(On the Hunt) Chapter 2

Pride: On the Hunt

Chapter 2

Touching Base

The day was perfect; bright sun, a soft breeze, not too hot or too cold—like it ever got all that cold here. Keith grinned as he pulled on his leather jacket, imagining the look on Lance's face, or even Flynn's. His second had been over the day before to tinker with his bike as promised. It honestly had been fun watching him work, even if Flynn had complained about him hovering. Now it was time to test it out.

He pulled on his helmet and opened the door to the barracks garage, then rolled his Ducati outside. One last check of the bike and his gear… okay, maybe two more checks… it was a pleasant ritual, and he wasn't about to neglect safety. He knew better. Finally satisfied, he climbed aboard and took off down the road for the highway.

He was headed for the Canaveral Shore, taking the long route there. It was quite the ride, over several canals, past towering palms, glittering lakes and the ocean…

The ocean…

It made him homesick sometimes, looking out over the ocean. But he knew he was where he belonged now. The Garrison, the Alliance… maybe even this crazy Explorer Team. Not to mention the weather here was much more enjoyable on a motorcycle, not having to deal with the chill rains and cold. Still, nostalgia always hit him hard.

Dad would have loved this ride…

His father had instilled the love of riding in him. Some of his earliest memories were in the sidecar of his dad's bike, watching the world rush by…

"You doing all right, son?"

Keith grinned at the voice in his helmet headset. "Doing great, Dad! This is fun!"

"Isn't it? Someday you'll have your own bike, and then it'll really be fun… oh, look! There's a deer ahead."

Grinning, Keith leaned forward, and gasped softly as he saw the deer ahead. It caught sight of them and took off running down the road, white tail flashing.

"Want to race it?"

"YES!" Keith exclaimed, laughing as they caught up to the deer and passed it. "This is so much fun, Dad!"

"I’m glad you like it, Keith."

Keith grinned at the memory. It was important to keep the good memories at the forefront. Not the others… his early days at the Academy, the call… how his mother had collapsed at work, and his father, rushing to her side, hadn't hit the brakes fast enough… he sighed. It still hurt, how swiftly his parents had passed, but he had to believe that they were in a better place. And while he knew some people might have been convinced to stop riding by that loss, he wouldn't. He couldn't. Dad wouldn't have wanted him to. Riding wasn't just a few moments of freedom, it was a way to honor those memories. Shaking the thoughts away he yanked harder on the throttle, testing out Flynn's upgrades and grinning as the engine purred.

After about an hour, he finally made it to the park. It was a rarely used lot, and as he jumped off the bike and stashed his keys in his pocket he headed for a very rarely used trail. He carefully picked his way down to the beach, pulling his boots and socks off, carrying them and his helmet. The tide was low; he went to the water and made his way down the beach until he came to a large rocky outcropping. It would have seemed like a dead end, but Keith knew better. Walking around it in the water, he grinned as a small stretch of pristine sand greeted him on the other side. Deserted as always. He liked to think of this secluded spot as his beach.

Walking up to the dry sand, he dropped his things, stripping off his jacket and t-shirt as well before stretching. Once he finished with the he picked up a length of driftwood. Smuggling his actual sword down here wasn't something he cared to try. So he gave the wood a few test swings and nodded; it would do. He whispered a traditional prayer for his family, then started on his katas. For a time he lost himself in the movements of his makeshift sword and the rhythmic sound of the waves.

After about half an hour he stopped and dropped onto the sand in the shade, looking out over the water. Something grey lept from the sea, then a few more, leaping and playing in the sun. He grinned, another wave of nostalgia washing over him. Porpoises. Tiny cousins of the whales he’d grown up watching from piers back in Vancouver. They came to visit this spot often; it was part of the reason he'd chosen it.

Keith rested there for awhile, watching the dolphins, listening to the waves crash on the sand. He did love it here. Peace, quiet, and solitude… things in short supply on a starship. But he couldn't stay long; there was work to do. Sighing, he got back to his feet, and did a few more katas before grabbing his stuff and heading back to his bike. They would have new orders soon enough.

*****

Needless to say, there was a shooting range or two on base. There were all kinds, really. Indoor, outdoor, strict military, relaxed recreational… the Perforation Station was, predictably, one of the latter. It was a large indoor facility with the cheerful ambiance of an arcade—in fact there were several retro shooting games scattered around the edges. You could blast pixelated zombies with neon plastic laser guns to warm up for the real thing if you wanted.

Lance was certainly not above doing just that. Nor was Flynn. But today they had just staked out a table in the waiting area to talk shop and admire each other's gear.

And maybe more than just gear.

"Anyone impressing you so far?" Flynn was sitting on the table, watching the nearest shooters. Everyone was decent, of course; they were trained soldiers. But nobody was really jumping out at him as someone to watch.

Lance was not watching the shooters all that carefully. No, you're just about it. For some reason the words didn't come out. "Not really."

Flynn laughed, turning to face him and crossing his arms over his knees. He kept glancing at the very impressive sniper rifle Lance had with him, but first things first. "So what are you carrying, anyway? I can tell they aren't standard." Nonstandard guns were fairly common in the Alliance; preference waivers weren't difficult to get. It came with the whole vast multicultural coalition thing.

Grinning, Lance drew one of his pistols and held it up for him to examine. "Axel 220 PC, had to nail some special proficiencies for it but it's functional as fuck."

Flynn's eyes widened. "You took an Axel test?" The Axel 220 was one of the finest pistols in the Alliance's arsenal: a product of Tandalari engineering and Kejon efficiency, individually crafted and painstakingly adapted to humanoid hands. They were strictly a military gun, but issuing them to everyone would be prohibitive. The only way to get an Axel was to apply for a grueling marksmanship test and ace it… and that was for one. Eyeing Lance's other holster he amended the question. "You took two Axel tests? …You would."

"Fuck yes I did! Took a lot of convincing, but no way I was only carrying one for my sidekick."

"Wouldn't be showing off nearly enough, I know."

"Hey, I gotta do what I gotta do." Smirking, Lance replaced the gun in its holster and leaned back in his chair. "Besides, standard issue is just a bad gun."

"It is that." Flynn made a face. "I get the principle, especially when you shouldn't have to use it much, but if my only option was hauling one of those relics I'd shoot for an Axel too."

"Oh yeah? You think you can shoot for an Axel?"

Shrug. "Haven't tried it, and I've heard the test is hell. But of course I could."

"The test is hell. But worth it. These babies are amazing." Lance grinned, tapping the barrel of the sniper rifle. "And you know the specs on her, I can tell by the way you're eyeing her."

Of course he did. "Steyr SSG 1580, Nightforce Sentry scope, integrated stabilization system… and that spear engraved on the stock isn't standard."

Smirk. "Had to put my name on it somehow." Lance reached down and ran his fingers along the engraving, which was not just any old spear, of course. He had a very similar lance tattooed on his back, and the thought of displaying it briefly came and went. "So, you going to show your gun off or not?"

Laughing, Flynn drew his own sidearm and shrugged. "Less reliable than yours, but if the mechanic has to fire his backup gun in combat I figure things have gone horribly wrong anyway. And one shot will do it."

"Yeah, no kidding." Lance laughed too. "So how did you get your hands on a Desert Eagle?"

For a moment the engineer just looked at him, but then he shrugged. "What the hell, you already know how I got to Earth."

"That I do."

"They send the Dathrean heretics through an integration program out in Phoenix. The locals have figured out how to take advantage of a bunch of teenaged mechanical prodigies with minimal social skills and no idea what to do with their free time…"

Oh really. A grin crossed his face. "You? Minimal social skills?"

Flynn grinned back, blushing slightly. "I'm a fast learner."

"I'll bet you are." Lance paused. "Wait, they send you from nuclear hell to a desert?"

"Nuclear hell was a desert, it's familiar."

"Guess that makes sense, green is nice though."

Now that was entirely a matter of opinion; Flynn snorted. "Not if you're descended from two hundred years of immune systems that haven't had to deal with pollen. Trust me."

…Oh. Lance's eyes widened and he nodded. "Okay yeah, fair point. Go on."

"There's a range on base a lot of the heretics like to hang out at. This guy comes in one day with an armful of exotics, starts firing them off to see whose attention he can get." He raised his hand with a bit of a smirk, then indicated the gun. "He gave me this as a twisted mess and told me if I could fix it, I could have it…" A brief pause, then he laughed. "He did not tell me I was applying for a summer job by doing it."

"Wait, you rebuilt it?"

"Mostly. The important parts were there."

"Still." Lance whistled, impressed. "Handy hobby."

"It does help." Flynn gave a slightly sheepish chuckle. "Especially when it means you can fix your impractical but sentimental sidearm when it breaks." He indicated his own rifle, which was vastly less impressive than Lance's. "Built that too, after a couple summers of learning what I was doing."

Being able to build your own guns seemed very fun, Lance decided. Maybe he would ask for lessons sometime. "What are its specs?"

Shrug. "Standard scout specs, just a little extra—"

"—Lieutenant McClain? Hey, you shooting?"

They both jumped at the interruption. A young man was standing at a respectful distance, dark-skinned with short dreadlocks and a solemn aspect that, in Flynn's opinion, did not at all mesh with knowing Lance by name.

For his part, Lance wouldn't have been surprised if he hadn't outright forgotten where he was. He always got some attention around the Perforation Station, and Ryan Kinkade was one of his favorite cadets. "Uh, yeah, that was the plan…" He grinned slightly. "You?"

"I was just practicing some with the holo scope. You were right, it's coming easier."

"Good." He turned to Flynn, whose head was tilted curiously. "Cadet Kinkade here wants to be a sniper, and he's got some damn solid potential, so I've been giving him some pointers. Kinkade, this is Lieutenant Commander Kleid, my unit's resident grease monkey."

Flynn couldn't help the grin as he shook Kinkade's hand. "You're trying to learn something from this crazy flyboy? …You could do a lot worse. Nice to meet you."

Nod. "Learn from the best, be the best."

Oh, as if that was what Lance's ego needed. But it was undeniably accurate. "It's true."

A couple of firing lanes had opened next to each other as they were speaking, and Lance stood. "So, should we get shooting?"

"Let's." Flynn slid off the table. "I have to show someone I could shoot for an Axel if I wanted, apparently… and I think I promised you a few shots with something too."

"Fuck yes, on both counts."

Watching the two leaving the table, Kinkade briefly debated whether to follow or not—it seemed like a learning opportunity, and probably fun, though it also seemed like maybe these two were better left alone. But while he was contemplating it they both turned and motioned for him to come along. That answers that then!

"You'd better go first," Flynn was saying as they reached their lanes, handing Lance the Desert Eagle. "Mind the recoil."

Lance accepted the gun, testing the weight of it in his hands. "Heard they've got quite a kick." So did the standard issue—one of the many reasons he'd shot for the Axel in the first place—but he also knew, unlike the standard issue, this one was worth the kick. Stepping forward he sighted on the target downrange, eyes narrowing as he squared his shoulders, and squeezed off a shot.

Next thing he knew, he was on his ass on the floor and Flynn was laughing hysterically. Even Kinkade was trying to fight down a snicker.

"What did I tell you?"

"Now that's a recoil!"

"What did I tell you?" Looking up, Flynn's laughter abruptly cut off. Lance might have been floored… but so was whatever he might have been shooting at. There was a hole dead center in the target. "…Not bad."

"Not bad?" Lance repeated indignantly.

That got him a sly grin. "Do it again."

Oh, he wanted to be that way about it? No problem. No problem at all. Climbing to his feet, Lance squared up again, bracing himself better now that he knew what to expect. "Hell yeah, if you say so." With a smirk, he fired off a second shot, feeling the force of the recoil radiate through his arms and into his chest, but this time barely even stumbling.

The bullet had left a second dead center hole, overlapping with the first. Flynn's eyes widened slightly. "Very nice."

"Just nice?" Lance rolled his eyes.

"I'm not fool enough to compliment you too much," he protested with a wink. "Your ego is already overfed…"

"Excuse me," a sharp voice snapped from behind them. "But this range is for standard issue firearms only."

Flynn paused, setting his rifle aside, eyes narrowing slightly. Then he shifted a little, drawing himself to his full height. As he turned he flipped his hair back to make certain his rank patch was visible.

By the time he was facing the speaker—a cadet with short brown hair and a businesslike scowl—he was in full Officer Mode, and the interloper seemed slightly taken aback.

There was no need to hammer the point in too hard. Just a little. "Sorry, what was that, Cadet?"

Now the cadet was really taken aback. "N… nothing, sir." He retreated about as quickly as possible without looking like he was fleeing in shame.

He was totally fleeing in shame.

Now it was Lance's turn to double over laughing. Shit, that was hot. He'd tried to keep it in until the kid was out of earshot, but wasn't sure he'd actually succeeded. For his part, Kinkade wasn't sure if he really ought to laugh, and had been physically shaking for a few moments trying to hold it back—but as soon as McClain lost it, he gave in too.

"Standard issue firearms, honestly," Flynn muttered, shaking his head and smirking. "Should've asked him for a cite."

"Griffin's always like that," Kinkade managed through the laughter. "That was great." Not that there was anything inherently wrong with wanting to follow the rules… but he'd wondered more than a few times before why exactly his fellow cadet would come to the Perforation Station for that.

Flynn let himself snicker as Lance just laughed harder. "I aim to please! Mostly."

"Let's see you aim," Lance challenged, steadying himself enough to hand over one of his Axels. Not that he'd usually let anyone else touch one of his babies, but he was pretty certain the engineer had earned it.

Accepting the gun, Flynn tested its weight for a moment, swapping it between his hands before testing a proper firing stance. It felt like it was hardly even there. "Hell of a gun." With a grin, he sighted downrange and squeezed off three quick shots—if there was any recoil whatsoever, he didn't notice it—clustering them in the center of the target. "Hell of a gun," he repeated in admiration.

A devilish smirk crossed Lance's lips. "Not bad."

"Oh, going be like that?" Flynn eyed him with mock indignation, then raised the gun again, eyes narrowing as he lined up a new shot. This one wasn't fast, by any means… certainly not as quick as the flyboy had set up his follow-up shot. But as he slowly exhaled and squeezed the trigger the bullet buried itself right in the center of the first three holes.

"Fine, fine." Lance laughed. "Great shots."

"That's better."

Looking between the two of them, then at the tight patterns of holes in both their targets, Kinkade gave a low whistle. Which might have been a mistake, because it got Lance's attention again; he grinned. "So, Kinkade, think it's your turn now. Gonna show me what you've learned while I was gone?"

Oh. He gulped, suddenly nervous—and even more so when Flynn turned to him, leaning on the divider. "Yes, let's see what you can do." He offered an encouraging grin.

"Uh, yes sirs." He steadied his grip on his rifle—standard issue, though the standard rifle was much better than the sidearm—and looked nervously at the target. He had been improving, but wasn't too sure about his effectiveness with two officers staring over his shoulder.

"Take it easy, we don't…" Flynn hesitated. "I don't bite, probably shouldn't vouch for Lance here."

"Not cadets." Lance smirked. "Come on, kid, I know you've got this. And if you don't we'll help you get it."

Well, if they wanted to teach, who was he not to learn? Nodding, he stepped up to his spot.

*****

Six days. That was how long Sven had been listening to his mother go on and on about… things. So many things, he was having a hard time keeping track. One of the reasons he’d lied about his return date was that he was sure his mother wouldn’t let him out of her sight, and he wasn’t wrong. She wanted him to go everywhere with her. If it were socially acceptable for her to bring her adult son into the restroom with her, Sven was fairly certain she would.

Alright, so that was probably an exaggeration, but it was honestly what it felt like. If he weren’t feeling so smothered at the moment, he’d actually be impressed. His mother had fit an insane amount of activities, lunches, dinners, and brunches—oh god, the brunches—into six days. They’d even gone to the theater a couple of times.

He was exhausted, even more exhausted than he had been after getting attacked by those boar-tah things. He really shouldn't be surprised, though. Ambassador Rona Holgersson could organize entire galas in a matter of days, this was nothing in comparison—

"Sven honey, are you listening to me?"

Sven winced in guilt; he hadn’t been. They were at another brunch. Thankfully they were they only ones here this time. A couple of her friends had come to the others… they'd kept caressing his arms, it had made him uncomfortable.

"No, mom. I got distracted with my own thoughts, I’m sorry."

"Oh, it’s alright dear." His mother paused to give him a smile. "As I was saying, your father's friend Councilman Toth is thinking of running for Senator Coleman’s seat this next election, and your father is torn."

"Why is that?" Sven asked, though he really couldn’t care less.

"Well, Toth is a dear friend, but Coleman’s and your father’s politics line up better." His mother sighed. This was one of the reasons her husband hadn’t been able to spend much time with them this past week. Between deciding on who to support and planning his own re-election, he just hadn’t had much time.

Sven, of course, thought the answer was obvious. "Shouldn’t he back Coleman then?" Politics should be about, well politics. Not who was friends with who, though his father would make the argument that that having the most friends was 90% of what politics was, and he wasn’t technically wrong… he shook his head. This was why he hated politics.

"Possibly but…" Rona paused. She knew this could lead to a debate, a debate they’d had many times. Sometimes things weren’t so black and white, and most times Sven seemed to understand that, she thought. But sometimes… that boy could be quite hardheaded when he wanted to be. "Let’s talk about something else. Politics are boring anyways, isn't that right?"

Sven fought the urge to roll his eyes, torn between saying you brought it up and oh thank god. He decided on neither. It wasn't hard to tell when his peacemaker mother was trying to avoid an argument—or rather, a debate. They were never referred to as 'arguments' in the Holgersson household. They were 'debates'.

"What would you like to talk about?" That was a safe response.

"Oh! I forgot to tell you—" Sven rather doubted that. "—I reserved the tennis courts for us again this afternoon."

Oh. Great. Obviously "what would you like to talk about?" was not as safe a response as he had thought. Tennis was a great sport really, but even he knew how ridiculous he looked in those little bright green shorts his mother made him wear. And they’d already played tennis this week. Three times!

That was it. It was time to call for help.

"That sounds… interesting, but let’s come back to that in a moment. I have to go to use the restroom." Sven quickly got up and headed in the direction of the bathrooms, locking himself in a stall and pulling out his datapad. There was one person who could definitely get him out of this mess.

The connection went through without so much as a hello, of course. "What do you need, Viking?"

"I need for you to come save me!"

"…Spoons?" Jace sounded amused.

"Brunch. Much worse than spoons." Sven did not sound amused.

"Brunch, huh? Okay, I was gonna say no but you've convinced me. But I've already got somewhere I have to be this afternoon, if I come bail you out you're coming with me."

Sven didn't hesitate. "Deal. I’m at Tatiana’s Cafe. Just hurry please."

A pause. Apparently he recognized the name. "…You're uh, you're sure you want to be caught dead with me in there?"

"With every fiber of my being." Maybe Jace would appall his mother enough for them to make a clean getaway.

There was a long pause which was obviously the medic resisting the urge to spit out a smartass comment; Sven was appreciative. "I’ll be there." He hung up before Sven could even thank him.

Needless to say, he was not as quick getting back to the table as he had been to leave it. His mother welcomed him back and smiled. "So, tennis?"

"I don’t know, Mom… we’ve played quite a lot recently. I was hoping maybe we could just go home." Sven knew that wasn’t going to work, but all he had to do was stall until Jace got there. "I’m kind of in need of a break from all the activity."

"But honey, you know how much I love spending time with you. And who knows how soon I won’t be able to see you at all, again."

There it was. Passive aggressive comment about Sven not requesting a transfer number 112.

"Can we please not have this argu—conversation again?"

"You’ve made it perfectly clear that there is nothing to converse about, so I have no idea what conversation you are referring to." Sven did in fact roll his eyes this time, but did not respond. It wouldn’t help anything. Jace needed to hurry up.

His mother quickly changed the subject. Sven was only half listening, and was pretty sure his mother was aware, but she continued speaking anyways. Fine. Let her get it out of her system…

Jace stood outside Tatiana’s Cafe and shook his head. Brunch, really? There were Geneva Conventions for this sort of thing, weren't there? Walking through the door, he immediately waved off the greeter; it just took a quick glance around to spot the back of Sven’s head.

"Yo! Viking!"

Sven whipped his head around. Thank god. "Jace!" A relieved smile graced his face, and then he muttered a little more quietly, "…finally."

Jace flipped his mom a casual salute before turning to Sven and smirking. "So, you ready to go see some cute pussies?"

He hadn't even hesitated. And really, the question seemed completely predictable from him, but it still caused Sven to wince.

Ambassador Holgersson had not been expecting anything of the sort, and choked on her own spit. "Darling…" She quickly regained her composure. "Who is this?" Though she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

"Mother," Sven paused to give Jace a pointed glare, "this is Jace Cardoso Gregory. He’s the team medic. We’re friends." The navigator continued to glare. "Jace, this is my mother, Ambassador Rona Holgersson."

His mother stood to greet him. "It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Gregory." She held her hand out to shake.

Jace bowed, just a bit sardonically, in response. It seemed appropriate after all he'd heard. "Cumprimentos, senhora Your Vikingness."

Rona's brow rose at the title she’d just been given, but she chose to ignore it. Instead, she just smiled. "Olá, muito prazer em conhecê-la, Jace."

Sven’s eyes widened. "You speak Portuguese?" He supposed he shouldn’t be quite so shocked. She was an ambassador, she spoke a lot of languages. But even so…

His mother smirked. "You don’t know everything about me."

Jace, for his part, had stayed silent, just looking back and forth between Sven and his mother throughout the exchange. "Porra…" He wasn’t sure he was prepared for Sven’s family dynamics. Rona instinctively shot him a mom look for the language but didn’t comment, and he flipped another salute. That was twice she'd said it was nice to meet him. "I see why you’re a good ambassador, that was a damn good lie. Viking, we going or what?"

"I’m not sure what you’re referring to, Mr. Gregory." Rona smiled and turned to Sven, giving him a hug before he could respond. "Go on. Have fun with your… pussies."

Sven's jaw dropped. So did Jace's.

"NOW, VIKING. MEDICAL EMERGENCY!" That wasn’t a lie. He was choking, on his own laughter but it was still choking. When it became apparent the Viking was too shocked to leave on his own, he grabbed his arm and started dragging him. He needed to breathe, damn it.

Sven allowed himself to be hauled out with little resistance, and seemed to snap out of his shock when they got outside. "Who was that, and what have you done with my mother?" He wasn’t at all sure how to handle his mother saying that word, but blaming Jace seemed appropriate.

"See? I keep telling you I’m a good influence." Jace gave a giant smirk and started walking away from the cafe.

Sven questioned that logic, but went along with it. "And I’m sure one day I’ll believe you… where are we going?"

"You’ll find out when we get there, it’s not that far." He paused and raised his eyebrows. "You wouldn’t try and run away after I saved you, would you?"

"Of course not. I agreed to come." Sven rolled his eyes, though a worrying thought had occurred to him. "It’s not a strip club is it?"

"Are you wearing khakis?"

He was a little afraid to answer that. "…Yes."

"Then no." That got a sigh of relief, which he rewarded with another smirk.

"That’s good." Though really, even a strip club would have been preferable to another game of tennis. …Maybe.

"You’re lucky you were on this side of town." Jace gave a small grin. "Though you know I wouldn’t have said no anyway, that’s why you called… c’mon, down this way."

That was why he had called. There’d been no doubt in his mind that Jace would come to his rescue, and he had no problem admitting it. "I knew I could count on you to save me from…" My mother. "Spoons."

"And brunch." Jace shook his head. "Brunch is the worst. Just fucking acknowledge you couldn’t be bothered with breakfast until noon, no damn shame in it."

Sven couldn’t have agreed more. "Exactly! Thank you! And when you're invited to one you can't eat breakfast, because then you won't be hungry during brunch, and heaven forbid you not eat and be rude…" He continued to rant while they walked to the secret destination, and Jace was thoroughly enjoying every bit of it. By the end of the rant he was laughing hysterically.

"Porra… if I’d known you’d go off that hard I’d have brought up brunch earlier." Jace tugged at his sleeve and dragged him down a side street. There was a building at the end of it, with a large sign bearing the words HEAVY PETTING PLAYGROUND.

"Sorry, brunch is a frustrating—" Sven stopped mid sentence when he saw the sign. "This had better be an animal shelter or something."

Jace gave him a look, then a smirk spread over his face. "What clued you in, the cute animals in the windows?" Actually Sven had been too horrified to notice the cute animals in the windows, though now that the medic mentioned it, there were several large decals of cartoon puppies and kittens. Still smirking, Jace dragged him through the doors. "Hey Shaw! I brought help."

There were several more decals and posters inside—some more cute cartoon animals, some health tips, some lost and found posters. Sven looked around, a little surprised that it really was that… "You volunteer at an animal shelter?"

Jace shrugged. "Yeah, and?"

Sven paused. Was he really shocked? The more he thought about it, the more he realized that this actually fit Jace pretty well, considering his usual interactions with humans. The memory of the little cat plushie in his housing unit crossed his mind too, but he didn’t mention it. "Nothing."

A gangly man poked his head out of a staff door, with a small gray kitten attached to his face. It didn’t seem to bother the man much, but it didn’t look comfortable. Jace looked at him and shook his head as if he wasn't the least bit surprised.

"Captain Flufferface, you can’t do that to Shaw, even if he was asking for it when he gave you that name…" He walked up and carefully detached the kitten, scratching its ears and receiving several loud purrs for his efforts.

Shaw laughed and looked at Sven, and offered his hand; Sven shook it with a smile. "Hey, I’m Shaw the Shelter Dude. Welcome to the Playground. Jace, I’ve got a few pups needing walks, you got things handled here?"

"Yeah, we’re on it." Jace started walking towards a different staff door than the one Shaw had come through, as Shaw himself walked back through the first door. There were several excited barks as he did so, and after a minute they heard another door swing shut.

Sven had been eyeing the kitten in Jace’s arms, and decided to steal him. Jace didn't resist the theft, grinning. "Watch it, the Cap’s a face hugger."

"I’ll be careful," Sven assured him, scritching the little cat's chin. "He sure is cute."

"It's his other specialty." Leading Sven through the door a thought came to Jace, a bit belatedly. "You’d have told me by now if you were allergic, right?" Scowl. "Maybe Medical will actually give me everyone’s records before we ship out next time."

"I don’t have any allergies… and hopefully," Sven guaranteed, and then not-so-guaranteed

"Perfect." Jace turned towards the loud demanding meows. The hallway was wide and bright and lined with large cages.

"So what are we doing here exactly?" Sven asked.

Jace pointed down the hall. "Bunch of furballs need fed, cleaned up after, cuddled, told they’re pretty. You know, like the average trooper except with more fur." He paused and tilted his head a little. "I’m going to guess from that question you’ve never had a pet."

"Do you count?"

Jace snickered. "Have I mentioned lately that I like it when you’re an asshole?"

"Have I mentioned that I don’t like it when you curse?"

"It’s come up. Your mom seemed okay with it."

"She wasn’t." That mom look hadn’t even been aimed at him, but he had felt its effect. Somehow it didn't surprise him that Jace hadn't.

Shrugging, the medic opened one of the cages and pulled out a large fluffy gray and white cat, which immediately started licking his face. Looking past the cat between licks, Jace studied the cage. "Purrn Star, did you dump your water again?"

"Are you in charge of naming them?"

As if on cue Purrn Star mewed proudly, and Jace shook his head no. "Some of ‘em. Oddly, not including this one." Sven wasn’t sure if he believed him, because that was a very Jace name… but then, he knew Jace wouldn’t be bothered to lie about something like that. "Here, let the Cap down for a bit? He’s a roamer, it’s fine. Give Purrn Star some love while I dry out her cage."

Give Purrn Star some love. Really now… he reluctantly put Captain Flufferface down, but happily took the other one. The Cap immediately made sure they both knew he was not a fan of this new situation, yelling loudly.

"He… seems upset," Sven noted.

Jace had gone to the back, getting supplies to clean the cages. Coming back towards Purrn Star’s cage he shook his head at the little guy, kneeling to give his ears another scritch before focusing on the cage. "He’s not happy unless he’s the center of attention. Kind of like certain pilots we know."

Sven rolled his eyes. "Lance is not that bad."

"Yeah, sure. You’re entitled to your wrong opinion." Finishing up the cage, he gave Purrn Star a few scratches under her chin, then opened the can of food and put it inside.

"That phrase is so… nevermind." That sentence in itself was an opinion, but it wasn’t worth pointing out.

Not minding, as instructed, Jace ran his fingers through Purrn Star's fur. "We have to take care of her first because she doesn't get along with the others. The rest we usually just let out to play in the hallway for a bit, while we fix up their cages and put the food in." He grinned. "Ready for a lot of cats, Viking?"

A lot of cats sounded like fun, though he wasn't sure if Captain Flufferface would agree. "Yes I am."

Still grinning, Jace put Purrn Star in her cage and started walking down the corridor, opening all the cages along the way. Sven had not realized how many cages there were in here… before long there were cats everywhere. It took some effort to be sure not to step on any of them.

"All the food is in the upper cupboards in the back…" Jace trailed off as a calico kitten crawled up Sven’s pant leg and latched onto his shirt, digging in with tiny claws.

"They sure are cute," Sven cooed. He wasn't sure he could think of anything else right now, surrounded by all this mewing fluff… the little cat on his shirt wavered, and he cupped it with his hands to be sure it wouldn't fall.

"Aren’t they?" Jace came over to help detach the kitten. "There’s a reason we call this one Full Frontal Mewdity, she loves climbing clothes… and sometimes she takes trophies. Shaw has never lived it down." Grin. "Has he, you little delinquent?" He gave the kitten several scritches on the cheeks, then offered her to Sven, who gladly accepted.

"Now I know you named this one." There were zero doubts in Sven’s mind.

"Guilty!" Pride laced his tone. "Let's get the food put out, then we can make sure all these little fuzzballs get the—" Jace was cut off by one of the cats letting out a surprisingly loud meow. "—attention they're certain they deserve."

Sven had been intending to help. Really, he had. But he got so caught up playing with the cats that he didn’t really end up doing any feeding or cleaning after the first couple of cages. Not that Jace could blame him, and who was he to stop the Viking from interacting with a hallway full of adorable? Dude needed to relax. Maybe next time he'd insist on more even distribution of duty.

He was finishing up the last of the cages when another volunteer showed up. "That’s our shift, Viking."

Though he really wasn't sure he wanted to leave, Sven smiled at him. "This was fun."

Jace grinned back, tucking the the last cat—Probable Claws—back into his cage. "You can always come back."

"I’ll have to… and maybe I’ll adopt one. One day." Sven was seriously considering it. He loved these little guys.

"Yeah, a cat would be way lower-maintenance than the pet you’ve got, right?" Jace smirked, then started heading for the door. Captain Flufferface trotted after him.

"You’ve got a follower."

Jace laughed, turning around and kneeling to give the roaming kitten a last belly rub. "You can’t come with us, Cap…" As the Cap purred and stretched, he jumped up and they both snuck out the door.

Curiosity was overwhelming Sven by now, and he paused as the door clicked shut. "What is it with you and cats?"

Jace froze up for a moment, his mind suddenly elsewhere. A street bathed in Prox's nighttime sun, where you could never just sneak away so easily.

You can't come with me, Cat…

"…They’re adorable little assholes. What’s not to like?"

"They are adorable. I just noticed the stuffed kitten back in your quarters, and here with," Sven gestured towards the cat decals on the windows, "this. I was just wondering if there was another reason besides the cuteness…"

Of course he was. Shaking his head, Jace started walking back up the street, Sven trailing behind him. "I just left a cat behind at home," he said finally, shrugging. "Kinda miss her sometimes."

Sven quirked his head, but decided that was best left alone. The medic was usually pretty open about what he'd walked away from, no sense poking at what he didn't want to share. "Understandable."

"You wanna go grab a sandwich or something? There’s a great deli up the street. No brunch."

"Sounds lovely." Sven sighed in reflexive relief at the thought of no brunch. "Have to wash my hands when we get there…"

That had really just been him talking to himself, but it got him a glare and a light elbow. "Uh, yeah, you fucking better."

"Of course I will! I'm civilized."

"I guess that's as good a word as any?"

They fell into easy banter as they walked up the street, and Sven couldn't quite stop grinning. Despite starting with brunch, it had been a good day.

*****

Not everyone was having trouble getting away from their family. Some of the team was having trouble getting in touch. That was what happened when you had not just your parents, but four brothers scattered all across the planet to worry about.

Hunk had just finally gotten to the last one today. Kenji played professional football in Australia, and between practice and time zones, figuring out when to call was a trick.

"…we'll be coming to play Florida in December, if you're still on base then. But anyway, enough about me, you gonna tell me about your mission or what?"

No. No he wasn't. He'd been studiously avoiding doing much of that for this conversation and four others before it, because his family was still under the impression he had a nice safe back lines engineering job. "Ain't much to say, bro. We met bird people and cat people and explored a bunch of weird stuff." There was no need to mention the water gauntlet. Or nearly being killed by Galra and pirates. Or the box. Definitely not the box.

"You never tell me anything," Kenji grumbled. "How's the new unit?"

"Pretty awesome! We've got a cool pilot, and a Viking, and a boss who thinks he's a samurai or somethin', and a—" The sound of a door swinging open interrupted him, and he sat up straighter in bed. "Uh, was that on your end?"

"Wasn't me, bro…"

"Hunkie!" a familiar southern accent yelled. "I'm hoooome!"

A huge grin spread over Hunk's face. "Oh hey, roomie's back! I better go say hi. Call ya tomorrow? Will you be around?"

Kenji chuckled. "Same time, same place, little bro. Catch you then."

Hunk gave a slight sigh of relief as the connection cut. Post-mission check-ins were a struggle even when the missions weren't crazy. He loved his family dearly, he really did. But they had next to nothing in common.

His roommate, on the other hand…

"Yo!" She appeared in the doorway: a stocky young woman with ginger pigtails, muscular arms crossed, mock glaring. "Not even gonna come say hello?"

"I was gettin' there!" he protested, still grinning as he jumped up. "You didn't tell me you were gonna be back today! I woulda baked a cake. Or some wings. Or invited the whole block for a BBQ."

She laughed, holding a hand up. "The letter wouldn't have gotten here before I did. Gimme thirty-five!"

Hunk slapped her hand, launching into the familiar ritual. Their official secret roommate handshake consisted of three one-handed high fives, two double high fives, a KABOOM gesture… and no actual hand shaking. Oh, and a quick hug that literally lifted her off her feet. "Welcome back, Hammer."

"Good to see you, Crusher."

Bama the Hammer—Sergeant Alabama Kowalski, Andromeda Vanguard, Second Siege Battalion—was the only person who ever used his callsign. They'd met in a structural engineering class at the Academy, both learning how to bring down buildings more efficiently; her with artillery shells, him with demolition charges. It had been mutual admiration at first sight. Of course, being a siege tanker, she'd been sent off to guard the border of No Man's Land while he stayed home and punched COs and got sent off on crazy treasure hunts. At least unlike his brothers, he could tell her about all of it without her thinking he was crazy…

…Well, maybe not the water gauntlet, but anyway. "Have I got some stories for you."

"Oh yeah? What, you weren't just pushing more rocks around on Ganymede?"

"You've got no idea." He laughed. "But let's put on some ribs and some metal before we get to that, yeah? You need help with any bags or anything?"

"Wouldn't say no. We didn't see any action—you'd kinda know if we had—but I did smuggle back some scrap from exercises." She waggled her eyebrows. "Might be enough to get the new grill up and running."

Now that was real music to his ears. "I'm all over that!"

As he turned to grab his datapad, Hammer finally caught sight of the uniform patch on his shoulder: the falcon, globe, and star of the Explorer Teams rather than the lightning wrench of the Jovian Engineering Corps. "Uh, Crusher?"

"Yeah?"

"Just what did you do while I was gone?" She sounded half offended, half admiring.

He glanced back at her, chuckling. "I broke a dude's jaw. Dude outranked me. It was a whole thing." A sly grin spread over his face. "Not jealous, are you?"

"I might be."

"Let's get your stuff hauled in." He tapped a command in on the datapad, and heavy metal Ride of the Valkyries began blaring through the room. "Then I'll tell ya all about it, as long as you promise to tell me about all the kabooms that go on on the border. Fair?"

She grinned. "Fair!"

*****

It had been hard to gauge the passage of time between the many bombardments. Now that they'd stopped, it was easier in some ways to gather intel, though the occupying infantry was a constant danger. The few military personnel Allura had at her disposal had gathered to share with her as much as they could about the environment above ground. Information was limited, but it wasn't good. Cities leveled, stockpiles of resources razed or seized. A large number of survivors had made it into the tunnels beneath Falastol, but the Drules were crawling over what was left of the city; it was impossible to communicate with them. How many may have survived beyond those shelters, nobody knew.

"So… the royal court is most likely gone."

"It would seem so, your highness." Captain Telinan was the highest-ranking Golden Knight, and was handling the distant scouting parties. "The Crown Province is in ruins. We had one recon pairing reach the Seven Isles, but without our maps they wouldn't have recognized it. It would appear that the Drules have been very… thorough."

"And our attempts to reach out to those farther away?"

"We still haven’t heard back from the scouts yet. There are various reasons they could have been delayed, we're giving them more time."

Various reasons. Allura knew perfectly well that meant Drules. Or perhaps, more optimistically, survivors. The scouts could be delayed for quite awhile, should they come upon a group in hiding. The Arusian people were reeling. Enclaves of survivors had been known to greet scouts with anything from mistrust and hostility to desperate pleas to remain with them; a few had been brought back to the caves, though fewer than she would have liked.

"We'll hope the missing are doing the right thing, helping their fellow Arusians." She knew that might make her sound naive, but no matter. They needed whatever hope they could get. "How are our supplies?"

"The militia has been organizing hunting parties, but transporting water is trickier. Clothing and medication are well enough for the moment, but limited. We need to take every opportunity to gather more."

Allura frowned. The castle and the village might both have caches yet to be found, if scavengers could avoid the Drules. "Then let’s make sure we know what supplies we need most, and form groups to focus on seeking them out. When the enemy presence is lighter we can send them to search."

In the corner of her eye, she noted the hunched form with fiery hair poking out from her hood. Letting her men discuss possible locations to scout, she excused herself to quietly chat with someone she knew needed her right now.

Whenever Larmina hadn't been out hunting, she'd been trying to listen to the soldiers' reports. Now she looked stricken. "She’s gone, isn’t she," she whispered as Allura came closer.

Drawing the younger girl closer, the princess squeezed her shoulders gently. "They can’t say for sure. It sounds as though they only reached the outskirts, not the manor. And there are shelters all over Arus. She could be secured deep underground like we are." That earned her look of doubt, a suggestion she might be full of something foul. She brushed it off. "Larmina… you know if your mother had passed, she would try to reach you."

That only got her a blank look. "If she… what? What are you talking about?"

Allura hesitated a moment. She had seen the ghostly flickers in the caves, and she'd seen Larmina jump at their presence, or freeze as if hearing voices. It was a gift common to Arusian royalty, but… did she not know she had it? "Our ancestors have ways of making their presence known," she said quietly. "I truly believe if she'd passed, you would know it. So… until we have some form of confirmation, we can believe that she's out there somewhere, alive."

Larmina closed her eyes tight, thoughts of countless possible fates dancing before her. Allura sighed. She didn't want to humor thoughts of the worst, but she also couldn't pretend not to recognize the danger. So she just wrapped her up in a firm hug. "For now, you can make her proud. I know you've been hunting, and that's good. We have our duties… to give our best to our people, and get them through this, and get ourselves through it as well. How does that sound?"

One aquamarine eye cracked open. "Can I go smack a Drule if I see one?"

That was not the kind of hunting she'd meant. "No, I strongly request you not do that… now."

"Soooooooo… that means I might be able to later?" Larmina asked, raising an eyebrow ever so slightly.

Allura was mildly concerned that the hope of inflicting harm on another was what cheered her cousin from her gloom. Then again, inflicting harm—punishment—justice on the Drules for their crimes was a worthy goal. She smiled sympathetically. "Don’t raise your hopes for that too high. But I believe we will be able to rise up and return to the surface in time, and when we do, I'm sure there will be a Drule or two that needs a good smacking."

It seemed Larmina was willing to accept that; she took a deep breath before slowly exhaling. "So in the meantime…."

"When does the next hunting party go out? I heard a rumor you let Private Hanso bring back more rolis than you did last time…"

"One more!" she protested. "And he cheated!"

"Oh? How did he do that?"

"He… um…" Her cheeks flushed. "I don't know, he just did somehow. All the rolis jumped out on his side of the trail!"

Allura laughed, then arched a challenging eyebrow. "Sounds like you should be planning your revenge. I know better than to think you'll let a little thing like cheating stop you."

"Oh you'd better believe not." Larmina glowered across the cave, in the general direction of where the militia had set up their operations. "Do we need more food? I'll take him on right now."

Remembering the earlier reports, Allura shook her head. "Food is always helpful, but what we need more right now is water. Maybe you can challenge him on who can carry the most?"

"Oh I'm on it. Later, Auntie!" She tossed her hood back and was off, leaving her aunt chuckling behind her.

Sobering, Allura stilled as she heard an indistinct whisper around her, a gentle hand on her shoulder for an instant. There was no hand there… only a soft flicker of light. Nodding a silent thanks to whichever ancestor had come to comfort her, she returned to her duties.

*****

There wasn’t much fanfare when Romelle arrived on Korrinoth. She'd been sent ahead of the main Polluxian delegation, on a royal cruiser that had been well-appointed but lonely. Plenty of time to worry about what she was heading for. Now that she was here, she wasn't sure whether to be less or more worried… a pair of guards and a young Drule woman in a very skimpy outfit that was all gauze and gems awaited her as she got off the ship. Romelle inwardly grimaced, but forced a smile onto her face as she slowly made her way down the ramp.

The girl bowed as she stopped before her. "Princess Romelle, welcome to Korrinoth. I am Kalindra, and I am to be your handmaiden while you are here. Please, follow, and I shall show you to your rooms so you may freshen up from your journey."

Romelle nodded. "Thank you," she murmured and followed her, the guards falling in behind her as Kalindra led the way into the castle. The architecture was so very strange compared to what she’d known on Pollux, heavy and solid and almost organic in places. It was unsettling, but those they passed in the corridors seemed friendly and respectful. Perhaps this won’t be as bad as I imagined.

Seeing her own quarters reinforced her optimism. The suite was decorated with bright silks and strangely transfixing Drule artwork—the paintings were of no discernible subject, but the colors danced and blended from one frame to the next. The furniture was heavy stone, but inlaid with delicate patterns of gold. "It's beautiful here," she said truthfully.

Kalindra smiled softly. "I'm glad you appreciate it, Princess. Would you like to bathe? The castle servants are bringing your things from your ship, they should be here by the time you finish."

Bathing sounded wonderful; it had been a long journey. And the bath itself was as alien as everything else had been so far—an enclosed chamber where the water cascaded down the walls, rather soothing once she got used to it. She took her time, reconsidering her position. The Drules were certainly… different, but they hardly seemed like the ruthless savages she'd expected from a kingdom of conquerors.

Romelle stepped from the bath feeling much better than she had since leaving home. Kalindra helped her into a robe and led her into the bedroom. She paused, her optimism suddenly fading, seeing an outfit similar to what the Drule was wearing laid out on the bed. "Um, Kalindra?"

"Yes, Princess?"

"This outfit. Where did it come from?"

"His Highness, Prince Lotor, sent it over for you to wear to the coming festivities. It is a great honor that he sends you such a gift."

Romelle nodded, trying to keep her expression neutral, though she could feel herself blushing furiously. And as a gift, I would insult him if I don’t wear it, but when Father sees me in it, he will be insulted. She sighed. Maybe it is some traditional dress of their people. Think positive, right?

Kalindra was watching her carefully. "Is all well, Princess?"

"I just…" She paused, not certain how much she could confide in her new handmaiden. Or perhaps certain she couldn't. "Yes, well enough. A bit of culture shock, that's all."

"Understandable." The Drule bowed low. "Please, don't hesitate to ask me anything you require."

For a moment, she hesitated, then decided to test just how genuine all this accommodation was. Yes. Testing. That's what you're doing. "I don't mean to sound rude or ungrateful, but… perhaps I could have some time alone to gather my thoughts? I'm certain I won't have much time for that soon."

Her handmaiden gave a smile that seemed sympathetic, though the fangs it revealed didn't spark much confidence. "Of course, Princess. The bell at the door will summon me whenever you wish." Bowing one more time, she departed the room.

Immediately after she left, Romelle regretted the request. Did she really want to be alone with her thoughts? Here? Now? Looking at the skimpy outfit again, she sank back onto the bed and clenched her fists. This was what she had now, and she'd better get used to it.

For Pollux.

*****

Disclaimer: Sgt. Hammer was borrowed from Heroes of the Storm and has been, or at least will be, returned unharmed.