CHAPTER NINE

After that, my days passed quickly, falling into a routine that, most of the time, felt like leisure. Meal times with Keith became an all-the-time thing, with me meeting him for not only breakfast and lunch, but dinner too. We chatted on Twitter throughout our workdays and then for about an hour before bed.

Meanwhile, during the day, I worked hard to do my fill preparing for the Atlas' launch—which was rapidly approaching. The Jarvises had already been prepared for both space combat and space travel, but they needed to be moved from they bays in the hangar to their bays in the Atlas, as well as all their equipment.

As I ferried box after box of records, paperwork, and various bits of tech, my heart sang, my head filled with daydreams of caves and overlooks, campfires and tents, and company—hopefully, only one person's company. The next time I had Keith in front of a campfire, I wanted there to be nobody around to talk about us. It didn't matter if they talked about how cute or how cringey we were—I just wanted him to myself.

Night after night, I crossed off another day on my phone's calendar. Each one was another day until my first ever date, as well as my first ever date with Keith. The day grew closer and closer, until on Thursday morning, as I was packing for our departure the next day, I received an e-mail from my father.

Heard you were heading out soon. You pack enough socks?

Standing in front of my dresser, I stared at the message for a long time. For most of that time, I felt nothing. I felt numb, until I didn't anymore. Then I was just seeing red. Did I pack enough socks? Was he serious? If I was with him now, he wouldn't be asking; he'd just be criticizing after I forgot them. And, did he seriously think I wasn't adult enough to pack socks? What was with him and treating me like I was cognitively impaired?

Or maybe, just maybe—you self-righteous bitch—he's just making a joke.

Hands trembling, I forced myself to put my phone down, sucking in several deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself. I knew how my body reacted when my family contacted me—in my first few years as a cadet, my emotional benders had been extreme. I'd lashed out at my peers, disobeyed my superiors, eaten everything I could get my hands on and done everything I could short of doing drugs to numb myself out.

Now? Now, I knew I was afraid. Not angry, but terrified. Shaking in my absolute fucking boots. But, there was no reason to be, I reminded myself. I was in Arizona—thousands of miles away. I was safe—safer than I'd ever been at the Alberta Garrison, and I'd been safe there, too. When Dr. McKay had learned of what had happened, she's started turning them away at the gates. Even in a place where I hadn't been particularly liked, someone had my back.

Picking up my phone, I shook it up and down, sending the message to the trash. I didn't need to work myself up trying to respond to it, and I didn't need to worry about it anymore. All I needed to worry about was my life here, my life now, and that was what I was going to do.

"Hey, K," I said, bumping his elbow as I walked into the cafeteria.

"Hey," He said.

That day, he had a different bandage on his face than he usually did—a thinner one, without the oily ointment. As we stepped outside, heading across the still-damp tarmac, he saw me looking at it and rubbed the side of his neck with his hand.

"What happened?" I asked, and his eyes widened. "The night we met, it looked healed."

"Oh," Keith said, looking down at the bits we was peeling out of his orange juice's label. "I don't know. Got it revised a little, I guess."

I blinked twice. Our shoulders brushed as we walked along the fence line, and I unwrapped my sandwich.

"Revised?"

He looked at me.

"They did a skin graft, or something. Trying to get it to look less…"

"…Red?" I guessed, remembering how it'd looked on that night—a shade of crimson like scalded lobster, so close to his eye that I'd wondered if he was blind in it.

"Yeah," He said.

He looked down, the muscles around his eyes tensing up as he narrowed them. I wanted to hug him, to squeeze his shoulders tight until he stopped making that face, but I couldn't. So far, our touches had been isolated to hands on shoulders and arms, not full-fledged embraces or prolonged contact. It would be weird—I'd be forcing things.

"It looked like it hurt," I said instead.

"It did," Keith said, touching the edge of the bandage. "A lot."

"Talk about something else?"

"Yeah."

We passed the hangar—it's doors were open, and inside, they were rolling the MFE Fighters into the Atlas as Rizavi, Griffon and the rest of their pilots stood nearby. Keith and I stopped to watch, standing side by side as the sun rose and the asphalt started to mist. After a long while, I turned to Keith.

"You never told me," I said. "If you were serving on the Atlas, I mean."

"Yeah," He said, looking over at me. "Mobile headquarters. You?"

"Yeah. As far as I know, we'll be working on the ground like the MFEs work from the sky." I nudged his elbow with mine again, offering him a smile. "You better not be too busy doing top-secret spy—I mean, humanitarian aid worker—stuff to hang out."

He smiled back, and dodged my arm to elbow me in the ribs. It was a gentle blow, but I responded by leaning into him, trying to push him off of his feet. He leaned back, so we were leaning on each other and his body weight was working against me. Somehow, his weight was comforting—I felt my breathing slow.

"I'll make time," he said.

I searched his face for any sign of mixed feelings, but there were none. He just stared back with his purple-gray eyes and his perfectly-trimmed eyebrows.

"As long as I don't make you roll your bike, right?"

"Better not," He said, but his lips twitched up. "I just got it running again."

"Wrecked it?"

"Left it out for five years without running it."

"Yeowch," I said, offering him the other half of my sandwich.

He hesitated, checking my face before he took it. Holding it in front of his face, he started down at it, nostrils working, before taking a big bite.

"You want it back?" He joked, holding it out to me.

"Depends. Can I lick your teeth marks?"

He sputtered, letting out a laugh, and I did my best impression of his wicked grin.

"Yes? No?"

"No," He said, still chuckling as he mowed down the rest of the sandwich. "I'll eat it first."

"Aw."

I did my best pout, eyes all wide and lip stuck out, and Keith flicked my forehead, prompting me to yelp. But before I could complain, he brought his hand down over my eyes, and in the resulting dark, I felt his breath against my bangs.

"Patience yields focus," he whispered, a smile in his voice.

Then he was gone, striding across the asphalt toward the building. I turned and jogged breathlessly after him.

The day passed in a flash; with everything already stowed away inside the Atlas, there was nothing left to do but watch as the Jarvis mechs themselves were lifted in. I'd already watched the process twice—in Alberta, and there in Arizona—so instead, I went searching for Keith.

All around me, people rushed from place to place, their arms full with cargo and datapads. It was going to be a tight return for Keith and I; when we arrived back from our date in the desert, we'd have only a single night to move to the Atlas and prepare for launch in the morning.

My skin tingled as I looked up at the colossal white ship. What would space be like? What kind of wonders would I see—and what kind of horrors? Rizavi had told me a few things on her tour, but Keith had told me more. Stories of tentacle monsters and robotic beasts, planets covered in volcanoes whose gases could sear a ship out of the sky. It was terrifying, but I was eager to see it for myself.

I found Keith on the far side of the hangar, as I was walking across the aerial walkway. He was the shortest in a small crowd of Galran Blades, lined up in rows and listening intently to a tall, broad Galran man with a white braid. When I saw him, I ducked behind the railing. He looked important. The pale, knotted scar across his eye and cheek hinted at a lifetime of battles.

Not to mention that these humanitarian aid workers were former spies, rebels against an empire that'd destroyed all in it's path. From Keith's unwillingness to talk about his work day, they still valued secrecy. They probably wouldn't take kindly to me watching them, but I was curious. I wanted to see Keith with other Galrans.

Their commander—leader, whoever—finished speaking and turned away from the group. It broke up, and a Galran woman with a ponytail strode over to Keith. She reached out her hand, and I watched as he took it. She leaned down, and they rubbed cheeks.

His mom? What'd her name been? Karlia? Krolia? Yes, Krolia.

I squinted, trying to get a closer look at her as Keith strode off. She wasn't overly built, but she looked like she could pick me up and throw me, or even Keith, without much in the way of effort. She had the longer arms in proportion to her body that many Galra had, but no tail, and no fuzzy ears. Her skin was the color of lavender, though, and I could see that the whites of her eyes were yellow.

I was still peering at her when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"If you look long enough, she'll notice," Keith said.

My body stiffened. Great, he'd found me. But I was also too curious to tear my eyes off Krolia just yet. I watched, leaning forward, as she turned a corner and went around the side of the dropship. I sighed—I hadn't gotten a good look at her face, not enough to see if Keith resembled her. She'd been too far away.

"Sorry," I said, turning to where he'd crouched beside me. "I'm being creepy."

Keith exhaled, his lip curling in what I hoped was a touch of amusement.

"She looks really strong," I said.

I stared at him, hoping for a story, and the curl of his lip blossomed into a smile.

"She is," he said. "When we were in the Quantum Abyss—" He paused. "—You heard of it?"

I shook my head. Another one of the Blades walked past us. He barely spared us a glance, but it must've been deceptive because Keith stood, motioning for me to follow.

"It's a galaxy that's got so many big stars in it that it warps time," he explained as we walked through a set of doors into an unidentifiable hallway. "Step in the wrong place, and it'll literally stretch you to nothing."

Stretch me to nothing? What did that even mean? I thought about asking, but I wanted to hear the story about Krolia being strong more. I nodded for Keith to continue, and he began to motion with his hands.

"I got knocked off of the rock we were standing on, and was being stretched, and she pulled me back in out of it without any equipment. Just her arms."

I smiled—my intuition about her had been right.

"Must've been fun," I said.

Keith smile faded somewhat.

"Not really," he said. "It was really dangerous—there were monsters trying to kill us, and we'd lost our ship, so we were just out there in our suits, jumping from asteroid to asteroid."

"Exciting then?"

He looked at me, his eyes watching my reaction.

"Exciting started on the whale," he said.

"Whale?" I asked, quirking a brow.

"There were space whales out there, too. Oh," He tipped his head. "That's where we found Kosmo, too."

"Your dog?"

At that moment, there was a blue flash ahead of us. I lifted my arms to cover my face as a blue-black blur flew towards us, barreling into Keith and knocking him off his feet with a thud. I turned to look, and when the blur stilled on Keith's chest, my eyes widened.

"That's not a dog," I said. "That's a wolf."

Kosmo—or at least, I assumed this creature was Kosmo—was far bigger than Keith was. Laying on Keith's chest, his back legs and long, furry tail splayed out across the floor way past his feet. The so-called space dog he'd told me about at the barbecue turned to look at me, sharp yellow eyes considering me from a long, narrow face covered in blue markings.

I paused. He didn't look like he was aggressive or shy. In fact, he looked like an overgrown baby. His fur was still soft-looking, and his feet were huge, his long legs giving him a coyote-like appearance. Walking over, I knelt beside Keith and held out my hand to Kosmo, like I would've for an actual dog.

"Hello Kosmo," I said. "I'm Ría."

The space wolf inched forward on Keith's chest, eliciting a pained gasp. He stretched his nose out toward my skin, it's tip working hard as he took in my scent. Finally, after a long moment, he took my hand gently in his mouth. When I pulled it away, it was covered in sticky drool, and I smiled, keeping his attention on my face while I wiped my hand on my uniform behind my back.

"You need help, K?" I asked, looking down at Keith.

He was staring at me and Kosmo, his expression unreadable, not looking like he was in much pain. When I spoke, he put one hand on the wolf's ribs and pushed. Kosmo stood up. Shaking his fur out, he loped away in the direction of the hangar with his tongue hanging out of his mouth.

Keith sighed, sitting up. I offered him a hand, and he took it, so I hauled him to his feet. Our eyes met, and his hand lingered in mine, but only for a moment, and then it was gone. He rubbed his neck and gave an awkward smile.

"He is a wolf," He said.

"Don't worry," I said, smiling. "I get it—too much to explain, right?"

Keith's head lifted, and his eyes widened a little.

"Yeah."

I bumped his elbow with mine, and he bumped right back as we started walking again.

"You were talking about the whales," I prompted.

"Oh," He blinked. "Right. It had it's own atmosphere, all kinds of plants growing on it's back—saved our life, gave us someplace to live and food to eat."

"Sounds cushy."

"Well, like I said—there were monsters, and we had nothing but the clothes on our back," His eyes turned distant as he sank deeper into the memory. "And the Quantum Abyss kept showing us each other's memories, so Mom—" That was the first time he'd referred to her as his mom, instead of Krolia. "—saw what happened when Dad died. When they put me in foster care and—"

Keith blinked several times, as if remembering that he was actually talking to someone. He looked away, then back at me, his shoulders tense and his gaze uneasy.

"You were a foster kid?" I asked, meeting his eyes.

He stared back at me, his shoulders sinking.

"Yeah."

So, Krolia hadn't been there—or maybe she had. But if she'd been hiding on Earth before the war, why hadn't she taken Keith into hiding with her?

Questions filled me, but I held them all back. Foster care probably sucked for him to talk about—maybe I should keep my nosy nose to myself for once. But, even as I filed the topic away, in my head I saw a smaller Keith, with shorter hair, a rounder face and scuffed-up knees. A little boy who grew up in the desert and named beans, who'd somehow lost both his dad and his mom and been plucked up from his home and tossed somewhere else—probably multiple somewhere elses before winding up in the Garrison. Just how hard had he studied to get in?

I cleared my throat.

"So, about the whales—"

Eventually, Keith was called back to work. When he was, I went outside and sat on a part of the rooftop where I couldn't be seen. I undid my ponytail, letting my shoulder-length hair blow in the wind as I stretched my hair elastic between two of my fingers.

I'd stayed with my parents—I hadn't been a foster kid—but once or twice, my teachers at school had called CPS. They'd visited, I remembered, but my memory became unreliable and then blanked when they walked out the door, leaving me behind with my likely incensed parents. I had no clue what'd happened next, and I didn't want to know. I already had enough to deal with.

But, if Keith was a foster kid, then maybe he and I weren't so different after all. Maybe—maybe—I wouldn't have to hide all that from him.

Wishful thinking, I thought, letting my hand fall to my lap. What if Keith had good foster parents? What if he'd been adopted by a nice family before he'd seen too much? What if we were really, truly nothing alike? What if I told him about what happened, and he didn't believe me? What if he was one of those people who thought family and good were synonyms?

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, starting to dig my father's e-mail out of the trash, but then I stopped myself. Frowning, I forced myself to lock my phone and put it away. I didn't need to look at it again—I knew what it said, and what it didn't say. Both look, I'm a good parent and I wish I was a good parent.

Standing, I slid down the stairs and started back toward the building. But even as I did, what-if questions swirled in my head, giving off a sweet but sickeningly dangerous scent.

Hope.

Keith said:
Can't make it to dinner tonight, too much work.

Already seated at a table in the busy cafeteria, a bottle of juice and a warm meal Hunk had forced me to take on the table in front of me, I gave my phone's screen a lukewarm smile. Then, I started to type back.

Bleu Bees said:
No shit.
I kind of stole you, didn't I?

Keith said:
For two hours.
Dangerous.

Someone bumped my table, but I didn't look up. I was too busy marveling over that word: dangerous. Keith thought I was dangerous. Listening to the tone of my own thoughts, I rolled my eyes. Every once and a while, I caught myself sounding like a teenager when I thought of Keith, and the thought of anyone noticing made me want to curl up in a hole.

Bleu Bees said:
Go get 'em, Tiger.

Keith said:
Am I your next Tony?

I smiled, my fingers tapping my phone screen.

Bleu Bees said:
I said go get 'em!
Don't let them catch you texting.

I put my phone down, still smirking to myself at his reference to my pet brick, and looked up to see Rizavi sitting directly across from me. I jerked in alarm. Her eyes were shining, and she put both elbows on the table, hands balled beneath her chin.

"Now dish," she said.

Sighing, I picked up a spork and speared a piece of meat. All around us, others were doing the same. Everyone had some type of steak, a chuck of compressed mystery meat with gravy and bits of carrots poured over top. If Hunk had cooked this, he was clearly trying, but the materials the Garrison had given him left a lot to be desired.

"You're joking, right?" I asked, popping the meat into my mouth.

It was salty, but at least it wasn't dry. It didn't taste as bad as I'd thought, but it didn't taste good, either. I made a face, but chewed and swallowed it down without incident.

"Nope," she grinned wide. "I haven't been able to get close to you for over a week because Keith's been all over you, all day, every moment of the day. So dish."

I gave her a wary side-eye.

"You make it sound like we've been going to second base on the table in front of everyone."

"Maybe if we count doing it with your eyes," Rizavi said, wiggling her fingers like a witch and then popping a french fry in her mouth.

My eyes widened, and my mouth fell open.

"Where did you get those?" I asked, pointing with one finger at the paper plate of golden, deep fried potatoey goodness that sat in front of her.

Her grin split her face from ear-to-ear as she found her hook, and I sank back in my seat. Crap, I thought, wishing I hadn't said anything.

"You tell me something juicy," she said, pulling the plate toward herself. "And I'll share."

"Nope," I said, turning back to my own food.

I speared another piece of meat and put it in my mouth, staunching the urge to make another face. Rizavi watched, her smile strong and unfading.

"Yum," I said. "Salt."

"You sure?" She asked, holding up a fry.

"Absolutely, ten-thousand and one percent sure," I said.

My relationship—or potential for one—with Keith wasn't gossip. It was mine; I wasn't going to tell her shite, even if she kidnapped me in the night to waterboard me or something equally improbable and, more likely, impossible.

Her eyes narrowed, and I narrowed mine right back, even though the eye contact made my insides vibrate uncomfortably like a tuning fork.

"Rizavi," Someone called from another table, and her gaze slid from mine.

I breathed a sigh.

"Next time," she said, pointing at me, and I shook my head.

She stood up, gathering her plate, and then she was gone. I turned back to my meal, but before I'd even picked up my spork, another body slid into her place. Brow furrowed, I looked up to find Katie Holt staring at me from behind her round glasses.

"Rizavi I get," I said, betrayed. "But you?"

Katie wrinkled her freckled nose and curled her lip.

"Ew," she said. "No. I don't want to hear about you and Keith sucking face."

My brow furrowed even further.

"Uh, we haven't gotten that far, yet."

"Again—ew. I want to know about the Jarvis AIs."

My mouth opened, then clicked shut. Had I seriously just said that? No wonder she didn't want to know—I was oversharing. Ducking my head, I looked away and spooned gravy and carrots into my mouth. The carrots at least had the sense to be kind of sweet, but the gravy tasted a little like flour.

"Okay, sure. Ask away."

Katie readjusted her glasses, and it almost felt like she was readying for an assault. I felt cold prickle across my skin as her lenses glinted.

"What reason did they give for keeping them powered down?"

"They thought they were dangerous—that they'd collaborate and get in trouble," I shook my head. "Y'know, things they wouldn't do."

I got the feeling she'd know, and my shoulders sank in relief when she nodded.

"Hell," I said, forging into the silence. "343 tattles on me when I don't go to therapy. What kind of trouble could they get into with that kind of attitude?"

Katie blinked. Once. Only once.

"What kind of therapy?" She asked.

Huh? Didn't she wanted to know about the AI, I thought, my spork freezing between my plate and my mouth. My gaze turned wary as I watched her. She waited silently for my answer, offering nothing—not even a facial expression—in return, and the cold across my skin turned to electricity.

She was Keith's friend—of course she'd want to know if he person he was showing interest in was going to therapy. What if he was thinking of dating someone who was a secret sociopath? Taking a deep breath, I placed my feet flat on the floor. My voice wobbled a little when I started to speak, but then I managed to steady it.

"Regular therapy is mandatory for Jarvis operators," I said, repeating what Dr. McKay would say. "Because of the strain of the connection process."

Was it just me, or had the corner of her mouth twitched when I'd said that? Did she know I was giving her a canned response? And, how?

"Are they capable of collaborating, though?" She asked.

"They can. They don't do it for any old reason though," I told her. "Someone or something has to be in serious danger."

We talked for twenty minutes, our conversation following that same rhythm. Katie asked about the AI, and then, eventually, I'd slip up. She blinked once—always once—then asked a direct and pointed personal question. By that time, I'd usually relaxed a little, and so each one took me by surprise. Then, once I'd answered due to her expecting silence, it was all about the AI again.

I felt like I was being interrogated, but I had no proof. She was just curious about the AI, wasn't she? Or maybe, I was just on edge and being overly defensive. I'd long since learned not to blindly trust my gut feelings, but I had rows upon rows of danger bells going off in my head, telling me to walk away, to stop answering. Even so, I continued to tell her whatever she asked, throwing blanket after blanket of logic over them to muffle their incessant ringing.

Katie didn't offer up any personal anecdotes—nothing about herself, or anyone else—and when the conversation ended, the cafeteria was nearly empty, the sun sinking behind the hills outside. She'd asked every question I could think of, never mind what she could probably think of, and she simply waved a hand to me and left, sticking it in the pocket of her lab coat.

When she was out of sight, I put my head down on the table and let out a sigh. Slowly, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and opened Twitter.

Bleu Bees said:
I miss you already.

Keith said:
I miss you, too.