#in dedication to RK900 activation day~

[falsesecuritysketches]

[fictionalplagueproductions]

If The World Was Ending

Part 3 - You’d Come Over, Right?

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3

Story Summary: Gavin is on the hunt for his missing android when the U.S. Government announces the end of the world. The end of his world. A world without his precious Nines.

Chapter Summary: Gavin’s search comes to a heartbreaking discovery and he must now decide what he is willing to lose in order to keep what he has gained.

Pairing: Reed900 (RK900 x Gavin Reed)

Rating: Explicit (NSFW)

A/N: Sorry for the long wait! I know I should be appreciative because I have two jobs that are considered essential during this pandemic which offer great hours and CAT pay, but I feel like a lifeless workaholic rn with school finals in a literal week. Anyway, I hope everyone is doing well during these difficult times. If anyone is interested, I do take requests for one-shots (especially Reed900) for many fandoms. Just PM and I’ll see what I can do. Also, if you have never heard of Detroit Evolution and you ship Reed900, check it out! It’s a 75-minute fan film dedicated to the ship and I HIGHLY recommend it (gif is an actual scene from the film). Cuteness overload. Lastly, I am considering making an actual Reed900 one-shot based on another song. You can check out my work on AO3 or Fanfiction.net! Enjoy!

“Do you have any fucking idea what I’ve been through today?”

The swollen, tear-streaked cheeks on his lover’s face gave Nines a clue.

“I searched for you for hours! You couldn’t have sent me a goddamn text?”

Nines wished communication had been possible. Cyberlife would have tapped his servers within a heartbeat and tracked him down, leaving Gavin’s apartment a mess in the aftermath.

“I even found Connor still blubbering around. He told me about your stupid, little plan.” The pitiful man tugged at his hair mangled in distraught. “What happened to all those times you wouldn’t shut up about androids being superior? What the fuck were you thinking?”

Guilt struck Nines.

He thought it unlikely that Gavin would even bother searching Anderson’s home after the front the lieutenant had elected to put up for their safety. He thought it even more unlikely that Connor, a machine developed for the comfort of his human counterparts, would reveal Nines’ heartbreaking arrangement.

“I…I thought you were dead.”

He almost had been.

Nines’ original intention was to spare his android brother from the inevitable fatality of his species. Two RKs could not exist with the same familiar face. The humans would eventually notice, regardless if they had both relocated halfway across the world and scalped themselves of their LEDs. Even if their charades were believed, Nines was android through and through. Why should he be forced to pretend he was something he was not? No, Connor was more human than himself. He was the one who deserved to make it in this carbon-ruled world.

Gavin’s definitive words came out a dying whisper: “I thought you had left me.”

A churning sensation swirled Nines’ insides as he watched the broken man stumble before him. Sincerity was not an emotion he needed to readily practice, as he did not lie often, but he found even himself feeling rejected by his own words. “I’m here now.”

The response was simple, vague enough to dodge and nullify all of Gavin’s worries.

It wasn’t enough.

He stepped forward towards his human who now leaned heavily into the back of the couch, grimacing in fear of an image invisible to Nines. It cracked the straight face he had framed over his growing trepidation. “I’m here,” he repeated breathlessly.

Gavin seemed to fumble out of his terror, tearing a sharp inhale through his shuddering body and eventually allowing Nines to view his beaten soul through grieving lenses. Words would not suffice this time. It was one of the few moments that it clicked for Nines that words were just not enough.

Humans were such delicate creatures at times – his even moreso. The psychological issues he wielded piled into a mountain of stress-induced rage and caffeine-fueled insecurities. Just a little search through his social media lit up the diagnostic centers of Nines’ CPU in an array of colors far more paramount than the human eye could even begin to elucidate.

But as much as he could prove the dishevelment of his partner and all of humanity, neither could he deny his own deviant chaos rampaging indecision and hesitance in his day-to-day actions. He was slower now, more volatile to his environment, and almost no more could he distinguish subjective constructs now than over his previous machine-like state. He was truly living, as the humans often said, “the worst of both worlds”.

Nines was just as broken as Gavin in his own fashion. Except, despite it all, Gavin mended him in such indescribable complementing ways that none of it mattered.

The android clicked one foot forward, asking silently for permission to embrace him. It still surprised him to this day that there were ways of communicating with just a lift of the finger, but only with others one knew well. And Gavin, he could read like a book.

When Gavin released his clenched eyebrows from their angered posture, Nines presumed the reciprocal. Their “chemistry” had been undisturbed by his absence. He made haste in closing the distance, grappling needily onto the life-form already unfolding beneath him. Hands clenched into balls of fabric against his back and Nines melted under the sticky mess that clung to his neck.

Rarely did Gavin cry, but this time around, a waterfall had already begun to soak the top seam of his t-shirt.

The ability to cry was lost upon Nines. Sadness overwhelmed him, understanding the hurt his human had endured, but unsure if he even equipped tear ducts to perform such an action. Feeling pain was one thing; expressing it was entirely new. The quaking beneath him, nonetheless, wrenched at his thirium pump, and he so desperately wished to quake with his lover.

Eventually, Gavin ceased and unceremoniously dug his fingers through Nines’ hair and pressed their noses side-by-side. His eyes were glued shut as he pressed his wet cheeks against his android. The soggy touch was like velcro against Nines and he chased that feeling of a sobbing solace.

The android copied his partner’s actions and clutched his palms to either side of his head, smearing Gavin’s tear-stained face against his own and absorbing the physical exudations of emotion. The wet heat was so raw on his synthetic skin that Nines didn’t think when it retracted on contact, leaving his pearly plastic to glimmer under the tainted blue water that began to leak from the corners of his eyes. At first, it wasn’t much, trailing faint streaks of cyan behind the aqueous movements. But when Gavin realized the heart-wrenching moan that escaped Nines, he looked to him with such a mixture of pain and clemency that provoked a heavier round of blue artillery.

The android’s face became a painting illustrated by nothing more than his fear and affections to which Gavin happily contributed his own sultry paintbrush.

The resolve came quick for Gavin, and he tentatively watched Nines recollect his own bearings. “I’m sorry, I-”

“Shut the fuck up,” snapped Gavin, though no cruelty met his tone. “You’re okay. You’re okay?”

His android nodded, relishing in the bath that carried away his burgeoning emotions. Gavin held their faces still together, touching his lips stiffly against Nines. He had intended for nothing more than to be replenished by the idea of his lover existing within his grasp once again, but Nines seemed to bite in excess. The android’s tongue slipped between Gavin’s teeth, releasing a burst of iron from his ingested robot tears, and let it run rampant within his mouth.

The kiss wasn’t enough for Nines to convince his partner how much he missed him. He yielded his tongue from Gavin’s taste buds and lapped up the tears along his cheeks, sampling the crystallizing sodium and nibbling down his jawline.

Gavin moaned beneath him, his shockwave of dread dissipating into unhinged eroticism. If he had learned anything from years of failed relationships, it was that emotional turmoil made sex all the better.

The excitement incited within Gavin’s pounding chest turned arrhythmic when his android lifted him into his arms, shoving him against the wall behind him, and pushing into him with the testosterone of a bull. After enduring months of awkwardly finding their way around each other, it was an understatement to say that Gavin was surprised by Nines’ newfound wanton initiative.

Surprised, certainly, but not in the slightest disappointed.

He returned the actions tenfold, forcing their mouths to dance and recklessly tearing at the jacket that restricted his eyes from the beauty of his boyfriend’s bare chest. Nines let go of Gavin, using the wall to balance him against his groin, and tossed his jacket and turtleneck in one swift motion across the couch. The android’s own impatience erupted under a low grumble as he dropped Gavin onto the couch and clambered over top of him, shoving his human’s arms in the air to slip his tee off.

Nines worshipped the skin-to-skin contact. Since activation, he had come to cherish the vivid sensations of heat. Against his endothermic mammalian body, Nines soaked in the warmth that radiated from Gavin; against the words from his boyfriend that endeared him so heavily, he intoxicated his insides in benevolent wildfire. At times, he feared he would melt.

Melting was a fair price to experience the touch of fire.

And fire was what blazed within him as he felt his new component roar to life. It was even more pleasing to watch Gavin’s eyes stretch in wonder as he realized that his hardening member would no longer be grinding alone. Nines, though he tried maintaining his dominant pose, fell victim to the gasps that his lover relinquished underneath the length that overpowered his inferior, human phenotype.

Nines’ nibbling grew into starved bites, sinking lower and lower below his human’s neck. Despite the red blood that pulsed beneath his skin, shades of purple surfaced in splotches beneath the android’s teeth. They eventually created a trail to his waistband, his tongue dipping deep beneath the surface to test the waters. Gavin hummed in permissiveness. Nines palmed between his lover’s legs, unbuttoning his jeans and sheltering the member that popcorned into plaid boxers over his salivating tongue He kept his palate suctioned tightly around the tip of his cock, dampening the fabric and earning a playful tug at his bowed locks.

The soft moans his lover made set fire to Nines’ steadily growing impatience and he pulled the fabric barriers down to Gavin’s knees and inhaled the hardened flesh down to his throat. An unanticipated upward thrust pushed his cock even further and Nines indulged hungrily. Pre-cum was already dribbling onto his taste receptors and he craved to know what damages an entire mouthful would cause to his system.

His curiosities would have to be satiated at a later date, because Gavin – at his most human – demanded his own impatience be tended to. He clung to the android’s synthetic hair and pulled him up to his abandoned orifice. With as much brash force as he could manage, the human kicked off the rest of his clothing, slipping restless fingers under Nines’ own jeans, and winced as the android bucked under the feeling, pinching his dick under the metal zipper. Immediately upon impact, Nines lifted up from Gavin to prevent any more harm, but it only offered Gavin the leverage to shove what little clothing remained between their unappeased debauchery, and eyeing the massive cock that his lover had chosen for himself.

For a moment, he was breathless, apprehensive of the image set before him. Though Nines had not been his first gay sexual encounter, he had certainly never dated a man that could compete against Detroit’s Largest Bratwurst contest.

Nines could feel his stare. “Is it…satisfactory?”

Gavin could only grin his answer. “Ready to take it for a spin?”

Without waiting for a response, Gavin slid down the couch underneath his virgin boyfriend and placed a moist tongue against the skin beneath his tightly-clung balls. He flicked his tongue teasingly against the hairless strip before engulfing a single sac into his mouth and lightly sucking. Nines gave out, falling to all fours and gasping at the strange sensation.

The man wished he could see Nines’ face. He might be a machine built with bells and whistles that only ever sported the most aggressive resting bitch face, but the noises his lover made now were enough to make his own groin boil with pure bliss. Faint robotic mimics of pleasure raced across Gavin’s imagination and he rewarded the plausible responses by licking up the underside of his dick and kissing the soft flesh that fit like a gagball in his mouth. There was something so satisfying about bringing a hard-ass like Nines down to his knees; about having a hard-ass like Nines allowing Gavin to show him the true pleasures of humanity.

Nines hadn’t minded in the slightest. Deviancy had graced him with minimal traces of pride and did as he pleased regardless of what others thought of it. And although Gavin did not share these same traits, Nines was contented, nonetheless, to understand firsthand what tonsils felt like in their natural habitat. The android hadn’t been interrupted by his visual software windows often, but the way his lover hummed along his new member made the pop-ups block everything in sight, turning the world red in a flurry of error messages.

He had lost a good portion of his reserve amounts of thirium from the tears that he had been surprised to relinquish earlier. Now his CPU was requesting permission to tap into his main supply of bodily thirium already coursing through his plastic arteries. He struggled with the proper demand, desiring to feel immense waves of pleasure built contingently upon Gavin’s persistent tonguing, but ultimately he had to decline. He wasn’t sure how much thirium would be released; if there was too much that prevented his function, they were no longer living in times that Gavin could just meander into the nearest convenience store to pick up a bottle of “Blueberry Go-Go”.

Another error message interrupted the magnificent view of his lover choking below him. He was overheating.

Nines ripped away from Gavin, heaving under the frustration of his pulsating, wet cock. A familiar look of hurt flickered in his boyfriend’s eyes, but Nines was quick to place two reassuring hands on his shoulders. “I can’t absolve myself. I would be wasting my thirium…”

Gavin piped in with a pleading tone, “I have plenty.”

“You do?”

He nodded. “I stocked up on some last week after…” Gavin blushed, moving to touch his lover’s face. “…you know.”

The android’s first instinct was to feel relief, wanting to continue their relations and experience the sweet pleasure of a human orgasm. Then, a lighthearted afterthought pushed against his vivacious libido. “You were looking forward to doing this again?”

“Yeah, yeah,” grumbled Gavin, realizing the sweet-bitten look his boyfriend infected him with., “I bought you your blue juice. I guess it worked out pretty well considering the circumstances. Do you want to stop? It might be harder to-”

Nines answered his boyfriend by shoving him back into his subordinate position and breaking the skin of his luscious lips between his teeth. He dug claws into Gavin’s hips and gripped them like reins, grinding his monstrous dick against one that dwarfed in comparison.

Gavin, for once, didn’t mind being as small as he was, internally begging to feel Nines’ throbbing cock against his tight hole. Nines read his mind, dropping Gavin completely and demanding him to “suck me” with a cutting stare that made him indubitably obey.

When the android was dripping in saliva once again, he bent over to suck off the warm member below him, dipping to Gavin’s leveled waist and twirling his cock underneath the loose sack that melted over top of him. The android tested the feeling, appreciating the damp nook that his lover exposed to him, waiting for an objection. When none came, he pushed slowly into the puckered hole, staring blankly into the squirming man below him, though desperately trying not to break the dominant persona that had overtaken him.

It took milliseconds for the error messages to pop up once more, but Nines ignored them for the time being. He wanted to watch the pleasure melt into his lover’s eyes as he sunk deeper into the ever-tightening walls. When he thought the moans couldn’t draw out any longer, he extracted himself up to his tip, desiring to hear Gavin’s pleas. The man did not satisfy this desire, automatically slamming his naked ass over the android’s cock and ripping a glass-shattering moan that involuntarily sprung red alerts across his ocular view. If he did not accept to its terms, it would override his own demands, but he was not ready.

No, he wasn’t ready to –

Gavin curled his legs around his waist and clung fervently, grinding wantonly against his biocomponent. Suddenly, the alerts began to flicker statically, and Nines erupted without caution. He growled against his lover’s gasps, indiscriminately nipping at his cheek and shaking under the pulses that charged heavy projectiles into the dark cave of his pleasure.

This only seemed to provoke Gavin’s excitement further, intriguingly enough to Nine’s observations. He slapped harder against the android, thrusting his cock upwards into the heated skin above him and relishing in the liquid that squirted from his ass under each solid movement. When Nines regained some of his strength, he forced himself onto his elbows and enjoyed the unveiled show of his boyfriend climaxing around him.

A flash of anger appeared on Gavin’s face before he made a corporeal demand by guiding the android’s hand over his loaded member. Nines understood almost immediately, sitting up straight and stroking promptly the small dick in his firm grasp.

The man’s waist followed Nines’ towering movements, suddenly coming to touch his sweet spot and focusing his movements on that single area. The android glared down at him expectantly. Did he know how hot he looked when he acted so serious? Gavin assumed he did when he began to buck against him, digging straight into the spot that made his vocal cords weak. The fire in his ass consumed his entire being, releasing audible spasms throughout his body that coated his chest in a familiar sticky substance.

Nines continued to stroke him even after, unbelieving of the pleasurable writhing of which his lover was capable. Gavin had to clench onto the android’s wrist to stop the movements, needing to relax against the frigid state he had experienced for probably too long. He slid off of his boyfriend’s cock, relieving a sigh, and then a sad moan when a loneliness settled within his emptied hole.

“I don’t think I could ever go back.” The look on the android’s face was incredulous as he sat back on his heels.

“Go back to what?”

“Being a machine,” said Nines. “I love you. I love… being with you. I’m not human, but I can’t be… I can’t be a machine.”

Gavin hushed him, only rising to pull his lover into the cushions beside of himself. He pressed his lips gently against Nines, wrapping his body wet from any and all bodily fluids around his and nestling his face into his chest. “You don’t have to worry about what you are. You’re you. That’s all that matters.”

Though Gavin was unable to see the realization that crossed Nines’ expression, the android smiled and hugged his human tighter. All this time, he had been obsessed with labeling himself into either box. He hadn’t stopped to consider that he was just him. Nines was a sentient being that loved working as a detective, that loved beating people at chess, and that loved this man. Nines was Nines.

Why should he deserve less than others to live this life he was granted? Even if he was granted this life in non-traditional ways.

Yes, Nines smiled. He was not human, but he was himself. As he was Gavin’s.

He looked to the unknowingly wise man beneath him and kissed the sweat-stuck bangs along his forehead.

“I love you,” breathed Gavin. His tone was rigidly quiet, signaling the beginning stages of a drifting sleep.

Nines’ smile grew broader. “I love you,” he whispered back, slipping the blanket that hung over the back of the couch over their sleeping forms. “You won’t ever lose me.”

The End? You Decide.

The next morning, Gavin awoke to daylight seeping through the window shades, a pillow crushed between his arms. The body that had entered the darkness with him did not greet him on the other side.

Stumbling to his feet, the gruff man eyed the open floor plan, pacing down the hallway when Nines had not appeared in his view. Hints of panic began to travel through his veins upon the inspection of an empty bedroom. Then, with one last desperate pounce at the bathroom door, immense terror struck Gavin when the site was void. Immediately, Gavin fisted a washcloth over his dick uncleaned from the night before and threw on a pair of boxers crumpled on the tiled floor.

As his fingers wrapped around the doorknob, a red reflection caught his eye in the mirror, and he stopped. The source was circular, pulsing in a dying light of slow movements amongst the mess of toiletries. At the same moment, his front door clicked open and he engaged the guilty suspect in the living room with his respective organ laid in-hand.

“What the fuck were you doing? And what the fuck is this?”

Nines was dressed in one of Gavin’s maroon sweatshirts but wore the same black jeans (assuming he probably could not squeeze into a pair of his).

“I can’t be android anymore. I needed to rid myself of it if I were to ever have a chance of not being spotted. I’m sorry, I know I must have worried you.” The android shifted uncomfortably beneath Gavin’s scowl. “I needed to see Connor and the Lieutenant one last time.”

“What do you mean ‘one last time’?”

Nines visibly dropped. “I can’t stay in Detroit, Gavin. Neither can Connor. I thought you knew that?”

Gavin hadn’t thought of it. He had been too busy trying to find his boyfriend and later trying to convince himself that his boyfriend was still in existence and not some illusion. After that… he had no clue what the plan was. Perhaps, to just continue enjoying a love he had thought he lost.

“I love you,” continued Nines when Gavin had not. “If moving is too much, then I cannot force you to go. But, if I may add, my life is empty without my purpose as a detective; and it is also selfish to keep when it could imperil Connor’s safety. You are why I could not yet exterminate myself, Gavin. You were my first and last thought before stepping into one of those camps. If you say goodbye today, then I will understand, but please, I beg you to reconsider.”

Speechlessness was a rare condition for Gavin. His hand went slack, and he gaped with consternation, letting the LED clunk to the floor. From the first moment he had opened his eyes to this disgusting world, he had been a sour man. Although there were a few hidden gems, none of them compared to the way Nines had made him feel: so important, so loved. Could he really give that up to return to his life of android discrimination? For years, he despised their very being, hoping for the government to come to the consensus that they had finally arrived to. But now was different, now he was hopelessly in love with an android. An android built incapable of love who was now inconceivably begging for Gavin to stay. Was there even a level of shitty that existed within him to say no?

Despite the severity of the situation, Nines did not express a distinguishable emotion. His intense stare locked onto Gavin, nearly piercing straight through him into the void that was preparing for denial. The irony was not lost upon him, realizing that it was the android just last night promising he would never leave the despondent man; the tables were turned now. Gavin could provide it for him, it was not impossible to uproot his life and start fresh elsewhere.

Did he even have that much to lose? His still vocal cords told him he did.

For as much as Gavin hated many things, he would miss the familiarity of the DPD. He would miss the break room’s horrible coffee and fucking with Anderson on a daily. He would miss going on lunches to random places that Tina suggested and spitting out whatever dish she forced down his throat. He would even miss his damned broken chair that never stayed at the right height long enough for him to type up a single report. Yeah, as much as he hated a lot of it, he would miss this life.

But the pain that ripped through his chest when he realized Nines could have been gone forever… it was an unmistakably violent feeling he wouldn’t elect for anyone else to experience. The sheer rawness of his insides tortured his mind to the extent of self-harm. He would never admit to it, not even to himself, but the state of his existence was a questionable case had Nines not confronted him in his own apartment last night. A future without Nines was…indisputable.

That didn’t make the prospect of the change less difficult.

The befuddled man turned away and traveled to the far window, capturing a glance at the skyscrapers framed by the sill in his living room. Then, he turned, crossing his arms and meeting Nines’ line of sight. “Can we just enjoy one day without it all? No politics, no moving, no dumbass decisions like scalping your LED and putting yourself in danger. Just – one – day?”

The floor became a source of answers for Nines when it was made obvious that he did not care for his boyfriend’s. Without another word, the android joined Gavin by the window and folded him into his arms. Neither were unsure how long they could last there without discussing this emphatic problem, but neither wanted to know. And so they stood quietly in each other’s presence; Nines listening to the light breaths of his lover, and Gavin melting into the thrums of his android’s thirium pump.

Nines pressed his palm into Gavin’s tangled hair, inhaling his oily effervescence, and pressing his lips to the side of his temple. The man relaxed into his chest and smiled.

If the world ended right now, all their fears of their future would be completely irrelevant. There would be no reason Nines would have to decide whether life was worth living if Gavin denied him, nor would there be reason for Gavin to worry about leaving his old life behind.

If the world ended, there would be no reason for them to even say goodbye. They would be as they were, encompassing one another and riding out their affections until their beating organs failed.

Nines watched the outside world while he felt his lover inversely lose himself from it. They held each for what felt like hours. They held each other as the clouds passed from one corner of the window to the next.

They held each other and Nines watched coolly as the blue skies were shielded with roaring oranges that blocked out the sun.

They held each other until Nines could feel the ground tremble and he shushed his slumbering human back into his chest.

They held each other until Gavin inhaled a finalized breath, never to be proceeded by a relinquishing exhale.

Nines held on until his own systems depleted and he could no longer hold.

“I love you.”

[foxymuses]

@withechoedvoices​ sent: five times kissed for gavin & 900, under cut for length

the world has an interesting sense of humor. that has to be the explanation for why, in the wake of a failed android uprising, a new android shows up at the dpd. wouldn’t they have learned from the first? the way the rk800 manipulated everyone for his own – and cyberlife’s – benefit? but who are they to deny a military grade model, the only being given to local law across the nation. and of course, pair dangerously unstable android with a dangerously unstable human, that sounds like a good idea. perhaps the precinct will still be in one piece long enough for everyone to regret making that decision.

but here’s the funny thing about fate; sometimes, it takes the worst to bring out the best.

it starts small, hidden behind the aggravation the human displays towards anything he can set eyes or hands on. things break under his touch, people stand clear of the hurricane that never seems to end, stepping a few more steps back when the detective learns of his new partner. the others in the building expect unprecedented storms, look at the android in fear and wonder which of the two will break first, human or machine, and whether it will have been the other to do it. and oh, does the wind and rain come, barreling through the office screaming profanities and snarling at anyone who might breathe in his direction, cradling a hand to his chest after it had met the unmoving force that is the rk900.

a storm that only continued to escalate in a power dynamic seeking balance and finding only resistance, and all they can do is watch and hope that their lives might yet be spared from both android and detective, fearful that the way the android seems immune to the detective’s personality even as he threatens to lodge a bullet between the machine’s grey eyes, and the detective’s stupidly impressive bravado in staring down (well, up) into the eyes of a monster without hesitation will catch them all in the tsunami that must be following. dare anyone who is brave enough to approach the two, make a remark, see which will snap faster, a nose under the human’s fist or a wrist under the machine’s hand, and suddenly it makes sense, even if it doesn’t.

the human is a category five and yet in the eye of the storm now stands an android, the only one who could hope to withstand the damage it would take to get there.

and there’s a bet, of course there is, when, from within the comfort of the middle of the chaos, the android begins to pick at the human. the howling winds keep, have kept, everyone at bay but the detective can’t fight off the machine that has effortlessly dodged debris to stand beside him, can’t turn the storm in on itself, a fact the machine seems to know, to understand, to exploit.

and everyone is stuck watching with careful gazes and whispers over cups of coffee or unimportant case files, wondering if when one of them, human or machine, has enough, will it leave blood on the floor? blue or red, it doesn’t matter – and no longer does it matter if the blood will come from death. will it make them worse or make them bearable? money changes hand, names are drawn up, dates set and game on. a chess board of human versus machine, waiting to see which could reach a checkmate first, and how much carnage it would take.

if only they knew they were gambling chips, and the android they were betting on was counting cards.

900 knows it’s going to happen before the human does. not when, exactly, because as simple as the human is, he’s also remarkably hard to predict, since it’s impossible to know if someone is going to do something if they themselves haven’t figured it out before it happens. still, 900 had been poking and prodding at the detective’s limits, pushing past barriers and stretching the man thin on teasing. he’s impressed, if he can be, that it takes so long for the detective to give in (months, actually), but 900 is persistent and patient when he wants to be, designed to be careful and strategic, even when his mouth brushes dangerously close to the humans, even when wandering fingers play a bit too close to pass off as anything innocent, despite the angelic smiles and mock naivete the audience is witness to. everyone knows better, but everyone still watches with bated breath as days pass by, as the betting pool grows thinner and more chips are dumped before the android. maybe, they think. maybe they’ve imagined it

(1) but they haven’t and all the perfection of dedicated coding pays off when one comment too much, breathed against the man’s ear, has the human’s resolve shattering (and a lip splitting) as he claims a furiously hungry (and frankly, long overdue) kiss from the android, debris swept up into the winds that dance around them. the android who tastes the desire and the need on the man’s tongue, who can almost swallow the fucking finally that the man doesn’t realize he’s thinking, who promptly takes control, pushing the situation past pent up frustration into more than the detective was likely bargaining for, but in the cacophony of his storm cannot resist. no concern for the fact they’re pushing aside case files, random notes, letting things clatter to the floor in the middle of the precinct, where at any moment someone could walk in, could witness the end of the bet in a fully performative violent display

--- and then the human’s phone rings, and continues to echo shrilly through the room as the man seems not to hear it or chooses not to hear it before it silences and starts again. the human lets out a few curses, and for a moment the storm comes grinding to a halt as the taste of something new rests on his tongue mixing in with the tang of his own bloodied lip and the full realization of what he’d done, what he’d wanted to do for weeks now, settles on his shoulders and the phone goes quiet again, the world suddenly too silent as inhuman grey meets human and ---

the phone is cutting through the tension, the storm picking up speed in full force, and 900 is pulling back with a softly smug “you should answer that, detective”, wondering if the human would have let him go as far as he would have without the interruption. wondering if this is just a necessary delay; a taste of possibility.

the moment is over, but the human’s lips are red to match his cheeks, eyes still a bit dazed, clothes in a bigger state disarray than normal, stumbling out of the room like he’s been drinking on the job, and people are watching, breath held and eyes wide, unsure if the breaking of something was standard detective fury or a knife in the tension, and someone with a death wish, poor soul, thinks to stand, to ask, before the captain is yelling across the room about you’re on the job, reed, answer your goddamn phone and sense settles across the human’s features and his usual annoyed façade is back in place with returned insults, excuses that don’t make sense but nobody wants to question, and everybody is too afraid to question the android following behind the man with not a single sign anything had happened save the smallest of grins on his lips.

the next time doesn’t happen for months

in the midst of understanding this new rise in a feeling towards the machine, the detective pretends it hasn’t happened. and 900 waits, returning to his patience, a spark of humanity in letting the human process and attempt to understand (or ignore, as it were) – not necessarily out of care but because 900 knows the human mind is fragile, and to push too hard would break it. there’s more fun in seeing how hard he can push before letting it go – lets the detective seek out human companionship in an effort to drown their encounter, but peppers in teases and taunts about an android’s capabilities, the man’s sudden desire for physical relations after their kiss almost became something. works on breaking down the man’s walls when ---

death doesn’t happen to androids, but it may as well have. intensive damage, requiring intricate repair. 900 is not a connor, not an rk800, barely a proper rk900 – he cannot simply be uploaded into a new body. his parts are precise, injuries requiring specifics, and it takes longer to fix him than it should. he isn’t active for most of it, just a blink of software failure and then he’s on his way back to the dpd, back to a man that sees him sitting in his usual spot and freezes, genuine surprise on his face – and relief. an embrace that welcomes a breath of change into the partnership, stifled only by the detective’s continued relationship with another human. 900 is awake again, but sinking now beneath a strange emptiness at the exclusion.

his decision to request a transfer on the basis of a compromised working relationship settles in like an ending, only realized when the detective’s date comments on how he’s acting like 900’s decision was a break up. and there’s the detective’s irrationality, driving with the lieutenant that kept him alive when 900 wasn’t across the city in the middle of the night, breaking laws with no hesitation as he steals an android away from the processing center that has claimed him, realizing only when the two of them walk through the door that it’s not only 900 that has placed a claim on the human, but that perhaps the detective has placed his own on the android.

(2) the android who, until stepping through his human’s door, had been silent, now turns to the man with a smile holding promise, holding what could be warmth, holding the human’s cheek in a cool hand and murmurs, “i’m going to kiss you now,” with enough of a breath for the detective to reject it --- but he doesn’t. there’s hunger still, as there may always be, but a silent recognition, an acceptance that follows fingers across skin, clothes down a hall, crossing the line they’d almost crossed before in the safety of uninterruption. a gentle desperation, moments and words having built up a friction that creates static, that leaves marks as proof, and settles into a natural flow when light breaks through stained windows and fills the human’s home with the smell of coffee and domesticity, a soreness in his muscles that had ached for understanding for so long and now relaxes under the periwinkle gaze of his partner.

it becomes commonality, hidden in not so disguised places, in carefully obvious words. stolen kisses in stolen time in places far too open, android pressing the human against walls across the precinct, the detective daring to take initiative when the android will not. rumors fly and nobody knows for sure but it has to be a thing, the way they stand too close, the way the detective turns red at words whispered in his ear but doesn’t have the same weight to his anger and annoyance, his tone carrying frustration with a hint of adoration, matched to the android’s amused gaze and calm tone. they make sense, even in their chaos, the mess that tends to follow behind them wherever they go.

and there’s a mess – mess after mess after … but cyberlife wasn’t fucking around when they built 900, and persistence has been a key factor in his design from the start. trouble finds the two, the human and his android, the android and his human, threatens to pull them apart because it shouldn’t work. same-natured magnets are meant to repel, disaster can only breed disaster, but yet they triumph every time, meeting life with terrible insults and spit curses, wresting control away from those that want it with steely gazes and ruthless determination.

(3) it isn’t spoken until it is, an unconsidered thought give a voice after a dinner with his human’s family. protective nature out in full force, a couple comments too many and the android is causing a ‘domestic situation’, a silent, deadly reaction that nearly leaves the detective’s brother one arm less, and the significance is not lost to 900 but he has no family and therefore no basis for comparison when his detective is pulling him in for a kiss before they can even reach the car, or rather dragging him into the unadulterated glee at seeing his android, no, his partner in such defense of him that in an excited breath the words slip out and everything comes to a screeching halt.

except it doesn’t, because maybe the android doesn’t say it back, not in the way a human would, but it’s there in the way his lips form a fond smile, the way hands that had been minutes before threatening to tear off a limb now brush tender knuckles against flushed cheeks, and androids don’t have feelings, 900 will tell you that with full conviction, words spoken like they’re law, but when lips press in again to silence doubts, there’s an understanding that laws are made to be broken.

being physical is who they are, in rushed moments cast in shadows, in work meetings with brushed knees, in using proximity to explain attachment, to explain emotion. it’s in the way 900 keeps his body one step in front of the detective at any point, in how the android’s violence is never more impossibly present than when the human is in danger. a machine given a purpose, an android given a partner – an equation that will always equal protection no matter the variables, even as the hands of a coded killer turn from death to life, bones cracking becomes determined movements to save the detective’s life. power becomes precision become persistence becomes blatantly ignoring the warning lights flashing in his vision as his human bleeds out before him because 900 was not made to fail, and he won’t.

being physical is who they are, thrown against walls and doors and desks, leaving bite marks and bruises that tell the tale of who they are and what they do even amidst consistent denial, continued deflection. thrown objects or thrown words, threats and promises – a human has limits, 900 knows this, and he knows it better now, sitting in the darkness listening to unnecessary machines tell him the status of his human, knowing before their archaic designs do when the detective is waking up and 900 has never felt this before, relief at knowing something has happened despite his calculations telling him they knew already, because they didn’t at first. persistence. in the darkness until the human’s eyes open to light and 900 is there with words of ease, words of explanation, words that chase away the shadows that linger. words that promise it will never happen again.

(4) being physical is who they are, but their physicality isn’t built on violence and destruction. it’s built on the small kiss that 900 presses to his human’s forehead, the apology, the fear, the relief setting a home on top the foundation they have been slowly building around them. a home neither knew they needed until the detective wakes up in a new bed tucked against the android’s chest and doesn’t immediately pull back with a halfhearted excuse and instead closes his eyes and goes back to sleep.

the two may have caught up to themselves but the world has not – their existence is defiance in the face of what they both once stood against. enemies line the streets from either side, angry and bitter, demanding misplaced justice from those that seem happy in times of trial. god forbid they find themselves facing the threat of complacency, but their job comes with trials, and their species each comes with their own rebels. fury that the very one created to keep androids programmed like perfect little machines at the whim of humanity is now recklessly attached to one that had claimed to hate the very being that he now needs. rage that this connection gives the android designed to keep the revolution a faint wish on an ra9 star leverage in a world where he should be torn apart for his actions. hatred that he can walk free among the humans when he does not even consider himself alive, when he is fighting neither the revolution or the people that stop it. they want revenge, they want answers --- they want to know what peculiarities are in his coding, tear him apart so they can understand why he gets to be who he is without consequence, no they want to tear him apart to make a point but cyberlife has learned and cyberlife is prepared and military androids don’t traipse through enemy lines without contingencies, a ticking time bomb in his storage, in his files, a knowledge that his human will come for him but the barest trace of concern it won’t happen in time...

mess after mess after mess, and they persist, but this one threatens it all. the human gets to play hero this time, is allowed to be the one rushing to save his partner’s life for once except --- he fails, of course he fails, how could a human match against a group of furious deviants? against the law that binds him in occupation and in existence? if he couldn’t prevent 900 from being stolen away in the first place, what good is he against the ones that did it? a dangerous desire encased in a reckless fury of a detective mounts a carelessly designed rescue that becomes tinged with concern at the state of the android after those that took him are cut down but hope because 900 is blinking, he’s alive, he might need repairs and the detective came prepared with blue blood, had braced for the worst but 900 is there and he’s in one piece and maybe, maybe the detective hasn’t gotten this wrong and then “don’t fucking scare me like that, nines” is met with an empty gaze and suddenly it doesn’t matter if the human found the android alive or not, because the words he’s hit with feel an awful lot like grief.

who are you?

and the weeks when 900 was ‘dead’ were torture in the face of a relationship that hadn’t even started, but now 900′s right there, he’s alive, they’re both alive, they’re both something now, or they should be, they’re supposed to be, and being physical is who they are except now 900 isn’t, and where the detective once wished for distance he now craves the personal invasion and a day full of frustrated looks becomes weeks of hope slowly dying becomes months of seemingly random encounters while the detective grapples with the loss of someone who isn’t gone and the android tries to understand the desire for something that isn’t there.

and it would be fitting to describe the moment of recollection, the straw on the camel’s back that has the detective turning in his badge because he can’t look into the eyes of the person he loves and see nothing staring back any more, the moment that has the truth hammering through the memory wipe in 900’s mind and shattering his coding on the ground the way the human’s resolve did months (no, years) ago and it’s ridiculous how human he sounds, the panic, the desperation, the recognition in his voice when he calls to the detective, and the human turns with a snarl on to be halted by those goddamn eyes seeing him again for the first time in months –

(5) but that’s not the kiss that needs attention, because it’s the one that takes place several hours later in the courthouse on a spontaneous decision that defies logic, that breaks the law through coercing and manipulation of a federal employee before it breaks the law in granting a license to a couple – yes, a couple – that shouldn’t even exist, brief because of the eyes watching (confused, scared, awed at their sudden demand of urgency to attend a matter as a witness, at the danger in the android’s tone when the judge tries to refuse, at the softness in realization of how something can defy all expectations), but official.

the kiss that says ‘we are partners’ without a trace of sarcasm, that is hungry not in heat but in love, in wanting to be known and finally feeling found, in continuing to prove that nobody understands why things happen but that there must be a plan because how else would someone explain the impossibility of continuing to come back together each time they are pushed apart if not for divine intervention? (spite, they’d tell anyone. spite and an unhealthy amount of sex).

it’s the kiss the finalizes all the pain as having been worth it, and it’s the kisses that follow at the jeweler’s an hour later, at the lieutenant’s house surrounded by family that evening, in the car before they make it home, before they can get through the door, stumbling with 900’s guidance into walls down the hall of their house to begin their lives the way they deserve.

the world may have a sense of humor, but the human and his android, the android and his human -- they get the last laugh.

[wandercr-arc]

SKY’S BIAS LIST.

hiya! so, i don’t know how common these bias lists are anymore, but it’s been quite awhile since i’ve done one. (probably since 2016?? damn.) but i have a lot of amazing people that i follow, and i feel like you all deserve a little recognition. now, one thing that i enjoy doing with these bias lists is to not only point out the blogs i love, but to tell you all why i do. i feel like it makes these bad boys a little more personal, and can hopefully bring a little brightness to someone’s day. so, without further ado, here’s the list: (in no particular order; i’m just going through my following list)   //   under a cut for length. apologies in advance for typos. 

@fromlandtosea   /   @longthoughtlost   ---   RIN. there’s so much i could write here. you’ve been my friend for so long, and have put up with all of my nonsense for so long. i adore laura and every other muse that you write. you bring such a different life and voice to each of your characters, and i admire your ability to come up with unique and intertwined backstories for them. i will always love all of the threads, verses, and headcanons we’ve come up with together. you have absolutely made my time in the fallout community worthwhile, and i feel so very fortunate to call you my friend. (and also that you only show slight disappointment in all the stupid stuff that i do and tell you about lol)   ♥

@betterhealing   /   @sanguinariis   /   @psychotheory   ---    i love every character that you write. you’ve been willing to write with me on all of my blogs pretty much since the day i joined the fallout rpc, and your consistent support has meant the world to me. you clearly put a lot of time, thought, and effort into your characters, and it shows in their multitude of well-developed verses, relationships, and headcanons.

@iinxsearchofxisolde   ---   we haven’t had the chance to interact much, but you and tristan are always a joy to have on my dash. i think that your choice to write a brotherhood outcast is extremely unique and interesting. they’re a faction that was kind of lost in the fray, and i love seeing your headcanons about them and how tristan fits in. he’s also a very intriguing, multi-facted character with a distinct voice, and it’s been great to watch you develop him over the past few years.

@disciplc   ---   lainey !!! we haven’t been friends for very long, but i am so glad we are. i adore all of our discussions about nisha and el, and i appreciate how supportive and kind you always are towards me. i’ve followed your nisha for a long time . . . technically . . . and i’ve always loved how you write her! hell, i always appreciate people stealing side characters from bethesda and making them their own, and you’ve truly done that with her. she’s a perfect mix of danger and softness (emphasis on the danger ;-0). 

@pinkmanipulated   /   @hydrophobiic   ---   victoria, oh my god, we have written together for what feels like ages, and your writing, art, and dedication to your muses never ceases to amaze me. i’ve already mentioned this, but seeing how you write jesse has made me actually want to watch breaking bad, which is something i thought i’d never say. (and i promise i’ll get to giving it a go eventually ;w;) i can tell how much you care about his character and how much effort you’ve put into your characterization, and i love every bit of it. it’s the same amount of pride and dedication you’ve put into all of your muses, canon or oc, and you know for a fact  that i’ll follow and interact with you on whatever blog you choose to write on.

@fictitioussouls   ---   not gonna lie, i enjoy every character you write, original or canon. i’m so glad to see you back and active on the dash again, and that you still have the same love for all of your muses + a bunch of new ones. :’)) you create such unique and detailed backstories for your original characters (emily, diana, and sophia still have my whole heart tbh), and you keep them very consistent. i also enjoy reading the threads you have with rin, and hearing about the headcanons and worlds you guys have built together! overall, i’m very happy to see you on my dash again.

@america-redefined   ---   eliana might hate having enclave blogs on the dash, but i sure don’t! :’) we haven’t interacted (yet), but i’d definitely love to. i think you do an excellent job writing nathan, and capturing the attitude and aura of the enclave with the way you’ve created him. it’s clear that he has a lot going on beneath the surface, and that you’ve put thought into what kind of character you want him to be. i really like the way you’ve brought him into the fallout 4 timeline, too, and how his life changes once he’s no longer with the enclave. (i was scrolling through your blog the other day, and saw the post about all of his goals in the enclave, and then how those all disappear within the institute and might have chuckled a bit at the “mighty have fallen” trope vibes that gave me)

@adxmortem   ---   the amount of development you’ve done for harlan is just wild to me, i’ve got to be honest. you’ve taken him in his very own, unique direction, and i really admire that! (and it also reminds me that we really need a new orleans based fallout, stat.) he has a very strong voice, and you have an incredible grasp on his character. i’ve enjoyed the threads we’ve done together, and i hope we get to write more in the future! i also very much appreciate you for the immense kindness you’ve shown me in the past when it comes to my personal life. that will always mean the world to me.  ♥

@gwinnetts   ---   oh gosh, you are such a fun and prominent addition to my dash! the funny content and interactions you bring to the dash aside, i’m in awe of the amazingly detailed write-ups you post about your muses as well as the fallout lore. like a lot of the people on this list, you are someone who puts in a lot of thought to your muses, and really brings them to life in a distinct manner. i’ve also greatly enjoyed the ooc chats we’ve had!!

@shellheadtm   ---   we haven’t had many chances to interact, but i think your portrayal of tony is top notch. you capture his voice perfectly, and like gwinnetts above, always bring funny conversations / interactions to the dash, and i think that just makes it a brighter place for everyone! you’re an insanely talented writer, and your expansion of tony’s characterization and verses is fantastic.

@primeacumen   ---   viv is one of those really amazing, multi-faceted ocs that i would highly recommend anybody follows. we haven’t interacted a ton (mostly because i’m slower than molasses), but, from what i’ve seen of her, she’s wonderful. fandomless ocs often don’t get the love they deserve, so i want you to know that i see you and viv, and i am here supporting you 100%. people take for granted the amount of work that goes into building an oc for multiple verses, and it’s obvious you’ve done that work for her.

@not-completely-human   ---   i honestly knew nothing about alita when i first followed your blog; i just knew that you were a friendly and lovely person who i was willing to write with, and so here i am! i enjoy all of our threads together (and i will def enjoy the ones that my slow self needs to write starters for lol). i enjoy how you write alita, and the enthusiasm that you have for her. your writing has a nice flow, is easy to read, and i love all the little details and background you fit into it. and, you, of course, are such a nice person to talk to, and i’m very glad we follow each other!

@remnantrecruit   ---   another enclave oc for eliana to despise and me to love! we haven’t written together in awhile (which we should totally try and change soon :’0), but i enjoy seeing abner on my dashboard as much as i did when we first followed each other! enclave ocs are so rare as it is, but abner really stands out as a character even without that. his background is so sad but good. i also just appreciate your interaction with my posts, irl and character related. (your comment on my post when i was anxious about doing something dumb when i was driving still means a lot to me. it’s always nice to be reminded that we’re all human and capable of doing stupid things with two ton moving contraptions.)

@persistentflower   ---   what is there to say except i love violet ,,,, neutral karma lone wanderers are pretty rare in my experience, and i think you do a good job of capturing what it means for violet to be that. she and eliana contrast well, and i love their relationship, and how they support each other, no matter what verse we write in. (and the fact that we’ve essentially created a mini self-contained verse for our muses). i enjoy our chats ooc, too, and i look forward to us writing and interacting more !!

@miss-moreno   ---   we haven’t gotten to flesh out kay and eliana’s friendship, yet, but i see so much potential for them in what we’ve got going so far. kay has the sort of spirit that eliana loves, and i’m so excited to see where our threads take the two of them! in general, i like how you write kay, and how her life pre-war seems to haunt her quite a bit, and also how she knows she’s playing double agent for the railroad pretty early on. 

@ninesis   ---   i’ve seen quite a few portrayals of rk900, but yours is definitely one of my favorites! i like that your nines is very job-oriented, but still soft and sociable and overall just a Good Boy. he comes across as very likeable, and you write him as a consistent and well thought out portrayal!

@intelligentmiinds   ---   i love all of your blogs, but since this is your main atm, this is where you’re getting love. :’)) bailey, i enjoy each of your characterizations. you bring a unique and accurate voice to each one. based on what i’ve seen from your ooc posts lately, i know you’ve been going through some rough times, and i hope you know that you are so important ! and loved ! and even if people are shitty and don’t understand you, you always have people who care about you, too. (and i hope you can get your ferret soon! small animals are the best. i have two bunnies and can vouch for them. :’)) )

@contrariian   ---   i have been lucky enough to interact with two of your muses so far, but you should know that i adore what i’ve seen of all your muses. you write such a wide array of characters, and each of them has a personality that comes across in how you write them. your writing style is so gorgeous and nice to read, too. 10/10 would interact whenever

@vocaliist   ---   i followed you on your previous blog for magnolia and the one you had for des, and what continues to knock me off my feet about all of your blogs is your style. i always admire people who can write in a way that is somewhat poetic and very pretty without making it impossible to understand, and you do just that. plus, who doesn’t love magnolia?? i look forward to writing with you some more!

@synthesan   ---   i’ve already jumped into your ims to yell about how cute ode is, but here i am again, anyway. we haven’t followed each other for long, but gosh i love what i’ve read from you and ode so far. i’m a sucker for synth ocs, and she’s such a fun one with an amazing backstory. you are also so great to talk to ooc, and i hope we can yell about our muses and videogames more in the future :’))

@synthmama   ---   okay, i can’t lie, your blog is one of those that i admired from afar for a long time because i was a bit intimidated by it. not in a bad way, but in a ‘holy cow this person is an amazing writer and creator’ kinda way. you and quinn have been around for a long time, and you’ve grown her character a lot in that span. it’s so cool to see how you fit her into other universes, and how she interacts with the fallout world. institute sole survivors are also very seldom seen around here, and so i appreciate that quinn took that route, and that you had her do it in a way that doesn’t entirely conflict with her morals. 

@neomacaught   ---   you are absolutely one of the sweetest muns i’ve ever interacted with, tbh. your enthusiasm for threads and the wellbeing of your fellow roleplayers is such a lovely thing to see on my dash!! and neoma is such a cute character. i think she and el’s interactions have just been incredible. i like that she’s a bit awkward, yet very straight-forward, and that she upholds high morals. she fits in with el pretty damn well, and i think they’ll be very good friends!! plus, i can tell that you’ve put a lot of work into neoma purely by taking a peek at your blog; you have so many verses and ideas for her. she definitely deserves a lot of love

@voiceofmany   ---   we haven’t followed each other for very long (or interacted, which is my bad for being slow to talk to people about threads lol), but i wanted to mention you on here, regardless. i honestly am not familiar with a whole lot of your muses, but the way you right them, and your writing style, tends to draw my eye so much that i often find myself reading through your threads as i scroll the dash. the way you change dialogue to fit your characters is pretty damn great, and it’s always obvious you’re writing for/in a different voice for each of them

@theirsalvation   ---   we also haven’t followed each other for very long, but i enjoy the content that i see from your blog!! you have a wide range of muses that all come across as very different and distinct in the way that they’re written. when i read your reply from josh this morning, i was awed by how well you captured his voice and mannerisms, tbh. so, yeah, i hope we can interact a bit more sometime soon!! B)

[dat-fandom-losertown]

The Drift Between Us

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Chapter 2: Evaluations

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Hank Andersson x Connor and Gavin Reed x RK900 (Ritch)

Genre: Fluff, Action, A bit of Angst, Pacific Rim!AU

Warnings: There’s a “controlled” fight and Good ol’ Hank swearin’ it up

Word Count: 10,119

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Previous <~> Masterlist <~> Next

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    Ritch wakes up the next morning to the sound of his alarm clock blaring in his ear. He grumbles as he shuts it off, but makes himself sit up so he doesn’t get the urge to roll back to sleep. Out of the twins, Connor has always been the lighter sleeper for whatever reason and has always been quicker at getting up. One would think that being identical twins means everything about them beyond personality traits are identical, but that certainly isn’t the case for them.

    Ritch’s brain finally wakes up enough to properly take in his surroundings, and he notices Connor sitting at the desk writing something in a notebook. He has never once kept any kind of journal or record of his daily life, so it’s strange to see him writing when there are no assignments yet. Ritch contemplates asking what’s claimed his entire attention, but he looks really into what he’s doing, so Ritch settles with just getting up to the bathroom silently and leaving Connor to it. Normally he would greet Ritch or do something to acknowledge his presence, but Connor doesn’t seem to even realize that his brother’s alarm went off. It must be important to him.

    Ritch quickly goes through his morning routine in the small bathroom before changing into fresh clothes and stepping back into their shared room. Connor is no longer writing in the notebook and appears almost sheepish where he’s sitting in the chair. His leg is bouncing rapidly and he’s picking at his nails, both bad habits that Amanda has scolded him for doing time and time again. He only does this when he’s nervous, anxious, and/or thinking too hard. All Ritch has to do to get him talking is tilt his head and raise one eyebrow just a smidge.

    “I’ve started keeping notes about any happenings during my days so I can try to do a better job of not making a fool of myself by being reminded of and learning from past mistakes and successes. That and maybe a few notes about the people I meet so I know how to cater to them so they don’t hate us, cause what I do affects you too. But I also don’t want it to look like I’m desperate for validation since that’s a recurring problem, like you tried to tell me yesterday.”

    Ritch’s eyebrows furrow and his mouth morphs into a frown of confusion and concern.

    “Did North say something to you yesterday?”

    Connor’s head snaps up, “What? No. No, she– It’s not her fault for being curious.” Connor’s gaze falls back to his shoes, “And it wasn’t just her, they were all curious. I just never know when to shut my mouth and now they all probably think we’re freaks or snobbish overachievers.”

    “What exactly did you tell them?” Ritch gets defensive, knowing what kinds of strange things can spill out of Connor’s mouth when pushed into a corner. Connor is tearing at his fingernails now, rather than just picking, and his eyes stay glued to his shoes.

    “...that we’ve trained for over ten years already.” He finally looks up, “Apparently that isn’t a normal amount of time at all. They only trained a year before they came here.”

    That’s what Connor is worried about? That’s it?

    “Is that truly all you said?” Ritch tilts his head.

    “Yes, but still!”

    “If it makes you feel better, they approached me about that during dinner last night. They think we’re very dedicated and will make good pilots. They don’t think we’re freaks or snobbish at all. If anything, they think Amanda is a freak for making us start so young.”

    Connor’s leg halts and his hands slow just as his eyes glaze over, seeing something on a different plain of existence.

    “...oh.”

    Ritch nods. “You haven’t managed to do us in yet, Connor, so calm down.” he responds gently.

    Connor shakes his head and Ritch can tell he returns to Earth, “...okay. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been worried about something as small as that anyway.”

    Connor stands from the chair, shaking his head again. When he fully straightens, he puts on such a good mask that even Ritch wouldn’t have been able to tell anything was seriously bothering him if they hadn’t had this chat. Connor’s eyes meet his with the slightest smile in a false show of confidence and content. Ritch knows better than to call him out on the act by now.

    “We should start heading out to breakfast if we want to make it to our first class on time.” Connor declares.

    Connor then happily spins towards their makeshift shoe rack to put on his boots. Ritch follows his lead but doesn’t move as swiftly as his twin, not feeling any need to rush. There’s no doubt that Connor is feeling embarrassed and maybe guilty about what his mindset was again; another side effect from all those years of living with Amanda.

    The thing about Amanda is that she isn’t a bad person, per se, she just has her own way of doing things and has an image in her mind to fulfill. If someone doesn’t follow exactly what her views and goals are, she isn’t very receptive to those changes. That being said, she had an image of what he and Connor should look like as jaeger pilots in her mind, and that image did not include any fidgeting on Connor’s part whatsoever, nor does it include how completely and wholly he feels that people need to “not hate” him, either. It’s seen as a weakness in her eyes, and it did in Ritch’s eyes at one point in time too, because Connor is definitely the kind of person who would put someone’s life over the mission. That apparently isn’t the ideal soldier for Amanda.

    She also has certain things against Ritch, but they apparently weren’t as important to “fix” as Connor’s were. Like how Ritch looks like he’s constantly scowling or glaring even when he definitely isn’t– North called it “resting bitch face” yesterday over dinner.Amanda also doesn’t like the fact Ritch wears lighter colors, since they get dirty and stain so much easier than Connor’s choice range of colors. She doesn’t like how Ritch only talks when he needs something or a response is needed and apparently has less inflection to his tone than most people. She also used to get short with Ritch whenever he’d try to prevent or defuse problematic situations because “it’s not your job to make sure there’s no fighting, it’s just your job to end it if necessary.” Ritch easily ignores that so-called “tip” more often than even he feels he should.

    Someone ramming into his shoulder in the walkway yanks Ritch out of his thoughts.

    “Hey! Watch it dick head!” someone swears far too loud to be standing next to him.

    Time to ignore that “tip” one more time, because Ritch wants to curse the brunette with stubble out because it was his fault they ran into each other. As much as it didn’t look like it, Ritch was watching where he was going and he was walking on the correct side of the hallway. This man had to have gone out of his way to bump into Ritch. However, Ritch is not one to fuel or contribute to fights, so he’s going to apologize briefly and walk away, because that’s exactly what this arrogant guy doesn’t want him to do.

    “I’m sorry, I guess I was lost in thought.” he turns to walk away, “Have a good day, sir.”

    “That’s it?” He huffs. “What a suck up.”

    Ritch has to close his eyes and clench his jaw to keep himself from snapping some kind of quip at the asshole. His hands clamp into tight fists for a second before he forces them to relax, then he walks away, disappointed in himself for showing a reaction to the idiot’s pitifully cheap words. He’s almost to the cafeteria when a familiar voice calls out behind him.

    “Hey Gavin! Wait up!”

    So that was the “Gavin Reed” Pilot Persons warned him about yesterday evening when they ran into each other by the cafeteria entrance. Ritch fully understands now what she meant by “hot headed” and “irritable”. He idly wonders if Gavin has something against the new trainees or if he targets anyone that shows any kind of weakness. He’s willing to bet on the second option, as upsetting as it is.

    Ritch finally makes into the food court area and make towards the line. He spots his brother sitting in the same spot as he did last night, at the table Pilot Persons warned was off limits to anyone who isn’t named Hank Anderson. Connor sitting there last night was likely just a mistake, but this morning it’s no doubt deliberate. The only reason Connor’s getting away with it now is because Mr. Anderson isn’t sitting there this morning. The old man probably doesn’t wake up in time to make it to breakfast from the few things he’s heard about him.

    For now, Ritch leaves Connor to do whatever he wants for now and sits with the Manfreds and North. He was invited to sit with them again at dinner yesterday after he invited himself to the table and engaged in some admittedly pleasant conversation. He handles the more personal questions much better than Connor, and also asks others less of those kinds of questions as well. When they’re together they balance each other out (which is one thing Amanda was actively pleased about), but alone, Connor is more of a wreck than Ritch is. He just needs to learn how to better manage his emotions, and he’ll be all set.

    “Ritch!” North calls out, causing the other three to turn in their seats to see the subject of her shout.

    “Hey, Ritch!” Markus waves.

    “Good morning!” Simon smiles at him. He definitely fits the self-proclaimed title “mom-friend” of the group.

    Josh simply nods at him with a small smile and wave.

    “Good morning everyone.” Ritch sets his tray down next to North and sits, “How did you guys sleep last night?”

    “I slept okay–” Markus starts to answer while North jokes “On the bed.”

    “North.” Josh and Markus groan. North only smirks and shrugs.

    Simon takes it upon himself to answer, “The beds are kind of stiff and really cramped, but it was better than the hard floor and chairs we got when we were waiting for the helicopter.”

    Everyone agrees with different levels of annoyance at the situation and relief that they didn’t have to stay on the floor last night.

    “Hey, where’s Connor?” Josh asks.

    “He’s eating at Mr. Anderson’s table this morning, same place as last night.”

    Markus winces, “Is he still mad at us for yesterday?”

    “No, he was never mad actually. He’s just embarrassed. He thinks he made you guys think we’re both, in his words, ‘freaks’ and ‘overachieving snobs’. So he’s doing what Connor does best and he’s trying to avoid similar situations until he believes you guys have forgotten about yesterday.” Ritch starts eating his food.

    “But he didn’t even do anything?” Simon asks, lifting eggs to his mouth.

    “You should tell him that yourself, then. He doesn’t believe me when I say those kinds of things anymore.” Not since the incident happened, he doesn’t add aloud. Instead he says “I assume you all know how it is with siblings.”

    The all nod, hum, or both then fall quiet. A few beats of silence pass, then North finally does what he’s growing to learn what she does second best (right behind threatening things and people), and breaks it.

    “So, what do you think we’re gonna do in training today?”

    They spend the rest of the time they have before they have to head off to their first training session talking about what they think said class will entail. They all agree there will be an assessment today, but they disagree on what kind and decide to set a bet. Ritch thinks the pairs will be tested on compatibility through different tests and the singles will watch and learn or do their own thing. North thinks they’ll be pitted against each other to test skill, while Markus instead believes they will be tested on how they react in certain situations for future reference. Simon thinks there will be a written test to see how much they know already, and Josh believes there will be mental evaluations that are more in depth than the ones they had to pass to successfully sign up for this training.

    They step into the training room to see that, so far, it’s only Connor, Traci, and Kelly and Leon in the room so far, and they’re all training with different things. Kelly and Leon seem to be in a deep discussion about something, and Traci is in the middle of doing stretches. Connor, on the other hand, is in the back corner going at it on the punching bag, and while the others think he’s just started because he isn’t breaking a sweat, Ritch knows better.

    Despite how mentally messed up Amanda left the both of them without anyone really realizing except them, all those years weren’t for naught. She did extremely well in coaching them when it came down to the endurance aspects of their training, which is rather important when fist fighting a giant reptile-alien-monster thing.

    Bidding his new friends farewell, he steps to go over to Connor and check up on him, but Simon stops him with a hand on his arm. The only reason he doesn’t freeze and straighten up is because his gentle grip is much different than Amanda’s harsh one was. It’s almost comforting.

    “You said it’d be better if we told him that everything’s fine ourselves?”

    “Oh yeah,” North begins, “I already forgot about that. Well, we should probably do that now so we don’t have as much of an audience.” Josh stops her from walking over there.

    “I think Markus should go alone. He’s got a way with people and words. And if we all approach him he’s probably gonna get all awkward and skittish.”

    “That’s a good point.” Simon nods.

    “Alright, I’ll go talk to him real quick then. I’ll be right back.”

    As Markus walks over to chat with Connor, the other four go off and do their own thing so they aren’t just huddled in a group staring at them from across the room. Ritch doesn’t get to see what Simon and Josh decided to do because North launches herself at the twin in a poor attempt of a surprise attack. Ritch dodges it easily, which makes North swing another attack that Ritch easily dodges again. This quickly escalates into a duel that North never has a chance at winning, but he still goes easy on her so he doesn’t accidentally break or dislocate something of hers. By the time North finally tires and learns that she has no hope of beating him, they’ve gathered a small audience of other trainees.

    Ritch steps back from the marked area to look for Connor, whom he finds standing off to the side with Markus, Simon, and Josh. The twins make eye contact, then Connor’s eyes pointedly flick to the right slightly, then back on him, nothing else about him changing. Understanding the code that something’s coming up behind him, Ritch turns around and catches North getting ready to pounce on his back. She deflates almost immediately with a groan and Ritch can’t help but smirk.

    “You do realize that starting a duel with someone outside of the designated area isn’t allowed, right?”

    “No, I didn’t know that, but it’s not like the instructors are watching or anything.”

    Ritch doesn’t give a response, instead choosing to turn around and finally make his way to the group of four. North follows close behind, no longer a threat to him (not that she ever really was, though).

    It turns out that Markus really does have a way with people and words, because Connor doesn’t look the slightest bit awkward sitting here with the four exact people that sent him into a mini-spiral this morning. When North starts trying to claim that she almost had Ritch down a couple of times during their duel, Connor calmly informs her that he was going easy on her. Everyone laughs at the offended whine North gives at the information, but Ritch takes Connor’s carefully calm tone to heart. After all, he is the one person who truly knows Ritch’s strength and skill first hand, and is the one person in this room who can match it.

    After all of the trainees arrives and have some time to mingle around, Chloe and a huge man with dark skin and darker hair they’ve never seen before calmly walk into the room. Almost instantly, four people move to the right side of the room to line up against the wall similarly to how they did yesterday. Everyone else gets the hint and migrates to that side of the room as well. By the time the two instructors make it to the center of the room, everyone is (hopefully) in the spot they were lined up in yesterday, completely unprompted. This gets a kind, pleased smile on the unfamiliar man’s face.

    “Hello everybody,” the man starts with a soothing, low voice, which doesn’t quite match his huge and bulky appearance, “I’m surprised you guys lined up without instruction. That’s really good! With the other groups I’ve taught I’ve had to spend a while getting people in order.” The man looks to Chloe, who looks minuscule next to him, “Did you tell them to do this?”

    “No, I have no clue who did this.”

    “Chris Miller told us three to do this yesterday, sir and ma’am.” a woman’s– Rico’s?– voice says.

    Doesn’t matter. Speaking out of turn leads to punishme–

    “Well then, I’ll have to give my regards to him, then. He made my job much easier.” he smiles again, and it reaches his eyes.

    Oh. Was that another “just Amanda” thing?

    “Next time though, I’d advise strongly against speaking without being directly addressed to. It can lead to trouble. Okay?”

    I‘m confused. Everything here is different than expected…

    “Yes sir.”

    “Good. Now, my name is Luther and I will be your instructor and trainer until you either quit or graduate and become pilots. Before we begin, does anyone have any questions?”

    The guy standing standing next to Ritch– was it Alex or Allen?– raises his hand, and Luther– or should it be Mr. Luther? He should probably ask that– nods at him.

    “How much can you lift with muscles like yours?” he asks impudently.

    Ritch sees the mistake immediately, so he raises his hand in hopes that Luther will elect to ignore the dumbass next to him. Luther sighs and closes his eyes before he can see Ritch’s hand; this is obviously far from the first time he’s been asked a question like this. Luther opens his eyes and they land on Ritch. He nods at him without addressing Alex whatsoever, meaning Ritch’s plan worked.

    “Do you prefer Mr. Luther or..?”

    The instructor doesn’t quite smile, but his face lightens after Alex’s nonsense question, “Just Luther is fine. Mr. Luther sounds too distant and formal. I try to be someone you guys can trust.”

    Ritch nods silently. When no one else raises their hand after several seconds, Luther continues on to explain what today’s plans are.

    Turns out, everyone at the breakfast table this morning was right in some way.

    Every person who came alone is going to start out the day by dueling against Luther one by one, just so he can get a feel for what each person’s skill set and fighting patterns so he can better match pairs. While that’s happening, the people who came as pairs are going to duel for at least five minutes under Chloe’s watch to see if each pair is actually drift compatible, or if they were kidding themselves. After that, they’re going to do physical tests to see what each person’s limit is endurance, strength, and flexibility-wise because apparently the new jaegers that are almost done being built have a much wider range of movement than their predecessors.

    After that will be lunch, and after lunch, while they’re tired and sore if Chloe and Luther “do their jobs right”, they will take an extensive test to see what needs to be taught and what can be lightly brushed over. Luther also explains that if anyone gets a high enough score on this test, they’ll probably be appointed as tutors for the slower trainees. With the end of the explanation finally over, Luther steps back and gestures to the two marked areas on the ground and asks if there are any volunteers to go first.

    Of course, North volunteers herself and Josh to go first, even though it’s clear that Josh doesn’t want to. That earns an evaluating look from Chloe and a scribble in her notebook. Alex volunteers to go against Luther first, and Ritch cringes at how violent and cocky he sounded. As Alex walks into the designated area, Connor leans over to mumble something in his ear.

    “He’s not going to make it.”

    “He’s too eager to fight.” Ritch agrees. These types of topics were pretty much the only thing the brothers could talk to each other about without stepping on eggshells throughout the conversation. “I think they’ll push him harder than the rest of us. Put him in his place or make him explode or want to quit.”

    “I think he’ll quit if they do that. I don’t think he realizes how hard and how much thinking being a jaeger pilot actually takes.”

    “If he doesn’t quit or learn to calm himself and think clearly, they’ll fail him just for that.”

    Connor nods in agreement and leans back to standing straight again, turning his head away from Ritch to watch North and Josh spar. Josh doesn’t look too entirely happy to be doing that, but North looks delighted, almost too delighted. North throws the first punch which Josh blocks, then she throws another that gets dodged. The next few minutes go on like this, with North on offense and Josh on defense while occasionally throwing a few counter attacks. Connor leans back into Ritch’s space.

    “As much as I hate to say it, I don’t think Josh is gonna make it.”

    Ritch nods once, “From the few conversations I’ve had with him, he has more of a peaceful heart, he’d rather use words than force, and North is the complete opposite.”

    “They’re compatible, I’d say, with how easily they’re making predicting the other’s moves look, but I don’t think Josh will want to stay until the end, and I don’t think North will be compatible with any of the singles.”

    Ritch nods thoughtfully in agreement. Connor stands upright again, effectively ending their little evaluation.

    The thump of something hitting the ground followed by a pained grunt and groan alerts Ritch and Connor that Alex just got beat by Luther. Looking over at the other ring, the twins see Alex on the ground rubbing his tailbone and complaining while Luther looks down on him in disappointment. Ritch can’t help but smirk at the sight. If he were a lesser man, he’d probably snort or chuckle, but he thankfully isn’t.

    “Alex, you are too eager to fight and throw yourself into danger for the sake of violence. You need to focus on your defense. Slow down and think during battles.”

    “I need more practice is what I need.” Alex snaps back.

    This isn’t going to be pretty. Ritch can tell that Connor has the same thought even without looking.

    “This is the first day, so I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that and not throw you straight into punishments, but know that I will not be as lax with you from now on.

    “Think I’m too weak to handle a bit of ‘punishing’? I’m a future pilot, I can handle anything you throw at me.”

    The twins look at each other in a way that could only mean “oh no” and silently agree to turn to watch as North and Josh finish up their little test. Luther’s voice catches their attention before they can really watch, though.

    “Looks like even the people in this class know what you just said wrong. Do you want take that back?”

    “I meant what I said. I’ve been training for three years already! I can handle what you throw at me!”

    The twins share another look, this time more of a “he thinks that’s impressive?” kind of look, then turn back to Alex and Luther. Alex has his arms crossed, chest puffed out, and head held high, while Luther just looks tired and already done with the self-proclaimed adult. There’s no doubt in the brother’s minds that Alex won’t survive a week here. Luther crosses his arms and tilts his head, which makes him look much more intimidating than before.

    “Three years, huh? That it?”

    “It’s three more years than everyone else has here.”

    “Seven years less, actually,” Connor scoffs under his breath. Ritch can’t stop the smirk from spreading on his face until Alex glares lasers in their direction. He apparently heard Connor’s mumbling.

    “What was that, asshole?”

    “Alex!” The young adult snaps his head back to Luther, finally looking a bit worried, “Why don’t you go report to Marshal Fowler, I’m sure he has some intern work you can do. You know, if you’re already set for being a jaeger pilot.”

    Alex finally has the mind to not push Luther on this order. He nods once, and “yes sir,” is all he says before marching out with hands balled into fists.

    “Now that that’s over.” Luther sighs, “Rico! You’re up! And all of you feel free to learn from the people before you!” Luther smiles nicely, as if that whole debacle never happened.

    Thankfully, no one else causes any troubles after that show. After North’s and Josh’s round was over, Chloe tells North that she needs to touch up on her defense, and that Josh needs to be more aggressive in his fighting if he plans on taking on kaijus. Kelly and Leon go next, and they’re a good balance. Chloe doesn’t mention any immediate concerns, either. Then Simon and Markus volunteer to go up next.

    They seem hesitant to start fighting– which can be seen as a good thing, considering they’re supposed to always be working together– but once they get to sparring, it’s obvious they’re drift compatible. Even if they don’t do as much actual fighting as the other pairs, it’s partially because they keep anticipating the other’s moves, which ends in a lot of stalemates. Chloe mentions that they were too timid to try to land any proper hits, the other reason why there wasn’t as much combat, and that they’ll probably have to go against Luther so they can get a good idea of what their real skill and strength is.

    She calls up the Hallowitt siblings next when no one volunteers. Right off the bat Ritch is sure they’re not compatible and not really skilled. The fight starts with Lily throwing a punch and Maveric being almost offended by that. When he tries to punch Lily back, it’s extremely weak, so it’s easy for her to dodge it, but she still only just barely manages it. Throughout the rest of the time they have to fight they make it obvious that they find the other very unpredictable and unreadable despite their clumsy movements. Where Connor and Ritch can tell when Maveric is going to make a left uppercut and kick out afterward, Lily apparently doesn’t see, and tries to block it the wrong way then almost falls over. Ritch hopes it’s just a bad day for them as they walk to the side of the room where everyone else is patiently waiting to be dismissed.

    Then Chloe calls him and Connor.

    They slowly make their way to the marked area, not really enthusiastic about being put against each other like this again. At least they’re the last group, so they can immediately take a break after this. Ritch wonders if Chloe did that on purpose after hearing how they were against being paired together yesterday.

    Connor shakes his hands out and bounces on his toes a few times while Ritch rolls his neck and shoulders, knowing that those are Connor’s favorite places to target. Ritch takes a deep breath and watches as Connor does the same while maintaining eye contact. They’re both reading and sizing up their opponent.

    Chloe gives the okay to start, but instead of getting into fighting stances immediately like the other pairs, the brothers walk to the middle and shake hands like Amanda has taught them to do. With one shared look and a nod from each, they agree silently to hold back, but not so much as to match the skills of everyone else. The last thing they want is to be put through redundant and useless classes and training routines. Besides, two of the three other pairs already know that they’ve had ten years of training, so it’d be weird if they were only as good or just slightly better than the others.

    They walk back to opposite ends of the marked area. There’s a moment where they just stand there, but then Connor makes the first move. He bends his knees and raises his fists, which leads Ritch to do the same, then Connor takes a few steps forward, and Ritch retaliates by taking one as well. They both know whoever makes the first move will be at a slight disadvantage for the first couple of moves, and it seems like Connor’s willing to take that risk this time. Connor twitches, and suddenly the entire room and everyone watching them disappears and it’s just the two of them, the timer, and this fight.

    Connor pounces, and not anything like how North pounced, no. He is very quick and his fist flies towards Ritch’s face, but he leans just in time to avoid it. Ritch grabs the arm that just swung the punch and twists it so Connor is forced to turn his back to his brother. Before he can try to pin Connor, he kicks straight behind, aiming for Ritch’s knees. Ritch dodges by turning his whole body, which gives Connor just enough room and a good angle to elbow him in the face. He almost succeeds too, but Ritch catches his arm in time, the force of the impact probably bruising his hand.

    Ritch realizes his mistake a moment too late because Connor uses the fact that Ritch is holding onto both of his arms to his advantage and pulls them in front of himself while throwing his head back, bashing Ritch’s nose on the back of his head. Momentarily stunned, Ritch loosens his grip, which gives Connor the chance to twist out of his grip and trip him. He goes to pin Ritch on the ground, but he rolls out of the way and kicks Connor in the side with both legs. The move launches Connor away, causing him to topple over and go into a short coughing fit. They both quickly get back up into their default standing positions, Ritch now with a bleeding nose.

    Ritch moves quickly and makes to punch Connor, but he blocks it, and the next punch, and the one after that. The forth punch is the one Connor catches, and that’s when Connor throws his first punch of this segment of fighting. Ritch narrowly avoids it by moving his head to the side, and catches his next punch. Now each brother has one of the other’s wrists in their hand.

    Connor grips onto Ritch’s other wrist so he’s holding both of them, and Ritch copies him. He uses this split moment of Connor’s stillness to try to knee his twin in the side, but Connor sees it and goes to block it with his own arm. Ritch sees this at the last moment and forces his foot down onto Connor’s foot. They both know it does nothing, since they’re both wearing boots, but it still hinders Connor, who retaliates by yanking on Ritch’s left arm hard, effectively dislocating it and rendering it temporarily useless. It doesn’t bother Ritch much because dislocating his shoulder used to be some kind of party trick that he’d do. He even tried to teach Connor how to do it a few times, and that is the only reason why Connor dares to do it during training; he knows how to do it without seriously damaging his shoulder.

    Ritch purposefully drops to the ground like a heavy rag doll, forcing Connor to go down with him. Connor lets go of his wrists to go for the neck while pinning him to the ground. Ritch uses his right hand to shove his fingers in Connor’s face, aiming for the eyes, which makes the other jump back off and away from him. They both know neither of them would actually do something as damaging and painful as digging a finger in the other’s eye, but it’s one of their rules to get away ASAP if the other is potentially able to. The eyes are where the window for the pilots on a Jaeger is, so if a kaiju digs their claws into it, it won’t just be their eyes that get irreversibly damaged.

    Ritch doesn’t bother to roll onto his stomach to hop up onto his feet. With a small wince, Ritch fixes his left shoulder like he has many times in the past. Both Connor and Ritch are breathing more heavily than when they started, but not really panting yet. Their eyes never leave their target, except for when Connor quickly glances to the side. Ritch follows the action and sees that there is a little less than three minutes of the five obligated ones left to this fight.

    Connor takes a quick step forward and Ritch does the same, meeting in the middle with Ritch starting this round with an attempted kick to the ribs. Connor catches his leg and lifts, trying to set him off balance, but Ritch drops and lands on his hands, leaving his other foot free in the air to successfully kick Connor in the chin. When he flips himself right again, he’s met with Connor’s fist to his throat. Winded, Ritch tries his best to block and dodge his twin’s calculated blows with little luck. Finally, he retaliates, punching Connor hard on the cheek. Next thing they know, their fighting becomes just a flurry of punches and kicks, each brother dodging and blocking the other’s harsh blows, some attempts more successful than others. Then Connor manages to get in a roundhouse kick.

    Ritch narrowly dodges it, and pounces on Connor while he’s still unstead for just that moment and locks him into a choke hold. Connor digs his nails into Ritch’s arm and pulls, which causes the other to growl and press tighter against his throat. All of a sudden Ritch’s leg is forced out from under him and he’s falling sideways to the ground, but he catches himself in time and rolls onto his back just as Connor lands on him. There’s no doubt he was going to try to pin Ritch’s arms behind him if he landed on his front.

    The next while is spent wrestling around on the ground, focusing on keeping the other down and getting themselves up more than traditional offence. Finally, Connor gets a tight hold on Ritch’s wrists and forces his knee down hard into his gut. Just as Connor’s about to spin him over into a proper pin, Ritch lifts his leg so his foot can push Connor’s left leg down, making him move his other knee off of Ritch’s gut if he doesn’t want to topple over. This gives the almost-pinned brother a chance to fold both of his legs near his chest in preparation to kick Connor off of him with both feet. He rolls off of Ritch just in time though, and stands up and backs away. Ritch hops up onto his feet once more, albeit more painfully, though he does a good job of not showing it.

    The timer counts down from 54 seconds.

    Connor’s chin, nose, and lip, and forehead are bleeding, and bruises will probably form in many different areas later. That gives Ritch a disgusting sense of pride that is no doubt subconsciously fueled from the praise he always got from Amanda whenever he’d win one of these fights. Connor’s putting less pressure on his left leg than he was before, and isn’t raising his right arm as high as he normally does. Yet, despite these injuries, he still stands as sturdy and still as a stone. If it weren’t for the spots of blood on his shirt and pants, Ritch would assume that’s all that’s wrong with him. That and how Connor is controlling his breathing, so his chest or ribs must hurt.

    Ritch is panting rather painfully too. His left arm aches from earlier, his shoulders and back ache from being tripped and slammed to the floor. Ritch quickly wipes the blood from his nose that’s running over his lips and dripping down his chin and flinches when his hand brushes against his nose. There are sharp pains on the insides of his cheeks and lips from being punched and his teeth cutting into them, and there’s pains on the outside too where his lip is split and the bruises blossoming on his face. It hurts like a bitch to stand on his right ankle for whatever reason, but Ritch refuses to show weakness. Yet, noting how Connor glances down at that exact ankle, maybe he’s babying it more than he thought.

    Ritch makes a face that he hopes comes across as more apologetic, and Connor lifts his left shoulder in a hint of a half-shrug that Ritch assumes and hopes is an acknowledgement. Ritch almost limps a step forward and Connor does the same–

    “Alright, that’s enough.” Luther calls.

    Connor spins to glance back at the timer– frozen at 51 seconds– without breaking their stances, then look to their instructor.

    “I think I’ve seen more than enough for now.”

    Both brother’s eyes widen. That phrase only meant corrections and/or ridicules growing up, why else would a fight stop early? If they were doing well, whoever was watching would let it continue. The twins immediately straighten up to a normal, standing posture– Ritch feels his face twitch at the twinge in his ankle– and fold their hands behind their backs– Connor winces slightly then. Connor has the balls to speak up, albeit with his head tilted down.

    “Did we do something wrong?” His words come out a tad breathless from him trying to control his breathing, but they’re clearly understandable. That’s why neither brother knows why Luther and Chloe look as baffled as they do.

    Luther’s face changes to something slightly more concerned. “Did you do– No!”

    Chloe explains, “We were more afraid you were going to seriously injure each other if you kept going.”

    “Oh.” Connor states blankly.

    I thought we were holding back enough, especially since the padding isn’t thick. Apparently not, Ritch notes.

    “Where did you guys train?” asks Luther.

    Ritch doesn’t really want to talk about this, and he knows for a fact that Connor doesn’t either.

    “Just in our yard,” Ritch answers, absently mourning his white shirt as it now has red stains on it, “But we had obstacles and such set up and have been training for a while, so...”

    “There’s no way you guys are completely self-taught.” Chloe states, but the silent question “Who was your trainer?” is ironically loud and clear.

    “I guess not completely, but mostly?” Connor jumps in, “I mean– We had, guidance from our stepmother and the occasional combat trainer that would visit her, but we did learn a lot of it on our own through trial and error, ma’am.”

    Ritch nods in agreement. Now that he thinks about it, they really did do a lot of the training and learning on their own. Amanda would only intervene if she saw something wrong or if she wanted to do yet another evaluation. When she wanted them to learn something new, she either ordered an instructional video or book to study from or called in an instructor to come in for a week or two to train them hands on.

    Thankfully, Luther stops Chloe’s onslaught of questions with a wave of his hand.

    “Leave them be, Chloe. All we needed to do was to assess their skill and strength, not where they got it from. And I say that they’ve easily passed this part of the evaluation.” Luther turns to the injured brothers, “And you two refuse to work with one another?”

    “Yes sir.” they confirm at the same time with the same level of false confidence. 

    Luther nods, “Marshal Fowler states here–” he lightly slaps the two files in his hand “–that you two have to be paired until proven incompatible. And I think this duel proved the exact opposite.”

    Connor and Ritch lower their heads again, both coming to terms that they may not become jaeger pilots after all. How could they if everything they do proves that they’re drift compatible when they absolutely refuse to be in each other’s minds?

    “Well then, it’d be a real shame if you found someone else to pair up with before you graduated from this class, now wouldn’t it? Especially since you still have to go through at least three more evaluations before it’s even an option.”

    Did Ritch just hear that right? Are they being given an out? By an instructor?

    “Sir?” Apparently Connor’s thinking the same thing.

    “But you didn’t hear that from me.” He smiles that same genuine, kind smile from when he first entered the room. “You two should go get yourselves checked out then head out to lunch, we’ll finish your physical testing at a later date, since you’ve really done a number on yourselves.” He then schools his expression into something more blank as he raises his voice for people to hear. “Alright!  Everyone else, listen up! We’re going to be doing flexibility next, and I need everyone to understand how to do these moves safely so no one gets hurt, okay?”

    A choir of “Yes sir”s is the last thing the twins hear before leaving the room.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    Hank Anderson is not one to wake up before noon. Maybe sometimes at noon, but never before, which is why he’s confused as hell as to why he’s awake at fucking 11:26 in the morning. Lunch– or in Hank’s case, breakfast– hasn’t even started yet. There’s still 34 god damn minutes until he can get his daily dosage of comfort food to try to help lessen his never-ending hangover. Well, it’s not quite never-ending. He doesn’t have a hangover when he’s drunk, which is yet another tempting reason to just say “fuck it” and start drinking early today.

    Too bad Hank’s stupid fuckin’ conscious gets in the way of that.

    “Don’t start drinking yet!”, it says, “You’ll have a worse hangover tomorrow if you start now!” it tries, “Try getting to lunch early today! Get food sooner!”

    That finally manages to convince him.

    With a groan, he rolls himself off his lousy excuse for a bed to go wash his face and change. He stumbles a bit to the bathroom, not quite prepared for the wave of nausea that crashes through his body, but he makes it just in time to empty what little contents he had in his stomach into the toilet. He flushes the toilet with slightly shaky hands once he doesn’t feel as horrible. Hank manages to get himself up and off of the ground and to the mirror to wash his face, but one look at his reflection makes him pause.

    Hank knows he’s a slob and he’s let himself slip, but that doesn’t mean he should walk around without showering for the past few days, or without shaving in much longer than that. So he does exactly that. He forces himself to take a speedy shower because god damn it he’s starting to smell like a high school locker room minus the Old Spice and Axe, and if he can smell himself, other people sure can too. Once he’s out and dressed in– what outfit did he blindly grab today? Ah, a stained, dark grey shirt and one of his cleaner pair of sweatpants, that’ll do for now– he wastes some time half-heartedly trimming the bush on his face. There’s a difference to not caring how you look and having a full-blown redneck beard and hair, and Hank refuses to cross into that territory.

    By the time Hank has his socks and shoes on and the aspirin finally starts working, the clock glows with the numbers 11:58. Two minutes until lunch, which means no meandering down the halls or awkwardly waiting for the food court to open by the time he gets there. He can just get from point A to point B, and that’s exactly what he does.

    Walking into the food court, Hank immediately notices how relatively vacant the place is and makes a mental note to maybe start waking up a bit earlier if only because of this. He walks over to the almost nonexistent line for food (which quickly builds up behind him) with a calm ease he hasn’t felt in a long while. The cafeteria workers know Hank’s order now, and they also know to not try to engage in any small talk with him either, especially during his breakfast/their lunch time. They simply put his preferred, greasy food on his tray and hand it to him. Hank nods politely at them like he normally does (because he may be an asshole, but they’re just doing their jobs) and walks back to his table.

    Hank’s a little more than halfway done with his meal when the food court starts getting even louder than what he’s used to. Hank thought he found the secret to a quieter, more peaceful lunch, but all he’s managed to find were fucking lies. People are crowding into other tables, trying to talk over one another, and laughing loudly. Normally Hank wouldn’t mind people having fun, but today it’s just too much for his poor head to handle with the addition of the bright lights.

    Hank rarely gets hungover anymore, but when he does, it’s usually bad.

    He leans forward and puts his elbows on the table and his head in his hands and groans. Hank doesn’t know how long he sits like this, just trying to block out the lights and sounds. The sound of a cup being placed on the table directly in front of Hank pulls him back into the real world. Hank somewhat blearily looks up to who set the cup down to find the kid from last time standing in front of him with a half smile. It would be a full smile, if it weren’t for the three bandage patches on his face.

    “It looks like you could use this more than me.”

    The guy– fuck, what was his name?– nudges the cup closer to Hank with one of his wrapped hands, then moves to the other end of the table. He’s barely babying his left leg, and his face twitches as he sits down. He presses the edges of a cooling patch on the back of his head, and the angle allows Hank to see a fabric brace around his right shoulder under the collar of his black shirt. All in all, this fucker has definitely seen some better days– proof being yesterday evening– and Hank can’t stop himself from being curious.

    “The fuck happened to you?”

    The younger man drops his head and frowns at his food, “Just the beginning of jaeger pilot training.” He turns his head to Hank with another half-smile, “It looks worse than it feels, I promise.”

    What kind of fuckin’ training? I’ve only seen these new kids around for a day or two, so they aren’t doing the serious stuff yet. And even then it still wouldn’t look like this… Should I check with Jeffery about this?

    “What’s your name, kid?” Hank takes a well-earned sip of water.

    “Connor, sir- er, um. It’s Connor.” The guy– Connor– starts tapping his fingers on the table.

    “You sure it was training that beat the shit out of you today?” Hank should really stop talking. He doesn’t want Connor to think that he’s interested in being acquainted with him.

    Connor’s finger-tapping speeds up and his foot starts tapping too.

    “Yes– Yea.”

    “There a reason you fidget so goddamn much?”

    That must be the wrong thing to say because Connor goes completely still and shrinks into himself, muttering an apology. Honestly, Hank’s just surprised this Connor guy still wants to sit here. When the younger man doesn’t offer up an explanation, Hanks asks another question, this time slightly more gently. Hank ain’t a stranger to feeling like shit.

    “Why’re you sittin’ here today? I get you wanted a break from people yesterday, but I’m not exactly well liked y’know. If ya stick around here you won’t get any friends.”

    Connor turns his head towards him with a face of... determination?, “They may not like you, but I don’t know enough about you yet to form a proper opinion of my own. So far, though, I don’t think you’re that bad to be around.” Connor turns back to his food, taking another bite, “I tend to be too awkward for friends anyway. My brother’s more of the socializer.”

    “You sure you’re not trying to fix me? You knew my name yesterday even though I never told you it.” Checkmate, Hank thinks as he watches Connor tense up immediately.

    “I admit that I used to… follow your work before you retired, but I promise that that has nothing to do with why I’m sitting here now. I just don’t do well around people.” He takes another bite of food, “Also, I don’t believe that there’s any way to ‘fix’ people, per se. The only people who can really fix people are our own selves, no?” Connor starts spinning that god damned fork around his fingers again.

    Normally by now, Hank would be causing some kind of scene trying to a person away from him and his table, but Connor is different. Not different like in the books and movies where “it’s a gut feeling” or whatever the fuck they call it, no. Connor’s different because, despite admitting to knowing who Hank was, he really doesn’t seem to be here to try and “fix” him or get close to his “idol”. He’s just here to mind his own business, and Hank can’t be fucking bothered to put in the effort to actively dislike the guy for wanting to be left alone without being alone. Hank knows exactly what it’s like.

    So what if Hank can somehow see some of himself in this lonely fucker and is willing to put up with him for a bit? This kid just better not think that he’s going to stay here long term. He better find other friends and skedaddle on away from this table real fuckin’ soon.

    “Our own selves, you say? Is that a general term or are you including yourself in this self-pity party?”

    He opens his mouth, then hesitates. “Is this a test or a semblance of curiosity?”

    Hank huffs amusedly, “I don’t test people, kid.”

    “Then yes, I am inviting myself to the ‘pity party’. And I am 23 as of tomorrow, I am no longer a kid.”

    Now he’s starting to grate on Hank.

    “Maybe not, but I’m 41. You’re still a kid to me.” Hank can’t keep the sharpness out of his voice, not that he tried to, anyway.

    “...I suppose that’s true in a way. I apologize.” Connor bows his head and eats.

    Wait a minute, why the fuck doesn’t he just go sit with his brother? What gives?

    “There a reason you aren’t sitting with your brother? You said he was here, right? I’m sure you could share friends.”

    Connor takes the last bite of his food. He didn’t take nearly as much as Hank and ate much quicker too. Connor stands up after swallowing.

    “We just don’t quite get along. I assume you know how siblings are. Besides, he isn’t having lunch yet, he had something he needed to do.”

    He picks up his tray and untouched cup of coffee and turns to leave. Connor drops his gaze to his feet as he makes his way to leave. He briefly pauses in front of Hank first, though, to set down his coffee in front of him, picking up the now-empty cup. Hank takes a breath to tell Connor off for assuming he needed something to drink and for treating him like a child, but Connor stops him with a half-hearted smile.

    “I don’t really drink coffee, it just makes my heart rate skyrocket, and you look like you need this more than I do, too.” He gestures to himself, “I’ve been thoroughly woken up already” Connor huffs in amusement at himself, and before Hank can get a word in, he walks away to put his dishes in the designated containers. He passes Hank again to leave the food court. “I hope your day gets better, Mr. Anderson.”

    Hank doesn’t grace him with a response once again.

    What a fuckin’ weird kid.

    Hank finishes his food and downs the instant coffee, then puts his trash and dishes away. Usually after his breakfast, Hank will go back to his room as long as he isn’t needed for something because, yes, he may be an old drunkard now, but he still used to be a jaeger pilot, and a damn good one at that, so his sober words are taken seriously by Jeff. He doesn’t have anything planned for today, but he still turns left to where Jeff– oh excuse him, Marshal Fowler– is likely going to be in his office instead of right to the bunkers.

    There’s no way a trainee gets that beaten up during the first few days of training. Maybe later when weapon training starts, but Luther would never lay a hand that heavy on one of his students. The gentle giant is just way too passive and sweet to ever do that. Besides, Connor is definitely not the delinquent type. Although, if they’re testing baseline skill today, then that means Connor went up against his brother, and he did say they didn’t exactly get along. Still, though, why wouldn’t Luther or Chloe stop the duel if the poor kid was getting pummeled?

    Hank is two turns away from Jeffery’s office when he hears a very familiar voice sound up from around the corner.

    “Don’t, Alex. Gavin only does this to get a rise out of people. Just keep walking.”

    Connor knows who Gavin is, too? Then again, who around here doesn’t.

    “Keep walking?” another man’s voice, presumably Alex’s, snaps, “And let this fucker think he can push me around?! I don’t think so! I can take him on–”

    “I assure you that you can not. He is a real pilot–”

    “Aw, c’mon kid!” There’s Gavin, fuckin’ asshole, “You ran away last time, you’re really gonna run away this time too?”

    “Gavin!” Hank barks, turning around the corner. All three men snap their heads towards him. “That’s enough. Do what you were gonna do and move along.”

    “Fuckin’ Anderson!” Gavin smiles sarcastically, “Finally sober enough to walk in a straight line for once? Congratulations!”

    “Fuck off, Reed. I’m not playing your fuckin’ games today.”

    “Suit yourself, then” Gavin sneers with a cocky shrug, and moves on, leaving this Alex guy and Connor behind.

    Except that’s definitely not Connor.

    This guy has Connor’s face and Connor’s voice, but that can’t be Connor. First of all, he’s wearing a brace on his nose and, rather than having gauze/bandages on his face, Connor’s doppelganger has several bandaids and more bruises than anything. On top of that, this guy is wearing a light grey shirt with grey pants, rather than a black shirt and navy pants. When Connor said he had a brother, Hank didn’t think he meant a fuckin’ identical twin. Although, he guesses not many people would.

    “Why’dya stop him? I could’ve taken him!” The Alex guy shoves not-Connor.

    “Alex, please, you’re a fool if you think–”

    “Hey asshat. I’d knock it off.” Hank makes his way to Gavin 2.0.

    “Oh yeah? What’s an old guy like you gonna be able to do to me anyway?”

    “Get you kicked out of training faster than you can say ‘jaeger’ because my old partner is Fowler himself.” Hank pauses briefly for dramatic effect, “And it seems like you’ve already had to do some… What do they call it? ‘Intern work’? How was clearing out the old pipes, Anix?”

    “Alex,” he growls.

    “I know.” Hank smirks, knowing he’s already won. ”Get outta here. I imagine you’ve got somewhere to be, punk.”

    “Yes, sir.” he grits out. Alex then turns and walks down the hall and around the corner where Hank just came from.

    “Thank you Mr. Anderson. I appreciate the help with those two, they’ve already proven to be quite troublesome on their own, they’d be a nightmare if left together without proper supervision.”

    “Don’t I fuckin’ know it.” Hank hesitates, but ends up continuing anyway. “All you have to do with Gavin is show him little you’re affected by him without picking a fight. He’ll back off eventually.’

    Not-Connor seems to genuinely appreciate that advice, “Oh. Thank you. It’s good to know that I’ve been doing the right thing so far.” he pauses, “I apologize for my brother, Connor, sitting at your table. I’ve tried telling him to leave you alone, but he’s rather stubborn and is rather awkward and nervous around groups of people.”

    “Yeah, I gathered as much already.” Hank wants to leave the conversation now. He only wanted to shit on some people, not have an actual talk with someone who shares a face and voice with some dude who has been sitting at his table.

    “Give him a few days at most. I’m sure he’ll move on to please other people and leave you alone if you really don’t want him around. He may be stubborn, but he’s not stupid or blind to signals of disinterest.”

    Hank almost grunts and nods to end the conversation, but thinks otherwise at the last moment. Curse his damn curiosity and possible mild concern for people’s well-being.

    “Please other people?”

    Not-Connor’s eyes widen, “Not in that sense, no. He simply hates the idea of being disliked by people.”

    “One more question for ya,” Hank suddenly feels like he’s in some cop show or something with all of these questions, “Did you and Connor do this–” he gestures to not-Connor’s busted face “–to each other?”

    “Ah,” the trainee looks away in obvious discomfort, “Our instructor was seeing what our baseline strengths and skills were, and Connor and I apparently didn’t hold back enough and we ended up worrying them. I just got done talking to Marshal Fowler about it, since he insisted it’ll interfere with our training for the next few days.” Not-Connor looks back to Hank, and must see something in his expression because he quickly ends the conversation.

    “My name is Ritch, by the way, and I always wear light colors and Connor only wears dark. I know we can be overbearing sometimes, especially him, so when you need him off of you for a while, feel free to tell me.” Ritch, nods his head to Hank in respect. “I apologize for taking up so much of your time already. I’ll be on my way. Have a good day, Mr. Anderson.”

    Hank does his signature grunt and nod, and Ritch takes that as his cue to hurry past Hank and around that same corner again. Hank stands there a moment, processing everything that he just learned. Mixing this new knowledge with his gut feeling, he’s pretty sure he’s going to be running into those twins far more than once or twice more.

    Whelp, goodbye for now peaceful meals, I already can’t wait until you return.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

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A/N: Hello again! This was my first time writing a fight scene (and it shows, but I can’t figure out how to fix it 😫) but I hope it wasn’t too horrible to read through 😅 I almost just skipped through that scene so I wouldn’t have to write it, but there will be a ton more action, so might as well get some practice in now so it ain’t as bad later on amirite? Well, I hope y’all liked this chapter and are liking this fic so far! I’ve got a lot planned so I’m excited! I’ll be back with next chapter before the end of the month! 😁