"Wheels up" was way too early.
That was one of the more polite ways the team expressed their feelings. All of them crawled out of bed just in time to throw on their uniforms and buckle in on the T-Jet. All but two.
Cyborg was already in his pilot's seat, going over his preflight checklist.
"Mornin', Sprout."
"Morning? It's still night! Missions shouldn't start this early. It's illegal." Gar glared at Vic as best he could through red and weary eyes, the only part of him not completely green at the moment. Vic focused on the instrument panel.
"We're crossing time zones, string bean. It's already five-twenty at our destination, and we have a thirty-minute flight ahead of us. Time's a wastin' and half the day is gone." Vic turned to him. "Why don't you must become an owl for a little while? They're nocturnal."
Suddenly, a cat was perched in the co-pilot's seat, kneading the upholstery with emerald paws. He turned around three times and curled up with his tail over his nose. "Ahhhhh, this is better," he sighed.
"Go on back, Gar!" Vic swatted at the cat with a chromed right hand. "I've got to finish up here. And you've got a briefing to review and GPS units to bring on-line."
The cat hissed at him but got up anyway. "Maybe I can curl up with one of these lovely ladies back here. " He started to strut away with his tail and his nose in the air.
The silver giant laughed and called after him. "Good luck, buddy-roe. There's coffee in the back galley, and there's a bite to eat if you're hungry."
"Breakfast? Who had time to –"
"Who do you think? Our Resident Insomniac."
The green cat ran past the others that were milling like zombies about the main cabin.
Coffee. Coffee. Coffee.
He could smell the roasted beans in a way that only a feline could appreciate. He returned to his human form and poured a steaming cup full. He found all the elements of the coffee ritual: sugar, cream, and even those super-cool single-serve hazelnut crème buckets that he liked so much. Nobody else likes hazelnut. And she doesn't drink coffee. Hunh. An open box of tea bags offered a change to anyone who would take it, but no one ever did. But the fresh bananas and apples were equally inviting.
"Please, have something. Eat." The voice came out of nowhere.
He jumped, like he always did. Like he knew everyone always did. But he forgave the scare when he smelled a basket of . . .
"Muffins!" He inhaled the steam deeply. "And blueberry to boot!"
He took the basket from her outstretched hands and secured them in the galley. He promptly wolfed down three of them.
"Mmmph. . . Mmm. . .Blueberry good." He washed the crumbs down with coffee. "Caffeine good. Say, where's your cloak?" He had a rare glimpse of her bare back as she pulled down more mugs from the cabinet. The tattoo of her namesake in the small of her back winked at him.
"In the kitchen. I have found cloaks to be unwise clothing when cooking." She turned again so her back was no longer visible.
"Found out the hard way, eh?"
"Yes. I had to pull out my spare." She offered no details. "Please tell Cyborg that the GPS units are ready. I need to finish some other preparations."
He brushed the crumbs from his purple-and-white uniform. "Well, breakfast and doing my job is sweet and all, but are you sure it was a good use of time? You should've been catching forty. Did you sleep? Do you ever sleep when we're all here?"
"I need to get something." In a poof of . . . irritation? . . . she disappeared. She might be the team's empath, but Gar had senses of his own. She might fool others with her eternally bored stone face, but not him. He had known her too long to not see the tics and twitches in the rest of her: the tension in her shoulders, the tapping of her smallest fingers against her thighs when she was uncertain, the slight shuffling of her steps when she was tired, and the twitching of her violet eyes when the pain she always carried surfaced. And his animal ears always picked up her struggles with insomnia, even many rooms and halls away. At least she is talking more today.
She reappeared, just as quickly, this time with her cape and a small blue bottle in her left hand. She clutched a roll of fax paper in her right.
"Sunscreen? Gee, thanks, mom! Why are you taking such good care of us?"
She struggled to attach her cape without touching him in the confined space. She failed. He helped her clip it to her shoulders just before she deftly stepped back.
"I must admit that I do have an ulterior motive."
Admission? Hmmmmmm….
"The better prepared we are, the less everyone gets hurt. The less everyone gets hurt –"
"--the better it is for our favorite Walking Band-Aid. I see. Officer thinking, Rave."
He snatched another muffin. "And here I thought you were trying to get to my heart through my love of berries. You wound me." He sighed. "They do pass the taste test."
She just stood there, looking bored. Her smallest fingers twitched slightly. I guess old habits just refuse to die, sometimes.
"Prepare for takeoff," Cyborg's voice crackled over the intercom. "Gar is riding shotgun. Bring me a muffin, broccoli-brains."
"Okay, rust bucket!" Gar yelled back up the aisle. He winked at Raven as he reached for the basket. "You never answered my question. Have you been sleeping?"
She brushed past him, flattening herself against the wall.
"Bad dreams again?"
She paused at the door but didn't turn around.
"Leave some for the others."
She slipped up the aisle to her seat.
Bored? He knew better.