Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

    The first attack happened long before Connor and Ritch were old enough to actually remember anything, but they know that that first kaiju is the reason their parents aren’t around anymore.

    They weren’t the only ones to lose parents and families, obviously, but they took their loss much better than a lot of the other kids in their orphanage. The fact that everything happened so fast and they were just so young helped make it less traumatizing. If the twins hadn’t overheard their caregiver– as she told the young kids to call her instead of “mom”– telling someone what happened to their family, then they would have assumed they were abandoned or simply never had parents to begin with.

    Whenever the twins told anyone this, they would always get sad, pitying looks that were usually followed by “I’m sorry” or something of the like. Connor and Ritch agreed that they hate being pitied for something they don’t remember and had no control over, which is one reason why they stopped talking to the other kids altogether. Either they got pitied, or the other people expected to get pity from them when they “had it harder”, which didn’t make sense to the twins, even at the young age of seven.

    Pity can’t change or fix anything, and everyone at the orphanage obviously no longer has legal guardians anymore for one reason or another. Pain is pain; it shouldn’t be compared or ranked between people. This is one of the other reasons Connor and Ritch stayed away from others. They already had enough on their plate to deal with, they didn’t want to have to worry about other people’s problems and vice versa.

    However, their antisocial behavior ended when a woman by the name of Amanda Stern interviewed them for adoption one day.

    She asked questions like how they acted towards and around each other and others, what their favorite subjects were, and simple, normal questions like that. She didn’t once mention the parents they don’t remember, which, in hindsight, was normal for her, but at the time it was extremely refreshing, just like her lack of pity was too. Then she asked what they thought of jaeger pilots.

    Connor loved them, adored them, aspired to be like the new pilots Hank Anderson and Jeffrey Fowler one day. He had always wanted to be the hero that saved the day so desperately. Connor couldn’t have worded it properly at the time, but he wanted the praise of doing something good and the satisfaction of knowing he saved someone’s family, someone’s home. He even regularly pretended to be a jaeger pilot, ending the imaginary kaijus one by one and stopping the invasions altogether.

    Ritch had a slightly different reaction, but a similar answer. He admired jaeger pilots and found them to be very brave, but he wasn’t obsessed with them like Connor was. He didn’t really want to be a jaeger pilot, but Ritch liked the idea of helping and saving people enough that, if it was necessary to make Connor’s dream come true, he’d train and fight alongside him.

    Then Amanda asked if they were serious about becoming jaeger pilots. She said she could make that happen easily, but it would take work and dedication. It would take years and years of training, but if they did well and listened to her, they could be real jaeger pilots when they grew up. All they had to do was go with her, and she would do it.

    As if Connor could ever turn that down, which meant that Ritch agreed to go along with it too, albeit less enthusiastically.

    She officially became their stepmother soon enough after that day and brought them to her nice, large house away from any coastline, and any immediate threat of the kaijus along with it. The twins started their training the next week after their arrival, only given enough time to get on a proper “early to rise, early to rest” schedule and get used to how Amanda ran the house.

    They trained alongside each other nearly everyday for years. After they mastered the “basics”, Amanda began pairing the brothers against each other in roughly evenly-matched battles of wit and brawn, even though the brothers weren’t inclined to do so. Yet they had to. They had to because the longer they trained, the more Connor’s dream of being a jaeger pilot was slowly becoming Ritch’s dream as well, and they had nothing else to work towards in life by that point, so they put up with her games.

    It was during one of these matches that Amanda forced them into that something between them finally cracked. It was just a splinter in comparison to the big picture, but it was enough to start the collapse of everything. Amanda’s continuous meddling and manipulation didn’t help either, it made everything worse, in fact, but they had to fight through it. They had nothing else beyond becoming jaeger pilots, and Amanda was reminding them of that fact almost daily by that point. They couldn’t give up, and even if they were allowed to, their pride wouldn’t let them.

    Then it happened.

    Connor and Ritch don’t talk about it, even the mention of it is enough to make them recoil. It had ruined nearly everything for the brothers. Yet, not wanting to be thrown out like trash or abandoned like stray dogs, they continued to painfully push through Amanda’s games of both physical and mental kinds. They just had to make it another few months and they’d be well on their way to become official jaeger pilots. It was the only thing they could ever be useful for.

    In the end, Amanda kept her first promise (one of the very few that remained unbroken). They listened to her every order and every suggestion for years. They put everything they had and more on the line for this, just like she said they’d have to back in the orphanage, and now here they are. They survived, and they finally did it. The only problem is they don’t know what to do now that they’re actually here. For so long this day seemed like it would only arrive in dreams or fairy tales, and that might still be the case; they weren’t able to somehow change the forms Amanda filled out for them to be pilots together, and lying on those forms is a legal offense. 

    Finally getting loaded onto the large helicopter with fifteen other young adults, ones that still have that spark of life and innocence in their eyes. Connor and Ritch silently glance at each other. All it takes is one, tiny nod for them to agree that they’ll figure out some kind of plan when they get there. For now, though, they get buckled in for the trip to the Pan Pacific Defense Corps base.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    Almost all of the other cadets in the large helicopter have been complaining about their backs and necks aching for a long while now, and Connor is very close to telling them off for being children for constantly complaining about something as insignificant as that. However, when he turns his head to ask them to shut up, he just barely manages to catch sight of the edge of a huge, fort-like structure through the tiny window by his head. Reassured that their immature and meaningless complaints will very soon come to an end, Connor shuts his mouth and faces forward once more.

    Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Ritch staring at him with an eyebrow raised, a silent question of what made him change his mind (because of course Ritch knows he was about to make a comment to these people). Connor offers an answer in the form of nodding towards the tiny, reinforced window between him and Ritch. Ritch silently looks out, leans back a bit in attempts to see what Connor had, then smirks. He, too, straightens and relaxes in his chair, his slight smile never quite leaving his face.

    Connor assumes that Ritch is just as excited as he is to sleep in a real bed tonight, or as real as a cheap mattress or cot will be, anyway. It’s been nearly a week of traveling and layovers and such, and they haven’t slept somewhere that wasn’t an uncomfortable chair or the tiled ground in as long, too. The other cadets grumbled about them not getting any real beds while the staff had some the entire time, as well, which is why Connor was almost at his wit’s end just a few seconds ago. If he’s being honest, he still is.

    Their commander finally announces that they’re preparing to land at the PPDC, and to gather what little was allowed to remain unpacked for entertainment. The renewed chattering of the others annoys the twins, who are used to the constant silence of their old home, but it irritates Connor especially. He has always been more introverted and socially awkward than Ritch– much to Amanda’s displeasure– and there has already been a week of non-stop people and talking so far. Connor’s ready to spend some time alone in peace.

    He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to find a partner if he and Ritch are somehow allowed to stay as separate pilots, not if they’re all going to continue being this obnoxious, and especially not if Connor remains just as socially inept. Ritch must see something portrayed on his face because he leans over as much as he can with his harness being the way and speaks up for only the second time during this several-hour flight.

    “They’re still young, let them be children a little longer. I’m sure we would have liked a little more time as well.” Ritch says, ever the patient one.

    Connor sighs defeatedly. “I know we would’ve, but we were kids when we started and they’re grown adults. Besides, they’ve been talking constantly since we met at the airport earlier this week. Shouldn’t they have run out of topics to discuss?” Ritch takes a breath to say something, but Connor dismisses him with a wave, “Yeah yeah, I know. People talk about any and everything when they get along and they’re excited. And that’s okay, I’ve just been wanting some peace and quiet, and they only got louder.”

    Ritch nods sympathetically. “Yeah. We’re almost out of here though.” Connor nods back. Ritch hesitates twice before continuing, “Are you excited? This is your childhood dream coming true right now and you seem bored.”

    “This is only the boot camp. We could still get kicked out.”

    “Do you honestly believe that could happen?” Ritch asks almost sarcastically with a raised eyebrow.

    “Maybe, we still have our issue to deal with,” he looks pointedly at Ritch, who instantly knows what he’s talking about, ”but you never know. And to answer your question, I don’t think it’s hit me yet that I’m actually here. Ask me again in a day or two. Maybe in a week.”

    Ritch huffs a laugh, an actual, genuinely amused huff, “Yes. I feel the same way.”

    That was probably one of the most normal and pleasant conversations they’ve had in at least over a year. It was almost refreshing, if not awkward. Luckily, Connor is saved from over-analyzing their conversation by the helicopter finally landing. The doors open and all of the young adults hastily unbuckle, grab their duffle bags of clothes and supplies, then step out onto the landing pad. It’s a nice, clear day, and all of the trainees group together by the helicopter to listen to what this woman with braided blonde hair– obviously their guide for now– has to say. Well, more like has to yell over the surrounding machinery and wind.

    “Welcome to the Pacific Ocean Defense base! My name is Chloe and I’ll be giving you a brief tour of the place so you know how to get around without being run over or squashed! Got it?” The group nods in unison, a few saying “Yes, ma’am.” She smiles, “Good! Follow close behind me! Don’t want you getting lost on your first day, do we?” She sharply turns around and starts walking, not looking back or waiting for the group to follow.

    Connor and Ritch glance at each other quickly before following close behind Chloe, the rest of the group close behind them. As they walk up to the large, metal doors, they expect to see some kind of common area place behind them, but they instead open to reveal a large, heavy-duty elevator. The elevator is plenty large enough to fit the lot of them plus three, huge, glass containers and another person, who is fussing over the containers of… are those kaiju parts?

    “Excuse me, sir,” Connor tries grabbing the man’s attention, too intrigued to keep his mouth shut like he knows he should.

     The pale man shoots up from what he was doing and looks at the crowd, obviously trying to figure out who called him. Connor asks his question, confident that he’ll get at least a simple “yes or no” in return now.

    “I hope you’re not bothered by me asking, but are those pieces of kaiju?” Connor tilts his head curiously, knowing he doesn’t portray emotions well when he’s tired but wanting to show the man he is genuinely interested in his answer.

    The man’s eyes brighten up immediately, “Yes, yes they are.” He takes off his gloves and fixes the small bun on the back of his head before reaching out a hand to Connor politely. “I’m Elijah Kamski, the head scientist of the kaiju research department.”

    Connor takes his hand firmly and shakes it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Kamski.” Connor hears someone scoff from the other side of the otherwise near silent elevator, followed by a sharp “shh!”.

    The scientist releases from the handshake and drops his hand. “Please, Mr. Kamski will do, if you must. I don’t actually have a Doctorate’s degree, I’m just someone who’s interested in kaijus and happened to get lucky.”

    “It was hardly luck, Elijah.” Chloe jumps in.

    “Ah, well, thank you Chloe. It makes me happy you think that.”

    “Are these parts still functioning? Or just being preserved?” Connor brings the attention back to where it was originally, his curiosity far from quenched.

    Mr. Kamski sighs heavily and turns to the glass containers, “Just preserved, I’m afraid. We weren’t able to get to this kaiju in time to save any of its parts. But we do have some... somewhat functioning specimens down in the lab.”

    Someone in the group, a man with darker skin and a shaved head, speaks up next.

    “Why would we want to keep chunks of kaiju alive? Wouldn’t it be better that they stay dead for good?”

    The blond, fair-skinned man standing next to him answers, “I imagine if they can keep pieces functional long enough to figure out any more weaknesses, it could make our jobs in the future easier, Markus. It’s smart, really.”

    Mr. Kamski practically glows, “You’re absolutely right– uh, what’s your name?” He reaches his hand out to the blonde.

    “Simon, sir.” He shakes Mr. Kamski’s hand once before letting go.

    “Simon.” He turns to Connor, “And I never got yours?”

    “Connor.”

    “These are the new possible recruits for the new jaegers that are being built.” Chloe informs.

    “That explains why I haven’t seen you guys around.”

    The scientist chuckles in a way that makes it seem like he was trying to make it sound awkward, rather than it being a genuinely awkward laugh. Although, that may be just Connor over analyzing things again. He can’t really help it, old habits die hard, especially when they were critical to his comfort of life for so long.

    However, Connor definitely isn’t the only one to notice how the elevator is starting to slow down to their floor. Mr. Kamski puts his gloves back on and stands up straighter again from where he was leaning on the handles to the cart holding one of the large, fluid-filled, canister-type thing. Connor isn’t exactly sure what the containers are called, or what they’re actually made of. Mr. Kamski interrupts his thoughts.

    “Well, normally newcomers aren’t allowed in the lab, but if one of you guys happen to run into me and we’ve both got the time and interest to look at some kaiju organs and muscles, I wouldn’t have a problem showing you around.” His eyes suddenly have a curious, almost pompous glint to them, and his smile shifts minutely with them (though, Connor doubts anyone else notices this besides maybe Ritch. Stupid habits). “It’s always... nice, to find others who are interested in the kind of work I do,” he tilts his head ever-so-slightly, “So don’t be afraid to stop by.”

    “I’ll definitely consider it, Mr. Kamski. Thank you.” Connor, ever the people pleaser, tells the man as the elevator doors open.

    Most of the group politely waves goodbye to Mr. Kamski as they collectively step into the reinforced hall. They’re wide enough to comfortably fit vehicles through and the ceilings are high with pipes running up and down along them. Everywhere he looks is covered in sturdy metal, obviously reinforced and prepared in case a kaiju gets too close.

    They round a corner, and Connor realizes that Chloe has been talking. Yet here he is, still not really listening because he’s internally freaking out and having a painfully silent fanboy moment. Someone wheeling a large cart passes by and Connor can’t stop himself from briefly studying the foreign materials on it with a sense of awe.

    Connor has been waiting for this moment since he was a child. He’s looked up pictures that were leaked on the internet, he studied the backgrounds of the very few interviews held here at the base, he’s watched every documentary he could find on jaegers and their pilots. For a while, it was the only thing that kept him going, just the sheer strength and size of these machines that are so huge and powerful that one person alone can’t control it without risking mental overload and death. He thought he wouldn’t be as shocked as the others since he’s exposed himself to these battle machines as often as he could growing up, but it seems it’s very much the opposite in reality. He’s grown an appreciation for everything here that the others don’t have yet.

    He still isn’t listening to Chloe as she explains what this area is and little facts about the jaegers that he probably already knows. He can already see Crimson Typhoon, piloted by Ms. Chen, her newer partner, and whoever else is available and compatible with them, normally the testy Mr. Reed– if he remembers that brief interview correctly– and it uses a triple arm technique. Apparently it was extremely difficult to get it working and safe enough for pilots to use. To his knowledge, there’s no other jaeger that uses more than two pilots anymore because of it. The next one over is Cherno Alpha. It’s the last mark one jaeger still standing, and is currently the oldest and heaviest jaeger this base has, but its pilots, Mr. Miller and Mr. Wilson, can still pick one hell of a fight in it.

    The group starts turning to go down another hallway and Connor follows automatically, shamelessly looking at the the other jaegers down the enormous warehouse. He only recognizes one more of them, Striker Eureka, the only mark five jaeger in existence. All he knows is that it was decommissioned a day before its official release, but despite how much he searched for why it was shut down, he remains clueless to all else. They did a fantastic job keeping mark five quiet, so it makes sense that its shut down would be sealed up even tighter.

    He can’t wait to see what new technology and designs the architects and construction teams have put together for the possible future pilots. Their teams should be getting mark six and seven jaegers, which seems almost surreal to Connor, that he’s actually here and they’re going to get new and improved jaegers. He wonders if the other jaegers he can see on the other end of the enormous room are the ones they’ll be able to use if they pass training. He sure hopes so; they look fantastic.

    The group slows down and he realizes that he wasn’t listening to Chloe again when she calls his name. He cringes minutely, shameful that he still couldn’t force his mind away from the giant machines, then morphs his face into something he knows is almost unreadable and faces the blonde guide.

    “Yes ma’am?”

    “You’re really that interested in the jaegers?”

    Connor looks away as he answers more timidly, “Yes ma’am. Have been since I was a kid.”

    She pauses at that, putting in another code to another door.

    “Then you’d be able to repeat the guidelines of this particular room? If you’re familiar with all of this already,” she gestures to the vast area around them.

    As a matter of fact, Connor feels like he probably could.

    “May I try?” She waves him on silently, almost sarcastically it seems. “Watch where you’re going at all times, because there are a lot of people and heavy equipment moving about. Don’t meander or wander idly because people have jobs to do and are trying to get places. Don’t bother the pilots unless absolutely necessary because that’s just common courtesy, same goes for workers of any kind. Clear out quickly if a jaeger is being moved to deploy. That’s all I can think of, ma’am.”

    She nods thoughtfully, “If you were listening, you would have also known to just call me Chloe. Ma’am and Miss makes me feel old.”

    Oh. She doesn’t seem entirely mad.

    “Yes, M– er– Chloe”

    She chuckles as she walks through the now open door, and others snicker along. It’s only his first day here and he’s already made a fool of himself. Training is not going to go at all like how he was expecting and hoping. Ritch must see how he deflated because he nudges Connor and leans over to whisper in his direction.

    “I’ll be struggling to call her just Chloe for a while myself.” He straightens up. “Good to know I won’t be alone in this particular endeavor.”

    Connor nods, too surprised that Ritch is talking to him again to verbalize anything.

    The group follows Mi– Chloe, just Chloe, down some hallways and around some turns and bends. She talks about the specifics of what the different departments and areas of the base do and why they’re important, things that aren’t common knowledge for normal people, but have been drilled into Ritch’s and Connor’s heads over the past several years. She moves on to explain who’s in charge, the ranking system, and tips on remembering how to get to where they need to be and avoid where they aren’t allowed. It’s rather dull, but Connor easily pays attention now, giving only a small piece of his awareness to his surroundings.

    Sneakily looking to his left, Connor sees that Ritch is much less twitchy than he is. It’s completely expected, seeing as Connor has always had a stronger need to know his surroundings well, and the fact that what’s happening now has been in Connor’s dreams for so long, while Ritch was just along for the ride for a large part of it. Yet, the fact that he shares a dream with the others here doesn’t help Connor feel sane or like a normal part of the group. He’s long since used to being the outcast by now, but he’s hoping that he will get along with some people, since everyone here has a great interest in being a jaeger pilot (what exactly are they doing here if they don’t?).

    They take one last left turn and are met with what looks like a training room. Chloe has all fifteen of them line up in a neat row along the side wall, rather than muddled up against the back of the room. She then asks the people who did not come with a partner to take a step forward.

    Connor moves only his eyes to glance at Ritch, and catches Ritch doing the same. Without any “telepathic communication”, as Amanda and any others who knew them called it, Ritch takes a confident step forward, and Connor quickly follows. It dully hurts Connor for some reason that Ritch didn’t even seem to think before taking a step, but it’s not like Connor was enthusiastic to try to work with him. It just feels like there’s really no chance in mending their damaged bonds now.

    Connor can feel the confused gazes on his back, and he understands why. It’s obvious they came as a pair, if the fact they haven’t tried to socialize with the others as much as sticking to each other didn’t give it away already– even if it was just because they were both uncomfortable around strangers– then it’s their matching faces and builds. The only way to tell the difference between him and Ritch is their slight, unnatural height difference and the fact Connor prefers to wear grey and darker colors, since it’s harder to get messy and he believes it compliments his figure, while Ritch prefers white and lighter colors because he claims it looks better on him with his light eyes. It, admittedly, does look sophisticated on him in a way that Connor could never quite pull off with his dark eyes.

    Connor is pulled out of his head once again (how many times am I going to zone out today?) by the sounds of footsteps entering the room. The Marshal Jeffrey Fowler himself is walking into the room with an assistant of some kind. She’s holding a clipboard and plenty of relatively thin files. Connor wouldn’t be surprised if those folders held every single thing known about everyone around him. He doesn’t exactly want to know what his says, since all of the information on him and Ritch in there would’ve been given by Amanda or taken through spying.

    Marshal Fowler isn’t quite how Connor imagined him to be, which is to be expected for any type of celebrity really– if he ever counted as a celebrity at all, that is. While Connor remembers him being kind and open and definitely with less of a scowl on his face, Marshal Fowler seems to be sharp edges and angles and Connor can already tell that he won’t hesitate to put people in their places immediately, no matter how new they are or what age the person is. Connor isn’t exactly sure how he feels about this, but he’ll try his best to not step on his toes and avoid being a complete suck-up by accident, Both of those things happen more often than one would think.

    The Marshal stops in front of the two rows of trainees and seems to scrutinize each person and pair. He suddenly clears his throat loudly, as if gathering attention back to himself even though no one was distracted in the first place. Connor doesn’t know why anyone would become distracted right now in the first place, but some people are just plain old idiots.

    “Alright. Let’s get this done and over with. Miss Arlen?”

    The assistant takes a step forward upon hearing her name. Her dark hair is tied back in a neat, short ponytail and her lovely dress compliments her dark skin and figure well. She looks like a respectable, well-put-together woman, someone Connor could probably trust to send a message to Marshal Fowler in the event of an emergency or something of the like.

    “I’m going to call out your names so that if you prefer to go by a separate name, you can tell me now and I can write it down in your file for future reference,” she starts with a smooth voice, “Let’s start with the pairs then, shall we? Markus and Simon Manfred?”

    The two guys who were talking to Mr. Kamski earlier in the elevator call out.

    “Present!” “Here.”

    “Lily and Maveric Hallowitt?” Those two are obviously siblings with how similar their blonde hair and blue eyes are.

    “Here!” “Here.”

    “Joshua Manfred and North Adams?”

    “Present.” North says as the other informs Ms. Arlen that he prefers to be called Josh.

    Ms. Arlen nods an “alright” and writes something down in one of the files quickly, then takes a breath to call out the next group. However, Marshal Fowler interrupts her from doing so with a inquisitive hum.

    “We have a lot of Manfreds in this room. You all siblings?”

    “Not quite, sir,” Josh answers respectfully.

    Markus continues, “Josh is my brother, but Simon is my husband, sir.”

    The marshal nods and makes a noise of interest at that. “How long have you two been together?”

    Simon answers, “We’ve known each other since we were both children, but we married a few months ago.”

    “Well, congratulations. Hope this is the kind of honeymoon you wanted.” His face becomes stone-like again. “Who’s our next group?”

    “Connor and Ritchie Stern?”

    “Present, but I’d like to be called ‘Ritch’ please,” Ms. Arlen nods and scribbles in his file, and Ritch continues, “And I mean no disrespect respect when I say this, but we do not want to pilot as a pair, despite what our stepmother had made us sign up for, sir and ma’am.”

    Marshal Fowler properly glowers at them now. “Why did you let someone other than you make these decisions? Huh? ‘Cause I have a feeling you’re just in a little spat right now and are making rash decisions.”

    “Sir, he’s telling the truth,” Connor pleads timidly, “We had no intention to work as a pair from the start, but we were… forcefully instructed to sign up as a pair by our guardian.”

    “So you lied on the paperwork?”

    This is going bad, we need to just give up and try again at a later date. A much later date.

    “Not exactly, sir. We are just uncomfortable–”

    “Then you two can stay put just the way you are until further notice or else there will be consequences. Got it?”

    Connor drops his head immediately, but Ritch remains tall and proud.

   “Yes sir.” the twins echo at the same time in different tones.

    “Good. Miss Arlen, continue.”

    “Yes sir.”

    She goes on to call out the last pair, Kelly Wright and Leon Arsonilla. Then the singles are called out one by one. Traci Powell, Alex Mace, Melanie Goodwin, Jeremy Bukket, and Rico Salomon. She scribbles anything that needs to be written down on her notepad and in the appropriate file, then nods and takes a step back. Marshal Fowler takes this as his cue to step back into front and center to address the group.

    “As you may or may not already know, this training is extremely hard, and not many people graduate. Most drop out because this was tougher to get through than they thought, and some were required to stop because their bodies and minds couldn’t handle the pressure that’s going to be on you starting tomorrow. Take this as your warning now. If some of you are iffy now–” he pointedly looks in the twins’ direction “–then passing training will be impossible for you.”

    He turns his gaze to the class as a whole and starts slowly pacing again, “Most, if not all of you will not make it through training for one reason or another, so know that I have no real expectations for you lot. Do what you’re gonna do. Leave if you’re gonna leave. I don’t want to have to waste my time and resources on someone who knows they can’t stay to the end.” He stops front and center again, hands behind his back and looking almost bored. “Chloe is going to show you to your bunkers. You all have assigned rooms, pairs will share a room, singles will have a half-room or will be instructed to share temporarily. Dismissed.” He turns and starts walking out of the room.

    Before the marshal even reaches the door, Chloe is herding and leading the group of young adults out. She shows them how to get to their hallway, telling them when the different training sessions, meals, and free time will start for the next few weeks so they aren’t late. As they turn into the hallway where all of the pilots stay, Chloe hands each person a small, folded paper with their names on the outside. Connor opens his up to find his room number and a four digit passcode. Once she finishes handing all of the slips of paper out, she wishes the group good luck then leaves them behind.

    Everyone except Connor begins their hunt for their bunkers. The twin instead takes his time to finally get a good look at the place, now that he isn’t being rushed somewhere like a cattle in a traveling herd. The hallway here looks exactly the same as the first hallway they entered, only less busy and noisy. Connor starts stepping backwards towards where the others headed off to and notices that his boots don’t clang against the ground like he expected. He turns around to properly follow after the group, who are long gone now, and finds Ritch waiting for him with his arms impatiently crossed.

    “Almost done staring at the pipes?” He lifts his eyebrow grumpily.

    Connor lowers his head. “Yes. Sorry.”

    Ritch lets out a harsh “hmph” with a slight scowl and spins around and starts walking without waiting for Connor. The latter hurries after his brother, not so much worried about losing him, but worried that if he doesn’t stick near him he’ll get distracted and lose his sense of time again.

    They quickly and easily find their room. Connor puts in the pin, then Ritch opens the heavy, metal door. The space inside is kind of cramped. There’s more room in here than Connor expected, but it’s still small. Against the wall to the left are bunk beds, and against the wall directly in front of the duo is a desk and plenty of empty wall shelves for whatever they’ll need or want to store or display. They step inside and Connor notices a small bathroom to the right and locker-like closets against the same wall as the door. The center of the room has just enough open space to maybe fit a chair or two and still have room to shuffle around it, but Connor can’t see himself or Ritch wanting more than just the one desk chair in here, so it’s not a concern.

    Ritch wastes no time in unpacking his things into one of the locker-closets. Connor follows his lead and starts putting their bathroom supplies away. By the time an hour has passed, Connor is standing on the chair in his comfy clothes to position his old kaiju and jaeger figurines on the very top shelf, and Ritch is laying down on the bottom bunk (“Good luck getting up there when you’re exhausted beyond belief,” he said when Connor claimed the top bunk) with a book open on his chest. All of their books are on the second to top shelf, leaving the bottom two completely open and clean for whatever they’re going to need to store in the near future.

    Connor finishes messing with his figurines and hops down from the chair, pushing it in behind him as he makes his way to bed. He’s in the process of climbing up onto it (a slightly complicated task only because the bed is a bit smaller than a twin and has no obvious ladder) when someone knocks on the door. Ritch lowers his historical fiction book and looks at the door curiously, but makes no move to actually get up and answer it.

    “Fine then, guess I’ll get it.” Connor indignantly grumbles, hopping back down to the ground.

    “You’re the one who’s already up.” Ritch responds in a bored tone.

    With an angry sigh, Connor skips looking through the peeper hole and opens the door. Markus, Simon, Josh, and North are all standing with polite smiles and relaxed postures. Connor gives a smile back, suddenly aware that he still had a scowl on his face.

    “Hey guys, what brings you here?”

    “Hi Connor,” Markus greets pleasantly, “We were wondering if you would like to join us to the cafeteria?”

    “Dinner isn’t starting for another thirty minutes. What do you guys plan to do?” Ritch is suddenly standing right behind Connor.

    “Ritch.” Connor hisses.

    This is the first time he’s been asked to do something with the others. Yes, they were annoying the shit out of him earlier, but they aren’t bad people. Just very… lively, friendly. Connor doesn’t want to lose this chance on not being the outcast for once in his life. Stupid Connor and his stupid, puppy-like eagerness to please people and and to be liked.

    “I’m just saying, Connor. Besides, weren’t you complaining–”

    “Sure guys! I’ll come along!” Connor interrupts Ritch before he can finish that sentence. It earns him a glare from Ritch. “Just let me get some real clothes and shoes on! I’ll be just a moment.”

    He rushes to shut the door, afraid that Ritch will let something else spill that could ruin his chances of getting along with the others. He hastily pulls off his clothes, then a t-shirt on before Ritch says anything from where he’s standing by the door, very annoyed.

    “You’ve been annoyed with them all day.”

    “That doesn’t mean they’re bad people.”

    “You just want everyone to like you.”

    “Is there a problem with that?” Connor pauses in putting his second sock on.

    “There can be.”

    Connor groans and puts the sock on, then starts putting his left boot on.

    “Don’t give me that, Connor. We both know how you are with new people. You let yourself be used and don’t know when to draw the lines! Then you wonder why people use and get tired of you!”

    Connor starts strapping his belt on with practiced precision, “I don’t see how that’s your any of your concern, Ritch.”

    “Legally, we are partners.” Connor reaches for the door, but Ritch grabs his wrist. “You make a fool of yourself, you make a fool out of both of us. Amanda isn’t here to fix things this time, and she certainly can’t get us back in here if we get ourselves kicked out because you mentioned the wrong thing.” He lets go and steps back. “This is your dream career, Connor, remember that.” He turns and plops himself on the bed, the rustle of papers giving away that he’s gone back to reading.

    “Sorry for the wait, guys,” Connor smiles and pulls the door shut. “Ritch just had some… concerns. But everything’s okay now. By the way, what are we doing until dinner?”

    “We’re just going to stroll around, get used to the place.” Josh smiles politely.

    “Ah.” he nods

    “Do you wear anything other than that uniform?” North points to his outfit.

    “Uh...”

    Connor freezes and looks down at himself, with his dark grey t-shirt tucked into his lighter-grey cargo pants, his pants tucked into his black boots and held up by a black belt. It’s the same outfit he’s been wearing pretty much every day for the past decade, now. He looks back up at the others and notices their t-shirts with patterns, designs, and colors and jeans with simple tennis shoes. Hell, North is wearing leggings and sandals. Connor doesn’t think he’s ever worn sandals before in his life. They ruin posture, foot structure, and knee and hip joints if worn too often, and provide no coverage for people’s feet, so he hasn’t ever thought about wearing them. Yet, here he is, thinking about how it’s probably kind of strange that he hasn’t now that he really can’t wear them anymore.

    “North–” Josh starts to reprimand, but Connor doesn’t let him finish.

    “I guess not. I haven’t really thought about it until now I guess, but I haven’t really worn other types of clothing for the past several years.” Connor notes the genuine, innocent curiosity in his voice that he didn’t mean to let slip. He meant it to sound more sarcastic so they wouldn’t worry, dang it.

    He guesses North notices too because she sounds sincere when she asks her next question once they’ve started walking.

    “Several years? You’ve just been wearing boots and cargo pants everywhere for years?”

    Connor turns his head to North, “Yes, unless there was a social gathering we– Ritch and I, I mean– were required to attend.” He faces forward again, “In those cases we usually wore suits.”

    Out of the corner of his eye, Connor can see Markus lean forward to try to make eye contact with him, so he turns his head again. How do people handle talking to large groups like this? What if someone doesn’t get to speak because the others are too busy chatting away? His thoughts get back on track and in the present as Markus speaks.

    “Were these ‘social gatherings’ a normal occurrence for you growing up?”

    “Kind of?”

    “Kind of?” Simon repeats as a question of “what do you mean?”

    “Well, Amanda would have parties and gatherings often enough, but we usually weren’t allowed to attend since there was wine and other alcohol involved, so on those nights we stayed outside and trained in the dark.”

    “Training before you were legally allowed to have alcohol? Exactly how old are you?” Josh inquires.

    “We’ll be turning 23 in a couple of weeks.” 

    North’s eyes widen, “Woah, what the hell? You’re so young!”

    “Am I? How old are all of you?” Connor doesn’t know how successful he was in covering his slowly-growing anxiety at being the odd one out before getting a chance to fit in.

    Markus answers, “I’m 28, Simon’s 27, Josh and North are both 26.”

    “I’m turning 27 in two and a half months!” Josh proudly declares.

    Connor desperately wants to ask if that’s the average age for trainees to be, but is, quite frankly, afraid of what the answer will be. Therefore, he states an observation instead so there isn’t a noticeable gap while he tries to think something else up.

    “You guys are very close in age.”

    “Yea,” Simon nods, “I was in the same elementary class as Markus, and Josh was in the same class as North, and Markus and Josh are brothers so we all met up.”

    “Best friends ever since.” Markus smiles.

    “How long have you been training for, then?” North jumps into the conversation expectantly.

    Connor doesn’t really want to think about this, let alone talk about it with strangers who have been annoying him all week. It’s not their fault, and they’re really nice people, Connor just isn’t used to being around so many others for such an extended time. The fact that he hasn’t had any proper down time isn’t exactly helping his social aptitude, either. Maybe he should have listened to Ritch earlier, but he just wants things to be different this time.

   “Uh, well... How long have you guys been training?”

   “For about a year.” Markus answers easily.

    Oh.

    Something must show on his face because Simon asks how long he’s been training again, except this time he asks it in a way that seems more sympathetic and concerned. His tone catches Connor completely off guard. He doesn’t know what to do when people start treating him like more than some kind of dog or machine that’s eager to please, despite that being exactly what he wants. Those kinds of moments were few and far between before he got here. Now, it’s only been a week that he’s seen these strangers, and he hasn’t even talked with them properly before now, but they already seem to regard him as one of their acquaintances.

    And this exact moment is what Ritch meant when he told Connor to watch himself, isn’t it?

    Well, now Connor can’t exactly dodge the question any further, can he? Since Simon seems so genuinely interested. That, and there’s been a few, solid seconds of silence since the question was asked. He’d seem like an extreme freak to not answer such a simple question.

    “Uh–”

    Were all of those years of training and forcing ourselves on really for nothing? Was that Amanda’s deranged way of entertainment all this time? What if they’re the ones that are being too lax and won’t make it through because of that? But if we were meant to do heavy training before now, why would we have these months of official “training” on top of that? Did Ritch and I really have to push ourselves so hard? What if–

    “Connor?” Markus’ voice interrupts his anxiety.

    Stop it Connor! You’re starting to look like a freak! Don’t you want friends?

    “I think it’s been just over ten years now?”

    “Ten years?!” all four of them blurt out with varying levels of concern and bewilderment.

    Just stop talking Connor, you stupid fucking idiot! You need to give normal responses! Normal!

    “Yeah, it might’ve been a bit overkill, now that I think about it. But there’s no changing the past, right?” Connor sounds so awkward, but he doesn’t know how to make it stop. “Guess that’s just life.”

    “You were twelve when you started training?”

    “Uh– No. I– We were closer to ten? But I’m– We’re not bothered by it–”

    “Did you even get a childhood? Or was that spent–”

    “North.” Josh swats her arm.

    “What?”

    “I’m sorry about her,” Markus apologizes, “She can be a bit abrasive sometimes.”

    Connor wrings his hands together, “That’s alright. Isn’t everyone at times?”

    He definitely should have listened to Ritch back in their bunker.

    “I mean, I guess, but not as often as North.”

    “Hey!”

    Their playful bickering continues as they wander the halls, and they must pick up on Connor’s discomfort from before because they don’t ask any questions about him or his past anymore. There are times where he feels like he is intruding on their time together, kind of like the fifth wheel, but that’s how it always is when a group of friends try to accept a new member, right? That, and Connor also isn’t super into being a part of large groups anyway (anything larger than three people is a large group for him, though, so...).

    “Hey there, trainees!” a woman with tan skin and black hair calls out– jaeger pilot Tina Chen, “You’re heading to the cafeteria, yea?”

    “Yes ma’am.” Simon answers respectfully.

    “Just Tina will do. I’m on my way there myself. I can show you which tables have been claimed by who when we get there,” she smiles nicely, “C’mon. Let’s go get some grub!”

    They make it to the food court area, and Tina shows them which tables they should be welcome to sit at, and which ones they should avoid at least for now. There’s two tables she points out– the one closest to the door that’s completely empty and a partially full one towards the back of the room– that she says are completely off limits until further notice. When Markus asks why, she explains that she and her little group sit there, and two people in her friend group are known for being very easily agitated, so it’d be better for them to just stay away. She then goes on to say that the table by the door is just one that no one wants to sit at.

    Connor’s aware that there’s a warning in the way she says it, but he elects to ignore it. That specific table sounds like the perfect place to take a well-needed break from people and their accidentally invasive questions. He can just get up and leave when whoever sits there normally arrives.

    So Connor gets his food, and silently thanks whatever higher power there may or may not be when the group of four move to sit at a table in the center of the room without asking Connor where he’s going or if he wants to join them. He sits down on the farthest end of the barren table, noticing how clean it looks compared to the other tables. Connor idly wonders if it’s cursed or something. Even if it was, Connor would still sit here, considering he’s pretty sure he’s already been cursed to some degree–

    “Who the fuck are you?”

    Connor whips his head to the source of the gruff voice and is met with the Hank Anderson. Sure, his hair is grey and shoulder length rather than the neatly trimmed blonde it was before, and he’s definitely gained quite a few pounds, but there’s no mistaking that this is the person who inspired Connor to become a jaeger pilot those years ago. Which means this is the same Hank Anderson that retired due to unknown reasons. Why would he still be here if he isn’t a pilot anymore?

    “My name is Connor and I’m a new trainee–”

    “Yea yea, whatever, I don’t actually care. What I do care about is why the fuck you’re hanging around my table. You don’t look like you need anythin’.” The older man crosses his arms angrily, the smell of alcohol wafts from him, and Connor can just tell it’s not the expensive, celebratory kind that Amanda was known for providing.

    Connor doesn’t know what happened to make him slip like this during the past several years– because he’s pretty damn sure that the Hank Anderson from ten years ago was not this bitter and vulgar– but he has a pressing feeling that it’s probably the same reason he decided to retire from being a pilot. And while Connor wants to know what happened, he also has personal experience with people asking well-meaning but invasive and mildly to majorly triggering questions. Therefore, Connor doesn’t mention recognizing him, and makes a mental note to never ask him personal questions and such.

    Connor lowers his head just a bit, but doesn’t break eye contact with Mr. Anderson. It’s the perfect picture of being genuinely guilty and apologetic, according to Amanda’s and Ritch’s reactions to this posture. Anything to let him know that Connor really didn’t mean to intrude on his valuable personal time.

    “I wanted a break from all of the people and was told that this table was always empty and off limits.” Connor shifts, already grabbing his tray to move and eat in the hallway or against the wall or something. He’d prefer that embarrassment over having to deal with anyone else today.

    Mr. Anderson sighs heavily, then throws up his arms as a sign of “fuck it”. “Fuckin’ hell. Can’t deny a man some fuckin’ peace and quiet now can I?” He harshly points at Connor as he continues, “Just don’t think you can start botherin’ me or some shit just ‘cause I let you sit here today, got it newbie?”

    “Yes sir.”

    “And knock it off with the ‘sir’ already. I ain’t your boss.”

    Before Connor can even reply, the very-likely-drunk man stumbles off to the line for food. Connor catches some strangers’ eye from the table behind him and quickly turns to sit properly on the bench. Unlike before, Connor keeps his head and eyes down and doesn’t look up from his plate, despite the stares he can feel dragging along his back. This was the exact opposite of what he wanted by sitting at this table. He didn’t know what he expected, though– actually, he did.

    He expected that because people appeared to be completely ignoring the table itself, he was hoping he would be ignored along with it, but that is absolutely not the case. It’s only his first day here and yet he’s gotten himself on bad terms with the marshal, made multiple people think he’s some kind of pity-fest freak, and probably already managed to get himself a reputation of sitting at Hank Anderson’s table even though it’s very clear that no one is welcome. He’s probably going to be labeled as the “problem child” (or would it be “problem man”?) by the end of tomorrow if he hasn’t already, and anything he does is automatically applied to Ritch as well, considering they have the same face.

    Ritch is going to be pissed.

    “Would you stop with the fork thing, kid?” Mr Anderson’s voice snaps, “Fuck’s sake.”

    “I’m sorry.” Connor responds automatically upon hearing Mr. Anderson’s irritation. He isn’t even sure when he returned or how long he’s been sitting there.

    Connor has learned over the years that it’s always best to apologize first. It makes people easier to talk to and negotiate with. That, and rarely ever just say “sorry”, as that can too easily be mistaken for sarcasm or insincerity, but also don’t use the phrase “I’m sorry” too often, or people will come to believe that he’s rarely meant it genuinely. “I’m sorry”, “I apologize”, “My bad”, and “Forgive me” are the basic ones– the equivalent of the root of a word, one could say– and if it’s anything more serious, Connor uses “I sincerely apologise”, “I’m very sorry”, “I am so very sorry”, “Please forgive me”, “It’s my fault”, or a combination or repetition of any of these phrases.

    Stupid Connor and his stupid habits. Except this is one of the few habits he wouldn’t call stupid, since this one generally helps fix something or lessens the blow after he really was an idiot.

    Connor suddenly realizes that he hasn’t touched his food since Mr. Anderson confronted him earlier. Connor takes one more bite, but doesn’t try to force any more down. Amanda isn’t around and neither is Ritch (not that he’d really do anything, hopefully), so surely he can leave food on his plate, right?

    Wrong. He needs the calories if he’s going to continue working and training hard. He really doesn’t want to pass out mid-fight again; it never ends well for one reason or another when he does. Therefore, with a cringe, Connor forces himself to take another bite and chews slowly, as if the food will simply disappear in his mouth if he chews it long enough.

    “What the fuck’s got you in a twist?” the familiar gruff voice asks from the other end of the table. Connor notes that he sounds somewhat annoyed, if not a tad curious.

    Connor can fix that, probably, since he is the reason for his irritation. He straightens his posture and gets ready to get up and leave, despite there still being food on his plate. He ignores the rush of bad feelings he gets for not finishing.

    “Nothing that should bother me, if I’m to be a jaeger pilot.” Connor makes to get up and bid the older man farewell when said man speaks up suddenly.

    “What do you mean, ‘nothing that should bother you’? Are pilots not people?”

     A quick glance over at him shows that Hank has his eyebrows furrowed and his arms crossed in a defensive manner. Why does everything Connor does to try to placate people here always backfire? Is something wrong with him? Well, more wrong than he already knows, anyway?

    “I meant no offense or harm by that. It’s just been a long week for me even though it would be tame for a real pilot.” Hank opens his mouth to say something, but Connor cuts him off, “Ah– I’ve talked too much again. I’ll go ahead and get out of your hair. I apologize.”

    Connor gets up from the bench then promptly throws his tray out before his mind can force him to stay and somehow finish it. Connor takes a quick glance around the cafeteria area, noting with something weighing his chest down that everyone else in the room is in comfortable clothes or official uniforms except for Ritch, but he doesn’t seem too bothered with that fact with how he’s seems to be getting along with Simon and the others. He spins around to head out of the crowded area and go back to his room to reset after today and sleep. As he passes Mr. Anderson, who’s been staring at him like he’s trying to solve a difficult puzzle, Connor decides he might as well properly say goodbye, so he doesn’t come off as just plain rude by walking past Mr. Anderson as if he doesn’t exist.

    “Thank you for putting up with me today, Mr. Anderson, I hope your evening gets better.” after I ruined your peaceful dinner, Connor finishes in his head.

    Connor doesn’t see how Mr. Anderson tenses up upon hearing his name, because he never told Connor his name and he hasn’t met anyone who has recognized him in years because he’s fallen so far down. Connor doesn’t see because he's already hastily making his way back to his bunker, where he can’t possibly screw anything else up unless he’s still awake when Ritch gets back to their room. That doesn’t happen, however, because as soon as Connor gets inside, changes into sleeping clothes (because he was always told “pajamas” were for children), and gets himself tucked into his tiny bed, he’s out like a light.

Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

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

    “Did North say something to you yesterday?”

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

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

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

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

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

    “Yes, but still!”

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

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

    “...oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Hey Gavin! Wait up!”

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

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

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

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

    “Hey, Ritch!” Markus waves.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Hey, where’s Connor?” Josh asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Oh. Was that another “just Amanda” thing?

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

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

    “Yes sir.”

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

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

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

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

    “Do you prefer Mr. Luther or..?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “He’s not going to make it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Three years, huh? That it?”

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

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

    “What was that, asshole?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Then Chloe calls him and Connor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    The timer counts down from 54 seconds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Oh.” Connor states blankly.

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

    “Where did you guys train?” asks Luther.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

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

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

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

    That finally manages to convince him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “The fuck happened to you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Yes– Yea.”

    “There a reason you fidget so goddamn much?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Now he’s starting to grate on Hank.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    What a fuckin’ weird kid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Except that’s definitely not Connor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Alex,” he growls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Please other people?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Text

    “What’s got your panties in a twist this time?” Tina teases with her signature smirk as Gavin sits down next to her at their table.

    “Fuck off, Tina.” Gavin shakes his head, knowing that his words don’t have the venom they would if he were to say them to anyone else.

    “Aw, come on! You look even more bothered than usual and you’re not gonna tell me what happened?” The woman doesn’t give enough time for him to reply before continuing again. “I have ten bucks in my pocket that says it has to do with the new trainees roaming around.”

    “That and Hank fuckin’ Anderson.” He begins around the food in his mouth, “Didn’t even know he could be awake at this hour anymore, let alone be sober enough to pull the ‘my old partner’s the current marshal’ card. I mean, he didn’t use it on me, but I heard him use it on one of the new fuckers.”

    “One of the trainees? What’d they do?”

    “For once in my life I was just mindin’ my own fuckin’ business, when two newbies come around the corner. Of course, I’m just trying to get to lunch, right? So I plan on just walking around them, but this kid fuckin’ tries to shoulder-check me! And when I didn’t budge he started acting like I started it!”

    “So you picked a proper fight?” Tina’s turned towards him now, engrossed in Gavin’s story.

    “No! Like I said, I just wanted some fuckin’ food! So I threatened the guy a bit and... gave a warning, you could say. I could immediately tell he had an ego larger than my ass, so I couldn’t just let him walk away, ya know?.”

    Another woman’s voice pipes up, “Wait, you said there were two trainees. What about the other one?” Gavin doesn’t know when she got here, but now she’s sitting across from Tina.

    “It was the same dude I saw daydreaming in the hall yesterday, and he kept trying to get the other dude to just walk away like the fuckin’ coward he is. He even got the shit beat outta him sometime after dinner yesterday. He was all bandaged up and limping a bit. Anderson rounded the corner before I could even start with him.”

    “And you said he was awake, walking around, and sober earlier? Wow.” Tina leans back in her chair. “I’m impressed. That’s the second time this month he’s been sober and calm so early in the day."

    “You think he’s finally coming to terms with whatever happened to him?” Tina’s official partner– Angie? Allie? Amy? Who fuckin’ knows and who fuckin’ cares– asks, sounding genuinely hopeful for the washed up drunkard.

    Gavin barks out a harsh laugh, “Nah, there’s no way. His hangover probably just woke him up earlier than normal.”

    “What exactly do you have against him, Gav?” the same lady asks.

    “What do you mean ‘what do I have against him’? He’s done nothing but sit around on his ass drunk as hell for the past couple of years and no one’s done anything about it because he’s the ‘oh so great Pilot Anderson’ and his fuckin’ bff is the one in charge of this shit hole!” Gavin leans back in his chair with crossed arms, his food already scarfed down and tray empty. “If any of us acted the way he has been for even a month we’d be kicked out of here before we could even pack our stuff! Besides, isn’t he too fuckin’ old to pilot anymore anyway? Why in the hell is he even still here?”

    “He’s only barely in his forties you know,” Tina informs patiently, having heard this rant a hundred times over by now, “He started going grey in his early twenties, something about genetics. Can’t imagine the stress and grief helped at all, either.”

    “Grief. What could have possibly happened to make him ‘grieve’ for this long? Like, don’t get me wrong, I get it, but it’s been fuckin’ years of this shit. He needs to get it together, ‘cause at this point he’s just dragging us down.”

    Gavin lowers his head and averts his eyes, enviously thinking about how he wasn’t ever given the kind of treatment Anderson is given on a daily basis. His face must start looking softer because Tina looks at him with a sort of concern and confusion. He scowls at her and shakes his head with a huff in dismissal.

    All throughout training, each pilot is taught that no one can hold back any memories from their partner while in the drift. While that fact was usually used to keep trainees in line since everything they do will be seen by another person eventually, it was true. Mostly. After certain things took place long ago, Gavin accidentally stumbled upon a way to keep memories from whoever was his partner. From the complaints he’s heard in the past, it’s just as uncomfortable for them as it is for him, if not more so. So far, only Tina and her new partner have been able to put up with it more than twice..

    The whole point is, no one here truly knows his story. The people who did have either retired, or they were killed in action, or their name is Jeffery Fowler. No one knows what kind of life he had growing up, if he has siblings or not, how long he trained to be a pilot before arriving here; and nobody knows if Gavin’s “pissy, jackass attitude” is a result of something or if that’s just who he is.

    Spoiler alert: it’s just how he’s fuckin’ been his entire damn life, and he has no intentions to change any time soon. Even if Gavin wanted to, he doesn’t think he could actually change enough for it to matter, anyway. So fuck it.

    “You don’t know what happened!” Tina’s partner sounds thoroughly offended on Anderson’s behalf. She must be newer or more empathetic than he thought. “They said this started right after a particularly big battle with a kaiju, he probably lost family or something!”

    “I lost my family and my home when I was 17, and no one’s ever seen me moping around, constantly high as fuck and unable to do my job! ‘Cause heaven knows I wouldn’t get drunk of all things to forget my problems, I still have some self-respect.”

    He must have said something wrong because the looks on both women’s faces make him feel like he’s the main attraction of a pity party. He scowls again and is about to snarl out “what?” when Tina finally speaks, albeit softly, as if he, Gavin Reed, a man tougher and more stubborn than the most overcooked jerky, would break.

    “You were only 17 when..?”

    And just like that, it clicks.

    “No, you fucks!” he exaggeratedly rolls his eyes, “I was kicked out by my bitch-ass mother. They haven’t died or anything like that. At least, I don’t think they have…”

    Both women relax, Tina already going back to her almost finished meal as if nothing happened, knowing full well that they weren’t going to get anything else out of Gavin for the rest of the week. However, her partner seems a bit more adamant on knowing the story, if the look in her eye is anything to go by. Just as she’s about to open her mouth, Gavin abruptly stands up. It’s time to get the hell outta dodge.

    “Well, as much as I’d like to say it was a pleasure talking to you asshats, I can’t.” Tina’s smirk is enough to let Gavin know that she knows he’s just messing around now. “Don’t have a sucky ass day, I guess. Or do, I’m not your fuckin’ parent.” He promptly turns with his empty tray in hand and leaves the food court area after putting everything in their designated places.

    Whenever Gavin gets worked up, going to the gym usually helps. Growing up, the only way he learned to deal with his short temper was to let it out through physical exertion. When he was younger, that meant getting into fights and punching walls until he felt calm and safer to be around again. Now, though, it means going to the gym and showing anyone else who may be in there how it’s done. Not only does he feel better about himself– contrary to popular belief, punching the nearest person or thing had never done well for his conscience after all was said and done– he also gets some of the best scores in fighting skill from his admittedly excessive training. To be completely honest, those high scores are probably the only thing keeping him here at this point.

    Gavin takes his sweet, precious time getting to the gym. He meanders through the endless, reinforced halls until he gets to his room. They placed him right across from Tina’s room since she’s the only one who can tolerate him and is the only one Gavin doesn’t regularly want to deck in the throat. Even though she has an official partner now, that girl’s still relatively new and Tina is a better match in the drift for Gavin than anyone else is. Now that he thinks about it, he may not be able to slack off like Anderson, but he can admit that the higher-ups of this place have done a lot more to keep him here than they likely would have for anyone else. Not even he had to do “intern work” for Fowler during his first week of training, and it’s that one assbag’s second day here and he’s already managed to fuck it up.

    He changes into his work out clothes quickly and grabs the wraps for his hands. He puts them on expertly on the way, having gone through the wrapping process much more often than anyone he knows has. Gavin’s about to turn into the gym when he hears the voice of that daydreaming coward coming from around the corner.

    “Connor, would you stop your whining. Do you want what happened today in class to happen again?”

    Gavin quickly backtracks to hide behind one of the support beams on the wall. He wants to know what happened during their class, because he has a feeling it has to do with how fucked up the guy was this morning.

    “No I don’t,” the same voice replies? Is he talking to himself? Is this another case of Fight Club? “But we just got told to lie down and relax today since our hands are too bruised to hold pens. I don’t think it’s wise to go in there in case–”

    “–In case we’re found here while this injured, I know.” Well, it’s definitely not the same person, since there were clearly two voices talking over each other just then. “You’ve said that only a million times now. We’re allowed to be in here, we just won’t be using the equipment.”

    Gavin takes a chance to lean his head out and look at whoever is talking. He immediately recognises daydreamer on the left by the light grey shirt he’s wearing, which means his identical twin is wearing the black shirt. The doppelganger– apparently named Connor– looks slightly worse off than his twin.

    These pilot wannabes just got here recently, right? So they must have been paired up for the initial evaluation and roughed each other up good. Maybe the twink-looking asshole isn’t a coward at all. Maybe the dude is just confident that he could win in a fight against Gavin. Although, that doesn’t explain why he was so certain that Gavin could win against that other fucker– was it Alex?– in a brawl just earlier. Maybe it’s more of an “You can’t beat me, but you can win against him” kinda deal.

    Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum both enter the gym, still continuing on with their conversation about morals and finding loopholes within rules and orders, and Gavin takes that as his cue to follow them inside.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    “I still think we shouldn’t hold back around the instructors. They’re here to evaluate us, right?” Connor asks, still very much concerned about hiding things from the people who are above them in rank.

    It’s just that, what if they get caught holding back and are punished for it? Connor doesn’t even want to think about the times that had happened while training with Amanda, let alone repeat it. He knows logically that Luther wouldn’t dream of doing something like that to his students, but the inconvenient part of Connor’s head is not letting him actually believe it. It’s better to expect the worst and get better results than assume decent results and get blindsided.

    “Yes, but if we don’t hold back, then they’ll probably make us graduate much earlier, which means less time to find new partners.” Ritch hisses at him.

    Connor just sighs, knowing he’s right but not liking to go behind instructors’ backs, even for something as important to them as this. Ritch likely knows what kind of war is going on in his head right now, which is probably why he’s being much more patient with him than usual today.

    “I know you don’t like this, but it’s necessary.”

    “I know. You’re right, as always.” Connor relents finally, sitting down in the far corner of the gym where it will be obvious that they’re just sitting there, watching everyone else train and work out. They need to get a feel for how much they should be holding back for now, and how fast they should progress throughout training.

    A few minutes pass of silently watching a man on a treadmill, another at a punching bag, and a woman lifting weights before Connor leans over to speak into Ritch’s ear.

    “Are we going to match their skill? Or are we going to try going weaker than them?”

    “After the show we put on earlier, I don’t think we can pull off playing as much weaker or less skilled than these people without the others becoming suspicious.” he answers immediately, eyes never leaving the tiring man on the treadmill.

    Connor nods silently, leaning back into his own space again. It isn’t long until Ritch is leaning over to whisper in his ear, this time.

    “Do you see the guy at the punching bag?”

    “Yes?” Connor confirms, watching the man go to town on the hanging bag.

    His technique is very good, and he has a lot of power behind each punch. It’s obvious that he’s tougher and stronger than he looks, not unlike Ritch and himself. Connor wonders if Ritch is going to suggest matching with him. It wouldn’t be a good idea at all, seeing as how he seems to be at almost the same level as them. Plus, judging by the scars littered around his face and arms, he has real experience in combat, which gives him a leg up on the other trainees.

    Actually… That might be Pilot–

    “That’s Gavin Reed.” Ritch unknowingly confirms his thought. “He’s trouble, so just try your best to avoid and ignore him. I’ve already run into him twice and both times he’s tried to pick a fight with me.”

    That wasn’t what Connor was expecting. He knew the rumors of Gavin Reed being testy and short-tempered, but he’s picking fights with Ritch of all people so soon after their arrival?

    “Really? It hasn’t even been 24 hours yet.”

    “Yea. The first time he shoulder checked me while I was walking on the correct half of the hallway while he was going the opposite way, and the second time happened just before lunch. Apparently Alex bumped into him but he–” he nods to Gavin “–was adamant on finishing what was started. Mr. Anderson had to come and diffuse the situation.”

    Connor turns to face Ritch. “Mr. Anderson was there?”

    “Yes.”

    “Did he seem okay? He seemed to have a terrible hangover this morning at lunch, and I’m sure any yelling that was happening wasn’t helping.”

    Now Ritch turns to him. “Why do you care? He hasn’t been in a jaeger in years. Unless you became much more attached to who he once was than I thought.”

    Connor huffs out what could be considered a growl and turns back to Gavin, “Can’t a guy just care about someone else’s health?”

    “Not you.” Ritch follows Connor’s gaze, “When you care about someone’s health, it’s one of the first signs that you’re getting attached to someone, and I really don’t believe that Mr. Anderson is someone you should be getting attached to.”

    “Why do you think that?” Immediately defensive.

    “People talk, and he isn’t–.”

    “Just like how they used to talk about us?”

    “This is different than us.”

    “How so?”

    Ritch sharply turns back to his twin, irritation causing his eyebrows to set even lower and his mouth to thin. “Look, I don’t give a damn about who you imprint on or whatever anymore. I am trying to help you out here, because unlike the times people have talked about us, what people are saying about Mr. Anderson are all factual and we’ve both seen the proof. You need to lay off of him because not everyone feels the incessant need to not be alone.”

    Connor finally allows himself to snap back. “Maybe you’re wrong this time. Yes, he drinks and he’s a miserable human being who doesn’t like other people, but how do we know that just who he is? What if he’s just like how we were way back in the orphanage, where everyone treated us like glass or ruined goods all the time? What if he wants– needs someone to be fuckin’ normal around him for a change to bring him out of his pit, and no one is there?”

    “If he wanted someone, he would have found someone. He had plenty of friends before he started this!” Ritch raises his voice from a whisper, and Connor can already tell that this isn’t going to end well, especially since he isn’t willing to roll over and surrender this time.

    “We had plenty of friends too, but they just didn’t understand once they found out, huh? They ended up just making things worse until all we had was each other. And there’s the thing! We still had one other person who understood! We had each other! And we’ve never remembered whatever trauma we’ve been through! He remembers it probably like it was yesterday and he is completely alone!”

    “This isn’t a fairy tale, Connor! This is real life, and in real life you can’t just swoop in and save the depressed, rumored suicidal alcoholic through the magical power of friendship!”

    “I don’t plan on saving anyone!” Connor shouts. The entire room becomes silent all of a sudden. He takes that moment to take a breath and continue at a normal speaking volume, “This is what you and everyone else don’t understand. I don’t want to save or fix people! I just want them to realize that there’s still hope for a somewhat normal life after their entire world shifted on its axis!” Connor takes another breath, recognizing that the three people in the room are no longer hiding the fact that they’re listening to him.

    “I know I’ve said before that people can’t ‘fix’ or ‘save’ other people. They can only ever offer hope and a sense of normality among the chaos and hope that person finds enough of their own strength to fix themselves. And go ahead and make fun of me for being ‘naive’ or whatever you want. This is what I’ve always thought and this is the one thing I will not let anyone change about me. Now, I’m going to go take a nap. Enjoy your people watching.”

    With that, Connor calmly makes his way across the gym area, a contradiction to the anger showing on his face and burning in his chest. He needs to calm down, and the best way to do that is to curl up in a calm, quiet place. He nods a silent greeting to the supposed troublemaker, Gavin Reed, on his way towards the door. Mostly to spite Ritch, but also because the guy had a really good form and the strength to back it up, and that deserves some kind of acknowledgement in Connor’s opinion.

     Connor vaguely hears his name being called by Ritch as he steps out of the gym area, and normally that would be enough to make him pause, which then gives him think over the argument. Nine times out of ten, during this process of thinking things over, his brain somehow convinces himself that the entire fight was his fault and the person won’t ever forgive him. This time, though, he doesn’t pause. He doesn’t give his messed up head a chance to twist things on him. Connor knows he’s right this time, and he’s not going to allow himself to bow down to Ritch about this topic. In this case, bowing down to Ritch would be the equivalent of bowing down to Amanda, and she isn’t here to control him anymore.

    No matter how far Connor was pushed during training as punishments, he never let her think she brainwashed that part of him, and she had not gone easy on him whatsoever.

    Call him naive, childish, innocent, too optimistic, whatever. He’s heard all of that and much more and much worse from countless people. He likes to give people the benefit of the doubt, he likes giving people second and sometimes third chances (but only if they truly deserve it, and never a fourth). He likes to think that most people in the world don’t mean to do harm, and if they do they have a reason behind it. This way of thinking is the only thing that keeps him going some days, and on the days he’d temporarily forgotten how to maintain that mindset were the days that not even threats and cruel promises from Amanda could get him out of his bed. Mr. Anderson may have been able to get away with staying in bed most days, but that’s because he was once a decorated jaeger pilot. Connor is barely an official trainee, he can’t afford any more missed time.

    “Connor!”

    The familiar, gruff voice snaps him out of his thoughts. It doesn’t sound like that’s the first time he’s tried calling Connor, either.

    “I apologise Mr. Anderson,” He starts with, turning on his heel quickly to not keep the older man waiting for his full attention a moment longer, “I was a bit lost in my head there for a few moments. I won’t let it happen again.”

    Mr. Anderson makes a face that falls between scowling and confusion, “Must’ve been deeper in there than you thought ‘cause this ain’t close to any place you’d be needed.”

    Looking around, he’s right. Connor doesn’t recognise these walls at all. There are different pipes and the floors are a slightly different texture than the rougher, more worn down metal or concrete of the other places he’s seen. He’s definitely in a bunker area, though, just not anywhere he’s been before, which means he’s probably in the area meant for more experienced pilots. Their bunkers are placed closest to the jaeger loading docks for faster take off. Connor must have taken a wrong turn at some point, still not completely used to this place’s layout.

    It was probably for the best, though, since the first place Ritch would surely check for him is their room (especially since he claimed that he was going to take a nap), and he doesn’t want a repeat of what happened in the gym nor a chance to apologize to his brother for the sake of ending the fight. Both options are equally possible at this moment, so plan “get back to the dorm to calm down in the quiet” changes to plan “avoid Ritch while finding a good place to calm down in”.

    “Fucks sake, Connor!” Mr. Anderson calls again, once more sounding like that wasn’t the first thing he’s said to the younger man since he had zoned out.

    Connor immediately tenses, not liking when people start raising their voices at him, and snaps out of his thoughts again. Here he is, causing problems and inconveniences for people again, just like the fuck up he’s been lately. He needs to find a calm, peaceful place to relax sooner rather than later; he can’t be in public any longer like this.

    “I’m sorry,” Connor takes a step back, then another, all while curling into himself, “I must have taken a wrong turn, I apologize for taking up your time,” He takes a few more steps back, not lifting his gaze from the ground, “I’m sorry, I’ll leave now. Sorry again–” Connor finishes weakly and darts out of the area, giving Mr. Anderson no chance to say anything to him.

    He tries to force his head to stay in the real world so he can actually register where is and find out where he’s going, but it’s slowly getting more difficult. He speed walks through the huge jaeger storage room, easily dodging all of the busy people moving about and doing their jobs. After a particular quick change in direction to avoid the woman with her nose in her clipboard, Connor is painfully aware that his leg is still throbbing from this morning, despite the painkillers he was given.

    At the reminder of the training room, he quickly finds a safe spot to stand in then checks the time. He hadn’t realised how much time has passed since lunch, and he isn’t sure how long of the past hour and a half was spent in the gym people watching and how much of it was spent wandering around aimlessly. He supposes it doesn’t matter at the moment. What does matter is that the training room should be empty by now, since everyone should be taking the written part of the exam so they can get a break from the physical exertion.

     Connor eventually makes it to the vacant room successfully. No one else tried to stop him or talk to him. No one else seemed to take any particular note of him at all. There was no sign of Mr. Anderson, Gavin Reed, or Ritch that he’d been able to find. He should be safe here.

    The first thing he does when he enters the room is find the best spot to spend over an hour in. He decides to camp in the left corner of the room, leaning against the wall the doorway he entered from is on. A minute or so of sitting and bouncing his leg and tapping his fingers pass before Connor decides to do some stretching. Yoga has always been his guilty pleasure and one of the few things that calmed him down completely. Besides, Amanda never complained about him being more flexible during fights. She said it complimented Ritch’s more solid technique.

    Why does every little thing bounce back to her? Stop that. She’s gone now, so stop thinking about her. Stop thinking…

    He isn’t sure when he fell asleep, but he knows he’s been in the Child’s Pose for a fair amount of time, if the pin pricks in his calves and feet and the ache rising in his knees and lower back have anything to say about that. With a quiet grunt, he rolls onto his back and straightens out his body, trying to stretch out all of the aching joints and muscles. Connor doesn’t think it would be as bad if it was his entire body that ached, because then it would be easier to ignore it and move on.

    “Oh shit. Connor, what are you doing in here?” North asks, making Connor jump.

    Connor should have realized that he wasn’t alone in the room. With how tired he was, and still is, there’s no way he would have woken up on his own while the sun was still up.

    Connor notes the random sounds of concern and confusion and the footsteps growing closer to him. He decides to go with sarcasm and humor, rather than the blunt truth. He’s already caused enough inconveniences today, and he knows this group well enough to know that they won’t somehow be offended by it.

    “Oh, you know. Just doing yoga. I don’t recommend falling asleep in the middle of a pose though…” Connor fails to cover a groan as he sits up. His legs have gotten a bit better, but his back and ankles certainly haven’t yet. “Yea, definitely not the best position to fall asleep in.”

    Markus offers a hand to lift him up to his feet, and Connor gladly takes it. “Why are you doing yoga in here of all places? If you don’t mind my asking, of course.”

    “I didn’t even know you did yoga,” Josh jumps in.

    Connor elects to ignore Markus’ question for the time being, “It’s always been a guilty pleasure of mine, and once my… Once the person who was taking care of me and Ritch figured out I was doing yoga in my spare time instead of doing extra studying, she didn’t actively try to stop me.” He starts leaning and twisting his torso in different directions to try to stretch his back, grimacing at how it pulls at some of the bandages and injuries on his torso. “She actually said that my flexibility and fluidity in fights complimented Ritch’s more rigid and solid form.”

    “Jesus,” Simon breathes out, “The way you and Ritch describe– Amanda was it?” Connor nods, “Makes it seem like she wasn’t your stepmother at all.”

    One would think that Connor would learn to think before replying.

    “That’s because she really wasn’t.” He finally straightens up for good, his back better, now. “I think she only adopted us because we said we wanted to become jaeger pilots when we grew up. Well, I did, anyway.” Connor adds that last part softly, massaging his left palm with his right thumb.

    “Wait,” Josh blurts, “You said her name was Amanda?”

    “Yes?” Why does Josh look like he’s found the missing last piece to a 500 part jigsaw puzzle?

    “Amanda, as in, Amanda Stern? Do you share her last name?”

    Seeing how everyone’s eyes light up confuses Connor even more. He’s definitely missing something here.

    “Yes? Have you met her before or know somebody else who has?”

    “Have we met her!?” North suddenly exclaims, “Are you kidding me!? Only a small group of people have met her, everyone else just knows of her and her work! She’s a fucking legend among the jaeger pilot and special forces trainers! She always trains the best fighters! No wonder you two are so far out of our league! Especially if you’ve been in her care for so long!”

    “I didn’t realise she was popular.”

    “She’s more than just popular. She’s downright famous within the jaeger and military community.” Simon corrects.

    “I’m actually shocked you didn’t know. Did you never question what those gatherings were, as you and Ritch call them?” Josh asks.

    “Uh, no? Asking particularly dumb questions usually meant more work the next day for us, so neither of us wanted to ask. We just knew that wealthy people came over for conversation and drinks and we had to stay out of the way unless sought out and spoken to.”

    Markus seems to snap out of his silent contemplation then. “More work for asking dumb questions. A life wearing nothing but uniforms and sleepwear, little to no toys and electronics growing up despite her having the funds for more than enough. That mixed with how you guys are pretty much soldiers already and claim to have learned most of it on your own… She does not sound like someone who deserves the high praise she gets. It all sounds questionable at best.”

    “I mean… I guess? But she was only trying to get us used to following orders and stuff so we wouldn’t get in trouble here.” Right? “I don’t think she wasn’t a bad person? She just liked having things a certain way and was very determined to get it that way. We just weren’t good enough pilots for her in the beginning, is all. She was very nice and pleasant to us when we did something right, and always was to other people, too.”

    Whatever Markus is thinking, Simon catches on too. Maybe they have the telepathy thing that Connor and Ritch have, too. “Were you and Ritch holding back this morning?”

    Connor doesn’t know where this is going, but he doesn’t like it.

    “What do you mean? We were told to go all out so we could be evaluated properly.”

    “That’s what you were told to do,” Markus puts a kind hand on his shoulder. It’s oddly and undeniably comforting. “But did you actually?”

    “No. We held back.” Ritch’s voice says from the doorway, having just popped in, “We had to be at least a little more gentle than usual because we were on those thin mats, and not mud or thicker foam like we’re used to. But after seeing everyone else’s skill levels this morning, we decided it would be best to blend in and hold back more.”

    “What happened to keeping that hidden? What if Luther and Chloe find out?” Connor steps towards his brother, causing Markus’ hand to fall from his shoulder.

    “I see no reason to hide that from this group in particular.” Ritch remains as stoic and unbothered as always. “They’ve proven themselves to be trustworthy, and at least two of them had already figured it out. It’d be more effort to try to continue hiding it from them.” Connor goes to retort, but Ritch continues, “Why are you getting upset? I thought you wanted to come clean?”

    Connor has to curl his hands into fists and clench his jaw to keep the angered words and growls from leaving his mouth. It doesn’t help in the slightest that he never got to properly calm down from the fight earlier. He just fell asleep on the floor.

    “What brings you here, Ritch?” he asks calmly, instead.

    He rolls his eyes– a thing he would have gotten smacked for if they were still under Amanda’s roof, Connor’s brain supplies. “Well, you kind of stormed out earlier.”

    “That generally means that person doesn’t want to be in the other’s presence anymore.”

    “Oh would you stop being a child for two seconds and come with me to eat dinner. You need to eat and we can finish talking then.”

    Connor sharply looks to the side. “I’ll be there in a few. Go ahead without me.” He continues as Ritch opens his mouth to say something, “And if you just stay here and wait for me I will purposely skip dinner and breakfast tomorrow. And you know I’ve lasted longer without food before and it won’t faze me.”

    “And you know it won’t faze me either.”

    “Won’t it?” Connor usually lasted just over three days without food before giving in during Amanda’s “survival evaluations”. Ritch only lasted one and a half on average.

    There’s a heavy, tense silence where Connor is painfully aware of the other four’s presence, and that they have no clue what to make of this or how to handle it. Thankfully, Ritch caves first with a sigh.

    “Fine then, but I don’t want you near Mr. Anderson.”

    Connor clenches his fists and law. “Good thing you’re not my guardian or superior then.”

    “He is, though. Your superior.”

    “And he hasn’t kicked me off of his table yet. And don’t even claim that he could be letting me stay just to be polite or whatever. We both know he isn’t like that.”

    Another silence, less tense and much shorter this time, though. Yet it’s broken by Ritch’s sigh once more.

    “Fine.” He snaps, shaking his head, “It’s your life, your downfall, your embarrassment, and your panic attack when he comes to dislike you.” He turns around and starts walking out of the room. He doesn’t pause as he calls over his shoulder, “Don’t come crying to me this time. This will be all your doing, and I am not your guardian.”

    “Wasn’t going to.” the other half calls back.

    Well that was a disaster. Well, not so much of a disaster as a wreckage of notable size. Here Connor was, thinking that it would be himself that would ruin his relationship with Markus, North, Josh, and Simon, but oh no. No, it was going to be Ritch that destroyed it in the end. That robotic asshat.

    Well, time to do some damage control.

    “I am so sorry you guys had to see that–”

    “Are you two like this all the time?” Josh interrupts.

    His question makes him freeze and stumble over his previous thought. Why would he care how he and Ritch act around one another?

    “Yes and no? I mean, when we’re not talking business, we’re either doing our own thing and leaving each other alone or training together, but our arguments don’t usually last this long. It’s usually solved one way or another by now.” Connor takes a deep breath, and finally relaxes his fists and stature, not realizing he was tense for a fight. He turns to the group that is now cautious, not unlike treading on eggshells, but not treating him as if he were delicate or unpredictable. More like unsteady, if he was forced to choose a word. “You guys know how siblings are, after all. This will pass.”

    No one says or indicates anything. Are siblings not usually like this?

    Markus takes a step forward. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but were you and Ritch pitted against each other often?”

    Connor almost considers leaving the room right then, making use of the out he was given. He’s been talking way too much today, anyway; he feels the way his throat is getting hoarse with how much he’s been using his voice. On top of that, he just doesn’t want to go into detail about their training. He doesn’t want their opinions of him or Ritch to change because of what they’ve done in the past. Although, if his twin didn’t feel like waiting until they were alone to continue their dispute, then why should Connor spare him of this?

    “I was under the impression that everyone fought against their partner in order to train. It helps both trainees’ styles to be either complementary to one another or near identical, and it helps them think in similar or complementary ways during battles, too. Did you guys not spar against each other regularly?”

    “There’s a difference between sparring against your partner and being pitted against them, Connor.” North responds this time, uncharacteristically subdued.

    “Well, yes, I suppose so…” There are so many regrets right now. After this, he’s just not going to talk anymore. It’s not worth it.

    Simon takes a slow step forward, watching his reaction, “Stop me if I’m going too far, but were you guys ever told to fight with the intentions to harm or subdue each other, rather than just to train? ‘Cause that is usually considered illeg–”

    –hand in his hair, boot digging into his back. He can’t breathe, he may as well be drowning on the mud he’s being pushed into–

    “No.” he says with a sharp shake of his head. Whether it’s an answer to Simon’s question or a reaction to his thoughts, not even Connor himself knows.

    –he takes the knife from his leg, wincing and hissing as it tears through–

    No.

    –loses his grip, causing him to be pinned again. He can’t move his arm. Why can’t he move his arm?–

    No, no no no no no–

    –it’s cold in summer..? Why is my vision so blurry? Wait, why am I alone now? No, wait! Don’t leave me! Please! I’ll do better! I promise I’ll do bet–

    “Connor?!”

    Connor finally snaps out of it with a small gasp, realizing that his vision really is getting blurry, but for a different reason. Crying is extremely disgraceful and impolite, especially in front of others. You have to be on your best behavior in front of people, and crying and curling up on the ground is not good behavior. He straightens up and forcibly relaxes his posture, using a single knuckle to wipe the threatening tears in the corners of his eyes. It’s now that he realizes he was beginning to hyperventilate. He needs a minute to be alone and calm himself, but he doesn’t want to be left alone. He really doesn’t want to be left alone–

    Ah, but he isn’t alone right now and they won’t be leaving him, he can distantly hear them telling him that right now. Maybe there’s a chance they won’t completely avoid him in the near future. Although, for now, he needs to be fine, and his small group of allies certainly don’t see him as fine right now. He needs to calm down. He’s making a fool of himself in front of them. He needs to reassure them that he’s fine. He’ll be fine. He’ll definitely be fine–

    “Connor, I’m so sorry.”

    “No, it wasn’t your fault. I apologize for the way I reacted just then.” Manners are key, especially when forced to cut a conversation short. He bows his head with practiced grace, “And to answer your question, no, we weren’t ever told to fight each other with such an intent. Honestly. It– ah– we weren’t technically against each other…” He looks up at the clock on the wall; it’s nearly dinner time. “Ah, you guys came in here earlier for a reason and I just keep getting in the way. My apologies.” Markus opens his mouth to speak, but Connor doesn’t give him time. “Thank you for keeping me company, though.”

    “Connor, I’m sorry for asking–”

    No no no. Can’t think of that. Don’t think. It never happened. It was just a bad dream. Just think of it as a bad dream. Ritch said it would help. Amanda may lie, but Ritch doesn’t. Does he?

    “No no, you’re quite alright. You didn’t know, it wasn’t your fault. It’s natural for people to be curious, and it really wasn’t that bad. I simply have a habit of over reacting to things.” Connor tries to make his following laugh sound genuine, but falls short. “Well, I should go now. Dinner will be starting soon and you still have business to attend to. I’ll see you guys later if you’re interested.”

    Connor finally manages to shuffle out of the room, but he never makes it to dinner that night, even if he told Ritch he would. Despite what he just claimed, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to talk to them again. People hate when others are large burdens, and that’s exactly what he’s becoming for them. He thought he could be better with fresh, new faces, but apparently it doesn’t work that way. It’s not how it works. It won’t ever be how it works, so it’s better to just leave them alone and let them have peace.

    Ritch was right. He probably needs to start leaving Mr. Anderson alone. He understands now. Maybe he can still sit there to be alone? But why would he stay here at the base just to be alone? If he can’t even handle getting casual friends, how will he ever find a partner? And Connor’s replaceable in a way the ex-pilot is not, so they would not be nearly as patient with him.

    Does that mean he needs to quit after all? What could he even do if not this? What would Ritch do? Connor’s the reason he’s even here in the first place. He’s the reason Ritch will be stuck in a life style he never particularly wanted growing up. Why can’t Connor ever do anything right? Everyone is right, he’s too naive, too childish, too quick to get too deep into things. It needs to stop. He’ll pack his things tomorrow and tell the instructors about all of this and he’ll be gone by tomorrow evening or the next morning, whenever Ritch isn’t around. If Ritch finds out he’ll definitely blame Connor and make him stay with him as payback or something. Connor can’t stay, though. He’s useless.

    His room’s door opens with a creek, causing Connor to instinctively curl into himself, but he forces himself to relax and slow his breathing. If Ritch thinks he’s asleep when he gets back, he’ll leave him alone. With every footstep, adrenaline rushes through Connor. He’s distantly aware that he’s being like this because he’s afraid Ritch is going to pop out of nowhere and confront him, knowing he won’t have the energy to fight back now. They’ve been arguing all day and a good chunk of yesterday too, it’d only make sense for Ritch to try something like that.

    Instead of doing so, though, Connor simply changes into sleeping clothes and climbs into bed. The main light was never turned on, so the room has been coated in darkness from the start. After some time of resting, though, there’s the creak of the door, then a click accompanied by a soft, yellow light flooding the room. It stays on for a long while before Connor hears Ritch shifting around again. This time, the other twin climbs out of the lower bunk and sounds like he’s about to put on his real clothes again, but pauses in the process.

    “Connor.” The man in question can hear the stern frown in Ritch’s voice. He uses all of his self control to not stiffen because of it, but it apparently wasn’t good enough. “Connor, I know you’re up. Why didn’t you eat?” that same stern frown is likely still on his face.

    Connor doesn’t move, hoping that if he keeps up the act and ignores his racing heart, Ritch will convince himself that he was just seeing things. He knows it’s not a realistic thing to hope for, but still.

    “Connor, even if you weren’t up before, I know you would be by now. Why weren’t you in the food court? The others were.”

    No response. He remembers what he said before in the training room, he doesn’t want to talk to anyone anymore. It just makes things worse. Besides, his throat is still a bit scratchy.

    “Fine. Be a child. I don’t care. I’m not putting up with this shit anymore.”

    No, wait, please don’t leave. I take it back, I’ll get better at talking so I can do it without messing up, like you can. I’ll teach myself how to respond better so I don’t have to worry about making things worse anymore. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to hate me. I don’t want anyone to hate me. I don’t want to be alone again. Please–

    “Connor?” Soft footsteps creep closer. “Are you crying?” If Connor didn’t know better, he’d almost say that Ritch sounded concerned.

    Before responding, he takes a shaky breath so he can speak without too many tremors in his voice. “I’m not crying.” Another, shorter breath. “It’s impolite and childish, especially in front of people.” The next breath is shakier, and definitely a give away that he’s slowly failing his attempt at not crying. “I’m fine. You need rest.”

    “Connor–”

    “You’re not my guardian. You don’t need to babysit me. Just let me self destruct like you said you would. It’s not even anything serious. Goodnight.” Just because his sleep schedule is going to be completely ruined, doesn’t mean Ritch’s has to be as well.

    “Connor…”

    He doesn’t respond.

    There’s a shuffle of Ritch sitting down on the bed as he asks, “Did they ask more questions?”

    “Yes, but you were there for them.” Maybe he’ll let him go to sleep if he plays along.

    “Was that the only thing they asked?”

    Connor sighs, annoyed. “Yes.”

    “What did they ask?”

    Connor finally makes himself sit up. “Ritch, I just said–”

    “Connor.” If a tone of voice could paralyze, Connor wouldn’t even be able to blink.

    He sighs again, this time in defeat. “If I tell you, would you let me sleep?”

    “Depends on if what I’m told and if it’s a lie or not.”

    Connor hesitates.

    “...if I promise to tell the truth, will you leave me alone?”

    “Depends on what the truth is.”

    “Then no.”

    Ritch jumps up from where he sat on his lower bunk. “Connor! I swear to god–”

    “They brought it up, okay? God, are you happy now?”

    “Brought what up, Connor? Use your words–”

    “It.” he snarls, “They asked a question that made me think of when it happened. And I know you aren’t as affected by it as I am, but I can’t handle anything like you can. I just can’t...” Connor finally lets himself fall back down on his bed in a desperate attempt to hide the silent tears that are finally falling.

    This time, Ritch is the one that doesn’t have a response. Good. Let him think about when it happened. Let him suffer just like Connor was trying to avoid because he’s a nosy prick.

    Ritch heaves a deep sigh. “I’m sorry. I can talk to them about it tomorrow, try to calm them down. They’re probably very worried about you or both of us now.”

   Connor grunts. They probably should be worried, but he knows that leaving things as they are now would only make things worse for himself in the long run.

   “Connor.” Another grunt. “Please try to eat something tomorrow. I’ll talk to Luther to see if you can take tomorrow off. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

    “I’m not a child anymore.” he grumbles.

    “No, you’re not.” he agrees softly.

    Another grunt, this time followed by a heavy sigh. He won’t be getting that break. Even if he did get it, the chances of him being put in the danger zone of being sent home are more likely than most of the other trainees. If he can’t even handle being here for two days without becoming so completely and utterly useless, then what business does he have trying to be a fully-fledged pilot? None, that’s the answer.

    He is distantly aware that Ritch has started trying to talk to him again, but Connor really just wants to go to sleep and forget about today, and so he does. He assumes his twin goes to bed soon after he did, though, because when he tries to wake Connor up for breakfast the next morning, he appears to be well rested. No obvious dark circles or bags under his eyes, no sluggish movements, his eyes clear. That’s good. Ritch will do just fine here. He knows how to talk like a normal human being and responds to others well. He’ll definitely find a new partner in no time.

    Ritch walks out the door. Connor almost tries to get up to get ready for class, then figures that if he’s actually going to quit soon, then he may as well just stay put. Therefore, he’s still in bed by the time breakfast ends and the first class begins. No one tries to come get him. He’s not surprised, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still sting. He tries to convince himself that it’s just because Ritch told everyone that he needs a day off, but, if anything, that makes the sting in his chest worse for some reason.

    He’ll try going in after lunch, after he’s had some time to settle down a bit.

    After deciding on that, he goes to his dresser drawer and pulls out the small bottle of strong sleeping essential oil that Ritch and Amanda have no clue he has, let alone needs often enough for it to maybe be unhealthy. Here, he has it stuffed in the back of his dresser-locker under some clothes. He rubs a bit of it onto his foot then pulls a sock on because he doesn’t want that horrendous smell getting all over his sheets. His head doesn’t even quite make it onto the pillow properly before he’s out like a light.

    Sleeping means no thinking, and no thinking means no stressing, after all, and that oil does a damn good job at knocking people out.

Chapter Text

    Ritch knows even before he tries to wake Connor up for breakfast that it won’t work. After a day as bad as yesterday, the twin rarely comes out of his room the next day, and if he does it’s late in the afternoon at the earliest. Yet Ritch still always tries because he knows Connor will appreciate his effort of not just leaving him behind when he becomes active again.

    He is aware that Connor is only more used to dealing with hunger and thirst because he occasionally feels the irrational need to punish himself like this for no reason. He understands needing alone time to recharge after stressful events, but Connor needs to at least eat or drink something instead of letting himself slowly deteriorate. Ritch idly wonders how many times Connor has gone longer than two days without food for one incomprehensible reason or another.

    He thought his brother might not run into this problem when they were finally away from Amanda, though.

    Although, to be fair, a portion of Connor’s situation this time is Ritch’s own fault. He’s not too prideful to admit that to himself. To Connor or anyone else, probably, but not to himself. He just thought that since Amanda wasn’t here, his brother would get steered down the wrong path or overwhelmed or both, so Ritch tried to step in and guide him in her place, and tried to be a bit more gentle than she was while doing so. That was obviously the wrong move to make or he did something else wrong, and it didn’t help that he went and hounded him down after a while, too, he realises now. He’ll remember that for the future.

   He still doesn’t want Connor near Mr. Anderson, but he’ll try to be more gentle and subtle about it from now on. He’ll also try to fix the relationship with Simon and the others that he and his twin undoubtedly made at least awkward again. It won’t be too far out of Ritch’s way to do so, since he plans on continuing his friendship with that group, and he played a large part in this mess, so it’s only right that he tries to correct things. Plus, it’ll be easier for Connor to find another partner if he’s on good terms with Markus and crew since they could possibly introduce him to new people in the future.

    That, and Ritch really doesn’t trust Mr. Anderson with Connor at all. He’s a grumpy, short-tempered alcoholic who can barely get out of bed before the later part of lunch, and Ritch thinks his brother can’t quite see this due to the rose-tinted memories of when he was a decorated pilot on the television.

    Either way, nothing can be done about any of that at the moment, especially considering breakfast hasn’t even quite started yet, and Ritch has a mission for himself. He is heading to where he may be able to find Luther and Chloe so he can alert them of Connor’s absence today. Maybe he’ll try waking up Connor at lunch and hope that he’ll actually get up since he no longer has to stress about Amanda’s reaction to him being late. Or maybe he’ll be practically comatose for longer than a day because Amanda doesn’t have any extra work waiting for him tomorrow for slacking off today…

    “...well, we’ll just have to apologize again today, then, won’t we?”

    Isn’t that North? Judging by where the voices are coming from, they’re headed to breakfast and will pass Ritch if he backtracks to the main hallway. That’s exactly what he does.

    “Again, I don’t think that’s the right way to go about things,” Markus reasons, “He obviously doesn’t want to be reminded about whatever he was thinking about yesterday, and apologizing for it today will only make him think about it again.”

    “Yes, but I think just looking at us will remind him of yesterday, anyway.” Simon points out.

    “I think Simon’s right.” Ritch calls, stepping out to intercept the small group.

    “Oh, hey Ritch…” Josh greets nervously. Ritch elects to ignore it.

    “The best thing to do in this case is to act as if last night never happened at all. He’ll be awkward for the first bit of time, but he should go back to normal eventually.”

    “We’re really sorry–”

    “There’s no reason to apologize, Simon.” Ritch interrupts in a manner that he hopes seems kind, “You guys were just curious and concerned for him, and I had already made it stressful enough beforehand. I’m sure that if I hadn’t pushed him as far as I did, he wouldn’t have reacted quite this way when you guys asked your questions.”

    There’s a brief awkward pause where no one knows what to say, so Ritch decides to continue on.

    “I guess just… From now on, if you have any questions, you can always come to me. We grew up together after all.”

    “Oh, sweet. So were you guys ever ordered to kill each other or something, then?”

    –the punches come and come and don’t stop or slow–

    “North!”

    –where did he go where is he where is he whERE IS–

    “What? He said we could ask him! And quite frankly, I don’t believe Connor!”

    North’s last comment properly snaps him out of it. Ritch takes in a deep breath and holds it. Forcing himself to stay away from those thoughts, he mentally addresses the fact that North essentially called Connor a liar. While his brother may be a surprisingly good liar, he absolutely hates doing it. He, like Ritch, very much prefers to find loopholes within the question or lightly exaggerates or understates the truth.

    “That doesn’t mean you get to ask him too! If it was sensitive to Connor, it probably is for him too! Why don’t you use your head for once, North!”

    Jesus… Were they that blunt with Connor? No wonder why he’s the way he is right now. He had it worse than I did. He finally releases his breath, finally calmed down enough.

    “Ritch? Are you okay?” Markus asks, taking a step forward with an expression of pure concern.

    “Probably.” He answers too fast.

    “Probably?” Markus tilts his head slightly.

    “It’d be best if you avoided any questions of that type indefinitely, because even Connor and I avoid discussing such things with each other. And if there are any other questions that any of you feel may be risky to ask, it’d be best to ask me about it first.” Josh and Simon are just about to apologise when Ritch cuts them off. “But to answer your question, North, the event we don’t speak of didn’t end with us against each other. Amanda knew better than to break laws like that.” Most of the time, anyway, he doesn’t add.

    “Oh. Sorry ‘bout that.” She seems genuinely regretful.

    “I appreciate it, just please don’t be so blunt with Connor. He picks up hints easily, even when you don’t know you’re giving them. He probably won’t be in class today, so I can’t show you his little tells of his attentiveness. It’s actually quite fascinating if psychology and sociology are things you enjoy.” Ritch takes a deep breath to fully dispel the lingering nerves. “Anyhow, I was on my way to let Luther and Chloe know that Connor won’t be in class.” He takes everyone’s nods as a polite dismissal from the conversation, so he turns and starts walking away. “I’ll see you guys at breakfast in a bit?” he calls over his shoulder.

    Josh replies with forced enthusiasm, “Yeah! We’ll see you then!”

    This time, Ritch doesn’t stop until he finds Luther in his office preparing for the day. He found Chloe several minutes before him, but she seemed busy and he didn’t want to bother her with a small message such as this since she has other responsibilities. He suspects she only sticks around Luther for the first week or so to help with evaluations.

    When he gives the instructor a brief rundown of what kind of state Connor is in and pointedly doesn’t mention why, Ritch expects him to insist that Connor comes down anyway since they can’t take “mental days” if they become real pilots. Instead, Luther completely understands and even goes as far as to write a personal note to Connor, explaining that he should take whatever time necessary to get back to normal and they’ll find time for him to take the initial evaluations.

    With a quick farewell and a shocked yet genuine thank you, Ritch heads back to his room with the paper in hand. On his way back, he runs into Gavin again, but easily dodges the asshole’s attempt at tripping him. He ignores Gavin’s taunts and swears behind him just as easily while he walks on. Ritch is learning how to handle that mess of a human relatively quickly, he thinks. Maybe one day he’ll figure out how to trip Gavin back with little to no repercussions.

    He opens the door to his shared bunker easily and finds Connor asleep on his bunk, just as expected. He lays Luther’s note near his pillow so he’ll see it whenever he wakes up instead of trying to wake him up to read it now. He also takes his own blanket and lays it on top of the one his brother has himself wrapped up in, knowing he likes to feel like a tightly wrapped burrito when going through a mood dip. Connor doesn’t even shift in his sleep. Ritch then gets down and starts playing relaxing ambiance sounds on the small speakers he brought with him, hoping that Connor will return to normal faster if he does.

    This is the one time he’ll cottle his brother like this, and it’s really only because this reaction is more than reasonable for the memory that was brought up this time. That, and he did play a part in bringing Connor down to this. Otherwise, Ritch would leave him to do his own thing. Not because he doesn’t care, quite the contrary, actually. It’s because he knows that there are harder, tougher times coming in the relatively near future, and he needs Connor to be ready for it, to be able to pick himself up in case Ritch is gone on a separate mission– or gone for a much worse reason– and can’t be there to help. He very highly doubts Connor will ask for help from anyone, and he also doubts that Connor’s future partner will know how to properly help him through these episodes. Hell, even Ritch barely knows how to anymore.

    Therefore, Ritch just waits patiently each time and hopes that his twin is learning how to bring himself out of these dips in an easier and faster way each time he’s tortured with them.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    The first dinner Hank spends without that Connor character coming to sit at his table, he thinks nothing of it. The young adult probably found some friends finally and is sitting with them. Hank makes the note to come to lunch early the next day to find out which group to avoid, since there’s no doubt Connor has already started spreading new rumors or nasty truths within that group. Even if he hasn’t, he wants to spare the sickeningly polite guy the mandatory greeting and small talk with Hank if they ever pass or run into each other, and the poor kid doesn’t need any teasing from his new friends.

    Hank ends up waking up much earlier than he wanted to the next morning thanks to a particularly nasty nightmare. Cranky and exhausted, yet unable to go back to sleep with the horrors waiting behind his eyelids, Hank forces himself up and downs a beer or few to ease the pain and to maybe hopefully get back to sleep. It doesn’t work. He ends up being the fifth person to breakfast, which thoroughly shocks the military equivalent of high school lunch ladies. Deciding that since he’s up this early anyway, he may as well wait to see which group has Connor in it now.

    Hank waits and waits and watches the entrance closely but subtly, yet he never spots the kid. He easily finds his brother, who is still hanging around his group of friends that Connor mentioned, but there’s no Connor. He’s one of the last people to leave breakfast that morning.

    Now, Hank is in no way attached to Connor whatsoever, but anyone would start becoming concerned when the person who refused to leave them alone at mealtimes suddenly disappears. That’s exactly how Hank explains his strange sense of confusion at the young man’s vanishing act, anyway. That lunch is spent pointedly not thinking about houdini number two and focusing on enjoying the peace and quiet again. He definitely doesn’t keep an eye on the door at almost all times to try and find the young adult, either. That would be borderline creepy and way out of character, even for a guy as nosey and curious as Hank can be sometimes.

    He gets to dinner that evening his usual time, right in the middle when people are too invested with their own meals and friends to pay Hank any mind, but the line is already pretty much gone. He gets his food, sits down, then starts eating. Still no Connor, but it’s not his problem anymore. It wasn’t his problem to begin with, actually.

    The next day goes smoothly. Lunch/breakfast is normal, and he gets dinner just fine. It only becomes less fine after he starts eating, though. He barely gets three bites into his meatballs when some asshat decides to sit in front of him.

    It’s the fuckin’ light version of Connor from the hallway yesterday, whatever the fuck his name is.

    He wouldn’t have been able to hold back the growl of annoyance even if he wanted to. “The fuck do you want?”

    “Have you asked Connor any questions? Or brought up any topics to speak about with him?”

    What in the fresh hell? “Do I look like the type of guy who likes to buddy up to people? He just kinda sits there–” Hank gestures to Connor’s spot “–and fidgets the whole damn time.”

    Frosty the Glareman studies Hank for a few long moments. He must find something– or the absence of something– that makes him finally shake his head slowly and back off.

    “No, you don’t. I apologize for taking up your time then, Mr. Anderson. Have a good day.”

    The only way Hank could describe his current emotion is “???”. He has absolutely no clue what just happened or why it had to happen in the first place, and now he’s just going to up and leave just as quickly as he sat down?

     “What? That’s it? I don’t even get to know why it was so important to ask me that?”

    The young man hesitates. “Connor’s just been in a mood dip recently, as I call it. I know that he doesn’t dislike being around you, so I was simply clarifying that you didn’t accidentally worsen this dip. I’ll let you get back to your dinner, now. Good evening.”

    A mood dip? What the fuck does that mean?

    Hank thinks he gets that answer during lunch the next day.

    “Holy shit, you look like a walkin’ corpse.” Hank comments upon seeing Connor limp towards his seat on the other side of the table. “The fuck happened to you?”

    His skin is pale, he has dark bags under his eyes, but his eyes themselves, while shiny, aren’t red, so he probably hasn’t been crying recently. His normally styled hair is in complete disarray. He didn’t even take the time to put on his normal T-shirt with cargo pants and boots, instead opting for a tank top, sweatpants, and slip on shoes. Every single one of Connor’s movements are slow and sluggish, and every single one shows off some kind of bandage, scab, or bruise on his arms, shoulders, and neck area.

    All in all, he looks like someone who might’ve been in too much pain to properly sleep. Although, that wouldn’t make sense with what Connor Lite told him yesterday and the kind of questions he asked. Curiouser and curiouser, indeed.

    “I was just reminded of something unpleasant, is all. I shouldn’t even be affected by it, yet here I am.” Connor drops in his chair like a sack of potatoes. “Very affected and very drained.”

    Then it finally properly clicks, what Connor version two meant by being in a mood, and why he came to Hank of all people to ask if he had anything to do with it. The poor kid probably hasn’t been up due to pain, but nightmares instead. Hank can’t stop himself from empathising with him, having just had that particularly nasty one just the night before.

    “Well, you should get some fuckin’ sleep. Leavin’ the lights on help sometimes.”

    Connor’s brows furrow in confusion before he slowly looks up at Hank, tilting his head in the process.

    “I wasn’t kidding when I said you look like a walking corpse.” Hank states with pointedly raised eyebrows, not especially emotionally invested in what’s happening anymore. He turns to his food, instead.

    “I have been sleeping.”

    “Bullshit, but suit yourself.”

    “I think all I did was sleep and try to sleep for the past 16 hours.”

    Hank, a hypocrite who adores calling people out on their bullshit and proving them wrong, turns to face Connor, resting his elbow on the table and leaning on it.

    “16 hours, huh? So what’dya do for the other 24 then? Hm?”

    He watches Connor freeze for half a second before relaxing again with one of the most forced laughs Hank has ever heard. The panic doesn’t truly leave his eyes either.

   “Ha ha, very funny. Ritch used to try to do that to me too.”

    Hank . “Why is this funny? You literally disappeared for an entire day and a half then suddenly showed up again.” Hank brings his full attention back to his food with an annoyed shake of his head. “I thought you finally found some actual friends or somethin’. Damn.”

    “...I missed another day…”

    Hank barely catches that comment, since it was said under Connor’s breath, but it’s got enough emotion in it to make him want to look back over at the other mess of a human being at this table. He ends up giving in and doing it.

    And a mess he is. Connor’s frozen with wide eyes that see through the table, his food seemingly forgotten in front of him. It’s extremely unsettling to see him completely still for a change. Just a few days ago, Hank would have prayed to the god he doesn’t believe in to make it stop, but stillness in this fashion screams “wrong” so much that it’s almost worse than the light, rhythmic tapping of his fingers against the table. Not that he’s gotten used to them, just that that would be more comfortable than the current tense inactivity.

    “I missed an entire day of evaluations.” Connor says a bit louder.

    That seems to spark something in the injured man because he abruptly goes straight as a board and starts frantically looking for something. It’s not until he catches what Connor’s muttering under his breath “...what time is it? What’s the date? Where’s the time? A clock? I need a clock–”

    “It’s just past noon on the 17th.” Hank huffs an answer, immediately changing his mind on the stillness versus movement. Thankfully, Connor stops.

    “Oh shit.” he whispers, Hank barely hearing it, “Oh shit oh shit oh shit I’m currently skipping evaluations, shit.” Connor quickly stands, somehow looking both more alert and more exhausted than ever before. “I am so fucked, oh no.” He grabs his untouched tray and gets up to walk away.

    Hank may not like very many people, but he knows no good can come from not eating for at least 48 hours. He doesn’t think he would even let Gavin Reed, the selfish asshole, leave without trying to get something in his gut if the guy was in a position and mindset similar to Connor’s.

    “Hey hey hey, woah.” Hank sits up straight and puts his hands on the table, making it look like he’s about to get up from his seat even though he has no real plans to, “You have to sit down and eat. You’re going to starve yourse–”

    “I’ll be fine.” the trainee interrupts, not stopping. “I’ve gone longer without food. I just need a water bottle and I’ll be fine.”

    “You will do no such thing.” Connor 2.0 appears, blocking the other’s way with a stern frown. “Mr. Anderson is right, you’re going to sit down and you’re going to eat.”

    “Ritch,” Ah! That’s what his name was, “I’m not in the mood to play your games. I have things that need to be done so move out of my way.” Connor tries to sidestep Ritch, but he blocks him again.

    “I’ve already informed Luther that you were going to be out of commission until further notice. Did you not get his note?”

    “Yes I did, but it’s not him I’m worried about. There are higher ups that are watching us and I can’t afford to miss any more–”

    “Connor.” Ritch growls, it even takes Hank off guard for half a moment. He’s mildly impressed. “You will sit and you will eat, or so help me Markus and I will pin you down while Simon spoon feeds you. I don’t care if you’ve lasted longer without food before. You didn’t really have a choice then. You will not start doing this again. I refuse it.”

    Upon seeing Connor’s returning glare, Hank quickly changes his opinion of him from being the polite fool to someone who could easily hold his own when needed. Well, he still is too much of a people pleaser, but at least he doesn’t seem to take any shits when he really doesn’t want to.

    “Ritch, move–”

    “Your brother’s right, Connor.” Hank stares Connor down. The older man has thankfully been desensitized to death glares over the past few years, otherwise he would have been in trouble just now. “And I promise you that if Luther understands, then so does anyone else watching. He’s probably the most strict with these rules since he’s ‘passionate’ about his job or some bullshit like that. Now sit the fuck down ‘cause you’re making me tense with all this nonsense and I already haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

    Connor glances between the two of them before huffing and sitting back in his usual seat. Ritch sends a warning glare at Connor– which the latter retaliates with a huff and a slight eye roll– then nods at Hank and retreats back to his table. Before he can even sit down, though, Hanks’s own table starts being slightly jostled. One glance towards Connor proves it’s him and his damn leg bouncing again. Although, as much as Hank wants to snap at him to stop, even he can recognise that Connor needs people to be less harsh with him right now.

    “Connor, you’re leg’s bouncing.”

    No response.

    “Connor.” Hank tries again louder.

    Connor starts muttering to himself then puts his head in his hands, his fingers combing through his own hair in an unconscious way. Hank can’t help but empathize with the poor guy. Hank’s been in a similar state of mind before, but not when he was this young. Actually, now that Hank’s thinking about it, he may still have the stuff that helped him all that time ago, just out of reluctance to clean his bunker.

    “Connor!”

    The young man jumps and turns his head to Hank so fast the older man wonders if he got any sort of whiplash. Connor’s eyes suddenly widen and he goes mostly still and refocuses his attention on his food tray almost robotically.

    “Right, right. Food. No fidgeting. Have to eat. Need calories to train.” Connor takes a breath, shakes his head as if physically clearing the thoughts in his head, then says under his breath, “Real jaeger pilots aren’t like this. I was trained to be better. Stupid stupid stupid…”

    This is an entire level or two worse than Hank originally thought, but he’s pretty sure the things he has could still help. What surprises Hank the most is that he’s actually almost wanting to help this guy out just for the sake of it. Although, he rationalises, it’s probably because Hank had been in a mindset similar to his at one point in time, and can remember exactly how it felt to be that overwhelmed and in over his head. What he can’t rationalise, is the proud feeling at being able to maybe make this guy’s day easier.

    All he knows is this guy obviously doesn’t have any friends to lean on yet, and Hank’s gonna do something to maybe make this easier on him.

    ...Hank was kind of hoping that if he restated it he could bullshit a reason for doing it in the first place. Apparently not. Going with the old “blindly following his gut” thing, now, huh? Whatever. He’s deciding to not care anymore right now.

    He heaves a sigh, interrupting Connor’s uninterpretable muttering. “Alright, take whatever food may be appetizing to you later and let’s go.” He stands up and starts taking his mostly empty tray to where it belongs, throwing out the trash on it.

    “Go? Go where? If I’m gonna leave I’m going to go class–”

    “Well why don’t you just shut up and just follow me. Unless you don’t want anything that could maybe possibly help with this–” he gestures to Connor, “–fuckin’ disaster you are right now.”

    Connor gets up quickly at that, “Things like that exist? Really?” He starts stuffing the pre-packaged items of his lunch into his pockets

    “You live under a rock or something?” Hank is already losing his patience. This is a mistake.

    “Well, my– uh… My trainer, I guess you could call her, didn’t really like that I was limited, and she didn’t like us getting help for something we could fix on our own even more ‘cause we aren’t weak. And we didn’t really have a social life or anything growing up, either, ‘cause we’ve always been kept busy..” Connor takes a deep breath, “So yeah, I guess I have lived under a rock until recently.”

    Whoever this bitch is, she sounds like a down right asshole. Hell, even Gavin wouldn’t go that far with anyone and he’s him. When Hank says as much to Connor as they travel through the reinforced halls, Connor splutters.

    “She– I– Well–” He finally gives up with a sigh. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter now, does it?”

    Hank doesn’t give a response.

    The rest of the trip is spent in silence, and by the time they make it to Hank’s bunker, the small portion of food Connor brought with him is gone. That’s a good sign at least. Really good. Hank puts in the code to his door and cracks it open, then turns to the anxious man (even though he’s hiding it really well now, Hank can still see the signs of it) behind him.

    “If I give these to you, you have to promise to try to find other people to hang out with. Got it? I ain’t friend material.”

    “I beg to differ, but if it will put you more at ease then I will try harder to find other people who will put up with me.” As if on cue, his foot starts tapping and he starts picking at his fingers less-than-subtly.

    “Try harder? You’ve already been trying?”

    Connor shuffles a bit in place, “Yes, but I’m not good at making friends like Ritch is. I’ve always either made a fool of myself or blended into the background.” He looks up sharply. “Which is okay! I’m used to doing things on my own by now. And now I’m talking too much again, I apologize.” he lowers his eyes again.

    “Huh. Well, you better come inside so that asshat Reed doesn’t see you hangin’ around here and decide to try an’ pick a fight.” Hank says as he opens the door to his room, waving Connor in. It’s not like he has anything to hide, it’s just his dirty clothes and the empty bottles of various alcohol bottles all over the floor.

    He immediately shuts the door once Connor fully enters. Ignoring the other man, Hank gets straight to trying to find his old weighted blanket and stress ball. He’s been wanting to get rid of them anyway, and if they can help a possible future comrade, then good. Hank pauses in his search when he hears a bit of shuffling and turns to Connor… who is neatly moving all of the empty bottles on his floor into a pile in the corner of the room.

    “What’re you doing?” There’s no anger in his tone, only pure confusion.

    Connor freezes, then immediately drops the two bottles he had in his hands as if he didn’t realise what he was doing.

    “I’m sorry, Mr. Anderson,” he straightens up, “I just didn’t want the bottles to break and have you cut your feet, but this is your room and I shouldn’t have touched it. It’s my bad, sorry.” his fidgeting is getting worse again.

    “Cleaning an alcoholic’s empty bottles off of his floor is hardly something to apologise for. Just wonderin’ why you felt the need to.” Hank returns to his search, just looking for the stress ball now, with the blanket folded on the floor by his feet. “You aren’t my maid or anythin’.”

    “Oh. It’s just a habit, I suppose.”

    Hank kneels down to better search the bottom drawer, “Habit? You one of those losers with the squeaky clean rooms growin’ up?”

    A moment passes in silence, then Connor speaks with a cautious tone in his voice. “Is it not normal to have a clean room as a child?”

    “Uh, not really.” Hank finally pulls out the dull-from-age stress ball and puts it on top of the navy blue blanket that may or may not have a few visible stains on it. Probably from where his old dog drooled or chewed something on it years ago and Hank gave up trying to wash the slobber out. God, he fuckin’ misses Sumo.

   “Oh. Um…”

    Connor looks like he wants to ask something but is hesitating, and Hank is officially running out of patience. He wants this man out of his room as soon as possible. Yes, Hank’s being somewhat bipolar recently, but can you blame him? This has been a rollercoaster of week so far, and he’s willing to bet that next week won’t be much different. He tried to go with the flow, but now he just wants his regularly scheduled life back please and thank you.

    “What?” Hank finally snaps.

    “Uh– What kind of things do people use to make their spaces cluttered? Like, pleasantly cluttered.” Connor rushes out.

    What in the? “I’m sorry?”

    Connor looks down at his hands, which he’s tightly wringing together, “Like, do normal people actually hang papers on the wall with tacks that make holes everywhere? It seems inconvenient to use when there are other, non-damaging methods of hanging things up.”

    Did he really not have any normal friends growing up? What the hell.

    “Well, uh, it was just me and Ritch for as long as I can remember, so…” Shit, he must’ve said that out loud. “Oh! But there was this one kid named Ross we were acquainted with when we were eight years old and he was nice. It’s probably why he got adopted almost immediately. I hope he’s happy now.” Connor finishes genuinely with a small smile on his face. It disappears quickly though, “And I’m talking a lot again. I apologize.”

    “Why the fuck do you do that?”

    “I don’t know. I just answer a question and then it reminds me of something else and I guess I haven’t learned how–”

    “No no, not the talking itself. Why are you fucking constantly apologizing for talking a bit more after answering a question? It’s kinda more annoying than the talking itself.”

    Connor freezes. “Oh. Oh…” He looks around, obviously caught off guard. “Uh, only friends talk to each other as freely as I tend to want to talk to people. Or that’s how I’ve grown up being taught, anyway. And you’ve implied plenty of times that you’re not interested in becoming friends, even though I personally think you would make an adequate friend, but I digress again.”

    How the hell does Hank respond to this?

    First thing to unpack, when this guy said that he didn’t have a social life earlier, he literally meant that he didn’t to the extent that he didn’t even realise messy rooms were a thing. Messy rooms of all things! That’s like, the most iconic part of being a teenager! And if he didn’t even know that, then that means he didn’t have any social medias or a TV growing up either, because that fact is literally all over every type of media there is.

    That also brings up the point that whoever raised him did a real shit job at it, because who the hell believes people can only talk amicably to friends? How the fuck does someone make friends if they’re not allowed to talk freely with other people until the friendship title has been officially earned?

    Hank’s sure he could go on bashing this so-called “parental figure” Connor had growing up, but he doesn’t particularly want to spend any more time thinking about it right now. If he did, that would mean he actively cares about the kid, when in reality he’s just concerned about how little he knows and how little help he’s been getting for his very real problems, just as any half-decent human being would.

    Secondly (Or is this thirdly? Hank’s lost count already), this poor, misguided kid thinks he of all people would make an acceptable friend. What. The. Hell. He understood Connor doesn’t really get certain social clues even before all this ‘being sheltered’ shit spilled today, but Hank thought he was better than this. What part of Hank’s old, unkept, very-out-of-shape self mixed with scowls, growls, groans, and complaints told Connor “Hey, this old man wouldn’t be horrible to befriend!”. Even with the fact that he used to look up to Hank during his old jaeger years, the young man should have realised after the two days of sitting with him that it wasn’t worth it.

    “Why are you so convinced I’d make a good friend?” is all Hank says out loud.

    Connor looks surprised by that, then quickly turns his head away in obvious contemplation. He looks back a moment or two later with a kind determination Hank hasn’t seen since Jeffery last told him that he’d try his best to help Hank. Hell, even his best friend and copilot of many years couldn’t put up with his shit anymore. What makes this trainee think he could?

    “I’m gonna give you the long, blunt truth because you seem like the one person around here that I don’t have to sugarcoat or say anything gently for. If I start talking too much, just tell me to shut up.” He takes a breath, then, when Hank says nothing, he continues determinedly. “I think you’re lonely without realizing it. I know I was before I got here and was forced to be around a lot of people. And it might be a lot of self-projecting onto the first person I’ve regularly hung around, but I think it’s true for you, even if you don’t know or believe it.

    “You already know that I used to follow your work as a jaeger pilot– you, Marshal Fowler, and the Gerund brothers were my inspiration and motivation, really– and I also know that you don’t really have any friends left because you’ve changed so much since then and they always expected you to go back to your old self, even though that’s impossible.” He pauses briefly, visibly contemplating how to word something. “People keep accusing me of wanting to ‘fix’ or ‘change’ you, but I honestly don’t. Well, it’d be better for you altogether if you drank less, but I can’t control what you do and I won’t try to. You’re a grown man who can take care of himself, and even if you couldn’t, it’d probably be hypocritical of me to lecture you about healthy coping mechanisms.

    “I mean, honestly, I’m just looking for someone to sit down with and not have to worry about watching every little thing I say during conversations so people don’t get any more nosy than they already are. Plus, it just gets exhausting being around the other people around here because I’m so used to being able to sink into the background and be forgotten when I want, and the people around here won’t let me. And from what I’ve gathered, you don’t like the people here for a similar reason; they either completely ignore you or won’t leave you alone.” Connor takes a breath. When Hank doesn’t say anything because he’s too busy processing what’s been said so far, Connor presses on, less confident this time.

    “I know a friendship can’t thrive upon disliking the presence of other people by itself, but I feel like it could maybe start one. I don’t know what you were like before, and quite frankly I don’t really care. People change all the time, and that version of you is in the past, for better or for worse. You just have to make do with what and who you are now.” The younger man looks down to his feet. ”I don’t know about you, but I hate it when people start treating me differently when they find out about my… previous lifestyle and unique experiences, growing up.” He shrugs and looks up to Hank.

    “You don’t. You’re the only one who hasn’t and doesn’t expect anything special out of me in return. And I try to make it a habit to not treat people differently either. Unless, of course, they’re a cold-blooded murderer or something, then yea, I probably would treat them a bit differently, but I’m pretty sure you aren’t, so…” Connor finishes with a small, awkward smile.

    Well if that wasn’t a speech and a half… Hank feels like he’s been saying this constantly these past few days, but once again, what the actual fucking hell. Connor has spent just about two days total with Hank, and yet he clearly understands him more than even most of the coworkers he’s had for years. He doesn’t know whether to be disappointed in his group of acquaintances as well as his therapists, impressed that Connor doesn’t have his head up his ass like almost everyone else, or worried that Connor’s already correctly guessed this much about him in almost no time.

    Hank decides he feels a mixture of all three, plus a weird sense of concern for the man in front of him. He spoke like he has personally experienced horrors, and his two day disappearance just because he was– how’d he word it? “Reminded of something unpleasant”?– proves that he probably has. If Hank has figured anything out about Connor these past few days, it’s that he greatly downplays any and everything pertaining to himself. For fuck’s sake, this guy had no concerns over being beaten almost to a pulp by his own brother. Yet, then again, said brother wasn’t looking too hot himself, either…

   What exactly happened to him during his– how old was he? 26? That almost sounds right– 26 years of existence that he would so clearly understand the mentality of someone who’s been through hell and back?

   Hank holds out his arms to give Connor the weighted blanket and stress ball and opens his mouth to briefly explain what they are. He doesn’t have a single clue why the next question comes out of his mouth instead.

   “How old are you again?”

   To be fair, Connor looks about as surprised as Hank feels right now. “Nearly 23 years old.”

   Twenty-fuckin’-three. This guy standing in front of him, who looks like the biggest brown-nosing pushover, but can pack a very mean and very solid punch and can conjure up a glare so harsh and deadly it could make some grown-ass-men cower. Connor, who made it into this training program with very little effort and could– and probably will– skyrocket to the top of his class if what Jeffery briefly said about him and his twin the other day is true, is only fucking 23 years old. 

    On top of that, didn’t Connor mention an orphanage and a stepmother? If that’s the case, then it means his original family is long gone and he wasn’t adopted out until after he turned at least eight. That’s fifteen years ago… around five to ten years after the kaijus started coming, right when permanent defenses finally started becoming a necessary integration to all shorelines and not just the rich ones. The chances of him having lost his family during those first waves are extremely high.

    God damn, Connor really didn’t have a childhood, did he? Fuckin’ hell, that’s just downright depressing. Even though Hank had it rough growing up, he could still say that he had plenty of time to fuck around as a kid.

    Well, Connor was right about one of many things, Hank isn’t going to be giving him any special treatment beyond this mother fucking stress ball and heavy-ass blanket, that’s for sure. He’s got a reputation of being an asshole to keep up, after all. He doesn’t want people to think that just anyone can come up and talk to him or ask him for and about stuff now, would he? Hank has made that mistake only once in the past few years.

    “Alright, fucker, you got me. Whoopty doo.” Hank starts sarcastically. “Just don’t spread whatever you think of me around too much, I got enough problems to deal with as it is.”

    “Yes, of course Mr. Anderson. I don’t very much like it when rumors spread about me, so I won’t be doing anything of the sort for as long as I can help it, and never when involving you.” Hank can almost imagine him as a puppy with how easily and happily Connor’s agreeing with him.

    “And I wasn’t kidding when I said you needed to find other friends.”

    “And I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d try harder to make them.” A pause. “And I won’t force you into an acquaintanceship with me either. If you really dislike me hanging around, then I can always find another private place to sit during meals.”

    Hank opens his mouth to confirm that he does, indeed, dislike Connor’s presence, finally given a way to get rid of the main disturbance in his life recently. Yet, he finds he can’t. Looking past the fidgeting and essay answers to most questions asked, Hank surprisingly hasn’t found much else to truly hate about him. A lot of said answers seem rehearsed and robotic or sarcastic, but Hank can tell he’s been genuine, or at least has been trying to be. That, and while most people who are open books normally come off as in-your-face and annoying, Connor’s an open book in a way that he doesn’t broadcast anything, but doesn’t try to hide much when asked by someone he’s comfortable with, either. Hank can tell this because he used to know someone exactly like this and can already see the patterns.

    Those types of people generally make the best pilots, in his experience.

    In the end, Hank just silently holds out the blanket in his arms again instead of saying anything. Connor glances back and forth between the other’s face and the blanket in his arms, and hesitantly reaches out as if Hank’s going to snatch it away from him at the last moment. Hank begins explaining what they are, seeing that Connor probably has no fucking clue what these actually are and what they’re meant for.

    “This is a weighted blanket. The box and company will tell you it’s supposed to make you feel safe or like someone’s hugging you or some shit like that, but honestly it just feels like someone laid a flexible mattress over you or something, which can kinda feel nice when you’re having a bad day for some weird reason. I dunno how to fucking explain this shit so just take it.” He does. Hank points to the squishy ball on top of the blanket. “That thing is a stress ball. You squish it, pull it, throw it, do whatever the fuck you want with it. It’s designed to not break unless you’re purposefully trying to. It never really did shit for me, but you fidget all the god-damned time so it’ll probably do somethin’ for you. You’re welcome.” Hank huffs the last part, having to put minimal effort into seeming grumpy, as opposed to no effort, for the first time in ages.

    Connor looks at the old, tattered blanket and ancient, somewhat stretched-out stress ball (from the amount of times Hank hurled it at the walls in sudden bursts of rage) like it was the best thing in the whole damned world. He shifts the blanket onto one arm as if it weighed the same as an average throw blanket and not 15 pounds (around 7 kg), give or take, and uses his now free hand to give the stress ball a test squish. All in all, Connor really shouldn’t have that amazed and grateful look on his face for two old and very used items.

    “Thank you very much, Mr. Anderson. I greatly appreciate this. Thank you.” He looks up from his stuff to Hank, “I’ll take care of them and bring them back in the same condition you gave them to me in.”

    “Give them back?– Connor.” he deadpans, “I’m fuckin’ giving these to you. Permanently. I’ve been needing to get rid of them anyway, and you sure as hell could use them if what happened before is even somewhat a normal thing that happens.”

    That was probably the wrong thing to say, Hank realizes a tad too late.

    Connor’s changes from gracious and happy to anxious yet calculating in the blink of an eye.

    “I still need to catch up on evaluations.” He starts stepping backwards, somehow expertly avoiding anything he could trip on despite not actually being able to see them. “Thank you very much for these Mr. Anderson, but I’ve really got to go. I have a lot I need to do. A lot. So thank you, I’ll get out of your hair now.” Connor opens the door. “Goodbye.” And he’s gone.

    ...why does his room seem so quiet and cluttered now?

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    Ritch releases a large, mental sigh of relief when Connor enters the room during their current written evaluation. When he watched Connor blindly follow Mr. Anderson out of the food court area before actually eating anything earlier, it took both Josh and North gently holding him back and talking him down so he wouldn’t hunt down the pair. He’s glad they succeeded in calming him down, though, because whatever Mr. Anderson said or did very obviously calmed Connor down, and judging by the empty wrapper sticking out of his pocket, he even got his stubborn brother to eat something.

    Maybe Hank isn’t too much of an incompetent asshole after all. Yes, he’s still obviously constantly grumpy and drinks way too much alcohol, but maybe one half of the rumors and stories aren’t quite true. Either that or maybe Connor simply latched onto him much faster that Ritch originally thought, and is now somehow charming the old man into not despising him by using his stupid puppy eyes. It’s likely a mixture of both, now that he’s thinking about it.

    No one can quite interpret what’s being said between Luther, Chloe, and Connor, but seeing his brother’s pleading expression along with the instructors’ stern ones with undertones of concern, they’re most definitely making him wait until tomorrow to continue evaluations. He still looks like a complete wreck, after all, with his sleeping clothes still on and disastrous mop of hair.

    Ritch forces himself back to the boring and simple exam even though he finished a few minutes ago. He even purposefully marked a few of the questions wrong just as he and Connor planned, but he’s currently waiting for at least two other people to finish before he turns his in. Connor then quietly leaves with a pleasant farewell to the two instructors, and the room is plunged back into silence once more.

    Precisely 24 minutes later, Ritch can’t take sitting in the silence with nothing to do any longer while his brother is off doing who knows what right now. Plus, he’s pretty sure Luther and Chloe have booth figured out by now that he hasn’t actually been writing anything down for a while. He gets up and is the first one to turn the evaluation in. Ritch most certainly does not think about how Amanda would be disappointed in him for not being able to sit still for any longer because Amanda no longer has any control over his life. What is she going to do? Somehow hack into the cameras, see him giving in, then fly all the way over here just to punish him for being weak?

    Ritch also does not think about how that doesn’t sound completely outlandish and bizarre for some of Amanda’s standards. That woman is frightening when she wants to be.

    Instead, Ritch focuses on how, upon entering his bunker, he hears the shower running in their little bathroom. That means Connor is officially out of his funk. This is significant because the event he was directly reminded of normally causes the worst dips by far. The last time someone asked about it, he refused to come out of his room for just over four days, and Ritch had to smuggle snack foods and water bottles into their shared room (where it wasn’t allowed due to carpeting and bedding) just to keep him from starving and dehydrating.

    Maybe Ritch was right to begin with, maybe being away from that environment really is helping Connor after all. He truly is a talented and smart guy, Amanda just didn’t particularly like how he puts his heart on his sleeve, since that could get him or others hurt. Ritch wants to believe that she didn’t mean to break Connor like this, but another part whispers that she may have purposefully broken both of them long ago in order to make them soldiers; that they had just found different ways of coping and played different roles in the games she called ”training”.

    Connor will show her. He doesn’t believe it now, but he’s quite strong in his own way. What kind of person can say they’ve been through what Connor has and still remain so reluctant to become bitter and reclusive. Hank can’t, that’s for sure. Even Ritch can’t quite say he can, either. It’s only because of Connor’s constant desire for genuine friendship and connection that Ritch had even tried talking to Markus and the group in the first place. If his brother had no part in what Ritch thinks and how he behaves, he would spend most if not all of his free time in their room.

    Connor doesn’t realize, let alone believe it now, but it takes a special kind of bravery to put oneself out there, especially when one’s mind constantly screams every imperfection about themselves like Connor’s seems to do.

    Ritch calmly places the sleeping oil his brother uses to remain unconscious during his mood dips back where it belongs. He doesn’t think that Connor knows that he knows he uses it, but there’s no way Ritch wouldn’t have after all these years of sharing a room and storage space with him. Plus, the amount of times he’s had to hide these little bottles from Amanda to save Connor’s forgetful ass when he leaves it out is far too many. Now Ritch only puts it away out of habit, and some part of him knows that it will likely put Connor more at ease knowing the bottle was hidden away for one reason or another, away from where anyone could see it.

    Ritch also notes the… well loved ball and the stained blanket placed on the desk. He wonders if Mr. Anderson had anything to do with those, since Luther would have given any gifts at the same time as the note he wrote for Connor the other day, and these are clearly a new addition to the room. If the older man actually did have anything to do with those, then he’ll have to thank him at some point in the near future.

    Maybe, just maybe, Connor is right. Maybe Hank Anderson really isn’t as horrible and unpredictable as people say, and maybe Connor really isn’t looking to bring him back to how he was during his “glory” days.

    Maybe… Maybe he won’t get between the two of them for now. Just for now.

Chapter Text

    It’s been about a week and a half since Connor’s mood dip, and Ritch is happy, if not suspicious, that everything’s been calm since then. Connor hasn’t had any signs of another episode, and he gets along with Markus and Simon really well, too. Josh and North, on the other hand, aren’t having quite as much luck.

    It isn’t entirely their fault, though. Josh is the official “Inclusive Friend” of the group, so he’s always bringing Connor into the conversation, which puts his brother on edge for whatever reason (Ritch has learned by now to not question things like this). North is... Well, she’s just North; she’s blunt, kind of brash, quick to start fights– even if most of them are meant to be playful. She’s pretty much the exact opposite of Connor, which has them both walking on eggshells around each other. It’s mostly fine, though, because they all are comfortable enough with one another, considering the rocky start.

    For some reason, Connor is still hanging around Mr. Anderson during every meal rather than with Ritch and the Jericho Squad (it’s an inside joke, apparently). If someone had asked him how he felt about that last week, he would’ve said that he was itching to get Connor away from the potentially toxic situation, despite coming to the conclusion that Mr. Anderson probably isn’t as bad as most people think. Although, after seeing them sit together in calm silences for the past week, Ritch is starting to think that Mr. Anderson may be helping Connor keep his head beyond giving him a blanket and an old ball. Ritch doesn’t know how, but he’ll just leave them to it. He’s learning that anything that helps Connor adjust to this environment shouldn’t be questioned or messed with, at least not for now.

    He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to understand people like those two, especially how relationships of any kind work between two people who seem to be so different. It’s incredibly frustrating because Ritch knows he’s missing something essential and he knows that if he asks Simon or Josh for their opinion, they’d be able to see why they get along immediately, but he still can’t. One would think that after being a certain way for as long as he could remember, Ritch would get used to the feeling of being alienated for these types of things, but he’s not. He can’t even think about this particular topic for too long or else a strange irritation starts to boil deep inside of his gut, and– surprise, surprise– he doesn’t know why that happens either.

    It’s incredibly frustrating and isolating, indeed.

    However, on a more pleasant topic, training has been going well so far too. Both Connor and Ritch have healed from their injuries from that first day of evaluations and are currently placed at the top of the class, even with them holding back and purposefully getting questions wrong to prolong their graduation and buy time to find new partners. Neither twin is worried, though, because another student–, Traci, is right on their tails, so they aren’t complete outliers.

    The three of them together make up the tutors of the class for when the other students have a minor question and/or the instructors aren’t available. Ritch is enjoying his new role quite a bit more than he thought he would, and has found that he likes helping the others with these types of things. He’s genuinely proud of and happy with himself for the first time in longer than he cares to mention, in longer than he thinks he can even remember, maybe.

   Connor has been doing a good job mentoring as well, even though most of the class can tell he doesn’t exactly enjoy doing it. He likes to help, and he’ll do what he can to do so, but he’s so unsure of himself and always gives Ritch these looks when explaining something, almost as if he doesn’t know the information he’s explaining like the back of his hand.

    Honestly, he doesn’t know how Connor can be so unsure of himself after all these years of preparation, but he assumes it’s the same or a similar reason for why wording certain questions wrong will force him into his bed for hours at a time. It’s just another quirk that Connor avoids talking about and another thing Ritch doesn’t question for that reason.

    The only complaint he has about the past week and a half is that classes are still mostly flexibility and strength building. He can tell that at least half of the people there really need it, but he, Connor, and Traci are beyond that point. In Ritch’s honest opinion, his days have been pretty boring.

    That’s why Ritch has slowly been appreciating the run-ins with the less-than-pleasant jerk Gavin Reed, more and more lately, as it seems to be the only thing exciting and challenging in this place right now. He doesn’t know if it’s planned by Gavin or not, but they almost always run into each other around lunch and/or dinner time. Ritch still contentedly walks along after dodging whatever shoulder-check or trip attempt Gavin tries, then walks away and ignores the taunts and occasional swears behind him with a smugness that’s been growing recently. Honestly, that man doesn’t give up, and Ritch doesn’t know why Gavin decided to latch onto him of all people, but he has stopped questioning that as well.

    Beyond Gavin, it’s almost suspicious how calm and routinely everything has become. There hasn’t been a single time in Ritch’s life that he can remember things going this smoothly for so long. Even as a child in the orphanages and foster homes there was constant moving around and always a group of kids that would tease him and Connor for whatever reason they came up with. He’s not used to calm and predictable. Calm and predictable means danger in the end, and he knows Connor shares the sentiment.

    Maybe that’s why they’re not too shocked when Luther calls them on the 15th day of training, informing them that Marshal Fowler wants to personally see them in his spare office that morning. They simply call out “Yes, sir” like the good little soldiers they were trained to be and ignore everyone’s varying expressions of curiosity or concern. They both leave the room silently and make it down several hallways in the same manner before Ritch decides to try his hand at small talk. He’s been watching Markus interact with others and memorizing how to do it in hopes of learning how to get better at acting like a real person.

    The first two steps– get their attention and mention something they’re interested in– he has down. It’s the third and fourth steps– having to actively listen to something he’s not interested in and find appropriate responses at the appropriate times– that he consistently fails at and has him stressed out.

    “So, Connor.”

    Connor tenses slightly next to him, but tries to hide it in his tone. “Yes?”

    “You and Mr. Anderson seem to be tolerating each other.” He sees Connor getting defensive and tries to placate him. “I’m not going to try to cause any trouble. At least, not unless there’s proof of him hurting you in any way, which there isn’t so far. I am just genuinely interested in what it’s like to sit with him at lunch. He seems to hate everyone with a passion except you, and he was kind of your idol when we were younger. I’m curious of how that works, exactly.”

    Connor pauses, then hesitantly responds. “I don’t think he hates everyone so much as he’s tired of how everyone treats him. He hasn’t told me as much– we rarely talk to each other, actually. It’s kind of a silent agreement that he gets a bit of socialization and I get some time to relax. But anyway, we don’t talk often, but I could tell from the few times we have and the way he interacts with me versus everyone else.” Connor looks up at him, “He’s just a normal guy who’s gone through some traumatic stuff, just like us.” He straightens out again.

    “Like us?” Ritch turns his head to look at Connor fully, confusion in his eyes.

    He suddenly looks sheepish, “Well, that’s something I think I’ve discovered while hanging around Mr. Anderson. Like, during my mood dip? Right after I completely moved past that, he grumbled something about me being too young to have PTSD? When I denied having it, he gave me a bunch of shi– crap for thinking so.” Connor smiles the most genuine smile Ritch has seen from him in years. “It’s quite funny, looking back on it now. At first I thought it was because he wanted me to get lost or something so he was trying to make me uncomfortable, but now I know he wouldn’t have even mentioned it if that was the case. He has very little patience for others. It’s for good reason, though. I don’t blame him.” He takes a breath. “Anyway.”

    He suddenly faces Ritch with a newfound confidence and seriousness, slowing his walk and lowering his voice. Ritch slows with him.

    “Did you know that not all cases of PTSD is having manic terror or violent episodes? That it’s not all becoming an antisocial hermit who’s terrified of turning on an electric egg beater because of the sound? The unpleasant flashbacks I have that are supposedly triggered by little to nothing, the random flashbacks and nightmares you have, how we hate mentioning anything that could make us think of certain things of our past… Mr. Anderson made me want to research, and the sites I visited said that those are all real symptoms of PTSD.”

    That catches Ritch’s attention. “Really? Are you sure?” This goes against everything Amanda convinced them of. Then again, these kinds of revelations are surprising Ritch less and less

    “Of course I am! I wouldn’t have brought it up if I wasn’t absolutely sure! It actually wasn’t hard to find at all, even on Markus’ smart phone.” Connor lowers his head to stare at his feet before continuing quietly, “We could have known about this years ago if we had smartphones or tablets, especially since it’s something we definitely would’ve researched for health purposes.”

    Ritch pauses for a second to process this and think. There’s only two reasons Ritch can come up with at the moment why Amanda decided to do these things, and he doesn’t want to seriously consider the second one yet. Therefore, he only voices his first potential reason.

    “If this is true… Do you think this is another thing Amanda didn’t want us to concern ourselves with? We both know how she was with injuries and your random days in bed. Do you think that she probably thought this was another thing we were strong enough to face on our own?”

    “I… I don’t know. Part of me still wants to believe that she meant no harm, but…” Connor looks back to Ritch, “Why would she not let us have electronics? She said it was to keep our focus on our goal but–”

    “–If that were the real reason, you’d think she’d let us have at least a computer or something of the like for instructional and research purposes during our free time.” Ritch finishes his sentence, “It would have aided us greatly, not having to rely on the television and instructors to learn new things.”

    “Exactly.”

    Ritch sighs, “I want to think that she was just a stubborn and particular person–”

    “–But one by one, things keep proving otherwise since we’ve been here–”

    “–And it’s slowly getting harder to trust that everything she did was done with the best intentions for us.”

    “Yeah.”

    After a pause, Connor smiles and shakes his head. Before Ritch can ask what he finds amusing, his twin idly answers without realizing.

    “We haven’t done the twin thing in years.” His smile turns bittersweet, and his eyes go unfocused just that tiny bit; a tell that he’s looking back on something in the past.

    “I haven’t even thought of those days in so long. Not since Amanda requested the…”

    Actually, I don’t want to think about this right now.

    “How…” Connor starts awkwardly, “How have, uh, your appointments been going? If you don’t mind my asking. I know you’ve been going every four to five months…”

    Now Ritch thinks he knows how Connor feels when he’s asked a question that’s on the verge of being too uncomfortable and personal to answer.

    “I’m pretty much done with them now, but they went well. Much better than anyone expected considering my age at the time. Things could have definitely ended up much worse. I’m actually surprised they didn’t.”

    Connor must pick up that he doesn’t want to talk about this anymore because he only nods a response instead of asking the questions that Ritch can tell are swirling in his head. They slip into a comfortable silence after that, the tapping of their footsteps and bustle of people somewhere in the distance the only things breaking it. They remain this way until they reach the room where Marshal Fowler should be. Ritch is not pleased to see Gavin Reed enter the room as well, but he doesn’t outwardly react to the pilot’s presence. He still doesn’t know much about the irritable man, but what he does know leads him to believe that he’s either currently in trouble or is looking to complain about something menial.

    Either way, they don’t hesitate and make no show of entering the waiting-room-like area. From what Ritch has heard, Marshal Fowler occasionally uses this office when he wants a bit more privacy with whoever he’s meeting with, since his main one has a large glass wall and nowhere to put curtains. Ritch doesn’t know how to feel about Marshal Fowler wanting a more private chat with them, but he doesn’t get too much time to try to figure it out because suddenly the door to the actual office section of the place slams open and Gavin Reed storms out of it. He ends up violently sitting himself down in a chair– because only Gavin Reed could find a way to make sitting down violent (Ritch disregards the intrusive thought of North possibly being able to as well)– immediately crossing his arms like a child and impatiently bouncing his leg with a deep scowl on his face.

    “The fuck’re you lookin’ at?” Reed snaps.

    Ritch smoothly diverts his gaze to the door to Marshal Fowler’s office. “Nothing in particular.”

    Marshal Fowler chooses then to make an appearance. “Connor, can you come back here?”

    Connor starts moving to where the marshal stands in the doorway, and Ritch follows by default. Whenever someone needs to talk to Ritch or Connor, that person commonly ends up needing to talk to both of them because they’re twins and supposed partners. He stops almost immediately, though, when Marshal Fowler raises a hand at him.

    “I only want Connor. You’re after, go ahead and find a seat out here.”

    Ritch nods and says “Yes, sir”, ignoring the growing concern and confusion. He turns sharply and finds a seat on the opposite side of the small room from Gavin Reed because he took a seat in the middle of his row, otherwise Ritch would opt against having to face him. The chair under him squeaks under his weight, then the entire room is plunged into a silence more tense and painful than the one earlier with Connor had been. He’s not surprised, though. It’s Reed he’s alone with, after all, so it’s to be expected. It’s also no real surprise that it’s Reed that breaks the silence since he can’t ever seem to keep his mouth shut.

    “The fuck’s up with you two?”

    Ritch contains the urge to roll his eyes and instead gives Reed a flat look. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

    Reed huffs and rolls his eyes dramatically. “Why the fuck are you guys in here?” He sneers, “Are you guys finally being kicked out? We all saw those injuries you got last week. Gonna get those boo boos from earlier this week kissed by mama when you get home?”

    Now Ritch openly rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “If you’re going to try to insult someone, could you at least do it in a more mature and creative way? Because you sound like a child and most children can’t be taken seriously. Also, Connor and I are currently placed at the top of our class, so we certainly aren’t getting kicked out for that reason anytime soon.”

    Reed loses his cockiness real fast and replaces it with blatant irritation. Honestly, this guy is a landmine who’s practically begging to be stepped on. Ritch wonders how many people have fallen for this act, because he certainly won’t. This isn’t his first time dealing with someone as testing as Gavin Reed, as disappointing as it is.

    “Top of your class, ey? Is that why you beat each other to a pulp, then? Are you two just not compatible and tryin’ to prove a point?” He barks out a sharp laugh, “That’d be the icing on the cake. Fuckin’ identical twins not bein’ drift compatible. I bet–”

    “You seem to misunderstand.” Ritch interrupts, “We want to be incompatible, so it would certainly be ‘the icing on the cake’ for us to be officially seen as such, since that has been our goal since the beginning of training.”

    Ritch prides himself for the look of bewilderment on Reeds face.

    “And why the fuck would you guys suddenly not want to be partners? You obviously came as a pair. Got into a cat fight or somethin’?”

    Ritch grins sharply, feeling oddly encouraged by Reed’s antagonizing. “That’s for me to know and for you to preferably never find out.” Reed opens his mouth to speak, but Ritch continues. “And I would suggest that you keep away from other people’s businesses. Someone may accidentally mistake your abrasive nosiness for actually caring.”

    Reed grumbles and angrily slouches low in his seat, not unlike a pouting child would. Within his grumbling, Ritch barely makes out the word “fucker”, but the way he pronounces it makes him mentally do a double take. Sure enough, just a few seconds later, he murmurs what sounds like “phker” under his breath again, and Ritch can’t quite contain the careful, blank expression on his face anymore, letting his eyebrows furrow just the slightest.

    Does he actually say it like that or is he just shitting around? He said it normally before… What even...?

    “Ritch,” Marshal Fowler suddenly calls, startling the twin. He can’t let himself lower his guard like that again, lest he get hurt. “You’re up. Connor, you’re free to go so this disaster of a human being doesn’t start influencing your behavior.”

    “Really feelin’ the love, Fowler.”

    “Just do me a favor and shut up. You’re damn lucky you’re a good pilot or else you’d’ve been gone ages ago.” The marshal slams the door behind him with Ritch already inside the office. He turns to face Ritch.

    “Now then, sit down. I’ll make this short.”

    That wasn’t usually a good thing to hear, and Ritch never got the opportunity to read Connor to see how he was affected. He’s going in blind. Thankfully, Marshal Fowler makes do on his word of keeping things quick and barely waits for Ritch to sit down before starting business.

    “You and Connor still refuse to work together, and it’s come to my attention that you guys have started trying to experiment on your compatibility with the other trainees, yes?” Ritch nods with a, “Yes, sir.”, seeing no reason to lie since they’ve already been caught, and the older man continues. “So, what are we gonna do about this, then?”

    Ritch waits in silence for a few moments, thinking it was a rhetorical question, but when he doesn’t continue, Ritch searches for an appropriate answer. The marshal doesn’t actually let him answer in the end, which miffs the twin. He’s careful to not let it show, though.

    “We can consider your paperwork to be ingenuine, thus terminating any chances of you and Connor ever being pilots.”

    Ritch feels like this is the first of multiple options with the way he said this, but it’s obvious that this is a test of some kind, so he plays along. Besides, this is something they’ve already tried to admit and clear up during the first day of being here, so they can’t entirely be in the wrong.

    “I suppose, in a way, our paperwork was ingenuine, but we didn’t have a choice in the matter at the time.”

    “And what does that mean?” He probably knows what it means from Connor, but once again, this is probably a test to see how eagerly he wants to be a pilot.

    “Our stepmother and instructor, Amanda, was watching us fill them out, and we–”

    “Wait, wait wait wait wait…” He holds a hand up and takes a second to process something, then points at Ritch almost accusingly. “Your trainer was your stepmother? You share her last name?”

    Ritch doesn’t know how he messed up, but he feels like he did. “Yes, sir.”

    “So your trainer was Amanda, as in, Amanda Stern?”

    “Do… you know her, sir?”

    “‘Do I know her’, he asks.” He spins in his chair to address an invisible audience incredulously while throwing his hands in the air, then spins to face Ritch again. “You mean to tell me that you just didn’t know that your supposed stepmother, Amanda Stern, is known for training some of the best jaeger pilots we’ve had? You two know so much about everything else ‘round here– because it’s obvious that you and Connor purposefully threw some of the evaluation questions, and we’re gonna talk about that too– but neither of you knew who Amanda Stern is? You didn’t think to mention this little detail to us?”

    “I… suppose not, sir. Maybe she didn’t tell us she was known for anything because she wanted us to get in through skill and not because of her name? All we knew was that she had experience in training soldiers and that she offered to train us to give us a better chance at being accepted.”

    “Did you not have any internet? A magazine on jaeger pilots and training, even? Anything?”

    “No, sir. At least, not often and usually not unsupervised. She didn’t like us being distracted from our main goal, much to our own irritation.”

    Marshal Fowler opens his mouth as if to ask another question, probably one out of concern if his facial expression is anything to go by, but he instead sighs deeply with a shake of his head. It’s obvious that he’s pretty much done with this situation and that he wants this to be over as soon as possible. Ritch feels very much the same way.

    “That doesn’t explain why you purposefully answered questions wrong on the written evaluations, and both Luther and I have a sneaking suspicion that you guys have been holding back ever since that first day of physical evaluations. And you better not lie to me, because lying about your potential during evaluations has already put you on thin fuckin’ ice here.”

    See, here’s the problem, if Ritch’s story doesn’t match up near-perfectly with Connor’s, then they’re both done for. Therefore, Ritch has to try to figure out if Connor told the truth about buying time to find a new partner, or if he bent the truth and claimed it was to get more time to gain the “trainee experience”. If Marshal Fowler was this tough on Connor as well, then he would’ve cracked and simply told the entire truth then beg for forgiveness afterward. Although, if the marshal went easy on him and is only being short with Ritch right now because of the accumulated stress, then Connor would have bent the truth to keep his superior from getting angry in the first place.

    This is where being able to see Connor’s expression would have helped immensely. Even just a quick glance at his eyes; the twin-telepathy would have taken care of the rest.

    When Ritch answers, it’s soon enough after Marshal Fowler finished speaking that there’s no noticeable hesitation. His decision is made and is hopefully correct.

    “To put it shortly, we were trying to avoid any possible chance of early graduation in order to buy time for us to find new partners to pilot a jaeger with. Due to past events, Connor and I will certainly have a difficult time going through the neural handshake. It can be done, we’ve been trained most of our lives to be compatible, but it’ll be more than uncomfortable and taxing for both of us.” Ritch takes a page from Connor’s book and looks down with hunched shoulders, knowing it should accentuate the guilt and trepidation he’s feeling. “We’d really rather not have to find out how long we’d last.”

    The marshal sighs again, this time less angrily, “And why did you not state this on your papers when signing up?”

    Ritch lifts his head, completely confident in his answer now. “As I said before, Amanda was quite literally standing behind us during the entire process, and she would have been… less than pleased if she saw that we were trying to write down anything besides eagerness to work together. She’s–” Ritch’s voice cracks, so he clears his throat quickly, “She can be a force to be reckoned with, one could say.”

    Marshal Fowler stares down Ritch, probably for any signs of dishonesty, but the trainee knows that he’ll find none. The way he sighs once more, this time more in defeat, tells Ritch that his choice to come clean was the correct choice. It also shows that he should probably get back to Connor as soon as possible. Knowing him and his patterns of self-blame and punishment, he’s probably already digging himself a ditch with the amount of fidgeting and pacing he’s likely doing.

    “Connor said something similar.” He states as if Ritch didn’t already figure that out, “He never mentioned that your trainer was Amanda Stern, though. That kinda changes things, here.” He sighs again. Ritch kind of feels bad for giving him more stress than he already had.

    “I apologize for making things complicated. You probably have enough on your plate as it is without worrying about two questionable trainees.”

    “You’re damn right I do. I’m glad you recognize that.”

    Another halt in conversation. Marshal Fowler breaks it, this time, with false nonchalance.

    “Mind if I ask how long you stayed with Amanda?”

    “We lived with her for nearly eleven years, but we only trained for a little over ten.” Ritch answers automatically. This is a question he’s answered many times before in the past.

    Ritch hears the marshal hiss a distinct “Jesus” under his breath before continuing out loud. “Did you have anyone taking care of you besides Amanda? Like a maid or something?”

    “I have Connor and he has me, but we’ve always been mostly self-sufficient. We never particularly needed anyone else.”

    Marshal Fowler scrutinizes him for a moment, before dropping his gaze to the table between them. Richard feels another sudden wave of sympathy for the older man.

    “Alright, I’ve got things to do and another human to talk with, apparently, so you can leave now.” He gets up from his chair and steps to the door. “I’ll have someone tell you the verdict once the people who normally take care of this kind of stuff decide what to do with you two.” He opens the door then shouts with impatience, “Reed! Get your ass in here!”

    Ritch starts walking out, eyeing Reed, who is just getting up from his chair. He doesn’t know what prompts him to do it, but Ritch suddenly can’t simply walk past the trash-human without saying something. It’s an odd feeling, one that he’s never had before, but he relates it to a strange mixture of smug, cocky, and maybe a bit playful, yet he has no reason to be any of those. As they pass each other, Ritch lowers his voice enough that marshal Fowler shouldn’t be able to tell he said anything from where he’s sat in the office chair again.

    “Here for another day, Reed, let’s see if you are too.” he taunts, relishing in whatever this smug, cocky, thrilling feeling is.

    Reed stops in his tracks, but Ritch continues on as if nothing happened.

    “What did you just say to me?”

    “Reed!”

    Ritch allows a shit-eating grin to form when he hears the loud growl from the pilot only because his back is to him. It drops completely as soon as he opens the door because he finds Connor waiting right outside in the hall. He normally would have retreated back to their room by now to calm down, but here he is. At least there’s one part of his pattern Connor’s still following; pacing and fidgeting with his fingers in an obvious show of anxiety. Ritch doesn’t get the chance to ask if he’s okay because Connor’s suddenly darting to him.

    “Ritch! Ritch, I’m sorry! I told him everything and I messed this all up and–”

    “You didn’t mess anything up, and you didn’t tell him everything.” Ritch cuts him off before it gets out of hand, “He was surprised when I told him Amanda was our stepmother and trainer. Apparently she’s downright famous in our line of work.”

    “I–” Connor freezes, his eyes widening in recognition. “I think I knew that already. I’m pretty sure North’s said something like that...” Connor replies dumbly. Ritch can tell he’s trying to process that what he imagined in his head isn’t becoming reality, so he gives his brother a second to adjust before continuing.

    “It’s okay that you told Marshal Fowler everything, because I did too. We were caught, and lying would have made things worse. He seemed receptive to our reasonings for lying by the end of our talk.”

    Connor slowly lifts his head up in order to meet Ritch’s eyes. “...was he really? Or are you just trying to make me feel better?”

    “Connor. I never say anything I don’t mean, you know this better than anyone, so the fact that you’re asking me if I am bending the truth for anyone’s benefit means you need to take some time to lie down and think through things before this afternoon. That’s what you normally do during times like this, yes?”

    Ritch turns and starts walking back to their dorm, knowing full well that Connor will start following behind him. Sure enough, he hears the tip-tapping of footsteps behind him almost immediately.

    “I do… But what if He might’ve been putting on an act to make us think we’re safe. What if we get kicked out? We don’t have any other skills–”

    “If things really go down the drain, I’m sure we could at least find jobs as bodyguards or some kind of fighting or self-defense instructors. Besides, we’re still young. We still have time to learn a new trade if worse comes to worst. But I genuinely don’t think it will come to that.”

    “How can you be sure? What if–”

    Ritch stops and turns to his brother abruptly, “Stop letting your head and emotions get the best of you. Calm down and think clearly. Marshal Fowler never yelled at you, did he? Didn’t get short with you after you explained yourself?”

    Connor takes a deep breath, “...not really, no.”

    “And he didn’t with me, either. He simply said that he’d give the information to the people who officially decide what to do with us.” He stops Connor before he can freak out, “Now think, if you were in their shoes, and you got a case about these brothers whose stepmother, who is well-known for being at least mildly threatening, apparently, was watching them through every step of the enrollment process and forced them to put answers they didn’t like, would you blame the kids?”

    “I don’t know because I’m not informed on–”

    “Connor, come on, just use your head for a second. Would you do it?”

    His brother stammers, “But I’m too soft and–”

    “Connor.” Ritch snaps.

    “No.” Connor barks back, anger bleeding into his tone. Finally, he’s feeling and showing something other than anxiety and fear.

    “And in the end, I don’t think I would either. People can’t blame kids for being afraid of the consequences of going against their parent’s or guardian’s wishes. In most cases it’s the adult’s fault, so I’ve heard.”

    Connor pauses, looking down. “You’re sure about that? Where have you heard this from?”

    “North complains about her parents sometimes.” Ritch starts walking again, and Connor follows. “They’re eerily similar to Amanda in a lot of ways, as far as I have been able to tell, and what I told you is what Simon told North once or twice. She seemed to agree with him.”

    “Oh…”

    Ritch nods and continues his trek to their bunker again. The relatively short trip is spent in silence for the rest of the way. When they arrive, Connor surprises Ritch by not entering the room when he holds the door open for him. Instead, he states that Lunch will be starting sometime soon and he’d like to get there a little early today. Ritch decides against questioning it, even if this doesn’t match his brother’s usual behavioral patterns, so he simply nods and bids Connor a polite farewell before closing the bunker door behind him.

    Not questioning certain things seems to be a repeating theme for Ritch lately, but he can tell that if he did start questioning them, he’d spiral into an unpleasant mindset. He isn’t quite sure why, probably something like a long lost self-preservation method that has become a simple habit over time, but he really doesn’t want to delve into that right now. Maybe another time when he knows the following day will be a day off, but not now when he has to go back to training in just a few hours. Ritch has a feeling that this particular “maybe later” will become yet another “not ever”, but he can’t bring himself to particularly care at this moment. He seems to have a lot of “maybe later”s too, now that he’s thinking about it.

    He shakes his head and forcibly moves any and all of those types of thoughts like taking boxes of trinkets and stashing them in the shed or garage when one’s too lazy to go to the dump. There’s a fleeting thought that this is probably unhealthy, but it’s gone and forgotten as fast as it tries to arrive.

    What Ritch decides is okay to actively think about is the feeling he got when he started taunting Reed today. He’s still not even sure why he did that, since he vowed just last week to never escalate things like the other man wanted so desperately, yet here he is. This is probably the first feeling aside from enjoyment and annoyance that Ritch has genuinely let himself feel in a while, and it felt… good. It felt really good. That’s what’s concerning him.

    Ritch doesn’t “just feel things”– that would have gotten him in a lot of trouble with Amanda and thus turned him into a nervous wreck like Connor. At first, Ritch picked and chose which emotions to put on his face in order to please the people around him, not unlike what Connor tries to do. Although, at some point, he just became a robot of sorts. He didn’t realize until it was too late, but he doesn’t really feel anything anymore, as “teenage angst” as that sounds. He knows what he should be feeling and acts accordingly, and he, for the most part, can tell what other people are feeling, so he acts accordingly then, as well. Not that Ritch has any problems with himself, that’s just the way he is.

    He even started tamping down on the annoyance too. That is, until Gavin Reed entered the picture. Ritch ignored the man easily whenever he tried to start something in the past, as he normally does, but something about him keeps grating at his skin, so to speak. Ritch has no clue why, and there’s no way he’s going to ask for Connor’s help. His twin is living his own life now, he doesn’t need Ritch dragging him down as well. Besides, Ritch wouldn’t even know how to begin describing the strange feeling he gets when treating Gavin to a bit of his own medicine. He’s pretty sure Mr. Anderson would be able to help, but there’s no way in hell he’s approaching the old alcoholic. That’s Connor’s type of thing, not Ritch’s, and it’ll stay that way for as long as he can help it.

    Whatever, it’s not like this is actually bothering him. This feeling and his and Reed’s interactions are the only things keeping Ritch from going insane with boredom and lack of sunlight, after all. As he starts preparing himself for lunch and the second half of the training day, he wonders if his superiors would let him go for a run around the aircraft launch, or if that would be too dangerous.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    Tina has been asking the same damn question at lunch every day ever since Gavin told her about his plan to break Ritch; “Make any progress with your boy toy, yet?” Her excuse had been because “He’s a boy and you have been trying to toy with him, therefore, boy toy.” Gavin understands where she got boy toy from, thank you very much, he just doesn’t understand why she says it the way she does, like she’s expecting something else to happen. It also doesn’t help that she usually says it loud enough for the surrounding tables to hear. He wouldn’t be surprised if the “Slut Gavin” rumors started their rounds again soon because of it.

    Gavin only started picking on the guy just to try to get a rise out of him. He does the same exact thing with the other trainees just to see how long their patience lasts. Honestly, what do people expect from him? Every single person he’s encountered has cracked, even those dudes Simon and Josh, who Gavin thought were going to be the toughest to crack because they’re so mild and peaceful. But nope! Just one degradation of their little friend group and they got defensive as hell. Gavin hasn’t even tried with the other twin– the one that sits next to Anderson for some fuckin’ reason– because the pilot can tell that one’ll crack within seconds of Gavin doing his thing. Plus, if he and Anderson are actually buddying up with each other…

    Let’s just say that, while the rest have been spoiled with their robots and fancy technology and hence have lost that certain edge, Anderson still knows how to take and throw a damn punch. Gavin figured that out the hard way a couple years back, and he isn’t going to jump at another opportunity to test it again.

    Ritch, though… Ritch is a fucking robot or something. He’s never surprised, always stoic no matter what Gavin says and has a constant resting bitch face, even when he’s with his little group during lunch. Even with all of the attempts at getting him to do something, anything, Ritch is always fucking blank and it’s irritating. Honestly, Gavin was even about ready to give up trying to get something out of him. If he hadn’t so much as slipped up by now, he probably wasn’t ever going to crack enough for it to be worth it.

    However, as soon as that fucker walked into the waiting room, Gavin got the feeling that today was gonna be different, and he was right. Ritch slipped that little bit while waiting for Connor, and that was instantly enough proof that Gavin should keep going, that it was possible to finally get a reaction. He thought that was going to be it for the day. He was fully ready to call quits for now and plan how to get him to break some more tomorrow. He didn’t expect that slight fucking quirk in his lips and that twinkle in Ritch’s eye when the trainee walked out of Fowler’s office.

    “Here for another day, Reed, let’s see if you are too.” is what the fucker said. And to top it all off, Gavin caught that fucking smug-ass grin on his face afterwards. He didn’t know little Ritchie-boy could dish anything out, let alone not only get away with something like insinuate that Gavin was gonna get fired with the fuckin Marshal in the same damn room, but also get Gavin in trouble for “trying to start something again”? He had to endure ten extra minutes of lecturing because he “still wasn’t respecting the trainees” and “hasn’t solved his anger issues”!

    You wanna finally participate in the game you’ve been ignoring for so long? Then I’ll make it impossible for you to ignore it again. I know how much fun you had in that moment. So let’s fuckin’ play.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    Now, Gavin doesn’t normally wait for people. He prefers to play the whole “Oh look who I just ran into” schtick, but that ain’t gonna work for little Richard, anymore. He doesn’t even know if it ever worked for the prick in the first place with how calculated every single one of his movements seem. Oh well, it doesn’t matter anymore, he’s already leaned up against this wall in a way that everyone knows by now means to stay clear of him. He’s on the hunt for prey, and he can see his target walking down the hall in his direction right now.

    “‘Sup, dick.” Gavin calls, “Oh I’m sorry, did you prefer Richard? Ritch, maybe?”

    The twin doesn’t miss a beat this time, “Hello to you too, wetland grass. Although, I thought I told you earlier to come up with more mature and creative insults if you wanted to stop being seen as a child.”

    “First of all, fuck you–”

    “No thank you, I’m not interested.” Dick interrupts, pausing a few steps away from Gavin, “Oh, and Reed, Ritch is short for Ritchie, not Richard, so I wouldn’t be called Dick anyway. You can try again next time, though, maybe with more finesse. I’m known to be a very patient man and am willing to wait the time it will take to do so.” He has that same eye sparkle as earlier, even if his face is still morphed into something like disregard.

    “You keep calling me childish, but who’s the one who has a baby face? Are you even old enough to shave? Cause you don’t look a day past fourteen.” Gavin sneers, miffed that Ritch is now walking away from him as if he doesn’t have a damn care in the world. That’s supposed to be his own move!

    “No, I don’t shave,” he replies over his shoulder, “but I don’t see how that’s insultable since I waste no time in my mornings shaving and my face never itches. Have a good afternoon, wetland grass. Or do you prefer Reed?” and he’s out of casual speaking distance, effectively ending this round unless Gavin wants to throw away his pride and follow the dude or yell down the hallway. He does neither.

    He may have won this time, Gavin certainly underestimated this guy, still having doubts that he wouldn’t go back to being unemotional. Although, little Ritchie is a fool if he thinks these petty, elementary insults are all Gavin’s got. Gavin smirks in a way that has a middle-aged man clearly avoiding him where he was passing him in the hallway.

    Game on, bitch.

Chapter Text

    Hank woke up at an ungodly hour this morning due to a nightmare again. He wonders if it’s the slight increase in social activity he’s being subjected to or if he’s just becoming less affected by the alcohol that he tries so desperately to drown unpleasant memories with. Hank has his bets on the latter, but he won’t rule out the former.

    Being up this early in the morning with no desire to go back to sleep means another morning where he goes out to eat breakfast just as it opens. The only reason he doesn’t start his day drinking like he nearly did last time he was in this situation is because he still vividly remembers the pure shock on everyone’s faces. Still fucking priceless, and still worth getting his cranky ass up and at ‘em if he ain’t going back to sleep anyway.

    Just like last time, when he goes out to get his food, his military-lunch-lady doesn’t hide her surprise. Hank’s a bit disappointed, though, when the other food workers don’t openly stare at him like he has a second head like they had before. That was half of the fun, messing with their heads so obviously. Now they’re just occasionally glancing at him with curious expressions while they work and cook.

    He doesn’t know if it’ll be worth it to do this again within the next couple of months. A damn shame is what it is.

    He sits down at his table, eating slowly because he isn’t even all that hungry– he literally only wanted to see the workers’ faces. By the time he’s done eating, an hour and a half has passed, and Hank suddenly realizes that he hasn’t seen Connor at all. He glances around, looking for any other trainees, and he finds the group Connor’s twin (he already forgot his name again, shit) always hangs around at, but neither brother is there. Something strange settles in his gut and he doesn’t like it one single bit.

    Hank gets up and puts his tray away, forcing himself to stop thinking about it. It doesn’t work very well at all because he’s almost instantly imagining Connor having another “mood dip”, as what’s-his-face called it. Maybe he’s just taking care of Connor or something–

    Worry.

    This feeling in his gut is worry.

    Oh fuck no. Nope. Not happening. Not fuckin’ today, not fuckin’ ever.

    Hank promptly shoves every single thought of the twins out of his head and forces himself to take stock of what he has to drink and munch on in his room on his way back to his safe space. It’s a good thing he does because he realizes he’s starting to run low on pretty much everything except protein bars and water bottles. He’s going to need to get more alcohol very soon, but fucking Fowler has been watching him closely recently. Apparently a guy can’t shower and get up early one time before his friend (are they even still friends? Or are they old friends now?) thinks he’s trying to work at getting better.

    God, it’s not like Hank’s super popular down here, either. It was already difficult enough filling his stash, and now it’s just going to be a right pain in the ass. See, this is why he didn’t mind Connor. The trainee saw what a fucking catastrophe he was and didn’t do shit about it. He just let Hank be after that bottle cleaning incident, the same incident that led him to impulsively recycle all of the old bottles and throw his laundry into a large pile in the corner of the room.

    Wait, he’s not supposed to be thinking about him right now. Fuck you, brain.

    Well, there’s still Arnold, he guesses. He’s never given a shit about what Fowler or anyone else says. Honestly, Hank’s surprised that asshole still has his job. The thing is, though, Arnold can’t keep a secret for shit. Everyone and their uncles would know how low he stooped just to get some alcohol in his bunker. There’s also Vanessa. She’s a charming gal, but he’s not confident she would help him–

    Is that Connor sitting next to my door?

    “Connor?” 

    The trainee’s head snaps up from where it was tucked into his knees. He’s curled up on the ground to the right of his door, his arms squeezing his knees to his chest. A closer look shows that Connor’s eyes are bloodshot, and Hank would almost think he’s high right now if he didn’t know any better, but he does. He also sees the dark bags under his eyes. Christ, has this guy slept at all in the past week?

    Hank suddenly remembers thinking about if he was having a mood dip, and wonders if that’s what’s happening right now. He seemed fine enough yesterday at lunch, though, but he wasn’t there for dinner…

    “Good morning, Mr. Anderson.” He gets up to his feet, and the new position shows off how rumpled his training clothes look. He’s never seen Connor rumpled without seeing bandages. It’s kind of unsettling. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I was kind of hoping I could get one of your snacks you mentioned having a while ago? I’d owe you a favor in return.” he wrings his hands together.

    “Yeah.” Hank doesn’t think, he just answers. “Yeah sure. C’mon in. You look like you need it more than I do, and that’s sayin’ somethin’.”

    He quickly opens his door, and Connor shuffles in after him. Hank doesn’t think he’s ever seen him shuffle before, he abruptly notices. He doesn’t say anything about it, being acutely aware of how it feels to be in that position, and starts digging through the top drawer in his desk for one of the chocolate protein bars. He remembers Connor loving the brownies at lunch, and Hank prefers the peanut butter ones anyway.

    “Thank you very much for doing this. Ritch wanted me to eat something this morning, but I don’t think I can stomach a breakfast like he wants me to. And I’m sorry for sitting in front of your door, I was still trying to decide if I should ask you to part with some of your stash...” A pause. “You cleaned.”

    That comment immediately puts Hank on edge. He pauses from digging around for a moment and turns his head just enough to see Connor’s reaction. He has a tiny, tired smile on his face, and Hank doesn’t know how to feel about that.

    “Yeah? And what of it?” he grumbles defensively.

    The other hums, “I’m just glad there’s no chance of you stepping on a bottle and hurting yourself anymore, is all.”

    God damn it, he looked so genuine as he said that.

    He’s used to the stupid “Congratulations, you’re not hopeless!” talks that he got so often a few years back. “You cleaned your room! Yay!” “I’m glad you showered!” “Hank, did you shave? That’s good!” “Woah, you’re up early! I’m happy you’re better today.” All of these types of things he’s completely used to. They’re all wishes and quiet hopes that he’s finally getting better and going back to normal, when he isn’t and probably never will.

    He is absolutely not used to hearing “Now you probably won’t accidentally hurt yourself because your room is sort of kinda clean!” Wasn’t that Connor’s excuse for cleaning up his shit last time he was in here? He didn’t want Hank to get hurt by tripping or shattering a bottle or something?

    He truly doesn’t know how to react, so he simply grunts an acknowledgement and gets back to his search, hoping his pause wasn’t too noticeable. Hank finds what he’s looking for and turns around. He hands two protein bars to Connor, who takes them with the expression of someone who doesn’t want to eat even this much.

    Hank, against his better judgement, decides to prod a bit. He won’t force the kid to talk, but something must have happened if he looks this offended by food, and besides, Hank has always been known for being a bit nosy at times. It’s been his excuse for as long as he’s been getting into other people’s businesses or strange situations.

    “Did you see something that made you lose your appetite in one of those slides they show you new comers?”

    He remembers not wanting to eat for a day or two after seeing those gory pictures. Some were of Kaijus that had been torn apart, blue coated guts just lying in the middle of mass destruction, others of what remained of people who were completely smashed under collapsed buildings. He hates that he’s seen both of those scenes in person now, too.

    Connor seems a bit confused before realization hits, “Oh! No. Those aren’t anything I haven’t studied in detail before–” What the hell kind of things did his trainer have him studying, then? “–so they didn’t bother me. Actually, uh… We were, um, caught lying on our evaluation exams two days ago.”

    “You cheated on the single thing that measures your entire worth around here? Are you fucking insane, Connor!?”

    Connor’s gaze snaps up to him from the floor, “No. We did not cheat, we lied. We know a lot more than I think we’re supposed to at this stage of training, and we don’t want to graduate early, so we purposefully marked questions wrong on the written evaluation and held back during the physical ones.” His gaze goes distant like it was before, and he drops down to sit on Hank’s bed. “I thought we were in the clear, but I guess we must’ve slipped at some point because we had to talk to Marshal Fowler about it.”

    Hank knows better than to force someone with that distant look in their eyes to get up and do anything, so if he needs to carry on the conversation to let Connor settle for a moment, so be it. If Hank is secretly curious about why and how he and Ritch (That’s what his name was! He knew he knew it!) lied on the evaluations and almost got away with it, so be it. 

    “Why the hell would you not wanna graduate early? Do you even understand how amazing that looks on records?”

    “I–” Connor blinks a few times, the glazed look on his face gradually dissipating. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter anymore. The entire thing is out of our hands, now.” He stands up with perfect posture. “We’ll reap what we sowed, and if worse comes to worst we can still be bodyguards or something of the like, just as Ritch said. Ten years of combat training has to mean something, right?”

    Connor meets his eyes. “I feel more relaxed now, oddly enough. I suppose I just had to get that off of my chest. Thank you very much for the protein bars and for listening to me complain about my own decisions. If there’s anything you think I can do for you before I likely leave, don’t hesitate to ask.” he finishes with a small smile.

    Part of Hank really wants to say that he wasn’t exactly complaining about his decisions, he was just stressing about the consequences that he was smart enough to realize he had. Another tiny part of him wanted to ask the trainee for booze as repayment, but there’s no way in hell he’s doing that. Yet another part wanted to remind Connor that he also gave him the blanket and stress ball, but he knows the trainee’s thankful for that, and Hank isn’t going to go out of his way to be an asshole like that. Instead, he tries to actually use his head for once and does something stupid, against his own judgement.

    He tries to comfort him.

    “Don’t worry about it. Fowler’s a pretty understandable guy, and you two are smart people. Whatever reason you had for underplaying your skills must’ve been a damn good one because you’re not stupid. And he’ll see that, too, if he doesn’t already. I mean, he lets my useless ass bum around here, so…” he trails off.

    “Let’s hope so. But, again, I don’t think you’re as useless as you seem to have convinced yourself you are.” He turns and heads to the door as he talks over his shoulder, “Whatever may happen to me, I hope you remember that you aren’t as terrible as you keep trying to make yourself out to be. Brains are just stupid like that, I of all people should know that, at least.” He opens the door, looking back at Hank with a soft smile, “Thank you again, for everything.” And he’s gone.

    It takes Hank at least a minute, if not longer, to finally have his first clear thought in the silent chaos his head has suddenly become.

    He still doesn’t like how Connor seems to understand him better than any of the therapists assigned to him did.

    Hank once again can’t decide if he should be disappointed in his old therapists, somewhat proud of Connor for being aware as all hell, or let himself be worried for the trainee (he kind of already is, though, isn’t he?). He’s leaning towards the first option, with a healthy dosage of the third. He knew his therapists were shit for him. That’s the main reason he started drinking all the time; they never really worked for him. He also knows that Connor has some mental issues of his own that he’s slowly working through, but when his mind tries to connect the guy who seems in tune with how Hank’s feeling most of the time with someone who hasn’t even turned 25 yet, it just doesn’t work. Error 404, connection can not be found.

    Hank suddenly remembers why he didn’t put on his mean act around Connor; he saw some of himself in the trainee. At the time, he was pretty pretty he was just self-projecting, but as time is passing, it’s becoming more and more clear that this is just how the young man is. 

    Wait a minute, back the hell up.

    Connor mentioned ten years of combat training. He’s pretty sure he knew about the twins having several years of training before they got here, but an entire decade dedicated to combat? Fucking hell, when will this kid stop surprising him? Apparently Connor was right during that first day he sat at Hank’s table; he really isn’t a kid anymore, huh? Hank always knew he had a rough and extremely censored childhood, what with the complete lack of common life knowledge and shit. Ten whole fucking years, though? Why the hell wouldn’t they just test out of the training segment altogether? They’re partners, aren’t they?

    …Unless they’re not.

    Every time he’s seen those two in the same room– which is admittedly not very often– they’ve either been silent, tense, or arguing. While Hank can see that they’re probably trying their best for one another, he can tell that it probably doesn’t seem like that’s the case from their perspective. It’d be like the other is constantly pushing back, and the only time they’re not is when some kind of mess that affects both of them is being dealt with or they’re being silent.

    Hank wonders if that’s what people saw when his friendship with Jeff started going downhill. He has a sinking feeling that it probably is. 

    Jesus, if that’s even partially the case, then no wonder why they don’t want to graduate early and be forced to work together.

    Now, the next question is does Hank want to have a small chat with Jeff about the lying situation? The marshal should have known about all of this before it became a problem, after all. Connor and Ritch definitely don’t seem like the type of people who would try to lie about something important like this before trying to get it cleared up altogether first.

    No, he shouldn’t meddle. They can handle themselves just fine.

    He groans and rubs his face with his hands. He should stop inviting Connor into his room to grab things. It always leads to a lot of thinking and some kind of big ass realization. It’s exhausting.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    Gavin is finally on his way back to his room from breakfast. During the entire meal, Tina wouldn’t stop grilling him about RItch again. He gets it, he really, truly does. He knows what it looks like for a guy who has exactly one friend to suddenly start insulting another guy then get insulted back without there being any real heat or anger. To everyone else, it looks like he made a new friend or possibly something more (“Slut Gavin” has officially made a reappearance, just as he predicted, and he wants to ram everybody’s head into a wall. He’s never been anything less than modest with anyone except two people.), even though this is far from the case.

    Right?

    Yes, definitely. Even if he did want some kind of friend, they aren’t created through insults. People just need to learn how to shut the fuck up or find something else to ramble on about.

    Therefore, he purposely takes the longer way to his room that brings him closer to the training quarters in some secret wish that Ritch will pop around the corner and they’ll have another go so he can blow off some steam. Gavin actually ended up taking Ritch’s advice and briefly brainstormed some “fancier” insults last night when he couldn’t sleep, mainly so he could blame the internet when they end up not meeting his standards anyway. Ritch better be fucking thankful because doing that was kind of embarrassing, since he’s known for being a natural asshole–

    “ALEX!!”

    Gavin freezes and his senses go on high alert. That was Luther who just yelled. The same Luther that everyone is convinced has a vocal problem that prevents him from speaking louder than an acceptable indoor volume and a chemical imbalance that keeps him from ever getting angry. The same Luther that never once yelled at Gavin during training, despite the larger man being in the last steps of his apprenticeship at the time and had full authority to.

    What the fucking hell did Alex do to piss off Luther of all people?

    Gavin sets off to the training room. Once upon a time he would have tried to convince himself that he was just wanting to be a nosy asshole and get into people’s business, but he has no problem admitting nowadays that he’s genuinely concerned and wants to see if urgent help is needed.

    Gavin rounds a corner and enters the hall that connects with the training area. He starts hearing people swearing and telling someone (presumably Alex) to just leave, and then hears that fucking idiot start trying to pick a fight with Luther. Gavin pokes his head in, immediately scanning the room.

    Luther looks like he’s about to spontaneously combust with rage right there in the center of the room, and that scares the shit out of Gavin. He has never once seen the large man genuinely mad, let alone ready to rip someone to pieces like he does now. This Alex character suddenly barks out that he could throw Luther down, despite being less than half of the instructor’s size. What a fucking moron.

    After a closer look, Gavin realizes that Alex was the dude that couldn’t even take one passing insult from him. That one jackass with Ritch in the hall on that second day of training season. He steps in quickly so the other fuck-tards don’t escalate things even more.

    That’s the thing about someone always starting fights, if that person’s smart, they also get oddly good at calming things down. Gavin just so happens to be one of the smart ones for whatever reason.

    “I was taking the long way back to my room when I heard someone shouting swears around here?” Explosion kid turns to him and– oh shit, he has a big ass knife, and Gavin knows for a fucking fact that trainees aren’t allowed to have any kind of weapon, but he steps inside the room casually as if he hasn’t noticed it. “That’s kind of my area of expertise, you know? And, like, how the fuck did you manage to get gentle giant over here mad? Not even I could do that and pissing people off is literally my entire personality.”

    “Gavin,” Luther says calmly, the terrifying kind of calm that makes him hesitate, “We don’t need you right now.”

    Gavin raises his eyebrows and turns so he can look at Luther while keeping Alex in his peripheral. He tilts his head the slightest when the other man’s jaw clenches at his movement. He flicks his eyes over to Alex and back to Luther, trying to convey that for the first time in a long while, he doesn’t want to stir things up more, that he actually wants to help this time.

    “You sure about that?” Gavin asks softly, genuinely.

    He’s glad that Luther’s features loosen a bit, losing that edge of murder. He’s the only one who seems to understand that Gavin doesn’t always want to make people’s lives miserable. He understands how troublemakers like this one work and he knows how to handle himself well enough to not lose in a potential fight, or at least enough to be able to stall until the real help can arrive. Luther starts stepping back to the room’s intercom, probably to contact Fowler about this. A knife of that kind and size doesn’t even belong in this base, let alone in a trainee’s hands.

    “This ain’t any of your business, cocksucker. Why don’t you just go off and play with your boy toy, huh?” explosion kid calls out, and Luther looks about ready to kill again.

    “Ah, so you’ve caught on to the fake ‘Slut Gavin’ rumors.” he turns to Alex quickly, “Why am I not surprised?”

    “This is the same guy who picked a fight with you in front of Fowler’s official office,” a very familiar, teasing voice calls out from his left. “but I wouldn’t expect you to remember that with how many people you quite literally bump into. Can you even handle a situation like this without losing your own temper? I promise to not say ‘I told you so’ if you can’t.” Gavin can see the slight bit of mirth in his eyes, even if he isn’t smirking like he has a few times before.

    At least five people hiss “Ritch” quietly. Apparently this is out of character for the guy. Gavin feels almost proud of himself.

    Gavin fixes him with a glare the other has already received from him multiple times, “Watch me, dick. I’m about to show you a prim and proper end to this shitshow like no one ain’t ever seen before.”

    “I’ve already said my name is not Richard, but go right on ahead and try.” Ritch says, cocky.

    Gavin turns his attention over to Alex the Asshole, shutting him up before he can speak with one of his real glares. He starts walking up to him in the center of the room, ignoring Luther’s warning look. He’ll take care of this without blood, even if it’s just to wipe that smug-ass look on Dickie’s face.

    “That your boy toy? I thought you would do better than that.”

    Deep breaths, just like you were taught, Gavin reminds himself. You’re way better than this piece of shit, you’re about to save the day, and you can’t let RoboRitch win this time. Deep breaths.

    “Alright,” he begins once he’s three steps away from Alex, “you heard literally everyone in this room. Come on out with me or else you’re gonna have an even worse day, ‘cause unlike Luther and friends here, I ain’t afraid of breaking some rules, and I ain’t afraid of gettin’ Fowler up in here. I’m just fuckin’ lazy right now.”

    “How about I fucking throw you down and when I win you’ll see that this was all a mistake and I’m gonna be needed on the future team?” he spits in Gavin’s direction, but it missed him completely and hits the floor. He doesn’t miss how he also slightly readjusts his grip on the knife, likely preparing to strike.

    Gavin loudly barks laugh. “Holy shit–” he wheezes. “You actually think–” he takes a deep breath,. “You actually think you could throw me down? My job is literally taking down huge alien monsters while strapped in a giant metal chamber, a trainee with a knife or two ain’t enough to scare me or take me down.” He relaxes his stance to continue his act of nonchalance. “Now put that knife down and let’s get outta here. Don’t make this worse for yourself.”

    Alex grips the knife harder, just as Gavin expected. “You say you can take me on with the knife, but then tell me to drop it? Maybe you’re just a fuckin’ coward? Ever think of that?! Why don’t you fight me like a man?!”

    “Jesus fucking christ. I don’t think I’ve used that one since middle school, and a certain someone–” he pointedly looks at Ritch, “–loves to remind me that I’m the king of childish insults.” He then turns to where Luther is still back by the room’s intercom, watching the whole event carefully. “Was I this bad during training, Luther? You were an apprentice back then, weren’t you? I swear to god I took a hint better than this asshole.”

    Luther, shockingly, nods his head. “You did take a hint, and you also knew when to finally leave, and when to stop if it was getting serious.”

    Gavin hears Alex suddenly shift closer to him, so Gavin quickly readies himself for action, not wanting to risk getting stabbed or sliced. Alex threateningly raises his knife up (not that he could do any serious, lasting damage holding it like that) and Gavin grabs his wrist and twists, forcing him to drop it. He kicks the blade away then lets go, and while Alex is still recollecting himself, the pilot uses the side of his hands to hit the pressure points on the other’s neck. He goes down like a bag of bricks. He stays down just long enough for Gavin to quickly search him, confiscate a blade tucked into his boot, and tie his hands together with a zip tie Luther tosses to him.

    Gavin takes in the shocked silence with a self-satisfied smirk as he snatches up the two knives, finding both the quiet and the full name written on this knife plenty reward enough for dealing with all of this. Alex starts properly waking up from the little stun move, so Gavin’s not worried about him having any lingering effects from being knocked out. He’s officially in the clear and can’t be blamed for anything, for once.

    Ritch suddenly starts speaking. “Just as I thought. You can’t do anything calmly.”

    Gavin blinks hard, then spins his body with a step back to fully face the human-robot with a glare, the whole movement purposely exuding over-the-top “I’m white and offended” vibes. Ritch still doesn’t have a real smile on his face, but Gavin can see the signs of his lips quirking up at the corners and he still has that same amusement in his eye as when they’re passing insults in the halls. It must be Christmas day for him; a quick and easy fight that he can’t get punished for and another quick match with baby-face!

    “Bitch? I told you I’d get him outta here with a prim and proper ending, and he looks damn prim and proper to me! And I didn’t even start the fight!” Gavin turns around just in time to watch Luther hoist Alex over his shoulder in a firefighter hold. The trainee isn’t even struggling anymore, thank god. “He ain’t fighting or bitchin’ now! And I didn’t see you try to do anything about this, dick.”

    “I thought we already discussed that that childish insult was not my name. You really should see a doctor about your memory problems.” Ritch still doesn’t smirk, but Gavin swears he can see it clearly, anyway.

    “I wasn’t implying that it was your name, I was just calling you a penis.” Gavin hears a quiet snort somewhere in the room at that one. “And it’s still not as childish as your face. Or your arms. Really dude, I’ve said this before, but eat a damn steak, a burger or something.” He starts following Luther out of the room. “I’m gonna go help carry this loaf of nothing to Fowler because I can be a responsible pilot when I want to, and you–” he points to Ritch “–are gonna thank me later. With actual words, in front of my friend.”

    “In your dreams, wetland grass.”

    “Fuck you.”

    “I already said no thank–”

    Gavin hurries out with his hands high in the air and his middle fingers even higher, “Sorry! I can’t understand dumbass-ese! Bye bitch!”

    As he walks away to Fowler’s official office, as opposed to his private one, he hears Chloe telling the trainees to do their warm ups and to wait for Luther to get back before doing any training. After that, it falls silent. Gavin can only take a few minutes of it, though, before he can’t hold back the question any longer.

    “So… What the hell did this guy do?” Gavin asks genuinely for once, “I’ve never once seen you get angry, let alone blow up like that. This isn’t even the first time a student pulled a knife on someone else.” He turns to look up at Luther, who’s looking at him with suspicion, “I wasn’t lying when I said I was just taking the long route to my room and just happened to hear the commotion.”

    Luther looks away contemplatively for a few moments, then apparently decides to spill the beans.

    “He almost stabbed two of the other trainees. You took his second and third knives, and they were the least damaging ones. The other two he had were already confiscated by me.”

    Gavin completely freezes. He can’t be fucking serious. Gavin is very suddenly very close to exploding and punching a wall with his bad hand, so he starts double-timing it to the office.

    “Are you shitting me? I haven’t even seen a knife this damn good since my high school years, and if it weren’t for the evidence written on this thing I’d hide it in my stash! Shit, how the hell did he get four of them?!”

    “I don’t know.”

    “Do you know who did the inspections? When they were done last? I swear to fucking god I am going to–”

    “You are going to do nothing, Gavin.”

    He balks, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

    “You’re going to come with me to see Fowler, we are going to get this sorted out, then he and whoever he got this from will be gone, and you won’t worry about this.”

    “How the fucking hell and I supposed to just not worry about this?!” Gavin shouts, getting the attention of two deliverers, so he hushes his tone into something quieter by just as deadly, “I already have personal beef with these guys so I don’t mind–”

    “Gavin please.” Luther rubs his free hand over his face and massages just over eyebrow, a place Gavin knows where headaches commonly form for him. “You having beef with these people is exactly why you should not get involved in this.”

    Silence falls between them again. Gavin breaks it again using a calm, hushed tone.

    “I wasn’t actually this bad, right? Like, I know I wasn’t swinging knives around, but you weren’t just saying that to make sure I didn’t blow up in there, were you?”

    He hates the fact that Luther hesitates to answer for a second or two.

    “You may have always been a jerk, and you may have been much more of a jerk than ever during your first few weeks here, but you’ve always known when poking the bear turned into wrestling with it, and you always knew better than to wrestle.” Luther turns to him, “As much as you apparently hate being called a decent person, you’ve always been fiercely protective of those you really care about.” He faces forward again.

    Gavin doesn’t know what to say to that. It’s not that he hates being called a good person, it’s just that he’s always been called a menace, an asshole, an inconvenience by those who were polite and worse things from people who aren’t, but he can’t remember a single time anyone had anything genuinely nice to say to him without some kind of ulterior motive in play. Not since his partner, anyway.

    God, he fucking misses him. He was the only person who understood him, and then he–

    No. Not now.

    “Gavin?”

    Gavin startles out of his thoughts at the sound of Luther’s voice. He readjusts Alex’s body on his shoulder before looking at the tall man.

    “You okay?” Luther asks, genuine concern in his expression. He’s holding the door open to the office area, waiting for Gavin to step through.

    He shakes his head to help get himself out of this funk he’s in, “Never better. Let’s go put this guy in the ground, and try to keep me out of it.” He steps inside. “Hey, you’ll have my back, right big guy? I mean, I know I knocked him out there for a minute, but it’s better and more realistic than whatever alternative anyone else was trying to think up.”

    Luther sighs and nods his head, “Yes, I planned on vouching for you. Just don’t say anything stupid or incriminating. Marshal Fowler has been in a prickly mood for the past few days, and I’d rather not have you testing him. Again.”

    “I’ll try my best, but I’m not gonna make any promises.” Luther gives him a sharp look. “It all depends on what I’m going to hear about this kid and how much it’s going to piss me off.”

    Another sigh to Gavin’s right, but Luther doesn’t say anything this time.

    They walk into Fowler’s office without knocking, and all the rest of the process goes by rather quickly. They filed out the reasons why Alex is being dishonorably dismissed with Gavin acting as a witness, then he recites the full names of the likely owners of the knives. He’s sent on his way not long after that, since Luther and Fowler need to talk about some lying dipshits or something. He doesn’t actually care all that much. As he turns the corner in the hall to finally get to his room, he almost literally runs into someone.

    “Watch where you’re fuckin– Anderson?”

    The ex-pilot grunts and rolls his eyes in lieu of a greeting.

    Gavin steps aside as the old drunkard walks to the office areas. “The hell are you doing here? And up this early too.”

    “I’m goin’ to talk to Fowler, just fuck off.” he grumbles over his shoulder.

    “Fowler’s busy talkin’ to Luther about some lyin’ scum right now, so he ain’t free.”

    Hank stops, “Those two liars aren’t even close to scum, and they’re exactly what I want to talk to him about.” He doesn’t say anything else as he hurries through the door, and slams it shut behind him.

    Gavin knows something’s up. Hank doesn’t think highly of anyone, let alone people who apparently lie on important documents. That’s what all this has to be about, after all, because that’s the only kind of lying Fowler handles himself like this. That, and he hasn’t seen Anderson hurry anywhere in years, especially not for any kind of living being, especially humans.

    As curious as Gavin is, he knows when it’s not any of his business, and when looking into things will only bring more trouble than it’s worth. The other thing is that Gavin doesn’t usually give a single flying fuck, and he’s pretty that’s why sure his disciplinary folder is one of the thickest ones in this joint.

    The grand point of all of this is that Gavin really doesn’t want to tango through the lying case, but if anyone thinks he’s not gonna have a part in taking care of this knife business, they’re very wrong. People like that cover up their tracks well enough that they’ll get away with it, even if everyone knows it’s them. Plus, Fowler probably wouldn’t find much to begin with since he’s busy a lot of the time. Gavin is almost excited to finally have a reason to come after them.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    It’s a few days after the Alex commotion, and Connor’s normally silent dinner is interrupted by an unfamiliar man in a suit. It’s strange and jarring to see because the only kind of uniforms around here are boots, cargo pants, and plain t-shirts with the occasional jacket with the PPDC symbol on the right sleeve. The stranger calmly walks up to Connor and simply asks him to finish his meal quickly and meet Marshal Fowler in his main office, then walks away towards where Ritch is sitting without any explanation.

    He looks at Hank, wondering if he has ever had this kind of treatment, or if this is exactly what Connor thinks it is. Hank just sends him a confused glance from where he sits diagonal of him (Connor has slowly been scooting closer to him in hopes that one day they can sit across from each other in a charade of actually being social, and it seems to be working so far). That means it’s what he thinks it is, and today is the day that they get sent out of training.

    He’s already done research on what kind of careers he and Ritch can get into after this whole mess, and there were plenty as long as they have the connections. The only problem is, once Amanda hears about them getting kicked out, all of their contacts will be gone instantly. They’re going to have to start at the very bottom and work their way up, which could take years before they get a realistically livable wage, and that’s if they live near the kaiju warning areas. It sucks, but Connor is just one step away from accepting this as his fate, that final step being actually hearing the verdict come out of Fowler’s mouth.

    He doesn’t finish his food. He just sits there and stares at what he did manage to get down before the man in the suit came along. He glances over every now and then to see when Ritch gets up so he can follow him. The moment Connor sees his twin placing his dishes in their respective bins, he gets up as well. He says his routine goodbye to Hank, who surprisingly wishes him luck in a low tone, and puts his own food and utensils in their assigned bin as well.

    “Are you ready?” Ritch says behind him. Connor can almost feel his silent judgement for not eating enough. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t mention it.

    “As I’ll ever be,” he wrings his hands together, “You?”

    “Quite the same. Come along.” Ritch using his polite, “fancy gathering” voice like he is now never means anything good.

    Ah, apparently that’s all that was needed in order to reach that final step of acceptance. Huh.

    “I’m sure you know already, but I’ve been doing research on exactly which jobs we’ll be eligible for once we are sent out, and the selection actually isn’t–”

    “It is not certain that we are being dismissed.” Ritch interrupts, “I thought I told you this already.”

    Connor huffs, “It never hurts to be prepared.”

    “I suppose not, but call me optimistic that we’ll be staying here.” He looks to Connor without turning his head, “If they have any brains at all, they’ll want us here. We are smarter and stronger than we made ourselves out to be, and came clean as soon as we knew we were caught. They know we only did this because we were forced to and they didn’t listen when we tried to tell them the first time.” He focuses his eyes forward again, “I do not think we’ll be dismissed. At least not today.”

    Connor suddenly has the feeling that Ritch is saying this more for himself than anyone else. It didn’t even occur to him that his twin would be bothered by this. After all, he was the one dragged into this, and he has repeatedly stated that this was Connor’s dream and not his own. Well, that and Ritch doesn’t really care about change as much because he’s extremely adaptable. They both are, but Connor has never been able to stop himself from getting attached to certain things. It’s just how he functions.

    The rest of the walk to Marshal Fowler’s office is spent in silence and with that man in the suit attempting to trail behind them. Connor gives him points for effort, and he’s sure Ritch does too, but he has a feeling that he’s not the only one logging all of his mistakes so they don’t make the same ones.

    Inside the office area– which is not just Marshal Fowler’s office and a waiting room like the other one, but is instead a large room that has plenty of desks for many people– no one pays them or the suited man a distance behind them any mind. As Connor casually turns his head to look around the office, he sees the guy in the suit take a left as they keep going straight to the glass door. Ritch knocks, then opens the door for Connor, who then shuts it behind himself. They’re met with four people in the room; Marshal Fowler, Luther, Chloe, and an older lady they don’t recognize.

    He glances over at Ritch, who then does the same. He can tell that Ritch has finally accepted that they’re not going to be staying here past tomorrow morning, if even that.

    “Good evening Connor, Ritch.” the marshal greets politely.

    “Good evening.” they chorus together.

    “I hope you don’t mind waiting a minute for our fifth member, he hasn’t returned from getting you quite yet.”

    “Oh, the man following us?” Ritch blurts. It startles Connor because he’s never seen him blurt things out before, even before training. It’s always himself that does that and it’s never on purpose.

    At the unfamiliar woman’s raised brow, Connor tries to salvage what he can. “He was taking corners too soon after we had, and his shoes would click on the metal, rather than clang against it like everyone else’s boots. Those are the only reasons why we know.”

    “Well, no, those aren’t the only reasons we know, but those were the main reasons.”

    Connor sends Ritch a look that easily translates to what the hell are you doing? Although, his brother doesn’t spare him a glance.

    “I see, and you know the tells of this? You’re used to being followed, perhaps?” the woman asks in a way that seems like she’s trying to get dirt on them for a crime.

    “No ma’am,” Ritch says before Connor can get anything in, “We’ve just been highly trained. I doubt many things could sneak up on us.”

    Connor lightly smacks him on the thigh with his hand. Just what the hell is he thinking? What is he hoping to accomplish with this antagonization?

    Suit guy walks through the door before anything else can happen, thank goodness. He looks to Chloe and Luther and finds them hiding smiles. Connor doesn’t have a clue of where this is going, now. Why would they be hiding smiles? Chloe and Luther always had their backs, right? Unless this whole ordeal put them against him and Ritch… Damn it, he just doesn’t know and it’s making him uneasy. People are so confusing and complicated.

    The man in the suit entering the office pulls Connor from his thoughts.

    “The marshal was right,” Chloe states, now properly revealing her smile, “They both knew you were trailing them.”

    “Damn, really? You must have some serious training under your belt!” the man smiles, and all of it is overplayed. Connor wonders where the man would rather be right now. “How old did you say you were, again?”

    He never offered his age, but he decides against saying as much. “23 as of two days ago, sir.”

    “23?” the older woman says, “Both of you?”

    “Yes ma’am.” Ritch responds respectfully, if not a tad sharp.

    “And how long have you trained?” suit man asks, “Marshal Fowler said that you were in training for eleven years?”

    Connor hates this, so he doesn’t speak. He doesn’t want to accidentally screw both of them over with his fat, dumb mouth. Thankfully, Ritch doesn’t wait too long to respond and seems to have gotten out of his rebellious mood.

    “Almost, sir.”

    “That means you started training at thirteen?”

    “Just about, sir, if I remember correctly.” Ritch doesn’t like this as well. He can tell by his tone, but he doubts the other adults in the room notice anything off.

    “May I ask why we’re here?” Connor asks cautiously, but he’s ignored.

    “What kinds of things were you guys doing?” suit-man asks, sitting on the desk. He doesn’t see Marshal Fowler’s glare at the movement.

    For a long few moments, Ritch doesn’t say anything, so Connor does.

    “We were training mainly in combat and first aid–”

    “No,” the older woman interrupts, “What he means is, what did you guys do under your stepmother’s care when you weren’t training?”

    Connor can’t hold back a subtle face at the word “stepmother”, but he immediately knows that everyone still saw it. He hasn’t heard anyone besides his new friends and Ritch say that word in regards to Amanda. It just sounds… wrong coming out of anyone else’s mouth, as opposed to “trainer” or “guardian” like other adults in the past have called her.

    Ritch answers sharply, “We rested.”

    A long second goes by, then the marshal speaks. “And?”

    Another long, uncertain second, then Connor begins explaining. “I mean, we studied–”

    “Okay,” suit-man interrupts, “How often did you two get to play games, get out of the house for vacations, and do other things like that?” Connor doesn’t like how blank his face is, and that he can’t decipher what emotions he’s hiding.

    Wait… Are they trying to get dirt on Amanda? Ritch did mention that people tend to blame the parents or guardians in this type of situation. How much trouble would he get in for throwing her under the bus? For making sure he never has to go back under her care

    “We played down at the nearby park occasionally.” Connor supplies.

    “Yes, around once every other week for the first few months we lived there. In later years, though, we normally just studied our books–”

    “Because we needed to be jaeger pilots, and we wanted to make sure we were eligible to get in.”

    “You say you ‘needed’ to be jaeger pilots,” Luther starts, “Is that what you wanted, though?”

    Connor doesn’t hesitate like Ritch does, “I’ve wanted to be a jaeger pilot since people tried to make Marshal Fowler and Mr. Anderson television stars for how well they were doing in this line of work. Training has been… exceptionally hard as a whole, but I still want this more than any other job I’m eligible for that also uses the skills I’ve built up over the years.” He looks to Ritch, who is still looking to the ground with a frown and his eyebrows pushed together, “I don’t want to speak for my brother, but I refuse to go into a profession that lets my combat and first aid training go to waste.” he finishes quietly.

    Everyone just waits patiently for Ritch to answer after, surprisingly. Normally in interviews like this, they start asking simpler questions to urge one of them on (usually Connor, since he’s usually the one that gets tongue tied), but they still wait silently. It takes 17 seconds, Connor counts, and his brother’s expression never changes during that time or when he starts speaking.

    “I originally did not particularly want to be a pilot, but I started training because Connor needed me to in order to be one. I wasn’t prepared to be separated from him, but I also didn’t want to crush his dream, and I didn’t really have any aspirations beyond just wanting to help people, either, so I basically had nothing to lose. I did not like training at all from the very start, and I don’t think I like knowing that I can easily kill someone with a single punch or jab if I really wanted to.” Ritch’s face relaxes back to normal as he raises his head to face the interrogators, “But I like it here so far. The atmosphere was a bit much to adjust to at first, but now that I’m used to the schedules and the near-constant company, it’s actually becoming pleasant. And it’s just as Connor said, at this point in my life, I’d rather pilot a jaeger with someone than do any other job I’m qualified for, and I don’t want to put my years of training to waste. So after doing a bit of research, I believe that this is the best option for me.”

    “Research?” Chloe asks, “You were prepared to leave today?”

    “Always be prepared for anything so nothing catches you too far off guard.” Connor quotes Amanda as Ritch simultaneously admits, “Yes. We expected it, even.”

    After a beat of silence, the older woman moves along. “Marshal Fowler said that you two mostly trained on your own?”

    “Yes, ma’am.” the twins say together.

    Ritch elaborates, “We had instructional videos and pointers from Amanda helping us along the way–”

    “But we mostly perfected our fighting style on our own and practiced against each other so our styles would perfectly compliment each other’s–”

    “Because that’s what was going to make us more compatible and help our chances in becoming a pilot.”

    Suit-man nods, “And you are supposed to be identical twins, yes?”

    Connor sees Ritch tense up out of the corner of his eye. This is still a sensitive topic. It ends up being Luther that starts that line of questions.

    “I understand that you wear boots with a slight heel due to medical reasons, but I’ve been wondering why you have a condition that Connor does not have.”

    He knows that this is an easier question for Ritch. “I used to wear high heels and boots with heels around the orphanages and foster homes we were placed at while growing up. I first started wearing them when I was six and liked being taller than most people my age, but then never stopped once I realized it helped people separate Connor and myself apart. That’s also why I started wearing lighter clothes and cutting my hair shorter, while Connor prefers his hair longer in the front and continues to wear darker clothes despite Amanda’s displeasure with it.”

    Connor nods his agreement.

    “And the eyes? How are your eyes blue? Do you wear contacts that we haven’t been informed of?”

    Connor takes over, knowing this is a tough subject for his brother, “It’s actually close to impossible for contacts to make dark eyes appear naturally silver, so…” He pauses to take a breath and figure out how to word the next part. “There is research being done on how people can permanently make their eyes lighter in color. I don’t know why this research is being done in the first place, but he was signed up for it as a part of the ‘helping people tell us apart’ thing.” He sees the older woman about to speak, but pretends that he didn’t and presses on anyway. “We have very different personalities and extremely different levels of tolerance for different things, so Amanda, Ritch, and I wanted us to be as separated as one could be from their identical twin.”

    “He said you were signed up? Not that you signed up?” the older woman asks Ritch directly.

    “Yes, ma’am.”

    “Did you want this procedure done?” Chloe gets to the point. Everyone is staring at them more intently and it’s making Connor uncomfortable.

    “Even as a minor, I had to sign my consent in order to be operated on since it is an experimental procedure.” Ritch’s tone gives away– likely only to Connor– that he’s starting to feel uneasy as well.

    No one seems pleased with that answer, least of all the man in the suit. He’s the one who asks the next question.

    “That doesn’t answer if you actually wanted it or not. You could have signed those papers if you felt like it was the lesser of two evils.”

    Connor turns his head to fully look at Ritch, and he isn’t looking very well. His face is too stoic and his unsettling eyes (they always are to Connor at least) seem even more so now that they’re growing distant. His body’s too tense, too ready to run out of the room or fight to get out of the situation. He hasn’t seen Ritch like this in years, not since Amanda had still affected him pretty badly when she’d scold them. Connor distantly wonders if what he is feeling now is how Ritch always feels when Connor gets this way, or if he just gets annoyed like he seems to.

    He decides that Ritch probably does not feel this way about Connor episodes because his brother usually has a way to get him to snap out of it. It’s somewhat frustrating because he can’t do anything for Ritch right now, not anything that wouldn’t ultimately make his condition worse or something.

    It takes a minute of tense silence before everyone gives up, taking his silence as the answer it is. It’s almost creepy how they’re like a hive mind or something. He catches the older woman’s eye as she gets up and silently leaves the room. Suit gets up next and smiles in a way that screams “I’m ready to go home and relax but I can’t yet”.

    “Well, I think that’s enough for us for now! Thank you so much for joining us, fellas. Hopefully this is the last time we see each other under these circumstances.” he laughs, holding out a hand for Connor to shake, which he does, “I’ll let you relax a bit here and let them tell you what the verdict is.”

    He leaves, and the room is plunged into yet another silence, this time less tense. It only lasts a few moments before Ritch speaks with an unexpectedly harsh tone that has Connor blinking in shock.

    “What was that?”

    Marshal Fowler answers quickly, “That was us trying to find out if you were guilty of lying on important documents, or if Amanda was guilty of coercion and generally being an unfit guardian.” Connor notes that he doesn’t say “parent” at all. He definitely caught Connor’s face at the word earlier, then. “She was the one found guilty.”

    “Just like that?” Connor blurts with wide eyes, “She didn’t do anything illegal–”

    “Not that we know of yet,” Chloe cuts off, “She was almost found to be unfit as a single mother due to her background in training young adults for the military mixed with her overall personality and… unique view on certain things. Like how a teenager should be treated.”

    “A teenager has the presence of mind that children don’t have, so they don’t need coddling and should start learning how to care for themselves.” Ritch quotes. “It seems fair to us.” Connor nods along.

    Luther sighs, “That’s technically true, but not quite right.” Connor doesn’t hide confusion, and neither does Ritch, apparently. “Look, I’m going to be straight with you– you guys know I always try to be– we’re going to have to set you up with therapists if you want to stay here.”

    Chloe jumps in, “We have therapists for all of the pilots and plenty of the other personnel around here, so it’s not just you personally and you would have been required to get one eventually anyway. But I don’t think you two realize how unhealthy both of your minds are right now, and I’d hate for that to get in the way of your social life and potential as a jaeger pilot.”

    “I know my head is all messed up.” Connor admits softly. He sees Ritch turn his head sharply to him out of the corner of his eye., “I had to skip two days of evaluations because of a valid question some people asked me. I’m just shocked you’re allowing us to stay despite doing the two things that should get us dismissed immediately on top of the mental issues.”

    Marshal Fowler’s features soften in a way that Connor didn’t know was possible for him. “Most people in this place have some kind of mental issue, and I remember that you tried to tell me on your first day here that you had to lie on your application, so you did the next best thing when I didn’t listen.”

    “You’re making it sound like it’s your fault, sir.” Ritch points out.

    “Yeah, well, it partially is my fault, but Amanda also shouldn’t have done what she did to you two, and you should have gotten proper help instead of ranting to Han– Anderson about it.”

    Ritch’s head snaps back to Connor, obviously displeased, and Connor gets more tense than he already was because of it. He resists the urge to mess with the belt buckle loops on his pants.

    “Mr. Anderson…?”

    “He came and talked to us today. Said to keep you guys around, and he never speaks for anyone. Even before when we piloted together he normally just kept to himself, so the fact that he felt the need to even speak about this to me says something.”

    “Mr. Anderson came and talked to you? About us?” Connor asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

    It just doesn’t make sense. He’s only been a burden to the older pilot, so why would he actively try to keep them here? He thought Mr. Anderson would be relieved to have him gone, to have him out of his space and no longer taking things from him and complaining about things that can’t be helped or changed, or things that apparently could be changed.

    So Hank Anderson doesn’t mind his presence too much after all. If he did, he wouldn’t have particularly cared if Connor left or not, yet he felt the need to do something about the possibility of him leaving. Connor almost decides that he doesn’t know how to feel about this, but then a sudden rush of happiness bursts inside of him.

    Someone saw him at some of his lowest and most annoying points, and yet he didn’t push him away. Mr. Anderson didn’t force him out or ignore him until he got the hint and left on his own.

    “Connor.” Ritch hisses, and he has a feeling that that’s not the first time he’s been called.

    He blinks hard, “Sorry, I apologize. I just… I’m really surprised he said anything. I thought he’d be annoyed of me by now, that he’d be indifferent that I’m gone at best…” He shakes his head to clear any lingering thoughts, “Anyway, I’m sorry, but what were you saying before?”

    Marshal Fowler laces his hands together on his desk. “I was saying– between us only– keep up whatever it is you’re doing, because he’s looking less tormented recently than he has in a long time. I don’t think he’s actually tolerated someone new being at his table for so long before, either. It’s obvious you talk to him, but does he talk to you too?”

    Connor shakes his head. “Not really? I don’t really talk to him all that much either, it just sorta… happens sometimes, I guess. He asks something then I just keep going and rambling and he just doesn’t tell me to shut up. But I just– I don’t know.” he shrugs, “I just don’t think he’s as horrible and grumpy as everyone’s been trying to tell me he is. Or maybe he is and I have low standards. It’s honestly just as likely, I think.”

    “I think he’s more relaxed around you than anyone else.” Ritch adds, to his surprise. “He probably wants to protect you like some kind of puppy, but you aren’t childish or stupid like most people who need protection, so you don’t end up annoying him.” He takes a breath. “Someone should get him a dog.”

    Marshal Fowler laughs, actually laughs, with a little head shake and everything. Chloe and Luther seem just as surprised to see and hear it. Connor wonders if the dog thing was some kind of inside joke between him and Mr. Anderson at some point.

    “Hank is a definite dog lover. Good to know even that much is still obvious.” He goes back to his serious, stoic self with no evidence the joy from before, “You both start therapist-jumping in two days to find one that’s right for you, and you’ll be redoing all of your evaluations again starting tomorrow, and you better not even fucking think about lying time, ya hear? Or I’m gonna gut you like a fish and toss you into the ocean.”

    “Yes, sir!” they say together earnestly, completely unaffected by the empty threat.

    Luther nods to the door, “Go on and get out of here. You’re officially without partners now, so start seriously looking in case you graduate early.”

    “Yes, sir!” They repeat again with slight smiles, and they leave quickly.

    They have hope here after all. They don’t have to leave and be trapped in the world on their own. They can still be pilots, and it doesn’t sound like any of this is going to be blamed on them. Thank god.

Chapter Text

    Connor is just leaving the office area with Ritch right at his heels when someone suddenly pops up from around the corner. Connor jerks into something resembling a fight stance, then just as quickly relaxes with a huge sigh and small smile. It’s just Simon. The blond smiles apologetically, while the rest of the crew starts standing up after leaning up against the wall behind him.

    “Well? What’s the news? Are you staying or going?” North asks impatiently.

    “We’re staying.” Ritch informs in a tone he hasn’t heard in a while. When Connor turns to look at him, his twin has a small smile and a light in his eyes that he thought Amanda successfully destroyed long ago; one of content and relief.

    The four trainees all cheer at once, and Simon hops over to hug Ritch in one arm and Connor in the other. Connor short-circuits for a moment, but Ritch immediately gives a gentle hug back. Before he can copy his twin, though, Simon is letting go and Markus is taking his place, leading them away with one arm over each of their shoulders.

    “This is a cause for celebration!” He calls, making both twins cringe at the volume right by their ears.

    “Yeah! We already have people bringing drinks and snacks to Simon’s and Markus’ bunker!” North cheers.

    That catches Connor’s attention. “Drinks? As in, alcoholic drinks? Aren’t those prohibited?”

    “Maybe for pilots they are, but not for us normal people and trainees, it’s only looked down upon!”

    Josh elaborates a bit further. “Technically we’re not supposed to get drunk, but I’ve been getting close with some of the people who work in the lab downstairs, and they’re all allowed to have drinks every now and then, or they can do this weird petition thing to get a larger supply if there’s some kind of thing they’re celebrating. I just asked a couple of them if they could get one going so we could have a few drinks tonight.”

    “You were that confident we were going to stay?” Ritch asks.

    “Eh,” Markus says unsurely, “We figured you probably wouldn’t be sent off, not with how perfect you guys are for this job, but could’ve been a sending off party if things went downhill. Now stop asking questions and let's get back to our bunker!”

    Markus then unloops his arms from their shoulders and sets off at a faster pace. Connor and Ritch quickly catch up to him. It doesn’t take too long to make it to Simon’s and Markus’ bunker, and when they do, there’s two other people waiting in front of it. One look at Ritch proves that he doesn’t know who these people are either, but they’re holding drinks, so they must be Josh’s scientist contacts.

    “Did you guys bring any snacks?” The tanned woman waiting calls amicably. 

    Simon shakes his head, “No, the cafeteria was completely closed, and no one was willing to donate to our cause.”

    The woman shakes her head with a sarcastic frown, “The greedy fucks.” She smiles, “Lets get all of this inside, then, shall we? I don’t want Hank or someone coming around the corner and seeing this.” She lifts up four bottles of amber-colored alcohol.

    “Why not?” Connor didn’t mean to ask out loud because he has a feeling why she would say that, but there’s no taking it back now.

    “Because this is his favorite stuff.” She walks through the door that’s been opened by Simon, “He used to always try to leech this off of me until what’s-his-face came along and was happy to give up his small ration. And now he’s on complete prohibition by the orders of the Marshal.” She sets them on the desk connected to the wall. “Honestly, it took him long enough.”

    Connor simply nods and makes a note of the brand while looking around the room. It’s an exact copy of his and Ritch’s shared room, except Simon and Markus have photos and drawings hung up with sticky-tack and little trinkets and other small souvenirs on the higher shelves, along with plenty of fictional books among their brand new study material.

    Where Ritch and Connor decided against paying extra to get the study material, they signed up to bring their own (which was almost free because Amanda had most of the books needed). Most people wouldn’t have that kind of luxury, and it makes Connor almost feel guilty for just a moment, then it goes away just as quickly when he spots a family picture on the shelf. Younger versions of North, Josh, Markus, and Simon are all posing around an older caucasion man in a wheelchair outside under a tree. It’s very nice, and it makes Connor wish he somehow had taken pictures of him and Ritch as they were growing up.

    This room makes the twins’ bunker seem empty and lifeless, but Connor doesn’t even know where to start in getting their room to look this lively, besides being cheesy and hanging up Jaeger posters when there’s a loading dock of them in the same building. Maybe he’ll try drawing one of the newer models to hang up if it’s allowed– not that he can draw well, but it’d be a nice challenge on one of his slower, emptier days.

    “Let’s get this started!” North suddenly shouts, making everyone cheer and Connor glad that these rooms are pretty much sound proof with all of the metal and concrete everywhere. 

    Instantly, there’s a bottle and a small cup pushed into his hand. The cup is partially filled with the amber alcohol that that woman, Vanessa apparently, told him was Hank’s supposed favorite. Connor tries a sip of that first and finds it disgusting, plus the burning sensation down his throat is too off-putting for Connor, so he sets it aside. The second bottle is something pink that Simon put in his hand with a wink. A sip of this is like drinking some kind of fruity soda with a certain zip to it. Connor decides he likes it, and grabs the same brand in the four other flavors after reading it barely has 3% alcohol in it versus whatever the hell is in that amber stuff.

    A few hours and many, many drinks later, almost everyone is some degree of drunk and has split off into two groups. Markus turns out to be very tactile when he’s drunk, and is currently cuddling Simon while the blond and North are giggling about anything and everything over where they’re sitting on the floor in the corner of the room. Josh is sitting on the lower bunk, gushing about something he can’t understand to Vanessa and Riley, and Ritch seems to be following along well enough from where he’s sitting calmly on the ground. It makes sense. Ritch was always more into the tech and psychology side of science, and Connor was more interested in biology and first aid. Neither of them really loved science, but those were their preferred types when they had to choose one for schooling.

    Connor gets up from where he’s leaning against the desk with all of the drinks. Over the past few hours, he started a game with himself; how many bottles can he hide somewhere on himself before someone notices. It slowly grew more challenging the more bottles he was stashing away, and he almost got caught twice, but now he has a total 13 bottles of different-colored wine coolers stashed in the fluffy jacket he’s wearing (everyone got hot and lowered the thermostat, so Connor was given Markus’ jacket to keep warm after refusing to drink the beer and whiskey to keep warm) and in various pockets of his cargo pants, and everyone is too drunk and/or preoccupied to notice him taking a 14th one.

    Well, Ritch might be noticing him, but if he has, he’s made no move to stop him. He’d like to think that his brother has secretly joined in on this little game, or made his own in some way. It’s more likely that he just doesn’t care what Connor’s doing, though, and he tries to tell himself that it’s perfectly alright. It actually kind of works, this time.

    The point is, this was all fun earlier when people could still talk, but were stupid and loose enough to do and say ridiculous things. Now, though, he’s the only one sober enough to walk in a straight line (except for Ritch, who only choked down a beer or two after deciding wine coolers are too sweet for him), and everyone else is too shit-faced (North’s words from earlier) to properly hold a conversation. 

    There were four bottles of whisky and two large packs of beer and a thing of wine coolers when this all started, so Connor’s a bit worried that, between six people, there is only half a bottle of whiskey and a six spare beers left (not including the 13 wine coolers poorly hidden on himself). That whiskey is supposedly strong, and he has absolutely no clue how much alcohol an adult body can take before bad things start to happen– he mainly learned about injuries, not drunkenness or illnesses. He doesn’t really trust North around this stuff, since she looks the closest to going into a coma and had been going back for more drinks more frequently than anyone else.

    With that, a sudden idea pops into his head.

    He still needs to thank Mr. Anderson for talking to Marshal Fowler and for everything else he’s done for him, and if what Vanessa said earlier is true, then he won’t be able to get access to any alcohol for a long while, if ever. Connor may not know much about anything outside of injuries, but he does know that completely cutting someone off suddenly when they have a drinking addiction as strong as Mr. Anderson’s is not good. It can lead to worse things, and he doubts he’ll stop drinking just because of the threat of not getting anymore. Maybe he’ll slow, but not stop. He’s pretty sure that’s not how it works.

    Connor glances at the clock, which glows the numbers “1:07” in bright blue. Although, if this whiskey is really Mr. Anderson’s favorite drink, then he shouldn't mind if Connor brings it over this late– or this early– as a quick thank you, especially so if he isn’t supposed to have this kind of thing anymore. Connor knows this isn’t a good idea, but quite frankly, he trusts Mr. Anderson with it more than North at this point. He at least should know how to handle his drinking so he doesn’t immediately die from alcohol poisoning, and Connor wouldn’t be surprised if she already has poisoning to a certain degree.

    Now that he’s finally convinced himself that this is, indeed, what he wants to do, he carefully unloads some of his bottles of wine coolers (he wants to bring some back to his bunker to put in his and Ritch’s mini-fridge because they’re delicious in smaller, occasional doses). That makes just enough room for the several beers he stashes in their place. It takes just over fifteen minutes of shuffling so he isn’t being completely obvious, but no one seems to have noticed yet, not even Ritch, who’d surely be giving him a very strange look by now if he did.

    Now the trick he wants to use for the whisky bottle (shove it in a pillowcase with a pillow and carry it just right, so it looks like it’s just the pillow he’s holding) won’t work because everyone is hoarding the pillows, and the bottle is a bit too square-shaped for that. He can’t even use the balled-up-blanket trick because the only two in the room are occupied as well. Hiding it under his jacket would make the whisky bottle clink against the beer and wine cooler ones, and there’s no way to keep it up in his jacket and look natural at the same time, anyway.

    Unless it didn’t need to look completely natural.

    All it would take to get it out of the room is tucking it under his jacket, and who is going to be walking down the bunker halls this late at night (early in the morning?)? Connor highly doubts that there are guards stationed in a hallway filled with people whose entire job is batting and killing giant aliens that destroy cities for fun. The only other people he could think of that could be out at this time are people working the night shifts, and he doubts anyone focused on their own job will notice or care that he has a bottle in his hand, even less so if the label is covered by something to make it less obvious that it’s alcohol and not some kind of juice or tea.

    Therefore, Connor looks around to make sure that no one is watching– Josh and Ritch are still talking quietly, but Riley is asleep and Vanessa looks about there too, with Markus, Simon, and North following her close behind– then takes three napkins and the bottle and shoves it all under his jacket carefully. He takes two experimental steps towards Ritch both to test how loud the bottles are and to tell his brother that he plans to leave. There’s minimal noise as long as he shuffles “tiredly” rather than taking actual steps. He stops right by Ritch, who looks up questioningly at him.

    “I’m gonna head to bed. It’s getting late for me.”

    Ritch nods, “Alright. I planned on leaving soon as well. I want to get everyone situated and comfortable before I do.”

    Connor nods a single time, then turns and leaves silently. He keeps his arms curled around himself as if he was still cold despite the jacket as he opens the door. Again, if Ritch has noticed anything, which he must have by now, then he doesn’t say anything. Connor keeps his arms like that until he decides the coast is clear, then pulls out the bottle and napkins, loosely wrapping the napkins around it and holding the covered bottle like he would any old water bottle.

    He passes his own bunker on the way to Mr. Anderson’s, but decides against going inside to drop off his wine coolers. Even though less bottles would allow him to move more naturally, the time it would take to dig them out and put them away isn’t worth it, since he’s to get back before Ritch does. He moves on a bit quicker at the reminder of his self-set time restraint. 

    While Connor hopes that Mr. Anderson is still up, he knows the chances of that are rather low. As he approaches his lunch companion’s door, he realizes he needs to come up with some kind of plan of where to keep this stash if the retired pilot won’t wake up or won’t let him inside to unload everything. He doesn’t want Ritch to know about this any more than he probably already does, after all.

    He quickly decides that he’ll put the alcohol under his own blanket. His reasoning is that the mini-fridge is out of the question for anything except for his own colorful alcohol because there’s just no room in the ridiculously tiny thing. Plus, because Connor is on the top bunk, it would be difficult to see unless someone climbs up there, and no one would do that, especially not between now and lunch. No one has even been in their room before, not unless Ritch brought someone in there without his knowledge, but he’s more protective of their space than Connor is, so that’s very unlikely.

    As Connor raises his hand to knock, Connor realizes what it may look like for someone to knock on the known-alcoholic’s door in the middle of the night with a covered bottle in hand. He quickly tucks the whisky bottle under his jacket carefully and hugs his left arm to his chest to pin it in place as he finally knocks.

    He waits a few moments for any sign that Mr. Anderson is up, then knocks again, this time more firmly. When there’s still no response, Connor turns to go back to his room. He doesn’t want to wake him up if he’s still asleep, after al. He pulls out and readjusts the bottle and napkins in his hand so it doesn’t slip from his grip and keeps his stride at a tired shuffle. He makes it five steps before the sound of a door opening stops him in his tracks.

    “Connor? What the fuck are you doing? It is 1:30 in the morning.”

    He spins around as quickly as he’s silently able to with all the bottles tucked into his waistband. It ends up not being very fast.

    “May I talk to you? Inside?” he asks boldly. He notes the other’s disheveled appearance, with the stained shirt and holey sweatpants. 

    “Fuckin’– What?” he shakes his head incredulously. “Could this not wait until a decent time to be awake? Why now in the middle of the night?”

    “I just wanted to give you something as my thanks, and I’d rather do it without people around to poke their noses into it.” he replies genuinely, “But I guess it can wait until after lunch–”

    “Wait a minute.” he interrupts, “What do you mean, ‘give me something as a thanks’? A thanks for what? And why would people not mind their own businesses?”

    “I mean, I’m sure they would, but I’d still rather not talk about this in the middle of the hall.” He swings the whiskey bottle in his hand, hoping the other man will figure it out on his own. If the way Mr. Anderson tracks the movement with his eyes says anything, he definitely did.

    “Fuck’s sake, get in here.” He turns and disappears behind the door, leaving it open behind him. Connor hears him mutter “not like I was actually sleeping anyway…” before he makes a move to enter.

    Connor can’t help but notice that the room is cleaner than it was last time he was in here. The top of his desk is empty. There’s only one bottle Connor can spot out in the open, versus the several before. All of the clothes that were once in one large pile are now in two piles and a folded stack, which Connor elects to assume means “unwearable”, “not clean”, and “clean” based off of Mr. Anderson’s habits and normal wardrobe. He carefully shuts the door behind himself and eyes the older man, who’s leaning against the desk tiredly, now. It looks like he quickly ran his fingers through his hair, but he looks more tired despite that.

    “You cleaned again.”

    He really didn’t mean to say that out loud– hell, he didn’t even mean to say it the last time he was in here–, but Mr. Anderson doesn’t seem as bothered by it as he was before.

    “Yea? You gonna say that every time you come in here and I’ve made progress? What about when it gets messy again, hm? ‘Cause I guarantee it will.” he challenges.

    Connor just shakes his head calmly with a nervous smile. “If you’ll believe me, I didn’t actually mean to say that out loud. And this isn’t my room, it’s yours, so I don’t see why it’d be any of my business what you do with it beyond keeping potentially harmful bottles off the ground.” He pauses to eye the desk Mr. Anderson is leaning on. “Do you mind if I use your desk for a second?”

    It’s a rough topic change, but it’s one that Mr. Anderson takes silently. He simply moves out of the way, overplaying exasperation of having to as he waves to it. Connor nods a silent thanks and walks over, mentally cringing at the feeling of the bottles in his waistband rubbing and clanging together with each step. Apparently his lunch companion couldn’t tell that he was hoarding bottles until now because he’s suddenly extremely interested in what Connor has.

    He puts down the whisky first and uncovers it, discarding the napkins on the ground for now. Mr. Anderson is immediately at his side to investigate, obviously surprised to see the brand.

    “What the fuck? This is full?” he whispers, then continues the same way as if someone will overhear him if he speaks too loud. “Where the hell d’ya get this? And how?”

    “I heard that Marshal Fowler suddenly went from somewhat tolerating your drinking to cutting you off completely,” he answers partially, ever-so-carefully unzipping his jacket so the bottles barely tucked inside the inner pockets don’t slip out and crack or shatter. “And strictly from a medical point of view, it’s not healthy to cut off an addiction like yours like that so suddenly, so I decided to help out as thanks for talking to the marshal about giving me and Ritch a second chance. But don’t expect me to do this again, I was only able to this time because I was at a celebration and everyone was extremely inebriated.”

    Once Connor has his jacket unzipped, he slowly pulls out the two beer bottles in the most danger of falling. The one on the left side makes his wine cooler bottle almost fall, so he has to pin it under his left arm so he has time to put the beer in his right hand down and catch it. He then digs out two more beers and sets them down, realizing there’s no good way about unloading Mr. Anderson’s alcohol without making his own fall out. 

    “Jesus. How many bottles did you take?” He picks up one of the beer bottles, studying the label.

    “I had 16 bottles on me, plus the whisky–”

    Mr. Anderson’s head snaps to him, “Wait, what?–”

    “–and I think the only bottle people will notice missing is the whisky, since there were only four of them and there wasn’t enough room to stash them in the recycling with the beers and wine coolers. Though I doubt they’ll really care or question why there’s only three bottles left in the room.” Connor pulls out the last beer in his jacket pocket, then starts the process of freeing the one in his waistband, which is going to require taking them all out then resizing the belt. “Oh! And the wine coolers are mine, so you can’t have any.”

   “I don’t like fruity drinks anyway.” he answers, staring at Connor as if he has a second head or a third leg. Connor ignores this easily, it’s a look he’s very used to, sadly. 

    He moves to pull out one of the two beer bottles from under his belt and immediately realizes his mistake. The wine-cooler bottles carelessly tucked in the biggest pockets are heavily weighing his pants down, and he doesn’t feel like flashing anyone. With a defeated sigh, he pulls the two bottles from the pockets over his calves (People rarely look down when they have somewhere they need to be, so the chances of someone other than Ritch noticing those two and the two lumps in his nearly-untied boots then commenting on it are lower than people seem to think). He then tries to get the bottle out again, but the three in the back start slipping, but if he tries to keep them from falling, then the bottles in the front will fall.

    Realizing how stupid this delema is since it’s his bottles that are about to go down his pants and not anyone else’s, he simply pulls out Anderson’s bottle and lets the rest drop down his pant legs. He tightens up his belt, then removes the two from in his boots and lets the fallen wine coolers in his pant legs slip to the ground unharmed.

    “Jesus fucking christ, you actually had 16 bottles tucked away.” Connor looks up and sees Hank shaking his head in disbelief. “How in the fuck did you manage that? Actually, why would you try to do this in the first place?”

    “I got bored, and despite what everyone thinks of me, I’m not a rule-following teacher’s pet.” He sits on the ground and starts working on lacing his boots properly. “I just make sure that my ‘crimes’ aren’t serious and are done without anyone noticing.” He finishes tying boots onto his feet, then looks up to smirk up at the ex-pilot. “Like hiding 16 bottles of alcohol in various places and delivering seven of them to someone who’s supposed to not have them.” He starts stuffing the coolers on the ground away in his pockets, not wanting to impose on the other man too much longer.

    “And where did you say you got all of this from? A celebration?”

    Connor nods and stands up. “Some of my and Ritch’s mutual friends had a small gathering with copious amounts of alcohol because tonight we found out we’re staying!” Connor beams. It feels very strange on his face after so long of being in a tense or panic-like state. “And with the way Marshal Fowler was speaking, it sounds like we’ll be able to graduate as soon as we find partners to pilot with. So that’s what all this is,” he gestures to the bottles, “It’s a thanks for that, because he mentioned in passing that you spoke to him, and he trusts your judgement of people.”

    Connor sees Mr. Anderson’s expression of surprise, and doesn’t try to work out if it’s a good or negative type. He just waits patiently, knowing that he’s probably trying to figure out a way to say something. That’s what these lengthy silences meant most of the other times, anyway.

    “You do realize that you’ll get in big trouble for this if you’re caught. After all the paperwork stuff and everything.” It’s not the kind of thing Mr. Anderson has to work himself up to say before, but Connor is the last person to push someone for withholding potentially sensitive information or opinions.

    “Then it’s a good thing I won’t be,” Connor states confidently, “I may get anxious or uncomfortable with a lot of things, but these past couple of weeks of adjusting to how things work around here are not how I usually am. I’m not normally that fragile or easy to upset. Besides,” he leans on the desk casually, “if there’s anything I’m good at, it’s yoga and stealing food and drinks. I’ve had more than enough practice growing up to feel confident in my abilities to get away with tonight’s heist, Mr. Anderson.”

    He stands up straight again before blinking in shock at himself. He just mentioned a detail of his childhood and isn’t affected by it. Hell, now he’s actively thinking about how he and Ritch had to sneak out of the house with stolen money if they ever wanted any kind of junk food and he’s still completely unbothered by the memory. There must be more alcohol in his system than he thought. Just how many wine coolers did he have to drink in order to get loose like this?

    “It’s Hank.”

    Connor snaps his head up, not knowing when it lowered in the first place. He’s extremely glad all of his bottles are tucked safely away because if he was still holding one, he might have just dropped it on the hard floor.

    “I’m sorry?” he asks politely. There’s no way the Mr. Anderson is asking Connor, the annoying kid with the fucked up head, to call him by his first name.

    It’s extremely disrespectful to call someone older than you anything other than Miss, Misses, or Mister, even if they’re only older by five years, Amanda’s voice informs in his head.

    Never judge a person purely based on their age. Some people, like you, are completely mature despite their age still being a comparatively small number. Some people, like Howard over there, still act like children even though they’re older than me. Treat a person with a careful balance of how they act and what social standards require, the same voice scolds louder.

    “Look, if you’re still going to bug me during lunch and dinner, then I’d rather you just call me Hank.” He sighs and looks away. “Having someone like you call me ‘Mr. Anderson’ makes me feel old, and honestly? A little fuckin’ creeped out too. Mister and miss or whatever is reserved for children, and you don’t look like a fuckin’ child to me.”

    For the first time in a long while, Connor chooses to ignore Amanda’s irritated voice in his head. He’ll only call him Hank because the other wants him to, and he has a feeling that they’re something he calls “quiet friends”. Friends without stating it and never mentioning as much for one or both people's sake, but still friends nonetheless. But in the end, it doesn’t matter because either way, Connor feels accomplished. He just made his first friend that didn’t tie in to Ritch at all.

    Connor realizes too late that he hesitated for a tad too long, so he tries to break the growing tension with a very bad joke.

    “Well then, Hank, you can just call me Connor, now. No ‘Mr. Stern’ necessary anymore.”

    It takes Mr. And– Hank a second to understand the joke that he never once called Connor by his last name before, then he’s shaking his head at the ceiling with a huff of amusement.

    “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

    “Most likely. Hopefully it won’t be too painful, though.” Connor smirks.

    Hank looks back down with a scowl, but Connor swears he can see mirth in his eyes.

    “Just get out of here and go to fucking bed before anyone gets any wrong– or right– ideas.” he nods to the door.

    Connor nods and quickly gets to the door. However, he pauses just as he’s about to open it, then turns back to Hank.

    “As I said before, I won’t be doing this again and feeding your issue, Hank. I’m just acknowledging that quitting cold turkey like Marshal Fowler wants you to can be dangerous. You still need to work on slowing down with the goal of stopping.” He pauses to see if the ex-pilot has anything to say, which he doesn’t besides a sigh. “Good night, Hank. If, uh, you ever really need sleep one night, I’d be willing to give you some of the oil that allowed me to sleep for two days during my mood dip.”

    Was that only last week? Or was it the week before?

    “Thank you, Connor. I may take you up on that.” He sounds surprisingly genuine, and the trainee can’t stop the small smile from appearing. “Now get out of here before I decide to hate you again.”

    He nods quickly, not bothering to hide his elation that Hank basically admitted that he likes him, and opens the door. “I hope your night gets better.” he says as he shuts the door.

    Ritch is already in bed by the time he makes it back, but he doesn’t question Connor about his whereabouts. That means he probably knows exactly what he was doing and confirms Connor’s assumptions that he knew about the hidden alcohol bottles. Oh well; Ritch probably isn’t too put off by it since he never said anything despite obviously holding off sleep until he got back. They both sleep soundly that night.

    The next morning, Connor is in the training area doing his morning stretches with Ritch at his side when he sees the Jericho Squad walk in, very obviously hungover. Simon and Josh don’t look as bad, but North is in the worst shape, unsurprisingly. She squints against the lights of the room and stumbles directly behind Markus, who doesn’t appear to be miserable, but also isn’t smiling and chatting along with Josh and Simon like he usually does. North suddenly turns her head and immediately spots Connor.

    “How the fuck are you two not miserable?” she shouts across the room.

    She opens her mouth to probably yell again, but Connor quickly stands up from his spot in the corner and moves over to their group so they won’t call anymore unnecessary attention to themselves. He doesn’t hear echoing footsteps behind him, so Ritch must have stayed behind to properly finish his stretches.

    “I’m not miserable because I kept my drinking under control.” He answers quietly as soon as he’s close enough to. “Besides, once you’re jaeger pilots, excessive drinking isn’t allowed anymore, so you guys should start practicing prohibition.” Connor scolds in a teasing tone.

    “Well,” Simon begins, “lucky for us, we aren’t actually pilots. Only trainees, so we can do what we want for now.”

    “But Ritch and I probably will be as soon as we find suitable partners, so I don’t expect us to–” Connor’s teasing is interrupted by North.

    “Woah, woah woah woah. You mean to tell me that not only are you guys sticking around, but you’re graduating early too? And you didn’t even tell us? How skilled are you exactly? What the hell...” 

    Connor thought someone who is this hungover would be quieter.

    “Did Ritch not tell any of you last night?” Everyone shakes their head. “Oh... Huh. Well, as soon as we retake evaluations and find partners, we’ll probably be graduating and moving on as pilots.” Connor pauses, “I think that’s kind of a problem, though, because as far as I know, there’s only one more jaeger, and by regulation, each pair needs their own in case of an emergency where every available pilot is needed–”

    “Wow, yup. Already boring me.” North bluntly states.

    Connor makes a mental note to not talk about jaegers and regulations while she’s around. It’s odd that she wants to be a jaeger pilot but doesn’t want to hear anything about the jaegers. Maybe that’s part of the reason the passing rate of this training is so low? Some have the skills and drive to fight kaijus, but not enough desire to keep up with the less exciting things (if putting one’s life in danger by fighting ginormous aliens can even be considered “exciting”).

    “North!” Markus chides, ”Just because you hate memorizing all of this stuff doesn’t mean everyone does. Leave him be! Besides, you’re gonna have to know all of it if you actually wanna fight kaijus.”

    “Connor’s right, you know.” Ritch’s voice points out from behind him suddenly. “About everything. I don’t know what Fowler plans to do with two possible new pairs and only one known jaeger, unless he has some prototypes hidden up his sleeve, but those would have to be in testing stages now, not available for pilots to use quite yet.” He crosses his arms and looks to the side, a tell that Ritch is thinking through something carefully. “The only thing I can think of is that he has one that’s almost out of testing that we just haven’t heard of yet for whatever reason. Or he just didn’t want to miss a chance having at least two more pilots around here and compromised with whoever about this, despite only having one available jaeger.”

    Josh nods, shifting his weight onto his other leg, “I think it’s more the second reason than the first. There haven’t been nearly as many people looking to be jaeger pilots since the propaganda stopped standing a chance against the horror stories on the internet and news.”

    Everyone silently nods their agreement.

    “Either way,” Connor begins, “I don’t actually know how often we’ll see each other outside of meals now. With us having to redo our evaluations and partner hunting and stuff.”

    “I doubt they’ll keep us out of the class, Connor.” Ritch doesn’t bother to turn to look at him like he would with someone else, knowing he wouldn’t be put off by it. “I don’t know if we’ll still be top of the class, since we’ll likely be overqualified for what stage everyone here is at, but I don’t see why Luther and Chloe wouldn’t let us stay and help, even if it isn’t your favorite thing to do.”

    Connor shakes his head with a shrug, “It really isn’t. I don’t like leadership roles like you do.”

    Ritch nods. Connor has a feeling they’re both thinking about how Amanda didn’t mind this particular dynamic between them, even though it took a bit of time for her to warm up to it. Before Connor can get too wrapped up in his head, North snaps him out of it.

    “So you gonna show us what you can really do today, since you were supposedly holding last time? Which I still don’t believe, by the way.” she challenges with a certain glint in her eye that he has grown to dislike.

    “No.” he retorts at the same time as Ritch. Everyone goes quiet.

    Connor continues quietly, “We weren’t holding back as much as we have with everything else last time. I don’t want to have to do it again and get hurt worse…”

    “I agree. I don’t like fighting against Connor.”

    “The only things I want to fight are kaijus and assholes.”

    “Snobbish, biggoted assholes.” Ritch specifies.

    Out of the corner of his eye, Connor spots a few other students entering the training area, so instead of correcting Ritch that he would fight any asshole if they did something to warrant it and have his brother inevitably push back against that, Connor just huffs. Ritch will understand that he means it as a show of disagreement; and he does, if his version of an eye roll is anything to go by.

    “Well, I suppose I better go off and try to find some kind of jaeger partner. I’m going to need a lot more time than Ritch because… Well, you all know exactly how I was when we were trying to get to know each other.” Connor smiles genuinely. If there’s one thing he can do right, it’s turn his short-comings into jokes or some form of amusement for himself.

    Although, everyone except Ritch smiles awkwardly, so Connor immediately knows that these people don’t really do self-deprecating jokes. Ritch simply frowns sympathetically probably because he already figured out that they don’t use that type of humor, and he takes that as his cue to actually leave. Before he can turn to leave, however, Chloe shouts Connor’s and Ritch’s names. When they look to her, she waves them over with a smile. They say a quick goodbye to the group as they calmly walk over. Connor is painfully aware of all the silent attention they’re getting.

    “Just as Marshal Fowler said yesterday, you need to start reevaluations today. Would you prefer to do them over in the gym, or in here? I can’t promise we’ll have the gym to ourselves, but it may be less crowded than in here.”

    He looks to Ritch, who gives him a sort of curious look. It’s up to Connor, then. He turns back to Chloe and shrugs with a polite smile.

    “I guess in here is fine. It seems more convenient than going all the way there then back again in a few hours.”

    “Are we going to have to do the combat evaluations again?” Ritch cuts in, “Because I will not fight against Connor again if that’s the case.”

    Chloe blinks, her features turning into a careful balance of blank and attentive. She blinks again when neither Ritch or Connor expand on the request.

    “Did you hold back that much the first time?” she half-jokes lightly, but he sees the slight concern in her eyes.

    The only responses she gets for several moments are Ritch’s shoulders tensing and Connor looking away nervously. Although, it’s obvious she’s waiting for some kind of verbal confirmation.

    Ritch sighs and finally answers quietly, “It’s dangerous for us to not hold back when we’re not fighting to kill.”

    Connor only nods solemnly in agreement.

    Chloe takes a deep breath before speaking, “Okay then, you won’t have to do that over again.” She flips through her clipboard of papers and marks something down quickly, “So let’s skip to flexibility, okay? Go ahead and line up against the wall.” She nods her head to the area next to the doorway where some basic equipment is.

    They go through the basic stretches. For the sit and reach, they use the block, adjusting the measurements to their size, and start with both legs on it, then just one at a time with the other bent. Ritch does above average, and Connor does extremely well if Chloe’s expression means anything.

    Next is the v-sit, so Chloe has Ritch put his feet against the wall and lean forward down the middle, then lean to each side. It turns out that he’s a bit more flexible on his right side than left for whatever reason. He’s then told to bend to the middle and touch his toes, which he does relatively easily. When Connor starts, he foregoes the wall, despite the confused look Chloe gives him, and lets Ritch hold his feet in place while he leans forward. He can almost put his forehead on the floor, and when leaning to either side, he lightly rests it on his knees. Chloe starts marking on her clipboard again, and Connor has to ignore the numerous stares he feels from the other side of the room.

    The rest of the stretches go similarly. Next they stand and touch their toes (Ritch manages to do so, but Connor is able to put his palms flat on the floor and bends his arms), then they move on to the butterfly stretch, calf flexibility test (they both pass this one with flying colors), side bending, and trunk rolls (this is the easiest one for both of them). Before they know it, almost an hour and a half has gone by and they’re done with their official stretches.

    “Hey guys,” Chloe calls the twin’s attention quietly. She continues when both of them look at her. “Do you mind if I do just a couple more stretches? We did the same thing for North and Traci. It’s to see if we should start designing a jaeger that has more rotation and flexibility for our more bendy pilots.”

    Connor looks to Ritch, who answers. “Sure, whatever you need.”

    She smiles. “Can you do some lunges?”

    They both nod and get into position and hold it easily. Chloe marks something in her book before she tells them to sit on the ground and spread their legs as far as they can go. Ritch raises an eyebrow at Connor for whatever reason before attempting to do the splits. Connor easily does it, then holds the position as he puts his chest to the ground, then sits back up. When Ritch gets up to shift the direction of his legs, leaning into something close to a lunge, Connor doesn’t get completely up, instead just sitting then shifting his legs over. He leans forward towards his knee then, too, just as he taught himself, then sits up, torso perpendicular to the ground and his legs.

    “Surprising,” Chloe states in a praising tone, jotting something else down on her clipboard.

    Ritch gets up and smirks down at Connor. He can’t stop himself from smiling back a bit as he gets up too. It’s nice to actually be praised for something that he had only gotten huffed at for in the past. Now he’s kind of glad that he missed this evaluation altogether while he was going through his mood dip because he wouldn’t have wanted to hold back. Plus, having to rush off to let the next person go and/or having everyone’s undivided attention on him would make this nerve-racking, even if he would’ve held back.

    A sudden wolf whistle from across the room shoves him out of his thoughts.

    “Yass Connor!” North yells obnoxiously, gathering most people’s attention to them, “Show ‘em who’s queen!”

    “North, why are you like this?” Connor shakes his head, feeling his face heat in embarrassment. That question is better than what he actually wants to ask; are you still somehow drunk?

    “Wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t.” She then winks and blows Connor a kiss and a winks, the entire act overplayed and an obvious show of teasing him. Maybe she’s overplaying being okay so people don’t suspect her actual hungover state too much.

    Connor just sighs and shakes his head again, watching Ritch as he does his equivalent of an eye roll.

    “Alright boys,” Chloe says behind them, “do you want to do stamina and cardio next or strength and weights?”

    Ritch and Connor glance at each other, then nod simultaneously.

    “We’ll do cardio today since we’re already stretched for it, if we can push strength to tomorrow?” Ritch answers, the end sounding like a question rather than a reply.

    Their instructor smiles, “Sure, that works for me! Let’s head over to the gym for the equipment, then.”

    The rest of their time before lunch is spent doing various cardio and stamina tests. Most of their time is spent on the treadmills and exercise bikes for sprinting and and different kinds of endurance. Chloe gives nothing away about how well they did this time, and they return to the training area just as the rest of the class is finishing up punching techniques with Luther. They’re all released at the same time to go shower before lunch. Connor and Ritch are told to head to the testing room instead of here when they finish lunch so they can retake their written evaluations.

    Connor lets Ritch have a shower first and picks up their room a bit. It’s not really messy, just a few stray clothes in a pile on the ground around the hamper instead of in it, but it gives him a reason to do some very-needed organization in their desk drawers. He spots his journal in the third drawer and suddenly remembers several things from last night and this morning he wanted to write down.

    He writes down North’s hatred for regulation and technical talk. He then adds that he thinks Josh will probably transfer over to the science section of this entire operation, and that North may pair up with Traci if that’s the case and she’s not let go for her lack of interest. He notes that Traci used to be a dancer and is ranked at least third in their class, if not first or second, so she may be a good partner candidate. With that, he starts writing down everyone’s personality and the likelihood that they’ll leave or their partner will leave, and the probability of them leaving if their partner does. He immediately crosses out a bit more than half of the names in the class just from this, knowing he would never work well with them, so he moves on to the active pilots.

    He writes that Gavin is much more likely to partner up with Ritch than himself, since they apparently know each other already, and crosses that name off without writing anything about his character down. Pretty much everyone else he knows of has a partner they work well with, and even with insufficient data, he knows that the chances are low to none of them wanting to suddenly switch partners or share.

    He makes a quick note of Hank’s favorite whiskey and how Hank used to have a dog and probably still loves it according to Marshal Fowler. He’s finishing jotting down the fact he’s probably Connor’s “quiet friend” while idly wondering if Hank would ever consider getting another dog when Ritch steps out of the bathroom. 

    “You’re writing in that journal again?” Ritch says almost immediately, crossing his arms.

    “Yes, because I’m going to screw up if I don’t, especially now that I need a partner.” He closes his book with a thump.

    “Connor, despite what you think, you really don’t need that.” Ritch nods to his journal, sounding softer than usual, and it’s somewhat disconcerting.

    “Yeah, I really do. You’re welcome to read through it if you like.” He makes a point of putting it on the desk. “So far it’s just basic temperaments of different people and the probabilities of the other trainees graduating.”

    Connor walks past his brother into the bathroom to wash up, reflecting on everything he wrote down, trying to figure out if he missed anything. He doesn’t think he has.

    This is going to be a lot harder than I thought, Connor thinks to himself, At least I kind of know what I’m looking for now, though. The only problem now is finding this perfect type of person within the next few weeks…

Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Hello, Mr. Anderson.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Hey, Connor, you don’t have to–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Connor! Hey!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “You alright, Connor?”

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

    “Any chance we could help with that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    He can’t procrastinate that answer anymore.

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

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

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

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

      Hank.

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

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

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

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

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

    “Uhh, Connor? You good?” Josh tentatively 

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

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

    He doesn’t trust this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

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

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

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

    “What are you doing, Reed?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Am I?”

    “ Yes .”

    “Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “I don’t care! We need to go. Now!”

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

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

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

    “Gavin, cut it out. We need to go–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “GAVIN! RITCH!”

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

     Oh Shit…

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

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

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

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

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

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

    God damn it, they are so fucked.

Chapter Text

    “Sit your asses down.”

    Ritch quickly does as Marshal Fowler says, trying to not think about how he and Connor were in this room not too long ago. He also tries to not think about how quiet and obedient Gavin’s being, especially since the last time he was in the marshal’s “private office”, he was just as sassy and snippy as ever.

    This is not good.

    “I’ve got a lot of questions and you guys are already on some thin fucking ice, so you better give me the truth when I ask ‘em. Got it?”

    Ritch nods and figures Gavin must too, since he sees movement out of the corner of his eye.

    “Good. You can start by telling me why the fuck you broke into Harold’s and Leach’s bunker.”

    Ritch silently turns his head to glare at Gavin. He was the one who said there were no cameras, and how else did they get caught? Ritch managed to pull the both of them out before that group of assholes turned the corner.

    “We didn’t do shit.”

    Apparently Gavin is more of a dumbass than he thought.

    Marshal Fowler levels him with a glare. “You’re a dumbass if you don’t remember the cameras we set up in the pilot’s hall.”

    The pilot makes a strange, strangled noise. “Those cameras have been down for weeks! Months!”

    “Those cameras were just fixed two days ago because people down that hall possibly had contraband. Now why the hell did you go against my orders and recruit someone to break into someone’s bunker”

    “Just like you said! They were keeping combat knives and givin’ them out to people!” Gavin snaps, “I wasn’t gonna sit by and let them get away with it! Nothing was happening!”

    Ritch watches as Marshal Fowler’s eye twitches and decides to step in before the situation can devolve any further. 

    “Marshal Fowler, I wasn’t recruited. I was the one who approached Gavin while he was watching Harold and Leach’s group from a distance, and I offered to get him inside their bunker. It was my idea to take a more hands-on approach.”

    “And why the hell would you offer to break into someone’s room just because of a vague suspicion?”

    How does he answer this without sounding like a narcissistic jerk, as North once bluntly put it? Is there even a way? He can’t think of one off the top of his head...

    “Because I’ve spent most of my life training to read body language so I can have a better idea of who is trustworthy and who would be more likely to give away or sell classified information.” Ritch reaches into the large pocket on his right outer thigh as he continues, “So when I think something or someone is especially suspicious, I’m confident that I’m not wrong.”

    He pulls his hand out of his pocket, revealing the two sheathed knives he stashed there in a hurry earlier. Marshal Fowler’s eyes widen slightly, and Ritch sets the two weapons on the desk between them. They both jump slightly when Gavin violently slams his hand down onto the desk.

    “Why the fuck did you not tell me you grabbed some knives, asshole!? We could’ve skipped the fight if you had and we wouldn’t be in this fucking mess! What the hell!?”

    “There were people in the hallway so–”

    “No there weren’t! I fucking checked!–”

    “If you had shut your trap for one second you would’ve heard the footsteps and Leach’s obnoxious laughing. But you couldn’t think about anything but throwing a tantrum and a punch.” Ritch has to keep himself from snarling the words. He barely manages it.

    “Oh, so you couldn’t have whispered it to me or something!? Or told me–”

    “Told you what, Gavin? To wait a minute? Because I knew there wasn’t any way to get you to listen unless I physically brought you out of your head.”

    “And that was a good enough reason to punch me!?” Gavin stands up from his seat.

    “At the time, yes!” Ritch curls his hands into fists.

    “Enough! Both of you!” Marshal Fowler snaps, “Sit the hell down, Reed, and don’t fucking test me.”

    Gavin drops himself into his chair, glowering at nothing in particular with his arms crossed tensely.

    “We’re not done talking about the breaking and entering–”

    “It’s not breaking and entering if we knew the code–”

    “ Were you given the code , Reed? Was Stern?” The glare the marshal sends the pilot’s way is enough to make even Ritch freeze. It’s enough for Gavin to slightly shrivel in his chair.

    “…no sir.”

    “Then it was fucking breaking and entering.” Marshal Fowler heaves a deep breath and raises a hand to rub his temple. “We will talk more about that later. God knows we’ll have to. But right now, we’re gonna talk about that fight. And I want Stern to go first!” he adds louder when Gavin opens his mouth to speak.

    Ritch swallows, but he’s careful to not let his voice doesn’t portray the sudden nervousness he feels, “What would you like to know, sir?”

    The marshal sighs, but surprisingly doesn’t yell, “Why did you punch Reed? There’s no sound on those cameras.”

    Ritch grimaces, “I didn’t want to get in trouble, and he was starting to get riled up.” Gavin opens his mouth to speak, but stops when Marshal Fowler glares at him. “I thought a punch would get him to stop yelling and get out of his head long enough for me to say something. It worked, just not in the way I was expecting.”

    “And I’m assuming you punched back because Stern punched you first?”

    “Partially.” Gavin growls.

    The marshal raises his eyebrows and nods sharply to get Gavin to continue, which he does after a moment of visibly collecting himself; probably so he doesn’t explode.

    “I mainly punched that asshat because he punched me first, but he also dragged me out after I found the knives but didn’t let me take one. Had I known he’d taken one or more of them, I would have left quieter. Probably.”

    “I punched him back because I thought I could goad him into chasing me away from where people could see me, but he reacted quicker than I anticipated, so I couldn’t immediately step away.”

    “Okay then.” Marshal Fowler says tersely.

    He turns to grab something out of his desk drawers. He lifts up a tablet, taps a few things on it, then props it up on his desk so Ritch and Gavin could see the screen. The recording of the fight is on there, and according to the bottom of the screen where the marshal is manipulating the video feed, the fight only lasted a handful of minutes instead of how long it felt being a part of it.

    The screen suddenly freezes at the beginning of the fight, where they had both first paused to evaluate each other.

    “Why didn’t you run there?”

    That question is easy. “I don’t turn my back to an opponent unless I know I can outrun them. I underestimated how fast Gavin could react, so I no longer knew if I could run faster than him.”

    “Okay.” He responds in the same terse tone. If he hadn’t been subject to that type of tone frequently under Amanda’s care, he would likely be getting more nervous now.

    He distantly wonders if this is what Connor has to feel 24/7, and if it gets noticeably worse in tense situations. It would unfortunately explain a lot.

    Marshal Fowler simply presses play on the video so they have to watch their fight, instead of just skipping to where he wants to make his next point. It takes what feels like a couple minutes, but Marshal Fowler finally pauses where He kicked Gavin in the back of the knees.

    “And why didn’t you run off here? He’s down, you could have at least gotten a head start.”

    Ritch highly doubts that Marshal Fowler will like his answer, so he says nothing. He probably won’t like the silence either, but maybe there’s a chance he’ll move on to Reed–

    “ Stern .”

     Shit.

    “I was… enjoying it?” he answers without much thought like an idiot.

    He sees Gavin snap his head towards him as Marshal Fowler continues in a mildly surprised tone.

    “Enjoying it. Is that a question or an answer?”

    Ritch shifts in his chair and avoids eye contact as he explains, “The only people I’ve ever sparred or fought with are Connor and the occasional personal trainer Amanda sent our way.” He shifts again. “I’ve never sparred with anyone where I didn’t know exactly what to expect from them or didn’t have any strict guidelines or rules to be aware of. Having something different was… enjoyable.”

    After a few silent moments where it becomes increasingly obvious Ritch is done talking, the marshal finally prompts more discussion.

    “So sparring with someone new was fun? Or sparring with someone like Reed, or even just Reed himself was fun? Because I need to know the difference.”

    Ritch blinks. He opens his mouth to say something along the lines of “ it was the adrenaline of the fight I liked ,” but he closes it again and actually thinks about his answer.

    If anyone other than Gavin threw a punch at his throat, he wouldn’t have just dodged. He would have grabbed that person’s arm and twisted it until it hurt then warned them that he wasn’t as inexperienced as they thought. Although, if anyone but Gavin was standing at the food court entrance staring at that group of jerks, Ritch would have ignored them and continued past to get the juice he was there for. If anyone but Gavin was mouthing off at him with those people behind him, he wouldn’t have punched them, he more likely would have slapped a hand over their mouth and signaled for them to be quiet. Although, that’s more because that method would probably work on anyone who wasn’t Gavin.

    He also truly wasn’t lying when he stated that the fight was fun, especially after they moved on from the basic punching and kicking; when there were no real rules to the fight but there was a silent understanding to not aim to seriously injure. He’s never fought like that with anyone before. It was exciting , and Ritch doesn’t know how to feel about that. He doesn’t know how to feel about anything anymore.

    “I don’t know. I do know that I wouldn’t have reacted in certain ways if the person I was sparring with wasn’t Gavin, but I also doubt that I would have aided anyone who wasn’t Gavin or Connor with this, and this isn’t something Connor would do in the first place.”

    Ritch looks up to meet Marshal Fowler’s eyes. The other man immediately huffs and turns to Gavin.

    “And you, I’m guessing you fought just because that’s what you do when you’re mad? You didn’t know when to quit?”

    Ritch looks to Gavin and is surprised to meet the pilot’s gaze instead of seeing the side of his head. He looks like he’s a mixture of curious, mad, and frightened of all things, and his shoulders are tense with whatever concoction of emotions he’s feeling. Ritch tilts his head in question, which causes Gavin to snap out of it with a deep scowl, and turn to Marshal Fowler with a sarcastic smile.

    “You know I always have fun when I’m brawling–”

    “I already know what your punishment is going to be, so don’t try to lessen it.”

    That makes Ritch sit straight and eyebrows furrow. He didn’t think Gavin was trying to do anything beyond his usual shenanigans.

    “And if you’re gonna do what I think you’re gonna do, then I want no fucking part of it.”

    “You don’t have a say in the matter.”

    “Like fuck I don’t! It’s my –”

    Marshal Fowler points to the screen forcefully. “Take one look at that video and try to tell me that you two aren’t compatible.”

    Ritch freezes. Gavin and Marshal Fowler keep talking and yelling but he suddenly can’t understand or even properly hear them.

     Compatible? I can be compatible with someone who isn’t Connor? Without retraining myself completely?

    Closing his mouth, not knowing when it opened in the first place, he reaches over to restart the video. He leans forward in his chair and watches the feed carefully, pretending this is another one of Amanda’s exercises– that it isn’t him and Gavin in the video, that it’s just two random people. How would he rate the pair’s compatibility, taking into account these two people have only been speaking to each other for less than a month (if the taunts he and Gavin trade can even be considered “talking”, that is).

    Several minutes later, once the video is over, his analysis is that he and Gavin are, objectively, extremely compatible for combat. Take that and add the fact that they both enjoy making fun of each other often despite Gavin clearly disliking it when anyone else does so and the fact that they have the potential to work well together outside of combat as well, if the initial breaking into the room is anything to go by… Ritch slowly sits up and leans back into his chair, not focusing on anything in particular as he rests his chin in his palm and lets his fingers cover his mouth in thought.

    They could absolutely be compatible with a little training and getting properly used to each other. They definitely could be drift compatible.

    Ritch knew he’d need to get a new partner, of course. He knew this. Yet, somehow he’s completely shocked that he could be compatible with anyone who isn’t Connor. He always assumed that if he was, then his twin would still be the closest he could get to true drift compatibility, and the other partner would be a case of “close enough”. Although, fighting with and against Connor has always been more of a chore than anything else, especially since it happened, and this fight with Gavin was just… not.

    Is that how sparring with someone is supposed to be? Enjoyable? He thought it was supposed to be a chore because jaeger pilots are not supposed to be fighting against one another, they’re supposed to fight and work together. He doesn’t know anymore. The one thing he does know nowadays is that he doesn’t know anything anymore, that nothing in this new world fits anything he thought he knew before. He doesn’t know if he can handle anything more being proven false in his life. He doesn’t know–

    “Hey ass-face.”

    Ritch blinks hard and turns to Gavin. A part of him knows that he should express his confusion instead of staring blankly at him, but a larger part of him is too tired and unsteady to even try. He then abruptly remembers that he’ll have to get better at conveying emotions before he starts doing it around Gavin because the new and failed attempts make the pilot extremely uncomfortable.

   Or would he be considered a trainee, now that they’re apparently partners? Or would RItch be considered an unofficial pilot?

    “Ritch.” Marshal Fowler calls in a more gentle voice, “You okay?”

    Ritch blinks again and forces his attention on him with a sharp nod. Why is his head moving so slow? Isn’t getting a new partner something he wanted? Everything he wanted, recently? It definitely still is, and he knows a part of him is happy–

    “Your punishment for the fight is rooming with Reed for the indefinite future and making an effort to get along on the basis of possibly being drift compatible. We’ll talk about the breaking and entering and theft when the people in charge of this contraband case has time to go over it with you. Go pack up your stuff, Stern.”

    Ritch sits up stiffly at that and his eyes go wide in realization. “Connor has never slept in a room on his own before. I don’t know if it’s wise for me to leave so suddenly–”

    “He’s a grown man. He can handle having a room to himself for now. And you’ll be talking to someone about that later too, with Connor and a therapist present.”

    Ritch decides against saying how he’s nervous to share a bunker with someone as potentially dangerous and unstable as Gavin. What if the pilot does something to his clothes or other belongings while he’s away or sleeping? The only reason he’s not worried about something happening to himself is because he’s a relatively light sleeper, but even then…

    “Why the hell have you two been sharing a room for so long? I understand sharing as children, but two adult brothers? You’re supposed to be young prodigies, so your what, 25? 26? That’s around how old Anderson and Fowler went on their first mission–”

    He turns to Gavin as he explains, “We were training to be pilots together. We can’t mourn or wish for separate rooms or more privacy if we never had it in the first place. And Connor and I are 23.”

    “Jesus christ. What the fuck.”

    Ritch tilts his head. “It’s sound logic.”

    Gavin looks at him like he’s growing a second head. “No the fuck it isn’t! And what the hell do you mean you’re 23? The legal age is 25–”

    “Nope! Okay, take this conversation outta my office. If you want to talk about that, do it while Stern is packing or when you’re in your bunker tonight. I’ve already had to sit through this particular talk twice, and I’m not going for thirds.”

    Gavin makes a sound that’s between a huff and a growl and storms out. He somehow manages to slam the door both open and closed, but Ritch tries to ignore this and instead stands and meets the marshal’s eyes.

    “May I show that video to Connor?” He says, pointing to the tablet on the desk, “He may not fully understand otherwise. And he really hasn’t slept anywhere on his own before–”

    Marshal Fowler interrupts with a heavy sigh. “I’m gonna be in here for a little while longer. You can grab him and show him this video if you think you really have to.”

    Ritch is already nodding before he finishes speaking.

    “Thank you, Marshal Fowler. I won’t be long, so I won’t hold you up.” He turns and leaves briskly, unable to completely contain whatever this new nervous energy is.

    “Just don’t think you’re gonna get out of this with your brother’s help!” the marshal calls after him.

    Ritch pauses by the door to the hallway to nod in affirmation. He doubts Connor would try to help him anyway, not with Marshal Fowler dealing the punishments and the video as proof. Besides, even if he did want to help, Ritch doubts he could be convincing enough to do anything.

    “Hey, baby face.”

    Ritch sighs to hide a groan and closes his eyes to hide the fact he’s rolling them. It doesn’t matter that Gavin’s tone is softer than Ritch has ever heard it before (though, that isn’t saying much), he just wants to break the news to Connor and process all of this on his own. Unfortunately, however, The sigh is enough of an acknowledgment for Gavin, who then continues talking.

    “Are you really 23 years old? Coulda sworn you were 26.”

    Ritch turns to him lazily, asking, “Why would I lie about my age in front of the marshal?” He starts walking down the hall. “I’m 23 as of a couple of weeks ago.”

    “How the hell did you even get accepted–”

    Ritch spins sharply to meet Gavin’s eyes with stress-induced irritation, and that’s thankfully enough to get the pilot to silence himself.

    “In the light of having to work together for who knows how long, you should also know that Connor and I have spent nearly every day training since we were a little under 11 just so we could become pilots, which is the only reason we were able to bypass the legal age limit and be accepted into this program at 22 years old. I also apologize in advance because that’s also why I will sometimes seem arrogant and cocky about my skills while other times I won’t have a damn clue of what anyone is talking about or referencing to. I don’t mean for either of those things to happen, but that’s what a group of my friends tell me happens anyway, and I have a feeling it will be a major point of irritation for you.”

    Ritch pauses to take a deep breath and calm himself since he was slowly getting worked up the longer he ranted. And that’s what it was, a rant. He’s tired of having those things– maybe also some others that he can’t think of at the moment– being constantly speculated on by other people. It’s exhausting in a way he didn’t expect when he made Connor agree to keep their decade of training a secret. He almost regrets asking Connor to do so, now.

    Gavin stays unnaturally and uncomfortably silent even though Ritch has just given him the perfect opportunity to mouth off back at him. With a small sigh, he turns around to head back to his dorm to fetch Connor and pack his things, but pauses after a step. He looks over his shoulder as he starts explaining.

    “I didn’t tell you this so you’ll treat me differently like everyone else seems to think they need to do. I told you this so you’ll be slightly more prepared for the unpleasant memories I have in my head in the case we enter the drift together. And maybe so you’ll be more likely to let me use your phone or something to look stuff up when I don’t want to ask the other people I hang around.” He faces forward and starts walking again. “See you this evening, water grass. I hope your room is cleared of porn magazines, or whatever it is you normal, adult men stash in their rooms.” He’ll make a small dig at himself if it means any chance of getting things back to normal.

    He hears a scoff. Ritch is glad his back is turned because he can’t quite hide the relieved and pleased smile at the promise of Gavin insulting him; a step closer to Ritch’s new normal.

    “Fuck you, retch. I don’t buy that kind of shit. You better not bring your books on whatever robotic shit you get off on, though, or I swear to god I’ll burn them all.”

    Ritch hums sarcastically, enjoying the pilot’s grumbling at the lack of a real reply.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    Connor is sitting at his and Hank’s table, picking at his lunch tray absent-mindedly.

    He doesn’t know how to feel about Ritch moving out so soon. Sure, he wrote down in his journal that Ritch would be more compatible with Gavin Reed, but that was more of a note to not even make an attempt with the irritable pilot than an observation of the pair. Although, this certainly makes the weird, insulting conversation they had when Alex went crazy make more sense.

    “Hey Connor.” Hank greets tiredly, a tray of food in his hands. It throws Connor off for a second; he’s usually the one to greet Hank first, not the other way around.

    Connor accepts the distraction from his thoughts with a small smile, nonetheless.

    “Hello Hank. Did you rest well?”

    Hank hums and nods his head once. He actually got restful sleep, then, even if it was only for a couple hours. If he hadn’t, he would have just grunted or tried to glare at him (key word being tried. Hank hasn’t been good at being genuinely mean to him lately, or maybe Connor is just desensitized to it). Besides, he’s pretty sure he saw Hank in his old tennis shoes, rather than the ratty slippers he wears when it’s a particularly bad day.

    North and Markus have let him know that it can be creepy to keep all these small tabs on different people, but studying habits to use to navigate people’s moods has been an important self-taught lesson while co-existing with Amanda and sharing a room with Ritch. Old habits die hard, after all, especially the useful ones.

    “You saw me this morning, didn’t you? Why didn’t you ask me then?” Hank grumbles.

    “Well, we were too busy talking about a variety of things then, so I never got to ask.”

    Hank shakes his head and rolls his eyes not unkindly.

     I wonder what has him in such a good mood today, Connor wonders to himself. He seems less drunk than usual, so he didn’t get another secret stash of alcohol...

    “Yeah yeah. I slept for three good hours. You happy, mom?” Hank takes a large bite of his food.

    Connor pauses before he nibbles on his lasagna, his fork still close to his mouth as he asks without thought, “Are mothers known to ask people how well they slept?”

    Hank pauses at eating his meal and just stares at him. Connor, having the distinct feeling that he said something weird or wrong again, scoops even more food onto his fork and shoves it in his mouth so he can’t give in to his impulse to ramble.

    “Y’know, Connor, sometimes you say things that somehow make me more depressed than I already am, but also make me wanna punch someone at the same time.” he finally takes another bite.

    Connor lowers his head as he swallows. “Sorry.”

    “Not your fault.”

    He frowns. “But you said that I–”

    “And I said it ain’t your fault.” he restates with finality, then sighs. “Mothers are stereotypically known to nag and ask their children about little things, like how they slept, if they’re hurt, if they’ve eaten enough– those kinds of things.” He mumbles something that sounds like “jesus christ” under his breath.

    “Sorry. For being clueless about these things.” he adds when Hank looks like he’s about to snap at Connor for apologizing again. “I’m trying to learn these little things as fast as I can, but it can be hard to do when I don’t have a way to regularly access the internet and the people who do can’t read my mind and tell me what I’m missing.” He finishes with a small, awkward smile.

    Hank nods with a weird mixture of a grimace and a smile then turns back to his food. Connor simultaneously doesn’t mind it and hates it because he desperately needs a distraction, but he doesn’t force Hank to talk any more than he wants to. This is about how long their conversations have been lasting recently. He doesn’t want to move progress backwards just so he can procrastinate thinking about being on his own for who knows how long. Being on his own isn’t even that nerve wracking, not that being without his brother for literally the first time in his life isn’t making him a little nervous, but that alone is manageable. It’s that this is all yet another change that’s happened while he’s been trying to regain stability in his new routine. He’s tired of his entire world being flipped over and over.

    He takes another small bite out of his food, wondering if he should have offered to help Ritch pack. After all, North, Josh, Markus, and Simon all talked about helping each other pack when they moved into their own apartment. He only has to spend a couple seconds thinking about trying to help Ritch when he realizes he would have just gotten in the way and irritated his brother. They didn’t even help each other pack their few belongings when they moved out of Amanda’s manor, why would he want help moving to another hall? Especially since Ritch already seemed tense enough as it was.

    Apparently he’s going to bother Hank more this lunch, after all. He doesn’t want to think about this anymore, but it’s the only thing his brain wants to think about for whatever reason, despite the fact that anything on the topic there was to think about has already been exhausted. He’s just repeating facts and predictions over and over again, and it’s getting annoying.

    Therefore, Connor blurts the first thing that comes to mind that isn’t Ritch or being alone.

    “Do you like dogs?”

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

     ”Do you like dogs?” What kind of fuckin’ question is that?

    Hank probably looks as surprised and confused as Connor does, if not more. It’s a shock because Hank is supposed to be the surprised one since Connor’s the one who asked the question and he’s also supposed to be the stoic one, the one who doesn’t really let things affect him.

    And why the hell does Connor want to know if he likes dogs, anyway? What brought that up. If Hank has him figured out like he thinks he does, the trainee doesn’t ask unrelated questions. Unimportant, yes, more often than Hank would like, honestly, but never completely unrelated.

    “Yes.” he answers slowly, unsurely. “Why do you need to know?”

    Connor visibly hesitates. “I– I don’t?”

    Well that doesn’t sound like the usual Connor at all. Usually by now he starts rambling about why he needs or wants to know, then backtracks to explain how he came to think about whatever topic that prompted him to ask his question. Normally, when someone rambles like Connor does, Hank vows to get rid of them quickly, but Connor always has a surprisingly logical way of thinking that make his random topic jumps and rambling make sense. The small part of Hank that’s a nosey asshole has always liked it, even if the rest of him only puts up with it at best.

    Hank opens his mouth to ask what he means by “ I don’t need to know ”, but Connor starts rambling before he can actually say anything.

    “I don’t know. I just, I like the idea of having a pet? Even though I’ve never had one before? Like, I read that some dogs can help with stress and stuff, and I only looked that up because I noticed that someone around here walks around with a bulldog, but I don’t think I’d like one that small? It’d stress me out even more because I’d be afraid of stepping on it–”

    Good god, he’s a fuckin’ mess today, ain’t he? This rambling isn’t making much sense at all. If Hank actually puts thought into Connor’s words it makes sense, but he usually doesn’t have to.

    “What’s your favorite dog, then?” Hank surprises himself by asking.

    Connor’s mouth clicks shut as he freezes.

    “What?” he eventually asks. Apparently that pause wasn’t him thinking about his answer, then. He really is a mess today, huh?

    “You’re rambling about dogs, and you implied you did some research, so what’s your favorite dog breed.”

    As much as Hank wants to tell himself that he just wants Connor to start making sense or stop or slow his rambling, he really is just curious about what the trainee thinks his ideal dog would be. He already said he doesn’t like the idea of having smaller pets, so his taste in dog breeds can’t be horrible. Not that small dogs are bad, but still. 

    “Oh. Well. I haven’t looked too much into breeds, but I liked the way people described Labradors and Golden Retrievers. They’re usually portrayed as being very happy and cuddly dogs, even if they’re also kinda protective and want to eat everything. From what I saw, I don’t think I’d like german shepherds all that much. They have a lot of energy and take a lot of work and I’ve never had a pet, so it might be too much at first, especially in a space like this.” He gestures around the room. “I’d almost want a cat since they can move out of the way quickly if I’m about to step on them and are super soft, but they’re small and–”

    “And they’re usually assholes.” Hank finishes. Although, judging by Connor’s confused expression, that’s not what he was going to say.

    “What?”

    Hank rolls his eyes as he says, “Oh come on, Connor. You can’t tell me you did research on pets and didn’t see that most cats were assholes. There’s no way.”

    “I didn’t really do research on pets in general. Just dogs. I heard– uh–” He falters, then pauses for a moment, obviously contemplating something. “I heard that they can be trained to help comfort people? And as I’m sure a lot people around here know by now, I can be a mess when it comes to people. Like, point me towards a kaiju or fight and I’ll hold my own well, but tell me to have a normal conversation with a few strangers and I’ll probably start internally panicking right there on the spot.” Connor huffs a stressed-sounding laugh and starts picking at his food again.

    Hank can definitely relate to that. God, if it weren’t for Jeff saving his ass at almost every interview and other bull shit gathering in the beginning of their career, he surely would have been put on the back burner instead of front and center like he was. Possibly both of them would have, and if that had happened, there’s no way he would’ve been able to stay here at the base even though he’s a hop and a skip away from being completely useless these days.

    A small part of him thinks he should probably do something about his uselessness, but the rest of him doesn’t see the point. The damage has already been done, enough to the point of no return. And isn’t this a common scenario since he’s met Connor? Some small pieces of his mind suddenly wanting to change how things have been for years for whatever reason.

    Well, several things have already changed around him since these twins arrived, so what’s changing just one more thing among the others, right? He’s having a good day today, anyway, for whatever reason.

    “I– uh…” Hank rubs the back of his neck, “I get that. I grew up with dogs. They help. If they’re trained right, that is.”

    There, once more tiny change. Giving away a bit of personal information where he would usually grunt and glare. Connor’s wide eyes and slightly-dropped jaw is absolutely worth the onslaught of memories of his old dogs; Captain the corgi, Snow the black lab, Lex the tan mutt, and the first and last dog he’s had on his own rather than shared with his family–

    “Have you raised any puppies?” Connor blurts with eyes that are still wide.

    Hank sighs, “Yea, I have. Once. He was a good lug of a dog.”

    Sumo was easily one of the best dogs he’s ever had in his life, mainly because he took in that runt of a sickly pup for a huge discount and got him all healthy himself. He was still a bit small for a Saint Bernard, even when he stopped growing, but he was always a damn smart dog and very loving and protective of Hank, eventually Cole too when he came around...

    “Do you think the people in charge will let me get a dog? A bigger one?”

    Hank raises an eyebrow, mostly glad to have a distraction from that mess of memories, but also curious of what Connor’s getting at.

    “You were serious about the dog thing?”

    “Yes?” Connor tilts his head and frowns.

    Hank didn’t realize that he was being completely serious about that. He doesn’t know why he didn’t think it was serious– Connor rarely brings up unrelated topics– but no one can blame Hank. He hasn’t had a conversation last this long or remain this peaceful in a long time. It’s almost… nice .

    Hank shakes his head as if he can physically remove that last thought from his mind as he back tracks in the conversation a bit. He’s starting to need his own distraction with how weird his own head’s being now.

    “When you say bigger, what do you mean?”

    Thankfully, Connor takes it in stride like he seems to do with most things relating to Hank; there’s little confusion and no hesitation in his answer. Finally, Connor’s getting back to whatever version of normal he is.

    “I’ve seen people walk Labradoodles and Golden Retrievers by our manor before. I don’t think I want anything much smaller than them. I want to be able to hug my dog and I don’t want to hurt them by squeezing too hard or stepping on them. Plus, I read that small dogs can be yappy and can bark more than a lot of larger dogs. I don’t know how true that is, though. I just want something that can help ground me.”

    Hank hums in approval. Even Captain, as well trained and adorable as he was, was prone to barking and yipping a lot when he was excited or wanted attention. It was always cute at first until he wanted to play and everyone had work or school to do. Bigger dogs may take more care, but he prefers them over the small ones, unlike his parents had. Hank turns back to his food and starts eating.

   Just after his second bite is when Hank’s mind (un)helpfully reminds him of the reason why Connor’s been contemplating getting a dog in the first place.

    He always figured that Connor had some type of social anxiety– kind of hard not to tell when the guy puts up with Hank just to get some so-called “peace” during his day– and it’s been clear for weeks now that, while they act amicable enough towards each other when around others, the twins don’t get along as well as people may think. He remembers the epiphany he had about them being like how he and Fowler were towards the end of their stint as pilots.

    But none of that really matters at the moment, or preferably ever.The real question is, would they let Connor have a dog?

    It takes no time at all to come to the conclusion that, yes, they would let him have a dog if it was only dependent on how much good it would do him. In reality, he’ll probably have to find a partner that has had a pet before or something. Maybe they could have him do some kind of personality assessment to see if he actually could handle it? That seems like a thing people have to do to get an animal out here anyway.

    “They might.” Hank shocks himself by speaking aloud.

    “Who might what?” Connor asks, putting his cup down and giving Hank his full attention again. How long had the silence lasted? Almost all of Connor’s food is gone now...

    “The people in charge of whatever that would give you permission to get you a dog. They might let you have one. Not immediately, and probably not until you have a second person to help care for it since you have no experience, but I think you have enough of one if your– what do you guys call ‘em? dip days?–”

    “–Mood dips–”

    “–Yea, that. You get enough of those, which, from what I can tell and what you’ve told me, even an untrained animal could maybe help with. You just gotta prove that you’re responsible enough to take care of it and that you actually need it, which shouldn’t be an issue.” Hank stuffs the last bit of his food in his mouth to keep him from running his damn mouth any longer.

    God, if he’s fucking lonely enough to be talking about nonsense with some trainee, then maybe he could use a dog. Not that they would ever in a million years let him have one; he can barely take care of himself most days, let alone an animal. He has a feeling that even if he did the impossible and cleaned up his act, they still wouldn’t let him have one because of his self-sabotaging history.

    Wow, self-sabotaging. That’s a term he hasn’t heard or used since his bout of therapy years ago. Yet another small change in the flaming wreck that is Hank Anderson’s post-pilot life. He wouldn’t be surprised if he’s finally kicked out soon. He doesn’t even know how he’s managed to stay this long in the first place.

    There’s another lengthy pause where Hank finishes his drink, and right as he’s about to start getting up, Connor takes an audible. His head is down and shoulders hunched in the textbook form of hesitance. Considering Hank has already done plenty today that he wouldn’t normally do (namely just having a civil conversation with someone other than himself), he figures it wouldn’t hurt to stick around until Connor can get himself together. He’ll say that today was a weird day if it’s ever brought up, and it wouldn’t even be lying.

    Connor sighs and glances up at where Hank sits, then does a double take as if he wasn’t expecting Hank to be there. His mouth opens, closes, opens again, then clicks shut and his head falls again. Hank feels his own face twist up in a familiar grimace, then starts putting his trash and dishes onto the small tray so it can all be carried away.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    Connor has apparently used up all of his courage and energy for this conversation and now can’t even look Hank in the eyes and apologize for taking so much of his time today. He doesn’t know exactly why he’s suddenly so uneasy around Hank, but he has a feeling it has to do with his new resolve to get the man to like him enough to maybe, possibly, try going into the drift. Even a single training session, even if it was the bare basics of combat, would please Connor.

    He watches subtly as Hank starts to clear his things and opens his mouth to apologize again, when the only useful words of the therapist he tried yesterday abruptly comes to mind.

     ”The first thing you can try for constant apologizing is stop apologizing and start thanking. Instead of saying sorry for not making sense or for getting something wrong, thank the person you’re with for being patient and trying to understand.”

    Maybe it’s a good thing he’s been stalling. Thanking actually seems easier to do than apologizing right now. Besides, Hank has mentioned multiple times that he doesn’t understand why Connor apologizes so often, and he always acts disgruntled even when he doesn’t say anything about the apology. After a success like today, he doesn’t want to taint the end of it with irritation.

    “Thank you, for listening to me today.” Connor finally manages to say, albeit softly. He clears his throat and forces his voice to go a little louder, “You didn’t have to entertain me today, or ever really, so thank you for doing so.”

    He finally manages to find the strength to look up at Hank, who had just stood up when Connor began thanking him. He now stands very still with something like surprise twinkling in his blue eyes as he seemingly studies Connor. While in this look and posture, Connor can very easily see how much strength and intellect Hank still has hidden under his unkempt hair and old, loose clothing. It only enhances his desire to have Hank be his partner, seeing that he still could very well be a pilot if he had the motivation and drive to.

    Connor realizes with shock that he feels nervous because, not only does he want to have the chance to see if he’s compatible with Hank– to pilot with him if all goes well– he also wants to be one of the reasons that gives the motivation and drive back to Hank.

    He doesn’t know what happened to make Hank this stand-offish with other people, but Connor wants to show Hank that he can put his trust in him and he won’t disappear.

    Connor knows that Ritch would call this hero-worship or hero-complex or something like that, but this feels distinctly different from anything like that. He hasn’t changed his mind on his view of saving people– he is still very aware from personal experience that the only ones who can save people are themselves– but he doesn’t want to just give Hank nudges and reminders every now and then anymore. He wants to help guide him, and maybe in a perfect world, have him guide Connor as well.

    He knows this isn’t a realistic scenario whatsoever, but a guy can still dream and hope, right? No damage done as long as Connor doesn’t actually go meddling. That kind of thing isn’t any of his business, anyway.

    Connor only realizes he’s been staring at Hank this entire time when the ex-pilot’s jaw suddenly tenses. Hank looks down and to the side with a contemplative expression before nodding.

    “Yeah,” he says in an oddly somber way, quickly glancing at Connor with a look he can’t quite read or understand. “No problem.”

    He slowly turns, then starts walking away. Connor follows his movements with just his eyes, curious as to what Hank is feeling or thinking. He walks as if he hadn’t gotten enough good sleep the previous night, but without the various signs of irritation and aggression that always go along with it. Connor takes the last bite of his food as he sees Hank stroll out of the cafeteria.

    As Connor piles up his own lunch dishes on his tray ( Is it only lunch still? This day already feels like it’s lasted a year. ) he tries to come up with a reason why Hank’s attitude changed so suddenly. Connor didn’t accidentally remind him of something from his past, did he? He hopes not, he thinks as he leaves everything to be washed and exits the food court. The last thing he wants is to be sent a step back before he can actually put effort into getting Hank to trust him. Not that he really knows how he’s going to get the older man to understand that it’s safe to like and trust another human in the first place.

    Maybe he just needs to keep doing what he’s doing, even if it doesn’t feel like enough. Stay on Hank’s side– even when it doesn’t exactly follow protocols– keep talking to him about things and treat him how Connor himself likes to be treated. Treat him like he isn’t a broken mess of a human like he’s gathered everyone else does from the things Hank says or has said to him, because Hank isn’t really broken.

    Maybe it really is enough to be the one person in this entire base that treats him like a normal human being, rather than the broken-down shadow of what was once the one and only Hank Anderson. Thinking of anyone like that is a sure-fire way to alienate someone, even without realizing it. Connor would know, with how often he was placed in Ritch’s shadow under Amanda’s care, and he isn’t almost world-wide famous like Hank was– still mostly is.

    That makes Connor pause with his hand on his and Ritch’s bunker door. He hasn’t thought of Hank as anything more than “Hank, the one guy who doesn’t ask too many questions and newest potential partner” and “Mr. Anderson, the retired pilot who prefers to be left alone” since the first couple of days. He hasn’t thought about what kind of media may be needed or wanted if he somehow successfully gets Hank to partner with him. Not that Hank would partner with him any time soon, if at all, but in this hypothetical, perfect world in his head, there’d probably be a lot of interviews and cameras. There’d probably be just a lot of people asking him “ How did you manage to bring the famous Hank Anderson back to the field? ”

    He doesn’t like that thought. He doesn’t know how he would answer, or if he’d even answer at all. Maybe if he’s lucky, Hank would step in and help–

    Connor takes half a step into the bunker. Seeing that half of everything that used to be inside is now gone is a harsh reminder that this is the real world. In the real world, he’s going to have to fall asleep without being able to hear Ritch’s breathing to let him know he won’t be alone if he has a nightmare. Ritch rarely ever helped him through nightmares, and Connor doubts he knew how frequent they used to be, but just having another living, breathing being in the room always helped immensely. Just knowing he wasn’t alone but wouldn’t be bothered usually did wonders for getting him out of bed, and why it’s been more difficult to since being here. Here, everyone either leaves him completely alone or bothers him until they leave.

    He turns and exits the bunker even though he hadn’t stepped completely inside yet. He needs to find Markus since he knows a lot of the “community” computers will be taken up by now or will be needed by others for more important things soon. Markus and Simon are the only two people he knows he can ask for their phones for research and have them truly not mind.

    He’s going to at least try to ask about getting a dog, but he wants to do at least some research on what breeds would be best for this kind of environment. Hopefully the more he knows and the more specific he is about his reasoning and options, the more likely whoever would be in charge of allowing Connor to take care of an animal will let him have one.

Chapter Text

    Ritch awkwardly stands in front of Gavin’s door– and his too, at least for for now– with both of his duffle bags set on either side of him. Either Gavin isn’t letting him inside out of spite, which is completely plausible, or he’s not inside because he’s staying at lunch later than usual. Either way, he’s hoping Gavin opens the door before lunch officially ends. He’s not willing to leave his bags out in the hallway just to go get food and he’s getting pretty hungry after this morning’s fight and nerves.

    He looks down at the only watch he owns– a fancy one meant to be worn with suits during formal or semi-formal events– which is now on his wrist instead of put away like usual. There’s 20 minutes before lunch ends. Even if he left now, he’d have to eat faster than he’s used to if he wants to finish it before people are kicked out for cleaning purposes. Oh well, he’s missed more meals than he cares to count during his time with Amanda, and he’s definitely gone longer than this without food before. He’ll just eat dinner a bit earlier than usual to keep the hunger away.

    “Dick?”

    Ritch turns to Gavin and automatically corrects, “Ritchie, not Richard.”

    “Yea yea, whatever,” Gavin says, rolling his eyes and waving his hand in dismissal. “What the fuck are you doing just hanging around by my door like a stray cat or something?”

    “I was never given the code to the room.”

    “And you couldn’t’ve waited in your own room because…?” Gavin stops right in front of him, defiance in his eyes. Ritch is too mentally exhausted to deal with that right now.

    “Because technically starting this morning, this is my own room, unfortunately. Did you at least pick up any unmentionables?”

    Gavin barks out an unfriendly laugh and turns to the keypad. Ritch commits the code 4629 to memory, having a feeling that Gavin won’t actually give him the code just to make his life harder. Just because he’s able to break into bunkers doesn’t mean he wants to more than what’s absolutely necessary.

    “I told you I don’t keep that kind of shit in my room.” He opens the bunker door and lets them both inside before continuing. “Also, why the hell do you call it that?”

    “What do you mean?” Ritch asks as he finds a clear space on the floor to set his bags.

    “‘Unmentionables’. That makes it sound like you’re some kind of prude, or some good little boy who went to catholic school, I dunno. More likely a nun with that baby face and mean stare.”

    Ritch sighs and grumbles, “Where should I put my stuff.”

    He just wants to get out of here and head down to the training room to help out a few of the struggling students. He’s just too mentally exhausted after all that’s happened today to properly banter with Gavin right now, and he can tell that bantering is all that Gavin wants at the moment.

    Gavin’s face falls for a split second, but he’s back to his aggressive self before Ritch can even comprehend what it could mean.

    “Left side of everything– left side of the shelves, left drawers, left closet– and the bottom bunk.” Gavin glares at him with a challenge in his eyes. Ritch doesn’t fall for it because he has no need to argue. That’s the space he took up in his and Connor’s room, so there’s no issue.

    “Perfect.” he says sharply, “Thanks.”

    He sets his bags down in the middle of the room in preparation to unpack. He gets his studying books (will he even need these anymore?) and puts them on the empty side of the shelf above the metal desk, then pulls out his personal books to put on the shelf above the last.

    Most are mainly about the science of how jaegers can safely transfer memories from one person to another without messing either person up, but some are just basic psychology books. The way people think and handle things have fascinated him ever since he first realized how different he and Connor are despite having always spent almost every waking moment with each other, and thus being in the same situations.

    Part of him hopes that Connor will do well on his own for the foreseeable future, but another part worries that there will be some kind of issue that could have been prevented if Ritch was there to stop it. Yet another part secretly hopes Connor gets used to being alone quickly so he isn’t as dependent on other people. He has the skills and brains to make it on his own, he just needs to use them instead of panicking or shutting down all the time. Hand-holding and direct interfering has proven less than effective, so maybe a hands off approach will help Connor realize his potential.

    “Alright, ground rules,” Gavin suddenly snaps as Ritch finishes putting the last of his books up. “First off, do not keep me up at night or you’ll regret it the next morning. And don’t wake me up early unless it’s an emergency either! Secondly, I get the first shower because the hot water runs out quickly here for some reason and I will make your day hell if I have to take a fucking cold shower. Thirdly, don’t touch my stuff. I don’t fucking care if you’re an OCD freak or something and I’ve left a mess, do. Not. Touch them, or I will break your hand. Got it?”

    Ritch nods simply. “As long as you don’t touch my stuff either, then it’s understood. Also, you don’t have to worry about me taking any hot water. I take my showers in the evening, and I prefer them tepid rather than hot.”

    Ritch hears the strange offended and concerned sound Gavin makes and looks up from digging his two jaeger figurines out of his bags. He doesn’t say anything, opting to silently raise an eyebrow at the pilot when he doesn’t immediately start talking like he expected. It works.

    “Why the fuck do you take cold showers? Have you never felt the glory that is a steaming hot shower before? ‘Cause you told me you were kind of sheltered earlier, but that’s just sad.” Gavin finally asks with what Ritch would call a sarcastic frown.

    He looks back down to his bag in an attempt to hide the pained expression he’s undoubtedly making. He doesn’t like reminders of that unfortunate night– dream. Nightmare. Whatever his brain decides that particular event was at any given moment.

    “It’s not cold, just tepid. You have your reasons for hating cold water, I have my reasons for hating hot.”

    “What the fuck do you know?” Gavin abruptly snarls, sounding every bit like he’s willing to kill Ritch or someone else.

    The tone snaps Ritch to attention, but he catches himself and freezes when he take’s in Gavin’s stance. He’s tense in a way that’s more defensive rather than his usual offensive position, and his face reveals equal betrayal and pain as rage. It completely catches Ritch off guard, which explains why he says what he does without trying to hide anything for the first time in a very long while.

    “Why do you get to ask me why I hate hot showers when you want to bite my head off for just saying that you have random reasons for hating cold water. Why should I care why you like hot showers when I’m the outlier in this situation, not you?”

    Gavin doesn’t respond, he just keeps glaring at him as if that will make him confess knowing something he doesn’t.

    Does he have a particularly bad memory/dream/nightmare like Connor and I do? What am I thinking, of course he does. He’s an official jaeger pilot; he likely has plenty of bad memories and experiences to choose from, Ritch thinks, making a note to himself to not bring up cold water or temperatures around Gavin anymore.

    Gavin must have finally come to some kind of conclusion, because he takes a deep breath and refocuses on the jaeger model that’s still in Ritch’s hands.

    “I thought I told you to leave your robot porn back in your bunker?” he snaps. At least he sounds less like he’s actually going to murder Ritch any moment now.

    “Sorry to disappoint, but just because you undoubtedly have explicit content hiding somewhere in here doesn’t mean I have any. Why are you so obsessed on this topic, anyhow?” he says smoothly as he gets up and positions his little models on the shelf. Are the jaeger figurines actually bothering him and he’s using this to somewhat cover it up, or is this another layer of teasing? 

    People can be incredibly confusing. Especially if their name is Gavin Reed.

    “I’m not obsessed with this topic. I’m just noticing that you’re obsessed with jaegers.” Gavin somehow makes climbing onto the top bunk look as lazy as plopping down onto the bottom bunk would. “So I’m just making sure you aren’t gonna be doing anything weird when we’re gonna be forced to drift together later on. I ain’t partnering with a fuckin’ creep.”

    “Well, nor will I.” Ritch rolls his eyes as he turns to fully face Gavin. “Actually, because I want a topic change, here are my own ground rules.”

    “Uh-uh! You don’t get to–”

    “Rule one!” Ritch declares over him, “As I said before, you don’t get to touch my stuff either. I am very particular about where everything goes, and I am a very private person. Rule two, do not wake me up in the morning unless it is an emergency. I have alarms set on my phone– that I place under my pillow so only I can hear it.” he adds when Gavin opens his mouth to retort, “I will always be on time to wherever I or we need to be, so please do not mess with me while I’m sleeping.”

    Gavin, surprisingly, just shrugs and says, “Fair enough.” It gives Ritch enough confidence to continue.

    “Rule three–”

    “There’s fuckin’ more!?–”

    “–and the last one I can think of for now. I am very introverted. Sometimes I will want to be left alone just because I am not used to having to constantly entertain someone, so try to not pester me 24/7. Although, considering your first rule, I think we can come to an agreement there as well.”

    Gavin doesn’t say anything for a solid minute, just scowling at Ritch from the top bunk. Ritch doesn’t move or break eye contact either. He’s played this game many times with Amanda over the years; breaking now would only be admitting defeat and showing that he isn’t as tough and confident as he is. Breaking eye contact and/or relaxing his tall, solid stance is something Connor would do, and while that seems to work for his twin a lot of the time, Ritch is most definitely not that type of person. He gets his way through confidence and logic rather than constant encouragement and compromise.

    “Fine.” Gavin barks. “We have a fuckin’ deal. And apparently the first part of the damned ‘personal schedules’ we’re gonna have to make.”

    That throws Ritch off track. “Personal schedules?”

    Gavin snorts. “Yea. It’s all bullshit, but all new partners have to do it. I’ve had to do one, like, three or four times now. It’s boring and annoying as hell.” He flops back down on his bed, so Ritch grabs his bag of clothes and starts unpacking them while Gavin continues, “We’ll write down that before breakfast and anything past nine or so are solitary times for our sanity. God, fuck all of this. Seriously.”

    “Will therapy appointments and trainee assisting have to go on these personal schedules? And are we turning these in to someone, or are these for private use?” Ritch asks as he puts his small pile of shirts in the locker-closet.

    “Yes to your first question. And people use these schedules to make bonding time or scheduled training or some shit, so we gotta turn them in.” Ritch doesn’t need to turn to know he’s probably doing his ever-so-famous scowl and glare. This entire thing is already becoming exhausting and they haven’t even started yet.

    The next several minutes are thankfully spent in blissful silence. Ritch isn’t sure what Gavin is hiding up on his top bunk, but he never came down for paper or a writing utensil before presumably starting the schedule, so he must have things stashed up there like Connor stashes his own things. If he’s that serious about his own privacy, then he’ll hopefully take Ritch’s request for privacy more seriously than he originally thought.

    “Okay, so I got my part of this fuckery down. You just slap on your schedule on this blank paper, we’ll hand this over. They’ll do a personality thing within the next few days, and then we’ll be back on our own separate ways.”

    That makes Ritch perk up from shoving his bags under the bed.

    “Why would they separate us so quickly?” he asks as he watches Gavin gracefully jump off his top bunk, dropping two pieces of paper on the bottom bunk before striding to the door.

    “Because I’m Gavin mother-fuckin’ Reed, retch.” He opens the door and steps through, but he pauses long enough to grin smugly and add, “No one lasts long with me.”

    He shuts the door behind himself with a clang as if to emphasize his point. It leaves Ritch alone with the silence. He picks up the papers and sees that it’s much simpler than he thought. It’s just a normal chart that has 7 columns for each day of the week. Gavin wrote down his activities next to a rough time estimate of when the various things normally get done.

    Gavin’s schedule has several chunks of time dedicated to patrolling halls that are all listed as “duty” rather than “free time”. Ritch is surprised he wasn’t just roaming the halls with the sole purpose of finding a way to cause trouble, but it makes more sense how he always manages to randomly run into people and trouble and not get reported or something if that’s his job. He wonders if that would still be Gavin’s job if he became a full-time pilot rather than a back-up one that no one really likes.

    “No one lasts long with me” he said? Well, he hasn’t met Ritch when he’s determined to beat a challenge, and “Gavin mother-fuckin’ Reed” just issued one whether he meant to or not. Ritch smirks to himself as he fills out his own rather empty personal schedule, making a vow to himself to stick around the pilot like a stubborn mold just to spite him.

    Maybe this will be slightly more fun than he thought, after all. Only time will tell how exhausting it will be in the long run, though.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    Ritch heads to the training room after finishing up his schedule and leaving it on the desk for Gavin to see. He would have dropped it off himself, but Gavin never said where it needed to go during his dramatic exit, so he’ll just let him do it. It’ll be step one in training Gavin; if he doesn’t tell Ritch all of the information, then he’ll have no help finishing what needs to be done. Ritch just hopes that this is a lesson that’s learned quickly and easily because he doesn’t actually like the thought of passing work on to Gavin just because of lack of communication and information.

    He’s in the middle of weighing the pros and cons of finding Tina Chen and asking what things he should look out for or work on with Gavin when he hears North arguing about something down the hall. He has no clue what’s being said, but she must be complaining to someone else since she occasionally pauses before starting back up again. He finally gets an idea once he gets close to the training room’s entrance.

    “How am I supposed to pilot a jaeger without–”

    “You find someone new, just like Ritch and Connor are trying to.” Markus says, his tone implying that that was far from the first time he’s said that.

    “Technically, Ritch was given another partner this morning.” Ritch forces himself into the conversation, “Now, what is this about?”

    He uses a second to take in their surroundings to make sure they aren’t causing a scene but has to do a double-take. It usually takes more than expected to get him confused and shocked, but finding the room half-empty, despite it being the middle of a training session, sure did the trick.

    His emotions must be apparent on his face for once because Simon explains, “The purge happened this morning.”

    Ritch focuses his attention on Simon and ignores North as she starts loudly complaining again. Honestly, does she not understand that throwing a hissy fit won’t change anything?

    “The purge?” he asks when neither Markus or Simon elaborate.

    “Yea,” Markus nods tiredly, “Luther and Chloe kept several people behind after we left for lunch today, and Josh told us it was so they could let them go in relative privacy.”

    “Ritchie!–”

    “Ritch.” he corrects North sternly, but she ignores him.

    “You’re like the teacher’s pet, right?” She continues before he can give his input, “You gotta convince Luther that he’s making a mistake–”

    “But he isn’t.” he cuts in. “Josh is too much of a pacifist to make it as a jaeger pilot. Connor and I saw that on the very first day of training. But I think he’d be a fairly good fit for the science department, don’t you think?” He adds when North starts going red with whatever petulant emotion she’s feeling right now.

    Simon sounds genuinely intrigued when asking, “Science department?”

    “Well, he loves learning about things, and he’s quite smart and quick to pick up on things if the rate he was learning at during the study time of the day is normally how he is.” Markus and Simon nod, North continues pouting. “And he made friends with several people in the science department already, unless those people who brought the alcohol for that party thing were being bribed somehow.”

    North harrumphs. “I still need a partner, and there isn’t anyone left I like.”

    “Sometimes partnering with someone means you don’t like them at first.” Ritch feels like he’s talking to a child. It certainly shows that she’s always been the youngest of the group. “You just have to adapt and find someone you’re compatible with.” Even as he says this, Ritch doubts she’d be compatible with anyone else in the room. She’s just a little too… herself.

    “You literally can’t be compatible with someone if you don’t like them.” North crosses her arms.

    “Not necessarily.”

    “Yes! Absolutely necessarily!–”

    “No,” Ritch scolds her like a child or a pet, “You don’t. If that were the case, I wouldn’t have been told to pair up with Gavin Reed after we got caught fighting in the hallway.”

    With how wide the trio’s eyes get, Ritch is almost worried their eyeballs will fall right out of their sockets.

    “You seriously got a new partner?!” North exclaims just as Markus asks “You with Gavin Reed?”

    The combination of the two end up turning people’s heads, and Simon is doing nothing to de-escalate things like he would normally try to– he seems too in shock to do much else beyond gaping at him– so Ritch tries his best to explain calmly and quietly. He knows it’s more likely to rile them up, but this group has surprised him many times before. He’s hoping they surprise him again because he really doesn’t want to be known as “the trainee stuck with Gavin Reed” by everyone, especially since Gavin is very obviously not the kind of person who like~ to have a lot of attention on him. He just seems like a chaotic mess and chaotic messes usually get attention, whether it’s wanted or not.

    “This morning, Gavin and I were doing something, but we ended up… disagreeing is a good way of putting it, and it escalated into an actual fight. Marshal Fowler apparently saw it on security cameras and personally came to pick us up and tell us that our punishment is becoming partners.”

    The three gape at him for a couple of seconds before Markus asks, “They can do that? They partnered you up with someone you hate?”

    Ritch scans the room again before answering, just to make sure no one is really eavesdropping anymore. Thankfully, people have mostly turned back to whatever they were doing or talking about before. Ritch nods to where the punching bags are and starts walking towards them so the four of them aren’t right in the entryway.

    “To be fair, we do have an unusual level of compatibility when it comes to combat, and I don’t actually hate him.” He sits down on the ground and watches North as she starts wrapping her hands. “I’d almost say that I don’t particularly dislike Gavin, since I tend to disregard any rumors I hear about him. So far only a couple have been true; his love for fighting and being annoying and his habit of roaming around. And there are a lot of people who do those same things.”

    Simon finally snaps out of his shocked silence. “Wait, what? Haven’t you complained about him picking on you at lunch a couple of times?” Markus nods in agreement.

    Ritch shakes his head, slightly curious and confused. “No, I wasn’t complaining, exactly. It was just different. I poke at him as much as he pokes at me– or as I think he’s called it before– I give as good as I get.”

    North sputters out a laugh that causes Simon and Markus to glare, but Ritch doesn’t understand.

    “Just ignore her,” Markus says before Ritch can ask, “She’s always got her mind in the gutter.”

    Ritch tilts his head curiously. “That’s an inappropriate phrase?”

    Simon looks at him kindly. He’s definitely been the one who helps him the most when it comes to not understanding things, and he appreciates it.

    “It can be for certain people in certain situations. There’s nothing wrong with the way you used it and it makes perfect sense. North is just being an idiot child right now without Josh to balance her out.”

    Ritch nods in acknowledgement and understanding, making a mental note of what he’s learned about the phrase like he normally does with new slang. Maybe Connor had the right idea after all; a journal could be good for remembering everything. The human mind can only do and hold so much, after all.

    “So,” Markus starts, “What does being partners with Gavin Reed entail, then?”

    “So far just alone time in the mornings and nighttime for our sanity. He said we’ll probably be assigned daily bonding or training exercises because we both have large chunks of the day where we don’t do much.”

    North pauses her punching long enough to ask, “So, what are some juicy details?”

    “What do you mean?” Ritch does not like where this is going.

    “Like, what does his room look like? What kind of things does he have for fun.”

    If this is what North is always like without Josh, she won’t last much longer than a week. He just shakes his head with a sigh.

    “That is private information, and I wouldn’t know anyway. Unlike some people,” he sends her a pointed glare, “I actually respect people’s privacy, and he’ll respect mine.”

    “Are you sure about that?” she insists. “You won’t even peek at his stuff when he looks through yours?”

    “If he does– and I don’t think he will,” he corrects irritably while getting up, “why would I look through his things when it’d be easier and less uncomfortable for me to just ask to be removed from the room on an account of purposeful neglection of privacy.” He turns and starts walking away.

    “Ohhh, you’re leaving? It’s just a coincidence that you’re leaving while on this topic? You sure you’re not going to go check right now?”

    Ritch spins to face her so she can get the full extent of his unimpressed glare. It usually works on Connor, and while it seems ineffective on North, she definitely isn’t immune. If she was, he doesn’t know what he’d do to actually get her attention and let her know that he is absolutely done with her for the time being. He almost hopes she gets sent home or told off by Luther as some kind of wake up call for being a complete child right now.

    “I’m leaving because you’re being a nosey, whiny asshole because the partner you were barely compatible with was saved from having his mental health take a huge decline from the violence that a jaeger pilot’s life is filled with.” He sharply turns back towards the entryway of the training room. “Not everything is about you, and not everyone has the same views or values as you. That is what you need to learn before you’re even close to ready for finding a new partner, because I promise you that the people in here won’t be nearly as accommodating as Josh was.”

    He hears no arguments as he walks out of the room, so he’ll take the liberty to assume that Simon and Markus are silently agreeing with him, and that North is going to check herself at least for today, if not for the next several days. He’s unfortunately not naive enough to think it will last to the end of the week, though.

    Just as he steps out of the room, he almost physically runs into Gavin, who’s standing right out of sight from the people inside. Instead of stopping there and revealing Gavin’s poor hiding place, he casually walks past and stops when he, too, is out of sight from the room of trainees. Gavin watches him silently as he does this, then surprises him by not saying anything when Ritch leans against the wall right next to him. That normally gets Gavin at least glaring at him to leave his space, like he did this morning.

    “You know,” he murmurs, not wanting the trainees to hear him, “you could at least let people know that your job is to patrol the area. Less people would think you’re just looking for trouble all the time.”

    Gavin’s face remains relatively blank as he deadpans, “Where’s the fun in that?”

    “Less fun, true, but also less reports on Gavin Reed trying to start trouble, which means less things added to your apparently huge disciplinary folder? Wouldn’t that be worth it?”

    Gavin scoffs, then goes quiet. Ritch starts worrying. So far, he’s learned that Gavin isn’t one to stay quiet for long, but Ritch is also the very last person who should do anything relating to emotions. He’s surprised when Gavin starts explaining himself– Gavin Reed from the countless rumors he hears doesn’t like explaining himself to anyone but the marshal.

    “The official patrolling thing is a brand new excuse for me wandering around all day, but Luther’s always told me when he’s gonna start telling the failed trainees to go home so I can hover around and control any potential fights between punks who are upset that their partners and friends had to leave.” He turns to Ritch with a contemplative look on his face. “You ever think of picking up patrolling after people finally wake up and realize that we’re not gonna work as a pair?”

    “No, because I’d work better with jaegers than with the people. You know I’m not good with people or their emotions, or did you forget that I’m two steps away from being a robot?” he teases. He turns to leave then, not knowing what’s wrong with Gavin right now, but not wanting to accidentally push buttons.

    He stops and turns, however, when the pilot makes some kind of choked noise.

    Gavin huffs and glares at the far wall. “So why didn’t you tell her what my room is like, Mr. ‘this is now technically my room too’? It’s not like there was anything weird in there.”

    “If you heard that, then you heard my reasoning. Besides, with how much you’ve stalked me over the past couple of weeks, you should know by now that I hate drama and gossip.”

    Ritch turns and walks away, not having a real plan of where he’s going. If he knew where to turn in their personal schedules, he’d probably go do that, but he’s already far enough away that he can’t just ask Gavin over his shoulder without alerting everyone inside, and he’s not willing to turn and walk back to him just to ask a question as simple as that. One of them will take care of it later.

    He suddenly remembers Josh, how he’s the one who was told he wasn’t fit for piloting a jaeger. Even though Josh has told him multiple times that he was only doing it for North, that he wanted to be a teacher or something in the learning or education field, it probably still hits that he’s been let go rather than quitting on his own like he was contemplating doing. Although, at least this way North’s petty anger will be aimed at people she can’t touch and not at someone she can seriously damage emotionally, if not physically.

    With those thoughts in mind, he heads to Josh’s bunker to talk to him about maybe joining the science department, even if it’s just as an apprentice or intern or something. He figures with the multiple friends he has there and his obvious interest in the subject that it should be obvious, but it’s been proven time and time again that human brains just aren’t reliable. Maybe North will be less irritated and Markus and Simon won’t be quite as forlorn if he’s still nearby. 

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    Gavin doesn’t know how to feel about Ritch anymore.

    At first, he was just some challenge, a robot he wanted to push and break until he showed some kind of reaction. Then the robot starts pushing and poking back, and they get into a surprisingly enjoyable rhythm. Then he’s suddenly perfectly fine with breaking the rules, even though that seems like it’d go against what Gavin knows of his personality. Then come to find out that he can fight damn well too. Then he’s only mother-fucking 23 years old and he honestly can’t tell if he was exaggerating about the “training everyday since 11 years old” thing or not. 

    Gavin’s used to a neglectful household, between his emotionally absent father and his mother who was so stressed she eventually just upped and left, then his step-mother who was more interested in the money and protection that his father’s job and location offered than the family. He grew up being the older brother who went to work right out of high school despite his father’s wealth because his parents seemed to forget that he and his brother even existed until they did something wrong.

    But training for something as serious and violent as jaeger piloting since 11? As much as Gavin would like to think that it was mostly play until tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum turned 18, Ritch’s level of skill and strength and just the way he carries himself can’t be learned and formed in just four or five years of adulthood. That, and Anderson wouldn’t voluntarily keep Connor around him if that twin was like the other trainees, so it’s not just Ritch.

    It also has come to his attention earlier that the reason why “Stern” sounded so familiar was because of the ever-so-famous Amanda Stern. Gavin doesn’t know much about her, but he does know that she’d probably be determined and crazy enough to adopt children in order to create perfect soldiers. She practically did it with Anderson from what he heard from the man before he became a low-life. Plucked him off the streets at the ripe age of 17, if he remembers correctly.

    Gavin isn’t going to get into that mess whatsoever, though. Ritch very obviously doesn’t see too many issues with how he was raised, and he certainly wasn’t sheltered to the point of living completely under a rock with how many references he’s able to make and understand without stuttering. So no, Gavin isn’t going to touch any of this with a ten foot pole, but he’s also curious of whether or not Ritch is just a really good actor, if he’s got some kind of stockholm syndrome, or if living with and being trained by Amanda fucking Stern instead of going to a public middle and high school wasn’t actually as bad as Gavin’s gut is trying to tell him it would be.

    The problem is, Gavin’s gut has rarely been wrong. Having good gut feelings and instincts is kind of a part of the job as a jaeger pilot. He hasn’t met a successful pilot that didn’t have a good instinct they listened to.

    He pushes himself off of the wall once it becomes obvious that none of the kids inside aren’t going to start a fight based on nothing but mutual anger for having partners and friends being let go. And isn’t that kind of weird, the fact he can easily call everyone in that room children when his partner is at least 3 years younger than the youngest person in there, but he also acts the least childish out of all of them. It almost makes Gavin curious of what kinds of things Ritch has seen and experienced to make him the way he is. What a fucking anamoly.

    When Gavin just turned 23, he was signing up to be a jaeger pilot for the first of two times after getting kicked out of his shitty apartment. He was starting to look for another construction job since they were plenty, but his history of violence wasn’t doing him favors.

    He still remembers the day he got a letter back saying they looked up surveillance videos of a few of the fights he’d picked once they got his second letter– probably because, as he now knows, people rarely try twice without sounding entitled and/or stupid– and decided that they’d take a chance on him, but to not get his hopes up. He remembers being overwhelmed in the best way possible when he and sweet, joyful Ty were finally added onto the “main pilots” list.

    He also remembers the first time he tried to enter the drift with someone after Ty. He remembers staring at himself in the mirror after washing his face with an expression almost identical to the one Ritch had while processing the fact they could be compatible. He remembers the day he found a way to keep his memories and experiences away from the drift.

    Gavin isn’t going to get nosey with this one, but it can’t hurt to stay observant. After all, he’s got a long history of winning fights against abusers of all sorts, and he doubts one old woman would be able to best him, even if it’s Amanda Stern. 

    He shakes his head to get rid of those types of thoughts and tries not to freak out about how protective they sounded even in his own head. He can’t exactly blame himself, though. Once a protective older brother, always a protective asshole who loves to start and finish other people’s fights. He’s done the same thing for Tina and her relatively new partner, so he’s not too terribly surprised to see that it’s starting to happen with the literal only other person he sees regularly. It doesn’t mean he has to like it, though.

    He raises a hand to knock on Tina’s door and freezes. He doesn’t remember actually coming here and he doesn’t know why he’d want Tina, anyway, She can be insufferable with certain topics and this would certainly be one of them. He can already imagine her teasing about how she knew Ritch would be his new “boy toy” and hear her start making innuendos when he really, really doesn’t want to hear any of it today. Ty is too fresh in his mind, the fact that he can think his name instead of his “past partner” or just “him” proves it.

    Besides, now that patrolling is his actual job around here, he probably shouldn’t start skipping out. He may be irresponsible sometimes, but he tries to not be a total jackass about it. Skipping patrol as soon as it becomes his actual job– as opposed to something that he did because he’s a nosey shit and it also kind of annoyed people– would be an absolute asshole thing to do. With that in mind, he backs away from the door and strolls away with the intention to roam around like he usually does. However, he only makes it 3 steps before he spots his own door, which somehow reminds him of the personal schedules he and Ritch have to come up with.

    Gavin idly wonders if Ritch already finished his before setting off to wherever he was obviously itching to go. He certainly seems like the type to get things done immediately rather than putting them off, but he’s also surprised Gavin before in the past. 

    Before he even realizes it, Gavin’s opening his door and stepping inside. Right on the desk are two papers, one that he immediately knows is his own schedule. He strolls over and picks them both up, and takes them with him when he sees the “Signature of Completion” bullshit at the bottom. It stands out compared to the relative emptiness of the rest of the page. There are chunks of time dedicated to meals, and Ritch apparently likes going to help the rest of the trainees with physical training every morning, and has a note at the bottom noting a reserved time for “possible therapy, frequencies and assigned time unknown”. He must be therapist-hopping right now.

    Gavin doesn’t feel bad at all snooping through the schedule. If the higher-ups around here are gonna try to force a partnership on them, then he’s gonna find this shit out anyway. Even if that weren’t the case, it’s not like he’d see anything here that he hasn’t experienced or witnessed before. Therapy is something that is mandated for quite a few people around here, and is voluntarily sought after by others. It’s not anything to be shy about, and Ritch obviously agrees considering one of the first things he asked about these damn schedules was whether or not he’d have to add the sessions in.

    It’s an easy trip of carefully not thinking about anything and letting his mind be distracted by Ritch while not letting it focus too hard on him either. Well, maybe easy isn’t quite the word he’s looking for. It’s a simple walk without any interruptions, but complicated and kind of difficult to keep his head in check. He doesn’t even notice he’s in the office to drop off the schedules until a woman tries to take them out of his hands.

    Noticing her nervous look, he just apologizes, hands her the papers, and walks away. He doesn’t even have the energy to try to come up with something he’d normally say and do. He just wants Ritch out of Ty’s space. He wants Ty out of his own mind. He wants Ty back, but knows that’s impossible.

    He’d probably be over his old partner if they weren’t in the drift together when he was ripped out of the jaeger. He wouldn’t have felt most of the things he did. He may have even been able to say that it was always a possibility for any of them to die, and it was unfortunately him out of everyone else. 

    God fucking damn it. He’s gonna need to set up an emergency therapy appointment, isn’t he? God fuck it, Marshal Fowler should have probably talked to his therapist and whoever the fuck else before doing this. Gavin was actually starting to do better, if he does say so himself.

    At least Ritch seems like the type of guy who will leave him the fuck alone and won’t mess with his shit. He even put the morning and nighttime alone-times on his own schedule even though Gavin was half joking. Not to mention Ritch is the first person since Tina who teases him back just as much as Gavin teases while still knowing when it’s time to cut that out and be serious.

    Mother fucking fuck. He’s done thinking about this. He needs a distraction. Now.

    Gavin heads to the gym, hoping to work out any nervous energy he suddenly has now that the melancholy seems to have passed. He’ll set up that appointment tomorrow after he’s had some sleep. Besides, he wants at least some information on what kind of roommate Ritch is before he goes off to start complaining to the girl who loves to gossip. Going in without a plan is exactly what’s going to get the two of them stuck together permanently. That is, if their “natural compatibility” doesn’t start fucking up any time soon instead.

    It’s almost fucked up how this entire situation simultaneously feels like purgatory for being an asshole forever and a potential second chance. Whatever, Gavin’s just going to roll with it like he always does and hope things go back to normal soon enough.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    Dinner finds Ritch sitting on the ground against the wall, feeling pitiful as he eats his very Americanized nachos.

    He tried sitting with his Markus, Simon, Josh, and North for all of a couple minutes before North drove Josh away while he was trying to explain the plan he and Ritch made to get him into the science department. Markus then told North off, who started snapping at Ritch for whatever damned reason. At that point it was either force himself to walk away calmly or cuff her upside the head, which would have led to her starting a fight he would have finished in seconds at the cost of disciplinary action against him.

    So he walked away, even if it took every ounce of his self-control to not grab her hand and sweep her feet out from under her when she tried to escalate things into a fight anyway.

    She’s turning into a new, whiny version of Alex and Ritch will not put up with any of it. If she doesn’t quit within the next couple of days, he’s going to have to bring this to Luther’s attention, because, according to Simon and Markus, she does not get nearly this bad during training. He just wishes he didn’t have to. He considered her a friend before, but now he’s not so sure he could handle any more unpredictability in his life. He has enough of it already with Gavin, and even then, he at least doesn’t antagonize for the sake of it. If he’s anything like Ritch, then he gets some kind of emotional release out of being a relatively unpredictable asshole.

    “What the hell are you doing here, vomit?”

    Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

    “I might ask the same question, book.”

    “Book?” Gavin asks with palpable confusion.

    “Vomit?” Ritch asks back almost mockingly. He figures Gavin’s most recent favorite nickname, Retch, went a little further and turned to vomit. “Look, if you want to sit, I’d suggest you do it. I’m not in the mood to play our usual games and, quite frankly, I’m hiding from someone.”

    Gavin’s eyes widen in visible surprise, but he takes a step forward and drops down to the floor. “You? Hiding someone? Why would the ‘top of the class’–” he makes air quotes “–need to avoid someone?”

    Ritch decides to be bluntfully honest. “To keep me from smacking them upside their whiny little head and getting me in trouble. Why would the man who’s known to love fights be hiding from someone?”

    “I never said I was playing coward, ass.” Gavin huffs irritably.

    “Then why aren’t you with Tina Chen like you always are?” he asks after finishing his bite of food.

    There’s a minute that passes where neither of them say anything to each other, but the ambient sounds of the food court keep things from going silent. Ritch hears Gavin muttering to himself, but he easily blocks that out because Connor does the exact same thing. He sometimes wonders if it helps people like them process and retain information or if it’s just a habit. Ritch certainly can’t force himself to speak when not necessary, and Amanda hadn’t ever said anything about him muttering like she had with Connor.

    “Tina Chen is a gossip at heart and loves making a big deal out of little things.”

    Ritch huffs. “I dislike people like that.”

    Ritch sees Gavin scowl and open his mouth to speak out of the corner of his eye. He never does say anything, though, he just closes his mouth and huffs in an irritable way.

    Neither one of them spend very long eating, and neither one of them say a single thing for the rest of their dinner. Ritch stands up to put his stuff away first, but he spots Gavin finishing and getting up as he walks out of the food court area.

    They say nothing to each other even though Gavin’s natural walking pace is a tad faster than Ritch’s, so they end up walking beside each other for a while. They don’t say anything while cooling down after dinner, and Ritch stays silent when Gavin calls his therapist on his radio thing and asks him for a “rant session” that evening. Gavin stays quiet and reads whatever book he has on his top bunk while Ritch gets himself together for his therapist trial.

    Gavin isn’t there when he returns, and Ritch is somewhat thankful for it. He actually likes this therapist, especially compared to the first one he visited, so he managed to gather the courage by the end of the session to mention keeping a journal to remember things. She said that keeping notes is a great way to keep track of things in a new environment and vent about anything he doesn’t feel comfortable telling other people. That, and more than plenty of people keep notes just for the sake of having reminders of events and other things, so they’re not just used for studying or therapy.

    Just a couple minutes after Ritch makes his charts on different people and a few lists of words and phrases and what they mean to most people, Gavin walks in. He immediately grabs some pajamas out of his locker with tense shoulders and jerky movements then goes inside the bathroom. Ritch decides to ignore as much as he can by reading a book that Josh recommended, since he may be leaving soon and will need it back. Gavin comes back out several minutes later, pauses to look around at who knows what, then settles his hands on his hips with a sharp sigh.

    Ritch tears his eyes away from the surprisingly good fiction novel in order to glance at Gavin. The pilot must take that as acknowledgement enough because he starts speaking.

    “So, my therapist had an idea I’d like to try, for once,” he declares.

    Ritch raises an eyebrow. “I’ve heard you’re supposed to listen to your therapist’s advice.”

    “Yeah, well, they’re not the fuckin’ know all be all of any of our lives, y’know?”

    Ritch emphatically does not know– he doesn’t quite understand what that phrase means– but he nods along anyway.

    “So anyway, I’m sure you’ve heard about how I used to have a partner.” Gavin sounds like he’s going to continue, but he doesn’t.

    Ritch hesitantly shakes his head. “I haven’t, but it makes sense since you’re in a two-person room rather than a single-person back-up room.”

    Ritch decides that he doesn’t need to know why said partner isn’t with him anymore. They either quit and left Gavin behind or they died, both of which are cases that need a lot more delicacy than Ritch has in order to handle and navigate without ruining what little truce they have right now.

    Gavin’s face scrunches up in confusion for what seems like less than a moment before he smiles sarcastically and claps his hands together.

    “Well then! Yes, I used to have a partner, and all of his stuff went where all of your shit is.” Gavin starts pacing. “And you see, I’ve always fucking hated all of my partners for valid fuckin’ reasons, right? And my therapist was always like, ‘you like who you like, and you can’t pilot with someone you hate’ yadda yadda yadda. So imagine my surprise when I come to him to complain about you, he stops me and tells me that I’m just afraid of replacing my old partner, right?” Gavin, once again, sounds like he’s just going to continue, but stops for whatever reason.

    Ritch nods slowly once more. “That’s an understandable feeling to have,” he says in a carefully neutral tone.

    “Yeah, sure, but it shook me up because that’s the first time he’s said something like this, right? So, turns out, my fucking therapist was on board with us pairing up and cleared it before we even knew it was our punishment. Like, what the fuck?”

    Ritch has no clue what’s happening, but he figures that if this is what’s going to keep Gavin from trying to fight him and their superiors every step of the way of whatever is happening anymore, then he’ll do what he does second best and sit silently. It’s not like Gavin ranting at him is going to do any damage as far as he can tell, even Ritch doesn’t understand why he would ever want to come to him with these types of issues.

    “So he’s goin’ on about his therapist thing that he’s paid to do, and he says that I’m gonna put up with your ass for a whole two weeks before we can request to split! All because he thinks our banter was a sign of some shit and our fighting styles are super compatible!”

    “They are,” Ritch interjects cautiously. “Compatible, I mean. I was taught to be able to tell in the event that something happened to Connor and I had to find someone else to pilot with.”

    Gavin blinks hard, then blinks a couple more times before shaking his head.

    “Your– You know what? I don’t have time to deal with your shit right now.” he replies combatively, tensing up as if preparing for a fight. Ritch holds back a sigh.

    “I… didn’t want to start anything? I was just listing facts. You mentioned that your therapist had an idea you wanted to try earlier? I assume it involves me– and I mean this in a kind way– or else you wouldn’t be venting to me, of all people.”

    Gavin goes blank and blinks once more, then snaps his fingers with a, “That’s right! Listen, we’re gonna switch our stuff around.”

    Ritch, as used to Connor’s random bullshit as he was, does not understand where the connection in any of this is. He just wants to read his book and get some good sleep before helping the angsty trainees tomorrow morning.

    Gavin huffs. “Look, He said it’s like I’m finding reasons to hate people because they’re replacing my old partner, right?”

    Oh. I think I understand now. I’m fairly sure I’ve read about this somewhere…

    “But I’m not replacing them. I’m someone else entirely, so you want to switch our stuff around so it’s not like I’m taking over his old space and replacing them further, but more like you’re keeping his old place and his memories safe, then I’ll be in your place where you aren’t as emotionally attached? Is that about the idea of it?”

    He meets Gavin’s wide eyes. This is probably the most genuine surprise and confusion he’s seen from him.

    “Uh, yeah. Kinda. How did you?”

    “I read psychology books in my spare time.” Ritch stands and looks away. If Gavin is going to offer something private information like that, then Ritch will return the favor. “People have always confused me, so I tried using psychology to learn about them more. Then I got more interested in how different kinds of people react in different ways when I realized how different Connor and I are from each other, despite being identical twins who grew up in the same conditions.”

    “But your eyes are blue.” Gavin blurts. Ritch is about to turn that question down when Gavin waves his hands dismissively. “Y’know what? I don’t actually care. I just want to move our stuff around so maybe my brain’ll stop fuckin’ me over. It’s been less than one god damned day and I’m already sick and tired of this shit. Two fucking weeks…” Gavin adds under his breath, but Ritch still catches it.

    Ritch nods in acknowledgement and moves to start taking things off the shelves. It may be a bit of an adjustment, getting used to his stuff being on the opposite side of where he’s used to reaching, but it shouldn’t be too bad.

    Gavin quietly follows after, sliding his stuff over to the other side of the shelf rather than actually picking things up and moving them. The silence continues after that. They don’t say a word to each other while moving things around, and really that may be a testimony to how compatible they are. Ritch moves some of his stuff when he notices Gavin preparing to move some of his own things in that spot, and Gavin follows him over to a new area of the room when he finishes a spot.

    Three mostly-silent hours later, the room has been readjusted and Ritch is clean and is climbing into bed to finally sleep. He’s out like a light just as he notices that Gavin is still on the top bunk even after everything else is switched. He’ll leave it alone; he really doesn’t want to have to climb up to the top bunk with injuries or during late nights, after all.

    Ritch wakes up the next morning to a note on his pillow and can’t help but smirk a little. “You won’t catch me dead on the bottom bunk. Have fun listening to creaking, whacking your head, and being closer to the bugs and shit down there.” It’s good to know they’ll agree to disagree on which bunk is best, at least.