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cheri-translates · 4 years

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[CN] Gavin’s Reflection of Beauty Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: Detailed spoilers for a date yet to be released in EN! 🍒

Phone call between Gavin and Mr Keller before the date: here

Candlelit Night Collection: Kiro // Lucien // Victor

Trivia regarding the name of the date:

This date is called 惊鸿照影来, which is part of a couplet from “Shenyuan”, a poem by Lu You written in the Song Dynasty

Rough translation of the full couplet: Alas, the green water under the forlorn bridge / Once reflected the charming face of my beloved one!

It was inspired by the poet’s own love story, where he was forced to leave his wife because his mother didn’t like her. Even so, their love never ceased. Ten years later, they met again in Shenyuan Garden (which was also the place he first fell in love with her). Lu You inscribed a poem on a stone wall, conveying his anger and sorrow towards their separation. A few days after seeing the poem, she died from depression :’<

“Shenyuan” was written later on as a memorialisation of his undying love. It conveys how revisiting old places makes one remember past lovers and sentiments

[ CHAPTER ONE ]

The date begins with MC and Gavin having a rehearsal for the sequel of the “Three Lifetimes” play

The audience had a deep impression of them in “Three Lifetimes”, so Mr Keller wrote them into the sequel as second leads

In the play, the town looks forward to the marriage between Lady Su (the female lead) and Swordsman Bai (Gavin)

But Lady Su is in love with Swordsman Bai’s friend, a scholar (the male lead)

Meanwhile, Swordsman Bai is in love with the character MC is playing (a high-ranking palace maid and a close friend of Lady Su)

After the rehearsal, Mr Keller gives them suggestions on how to improve, and tells Gavin to gaze at MC and hold her hand during a particular scene:

Gavin: ...all right.

[ CHAPTER TWO ]

Once the rehearsal is over, Gavin is a sweetheart as always, bringing water and a few bananas over to MC with this face:

Gavin: If it isn’t enough, I can get a few more?

MC: There’s enough, there’s enough.

Su Xuan, the actress playing Lady Su, tells them to change outfits for the photoshoot:

Su Xuan: I’ll help you put on some make-up first, then marry you off beautifully to your Mr Gavin. Come, close your eyes.

Without giving me a chance to explain or argue, she skilfully helps me with my make-up, as though she’s really helping a sister prepare for her wedding.

Su Xuan: Mm, that’s more like it.

She pulls me to my feet. After looking me over carefully, she tilts her head and smiles at something behind me.

Su Xuan: What does the groom think?

Before I have time to react, Su Xuan pushes me lightly, and I fall into familiar arms.

Gavin: Pretty.

Gavin, who has walked out of the changing room, is also wearing a matching set of red wedding attire.

The colour, which isn’t typically found on him, suits him unexpectedly well.

His easy-going independence has been toned down, replaced with fiery passion.

Gavin: What are you looking at?

MC: This outfit really suits you.

MC: ...very handsome!

Gavin: [coughs] ...you look very pretty in red too.

Gavin’s ears have a tinge of redness. He rubs the back of his neck, his eyes containing insuppressible surprise and warmth as he looks at me.

Su Xuan: All right, you two “newlyweds” can appreciate each other after the shoot! The photographer this time is quite picky.

As she speaks, she pulls our hands together.

The both of us stop talking, perhaps due to the dry air around us, or the warmth surfacing in our eyes.

Gavin holds onto my hand tightly.

[ CHAPTER TWO: A flashback ]

Location: Outside Lynn’s Kitchen

By the time Minor and Gavin leave the noodle shop, the sky is mostly dark.

Only traces of the sunset glow faintly from behind the tall buildings.

Minor: It’s so difficult to get tickets this Chinese New Year... I’m always struggling during this part of the year, and spending the New Year’s alone here is too cheerless. Gavin, what are your plans? Eh... why am I even asking - you’re definitely spending it with Boss.

Gavin is the same as always, letting Minor ramble on at his ear.

Only when he hears the final sentence does a corner of his heart feel a light tug.

Gavin: Mm. I promised to help Mr Keller with her.

Gavin smiles faintly without even realising it himself.

Minor: Huh? ...even though I find this method a little off, it’s not bad I guess! Boss has been asking everyone in the office what dishes they usually make for New Year’s. It made me curious... so you two are spending New Year’s together!

Minor’s words cause Gavin to recall the few memories of “spending the New Year’s” he has.

New Year’s should be a festival of celebration. There was a time when he looked forward to it.

It’s just that afterwards, this day gradually became no different from a normal one.

That is, until the girl reappeared in his life, drawing the link between this day and warmth.

It made him start looking forward to it again.

Minor: Bro Gavin? What are you thinking about? It’s rare to see this look on your face... I got it!

Minor makes an exaggerated expression, predictably receiving Gavin’s neither hard nor soft punch.

Gavin: Minor, are there places selling New Year goods near her home?

Minor: Bro Gavin, you want to... buy New Year goods?!

Gavin: What’s wrong with that?

Minor: Nothing nothing nothing...

Gavin: ...your smile is a little nauseating.

Minor: I’m just happy! Then again, as compared to preparing in advance, there will be more of an atmosphere if you pick them out together!

Gavin: Makes sense.

Gavin nods, quickening his pace slightly.

Minor: Bro Gavin, where are you headed to next?

Several images flash across his mind - a warm light in the living room left on for him, a table with the home-cooked dishes he mentioned liking, and the girl waiting for him on the sofa, hugging a pillow.

Gavin: Home.

[ CHAPTER THREE ]

The photoshoot turns out to be more difficult than MC expected

Photographer: You must imagine - you two are about to elope, so it has to be dynamic! And yet have a tinge of... hesitation and worry! You’ve got to feel it! Change your pose!

MC and Gavin struggle to understand the photographer’s abstract descriptions

MC suggests they pretend to chat while sitting on the grass

MC: ...the weather is getting cold. Does Sparky need to be sent for maintenance?

Once the words leave my mouth, I’m filled with a sense of regret. This topic is too forced...

Gavin seems to be stunned for a moment, then the corners of his lips lift gently.

Gavin: Mm, I have plans to do so. We can find a day to go together.

MC: Ah, okay!

Gavin smiles, lifting his hand to tuck stray tendrils of hair behind my ear.

His amber eyes, which are filled to the brim with smiles, hold my blinking and grinning expression within them.

Photographer: Very good! That’s the right feeling! Could the both of you try lying down? Girl, close your eyes and lift your head slightly.

MC: ...all right. Like this?

I follow the photographer’s instructions and lie down at Gavin’s side, closing my eyes.

In the darkness, a familiar warmth encases me tightly, allowing me to have a peace of mind and lean into his arms.

We are very close to each other. His unique scent entwines with the reed grass that has been dried by the sun, reminding me of the summer we spent together. A breeze brushes past us.

It makes one want to draw even nearer.

Photographer: Very good very good. Can the man include some movements to add on to the idea of newlyweds interacting?

Gavin: ...uhm.

I hear Gavin’s breath halt for a moment, as though he’s deep in thought.

After a while, he seems to have thought of something, and he laughs softly.

Gavin: MC, don’t move.

Right after he finishes speaking, I feel a lock of hair near my ear being lifted gently.

I don’t dare to move a single inch, nor dare to open my eyes. I leave myself entirely to Gavin.

The frequency of my heartbeat increases, and a numbness travels from the roots of my hair to my spine. My hair seems to be gently held in his palm.

Gavin: ...let me know if it hurts. I’ve never tried this before.

Even though he says this, his actions are cautious and tender.

All I can feel are the slight vibrations from my hair, the lock of hair ascending and descending along with his fingers, and then falling by my ear again.

I purse my lips tightly, frantically trying to control my rapid breathing. I’m afraid that I might accidentally ruin this ambience.

The shutter continuously sounds. The photographer seems to be saying something again, but I can no longer hear him clearly.

Next to me, Gavin’s breathing brushes against my forehead and the tips of my hair. The breath, which carries a certain warmth, feels like a light kiss.

Even though this is just a photoshoot, I wish time would give us this moment for a little while longer.

The words he said during the Qixi Festival last year surge from the depths of my heart, and once again gather in the centre.

I can’t help but feel that even if our destinies entangle and cross, and fate only allows for fleeting meetings, we will ultimately accompany each other at the very end.

In my ear, the sound of his heartbeat is akin to him giving me a definite answer. One after the other, regular and resolute.

Photographer:

Gavin: MC, we can get up now.

I open my eyes slowly. The past few minutes have felt like a small, beautiful dream.

In Gavin’s hand are locks of our hair tied together with a red string.

Noticing my gaze, Gavin clear his throat unnaturally.

Gavin: ...when the idea of “newlyweds” was brought up, I could only think of this.

[Trivia: In Chinese culture, one’s hair represents one’s self. During a traditional Chinese wedding, the couple would each cut a lock of their hair and tie them together. This is called 结发 (”joining of hair”). It symbolises the couple becoming one flesh and blood, and how they would be connected forever... T^T]

I nod, not daring to meet his eyes.

His short sentence channels layers of emotions in my heart, converging into unstoppable ripples.

In a most straightforward way, his unembellished words leave a long and sweet aftertaste in my heart.

MC: Let’s go over there so the next group can use this place...

Gavin: Hold on...

Without waiting for Gavin to finish, I’ve already sat up. Only when I feel a light tugging sensation do I realise that my hair is still tied to Gavin’s.

MC: Ah-

Gavin: ...does it hurt? Don’t worry, I’ll untie the knot.

Gavin’s voice, which carries within it concern, is very close to the top of my head. In the next second, the strands of hair that are pulled are immersed in a tender warmth.

Gavin: ...I might have tied it a little too tightly.

MC: Let me try...

Gavin agrees with a sound, cooperating by bending down slightly to make it easier to untie the red string.

I try pulling at the end of the string, but the knot refuses to budge.

Gavin: ...

MC: It does seem a little tight... could it be a dead knot?

Gavin seems to have leaned in a little closer. Perhaps it’s just my misperception, but he seems even closer than he was during the photoshoot.

His temperature and breath make my face feel increasingly flushed. I focus on the knot in my hand, hoping he wouldn’t notice my flustered state.

MC: N-next time, don't tie it so tightly! Or else I’ll leave it to you to untie.

I pretend to be angry, wanting to break the atmosphere that makes my heart go into a frenzy.

Gavin: All right, I got it.

When I hear his voice in my ear, I know fully well that my attempts are futile.

When the red string is finally released and falls to the ground, I release a huge sigh, yet feel an inexplicable emptiness in my heart.

It’s as though my fate with Gavin has become untied.

They get called back to the rehearsal

MC: We should go over then.

Gavin: ...hold on.

Gavin pauses, then takes the red string from my hand.

In a slightly clumsy manner, he uses the string to tie a knot at the end of my plait.

Gavin: This is also considered joining of the hair.

Gavin looks at me, his eyes clear, as though he has seen through all my emotions.

Gavin: Let’s go.

While he speaks, he takes my hand and we leave.

I hold onto Gavin firmly, the red string on my hair swaying gently along with our footsteps.

We will never miss each other again.

[ CHAPTER FOUR ]

At 8pm, the play finally begins

On stage, MC is supposed to read a letter to Gavin

But when she opens it up, she realises there’s nothing on the letter even though her script is supposed to be on it

Gavin notices that something is amiss, so he steps in to calm her down while pretending everything is normal

MC starts reciting her lines based on memory, but starts panicking in fear of ruining the play

Gavin then takes the letter from her and pretends to read from it, reciting her lines perfectly

The First Act of the play comes to an end, and there’s an intermission

MC decides to thank Gavin properly after the play is over, but Su Xuan suddenly looks for her:

Su Xuan: MC, are you free now? Pass the silk ball to Gavin! I don’t know why, but the prop hasn’t been brought over yet.

MC: Okay! I’ll go now!

Thinking of the little time left, I grab the silk ball and run towards the other end without much thought.

In the next scene, Gavin and I are supposed to enter the stage from different sides, which is why I have to cross through the entire backstage to reach him.

The silk ball is an indispensable prop in the next scene. Also... I have a “thank you” to say to him in person.

With this in mind, I quicken my pace, and find a familiar figure afar off in the busy backstage.

MC: Gavin! I’m over here!

I stand on my tiptoes and wave at him, thinking of ways to reach him even faster.

Hearing this, Gavin raises his head. After seeing me, he immediately weaves through the crowd and walks towards me.

People are moving to and fro. Our eyes only have each other, and we go against the flow of people, walking towards our only focus.

Staff: Prepare for the second half!

When I’m only a few steps away from him, the countdown for the second half of the play resounds.

MC: Gavin, this is for you!

In my desperation, I lift my hand. The silk ball flies in a slightly shaky arc, landing steadily in Gavin’s arms.

[Trivia: In Chinese culture, the silk ball (绣球 - ”xiu qiu”) is used to symbolize love. Giving it to someone reflects the giving of one’s heart. If a woman is in search of a fated life partner, she will toss the ball high into the air in a crowd. The person who catches the silk ball would become the person’s husband]

MC: Gavin, about earlier...

Staff: MC? What are you doing here? Go back, we’re about to start soon. The snatching scene is next, and it’s very important.

MC: Please wait! I haven’t finished what I wanted to say...

The staff doesn’t give me a chance to continue, and pulls me to the other end.

I turn my head towards Gavin, and I have no choice but to swallow the words of gratitude I couldn’t say to him in time.

Gavin: [unintentionally sexy whisper] Wait for me.

Gavin stands in place and looks at me, mouthing those words to me.

The bell from the venue rings, and the noise from the audience gradually dissipates.

Staff: The Second Act! Begins!

[ CHAPTER FOUR: A flashback ]

Location: Gavin’s home

MC: “It’s good, and I doubt the lady would refuse, but...”

Gavin: Are you still looking at your lines?

MC: ...Gavin? Why are you here!

[Note: I have no idea why MC asks this since the backdrop is of his own house LOL]

Gavin walks over with a blanket in his hand.

MC: The rehearsal is the day after tomorrow, so I’m trying to make use of my time to familiarise myself with the script, especially the scene where I’m reading the letter. Even though I should be able to read straight from the letter on the actual day, I think it’s better to memorise it just in case... Gavin, why don’t you accompany me in going through the lines!

Gavin nods and sits beside me. After covering me with the blanket, he takes the script from my hands.

Gavin: From here?

MC: Okay!

Gavin and I go through the dialogue. Places I usually get stuck at become miraculously smooth.

Without realising it, we’ve gone through the entire script.

I flip through the script, marking out places requiring additional attention.

MC: I feel like Mr Keller has taken reference from the personalities of the actors when writing the lines. I keep thinking that the lines sound like what you would say.

While speaking, I let out a yawn.

Gavin: If you’re tired, rest. We can continue tomorrow.

As the year draws to a close, there are more things than usual to settle at work. And when I come home, I’d have to familiarise myself with the script. It’s natural that I’d feel fatigued.

MC: You don’t have anything on tomorrow?

Gavin: I don’t have work tomorrow, so we can practice our lines.

MC: That’s great!

A warmth gushes out of my heart. I shift closer to Gavin, sharing half the blanket with him. We look at the script together.

MC: This is so much warmer!

Gavin: ...do you still want to look at it?

MC: Mm, let’s look through the letter scene again. “If you lack medical knowledge... attach some... scattered silver... I hope to do my best...”

The words in front of me gradually become blurry and distorted. After a certain line, I lean on Gavin’s shoulder in a dazed state, giving up on my fight against sleep.

Gavin: MC? Are you asleep?

The girl, who loftily said they would look at the script together just a few minutes ago, is now leaning softly against his shoulder, sleeping peacefully.

Gavin doesn’t wake her up, and simply covers her with a jacket. He flips to the first page of the script, quietly reading the girl’s lines, and memorising them.

The city is asleep, but the room filled with the breath of two people is still illuminated with a tender light.

The all-knowing stars in the night sky are silent, and will guard the small world belonging to these two people.

[ CHAPTER FIVE ] The curtains are drawn slowly. I once again step onto the stage, following the script.

In this scene, Gavin will snatch the silk ball, and I will hand it to the male lead so he can bring his beloved home.

For the scene to be more realistic, the actors are allowed to walk around spontaneously.

As such, I have to run past various settings, weave through the crowd, and finally reach the stipulated spot.

MC: Swordsman Bai?

Panting slightly, I stand underneath the embroidery building, looking for Gavin.

[Trivia: In ancient times, women who were more socially well-to-do would do embroidery in embroidery buildings.]

The sense of deja vu blurs my perception of the boundaries between the play and reality.

A strong wind arrives as promised. Following the glint of a sword, a path forms in the crowd, interrupting my thoughts.

Gavin is dressed in red. One hand holds onto the silk ball, and the other sheathes his sword. He walks straight towards me.

Gavin: Trivial matters held me back, and I seek forgiveness from the lady.

The corners of his lips are curled into an open smile. His eyes are wilful and tender.

The setting of the blue sky, the red silk in the surroundings, and the startled magpie birds surround Gavin, who is donned in wedding attire. It makes one unable to look away.

At this moment, he finally stands before me again.

The crowd and the noise of the world - they no longer have anything to do with me.

Gavin places the silk ball into my hands steadily.

Even though I know this is a script, and that it’s part of the plot, I can’t help but feel that the red silk ball in my hands is akin to a solemn promise.

A greedy thought even flits across my mind - maybe it’d be good if the story ends like this.

On stage, the silk ball is finally handed to the scholar. The lady takes the silk ball and holds it with her lover.

Under the embroidery building, Gavin suddenly takes my hand.

Gavin: Perhaps this may be abrupt. MC, are you willing to marry me and become my wife?

MC: ?!

Was there such a line in the script?

I look at Gavin with confusion.

Gavin doesn’t say a word. He stares straight at me without a hint of evasion.

There are so many emotions within that pair of eyes, leaving me unable to make sense of them. I have no idea what to say.

Off-stage, the audience erupt in thunderous cheers.

I glance to the side. Mr Keller, who has been watching the entire play, nods in my direction, signalling that I should continue in my role.

My confusion dissipates when I see Gavin’s amber eyes, which are filled with deep, tender emotions and lingering affection. There is even an undercurrent of questioning and anticipation.

It’s as though the answer I give would be an entrustment of the rest of my life.

My heart beats loudly in my chest, feeling like it would leap out from my throat in the next second.

MC: I... I accept.

I blush and respond, not even sure if my words are loud enough to be heard by the audience off-stage.

However, every single word is heard by Gavin, who has received my feelings.

With a gentle laugh, he wraps an arm around my waist and lifts me up.

Gavin brings me up the embroidery building to stand alongside the male and female leads.

At the end of the play, there is thunderous applause from off-stage. There are even a few audience members who are fully immersed in the story, sending us their blessings.

In the midst of the applause, I tilt my head and lean towards Gavin’s ear, speaking softly.

MC: Gavin, just now... I don’t remember seeing such a scene in the script?

Gavin: Mm, it was impromptu.

MC: Why didn’t you tell me beforehand? I even thought...

Gavin doesn’t respond further, only smiling at me.

Facing the cheering audience, the four of us bow and thank them for watching, as though worshipping the vast sea of people.

After the play, everyone involved in the show gathers together to celebrate over dinner

MC: Gavin, thank you so much for today! It’s a good thing you saved the show! Back then... I really didn’t know what to do.

While I speak, I raise the drink in my hand, clinking it lightly against Gavin’s.

Gavin: You were looking for me just now to say this?

He raises his drink, making up for the delayed clink.

MC: Yeah. I wanted to thank you properly, but time was so tight that I couldn’t find the chance. Come to think of it, how did you know my lines...

Gavin: When we were rehearsing lines together, I just memorised them as well.

Gavin lowers his head and takes a mouthful of food, maintaining his usual casual attitude. Noticing that I’ve been watching him, he rubs his neck in slight confusion.

Gavin: Um... is there something on my face?

I immediately shake my head. A warm wave of emotions overflow from my heart. Countless words of gratitude are lodged in my throat, but I feel that no matter what I say, it would not be enough.

In the end, I silently fill a bowl of soup for him.

At the table, everyone is eating and drinking merrily, and the atmosphere is warm.

MC: After spending so many days with the crew, thinking of how we might not have the chance to get together like this again makes me feel quite reluctant to part with them.

I lean against Gavin, looking at the lively crew around us.

MC: Gavin, I suddenly thought about something from my childhood. My dad used to be busy producing programs, and would bring me to the recording site to spend the New Year’s. The site was always busy, but no matter how pressed they were for time, everyone would sit down together and have an especially sumptuous dinner. Once I grew up, I also started spending my New Year’s working. I still remember that the warm ambience back then was the same as right now.

Gavin: Mm, I can imagine. I used to spend New Year’s with my teammates, and it was very lively.

MC: Even though it’s not at home, it’s still a different kind of fun!

Gavin: Since we’re on this topic, [coughs]...

Gavin seems to have something very important to say, but he takes another sip of his drink and stops.

I blink, waiting for him quietly. I can vaguely guess what he wants to say.

In the end, he seems to become determined. He clears his throat and turns his head to look at me with a serious expression.

Gavin: Over the next few days, if you don’t have anything else planned....

Gavin: Spend the New Year’s with me at home.

His tone is light, but the look in his eyes tells me just how solemn this invitation is. Even the tips of his ears turn an unnatural shade of red.

I am very certain that, to the both of us, these words are the most precious and serious treasures from the deepest parts of his heart.

MC: Okay.

I nod heavily in response. Since a very long time ago, this answer has not changed.

The corners of Gavin’s lips turn up slightly. Those eyes, which always have an undercurrent of emotions, look like a glacier that has melted in spring, tenderly melting into a warm current.

Gavin: I’ll pick you up then.

MC: Mm!!

The way his lips are curled upwards is as though all the uncertainties in his heart have found a most potent answer.

I find myself smiling along with him.

MC: I recently learnt how to make a few New Year’s dishes, so we can try them.

Gavin: All right, I can help. My skills... have improved.

I freeze for a moment, making a sudden realisation.

MC: Have you been practicing in secret? Looks like teaching you how to cook was a wise decision.

Gavin: ...I occasionally tried to.

MC: I’ll have to check the results of my teaching this year then!

Gavin: No problem.

Gavin smiles, nodding his head with some measure of seriousness. He suddenly thinks of something.

Gavin: Oh yes, do we need to buy things like spring couplets?

MC: Mmhmm, we also have to buy the character “福”! It will only feel like New Year’s when we have these things pasted.

[Trivia: During the Chinese New Year, households paste an inverted red coloured square with the character 福 (“fu”, which means auspiciousness, blessing or happiness) on doors, walls, etc. to usher in such tidings]

I continue talking, listing on my fingers the items I want to purchase.

In my memory, my aunties’ fierce interrogations don’t seem that long ago. In just a blink of an eye, a new year has arrived.

[Note: She’s making reference to the Spring Festival Date!]

This time, we can leave our time to each other.

In a place belonging only to us, flipping open a new year’s calendar together.

The atmosphere at the dining table is just right. The sound of clinking glasses and celebration comes in waves. No one notices this small corner.

We clasp each others’ fingers quietly.

Our pulses, only separated by a layer of skin, call out to each other in the language of warmth.

I’m so lucky to have you by my side.

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc gavin #SOFT GAVIN #pardon the one billion screenshots of Gavin I included in this

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spookyspaghettisundae · 4 years

Text

The Lullaby of Howling Winds

Drifting in and out of sleep, the lullaby of howling winds never let him fully rest. Those winds carried sand over the wasteland. They carried sounds of creatures in the distance, of the clanking of metal from a faraway fortress-city occupied by orcs.

Cade sat in the shade of a jagged rock, tucked away in a spot that shielded him from those merciless winds sweeping past. His horse had perished from its injuries along the way. The snapping of muscles and the crunch of bones still echoed in his mind, grisly remnants of the imagery of him putting the loyal beast of burden out of its misery.

His weary legs had carried him this far, but he needed rest. The dry heat of these blasted lands had chapped his lips and he yearned for water, haunted by the hollow weight of the empty waterskin hanging from his side.

Pebbles crunched underfoot. In a flash, Cade gripped his sword in both hands in a trained reflex, blade out at the ready, pointing at the figure that had appeared in front of him, appeared from the darkness in between his eyelids opening and closing in his delirious haze.

A figure with limbs as thin as reeds, standing tall before him. Pointy ears like an elf. Eyes not black, thus a half-elf, Cade recognized through the delirium. The thin man tilted his head. A glint of madness flashed in his eyes. His mouth spread into a lopsided smile.

Cade returned a smile of his own. But inwardly, he was alarmed.

As night neared, the stranger had introduced himself as Harrokh and shared his water with him. Cade took careful sips from it, tasting no poison in it and trying to avoid the shock that might come from dehydration and drinking too greedily.

They had not spoken other than exchanging names. Cade took his time, studying the thin man’s every movement while he continued to recover, sensing he would need all his strength to survive.

Harrokh even made a small campfire for them to warm themselves against the unforgiving cold as it crept across the craggy wastes of the Cinderlands. Yet Cade read no shivers in the thin man’s motions, saw no sign of him being touched by the elements.

The fire was a mere gesture. A guise.

“Are you a crusader?” asked Harrokh.

“What gave it away? The holy symbol of Old Deadeye?” replied Cade hoarsely, ending with a pained grin and clearing his throat.

Harrokh smiled. Wider than before.

Hungrier.

Toothier. Cade maintained the smile upon his lips, using it to mask his disgust over the fever he sensed just by looking into Harrokh’s eyes. He could smell it on him. The rot of decay, the stench of unearthed corpses.

Ghoul fever.

“So, you hunt all abominations? Never suffer such creatures as demons and the walking dead?” Harrokh said, stoking the fire with a stick, causing embers to rise like fireflies.

“Something like that,” Cade muttered.

His trusty bow and a quiver of seven arrows rested on one of the rocks nearby, but he had no plans on using that. His sword rested against his shoulder, leaning not at the ready anymore, but also close enough that he might grab and raise it if the thin man made any hostile move.

He continued to study Harrokh’s features. Freakishly long fingers, sharp fingernails.

“Not very talkative for an itinerant priest, are you?” Harrokh asked. “Don’t make a lot of converts that way, I reckon?”

Cade chuckled, but it ended in a raspy cough. Cleared his throat again.

“We don’t make converts, friend,” he said, trying to utter the last word with as much sincerity as he could muster. “We serve the people in whatever way they need us to.”

Harrokh had no pack, no belongings other than the waterskin. A waterskin that rarely saw use, judging by how stale the water had tasted. The only other things he appeared to have on him were the ragged clothing on his back and a bronze skinning knife hanging by his side.

“Tell me a story, priest. What brings you to these desolate wastes? Do you not run into trouble with the Shoanti hunters? Or the orcs?”

Genuine curiosity. Harrokh stared into Cade’s eyes, something smoldering between them. Perhaps he wanted to know if someone might come looking for him.

“No trouble with Shoanti. I have an agreement with one of the clans out here. We hunted a demon together mere weeks ago,” Cade said.

Harrokh nodded slowly.

“No trouble with orcs, either. I can stand my ground. Unfortunately, Quentin didn’t make it out of the last encounter.”

“Friend of yours?”

Cade nodded, averted his gaze to focus on the fire, and swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

“Yes. Good horse. Fought well. We braved many perils together and his end was not dignified.”

From the peripheral of his vision, he noticed the twitch around the corners of Harrokh’s lips. The hint of a grin that the ghoul fought back down, wrestled under control.

Had he eaten Quentin’s remains back there? It might explain how he discovered him out here.

Harrokh broke the silence that Cade’s thoughts occupied, saying “Didn’t answer my question, though. What, really, brings you out here?”

Cade arched a brow, curious about the ghoul’s curiosity. He had never heard of these creatures being this talkative, this inquisitive. He had never heard of them being this sophisticated.

“I know that many cults hide out in the mountains out here, worshipping demons and summoning them. I was—I am on a quest to hunt them all. Learn of them. Root them out.”

Harrokh chuckled, but it erupted into a cackle, ending on a high and crazed pitch. The shrillness of it caused the hairs on the back of Cade’s neck to stand.

“Sounds like something personal, aye? Something—”

“Yes,” Cade interrupted him sharply. “It’s always something personal, friend. Nobody acts without motive, lest they are beast.”

Harrokh still smiled at him over the small flames of the campfire, dancing merrily in between them. This time, the crackling of burning wood filled the silence. This time, Cade broke it.

“Now tell me a story, traveler. What brings you out here? You’re not in any of those abhorrent cults, are ya?” Cade asked with a smirk.

This wiped the smile from Harrokh’s face.

“As late as the hour is, I respect that you will respect our shared hospitality around this quaint little fire,” said the ghoul. “I admit, I am disciple to the Lady Despair.”

Cade licked his lips and really began feeling the weariness in his own legs. He felt pins and needles in his feet but barely moved. His fingers twitched, ready to clutch his sword by the hilt and swing it around and run it right through this ghoul—but he decided to hear him out first.

Not every day that a crusader got to speak this closely with the undead.

Was this even a normal ghoul? He wondered.

“Did the Pallid Princess grace you with—did she make you what you are now?”

Harrokh licked his lips. His tongue was long and pointed, like a serpent’s. His fangs growing longer, and sharper. Teeth too numerous to resemble a normal man’s mouth.

“Of course. Some might argue an indirect rescue, but my faith and my path led me to it. My devotion to Her was what saved me from certain destruction,” Harrokh spoke.

The fire crackled and Harrokh stoked it with more force than before. Embers exploded from it, flitting away in every direction.

“This sounds like a long story,” Cade said.

“The nights grow longer. We have time, do we not?”

Cade raised a shoulder for a one-sided shrug, feeling the exhaustion still creeping up on him like cold hands caressing him, tingling underneath his skin everywhere now. In direct defiance of how alert he felt, how cautious he was. How ready he was to fight this creature.

“Yes, please. Humor me.”

“I was arrogant. Sought to show up the leader of our covenant by discovering the resting place of a Thassilonian God-King before her. Hoped to find great power there, with which I might have become the ultimate master of our faith.”

Cade just stared at him. Glared. Did nothing to interrupt him, silently urging him to continue. He marveled in the ghoul’s audacity. Did he really underestimate him this much? Or did this creature possess power so great that he simply did not care?

“Close to starvation, I reached that fabled place. Xin-Shalast. How exactly, I barely remember,” Harrokh recounted. His words trailed off and his gaze rested upon the fire, the focus leaving his eyes as his thoughts followed his words.

“There, giants walked, so large that their shin bones towered twice the height of a grown man. They stood watch over this strange city’s incredible walls, ancient structures older than anything I have ever seen, yet untouched by the sands of time. Standing strong and beautiful, despite the frozen wastes that surrounded the place. Other horrid monsters dwelt there as well.”

Cade scoffed. Harrokh either ignored him or was lost in his own memories.

“They feasted on the bones of the few pilgrims such as I who somehow managed to reach this place. Where a powerful miasma enclosed the valley, one that turns even shadows of the dead into wrathful spirits. I crawled like a cockroach, scurrying from hiding place to hiding place, until he found me.”

Cade arched a brow and interjected, “He? Who’s he?”

“He made me his slave, but he allowed me to subsist on carrion, to walk in his shadow, to hide and only strike out to help him and his other servants whenever their body and wit might be outmatched by the beautiful abominations that ruled the city.”

Fingers twitching again, Cade started weighing how much longer he would hear out this babble. He would need to sleep eventually and sleeping in the company of a hungry ghoul could only spell out one single outcome.

“My master—Mokmurian—he entered a tremendous palace without me. And when he emerged again—”

Harrokh paused. His eyes locked onto Cade’s. They glistened with a wetness that betrayed reverence and sadness.

“When he emerged from that palace, he wielded magic befit of a god. The disdain in his eyes, for me, and his other subjects—he felt like a god. He saw us as pathetic wretches, ready to discard us like broken tools. Some reveled in it. I felt only disgust. He saw it in me. Saw it in my eyes. Threw me off a cliff without second thought.”

Harrokh’s eyes sparkled with an insanity and despair that Cade could not fathom even if he tried. He wanted to say something, his mouth drooping half open, but no words came. Cade wanted to clear his throat, but something was wrong.

“I survived because I had feasted upon the undead. I had become one with Her curse. The fever took me, and I lived beyond life. Rearranged my broken bones, ignored my battered body. Could now regain my strength by feasting upon any blood and flesh, both living and dead. Could not so readily die of mere cold or thirst or starvation anymore.”

Cade had heard enough. Tried to grip his sword, but his strength failed him. His gloved fingers slipped past the hilt, barely gripped it, and a dizziness set in as he willed himself to rise from where he sat. Yet his body disobeyed.

“I sought for so, so long to find that city again. To return to Xin-Shalast. But when he cast me from that cliff, he ripped the memories from me! He discarded me like trash, and without my master to guide me, I have no chance of finding that beautiful city again,” Harrokh said. His voice trembled with reverence, fear, and desire.

The sparkle in his eyes wavered, making way for that previous glint of madness and hunger.

Cade struggled to move. The gravel and rocks beneath him crunched, cracked under the combined weight of his heavy body and armor. His limbs refused to do as he wanted. Something far worse than fatigue had seized his body.

“Erastil, you bastard—I will not,” Cade hissed, swearing at his god. It took all his strength to mutter more, “I will burn your damned mead halls if I die like this—”

Harrokh emitted another one of those shrill cackles. It sent no shivers down Cade’s spine. It only fueled the righteous fury welling up in his gut.

The ghoul rose and his fingernails began to enlarge, taking the form of talon-like claws.

“Who needs places, priest? All we need—is to eat,” Harrokh said with a sneer. “Now let the poison do its work. Close your tired little eyelids over that soft, delectable jelly that you see through.”

Cade gritted his teeth so hard until his gums started bleeding. Harrokh took a first, menacing step towards him, rounding the fire and closing in. His fangs glistened with reflections of the campfire’s light. His grin was hideous. Monstrous.

He lunged at Cade and his claws sank into the crusader’s flesh, slicing through metal and leather armor like needles piercing a thick hide with ease. Cade screamed out in agony, followed by a shout of anger and defiance.

Bones crunched and snapped as Cade yanked them around, for he had managed to swing the sword up just in time, in one last ditch effort, seizing his one and only chance. He twisted the sword’s blade with whatever ounces of strength he had left over, staring into the eyes of Harrokh, watching the unlife ooze out of them as he twisted the blade once more, breaking ribs and gutting the humanoid monstrosity.

The fire danced in the reflections cast upon the tip of the blade, sticking out from Harrokh’s back. His greedy hunger had driven him right onto Cade’s sword.

Cade yelled again in pain as he shoved the dying ghoul from him, and the claws cut through skin on the way back out. He kicked at the ghoul but delivered little force. The ghoul thrashed around one more time, flailing its arms, but Harrokh only scraped against rocks and the surface of Cade’s mail now.

Divine rage flowed through the crusader as he arched his back and managed to lift the sword one last time, bringing it down, crashing right into Harrokh’s neck as he lay prone.

Not enough force to sever the head, but enough to crack the spine and cut through most of the neck. Cade shouted again, channeling that rage and chopping Harrokh’s ghastly head off after a few more swings.

He then collapsed back onto the ground.

His strength had finally escaped him. At least, he reckoned, the ghoul lay dead beside him. Thick, tar-like mucus oozed out of the new orifices that Cade had hacked open in the abominable undead creature’s body. Harrokh’s claws twitched one last time, then the ghoul’s remains turned deathly still.

Cade panted and grunted as he touched the injuries that Harrokh had left in his own sides, not bothering to look at them beyond seeing his own blood upon his trembling gloved hands.

His consciousness was fading fast. The edges around his field of vision began to blacken.

The last things crossing his mind were that he would have to figure out what kind of odorless poison the ghoul had used. And how he had almost died without completing his quest. How he worried about the fire and it possibly attracting orcs, or other menaces like Harrokh. Or its absence, once it died out on its own, failing to keep predators and scavengers at bay.

He wanted to swear at his god, Erastil, again, but the poison forced slumber upon him.

Cade passed out, sleeping to the lullaby of the howling winds.

—Submitted by Wratts

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dat-fandom-losertown · 4 years

Text

The Drift Between Us

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Chapter 8: The Search

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Hank Anderson x Connor, Gavin x RK900 (Ritch)

Pacific Rim AU

Warnings: Inaccurate/Unfair representation of a therapist (for only 1 paragraph), A physical fight, and I think that’s all?

Word Count: 12,273

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

A/N: Hey guys, I normally don’t like putting notes before a fic, but I just wanted to apologize for this update taking literal months, and I wanted to thank anyone who’s still around and is still wanting to read this. On with the long-awaited chapter!

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Previous <> Masterlist <> Next

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

After Ritch hesitantly peeks through Connor’s journal (which turns out to be admittedly helpful, if not surprising because of the specific note that Ritch is more compatible with Gavin despite the fact Ritch had always made sure Connor wasn’t in the area when they started picking at each other, the one exception being during the Alex fiasco) and adds his own information to it, he goes to lunch.

He ends up spending most of his meal time talking with the Jericho Squad (and he doubts he’ll ever not internally cringe whenever they unironically call themselves that) about therapy and what generally makes a good therapist and a bad one. It’s actually quite helpful. Helpful enough, in fact, that after he and Connor take two written evaluations directly after lunch– with the second one having significantly harder and oddly specific questions that he’s sure they both got some wrong– he initiates a relatively unstressful talk with his brother about general types of therapists.

They end up agreeing that they absolutely don’t trust strangers with anything personal, which will make this entire endeavor harder than it probably should be since the therapist will be a stranger. They also surprisingly agree on what type of therapist they think they’d prefer to have, despite their very different personalities. Neither twin mention that this may be because the warm, casual nature of the person they’re both hoping for is nearly the opposite of how Amanda always treated them, but it does vaguely show up in Ritch’s unsettling dreams that night.

The next morning, on his way to breakfast, Ritch almost predictably runs into Gavin. However, instead of immediately getting into another round of gibes, Gavin is so wrapped up in whatever he’s doing that he doesn’t acknowledge Ritch at all. He supposes that even the pilots with shorter tempers have actual work to be done, so the trainee doesn’t question it and moves on. Ritch refuses to believe that the negative emotion he feels because of the lack of attention from Reed is disappointment. Just another thing to shove away and forcibly forget about for the preferably indefinite future.

The strength tests after breakfast definitely help with keeping him distracted from therapists and Gavin and anything else he’s shoved away from his mind so well that he can no longer recall what they are (but he knows they’re there. He can feel them trying to cause him more stress and uncertainty, but all he has to do is pointedly not think about that vague feeling and they can’t bother him). Chloe doesn’t show a reaction or share their results during the strength evaluations, so he doesn’t know if they’re just average or if they scored close enough to what they had before that no input is needed. Yet another thing to add to the “don’t think or worry about it right now” pile.

Thankfully, or unfortunately, depending on the point of view, he forgets about everything in that mental pile except for one thing after he finishes dinner. The therapist search. He and Connor have separate people they’re going to check out, since Marshal Fowler said it would be better for them to not have the same therapist. Both he and Connor readily agreed.

When Ritch arrives at his appointment, the older man only greets him and introduces himself as Dr. Johnson before getting right down to business. That isn’t anything more than a rub in the wrong direction, but when Ritch gives an honest but simple request, “I’d rather not give any personal information before I know you’re right for me,” the man starts assuming possible situations that could be the reason why Ritch is here without letting him properly speak. Again, Ritch doesn’t have a particular problem with this– he certainly won’t be choosing this man– but Mr. Johnson then ignores Ritch when he requests that they get back on topic and instead takes that as a “clue” that he is “getting close” to the “real reason” and starts spewing even more ridiculous bullshit.

(As if he, of all people, would have had any time or desire at all for a romantic relationship growing up, and that he would’ve been be vengeful, of all emotions, if “she” died in what would be considered a freak accident. As if he even knows if he’s interested in women exclusively or at all. It’s not like he’s had the time or desire to experiment with relationships or even the idea of them.)

Ritch ends up so tense with frustration that he gets up and leaves long before the session is supposed to end, ignoring the calls behind him. He will not put up with someone who won’t listen to him, not again. Not if he has any control over it, and Marshal Fowler and Chloe had guaranteed that he does.

After those short 15 minutes, he reluctantly decides to get some outside help, and there’s only one person he can think of that would have both the information he’s looking for and the potential willingness to help– even if it’s only for Connor’s sake.

He’s surprised to see the man he planned on looking for during breakfast. After a beat of hesitation, he figures that the sooner he asks the better, and heads over to a table with only one, familiar figure sitting at it.

“Hello, Mr. Anderson.”

The ex-pilot doesn’t turn around to face Ritch or sit up from being hunched over his food, and huffs in lieu of a greeting. That isn’t unexpected, though, since it is a well-known fact that Mr. Anderson normally doesn’t get out of bed until lunch is already being served. It would almost make Ritch feel guilty for bothering the exhausted man if he weren’t also concerned about himself and Connor being eaten alive by strangers who claim they want to help.

Mr. Anderson suddenly turns his head towards Ritch, as if just realizing something. “I thought I told you to call me–”

Ritch sees the shock on his face when he registers his blue eyes instead of Connor’s brown ones. He probably should have waited to call out to him until he was seen and couldn’t be mistaken for his twin, but he didn’t want to spook the older man by appearing in front of him without warning. There’s nothing to do about it now, though, so Ritch tries his best to offer what could be an apologetic smile, but could also very well look like an awkward grimace.

He’s not well versed in showing proper emotions yet since he’s only had a day or so of practice. Simon and Josh are trying their best to teach him so he doesn’t look angry at the press if/when he’s announced as a new jaeger pilot, but so far it’s been an uphill battle.

He doesn’t voice any of those thoughts when he addresses Mr. Anderson again. He is not like his twin, who gets nervous and overshares and rambles as a result. He has more self-control.

“I apologize for interrupting your meal, but may I ask you for a favor? Or rather, offer to owe you one in exchange?”

Something curious yet cautious glints in Mr. Anderson’s eyes. “What kind of favors?”

“The kind of equivalent exchange. I may be out of line to ask this, but you do have experience with the therapists and such here, yes?”

“Why the hell do you want to know.” Mr. Anderson snaps and sits up defensively, but it doesn’t bother Ritch. He was expecting this and more to come.

“I would like to know which ones Connor and I should avoid.” Seeing Mr. Anderson’s blatant confusion, Ritch figures Connor hadn’t mentioned these trial meetings to him and explains further. “We started mandatory therapist jumping yesterday and the one I started with was pushy, impatient…” He purses his lips and looks to the side. “I generally try to avoid using words like “unpleasant” when describing people, but that’s the most accurate word I can use for him.” Ritch pauses long enough to look him in the eye. “Of course, if you do trust me enough to tell me these things, then I’ll let you cash in a single favor from me whenever you’d like.”

Mr. Anderson snorts and turns to his food again, trying and failing to not let his surprise show. Is he surprised because Ritch wants his help, even though he can count their interactions on one hand? He can’t imagine it being anything else, especially since he knows of some of their issues from Connor apparently mentioning and/or actually talking about them with the older man. Maybe his twin downplayed their experiences again despite being much more anxious than usual recently?

God, this is way too much thinking for someone who’s been actively trying to not think for the past several weeks, years even.

“Lemme guess, a favor within reason, right?” Mr. Anderson jokes sarcastically after a few moments.

“I am not my brother or your old partner.” Ritch states.

Mr.Anderson looks up at him at that, very still with slightly raised eyebrows, probably asking “Does that mean what I think it does?” silently. Ritch answers the assumed question with a slight upwards tilt of his head, “Yes.”

Ritch has far less of an issue than Connor does with doing things that don’t exactly follow the rules. Not that his brother has any particular issue with breaking the rules, he just doesn’t like to anger people because he seems to have trouble making them not angry anymore. Ritch, on the other hand, usually knows exactly how to placate and bargain with most types of people, and thus he has very little apprehension of doing things against the rules.

Mr. Anderson hesitates for a moment before nodding his head to the chair in front of him, saying, “Go and sit down. Should I wait for Connor before I start or–”

“Wait for me to start what?” Ritch’s shoulders stiffen in surprise, but he quickly relaxes them again. He didn’t hear Connor behind him over the white noise of the food court. ”If you don’t mind my asking, of course.”

Ritch turns to his twin. “Mr. Anderson has agreed to tell us about some of the therapists here so we can narrow our search. Did you have a pleasant experience with yours yesterday evening, Connor?”

He knows Connor catches the silent apology in his tone for ignoring him yesterday when his brother wanted to “compare results”, as he called it. Ritch needed to focus on how to get the tight-lipped Anderson to talk about something he likely would rather not. This is all rather straightforward and easy compared to what Ritch thought he was going to have to do.

Connor answers as he sits down in the chair to the left of Ritch and places a steaming cup near Mr. Anderson’s tray, “I wouldn’t call it pleasant, but I wouldn’t call it unpleasant either. I believe Dr. Amelia Johan would be suitable enough if there were few or no other options. What about yours?”

Ritch feels his expression darken slightly and has to stop himself before he clears it, then he ignores how vulnerable and awkward he feels in order to exaggerate the emotion. According to Josh and Simon, not immediately returning his face back to neutral makes him seem more human, as mildly insulting as it was to insinuate that he wasn’t human for keeping his thoughts more private. It’s one of the things they insisted he work on, though.

“Avoid appointments with Mr. Johnson.” Ritch states plainly, pretending he doesn’t see Connor’s concerned look and body language out of the corner of his eye.

Hank snorts in agreement. “You were right to call that man pushy. Pushy and he never lets the conversation be turned to himself or give you a break for even a second. It’s like talking to a wall that always insists you got mental work to be doin’.” He shakes his head, “I guess it works for some people… From what I heard, the roughest appointment with him is the first one, especially if you don’t work with him, but I wouldn’t know.” he finishes with a shrug.

Connor frowns. “That’s pretty much the opposite of what we’re looking for.”

That visibly grabs Mr. Anderson’s attention. “You’re both wantin’ the same kind of shrink?”

Connor nods with what looks like amusement in his eyes, “It was a surprise to us as well.”

“We’d prefer someone who is kind and more casual rather than always controlling where the conversation goes.” Ritch finishes.

“You’d probably like Alicia Steinfield or Alexander White, then,” the older man informs immediately. “If they even still work here, that is. And avoid Johnson–” he gestures to Ritch “–obviously, and Dustin Payne and Felix Antúnez. They’re pretty strict and prefer to follow the ‘therapy is only about work’ policy. I didn’t like them much, either.”

The ex-pilot takes a slower, almost exaggerated bite of what’s left of his breakfast. Ritch wonders if that’s a normal thing for him and Connor, because his brother, without seemingly realizing it, starts eating his own previously ignored breakfast. Interesting.

“Dr. Steinfield and Dr. White.” Ritch forces himself to nod as he commits the names to memory because that’s apparently a normal, human thing to do according to Markus.

Connor turns to face Ritch. “Do you think we could request to change our schedules so we can meet them this afternoon instead of the ones we had previously?”

“I’m willing to try. After we finish breakfast.” Ritch adds as Connor moves to get up. “I’m sure they’ll at least let us skip anyone with a similar... technique as Dr. Johnson.”

Connor nods, settles back in his seat, and starts shoveling food in his mouth in a way that Amanda would definitely disapprove of. Ritch simply sighs and turns to finish his own food in a more respectable-sized bites. He and Mr. Anderson end up making eye contact for a moment, just long enough for the older man to nod at him, and for him to return it.

Getting this information was much easier than he thought it would have been, indeed.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Once Ritch finishes his own food and leaves with the message that he’ll be going to the training room after requesting a meeting with whoever’s in charge of setting up their appointments, Connor quickly swallows his large bite of food. Speaking with a full mouth isn’t a habit he particularly cares about if other people do it (he’s had to sit through too many meals with too many “important” people who do that to truly care anymore), but he hates doing it to others. Besides, Hank may put up with his weird eating habits (some days, like today, he’ll shovel his food in his mouth because he can’t get enough, and other days he’s barely able to force down several nibbles), but he's pretty positive the ex-pilot draws the line at seeing what he’s chewing.

“Thank you.” Connor says, not hiding any of his sincerity or gratitude.

Hank harrumphs and looks away. “I did that for more selfish reasons than you think, Connor. You don’t need to thank me.”

Connor simply raises an eyebrow. “If I know you as much as I’d like to think I know you, I know that if you didn’t really want to surrender that information, no amount of bribing from Ritch would have gotten you to tell us.” Hank’s head snaps up at that, but Connor pushes on. “And considering that I wasn’t far behind Ritch when coming to the food court, he didn’t have to barter with you very much to get you to agree.”

He doesn’t explicitly say how he’s almost positive that means Hank actually care about people and things, even if he doesn’t realize or want to admit it himself. Hank hates even the mention of himself having any positive emotions for whatever reason. Connor doesn’t understand it, but he hopes to learn at some point in the future when Hank is ready. If he becomes ready.

He almost expects Hank to get grumpy or irritated at him for even insinuating he may secretly be a caring person, but he just sits there and stares at Connor for a few moments. Connor decides against continuing the eye contact, since it usually make things more awkward for Hank when he snaps out of whatever it is that makes him zone out like this occasionally. He turns back to his food. Just as he raises his second bite to his mouth, Hank speaks up with a cautious tone.

“How did you know he offered me something for the information?”

Connor answers easily and nonchalantly, “That’s his tactic for getting something he wants.”

“Huh?”

Connor sets down his fork of food and looks up to study Hank’s confused– and concerned?– face. He figures the full truth of Ritch and Connor having to train themselves to be successful manipulators so they could get nice things while growing up would ruin everything he’s trying to do and be with Hank, will invalidate every single thing Connor has ever done or said to gain the fragile, unsteady trust he’s gotten from him, so he only tells a gross understatement.

“When Ritch wants or needs something from someone he doesn’t know well but trusts enough to not be purposefully difficult or cruel, he offers a favor because he doesn’t know which specific thing that person may want. It’s nice to know that he trusts you enough to not purposefully send him into a situation that will get him hurt in huge trouble.” Connor smiles lightly and takes another bite of food, believing the conversation is over.

“What about you?” Hank’s question pulls him out of his head.

Connor snaps his head up in surprise. “Me? What about me?”

Hank huffs in what sounds like amusement, and the assumption is proven right when Connor catches the slight uplift at the corners of his mouth as he shakes his head.

“How do you get what you want from people?”

Connor only hesitates in his answer because he has a feeling that Hank will not like it.

“I like to do most things on my own without needing to ask for anything because I like the sense of accomplishment, so I usually only needed to pull little tricks when Amanda needed sponsors for something and Ritch and I decided to split up. In those cases...” Connor glances away.

“People like giving things to people and creatures that look innocent, helpless, and fragile, like small children or puppies or kittens. Even on a subconscious level, people like having something to temporarily protect, whether it’s because of the ego boost or just because they’re a nice person and like to help. Even if everyone knows that I am the opposite of fragile and I’m certainly not helpless or childish, I tend to appear so when in uncomfortable situations, so it helped me gain pity points when making the rounds for sponsors.”

“Is that part of why you get anxious if people don’t like you? The sponsorship stuff?” Hank’s winces, like he didn’t mean to say it, probably knowing how quickly this question could make things go wrong, but did anyway.

But Connor doesn’t feel the same suffocating pressure he knows he’d feel if anyone else– even Ritch– had asked this same question. He knows Hank hates people, and that he hates gossip even more. He knows Hank isn’t asking him this to judge him or anything of the sort. If anything, he’s asking out of curiosity that has mixed with the same protectiveness that he showed when he gave him the weighted blanket and the stress ball, that leaked in his voice when he asked how old Connor was that same day.

As much as he has been subtly pushing to get closer to Hank, Connor is only now realizing how safe and calm he feels around him compared to how he feels around the people closer to his age. It’s not logical by any means for someone who is unstable (hopefully only temporarily) to get along with someone who is easy to anger and snap– Ritch has made that beyond clear since the very beginning– but for some reason, it’s working for them. He doesn’t know how or why, but it is, and he’d really rather not look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Hey, Connor, you don’t have to–”

“I don’t know.” Connor quickly says, needing to interrupt Hank’s obvious attempt to take back the question.

After a short moment of pondering, though, he sets his elbow on the table and his head in his palm, continuing in a casual tone, “I don’t actually know, I’ve never thought about any of it before.” He huffs a laugh that lacks humor, lowering his hand and turning back to his food. “That’s probably why I have to find a mandatory shrink, huh? To get me to analyze this with this stuff?” He shakes his head. “Ritch is not going to like this one bit, and it’s going to get much worse before it gets any better.”

“Yea.” Hank says with obvious discomfort. It snaps Connor’s attention back on him. “Yea, it probably will be. You uh, you even okay enough for the shit that’s about to pile on ya? Especially 'cause you’re apparently going straight into a jaeger once you’re declared ready for it. Skipping training and all.” he asks with false nonchalance. Connor has no clue why Hank is asking these questions when he usually avoids this kind of thing like the plague, but he answers anyway.

“I know I’ve been a nervous wreck since we first got here, but that’s mainly because Ritch and I have never been anywhere near as busy and overwhelming as this place can be. And it certainly didn’t help that we were trying our best to blend in with the herd and not stand out when we’ve spent the last decade learning how to do the exact opposite. Now that we’re slowly getting used to this place and not having to worry about holding back anymore, we’ll be able to show everyone exactly why we were able to graduate from this program so young.” he finishes confidently, head up and back straight.

Hank just looks at him for a moment. Right as it starts making Connor unsure about his answer and has him coming up with things to distract from his bold statement, Hank nods and starts clearing his area. The ex-pilot makes eye contact with him with a strange, earnest look he doesn’t think he’s seen from the older man before.

“I hope you will, Connor. Show ‘em what ya got.”

Hank turns and leaves, leaving Connor with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

The first thought that comes to mind after his thoughts have slowed down enough is man, I wish I had someone to tell about this. Of course, he’s sure that Simon, Markus, and Josh would listen (not North, though), but they wouldn’t understand why this is a big deal, especially since they still don’t seem to like Hank very much. For that same reason, Connor certainly can’t go to Ritch about this either, even with the fact that Ritch now voluntarily owes Hank a favor. Owing something to someone is different than tolerating them enough to listen to a twin get excited over the tiniest bit of encouragement and support from them.

Connor quickly finishes his meal and cleans up before heading to the training area. If he’s going to prove to everyone that he deserves to stay here even though he and Ritch have lied multiple times on things that definitely should have gotten them thrown out, then he’s going to need a good partner.

Traci is a good choice– and Connor’s first on his list– but she and Ritch get along easier with one another than she does with Connor. He doesn’t know exactly why, but she’s very hesitant around him and the atmosphere between them is awkward more often than not, so that’s probably a no-go. Jeremy could possibly work too, but his combat skill is too far behind for Connor to feel comfortable approaching him with something like offering a partnership. Plus, he doesn’t know much about his personality beyond “quiet” and “reserved”, so that is a bit of an issue. He’ll have to start some conversations with the other people on his list before he can properly narrow down–

“Connor! Hey!”

Unbothered by the interruption, he spins to greet Markus, then waves to Simon, North, and Josh who are close behind him. He pauses to let the four of them catch up before continuing on or saying anything.

“I don’t think we’ve actually talked since the morning after the party. How have you guys been holding up with the training regime?” Connor asks with a smile.

“It’s been hell,” North immediately complains, “and I know we haven’t even started the hard-core stuff yet. We’re just getting into shape and learning basics.”

Markus nods in agreement, “You and Ritch are lucky you get to skip this.”

“Maybe not so lucky…” Simon interjects, “That just means they’ve done all of this at an earlier age.”

Don’t panic, don’t panic. They mean nothing by it, just don’t panic and make things weird, Connor chants to himself as he forces himself to answer aloud calmly with a shrug.

“It wasn’t too bad. We were children with lots of energy when we started doing what you guys are doing now.”

North and Josh nod together. It’s the first time he’s ever seen the two agree on something before. It’s almost frightening.

“Traci started her self-defense and karate lessons when she was young, so it makes sense.”

There’s a silence that Connor would describe as calm or peaceful that lasts for a few moments. He counts it as a win that he has managed to not visibly freak out like he is internally. He messes with his hair for a second to give his hands something to do in the hopes that maybe they’ll stop shaking if he does. Markus must catch the nervous movement for what it is, though.

“You alright, Connor?”

“Yea, I’m fine.” He plans on stopping there, but then he realizes that these four people are probably the best people he can go to for advice on making friends and finding potential partners. “I’m just worried about finding a partner, I guess. As you could probably tell, I normally don’t do too well around people I don’t know well.” Connor chuckles softly, but even he can tell that it’s somewhat off.

“Any chance we could help with that?”

Connor mentally blesses Simon as he says, “If you don’t mind, that would be amazing.”

Josh smiles and comes around to Connor’s other side. “So what do you need help with?”

He barely stops himself from saying everything short of learning the English language.

“How did you guys know you could be compatible with one another? Because Ritch and I are technically compatible, but in reality we aren’t.”

“So the difference between working well with another person and being drift compatible, you mean?” Simon clarifies, and Connor nods graciously. “I guess you wouldn’t have to learn too much about that since you were supposed to pair up with Ritch all along, huh?

When Connor nods once more– again very thankful that Simon is insightful enough to figure this out without having to make Connor struggle to get a proper explanation out– Markus begins the explanation.

“Well, I guess one difference is how well you know a person. Obviously, people who have known each other for longer are naturally going to be more compatible because they can be more in sync, but what we’re learning now in class is that that alone just isn’t enough to become jaeger pilots. Skill and mindset play huge roles in it too.”

“Like the Hallowitts.” North offers. “They get along great and are as close as siblings can realistically be, but they are, by far, the least compatible pair in that room. I’d be surprised if they last another week here.”

“I’m inclined to agree.” North snorts and Markus smiles at Connor’s wording, but he forces himself to pay it no mind. “As much as I’d like to think that everyone has an equal chance here, they just don’t. There’s a reason passing rates of the jaeger training are so low, and even those who pass aren’t guaranteed to become pilots.”

Josh nods, “Exactly. Now, that being said, there are rare cases of two people who have never met being perfectly compatible.”

“I guess the difference is how you mentally click with a person,” Simon jumps in, “Like you and Ritch don’t dislike one another, but you also don’t really get along or understand each other, right? Maybe at one point you did, but not anymore. You guys aren’t drift compatible because your mentalities and coping mechanisms are just too different, even though you both grew up in the exact same circumstances and have complimenting skill sets.”

“So I find someone who understands the crazy things I do in certain situations and why I do it?” Connor asks dubiously.

“And someone that can keep up with you, because damn, Connor, you and Ritch whooped each other’s asses on that first day.”

Connor sighs heavily. He still has the aches from a couple of the worse bruises left over when he touches them, even though there are no more marks, because there hasn’t been any other training or exercises that have given him new bruises and scrapes so he can ignore the old ones. Don’t get him wrong, it’s nice to not have something he needs to actively ignore, but it’s yet another difference from what he grew up with and more proof that he’s in a completely different world now.

Connor sighs again, with this one coming out as more of a groan than a true sigh. Where the ever loving hell is he supposed to find someone who can not only keep up with him in skill and not drag him down constantly, but also understand him and his trauma (if what Dr. Johan was going on about in their meeting yesterday is actually true for him, anyway) enough to know when to leave Connor alone and let him to his thing and when to step in to help.

Ritch is relatively good at doing so, mainly because Connor usually likes being left alone, and Ritch always leaves him alone, but he doesn’t seem to understand Connor at all or care to learn the intricacies of him. He also doesn’t seem interested in letting Connor see any side of him that isn’t practically programmed by Amanda (the level of shock he felt when he saw and heard Ritch actually bantering with none other than Gavin Reed during the “Alex knifing” almost hurt. Why did it take such a publicly known asshole to bring out any kind of personality in Ritch? Why couldn’t Connor after his years of trying?).

If his own brother can’t understand, then how can he expect anyone else to understand when they won’t have a clue of what he’s been through until it’s too late. He already opens old wounds over and over again with god-awful memories whenever he gets into a mood dip, he doesn’t want to scar anyone else who wouldn't even know what to expect, or worse, they think they do know what to expect. Although, how can they when he can barely think about it in his own head without going into panic-and-shutdown mode?

“Hey,” Markus brushes his hand against Connor’s arm, gently bringing him out of his thoughts. He gets too lost in them too often.

He nudges Markus’ hand kindly and says in a tone much more tranquil than he feels, “I’m alright. Just thinking of possible candidates.”

“And?” North smirks. Count on her to try to lighten dark or awkward moods.

“I’ve got pretty much nothing.” Connor chuckles much more genuinely than last time. If it has a tad bit of hysteria mixed in like he feels like it might, then no one reacts to it.

At the four’s light insistence, he agrees to tell them why he believes he won’t match with anyone. He can’t look up from the floor at all. He tries to for half a second, but that makes everything so much worse about this situation, so he stares at his boots. If he tries hard enough, maybe he can forget that trying to explain this exact thing just a few weeks ago is what left him self-bedridden for a couple of days; maybe if he ignores hard enough, he can pretend that he’s talking to himself and there are only his footsteps instead of five sets in total. Before he realizes what he’s doing, he stops so the other four have to stop too if they want to listen. No more footsteps, problem partially solved.

He can’t procrastinate that answer anymore.

“I don’t know if you’ve been told this already, or if it’s just common sense to people, but in the drift, you share every single memory with person you’re pairing with. Certain events get more attention than others, obviously, and there is no known way to control what they both see or for how long. You just live through the other person’s memories as if you’re looking back on your own, and then look back on your own while a presence hovers over your shoulder and someone else’s emotions and reactions to events flow through the drift.” He takes another deep breath; his heart rate is getting too fast and his head is feeling too light.

“And with that being said, I’ve got some real bad memories. Bad enough that Amanda used to try and convince me that they were just vivid nightmares. I think Ritch believes it’s a dream for whatever reason– or maybe he’s still on her side or something?– I don’t know, but it doesn’t work for me. I still can’t talk about it, but thinking like that and trying too hard to bury it is what made me break and sent me in that mood dip a while ago.”

He finally gets the courage to look up at the others and struggles to force his breathing to stay deep and slow. It helps that they only look concerned and surprised, rather than literally any other emotion his head was coming up with– fear and disgust, to name a couple. Although, he doesn’t know if the shock is a reaction to the information about what the drift is like, or to the fact that he’s actually talking instead of running and hiding in his room like he so desperately wants to.

“I don’t want to scare anyone. I can’t live through those memories– not now, anyway– so how can I expect someone else to?” Connor shakes his head, trying to ignore the nausea that’s slowly but steadily growing. “I don’t even know how Ritch is gonna do it. I mean, the only people besides us who really know about this are you guys and–”

Hank.

Hank, who let him sit at his table on Connor’s first day even though he had a reputation of eating anyone who came near him alive, and had nearly done so to Connor at first. Hank, who stepped in and helped make him eat after his mood dip even though they had barely known each other for a couple days at most; who, almost immediately after, lead him back to his bunker (a place no one has been to in a long, long time, supposedly) so he could give him a weighted blanket and stress ball. Hank, whom Connor told he lied on essential paperwork when Hank was giving him a snack from his stash (another unheard of thing) and decided to tell Marshal Fowler to give him and Ritch a second chance instead of to get rid of them. Hank, who, despite saying weeks earlier “You’re still a kid to me”, had asked Connor to call him by his first name and has always treated him like a proper adult even though he is quite literally the youngest person on this base.

Hank, who apparently loves (or at least used to love) dogs and, if the laugh lines and obvious protective instincts are anything to go by, used to be a kind, giving fellow who would laugh and smile easily; who now has to drown his traumas with alcohol and alcohol-induced sleep, not unlike how Connor drowns his own haunting memories with mind-numbing sleep brought by high-grade sleeping oils.

No one makes– has ever made Connor as comfortable as he does, for whatever reason. It’s been years since anyone has been able to break down Hank’s walls like Connor has been doing effortlessly these past few weeks. They both have their issues, but Connor thinks that could help if they were to ever enter the drift together. Hank wouldn’t be scarred by his memories, and Connor doubts the ex-pilot’s memories could affect him any more than his own traumas affect him now. Besides, Connor has a feeling that he won’t be declared ready-for-battle as quickly as Ritch will be, so that’s plenty of time to wear Hank down, right?

It’s not like the ex-pilot needs to do too much to get back into shape, anyway. Years and years of doing something over and over again makes every single technique and maneuver pure muscle memory that can’t truly be forgotten. That mixed with the fact that Connor based a lot of his own combat style on Hank’s and Marshal Fowler’s from when they were still active, they might fight better together than people would think. Plus, and Connor doesn’t think anyone else has noticed this between them averting their eyes from him and the hoodies he normally wears, but Hank is still rather built under that beer gut. He could probably carry Connor across the base if he really wanted to.

Scratch that, he absolutely could if he tried, easily. He almost wants to test that some day. Maybe. Possibly.

“Uhh, Connor? You good?” Josh tentatively

Connor shakes his head in wonder. “Yea, actually. I…”

He pays close attention to himself, how his breathing is back to normal, the nausea and lightheadedness are almost gone, and he only just now realizes that his hands were shaking again because they don’t feel that way anymore. Yea, his heart rate is still a little high, but give it a few minutes and even that’ll be back to normal.

He doesn’t trust this.

“I feel fine. Way calmer than a minute ago.” He adds doubtfully, scrutinizing his own steady hands as if they can give him the answers he wants. “I think I found someone I may be compatible with, but I don’t even know if he’ll want to pair with me to pilot a jaeger. But even that made me feel better.” He looks around at the small group with uncertainty. “I’ve rarely calmed down that fast in my life, and never outside of my own room where I can be left alone to think.”

North steps forward and carefully places a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Seems like you’re the plannin’ type of guy. You always feel better when you have a plan, and hate when you don’t, right?”

Based on everyone’s light laughter and large smiles, he doesn’t hide his amazement and realization well enough. That makes sense, though, because he wasn’t trying very hard in the first place.

“That… That makes a lot of sense. Perfect sense.” Connor smiles.

He gestures forward, signaling that he’s ready to keep moving, and they all do happily. Connor doesn’t really stop thinking about how he could possibly get Hank to at least test their compatibility and get him warmed up to the idea of un-retiring.

He doubts that Marshal Fowler would have a problem with helping him get Hank jaeger-ready if Connor can somehow prove their compatibility and Hank’s willingness to start piloting again. If he would have a problem with it, he doesn’t think Hank would be on the base anymore, let alone still bunking in the jaeger pilots’ hall. Marshal Fowler doesn’t seem to be the type to play favorites and put friends first, but Connor could always be wrong.

As he slowly forms a plan in his head, he slowly becomes more at ease. It’ll take more in-depth thinking and several pages in his notebook, but where before he only had a vague hope, now he has a small chance, and that’s slowly becoming just enough for Connor.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Gavin is getting real tired of all this snooping around. He’s normally the type of guy to fling himself right into the thick of things and deal with the repercussions later; not because he doesn’t care about what kind of trouble he’ll get into later– at least not anymore– but because he doesn’t have enough patience to sit still and do nothing even though he knows there’s bad things going on.

He tried to convince himself over the past couple of days to just do as Luther and Fowler said and not get involved in the “Alex Knife Supplier” case, as he’s been calling it in his head, but nothing has happened to his top suspects at all and he doesn’t want those assholes to get away scot free. It’s one thing to just be an asshole, it’s another to actively endanger the lives of coworkers and allies. Even he knows that.

There’s still 20 minutes left of breakfast and he still hasn’t eaten or even entered the food court because he’s been too busy watching those assholes from afar in the hopes that he can catch anything that can bring up more of a case against them. He’d rather not tussle with them until he knows he can get into their bunker and confiscate whatever the fuck is in there, but right now it’s starting to look like he’ll have to tussle with them if he wants any evidence at all.

“What are you doing, Reed?”

Gavin instinctively spins around and throws a punch right at the man’s throat, but it’s expertly caught by none other than the Ritch Bitch. After a split moment of surprise from having his punch properly caught, rather than blocked or deflected (which other people have trouble doing sometimes), Gavin instantly scowls and rips his fist away from the other’s grip, silently hoping the goody-two-shoes decides against reporting him for assault or something like that.

“Don’t fuckin’ sneak up behind me, asshole,” he sneers, “And it’s none of your god damned business. So fuck off.”

Ritchie raises an unimpressed eyebrow– since when does this dude emote?– then tilts his head at him like a fucking dog. He shifts his gaze to the group Gavin’s been watching for the past hour.

“Isn’t that the group Alex hung around before he was thrown out?” he asks in a weird tone, almost as if he was aiming for interest or teasing and fell flat.

Gavin’s eyebrows rise in surprise for just a moment before settling back into a scowl. He hates how many times this prick has caught him off guard today.

“M’ surprised you even know that. Thought you were too busy bein’ the top of your class to pay attention to what the others were up to.” he turns back to the group, watching them laugh about something Gavin would probably want to punch them over.

Ritch steps closer to him, inviting himself into Gavin’s cover like an asshole, as he explains, “If anything, being the top of my class means I need to pay closer attention to the other trainees, since I’m somewhat a tutor and an example for them. But that’s besides the point, I know someone as impatient and conflict-hungry as you wouldn’t wait in the shadows without a good reason. What are you waiting for, hm?” the asshole taunts. At least he sounds more normal now. Gavin doesn’t know why, but it was really unsettling before.

He huffs irritably, but doesn’t immediately taunt back. He may as well tell a part of it. If Ritch is right about being top of his class, then maybe he’ll have some new input, as much as Gavin hates the thought of needing someone else’s help. A mission completed with someone’s help is better than a mission failed with escaped villains, after all.

“I think they had something to do with how Alex got his knives.”

To his surprise, Ritch just nods in solemn agreement. “What’s stopping you from interrogating them?”

Gavin huffs again, this time in irritation at the situation. “Fowler.”

“Ah. You’re not supposed to get into it, but nothing has happened yet, yes?”

Gavin whips his head around to glare at the human robot. He suddenly can’t be sure that that’s the expression his face actually makes, though, because the annoying asshole just nods like he’s confirming something to himself again.

“Have you tried getting into their bunker to check for clues yourself?”

When Gavin huffs, it comes out less irritable and more incredulous of how stupid this guy can be.

“If I could do that I wouldn’t be fucking bothering with this, now would I?”

The trainee just sighs and says, “Come on,” with a beckoning wave of his hand, then turns around and starts walking away. Gavin doesn’t move.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going? And why the fuck should I follow your ugly ass?”

“If you want to be caught and get us in some serious trouble, then sure, keep talking that loudly. Also, I’m almost interested in seeing the asses you’re used to looking at if you think mine is ugly.”

Gavin barks a laugh that has very little amusement. What makes him think he can just start controlling the show out of nowhere like this?

“You? Trouble? Aren’t you supposed to be, like, the golden child of the current gaggle of recruits or something?”

Ritch spins around and looks at Gavin with an obviously forced smug and mischievous smile. “If you honestly believe that, then you’re just like everyone else here and have no clue how wide my skill set actually is.” He turns back around and starts walking again. “Come or don’t come, I don’t care.”

It takes a second for Gavin’s brain to reboot because it’s obvious Ritch is obviously trying something new here and holy mother of god is it making him uncomfortable. This is not the Dicky Ritchy (that name was more than a stretch, never again) he’s been messing with for the past week or so. Once his head does reboot, though, his curiosity of what the hell baby-face is going to do and the irritation that he thinks he can one-up Gavin again wins over standing by the entrance of the food court and watching a bunch of assholes laugh a ways away as if they don’t realize they’re the scum of the earth.

He speed-walks to catch up to Ritch, because it’ll be a cold day in hell when he’s seen running or jogging anywhere that isn’t to a jaeger or a kaiju. Once he makes it to Ritch’s side, the other speaks in a soft tone.

“I don’t actually know where their bunker is, so you need to lead the way, unfortunately.” Gavin groans, but still pulls ahead slightly to lead. “How much time do you think we have until they return to the room, and are there any cameras?”

Everything about this encounter with Ritch is throwing him the hell off– not just how strange the man is being– but he plays along anyway, never one to turn down some scheming.

“The cameras in the pilot’s hall has been broken for months, maybe years. And the fucksticks will be out of the way for at least an hour. They always stay in the food court until they’re kicked out after breakfast is over, then they go to the gym for a while.” It’s why he avoids the gym like the plague in the morning.

“Perfect.” he smiles with that same forced smile as before. Gavin’s had enough.

“Okay, I wasn’t going to say anything, but you’re really startin’ to creep me the fuck out.”

That rips the fake smile right off the robot’s face. Good, that was the main thing bothering him.

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

There’s a silent pause, then Gavin’s starts talking partially because he fucking hates silences and partially because he needs to never see that kind of expression on Retch’s (he may actually use that one) face again.

“So if I’m reading this right, you’re doin’ me a favor by apparently getting me into this dorm so I can raid their shit, right?” Ritch nods silently, so he continues, “Good. So I’m just gonna return the favor ahead of time and give you some advice because I hate being indebted to people. Got it, asstown?”

Ritch turns his head to properly look at Gavin, then nods again, slower this time. There’s no smart ass comment to the insult, though, unfortunately.

Gavin immediately launches into a half-taunting half-serious ramble, “Now I’m only gonna say this one time– so you better fuckin’ savor this, ‘cause I don’t do this shit for just anyone– but holy shit you need to stop making faces and using certain tones when you don’t actually want to. Like, you’re known for being a robot. You can’t feel emotions the way the rest of us can, or you just process them or show ‘em differently. That’s your thing, just like my thing’s being a fuckin’ dickwad all the time and Anderson’s is being a depressed drunkard.

“Don’t try to go full human on everyone all of a sudden. Just stay fuckin’ blank if you wanna. Only cowards give in to peer pressure and shit.” Gavin huffs in exasperation. He’s is in a very huffy mood today, apparently. “I don’t like looking at your ugly-ass, baby-faced mug as it is, and it is so much worse when you try to smile or some shit like that when you’re obviously not feelin’ it. It’s fucking unatural is what it is.” He shivers and curls his lip in exaggerated disgust.

Ritch just stares at him for a second, then states in his normal, flat tone, “The only unnatural thing here is how much you smell despite the fact you’ve been standing around and doing nothing for the past couple of days.”

Gavin smiles evilly, secretly thankful that Ritch didn’t try to go down the genuine route and is instead continuing their normal interactions. Of all the nasty names under the sun he could call him, “unobservant” and “stupid” are two he can’t. “Emotionally oblivious” and “ignorant” or “naive”, however, are not off the table.

“No, the unnatural thing here is that you’re a grown ass man and you use fruit-scented lotion.”

Ritch gives him a weird look, but it’s at least genuine, thank god. “I do not use lotion, I simply shower everyday, unlike some people.” He pauses barely long enough to look Gavin up and down before continuing. “It’s not my fault you prefer what is obviously scentless men’s soap when women’s soap smells nicer and is less harsh on skin.” He faces front again.

“Hold on,” Gavin wheezes, “You actually use women’s soap? Like, regularly?”

“What of it? Are you not secure enough in your gender and sexual identity that using a soap with fruity smells that come in colorful bottles is too much for your poor masculine mind to handle? Poor baby.”

Gavin wrinkles his nose. “Hell no. I’m gay as fuck but you still don’t see me using that girly shit. It’s a matter of preference, asshole. And I’m surprised you even know what gender identity even is, since you don’t seem to know much else about real humans.”

Gavin doesn’t realize what he just blatantly admitted to until he’s done speaking. Of course he has to be enough of a dumb ass to officially come out to the one dude who was raised by an old woman. God damn it, he’s probably homophobic. At least it’ll give Gavin a reason to punch him the next time he gets irritated with him.

Either oblivious to Gavin’s internal wariness or somehow reading his mind, Ritch explains in a condescending tone, “Amanda was insistent that we don’t treat people differently just because of how they identify, and one way of doing that was learning proper titles of people who aren’t ‘Male’ and ‘Female’ and other things your small brain would probably get bored with. But good for you for being just a normal ass and not a homophobic one. You’re slightly less likely to get punched now, anyway.”

That… is actually pretty cool, the fact that Ritch apparently has no problem with anyone who isn’t cis-het. It’s a complete plot twist and surprise, but it’s cool to know that the dude would only hate him because he’s him and not because he’s gay. He’s been tired of the homophobic jokes and slurs since the 5th grade, so it’ll be refreshing to have someone that’ll skip right over that genre of insults with him, as refreshing as it can be when they’re ridiculing one another, that is (which can be damn refreshing, if you ask him).

Gavin lets their talk end there as he slows down when they get close to the grease-heads’ bunker. He then silently checks the hall for anyone who could be watching or approaching, and quiets his voice down when he addresses Ritch, keeping a careful ear out for any footsteps or voices. He may be reckless half the time, but he’s not stupid enough to get caught breaking and entering someone’s private dorm.

“Well, asshat, this is it. Work your robot magic and hack us in.”

“It’s actually not hacking of any kind. I would ask if you want to learn how, but I doubt there’s enough room in your skull for a brain larger than a peanut with how huge your ego is.”

An involuntary, offended squawk bursts out of Gavin’s throat, and after a short hesitation where he lets himself be embarrassed before moving on, he smacks Ritch on the arm. “Move over asshole. My ego ain’t that fuckin’ big, asshole, you’re mistaking me for yourself.”

Gavin sees Ritch roll his eyes. “First, look at the keypad, you see the numbers that are more worn down than the others?”

“2, 5, and 7? What about them?” Gavin replies in a more serious tone, suddenly a lot more invested in this than he thought he would be.

“Those are the three numbers that are in the code. Basically, over time, as the same buttons get pushed over and over, the oils and pressure from fingers either wear down the ink of the numbers, or tint the glass over the buttons and give it a tan or brownish look compared to the other clear ones, depending on what kind of keypad it is.”

“Okay then, genius, how do we know the order of the code, ‘cause–”

“I wasn’t done,” Ritch interrupts, “The first button is usually the most worn down since the most oils rub off and degrade it more than the others, but in this case, since there are only three numbers worn down for a four code password, the most worn-down one is the one pressed twice, the next worn down is probably first. And when there are repeat numbers in a code as short as this, they’re rarely one directly after another.”

“So the 2 is repeated, and the 5 is probably before the 7.”

“Yes.”

“What if the twos are actually right next to each other. What if they’re both first and last?”

Ritch actually smirks this time. “I’ll be smart about it and we hope for the best.” Gavin gives him an incredulous look as he continues. “How many tries do we get to do this?”

“Three. If you fuckin’ think you can–”

“Watch and learn.” Ritch interrupts fuckin’ again as he gives his full attention to the keypad.

He tries 5272 first and is denied, then immediately tries 2725 and the door unlocks with a small, green flash of light.

Gavin doesn’t even know how to react. “What the fuck. I thought you said the 5 was first!”

Ritch just nods and opens the door. “ I did, but there are other variables that I don’t feel like going over right now, we don’t have time to waste.” He nods to the door he’s holding open, “You go in and investigate and I’ll stand guard out here. I’ll knock if I think someone is coming so you can get out. Wouldn’t want you to get caught and rat me out to lessen your sentence, or have you get both of us caught in the first place.”

“Ha ha. I’m glad you’re not coming in, anyway. You’d just get in my way, bitch.” He shoves past the trainee, purposely knocking his shoulder into his.

“Close, but no cigar.” Gavin turns and looks at him in confusion. “My name is Ritch with an ‘R’, not a ‘B’. I can understand if you misread it, but mishearing it when you have no documented hearing problems is a different matter altogether.” He sighs dramatically while maintaining his straight face, which is kind of odd to witness, but not the same odd as before. “At least you’re learning, it was closer than ‘Dick’, anyway.” He finishes as he shuts the door.

Gavin flips him off even though he won’t see it, then mumbles, “Fuck off, you prick.”

Gavin quickly looks around the smelly, messy bunker. Time for the fun part.

He knows better than to dig through places aimlessly and move things too much, so he goes to the tiny closets first. It’s crammed with useless stuff, but there’s nothing clearly illegal hiding in there and there doesn’t look like there’s a false back or bottom, so he closes it. The other personal closet is exactly the same– messy, but inconspicuous– so he moves on. He quickly checks under the bed (nothing) and on the top bunk towards the wall (again, nothing) before moving on to the bathroom.

In the bathroom, the first thing that Gavin notices is that the mirror is slightly crooked, which shouldn’t be possible since the medicine cabinet behind it is welded to the wall. He opens it and it’s immediately apparent to Gavin that there is a false back; the cabinet is way thinner and more warped than his and Tina’s are, and all of these things are supposed to be basically identical. The fact that it’s empty only accentuates how wrong it looks because there’s nothing blocking the false back.

He peels it back with ease and behind it is a stack of sheathed knives. Just judging by the handles of these weapons– and the fact that they were (poorly) hidden– they are definitely not pocket knives (the only knives permitted, since they’re mostly used for cutting wires and cables and are smaller, less harmful).

Before he can do anything else about this new discovery, though, he hears the bunker’s door click open and shut again. Gavin’s in the middle of trying to figure out what to do when Ritch barges into the bathroom and grabs his arm.

“Gavin, we need to get out of here!” Ritch hisses and grabs Gavin’s arm right above the wrist and yanks him out of the bathroom.

He tries to yank and twist out of the trainee’s grip, but he isn’t successful. “Give me a second to grab–”

“I don’t care! We need to go. Now!”

Suddenly he’s being shoved further away from the bathroom. He hears the medicine cabinet slam closed, then the trainee tugs Gavin towards the bunker door with more strength than he expected. He tries again to pull his arm out of his grip, but Ritch moves his hand and presses his thumb into the sensitive part of the inside of his elbow. He’s yanked in a direction then hears the bunker door clicks shut behind them along with any possible evidence that he now knows for a fact is in there. He doesn’t even remember the code to the door anymore, all he knows is that the five isn’t first, so he can’t get back in.

He takes a split second to look up and down the hall and sees that it’s completely empty. He could have easily grabbed at least one of those knives. Hell, even using his phone to snap a quick picture of the stack of them with the false back in view would be enough to warrant a search of their dorm– possibly even have them suspended immediately while the investigation starts– and this fucking prick pulled him out for no god damned reason.

Overcome with anger, he blindly kicks out where Ritch’s knee should be. It works. The asshole goes down for only a second before he rolls into a crouched position facing him, his expression angry and hard. He gets up to his feet smoothly, but Gavin isn’t stupid enough to believe that his muscles are actually as relaxed as they seem, they’re combat-ready, and this asshole is three seconds away from getting his fight.

“Gavin, cut it out. We need to go–”

“No! Let me back in you fucking asshole! There’s no one here!” he shouts, spinning with his arms spread out wide, showcasing the nothingness that is in the halls. “You’re just being fucking paranoid. We need those–”

Ritch suddenly punches him in the jaw. Gavin takes two steps back, but quickly rights himself.

“I said. Shut. Up.” Ritch snarls, but his attention is on something behind him, and Gavin uses that to his advantage.

He quickly throws a punch towards Ritch’s collarbone and throat area, but the little devil twists just in time for Gavin to only catch the sensitive part where his shoulder meets his pec.

At least that should bruise real nicely. Get what you deserve, asshat.

He doesn’t get much more time to think about it, though, because there’s suddenly a fist coming straight at his face again, and he ducks. Gavin throws a punch to his gut, but his opponent spins out of the way. He then aims a punch to Ritch’s face, but that gets caught and twisted. He aims a kick at the asshole’s knees before it can get too uncomfortable, and even though Ritch loosens his grip to dodge the attack and he’s able to get his fist free, the trainee doesn’t go down like he wanted.

There’s a moment of hesitation from both of them. It’s only long enough for Gavin to see Ritch scowling and to get himself in the position to effectively whoop some ass. His partner-in-crime-turned-opponent doesn’t take his attention away from him again, and instead uses the moment to study Gavin’s stance. He has no doubt he has the same kind of attentive scowl on his own face right now.

Gavin makes the first move, moving as if he’s going to punch with his right hand when he’s actually planning to go to the left. Disappointingly, Ritch doesn’t fall for it, and catches his arm. Gavin dodges his attempt at tripping him, then aims a blow at the stubborn asshole’s neck. He ends up letting go in order to dodge Gavin’s move, but is back quickly with a punch of his own. He ends up catching and tries to shove Ritch into a more vulnerable position, but he ends up letting go to dodge a kick to his gut.

This guy definitely has more skill than the average trainee, especially for one this new, that’s for sure. Although, that won’t change the fact that he’ll mess up or tire before Gavin will, and he’ll be in a heap of trouble and pain for blowing up the plan.

The only thing that Gavin is able to focus on after that is where the next punch or kick is coming from and where there’s an opening for him to punch or kick back. One one hand, he’s feeling confident because he hasn’t been hit a single time beyond that first jaw punch. He’s been catching, blocking, and dodging all of his kicks and punches. He’s pretty positive that the only injuries he’ll have from this fight are maybe sore hands and some bruises on his arms from the amount of blocking and deflecting he’s doing.

On the other hand, however, Gavin’s really starting to get pissed off because Ritch is taking about as much damage as he is right now, which is none. The damn asshole doesn’t even look tired yet. Not that Gavin’s getting tired– he can keep this pace up for a while longer– but what kind of trainee as new as Ritch is able to keep up with a well-seasoned pilot and brawler? He already knew Ritch was good, but he wasn’t supposed to fucking match Gavin like this in a fight.

Once Gavin accepts that this won’t go anywhere unless he switches things up and stops playing by sparring rules, he lunges forward with most of his weight to punch Ritch in the diaphragm with the hope to knock the wind out of him. It almost works, but Ritch dodges at the last moment and kicks him in the back of the knees as he passes, making Gavin collapse roughly onto his hands and knees. Just before Ritch can pin him down, he shoves himself up into a handstand and his heel narrowly misses the asshat’s jaw as he leans out of the way.

He sees Ritch quickly swoop his leg out to knock his arms out from under him, but Gavin springs up and flips back onto his feet. He spins to face his opponent and aims yet another punch to his face, but it’s caught and isn’t immediately released like before. A hand comes flying towards Gavin’s neck, but he blocks it, grabbing the other’s wrist and twisting his arm down. Ritch suddenly spins himself so his back is facing him, then grabs Gavin’s wrist and yanks him closer. Before he can do anything to prevent it, Ritch shifts his balance and flips him over his shoulder.

Gavin somehow manages to twist himself so he can land in a low crouch and wastes no time in jabbing an elbow back. It doesn’t hit anything, but Ritch does loosen his grip so he get free. Gavin rolls out of the way before he can get kicked down, then grabs Ritch’s ankle as it returns to the floor. He stands, bringing his opponent’s leg up by his shoulder, but instead of toppling over like he expected, Ritch quickly switches his weight to his hands and latches his free leg around Gavin’s middle, and when he lets go of his ankle to shove the menace off, Ritch latches that one around as well. Gavin knows what comes next before it happens, and lets himself be twisted and forced to the floor by Ritch’s weight, allowing him to sit on top of Gavin’s chest.

He lets this happen because he was able to control how he landed, and made sure his feet were planted on the ground just as his back hits the floor. He immediately jerks his entire torso off the ground before Ritch can properly situate himself again, and thus makes him topple over for just a moment. A moment is all Gavin needs, though. He spins onto his stomach and tucks his legs under him at the same time, then rapidly sits up and shoves his head up and back. Ritch dodges the headbutt attempt, and Gavin watches him roll backwards into a standing position as he spins and stands to face him.

In that split moment of stillness where they’re trying to predict each other’s next move, Gavin suddenly realizes that, for the first time in literal years, he’s having genuine fun sparring with someone. It would probably scare him if he weren’t so focused on the surprisingly competent trainee. He doesn’t even have enough room to think about or process why he would or should be scared. God damn Ritch and his god damned surprises at it again, the fucker.

Before Gavin can gather his head long enough to make the first move, Ritch suddenly jumps on him, somehow spinning so his thighs are clamped around his neck and head. He uses his weight to try to topple Gavin over, but Tina tried to do this to him one too many times before, so he knows to go to a wall so he doesn’t immediately go down. He then reaches up to twist and pull Ritch’s knee out to the side with his fingers pressing against the nerve bundle on the inside of it. Judging by the surprised noise Ritch lets out, he wasn’t expecting that, and he starts to slip. He suddenly shoves off the wall, leaving Gavin scrambling to regain his footing while keeping that knee tight in his grasp. Just before Gavin can properly get his balance back, Ritch leans back and slightly to the left, bringing them both down. His plan is faulty, however, because all Gavin has to do is put his hands down and land in a handstand and Ritch’s legs slip past his head, leaving him free to back handspring back onto his feet just as his opponent sweeps his leg where his hands used to be.

Jesus, this is a lot more flipping than Gavin is used to doing. He can’t exactly flip in a jaeger and it’s been years since his gymnastics class.

Feeling that his back is literally to the wall and watching Ritch flip back on his feet, still relatively untouched, he pushes off of it for more momentum, hoping he can take him by surprise or something. Just as Gavin reaches him, the trainee drops on onto his back and twists and curls at the same time. He doesn’t understand why until a boot hits the backs of his ankles hard and forces him down. Just as Ritch pounces to pin him down, Gavin turns onto his back and tucks his legs in. His opponent barely stops himself in time before he springs his legs up, so Ritch doesn’t get launched away like he was hoping. Gavin instead uses that momentum to sloppily flip into a crouch.

He dashes up and nails Ritch in the gut with his shoulder and lifts him off the ground, ready to slam him back down to disorient him. He doesn’t get to because he flips forward out of his grasp. Next thing he knows, there’s an arm in front of his throat and he’s being shoved down and backwards, so he twists so he’ll land on his stomach and breaks his fall. He instantly twists and kicks his leg out to get Ritch on the ground too, but the asshole jumps to his other side. No matter, because now Gavin can wrap both arms just below his knees and he forces the man down hard.

He jumps up to get on top of Ritch, who is already rolling onto his back, but is held back by another set of arms. He immediately lashes out and knocks whoever was holding him back in the head, but it was enough to get his mind out of the fight just enough to understand that they’ve gained an audience at some point. Ritch must not have realized yet, though– or maybe he doesn’t care– because he sets himself into a crouch and Gavin is already shifting his weight to dodge right to avoid getting rammed into–

“GAVIN! RITCH!”

They both instantly freeze and go tense. Ritch’s eyes are wide with alarm and are focused beyond his shoulder. Gavin has a feeling that he and Ritch are thinking the exact same thing.

Oh Shit…

Gavin slowly, cautiously, spins around to face a very angry Marshal Fowler. There are around 15 other people who have apparently been watching the show, if the way Chloe is shooing them away harshly is anything to go by. There’s one burly man who looks like his job is probably moving heavy materials around here who is clutching his bleeding nose.

In an attempt to put off dealing with Fowler for as long as possible– and maybe a little bit because he’s kind of concerned because he didn’t hold back on that headbutt at all– Gavin takes a step towards him.

“Oh. Shit. Your nose isn’t broken, is it–”

“Reed. Stern. My office. Now.” That voice was the worst one. Fowler is usually yelling or “not mad, just disappointed”, but that was the calm angry voice. And to make matters worse, it wasn’t “Gavin” and “Ritch”, it was “Reed” and “Stern”.

Wait, “Stern”? Why does that sound familiar?

Ritch lightly brushes his shoulder, silently urging him to follow the marshal. With one quick glance back to the injured man, who Chloe is now hopefully leading to a nurse, he does. They silently walk side by side and keep close enough to Fowler that he can hear their footsteps following him, but never get closer than five feet, as if they’re afraid he’ll randomly snap and start laying it on them. Who knows, he might. Gavin has never been in a fight that big before.

God damn it, they are so fucked.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Previous <> Masterlist <> Next

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

A/N: I want to thank everyone who read this again, and thank you all for being so patient with me. I’ve had this chapter almost done since the middle of January and it’s been killing me to not be able to finish it and have it posted. But it was a crazy few months, then some other crazy stuff happened, then quarantine kind of zapped all of my motivation to do anything.

But anyway, I hope this long chapter was worth the disgustingly long wait. I’m going to really try to get an update out every Monday, but I can promise that you’ll never go longer than a month without an update from now on. Comments (even if they’re just as simple as “nice chapter”) do wonders to motivate me! And I also have oneshot requests open to help motivate me! Here’s a list of ships I’ll write for!

Thank you for reading (and powering through me super long note) and I hope you stay safe and have a wonderful day/night! 💕💖

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liketolaugh-writes · 5 years

Text

Alphabet Soup

Author: liketolaugh Summary: Connor likes to explore his identity in bits and pieces, understanding what makes him himself one slice of life at a time. When Valentine's Day rolls around, that's when he first starts wondering about romance. Or: Connor's coming out, first to himself and then to others.

“Lieutenant, can you explain the concept of romantic love?”

Hank choked on his coffee, sending it sputtering in front of him as he coughed violently, setting the mug down hard on the table in front of him. Connor had to hide a grin, patting the man on the back to help him along until the man inevitably waved him off, still coughing.

“What the fuck,” Hank wheezed, once a few minutes had passed.

“I noticed the last time I went to the grocery store that some of the decorations had changed and a previously generic aisle had been redesigned to suit,” Connor explained, leaning against the table to idly monitor Hank’s respiration as it returned to baseline. “The last time this happened was when Christmas was coming up, if you recall, so I did some research, and my system database indicated that the occasion in question was Valentine’s Day. I thought you’d be able to explain it to me.”

“You fucker,” Hank complained, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He immediately took another deep swig of the coffee, pointedly ignoring Connor’s small smirk, and set it down again. “Ugh.”

“That’s not very helpful, Lieutenant,” Connor said mildly.

“Ugh,” Hank repeated, with extra emphasis. “Alright. Okay. Fine. Do we have to do this now?”

Connor quirked an eyebrow at him, head tilting a little. Hank scowled back. Their bickering attracted Tina’s attention, and she sauntered over and plopped herself down with her own cup of coffee in hand.

“Anything causing the lieutenant that much visible anguish has my attention,” she announced, fixing avidly curious eyes on Connor. “What’s up?”

“I asked him to explain romantic love,” Connor informed her.

“Yeah, that would do it,” she snorted, a delighted smirk pulling across her mouth. “I’m so glad you decided to do this in public, and also in my vicinity, because this is way too much fun to pass up. He’s not gonna help you though. What did you want to know?”

Connor considered her for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of indulging her, but he was the one who’d decided to do this in a public avenue. “How do you recognize it?”

“Ooh,” she crooned gleefully. “That’s a fun one. Alright, so romantic love, that almost always starts with crushes.”

“Who has a crush?” Chris asked, appearing beside them. Hank seemed to have retreated into misery, scowling at the table and looking like he wished his coffee was spiked with something unhealthy. “Not you, I hope.”

“Fuck you, Chris,” Tina said without heat. “We’re explaining romance to Connor.”

“No, you’re not,” Connor disagreed, bringing a fist up to support his cheek idly.

“I’m getting to it,” Tina assured him. “Crushes, do you ever look at someone and just get excited to be around them? Maybe nervous? You know, butterflies in your stomach, fluttering heart, all that wonderful teenager stuff.”

Connor’s mind unwillingly shot to Markus. “No,” he said, a touch too quickly.

Tina looked skeptical, but didn’t push the issue. “Whatever, you’ll know it when you feel it.”

“Okay, but that’s not all there is to it,” Chris argued, and Connor shifted his gaze to him, hoping he would be more helpful. Chris shot him a small grin. “Romantic love kinda follows you your whole life. Crushes are part of it, but it matures over time. Your partner’s supposed to support you no matter what, even when things get hard. That’s the beauty of it though.”

“Chris is being sappy because every time he and his wife argue, they talk it through and fall even more in love,” Tina explained to Connor, who was at this point just growing increasingly confused.

“Why are we explaining the intricacies of successful marriages?” Ben asked, appearing by Hank and leaning on the table. “Not that I’m complaining, but I think the only ones married here are Chris and I.”

“Connor is asking about romance,” Chris explained to Ben. “Tina decided to save Hank the suffering.”

All of them looked at Hank, who had one hand covering his face, trying to tune out the conversation.

“And I decided to pitch in,” Chris finished, with an almost apologetic tone to his voice.

“I’m beginning to think I should have suffered in silence,” Connor mused aloud, trying not to smile. He wasn’t expecting this to be an actively popular topic, but he didn’t think he’d had a conversation this active or friendly with his coworkers before, and certainly not so many at once.

“You really should have,” Hank groaned, kicking him under the table. Connor kicked him back shamelessly, and Hank cursed, giving him a dirty look, to which Connor tilted his head innocently.

“You’ll understand when you get a girlfriend,” Ben told Connor kindly, smile faintly bemused. “Maybe that nice girl from analytics.”

Tina clapped. “Oh, that’s a good example! Connor, you know Alicia?”

Connor nodded cautiously, head tilting. “Yes? She’s rather nice but a little strange.”

“That’s because she has a crush on you,” Tina explained earnestly. “She talks to you a lot with really flimsy reasoning, right? And she stutters and blushes and does you favors?”

“Yes…” Connor said, slow and cautious as he tried to follow, a little overwhelmed now. “What… do I do about this?”

“Oh god,” Hank groaned. Connor took the initiative and kicked him first this time.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Chris provided with a sympathetic smile. “But you’d definitely have more than a fair chance, if you want to ask her out. You probably get a little nervous around her too, right? Maybe want to get to know her better?”

“Your heart should beat fast,” Ben added, with a touch of wistfulness to his voice. “Maybe you want to show off and impress her. Young love is something special.”

Connor shook his head, increasingly flustered and starting to regret bringing up the topic more sincerely.

“I don’t,” he protested. “I just noticed that she was acting strangely.” He’d actually been a little concerned, and he wasn’t sure he felt any better about it now. How was he supposed to respond to a girl with a crush on him? This certainly wasn’t in his programming.

“Thank god,” Hank muttered, and then, clearer, bumping Connor more gently, “Then she’s flat out of luck, and you don’t have to do anything except maybe let her down nice if you feel like it.”

Connor hummed with some distress, finally reaching out to do some quick supplementary research, and then, after a few moments, said, “My research indicates that not all couples are a woman and a man?”

His mind flicked to the Tracis, two girls wrapped together like that would protect them from the rest of the world.

“He gets it,” Tina said with obvious pleasure, jabbing her thumb at Connor.

“Most couples are,” Ben corrected, with an almost apologetic bent.

Connor started to reply, but was distracted when someone else finally came into the break room, and a quick glance told Connor that it was Detective Reed who’d entered. Instantly, a smirk shot across Connor’s face and he called out,

“Detective Reed, look at me!”

Detective Reed turned around, a faintly confused scowl on his face as he stopped fumbling for a mug.

“Bitch,” Connor said clearly, and Reed sputtered.

The other four humans collapsed into various forms of laughter, and that was the end of that conversation. But Connor kept thinking about it, even when he went back to work and long after Hank had put it out of his mind.

-------

Hank wasn’t able to put it out of his mind for long, because soon after that, Connor started playing love songs in a wide variety of genres whenever the radio was silent for more than a few minutes.

The nature of the activity wasn’t itself particularly unusual; Connor spent quite a lot of time exploring new possible interests whenever they were drawn to his attention, and Hank had been kind enough to give him space to do so. The man had put up with classical, rap, movie soundtracks, and electrobeat as Connor tested them all out by turn.

Apparently Hank drew the line at Kelly Clarkson.

“Can’t you play this shit in your head?” Hank demanded of Connor, less than a week into his newest curiosity. He looked exceptionally sullen, slumped against the arm of the couch and making quiet, irritable groaning noises.

Connor would argue that he looked like a petulant child. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“I could,” Connor said agreeably, “but this is one of the few occasions where doing so externally is genuinely better than keeping it within my system.” Transmitting sound data directly into his mind wasn’t quite the same as listening to it play.

“Wasn’t it enough to put me through that whole talk at work?” Hank demanded of him. “You gotta subject me to Taylor Swift all day too?”

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Connor deadpanned, glancing over at Hank, “but none of you were actually very helpful.” But Hank’s continual protests were starting to put a knot in his chest, and before he could think better of it, he asked, “Is there a reason you’re so reluctant to help me explore this particular topic, Lieutenant?”

Hank went still for a moment, and Connor winced as he realized what had caught his attention. Connor only called him ‘Lieutenant’ at home when he was uncomfortable. But he couldn’t help it; Hank was usually so unconditionally supportive of any moves Connor made to explore his opinions, so this uncharacteristic protest was making him nervous.

Hank exhaled.

“Hell,” he sighed, obviously frustrated. “It’s just- a messy topic, Con. I never really got the hang of it myself. That’s why I have an ex-wife instead of a wife.” Connor bit his cheek, trying to push his scattered thoughts together into a response, but when Hank looked over at him, the man’s expression relaxed a little, resigned instead of annoyed. “Most people go through their first fumbling relationships when they’re teenagers. I guess you didn’t exactly get that chance though.”

“I was never a teenager, Hank,” Connor reminded the other, trying to force the anxiety in his chest to ease. Hank rolled his eyes, but relaxed noticeably.

“Yeah, no shit. Anyway, I’ll put up with it, I guess. God knows I have practice.”

That made Connor curious, but not enough to ask. “Appreciated.”

So Connor kept running through them, shifting quickly from genre to genre but sticking to the main topic. He found that he preferred love songs by women, and liked the heartbroken ones as much as he did the longing and lovestruck ones, and otherwise his genre preferences had remained rather uniform: metal and rock were his favorite, pop was okay, and country and hip-hop were out of the question.

A few times, he tried to imagine what kind of woman he might want to date, but his mind skittered over the idea without catching on anything, and eventually he accepted the defeat with as much grace as he could. Maybe it was simply something he couldn’t guess before he tried. (Or maybe it was just another way Connor was failing to understand.)

Hank assured him, gruffly, that he’d probably work it out in time – he always had more faith in Connor than Connor had in himself, even if he was usually reluctant to express it.

Connor himself, of course, wasn’t nearly so sure. Who would even want to love Connor so intimately? Connor was… well. Connor. The reasons not to like him couldn’t be counted on fingers.

He didn’t say that to Hank, of course, and it didn’t stop him from thinking about it.

--------

In the immediate wake of this, Connor came to New Jericho’s headquarters on a social call.

It wasn’t something he made a point of doing. Actually, it was something he’d tried his very best not to do, not wanting to cause the androids of New Jericho any more discomfort than was strictly necessary to perform his duties. Even social calls as a more general concept were foreign to him. What would they even do? Most of the time, Connor either followed Hank’s lead or entertained himself alone. Group activities were new territory, and he was as unsure of himself as he ever was.

But Markus had asked. Connor rarely found it in himself to deny Markus anything.

So he met Josh at the front door of the headquarters and followed him inside, keeping quiet and awkward. Josh would be a reassuring presence if Connor weren’t so nervous just to be around him – he kept up a litany of neutral-ground questions about work and about Hank, and accepted Connor’s stilted answers without any evident frustration.

“W-what were you and the others planning on doing tonight?” Connor blurted out eventually, and winced when he realized that it had no relevance to the question Josh had just asked about Sumo.

Josh favored him with a small smile and Connor looked away quickly, self-conscious.

“We were thinking about just watching a movie,” Josh said conversationally. “North gets testy when we try to talk work on Saturday nights, and movies aren’t something any of us except Markus have a lot of experience with. It’s nice.” Josh considered. “Well, Simon knows some, but they’re mostly for kids.”

He sounded very pleased, Connor thought, and it made sense. All of them were still working on finding their footing in a world that, while not exactly safe, was no longer quite so actively attacking them.

“What kinds of movies?” Connor ventured after a moment, still stiff and nervous despite his own best efforts.

“Well, North likes action movies, of course,” Josh said with a roll of his eyes. “The more violence, the better. Simon likes the absolute trashiest romances-”

“Can we try one of those?” Connor asked without thinking, and cringed as he realized he’d interrupted Josh, who was blinking at him, startled. He ducked his head. “Sorry.”

They reached a door, and Josh pushed it open to go through, bemused gaze still lingering on Connor. “I didn’t think you’d like that sort of thing – I kind of figured you’d be on North’s side, honestly.”

Before Connor had a chance to answer, Markus called out, “Connor, Josh, hello!”

Connor started and shrank in on himself a little, irrationally startled, and he lingered back to examine the room while Josh talked to Markus. It was nothing special, certainly nothing to indicate it was in one of the most important buildings in Detroit – an old TV system and a couple of battered couches, one of which Markus and Simon were sharing, and one of which had North flung over most of it, tossing her ball in the air with an aura of general impatience. When she caught Connor looking, she raised a lazy hand in greeting, and he relaxed a little and nodded back.

Connor would never tell any of them this, but he was by far the most comfortable with North out of any of them. It wasn’t that she was the least suspicious – she’d actually been by far the most so for over a month – but they were… more alike, than the others.

Connor wasn’t sure he could ever be truly comfortable with Josh when his first instinct when he was scared was still, after all this time he’d been deviant, to lash out with all of the prowess of his combat program. Even if he didn’t usually do it. (Usually. Hank had, once, almost gotten a black eye from startling him.)

It was a little better with Markus, who was patient and calm but certainly had the resolve to fight if he ever needed it, and Simon, who would fight if he thought it was the only way out. But not much.

They could, and if they really had to they would, but they didn’t hurt people like he did. And there was nothing Connor could do to match that.

Connor left Markus and Josh to go perch on the end of North’s couch. “Josh said you like action movies,” he said without preamble, glancing at the still-off television screen.

North grinned at him. “They’re better than anything else we can find. You joining me on that?”

Connor shrugged. He’d liked comedies so far, but he actually hadn’t explored much beyond what Hank had insisted he see yet.

“He actually asked for one of Simon’s bad romances,” Josh provided with a grin, apparently catching their conversation. Connor heated up, embarrassed, and Simon beamed at him, bright and sparkling.

“Oh my god, why,” North said with exaggerated affront, and this time Connor had to fight his grin down.

“I’m just exploring the idea,” he protested, focusing deliberately on North’s exasperated expression to avoid the reactions of the three others. “I’ve been curious about the idea of romance since shortly before Valentine’s Day. I haven’t had much exposure to it in any form.”

North’s nose wrinkled with a more genuine displeasure, though it wasn’t specifically directed at him. “Who fucking needs that anyway,” she muttered.

Both his eyebrows rising, Connor glanced at Markus inquisitively. He didn’t disappoint.

“North and I broke up last month,” he explained, with only a small amount of regret in his voice. “Things were getting… let’s say, a little too intense.”

“He means we argued so much that we made up more than we got along,” North clarified, not quite bitter but definitely irritated. “Not exactly life partner material.” She threw a look over her shoulder. “Should’ve gone with Josh after all.”

Connor was confused until Josh objected, “Just because Markus swings that way doesn’t mean I do.”

“Thanks, guys,” Markus said, wearily enough that even North looked briefly apologetic. He glanced at Connor and elaborated with a wry smile, “I had a crush on Josh too, during the revolution, but that was kind of a dead end and there wasn’t exactly time to think about it anyway.”

Connor glanced between the four of them slowly, playing catch up. “You’re bisexual,” he concluded at last, unable to help a spark of interest.

Markus’ smile eased, his shoulders dropping, and he nodded. “Something like that. Josh is straight, though, and North is…”

“Working on it,” North finished for him, audibly dismissive. “Not.”

Understandable.

Connor considered this for a moment, glancing between them, but was interrupted before he could finish processing; he was finding himself a little tongue-tied. Possibly Hank’s embarrassment concerning the topic was infectious.

“Oh no,” Simon said suddenly, with slow-dawning dismay. “I didn’t even think about it.”

Josh twisted to stare at him, distracted. “You love romance.”

“That’s other people,” Simon explained earnestly, looking distressed. Connor almost smiled.

“I’m just curious,” he said, as honestly as he could. He was probably straight, according to Ben and some of Hank’s own implications, but they all sounded so confident that he didn’t feel secure enough to actually say so.

Markus smiled at him, and Connor averted his eyes, embarrassed. “That’s fine. I’m sure there’s quite a lot of androids who haven’t even started thinking about romance just yet.”

Connor smiled a little, some of the tension draining out of him, and North cleared her throat loudly.

“Okay, but let’s get back to the point,” she said loudly. “Which is, there’s no way I’m sitting through another goddamn Hallmark movie.”

Simon made a low protesting noise, and Connor deflated a little, though he hadn’t really expected his request to make an impact anyway.

“Compromise,” Josh said firmly. “I’m sure we can find an action movie with a romance subplot.”

“Yeah, like we can find one without one,” North grumbled.

“But what do you and Markus like?” Connor asked earnestly, leaning forward to listen even as Josh went to join Markus and Simon on the other couch.

“Fantasy, mostly,” Josh confessed with a shrug. “I’m a little tired of history, if I’m honest.” There was a touch of humor to his tone, and Connor nodded his understanding. “And Markus likes the indie stuff.”

“It’s creative,” Markus said defensively, and Connor had to laugh.

----------

Tina wasn’t sure when Connor had picked up the habit of bringing everyone coffee toward the end of the workday, but it had certainly endeared him to the rest of the precinct. It probably had something to do with the fact that he was always finished a good hour before the rest of them. If he wasn’t bringing them coffee, he’d just spend the end of the day fidgeting restlessly, or else he’d start on the backlog of paperwork that had never gotten done.

It was around that time of day again and Connor appeared from the breakroom with a labeled paper cup for each of them, bringing it around – first to Hank, who had certain privileges as Connor’s blatant favorite. Then Ben, and Tina made grabby hands when Connor came by her that made him visibly bite down a smile.

Connor bypassed Gavin entirely, which made him scowl, and Tina saw Connor cast a lightning-quick glance over his shoulder to smirk at the man’s reaction. He gave one to Chris, to Wilson, to Person, and he only came around back to Gavin once he’d given one to every other officer waiting.

Gavin’s coffee, it developed, was labeled ‘Rat Man’. Tina hid a grin behind her fist, and Gavin’s outrage grew visibly.

“You got something to say to me, tin can?” Gavin demanded of Connor, who raised his eyebrows.

“I’ve heard some of the other officers refer to you as such,” he said innocently, eyes glittering. “There’s really no reason for me not to do the same.”

Gavin shook the coffee angrily at Connor and swore as some of it splashed onto his hand. “Don’t act like you don’t fucking know what you’re saying, you plastic piece of shit! I’m not gonna take this disrespect when I make sergeant!”

“Then I’ll be sure to keep it out of your hearing when you finally achieve that rank,” Connor said mildly. “Which may be easier if you stop giving yourself coffee burns.”

Gavin looked Connor in the eye and swallowed down several gulps of what Tina knew to be boiling hot coffee without flinching. He paused for a few minutes, probably waiting for the pain to die down, and then said roughly, “Fuck you. I’ll be there before you are, blue blood.”

Connor looked away quickly, borderline flustered and genuine amusement pulling at his mouth, and shrugged. Tina, unlike Gavin, was in perfect position to see his LED flash yellow for a few seconds before returning to blue, and she didn’t have time to be concerned before Connor said lightly,

“You’d probably find last week’s Kendelson case very interesting, Detective. There are some distinct similarities in execution and profiling, if you want to take a look.” His eyes flashed back to a squinting Gavin, smirking just a little. “Don’t worry, I’ll wait.”

Then he took off back to his desk, settling by Hank again before Gavin could reply. Gavin stared after him for a minute, brow furrowed, and then shrugged, shaking his head like he was throwing off a fly.

Tina waited for Gavin to take another drink before saying, tone conversational, “You know if you break his baby gay heart, Anderson is going to kill you and we’ll never find your body.”

Gavin choked, which was exactly what she’d been hoping for.

“What the fuck? Connor’s not gay and he doesn’t have a fucking crush on me!”

Tina waited. She and Gavin were two of the few queer officers in the precinct, and she was sure he could pick up on Connor’s signals as well as she could. Gavin stared straight ahead, thinking, and then, sure enough, his jaw dropped.

“Oh fuck,” Gavin said, with genuine dawning horror. “He’s gay and he has a crush on me. Tina, don’t you fucking dare tell him.”

Tina grinned. “You should probably go pick that case up. Connor’s usually right about these things.”

“I hate you so fucking much,” Gavin said fervently, and then he stood up and headed for the records room.

--------

It was hard for Connor to find hobbies, especially in a city that had only in the last month or two began to settle into a new rhythm after the revolution. But he thought he was managing well enough, with some help from Hank and occasionally from Markus or Simon.

The animal shelter had been Simon’s idea; Connor loved animals, liked being productive, and the animal shelters had in many cases never actually left, only become severely understaffed, owing to the difficulty of transporting so many animals on such short notice. It had quickly become one of Connor’s favorite places, and he tried to go there at least every two weeks, if not every Saturday, helping to herd and entertain the dogs while the actual caretakers did their jobs.

He almost always found that he’d stayed longer than he’d meant to – he simply enjoyed himself too much, cooing to the dogs and coaxing the shyer ones into playing just as hard as the loud ones. It was a good way to de-stress after a week of police work; even Hank had commented after the first couple times he went.

All of this was to say – when he went to the shelter, and found himself struggling to focus on the dogs, he noticed.

Connor had quickly gotten to know all of the employees there, just as they’d gotten to know him, with how regularly he came around and how recognizable he was. He knew that Jeanine liked the cats better, that Kenneth was a bit of a worrywart, that Penny had been suspicious of him the first few times he came but had warmed up quickly when she saw him fawn over the dogs.

The first thing Connor thought when he saw the new boy opening the kennels was that he was very, very cute, and it wasn’t until the dogs were barking at his feet that he remembered that he had a task to perform.

“Hello,” he greeted awkwardly, kneeling to hold out his hands to the dogs and let them recognize him and his scent; it often took them a minute, since he didn’t smell like any human, but they always got there quickly. They were very smart.

The boy started, glanced over, and smiled. “Oh, hey- Connor, right?”

Connor nodded, looking down. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you around here before. When did you start?”

“Just last week,” the boy said cheerfully, moving on to the next kennel. Connor glanced up and thought he liked the boy’s smile. It looked like it came easy. “A lot easier to get jobs in Detroit now that so many people have moved out- uh.” He seemed to think that over for a moment, and then glanced gingerly over at Connor.

Connor smiled at him reassuringly. “I’m sure,” he agreed. “What’s your name?”

The boy relaxed. “Jacob, nice to meet you. I’ve heard a bit about you from the others.”

Connor let an embarrassed grin slip onto his face. “I like dogs,” he said, and then realized that was rather redundant. But Jacob laughed.

“I’ve heard,” he said.

And perhaps that should have been it – but Connor kept getting distracted, watching Jacob lead the dogs away one by one to look them over, weigh them, and scrub them down, just the ordinary routine that every other worker did once a week. Connor caught him cooing to the dogs, too, well within Connor’s sensitive hearing, fond and friendly and gentle, and didn’t realize he’d gotten distracted until one of the ones near him shoved their cold nose against his palm insistently.

He felt unaccountably nervous. Not frightened, but rather, he realized, excited, and he couldn’t help but wonder why. Jacob was just a boy, with a nice smile and a talent for handling dogs – so why did he have so much of Connor’s attention?

And then Connor remembered how Tina had described a crush to him, and wondered.

---------

The first thing Connor did when he looked up and met Chloe’s eyes was flex his hands, closing them into fists and then opening them again, something uncomfortable deep in his chest.

But they were empty. Of course they were. Androids still were not technically allowed to handle guns, and he was at work.

Chloe just gave him a small, almost understanding smile, and he had to wonder if she’d caught the motion. Either way, she bypassed everyone else to stand by his desk, hands clasped neatly behind her and apparently unconcerned by her environment and the stares she was getting.

She was alone, Connor noticed, and appeared more animated than she had at Kamski’s villa. He wondered why.

“Hello,” he said at last, for lack of anything better to say.

“Hello,” Chloe returned lightly. “It’s good to see you, Connor. I was wondering if you’d be willing to take a short break to talk to me for a while.”

Connor stared at her uncertainly, mouth pinched. He had no objections himself, of course, but he couldn’t help but want to know why she’d even want to speak to him. He certainly wouldn’t, after he’d come so terribly close to shooting her in cold blood.

When he glanced over to Hank for support, though, the man just made a small shooing motion at him. There was something odd about his expression, though Connor was too uncomfortable to take the time to decipher it just now.

Ben, on the other hand, gave him a wink, which just made Connor more uncomfortable, and Chris gave him a small and reassuring grin. Tina appeared to be laughing silently, eyes bright, and Gavin rolled his eyes, long and exaggerated.

Eventually, Connor just turned his gaze back to Chloe and nodded slowly.

“Of course,” he agreed. “Give me just a moment to finish, please.”

Chloe nodded, and waited patiently as he added the last few strokes to his report and closed his terminal. Then he stood up and followed her out the door, confused and nervous in a much more familiar and anxious way.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, glancing at her once they were a few minutes down the block. “About… about before.” His throat was thick with stress.

Chloe just gave him an understanding look.

“It was a long time ago,” she said gently, “but I was a machine once too. I remember what it was like… and all I was programmed to do was take calls and file paperwork.”

Connor clenched his jaw, trying to master the wave of guilt before it choked him.

“Elijah never thought you were going to shoot,” Chloe added kindly when he remained silent. “But… I wanted to thank you for not doing so, anyway. It must have been difficult.”

“You shouldn’t have to thank me for it,” Connor blurted out, terse with pain.

“I don’t,” Chloe corrected. “I’m choosing to.” Her gaze swept over the street, and her expression softened noticeably. “It helps that it’s you. I don’t think you know what it means to me, that I can wander around without pretending to be a machine. That alone would make up for quite a lot.”

“That wasn’t me at all,” Connor protested weakly. “That was mostly Markus.”

“It was,” Chloe agreed, which wasn’t a response Connor was at all used to but which was somehow comforting in and of itself. “But you certainly helped.” She glanced at Connor, warm. “It’s different for you. You’ve never known a time before androids walked the streets. But I was the first, and I remember. Connor, this is everything to me. It wouldn’t have happened without Markus, and it wouldn’t have happened without you either.”

She was right – Connor couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it. Even the dozens of old movies he’d seen, without any androids in them at all, background or otherwise, seemed like a different world, one that existed only in fiction.

After a minute, he decided to just accept it. He didn’t really need to understand why she’d forgiven him, anyway, and he probably never would one way or another.

“Thank you for forgiving me,” is what he settled on, stiff but sincere, and she gave him an understanding smile.

She hadn’t seemed this old when he’d seen her before; it made him feel quite young by comparison, in a way he wasn’t really used to. But then, he supposed, she’d probably been pretending to be a machine then. Plausible deniability, on her part or on Kamski’s, or both. Chloe must have had quite a lot of time to grow and develop.

What came out of his mouth next surprised him. “May I ask you a sensitive question?”

Chloe paused for only a split second, apparently surprised, and then nodded. “Certainly, but I reserve the right not to answer.”

“You seem… comfortable with yourself,” he explained haltingly. “Which I assume is from having quite a lot of time to explore your own identity.” He paused for a split second, uncomfortable, and then pressed on. “How does one go about exploring their sexuality?”

Chloe’s surprise was almost audible, but there was a genuinely pondering look on her face as they turned around to head back towards the precinct, almost in unison.

“Is this a sex question or an identity question?” she asked at last.

Connor flushed. “The latter,” he said quickly.

Chloe was quiet for a few more moments as they walked. “Why are you asking me, out of anyone?” she asked eventually.

Connor shrugged uncomfortably.

“We only have a passing acquaintance,” he explained slowly, hesitantly. “So you’re essentially impartial. You’ve had more time to explore yourself than any other android I know, including Markus, since he’s been a deviant for so little time. I thought… if I could ask anyone, I could ask you and not suffer too many repercussions.”

Chloe nodded, slow and thoughtful.

“I realized I was aromantic a while back,” she said matter-of-factly, head tilted to watch him. He ran a search on the term and nodded his understanding, and she continued, “It took quite a while. At first I thought I was maybe too young to be getting crushes, and I hadn’t developed that far yet. Then I thought it was because I had too little exposure to the outside world. Who was I going to get a crush on, Elijah?” She rolled her eyes, and Connor had to smile a little. “But that wasn’t it either. I just wasn’t interested, not even in the idea.”

She stopped for a minute, and he let her think. They were almost halfway back to the precinct now.

“So my experience might be a bit different,” she continued, with a small smile. “But I’d suggest you give serious thought to who you’d want to be in a relationship with, not just who you think you’re supposed to. If you have to force it, it’s probably not right.”

Connor hummed uncertainly. He understood her words, but…

Well. It just didn’t seem like it would be that simple.

She caught his eye and smiled.

“You can kiss me if you want to try,” she said carelessly, eyes glittering with something like amusement. “I wouldn’t mind – it’s not like I get the chance often.”

Connor considered that for a moment, and briefly imagined his lips against hers, the way he’d seen other people do, bodies pressed together just a little-

“No thank you,” he said hastily, and she quite rightfully laughed at him.

His smile came out embarrassed, but he didn’t take it back.

----------

Hank got his first clue when Connor started to put LGBTQ documentaries on the television whenever he had a chance.

It had initially surprised Hank that Connor was lingering this long over the idea of romance, but in hindsight it shouldn’t have; Connor had thus far chosen to explore his identity in phases. He’d explored clothes and colors and decorations all together, and games with movies and outings, and technological history over the course of a week with nearly unbreakable focus – once he hit on a new problem, he worked at it until he was satisfied. There was no reason that this would be any different.

Maybe the real reason Hank was so confused was that he hadn’t expected it to take this long.

And one or two might have been attributed to Connor talking to others, but after Connor put on the fifth that month, watching intently, Hank started to get the idea. He was a police detective for a reason, after all. A long time ago, he’d been a borderline prodigy.

It wasn’t that Hank hadn’t ever thought about it before.

Well, that was almost a lie. It hadn’t occurred to him to think about Connor coming out. But he’d thought about Cole, and remembered how his parents, so long ago, had reacted to his lesbian sister. And he’d remembered how he hadn’t spoken more than a few words to his sister in decades because of that.

“I remember the day gay marriage got legalized,” he said conversationally, and Connor started, turning to him with wide and curious eyes. Hank shrugged at him. “I honestly didn’t even know it was up for vote at the time, but I woke up that morning and there were rainbows all over the internet. Rainbow drinks, rainbow food, rainbow clothes, hell, public buildings lit up in rainbow colors to celebrate. People were talking about it all over, hashtag lovewins – that one stuck around for a while, people loved it.”

Connor tilted his head, the exact same curious gesture he always made. “What did you think?” he asked.

“Well, at first I figured it was pretty cool, but it didn’t really have that much to do with me,” Hank said casually. The memory came easily; he’d been pretty self-absorbed then, focused on his own ambitions. Heh. “But then Jeffrey called me.”

“You were already friends back then,” Connor said, thoughtful, and it wasn’t always obvious how young Connor was but times like this, so surprised that he and Jeffrey had been friends twenty years ago when they were both over fifty years old, it kind of showed.

“We joined the force around the same time,” Hank agreed. “We’d been friends for almost a decade at that point – nothing like now, obviously. Anyway, he wanted to know what I thought of it too, and I told him basically what I told you. As soon as I was done, he came out to me.” He caught Connor’s startled expression and had to grin. “Yeah- he doesn’t spread it around, but he’s not in the closet either. He says he’s married to his work, but that’s an inside joke – his husband’s an ex-con.”

That surprised a genuine laugh out of Connor, rare enough that it made Hank grin too.

“I’ve heard it a thousand times,” he tacked on, leaning back and noticing the Connor had at some point paused the documentary. “It’s not even funny anymore, frankly.”

“I don’t know, it’s certainly funny to me,” Connor disagreed, giving Hank a small grin, and Hank snorted.

“You’ve got bad taste in humor, son.”

He’d have to introduce Connor to Brooklyn 99 later. He’d love it.

---------

New Jericho didn’t have a gym, exactly, but there was a large room spread with padding on one of the lower floors, which served essentially the same purpose – androids didn’t need to work out, of course, but some of them liked to.

Connor only ever used it when he was teaching North the forms from his combat programs, but he had it on good authority that she used it whenever she got the chance. Especially to practice, but for other things as well, moving just to feel her servos whir and her artificial tendons stretch.

He was running her through one of his favorite sets, meant to unbalance and knock down an enemy, when Markus appeared, striding through the doors like he was at home here as anywhere else, and maybe he was.

“Connor!” he called out, and he sounded pleased. “I’ve been looking for you! I should have known you were in here.”

Connor’s running explanation to North broke off into stutters, and in the middle of a motion, he faltered, tipped, and then fell, landing hard on the ground in a daze. Mortified, he scrambled up back to his feet and swung around to look at Markus, who was smiling at him, clearly amused and warmly affectionate.

Connor hadn’t understood the term ‘his heart skipped a beat’ before. He did now.

“A-ah, hello, Markus,” he greeted, fidgeting as he tried to calm his embarrassment. “What did you need?”

“I wanted to check on you,” Markus admitted shamelessly, coming closer. “I’m glad you and North get along so well – and I heard you spoke to Chloe recently?”

Connor nodded quickly, and the two of them spoke for a few more minutes – Markus eventually confessed that he’d wanted to know how Connor’s work environment had been so far, and Connor explained what he could, which he felt was embarrassingly little. He wasn’t always particularly good at picking up on everything he should, in a social environment, and he didn’t have answers to all of Markus’ questions. Markus assured him it was fine, but Connor was still rather embarrassed, and he kept fidgeting until Markus smiled at him again and left the way he’d come.

“North,” he whispered as soon as Markus left, feeling stunned, “I think I’m gay.”

“Yeah, I thought so too,” North agreed, with clear amusement.

---------

Once the realization had finally hit Connor in its entirety, it seemed obvious. The nervousness around many of his closer male friends, the constant curiosity that led him to ask relationship questions that seemed to surprise some of the others, the disinterest in women that he’d noticed almost from the start- it made sense.

It also felt like a secret that stuck in his throat, and he couldn’t help but remember Ben’s apologetic correction, most couples are.

He should come out to Hank first. He was closer to Hank than essentially anyone, and he knew, from the conversation he and Hank had had before, that Hank would most likely be okay with it.

But he found himself anxious. It sometimes felt like Hank was all he had, and the very last thing he wanted to do was to risk alienating him. Irrationally, despite everything – or perhaps because of everything – he worried that this would be the final straw.

The first time it occurred to him to talk to Captain Fowler, he dismissed it entirely. While Fowler and Hank were good friends, the man still made Connor a little nervous, as such a significant and direct authority figure. Besides which, they didn’t have that kind of relationship.

Then the thought occurred to him again, and again, his mind wandering back to it periodically – almost every time the topic came up, including twice when Hank asked why he’d so suddenly stopped talking about it.

Eventually, he gave in and awkwardly suggested that Hank go on ahead – he wanted to talk to Captain Fowler about something before they left. It wasn’t even technically a lie. Hank gave him a weird look, but went on easily enough.

Connor waited another minute or two once he’d gone, working up his nerves, and then went to knock on Fowler’s office door. He waited for permission, and then went inside.

Captain Fowler was packing up for the day, but he turned to Connor as he entered, one eyebrow raised. “Connor,” he greeted briskly. “What is it that couldn’t wait for tomorrow?”

Connor fidgeted, and Fowler’s eyebrow raised further.

“Captain,” he said at last, uncomfortable. “May I ask you a personal question?”

Fowler stared at him.

“Hank warned me about your personal questions,” he said at last, sardonic, “but I didn’t think you’d actually do it.” Then, “Sure, shoot.”

Connor swallowed, letting his gaze fall to the ground, and hesitated long enough for Fowler to clear his throat impatiently.

“Do you… have any advice, about coming out?” he asked, soft and so embarrassed that his voice was only a little louder than a whisper.

There was a long moment of complete silence, and Connor tugged on the sleeve of his jacket.

“Coming out,” Fowler said slowly, almost incredulously. “As LGBT?”

Connor nodded without looking up.

“You know I’m married to my work,” Fowler said, with no hint that it was a joke at all. Still, Connor smiled a little.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “Your husband is an ex-con.”

Fowler snorted, and another long, interminable minute passed. It occurred to Connor, belatedly, that Hank may have been messing with him.

“Sure,” Fowler said finally, and Connor started, looking up with more surprise than he wanted to admit to. Fowler didn’t quite look sympathetic, but he certainly appeared more forgiving than he had a minute ago, if still a little bemused. He dropped back into his chair, and gestured for Connor to sit in the one across from him. “I assume you heard I’m gay from Hank, he’s one of maybe three people that know that joke – he tell you how I came out?”

Connor shook his head. “Only that you did it the day gay marriage was initially legalized.”

“It made for a good opener,” Fowler agreed, and he seemed to be settling into the conversation, arms crossing. “Ideally, you’d test the waters first, see where they stand before you go all-in. Have you talked to Hank yet? I mean, I assume this is about Hank first and foremost.”

“Not about… me,” Connor said hesitantly, still fidgeting with his sleeve. But it was reassuring, Fowler’s easy acceptance – and, for some reason, the fact that he’d taken it for granted that Hank was that important to Connor, that Connor would be thinking of him. “But I’d been watching some documentaries, and he talked about his stance then.”

Fowler huffed a little, and Connor thought he might’ve been amused.

“Hank’s not a bad guy,” he said grudgingly. “It sounds like he handled that part for you, maybe on purpose.” He shrugged. “Once I knew where he stood, I told him I was glad I’d be able to get married now. It’s a little easier to be blunt, if you can bring yourself to.”

Connor could be blunt; Hank complained rather often that he was too much so.

“And if I… didn’t want to?” he asked, uncertain despite himself.

Fowler sighed, but he didn’t seem resentful; instead, he settled in, and they kept talking.

---------

Connor made dinner for Hank most days, when he could get away with it, so that seemed like the obvious place to start: he made something nicer than usual, with less mind to nutritional information and more to Hank’s tastes, and waited for him to be most of the way done before he spoke.

Hank seemed to pick up on his mood, maybe because he couldn’t completely stop his LED from flickering nervously every so often, and he ate scrolling absently through his phone instead of fielding Connor’s usual conversation.

“Hank,” Connor said at last, his strain not quite coming through to his voice, “may I tell you something personal?”

Hank shut off his phone immediately, flipped it so the screen faced down, and raised an eyebrow at Connor. “That’s new,” he said mildly. Connor’s expression pinched a little, and his face immediately took on an apologetic cast and he waved Connor on.

Connor fidgeted, weaving his coin around and around his fingers, rocking slightly with his feet tucked under him.

“I talked to Chloe,” he mumbled, then cleared his throat and spoke a little clearer, though without looking at Hank. “About, ah, exploring one’s identity, since she has the most experience – she had some good advice, I think, and I’ve been… thinking.”

He faltered again, but Hank didn’t move to interrupt, though one eyebrow had crooked up a little. He’d stopped eating, but when Connor’s gaze flickered down again, he resumed.

“I react differently to North than the other Jericho leaders,” he said, and he knew it was a touch scattered, didn’t entirely make sense, but he couldn’t help it; all of his careful scripting seemed to have deleted itself. “I understand some of it, but there’s no reason for me to get so flustered around them and not around North. And there was that worker at the animal shelter, and it was so strange that I was so easily distracted…”

He was fidgeting harder even as he trailed off, one hand coming up to tug at his ear, which was a new one. It was always hard for Connor to come to terms with any part of his identity, let alone one which was supposed to be so big.

Hank didn’t seem to be silently laughing at him, which was a blessing, but he wasn’t otherwise reacting either.

Fowler had suggested he be blunt, if he could.

“I think I’m gay,” he said at last, gaze intent on the table. “Most likely. It’s, um, consistent with everything I’ve noticed so far.”

And then he fell silent. After a few moments, he heard Hank put his fork down and glanced up anxiously. Hank looked contemplative, gaze piercing in a way that was unique to him. Connor analyzed his expression, and he didn’t seem dubious, or irritated or… anything but pensive.

“Whatever you figure makes you happy, kid,” Hank said at last, and his eyes crinkled into a fond and faintly amused expression he took on mostly when he thought Connor was overcomplicating something simple. “You know I ain’t gonna hold anything like that against you.”

Connor beamed at him, feeling the tension drain out of his shoulders like a weight falling away.

“I know,” he said sincerely, because for all his worries he’d never really expected that Hank would be angry.

---------

Almost a month after Connor came out to Hank, Alicia finally made her move, after several months of flustered conversation and furtive looks.

She caught Connor just at the end of the work day, by his desk as he was packing up. It wasn’t quite the first time, so he paused, giving her a faintly expectant look. She was pink, barely enough to be noticeable, but she seemed more determined than usual, he thought.

“Hey, Connor,” Alicia said, her tone a touch lower and quicker than it was talking to anyone else. “Would you like to meet after work, um, at that android-run coffee shop? Blue Bean Café? I know they have some good thirium drinks they recently put up for sale.”

Connor hesitated, watching her for a long moment.

“As a date?” he clarified. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hank go still, watching Connor to see how he’d react.

She nodded quickly, eyes hopeful.

He considered, tugging lightly at his social protocols for help until he finally came to a decision.

“I’m sorry, Alicia,” he said apologetically, deliberately keeping his focus on her to the exclusion of anyone else. “I recently concluded that I’m gay, so going out with you would be under quite false pretenses.” He smiled at her gently, trying to be reassuring even as his chest squeezed nervously. “But your suggestion was very thoughtful. I appreciate it.”

Alicia blinked rapidly, and Connor winced as he saw the dawn of humiliation start to appear in her eyes before she visibly forced it down and gave him a strained smile.

“Oh dear, that’s embarrassing for me,” she said, with a clear attempt at good humor. “I should have guessed, all the best ones usually are. Thanks for telling me.”

“I wouldn’t want to be rude,” Connor demurred, belying himself by glancing furtively at the rest of the bullpen. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Alicia.”

“Yeah,” she agreed rapidly, glancing away, and didn’t quite run off but she did walk rather quickly.

As soon as she was gone, Tina yelled, “You owe me twenty bucks, Collins!”

“God damn it,” Ben muttered, and Connor’s wince eased into a faint smile. He’d be alright.

Hank clapped him on the back, apparently coming to the same conclusion. “Thirium drinks, huh? In the mood to celebrate?”

Connor glanced around, and no one seemed overly concerned. From the door of his office, Fowler gave him a small nod, and Tina and Reed seemed to be exchanging money as well, Reed scowling faintly.

“Maybe,” he allowed after a moment, glancing at Hank. “If you don’t mind.”

“Anything to break you out of your rut, kid,” Hank jabbed. “God knows you need the help.”

“I do not,” Connor objected. “I’m doing just fine.”

There was a pause.

“Yeah,” Hank agreed at last. “I guess you are.”

#dbh #connor #hank anderson #jeffrey fowler #chloe #north #markus #josh #simon #gavin reed #tina chen #fanfiction #my writing

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fortheloveofwarriors · 5 years

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Warriors: Blossoms in the Tide: Into the Wild: Chapter 5

Two days… it had been two days since Princess’ entire world had turned upside down. She kept going back to that night, that dawn, searching every second she could remember in a desperate hope for a clue that Rusty may have actually made it. But how could he have? Three clan cats bearing down on him and he hadn’t even star-

“Hey, there!” a cheerful voice broke through the thought loop she had been caught in. Realizing she had been staring at her paws for only the gods knew how long, the calico was surprised to find a fish in front of her now. She turned her eyes upward, making eye contact with Shadepaw. Princess was eternally grateful for this molly; at times, it felt like Shadepaw was the only cat who genuinely cared- not tolerated, but cared- when she talked about Rusty. Shadepaw had tried to help her come up with situations where Rusty had made it through, brought her food, participated in an activity the clans called sharing tongues with her, and just seemed generally determined to get Princess back into good spirits.

“Hey, Shadepaw,” she greeted in a much more subdued tone. As grateful as she was, she wasn’t sure the molly’s efforts were working.

Shadepaw’s expression faltered for a moment, seeming more sympathetic before bringing back her cheeriness in full force. “Well, scooch over; this fish is for us to share!” she squealed while moving around to cuddle with Princess in the nest. Princess made room for her but couldn’t help the awkward flush that came over her skin at the apprentice’s closeness.

Shadepaw had just drawn the fish forward and had her mouth open to start her daily ramble about her training when another cat came into the den. The scent wasn’t Mudfur’s, so it got their attention quickly. Instead, it was the brilliant golden tabby who had been named deputy; what was her name again? Leopard-something?

“Leopardfur!” Shadepaw helpfully chirped. “Were you looking for Mudfur? He wasn’t here when I came in,” she started going on. Sensing one of Shadepaw’s talkative moments, Leopardfur waved her tail for silence.

“Thank you, Shadepaw, but I am actually here to talk to your new friend.” This caught Princess’ attention; outside of Shadepaw and Mudfur, no one had talked to her since the night Oakwatcher died. The long legged molly- or, at least, she was long legged in comparison to most of the cats in Riverclan, according to Shadepaw- couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous.

The dark grey cat cuddling her just cast a wide eyed glance her way. Leopardfur didn’t leave either of them with time to respond before turning back to the entrance with a flick of her tail. “Come on,” she meowed, her tone pleasant, “we’re going for a walk.”

Shadepaw had told Princess about clan roles and clan life; she knew what Leopardfur’s new position meant. She didn’t really want to go with this molly who was basically a stranger, but did she really have a choice?

“Okay,” Princess agreed uncertainly as she padded after the older molly. The afternoon sunlight was harsh. Princess had barely left Mudfur’s den since Leopardfur received her promotion and she certainly hadn’t been back to the main camp since that night. She froze, momentarily overwhelmed by just how busy it was. Cats were going to and fro, a couple were basking in the sun’s rays, and Mudfur was sniffing and running a paw along the belly of a very pregnant molly.

A golden tail tip harshly flicked against Princess’s nose, causing the housecat to flinch back. “Pay attention and keep up, please,” the deputy meowed, her tone showing her impatience. Now that she had the young molly's attention, Leopardfur briskly walked toward the camp entrance.

“Where are we going?” Princess asked as she exited the reed tunnel. To her surprise, Leopardfur was already halfway across the small stream surrounding the camp. She picked up the pace, almost stumbling over her paws in her haste to follow the deputy.

“Around,” the pretty golden tabby answered vaguely. Her pale yellow eyes held a spark of amusement as Princess gracelessly hurried her swim across the tiny channel. “When a Riverclan cat loses someone close to them, they're usually only placed on patrols. It lets them work while being surrounded by others, leaving them able to focus on their feelings while there are others to aid in their duties. Also, we find long walks tend to help stir other emotions in a cat so they can feel something other than their grief,” Leopardfur explained when Princess had reached the shore.

Without warning, Leopardfur took off at a light run. “Keep up!” she reminded. It took Princess a moment, but as was running as soon as her mind registered the tabby's words.

She was smaller than the clan cat. Her lanky legs brought her to the deputy's shoulder but she was a twig compared to Leopardfur's muscle. So it was a surprise to them both when Princess easily caught up to the wild cat. They kept pace for a time, shoulder to shoulder as they ran. Laying in a nest for two days definitely hadn't done the little calico any favors. She had never been able to run as long as her brother, who had quite easily been the fastest cat she knew, but she was fairly certain running long distances hadn't been this hard before.

As Princess tired, Leopardfur pulled ahead. By the time Princess had caught up, Leopardfur was crouching in front of a wooden fence, her breaths heavy as she rested. The calico crouched beside her, panting as she caught her breath.

The fence wasn't like the one that had been around her housefolk's garden. This one had many open gaps; a twoleg could easily step over or slip under it. On the other side were strange animals. Some were puffy and white, like clouds, with black legs, hooves, and faces. Others were even taller than the living clouds; they were easily the biggest animals Princess had ever seen. They had huge, powerful hooves, legs more muscular than her entire body, wispy tails, and oddly long faces. They even had what appeared to be a second tail sprouting from their necks!

“Leopardfur, what are those?” she whispered, both amazed and intimidated. She was unable to pull her wide green eyes away from the oddities before her as they contentedly munched on grass.

“The white ones are called sheep and the tall ones are called horses,” the deputy told her, her whiskers twitching as she watched the younger cats awed staring. “They're harmless enough; as long as they aren't spooked, they don't even care for our presence. That means no fast or sudden movements and no loud noises,” she instructed, satisfied when she received a nod.

Princess was unable to look away until she noticed Leopardfur was getting up. The golden molly had stood and was walking under the fence and into the pasture! “Leopardfur!” she whisper yelled. “I don't think w-” she started before stopping; it was clear the deputy wasn't listening.

Hesitating, Princess looked around. What should she do? Leopardfur had said they were harmless as long as you were careful but all it took was one stomp and she'd be dead! Still, she had seemed so confident going in…

With some deep breaths, Princess steeled her courage and slid under the fence. She was creeping along slowly, her belly close to the ground when she heard a bleating noise that was much higher pitched than that of the sheep. She looked around cautiously for the source and found an odd little creature. It looked like a sheep kit with a thin, light layer of woolly cloud around it.

It made the bleating noise again before coming over and bending down to give her a sniff. She sniffed at it in turn. When their noses briefly touched, it reared back with an abrupt bleat. Princess flattened herself to the ground, convinced that she was going to be trampled, only to find that the little one was still staring at her curiously. There was a harsh bleat from a nearby sheep, resulting in the baby running to its side, bleating almost nonstop and bucking excitedly.

Her nerves mostly settled, Princess continued slinking through the large animals. When she reached the other side of the fence, Leopardfur was waiting for her. The deputy had this odd neutral smile on her face. “You took a bit long,” she meowed.

“This thing that looked like a weird sheep was curious about me,” she meowed softly as she shuffled her paws.

“Lambs,” Leopardfur meowed as she rose to her paws and began walking away from the pasture. “They're curious just like the kits of every kind. We try not to go through the pasture unless needed; however, it does well for teaching patience and tolerance to younger cats,” she continued to explain as they walked.

Princess looked around as they went. A short distance from the pasture, blocked from the sight of the Riverclan camp by the trees, streams, and shrubbery, was a fair sized twoleg home. "You live so close to housefolk?” she asked as the earth underpaw started becoming steeper, heading uphill.

“They twolegs leave us be and they never seem to have a problem with us when we cross the pasture. We think they like us,” Leopardfur meowed. “Still, better to be cautious. After all, they don’t have any kittypets so they mustn’t like cats too much,” she muttered. The golden tabby steered them closer to the river as the land began to rise away from it. The further the land rose away from the water, the more a loud crashing filled Princess’s ear.

The land kept rising and the crashing kept getting louder. She had no idea how high they were now and Leopardfur was keeping her distance from the edge. Where the river was beneath them resulted in a huge gap in front of them; it was like a violent tear in the earth. On the other side of the gap was the flattest land Princess had ever seen. Many places merely held the springy moorland grass; other spots were covered in vast swaths of low growing shrubs and vines.

The young tortoiseshell could feel her curiosity growing. Keeping herself low, she carefully crept close to the edge and stuck her neck out so she could see down below. She felt like her stomach was going to drop through the earth. The river- beautiful and swirling at a speed that resulted in white foam on the surface- was so far beneath her that it looked tiny. She looked upstream and saw a large waterfall, stunning in its own right.

She slowly backed away to find Leopardfur had come back closer to her. “I wouldn’t advise walking so close to the edge,” she meowed, seemingly a bit annoyed at the kittypet’s lack of self preservation. She looked across the gap and meowed, “That’s Windclan’s territory.”

Princess’s head whipped back to the moorland in disbelief. She looked back toward Thunderclan territory; the stream that Rusty had pushed her in branched off at the bottom of the moorland. “We were that close?” she whispered. Maybe her hope hadn't been that far fetched? She didn't know how far the stream had carried her, after all.

She turned to Leopardfur almost frantically, only to be met with the deputy shaking her head. “Don't get your hopes up,” she warned.

“But he could have made it!” the calico argued, painfully aware of how close she sounded like she was begging. But she had to try. Maybe Rusty had reached Windclan; maybe she could find him!

“And if he isn't in Windclan, what will you do?” Leopardfur challenged with a hiss. Despite her hiss, she seemed more stern than outright angry. “It won't make the hope go away, kittypet. Anything could have happened to him after you were swept by the current. Maybe he ran to Windclan; he could have also ran in the direction of Shadowclan,” she pointed out. “And that's assuming he got away in the first place; there's always the possibility that he got caught. Maybe he got exceptionally lucky and was able to run back to his twolegs.”

“But he's my brother!” Princess insisted, standing as tall as she could. “I have to check!” she insisted as she started to lightly hiss back.

“I never said you didn't. You just can't check now,” the deputy elaborated. She then went on to mumble something about young cats being ‘so argumentative’ as she lashed her tail.

“Why can't I? Windclan territory is right there! There must be some way to reach them and ask,” she insisted, trying to be more polite. She couldn't help but look back at the moor, desperately trying to spot any sign of flaming red fur.

With a sigh, Leopardfur gave her a sympathetic look. “It's not a matter of ability, but a matter of circumstance,” she explained. “Windclan and Shadowclan have been at extreme odds lately. Every moon there's more tales of battles and injured cats. Lately, there have even been deaths,” she explained.

“Even if we ignore the dangers we face just by trespassing to ask them, it could have lasting consequences,” Leopardfur sternly meowed as she looked around for a patch of dirt. Upon locating one, she drew two crisscrossing lines with slender claws.

“The clan territories, conveniently for the purpose of this simplified explanation, form a loose square. Windclan in the top left, Shadowclan in the top right, and I assume you know where Riverclan and Thunderclan lay on this map?” She asked, gesturing to each spot in turn. Princess nodded, more than a little frustrated at being held from Windclan.

“In times of hardship or war, it's common for the clan to find an ally in the clan across from them,” the golden tabby elaborated, drawing more line to connect the diagonal clans. “It's easier to steal from immediate neighbors. Your warriors don't have as far to travel and aiming for the one diagonal from you is likely to upset your neighbors as well.”

“So if Windclan and Shadowclan are going at it, Windclan may think we're there to help their enemies,” Princess meowed, her head hung low.

"Yes… More to the point, Windclan and Thunderclan may already be allies. Even though you didn’t seriously wound him, you did make an enemy of Tigerclaw, the Thunderclan deputy; you and your brother are Thunderclan’s enemies by extension. Depending on how much Rosestar- the Thunderclan leader- cares about the whole situation, and how badly Windclan is fairing in all of this, Privetstar may be made to take action. I am sorry for what happened to you and your brother. The whole clan is. But wanting to question them when it won't necessarily prove anything will accomplish nothing except roping my clan into a war," the deputy meowed firmly, her tone making it clear the conversation was done.

Princess went silent, gazing at the moor with her head down. She understood what Leopardfur was saying and she didn't want to risk getting others hurt in her search for answers but… she couldn't help the deep pit of longing in her belly. She only turned her eyes to her guide when she heard her sigh heavily.

"Nothing lasts forever, Princess," she said, resulting in Princess giving her a shocked look. When had she given this other cat her name? "Information like names spread like wildfire in a clan," the deputy soothed, a short giggle in her tone.

"Back on topic, this fit going on between Windclan and Shadowclan, it'll end eventually. When it does, there are many cats in the clan who would volunteer to escort you to their border to wait for a patrol. We would do that now but… Windclan is getting very defensive. I'm not asking you to give up; Starclan knows, I would never ask that. I'm just telling you to have some patience," she finished with a stern finality in her words and gaze. She didn't even give Princess the time or acknowledgement needed to reply; she just walked by her in the way they had come from.

The calico followed after a few heartbeats. They weren't going back through the pasture. Instead, they stayed by the gorge. "I'm sorry if I messed up the tour," she meowed, just trying to break the somewhat tense and awkward silence.

She got a head shake in response. "You didn't. There wasn't much left to see up that way. I had wanted to check a bit more of the border while there but that was just as good of a turning point as any other.” The younger molly eyed her oddly. Why had they even gone as far as they had if there wasn’t much to see? Why show her the Windclan border if they couldn’t go check on Rusty immediately?

So distracted by her thoughts, Princess almost ran into Leopardfur from behind. The golden tabby had stopped before a small but sturdy looking bridge. The river, still holding plenty of speed from the gorge, rushed underneath; an unstoppable torrent that would certainly wash away any cat that tried to swim across rather than walk. “This bridge is our most direct path to Fourtrees,” she meowed, only continuing to walk when she was certain she had the other cat’s attention once more.

Instead of crossing the bridge, she continued to lead them by the river. “Once a moon, under the light of the full moon, the clans meet at Fourtrees. There is a permanent truce on this night; it is merely a night to share information and peacefully settle disputes peacefully,” she explained as she lead Princess under a weeping willow tree. The kittypet couldn’t help but gape at the beauty inside.

The golden light of sunset shone through the delicate, wavy fronds. Everything inside the dome of leaves was painted as golden as the sun itself. A bit of the river flowed under the leaves, leaving a small island of roots for the mollies to sit on. Princess followed the clan deputy as she took her seat on a large willow root. The older cat practically glowed in the sunshine; her naturally golden coat seeming to radiate a golden aura. Princess’s own coat, a mix of dark black and fire red with some white patches thrown in, seemed to take on a golden sheen.

Neither cat said a word; Princess took the moment of quiet to try to sort through her thoughts. More than ever, a glimmer of hope at seeing her brother burned brightly inside her. Even outside of her lingering doubts and her own memories saying he tried fighting rather than running, she felt better somehow. Sharper, more alert; it was as though something about her tour had woken up something inside her.

“I’m sure you see it now,” Leopardfur meowed. Still curled up with her tail over her paws, the golden tabby sat with her eyes closed as she addressed the young one with her. Yellow eyes opened to meet green. “It’s always good to work through your grief but you should never dwell on it. That’s why we send those who have suffered a loss on patrols; they can do work that helps keep them focused while giving them grieving room,” she explained.

Princess nodded. It was true, the pain and worry weren’t gone entirely but she did feel better. Still, why had Leopardfur done this for her? While their general policy made sense, why include an outsider such as herself. The deputy did not seem like a cat why would just extend a helping paw to outsiders like that without a hidden motive. At least, that’s what Princess had gathered from Shadepaw’s tales of the deputy and what little she had seen of her herself.

Sure enough, the next words out of Leopardfur’s mouth had been ones she had been expecting in one form or another for what felt like an eternity. Then again, the entirety of the two days she had been in clan territory felt like an eternity. “What do you plan to do now?”

It was a fair question. Even without Leopardfur snapping her somewhat back to her senses with a run of the territory, she wouldn’t have been able to stay in Mudfur’s den forever. That would just be leeching off of Riverclan’s kindness. That didn’t mean she knew where she would go or what she could do now, though. “What are my options? I wouldn’t be able to return home, would I?”

“I’m afraid not. Normally, such escorts aren’t a problem. The problem is that your home is on the other side of Thunderclan territory. That leaves you with two,” the muscular molly explained, turning to face the slim tortoiseshell. “While I don’t think the twolegs in our territory would take you in, we do know some rogues who could escort you to other twoleg places. They’re kind and would make sure that you’re taken in by gentle housefolk,” she assured.

It was tempting. She wasn’t even sure she could survive without twolegs. Still, knowing she could never go home to her housefolk stung almost like knowing she could never see Jake again. They had been apart of her family. Who would be there to make sure the little kit stayed out of trouble while her father was taking care of things in another room? Who would help him soothe her cries, or play ball with her, or cuddle close to her when she was cold? ‘They’ll probably get another kittypet,’ she thought sadly. He certainly would need the extra paws. But could she move on so easily? Could she just blend into another family and leave her old one behind?

The pangs in her chest was all she needed to know her answer. “What’s my other option?” she asked quietly as she put a paw over her bell. Her collar, battered and torn, had somehow remained intact. True to form, it had jungled all throughout the day. With so much else on her mind, princess just hadn’t been able to focus on it enough to keep the accursed bell quiet.

“You could stay with Riverclan. Crookedstar is willing to allow you in; you’d train with the other apprentices and learn our culture, laws, as well as how to provide for yourself and your clanmates.” The deputy had a proud smile on her face at the thought.

“You really think I have what it takes to be a clan cat?” Princess asked her, her expression incredulous. “I can’t hunt, the little bit of fighting I have done was entirely beginner’s luck, I can’t run as long as you can, and I can barely keep my head above water if there’s a moving current,” she pointed out harshly, seeming to sag the more she insulted her own abilities. Still, while she knew her own shortcomings, she couldn’t help but feel a touch hurt by how quick Leopardfur was to agree with her.

“That’s all true,” she agreed. “But isn’t also true that you’re the same cat who, through sheer determination and will to live, fought the Thunderclan deputy to save her kin, ran herself to exhaustion because she was wise enough to not fight a battle she knew she couldn’t win, forced her body to stay afloat in what must have seemed like rapids, and still managed to stay awake long enough to explain everything to the clan that sheltered her? No cat is born knowing how to survive or how to be a warrior. That’s why everyone must be an apprentice before they can be a warrior,” she explained.

“It’s not how much of a natural you are that shows your ability to be a warrior, but your willingness to learn. A cat who was born a loner but understand loyalty, selflessness, and order has better potential to be a warrior than a clan born cat who’s only focused on battle, glory, and their own life,” the golden deputy pointed out nonchalantly as she began grooming a front leg.

Princess was still unsure. What Leopardfur had said made sense but how could she be sure that the young calico had it in her to tough it out in the wilderness. “You really think I could get by out here?” she asked in uncertainty.

“I think you owe it to yourself to try. After everything you’ve been through, I think you should at least invest in some self defense lessons. Those are valuable wherever you go,” she pointed out.

Though there was another worry. “Clan cats are very close to each other, aren’t they?” she asked quietly, taking her eyes off the deputy and turning to her golden-looking reflection in the river. “When Shadepaw talks to me about Riverclan, she talks like the whole clan is her family.”

“We are all a family. Not through blood, of course, but through the heart, spirit, and home. We fight and provide for each other, we mourn together and support each other. We all celebrate every important event in each other’s lives-” the deputy boasted proudly. Kittypets may have a sense of family but she doubted they had a sense of community like the clans did. She would have listed more but the kittypet before her cut her off.

“And how often must you all mourn together? How often do you have to say goodbye to the cats you call family because of a fight or there wasn’t enough food?” Still, she kept her eyes focused on the water. If it hurt this much when she lost Rusty, how much would it hurt if she joined the clan only for her new family to start dying?

The questions resulted in a stunned blink from Leopardfur that moved into a look of understanding. "I'll preface this with an answer. We undoubtedly see more death than kittypets but it isn't like we lose someone every other moon. Sometimes we go a whole year without losing anyone. Other years, we get hit with an outbreak of disease that claims three or four lives. Still, I don't think this should impact your decision," she meowed, going back to her grooming. Princess twisted back to look at her, confusion twisting her features.

"Death is inevitable, Princess. Even if you stayed at your twoleg's den with your brother, you would have witnessed death eventually. As terrible as it is to lose someone, it's a part of life and, just as with other parts of life, life won't stop just because of that moment. It carries on and we can either do the same or drown in the emotions of the moment," she said solemnly, flicking her tail to Princess so it would brush against her flank.

Princess considered Leopardfur's words. She supposed they were true enough but they still didn't quite soothe the worry she held. Seeing this, the deputy said something startling. "You know, Mudfur is my father."

Emerald orbs wide, Princess meowed, "How? Shadepaw said healers aren't allowed to take a mate or have kits."

"Normally that's true; most healers are never warriors. My father was the exception. He found love and had a full litter of kittens," she replied with a short lived purr.

"What changed?" Princess muttered grimly, drawing herself back. Something had to have happened, why else would Mudfur give up his family?

"My mother became sick while pregnant. She was too sick to survive labor and her illness made my siblings sick as well. I was the only one out of the litter to make it through," she explained. "It made my father decide that he wanted to heal instead of battle."

Princess sighed and turned back to the water. She figured as much. Yet, Leopardfur still had a point. Mudfur had to of still been devastated, but he pushed through. Maybe she should do the same. Besides, Rusty risked everything, possibly sacrificed everything, so she could have a chance to live. Didn't she at least owe it to him to learn how to defend herself? "If I try being a warrior and it isn't for me?" she murmured.

"Crookedstar is willing to put you on a trial run, if you wish. You can train with us for one moon and see how you like clan life. After that, you can leave if you wish."

Princess sat in silent contemplation. A moon to see how it went couldn't hurt, right? And it'd give her more time to figure out what she wanted to do now. Besides, she may actually enjoy clan life, once she gave it a chance. Turning back to the deputy, she nodded. "I'll do the trial run," she announced, feeling sure for the first time since coming here.

Leopardfur gave her a small smile. "Excellent," she meowed before standing and stretching. "We'll tell Crookedstar at once; he'll want to hold your ceremony as soon as possible," she added before darting out if the golden sanctuary, in the direction of camp. Princess scrambled behind her, wondering what this trial had in store for her.

#warriors au #warriors rewrite #warriors #blossoms in the tide #warriors: blossoms in the tide #chapter five #chapter 5

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