#lya

“So do you like them?”

The bouquet in your arms weighed as heavy as a small toolkit. Each rose was a delicately crafted assortment of flower-shaped chocolates, accented with gum hearts poking out. It was gorgeous and no doubt expensive. The price of a delicacy such as chocolate could go for kilos of space minerals these days, which is not surprising for the one handing this to you to have. After all, he is the infamous captain of the Star brigade. The pilot of the mecha reported having eliminated an entire fleet of enemy battleships. Yet he was handing this over to you, an apprentice of the mechanics, burdened with locking up for the night. It also didn’t help your case that no one was especially eager for you to come home on Valentine's.

“Yes, I’m sure everyone on the team is going to love them when they come back tomorrow morning.”

The still crimson-clad golden boy tightly smiles with his perfectly dimpled cheeks and jaw.

“They’re actually just for you…for Valentine’s Day?”

Typically this gesture is the sweetest that can be given. A leader, a hero, a pilot of the mecha gargantuan that defends the known solar systems choosing a simple mechanic to be their valentine with a gift specially catered to you. The problem with this was that you shouldn’t be the one receiving these.

It should be going to his girlfriend.

Alpha Centauri.

A decorated and honorably discharged soldier–now head of mission control to the Star Brigade. Your superior in the workplace, physically, and probably morally too. If there wasn’t a more grand title than the Star Brigade it was their illustrious woman in the chair. A woman, who if present for this exchange, would have likely thrown you out into deep space along with the bouquet that was melting in your trembling grip.

“Sorry but I can’t accept this.”

Keeping your eyes down you hand the bouquet back to him. Refusing to meet the disappointed and crestfallen face of the Star Brigade. As you locked up the tools and prepared to leave you hope this was an ill-received joke. That was not an admission of any real interest but the unfortunate outcome of some private prank. Was that too far a stretch?

_______________________________________________________________

The shop was in chaos. Your superiors pulling out decommissioned robot mechs from storage and attempting to fix the problems that shelved them in the first place. Your later shift is given as recompense for your ending one but frantic texts and missed calls have you come earlier. Joining the fray you can only glean the situation through rushed conversations and panicking engineers. 

Apparently something was wrong with the Star Brigade. A member of the brigade was out of commission. A crucial member that couldn’t control their mech thanks to some emotional event. A stark reminder to everyone about the fragility of the mech-fighters the Solar’s had at their disposal. Closer to driving, and more like riding a horse—mech-fighters were multiple teams of pilots and their sentient mechanical body suits. Which meant their relationships were vital and their mental state entire necessary for the battles to come.

For one of them to be out of commission meant something devastating. 

Given that it was the day after Valentines it didn’t take much speculation. Though it’s still surprising that this was needed at all. Considering the mech-teams weren’t always joined together; they still operate on their own. For everything to stop meant someone important was hurt. 

Yesterday feels less like an exhausted mirage now.

Thankfully nobody glares at you like you’re responsible, nor are they aware of which of the brigade it is and for that you’re grateful. Still you put your head down and keep working the best you can. Hoping that by the time this is cleared the grounded brigade would find some way to comfort their member and be up and working the next time there was an alien assault. 

“I hope whoever broke that members’ heart knows just how in danger everyone was put thanks to them!”

Not to worry they might. 

Along with the copious amounts of overtime to collect, your legs and hands ached like no other. I think everyone got a stark reminder of the massive weight the Star Brigade was shouldering. Society’s defenses relied on them to allow you engineers and mechanics on a balanced work schedule.

___________________________________________________

Alpha Centauri never left the upper floors of mission control. Why would she? Considering there was a cafeteria with catering chefs, a lounge room for quick naps, and bathrooms larger than a standard apartment with thicker walls. All less than a light stroll away. 

Now she did leave for the Brigade’s lounge. A private space more similar to a suite dorm—equipped with a kitchen of A-line appliances, a dining table for six, spacious bedrooms for the five members. As the girlfriend of the pilot of the red mech she was a frequent visitor, so much so that the other pilots no longer batted an eye at her letting herself in. 

It was this way all over the mecha-defense agency. The building kept to the highest standards to house and deploy the pilots that stopped wars before they even started. It was natural as head of mission control that she be familiar with every corner of the building.

The only one she rarely ventured to was the mechanic floor.

Sure she might have made a brief appearance on a particularly risky mission to embrace the leader of the Star Brigade before sending him off with a kiss. For the lingering mechanics and engineers it was the spectacle of the week. To see the legend that never dulls vulnerable with the untouchable of the upper echelon.For the staring crew it was a live love story to indulge in.

To Alpha Centauri this was the center of a petri dish she hated to be in.

It was no question that the daughter of an infamous agent and former mech pilot had a reputation to uphold. While her life was likened to a flower adored by all it meant she was always criticized and judged. Specifically by the majority of those lesser than she. If she was a star they were asteroids orbiting occasionally or just dying to get a glimpse of her rays as she walked among them.

It made her sick. 

Yet here she was preparing to walk further onto the mech floor where the grunts worked. Where they will stare. Where her dignity as the flower that’s meant to be adored goes to die. Considering the one who demanded it of her was not willing to compromise in the slightest and that was more terrifying than the embarrassment. 

“The way I feel right now I could destroy the rest of the planets of our system and not fill a lick of remorse.”

She had prepared for the worst with the passing of Valentine’s Day. Ready for the yellow-mech pilot to have a breakdown because of his situationship. For the blue to cry out of another Valentine’s Day spent alone. For pink and black to have some falling out over gifts. 

But not the Crimson Leader.

Not her own boyfriend.

Who wasn’t distraught that she still worked that day. Who wasn’t lamenting a lack luster gift from her. Who wasn’t making a fuss just for her to comfort him. He was angry and it had absolutely nothing to do with her. 

That was the worst.

In the past when one of the members was too emotionally unstable it meant they simply sat out. The team didn’t need Yellow or Blue to function properly but Red? Red meant the entirety of the team was at risk. That the world was at risk because the man with the plan riddled with foresight and battle experience refusing to enter his mecha on account of the dark thoughts that swirled within his head.

“Why do you feel that way?”

The hairs on the back of her neck were standing. The minor education in psychiatry coming into play all too naturally. Alpha was an agent who’d survived countless battles, calmed hundreds of soldiers and comforted more as they lost their limbs to the faulty technology of this technical age. This was no different. 

He never looked up at her. Eyes hovering from the marble floors to the crumbled fous-ball table on the floor. Hands balled into fists and brows scrunched together, he looked like how he did when he was fighting. 

As head of mission-control she alone had access to the camera footage of the inside of his suit. Authority over the high definition cameras littered with every manner of medical stat known to the society. Only she bore witnessed to the intense look Red leader made when he shot down concentration camps and killed the soldiers responsible for it. Only she would know just how dire the vein popping from his forehead meant. 

“They didn’t take the roses.”

It’s then Alpha looks at the slurry of melted chocolate spilling over the table, a heart-themed paper still curled in a cone. The pieces were clicking without regard for her feelings. To characterize all that she felt while she stared at his rejected gift.

Sorrow.

Pity.

Betrayal.

Yet she felt as though she didn’t deserve as much when she already was partaking in something she could never own. Casually noting the choclatier’s logo as she prompted him again. 

“Will you refrain from leveling our worlds if they did.”

She refused to watch as she heard a sniffle, and a labored exhale. Perhaps the illusion she’d been withholding wouldn’t entirely shatter if she didn’t watch the man who led the most maniacal group of mech pilots to date crumble at the thought of his Valentines being rejected. 

“Yeah.”

So there she was, the Alpha Centauri, walking up to the no-name apprentice mechanic tightening the exterior of a drone with a new set of chocolate roses. The idiot’s mouth opened and closed like a stupid amphibian before dropping the wrench for the roses.

“Seriously? I told him—,” the apprentice started but Alpha refused to let them finish. Alpha whispered,“The sooner I take a picture with you holding this the sooner the Brigade’s back in action.”

With that she stepped back, the flash from the communicator on her ear goes off. Through her better judgment she lends some advice, “Keep it this time. We’ll all be in trouble otherwise.”

Art Dump