#swinging in like a hero and getting close to her to climb the hierarchy

[rescuefield-arch1]

do you ever think about the fact that everyone from the fbc was moved to the bsaa after it got closed but neil decided to join terrasave because breaking through claire's defences was probably easier than do all that work with chris

[brightideawritings]

Ahhhhhh, I only finished "The Rise of Kyoshi" on Sunday but immediately my mind has been overtaken by Kyoshi's story. Especially, her lovely relationship with Rangi! So, in order to get this fire out of my head I wanted to explore some events of the books from Rangi's perspective. Here is the first chapter surrounding the events of the first few chapters.

------

Burning Thoughts

Chapter: Mansion

Ragni did not give her opponent the time to react to her attacks, her fists blurred in front of her in a storm of quick jabs, she felt the heat of her chi travel through her arms to her hands and burst forth as incandescent fire, “Yaaaaah!” she let loose her war scream as the storm of fire burst across the training room at a blinding pace. Any lesser bender would have balked under the sudden barrage - a non-bender would have ran for cover. Rangi’s opponent did not stand idle or run for cover but instead stepped into the oncoming attack. Her opponent raised a right leg in Crane stance and brought it down in a single motion - an arc of fire sprang into being and cut through Rangi’s barrage like it had all been nothing. She noticed with ire that the force of the new flame snuffed out many of her own fire jabs - again, as if they were nothing.

Rangi’s mother, Hei-Ran, former headmistress of the Fire Nation’s Royal Training Academy for Girls was not like most opponents.

Her mother’s fire cut came directly for Rangi, and she had to bite down a curse - due to the fact that she was acutely aware that unless she wanted to go up like a light torch she needed to move aside. Again she cursed to herself as she leapt to her right, as soon as she had cleared the flame she had already begun to move her body into a low body crouch for a counter-attack but as she had predicted would happen her mother had used the momentary lapse in her daughter’s offense to close the gap between them with blinding speed. Time seemed to crawl to a snail’s pace as Rangi’s body settled into a stable enough stance that she could use another firebending technique to produce a double wave of flame by bringing both of her hands upward - anything to force Hei-Ran away. The bout would be over as soon as the older woman was within arm's length of her - again a fact she was acutely aware of that seemed to nonetheless scream inside of her head.

No sooner had she let the chi ignite with her arms swinging upward she cut off the flow of flame which winked out as quickly as it had appeared. She had not been fast enough.

“I yield,” Rangi said, she forced herself not to wince - more at the disappointment and frustration in her own voice than Hei-Ran’s fist inches from her face - though her mother had not ignited her firebending she could still feel heat radiate from them. A common technique that Rangi knew how to do as did every single firebender - it was a threat, a command to surrender. Still, the emotions she breathed was nothing next to the controlled response from Hei-Ran.

“I’ve seen children half your age with stronger fire jabs than those fire lights, Rangi.” Hei-Ran looked down at her. Firebending did not come from an outside element like that of the other arts - but from the chi inherent in a firebender’s own body - the power to create fire at a whim was powerful and dangerous. The first lessons that were drilled into Rangi and every firebender she had even known was control over their emotions. To lose control was to become nothing more than a chained beast belching flame in utter futility.

“I apologize,” Rangi bowed in deference - Fire Nation society stressed hierarchy as a core social tenant. In failing today she had disappointed Hei-Ran twice - as a student and as a daughter.

“I know you can do better,” Hei-Ran sighed and nodded her chin down, a mix of pride and concern written over her face, “I’ve seen you do much better. Your calm is off. Something is bothering you.”

An altogether different emotion fluttered in her chest like a bird trapped in a cage. Something must have shown on her face as her mother raised an eyebrow almost immediately. By the spirits, Hei-Ran could be as persistent as a vulturehound - trying to run away from the subject would only leave Rangi tired and on her last legs.

“It’s just...I can’t stand, Kyoshi!” Rangi gasped in exasperation and immediately wished the words would crawl back inside of her mouth.

“Oh?” Hei’Ran’s mouth quirked with no small amusement, “I thought you two were such good friends…”

“I mean...how she acts so meek to those brats in the village!” Rangi burst with a huff, she ignored the fact that they were all just about the same age, “They taunt her and she just takes it like she was made of stone.”

“Hmm. It would most likely go better for Kyoshi in the long run if she had ambushed and destroyed the leader of her tormentors to send an example to the others.” Hei Ran had shifted down into a sitting position, which Rangi had unconsciously copied. Her earlier hesitation warred with the good sense her mother had spoken. She had given similar advice to Kyoshi earlier that day had she not? The moment reminded her that many saw Rangi herself as a smaller version of Hei-Ran, again a common social norm among the old, noble families of the Fire Nation. It was a sign of respect and honor to her mother - though she had to admit there were still a great number of differences between them.

“At times I feel tempted to do so on her behalf.” Rangi said and frowned. She had heard of Kyoshi’s...problems that lived in the village from snippets here and there in the form of gossip between other members of the household staff of Jianzhu’s mansion. Not that she was particularly friendly with many of the household staff - the vast majority of them were not worth the breath to talk to, an opinion she had formed rather quickly from their own whispered jealousies of Kyoshi and their fear of Rangi. Again, not that they had told her any of this directly - she had been trained in infiltration and evasion tactics - and she had learned quite a bit from the staff when they thought their employer or his guests were within earshot.

-

Today had been different from what she knew, the village idiots that taunted Kyoshi had either been too swept up in their petty bullying of Kyoshi or perhaps too hopeful to catch a glimpse of the Avatar. Rangi had spotted the them as they climbed the path back to the mansion, taken in that they had followed Kyoshi well past the the point that Rangi had noted previously they would normally turn back, and had wordlessly used her firebending to propel herself over the perimeter wall and sprint at a full pace around it and then unnoticed into a tree not far from the gate.

A part of her had been extremely disappointed when they had not burst into flame at the single, first look she had given them. That was a firebending technique it was said that could only be mastered by the greatest fire sages, but Rangi had still tried. Instead they had the sheer audacity to run away like the cowards that they were and hurl the jar of pickled kelp into the air. She had tried to get Kyoshi to use her own earthbending but no matter how much she had pushed her friend the taller girl had not moved at all - no, that was not totally true.

Kyoshi had finally acted - by jumping on top of her to save her from what would have been a shrapnel storm of kelp and pottery shards. The memory of it even hours later caused something inside of her chest to feel like it wanted to burst in protest - at Kyoshi or her own actions she still was not sure. She knew several ways to unlock an opponent’s grapple and had exercised their use at plenty of opportunities in the junior corps. When Kyoshi had shielded her Rangi had felt strangely paralyzed in the other girl’s long limbed embrace, she remembered the smell of sweat and earth and it had not been unpleasant at all.

Then she had snapped back into her head and had pummeled on Kyoshi until she had let them both stand. The jar had been fine, somewhere Avatar Yun had been watching them and had saved the day - not that a broken jar would have been a disaster the likes of villages burned and the spirit world falling into chaos. Still, it had needled her that Yun had to have step into the situation at all - it was beneath him. Though, perhaps her reasons were not totally fair. Then of course Kyoshi had gone and said the utterly cheesy yet also charming words of calling Rangi a strong hero that would always protect her.

Rangi had rolled the words over and over in her head so much that she had not even noticed that she followed Kyoshi into the kitchen. She had been surprised but in her mind had executed a well-ordered retreat, she had reminded Kyoshi of her gift duties, then complimented her on her rank of being above a scullery maid and had left. She had memorized Yun’s schedule and she had known he would be in his firebending training with her mother so she had returned to the barracks until they had concluded. Something though had happened to Yun though as when she had arrived to see him only her mother had been there. Before she could press further Hei-Ran had pushed for them to train together.

-

“You are the Avatar’s bodyguard, Rangi, not a servant girl’s” Hei-Ran frowned at her but she noticed there was something off, her mother had paused slightly as if something weighed on the older woman’s mind, before she continued, “You will be his sword and shield, his will and his guide. You must not forget nor waver from your duty.”

“I know mother.” Rangi bowed her head in deference once more. She paused before she continued, she wanted to find the words how important Kyoshi was...to the Avatar, “I just want to ensure harmony in the household around Yun. Kyoshi is...close to Yun” at Hei-Ran’s alarmingly inquisitive eyebrow raise Rangi knew she needed to backtrack, “That is, she often attends to Yun’s needs” a part of her blanched at the possible connotation she had uttered, “She is an ear he can talk to, we are all the same age and she is not someone who expects something from him or a servant who is over-awed by him.”

“I will...trust your judgement on that, Rangi” Hei-Ran replied, “You aren’t mistaken. Yun has requested that Kyoshi join us when we travel to the Eastern Sea to negotiate with the daofei Tagaka and the Fifth Nation.”

“WHAT? WHY-” Rangi stopped herself, she needed to control the volume of her voice. She had practically shouted the words, “Why...why would he want her to come with us to deal with those dishonorable, pirate scum!?!”

On force of habit her hands curled in and out, as if she was squeezing the life out of an invisible person. Yun! What game was he playing at? The Fifth Nation were slaving pirates and despite the promise of a peaceful accord Rangi had very little faith the affair would be bloodless. Why else would Jianzhu also want to bring a compliment of guardsmen with them? He was her charge and her friend but there were times when it boggled her mind about how impulsive and reckless he could be - perhaps he was a fine enough successor to Kuruk.

Her face scrunched together with worry as she thought of all the ways that Kyoshi would be in danger out on an iceberg in the middle of the sea. Kyoshi certainly cut an imposing figure with her height but how could Yun expect a girl who let the village brats walk all over her deal with the presence of pirates?

A thought brought her whirling mind to a sudden crash. If this was all some sort of clever scheme by Yun to impress Kyoshi...

“He said he wanted someone normal there. Kyoshi does fit the girl, besides her height.” Hei-Ran replied again, a measure of amusement entered her voice, “You will have to look out for her when I or Amak are not with the Avatar. Think of this as a new aspect of your mission Rangi. My little tigress”

“Mother!” Rangi blushed at the use of her pet name that Hei-Ran had always called her when she was a little girl. It certainly had become less amusing when the other students at the Royal Fire Academy for Girls had grown taller than her. Hei-Ran only used it now a days when she WANTED to fluster Rangi or distract her. Warfare took many forms on and off the battlefield.

“I am being serious,” Hei-Ran replied, one corner of her lips rose upward in more amusement, “You will have to manage multiple persons and weigh which ones are the greater priority should something occur. Do you think you can handle this?”

“Of course,” Rangi steeled her features, she vowed that no harm would come to Yun or Kyoshi. If anything did come between them she would burn it to ashes. They were dealing with a daofei after all, nothing they could do or say would rattle her.

[beckzorz]

World on Fire (4/12)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader; background skinny!Steve Rogers x Peggy Carter Warnings: Canon-typical violence; language; sexual content. Summary: Brooklyn, 1948. Bucky Barnes, war hero, lives three floors down, and the evenings he comes to watch the sunset with you on the fire escape are the best times in your shabby life. But reality is far uglier than it seems when swinging your legs six floors up with Bucky at your side. On top of a good-for-nothing brother and a poor family upstate, there’s a new mob hitman in town: the Winter Soldier. A/N: Written for @cametobuyplums Fizz’s 2000 Plums Writing Challenge—thanks Fizz! Sorry to have skipped a day last week, hope y'all don’t mind!

4. Monday, June 2

“Alice, don’t even say it, I’m so sorry!” You bolt down into Dr. Simon’s kitchen ten minutes late, the frantic hum of anxiety thrumming through you. 

Alice tuts and throws down her ball of dough with a muffled thump. “Well, I hope so,” she says. “Never seen you so late before.”

“My brother was visiting,” you tell her, grabbing the biscuit tray. “He’s a menace.”

“Must be.”

Alice waves floury fingers as you pass by. Up the stairs—you don’t dare go two at a time, not with a china tray, but you still manage to nearly lose a biscuit—and rush through the dining room, eyes on the wobbling biscuits.

One step into the waiting room, a shadow on the couch catches your eye. You look up and nearly drop the whole tray.

“What are you doing here?” you blurt.

Bucky Barnes’ head snaps up from the magazine open on the coffee table, his eyes widening. He surges to his feet as you gape at him.

“I brought Steve over,” he says. His eyes are glued to you as you dart forward and set the biscuits down before stepping back, hands clenched in front of you.

You’ve never seen Bucky here. He’s got his own doctor, one who knows more about amputees and prosthetics. It’s odd to see him here among the floral upholstery and gauzy curtains. He looks… Well, with his fancy suit and his slicked-back hair, he looks almost at home. He’s even wearing his prosthetic. You almost never see him wearing it these days—but then, you don’t see him during the day, when he’s his proper self. He doesn’t look like the Bucky you know.

You glance down at your faded dress, a lump forming in your throat. All well and good on the fire escape, but—you hadn’t even had time to properly do your hair. You look… like you live on the fifth floor with Alice and Don. And Bucky looks like he belongs with china teacups and slick upholstery. You swallow back the bile in your throat.

“Is Steve alright?” you finally ask.

“Dunno,” Bucky says with a shrug. “Doc seemed to think it was nothin’, but you never know with Steve.”

You nod uncertainly. You’re just the secretary; you don’t know how good or bad Steve Rogers’ prognosis really is. Well, prognoses. He’s got a lot wrong, Steve does.

Another step back. “Well, nice to see you.”

Bucky opens his mouth to respond, but you turn and flee, face burning, chest painfully tight. You rush upstairs to the other office, the one where you keep all the files organized and answer the phone and jot down appointments in the big spiral-bound book open to this week. You fling yourself into the leather chair at the desk and bury your face in your hands, heaving great big breaths that just barely keep you grounded.

Why did Bucky have to bring Steve? Couldn’t Steve have come on his own? You can handle Steve just fine, but you didn't expect to see Bucky again so soon. And so… well, so formally. You’d never seen him in a place like this. Just on fire escapes and the occasional soda shop, and that one time you’d gone dancing back in ‘42.

In those places, you feel on equal footing. There’s no hierarchy on the fire escape outside your window, and the only distinctions that matter on a dance floor are lead and follow.

Here?

It’s not the same, and you hate it. You know your fantasies of him are ridiculous, impossible—but the stark reality of the differences between you is flinging all that dirty, ugly truth in your face.

The war had been no picnic for him, but he’d come out a hero with a swanky new job to boot. And you were exactly where you’d started: poor, full of longing, and, most of all, alone. Alone except for your good-for-nothing brother and your all-too-perceptive friends who have surpassed you in every way.

You drag your hands down your face and shake yourself out of your misery. There’s a list of calls to make, a stack of notes to type up. Files to pull out and appointments to schedule.

Enough moping. You have work to do.

—

You listen close for Steve and Bucky’s departure, and only then do you run today’s files downstairs for Dr. Simon. He peers at you through his thick glasses.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m peachy,” you tell him firmly, and from there it’s business as usual.

—

Five flights to the sixth floor of your apartment building. Your calves ache with their customary burn, and you collapse facedown on your bed with a groan.

Well, aside from Bucky’s surprise appearance, it hadn’t been much worse than usual. You don’t mind your job, not really. If half your salary didn’t get sent home to help your struggling family upstate, you might even love it.

But no, you look like a factory girl even though you work in the nicest house in the neighborhood. You’re grateful Dr. Simon doesn’t seem to care. All your friends—Mary, Goldie—think you’re lucky, or would be, if only you didn’t have your damn family to help take care of.

If only your brother did his part. And not like he did the other day, but actually, properly did his part.

“Ugh,” you mutter.

Your brother. Your baby brother, with his tendency to disappear for weeks at a time and reappear with his gap-tooth grin, a fresh scrape, and just enough cash for home to make you forget to be mad at him.

You don’t want to know how he gets the money. It’s bad enough that he does. You’re happy in the dark, really. But sometimes you wonder. You worry. Can’t help it—he’s your baby brother. You worried all through his deployment, all through the months after the war’s end when you’d heard not a word until he showed up one day at your door, that gap-tooth grin enough to dissolve you into tears.

But today…

Today you’re past tears. Today you’re angry. Whatever had happened to him yesterday was far worse than a scrape. He’d been pummeled near within an inch of his life! When he’d been in front of you, bleeding and limping, your heart had stopped, but now that he’s gone? Fled into the night like some common criminal, leaving just a bloodstain behind?

You can’t help but be angry. If he had a job, a proper job—even if it was just staying on the farm—he could take care of the rest of the family like he should. He’s the man. How did you end up the breadwinner?

Oh, that’s right. Because you have a sense of decency.

You roll over on your bed with a sigh. The sky is still bright, the air still hot and sticky with late afternoon heat. With your window cracked open now you’re home, you can hear people talking and laughing below, the distant clatter of pots and pans, the rumble of the metro, the honking traffic.

Your stomach rumbles. Someone downstairs is making chicken. You force yourself from your bed.

If you make your dinner now, maybe you can pretend you’re eating chicken too.

—

Sunset finds you scrubbing at the bloodstains on your pillowcase and handkerchiefs. Leave it to David to make a mess you can’t even ask him to clean up.

It takes time, but you manage to get most of the blood away. If anyone asks, you can always say it was your own bloody nose. Not that you’ve had one in years, but who’s to know?

You take the damp laundry to the fire escape, pinning it up on the clothesline overhead. The twilight is beautiful, all purples and blues, streaks of pink. Not a cloud in sight. Just some birds wheeling overhead. You lean on the railing and watch them, your heart full. God, if only you could fly away too.

The girls downstairs are out on their landing with their cigarettes, the smell a comfort even if you’re not in the mood for one yourself. They’re chatting about nothing in particular, and you easily tune them out as you watch the sky slowly turn dark.

The heavy patter of climbing feet catches your attention before the girls notice anyone coming.

“Ladies.”

A chill runs down your spine. Blood rushes in your ears. You scramble to your feet.

“Oh, hi James!”

The girls, adorable flirts, wheedle Bucky as you slip back in your window and draw the curtain tight.

A hand to your chest does nothing to calm your pounding heart. Please let him not come up, please…

“Excuse me,” Bucky says, “just going up.”

Your heart sinks. You forgot to close the window. He’ll know you’re home—hell, he probably knew all along. You sigh and sink onto your mattress, twisting your fingers in your lap as you wait for Bucky—beautiful, terrifying, untouchable Bucky—to arrive. You can hear the girls in 5B going inside.

“Hey.”

Bucky’s voice is low. You twist, and you can just make out his crouched silhouette against your flimsy curtain.

You swallow, steel yourself for the suit, the slicked-back hair, the look of wealth so alien and out of reach. A flick of your hand, and you can see him.

Words don’t come. Just a rush of shock, of awe, of wanting.

Bucky isn’t wearing a suit. His hair isn’t slicked back. The strange man of this morning is gone.

All Bucky is wearing is trousers and an undershirt. Not even his prosthetic arm. Just Bucky, his hair falling loose across his forehead, as unassuming—as gorgeous as he’s ever been. His blue eyes soft, his soft mouth quirked up and so damn pretty, his strong hand dangling between his knees as he crouches at your window.

You swallow.

“Will you come out?” Bucky asks.

You obey without thinking. Bucky moves aside, offers you his one hand to help you climb out. You hesitate before taking it, all too aware how that simple touch sends sparks all along your skin. Even when you drop his hand, your skin tingles. You smooth down your skirt and bury every feeling in the empty air below.

Bucky stands and plucks at the pillowcase hanging between you. “What happened?” he asks.

“I—I had a nosebleed.” Your voice is small, nearly hoarse.

“Is that why you were so flustered this morning?”

Shame burns your face, your chest. You step back, hands twitching at your sides, face flaming, and Bucky winces.

“F—I’m sorry,” he says. “I just…”He trails off and runs his hand through his hair. “You didn’t seem like yourself.”

You let out a slow breath between your teeth and flatten your hands against your back. “Neither did you.”

He blinks. A sigh, and he lowers himself down in his customary spot and pats the place beside him. You slide in, feet dangling like his, heart pounding. You don’t know what to say.

“I wish I hadn’t gone,” Bucky mutters.

You stare. “With Steve?”

“I never went there before,” he continues. “Wasn’t planning on it, but when he gets all breathless…”

“Well, of course you went with him,” you say. “He’s your friend.” Your eyes dart to your pillowcase. “We take care of people we care about. That’s what you’re supposed to do.”

Bucky shakes his head. His hand curls around the railing, the knuckles white. His brow is drawn tight, his eyes lowered.

What's he trying to say? What’s he thinking? You don’t understand him, not one jot.

It’s a long moment before he speaks again.

“It didn’t feel right,” he says. The words are slow, careful. “Seeing you there.” His eyes flit in your direction. “It wasn’t like this.”

You swallow again, throat suddenly tight. If it didn’t feel right at Dr. Simon’s, does that mean that this does? This—these moments on the fire escape, the best moments of your life—feels right?

At work, you felt like he was worlds above you, leagues away. Here, on the fire escape of your tenement building, together?

Bucky feels within reach. Or he could be, if.

“No,” you agree, voice barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t like this.”

Bucky props his cheek against his hand and gazes at you. You’re so caught by those blue eyes that it takes a moment to realize how sad he looks. Your heart breaks, but for the life of you you can’t bring yourself to push. You can’t prod where he’s never given an inch—it wouldn’t be kind. Or right.

But you can’t just stare at him forever, no matter how much you wish you could. You clear your throat. “It’s alright now though, isn’t it?”

He nods, his cheek moving against his hand, his hair shifting across his forehead. You grip the bars of the fire escape to keep from brushing it back.

“Right now? Yeah.” He sighs, and you can’t help yourself anymore. You put a hand on his shoulder.

“What’s wrong, Bucky?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Nothin’ you can fix. I’ll live.”

“Well, maybe I can’t fix it, but can’t I at least help?” you plead.

“You are helping,” he says.

He grabs your hand; your breath catches as his bright eyes fix on yours. Bucky brushes his lips against your knuckles. Your heart’s in your throat, your eyes wide as dinner plates, your lips parted, ready, waiting—but he drops your hand, looks away, and the little spark flaring in your chest fizzles out.

“You are helping,” he repeats, but it falls flat. He hoists himself to his feet, brushes off his trousers, and looks down at you with an unreadable expression. “I—I’ll see ya around.”

You watch him go. Your heart goes with him, his every step down tearing you open that little bit more.

—

The moon shines unpleasantly bright through your window. You squeeze your eyes shut as you bury your face in your pillow for the hundredth time.

If you were a few stories down, you wouldn’t even be able to see the moon. But no, you’re on the top floor, the hot roof right above and moonlight streaming into your tiny bedroom, across your tiny bed. It’s a good thing you’ve never had a sweetheart. Where would they fit?

Bucky would never fit here, you think.

Your eyes pop open as heat flares in your face, your belly.

Why is it that every time you see him he invades your thoughts? Why can’t you banish him from your mind as easily as he surely banishes you from his? He’s Bucky Barnes, for goodness sake. A war hero, as gorgeous as he unattainable. He may have kissed your hand, may have said you were helping, but there’s no call to think he has any thoughts of you when he climbs back down to his floor, to his bed…

You toss your sheet aside, every inch of your body burning as you press your hands to your eyes, willing your mind to behave. Your nightgown shifts across your breasts. With an angry whimper, you start to tug it off.

Then you stop.

Your window is open, the shades flung wide. It’s not quiet outside—Brooklyn’s never quiet—but the distant sounds of the city are mere hums. Your ears strain for the creak of the fire escape, but there’s none.

If there was…

Your eyes flutter closed, and your hands stray from your eyes to trail down your face, your neck. You can imagine footsteps, a shadow over your window, a gasp at the sight you make spread on your bed, fingers tracing the neckline of your nightgown and legs bared nearly all the way. Would he gasp? Turn away, spare your modesty? Or would he suck in a breath and watch?

Deft circles of your thumbs harden your nipples. Your eyes stay shut as you lose yourself in your fantasy, of blue eyes darkening as you slip one hand lower and tug your nightgown up over your hips, legs rubbing together in an attempt to ease the burning tension.

A creak on the fire escape.

Your eyes fly open, terror ratcheting through you as you shove your nightgown back into place. The landing at your window is empty, but chatter echoes from downstairs. The girls in 5B. You press your hand to your heart and try to steady your breathing. The click of a lighter, hushed giggles, and your fantasy is shattered.

You prop yourself on unsteady knees and stick your head outside. “Be quiet, will ya?” you hiss.

Martha and Helen call up quiet apologies, and to your relief they disappear back inside. You yank the curtain shut, fling yourself back onto your bed, and try to sleep.

[timelessmulder]

i wrote a rly quick fic about the moon crew having a cat have fun with this

          Fortress Maximus, Max to his friends, had seen a lot. Been through a lot. The hero of Simanzi, guns in his legs and all; warden of Garrus-9, sole survivor of its staff upon liberation. Newly minted Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord, trying to climb his way out of the hole the war and Overlord had dug for him.

          The staff he found himself working with on Luna-1 were loyal, good ‘bots, even if Red Alert found any opportunity to cast doubt upon ex-Institute worker Cerebros. He liked it there. Even if Circle of Light members kept finding reasons to leave, and Outrigger found more enjoyment in exploring the ruins than interacting with any of them. Even as he found himself missing large amounts of company that he had grown used to; not so much the rank and file of the army, nor the strict hierarchy of Garrus-9, but the loose comradery that existed on the Lost Light.

          Max wouldn’t say that he was feeling aimless, not by a long shot. His work had given him something worthwhile to do, and a way to constructively direct residual anger from being abandoned in Garrus-9. It was more that he was finding himself lonely, and still incredibly lost, even with the twice monthly therapy sessions with Rung.

          So Cerebros returning to the base one day after a run for supplies with a small, wriggling felinoid trying to escape his hands to climb his chassis was a welcome, if strange, turn of events.

          “Where’d you get that?” Red said, peering at the kitten with scrutinizing optics, as if the felinoid was a spying device that would sell them out at any second. In turn, she batted at his nose.

          “Found her,” Cerebros said pointedly, exasperation edging his words. “She was wandering around and what was I going to do, just leave her there?” He wagged his fingers and she nipped at them, trying to catch one between her small paws. “And look, she likes me.”

          Max stepped forward, putting out a hand. “Cerebros did you steal someone’s cat?”

          There was an edge to his voice, one that said “we can’t do things like that, we’re law enforcement,” and in reply Cerebros gave him a look – a rather impressive feat, considering his lack of mouth – that said “you’re as bad as Red.”

          “No, I just stole a cat,” he said, out loud, sarcasm dripping from each word. “Of course I made sure she didn’t belong to anyone.” He shrugged. “And besides, I thought she’d be good company, considering how empty it’s been around here.”

          He bent down to carefully put her on the floor of their departure room, and she stared at Max and Red with green optics that seemed too big for her head and had an almost unnatural glow to them. After a moment she slowly padded her way to Max, appearing to be hesitant enough to take it slow but curious enough to approach him anyway. He reached down, presenting his hand to her, a little too fast for her liking as she backed away. Max frowned, surprised at how upset he was for even possibly scaring the little thing, and almost pulled away, until she closed the distance and shoved her head against his fingers.

          “Does she have a name?” he asked softly, transitioning to pet her between the ears, careful to keep his touch light so he wouldn’t accidentally hurt her. She made a contented “mrp”ing sound, the tip of her tail twitching, eyes narrowing until they were only slits of glowing light.

          Cerebros paused, not saying anything for a long moment. There was something guilty about his expression. “I may or may not have started calling her Shreddicus Maximus,” he said, not looking at Max. “And she may or may not have taken to it.”

          Max stopped what he was doing, even as the kitten headbutted against him for more attention. Red snorted, hiding an uncharacteristic laugh and a smile behind his hand.

          “You did what?”

          “I don’t know, it was a joke!” Cerebros held up his hands in surrender. “She’s a felinoid, she claws things, I don’t know it seemed fitting.”

          “So what’re we going to call her?” Red asked, hands on his hips, leering towards Cerebros. “Shreddicus Maximus is a mouthful, and it’s not like we can call her Max.” He tossed a look in Max’s direction. “Unless Max changes his name and gives it to the cat.”

          “No,” Max said. “Absolutely not.”

          Shreddicus Maximus had given up on Max and moved on to Red Alert, who regarded her with a fair amount more wariness than a creature of her size warranted. But his whole demeanor softened, as she twisted between his legs and rubbed against him. He leaned down to offer a tentative pet, and she gladly rammed against his palm.

          “We could just call her Gus,” Cerebros said. “Shreddicus sounds like it, kind of, and she’s a cat I highly doubt she cares.”

          “Gus it is, then.”

----

          With the Roboids gone and the threat of Sentinel past, Gus was allowed out of her quarantine and free reign of the base was rewarded back to her. She stalked around, exploring every nook and cranny as if she had never been there before, despite having only been barred access for a month or two.

          “…Is that a cat?” Prowl had asked, the first time he’d spotted her, napping in the middle of a hall, upon returning from his detour to earth. She was sprawled across its width, one paw curled near her chest and the other stretched out, lightly twitching in her sleep.

          Max hummed a reply, leaning down to scratch her exposed stomach. She opened a single optic at him before closing it and stretching out her other paw, a low rumbling purr beginning in her chest. Max would have matched it, if his own purr weren’t so base-shaking loud. “Yep,” he said. “Her name’s Shreddicus Maximus, but we just call her Gus.”

          Max looked at Prowl, who looked to be doing all sorts of Prowl-ish calculations in his head. Rules and all, whatever it was he did to be a thorn in everyone’s sides on technicalities. But when he spoke, he simply asked, “Why do you have a cat? I didn’t see her when I showed up.”

          “That’s because we only let her in a few rooms the past few weeks,” Max said, straightening up to his full height. He looked down on Prowl. “We figured it wouldn’t be a good idea to have her running around loose when the Roboids were here.” Gus curled both paws to her chest, tail lashing, her purr still going strong. “As for why we have her, she hunts scraplets. We had a problem a while back.”

          “…But she’s just sleeping.”

          Max shrugged, a little defeated. Her being their official scraplet hunter, with the title of Duly Appointed Scraplet Hunter of the Tyrest Accord had been little more than a running joke among Luna-1’s crew; she was really just their cat who did little more than laze around, demand attention, and yes, even catch the occasional pest. “I didn’t say she was any good at it.”

          Prowl made a soft sound of understanding, nodding his head just slightly enough for Max to detect it happened at all. With little more attention given to Gus, he stepped over her and continued on his way.

          Over the next few days, bordering on two weeks, Gus stalked after him. Curious of this strange, quiet ‘bot who seemed intent on ignoring her existence; if Max had to wager a guess, she was likely drawn to Prowl’s quiet, calculating demeanor. He was more like a cat than anyone else on the base. Max was just happy that there seemed to be no hostility between them, though there had been a silent agreement among Max, Red, and Cerebros that if a problem arose Prowl would have to be the one to go, not Gus.

          But somewhere along the line, a few weeks after Prowl had joined their motley crew Max discovered something. He had wandered the base, looking for Prowl to discuss the finer points of a report they had received, when he heard Prowl’s carefully paced voice behind a door, talking to someone who never offered a reply, if there was anyone with him at all. Max knocked with a light hand, and Prowl stopped speaking for a moment, before saying with the faintest hint of embarrassment, “Come in.”

          The door slid open and Max stepped inside, greeted by the image of Prowl sitting at this makeshift desk with Gus draped across his shoulders, her tail swinging lazily across his chest. Max and Prowl stared at each other, and Max couldn’t help but smile.

          “Were you just using her for a soundboard?”

          “She’s useful for getting my ideas sorted out,” Prowl said, in that matter-of-fact tone of hims. He trailed a finger under her chin. “She’s good for that, if nothing else.”

            It was as close as Prowl was ever going to get to admitting he actually enjoyed her company, too.