(Genesis) Chapter 15

Pride: Genesis

Chapter 15

Homeward Bound

Keith sat at the helm, monitoring the autopilot and working on his report. He hated writing reports. Command was supposed to be about doing things, taking responsibility, not filing paperwork. But after the gaps in the information they had received from intel… well, someone had to fix their mess up. Sighing, he leaned back in the chair for a minute, laying the datapad on his lap.

This mission… he’d known it wasn’t going to be an easy one from the start. A bunch of wild cards shoved together under his command. He was pretty sure most thought of him as a stick in the mud. That was probably why they'd insisted on him coming to play some poker or something with the team once he finished writing his report.

It would be good to relax and try to get to know them better. Only learning their quirks when the team was thrown into the thick of things, the way it had gone so far, had been nerve-wracking to say the least. They were really a good bunch when one got to the bottom line, though a couple still worried him. McClain’s short temper, Garrett’s brute size, and who knew what actually went on inside his second’s head? And that wasn’t even counting the Doc. Okay, maybe most of them worried him.

Not going there…

He looked over his report one last time, then clicked save. It was done. The brass wasn’t going to like it, but that was on them to deal with the inept intel department. Hopefully something would get fixed, because missing two pirate groups with carriers was… bad. Really bad. And if there were even more groups out there with carriers, someone had better get on that.

Checking the autopilot readings one last time, he nodded and stood. “Well, best get down there before the insanity gets worse.” Or before someone shows up to drag me along for the ride; he could think of three people who very well might.

He left the bridge and headed to his quarters, grabbing the bottle of cinnamon whisky he'd been saving for when he most needed it. No question he was going to need it now. Shaking his head and grinning slightly, he headed for the recreation room.

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

Now that they were well and truly headed home, things had gotten a bit more relaxed on the Firecrown. Not that there was really any less chance of something else going wrong than there had been on their way out, but still. It was all psychological, and they'd earned some winding down.

Sven had been reading in the rec room, but that hadn't lasted. Lance and Hunk had shown up with a deck of cards. Then Jace had wandered in. Then they'd convinced Flynn the engine bay could survive without him. And now Sven was standing off to the side watching his crewmates play poker, with the same conflicted fascination of a man watching a train wreck in progress.

"I still say strip poker would've been more fun," Lance grumbled as he studied his cards.

"And we still said fuck no," Jace retorted.

"Well sure, you did."

"Only you did, as a matter of fact," Flynn added without looking up from his own hand.

"Yeah, because after I said it the rest of you didn't have to." Jace was scowling between his hand and the board as if that would change the fact that he had nothing. Well, no, that wasn't quite true. He had something—the exact same pair of nines everyone else had, because they were sitting there on the table.

Of course, he'd scowled at every hand since they'd started. Who needed to bluff when you could just be yourself?

Flynn wasn't inclined to let him keep up the theatrics, in any case. "Not wrong… you going to bet or not?"

"Of fucking course I'm gonna bet, Tails," he snapped, tossing a few extra chips in. Which definitely hadn't been the right choice, but it wasn't as if he could just let it go.

Lance shot Flynn a sly look. "You gonna raise him?"

"Don't know yet." It wasn't even his turn. "Are you?"

"Hell yeah."

No doubt. "Nobody's stopping you from stripping if you want, you know."

"Fuck yeah someone is!" Jace yelled across at them. "Nobody wants to see that!"

That certainly wasn't accurate, though letting their pilot strip probably wasn't the best idea just now. Lance smirked, winking at Flynn, who decided it was a good time to go back to his cards. "I am free for shows."

"Please don't," Sven muttered.

"Some people here are no fun."

"Keep your clothes on, bro." Hunk had been unfazed by the whole discussion, and now pushed forward his own raise. "I'm takin' this one." He sat back and grinned, humming Know When to Fold 'Em. Some might have considered that a bluff, but he'd been doing that every hand too. Lance didn't even hesitate before matching the bet.

Flynn did hesitate. He had a third nine in his hand, but if any one of the others was holding an eight they'd have a straight, and he also had a rather small pile of chips to risk on what had turned into a rather large raise. He'd already done the math. The odds of one of them having that eight weren't overwhelming, but they were uncomfortable, and there was Hunk being just as damned unreadable at poker as he was at everything else…

He stared at Hunk for just a moment too long, getting an odd look from Lance, then slowly shook his head. "I'm out."

Jace and Lance matched with their usual glare and smirk, and Hunk chuckled. "Good calls, I don't really wanna start takin' people's shirts."

"You don't keep the clothes," Lance pointed out, pulling his jacket a little tighter.

"Good! Wouldn't fit." The big man grinned broadly and looked over at Jace, who was looking exceptionally grumpy even by his standards. "Doc, how bad didja lose?"

"…Porra." Jace tossed his nothing face-up on the table.

They'd all nearly forgotten Sven was in the room, but that was enough to prompt a reminder. "Language."

"You don't even know what it means, Viking!"

"I know it doesn't mean anything constructive!"

"A good fuck can be very constructive," Lance interrupted, showing his own cards: he'd wound up with a nice solid two pair, jacks and nines. "In more than one way." Sven looked mortified at that, but seemed to give up on objecting. Probably for the best.

Jace snickered. "Hey, for once you're not wrong. Just beat the giant donut dumbass, would you?"

"Sorry, bro. Almost." Hunk's grin never wavered as he displayed his own cards. He, too, had managed two pair… jacks and tens.

"Aww, man." Lance stared, then laughed, he couldn't help it. "So close! I'll get you next time."

"…I hate all of you," Flynn declared, tossing his cards down with a disgusted look. Lance's eyes widened.

"Dude, why'd you fucking fold?"

"One eight! One eight and any of you had me beat, statistically—"

"—Three of a kind, though—"

"—Flyboy, would you just deal?" Flynn glowered at Hunk, who'd dealt the last hand along with winning it. "And try to do a better job than he did." Not that it was really Hunk's fault the statistics had failed him, but…

Jace was eyeing Sven, who was still standing to the side looking bewildered but had yet to actually abandon the rec room. "Let's make the Viking deal, I don't trust you people anymore."

What? "No, no." Sven shook his head emphatically, already seeing visions of the inevitable disciplinary hearings. "I'm already aiding and abetting by not turning you all in."

"…For what?"

He started to say gambling, but he knew they were only playing for chips and bragging rights. Still, he'd heard more than enough about not falling in with such irresponsibility—and the closer they got to Earth, the more he kept regressing to the feeling his parents were constantly looking over his shoulder. "I… I… I don't know, but this has to be against some sort of regulation."

Flynn turned to look at him, arching an eyebrow. "Holgersson, as the ranking officer in the room I'm going to need a full cite. Section and subsection." Sven blanched. "Otherwise get over here, sit down, and try having some fun."

Questioning that definition of fun didn't seem likely to get him anywhere. "Is that an order, sir?"

"Yes!"

Oh. Well then. Glaring halfheartedly around the table as the others snickered, Sven dropped into a chair next to Jace and held his hand out for the cards. Lance scooted them over, smirking. "Come on, Viking, you know you wanted to."

That… wasn't wholly inaccurate, if maybe overstating the case a little. He couldn't say so regardless. "No idea why you think I wanted to join this… immoral game," he muttered unconvincingly, then looked at the cards and hesitated. He had not, in fact, done any card-playing in his life before now. "…I don't know how to do this?"

"What?"

"What, they didn't teach you poker in finishing school?"

"Haven't you at least played Go Fish?"

Sven glared much more enthusiastically at Jace, though the nice thing about Jace was that nobody here would actually believe him about the finishing school. It got him the sardonic shrug he'd expected. As for the rest of it… "Fishing? Of course I've been fishing, but what do fish have to do with cards?"

Lance stared at him, then shook his head and stood, empty beer bottle in hand. "Anyone need a refill?"

"Gonna need a few gallons here," Jace suggested.

Hunk took pity on Sven; he'd seen this story before. More than a few times, in fact. The engineering corps had had their share of isolated intellectuals. "Give 'em here, bro. It's an art, yeah?" He took the cards and shuffled with a flourish. "Now you give us each two."

"I know this part, I've been watching." Sven started dealing the cards as Lance returned with five beers, smacking one down in front of each of them.

"Drink!"

"Oh…" Sven shot Jace yet another glare. "I don't drink beer anymore."

"Anymore? What the fuck do you mean anymore?" Jace snorted.

"Once was enough!"

"Give it a try," Flynn said casually as he checked his cards, "flyboy has better taste." Smirk. "Just ask him."

"I do have better taste than Jace," Lance agreed; Sven gave him a doubtful look. "I'll just leave it there in case you change your mind."

Probably the best he could ask for. Sven turned over the first three cards and raised an eyebrow: the jack of spades, king of hearts, and king of diamonds stared back at him. Maybe he didn't know poker, but he was pretty certain that was a decent start.

"Well, fuck," Jace muttered, as he had every single hand.

"Not you," Lance retorted.

"Damn straight."

Was there even any point anymore? No, probably not, but they were basically asking for it… "Language," Sven mumbled.

Flynn shot him a look. "What did I say about fun?"

"Why is foul language automatically fun?"

"Because it's a shitload of fun to swear!" Lance said brightly, earning the kind of Viking eyeroll Jace usually had a monopoly on.

Flynn just shrugged. "Is complaining about it fun?"

Sven considered that for a few moments. "It's not not fun, sir."

"Some people do love complaining," Lance agreed, eyeing the completely unapologetic medic across the table.

A small smile flickered at the corner of Flynn's lips. Maybe they'd come to an understanding? Then his eyes narrowed. "Call me 'sir' again and you'll be playing the next hand."

Oh, so he can give me orders but I can't call him sir? Sven sat back and elbowed Jace lightly. The sooner he bet, the sooner they could get off this topic.

Jace was looking between his hand and the flop with a look of mild irritation. Then he grinned and pushed a good half of his chips in. "Viking, I love you so much right now I'm not even gonna say fuck."

"You just said it!"

Hunk looked at the chips, then at the medic. That was either the best bluff or the absolute worst—the inability to tell the difference made it pretty good, actually—and neither option changed the fact that nothing in his hand was going to help him here. No sense losing everything he'd just won… he did, indeed, know when to fold 'em. "Ain't touchin' that."

"Fuck it." Lance called.

"Rather not, truthfully." Flynn folded.

Oh, good! Now these two are gonna get really ridiculous. Leaning forward a little Hunk stage-whispered, "Who've ya got?"

The chief considered that for a few moments then whispered back, "I think we're the winners here."

Solid answer.

"Just you and me, sweet cheeks," Lance taunted with his most infuriating smirk.

"Bring it on, caralho."

"Proudly."

"Viking, another card before I've gotta show him how sweet my cheeks are?"

Sven was looking between them and shaking his head. "I didn't hear that." With a bit of a dramatic pause he burned and turned the next card.

Damn it. Lance casually tipped back in his chair, his smile never wavering, as a completely useless five of diamonds came up. He'd been hoping for a nice ace to match the one in his hand. Or… well, anything more useful than a five of diamonds, really.

His opponent's dark eyes were fixed on him, trying to read what wasn't there to be read. Finally he nodded. "I call. You as crazy with your chips as you are in the cockpit?"

Oh, so he wanted to play it like that? "Crazy is as fun as cursing, bro."

"I'm not your bro, bro."

"You're as dudebro as it gets, bro."

Hunk couldn't stay out of this one, and didn't. "Bro big or bro home, bros!"

"Fuck yeah!"

"What?" Sven mumbled, not really expecting an answer, as Flynn sighed and pressed a palm to his forehead.

"How about you bet, bro?"

"Fine." Lance pushed his entire remaining stack of chips in.

Jace's eyes narrowed slightly. "…You crazy fucker. Know what, let's do this." He pushed all of his own chips in.

"I'm so glad our pilot and our medic are such experts at risk assessment," Flynn muttered under his breath.

"I have no idea what's going on," Sven said matter-of-factly as he burned and turned the last card.

Seven of diamonds.

Lance took a very long drink of his beer. That had not been remotely helpful, and Jace was eyeing him impatiently. "Let's see 'em, Hellbent for Leather."

He laughed as he tossed his eight and ace to the table. "I got nothing."

"I do." With a smirk that Lance could almost respect, Jace displayed the two tens in his hand.

Flynn looked between Sven and Jace, slowly raising an eyebrow. "So, an elaborate act of the Viking pretending he doesn't like poker so he can rig the deck for you when you need it most? I respect it. Much better than just hiding that card up your sleeve."

"Which card?" Jace demanded, taking a long swig of his own beer. "Narrow it down."

"Rig the deck?" Sven repeated blankly.

"He's accusing you of helping me cheat, Viking. Like I'd trust you to be any good at cheating."

Lance was looking at his chips—or rather, where his chips had been sitting, since he'd just lost them all. "Well fuck me sideways. Anyone wanna let me borrow some chips?" As he spoke, Keith appeared in the doorway behind him with a bottle of cinnamon whisky and an expression that said he wasn't quite sure he wanted to walk into this after all. "Or I could strip?"

"McClain, no. Just… no."

Sven's head snapped up, all ready to try to defend his complicity in this, but their commander just moved to the table and pulled up a chair. Hunk grinned as he took the cards and started shuffling. "Hey, boss!"

"Just in time for the show, boss!" Lance winked.

"Please no stripping." After a moment's thought Sven took a small stack of Jace's chips and passed them back over.

"Knew you had it in you, Viking." Lance accepted the chips with a grin and another wink, then mimed stripping his jacket off. Sven considered the merits of the beer in front of him, but decided things weren't quite that bad. Yet.

Flynn was eyeing the new arrival. "You're late, Kogane."

"Better late than never, Kleid." Keith snuck a pile of Jace's chips too, earning him a scowl from the medic—he hadn't objected to having some stolen for the greater good of Lance not stripping, but it didn't mean he was willing to be everyone's chip pinata. "You can spare it, Doc. What's the ante?"

That got a few concerned glances around the table; they hadn't been playing with an ante. Flynn waved it off and changed the subject as Sven started dealing. "Guess it was worth it, better you having to write that report than any of the rest of us. How did it go?"

"It's done," Keith answered with a shrug, pouring a glass of his whisky. "Command won't like it, but not much else we can do about it."

"Do any of us like Command right now?" Jace pointed out. "Fair's fair."

"Doc's got a point."

"They give us crappy intel, we piss them off. It's all fair."

"No argument here." Keith raised his glass in salute.

"Here's your ante," Jace declared, tossing a chip in before looking at his cards, "and I'm anti-Intel. Maybe if they had a few cards up their sleeves, they'd at least find a pair of clues somewhere." He picked up his hand and made a face. "Well, fuck."

Sven laughed along with the others. "I got that joke!" He hadn't been fully comfortable with where the conversation had gone here, to be honest… but he also couldn't disagree with the sentiment. Burning the first card he flipped over a notably less impressive trio than last time: the four of clubs and seven and eight of spades.  

"I've been called anti-intelligence a few times." Hunk chuckled as he tossed a chip in.

Lance eyed him, shaking his head. "Crazy ain't stupid." He matched the bet, followed by Flynn and Keith; their commander looked wholly intent on his cards, but his second seemed a bit distracted. Lance nudged him. "Doing statistics again?"

As a matter of fact, Flynn was not doing statistics again—that discussion had taken his thoughts somewhere else entirely. At the reminder that there was a card game going on here, he looked back at the table just in time to see Sven turn over the nine of hearts. That made the statistics look very bleak indeed.

Evidently not caring for that turn either, Jace folded. Hunk raised, and so did Lance, who turned and nudged him again with a little more force. "So Flynn, whatcha got?"

What he had was a jack and a king that would have been much more useful during the last hand. What he also had was a split second of mental flailing as he tried to figure out how to deal with that. "…None of your business!" he half-sputtered, meeting the raise and shooting their pilot an exceptionally sullen look. Why the hell?

"So, nothin'?" Hunk translated, raising again as Keith quietly folded.

"Wow, you suck at that." Lance eyed the new raise and shook his head. "I'm out."

That only served to turn Flynn's glower into an outright death glare. "Suck at what?" he grumbled, "telling you to worry about your own cards?" None of that was stopping the embarrassed flush in his cheeks. He knew he wasn't very good at poker, but he could've done without Lance hitting it quite that hard.

Not just Lance, either. "I don't believe that's what he was referring to you sucking at," Sven said innocently.

Nobody at the table was touching that one, thankfully. Hunk grinned across the table, leaning forward and crossing his arms. "Whatcha say, pit boss? Throw in the loser coverin' a shift, no questions asked?"

That wasn't a bet Flynn minded losing, and he pushed in enough chips to call. "I'll match that."

Sven burned and turned once more, producing a three of spades. No, that was still nothing. Hunk seemed pleased enough with it, though… he added another chip to the pot and cocked his head, hazel eyes glinting wickedly. "And the loser has to eat a dozen murder pepper wings."

"Oh I think not." Flynn tossed his cards down. "You'd do that anyway! I'm out."

Shrugging, Hunk showed his cards: a ten and a jack, giving him a straight. "I'd say good choice, but passin' up murder pepper wings is never a good choice."

Playing that hand at all hadn't been a good choice. Flynn glowered at Lance, who shrugged unapologetically. "Hey, I would've bluffed Jace if he was hot."

"Excuse me?" Jace demanded.

"It's nothing personal, just your face throws me off my game. All my games, in fact."

Torn between defending his looks and going on the offensive, there was really only one choice. "If you ever try to flirt with me, you'll wake up with so many needles up your—"

"—No danger of that!"

"Why do all your threats have needles in them?" Sven asked, pushing the deck over to Hunk to shuffle. He probably should ask for lessons at some point.

"Because I have a lot of them, obviously."

"Are you excusing your own lack of creativity?"

"Hey, it's an old standby for a r…" Jace paused, his eyes sharpening. "…did you just sass me, Viking?"

Sven returned his gaze evenly, taking a moment to think about the question. "I think I did."

Immediately Jace fell back in his chair, clutching his heart and dramatically wiping away fake tears. "The Viking sassed me! Look at him, we're gonna make a real human out of him yet!"

Sigh. "Your approval tells me I ought to be ashamed of my behavior."

"Holgersson! Fun!"

"Yes s—" He bit his tongue on the reflex and grinned slightly. "Yes Chief."

That won him a return grin. "You really are learning."

"Apparently." It wasn't a bad thing.

"Holy hells," Keith said with another long drink of whisky, "you all are insane…"

"And yet here you are, boss." Lance smirked. "Not gonna bail on us already, are you?"

"You're not that lucky. I can go a couple more hands before I have to get back to the cockpit. Deal us in, Holgersson."

Flynn had shot him an odd look at that, but Keith didn't pay it much mind. He did get those from his second on occasion. And the rest of the team. Regularly.

A minute later all of the odd looks moved on, as Sven finished distributing cards and turned over the first three. The five, seven, and nine of clubs.

"Seriously?"

"Oh this oughta be good."

"So what's more questionable?" Jace asked, staring at the flop. "Intel, or the Viking's dealing?"

"You can't complain about my dealing. You people forced me to do this." Sven glanced over at Flynn. "Not that I'm not having fun. I'm having lots." He reached for his beer and took a small sip.

To his pleasant surprise, it did not immediately knock him out of his chair.

"We have beer in the Viking!" Lance crowed.

"Yes, you have all driven me to drink."

"It's better than whatever crap he gave you, right?"

"It…" Sven hesitated a moment, looking over at Jace, who was clearly just daring him to say yes. Then he looked back at Lance. "Yes."

"Ah ha!"

Jace looked at Sven, opened his mouth to say something that probably involved the word fuck, shut it, then shrugged. "I deserved that, but I'll remember it."

"I couldn't remember anything after the last time."

"You've got to build up a tolerance." Jace tossed a few chips in, frowning at his hand. He had the eight of clubs, along with a two of diamonds that was obviously just there to mock him. Playing for the perfect draw was a bad idea. He knew it was a bad idea. It was a great way to lose. But what the hell? Wasn't like they were playing for—

"—Anyone else hear that?"

The room went shockingly quiet at Flynn's question. Only the hiss of the ventilation system and low hum of the engines broke the silence until Keith ventured, "Hear what?"

"I'm out this round, I'll be back." The chief stood, setting his cards face down on the table. "There's something off with the engine cycles."

Huh. Hunk frowned, watching the others watch him go—Keith and Sven looked confused, Lance looked appreciative. He couldn't hear anything. He also couldn't do anything with the ridiculous cards on the table. "Ain't gonna touch that mess, I'll sit here and watch the crazy." As Lance and Keith both put chips in, he took Flynn's cards—he'd be shuffling them soon enough anyway—and took a peek at them just for kicks.

Wait, what?

Blinking and shaking his head slightly didn't change it. The three and queen of clubs were in his hand.

So what's urgent enough to walk away from a flush, but not urgent enough to set off the alarms?

Nobody else had any reason for concern, and they were much more concerned with trying to throw each other off. The next card up was the eight of hearts; Jace eyed the competition with a small smirk, and raised. "You two feeling lucky?"

Keith arched an eyebrow. "I think the question is… do you feel lucky, private?" Was that how the line went? It didn't sound quite right when he said it.

"That's specialist!" Jace snorted. "Better talk to the guy next to you if you're worried about lucky privates."

"I'm always lucky." Lance eyed him. "Meanwhile you pay for it, I don't get it."

Not this again. Keith groaned. "Not another discussion of the Doc's hookers, okay?"

"No discussion, just why I don't need luck." Jace looked back at Lance. "You gonna raise or what?"

"Oh, I raise." Smirk. "Bossman?"

Keith looked between them, his expression carefully neutral, and slid his entire stack of chips to the center.

With a low whistle, Lance studied his hand again. Once again he had an ace that was flatly refusing to do him any good. The five of spades was more useful, it gave him a pair, and that usually would've been more than enough to push his luck… but the hair on the back of his neck was standing up slightly.

Not that Jace was having any such problems. "This is where I'm gonna take back what's mine, caralho." He matched the bet and looked to Lance.

Nope, definitely still having a bad feeling about this. "You know what, I'm folding."

"Our taxi driver doesn't have nerves of steel?" Keith asked, looking somewhat more impressed than scornful.

"My instincts say get out of the fire, I listen."

"Good." Jace snorted. "I don't want to have to treat third degree burns on your ass."

"That's fucking mutual, man."

"I love it when we can agree on things."

"Aw, we could almost be friends."

"I hate to break this up," Sven interrupted in a tone that didn't sound the least bit regretful, "but I'm going to flip over another card." He burned one more and turned over the six of hearts.

Wait, the what?

"So…" Hunk had seemed a little preoccupied since Flynn left, probably worried he'd have to go help with the engines, but that drew his attention right back to the table. "Uh, at least you've both got a straight? That's fun."

"Ah, but Jack's high." With a smug grin, Keith flipped his cards over one at a time. A ten and a jack, sure enough. "What were you saying, Doc?"

"…Jack better get some fucking rehab, that's what." Jace showed his cards and shook his head. "Six of clubs would've been too much to ask, huh Viking?"

"Yes." Sven calmly sipped his beer.

Chuckling, Keith pulled the pile of chips to himself, then slid a stack back over to Jace. "Always pay my debts, Doc."

Jace laughed, watching Hunk start to shuffle the deck. "Viking, sure you don't want in? Or are we still pretending you don't like poker?"

"I don't like poker!"

"How's that, Holgersson?" Keith wasn't sure he fully bought the protest—Jace and Lance certainly didn't—but this he wanted to hear.

Sven wasn't entirely certain he wanted to answer that. No, actually he was quite certain he didn't want to answer that. Finally he sighed. "The main point of the game is to gamble." He dialed for his most official tone. "Gambling is dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Flynn repeated from the doorway, walking back to his seat and dropping into it looking mildly disgruntled. "Being in a small lightly armored pressure vessel moving through extraplanar space at several times the speed of light while propelled by four mostly-contained miniature stars is dangerous."

Hunk eyed him warily as the others snickered. "Pit boss, you gotta drink either more or less." He slid the cards over to Sven. "How's the engines?"

"Nothing major, but I'd like to stay close for awhile. How about I take that shift for you when we're done here?"

"Works for me." Maybe he'd swing by and ask exactly what kind of nothing major had been wrong with the engines. But for the moment, there were more important things to worry about… like a commander with a very large pile of chips painting a bullseye right on him. "So Viking, how 'bout the cards?"

"Yeah," Lance grinned. "And give yourself a couple, Vikings shouldn't fear danger!"

Sven looked around the table, then at the cards, frowning. He was tempted, but… "You all don't have to corrupt me that quickly," he said finally, shooting Jace one more glare. "Maybe next time."

Smirk. "Deal."

He dealt.

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

There was nothing wrong with the engines, of course.

There was plenty wrong elsewhere.

Flynn leaned over his console, watching the scanner input array slowly circling the crystal they'd found on Sorthal. He'd taken it from the cargo bay during the poker game, sacrificing a damn good hand for not risking getting busted by Kogane. He somehow didn't think their commander would approve of the inspiration he'd been given.

Maybe if they had a few cards up their sleeves, they'd at least find a pair of clues somewhere.

Maybe having something up their own sleeves wouldn't hurt.

The scan was painfully slow—the scanner committing every nanometer of the crystal to its memory, since the actual data format was a mystery. This whole plan was a bit of a shot in the dark, truthfully. Flynn wasn't even sure if he'd be able to do anything with the scan. He wasn't a systems analyst; hell, the team didn't even have one. Still, having the data seemed better than not having it, after what they'd been through to get the damned thing…

"Whatcha doing, pit boss?"

He jumped at the voice, whirling around to see Hunk's massive frame filling the doorway. Damn it. But he didn't miss a beat, beyond the one that was only reasonable when someone startled him like that. He could bluff when he had the time to think, and he'd been thinking about this for awhile. "Making a backup."

"Real stealth-like after kickin' me out of the bay?" He cocked his head. "Seems legit."

…Well this was really the last thing he needed. "You gave me your shift," he said acidly, "and I don't at all care for your tone."

"Whoa!" Hunk held his hands up and stepped back. "Dude, you oughta talk about tones, yours goes downhill real quick-like. I'm not sayin' anything."

Of course you're not. Flynn stared at him, trying to figure out what was going on here. As usual the big man defied all his attempts at scrutiny. But he was the one who'd pressed the issue, so… he narrowed his eyes slightly. He'd press back if he had to. "Garrett, drop the act."

Hunk's hazel eyes glinted and narrowed right back. More than that, something about him… changed. Something focused and cold took command of his bearing, and his voice dropped just enough to be noticed. "Dunno what act you mean, Chief." The words were casual, but the tone dripped with unspoken threat.

It was all Flynn could do to stand his ground. That act right there. He was acutely aware of the weight of his sidearm. He was also acutely aware that even thinking that was much too drastic right now, but damned if Hunk wasn't terrifying behind that mask.

He blinked, and it was gone. Mostly. The uncharacteristic seriousness remained, but that overwhelming sense of threat had vanished. Had he imagined it? He was on edge anyway, and Hunk always threw him off balance. But somehow he didn't think so…

"I'm not saying anything," the other man repeated quietly. "Just wondering if there's something the rest of us oughta be worried about too. I mean, that's a pretty hardcore insurance policy you're takin' out." He crossed his arms. "That is what you're doin', yeah?"

Not saying anything. Flynn tilted his head, still reflexively trying to grasp what he never had been able to before. He didn't understand Hunk. He wasn't always certain he even liked him. He was now officially terrified of him. But his difficulties with Hunk as a person had little bearing on trusting him as a teammate. And that he'd never been given any reason to doubt.

"…More or less, yes."

Hunk didn't seem the least bit bothered by the admission. "More to this than the grunts get to hear?"

Grunts, really? As if they'd stood on rank for a moment this whole mission. "Not that anyone's informed me. The Alliance tells us what they think we need to know." A beep behind him announced the scan had hit a checkpoint. "I think we saw enough intel failures on this run to question their judgment on that."

Frown. "You think we can do better?"

Interesting question, that. He wouldn't have put it into words, himself. But now that Hunk had… it wasn't wrong. "I wouldn't bet against it. You know how we ended up on this team."

"I know I punched my last CO for havin' his pants down with a recruit," Hunk said brightly. "Not sure how the rest of you swung it."

Flynn blinked. "Wait, you what?" That was not precisely how his file had described the incident.

"Oh." Instantly the big man went from looking pleased with himself to fairly sheepish. "Uh, I mean, I punched 'im for excessive physical abuse of a trainee. Yeah."

"…You weren't even trying to be convincing there."

"Nah, guess not." Shrug. "Dude had connections, they always do, yeah? Brass bounced him but wanted to keep the thing hush-hush. Offered me a Crystal Spur and early discharge, but I wanted to keep workin' on the cool hardware, so I got an Explorer Team posting and a gag order instead."

It was all Flynn could do not to snicker at the thought of Hunk with a Crystal Spur—the medal for displaying exceptional chivalry. Not out of contempt, the Spur just had a certain image associated with it, and the man did not fit it at all.

Kogane had one.

"Some gag order."

"Yeah, whoops." Of course he had to know he had nothing to worry about, considering what he'd walked in on here. But somehow Flynn doubted he'd have been worried anyway. "But I uh, guess that's not quite what you were askin' about."

"No, not really." He shook his head. "The whole premise of this thing is that we were too good at our jobs for the brass to get rid of us. Maybe thinking we can do better isn't that crazy."

"About the only not-crazy thing we do around here, but you might be right. This why you snuck out of poker?"

…He'd caught that, too? "Well I wasn't about to ask Kogane if he'd approve this."

"Heh, yeah, point." There was very long and very uncomfortable minute of silence, and finally Hunk's unease became too much. "So how did you end up on this crazy train, if ya don't mind me askin'?" He glanced at the crystal in a way that made it clear he had suspicions.

He wasn't wrong, exactly.

Flynn followed his gaze and laughed softly. "Something like that. I had the engine group on a cargo hauler, running a cargo circuit in the Sibereal sector. Blew an engine. Captain wanted it fixed immediately, wouldn't listen to me telling him we had to let it cool down before we could do anything. He threatened to write me up for not sending my people in to melt, so I might have gone ahead with a wholly unnecessary desperation procedure that blew up the whole engine, just to make a point." Shrug. "He wasn't amused, so he wrote the entire engine group up for dereliction and hazarding."

Wince. "Harsh, bro. At least they cleared you for it, yeah? I mean, I'm guessin' they did since you're here."

"Oh I'm not here because of that. I'm here because I went to the bridge and told him to go fuck himself. Which, as I'm sure you know, isn't the appropriate manner for contesting a report." He frowned slightly. "Apparently this means I have problems with authority."

"You? Nah, pit boss. No way." He looked at the crystal again, chuckling. "I'll leave ya to it, then. We, uh… we just keep this chat between us, yeah?"

Flynn paused. He'd expected to be the one who had to say that. But then again… Hunk had his own secrets he was keeping, and not only the ones with a gag order. "Of course."

Flipping a casual salute, Hunk turned and left the bay.

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

It had been impossible to gauge time while hiding in the forest, never mind location. Larmina had apparently gotten much deeper in than she'd thought. Most of the area she'd been familiar with was gone, and that left her with no landmarks either.

What she did have were banewolves. The two who'd dug her out of the debris were gone, but she kept seeing others follow her, flickers of gray fur and golden eyes glinting in the underbrush. A few times, they'd snarled at her, guiding her away from some paths and encouraging others. She certainly wasn't going to argue with them. And soon enough, she reached another edge of the forest… another enormous expanse of charred, dead earth. What looked like scraps of fighters were visible—an engine here, a wing there.

And in the distance, the shadow of the Castle of Lions was just barely visible in the faint morning sunlight.

"Oh…" Larmina swallowed, looking back into the trees. "Thank you," she whispered to the invisible presence of the banewolves. Were they the mystery she was supposed to find here? Surely not, there had to be better ways…

A soft growl echoed behind her. That same deep, echoing sound that had seemed to haunt this forest. It didn't sound like the banewolves at all… but what else could it be?

Maybe she didn't want to know that.

She ran for the castle, her legs shaky, veering away from smoldering trunks and patches of glowing cinders. The closer she got to the castle, the more wrong it looked. The silhouette was off.

Don't stop. Don't get caught in the open. You can worry about it when you get there. But it was much too late to not be worried. Stepping from the scorched remains of the forest onto the singed grass, she could start to make out exactly what was wrong.

"Dovayat…"

She'd known it all along, really. Somewhere deep beneath the immediate fight for survival, she'd known the castle couldn't have made it through intact. She'd known the invaders, whoever they were, hadn't come here just to burn down some trees. Seeing the gaping holes in the structure still hit her with a wave of terrified nausea, and she turned away to vomit up what little she'd eaten lately.

Isn't this what you wanted? Isn't this what you prayed for? There sure isn't gonna be a ball now.

That thought kept her dry heaving for at least another minute.

What about the Seven Isles?

That thought got her moving. Fighting the new panic gripping her she moved forward. All she could do now was find who was left—if anyone was left, no, someone had to be—and find out what had happened, what they could do about it. If this had been everywhere or… stop that!

Reaching the moat, she stopped and took a long breath. The drawbridge had been down, at least. It was a charred wreck now, but there was enough left to cross if she was careful. And to be careful she would have to focus on it, not the many other thoughts swirling in her mind.

Was the castle even stable? It didn't invite much confidence, but it was still large and stone and didn't seem to be actively crumbling. She carefully picked her way over the broken drawbridge, approaching the door while watching the sky.

Something squeaked at her feet.

Her first reaction was to jump for solid ground—squeaking from the unstable drawbridge couldn't be good, surely. After a graceless fall she turned to have a look and saw…

"Oh… Cheddar, right? Don't scare me like that!" After the banewolves, talking to a space mouse didn't seem all that strange; she didn't even stop to wonder if it could answer. "Is it safe in there?"

The mouse squeaked and chittered, running in circles, shaking its head vigorously, and pawing for her to follow. Though it followed that up by running up the stairs and through a hole in the door. Mixed signals much? Still, not much to do but follow… the hole was just big enough for her to squeeze through, and spilled just enough light into the dark, dust-choked entry hall for her to see Cheddar running off to the left. That brought them to a cloakroom, seemingly intact, though completely empty.

Before Larmina could even ask what they were doing here, Cheddar scurried up the wall and jumped on one of the coat hooks. It dropped with a soft click. The mouse bounced from hook to hook, triggering a pattern of four more, and several stones in the floor shifted and fell away.

Oh… now that she hadn't seen coming at all. "That, um… that works!" Hesitantly she stepped into the shadows, a wide staircase that seemed to go on forever. None of her explorations had even hinted at this. She heard the squeaks of what sounded like several mice scurrying ahead, long gone by the time she finally reached the bottom.

A sliver of light appeared in front of her. "Larmina?"

The voice washed over her, a physical wave of relief. "Auntie…"

"Larmina!" The light clattered to the ground, and a second later Allura had tackled her in a hug that threatened to take her to the floor along with it.

There were so many things she wanted, needed to ask, and she couldn't ask any of them. Her voice suddenly wouldn't work. So she just sank into the embrace, shivering, trying to let the relief override it all. A few moments of peace—not something she'd ever had much of, really.

Now more than ever, that wasn't likely to change any time soon.