other couch. "Come on in, boss. Help yourself to popcorn."

The bowl of popcorn was nearly as large as the small card table it was sitting on. This wasn't how Keith had really seen his break going, but why not? "Okay." He crossed over and sat, taking a handful of popcorn and sipping the whiskey he'd brought with him.

Hunk grinned. "Drivin' you to drink already?"

Keith couldn't help chuckling at that himself. "Explorer Teams, right?"

"Totally!" The big man raised his glass in salute.

Returning the salute, Keith leaned back and took another sip. "So… I know I probably shouldn't ask off duty, but did you or Kleid have a look at that metal fragment I found?"

Oh. Hunk paused, wincing a little. Organizing all the junk strewn around the cargo bay right now was their job, but they'd both been a little preoccupied after returning to the ship. "Uh, we hadn't sorted the cargo yet, honestly. You found somethin' interesting?"

"Just some piece of black metal. It seemed kind of… tingly? when I touched it."

"Huh." That was interesting. "All that overcast, maybe there's storms? Could still be holdin' a charge, but that'd be kinda weird. Wanna go have a look now?"

"Maybe it was just static from a storm, but…" Keith trailed off. This was exactly why he'd known he shouldn't ask now. "No, you're off duty. I don't want you to give up your downtime."

Hunk waved that off. "Boss, I like metal."

"It isn't that big of a deal, but… if you want to?"

"I mean, it's your call." Shrug. "I've seen this movie a couple times before. Or maybe a couple dozen."

Well if he was going to be that way about it… Keith frowned, then nodded. "If you don't mind. Something about it just bugs me, just a stupid gut feeling, you know?"

"Gut feelings are important, yeah?" Hunk hopped up and flipped the screen off. "How else are you gonna know when you skipped lunch?"

"True enough." Keith laughed softly. "Okay, let's go take a look at a piece of scrap metal, shall we?"

"Let's rock it!"

They headed up to the cargo bay, which wasn't really that bad off. All the findings from Terina were spread over the floor until they could be inventoried and boxed up; he found the metal scrap easily enough. But as he picked it up, the faint shock ran through his fingertips again.

"It still feels tingly to me," he said, frowning.

Hunk looked at the metal, frowning himself. "Now that is pretty weird, I'd say you're onto somethin' bringin' it back…" He trailed off as Keith handed the scrap over. "…Uh, boss? You're sure about the tingly? Weren't sittin' on your hand or anything before ya picked it up?"

"No, my hand isn't asleep."

Hunk was quiet, studying the metal intently. It did feel unusual, compared to any other metal he'd worked with; it was light and had the slightest hint of flex to it, but he couldn't actually bend it, which from its size and weight he should've been able to. He ran a finger along the edge of the scrap. "Ain't ever seen metal that breaks like this," he said quietly. It was the smoothest edge he'd ever seen, but the jagged shape—and, well, literally everything about where they'd found it—made him certain it hadn't been machined.

"Yeah?" Keith looked up at him. "So no idea what kind of metal it could be, then?"

"Honestly?" Hunk glowered at the scrap. "No, and I'm kinda offended by that."

Stranger and stranger. For all his oddities, Keith knew Hunk knew his metal. "Do you have some sort of scanner that can test for residual energy? Or maybe I just have, I don't know, some sort of reaction to this type of metal?" He'd heard of metal allergies before, but…

"Possible," the big man agreed slowly, then shook his head. "We can scan for energy, but not for composition. Damn shame." He finally looked up from the metal. "You think this is what the Galra were after? Some kinda super-alloy? But what's it doin' in the middle of some ancient bird city?"

That was an excellent question, especially considering exactly where in said ancient bird city he'd found it. "Maybe? I don't know, but… I'd be willing to bet if the Galra had found it, the Terinians would have been killed."

"…Yeah well Lance was pretty sure they'd be killed anyway," Hunk muttered uncomfortably. "Maybe not, though? I mean, those ruins weren't anywhere near a settlement, yeah? The Alliance would tell 'em if they were gonna be in danger."

"Yes, but if they'd found this? They might have thought whatever they were looking for was there. They would've ripped that planet apart looking for it…"

Hunk gave him a look. He really didn't want to go down the what-if rabbithole, and especially not when their mission was to scavenge and run. It would be very easy to find ways that anything they did, or didn't do, could lead to disaster.

Saying all that would have a terrible effect on his persona, so he stuck with the basics. "Maybe we ain't gotta dwell on that part."

"Yeah," Keith agreed. "We don't have to dwell on it. Let's find that scanner to see about the energy readings, hmm?"

Hunk brightened. "Totally." He went to a box and pulled out a couple of small instruments. Keith hadn't seen scanning equipment like that before, and watched with interest as the other man set it up, motioned for the metal… and stared blankly as it scanned. "Uh."

"What is it?"

"It's not readin' anything."

Hmm. Keith reached out and touched the metal. "How about now?"

"Nope. No energy signature. At all." He gave Keith a troubled look. "So either it's at absolute zero and your fingers are tingly cuz they're frozen and gonna fall off any second and we just haven't noticed, or…" He looked at the metal again and shook his head. "Or hell if I know."

Keith exhaled. "Well, damn."

"What're you damn-ing about? Intel's gonna love this."

…True enough. Puzzling this out wasn't at all their job. But his curiosity was piqued now, and he was pretty confident intel wouldn't be giving them any sort of follow-up. Still, he grinned at the reminder. It was a good start to the mission. "Yeah, they probably will." He watched Hunk packing the scanner back up, noting the bandage poking out from under his sleeve. "So, how's your arm?"

"It's fine, just a scratch, yeah?" Grin. "Managed to sneak around the Doc, even."

Keith arched an eyebrow. "You know, I got scratched by one of those creatures on the way back. Doc had to clean it out." Which he'd done with surprisingly little cursing, all things considered.

Hunk waved that off. "Pit boss cleaned me up on-site, remember?"

"Yeah." The mention of Kleid made Keith pause, and he rubbed his jaw. "Speaking of. I saw him earlier."

That gesture immediately set Hunk on edge. Uh oh. "Yeah?"

"How'd he get that lovely souvenir?"

Uh… oh… he shrugged. "Dunno? Must've tripped in the ruins or somethin'."

"He didn't have it when Sven and I left."

"Huh. You sure?" Hunk fought to keep his expression casual. He had his orders from the pit boss. But he was also talking to the pit boss's boss. "I wasn't lookin'."

The boss stared at him, one eyebrow arching up. "Let me guess. He told you not to say how he got it."

Hunk gulped. "Uh, yeah." No sense trying to deny it anymore, though technically he'd still followed his orders…

"Damn it, Kleid." Keith sighed. "And I left him with you and one pissed off McClain, and I know you know better than to hit a superior officer."

Now it was Hunk's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Uh, boss? You read my file?"

"Yes, I know." Oh. Well okay then. "Unless he files a complaint, nothing I can do about it. And he won't do that."

"Safe bet," Hunk agreed. "For, y'know, whatever got him that bruise."

Keith looked up at him, a slow grin crossing his face. "You're a good soldier, Hunk. And I guess… a good Explorer Team member."

The big man blushed, letting out a deep sigh of relief. "Uh, thanks, boss?"

"Go find Jace and get that arm looked at." He patted Hunk's shoulder. "And I may talk to Kleid, but if I do… you didn't tell me."

Hunk rolled his eyes. "My arm's fine, boss. It's just a little scratch, see?" He pushed up his sleeve and yanked the bandage off.

…Um…

Sure enough, his little scratch remained a little scratch. The problem was it seemed to be turning a vibrant shade of orange.

Yet again Keith felt his eyebrows going up. "I don't think orange is good."

"…Now don't be like that, boss. Orange is a lovely flavor and doesn't deserve its bad reputation." The words came out a little subdued. "Orange scratches though, yeah… maybe less good…"

"The fruit is fine," Keith laughed despite himself. "That isn't."

"Yeah. Uh, maybe I'll go see the Doc after all. Later boss!" He bolted.

"Later," Keith offered to the spot where their bomb tech had just been standing, shaking his head. Now he just had to decide whether, and how, he was going to deal with his second.

What a bunch of messes.

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

To Sven's pleasant surprise, Jace hadn't actually lectured him all that much on the bruise. Something about how they were the military and shit happened—his words. But he had expressed the need to monitor him for a couple of days to be certain it was only a bruise. Which was fine, except he was running nearly an hour late for the follow-up he'd demanded. Sven was sitting on his bed and seriously considering just getting into it, it had been a long day…

"It is not that hard to be on time," he mumbled, half expecting the words to summon an angry medic to yell at him.

It partly worked. The door slid open within seconds, but Jace was just grumbling under his breath in Portuguese. Sven arched an eyebrow at both the lateness and the language; he was certain he didn't want to know the translation.

"Oh, don't you give me that look. Get that shirt off, I can't see through it."

…Had he been expecting an apology? Of course he hadn't been expecting an apology. "It's really not that bad." He pulled his shirt off carefully, making sure not to twist or stretch the bruise too much.

"Yeah, yeah. Just more black and blue than a night jay, I get it." The medic watched him closely for a moment before pulling his stethoscope out of his kit. "Deciding what is or isn't bad is my job."

"Well, let me know when you decide."

"Working on it. Deep breaths." He listened for a minute, frowning. Sven's breathing sounded okay; the sheer size and apparent depth of the bruise still concerned him. If he hadn't at least bruised the ribs it would be a small miracle. "Is it getting any worse? And would you tell me if it was?"

"It's gotten darker in the past few hours, but the pain is pretty much the same."

"That's promising. At least you admit it hurts." He put the stethoscope aside and scowled, still in a very foul mood from the last hour or so. "Unlike some fucking idiots who think I'm lecturing you people on scratches because I'm just that worried about your precious hides…"

Sven raised an eyebrow again. "I'm pretty sure that is why, so I guess you can put me in the idiot column."

"Hmph." Jace gave the bruise a couple of experimental pokes. "I'm not sure whether to be flattered by how highly you think of me, or concerned that our navigator is admitting to being an idiot."

"You should be flattered." Sven gave his most winning smile. It didn't accomplish much.

"Uh huh. See, the fun thing about scratches in alien ecosystems is, there's usually alien microorganisms there that need specialized antibiotics mixed up. Otherwise, you get an infection, like giant donut dumbass just finished getting yelled at about since he didn't fucking tell me until it started turning orange."

Oh. Well then. "I'm assuming Hunk will be alright?" He wasn't really too concerned. Despite whatever protestations he might want to make to the contrary, Jace wouldn't be here if Hunk were in real danger.

"He'll be fine." Another poke. This one hit a very tender spot and Sven yelped… which got him a look and the medic pressing more thoroughly around the same spot.

"Ow!" He glared. "Is that really necessary?"

"Matter of fact, yes. We don't have an x-ray or anything so I have to actually poke you to make sure your bruise isn't something I need to yell at you about."

"You've never needed a legitimate reason to yell at me before."

Jace snorted. "I've never needed a legitimate reason to swear at you before, caralho. I don't yell unless I have to, oxygen is nice and I enjoy it."

"That's good to hear," Sven muttered, fighting down the intense urge to roll his eyes. If he indulged that urge every time it came along, especially where Jace was involved, they'd have rolled all the way out of his skull by now.

"Okay, put your shirt back on." Frown. "You need some sun."

"I'm not that pale," he protested, standing and putting his shirt back on gingerly.

"Doctor's advice, take it or leave it." Shrug. "Don't really care as long as you don't keel over from Vitamin D deficiency."

"My Vitamin D is fine. I take vitamins." In fact, several of his professors had stressed the importance of that on deep space missions—you didn't get a whole lot of sun in hyperspace.

"Oh, that's good to hear." Jace snorted and stepped back. "I'll want to check again tomorrow, and if it's still progressing the same I'd say you're safe. Try to take it easy. No more slitting giant cat-pig throats or whatever you were doing." He really couldn't imagine this guy doing any such—

—A huge smile spread over Sven's face. "There was some spine severing too."

The only response Jace seemed able to muster for that was a blank stare. Sven's smile faded a little. Right… probably shouldn't be so excited about that…

"Okay, so that was creepy." Jace blinked. "Who the hell are you, where's Holgersson, and are his ribs fractured?"

"Sorry." He blushed furiously. "I just enjoyed the action, more than the actual spine severing. It was exhilarating. Kind of like the hunting I used to do when I was younger."

"Porra…" Jace did not possess the same restraint against rolling his eyes, and did so with enthusiasm. "Don't get too excited. War isn't a fucking tourist attraction."

"Never said it was," Sven answered, his expression becoming dead serious. "Just that I enjoyed the action."

They stared at each other for a moment, then Jace nodded. "…I gotcha. Why not? You're a Viking."

Now the nickname made him smile; it was growing on him. It definitely beat the callsign he'd earned back on Earth, which might have been Choirboy. For reasons. Noticing that his bed was slightly wrinkled where he'd been sitting on it, he smoothed it out and shook his head.

Reasons.

The medic watched him, smirking. "Maybe by the end of this we'll even teach you to swear like a Viking."

Now he gave in to the eyeroll. "Not likely. I can get my point across without profanity."

"You can… I can think of a lot of things you can do. How the fuck did you survive the Academy, dude?"

"Same way I survived all my other schooling. With manners, good judgment, and straight A's." Which wasn't entirely true… his eyes narrowed in annoyance as a nagging old shame reminded him of its existence. "Except my first etiquette class in seventh grade. I made a B."

For a very long time Jace just stared at him in silence. Eventually he found his voice. "…This, right here? This is me judging you."

"I know," Sven sighed. "Only a B! It's upsetting. I could have made an A but I mixed up the snack and dessert spoon positions on the final exam… it was a rookie mistake."

"You're not helping yourself!"

"What?"

"You're being an asshole again now, right?" Jace shifted and looked him in the eye. "You didn't seriously have a seventh grade etiquette class that tested you on spoons. You didn't."

Sven blushed and broke eye contact, looking at pretty much anything that wasn't the medic standing in front of him. He really did have a habit of walking into these things, didn't he?

"…You did."

Another sigh. "I did."

This was about where most conversations went sharply downhill, but Jace just grinned. "Oh, man. Should I be calling you the Viking Prince?" He stepped back, making a great show of bowing. "Bestow your spoon knowledge upon me, great Viking Prince!"

Sven glowered. I'm never telling him about the French Finishing School for Boys. Ever. But then… he'd just been asked what he was pretty certain was a rhetorical question. It would serve Jace right if he actually answered it. "What would you like to know?"

That got him the snicker he'd expected, and then a serious look he hadn't. "Okay but for real, how did you end up in the military? You can throw something about spoons in there too if you want."

More related than you think. "I wanted to get off planet, explore other worlds. I was tired of dealing with spoons and their positions." He shook his head. "And like I said… I enjoyed hunting, I liked the action. So I figured the military was my best option, then my parents pulled strings to make sure I'd never go off Earth. They didn't want me getting hurt."

Jace considered that for a few moments. This guy belongs with this bunch of lunatics less than I do. …And he likes it.

"What about you?" Sven asked suddenly. The question took him by surprise, which it probably shouldn't have. Why wouldn't he ask? The Viking actually seemed to like him.

For his part, Jace was pretty sure he liked the Viking too. And he definitely enjoyed spending time with someone who didn't mind him being, well, himself… though that didn't mean he wanted to answer that question one damn bit. "I already told you," he said finally. "I just wanted to get the hell off Prox."

Oh no, he wasn't getting away with that after the whole Viking Prince thing. "Yes, you did. But you never told me why."

He was quiet for another few moments, then shrugged. "I needed some structure, you know? Prox kind of sucks for that. It's all fuck the rules, fuck The Man, parades out your window every fucking week." He snorted. "They don't like the military at all. Some ancient history, riots gone bad and shit. I told my parents I wanted to join up and they freaked."

Sven nodded. He could understand that. "Mine were not exactly happy either."

"They still talk to you?"

…Oh. Things always seemed to get worse with this guy. "Yes," he admitted, putting as much sympathy in his tone as a one syllable word could take.

"Happier than mine, then." Jace smiled grimly. "Good for you." He didn't say it nearly as bitterly as he could've. Not like he'd expected anything else when he'd run away from his parents, Novo Rio, and Prox altogether. Not like he missed them.

Like you really don't miss anything.

Sven lowered his head a moment. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He shrugged, shaking it off. "I had a choice, and I made it."

"Then I won't… but I'm glad you did." Sven shot him a sly smile. "Otherwise I'd be here with a doctor who actually understood how to apply a decent bedside manner, and that would just spoil me."

"At least someone around here appreciates me." Jace smirked and gave him a quick once-over. "Got some bad news for you, though."

"And what's that?"

"You're gonna have to be under medical supervision for the rest of this run."

Sven returned the smirk with a grin. "So I get to continue to have the joys of your company? I don't see that as bad news."

Jace arched an eyebrow, stepped closer, and threw an elbow into his good side that was surely a bit harder than necessary. "Don't get too excited, we're not gonna pick out curtains or anything. Wouldn't trust your interior decorating anyway. But someone's gotta make sure you don't stab your eye out with the wrong spoon or something."

Laughing, Sven winced and rubbed his ribcage. "There's that bedside manner I was talking about."

"It's my specialty." Jace laughed too. "I even made sure to elbow you on the side that isn't a giant bruise!"

"Well thank you for that. It's greatly appreciated."

"I'll bet." They stared at each other for another moment, the silence surprisingly comfortable. "…Now take it easy, would you?"

Sven smiled. "Yes, doctor."

With a wave that was moderately less sarcastic than his usual flippant salute, Jace slipped out the door.

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

Probably fortunately, Flynn's first order of business after they'd returned to the Firecrown was a nap and an abbreviated bay shift. They would ease back into the usual schedule. Hunk had seemed cheerful as ever when he'd arrived to take over, though he was in new bandages and had smelled like sterile chemicals. All he'd said about that was mistakes were made. Neither of them had spoken about the incident at the ruins, and it was pretty clear neither of them intended to.

Flynn did intend to speak to someone, though. Someone whose complexities were a little less benign… or at least a little less under control.

The rec room was empty. For a moment he entertained the thought of just staying there and pretending he wasn't looking for anyone.

Just go.

Sighing, he crossed the rec room and walked down the steps to the gym, listening to the dull thump of fists on canvas. If that was who he expected, they weren't going to appreciate his company, but they could deal with it.

Sure enough…

The gym was pretty sparse. A couple of mats, a couple of punching bags, a holo system that could produce basic sparring dummies or a shooting range of indeterminate usefulness. Lance had not been overly impressed with it before, but right now all he wanted to do was punch something. Lots. And for that it was serving just fine.

Maybe if he could just punch this damn bag hard enough, he could stop thinking. Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about them.

It wasn't working.

Finally he gave up on the bag, throwing his hands up in frustration and stepping back. Turning, he startled at the sight of pretty much the last person he wanted to see standing in the doorway.

Just fucking perfect. "Fuck."

"That was unnecessary."

"Don't think so."

Flynn narrowed his eyes slightly. "You could at least pretend to be grateful I didn't sic Kogane on your ass."

…Oh. He had wondered about that, and he actually was grateful, though he wasn't thrilled to admit it. "Thanks," he muttered grudgingly.

"You're welcome." The engineer stepped in and let the door slide shut behind him. It wasn't a threat… quite. "But you are going to tell me what that was about."

Sure he was. "What do you care?"

Flynn arched an eyebrow. "How about I'm on edge enough with one crewmate with a history of punching superior officers?"

Huh. "Who's that?"

"Probably not who you think," Flynn muttered. "You're avoiding the question."

"I am." Lance grabbed his towel and scowled into it, wiping some sweat off his face. "It's personal, alright?"

"Gathered that."

That really wasn't encouraging as to how this was going to play out. "Yeah, guess it's obvious." Sigh. "I fucking punched you."

"You did." Flynn flipped his hair back. "Good punch, too."

…Oh. Well. He had a bruise. Not that bad a bruise, but easy enough to notice when he wasn't keeping his hair in the way. "Shit," he muttered. "Sorry."

Flynn shrugged. "I've had worse."

"Yeah, me too." He tried for a small grin. "Looks pretty rugged though, run into the right guy and maybe you'll get lucky."

"…Really is all you think about, isn't it?"

Smirk. "It's fun, ain't it?"

"I guess." For a moment Lance wondered if he was actually going to let it drop, but he lowered his voice and continued. "This whole mission, you've gone flying off the rails every time someone so much as says the word 'Galra' around you. And before you tell me it's none of my business, it became my business when you tried to go behind Kogane's back. …And punched me. So…"

Nope, not going to let it drop. Fine. "Ever hear of Beau Terre?"

Flynn cocked his head. Of course he'd heard of Beau Terre. As he kept pointing out, he'd read Lance's file. "Your home planet."

"Know what happened on it?"

Files didn't explain everything. "No… but from the direction this is taking, I can guess."

If he wanted to guess rather than making Lance say it, damn sure he'd take it. "Go ahead then."

"It got hit by a Galra raid…" Frown. "Where you were living, presumably."

The words were so fucking detached, though there was a distinct edge of sadness in the tone. Lance clenched his jaw. "Yeah." He tried to blink back the memories, forcing them back into the corner of his brain he kept them locked away in, and was vaguely aware that Flynn had averted his gaze. "I don't… like. Talking. About. It."

"Fair enough." The engineer kept his tone even, though the glimmer of concern was definitely there. "But you can either not talk about it, or you can scream and punch people about it. They tend not to go together very well for very long."

Damn it. "Usually don't punch people," he grumbled, "you just… that place set me off…" Another image unhelpfully presented itself. "It was the fucking doll."

Doll? Flynn watched him carefully. He could guess at what that meant, too. Only a guess, but the question was the same either way. "That bad?"

He wasn't entirely certain Lance even heard him; the other man was barely whispering under his breath now. "Her name was Charlie… Charlotte." His expression went distant, his voice trailing off, and he turned and punched the bag so hard it nearly went off its mooring.

Flynn watched silently, closing his eyes as it all fell together. "I'm sorry," he said softly. Not for saying what had to be said—he wasn't sorry for that at all. But he could admit when he'd earned a bruise fair and square. Opening his eyes he watched Lance for another moment, rolling his shoulders and seething, wrapped up in memories. "I can leave you alone," he offered. He'd expected to be ordered the hell out, and was surprised when Lance just laughed darkly. "…Or not?"

"Nah. You got the intel you wanted, right?" Sigh. "Look, I still wish we'd set a trap but I get it was a stupid idea, after I calmed down a bit. Still want them all dead, though… hating them is all I've got."

Is it really? "I find that unlikely, Best Pilot in the Galaxy." He crossed his arms. "But we are here to find a way to stop them."

Lance smirked at that, but it didn't last. "Yeah… but we're leaving that place to get looted. They'll destroy what's left of… whoever lived there's home." He looked away. "Their home!"

True enough. But what would it matter? "They'd already been forgotten," Flynn said quietly.

Huh? Lance's head snapped up; the engineer was looking elsewhere too, clenching his fists. Strange reaction, unless… "It get to you too?"

"…Yes."

"Someone lived there," he repeated quietly, shocked at himself for saying this out loud. But the words kept coming. "It felt… wrong, taking things."

"We had to." Lance braced himself for something about the mission, and didn't get it. "Someone had to. That was a city and all their own people remember is some legend about beasts in the clouds."

"Well… Weird Bird Dude did seem to have notes beyond just the warning. But he thought they were boring, who thinks ruins are boring?"

"Terinians, apparently." Flynn's expression darkened and his voice lowered. "…Most people, honestly."

"I guess." Lance cracked a small smile. "Always wanted to be a real adventurer, you know? Just didn't think it would make me feel so guilty."

"It's never that damn simple, is it?"

"Fuck no. Never."

"Not that losing things is ever supposed to be simple, I guess…" He sounded a bit distant.

Shit, I feel that. "Yeah. It's fucking not." He was still watching Flynn carefully, and hesitated when the other man startled. Maybe he hadn't been supposed to hear that. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"…It's okay." Flynn gave him a searching look; shit, his eyes were piercing when he got like that.

Lance met them. "Yeah?"

Flynn was flailing a little. Deep space thrust differentials were more his speed than deep conversations. But Lance seemed to be warming back up to him, and they really couldn't afford any more outbursts…

Yes, that's definitely why you're asking.

"You… sound like you do need to talk, you know."

Was that an observation or an invitation? Either way Lance's jaw clenched. "It's not…" Shit, of course he needed to, it was the only explanation for how much he'd said already. But he didn't want to. He couldn't do it. "Could you?"

It wasn't a fair question. Maybe that was why Flynn looked like he'd been punched again. Or maybe it wasn't. "No," he laughed bitterly, "I can't."

Can't?

Not couldn't. Can't.

"What happened?" he asked, shocked. He felt a little guilty for pushing, especially when Flynn scowled and looked away, but the guilt didn't last. He'd just somehow let his dead sister's name slip, this guy could deal with questions too.

Maybe he came to the same conclusion. "Have you ever heard of Dathreil?"

"Not ringing any bells."

"Didn't expect so." Shrug. "It was a colony out in the Pacifica Sector, until it mostly blew itself to hell in a nuclear war two hundred years ago."

Lance's eyes widened. "That's… you're from a nuked planet?" Their meeting at the Razorlight came back to him. "Aren't you from Arizona?"

"Might've lied a little about that," Flynn admitted. He had good enough reason to… he didn't like talking about this. Though less because it was personal and more because it sounded insane.

Though it was also personal.

"Go on."

"What was left after the war suppressed their real history and put together a false theocracy to survive. They'd take children and raise them in training camps to become 'priests'… really the technicians who keep what's left of the planet's technology running." He wasn't looking at Lance; he wasn't really looking at anything. "Having failed priests running around would kind of ruin the charade, so if you wash out of training you get exiled." He gave a small, grim smile. "To Arizona."

Somewhere in the middle of that Lance's eyebrows had started going up, and they hadn't really stopped. But somehow Flynn's muted tone made it sound more sad than bizarre. "That's weird," he said finally, not sure what else to say. "So when did you get exiled?"

"When I couldn't stop asking questions they didn't have answers to."

…Of fucking course he had. Lance dialed the feigned disbelief up to eleven. "You? Ask questions people don't want to answer?"

Flynn looked at him, then burst into laughter. "I'm sure that just shocks you."

Grinning, Lance shook his head, them sobered a bit. "That's a lot to process." But one thing was clear. "Guess we both got ourselves shipped to Earth for crappy reasons, huh?"

"Pretty much." Sighing, Flynn looked at the floor. Earth had been an alien paradise, and all it had cost him was everything he'd known and believed. "I understand losing everything. Maybe you're lucky… at least you have someone to hate for it."

Immediately after he said it he winced and stepped back; it hadn't come out right, and Lance's fists clenched. "Not lucky."

"Yeah, that's… not what I was going for there. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I get it." Lance looked up at him, understanding exactly what he'd meant. "Not gonna punch you again."

"I appreciate that, anyway."

"I'll save it for the Galra."

"Good call."

As the conversation trailed off, Lance found himself feeling… better? How the hell had that happened? He gave Flynn a look, and got a raised eyebrow in return. Yes, definitely feeling better. He should probably thank him for that, but that would just be weird, wouldn't it?

Though there was something he really did owe him. "Yeah, so for real." He shook his head. "Thanks about not telling Kogane."

"You're welcome. Didn't see much point in it, we're already an Explorer Team anyway." Flynn hesitated. "…And I probably deserved it."

"Maybe, but I probably deserved a punch back. Guess you owe me one."

To be fair, he absolutely would have gotten one—maybe more than one—had Hunk not intervened. But that was long past; Flynn just waved it off. "Oh that's what I need, the doctor bitching me out for breaking your nose. Or missing and breaking something on me, that's a thing that also happens." Hand to hand was really not his strong point.

Lance laughed, shaking his head again at how quickly the tone had shifted. "Has he seen that?" he asked, indicating the engineer's jaw. It was actually a very nice jaw when he wasn't having to punch it.

"No," Flynn answered with a mock glare, "and if you tell him about it I'll tell Kogane how I got it."

Lance threw a playful salute. "Yes sir!"

Flynn groaned. "Knock that bullshit off." Wink. "As long as you don't punch me again you're still not my problem."

"Nah… think I like you too much for that shit to happen again anyway." This had gone from screamingly awkward to feeling like they were back at the bar. "Who knew?"

"Strange things can happen. Besides, you still have to teach me about beer."

"I do…" And I fucking need one after that conversation. "Let's go get started now, huh?"

"That sounds like an excellent idea." Flynn stretched, his work jacket rustling. As Lance leaned over to retrieve his own, somewhat less work-oriented jacket, he caught a glimpse of the other man's sidearm holster and remembered…

"Is that a fucking Desert Eagle?"

Oh, right. Flynn had completely forgotten about that, though he didn't think he could be blamed for it. "Yes, yes it is." He gave a slightly sheepish laugh. "I know it's not at all practical, but it… has some sentimental value. I've at least managed to mostly fix the jamming issue." He gave the weapon a mildly irritated look. "Mostly."

Shockingly enough, it turned out their pilot wasn't judging him on practicality. "That is fucking awesome, let me fire it sometime?"

Grin. "I don't quite trust this holo range to take real bullets, and I like our hull without holes. But next time we get to a ground range you're on."

"Hell yeah." Lance smirked. "I'll show you some of my babies too."

"Some of?" Now that he mentioned it, Flynn hadn't gotten a great look at his guns during the fight, but they were definitely not standard issue either. He grinned again. "How many are you carrying?"

"Currently? Three."

"Total?"

"Back home?" For a moment he was obviously mentally counting, then shook his head. "Shit, I've lost count. I might have a problem. Especially with my sniper rifles."

Sniper rifles. Plural? "I'm sorry, I could've sworn you just said you own multiple sniper rifles. I don't see a problem."

A huge grin split Lance's face. Hell yes, he really did like this guy… even if they'd gone from past trauma to bonding over bullets in what had to be record time. Why not? "Convincing argument."

"Shouldn't mix guns and beer, though." Smirk. "Usually."

"Dude," Lance gestured dismissively, "I can handle my beer."

"I'd be more worried about the beer handling you."

"That wasn't my fault!" He was never going to live that down, was he?

"We'll find out, I suppose."

"You'll find out."

"Well that's ominous."

"Meant to be." Lance winked. "Come on, grease monkey, let the beer education begin!" He headed for the stairs back to the main deck, passing by Flynn…

…Who punched him in the arm as he walked past. Lightly. "There, we're even."

Lance tried to look offended, but it was a lost cause. All he could do was burst out laughing as they started up the stairs together.

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

The Royal Chapel stood on the castle grounds, just a short walk from one of the side doors. The path leading to it was paved in pristine white tiles, lined by golden dahlias and lilies in elegant planters. It was a walk that was supposed to encourage piety and calm… but Lady Nandara Hys was not much in the mood for calm.

Being the castle governess had never been an easy job, certainly not with the High King wanting to 'change' and 'modernize' things around the castle. Nanny would never question the King's wisdom directly, but she did wonder why such things were necessary. The old ways had built Arus and made it strong. What could change do but throw everything into disarray? But if that was what he wanted, she would be there to aid the transition, fulfilling her royal oath to the Court and the Crown.

If it were up to her, part of fulfilling that oath would include kicking the hellion from the Seven Isles out on her improperly-attired backside.

It wasn't up to her.

Sighing, she bowed to the doors of the chapel and stepped inside, bowing again as the royal archbishop rose to greet her. "No need to trouble yourself, Your Eminence. I am only here for the usual…"

He gave a sympathetic chuckle. "Understood, Lady Hys. May the Golden Light shine upon you."

The Hall of Worship was empty, which suited her just fine. The shrines of the five Golden Gods were silently awaiting the reverence they were due. She shied away slightly from the statue of the Silent Exile, the gaunt incarnation of death; to the Radiant Warrior and Shining Sage she bowed again, murmuring thanks for their protection and wisdom. Finally she stopped at the end of the hall, the masters of the pantheon: the Honored Mother and Exalted Father, resplendent in their thrones, stern overseers of all that was right and proper in the world.

Nanny's parents had both been high-ranking priests of the Honored Mother, and it was their piety that had inspired her to enter into royal service. Bless their sainted hearts, the Exile had taken them both before they could see what a mess she was in now. This task bordered on impossible. She should have been given years to sort the girl out, not months. But this was what she had.

Divine intervention, then.

She lit a candle—chemically treated to ensure a rich gold flame—and set it at the statue's feet. "Honored Mother, grant me the patience to complete my sacred tasks," she murmured. "Guide me in handling this… this hooligan who is to be called a Lady, and protect my dear Princess and Prince from being influenced by her wildness."

Not that her dear Princess and Prince appreciated her efforts much more than Larmina did. But at least they were manageable. They understood the importance of their rank and their duty. They didn't do things like… like…

…Like smuggling literal wild animals indoors to her lessons! Bad enough the castle was infested with space mice. Nanny had moved heaven and earth to get the Receiving Hall cleared out for an hour, to get some unoccupied castle staff and even a couple of minor dignitaries to assist with the lesson. She had certainly not invited any tevonts—fluffy purple vermin native to the Arusian forests—to her carefully planned event. But half a dozen of them had somehow appeared anyway.

The footmen had still been trying to corner then when she'd dismissed herself and headed to the chapel.

"What am I to do with her?" she asked the Mother's silent presence. What she would certainly not do was plead to King Alfor for intervention, or indeed tell him about the incident at all, if she could help it. It would be all but admitting she couldn't handle her duties. "Let her see your wisdom, I beg of you. Let her come to understand her duties and her place before her debut." Her tone became a little plaintive. "Let this ball be something, anything, but a disaster…"

The candle sputtered. A few glittering sparks rose up from the flame, accompanied by acrid chemical smoke. Nanny drew back slightly. The consecrated candles would do that every so often, but the timing seemed… inauspicious. Or perhaps it meant her plea had been heard?

Yes. She would hope for the best. It was all she could do, really. The worst was already here.