(On the Hunt) Chapter 7

Pride: On the Hunt

Chapter 7

Sugar and Space

Barring any last-second issues with the ship, the 686 had been given a launch slot on November first.

Why. Why would they do that?

It was Halloween, and Daniel was having none of it. He'd been up late. Way too late. It wasn't his fault, Devil's Night was more his style, and for the first time he hadn't had to worry about being expelled if he got carried away. He was already on an Explorer Team. What was the worst that could happen?

Hangovers. Apparently. It wasn't fair, if he was going to have a hangover he should've at least had something to drink… he'd managed to stumble from his bed to a chair after waking up, around three in the afternoon. He might not leave the chair again until it was time to—

"Oi! Whiny brat!"

He blinked. The voice was familiar; it didn't belong outside his quarters. But he was too tired to care how it had gotten there. "I'm not answering the door if you call me that."

"Fine," Cam retorted. "No candy for you, then."

Oh no. Sighing, he stood and trudged to the door, but didn't open it. The security window showed someone in an old-fashioned space suit standing outside. If he squinted, he could just make out the features behind the faceplate. "I'm exhausted, and I don't want candy."

"Not my fault you were out all night getting into trouble." Spaceman Cam, or whatever he was supposed to be, reached up and pounded on the door. "Come on. Team bonding and stuff."

Ugh. Daniel really just wanted to go back to sleep, but clearly that was out. "Fine." He opened the door and glowered. "But I want all your Twix."

"Nope. You get your Twix, I get mine… no, wait. I'll give you all the left ones, they always taste burnt to me."

"The left ones are amazing. You heathen."

"Whatever." Cam waved that off, eyeing his rumpled pajamas scornfully. "Get your costume, we need candy."

"We don't need candy, you do." Get his costume? Why did spaceboy think he had a costume? He hadn't planned on dressing up at all… oh! I know what I'll wear. Last year's costume was still in his closet. He went back to the bedroom to pull it out.

"Yeah, I need candy," Cam grumbled after him. "We're going to be on a ship for how long? And free candy is always the best tasting candy." Really, if they had the opportunity to build a stockpile without paying for it, it would be downright irresponsible to pass it up… as he considered whether pointing that out would make his crewmate more or less cooperative, said crewmate emerged wearing a long white shirt, feathery wings, and a halo. "…You're kidding me. You are no angel, Brennan."

"Call me Daniel." Was his name really that hard? "And it's Halloween, I can be whatever I want. Let's go…" A sheepish look crossed his face for a moment. "But uh, let's avoid the Bridgewater district."

Handing him a sack, Cam pushed him out the door before he could change his mind. "Why's that? Did you egg the academic housing?"

"No, no." Daniel accepted the sack and the pushing, it was that much less effort he had to put into movement. "Um, something may have happened to Corporal Fuchs's car last night. And if he sees me he'll definitely think I did it."

And wouldn't that be a tragedy? Cam laughed. "Maybe I should make you walk up to his door dressed the way you are."

"So I can be wrongfully accused? No thanks!"

Cam scoffed. "You did it, just admit it."

"Second rule of not getting caught is not admitting shit."

That was the second rule? What was the first one? Maybe he didn't want to know that. "Fine, fine. I want to hit the Heights anyway." Grin. "Score big."

"Ugh, that's so far away…" That earned Daniel an elbow; he was too tired to deal with it and folded immediately. "Okay fine. All your left Twix, don't forget."

"I won't." Cam frowned as they exited the dormitory block. "We'd get even more with a bigger group. Who can we wrangle who'd want to hang out with you?"

"You keep insulting me and I'm going home."

"I think I'm starting to like you." Glare. "Else I wouldn't insult you so much."

"Fine…" Daniel glared right back. "Maybe the other new guys? You did say you wanted team bonding and stuff."

"Ooh, yeah. That'll work." Apart from the briefing they'd barely even seen the kids from engineering. Or really anyone from engineering, for that matter. "I think I heard something about a test fire today, they're probably on duty… but it's Halloween. To the ship?"

"To the ship."

*****

The Bolt wasn't fast on the ground. That was probably for the best.

Flynn was sitting in the pilot's seat, trying to keep focused on where he was going rather than the death grip he was maintaining on the controls. Alliance cross training meant he had some basic flight experience. Enough to know what things looked like from the cockpit. Enough, if called upon, to taxi the lumbering Vagrant to the test range.

He really, really didn't like it. But Hunk, who could usually be counted on for this sort of thing, was off having a Halloween party with Lance. Apparently running around the Garrison in a Godzilla costume was even more entertaining than blowing things up with a disruptor cannon? He would never understand that man.

Flynn himself had been invited to the party. Several times. But he'd had to fit the test firing in somewhere before launch—he hadn't expected Departure to schedule them quite so quickly—and the holiday wasn't really on his radar in any case. Part of him was disappointed; he didn't care at all about Halloween, but he did like hanging out with Lance.

Part of him was relieved to have the excuse, because well… he was noticing a bit too often that he did like Lance. Sighing, he brushed that thought aside. He really didn't need the distraction right now.

Vince was sitting at the gunnery station, looking about as on edge as Flynn felt. If it weren't Vince, he might've taken it as commentary on his driving, but that didn't seem likely. Pidge was back in the bay manning the diagnostic console… neither of them were too terribly upset to have him on the other side of the ship. Much as it seemed he meant well, he still wasn't all that pleasant.

"Almost there…"

It was not, in fact, lost on Vince how uncomfortable Flynn seemed at the controls. It was almost reassuring, in an odd way; someone around here other than him could be nervous! He shifted, watching the taxiway as the Bolt took a wide turn to the left and rolled onto the spacecraft weapons range.

The comms crackled. "ACS Jupiter's Hammer, visual contact. You're late. Subrange six is yours."

"We're late by two minutes, go to hell," Flynn snapped. Vince's eyes widened in shock… then he heard the soft click of the comm switch. "Sorry, Range Command. Traffic was heavy. Subrange six is ours, acknowledged."

Vince couldn't help laughing, and Flynn shot a wink back over his shoulder before pushing the ship forward again. Subrange six was on the far end—why wouldn't it be? Though really, the way the test range was laid out, only the ends could accept a ship as large as the Vagrant. On the plus side, nobody else was taxiing in the area. They rolled past a couple of Fractal fighters, probably checking out their notoriously unreliable pulse cannons, and a Tracker-class gunboat dousing a target with five simultaneous streams of plasma. Finally, subrange six's markings came into view.

He was not breathing a sigh of relief. No, certainly not.

Maybe a little.

"Ready for the fun part?"

Nodding vigorously, Vince looked down at the gunnery panel. Since Pidge was the actual systems analyst, it fell to him to do the shooting. It shouldn't take that much experience to line up the crosshairs on a stationary target. In fact he was inordinately excited about it, though he kept wondering… finally he dared broach the question he'd been debating the whole trip. "Surprised Hunk's not here, really."

"He's off dressed as a fire-breathing lizard, getting drunk." Flynn shrugged. "So, he'll get his explosions one way or another, I suppose?"

"What?" He knew Hunk was kind of crazy, but… oh. "Oh, right. Halloween."

"Not your thing either?"

"Not really." Vince hated crowds, and Ma giving out apples had never endeared him to the neighbor kids growing up. "Love candy, though." He would have to go raid the day-after sales before launch tomorrow. His moms weren't here, and what they didn't know couldn't get him lectured about rotting his teeth.

The Bolt moved slowly into position, orienting on the glowing holographic target about a kilometer downrange. That was considered the absolute minimum for ship-to-ship combat… among sane crews, anyway. Flynn remembered certain carriers and shook his head slightly, then looked back over his shoulder and grinned. "Well, the sooner we get this done, the sooner you can go find some candy. You set?"

Vince grinned back. "Heck yeah."

Nodding, Flynn flipped on the internal comms. "Pidge, we're in position."

"Yessir. Scans are set."

"Fire one when ready."

The gunnery panel was actually pretty intuitive. Multiple cameras fed the console with a 180-degree view, currently centered on a distant spark of azure light. A simple command increased the zoom, and Vince dropped the disruptor cannon's reticle over the target. "Firing!"

A low hum emanated from somewhere behind them, distinct from the idling engines. He immediately recognized it as the backup generator. The hum rapidly increased in volume, and the ship's hull rattled slightly. The backup generator wouldn't do that. The cannon rotating? Maybe, it might have needed a couple of degrees? Vince held his breath, it seemed like this was taking forever, and every moment the cannon didn't fire was—

—Lightning flashed forward, and a sharp crack of thunder rocked the ship. The glowing target vanished completely.

Oh, wow…

"Impact registered," Pidge reported. "Structural damage unknown. Disruption successful, target disabled in 1.08 seconds. Energy readings within expectation. Onboard systems nominal. Charge time 8.3 seconds, suboptimal."

"Not surprising, running it off backup power." Flynn frowned. That firing delay was acceptable—if not ideal—against capital ships, but against anything smaller and faster the cannon would be useless. "Let's try this… Pidge, put the backup generator on standby."

"Yessir."

The low hum sprang back to life, this time remaining steady. Vince nodded to himself; it was the move he'd have suggested, too. As the bright blue glow of the target flickered back to life, Flynn looked back at him and nodded. "Fire when ready."

"Firing!"

Compared to the last shot, the thunderclap was almost instantaneous. The poor target was gone again.

"Charge time 1.61 seconds. Probably sufficient." A disruptor cannon couldn't be expected to fire much faster than that under any circumstances. It wasn't the nature of the beast. "Sir, firing from standby drains the reserve capacitor. It can probably only handle four more shots before recharging."

Flynn nodded slowly. That's not so bad. The decision to put the disruptor cannon on backup power was calculated; if they lost engine power with hostiles present, the generator sure as hell wasn't going to save them. So long as the engines were in play, recharging the reserve capacitor was trivial. For now, though… "May as well take those four shots before we go home, then. Vince, fire two, let's see what the cycle rate is like."

"On it. Firing!" He was getting used to the thunderclap, at least, and set up the second shot without hesitation. "Firing!" The second call was not followed by a second flash of lightning for a few more seconds.

"You don't have to yell twice, mechka."

Vince blinked, turning to the comms and wrinkling his nose. "What did you call me?"

"I called you mechka," Pidge answered flatly.

"Doesn't sound nice," he muttered, rolling his eyes.

"That's enough, Pidge." Flynn's eyes narrowed. "Status?"

"Cycle and charge time combine for an 11.82 second minimum firing delay. Second shot registered less energy, impossible to gauge effect since the first shot removed the target."

"Hmm." The delay was acceptable, but he'd certainly like more information… he keyed up the main comms. "Range Command, can we get a second target on subrange six, about a hundred meters back from the primary?"

"Copy, Jupiter's Hammer, secondary target online." A red pinpoint of light flickered to life beyond the blue one.

"Okay, Vince. Two more."

Vince nodded, lining up the shots and thinking for a moment. Then a sly grin tugged at his lips. "Firing! Firing!"

Flynn had to bite back a very unprofessional snicker.

"Impacts registered. Both targets disrupted. Second target resisted 0.7 seconds longer than the first. Approximate efficiency reduction of 40% when firing at maximum rate. Data is banked for further analysis." Pidge's tone remained as emotionless as ever. "Also, mechka yelled twice again. Inefficient."

Indistinct grumbling came from Vince's seat; Flynn decided not to request a clarification. "He's efficient enough, Pidge. Let's get back to the hangar and do that analysis." He smirked as he brought up the main comms again. "Range Command, Jupiter's Bolt reporting test complete."

He wouldn't have bothered, but really, they'd just been shooting literal thunderbolts down the range.

Before braving turning the ship around, he turned back to Vince. "You and Hunk did a hell of a job on this."

Oh crap, a compliment. Vince felt his ears flush. "Uh, thanks, sir."

Grin. "Your weapon worked perfectly and your gunnery was fine, so if you keep looking that nervous I'm going to assume it's because of my taxiing." He swung the pilot's seat back around and started the Bolt into a wide, ungainly u-turn. "Wouldn't blame you, mind."

For a moment Vince just stared at him, putting that statement together. Then he laughed, relief flooding through him. "That's fair." He sank back in his seat and watched the taxiway go by. It was an uneventful trip, and soon enough they were rolling up to the hangar.

Technically, Flynn was well aware he should be backing the ship into its berth. One look at the turns he'd have to make was as long as that thought lasted. "Hell with it, Lance can turn it around, he'll appreciate the chance to show off…" Bringing the ship in forward, he soon caught sight of two people standing in the hangar. In the middle of the hangar. Brennan and someone in an old-fashioned space suit, presumably Starr. He glanced back at Vince. "Think I can hit them?"

The younger engineer blinked, stammering. "Uh… p-probably?"

"Probably can, as long as I'm trying not to." With a sigh he brought the ship to a halt halfway over the threshold. "Let's go see what's going on."

Cam and Daniel had been watching the ship's rather shaky approach, much too busy arguing to think about getting out of the way. "That's not McClain driving, is it?"

"I hope not." Daniel shook his head. "Nah, he was pretty good on the sim, and if he could handle those crappy things…"

"True." Cam smirked. "I should push you into the thruster wash, see if those wings will really help you fly."

"…What?" Even for Daniel that sounded excessive. "You're a weird dude, you know that?"

"Takes one to know one."

"Yeah, but I don't think about pushing people into thruster washes!" He hesitated. "Actually no, I take that back. I'd like to see Kogane get pushed into a thruster wash. That would be funny."

"What kind of angel are you supposed to be?" Cam flicked one of Daniel's wings. "The Commander is a great man, there's no reason to—"

"—Seriously? What did we talk about? No fanboy man crushing on Kogane in my presence."

Glare. "You brought him up first!"

"So? Just because his name comes up doesn't mean you have to go all weak in the knees."

"Radi vsego svyatogo…" Cam pushed his helmet up so he could glare better. "You're doing that on purpose, and it's not—"

"—Are you two trying to die?"

They both jumped a little; neither had paid any attention to the ship stopping, nor to the chief engineer jumping down off the boarding ramp. Vince was trailing a little behind him. Cam immediately saluted; Daniel didn't. "Sorry, sir. We were just waiting to talk to Hayes and Stoker."

Flynn stared at him. "Can't you do that without standing in the middle of the hangar when the ship is coming in?"

"Well we figured the pilot was decent enough, we could avoid it," Cam explained with a shrug, and Daniel snorted. That got them both a glare.

I'm so glad they're Kogane's problem…

He'd barely finished the thought when his own problem came up from the rear boarding ramp. "Sir, we aren't even all the way in th…" Pidge trailed off as he caught sight of the other two. "Oh."

"Faex, I know we're not—I am not that bad! I just don't like turning!" Flynn glared at him too, then turned back to the bridge kids. "So what did you two need?"

Cam had briefly debated stealing Daniel's halo at the chief's glare. "Apologies, sir. We came to see if they'd like to go trick or treating with us, unless they're still on duty?"

"You were cool for like, half a second," Daniel muttered under his breath; Cam jabbed him in the ribs.

Vince's eyes had widened at the invitation. "Trick or treating? At our age?" But candy…

"Never too old to get free candy," Daniel declared as if reading his mind.

Grin. "Good point."

"So, you two coming?" Grinning back, Daniel glanced over at Pidge for a moment. He didn't look at all impressed.

"I'm not going anywhere. I have work to do."

The chief looked between the grumpy ninja and Vince, who was looking back at him and obviously trying to appear businesslike rather than pleading. He smiled faintly. "Go ahead if you like, Vince. Pidge and I can do the analysis."

"Thanks!" With a huge grin, Vince hurried over to the others. He wasn't about to admit out loud to being relieved Pidge wasn't interested… but as he turned to toss Flynn a belated salute, the thought definitely crossed his mind.

"Have fun." Laughing, Flynn turned back to the Bolt's boarding ramp.

Pidge rolled his eyes as he watched the others leave. Humans. Dismissing Vince to go play dress-up, or whatever trick or treating was, struck him as poor prioritization… oh well. It wasn't his place to object, and test analysis wasn't that intensive. He could've done it alone if necessary. "I'll go get started, sir."

"Alright, I'll be there once I get this thing all the way in."

The diagnostics console had been pushed off to one wall. Not that the ship couldn't run its own diagnostics, but regulations said performance analysis should be run on an outside system. Logical. He walked over and started to download the testing data from the ship; numbers filled the screen. Pidge liked numbers. It was always easy to tell where he stood with them.

By the time the Bolt came to rest, he had the first level of analysis started. Disrupting a holographic target into nothingness was only a benchmark. It was up to the computers to turn the voltage data and wave patterns and milliseconds into a usable model of effectiveness. After that, they could—

"So what does mechka mean?"

Pidge glanced up from the screen, frowning slightly as his superior approached. "It doesn't translate, sir." He went back to watching the numbers, but could feel Flynn's eyes on him. After a minute it was clear that answer hadn't been sufficient. "…It was nothing inappropriate." Probably. As if he were really any judge.

Mechka were vaguely seal-like creatures native to Balto—cute, timid, and not particularly bright. It was common as a friendly insult, and he'd been given to understand that giving out mild insults as nicknames was a human social expectation. Vince had struck him very much as a mechka. He hadn't foreseen anyone asking about it; he'd never asked his old crewmates what a Pidge was.

"…Alright. I believe you." Flynn circled around, leaning over the back of the console and watching the wave patterns as the computer tore them apart. This part of the process was entirely automated, and slow. "You could have gone with them if you wanted, you know."

Of course he could have. Pidge scowled. "I didn't want to, and they didn't want me to."

That got a frown. "Have you even talked to Brennan and Starr yet?"

"They've said hello." He'd even said hello back! Human manners were inefficient and annoying, but he did mostly have the basics down. "I'm used to people not wanting me around, sir. No point expecting this to be different than anywhere else, kir sa tye? Better not to risk any incidents."

Flynn gave him a rather odd look then. It was part judgmental and part appraising, both of which he was quite used to. It was part sympathetic, which he wasn't. Immediately he decided he didn't like it; he liked his commander's response even less. "Sure. I get that, they didn't want me where I come from either. But it's not so bad here once you get the hang of it."

You get it? Pidge snorted. If the first part of that statement had been accurate, he wouldn't have said the second. Getting the hang of it was the problem. But there was no sense pointing that out, either… dismissing the conversation, he focused on the screen again. "Modeling is halfway complete. We'll have it in five."

"Alright." Flynn's eyes narrowed slightly. "How about you take your hand off that knife? Better not to risk any incidents, and all."

…Oh. Pidge blinked, letting go of the hilt he'd started clutching somewhere in the middle of that. "Yessir."

"Good." Leaning back against the wall, Flynn fell mercifully silent, letting Pidge go back to focusing on the numbers.

He liked numbers.

*****

Much like his second and the resident ninja, Keith wasn't particularly interested in Halloween. Unlike them, he hadn't scheduled some inescapable duty for the evening. That had been a mistake.

He'd allowed himself to be talked into going to the Rambling Barrel for Halloween night. He'd even somehow allowed himself to be talked into dressing up—sort of—really he was just wearing his normal biker gear, but at least he'd made the effort. He had, within a few blocks of his housing unit, looked at the elaborate costumes up and down the street and been struck with a bout of second thoughts. He had, unwisely, hesitated.

Now he was literally slung over Hunk's shoulder being paraded down the street, and nobody seemed inclined to intervene. "Put me down, Garrett! This is undignified!"

"Boss, would you stop squirmin' already? I don't wanna drop you." Hunk's voice was slightly muffled, owing to the fact that he was currently a hulking eight foot tall reptile with claws and spikes that looked very capable of doing damage. It was really a remarkable costume. Keith was sure he'd have appreciated it more if he weren't a captive. "You got all dressed up and everything, too late to back out now!"

Walking alongside them, Lance snickered. He hardly looked any different than normal—he had on a black vest rather than his usual leather jacket, and his Axels had been replaced by a slingbolt rifle in a bulky holster. "Time to relax and have some fun, boss."

"Seriously. It's Halloween, who's worried about dignified?" Someone in a gaudy Elvis costume had stopped to give them an odd look. Hunk turned and pressed a button inside his glove, causing a five foot jet of flame to erupt from his costume's mouth. Elvis fled.

"What was that?" Keith demanded, feeling heat rush over his back.

"Just some fire, boss." Lance was suddenly right in front of him, grinning in a way that wasn't reassuring at all. "That dude's face."

"Fire?" Whatever said dude's face may have looked like, Keith was pretty sure he'd agree with it. "I'd better not be on fire!"

"Relax, boss," Hunk chuckled, as if there was any relaxing to be done in this situation. "It's cold-charge ionic py-faux-technics, totally harmless. Just a little warm." He pressed another button, and the suit gave a very convincing roar.

Kuso… "I can walk, Garrett. I'm not some damsel in distress!"

"But boss, you look so good as the damsel." Lance's eyes went to his leather-clad backside for a moment, and he felt his cheeks burn. Mercifully, he didn't continue on that track. "Almost there. Juanita's probably wondering where we are… you sure Flynn's not gonna change his mind?"

Hunk sulked, somehow, despite wearing a giant lizard costume. "He ain't comin' bro, he's gotta do work and stuff. Any holiday but Halloween and I wouldn't miss the test firin' either. Lousy scheduling."

Very lousy. Lance sighed. Be more fun if he was here. The bar was coming into view now, at least. He'd document things. Hell yeah he would.

A woman was waiting outside for them, but it wasn't Juanita. She was short and muscular, wearing a frilly dress made of camouflage silk and gauze. And eyeblack. And a tanker helmet with a glittery tiara fastened to the top. "Yo, Crusher! 'Bout time!" She trotted up and peered at Keith. "Who's the lightweight?"

Hearing the unfamiliar voice, Keith briefly wished he had caught fire. Of course Hunk took that opportunity to finally put him down, dusting him off with a huge greenish paw. "Hey, Hammer. This is Keith, he's my boss." He indicated Lance with his suit's tail. "And this is Lance, he's the crazy-awesome pilot. Boss, Lance, this is my roomie! Her name's Hammer."

"Ah-ah! That's Siegerella to you, Hunkzilla." She did an exaggerated twirl. "Nice to meetcha!"

It was some kind of miracle Keith's cheeks didn't explode from all the blood rushing into them. "Um, nice to meet you." He was glaring at Hunk the whole time he spoke.

Lance on the other hand was eyeing Hammer up and down, nodding approvingly. "Love the bazooka."

She saluted him with the bazooka, which was definitely made out of a pumpkin. "I can tell you'd appreciate a good gun. And shoot first with it!"

Grinning, he did a spin of his own and then gave an exaggerated bow. "I always shoot first, Siegerella."

"Yeah," Keith muttered under his breath. "Any time, anywhere…" Sighing, he stopped glaring at Hunk and straightened out his gear, stomping his feet to make sure the pant legs fell back into place. "So we're really doing Halloween… at a bar?"

Lance arched an eyebrow. "Did you wanna go trick or treating?"

"Pretty sure we're too old for trick or treating."

"Nah." He glanced at Hunk and shook his head. "I don't like candy, though."

If he'd been looking to Hunk because he expected backup, he didn't get it. "…You what, bro."

Even Keith seemed stunned. "You don't like candy? You're the crazy one."

"I wasn't aware anyone here wasn't crazy." Lance shrugged. "I mean chocolate's okay but what's the other stuff's excuse? Candy corn is gross."

"You don't like candy corn?" Hunk shrugged too, which had very little effect inside his suit, but made him feel better. "More for me! Let's go find Comic Lady, yeah? Hopefully she grabbed us a good seat."

"I'm sure she has." They headed in with varying degrees of enthusiasm; Keith almost froze again two steps in the door. The bar was filled with people in costume, orange and black decorations, jack-o'-lanterns and heaping bowls of candy corn on each table. He felt distinctly out of place. But it wasn't like he'd be able to escape now… he wouldn't be winning any contests, oh well.

Juanita had, indeed, been wondering where they were… but there was no mistaking the huge Godzilla that walked in the door. She gave a sharp whistle and jumped up on her chair. "Hunk! Lance! OVER HERE!"

It said something about the scene at the Rambling Barrel that she hardly even got any strange looks. Except for Lance himself, who raised an eyebrow. "I think Juanita started drinking without us."

"Eh." Hammer shrugged. "Bet we can catch up."

The table she'd grabbed was a good one, about midway between the bar and the stage; she was wearing a red and black jester's outfit and pigtails, which seemed appropriate for her job, but she'd thrown in glittery fairy wings and a comically oversized mallet-wand. "About time you guys got here…" She hopped off her chair and studied Keith and Hammer curiously, she'd been told the guys might bring friends. What friends had not been specified.

Hammer did a one-handed curtsy. "Hey, a Harley! I'm a fan of Harleys. Especially sparkly ones."

She giggled, blushing a little. "Love the tiara."

"Thanks!" Grin. "I'm Siegerella, and this," she slapped Keith on the back and nearly knocked him over, "is uh… Big Bad Biker Bro."

Juanita waved. "Isn't that just motorcycle gear?"

"Uh… I mean, yeah…" As Keith stammered, a server came by, and he almost desperately flagged her down. Time for a drink. Hopefully a strong one, at this rate.

Hunk chuckled and pushed one of the chairs aside; he absolutely couldn't sit in this costume. "His name's Keith, Comic Lady. He's me'n Lance's boss." He ordered a drink too, because what was Halloween without a little Jack… o'lantern? Lance didn't order anything, instead pouring from the pitcher of beer already on the table. It looked like Comic Lady had indeed started drinking without them.

She slapped him playfully on the thigh as he sipped his beer. "Really, Han Solo? Isn't that a little on the nose for you?"

Smirk. "It's a fucking classic."

"Ain't costumes all about gettin' in touch with your inner whatever?" Hunk triggered another Godzilla roar, and even Keith managed half a smile. He was okay with getting in touch with his inner motorcyclist, he supposed.

Hammer was reading the holiday flyer on the table. "Oh hey, DJ Flipz from Typical Hamster is the celeb judge for the costume contest! I didn't know she was local."

The drinks arrived; Keith winced a little as he sipped his. Clearly he should've been more careful what he wished for, someone had been way too heavy-handed with the alcohol. "Typical Hamster? That's a band?"

"What?" Lance looked at him. "I thought everyone knew Typical Hamster."

"They're a legend, boss!" Hunk pushed up his costume's upper jaw so he could drink, fumbling the glass a little in his claws before getting it sorted out. It also let him raise a disbelieving eyebrow at Keith, who gave a guilty shrug.

"I guess I… live under a rock?"

"Boss, that isn't a shocker."

"That's why you're here!" Hunk lowered the mask with a wink. "Broaden your horizons and stuff!"

Keith sighed, looking around the bar again. This is going to be a long night…

"I'm getting us the Spooky Shots Platter," Juanita declared, heading for the bar and returning with a tray full of pitch black shots. Those got several distrustful looks, then finally Hammer shrugged and reached for one.

Hunk swatted her hand. "Uh-uh. Han's shot first!"

Oh, well that was a challenge he couldn't pass up. Lance picked up a shot, also shrugged, and downed it. "Not bad."

"Cheers, lightweights!" Hammer raised hers in a salute before swallowing it.

It was definitely going to be a long night, Keith decided, shaking his head. "Thanks, but um, I think I'll pass," he muttered as the platter was pushed in his direction.

"No no no, boss, drink up. It's Halloween!"

"Come on Keith, have some fun. They're great, taste like licorice and smoke."

The two halves of that sentence did not seem to go together; he shuddered. "Licorice? The only way I drink licorice is…" He noticed Hunk and Lance perk up and immediately thought better of what he was saying. "…Well, I won't go there, but thanks anyway."

If he hadn't known better he'd have said even the Godzilla mask was frowning at him. "Boss, you can't just say that and not have us ask where you were goin'."

"Seriously, you can't stop a thought like that mid-train."

Sigh. They wouldn't let this go, he was certain of that, so what the hell. "Bombs. Uh, as in Jager. But that's a bit much for tonight, we have a launch tomorrow."

The admission got him a few looks of new respect, then Hunk doused him in 'fire'—it really was just glowing hot air. "Boss it's never a bad time for bombs. Any kind."

Now he was certain that wasn't true, but it also wasn't worth arguing. Juanita at least didn't seem too worried about convincing him. "More for me then!" She grabbed two shots, downed them both, and twirled around clumsily; her wings smacked Keith in the face and doused him with glitter. Lance and Hunk snickered.

"Come on boss, loosen up. It's a holiday."

"I am loose, McClain." He took a sip of his now sparkly rum and sprite. "Believe me, if I weren't I'd have run for it the moment Garrett set me down."

"We woulda caught you." Hunk signaled for a server, ordering them the biggest tray of Nacho Ordinary Nachos—a hangover tomorrow really wouldn't be great. "If you're not gonna drink you have to join the costume contest."

Keith held up his glass. "I am drinking!"

"That isn't fucking drinking." Lance snorted.

"And what is fucking drinking, McClain?"

"This shot!" The pilot grabbed one and pushed it into his hand.

Why had he agreed to come here? But he had. One won't kill me, I suppose. "Fine." He downed the shot, flipped the glass, and slammed it down on the tray, staring at Lance the whole time. "Happy now?"

Grin. "Now you're gonna be easy to get on stage for the contest."

Well hell.

Juanita took two more shots and twirled around again, managing to smack Keith with even more glitter. Lance snickered, surreptitiously getting a picture of the boss—Flynn had to see this—but also glanced at Comic Lady with a bit of concern. How long had she been drinking before they got there? He'd have to keep an eye on her.

Things settled down a little as the nachos arrived: black corn, orange cheese, pumpkin salsa. They weren't bad. Unfortunately, it didn't take much longer for the bartender's voice to crackle over a loudspeaker…

"All competitors to the stage for the costume contest!"

"And that's our cue!" Hammer announced, slapping Keith on the back again. As he nearly pitched over Juanita grabbed his arm and started dragging him along in a cloud of glitter. He managed to shoot a glare back at Hunk and Lance as they followed; he'd been expecting all his trouble here to come from them, not their friends. Neither had the decency to look guilty.

About two dozen people lined up on the stage, in all manner of elaborate costumes that had Keith feeling distinctly out of place. Even more than he already had been, anyway. When it became clear nobody else was coming up, the lights went out.

A spotlight flared to life, following what seemed to be a cardboard SUV or something similar rolling up to the stage. Then three people jumped out, dressed as hamsters wearing bizarre brightly-colored clothing, and launched into a techno-metal rendition of Dead Man's Party.

That had… not been what he was expecting.

"See?" Lance nudged him as Hunk danced along. "They're great."

Before Keith could find a response to that, Juanita spoke up. "Are they really hamsters?"

"…No." Lance took the glass she'd been drinking from out of her hand as Hammer gave a low whistle of worry.

As the song ended, the lead hamster waved to the crowd, then turned to the contestants. "Welcome to the party, everyone! Happy Halloween!" She gave the cardboard SUV a little shove; it went rolling off the stage and crashed in a fiery 'explosion' of orange confetti. "Whoops." As the crowd snickered she paced up and down the stage. "Everyone's looking good, let's get this party started, shall we?"

Getting this party started sounded wonderful to Keith, the sooner it started the sooner it was finished. It couldn't be that painful, probably. Then the first contestant was called over the loudspeaker—Count Sackula, a vampire in football gear—and he reconsidered that optimism. "Did everyone name their character something bizarre tonight?"

Lance scoffed. "Dude, it's Halloween."

"Don't worry." Hunk patted his shoulder. "I gave 'em a nice respectable name for you."

Oh no. "And that is what scares me…"

"Siegerella!"

He tried to shake it off, clapping and whistling with the others as Hammer stepped forward and twirled around. As she returned to the line, a sparkly glass army boot remained on the stage in front of her.

"Han Solo!"

Lance strutted forward, winking to the crowd and taking a few fake shots with the slingbolt. "Drama queen," Keith muttered, shaking his head with a slight grin.

"Quinnker Bell!"

That was Juanita, who stumbled forward but gathered herself enough to twirl around. More glitter rained down. As she staggered back into position, Lance and Hammer stepped up to steady her.

"Evel Keithnievel!"

Lance choked, Hammer laughed hysterically, and Keith shot Hunk—who would have outright doubled over, if his costume had allowed it—a death glare that put his fire breath to shame. "You didn't." Sighing, he stepped forward and looked out at the crowd. "Um… uh…" Well, may as well take a page from Hunk's book, since this was all his fault. "Vroom vroom?"

The crowd broke into just as many cheers as they had for the others, which struck him as completely absurd as he scrambled back to the line. I can't believe I just… ugh… at least Kleid wasn't here to see this. Commander Crystal Spur INDEED. He'd barely finished the thought when he noticed Lance tucking his datapad into his vest pocket, and groaned.

"Godzilla, Hunk of the Monsters!"

Hunk stomped forward, roaring and spraying orange and blue 'flames' everywhere. The crowd went crazy.

A few more contestants came afterwards, but really, who was going to be able to compete with that? After the last one—a pretty convincing mad scientist, complete with her own faux pyrotechnics—stepped back, Typical Hamster huddled to discuss. 

The bartender came up and handed out shots to everyone on stage while they were waiting. But it wasn't a long discussion, as well it shouldn't have been.

"Let's be real here, everyone." DJ Flipz broke from the huddle, carrying what looked like a pumpkin crown set with candy corn as she paced the stage. "It's Halloween, and everyone should be a winner, so we're buying a round for all the contestants—but only one can have the crown!" The crowd whooped in agreement. "We've got some really incredible costumes here, but if there's one thing Typical Hamster loves most in our music, it's authenticity. Who's with me?" More whoops. "So really, we can't help but award first place to the most authentic costume here…" She stopped in front of Keith, who was standing with his arms crossed and barely even looking at her as he awaited Hunk's inevitable victory. "Congratulations, Evel Keithnievel!"

Hunk's jaw dropped. So did his costume’s. Lance and Hammer both spit out their shots, and Juanita stared in confusion. But nobody was as shocked as Keith, who just stood there blinking as he tried to process what he'd just heard. "Wait… what?"

DJ Flipz motioned him forward. "Come and claim your crown!"

It appeared Keith had completely short-circuited. Hunk, though, was recovering very quickly. "Dude. I ain't even mad." He stepped up behind the boss and shoved him forward. "Go get your crown, bro!"

Hammer grinned slyly, gesturing with her bazooka. "Evel Keithnievel! Evel Keithnievel!" Hunk picked up the chant, then Lance and Juanita—well, Juanita was chanting Kevel Eithnievel, but it was close enough.

Blushing bright enough to match the pumpkin crown, Keith recovered from Hunk's shove and looked at the hamster in front of him. "Um… hi?"

DJ Flipz reached up to put the crown on his head, then kissed his cheek with the hamster costume's fuzzy nose. She turned to the crowd and lifted his hand up. "Your champion!"

They'd picked up the chant too. "Evel Keithnievel! Evel Keithnievel!"

Lowering his hand with a laugh, DJ Flipz winked at him before approaching Hunk. "I don't think they usually give second place in this contest, but all your drinks are on us." With a furry thumbs-up she retreated to her band, and they launched right into a techno-metal version of Thriller.

As the contestants dispersed from the stage, Keith tried to sneak off behind a pillar, but Hunk was having none of it. "Evel Keithnievel! Evel Keithnievel!" He was puffing flames in time with the chant.

"Oh, stop," he grumbled; he was blushing so hard he could hardly even feel his cheeks anymore.

Mercifully, Hunk obeyed as the others caught up. "Boss, where're you going? The table's that way." Lance pointed.

"To the bar. I need a drink…" And this time he didn't care how heavy-handed they went on the alcohol. Which was probably just as well, considering he somehow found himself holding another Spooky Shots Platter the moment he flagged down the bartender.

"All your drinks are on the house, champ."

"Yeah, um, thanks." He headed back to the table. Lance had ordered Juanita a large glass of water, and was getting her situated with it—as well as carefully ensuring no more alcohol was within arm's reach. He did snag one of the new shots. That was definitely just as well, Keith didn't need them all. Sinking into his chair, he downed one without even tasting it and shook his head. The pumpkin crown was still there.

What the hell just happened?

*****

Jace was packing. It wasn't hard, since he'd barely unpacked. Plenty of time to finish up, head out with Sven, probably have to explain to him what Halloween was and why it was ridiculous… someone knocked on the door as he was finishing up. "It's open."

The door swung open. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah, just gotta tape up this box…" He looked up and blinked. Sven was standing there wearing his usual polo and khakis. And a Viking helmet. "…Nice hat?"

"Thank you." Sven reached up and adjusted it slightly.

"You… have a Viking helmet. And you wonder how you got the nickname."

"I got the nickname before any of you saw the hat," he pointed out. "And I wear it every year, I wasn't going to break with tradition." In fact he usually dressed up in full Viking gear, but he hadn't felt like being ridiculed quite that much.

Had he shown up in full costume, Jace certainly would have mocked him. Him showing up in half-assed costume was having a whole different effect: he was actually feeling mildly shamed. If even the guy who didn't like funny t-shirts could do the Halloween thing… he shrugged, thinking fast. "Sure, why not? Uh, give me a minute, let me dig something out."

"Alright." Sven raised an eyebrow, watching the medic vanish behind a couple of boxes. He heard tape being cut, some rustling, some snipping.

Jace popped up from behind the box after another minute. He had not found a costume, exactly. He had stuck cardboard cat ears on a baseball cap, and drawn whiskers on his cheeks in black ink. "Meow."

"…Did you just meow?"

"Would 'meow, motherfucker' have been better?"

"It would have been more in character."

Smirk. "You're not wrong."

Sven couldn't help a smile. "You ready?"

"Let's do this." He closed up the box and joined him at the door. "Want to hit Vermilion's? They usually have a big Halloween bash, plenty of drunk idiots to laugh at. You can drink grog, I'll knock stuff off the bar, it'll be fun."

"Let's do it." Pause. "What is grog?"

"No fucking clue."

They headed out into the streets, which were nothing short of chaotic. Some younger Academy students were trick or treating. Most others were just taking the opportunity to dress up and act out. Nearly every corner hosted a street vendor of some sort—whether an exchange trying to make a few last holiday sales, or a soldier who did some arts and crafts on the side. It reminded Jace a little too much of home, but at least here it was only one night.

About halfway to Vermilion's, a familiar voice rang out behind them. "Hey! Aren't the two of you a little old for trick or treating?"

Vince was relieved to see familiar faces, even if one of them was Jace; it felt like Cam and Daniel had just been bickering nonstop since they picked him up. Not that they were stopping now, either. Daniel shot Cam a look. "Did we not already talk about how being too old for free candy is BS?"

"Yeah, but that's us. They are considerably older."

"Why do you get to decide what's too old for free candy?"

"Because you're annoying."

The point wasn't wrong, Daniel supposed, just irrelevant. "How does that correlate to this situation?"

"And who the fuck's trick or treating?" Jace demanded as they walked up. "We're just out to watch the idiots." He nudged Sven and grinned wickedly. "Looks like we found some!"

Sven sighed, looking over the kids before cracking a smile of his own. "How's your nose, Brennan? It's looking better."

"Much better, no thanks to fanboy over here."

"Excuse me, what?" Jace's eyes narrowed and Cam went pale. Vince blinked, looking between them in confusion.

Daniel cleared it up quickly. "He headbutted me. Like an asshole."

"Assholes don't headbutt, take a fucking anatomy class," Jace retorted, though they weren't listening.

"We were sparring! You were supposed to dodge."

"A headbutt? I was supposed to dodge you grabbing me and throwing your head into my face?"

As they started up again, Vince and Jace both gave Sven questioning looks. He sighed. "I was assessing their hand to hand capabilities last week…"

"They have capabilities?" Vince muttered, then his eyes widened and he slapped his hands over his mouth. Oops…

Jace snickered; Cam shot him a betrayed look. "We're gonna be besties too, huh?"

"We are," Daniel turned to Vince and smiled, "I like him."

"Not an endorsement…" Cam sighed and looked at their crewmates more closely. "Okay, I get your costume, Lieutenant, but Doc… chto za khren? What is on your hat?"

"They're cat ears," Jace answered, deadpan. "Meow, motherfucker."

Daniel and Vince laughed; Sven sighed, smiling faintly, though he was facepalming inside. Cam just nodded slowly. "Oh… okay."

"So, since apparently the kids are out here trying to make off with free candy, they need a couple of adult chaperones." Jace crossed his arms. "Can't have them headbutting each other and disgracing the good name of the 686 and shit. Where're we off to?" Frown. "And Hayes, where's your costume?"

"I don't have one," Vince admitted sheepishly. He hadn't planned to be out doing this, after all. "I'm in uniform, so uh, I guess I'm a GA officer?"

"Oh fuck that." Jace stalked over to the nearest corner vendor, handing over a credit chip and returning with a sparkly witch's hat. He jammed it onto Vince's head, maybe a bit more emphatically than necessary.

"Ouch!" Well, it was Halloween. He put the hat at a jaunty angle and grinned. "It works."

"Yeah," Daniel smirked, "now we can say you're Sky Marshal Wade!" That drew a groan from Cam. Vince just shrugged. As long as he got candy he really didn't care what they called him.

"Anyway." Cam slung his sack over his shoulder. "We're heading for the Heights. Rich people give out the most candy. So, we ready to move?"

"Lead on, Cammy." Daniel smirked.

About another ten minutes of walking was enough to reach the Heights—a misnomer, really, considering it was an artificial extension of the shore that barely stood above sea level. Local legend said the full name of the subdivision was actually the Hurricane Heights. That was how all the rich people ended up there; they were the only ones building on such precarious oceanfront property.

It was really very pretty, though. When it wasn't at risk of being swept out to sea.

Jace gave a low whistle, looking around at the perfect lawns and large houses. "These your people?" he muttered to Sven.

"My parents' people." The houses were all too familiar; the only difference was the occasional palm tree. "Not mine."

Grin. "Fair enough." His grin faded as they started for the first house, which had several plastic flamingos stuck in the yard at precise intervals. Each one was wearing a tiny witch's hat. "…Que porra."

"Rich people are weird," Vince mumbled. Sven nodded enthusiastically.

"Second that." Daniel reached up and adjusted his halo slightly—it hadn't been quite crooked enough. "Okay, let's go I guess."

"Just remember. Free candy!" Cam pulled down his faceplate and strode up the walk, ringing the doorbell as the other two caught up. Sven and Jace remained further back, exchanging small grins. The kids were kind of fun.

This house, as it happened, belonged to one retired admiral Maeve Audovacar. Trick or treating had been a little lighter than usual tonight; she arched an eyebrow as she opened the door, a little surprised by how old this group was. But no matter. It was Halloween, and she certainly wasn't short on candy.

"Trick or treat!"

Smiling, she distributed candy between them, taking in their costumes. "So, what have we here? An angel, an astronaut, and a…" She tilted her head at the young man in uniform, but the witch's hat… "What are you?"

Vince stammered a little, eyes wide, trying to force an answer out. I just want candy! Fortunately, Jace was standing within earshot and always ready to help.

"He's Sky Marshal Wade!"

"We gotta get him a nametag or something," Daniel muttered.

Audovacar had burst into laughter. She was quite familiar with Sky Marshal Wade—both from her time at the Garrison, and the fact that he called the municipal authorities in any time her grass got so much as a fraction of an inch above standards. "Here," she chuckled, distributing some more candy. "You boys can have extra for such creative costumes."

Vince's eyes somehow went wider. "Thank you!"

"Thanks, lady!"

"Thank you, ma'am!" Cam didn't even bother bringing up that he wasn't an astronaut. He'd probably be getting a lot of that tonight, anyway. "Your lawn is glorious."

Daniel rolled his eyes at Cam as they headed back down the driveway. "Would look better without the flamingos…" To his surprise, that didn't get a snarky response. In fact, though it was hard to tell for sure through the suit's faceplate, he thought their comms officer was smirking. Should he be worried? Eh, whatever.

Even more surprising, Vince's costume wasn't just a hit with the first house. Nearly every time someone asked who he was, extra candy seemed to follow. They really should've made that nametag. The trek through the Heights was long, but an easy enough walk, and soon enough they found themselves approaching a cul-de-sac with the biggest and fanciest house yet.

Jace gave a low whistle. "Someone's just daring the fucking hurricane." Sven nodded in agreement.

"Why does this house reek of pretentious?" Cam asked, stopping on the sidewalk and staring at the grass. Not a single blade was higher than the others, and the white concrete driveway was spotless. Probably-recently-pressure-washed spotless. Even the jack o'lantern looked kind of like it was judging them.

"Probably because some pretentious military guy lives here." Daniel groaned and tried to keep to his feet. It felt like they'd been out forever, and the bags under his eyes were much more pronounced than they'd been earlier. "Dude, I'm tired, can't we be done?"

"You're in the military, suck it up." Jace glowered. He was into this now. Just to test the new kids' endurance out, of course… "Go up there and get that candy!"

Groaning again, Daniel didn't have much resistance to offer when Cam grabbed his arm and started dragging him to the door. "Next year, I'm totally egging both of your houses."

Vince followed the two, shaking his head. They were something, that was for sure. Not that he was going to complain about the bulging sack of candy they'd hauled him out here to collect. He caught up as Cam let go of Daniel and pounded on the door, completely ignoring the doorbell.

A tall, broad-shouldered man in full dress uniform opened the door almost immediately, cool blue eyes giving them a quick once-over. A slightly too small witch's hat was perched awkwardly on his head. "Trick or treat!" Vince said with a grin, then blinked as he noticed something missing. Why am I the only one saying it? Glancing at his companions he noted they'd both gone very tense.

"Um, trick or treat?" Cam finally managed to stammer. Daniel did not. All he was doing was glaring at his fellow bridge kid as if to incinerate him where he stood. He had not signed on for this.

"Aren't you a little old to be trick or treating?" Sky Marshal Wade asked sternly. He shrugged it off before they could answer, dropping an Academy recruitment pamphlet in each of their bags. Then he turned away, reaching for a large bowl of candy sitting on a table next to him.

"Kids at heart, sir." Cam sounded like he actually had been run over by a Vagrant. "Thank you, sir."

"Never too old for free candy," Daniel agreed, swallowing hard. Don't recognize me, don't recognize me…

No such luck. As he turned back to them with the candy, Wade's eyes narrowed. "…Aren't you Daniel Brennan?"

Oh, no. Vince and Cam had both edged away from him slightly, so Daniel did the only thing he could really do. He smiled. Innocently. Angelically, even. "Yes, sir." This is all fanboy's fault. It was all he could do not to look back at Sven and Jace for help. One did not show the Sky Marshal weakness. One smirked confidently in his face, then punched whoever was responsible for the encounter later.

Wade looked between the three of them, eyes narrowing further. Then he dropped a heaping handful of candy into Cam's sack. "Excellent cosmonaut costume, young man. Exquisite detail."

Cam blinked; the first person to get it right all night, and it had to be him. "Um, thank you, sir. It's an old family heirloom."

"And you, impeccable style." Vince squeaked out a thanks as the man gave him a huge handful of candy too. He still wasn't sure exactly what was going on here, but the basics were clear enough.

As for Daniel… Wade scowled slightly and set the candy aside. "Why are you still here?"

Oh not good. Vince looked between them, grimacing, just wanting to get out of here as fast as possible but feeling somehow glued to the ground.

Daniel wanted to get out of here too. Not start a fight, not get into more trouble, just run for it and never look back. And yet, what came out of his mouth was, "Probably because you couldn't get me kicked out."

Fuck!

Wade's expression went white-hot, though in another moment nobody was even paying attention to him.

"You never know when to shut up, do you?"

"You dragged me here! I said I didn't want to!"

"Both of you shut up! Let's go!"

Sven and Jace had stayed back, as usual, and neither of them recognized the man who'd answered the door. But they could both recognize serious trouble when they saw it.

Casually, Jace sauntered up to the door and grabbed Daniel by the wings. "Don't mind him, sir. He's under medical supervision for defective brain cells." As the Sky Marshal sputtered he started dragging the kid away.

"Yeah," Cam agreed, "don't mind him, um…" He trailed off as Sven grabbed him, attempting to drag him along too.

Too late, he'd spoken too much. Wade squinted at him, trying to see through the faceplate. "Starr?"

Oh, crap. "Good night, sir! Thanks for the candy!" Grabbing Vince's arm, he turned and ran for it, Sven right on their heels. As they caught up to Jace, Daniel stumbled on the pristine driveway. Their medic wasn't having any of that. Slinging the kid over his shoulders without a second thought, he broke into a sprint alongside the others.

They didn't stop until the house was out of sight.

Sven leaned against a stop sign and shook his head, adjusting his helmet. "Definitely need constant adult supervision…"

"No kidding." Vince looked around at the others, panting a little. "Who was that guy?"

"Sky Marshal Wade," Daniel answered, kicking Jace lightly in the ribs. "Doc, uh, you can put me down now."

Jace complied, looking between Daniel and Vince. "Who? Fuck."

"No kidding. I'd throw away that candy he gave you two, it probably has razor blades in it." Their gunner sank to the sidewalk, groaning again. "I can't believe you made me go to that guy's house, he hates me!"

"He hates everyone," Cam muttered.

"He didn't hate Vince."

"He would've if he'd had enough time to." A sly grin spread over Cam's face. "Know what I think we need after that? A drink. Doc, Lieutenant, can you get us some beer?"

Sven and Jace exchanged skeptical looks. Technically, all of the kids were underage. But soldiers got a waiver—anyone old enough to potentially die in defense of the Alliance was old enough for the occasional adult beverage. Maybe that was why even Sven didn't look completely scandalized at the suggestion. The only question was whether they really trusted these particular kids with it.

Maybe they shouldn't, after that, but what was an Explorer Team for if not making bad decisions?

"Well, we were gonna go to Vermilion's until you yelled at us." Jace shrugged. "Plenty of time left in the night, if fallen angel down there can get his ass up. Or I can carry him again."

"I oughta take you up on that, it would serve you right…" With a great deal of effort, Daniel picked himself up off the pavement. "I'm game."

Cam grinned. "Let's roll."

As they started down the sidewalk, Vince slowly shook his head. His life had never been this interesting before. Maybe, if he was lucky, he'd even get used to it eventually.

*****

Analysis of the disruptor cannon had gone well. Getting back to his apartment had gone… well, it had gone. Yes. The streets were chaotic. What few holidays were celebrated on the Garrison were celebrated with unbridled enthusiasm.

What Flynn had unbridled enthusiasm for was his job, or things tangentially related to his job, or really basically anything that required him to crack open a complex metal object and improve whatever was inside. So while the rest of the world enjoyed their costumes and free candy, he was sitting on his floor trying to reassemble a damaged drone motor. 

It wasn't going terribly well… it would have gone better if he'd had all the pieces. He did have plenty of spare parts around here, it was just finding them. Projects upon projects littered the apartment—he always seemed to be deployed before he had the chance to put anything away.

Someone knocked hard on the door.

"…I didn't do anything this time," he protested to the damaged drone, standing and tossing his grease-stained sweatshirt into a corner. The Canaveral Chargers lacrosse shirt he was wearing underneath wasn't terribly dignified, but at least it didn't look like he'd spent the last hour wrestling with an internal combustion engine. "If that banshee upstairs called me in again, I swear—" Yanking the door open, fully expecting to see uniforms, he briefly short-circuited as the reality appeared. "…You aren't a cop."

Lance screwed his face up in abject horror. "I've never been more insulted."

"For what, thinking you might've been a cop? Or for saying you aren't one?"

"For thinking I might've been! Rude, Flynn." He laughed. "So, uh, gonna invite me in?"

He probably ought to, he supposed. "We haven't exactly established a secret identifying knock, flyboy. Get in here, I guess." He stepped back, eyeing his clothes. And his gun. "Does that slingbolt actually work?"

"Unfortunately, no. You wanna make me one? Then it would." Lance entered and glanced back at the door. "And we totally should have a secret knock."

Flynn rapped his knuckles lightly on Lance's forehead. "We launch tomorrow, don't think we need it. What are you doing here? Am I harboring a fugitive?"

"More like a gentleman." Though at least it was a more understandable mistake than thinking he was a cop. "I had to take Juanita home, she got sloshed, I mean sloshed. Left her with her roommates, and the streets are a total madhouse. So could I crash on your couch?" He paused, looking around the apartment with a small frown. His excuse might have a small problem—it looked more like he'd walked into a workshop than an apartment. "Do you have a couch?"

Flynn blinked, following Lance's gaze. "Um, somewhere. Who's Juanita?" He walked over to the far wall, which was the last place he'd seen the couch; it was buried under some metal plates and who knew what else, but he doubted it had run away. That would be worrisome even by his housekeeping standards.

"Oh, you don't know her, right." Lance grinned, appreciating the view of the engineer's backside as he started moving things around. "She works at the comic book shop, Hunk and I sort of made friends… what is all this stuff?"

Shrug. "Spare parts you couldn't pronounce, patching foil, spare parts I can't pronounce, ionic flux dampening array…" He paused at that last one, looking at the spindly device before setting it on a shelf. "Been looking for that, actually."

Lance looked around with new appreciation. "You're like a hot Doc Brown from Back to the Future, you got a Delorean in here too?"

Not one word of that—well okay, maybe one—meant anything to Flynn. And he knew what that meant. "I'm going to have to watch another movie now, aren't I?"

"Fuck yeah." He paused a moment, to sound casual. "You know, you should've come tonight. You missed a riot, the boss won the costume contest."

Flynn was still studiously trying to ignore the fact that Lance had just called him hot; he called everyone and everything that. And he'd been expecting the comment. So it didn't all register right away. "I had work to—what?" It finally hit, and he dropped the scrap he was holding. "Kogane? That boss?"

"Yep! He wasn't even in a costume. Hunk's breathed fire." Smirk. "I do have pictures of him covered in glitter, wait'll you see."

"Hunk's actually… of course it did. One thing at a time, I've almost got this." He'd reached a lumpy cover with quite a lot of engine grease streaked across it, and pulled it off to reveal an equally lumpy but clean and comfy-looking couch. "There we go."

The couch itself was not the first of Lance's concerns; he blinked a few times. "You have a couch cover?"

"Obviously? I'm an engineer, not a barbarian."

The pilot raised an eyebrow. "Only little old ladies have plastic couch covers."

"Good thing it's not plastic." Flynn tossed the mess of heavy fabric at him, and he staggered back a step as he caught it. "You can sleep on it if you want."

That sounded like a challenge. "I don't mind some grease," he said with a smirk.

Flynn smirked right back. "Your decision."

"Well, I'm here at the grease monkey's apartment, aren't I?" He put the cover aside and looked at the pile of parts on the floor. "So what're you building?"

"Trying to fix up a scout drone, figured it might be useful somewhere on this duck hunt. Think they forgot some of the motor when they tossed it in the scrapyard, though."

Sometimes, Lance mused, the curse of brilliance was only being able to use one of the many snarky comments supplying itself. "Right, how dare they throw something away without all the parts…"

"You know," Flynn shot back with feigned indignation, "I don't know how I'm supposed to be ready to launch tomorrow, if you're going to be here all night being all you and mocking my hobbies and questioning my interior decorating."

"I don't know where you're even gonna sleep. There a bed somewhere with another old lady cover on it?"

Making a mental note to buy some flowery plastic furniture covers and put them in the bridge at the first opportunity, Flynn gestured to a sleeping bag in a corner. "I thought about renting a garage instead of an apartment, but it seemed impractical." He dropped onto the newly excavated couch and shrugged.

"Of course you did." Lance dropped next to him, grinning. "Whatever works, really. My place is pretty spare, given I'm not there much."

"Suppose you would have to keep it presentable." The words had barely even finished leaving Flynn's mouth before he regretted them. Why would you say that?

"Presentable to who?" Laughing, Lance looked around the room again. There was some kind of organization to the chaos, he could see patterns… he shook his head slightly. He's fucking brilliant. "Your way of keeping busy is more respectable than mine."

"That's not saying much." The engineer winked, and decided the subject had gone quite far enough. Besides, he really did want to see this fiasco he'd missed. "So, Kogane covered in glitter?"

Lance burst into more laughter, digging out his datapad. "It was epic." He found the videos and handed it over—Keith covered in glitter, Keith wincing as another wave hit him, Keith sparkly and wearing the pumpkin crown as an oversized hamster kissed his cheek…

"…Faex." Whatever attempt Flynn might have made to keep his composure never had a chance. As he wound down from the laughter, Lance showed him a few more shots—Keith vrooming, Keith resignedly sipping his sparkly drink—and he started up all over again.

"Juanita just kept dousing him with it, it was great." Lance tucked the datapad away. "Best part of the night."

"Was he drinking glitter?" the engineer demanded as he got his breath back again. "And you and he both mock my drinking choices? Shameful. Also probably unhealthy."

Grin. "To be fair, it's her fault the drink was full of glitter… I think. We'll have to get Jace to check him for glitter-itis."

"Oh that'll go over well." He returned the grin. "Speaking of, I'd offer you a beer now but I'm sure you'd not approve of it."

"No problem, I'm still a bit buzzed anyway. And you know it's our duty to our commander to make sure he's well, whether he likes it or not." Sitting back a little, Lance gave him a playful nudge. "But come on, see? See what you missed out on?"

Yes. Yes, he saw. "I told you, I had work to do. I had to drive the ship without you, so I've been sufficiently punished."

Considering the layout of the hangar area, and knowing Hunk usually did the driving, Lance's eyes widened. "Shit, you parked the wrong way in, didn't you?"

Flynn elbowed him lightly. "You had to go get drunk and make Kogane get glitter all over him, you do not get to criticize my parking." Which was a lot of syllables just to say yes.

"Fair enough." He grinned wickedly. "I get to show off tomorrow."

"You're welcome."

"Always knew you had my back, Flynn."

"Fixing flyboys' problems is what I do best."

Oh, now he wasn't going to get away with that one; Lance arched an eyebrow. "Hey, this is a you problem I'll be fixing."

That got him a raised eyebrow right back. "No, your lack of opportunities to show off is definitely a you problem that I'm fixing." Flynn gave him another lighthearted swat and winked. "So is your being too… I don't know, whatever you are, to go home."

Lance waved that off. "Face it, you'd be getting bored yelling at those engine parts of I hadn't shown up."

"I wasn't yelling at them! How rude. You have to treat the engine parts with compassion and understanding." Frown. "…Also I really don't need the old bat upstairs to call in another noise complaint on me, I'm at seven this year and I wasn't even here for half of them…" He rolled his eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh. "You almost put one malfunctioning drone through a ceiling and everyone gets all paranoid."

…Stop it, he is not endearing, what the fuck. "One drone, huh? Really only one?" Lance waggled his eyebrows in a challenge. "You can do better than that, dude."

Oh, he probably could, if he wanted more visits from the police. He and Sergeant Rollins were already almost on a first name basis. "What if I told you I had to shoot the one drone down?"

Lance hit his arm. "With what?"

He pointed to the other side of the room, where his scout rifle was racked. "The cops weren't impressed."

"I'm fucking impressed." Grin. "We've gotta take that to the range again when we get back, see you on some moving targets."

"Obviously." Stop blushing. "Anyway, am I supposed to be entertaining you now?"

There were a lot of things Lance wanted to say there, too. He had ideas for entertainment. But he didn't dare say most of them… so he bit his tongue until the first instincts faded, then shrugged. "How about we watch Back to the Future?"

Flynn stared at him, then shook his head and stood up, clearing a few things from in front of the television—which did not have a cover on it. "I suppose I knew that was inevitable."

Grin. "Figured that out all by yourself, huh?"

"I've been told I'm the smart one."

Hell yeah you are. That was what Lance's brain provided, but his mouth came up with something else. "That's why you couldn't find your own couch?"

At that Flynn chucked the nearest throwable object at him, just on principle. It happened to be a light screwdriver, and the pilot caught it just before it could smack his cheek. "Yes! That's exactly why."

"Geez, tough crowd." Lance was still grinning. "Just get that movie turned on, will you? You won't regret it."

"Somehow, that doesn't entirely reassure me." He tossed the controller over and retreated to the couch. "Have at it."

"What, you don't trust me?" Pulling up the movie catalog, he found what they were looking for quickly. The original, of course. None of the reboots had the charm.

"I'm letting you crash here, aren't I? Even though you're the last person I should be encouraging to crash anywhere?"

Oh now that was uncalled for; Lance stared at him, aghast. "I never crash!"

"Holding you to that." Flynn winked and settled in as the movie started.

It didn't take too long for him to have some objections, but he decided to save them for the end. Especially since he couldn't have gotten a word in edgewise, what with all the times he was nearly shoved off the couch because a good scene was coming up… though gradually that trailed off. He'd gotten distracted trying to sort out the theoretical physics at play when he realized there was light snoring coming from the other side of the couch… he blinked. Lance was curled up on the cushions, cuddling the remote and the screwdriver.

"…Guess Halloween is exhausting? That cannot be comfortable." He hadn't kept his voice down, but Lance didn't even twitch. Okay then. Shrugging, he carefully pulled the screwdriver away before their pilot put his own eye out, then went to the next room to fish a blanket out of the closet. It was a little chilly in the apartment, in his opinion. But as he draped the blanket over his impromptu guest, he felt a glimmer of warmth that had nothing to do with the ambient temperature. 

He was kind of adorable like that…

Don't. Don't you even begin to think that way. You are still his superior officer, you know better. He turned away, shaking his head slightly. Also, he's him and you're a grease monkey who uses couch covers. Let's not forget that either.

Shaking it off, he stopped the movie and retreated to his sleeping bag. It didn't matter, anyway. Tomorrow they launched, and he would have work to do. Things to focus on. Bomb techs and ninjas to try to keep under control. Getting caught up in work would help put this nonsense to rest. It had to.

"Good night, Lance," he murmured.

*****

A single oversized runway, designated 9/27-Heavy, served all of Galaxy Garrison's midrange craft. There weren't enough of them to merit more than one. There frequently weren't enough of them to even merit the one, but launching Vanguards or Condors or, god forbid, a Glis Aliktat off a standard size runway was out of the question. Never mind landing. They would overrun and plant themselves in the Atlantic and that would really ruin everyone's day. So Runway 9/27-Heavy it was, running just alongside the midrange hangars, controlled from the Garrison's main tower thirty miles away.

It was a pain in the ass.

Sergeant Steve Lincoln was on 'heavy duty' today, and he resented it. Enormously. Trying to track the various small craft was hard enough without having to keep a whole different taxiway system in mind, and he was over it before it had even started…

"Tower, this is ACS Jupiter's Bolt at Hangar L4-West, requesting entry into the pattern."

Bolt? What Bolt? His papers said Hammer. But screw it, there was only one midrange craft scheduled for takeoff today, and there was probably only one Vagrant active on the whole damn base. The Garrison didn't pay him enough to nitpick. "Jupiter's Bolt, radar contact. There isn't a pattern. You are the only craft on the midrange system, just get yourself to the runway however you see fit and call me back."

"Acknowledged, tower." He heard a muffled whoop before the channel closed, but didn't worry about it.

Maybe he should've worried about it, because the next time he glanced at his radar… "Jupiter's Bolt, why exactly are you doing donuts on the apron?!"

There was a crackle of static. "Just turning the ship around, Tower. Apologies. Moving to the runway now."

He was positive he heard someone in the background muttering about wanting donuts. Oh for god's sake. Sending an Endeavor on its way off the main runway, he found himself glancing back at the Bolt's icon, which was stupid. He didn't care what they were doing. It didn't matter to him one damn—

"—What are you trying to do, hit decision speed on the taxiway?"

A voice that wasn't the Bolt's comms officer responded. "Dude, you said however we see fit!"

There was a sound that might have been somebody being smacked, then the comms officer came back. "Uh, what he means, Tower, is sorry, we'll slow it down."

It was not within Lincoln's authority to revoke a launch slot, but hell if he wasn't tempted. Barring that, his other option was to get these assholes out of his control area as soon as humanly possible. So fine, they could do it like that. "No, go ahead. Get to the runway immediately, you have takeoff clearance for two minutes."

"…Roger that, tower."

Rolling his eyes, the sergeant returned his attention to the main system, where a second Endeavor was awaiting clearance. "Sunangel, hold short at 33, traffic will be taking off from 27-Heavy."

"Acknowledged, tower."

He barked a few more taxiing instructions to the small craft as he watched the Bolt race towards the runway. He'd never seen a midrange ship move that fast outside of a takeoff roll, and it was still handling the turns better than most. Maybe, he mused, he'd be tempted to show off a little off he could do that, too. But he couldn't, so he still wanted them off his radar.

"Tower, Jupiter's Bolt. Confirm takeoff clearance?"

"Confirmed, Jupiter's Bolt. Move your ass."

"Hell yeah! Moving ass!" That was the other voice again. As the Vagrant's engines fired up, a burst of music flooded the comms before they closed. It sounded like Ride of the Valkyries, though Lincoln was pretty sure the traditional arrangement didn't have screaming and electric guitars.

Watching something that big take off was pretty impressive, he had to admit that. A little over halfway down the runway the huge ship tilted upward, lifting from the runway and pulling up its wheels. A flash of blue flame erupted from the engines, a second-stage burst common to spaceplanes, leaving a trail of embers hanging in the sky for a few more seconds. Despite himself he smiled. A little.

"Jupiter's Bolt, godspeed and good riddance."

Shaking his head, he returned his attention to his nice, normal duties.

*****

With a heavy sigh, the old knight looked at his leg for the easily the hundredth time since he'd been awake today… which hadn't been all that long. It throbbed with discomfort, which was still better than it had been before. At least now he could move about for a reasonable period of time, though he still needed an equal amount of time to rest. Luckily, there were many good folks who were happy to offer him aid as he made his way to the castle shelters. It had been a long journey. But it was his duty. His leg may be injured, but his mind was still sharp and would be of good use to his king.

He felt grateful now that he'd worked with King Alfor on his hobby of hunting for Lion tales. Because of that work, he knew of several hidden tunnels he was able to help access to make his way about. That had gotten him most of the way here, and the last of the caves he had entered already had a tunnel open to the shelter of the Castle. He'd smiled broadly when he saw it, despite the circumstances… his travels would soon be over. And he hadn't come empty-handed. Many of the prized relics he'd been holding had been lost or abandoned in the attack, but he was sure the few items he'd been able to save might offer Alfor some slight relief from the weight of war.

Soon he could see the opening to the Castle of Lions shelter. The growing ache in his leg was becoming overwhelming, but the sight of the end of his travel gave strength to move until he reached the mouth of the cave. For a moment, he just leaned against the tunnel wall, staring out at the ragged mass of people. It looked like any of the other shelters, but he knew these tunnels well. This was where he needed to be…

“Coran? Is that you?” A familiar face suddenly emerged out of the corner of his eye, rushing forward from the crowd.

Smiling through his exhausted eyes, he turned to the voice and bowed as best he could. “Princess… I am so glad that you are well. I’ve come as soon as I could to hopefully be of service to your father.”

Allura motioned to a few nearby knights for assistance. “I’m sure you can be. For now, Father is out in the field directing troops and scouts. Please, let me find you a place to rest.”

Coran could hardly refuse that; the knights carried him to a spot near where the king's other remaining advisors were gathered. An equally sparse team of medics attended to him there, checking over his wounded leg and setting it as best they could. Settling in, for some time he just watched the movement within the shelter. Observing, getting the lay of the land. Noting how much his princess was rushing about, he made a motion to her when he was finally able to catch her eye.

“Princess, please… come and rest a bit by me. You will help our people more if you don’t overwork yourself to dust.”

Sitting down beside him with a slight smile, Allura took a moment to just stop and breathe. He wasn't wrong. “Oh Coran, I know, I just…” She lowered her eyes. “I'm just… trying my best to relieve everyone's stress and make sure they are well.”

“And you are doing admirably. But you must do the same for yourself, you know." He patted her shoulder. "Now my dear, tell me, what gives you some distraction from these events around us?”

Allura pondered that for a moment or two. Distraction? She'd hardly had time for distraction. “I’m not so sure I can be distracted from this… sometimes I do read a few of my father’s notes about the Lions' stories. Trying to make sense of the family hobby, you could say.” She laughed softly.

Coran chuckled as well. “It certainly would be a family hobby if you were to pick it up as well.” Tapping his chin, he smiled back at her, privately pleased he would be able to produce what he'd brought with him sooner rather than later. “Maybe that is something you should do more… the levity of it could be helpful.”

Giving him a look of mixed confusion and curiosity, the princess briefly pondered the suggestion. Levity wasn't quite how she'd have described the lions' mysteries… but then, compared to the reality of the tunnels, what wasn't? Still... “I’ve already read all his notes at least twice, Coran. I don’t see how I can add anything to his hobby at this point.”

Coran smiled and reached into his coat. “Ah, then perhaps you are not so curious as I'd hoped in regard to this little puzzle piece I was able to keep with me?” Pulling out a small book, he opened it up and pulled out a bit of paper. “I found this not too long ago, and I have to say, it’s quite puzzling. Since King Alfor isn't here, perhaps you'd like to see what you think of it?” He held it out towards her.

Allura took the piece carefully, inspecting the age of the paper. It felt strong, yet had the scent of some of the oldest pages within the family library. Looking at the texture, she then could see why it seemed to be holding up despite its age. Only those of the highest stature had access to such paper, capable of holding up to the rigors of time. Yet this was clearly a fragment of something larger. The edges were burnt. She could imagine that this piece was part of a book that was set to flame, but the paper would have been difficult to burn—bits could have flown off as the fire was stoked. To have found such a thing was remarkable.

The ink, if the original color was black, was now faded to a reddish brown. Reading it, Allura immediately grasped what Coran meant by ‘puzzle’.

“The point of view is odd," she said quietly. 'Most tales as old as this appears to be are framed from Black's perspective, but this seems to be Green speaking. And speaking in plural form… they never speak in plural. Or am I wrong?" She continued to study it, frowning at something unfamiliar at the bottom of the page. Voltron. "Is this a verb? I’ve never come across this word before.”

“I know, it is the first time I’ve come across it as well." Coran smiled. "So, while we wait for your father’s return, shall we ponder the mystery?”

Allura gratefully returned the smile. “Yes… I think this can provide enough distraction until then.”