#pre-relationships

Which was why Robb was now underneath the girls’ couch, a handsaw in one hand, his mouth covered by the other. Jon was in their bathroom, and the fact that Myrcella hadn’t screamed when she went in there a few moments before told him that Jon had climbed into the shower.

There were a lot of explanations for this, but he was pretty sure the one the cops would use was illegal trespassing. It would have been breaking and entering but they hadn’t broken in, they’d used the key he’d taken from his Mom the other day.

Very few things put your life into perspective like breaking into your baby sister’s apartment and then hiding from her and her roommate.

Robb looked to his left and saw Myrcella Baratheon’s bare foot dangling off the couch, her toes brushing against the carpet.

It sort of freaked him out that he was there, saw in hand, and they didn’t know. Like, what if he had sinister intentions?

It wasn’t like his and Jon’s intentions were so golden in this moment but they’d never hurt them.

“Do you want some more wine, El?” Sansa asked.

“No, I’ve still got plenty,” Myrcella answered, picking her foot up off the floor. Robb heard her shifting above him and then the other side shift as Sansa came back and sat next to her. “So, I’ve been thinking more about it. Jon’s going to try something soon and it’s going to be bad.”

Sansa was silent for a moment and asked, “Do you think so? I mean, it’s Jon.”

“Correction it was Jon,” Myrcella argued, “Until you seduced him.”

“At your request!” Sansa reminded her.

Myrcella laughed, “I didn’t tell you to kiss him.”

Robb did not know that part. He knew that Sansa had toyed with him. But Jon never mentioned a kiss.

“Well technically, he kissed me,” Sansa pointed out.

Robb clenched the saw in his hand.

“Hmm,” Myrcella said, “Maybe I should have distracted Robb in that case…”

Robb’s breathing was now labored as Sansa laughed.

“El, that’s my brother,” she reminded her.

Shut up, Sansa.

“What was that?” Myrcella asked.

He’d said it out loud. He’d actually said it out loud.

“Robb?” Sansa asked.

He felt them both get off the couch and then watched as they walked all over the room.

“Robbert Hoster Stark where are you?” Myrcella demanded.

One of them stormed into the bathroom and he knew it was Sansa by her scream.

“What are you doing in there, Jon?” she asked.

“YOU KISSED ME TOO,” Jon informed her.

“Where’s Robb?” Myrcella asked again. “Jon.”

“He’s under the couch, how did you not see him?” Jon asked.

“Way to cave under pressure, man,” Robb sighed and pulled himself out from underneath the couch.

“Is… is that a saw?” Sansa asked.

“What were you going to hack us up for trying to make Jon go bald?” Myrcella asked.

“It couldn’t matter less but you hack with an axe,” Jon pointed out.

“Then why is it called a hacksaw?” Sansa asked and Myrcella pointed at Sansa and then looked at Jon as though she was brilliant.

Jon smirked and Robb sighed, running his hand through his hair, “This is getting out of hand.”

“Says the guy who BROKE INTO OUR APARTMENT,” Myrcella noted.

“Would you prefer I’d used your method?” he asked her.

He couldn’t help but wonder if she’d just been teasing Sansa with what she’d said, but the blush on her cheeks suggested that maybe she hadn’t been.

“No, Robb’s right,” Sansa sighed, “This is getting insane. I haven’t slept properly in a week.”

“I’m terrified to eat anything,” Jon agreed.

“I think some of my hair is falling out,” Myrcella noted.

“They won’t bring me my mail at work anymore,” Robb confessed.

At that Sansa and Myrcella turned away laughing and Robb’s jaw clenched.

“You know what the problem is though, don’t you?” Jon asked.

“Theon,” they all agreed in unison.

“Are you suggesting…,” Sansa started.

Myrcella glanced at them, “An… alliance?”

Jon and Robb looked at one another as they both contemplated treason.

“Well…,” Jon said.

Robb scratched his cheek, “If you think about it… this really is all his fault.”

Sansa and Myrcella stayed silent, blank looks on their faces. Robb narrowed his eyes at Myrcella, wondering if he could convince her into giving anything away. She merely winked at him and he chuckled.

He had been relieved she hadn’t been the one to try to pose as the distraction. He would have put up even less of a fight than Jon.

“It would be nice to be on the winning side…” Jon noted.

“Well, then, gentlemen,” Sansa said, retaking her seat on the couch.

“Don’t strike me as criminals…as assassins. You’re both too pretty…stick out like sore thumbs.” Leopold muttered, head down…voice timid. His delicate hands slick with Daisy’s blood, his fingers graceful…movements frenzied with experience…skillful …as he continued to mend Daisy’s wound.

Her wound. It was still red and inflamed and seeped in pus… definitely infected…but Jemma wasn’t worried anymore. Leopold Fitz came equipped with the best medicine S.H.I.E.L.D. could buy.

He was The Doctor after all.

He glanced at her, watching her reaction to his prodding. His expression leery...but curious and full of silent questions. Jemma inclined her head, giving him permission to continue with his observations. She owed him that much. He was saving Daisy’s life.  

He nodded and went on. “Look too normal to be holding a brain injured S.H.I.E.L.D. agent hostage for misplaced vengeance.”  

Jemma cocked her gun at that, a tad offended. He knew that wasn’t how things had went down. They were in this situation— trapped in an underground hydra base…with a fucking cerebral hypoxia damaged war criminal and a bullet hole in her shoulder and a critical inhuman partner with nowhere to go— because of his prat of a father and because—    

Blood…tears… panic… and a beautiful male voice whispering to her in the darkness of her sorrow of watching her best friend slipping away from her.

“It’s gonna scar…” He soothed, his dainty fingers brushing against her cut.  

She grabbed his hand, pushing it away. “I don’t care. I’ll live. Save my friend.” –She couldn’t kill him. Not with Daisy’s life on the line.

Leopold held his hands up. “Sorry, didn’t mean anything by that. Let’s just drop it.”

Jemma shook her head. Fuck him. He’d poked the bear and now he was going to face her wrath.

“Maybe that’s what makes us good at our jobs, being underestimated…overlooked…” Her temper flared…eyes blazing brown fire. “Besides, what else can an ex-Hydra agent and an inhuman do in this world?”

Nothing! Not since S.H.I.E.L.D. took over and wiped everyone on the opposing sides of their beliefs out! She felt like yelling, but left that unspoken. Wouldn’t do any good to say her hypocrisies out loud. She’d once been exterminating anyone not fitting into her ideals too—especially inhumans.

“You’re inhuman?” He asked, breathless…his hands trembling. Jemma shifted in her seat. She knew the beginnings of a panic attack…seen Daisy have more than enough of them to last her a lifetime…only his wouldn’t potentially level an entire country if gone unchecked.

So she let him be. “No. Ex Hydra.”

“She is?” He pointed at Daisy's unmoving form on the bed.

Jemma tightened her hold on the gun.

“Do anything to jeopardize her recovery and I will personally be the one to put a bullet in that prodigal head of yours. We clear?” She growled, her tone venomous and deadly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” He barked back, sounding betrayed.

Jemma cocked an eyebrow. “You didn’t need to know.” She replied, feigning nonchalance. It wouldn’t have helped save Daisy. He couldn’t be trusted. He was the enemy. Plain and simple.

“Bullshit!” He yelled, slamming his hand on the end table. She felt her heckles raise. Every instinct rioting, calling for her fight or flight response. Jemma aimed her gun for his head. She never chose flight. “You were afraid of what I’d might do…afraid I wouldn’t have saved her if I’d known.”

Bloody hell. He had her there. She’d been terrified…would have done anything to get him to work his medical magic to save her best friend. “Would you have?” She asked, turning his accusations around on him…putting him in the spotlight…hoping to watch him burn.

“Doesn’t matter. The choice was taken from me. She’s going to live.” He spat.

“So sorry. I fucked up.” She mocked, unapologetic for her actions. She wasn’t here to appease his hatred. She just wanted her best friend to come out of this alive…and she’ll do anything to achieve that goal.

“Don’t lie to me again.” He warned. “You won’t like the consequences.”

Jemma scoffed, stretching her legs out. Taking his malice at face value. She refused to make promises she more than likely wouldn’t keep…not to him.

It wasn’t in her nature to make bargains with the devil.

His father, for all intents and purposes, never actually slept in his room much. Rather, he stayed the majority of his time either on their small living room couch, or out on the front veranda staring up at the sky. If Keith recalled hard enough, after a while, his father had practically made a home on that front veranda. Even the couch had forgotten the shape of his father’s form.

Keith would gently open the door, standing out in the night air in his sleep clothes, barefoot. There, he would see his father, head tilted back and watching the stars like he was expecting something. Always expecting something. Ace would lift her head from where she had it on his thigh before she settled back down again. Then Keith would walk towards them, climb up on the bench, and fit himself against his father’s side.

His father’s hands had been big, calloused on the palms and the pads of his fingers. Sometimes they seemed permanently stained with oil.When Keith’s father pet his curls, he could remember it engulfing his small head almost like a hat. He ruffled his hair, long even then. His father would draw him close where he would lay on his father’s other thigh, mirroring Ace.

Sleep didn’t come easy even then. Sometimes Keith would stare out into the darkness, listening to the distance sounds of cars on the highway. Other times he would look up at the stars, wondering what his father was looking for. His father never said. Keith never questioned.

Now, though, Keith felt that he had some inkling of what his father had been looking up for.

Regardless, Keith felt a certain comfort in the stars. From where he had laid, listening to Ace’s soft snores, and feeling his father’s rough but gentle hands stroking his hair, he could appreciate how silent they had seemed. Silent and calm, even if knowledge told him he was looking at explosive remains, brightness made beautiful in an expanding trail. He could dot maps and secret notes in each twinkle. A couple times his father had played along, pointed at a grouping of stars and whispered that a secret was buried at the heart.

It had been those thoughts that had kept him warm when he’d had to go it alone not too long after. He could look up and remember them when it felt like he was stranded in a desert. Until he had exiled himself to a desert on his own.

So, yeah, Keith was used to restlessness.

He wasn’t the only one on the ship that was restless, that he knew. It seemed to hit the other paladins in waves. Keith had stopped being surprised when he bucked up on the other paladins, fidgety and on the move in the dead of the night cycle.

The most usual suspect, much to Keith’s quiet distress, was Shiro. He’d gotten better lately. But Keith had suspected that whatever “sleepy time concoction” Coran was supposedly giving to Shiro to help him fall asleep faster, was in fact just a lot of nunville with the awful taste well masked -- most likely by Hunk. Keith sometimes feared the type of power Coran and Hunk teaming up could yield.

Tonight, though, Keith was surprised to see Allura.

He had been making rounds on the ship, listening to its now familiar creaking as he wandered aimlessly. It was easy enough to forget it was in fact a castle as much as a ship. They only ever used so many rooms between the seven of them.

His feet had taken him to the bridge, wondering if for once, since Lance and Hunk were actually asleep, he could take advantage of the star map for himself. Instead of an empty room, with only the hum of the auto navigation system, Keith found Allura.

Keith stopped at the doorway, watching the way she seemed so barely put together. A few months ago, Keith would have just assumed she was capitalizing on some alone time. Even with so few of them on the ship, they always seemed to make enough noise and mess to fill an entire barracks. Now, though, he could see the way her body language screamed distress.

As the team grew closer, a lot of subtle things began to become clearer to Keith. Shiro had stated that it was what usually happened when you lived around someone for so long. Back at the Garrison, Shiro had learned to tell when Matt was secretly eating his snack stash by the way he chewed his nails.

Where Keith had thought Allura standoffish, mostly due to her status of princess and leader, he had learned that it was in fact her way of compartmentalizing. If she could distance herself from the hurt, then she could function. It wasn’t that much different than Shiro. Keep busy, focus, and push the thoughts away. It worked most of the time.

Under the light of the star map and bundled up in her sleeping dress, she looked the complete opposite of her usual image.

Allura looked vulnerable and small. She was curled into herself, hugging her knees as she flitted through star systems. She settled long on one star system. It was barren save for something Keith couldn't make out. She took too deep a breath. It seemed to rattle down her throat, interrupted midway.

They hadn’t spent much time together outside of conversations on the bridge or during missions, and occasionally at dinner. Keith wasn’t sure if she would much appreciate him coming up to her in this moment of weakness. The more he lingered -- caught between leaving her be, and comforting her to the best of his ability -- the harder the decision became. Usually he trusted his gut in these situations, but for once, it had no impulsive move for him.

The princess had a certain pride to her. Keith could relate.

Closing his eyes, Keith let his body move.

“G….Good evening, Princess,” Keith greeted quietly.

Allura’s head snapped up, hair fanning over her shoulder as she looked up at him. Even in the low lighting, Keith could see the way her eyes were glazed and shiny. A clear look of grief was settled along her features, unguarded by walls. She was moments from crying. Keith saw the way she sucked in her lips, searching for her voice.

“Good e-evening,” Allura started. Her voice wobbled. She cleared her throat, “...Keith. What brings you here?”

She unfolded herself, though her posture still seemed defensive. The walls were rising up again over her face, slower though, and jagged. She was trying to separate Princess from Allura.

Keith hesitated a step forward. She didn’t shrink away immediately, so Keith entered the room. He made sure to stay close to the doors. He was cautious though. He wasn’t going to force himself into her space if she was not comfortable enough to share her feelings so suddenly.

“Couldn’t sleep. Figured I would do some walking,” Keith said simply. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking at her from the corner of his eye. “Is it the same for you?”

Allura looked down. Her fingers tangled into the fabric of her robes, a nervous habit. Quietly she spoke.

“I also find myself unable to sleep. So I, uhm…”

Rarely was Allura unable to speak. Keith waited, letting her gather her words.

“I decided that I could possibly find peace of mind here,” Allura finished.

“Is it helping?” Keith prompted.

After a few ticks, Allura shook her head. She sat up straight, legs curled around her under the long hem of her dress. She settled her hands into her lap, inspecting her palms silently.

“I have not been able to, unfortunately,” Allura admitted.

“Can I sit with you? We could be restless together,” Keith asked after a little while.

Allura looked up at him, eyes widening a fraction before schooling her expression again. She nodded, turning away as Keith walked in and settled a little ways away from her on the ground.  She drew her legs tighter around her, the tips of her toes peeking out from her dress. Keith sat with his legs bent, and let his arms hang off of his knees.

A silence settled over them. It felt strained and awkward, at least from Keith’s end. At the corner of his eye he could see Allura drawing a piece of her hair into her hands, idly stroking it. Her fingers looped around the strands, tugging a little, before smoothing it out to start again.

He wondered if this was another habit. Allura was actually rather chatty when given the chance. He'd once seen her and Hunk rattling off about he didn't know what - mechanics if he caught the words right. It was probably disconcerting to be stuck in a silence like this. Keith didn't know what to say.

“Uhm. Do you...Do you ever dream of home?” Allura started, voice so soft Keith had to strain to hear it.

Keith joined his hands and looked at his palms.

“Sometimes,” He said.

“Do you ever miss it?” Allura continued.

Keith bowed his head.

“Not always. I never had a permanent home for too long. I miss Earth, but I don't think I have much of a home to return to,” Keith told her. “Are you missing Altea?”

“I'm not sure I understand,” Allura replied.

“I grew up with my dad. But we didn't always stay together. sometimes I was actually out of the country. I spent a lot of time with my grandparents, but eventually they got too old and he had to take me back,” Keith explained. “We lived together a couple years - then he never came back.”

“I can relate in ways to that,” Allura mumbled. She tugged at her strands again. “I don't have much of a home either. Or a father.”

“Kind of makes you feel all alone, huh,” Keith mumbled.

Allura tugged at her hair again, a little harsher than before. Keith winced. Allura nodded, raising her hand to flit through the star systems with the map. Keith looked up, saw what looked like a crumpled ball of earth, floating lifeless in space. No other planets were in the solar system. It had been the system he had walked in on her looking at.

“Even when I know it isn't there, sometimes I still find myself going back to it, hoping that Altea will be whole again and waiting for me,” Allura whispered. She sniffled, swallowing her sob to bury her face into her forearms. “But it never is.”

Allura’s shoulders shook, wracking her body as another sob worked its way out. She bit into her lip, only barely able to keep the sound from leaving, and curled tighter into herself. Tears dotted the hemming of her dress, soaking the baby blue fabric darker. Keith froze, stomach twisting but unable to answer her.

“I just want to see my father again,”She cried. “I don't know what I'm doing. I'm scared.”

Tentatively, Keith reached out, touching her hand with the tips of his fingers. Allura hiccuped, raising her head to look up at him. She looked from where they were joined to him and back again.

Hunk and Lance had often held hands, Keith had noticed. It was a little gesture they often shared between each other. Once, he had asked what it had been about. Lance had replied that both he and Hunk were physically affectionate people. They had grown up together, and had always held hands when they were little. Hunk had mad anxiety. Holding his hand had often times just been a way to help calm him down. Eventually it had simply just morphed into a gesture of comfort for the two of them. If one of them was feeling some way, the automatic response was to hold the other’s hand.

Keith had been really blown away after that. He’d loved little gestures himself, not that he tended to tell anyone. It grounded him, made him feel warm for that brief moment. He wondered if maybe it could work for Allura, too.

“It’s okay,” Keith murmured. It wasn’t the best thing to say, but he kept repeating it, softer each time. “It’s okay. It’s okay. We’re all scared, too. It’s okay.”

Keith hadn’t thought before he was acting. He wasn’t the best at these things -- his people skills had always lacked. Sometimes his earnestness was taken the wrong way.

He hoped even a fraction of it was obvious when he grabbed Allura’s hand. Gently, Keith slid his hand over hers, fingers curling against her palm. He squeezed her hand, brows furrowed as a fresh batch of tears worked their way down her cheeks again. Allura wiped at her face. Allura sniffled, squeezing his hand back as she wiped her face.

Her face was wet, splotched with tears and nose naught, and hair stuck to cheeks and forehead. Her eyes were red-rimmed, lashes clumped together. Hastily, she wiped at her face with a long sleeve. It didn't make it much better.

“Sorry,” She softly said. “I didn’t mean to -- I’m sorry.”

Keith shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I get it. I miss my dad a lot, too. I wish I could see my dad again tons of times. Don’t feel ashamed.”

Allura slowly uncurled herself. Their hands lay on the ground between them, still joined.

A better, more comforting silence settled over them this time. Every few ticks, Allura’s fingers curled against his, grounded by the gesture.

Keith reached up with his free hand and swiped his hand through the star map. A series of solar systems flitted by fast, before it slowed and then finally stopped on a system Keith didn’t know. He looked to Allura.

“My dad and I used to stargaze a lot. He got me this book once about Earth’s constellations. I think i memorized that whole book in a week,” Keith started. He ran a thumb over the back of Allura’s hand. She curled her fingers tighter around his.

“We had constellations back on Altea, too,” Allura replied. “Did yours have tales attached to them, too?”

Keith nodded. “They even had different ones depending on the culture. There’s this one my dad’s mom likes to tell about two lovers separated by the Milky Way.  My dad’s dad didn’t think that much on it. I think he said his father had told him some old tales but he ended up forgetting them as he got older.”

“That’s sad. I would hate to forget any of the stories. On Altea my father told me one tale I particularly liked. We have one about a King who traveled the galaxies in search of a worthy companion. He went to countless worlds, and found none. It wasn’t until he had gone back and wished to the heavens that they sent a star to meet him. I can’t fully remember how it goes, but the ending is sad. The star outlives the King,” Allura told him.

Keith hummed. “Dad and I mostly just made up our own things.”

Keith pointed to a cluster of stars. “Like there. My dad would point to any grouping of stars and go, ‘Those little guys are telling me that the luckiest number in the universe is 3. But you can’t tell anyone cuz its a secret’. Or something like, ‘You know what they’re telling me now, Akira? That you’re gonna make me the proudest guy ever. Your meant for great things, boy’,,” Keith recited. He grinned to himself. “He was cheesy.”

“Cheesy,” Allura repeated, quizzically. “Like that food your people eat...or as Pidge calls Lance?”

A laugh forced itself out of Keith, enough that he had to untangle their hands to wipe at his eye. He grinned, leaning his face into shoulder. He peeked at Allura.

“Definitely the second one. My dad looked scary to other people, but he was really a nice guy  deep down.”

“My father was much the same. I can remember how kind he was. He was always ready to jump into help someone even at the risk of himself. It often got him into trouble,” Allura said, giggling.

Keith smiled. It was nice to see a smile appear on her face, the lines of tension flooding away from her.

“I think our dads would have gotten along. My dad loved a good drink. He might have even liked nunville. Gramps used to tell me how dad used to get himself into trouble, too,” Keith said.

“Oh? Then I suppose you and I would have been friends as children then,” Allura concluded.

“I woulda liked that. I was alone for the most of my childhood. We had a lot of dogs, though. Ace was my dad’s favorite. She wasn’t always the nicest, but if you could get her to like you, she was the sweetest thing.”

Allura laughed. “My godmother had a cat like that. Kova, I think he was called.”

Allura pointed to a cluster of stars. “These stars, I think they are telling me that you are a good friend, Keith. Even if you sometimes have trouble getting your feelings out.”

Keith snorted, batting at her hand playfully. He pointed out another cluster.

“This one is telling me that you are actually the one who broke Pidge’s thingy.”

Allura flushed, cheeks puffing out in annoyance. She knocked their shoulders together, before deciding better and shoving him over instead. She leaned against him to point at some other stars.

“This one says you are a brat,” Allura teased.

“Funny, they’re telling me the same thing about you,” Keith joked.

They looked at each other for a moment before dissolving into a fit of giggles, bent over and crashing shoulder to shoulder against each other. Allura buried her face against the side of his face, nose scrunching against his ear, tickling him. Keith flinched, knocking their heads. They pulled back and then fell into another round of laughter. Allura rested a hand to the back of his head, stroked his hair a moment, grinning.

“Thank you, Keith. This is the best I’ve felt in quite a while. I am humbled by your kindness,” Allura said.

“Oh, uh. Don’t worry about it. It’s what friends do. I’m glad I could help, even a little bit,” Keith bashfully replied. “Would you want to do this again? I don’t get to talk about my dad often.”

Allura smiled, dazzling in the low lighting. “Yes, I think I very much would. I only ever get to speak of him with Coran or in terms of Voltron. It would warm me to be able to share the other things, too.”

Keith cleared his throat. “I think this is the part where Hunk or Shiro would hug someone. You okay with that?”

Allura blinked, then drew him in for a tight hug. He winced when squeezed too tightly, both of them momentarily forgetting how strong she actually was. She squeaked an apology, before settling into his arms, face buried against the curve of his neck. Keith mirrored her, hands joined together at the small of her back as Allura rested her own against his shoulders.

They stayed like that a while, until the star map slowly blinked off.

-

"If I break a leg, it will be out there, not in here." Ryder emerged from behind the Nomad, cheeks flushed, helmet tucked beneath one arm. "Don't tell Lexi, though."

"Only because the ambient lecturing would haunt me."

Ryder chuckled. "I hear her in my sleep, sometimes. Telling me to eat my vegetables. Ready to go?"

Vetra's height allowed her to easily search the bay behind Ryder; no one had accompanied her down. "Where's…?"

"Oh." Was Vetra imagining it, or had the flush on Ryder's cheeks gone deeper? "Just the two of us today. If you don't mind?"

"Mind? No." Was this about…? It couldn't be. She refocused. "Easy to get overwhelmed out there, is all. Are you sure—?"

"We're going somewhere out of the way. Just an errand, honestly." Ryder patted the Nomad. "Should be able to outrun anything really nasty, yeah? This thing's extra-fast now."

"True. And you've done a lot of work on the surface."

"We have done a lot of work." She pulled her helmet on. "Ready?"

At least the interior of the Nomad was still cool, compared to the brutal sun. Ryder skirted the Paradise and headed east, well away from any of the landmarks they usually passed. She was uncharacteristically quiet; something about the whole thing jarred Vetra's nerves.

"You sure everything's okay?" she asked, after five minutes of silence had worn her down.

"What?" Ryder fiddled with the controls. "Of course. Why?"

"You're just...awfully quiet."

"Ouch. Does this mean I talk too much, usually?"

"I'm not complaining." She liked Ryder's talking. She didn't have Peebee's motor, but she knew how to break a tense silence. And she was funny, something humorous usually pervading her words, her tone. Even when she was talking to someone else, and Vetra was just standing across the cargo bay, she found herself smiling.

Ryder glanced sideways at her, hesitated, and then said, "It's…it's something fun. Trust me?"

"Something fun," Vetra repeated. She didn't look too closely at the trust part. Truth was, she did trust Ryder, or she'd have already bailed out and started running back to the Paradise three minutes ago.

"Not an ambush," Ryder clarified. "Something good."

Vetra peered, a little dubiously, out the front viewscreen of the Nomad. Nothing but rolling sand dunes out there, as far as she could tell, and that big worm—still far enough off in the distance to seem small.

"Not the worm," Ryder added with a shudder. "I really don't want to fight that thing."

"No? Not the blaze of glory you're looking for?"

"Glory, for me, doesn't involve being dismembered."

Vetra chuckled at that, and Ryder laughed along, the way she always did at her own jokes. Some of the tension eased away.

"Okay," she agreed. "What's the occasion?"

"Occasion?" Ryder adjusted their course a few more degrees north. "Uh, nothing really. Just a thought I had." She looked over at Vetra again; her mouth wasn't visible through the helmet, but her eyes were tight. "The good kind, I want to reiterate."

"I think I've learned something new about you."

"Yeah?"

"You're a bad liar."

Ryder snorted. "That's not new. Look, give it about two minutes, and you'll see."

They settled back into a moderately more comfortable silence. Vetra's mind worked, trying to figure out what Ryder was up to. She usually wasn't so deliberately vague. What did they need out here—so far from New Tuchanka and the Paradise, where not so much as a salvager pinged their radar? And why just the two of them? It didn't make any sense.

Unless…

She tried not to think about it, to imagine it. Every time it crossed her mind, in those rare idle moments or the long breaths before sleep, she found something painfully hopeful swelling in her chest. But she also wasn't blind; Ryder had been flirting with her for months, more earnestly these last few weeks. Maybe the surprise was related. To that. Maybe she intended to act on it.

The mere idea was simultaneously panic-inducing and thrilling. Vetra quashed it down.

"We're here," Ryder announced, just as they crested the very top of a dune.

It was a long, long way down. The tallest of these piles of sand she'd seen yet. More of them rolled out toward the horizon, barren of life, the wind slowly, incrementally adjusting the shape of them.

"Okay," Ryder said, stopping the Nomad. "Tell me if this is stupid. I thought you might want to blow off some steam. With everything that's been going on...I don't know. Racing around H-047c was awesome, right? I figured here, it's maybe not as fast, but at least we can open the windows."

"The windows open?" Vetra said.

"Gil helped me rig it."

Ryder watched her, brow taut again. Vetra remembered shrieking with laughter on that glorified rock amidst all of Ryder's enthusiastic cursing, Drack slapping the back of both of their seats with glee. Weird thing to get so much pleasure out of, but...she couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed so hard, or so freely.

And Ryder had remembered. Noted it, even.

"So," Ryder said. "Wanna drive?"

Vetra's brow plates lifted of their own accord. "You're letting me drive?"

"Don't tell the others. They'll think I'm playing favorites." She winked, the warmth of a smile coming back into her eyes.

Vetra laughed, a little stunned with the happiness Ryder had dropped in her lap. "You're on, Ryder."

Ryder started pulling out of her safety harness. "Let's get this show on the road, then."

Vetra scrambled out of the Nomad to switch places. The bottom of the dune looked even further, the slope even steeper, just standing at the top of it without a machine between her and it.

"I don't want to be a spoilsport, but we should probably keep our helmets on," Ryder said, coming around the Nomad.

"Yeah. Safety."

"No." Ryder grimaced. "Sand. Bleh. Gets all dusty and weird on my skin. And my eyelashes. And other places—you don't even want to know."

Ryder clambered up past her, into the passenger seat, and Vetra moved around to the driver's side.

"It's gonna be great," Ryder said, strapping her safety harness on. "This is the highest dune in the area."

"How do you know?"

"I'm the Pathfinder, aren't I?"

"Are you also the Dunefinder?"

Ryder snorted, bouncing in her seat a little. "Maybe we should shorten the title to Finder. Think I could get that past Tann?"

"You'd need to find his sense of humor first." Vetra ran her fingers over the controls, powering the Nomad back up. "I can't believe you brought me all the way out here to do this."

The humor in Ryder's face faded; she reached over to clasp Vetra's shoulder. Even through armor, she startled at the touch—how easy it was, maybe, or how good that point of connection felt.

"It's not so far," she said. "And the payoff's worth it. Come on." Her hand moved to fiddle with something on the center console; the windows on either side of them opened. The smell and heat of Elaaden came in, hot and dry and acrid.

Vetra backed the Nomad up, just a bit, and then boosted forward.

For a moment, they kept their forward momentum, the quick jolt off the precipice enough to take them from the steep slope. But then the air stilled—that turning point, slowing, slowing, stopped—and they plummeted, picking up speed until the wheels of the Nomad slammed to the sand. Vetra jolted forward against her harness. Ryder laughed, a single, delighted shout as they careened downward, picking up speed.

There was nothing for them to hit, just an endless sea of sand, so Vetra kept the barest touch on the controls. She saw what Ryder intended with this spot in particular; there was a low rise off the basin at the bottom of this dune, one that would shoot them off into the air pretty damn far, given the speed they were moving at.

"Hang on!" she shouted. She punched the newly-upgraded boost.

There was another second of the tires eating up sand, and then the Nomad soared up toward Elaaden's clear blue sky, the ground far behind. Vetra was laughing now, too, and Ryder was cursing, wild and delighted beside her.

They were airborne for maybe five seconds, at most. It felt much longer, a perfect, endless moment, the wind rushing through the Nomad, sand grit peppering Vetra's armor.

The Nomad landed again; Vetra let it trundle to a stop on its own, coming to a halt in the sand. Ryder wheezed beside her, pounding the dash with her fist. "Holy shit," she said. "Holy shit, that was—"

Something pinged against the Nomad's shields; Ryder cut off, head turning toward the noise.

A few red blips appeared on their radar. "Shit," Vetra muttered.

A spray of gunfire spattered Ryder's side of the Nomad. She ducked beneath the line of the open window, her hand reaching over to the middle console; Vetra hit the accelerator, swerving away so that the attack would hit their rear instead. Ryder cursed again, hand grasping, and finally connected. The windows closed.

"Scavengers," she said, her voice still hoarse from the ride down. "Damn it—"

"Did you get a count?"

"Saw five, could be more."

The dunes, even the lower one they'd launched from, were too high; they'd be sitting ducks while the Nomad crawled up it. Maybe the shields would last, maybe they wouldn't.

Vetra pulled around, putting them against the dune. "We can take them."

"I did not bring you out here to get shot at—"

"What, you didn't tick that box on your something fun checklist?"

Ryder laughed, still a little wild, but she threw off her harness and pulled her rifle free. "Fine. We'll do it your way."

Vetra dropped out of the Nomad and ducked behind one of the tires; the line of fire followed her. She heard Ryder shout, the sizzle of an electric current. When she popped back up above the tire, two targets were stiff from the lash of Ryder's overload. She picked off one of the scavengers while Ryder took the other.

Three left. Ryder's count had been right. Vetra got a concussive shot off; Ryder's Viper cracked a split second later, finishing the job. The last two had learned from their fellows, scrambling into cover, but Ryder was on the move, starting her run across the sand.

"Get ready!" she shouted; the comm compensated for the volume, making her voice tinny in Vetra's helmet.

They'd perfected this maneuver recently; Ryder launched herself into the air with her jump-jet, shot off a burst of flame, and dropped. One of the targets staggered out of cover, frantically trying to douse the fire. Vetra shot at the flailing scavenger until he went down. His last companion was surprised enough by the display to screw up as Ryder approached, not even getting his gun around to aim at her before she opened fire.

Vetra scanned for more targets, but the sand was clear, the new silence ringing, punctuated only by Ryder's ragged breathing through the comm. Two crates—barely enough for cover—and some other scrap littered the sand near Ryder. Not enough to justify a run all the way out here.

"Nothing worth taking." Ryder's voice was back to its usual volume, though still hoarse; she started back toward Vetra and the Nomad. "Can't believe they came out this far."

"Must be getting desperate. There's a lot more legitimate business on this planet lately. Probably running them out."

Ryder sighed, loud and echoing over the comm. "I—I'm sorry. I thought we were clear."

"Ryder—"

"Something good, more like, 'Come hang out with me, we'll be outnumbered and unexpectedly shot at—'"

"Are you going to keep moping, or are we going to take that dune again?"

Ryder stopped short, head tipping back to look up at Vetra. "What?"

"Come on," Vetra said, slinging her rifle back into place. "As long as you're letting me drive, I'm getting my money's worth."

She expected Ryder to laugh and shake it off—maybe clasp her shoulder in passing again. Instead, Ryder moved forward, reached up, and hugged her, armor and all, her arms looped around Vetra's carapace like they belonged there naturally.

She was warm, all the way through. It had nothing to do with Elaaden's blistering heat.

Ryder pulled back before Vetra could react, though she still felt the weight of it, as if Ryder remained pressed against her. "You're wonderful," Ryder said, with a kind of desperate awe in her voice, "you know that?" She patted Vetra's shoulder and edged around her to the Nomad. "Again, then."

sweet Ophelia… singing like it's a full moon…up, up, away…sweet Ophelia Jemma stared Leopold Fitz down, never once taking her eyes off his unconventional profile. Watching…waiting. Her gaze bitter…intentions clear as she turned up the volume on the portable radio they’d found among the supplies Hydra left in the abandoned base they’d been forced to hunker down in.

The music blaring, the melodic lyrics floating...bouncing off the stone walls in an echo. She was baiting him...hoping to get him to lose that coolly kept composure of his…to strike a nerve.

Sweet Ophelia…Doctor Madam.  Dead fiancée.

It’d been seven days since their misunderstanding…and two since Daisy opened her lovely brown eyes again and looked at her— tremendous love…and fear at the figure standing in the corner glaring back at her—reigniting her hope…her soul. Daisy was alive…and nothing else matter. Not the standoff with S.H.I.E.L.D…or the war brewing out on the surface. They’d already won. They were going to survive…if she or Leopold didn’t kill each other first.

Jemma turned the volume knob up…and waited. He just turned another page in the book he was reading…his posture calm...relaxed. Arsehole.

Daisy scowled. "Fuck sakes, Jemma!" She scoffed. "You're going to make living in this hell hole...with him... impossible." Her exasperation turned to trepidation in the blink of an eye. “Please, stop. Don't mess with him." She pleaded. Jemma ignored her fear. Too lost in own her pettiness. She turned the volume up a notch further. Just needed to be a bit louder. She sat back…and waited. Still no reaction.  "Prat." She cursed. The bastard’s made of ice and stone. Too good at her game. Hell, he'd probably been the one who had invented it.

He smirked. Another page turned.

"Good song..." He said abruptly, reaching over to turn the knob the rest of the way up. “Got good taste." He winked at her. His tone smug…his blue eyes dancing with devilish amusement…his whole presence conveying ‘you're a disappointment’. Can't even properly goad me. You’re nothing…too weak an opponent to entertain me.

Jemma seethed. Fucking tosser!

 sweet Ophelia…go up, up away

-

Nothing had changed, even if the settings did. The other kids stared at him, smelling the affluence coming off of him despite Haru’s own disregard for it. It wasn’t as if the money was his, after all. He kept them at a distance with a blank face and a dry glare. The only one who had bothered to approach him was a kind and dopey-eyed boy. He was probably one of the tallest kids Haru had ever seen. He extended his hand to Haru.

“Hi, I’m Makoto Tachibana,” He said. “I’m the Class Rep so I’ve been asked to show you around the school. Shall we go?”

Haru didn’t shake his hand but stood up anyway. He glanced up at Makoto then away.

“Haruka Nanase. Nice to meet you.”

Makoto simply smiled and pointed to outside the door of their classroom. “Let’s go then.”

Makoto was able to get through the courtyard, cafeteria, music rooms, and gym before Haru was fed up with people whispering and glancing at him. He normally never cared but he’ become far too tired now. He tugged on Makoto’s sleeve.

“Makoto,” Haru said. “How do I get to the pool?”

Makoto looked puzzled only for a moment before he was telling Haru about the pathway and then Haru was gone. Haru walked swiftly either weaving past people or causing them to shift out of his way. He kept his gaze fixated on the pathway, newly planted bushes lining its walkway until he nearly crashed into a roadblock of chairs and something wrapped up in a huge white sheet. Haru stopped. His hand hovered over the sheet before he finally yanked it away – and saw a boy.

The boy reached out for his hand, dwarfing Haru’s until his big, long fingers had completely engulfed his hand. He blinked up at Haru with sleepy, teal eyes and a faint grin. Haru’s breath caught in his throat. 

“Did you finally come for me?” He asked.

When he squeezed Haru’s hand, Haru suddenly felt warm all over.  He didn’t try to take his hand back, either. 

The boy’s eyes seemed to focus, settling properly on Haru before he was sitting up, unconsciously tugging Haru forward as he regarded Haru critically. He dropped Haru’s hand and adjusted himself to seem “intimidating”.

“What’s the idea of holding a guy’s hand while he’s sleeping, huh?” the boy said.

Haru scowled, huffing in exasperation. “It was you that grabbed me, stupid,” Haru said. 

“Let me guess,” The boy said, still slurring slightly with sleep. “You’re the jerk who keeps stealing the natatorium key.”

“I don’t have the key,” Haru petulantly said.

When he stood, he towered over Haru until he had to crane his neck back to eet his gaze head on. Haru kept his face blank but stern, even as the other boy looked over his face and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards. 

“Let’s go at it, then. I’ll fight you for the key,” he said.

“I told you I don’t -”

“Yamazaki!” Another voice called. “You are Yamazaki right? Heard you were looking for this.”

Another group of boys came up an adjacent pathway, their leader twirling a key ring along his index finger. Haru stepped back, glancing between Yamazaki and the other boys. He’d suddenly wished he’d simply stayed with Makoto. 

The group leader tossed the keys into the air before catching them, smirking at Yamazaki. “Too bad for you. The pool’s ours now.”

Haru stepped up before he could think better of it. “Wait a minute, I want to use the pool, too. Water isn’t meant to be selfishly kept.”

The leader looked at him puzzled for a  moment before he and his boys were shouldering past Haru and Yamazaki. Haru stumbled back into Yamazaki as the leader sneered over his shoulder at him. Yamazaki’s hand unconsciously steadied then tightened on Haru’s shouder.  

“Sucks for you then, huh?” The leader called. 

They unlocked the doors to the pool and slammed it shut behind them. Yamazaki let his hand drop and shoved them into his pockets as he regarded Haru with a sidelong glance. 

“Do you want it that badly?” He muttered. 

Haru stared back at him, trying to discern his question. Haru only hesitated for a moment before he told him yes, he did. Yamazaki sighed dramatically before shoulderin in through the door and calling for Haru to wait a moment. Haru blinked before scrambling to a nearby window. Through the glass Haru saw Yamazaki’s fist collide with the leader’s chin, sending him straight to the floor. Another boy charged at him before he was kicking him away. Two took hold of Yamazaki’s arms, holding him back as another took a swing at his face; Haru winced, unsure if he should rush in and try and help or call for Makoto. Yamazaki rocked back on the other two, using momentum to kick the leader in the chest and free himself. He elbowed the one on his right, and then tackled the one on his left. Before long the bullies were all but tripping over theselves to escape the natatorium. Haru rushed in.

Yamazaki lay on the floor, bruised but somehow content. Haru’s hands hovered over his face, unsure if he should touch or not. Yamazaki’s eyes shifted to look at Haru’s. He grinned.

“You,” Haru started, “You - Why did you -”

Yamazaki held up the key ring and let it slide to drop in Haru’s lap. Haru cradled the key in his hands.

“You wanted that right?” Yamazaki said.

Haru’s lower lip trembled but nothing else. He touched the back of Yamazaki’s hand, and quietly said, “Thank you.”

-

Later, when Lunch was almost over, Haru came to realize that Yamazaki was in his class. He sat right behind him. Yamazaki cradled a bruised hand in his cheek as he grinned cheekily at Haru.

“Hello again, Nanase,” he said, surprising Haru. He hadn’t told the other boy his name. “Looks like I can think of a whole bunch of ways you can repay me now, huh?”

He reached for Haru’s sandwich and took a bite. Haru bit back a salty retort and only huffed and looked away. The natatorium key was warm in his breast pocket. 

-

AN:  I don’t think I’ll ever get over Sakamichi no Apollon, or how I polyshipped the heck out of Ritsuko/Kaoru/Sen. I had considered making it SouRinHaru but SouMakoHaru fit better and I’ve never written SouMako so I really wanted to try.