This chapter takes place during Ch59 of SFTD.

Just what was in that past of his, Mordenna wondered?

That thought was constantly running through his mind as he walked over to Volk's tent, mind a blur. Fal-Mai had given his thoughts some temporary grounding, but now that they were left to their own devices? It was hard to get them to stop. About as much as he knew was that he was trans, his folks were shitty about it, and that he knew Volk before the war. There was so much gap space there—not to mention his time with the Reapers, too.

The Reapers in the camp gave him a few looks—mostly their gazes flicked to his missing eye and then right to the floor. He didn't look long enough to tell if the look they had was awkwardness or satisfaction. He didn't need to guess, really. Mordenna did his best not to think about it, keeping his own sight trained ahead. He had a destination, and a talk to have.

He eventually got there, ducking into Volk's tent. Well, "tent" was underselling it—the inside had solid walls, with hinges around the seams, like the whole thing was meant to fold up and be moved at a moment's notice. There was a bed off to one side, a low, folding table in the middle, and some folding chairs around it. Volk was in one of them, the smoke from his cigarette lazily floating in the air. He tapped the end of it into an ashtray that looked well-used, gesturing to one of the open seats. "Mords. Was wondering when you'd finally get over here. Lock your sister in a headlock, or?"

"Eh, any other day, maybe." He really didn't get into that much playful violence with his siblings, come to think of it. Fal-Mai might not find it funny and Jax was liable to flinch, which would break his heart. Discarding the thought, he sat down. "Just wanted to make sure she was alright before I went. Got a lot on her mind at any given time."

"Strange to hear you care," he replied. "Not meant as an insult, just acknowledging the absurdity of it."

"Acknowledgement noted, but it's hard not to care about them, nowadays. They're all I've got." He gestured to Volk. "Apparently I might have had others in the past, though...?"

"Right to it, huh? Not even gonna ask how my day is." When Mordenna gave him a sarcastic look, Volk chuckled. He grabbed a pack of cigarettes and offered him one. When Mordenna refused, he shrugged and went on. "Figured your tastes might have changed, supposed it was worth offering. Ah well. I get why you're antsy—I can imagine fifteen years without knowing would get you curious."

"Honestly, I kinda just mourned it when I was with ADVENT," Mordenna admitted. "I never really wanted to know. But now that I have something outside of them... it makes me wonder, yeah?"

"Yeah. Where do you want me to start?"

Mordenna eased into his chair, throwing one leg on top of the other. "The beginning, I guess."

"Right, right." Volk took the last drag of his short cigarette, snuffing it out in the ashtray as he blew out the smoke. "You were a cute kid, back in the day. Pretty clear from day one you weren't a girly kid, though—or at least not exclusively. You didn't want to play with dolls, you wanted to play with trucks—while wearing a pink dress, no less. Your folks told me it was cute then, if strange. But I think that was the limit of their tolerance, sadly."

Mordenna held up a finger, and Volk obligingly stopped. "Before we go on, can I ask just how you knew my family?"

"Simple." Volk smiled. "I'm your uncle."

Mordenna stared at him for a second, then laughed. "No shitting?"

"Nah! I was your mom's brother. Her maiden name was Volikov. They moved over to Canada when she met your dad, and that's where you were born and grew up. You saw me at reunions occasionally." His smile faded, and he sat back in his chair. "It was... easy to see, to me. How things were going from the outside. I saw you get more and more quiet, heard your mom complain more about how you were 'going through a weird phase.' Now, kid, I wasn't near enough tolerant as I should've been. But even I could pin there was something wrong with how you were acting when I saw you and what your parents were talking about." He scratched his beard. "I eventually passed you my email so we could keep in touch. You... slowly opened up about things. You practically weren't comfortable in your own skin. With your own name. And your folks just didn't understand."

As Volk detailed the story, Mordenna felt a deep sense of deja vu. Nothing was seriously pulling up memories like the Network Severance Effect wearing off did, but once Volk brought something up, vague feelings slotted into Mordenna's empty memories. The simple frustration of nobody understanding. The despair that nobody would. The hope that maybe, maybe Volk could. "... I assume this came to a head one day."

Volk rubbed at his mouth. "... you emailed me one day saying you were gonna come out to your parents. I told you it was a bad idea, but... if you were gonna, I was behind you." His hand dropped to his lap. "—it went about as well as you were thinking. Maybe worse. Your folks immediately kicked you out onto the street with barely the clothes on your back. Annette damn near instantly got on me asking if I knew. I told her yes, in so many words. I also disowned her as a sister in so many words. I got you to set up with a family friend in the area and I just... booked it to Canada. You wanted to change your name before I took you back, and we picked out something. David Tomko. Tomko was a little random, admittedly, but you wanted David. I went to your parents' house, chewed their asses out, and got the rest of your stuff."

There was a stab of hurt at that. He couldn't think of names, couldn't see them in his mind. But the feelings came through, and Mordenna crossed his arms, sinking in his chair. "And you, what, raised me?"

"By the time I got to you," Volk replied, "there wasn't much left to raise. Both in the age sense, and... you'd done all of your growing up yourself. Apart from your parents raising you. I gave you a place to stay for a few years, eventually got you a job lined up, and you were off to the races from there. Everything was smooth sailing... 'til the aliens showed up, of course. When shit went down, I got you over to me as soon as I could, we gathered more friends in the area, and off we went. The Reapers." His smile was heavy with nostalgia. "You named us, kid. I'd honestly just wanted to name us the Wolves. We compromised a little in the end, but... you and I were how everything started." He looked away again, eyes lidded. "... losing you was. It was painful. Elena could tell you; first they had to stop me from storming right into a city center to tear you out. Then they had to convince me to get out of bed and my tent every day. I... I'd lost a family member, then. Not quite a son. But something like that."

Mordenna could feel that. He thought of losing Vix, even for a second, and... "I didn't make things easy, did I? Just... showing up. Killing the people I used to run with. Not showing any indication we'd ever been family."

"At first I had myself convinced it wasn't you. But... you kept saying the weirdest things. Kept acting like you did know us. And I'd never known someone who was a shot quite like you. Some of the wolves connected the dots and I shut them down. First out of denial, and then..." He sighed. "Well, I never really stopped being in denial. I just held it to my chest that you weren't David. That David had died the day he was taken, and you were some monster that had taken his place." Volk leaned forward, easing his elbows on the table and holding his head in his hands. "It... it took me until Eliza really showed me you were trying and you basically spelling it out to me that I was half holding you to who David was, half denying you were ever him to realize... that was your parents' thinking. They thought someone had killed their 'daughter' and you had taken her place. And when I realized that, I just couldn't live with what I'd been thinking. Yes, you've committed your fair share of crimes. We've... we've lost people thanks to you. But all this time... I just wanted you back."

Mordenna was silent for a while at that. He... he really didn't know where the hatchet fell, here. He'd wronged the Reapers, time and time again. Volk had thrown vitriol his way, and arguably enabled Elena to lash out at him. Mordenna was inclined to say he was the one the most at fault—you could usually take back words. Not easy to take back a corpse.

He eventually brought his eyes up to Volk, who had been waiting in tense anticipation. "... do you, still? I'm not a victim here, Volk. I've killed people. People you'll never get back. If you welcome me back, people will rightfully accuse you of going easy on me because we used to know each other. And... I won't always be back. I have a kid. I have Eliza. I have a family now, one who accepts me for who I am and wants me to get better. If... if you still want me back, we can bury the hatchet. I can't say I'll be who I was, you know that. But I can be who I am now."

Volk's arms fell, coming to rest on the table. "—I missed you for fifteen years, Mordenna. I was ready for David—for you to come back every day. That—that never changed. I don't want you to be who you were. I just want you here now."

There was a wave of gratefulness coming over Mordenna—something that didn't feel quite like it was coming from him. Maybe it was the final vestiges of David, just happy to know Volk still was waiting for him, after all this time. Maybe it was just basically being welcomed back. All Mordenna knew was that it was a welcome feeling, to be accepted. He stood up, pushing his chair out as he did. He came around to Volk's side, kneeling. He then opened his arms. "Then I'm here. I won't stop trying to get better. I won't stop trying to make up for what I've done. But... it means a lot to me that you're letting me back in."

Volk looked at him, hesitating for a moment. Not a very long moment—soon Volk had wrapped his arms around Mordenna, and Mordenna could smell that old, cheap vodka that David and Volikov used to drink around the house, trying to forget the past.

Maybe they could drink it again.