Chapter Eleven - Give Me A Sign

So. I have no excuse for my tardiness, and nor do I have motivation to write. For some reason, I just have no idea what they might have done in Paris. So next chapter is going to be in Toulouse, skipping ahead a few years.

Sorry for the short chapter.

On the first night they arrived, Ze'ev had barely slept. Paris was too different from the training facility.

It wasn't just that having a single room felt far too quiet, although there was something in that. But the outside was awash with thousands of scents and voices, technology buzzing and hovers moving. Cities never slept like training areas.

When light began to break in his room, he sat up immediately. Ze'ev then scrambled for the window and watched the first sunrise he'd seen in years.

It wasn't quite the shock of leaving an underground area that made Ze'ev gape, but it was the first time that he truly understood Earthens saw sunrises every time they woke up. He sat by the window, staring at the sky, until the sun was high in the air.

The facility had begun to come alive with sound.

Ze'ev glanced at his new clock, which was oddly similar to the one that had hung in the barracks. It was almost six am.

Jael had allowed them a late start today, because the thaumaturge was still working out how to train on Earth. Still, Ze'ev would never get back to sleep.

He headed into the shower attached to his room. In the few weeks he'd been alpha on Luna, he'd always been one of the first to wash; he'd thought he was used to having warm water. It only took a second to realise warm was not the same as hot.

Ze'ev yelped and stepped away from the steaming shower. Awkwardly, he reached around the gush of water to grab the tap. He'd meant to turn it off, but grabbed the wrong one. When he twisted it, the water levels increased, but also cooled down.

Amused, Ze'ev continued experimenting with the taps. The idea of being able to control the temperature you washed with seemed like something for only royalty; although, he considered as he wrapped a towel around himself, he didn't really remember RM-9's showers and Lunar Operatives might not have been the norm.

He dressed in his usual uniform, ran a brush through his hair to get rid of the tangles, and headed downstairs.

Doors were opening and closing as the rest of the pack got ready too. Ze'ev was the only one who had a single room, which was a privilege of being alpha. He'd heard a rumour that Ran didn't have a bed, but he didn't think he believed it – or at least, didn't believe that it was a permanent thing.

Ze'ev wasn't entirely sure where to go, but he felt like he'd explored his room enough. Instead, he wandered around the building that was to be their new home.

It was oddly designed, Ze'ev reflected. A second-era theatre that just barely showed signs of the wars it lived through. He thought that maybe it was designed to be pretty, but he had no experience with pretty.

There was an office that Jael had claimed; Ze'ev gave it a wide berth. Beneath the surface was a basement that he assumed was once for storage – it would probably be again. The largest room held a giant stage, which made sense for a theatre but surprised Ze'ev anyway. In a small box Beta Wane Becke sat, overlooking the stage with a distant gaze. He nodded when he saw his alpha, who nodded back.

Ze'ev wandered past a dozen dressing rooms. He wondered why most of his pack had to share rooms when there were so many spare, until he noticed the old building had new doors, each fitted with a lock secure enough that no-one could escape. He didn't really want to think about who Jael expected to be locking up there.

There was a small communications office, which was set up with many screens. Ze'ev had no idea what was current, but he was confident that this, at least, was state-of-the-art. Orders would need to come through, if nothing else.

A small kitchenette was set backstage. Ze'ev wondered how food was going to be done – training included knives, but not in any way useful to cooking.

When he came through the curtains onto the stage, Beta Becke was still sitting on the box office, looking off into the distance.

Ze'ev wasn't entirely sure why he went around to join him. Still, he climbed the stairs, and slipped into the seat behind him.

Wane would have known he was coming from the start. He glanced around when Ze'ev sat down.

"We made it," Wane said simply.

Ze'ev knew what he was talking about. "We did."

"Thank you, for that."

It was the first time Ze'ev had been explicitly thanked for winning the battle, although he'd seen gratitude in other ways – in smiles, in steaks and held punches and ignored insults that were not how an alpha was usually treated, random acts of kindness that had made Ze'ev uncomfortable and yet oddly pleased. "I was glad to do it."

The words hung in the air.

It was entirely Ze'ev's imagination, he knew, but for a moment he thought he could recognise Crater Brock's scent as one of the pack members exploring the theatre.

"I was glad to win," Ze'ev amended. That wasn't quite right, either, since he'd never planned on winning, just impressing the queen. "Or at least, to survive."

Wane nodded, still staring at the stage. "I get it."

The two sat there for a moment. Ze'ev considered getting up and finishing his exploration, leaving Wane to his thoughts.

"Alpha Kesley?" Wane asked, just as Ze'ev began to rise. "Now we're here, what's next?"

Ze'ev paused. "I don't know," he said honestly.

"Improvement, maybe."

"Maybe."

Wane drifted off into his thoughts again. Ze'ev silently slipped out of the room, and headed downstairs.

The early morning sun glinted through the windows. Ze'ev watched the light fall against the wall, more gentle than the artificial light he'd seen underground.

Hopefully improvement.

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