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'The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.'

-Ernest Hemingway

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Chapter 6: Heart's Memory

>You stand trembling despite the warm glow around you, not because of the bite of the cold outside, but because you're anxious.

>You faced down soulless killing machines in droves before. Why were you so scared of the possibilities here?

>Suck it up girl! You can do this... just.. be yourself.

>Damn that's unhelpful, but fuck it! You might as well go all in, it's not like you can turn back on this now.

>You suck in a great breath to push your chest out just that little more, and you let the robe slide off your shoulders.

>You close your eyes and grit your teeth, somehow expecting the judgment to sprout fangs and bite you.

>The doubts play and squabble in the back of your head as you try to ignore them. You're too large. You're too different. You're too timid. No, too aggressive.

>You still have that acne scar on the inside of your right ear, you have split ends at the tip of your tail.

>You can't reach between your shoulder blades with the brush, there are mats in your fur back there.

>Your left index claw has a chip at its tip, and you can swear there's still something in your teeth.

>Eyes take you in, judging, analyzing, seeking every little thing that must be wrong with you.

>Their gaze slowly pans around you at a crawl with careful steps, your ears twitch at each knock against the hardwood.

>The sound moves closely behind you to your left, and pauses. You really should have tried harder to comb out those damn mats.

>But your lips are pried open with a gasp as a hand squeezes your backside with vigor, and you allow your eyes to flutter open.

>You can barely find your breath as confusion flashes briefly across yourself. He.. he actually touched you like that?

>Turning your head to meet his gaze, you watch as he steps around back in front of you, a thin smile dressed on his lips. His eyes are confident and sultry.

>He approves? He isn't disgusted by you? By how different you are?

>You bared yourself to him, expecting the worst, but it seems like you had been worrying over nothing.

>His eyes meet yours, and you can see a light of admiration shining in them as your gazes catch eachother.

>You aren't just something different to him, no. You're something beautiful, exotic, powerful.

>You. Beautiful.

>Your breath deepens, and the embers of desire start fanning within you. You're inclined to let them nurture into flames.

>You utter his name with a pleading sigh, you want this, you want him. Now!

"Tom"

>Moving forward a step to try and close the distance, you halt yourself before you reach out to grab him.

>Although a fire burns between your legs... what if he's still intimidated by you. What if making the first move is a mistake?

>You long for him deeply, and with him this close it enraptures you all the more.

>But you're scared that as soon as you reach out and touch him, the whole thing will shatter like spun glass.

>Those old doubts are surfacing again, and you loose a whine. You're too strong, if you give in to the temptation you could easily hurt him, and despite how he expects you to make the first move, he knows it too.

>You stare at the dull gleam of your claws as you turn your right hand over itself. How much blood had you drawn with these... what if you drew his?

>You would never do it on purpose, but losing control at the wrong moment, or if he flinched in fear at the wrong time... You can't stand that thought.

>Your ears start folding, and you feel ashamed of yourself, how could you fall so hard for someone so fragile, so fearful when you're cursed with the strength and natural weapons to break them.

>But something snakes into your grip, and interlaces with your fingers.

>You clutch back cautiously as you turn back up to meet his eyes.

>You expect him to stop there, but no. He raises a hand to your shoulder, and rests it there as he steps in closer, keeping your right locked with his left.

>"It's okay."

>"I'll show you."

>Your breath swells again as a shudder of passion runs up your core.

>He's not scared.

>You slowly turn together as he gazes up at you. He's level with your chest, and he's so, so close.

>He would just have to move his head a little forward and to the side, and he could tease at your sensitive chest. That must be what he's planning, and you rest a paw on his shoulder, wanting to just pull him forward into you.

>But a cocktail of anxiety and curiosity keeps you from moving too aggressively. What is he planning? you're sure you know, your heavy breasts were probably the first thing to catch his eyes.

>He angles his head slightly as you continue your tepid sway in front of the roaring hearth of the fireplace, he's going for it.

>You prepare yourself, angling your shoulders forward a touch to offer those pert nubs to him.

>Your breath intensifies as you hope he likes them, and guiltily hope his tongue would coax just the faintest taste of your milk from their reservoirs.

>It's not just the novelty that brings the flashing heat to your ears, but the confirmation that you're a healthy mate, ready to support a strong family.

>But you feel the soft grip on your shoulder sliding inwards, and you eye him with curiosity. What is he waiting for?

>His hand grooms across your proud shoulders, and heads up along the side of your neck, and your breath surges. Is he really?

>You lean in to the touch with a needing whine and a pant, and his outstretch arm slides upwards, he's really going for it. Oh sweet merciful gods he's going for the ears!

>Your excitement grows in leaps and bounds, those soft, clawless digits massaging that thin velvet. You want his touch. You NEED his touch!

>His fingers gently glide up your proud points, every feathering contact is electric. Now you're just waiting for it, and he folds the tip between his fingers and thumb, and starts sliding back down. Electric currents start casting off of his touch, and a flash of heat rushes over your loins.

>Oh that's the ticket~!

>A soft growl of pleasure breaths from your throat, and he continues slowly massaging your ears.

>At this point your vigorous breaths have started evolving into panting as your growling gets lower.

>You can feel it downstairs, it's growing slick and the fire is roaring like a blast furnace.

>His rolling fingers are going to town on your ears as you tighten your grip, squeezing his other hand firmly.

>Your panting is getting heavier, and heavier, you're ready for this, more than ready.

>Gods, he has you panting and growling like an absolute slut before you've even gotten to the really fun part! But somehow he just knew exactly how to get you riled up.

>You want to bark at him, to order him to take you. Take you right now! But you hold your tongue lest you ruin the moment.

>You're waiting with burning excitement for what he surprises you with next.

>He starts pushing your intertwined hands in towards you... what's he doing now?

>This fucking tease is going to have you leaking before he even undresses, GOD YOU LOVE IT!

>Your hands push up under your right tit, jointly cupping it upwards. He poises his mouth over your left nipple, which is standing in yearning for attention.

>You think you have an idea of what he's going to do, and you slide your left onto his back, ready to shove him forward if he doesn't really get in there and tend to you, you NEED this.

>His tongue darts out and flicks your flesh, the sensation has you pulling for air in brief flashes and you almost jump.

>A few moments pass.. this fucking tease! You want to growl at him to just go full out, to bite down and send you reeling, but damn if you aren't enjoying how he seems to be keeping you right towards the edge. The payoff for this has got to be legendary.

>It's then that he does it again, you jump with that short gasp and a moaning growl.

>You're trembling, for entirely different reasons.~

>Come on! You're ready! What's he waiting on?! What's he doing?! You're dying to know!

-TAKE ME ALREADY YOU SEXY IDIOT!!!-

>He starts sliding your grip downwards, hugging it close to your body as it slowly presses against your core.

>The two of you explore the iron of your physique in tandem as it slowly slides lower.

>Another tease sends shocks spreading from your breasts, your breath comes in nothing but pants and shudders as you twitch, trying to keep yourself from squirming against him.

>Even your legs weaken and tremble, you need it NOW!

>No, you won't allow yourself to break, not yet.

>He's taking it tortuously slow, you aren't sure if it's driving you with anticipation towards climax or if you just want to force him down into the good part.

-do it! make him ours!-

>...You'll give him just a bit more time before you make your move.

>Something about the way he's taken control is enrapturing, he's not scared of you in the slightest, you'll let him play his little game as you think that it may be starting to close.

>Hands entwined, he helps you explore your own body, or maybe this is his way of asking you to lead him in. Your grip slides down towards your stomach, and the wash of his breath pulls away from your teat.

>Still panting and trying to stifle your murmuring growls, you look down and catch eachother's eyes again.

>Something about his gaze tells you all you need to know as your hands press over the first bump of your abs. Your strength and your beauty are one in the same. Who could refuse a woman of such definition?

>Each bump massaged through your slight cushioning has you resisting the urge to squirm as you close in closer and closer towards your ultimate goal.

>You're so close, but now he tries to leave your grip, you won't let him. He's going to know, know how much you want him, how much you've needed him.

>You slide your hands over the last hill of your washboard abs and you push him into unfurling his pointer and index against your own.

>You pull him closer with care, and you start leaning in, opening your lips and greedily taking in air.

>He starts to rise to his toes to meet your muzzle with his lips, and your fingers run the valley between your thighs and your increasingly hungry womanhood.

>You'll kiss him with passion in two senses at once, to show just how much this means to you, how much you need this.

>You close your eyes as you turn your head one way, and he turns the other. Your entwined fingers graze the edge as you prepare to gently lead them in just as your lips make contact.

>Your breaths wash in to themselves, just a little closer.

>yes, yes! YES!

>"~chick-a-dee-dee-dee!"

>Your eyes feel like they've rolled around like billiards, and you force them open with a start.

>You're panting heavily and a fire is burning down under, but where's...

>There's the crossbeam of the tent, no fireplace, and you're laying down in your cot, still starving.

>GODDAMMIT!

>JUST WHEN YOU WERE GETTING TO THE GOOD PART!

>"~chick-a-dee-dee-dee!"

>That little avian prick!

>You loose a feral snarl as you throw off your covers and rise off the worn in field bedding.

>You march out of the tent, ears scanning for where the sound is coming from.

>"~chick-a-dee-dee-dee!" ...There! towards the river.

>You see a smooth enough looking stone at your feet, so you scrape the dirt with your footclaws and kick the thing up into your hand.

>"~chick-a-dee-dee-dee!" Your low growling makes for a pretty good impression of a radar lock tone as you pitch the 2-4 pound projectile as fast as you possibly can.

>It goes ripping through the foliage at speed.

>"~chick-a-dee-de-"*crack!*

>...

>That shut him up, tittering little bastard. How fucking dare he!

>DAMMIT!... you've been whipped up into a frenzy and now you don't have a release.

>The anger flows away, and your ears fold as your shoulders slump. You whine softly and curl your tail about your waist and hug at it, maybe just to pretend at it for a moment longer.

>All that greets you is darkness and the sinking realization that it wasn't him, not really

>It was a fantasy your hormones cooked up to get you off. His appearance imprinted onto a receptive blank to better entice you.

>The wisping hairs at the tip of your tail brush at your chin, and remind you all too clearly, not an ounce of that was real.

>Would he ever look at you like that? make you feel like that?

>There... there was a chance, but it would never be that easy.

>He was scared, paranoid from something deep inside him. A great unknown that you would have to be careful around.

>One fuck up... and you may throw away what chance you have.

>You opened your eyes tepidly, still clutching at the bundle of fur anchored to your back like it could somehow replace him.

>How pathetic are you? A massive beacon of strength hugging her tail like a child.

>inhale, count to four, exhale.

>...

>You're better than this, you can't just give up hope.

>You've been doing well so far, if you keep working at it maybe you can get somewhere.

>You let your tail unfurl back behind you, and you deflate with a sigh to collect yourself.

>The fire has died down some, but now you've gone and done it. the evidence of your dream has produced a wetspot.

>And now a panic comes to you, what if you woke him up? How are you supposed to explain this?!

>You focus your ears towards the tent as you timidly slink back towards it. You don't hear any movement.

>Peering in with caution, you find he's barely moved from his huddle under those blankets.

>Thank the gods, he's a heavy sleeper.

>You may as well take some more time to pull yourself together and change, and likely wash off the evidence in the river.

>You still can't help but feel a feint longing towards him, and a curiosity over if the real thing would be that magical.

---

>Another day, another awkward morning.. goddamn your hormones.

>You peek again at the form huddled under about five separate sheets, at least he wasn't awake for it this time.

>You checked yourself over again, everything is in order, no stains, no smells.

>No sticky feeling downstairs, thankfully you weren't quite THAT worked up.

>You looked at him again with a clenching in your heart. That dream wasn't him, it was a blank slate molded to look like him.

>He would have talked more... and it probably would have been a lot more confusing for the both of you.

>...

>He also would have been scared. You keep pleading with yourself to help with that but you have no idea how.

>Every time you think you have something, your size enters the mental picture, and suddenly even the gentler approaches you've come up with seem overbearing without meaning too.

>The best you can do is just be there, but that isn't working, he still subtly flinches if your claws get near him.

>It's an ingrained response, definitely some sort of phobia. You'd have to crack him open and tend to it closer to the roots.

>That could very easily go wrong, especially with... well, with what you are. A jackal outweighing him twice over trying to get in close was probably a good way to set him off, even if he does trust you.

>Maybe you'd have an easier time of this if you were one of those submissive little domestics...

>NO! fuck that! You aren't some timid little mut willing to just follow along and play to every whim and demand.

>You aren't some screwball pack builder like that mange-maned bitch either.

>You're a godsdamned royal, and you're going to act like it! You'll get him comfortable with how much of an exotic item you are. You'll nudge him in the right direction to see how he can appreciate it.

>And when the time is right, you'll make that move, and you will show him flat out that he has nothing to fear from you.

>You just need enough time with a clear head to come up with something good. no, not just good, perfect.

>You'll do this right or not at all. Then you can see if he reciprocates or if your feelings and hunches are in vain... again.

>You look yourself over once more, and hold your arm out across your chest. Even here in your arms alone you're massive compared to the norm, not many would accept you based on that in and of itself.

>Life gave you lemons alright, and for the smartass suggesting you make lemonade, it's a damn shame you're allergic to citrus.

>But it's not impossible, not if you find the right angle to work in with. If you can find it.

>You won't be finding any answers standing here and waiting around until he wakes up, you don't need to seem clingy before anything is even off the ground.

>Your jacket stands draped over one of the tiny folding chairs, the ones you refuse to use out of genuine fear they would break on you.

>The three chevrons of the rank patch almost seem to glint at you with the jog to your memory.

>Right, you have a squad now. Best you worry about them for the time being.

>You throw it on over your undershirt, it fits a lot better than the tiny one you used to have.

>To think that when he got it for you from the supply office, you almost got ahead of yourself in thinking it was some sort of gift of affection, rather than just a restrained suggestion you cover up.

>Of course you pretended to not recognize the undertones, you were well aware how poor of a job your battered tees do of restraining your assets, and of actually covering your rocky abs.

>It's not your fault 'one size fits all' doesn't hold water with someone of your shape.

>Of course it was another attempt at a subtle approach that didn't seem to be doing much.

>You're certain that with enough of a clear head you can come up with something.

>Patience and a clever approach is key. Maybe then you can have an easier time believing such fantasies.

>For now you step out of the tent. He has his own business to attend too, and so do you.

>It would be good to actually get to know your squad more personally, they had more than earned your respect, and it wouldn't hurt to let them see just a little of the real you beneath your iron shell.

>It's not that large a camp, and the walk is fairly brisk, helped in part by everyone with half a mind to your presence moving out of your way.

>You imagined Feldspar was the sort to keep everyone within easy reach, even when away from the field. Lionesses were predictable in that regard, usually having to shepherd their laconic males around and keep them out of trouble.

>Neither Pliskin or Matthews struck you as having an independent streak, so you'd likely find them with either corporal, more likely the lion.

>From what little you have on the sisters they seemed content as long as they had eachother's company.

>The sticking point was Duran, there wasn't much to go off of since she barely spoke. Whether it was because she thinks that much over what to say or if something else seals her lips remains to be seen.

>You had marched into the main circling of tents and respectfully asked a gaggle of privates where your corporal may have run off too.

>In their eyes it may have been more like you loomed over them and demanded the whereabouts of your prisoners, but that was all semantics.

>Despite the rocky start, today didn't seem like it would be terrible as long as you didn't dwell on it.

>But of course you had to have the audacity to be born near the figurative citrus grove, so when you rounded a corner and found an ever grating image of a certain silvered vixen, you weren't all that surprised.

>Her pale jade eyes seemed to brighten as she recognized you, and she approached, breaking off her conversation with a reddened and disappointed looking human private. You returned a nasty glower in kind.

>"Ah, Teth'ra! I vas hoping too see you today." This bitch thinks she can use your first name like you're friends? That's just insulting after everything she and Vilka put you through.

"Astroya."

>You panned her last name flatly, the only tone available being obvious irritation.

>You were larger than her, stronger than her, and now on equal footing in terms of rank. No longer would you have to kowtow to her wishes, and maybe if you helped her understand that she would leave you alone.

>"Oh come now! No love for your old sergeant?"

>Damn right, you'd sooner fling yourself off a bridge than listen to the inane prattling of the woman that stifled your progress and confidence for the sake of following the trend.

>You were increasingly convinced that when all her social maneuvering amounted to nothing, Lyudmilla was spineless.

"If mange-mane sent you here to apologize at me, tell the bitch she can do it herself, within easy claw range. Might just sound a bit more sincere then."

"And the least you can do, Astroya, is to stop pretending we're friends. I know I did."

"Of course, I bet you must have things to attend too, so why don't you excuse yourself now?"

>You maintained your hardliner scowl, and voiced your disapproval clearly. you wouldn't be moved by any of her excuses, she would face you directly, or prove your underlying accusation of her cowardice correct.

>Something in her eyes glimmered and her ears descended passively, good acting on her part. Like she would actually be sorry after the shit she helped Vilka pull.

>"Teth'ra.. I didn't come to you on her behalf, I came to you myse-"

"Why? To ask me back under your wing so you can smother me? Or maybe you just want to harass me again because I don't want to whore myself out when the heat comes around."

>you growled lowly.

"Got a lot of nerve even coming near me after Vilka's stunt."

>When you heard in more detail exactly what she tried to do, you about ground your fangs into dust from itching to bury them in her neck!

>It was one thing for the bitch LT to pick on someone like you, but Tom was genuinely instable. And for her to treat him like a goddamned object for her own satisfaction made you beyond furious.

>Jealousy helped to fan your anger even more, and the vixen in front of you was far from innocent in this.

>"Magual, I'm sorry!"

>Your lips fanned back towards a snarl. What the hell was she playing at?! She said the same thing time and time again before, and then went right back to doing the same damn things wrong.

"Like hell you are!"

"Remember the first time you said sorry when you passed me over for a private?! I sure as hell did, because I fucking fell for it!"

"Not a month later you go and do it again without so much as a consideration."

>You were snarling some of the syllables, your capped frustration starting to boil over.

>She was starting to shrink away from you, wearing an increasingly disheartened look as the fear and realization set in: you aren't under her anymore, this is your game now.

>"Teth'ra, I didn't me-"

"Didn't what? Didn't mean it? Because I sure as hell recall how much you kept me under your thumb. I suppose you didn't think I was ready, because you never let me take the reigns of the other fireteam."

>You were staring daggers at her, the accusation was perfectly clear.

>She would make her excuses and shrink away from it like she always did.

>"Teth'ra..."

-Go on. Say it! Make an excuse!-

>"What I did to you was wrong."

-wait... what?-

>She... she was actually... sincere?

>The sneer across your muzzle softened somewhat, you were still furious with her for enabling Vilka, but for now you bit your tongue and listened.

>"The truth is Magual.. I felt scared if you veren't at my side, you vere so damn strong... I thought nothing could ever break you."

>She never let you stretch your legs, because she admired your strength. What the hell kind of excuse is that?!

>The corners of your muzzle sagged downwards as you scowled at her, she best have more than that.

>"the first time. I thought you had discipline problems rather than something about the lieutenant agitating you, I should hev tried to look in deeper." Her ears sink as she recounts, you still stand over her in judgment.

>"The second time... I was selfish, and I wrote you up as a risk if you were given autonomous command. Because the more I thought that if you weren't there to draw inspiration from.. I would fail."

>She was weak, she was selfish, but she recognized she was wrong. But this was not some magic turnabout if she was expecting that, she would have to earn your respect.

"You kept me under your thumb, sabotaged my career... because you were scared?"

>You growled the last phrase with disgust, she had more she better apologize for, far more.

>Now to test if she would have more to say, you doubted she would. So your scoffing was entirely genuine as you turned about to go on with your day.

>"Teth'ra wait." She was soft and pleading. A pleasant surprise? Did she really give more thought as to how else she wronged you?

>You stop and cross your arms, turning to look at her over your shoulder.

"What?"

>She seemed to turn something over behind her eyes, but you didn't have all day. If she was debating whether or not you would strike at her for her words and settling towards yes, that was yet another insult.

>"Look, there is more I hev to own up for here.. I am also... So very sorry about Vilka, I. I had no idea what she was actually planning.."

>She's actually serious about this...

>You turn towards her and soften your glare somewhat. You are listening, provided what she says next isn't just some winding dismissal of her responsibility in this.

>She seems to understand your non verbal cue, and despite her wilting and submissive body language she continues.

>"When she came to me about Tom.. I just thought she got stars in her eyes so to say. She had never been very... frivolous when it came to that sort of thing before."

"So you thought you'd help out with her little case of puppy love?"

>"yes."

"And you trusted her around someone that was obviously damaged and would need plenty of careful care and restraint?"

>"...yes"

>She was barely squeaking out that last admission, the real weight of what she helped facilitate settled on her oppressively.

>But she won't get an easy out from you or your sympathy. She would have to work for it, because if this sort of thing happened again, Vilka would catch so much worse than a pathetic little scratch to the cheek.

>You would make sure she learned from this.

"And let me guess, you didn't question her on any of this did you? Just accepted that everything would work out fine becuase the LT in all of her myriad fuck ups always knows what she's doing."

>"No... I should hev questioned her more, maybe then I could have seen what she was planning and.."

"And said something right? Because you're always deferring to the nearest authority, because you're so content to just follow the alpha instead of doing anything yourself."

>Her lips pulled back in a frown as you continued dressing her down, careless of anyone watching the two of you.

"Makes for a pretty shitty sergeant if you ask me."

>If you were in Lyudmilla's position you likely would have marched up to the bitch and asked what in her mangy head got knocked loose this week to think someone like her belonged anywhere near Tom, and then throttled her when she tried it anyway.

>"I don't know how many time to say sorry Teth'ra... I-I feel ashamed of myself for-"

"For enabling her like that. This is your fault too, you and the others, because you don't fucking question her. You're all entranced by her pack building garbage."

>She looked like she wanted to say something but you weren't content to let her have her peace yet, she needed to understand just how much wrong she had done, and maybe then she'd learn from it all.

"I was suffering when the old outfit fell apart and you moved in with Vilka. She badgered me endlessly just for trying to get some godsdamned peace, and all of you stood and fucking watched because 'she's a big girl, she can take care of herself'."

"you didn't question her then, and you sure as hell didn't question her now, because you assumed just because I shut up that everything was fine."

>You had gone quiet because you were short on hope and desperate for someone to understand.

"Maybe if you actually fucking spoke to me yourself rather than just deferring to that goddamn howler WHORE!... then you would have seen everything was far from hunky fucking dory."

>She shrunk away as you towered over her snarling, but she wasn't running, that much you respected her for.

"I was one thing, but Tom? You have to be careful with the man Lu! Vilka was sending him closer and closer towards the edge, just like me. But unlike me, he doesn't have anything to land on if he goes over!"

>Her ears flattened, and you saw a genuine glimmer of shock and sadness in her eyes. The realization hit her like an overloaded freight hopper.

>If you hadn't been there that first night, he could have slipped away, if you didn't help him more before that stunt Vilka pulled, he could have slipped away. It fans the heat in your heart all the more, you had taken it upon yourself to look after this broken man and gently help him rebuild himself. NOBODY was going to touch him and undo all of your progress.

>"I-I... I don't know how many times I hev to say sorry Teth'ra. But I mean it, every last one!"

>You stepped closer, forcing her to stare straight up at your looming presence, you locked eyes as you stared back down. Her tail bristled with anxiety, but you would make her understand every word clearly so she understood the consequences if this happened again.

>You growled out the warning with a vengeance. If she stood by and facilitated that BITCH hurting your Tom...

"You had best mean it, and learn from it. Because if this happens again Lu, I will do you so much worse than those pathetic scars across your muzzle. Understand?!"

>She nodded enthusiastically, more out of the fear flashing over her features than anything else. Satisfied, you stepped back.

>That vented some of your frustration, and so you started to take your leave to go about and do what you intended in the first place before being waylaid.

>"Teth'ra please, let me help make it up!"

>the fox is full of surprises today, you stop and face her again, brow quirked even over your disapproving glower.

>"I-I could maybe help you... with Tom. You, erm.. are trying to... fix him so to speak. Yes?"

>Lyudmilla was many things, subtle wasn't one of them. She was selfish, predatory, and voyeuristic. You didn't want her anywhere near Tom, not until she had learned her lesson. And even then, if it wasn't easy for you, it sure as hell wouldn't be easy for anyone else either.

"No, Lu."

>She tried to object but you cut her off swiftly.

"The man has some phobia of anthros. I'm the only one to have broken through that. You would just set him off, because apparently Vilka isn't the only one that fails to control herself."

"Stay. the hell. away from him."

>You didn't care what else she had to say, you were fuming and needed to walk off some of the heat while finding your squad.

>You turned and left.

---

>A lot of the frustration you carried with you out of bed was gone, so now you could stop bristling your tail like a feral.

>Last thing you needed was for your charges to think you're heartless or over aggressive.

>Once you picked up the scent of lioness, following them was easy. Seems they were all sticking together so tracking the mixed scent was a cake walk even with the other aromas floating in the air.

>When you were close enough, your ears started picking out their voices from one of the mess tents.

>Your nose was picking out something else too, overpowering everything else. The mouthwatering scent of well cooked pork.

>Nose twitching madly, you started drifting towards the source of the smell, which conveniently was also where your squad's voices were coming from.

>It was that delightful scent of crisp bacon overlayed with... oranges? Must be some sort of glaze. Smoked sausage joined the flavors, with a hint of creamy gravy and fresh biscuits.

>The battalion cook was doing his breakfast special, which was usually the biscuits and gravy, the orange glazed bacon must be a new addition, and damn did it smell heavenly.

>Inhaling the aroma like nose candy, you stepped closer to the mess tent, pushing an idling private out of the path between you and your prize. You were starting to salivate, you can almost taste it already.

>You felt a clenching in your middle, and a low grumble went pealing off in your guts. fucking hell you were starving! How did you not notice?!

>Sweet Jesus you need that bacon! the smell alone is making you drool.

>You make your approach in the tent, no one is in front of the cook's counter. You notice your squad out of the corner of your vision, but they can wait for a bit, you're hungry.

>Behind the counter is Martin, the battalion chef, appointed so since he was in culinary school before the draft.

>He's an agreeable enough sort. Although the first time the two of you met, you had to restrain yourself from reaching across the counter and decking him when he made too many comments about your appetite.

>"ah, Magual. Always the highlight of my mornings. The usual right?"

"Yup, biggest ya got, extra bacon if you wouldn't mind. It smells delightful."

>He gave you a knowing raise of the brow, you always explained to the man a body in such a strong shape as yours required a lot of maintenance.

>Your stomach piped up with a growl as if to argue its own point, and you knowingly raised your own brow to append its argument.

>"Alright, alright. Big servings for the big woman." With that he ladled out your servings, wearing that thin grin.

>By this point it became a bit of a game between the both of you.

"Please, I know you like 'em big, but I'm just strong."

>He gave a blowing scoff and looked back to whatever he was attending too previously.

>"Just don't let any of it go to your waist."

"*snrk* as if."

>You worked like hell, you could afford to be a little... affluent and have a hearty meal now and again.

>Now that the source of that appetizing smell was right under your nose you could actually think on settling in with your squad.

>It was a touch late in the morning, so Feldspar and company seemed to have the whole mess relatively to themselves for the moment.

>The lioness and the twins watched you curiously as you maneuvered into the open spot beside the tawny cat and across from Duran and the other two privates, who seemed to be more interested in the food than you.

>You were of like mind with them for now, and were determined to have your fill before you actually started discussing. Well.. you could do both at the same time, no reason not too.

>Feldspar looked down at your plate, wearing a slight smirk at the corner of her mouth.

>"I take it you like the bacon, huh sarge?"

>You popped a strip in your maw to be the judge of that for yourself. The moan of satisfaction you had to suppress into a hearty sigh was almost orgasmic.

>The crisp, fire hardened meat blended wonderfully with the tastefully scaled surge of tang and flavor from the glaze. There was something more to it than just the citrus, some blend of flavors beyond it that melted over your tongue in rich waves of zest.

>You definitely like the bacon.

".. I do."

>Your empty stomach twitched, pleading for more, but you would save the rest of that wonderful taste until after you had cleaned up the rest.

>For a short while you were far more interested in the food then the conversation, at least to stifle the rumbling complaints of your body.

>Feldspar had largely cleaned off her plate, so while she mostly watched everyone, her focus seemed to be on you.

>As much as you had gotten along so far, if she insinuated you ate too much you were probably going to have words.

>Once you were far enough long that it felt less straining on your patience to ignore your hunger, you looked around at the others at the table.

>No, not just 'the others' they were your squad, your men.

>Your squad...

>It's still a little troublesome to believe. You can't entirely force out that tiny grain of doubt lodged in the deeper reaches of your psyche. The doubt that inferred this was just another fantasy like the one ripped away from you this morning.

>Any second now you'll wake up and find that they weren't there.

>But you had talked with them, journeyed with them, and fought side by side with them. They were there. Or else, what would all your toiling have been for?

>Maybe one day you can say the same about him.

>Probably the worst part of that pipe dream was how insultingly easy it was to get your hands on him. Without all those hangups, and those little touches of personality, it's just not him, no matter how clearly your subconscious can replicate his appearance.

>And you don't want someone like him. You want Tom.

>But it would never be that fucking easy... son of a bitch!

>Better to just try and drop your cycling mental ramblings over him, that would be a great way to completely fuck up and work yourself into an early heat.

>And you can never place bets on how a human would react to heats.

>And the best way to help distract yourself would be getting to know your men... er. women, whatever.

>Looking around, everyone seemed to be getting to that stage where the food matters slightly less than the world outside, ripe grounds for conversation. You decide to start things off.

"Right, now that everyone's here. Introductions. I'll start."

>You seemed to grab their attention correctly, and you lay a hand above your breast.

"Teth'ra"

>Matthews perks up, and the lizard tries to coagulate the thoughts dancing in her head onto her tongue.

>"t-t... Tev, la?"

>...

>Well this has already started out swimmingly. The lizard seemed to pick up on the way your expression went flat and sheepishly leaned back into her chair.

"Teth. Ra."

>You never had to explain this more than once, apparently parsing out syllables so they don't go smashing into eachother was too hard for some people.

>Come to think on it, the only one in recent memory that seemed to just get it straight off the bat was... Tom.

>Sometimes he even dropped the second syllable, and just called you 'Teth'. To him it was probably just a nickname, but to you... it was a sign that showed how much he cared.

>Why else would he do what he didn't have to, and to be there... when you collapsed in on yourself.

>You know he cares. You touched a warm heart in those intimate moments, but it was buried under all of the pain and fear.

>You're dead set on digging it out, so you know someone cares.

>And there you go doing it again! Thinking about him. You need something to distract yourself, so maybe you can actually think of a good approach instead of running in circles like you have been.

>"Teth'ra?"

>The lion's sense of timing is adequate, and you turn your head to look over at the cat.

>She has her elbows propped up on the table, her chin rests on a bridge laced from her fingers.

>"I like it. It's pretty."

>Feldspar. thinking your name is some elegant thing when just yesterday she looked ready to scrap with you over who is 'really' leading the squad. You quirk a brow to show your bemusement.

>She levels a claw at herself."Charlene"

>"Julia." mutters a quiet voice from the canine across the table. The Doberman in question sits staring down boredly at her completely cleaned plate, a hand lazily resting on her cheek.

>"You already know us." chirps one of the twins.

>"Of course she does, we're hard to miss." chides the other cat with a slight giggle.

>It was strenuous telling them apart, but you were starting to remind yourself more to associate Mocha with blue and Minna with green, since their respective eye colors seemed to be about the only thing differing their appearances from eachother.

>You turn to the other two privates. Matthews seems to quietly shy away from your gaze, while Pliskin swallows either another bite of sausage or her fear as the ocelot leans forward.

>"erm. Sam.. like, short for Samantha." She offers a small smile, and you return one of your own.

>The lizard looks down at her feet, maybe in shame for how she butchered your name. It was something that happened with pretty much every new group you had to introduce yourself too, so you're far from eager to hold her to it.

>She jumps slightly as the cat nonchalantly kicks her leg, and she manages to stammer out a response.

>"Alex, just uh.. just Alex." She shies back into her chair.

"Well for what it's worth, I think ya all have fine names."

>You smile warmly as you get back to work on your breakfast, it's about time you let them start seeing you aren't all business.

>Feldspar chuffs, the twins titter approvingly between themselves, Matthews and Pliskin both offer shy grins, and you can see the smallest sign of a smile forming beneath the shroud of Duran's paw.

>You wonder briefly if they were under the jurisdiction of a malicious incompetent like Vilka before they came under you to get them to react like this to some gentle praise.

>Or perhaps you are more of a force of personality than you realize. Either way, they're warming up to you quickly.

>While the rest of your meal is good, it's hard to resist going back to the bacon, something about its flair just agrees entirely with your tastebuds.

>It didn't show up before today, so you would have to ask the cook sometime where he got the recipe from, it was quickly becoming a fast favorite of yours.

>"So um, sarge?..." Charlene called your attention back out. You were questioning her quasi-formality, it's not like you were out on the field.

"Teth'ra is fine."

>"Right, Teth'ra, so where are you from?"

-isolationist hell-

"The Mojave, like most jackals I'm sure."

>It's not that you wouldn't mind sharing something slightly more specific, but anytime you mentioned the state it all devolved into a game of trivia about the local cult. A game that had a habit of dragging out bad memories.

>You don't want to remember again, not now, so soon after that day in the rain when all of them came flooding back when he looked at you.

>Looked at you the same way your attackers did, when you came to after almost killing them.

>"Must be rough for ya being this far north."

"It's not as bad as you think it is."

>It really isn't. Your fur keeps you warm enough during the day with some help from the sun, and your coat was meant for keeping out the dry bite of desert winds, so the occasional wind chill is mostly kept out by the heat trapped against your body.

"I only start feeling it during the night."

>That leeching, ever present chill in the night air has a way of sapping through your fur. You aren't adapted for the persistent, heavy cold, and it shows.

>To the point it becomes difficult to sleep without a thicker blanket or a warm body in the same bed. Of course your thoughts immediately cycle back towards him again, a mental picture of him hairless and freezing.

>You aren't covered in a thick double coat like those arctic leopards, but your heart keeps pushing you to help keep him warm anyway.

>You shoo away the mental cycling and try to keep yourself invested in the conversation.

>You tune back in to a murmur of agreement from Duran and even Feldspar. Matthews simply nods with enthusiasm.

>The cold blood probably needs a space heater just to avoid freezing into a torpor.

"And what neck of the woods do you call home?"

>"Montana. Guess you could say I'm a bit of a-"

"A mountain lion yes."

>Staring at her deadpan, you fought the urge to crack a victorious grin, you weren't normally much of a buzz-kill but puns you just can't abide by.

>She looked positively betrayed.

>A choked back chortle came from the other side of the table, and the lioness bristles at it.

>"Jules!"

>The doberman continues her bashful snickering, trying, and failing, to hide a wide, toothy grin.

>"To be honest Cher, I always hated your puns... I like her though."

>It bought out a genuine contentment to hear your squad was adjusting so well to you.

>Although the smile doesn't leave her face, she speaks quietly.

>"I'm from Chicago. Not as nice as you think it is."

>You got the sense that she thought through her words with care, and she would only speak when she wanted too. And so you turned your attention onto the lizard and Ocelot.

>Pliskin spoke with an almost chattering tone.

>"Me and Alex are both from Ohio, not much to do there but get into trouble."

>The pair share a thoughtful look.

>"Well, that and shoot stuff. Trick shot silver medalist in my county for 2 years running... erm, before the draft."

>The lizard manages to have her say.

>"I-uh. I never really got very good at that."

>Sam cuts back in, her spotted tail swishing with visible excitement.

>"Hey! Wanna see my tricks?! I'm uh... I'm, pretty good."

>As tempting as the offer to sit back and watch the diminutive wildcat perform various permutations of spinning her sidearm around one finger was, right now you're still very much hungry.

"Maybe later."

"For now I have to at least eat, and then file reports."

>There was the bad side of the coin denoting your new position, more busywork to cut into your off time by far more than a hair's breadth.

>You hated to sound lazy but lately you really just wanted to have most of a day to kick your feet up and stop worrying, over yourself, over your squad, over the war, and over him.

>That and your stomach was trying to strangle itself again, so you dug in while listening for what the twins would inevitably say.

>It didn't take very long for them to formulate their own response.

>"We're from Norway, small town by the coast."

>"Very cold, but pleasant. Very quiet. Great Fishing."

>Swallowing your current bite of gravy soaked biscuit, you raised a brow and cocked an ear at them. You had no idea they were foreign in that sense.

"Norway? If you two have an accent I can't pick it up."

>One of them titters with a soft giggle before continuing.

>"We studied english while working in our father's little tailor shop."

>"We wanted to tour the world, and make truly beautiful things."

>"Taking a little from everywhere. You know?"

>"The two of us moved to America... just before the draft started."

>"And then... our little dream ended."

>Both cats sigh in resentment. You feel for them, but the other thing dragging you low is your own doubts. You were never so ambitious as to go traveling the world for inspiration.

>The only thing you can really do right is fight. Fight, doubt yourself, and clamor for affection.

>Your hand wandered to another strip of bacon, and the taste helped you shake away the doubts. You have to keep your head up today.

>Looking around the mood was effectively shot, everyone seemed to be reflecting on how the draft tore them away from their lives and brought them into this hell.

>Maybe asking everyone to recount where they were before the war wasn't the best idea to keep a conversation going. At least you had a more solid handle on everyone's personalities.

>Charlene Feldspar: a country gal lioness with a protective streak from the other ass end of the rockies counting the badlands you called home.

>Julia Duran: an inner-city doberman who you can only presume is so quiet because she grew up in a bad neighborhood of one of the largest cities in the world.

>Alex Matthews and Samantha Pliskin: What you guess as childhood friends from rural Ohio, the ocelot being an excitable amateur gunslinger compared to her shy lizard friend.

>The sisters Jorgenson, Mocha and Minna: Inseparable cat twins from a small fishing town in Norway that carried shattered dreams of cosmopolitan culture and the runway.

>And then there was you, the freakishly large royal jackal that had grown up in pain and social isolation. What a merry fucking band you all were.

>At least this bacon is good enough to make you forget about anything but the flavor for a small while. Eventually your plate was cleaned and you finally felt sated.

>The conversation never really picked up again as everyone went back to the food. They invited you to go tend to business with them, but you excused yourself as you had reports to finish.

>Today you were more interested in just hanging out with Tom. If you could stick around him and help him with things like maintenance work, you're sure he'll loosen up around you and you can start working your way closer.

>Maybe once you learn more of who he is under the hostile exterior, you can make a decision easier.

>Because no matter how hard you pressed it out to set it aside, the questions boiled in the back of your mind.

>Why hold affections for this man? What do you even see in him? Would he ever make a good mate? What if you're wrong about him?

>You can find your answers if you move right... after these damnable reports are finished, fucking busywork.

---

<Tom>

"MOVE YOU OBSTINATE LITTLE SHIT!!"

>You Struck hard, but no dice.

"I WILL FUCKING DESTROY YOU, IF YOU DO NOT MOVE, YOU DIMINUTIVE FUCK!!!"

>Again you bought the hammer down with as much force as you could muster in the cramped space, another ringing *tac* sounded as metal hit metal.

>Finally, the wrench handle budged downwards, and you tugged it down some more. It didn't want to move easy but just a little bit harder and a few helping taps from the hammer it finally gave and starting rotating counter clockwise.

"Fucking finally, hope I don't have to drop the wrath of Thor on every one of you little bastards."

>Fucking lugs, these damn things were ratcheted in so damn tight it took the concussive force of Mjolnir itself to get them unscrewed again.

>You groaned in exasperation, wiping the sweat pooling at your brow. This was the third one to catch this badly, a tech should be in here swearing at it, not the machine's own pilot.

>'Work order can't be completed because of priority orders', what a load of shit!

>You were going to have words with the support techs after this, many, many words, many of them four letters. Those lazy assholes think they can shunt major maintenance work onto the Jock?!

>Sure you helped take care of the damn thing all the same, but you could never do all the maintenance by yourself, especially on a post-sortie pass.

"Goddamn fuckin'. Lazy ass techs."

"Busy fanboying over that pretender faggot."

>You had seen them out there beyond your gantry's glare screens, fawning over that fucking over dramatic ape and his lackeys just because their glorified, prancing railgun tugs had fancy paint.

>Half of them weren't even doing their damn jobs, content to play dick handler to 'the red baron' and his inflated ego.

>With a grunt of exertion you finally pried the reaction dyno from its mounting, and then clambered your way out of the leg plate onto the collage of catwalks and ladders reaching out to all of your Rumbler's access panels.

>You set the part down on the work desk, time to pry the fucker open and see exactly what's wrong with it.

>You looked up at the machine's nose plate as you set to work with the screwdriver. There on the chin of the axe-headed bow was proof of your heroics, three fresh marks, THREE.

>That pompous show boater didn't even get one, it was all the work of his wingmen, and yet everyone acted like HE was the big hero.

>YOU proposed the plan of action that saved everyone's asses.

>YOU bagged three fucking markers within an hour.

>YOU took down an enemy ace BY YOURSELF, and yet nobody payed you much attention. You growled as you eyed the standout mark, a triple eyed skull like the others, with small golden triangles bordering the eyes.

>You killed a fucking ace! It should be you out there taking it easy and getting sucked off by gullible support gremlins for your 'brilliant heroics'. Instead you're in here, sweating, covered in grease and motor oil, and coming to a boil.

>Prying open the RD's cover plate, you gawked and then growled. Half the fucking turbo blades were sheared.

"cocksuckers!"

>Today was miserable, you woke up to find Teth'ra wasn't there again and you had a hell of a pain in your back. All that activity yesterday must have pinched a nerve, and you spent about a solid twenty minutes writhing on the floor, hammering a fist into the small of your back to fix it.

>God be damned if you were going to stumble hunchbacked over to one of the snouts and ask them to play chiropractor however.

>Once you could fucking walk straight, it was back to the usual routine of choking down coffee rations and avoiding everyone.

>You quickly learned that you didn't feel safe without that giant jackal nearby, especially in the middle of a camp chalked full off snouts.

>Avoiding everyone that even so much as looked at you became priority one, even after your radio called you to the Colonel's command tent to file your after action report. You weren't turning your back to anyone of them, not after that Goddamn bear. That proved even the big ones could sneak up on you.

>After meandering your way around the camp through the low traffic areas you handed in your report to the colonel, and tried to ignore the way the regal old tiger eyed you as you backed out of his field office. And you sure as hell did not want that mint, not when it meant getting that close to those murderously big claws.

>That was a fun exercise to battle with your paranoia again, as it screamed that they were trying to bait you now.

>Teth'ra was making you think twice on these things, but you sure as fuck weren't going to let any one of them get near you or touch you.

>Despite your endless complaints to be made about the support crews ditching your machine's checkup halfway through to go fawn over that failure of an ace, you felt safe in here. Shrouded away from prying eyes by the curtain like glare screens, walkways, and that securing mass of the angry building you called a mech.

>All the swearing and banging just meant a mechanic was at work, and shouldn't be interrupted lest the intruder catch a flying wrench to the dome.

>And nobody out there could likely pick out you were the odd man out so to speak. A potent combined aroma of fuel, motor oil, grease, and cosmoline masked any scent of yours from outside.

>Nobody here but us mech techs, no scared, vulnerable, isolated humans, no sir.

>You were somewhat starting to calm down. Now that you had something to work on that wasn't trying to fight you, you could start thinking on things other than your bubbling rage at the circlejerk outside. Maybe even coax a little tune out of your head.

>You had given the blade wheel a good once over, even the ring piece was cracked, it was destined for the salvage bin, so you tossed it and dug around in the spares to find the right size.

>Reaction Dynos were supposed to syphon off a fraction of the torque from the primary actuators when in motion and keep it revved up, to shunt the inclination of the actuator into a different direction at a moment's notice. Hence the weighted turbine wheels, fights the inertia better with the added punch.

>Without these things helping along the actuators and muscle pistons, your machine couldn't pull half the fancy footwork it did.

-and you'd be dead-

>Not now, ya bastard!

>You find the right size spare and slot it in. looking over the rest of the RD, it seems in passable shape.

>Now just to bolt the cover back on and return it to its mounting.

>Then to the other items on the checklist, and then you can finally get some breakfast, well at this point it'd be lunch.

>How long is this damn list anyw-

>"Mrowl?"

>You jumped slightly and your back briefly tensed, not a pleasant sensation when you had abused it so much yesterday.

>Of course, curious snouts could always go sticking their noses where they don't belong, you're dead certain Teth'ra doesn't meow.

>Deflating from your mild startle, you turned to face the direction of the threat, and found not one, but two pairs of eyes peering at you from the corner of the glare screen.

>The two faces were definitely cat-like, the colors of cream and burnt coffee, and they looked absolutely identical. The only way you could tell them apart at this distance was the eyes, one had blue and the other had green.

>Of course, the most prominent question jumped to your mouth.

"Who the hell are you?"

>Wait, why the hell would you care? They're intruding on your angry venting and have no reason to be anywhere near you. The last thing you want is to give them an excuse to let themselves in.

"Nah, ya know what? I don't care. Fuck off."

>You hope they get the message, you don't like the felines, it always seems like they're plotting something. That snow leopard was bizarrely interested in whatever was going on between you and Teth'ra and she wasn't afraid to try and get her claws in you to try and find out.

>And now there are two of these domestic cats, standing there at the corner, trying to look innocent while they stare at you, plotting.

>You pick up the RD and pretend to be inspecting it, going through the motions of turning it over as you watch them from the corner of your eye for any signs of movement.

>The feeling of eyes on you refuses to leave, it's not a welcome feeling, it's the gaze of a predator looking for an opening.

>"Apologies if we're being rude."

>"We need some help with a. Mechanical problem."

>Two voices, the same, but not the same. A shiver runs up your spine, as if this wasn't creepy enough, they're twins.

>You don't want them anywhere near you, not when you're alone. So with an exaggerated pantomime up towards your mech, you offer your excuse.

"Do I look like I have the time? No! I don't. So scat! *pscht* Get outta here."

>That should make it clear, they can go find someone else to bother. You don't want them here, you don't want to 'help' them with whatever petty excuse they came in here with, and they should leave, right now.

>You can't keep up the act of inspecting the RD forever, so you set the part down. When you turn back, your heart briefly leaps into your throat as you almost choke on it.

>The pair of cats has invited themselves in and gotten closer, one of them stands with her arms folded while the other seems to drink in the environment.

-looking for the best way to corner you-

>The one with the blue eyes speaks, you can tell from the agitated twitch of her tail that she's bothered.

>"It would just be a quick fix... I assure you."

>Somehow you doubt that.

-what did we learn from Vilka?-

>All you needed to know, not to trust them even as far as you can throw them.

>They have some motive, some plot you just know it. You need to get them away before they can lure you into a trap.

"There's no such thing as a quick fix, never is. Now would you get the hell out?"

>Both cats flash with some sort of emotion across their faces.

>"I don't understand wh-"

"I don't understand why you have to bother me. Go find someone else. Get out!"

>Your breath came sharper, and razor lines of fear feathered tauntingly at the back of your scalp. But you would hold yourself together to keep your guard up.

>This wouldn't be like last time, you are not playing the game. They will not move you, this ground is yours. Your mech. Your gantry. Your sanctum, you aren't leaving it, not with them waiting out there.

>Who sent them? The fox? That badger? or maybe even the bitch herself?

>"What the hell is going on in here?"

>The hairs on your neck bristle, the voice isn't hers, and you turn to find a third threat revealing itself. A lion.

>You like the big cats even less, but something about her suggests authority over the two smaller ones, but you're cut off at the pass by the cats before you can state your piece.

>"This man is being difficult."

>Maybe if you weren't on your own in this gantry, but you're perfectly within reason to stand your ground.

"These two have no goddamn reason to be in my gantry, get them out of here. I want to be left alone. Go fuck with the techs!"

>You meant every word, you want to be left in peace, and the asshole techs could stand to be yelled at.

>But the lion didn't seem to be getting the hint.

>"Oh it's YOUR gantry now is it?" She started stalking closer, and you stepped back towards the shelter of the maze of crossbeams and pipes holding up the walkways.

>She started snarling, and your heart skipped a beat as you laid eyes on the gleaming white fangs moving towards striking range.

>The small lines buried and ensnared deeply, you absolutely cannot let them get close.

>"What right do you have to be harassing my privates here? HUH!" She obviously didn't expect you to have an answer to that question, because it didn't exist.

>You took another step back and tensed, this was quickly turning bad, and your nearest shelter is up in the machine. Your breath deepened as you became more and more aware of all of their movements towards ingress, they're trying to corner you.

"Stay away from me cat!"

>Light filtering in from above catches her teeth, a stark warning, and a reminder.

>...

>The glint of teeth

>The flash of claws

>You're rooted in fear, helpless

>You can't even choke out a scream

>The air cuts with a whisper

>...

>NO!

>You shake it off, you need to stay alert and she is getting too damn close! Where is Teth'ra!?

>"Oh I'm just a cat now huh? An animal, right?"

>She would be if she kept closing in.

>You leveled out a warning tone, if she continued it would be at her own risk in addition to yours.

"Stay the hell away from me."

>The lioness wasn't stopping, you saw some predatory gleam in those yellow eyes, and your heart started hammering.

>"Make me skinjob!"

-them's fighten' words-

>You've had enough. Clearly she intends to do you harm, and the heat in your chest spikes.

>You feel for the weight of your sidearm.

>...

>It's not there!

>WHY THE FUCK DO YOU KEEP FORGETTING IT?!

>Your breath heaves in great swells, your hair stands, and your hand twitches in want for a weapon.

>Asses the situation: lion in front, closing even as you retreat, 2 threats to the side in easy flanking position, exit unavailable, they're trying to corner you.

>More threats possibly outside the glare screens.

>Obtain a weapon, eliminate the threat, find shelter.

>You're on your own, she's nowhere to be found.

>You keep your hand behind you at the hip, feeling for the first tool you can grab when you get near the work bench, the animal continues closing in.

>Those claws are out, and ready to try and spill your guts, you have to do this quickly.

>Gnashing teeth shine as she growls and snarls, some call out originates from the other two, they must be trying to circle around you while the bigger cat has your attention.

>The lion is ranting something but you aren't paying attention to the words, you're watching how it moves, seeking an opening in the pattern.

>You've found it, and as the cat smirks and taunts with those claws, your hand was wandered behind you and found something.

>You heft the cold iron of the handle into your palm, judging by the weight it's the pipe wrench you use for tightening down fluid lines.

>Those claws are guarding low and wide, a fast swing from above towards the head is all you need.

>You give one last warning as the predator preens and gloats at your fearful state.

"STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM ME FERAL!!"

>You hold the wrench up high, coiled and ready to strike, for the first time since it walked in, the animal seems to stop trying to kill you.

>"Tom?!"

>...

>The voice snaps at you, tugging you with a lurch into the daylight. It's not the lionesses voice....

>You blink, and suddenly you're looking at something different. The cat in front of you is frozen in fear and confusion, as if she never expected you to defend yourself.

>The two cats standing off to the side look mortified...

>...That it spiraled out of control so fast. Then it starts falling into place, they must be part of the same squad.

>And the voice was... hers.

>Your gaze slowly creeps off the cat as the furious snarl washes off your countenance. You creep your eyes towards the source of it, the dread tangling in your throat in anticipation of what you will find.

>You lay eyes on her, she looks hurt, betrayed, wounded, And it clicks. Her squad... you were threatening her squad. Threatening her.

>Your heart feels like it's not even there anymore, visions of pain and betrayal flood into the space it left behind.

>You did this to her.

>The only thing you have left, and even now you can't stop yourself from destroying it, from hurting and cutting her with your words.

>Because you can't control yourself. Because you always manage to wound what's close to you.

>Something still droned in your ears as cold gripped at your back. She was your last refuge, and you had just thrown her to the wolves.

<Teth'ra>

>The knife in your heart twists.

>'Feral'

>Of all the words you expected to come out of his mouth: that wasn't one of them.

>You swore that you had gotten so used to that word, it lost its taint. They seemed to spout it at any implication, fail to speak like a 'normal person' and let a bit of your wild side out? feral. Do them the injustice of out-sizing them? feral. Show your teeth in the slightest? feral.

>But here you are, feeling the bite of that word like it's the first time all over again.

>You came out here following your squad's scent after you had finally gotten finished and handed in those damnable reports.

>You were puzzling over why they could have possibly come out to the mechanized quarter of the camp, especially the mech park.

>Then it happened, your ears started picking up a drifting argument on the wind, you didn't think much of it at first, techs bicker all the time.

>But your quiet worry only grew as it escalated. Then you recognized one of the voices involved as his, and you started running.

>Then you barged in just in time to have your heart crushed. Of everyone to say that word, somehow his hurt the most.

>You had snapped him out of the middle of another panic attack, and you saw the reason why: Feldspar. The lion was dancing her claws around taunting and ranting, and now she stood shocked.

>As if she didn't expect that practically charging at someone would set them into fight or flight. And you knew for as scared as he was, if he believed escape wasn't an option, Tom would pick fight every time.

>Now he was staring at you, the resolve drained from his face along with its color.

>He drops the wrench, and flees.

"Tom!"

>It's useless, he disappears through one of the glare screens as the lioness finally starts collecting herself.

>Chasing him would only make it worse. He was gone.

>As the tawny cat dusted herself off, you looked towards the twins, both of them stood stunned and astonished, and you started piecing things together.

>The twins had invited themselves in for some reason, and Tom was hostile. Why wouldn't he be? He had never seen your squad before and no one else was in this gantry, he was scared.

>Then Feldspar stepped in to defuse the situation, which you could understand... but why? Why the hell did she approach so aggressively?

>What did this idiot think she was doing?!

>Your countenance hardened and your heart twisted with anger, even as it bled from the cut. Charlene had some sort of bias against humans, you don't know for sure, but it's what makes the most sense.

>Sense as to why she would be such a half cocked moron and set him off, And possibly ruin everything you had worked towards!

>"Guess you scared him off, huh?" She started back towards you wearing a swagger and a cocksure grin. you were going to wipe it off her goddamn snout.

>"Yeah, little skinjob was trying to threaten me! You saw that. Thanks for the save sarge."

>Of all the times to have a fucking speciest in your squad... She stopped in front of you, closing her eyes and grinning her pearled white fangs.

>This half-cocked, self satisfied, inbred bumpkin, bigoted DUMBASS!!

>She failed to hear the way your knuckles cracked as you balled your right hand into a fist, but she sure as hell felt it when you drove it into her gut.

>Immediately she doubled over as her strength was forced out with her breath. The lioness coughed and wheezed as she fell to her knees with a groan.

>She would be feeling that one for a while, a very real reminder of how badly she fucked up. You held back nothing, and despite her own stature suggesting a hardy nature, the force of your fist had welted through her abdominal muscles and caused very real pain.

>The idiot should be thankful that you had aimed for her stomach rather than a kidney, at this rate you would be surprised if she managed to keep her meal down with how much she was sputtering.

>"Whu- What the fuuhk?" she wheezed weakly as she clutched at her stomach, keeping herself off the floor with her free hand, even as her arm shook trying to hold her up.

>You loosed one of the most savage growls you had mustered in recent memory, and she shrunk as your gaze bored into her back.

>Then you spoke with a volume that may have surprised even you if you weren't currently clashing with a heat crawling up your throat and trying to breath flames from your muzzle.

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING!!?!"

>She shrank even more, realizing that the mountain of a woman she was kneeling at the feet of wasn't just angry, she was furious.

>If Tom had his gun, or if this idiot had been even more of an over aggressive, inconsiderate dolt for the sake of getting off her little human revenge kink: then one of them could have been killed!

>"I was just trying to-"

"Trying to what!!? Make a joke?!!"

"DO YOU THINK YOU'RE FUCKING FUNNY!!?!"

>Her ears flattened even her tail wilted, she was rightfully terrified of you.

>Good, if she understands that fear, she won't be so eager to inflict it again.

>"n-n. no ma'm." You weren't done with her, not by a long shot, she would realize exactly what she just did.

"So setting a man into panic obviously isn't an example of a very bad joke to you."

"So WHY did you approach so aggressively?"

>She stayed slumped down on the floor, realizing that challenging you would just dig her hole deeper.

>"I-" You weren't going to be satisfied with anything but the exact truth.

"Look me in the eyes corporal! So I know you aren't lying."

>...

"Look. me. in. the eyes."

>You parsed it in a low monotone through clenched teeth, even as you barely restrained your biting fury, it was the tone of command, and she obeyed.

>Her face was decorated in fear as her pupils had shrunk to pinpricks, the weight settling on her that if she wasn't expecting any consequences for her shit: she was dead wrong.

"Why?"

>You held her focus completely as she answered, piercing into her soul with the fury burning your vision.

>"I. I don't like humans sir..." Just as you thought. The first one of your squad to start bonding with you was a fucking speciesist.

>Even as you suffered in your childhood, you never held it against humans as a whole, while that state wide cult that excused itself as a religion could burn in hell. You saw no point in bringing your ire against the entire species for the mistakes of a bunch of bad apples.

>But here she was, weak and vindictive. Disgusting!

>"Ma'm I did it bec-"

"I don't give a damn what excuses you have! Do you even understand who you just set off?!"

>"Why is that important? *urgh* do you know that asshole or som-"

>You loosed a short growl and reached down, planting your left on her left shoulder while gripping the back of her head with your right.

>You turned her to face the mech and panned her head upwards to look at the Rumbler's shoulder.

"What does that say corporal?"

>She took a hissing inhale of breath, obviously scared over your claws hovering above her scalp. But she tried to stammer out the numbers anyway.

>"s-six oh six."

"Six-oh-six, that's OUR battalion number isn't it corporal?"

>A rhetorical question, but she would answer it or risk your wrath further.

>"Yes ma'm."

"Congratulations dipshit! You just set off our one and only pilot!!"

>You turned her back to face you and then loosed your grip, letting her falter onto the floor.

>She croaks weakly, still clutching at her middle.

>...Maybe you hit her a bit too hard.

>She sucks in air and groans.

>"It isn't a big deal I don't understand." ...yeah, you hit her with what she deserved.

>Growling, you seized her wrist, bringing it up in front of her while pressing down on a spot in her palm to force her to pop her claws.

>You made sure they were dangerously close to her.

"YOU SEE THESE!?! THESE ARE WEAPONS!! YOU DO NOT APPROACH A FRIENDLY WITH THESE BRANDISHED UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, AND YOU SURE AS HELL DO NOT GO WAVING THEM AROUND IN THEIR FACE!!!"

>And you drop her again. She hits the floor without any support.

>You may be harsh but it's necessary, not only is her infraction potentially deadly, apparently she failed to even realize that.

"Do you even realize how badly you fucked up? The man has a PHOBIA corporal! He is TERRIFIED of anthros, and I am the only one to have broken through that and gotten him to trust me!"

"Something that you may have just have RUINED!!"

>"but, I-"

"Didn't fucking think! What if he had his sidearm?! What then?!"

>She sank into the realization, but you spelled it out for her anyway.

"If he had his gun, or if you had just been the slightest bit more of the model of a speciest dumbass: THEN ONE OF YOU COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED!!"

>"I'm sorry ma'm." Some of the anger left you, and a slight tinge of regret edged in with its absence.

>Did you really have to reduce her to a pained mess on the floor?

>You did, to make her understand the gravitas of her mistake, and to ensure that even if this first bite is the harshest, she NEVER does it again.

>And now for the final nail in the coffin, the disappointment. Because you genuinely expected better from her.

"I was hoping that none of you would be problem children, That I would never have to raise my voice..."

>You huff heavily, the hot gust dragging out some of the heat that had built in your core.

"But you just had to prove me wrong.... I expected so much better from you."

>You adopted a more cold glare, as much as you wanted to scream at her for fucking up everything that you had worked towards, you couldn't hold her responsible for more than just agitating a comrade into a potentially deadly confrontation.

>It was possible your vested personal interest in him made you angrier at her than you should be. Your squad likely wouldn't look at you the same way again after witnessing this. Before you were the woman looking out for them, now you were the woman they didn't want to piss off.

>You turned away from the sputtering heap on the floor that was your corporal and former friend, and started walking out. You need to tend to the other side of this mess.

>"Ma'm please I-" She spoke in a somber and quiet voice, the matter weighing down on her back and keeping her pressed towards the ground, even as your monolithic presence moved away.

>But you weren't interested in her excuses, she could truly apologize after she had time to cool her jets and think on her mistake.

"You can stammer out your excuses now, but you can apologize later."

"Jorgenson!"

>You had stopped and snapped your glare over the cats, both of them jumped as you barked their name.

>You jerked a thumb back towards the lioness.

"Drag her ass to the cooler, she's staying the night at least. I'll decide exactly how long in the morning."

>"y-yes ma'm"

>"yes ma'm"

>You can't tell if they're intimidated by you or if they're just stunned due to everything that happened. The uncertainty plays off your doubts, trying to tug them out of their lairs to harass your clarity of mind.

>The two cats move to help the lioness up and guide her to the cooler. The cooler was the Military Police cells for detaining unruly troopers for numerous reasons, least of which was major infractions like this one.

>In this case it would do Feldspar some good to cool her heels in one of those cold isolation cells, at least for one night.

>Whether or not she stayed any longer than that rode on her. If she didn't shape up then her punishment would only drag on longer.

>If she could show that she genuinely wanted to fix both this fucked situation and herself for the better you were perfectly willing to offer mercy.

>You stepped out into the wider camp, finding the other half of your squad looking between eachother with worry, Duran found her words first.

>"Wasn't that a little harsh?" The anger rose with a wave, it's not her right to say that you went overboard, for something like this you could easily have that cat busted down to private.

"Don't you-..."

>You caught yourself before you could finish that phrase.

>'don't you question me.' Earlier today you chewed out Lyudmilla for failing to question Vilka.

>And you were just about to prove yourself a hypocrite, it was good that she was willing to question your decisions and reasoning.

>You should share your reasoning, present it for her second opinion. Maybe you had been too severe.

>Huffing again to help with the ebb and flow of your emotional tides in their endeavor to drag away the rage, you present your case.

"She needs to learn. I am not tolerating this EVER happening again. I just hope I've nipped this in the ass before it becomes a problem."

>Her hazel eyes scan for something that might tell her more, but she nods subtly and backs down. It seems you were in the right with how you've treated this.

>Pliskin speaks in a timid drawl.

>"What are you going to do now sarge?"

-the obvious-

"I need to go find him, and hope I can fix this mess."

"None of you follow me, you'll just set him off again."

>"yes m'am."

---

>You looked and you looked, for hours you combed the base, trying to follow a scent muddied and faded from all of the oil and filth.

>Your worry climbed in equal measure with the time, it showed in how you called for him in those isolated corners of the camp.

>You even checked outside the perimeter, following your nose wherever it took you through the trees and wildflowers.

>Despite everything and how persistently you scanned for him. You didn't find him. His scent was so heavily masked in the first place, and he seemed to wander with no real direction, leaving trails all around.

-he doesn't want to be found-

>Because he's terrified of you. Everything woven between you could have started unraveling, because that inbred pride slut couldn't restrain her hickland bigotries for five goddamn seconds.

>You did give her a hell of a bruise, hit her exactly where she wouldn't forget it. But you wanted to hit her more, and the shame coursed through you.

>You told yourself you'd be a good superior. Good superiors don't strike their underlings unless absolutely necessary. Good superiors don't let them get into trouble like this in the first place.

>And now you had gone and made yourself the enemy, the gigantic bitch that momentarily crippled their upstart figurehead corporal with a single blow.

>Because you got pissy over a man that was so damaged and frightened it was a miracle he even regarded you as anything but a monster.

>You can't find him, he had gone too far and you didn't have a trail, but there's one last spot that maybe he would show himself in.

>You look there too, that same stack of crates where you had met up yesterday. Your heart plummets further as you find no trace of him here.

>Here, these two unassuming crates. You lifted a spark from behind his tired eyes even as his body ached and fatigued.

>Even as you reflected on the day, your worries over what was behind that frozen door, and your unvoiced railings against yourself for how you handled the bunker.

>You had gotten too wrapped up in yourself, convinced the troopers ahead of you would keep you safe, you failed to notice more than that something was wrong as you retreated into your own head. What if the enemy had come from behind instead of from ahead? You would be gone if that was the case.

>And here you are retreating into your headspace again.

>You sit down on the crate, a tracing of his scent is still here, clinging to the air like the dying leaves of autumn. But he's not here.

>He's off somewhere shaking and afraid, questioning if trusting you was the biggest mistake of his life or not.

>That stupid sand-haired BITCH! Of course he wasn't so perfect himself, the word still dashed and cut at your heart when you pictured it coming out of his mouth.

>'Feral!' Were you even right to approach him, how was this not a mistake on your end? In the throes of passion, you just had to go and get all hot and bothered for a godsdamned racist!

>FUCK YOUR HORMONES!

>What the hell were you even thinking?! Like it would ever work with a human!

"MOTHERFUCKER!"

>You lash out, slamming the side of your fist into the container at your back.

>The structure almost seems to cry out with the sharp clash it emanates as it's hit.

>You keep your fist nestled into the grooving dent it made as a home, and your arm starts to tremble.

>He hurt you! They both did! You let them in close and both of them just had to hurt you! Every damn time!

>Do you ever learn? what... what is wrong with you?

>What the hell is wrong with you?

>Why does it always manage to fall apart...

>Your trust in your squad, your career after coming under the bitch, your chances at finding someone to stick close to you so you won't have to be on your own all the time.

>Your hands are quivering now, and you let your arm fall back to your side. You're trying to fight it, but the waves come too strongly even for you. Because you always hold it back until it explodes.

>You take a whimpering inhale, trying to hold it back, but your dam has broken, and now the river comes again to wash through the breach.

>In a last gambit you curl your tail about your waste and embrace it tight, there is still a faint sense of him here, if you can just focus on that.

>You snap your eyes shut and focus everything on the scent, squeezing tight even as the stinging heat pricks at the corners of your eyes.

>But there's no substance to this thing you're clutching at, no heart, no endeavor and charm. It.. It isn't him, and it never will be.

>Because no matter what you build between you, some other force will always crash in and tear it to pieces.

>Now you're clutching at the wisping remnants of your tail more as a way to lie to yourself that there's anyone there at all.

>Someone you can hold onto, as the tears come again.

<Tom>

>It's a bitter sort of feeling, the void left in your heart when you realize someone just left you. You should know, you've felt it enough times.

>So you do like always, and drown it in more bitter swill. The burn of the scotch sliding down your throat is a pain that reminds you too much of what you felt in that moment as you realized: she won't forgive you for this.

>You had stepped too far, that could have been deadly, and in the heat of the moment you wounded her.

>You may not have known she was there, but only a coward uses that as an excuse. A coward like you.

>As soon as you saw the despair crest her eyes, you didn't rush to console her or scream that it didn't mean anything. You ran.

>You ran because your guilt laden heart wanted to flee again. Stupid thing, what the hell good did it ever do you?

>It lurched you this way and that in pursuit of affectionate shadows that never stayed by you. Every one of them was just the latest in a series.

"But I tried, to run. Though I knew it wouldn't help me none."

"Cause I couldn't ever love no one!"

>Too fucking right. The words were slurred as all hell, you didn't care because nobody was out here to hear you, despite how adamantly you screamed the last lyric.

>How many times did that make this? How many times had it all just passed like another withered weed being dragged out of its hole by the wind?

>...

>You lost count.

>Running is useless anyways right? She would find you and beat the shit out of you for what came out of that cesspit you called a mouth.

>She's got a sharp nose, sharp ears, sharp claws, and sharp teeth.

>Might as well try to force yourself to pass out to spare you the other kind of pain.

>No amount of liquor will get rid of the burnt slashes left inside you, just dull it so it won't hurt so much.

>It stings again as you down another swallow, and now the fuckin' bottles' empty. It was down to an eighth when you started.

>You growled and chucked it through the sprouting branches tangled over your head. That was the last of your stash.

>You drew your knees against you and slumped your head there with your hands, guess you can just watch the valley from this little vista. That and mumble to yourself.

"Can't love no one."

>What flavor of it doesn't matter, you wound anyone getting close to you all the same. Friends, family, comrades, and those faintest shots you had at love.

>You always found a way to shatter all the bridges built between you and another person. It's not them that's the problem anymore. It's you.

>Something was approaching, even as the western sun started to descend from its hang over the mountains on your left.

>A tangled clump of legs and spires holding up a crumpled, dark shape. You stared at it, because you got the sense something was watching you, and if it wanted to kill you it was best to just feign ignorance so it can do it quick and clean.

>The thing slowly stomping towards camp started to take more shape, even through the inebriated haze that had settled on you.

>It was a pair of salvage walkers dragging something between them, it looked about the right size to be...

>An auger mech. But nothing about it seems right. It should be walking on its own. Where is the pilot? What happened to that machine?

>The machines pass through the autumn hearth of a break where the sun shines through the peaks. In that brief pass of light, you wish the procession stayed in the shade where funerals belong.

>Hung between the salvage walkers like a limp marionette: is a Rumbler. Or rather the tattered remnants of one.

>Light glimmers through shredded holes in the hull, the nose plate is burned open, gashes and breaches collaging together into a gaping sort of mouth. Almost like the mechanical beast took animate shape, and screamed in agony in its first, and final, moment.

>You know that blast pattern, he was shot from behind.

>everything seizes.

>Dread creeps from the gnarled roots around you, your breath catches in your throat and cold grips at you.

>Something whispers in your ear, so close it's real

>'Listen to me.'

"NO!"

"GOD NO!"

>You thrashed yourself away from it, even as you tumbled off of your balance. You lay in the chilled grass, trying to breath with shuddering lungs.

>Don't look at it. It doesn't exist, you're fine.

>inhale, count to four, exhale

>You're fine. It's okay.

>You didn't see anything... you don't remember anything.

>Better just leave, you'd rather risk her wrath by slinking back to the tent.

>And so you ran again, as the sun set you ran from an echo of what once was. And you buried that under an avalanche of liquor and worry over different problems.

>Namely how bad Teth'ra would maul you when you stumbled back in to her line of sight.

>It was amazing she either didn't find you earlier or just decided to let you wallow in your misery like you deserve.

>Here you were, running for refuge back to an active danger rather than leave yourself alone to let the ghost ambush you.

>Running was indeed useless, maybe it would have been better to just curl up and let her tell you she was leaving.

>That you were on your lonesome now. Not like you had a problem with that, but she did. The plea calls back in you, almost threatening to jump from your own tongue.

>'don't go'

-you promised-

>...You did.

-you broke that promise-

>You did, what good are you?

>What even are you now? Aside from a miserable sack of shit? You're nobody, a belligerent bastard of an imperfect father and an absent mother.

>you were raised Irish, so you had a drinking problem since you could drive, and a fighting problem even before that.

>It was a miracle you hadn't gotten in enough trouble back in Boston to be left bleeding and broken on a street corner at the strike of 1a.m. after a rough night.

>And you can't really blame anyone for how much of a scumbag you are but yourself.

>You're the one that took your one and only car, the precious gift your father practically built for you with tears in his eyes, and then raced it around dangerous roads in the dead of night for quick cash.

>And you spent that cash on keeping the miserable heap that was your home from falling to pieces, even as your dad bounced in and out of work.

>Your the one that kept lying to your dad about where you spent your nights. Graveyard shifts are a bitch right?

>It only stopped after that knife fight, when you had almost killed a man for bet money.

>And now you went and threw away the one good thing you had out here. She doesn't need to be burdened with keeping you afloat anymore, it's obvious you'll just drag her down.

>Maybe it's the liquor talking, Maybe it's something else, whatever it is it's right.

>You wandered back through the woods as the sun sunk into the horizon, and you stood at the edge of the wood gazing at your tent like an outsider.

>In a way you suppose you are now, you certainly weren't going to be welcome around her anymore.

>Looking around that intimidating giant didn't seem to be around, so you lurched forward like an auger mech with a busted gimball.

>About 30 feet from the flap your drunken trudging failed you as your foot was ripped out from under you by a gnarled old root cresting out of the dusky earth.

>Great, your such a failure even a fucking tree can knock you over... As much as you would like to lay here and die, you have one last purpose on this earth before you go.

>Maybe once you wake up from your stupor you'll find that all of this talk was an artifact of the scotch playing hell with your brain in between taking shots at your liver.

>A drunken slump isn't an unfamiliar feeling, yet another mark against you.

>You stumble up to the flap and brace yourself, ready to have a grey furred fist grab you by the collar and haul you in for your justly deserved beating. Holding your breath you brush the fabric aside, and find nothing.

>"Tom." The tone is flat and brimming with some dark emotion, her voice no longer sounds sweet like rich honey, it sounds terrifying.

>She's behind you, likely just waiting for you to show yourself. Your breath tightens in fear as you hunch your shoulders to shelter your head.

>Can't run, she has longer legs, she'd catch you. So you brace yourself. You fuck up, you get hit. It's as simple as that.

>But no matter how much she bares down at you, the claws never tear into your spine, somehow this feels worse than if she just hit you, or did anything other than stare.

>Even as your heart hammers you sink more into despair, you're not even worth the effort to scream at.

>You slink in to the tent and go about a half cocked slur of your nightly routine. The whole time she says nothing, and never so much as gets near you.

>You can't even look at her, bracing again and again for the strike that never comes. Why won't she do it? Why won't she show that she even cares in the slightest anymore?

>Eventually you climb into your cot and shrink under the covers. You stare at the rough fabric of the tent walls, thinking.

>Maybe you should say something.

"... Teth."

>A low growl silences your meek pleading.

>"Goodnight Tom." She rolls it out through clenched teeth, and you curl into yourself further. After that she settles into her cot with the usual racket, you stay facing away from her.

>In the morning, she'll move herself out, likely go hang out with her perfect little squad.

>So many little toxic feelings mire you as you try to rest, the keep your eyes stuck open for a long time. Exactly how long you don't know, the scotch makes the room move even as you try to make sense of how much time is passing.

>It gets harder and harder to even think, and before you know it, something has taken you down.

>But you don't want to go, some fear grips your heart like no other, but as you force your eyes open just as quickly they ebb closed again as every sort of warmth or energy saps out of you.

>Soon you can't fight it anymore.

---

<Teth'ra>

>You stir from your rest with a start, it's nothing major, your lips stay sealed even as your breath jumps through your nose.

>You try to call back on whatever it was you were dreaming about but you get nothing, just that bizarre sense that some parts of your body are more awake than others.

>Chief of these is your heart, you can feel it beating in short tickings, like an engine trying to turn over.

>There's something in the air, some scent lying underneath everything else. You don't know what it is but for some reason it's thoroughly unpleasant to you.

>The gentle tapping of a light rain patters around above you, it's not anywhere as bad as it was back south, but you still growl lowly at the thought of starting another morning in this dreary state.

>But it's not morning, it's the middle of the damn night and you had woken up for seemingly no reason.

>You hear the gentle breathing of movement to your back. Right, he's still here, even if you didn't want to talk to him.

>Was he awake too? What the hell time even is it?

>It's far too early is what it is. Just go back to sleep. It's nice and warm under your sheets and you don't want to deal with the chilling breath of the rain.

>But no matter how hard you clutch at your covers and shut your eyes, you can't get the sands of sleep to envelop you again.

>A panging of guilt and regret is intent to hang you away from your rest. You were being too hard on him.

>It's not like you can't understand why he said it. He was panicking and you weren't there to restrain her.

>But the only thing that will make that cold sting leave is hearing another set of words from him. But it just wouldn't sound genuine if he just said it because it was the right thing to do.

>He mumbles something, the words are so quiet they escape even the iron grip of your ears.

>Is he awake?

>Guilt bites at your ankles like a feral mutt. You saw the way he stumbled in, he couldn't even look at you, and his breath punched your nose like a prize fighter. The scent of alcohol was that powerful.

>He was violently upset, but was it over guilt for hurting you? Or fear that you would hurt him?

>You can't keep letting him dangle just so his apology sounds more genuine to you. Did your upbringing not teach you forgiveness after everything?

>He would crack soon, if his anguish was over the former, you can't keep holding it against him. If it was the latter... then this was never meant to work in the first place.

>At that point you wouldn't be able to stand being around him anymore.

>He mumbles something again as he shifts on his bedding, guilt napes at your neck.

>Alright that's it, you should talk to him.

"Tom."

>...

>You start shifting off your side to at least turn your head to face him, maybe he didn't hear you.

"Tom?"

>He still has his back to you, and he groans lightly, making an incoherent motion with his left arm.

>Just mumblings in his slumber, dammit. Might as well go back to sleep.

>Still you can't drift off, something is touching just the smallest part of your nose that has it ringing up your instincts, reporting that something isn't right.

<Master Sergeant McWhicky, Thomas A.>

>Your vision flickers through black and you tap at the side of your head lightly, pushing in on the silver tong between your fingers.

>A few more flickers, then the image stabilizes, and you're staring down and ahead along the cracked roadbed and the verdant green of trees and grass freshly uncovered from the winter snow.

>Out of the corner of your eye, you notice you have strayed a bit close to the machine off your left shoulder, and so you push against the auger, correcting your slow stride back to the right.

>A voice chirps in your headset. "McWhicky, don't wander out of formation."

"Sorry Cap, having trouble with my optics, I think this old plug is corroded."

>"Well we'll just have to get a replacement when we're back at the depot. Now try to keep your feet straight soldier."

"Yes sir."

>You have to admit you had your doubts when you first met the captain, but Willard had proved to be as pleasant a man as he first seemed.

>When you questioned him about his offer to invite you into his unit as a pilot, he talked you through your doubts without forcing you.

>This was still your decision at the end of the day.

>Walking along out in the countryside like this felt very natural now, despite the strain on your legs pushing the big hunk of steel you rode forward.

>To think on your first day in the auger on a training model you almost fell over, the instructor informed you that most trainee pilots actually did fall over.

>Guess that's why the training augers were built like padded trashcans.

>"Aww c'mon Tom, having yet more issues with yer machine there? maybe you shouldn't curse at it so much during maintenance cycles, I don't think it likes you."

"Whoever had this hulk before me is to blame there fuckface."

"Half my systems are on the fritz regularly, and the other half have faulty parts."

"I pulled the primer rod twelve times this morning. Twelve times! And the bastard still wouldn't start."

>"I keep tellin' ya Tom, yer given that machine a bad spirit, it's gonna act up on ya."

"Oh fuck off you clown, You aren't one of those suspicious eastern pagans now are ya?"

>A chattering laughter sounded over the in-squadron channel, Kask always was a joker, you could never hold his spirits down. Even if he entertained bizarre beliefs, however briefly, for the sake of the exotic.

>You rolled your eyes and thumbed off your transmitter even as laughter crept out of you, before the Captain stepped on both of you over the channel.

>"Alright, alright. Cut the chatter you two, remember we're out here looking for bugs."

>Kask cut back in. "Don't see SHIT cap'n."

>Then O'Neill had his say. "I haven't seen anything, Vince probably can't even see his own hands with all those charms he wears."

"Nothing here either."

"But hey, I'm having trouble focusing on my own feet right now, so what do I know?"

>"Tom, you must have the sharpest eyes here compared to us old dogs, don't talk yourself down like that."

>Wise, experienced, and above all supportive. That summed up O'Neill nicely.

>The four of you are a team, there's no one else you'd rather brave the dangers of the cordon with.

>That being said, the rolling pines and pale green grasses in front of you held lots and lots of nothing so far, bugs don't nest in conifers.

>The small tastes of the local air you got through the ventilators carried a verdant, sweet sort of smell. The troop continued the conversation, everyone knowing that there isn't anything out here that could really hope to challenge a full Rumbler squadron.

>"Say Gaius, just how long was that shot Tom pulled off at the range?" Oh boy, they're bringing up this again.

>"I'd say it was around three hundred feet." Replied the captain.

>"You should be proud of that, kid."

>Kask played up his reaction. "three hundred bullseye, with that glitzy magnum?!"

>You always told them

"It was a lucky shot guys, come on."

>A bright flash agitated your left eye as your screens flickered again, you smacked at the sensory port at the side of your head. Readjusting the plug and leveling the noise back into the clean image of the road.

>That glitch may have briefly extended to the ventilators too, the flash of cold air across your neck made you shiver slightly.

>Could've sworn you briefly heard something in your headset as well, damn static.

>You rolled your head a bit to make sure the plug wouldn't act up again before turning attention back onto the path.

>Deciding not to bring up your repeated technical issues lest Kask tease you about the static calling your name or whatever quasi-religious experiment he's 'researching' this week, you tune back in to the troop talking about your shot.

>"There wasn't anything lucky about that shot Tom, you have good aim." While you did hit the target, O'Neill was forgetting the other details.

"My grouping isn't up to snuff, if it was, I'd be in the infantry."

>That much was true, not counting that both you and your father were vehemently against you being drafted as a rifle. Luckily your technical skills saved you from being one of the hundreds of tunnel rats that get mulched on the regular.

>All the ones that do die in those dark holes in the ground, it's not your problem but some distant part of you still pains for them.

>You try to forget that for now, it's not like you even know any infantrymen.

>The captain seems determined to get you caught in the idle chatter. "Ha! Our own dirty harry thinks his grouping isn't straight."

>You dislike the comparison, really you do, you were far from a silver screen cowboy, but just because you showed up with a revolver everyone expected you to be a flawless pistol marksman.

>Can't really bring yourself to be angry about it anymore, now you're just tired of it as you loose a weary sigh.

"Cap please, I'm not some action hero."

>"That you aren't kid, most action heroes don't know how to handle a gun."

>Can't help but laugh at that one, Hollywood and the other entertainment sects really have no clue about the actual soldier's life.

"I don't think any of those actors have ever fired a shot in anger in their life."

>"Or ever will." Captain Willard was definitely correct about that. If those liberal stooges jerking themselves off in front of a camera ever learned how to handle a firearm, they wouldn't be so keen on trying to take them all away.

>You laughed at the captain's good natured joking, remembering how different the movies were before the war.

>It seemed like a lot of flicks you saw back then carried thinly veiled political messages against a lot of the rights the republic constitution granted, seeming to hold 'unalienable rights' were suddenly government granted privileges, idiots.

>Then the draft came about and the whole system audibly switched gears, now producing pro-war propaganda by the boatload, you aren't sure which side of the coin is worse.

>You definitely enjoyed the more apolitical films, like the ones starring Eastwood. You were tugged back into the idle chatter as the captain spoke.

>"Say, what the hell was that flick Vegalta picked out for movie night?"

>Kask jumped on this, he loves making light of cheesy garbage. "Ah yeh, that one with the Indiana Jones rip off or whatnot?"

>O'Neill cut in with a sigh. "Yep, that's the one. The gunplay in it was terrible, what the hell was the title even?"

"Michigan Rei and The Curtain of Obsidian."

>Everyone chuckled, remembering the name of the surprisingly high budget, but still B-movie tier knock off.

"Honestly I think half the plot was just some excuse for the *cough* romantic subplot. Obviously that's why Vegalta picked it out."

>There was a general muttering of agreement, the boomer captain had pretty trashy tastes, seems the only thing that mattered was that a romance was front and center during the course of the movie.

>And mostly they were pretty poorly written, the recent flick being a standout example. The male lead was an entirely generic walking trope that had no real character and all of like a dozen lines. The female counterpart wasn't much better.

>They got some sort of scrawny breed of domestic, drenched her in black fur dye and gold glitter makeup, and tried to sell her off as a royal jackal.

>Probably because a real royal jackal would never be seen anywhere near this schlock.

>She was pretty obviously faked, numerous clues gave it away: the camera foreshortening to make her appear taller than the titular 'archaeologist'; the foam ear extensions; the subtle changes in the over designed gold marking patterns between scenes; the way her back hunched due to comically large breast implants, or some uber-stuffed bra; and they couldn't really do much about her short muzzle.

>While she was more of a character than the fridge they glued a hat and whip onto and excused as the protagonist. She spent the majority of the flick following him like a lost puppy because he was 'mysterious'.

>You almost wish a real royal jackal was there, just to see what they would think of their on-a-budget cousin.

>Could've sworn you saw one on base somewhere.

>What grabbed your attention was the 'nazi super robot' that was obviously just a disarmed Rumbler chassis in a costume. Most of the budget seemed to have been thrown at it.

>Kind of a waste considering it was on screen for all of seven and a half minutes of a dragging, generic twenty minute fight scene before being destroyed.

>Afterwards the two disappeared off camera with obvious connotations, Vegalta proclaimed 'that's how you bag 'em'. That drew a chorus of annoyed groans out of everyone, even the boomers.

>Then the plot wandered with absolutely no connotation towards the ancient aliens trope, and you got up and left.

>"Hey Tom, Vegalta didn't try to play matchmaker again did he?" Kask's concern calls you back out of your reflecting. You've moved quite a bit further up the road, it's easy to lose track of time when all you're doing is walking and idle chatter.

"... No. Thank fuck, probably would have tried if I hadn't left early."

>Believing he's a master of romance, the boomer captain never failed to try and set you up on dates during the battalion's social outings or really whenever he was bored because you were quote: 'too pent up'.

>And he never failed to get your type wrong. every. damn. time.

>At this point it was safe to assume, if the idiot thinks she's a good match for you, he's wrong.

>He always either got girls that were far too easy, didn't get you in the slightest, or God forbid, anthros.

>Your dumb ass always felt sorry for whatever poor waif thought she would be meeting someone other than the idiot, so you went anyways.

>The easy girls would pretend to have fun, then drag you home and start undressing. You would stand in their door, ask if they wanted anything beyond the sex, they'd take offense to the question, and you'd leave.

>The incompatible girls would complain and moan when you attempted to socialize. You'd ask them what the hell they even came out for if they wouldn't even try to make things work, they'd take offense to the question, and you'd leave.

>The anthros you apologized at from a healthy distance, informed them you just didn't think of anthros like that and to blame the idiot. They'd ask why, and for a change of pace you'd take offense to the question, and you'd leave.

>It was like clockwork.

>Exhausting, grating clockwork.

>Having to reject and be rejected at least once a fucking week made you testy, the others knew this, and gave you your much needed relief and peace of mind.

>Around these guys, just the squadron hanging out, you felt like you could relax. But for now you had a mission.

>That mission was to walk into the cordon for hours on end and find fuck all of interest.

>At least the conversation made the mind numbing tedium of patrol pass by faster, the miles just seemed to melt as the green mountains crept by.

>"How many times has it been now?"

"... I lost count."

>All the two bit voyeurs and the anti socialites expecting you to read their minds just kinda blended together into a slurry of non-commitment and bitchy attitudes. You really only remember the anthros, and even then it's only because you were keeping close tabs on teeth and claws.

>"shit... that's pretty harsh man."

"yep, that's me, forever alone."

>"Aww c'mon, I'm sure someone has gotta be out there for your smart ass."

>Someone who wouldn't mind that you weren't always a fairy tale gentleman or a low key psychic. A girl that wouldn't mind your dry wit, and actually listen to what you have to say.

>The boyish, caring woman you've never seen, and never will. Because you'd sooner catch a bullet than a lucky break.

>A heavy sigh drags out of you in defeat, but you can swear that she's out there, somewhere.

>Maybe even closer than you think.

>"Plenty of fish in the sea kid." Willard says, he's not wrong but with how few must be waiting for a fisherman like you.

"Ya always say that cap, besides you've had more time than me to fish."

>"ah! But I haven't had such a good eye for it kid, you keep batting away the bad catches Vegalta sets up." Willard never had much luck keeping a relationship stable, so you trust his experience as to what a 'bad catch' is.

>That made you feel a bit better about how many you had to turn away because they either didn't agree with your tastes, or wanted nothing more than something momentary.

>You turned your attention back to the rolling green, although you couldn't place it, somehow it felt familiar, like you had been here before.

>Maybe you had just seen this segment of the northwestern wilderness in a photo somewhere.

>O'Neill spoke up. "Why haven't you given any anthros a chance, they're... pretty different from other girls, maybe you'd have more luck there."

>Your breath jumped in your throat a little, the idea that you were a beast fucker rose anger deep in you.

>You want to cuss him out, but you bite your tongue. He doesn't know.

"I'm not into anthros Terry, never was, never will be."

>"Why?"

>...

>The glint of teeth

>The flash of claws

>You're rooted in fear, helpless

>You can't even choke out a scream

>The air cuts with a whisper

>The sound cuts short

>A splash of scarlet smears the narrow sky

>The sound will never leave you

>The sound of her screaming

>...

>You blink hard and thrash your head to make the phantom leave. You can't let it out.

>You can never let it out.

>Calming your trembling breaths, you force down the empty cold that had ensnared your spine. And you fan the flames of your anger to force it away.

>You hope that they didn't hear the way you glazed over as the memory resurged.

>You growled out the words, a warning.

"I don't want to talk about it."

>"But-"

>The captain stepped in. "He said he doesn't want to talk about it O'Neill, leave him be."

>"... yes sir."

>Willard kept speaking as O'Neill backed off.

>"You okay kid?"

"... Yeah, just.. bad memories."

>"My door is always open if ya need anything kid."

"mhm"

>You aren't sure if you could ever even share that with someone. Would they ever understand?

>Every time you think on it, creeping doubts always say no, they weren't there, they would never excuse your hangups.

>But Willard always seemed to have all of your best interests at heart... maybe you should reach out to him.

>Looking at it from the outside, there may be a chance that he would understand perfectly.

>Why not give it a go? The man has proven that you're more to him than just a subordinate. He'll watch out for you, even if he may not agree with your reasoning.

"Ya know cap... I may have to take you up on that offer when we get back."

>"Anytime kid. Now let's get back on task."

"Thank you sir."

>The idle chatter flowed away as the patrol wound deeper into bug country, the whole journey through the mountainous countryside rendered little beyond the green pines and sharp furrowing slopes.

>The worst you encountered seemed to be lone bugs or small packs, which quickly skittered away when faced with four Rumblers, nesting real-estate must be thin outside of the larger settlements.

>Without the conversation keeping your attention, the hours seemed to melt into minutes.

>More green, more trees, more nothing.

>Good fucking God the northwest was boring.

>Pretty, but boring.

>No wonder people tend to forget Canada was a thing north of Vancouver.

>When you were first briefed on taking a combat patrol up north beyond the cordon, your initial worry was over getting swarmed as soon as you left effective range of friendly guns. Either you or the support convoy trailing behind your path-blazing was bound to be caught out by a small swarm at the wrong moment.

>Now your primary worry was being bored to death as the miles ticked by.

>In technicality, this was still enemy territory, so you can't just talk shit and put on some music while taking the hike, gotta keep an eye out.

>Mind numbing tedium threatens to put you in a waking coma, so you decide to make your own entertainment beyond counting how many times you've seen trees that look similar.

>Making dead certain your transmitter is flipped to the off position, you start humming now that your voice is isolated.

>Don't need a repeat of your first day in a Rumbler after going through the training. You were still getting used to everything and your nerves were riding high, scared that the differing weight distribution and tensions would have you falling over.

>It was in that moment you started quietly singing to yourself, it had always helped your nerves.

>And then promptly stopped when everyone started laughing, you had left the transmitter on like a complete idiot.

>Since then you didn't let your voice be heard by anyone but yourself.

>It's not like you could ever compare anyway. You're entirely self-taught.

>You let the mech's footfalls act as a slow drumming metronome, and you started letting the tune leak out.

>The words flow like a gentle breeze as you quietly mumble the lyrics. staring at the welcoming blue sky.

>There's a lady, who glitters with gold, and sometimes words have two meanings.

>It makes you wonder.

>Your spirit gets a feeling, looking to the west, and the forests will echo with laughter.

>It really makes you wonder.

>And there's always time, to change the road you're on.

>To go down a path that leads you away.

>And if you listen very hard, the truth will come to you at last.

>And maybe then, you'll find home.

>It will always make you wonder.

>You close your eyes, and the melody flows away, sweeping everything with it.

>Now you can just watch the rolling green under your feet, and think about nothing as more miles wind away.

>The patrol has been going for hours, but it doesn't really feel like it.

>The road winds, mechs thump, engines mumble, and by now there's such little evidence of a threat that the support convoy is following the squadron closely, their trailing advance shortened to three hundred meters or so.

>Looking up you see the glint of silvered wingtips dancing through the clouds, another reconnaissance flight checking far ahead of where your patrol will take you.

>Rounding a bend and peering over the flare of a hill, you sight the edge of a small town, nestled under a ridge.

>Your breath pauses for a moment, this place somehow seems...

>Familiar

>...As if. You've been here before.

>You stalk forward on bated breath, falling in with the rest of the squadron. You can't place it, but something about how you almost know this place is wrong.

>Another glimmering catches your eye, and you reach to adjust the plug again.

>You push it in.

>The shine in your eye hasn't gone away.

>Your heart plummets, Ice breaths on your back.

>That gleam is sunlight, reflecting off metal.

>The heart seizes, and air races down your throat as needles rake across your skin.

>You thumb the transmitter on in a heartbeat.

"SILVER SIGN!! SCATTER! SCATTER!!"

>And suddenly you aren't about yourself anymore, you're watching.

>Watching through your eyes as you realize why.

>Why you know this place.

>It sinks on you as every voice whispers out of the darkness, creeping cold walking across you.

-this is where they die-

>And it plays, the dance of death. In every inscrutable detail.

>in every agonizing second.

>every. horrid. memory.

>You aren't in control of yourself anymore, you're just along for the show.

>You can't scream, you can't warn them any faster.

>You can't change anything.

>Immediately the squadron moves, splitting in different directions as the call goes out.

>Kask wasn't fast enough.

>From an impossible distance, it reaches out and takes his arm.

>A bright streak of white crashes into the shoulder of his Rumbler.

>It pierces through, steam and glowing red fragments spray from both ends as the armor vaporizes.

>The outer plates buckle and fly apart, and the machine's right arm drops away, control cables snapping. Power couplings sparked and flared as hydraulic and oil lines leaked their vital fluids, smoldering fire clinging to the blasted socket.

>With the drop in mass, Kask lurches to the left, using the momentum to try to run for safety faster.

>"Grah! I'm hit! Right arm is gone!"

>The captain bellows, ordering everyone towards the obvious course of action.

>"Goddamn sniper! Everyone get to cover! Now!"

-it won't save them-

>Kask scrambles, trying to push the Rumbler's legs as hard as he can to place a hollowed apartment building between him and the enemy.

>The offset weight is slowing him down, he has to balance his stride to avoid falling.

>You scream at him to stagger his approach, to throw off the enemy's aim, but there is no air in your lungs.

>You aren't there, you're just watching the memories of that horrid day.

>So you can only watch hopelessly as Vincent scrambles, desperate to cling to life as you scramble for your own cover.

>None of these old machines could move as quickly as that new one can, he isn't fast enough.

>He keeps his torso panned towards the right, towards you, in some attempt to balance the weight correctly.

>He's so close to safety, but it doesn't matter.

>A second bright streak reaches out.

>It punches through his left shoulder, and with a gut punching percussion, the left ammo racks explode.

>Flames and smoke reach high above the left backplate as whirling chunks careen high, the pressure of the detonation forced upwards by the blast plates.

>The machine stumbles, whirling counter clockwise as it crashes into the frame of the shelled apartment.

>The frame buckles and shifts as dust and chunks of rubble fall, but the structure itself manages to stay standing despite the impact.

>Kask's Rumbler is now leaned back into the face of the structure, both arms missing and billowing smoke.

>He screams in agony.

>You remember the blast plate on the compartment side failed, and Vincent was showered with red hot fragments.

>The pit in your gut drops as you remember how he dies, and the memory plays in front of you.

>You can't go through this again.

>But it won't let you leave, every way you try to will yourself it's there, never leaving your vision.

"please no."

>It doesn't acknowledge your pleading, the show must go on.

>Even as its actors scream for mercy.

>For release. For ANYTHING!

"no"

"not again."

"please"

>Your voice is a small whisper, overpowered by a wind bloated with chill and pinpricks of fear dancing like electricity over your back.

>It carries no words, but you must watch.

>Watch him die in agony again.

>Watch them all die.

>You had scrambled behind a large brick structure, just across a wide street from Kask's wounded machine.

>You remember every word that belted out of you as you tensed to try and dash.

"Vince!"

>"Don't move kid!"

"Kask is hit sir!"

>"DON'T. MOVE. That sniper is waiting for the first one of us to break cover."

>It's agony, you want to help him, need to help him. But the captain is right.

>You know what's going to happen and the twisting pain of being forced to watch, powerless, is burning you from within.

>Before the captain has a chance too, you reach out to Vince, you won't just abandon your brother in arms.

"Vince. Can you hear me? How ya doing?"

>"Well uh.. I'm uhh, I'm not dead. So that's a thing." He strangles a cry of pain.

>"Kinda roughed up though." You can hear the panic edging into his words, his breath comes quickly as he tries to gasp in air with mixed success.

>For all of his faith, you always knew.

>Kask was terrified of that thought.

>That he would pass into the great unknown, and find nothing.

>He cries again, the burning shrapnel is agony, and he can't keep himself still as his body wants to spasm in pain.

>The captain speaks. "Vincent! listen to me! Keep still, if you move too much the bastard may see you through the windows."

>"I'm trying sir. but... oh shit, that's a lot of blood."

>"Where are you hit soldier?"

>"I... uh."

>"Where are you hit?" The tone was flat and authoritative, Willard attempting to calm him through his training.

>A good soldier always obeys the command tone.

>"I-I got shrapnel. Left side, my arm and leg got it real bad an- ARRRgh, shit! it's still hot!."

>He screams as the pain surges out in a great wave, The machine's legs shift and squirm as the body slides a little ways down against its cover, movement the enemy will notice.

>Another bolt crashes through a mere meter from his side, he screams again in panic, but manages to arrest his movement.

>You move forward to run, you need to help.

>"MCWHICKY! DO. NOT. MOVE!"

"WE NEED TO HELP HIM SIR!"

>"That's what he's waiting on! Don't move!"

"shit! fuck! fuck!! FUCK!!!"

>You couldn't do anything then, you can do even less now.

>Another bolt erupts above Kask's backplate, and he screams in terror again, fighting the urge to run.

"Vince stop moving! he's trying to zero in!"

>You know it's already too late, Kask was dead the moment his left ammo bunker blew, but you have to watch, you have to suffer as he's ripped away again.

>The enemy knows where he is, his pained movements gave him away exactly. The bastard is just toying with all of you by making it slow.

>The captain continues to attempt to calm the panicked trooper, but it won't be of any use.

>You know how this ends, and you scream again outside the dream, to make it stop.

>No matter how hard you try to pull away, to disregard it and flee, to try and force yourself awake, nothing happens.

>Your limbs find no purchase, you can barely breath, and your voice is small and unheard despite the aching thunder under your chest.

"not again."

"please"

"make it stop."

>No answer, no escape. You must watch.

>"Son. Listen to me. You're gonna be alright, just stop moving, we'll figure something out soon alright?"

>Despite Willard's words, Kask is terrified.

>"Please sir I-I don't want to die here. I don't want to die, I don't want to die." His will is broken. Voice heavy with tears and fear, Vincent pleads for life.

>"Listen to me son, can you pull out of your auger?"

>Abandoning your machine, the mark that you were truly defeated, that no option presentable could bring you victory or a chance at escape with as large a target as a Rumbler.

>"I-I can Huurgh!... I can try."

>As expensive as the machines are, the pilots are still worth more at the end of the day.

>If there's a chance the pilot can still escape without his machine...

>"Sir I... I-I have a problem." He's on the verge of tears now, you can hear it in his voice.

>"What is it Kask?"

>"The releases... they're broken."

>No escape.

>It's every pilot's worst nightmare, trapped in a damaged auger connected to a crippled machine, in enemy territory. Something like that can lead to a horrible death.

>The emergency release for the armature is located externally, where the pilot can't reach it while strapped in.

>This is because the emergency release destroys the armature and cuts the control cables at the source, if a panicked pilot hit it by mistake or at the wrong time it would easily get him killed.

>Someone has to go in and pull him out since the pilot releases are rendered inoperable by shrapnel.

>You have to do it, and you tensed again to make a mad dash across the road.

>"TOM! DON'T MOVE!"

"GODDAMNIT CAP WE HAVE TO HELP HIM! HE'S DYING!"

>"CATCH YOUR STRIDE SOLDIER!"

>"AIR SUPPORT IS COMING. DO NOT MOVE!"

"WE DON'T HAVE THE FUCKING TIME!"

>You remembered, you didn't have the time, not even the time to pull Vincent out.

>But you had moved back then, defiant of Willard's better reasoning, because you couldn't stand to listen to your brother bleed and die.

>Before you could expose yourself he cut over both you and the captain, screaming.

>"Goddamnit! Both of you stop!... just fucking stop..."

"Vince I'm right across the street! I can-"

>"Tom! The captain is right... I-I can't have anyone getting killed on my account, please!."

"I can't leave you here! If.. If I had just seen him sooner."

>"Oh god... Tom, yo-you always talked about finding home right? Once the war's done?"

"Yeah pal, I did, I did."

>"Wha.. What's home look like?" The tears flowed from your eyes as your chest heaved, you didn't want to lose him. But something urged you... to make his last moments comfortable.

"It's beautiful pal, a nice little state house in a green meadow, and-and there's a garden ya know? All sorts of sweet smells from the flowers."

>"Sounds nice."

"Yeah... and there's this firepit on a nice lawn, and on a little hill there's this.. This little white pavilion with flowering vines all over it."

"a-and... And she's there. A woman, And she just radiates happiness ya know?... And there's laughter, and... and. There's little voices, Vince, There's happy little voices. And they never knew this war."

>"Tom... I want you to find home for me. Okay?"

>"I.. I think I can see it."

"You're gonna see it pal! YOU'RE GONNA SEE IT! You hear me?!"

"I'm gonna get you out, and we're all gonna see it!"

"WE'RE ALL GONNA FIND HOME!"

>Your chest hammered as your heart thrashed in pain, you didn't bother trying to preserve your dignity by stemming the tears.

"I-If I had only seem him sooner."

>"Tom.."

>"Listen to me."

>"It's n-- your fault."

>The front of the machine erupts in a spray of molten fragments and fire, the shot had hit him square in the back.

>He's gone.

>...

"no"

"No!"

"NO!!"

>Blood boiling, every thought suppressed by unending rage. You step out into the street and sight the enemy, a gleam of silver on a hill peering over the ridge that shelters the north of the town.

"You want it?! Take it! Die! Die!! DIE!!!"

>You fire everything. Missiles scream, cannons bellow, The engines howl.

>You give your own roar to the chorus as you push forward in a charge, hoping to force him off of his hill.

>The legs refuse to move as fast as you want them, despite the surge of your effort pushing against their resistance.

>He must die, for everything he's done, for every life he's taken.

>But you never got him, more missiles and shells fanned over the hillside and great clouts of smoke and fire as the enemy's shields glared.

>He doesn't move as you continue the plodding surge forward, he won't move until he takes his shot, the shields give him all the time he needs.

>He's too far away, you're too slow, you let your fire rise the smoke over your eyes.

>This is where you should have died.

-it's what you deserved-

>You realized that in the past, and you slowed to try and change direction, only for a surge of momentum to knock you forward.

>A loud crash echoed from the back of the frame as you stumbled right, heading off the road towards more cover.

>The bright lance reached out and struck across your left weapon arm, tearing through the top and destroying the GAU-8. If you hadn't been shoved forward, that shot would have pierced through your left missile batteries, and into the compartment.

>The spray of fragments rattles off the hull like a hellborn hail, you had lost control of yourself and gotten stupid, you should be dead.

>But who shoved you forward?

>You stomp behind an abandoned factory, roughly pushing against your stride to slow down and take cover.

>Twisting your machine to face back towards the road, you find your answer.

>Huddled behind a silo, a Rumbler dressed in chalky white stripes, the nose plate adorned with a face formed from two crescent moons, and a snarling feline maw. 'Lunar Kitten', Willard's machine.

>"What the hell did I tell you about moving!?!"

"Sir, I-I just."

>"You just what?! Kid. You thought running off on a goddamned suicide charge would fucking solve ANYTHING?!"

"Sir I have-"

>"Have to what? To get yourself killed for fuck all?!"

"TO KILL HIM SIR, I HAVE TO KILL THAT FUCKING BASTARD!"

>"Kid, we're all angry right now, BUT JUST WAIT A GODDAMN SECOND!!"

"Sir I-"

>"You will not disobey orders again! The wings will flush him out in a minute, until then DO NOT MOVE!!"

>"I will not lose more pilots today!"

>You had shut up at that, the weight of realization settling on you. If the captain hadn't been there...

>The enemy was perfectly ready to exploit your blind aggression, and you had forced the others to move, endangering the rest of the unit.

>You didn't even think over a plan of attack or evasion, you just moved. The heart still burns for vengeance, but now shame burns your throat.

>A section eight is in your future, discharge by way of failing mental health.

>You were plainly unstable now, something bent with the death of Vincent Kask.

-and now it breaks-

>"Master Sergeant Kask, Vincent P." It echoed from all around you in the black void beyond the memory, Carried by a rasping tenor, shredding the air around it, a deathly parody of his own voice. A rolling thunder shocks your heart as deep bellowing cries howl from all directions. The hollowed din stabbing into you with crying despair as you shudder violently.

>You scream into the void again, for anyone to pull you out.

"Make it stop!"

"Please God, make it stop!"

"Help me!"

>no answer, no escape.

>You risk to peer back towards the hillside with one of the external cameras, he's disappeared.

>The sniper moved, to find a spot to torture his next target. The whole time Willard and O'Neill were arguing over air support, Willard was sure the wings would arrive in minutes to either bombard the target into submission or drive him away.

>O'Neill was the one calling in the firing mission, and he was increasingly convinced of the opposite. Barking that the bombers would not arrive in time, and any fighters or ground attackers in the local area were useless against a battleframe.

>You sat in silence, scanning every furrow and hide where the enemy could appear, and trying to assuage the doubts dragging you down.

>Too aggressive, too passionate, you would be killed, because you don't think.

>O'Neill stated that the fire mission was approved, and the bombers wouldn't be here anytime soon, he was right.

>They would never arrive in time.

>With the enemy nowhere in site and air support too far away, Willard ordered a cautious cover to cover advance, trying to bait the sniper into taking bad shots and revealing himself.

>You and the captain moved in the lower town, While O'Neill pushed hard along the ridge.

>If only you had stopped to try and get a better read on the situation, if you had taken a moment to try and think clearly you may have realized.

>He was flanking you.

>"Shit. I fucking see him! GAAAGH-"

>Another white streak had flown over your heads into the ridge. The captain responded immediately, fanning unaimed fire towards the direction it came from, you followed.

>Of course, you hit nothing, you remembered that.

>"O'Neill! Status report!"

>You were starting to hear it in his voice, the stress of trying to keep it together.

>O'Neill grunted in pain before making his report. "Bastard fucking legged me, Spun into a warehouse, not sure about other damages, trying to get my bearings here."

>Terry would have to abandon his machine, a destroyed leg meant the thing was immobile now.

>Something seemed off to you about where the shot may have originated from, towards the southwest. The frame was fast and had repositioned that far just to get a cleaner shot on O'Neill?

>Then it clicked.

"Cap, he's going for the support convoy!"

>Willard took a moment, then the conclusion hit him as well. He started scrambling over the radio to bring the convoy forward under the protection of your guns.

-you were too late-

>You didn't hear him over the general channel as you were busy checking in on O'Neill, dreading you would lose another one of your brothers today.

"O'Neill.. O'Neill! Can you hear me?"

>"Yeah... I can hear ya." His breathing is shallow and labored, and your worry edges in from everywhere, he took a nasty fall and likely has a pretty severe head injury. You have to keep him talking.

"Hey. How are the both of ya doing?"

>"I... I can't see Fairgraves, damn... I feel kinda... tired."

>You remembered, Fairgraves had died on impact, O'Neill's subgunner was gone.

>Kask's own subgunner was back in the convoy, and you didn't ride today with the mouthy trainee that was yours.

>Both of them would be gone soon, the order to bring the convoy forward was too late. By the time they got into cover under your guns in town, over half of the convoy was gone.

>But you didn't know that back then, so you kept yourself busy trying to keep Terry from slipping away.

"Stay with me pal, I know you feel tired but you can't let yourself go ya lazy bastard."

>"McWhicky, I don't feel so good..."

>More and more his strength faded, more and more your heart sank.

>You kept him talking, in that vain hope.

"Keep your head up soldier. Cap wouldn't like it if you took a nap on the job."

>"I suppose not.. I'm just so tired."

>"I want to go home."

>His response continues to weaken, you can only imagine his breath is growing slower, more shallow.

"What's the sky like?"

>"hm?"

"What's the sky like? over home?"

>"It's beautiful, can see Orion's belt clear as day."

>O'Neill was a skygazer in his spare time, he loved to talk about the stars.

>You got caught up in his old time romanticism some days.

"Think we'll ever get out there?"

"Out into the black, to reach up and grab hold of Orion's belt?"

>"Actually going out there huh? Cities under distant stars, seems impossible thinking of it now... damn bugs."

>His voice is trailing away, sinking towards the grasping shore of the abyss.

>Once he touched those black sands, they would pull him in and the tide would take him, and he wouldn't be coming back.

>Just a little longer, just a few more minutes you have to keep his head above the water.

"Well, we can always just rip at the thing and pants the celestial fucker. Right?"

>He chuckles weakly, his life ebbing out of him as the trauma shuts him down.

>More and more, the only ones you're talking to over the line are phantoms.

-you knew aid wouldn't arrive in time, why did you try?-

>...

"Don't you quit on me pal, You need to see a night sky that isn't threatening to fall on us."

>His next words come so weak, so distant, you can barely hear them.

>"I'm not quiting..."

>"I... Just..."

>"Gotta take a break......"

>"Wake me up when the war's over......"

>Like the mist of the green mountain,

>Gone forever.

>The echo haunts you. And it comes again, rolling into you from the air itself.

>You clutch at your head, trying to block it out, but it only makes the sound that much clearer.

>"Master Sergeant O'Neill, Terry C." whispers a hollowed wraith, its pathetically weak breath spirited away with a sigh. It was once his voice.

>Then it crashes into you again as the barking call strangles your heart, your knees buckle and you fall in on yourself.

>The sinking despair ties loops around your feet and plunges you down.

>You're past fighting it, you can't win, you plead and cry. Maybe if the cruel thing is satisfied it will let you fall away.

>You call again weakly, drowning.

"Please God... just stop it."

"Make it go away."

"Anything... please, make it stop."

>no answer

>no escape

>You meekly turn your head, trying to hide your eyes but the vision refuses to leave.

>The captain has finished relaying orders, and checks back in on you.

>"Kid, how's O'Neill doing?"

"He's gone cap.. it's just us now."

>The captain rattles off a short string of curses, you can tell the stress is breaking him.

>From there the memory starts phasing through what happens next, like some demented deity fast forwarding to the good part.

>It skips over how Willard managed to talk you into fighting on just a little longer.

>It disregards how you managed to shelter what remains of the convoy away from immediate danger.

>You and Willard had made tandem charges at just the right times to force the enemy to move, to throw off his shots just enough as he moved in from the south in pursuit of the convoy.

>You forced him away with delaying fights and wild fire. Willard figured that the sniper would react to gain distance if you got too close.

>He was right.

>So you steered him east, to open up the south again for the impending retreat, you remembered that you felt a dim glimmer of hope in that moment. Hope that everyone still standing would go home alive again.

>The memory glossed over it, it didn't want you to feel even a shaving of that glimmer, or any courage from how you fought on.

>It wanted you to suffer, and you can't escape it, even as you quake and shudder knowing what comes next.

>You had chased the enemy away towards the north eastern corner of the town, still he skirted along in the hills and furrows outside.

>It was there under the ridge, charging shoulder to shoulder up a broad thoroughfare, staggering your fire in close coordination with Willard to keep the pressure on.

>A mistake had to happen sooner or later.

>At the wrong moment a shot went wide, and a white streak crashed through Willard's nose plate, punching a burning wound through its snarling countenance.

>He stumbled as he screamed in fury. That scream was good, it meant he was still alive.

>You didn't think on it much as you shoved him towards the side into cover, of course, that meant you weren't keeping the fire up.

>Another streak of white fire burned through one of your engines, but you pushed hard, and managed to squeeze both yourself and the captain into cover behind an office complex.

>There was just enough space for the both of your machines, you were nose to nose, and you saw up close the hit that had burned through.

>Melted slag bled in creeping waves, still glowing red with smoke and embers. Maybe at a certain angle you could peer into the compartment and see the captain, but you didn't want to look, the close pass no doubt had him hideously burned.

>But you screamed at him anyways, because then you were so desperate not to lose anyone else.

"Willard! Cap! Answer me!"

>He took a hissing inhale of breath as he swallowed his complaints.

>"I'm still kicking kid, he ju- hng. He just missed me. The bastard got Felix though."

>Another one gone, another one you failed.

"GODDAMNIT!"

>"Kid, listen to me. I'm not long for this world.. so-I."

"no, no, NO, NO NO. DON'T YOU GIVE THAT 'GOOD SOLDIER' BULLSHIT!!"

>It all came at once as you tried to fend off the realization that this is where he dies.

>You completely lost control of yourself, wallowing in a mire of despair and anger, it came out in great wails as your face grew slick.

"WE'RE GOING HOME GODDAMNIT! I'M NOT LOSING ANYONE ELSE!"

>You pleaded, as your fire died.

"we-we're all going h-ho.. home."

>"Kid, I know how you feel, god I know. but listen."

"Don't do this to me cap.. don't fucking do this, don't make me choose."

>"Tom listen to-"

"No! you listen to me!"

"You're. You're like a second father to me cap... I-I can't lose you."

>"And what kind of father wouldn't protect his sons?" You had no argument, and you were too weak to think of anything to stop him, so you listened.

>"now listen to me..."

>There was no anger in his voice, no command tone, you remember every word as the desolation around you seemed to fade away, just leaving you and Willard.

>You gazed into the scarred visage of his machine, seeming to meet his eyes through the plating, an intense gaze of a man taking on his final mission.

>"I'm going to distract that bastard for as long as I can."

>"I already have the convoy ready to move, Once I move, I want you to head the opposite direction, lead the convoy away from here."

>"Go south! you hear me? Don't take the roads, don't expose yourselves in the open for more than a second. Go south as fast as you damn well can."

>"Do you understand?"

"... captain."

>"Do you understand?"

"Yeah.. I understand."

>"Kid, you got a good head on your shoulders. You'll make a fine officer one day."

>"But your heart's too damn big."

>He planted his machine's arms into your front, and the world around you snapped into silence.

>These were the words that finally broke you.

>"Run Kid"

>With a sudden surge of sensation, Willard shoved your machine outwards as he pushed back himself, and you both broke from cover at the same time.

>The white stripes of 'Lunar Kitten' gleamed under the light of the sun overhead, once they looked so fearsome. Now the markings were sullied and scarred, a wounded animal, cornered and fighting to the last.

>Willard turned to face his opponent, perched at the top of the ridge like an extant carrion bird.

>It gleamed with silver, and held a long pike of a rifle among its four arms. Pinned to its right shoulder and draped down to its left side in some sort of alien metallic tint: A crimson sash.

>The captain charged, and you ran.

>You ran because you had no hope.

>You ran because all that you knew and loved among this twisting madness of the war was dying.

>You ran because your captain told you to, and you had no idea what to do.

-you ran because you were always a coward-

>Dashing through desolate streets, the three live engines screaming in tandem with your own wayward cries.

>A shell of a man possessed by a final order, everything swam by in a tear fogged haze of empty shells and broken openings.

>You kept going, no stopping, he told you to run.

>Surviving elements of the convoy rolled out of warehouses and factory floors where they had hid from the deadly gaze of the red sash.

>They gunned their engines and followed you as you led them to escape.

>You screamed in one last surge of purpose, driving the auger hard to move as fast as the old machine can take you.

>You can still get them out, you can still save them.

>Every earth-shaking step is in sync with the pained convulsions of your own heart, but you can't stop.

>If you stop, you're dead.

>Crumbling buildings fly by on both sides as the murmur of engines in chorus trails closely behind you.

>Still you hear the whining shriek of the red monster's rifle, and the countering roar and thrash of Willard's guns.

>You dare to look back.

>'Lunar Kitten' charges forward, great volumes of flash and smoke bark from its barrels as it cracks open the shield screen, both machines are wounded.

>But the red sash is in better shape, and dashes off to the side as Willard pans to keep track of him.

>The monster arrests its momentum with an alien grace, and levels the rifle.

>Willard readies to fire everything he has left into the exposed machine.

>A flash of crimson.

>That's the last thing you saw.

>A flash of crimson.

>...

>And he was gone.

>You continued running, he had bought you time, and the red sash disappeared from view as you continued on.

>Hugging the ridge, you just needed to break across into the foothills, then you could turn south and lead what little you have left home.

>A great plume of smoke rose from a section of town on the ridge above you, a fire started by O'Neill's machine.

>Something had sparked a fuel leak, and then all at once, it went wrong.

>Noise, light, confusion.

>A welting concussion rolled up from the top of the ridge with deafening thunder.

>O'Neill's machine had burned down inside of an ammo dump, and it all went up at once.

>The ground fractured, and flowed like water, crashing over you, and crushing what remained of the convoy.

>You scrambled to unhook yourself from your auger, then you collapsed, and all faded to black until you woke up choking on smoke who knows how long later.

>And now it comes again.

>"Captain Willard, Gaius D."

>...

>It's his voice, carried perfectly, sounding angry and disappointed. The wordless shadows whispered intention, because you failed him.

-Failed all of them-

>The thunder shocks your heart and tries to crush it, as you curl in on yourself more.

>You've relived it, what more could it possibly want?

>Why won't it leave? Make it stop!

>More names echo around you, more sins drenching your name in blood.

>The eyes! The goddamned eyes! they're everywhere, staring at you.

>It's there with each barking report crushing your weakening heart that they call through the gaunt silence with unheard words.

>To join them, to burn with them, to die.

>The hollow things want your soul, to drag it into the deep, where it will spin away into nothing.

>You can't take it anymore, and you pour all of your strength into one last bid.

>All of the air, as you scream out in agony for your last refuge.

"TETH'RA!!!!"

>...

>Something reaches down, and pulls you up.

>You snap awake, screaming.

"AAAAAAAAaaaaa!"

>Your lungs are empty so you heave for air, it's dark and you're shaking. A clawed hand has arrested your shoulder, another is at your side.

>Briefly your breath jitters in panic, and then a gnashing in your heart overrides it as you feel like your chest is about to tear itself to shreds.

>A voice rings in your ears, a voice you would never think you would be so desperate to hear again.

>"TOM! TOM WAKE UP! COME BACK TO ME!" Your heart is writhing in agony as it tears its wounds open and bleeds like it never bled before.

>It crushes you from behind with a vivid gripping that washes everything with an overpowering despair. They're gone, they're gone and she's the only thing you have left.

>You treated her unfairly, lashed and bit and burdened her. But you can't let her leave!

>Everything screamed, and you screamed, screamed the words every shred of your heart was begging you to as you turned about and crashed into her.

"I'M SORRY!! I'M SORRY TETH! God I'm so sorry!"

>Your own mental resistances had failed, it all came in too great a volume too quickly. Your own damn had broken.

>The last thing you wanted was for her to abandon you, so you clasped your arms around her as you wailed bitterly into her collar.

>You shook and jumped as powering sobs rocked you. You were just bracing for her to pry you off of her. So you pleaded more, ignorant of your pride.

"Please Teth'ra I'm so sorry, I fucked up! Okay?! Are you happy to hear it?! I fucked up! I'm Terrible! I'm a goddamn burden, BUT I'M SORRY!!"

"pleahse, *gasp* please god, I'm sorry, DON'T LEAVE ME!"

>You choked and whined as the tears flowed, sullying her soft fur as you screamed into her in some desperate attempt to speak straight to her heart.

"Don't leave... I'm sorry."

>You wept bitterly, she had come to you so soon you failed to appreciate that she was EVERYTHING you had left. Clinging to her meant clinging to your life.

>Something crossed your back but you failed to tense because your agony had you thrashing for air just to keep your head above water.

>It pulls you in closer towards her... was, was she actually accepting you? She isn't mad? Why isn't she mad? She should be furious with you!

"I'm Sorry! I'm sorry I'm sorry."

>Her other arm embraces you, the burly things are so damn comforting for some reason, to be embraced by that sort of strength tells you you're sheltered from the world, insulated by her size.

>No one has to know, has to see as your soul spills all your sorrows at once in a flood.

>"p-please Tom. Stop! This isn't like you, it's okay. It's okay. shhhhh shhh shhhhhhhhhh. It's going to be okay."

>How does it always sound so genuine coming from her? It sounds so real, but you know that somehow it doesn't work.

>If it was okay you wouldn't be languishing in this hell. If it was okay they would still be here.

>She's just trying to calm you down enough to apply a more gentle method of prying you off, so you clutch at her, burying deeper into the mountains of her body.

>She tenses slightly as you clutch at the fur along her back, it ruffles and cushions like a bed of fine ash. Her tension sinks back however as you manage to gather your breath enough to plead again.

"It's not okay! I treated you like garbage! I'm a complete fucking bastard."

>Suddenly it feels like she's pulling away and your heart goes as light as a feather, but you realize her powerful arms are still keeping you locked to her. She's reclining back into her cot and lying down with you.

"You saved me, and all I can do is hurt you..."

>She kept you in the embrace, dragging you out of your cot to share hers, your body falling along her side as the embrace pulled you forward to rest your chest above hers.

>You feel a soft silk pushing gently against your head, prodding you to move, you hold on tighter. It gently lets off, and hovers inches over your ear, washing a dry warmth over your neck. It comes in a gentle breath of spring like serenity, honeyed with care and emotion.

>"I forgive you."

>Your breath jumps as your confused heart jitters and lurches. How the hell is she not furious with you? Why? You don't deserve this.

-You don't deserve her-

>You never did. You deserved a burial under that landslide with the rest of your troop, because you failed them, you failed everyone.

>The tears surge anew as you wail pitifully into her fur. You can't even hold yourself together anymore.

>And it makes you even more guilty, you're ruining her fur, staining and matting it with your pathetic crying.

>Why does she tolerate you? Why does she forgive you? Why help a broken bastard like you?

"Why?!"

>You breath leaves you as the waves wash over in drowning despair. You manage to force yourself to find it again even as your ribs protest the jumping spasming of your lungs.

"All I can do is hurt people..."

>And just like that it's stolen from you as your sobs jump in and out of your throat, there's no point in trying to restrain them now.

>You've already thrown away your dignity and pride.

>The force on your back shifts and you hold on for dear life, convinced she's finally dropping the facade and is about to plant hands onto your side and lift you off.

>But you hear gliding movement all around you as she seems to make a point of roughly pulling the blankets from both cots over the two of you.

>The question still echoes everywhere in your head 'why?'. The warm weight settles over you, and her muzzle returns to your ear, still prodding gently at your hair.

>"That's not true... You were there for me, even when you were scared that I may have lashed out at you. I never had to ask you for help.

>"You care. You really do care, I can tell." You swear you can somehow feel the shreds of your heart stitching back together, how the hell does she keep doing this?

>But that taunting malice isn't going to make it easy for you to collect yourself, and it mentally sounds off in your other ear despite being so many miles away

>'your heart's too damn big.'

>And it starts again, everytime you try to keep your distance you hurt someone. And if you get close and get attached, either you hurt them or they hurt you, it's always hurting.

>Why can't it stop? Why won't the tears end? How long does your own river of sorrow stretch on for?

>Even as you struggle to keep from being swept away completely an answer comes to you, it may never end.

>'It's --- your fault.'

"Oh god!! Make it stop! M-make it stop."

>She whines, and it pulls at you more, are you going to drag her down? So far she's held strong at your back, an obstinate boulder in the rapids.

>"shhhhhh. I'm here for you. You can tell me what's wrong. I won't hurt you."

>You weep, your back jumps under her arms. You try to collect yourself enough to spill out the things haunting you. You can't hold them in anymore, in that fear that you'll be forced to relive them again.

>But can you really load her with that sort of pain? You have little choice, already your confession starts to trail from your lips.

"They're gone Teth. They're all fucking gone. AND IT'S BECAUSE OF ME! I failed them!..."

>and now you ask for your promise in return as she tenses under you, you bury your head just under her neck, pleading like she did.

"Don't go."

>She pulls you in tighter against her side, and rests her muzzle over your head, sheltering you.

"Kask"

>A desperate plea, dead in flames

"O'Neill"

>A wizened journey, stolen away by a lack of breath

"Willard"

>A defiant stand, amounting to nothing

"I failed them. They're gone because I didn't see him in time. They were everything to me, my family out here!"

"AND HE FUCKING TOOK THEM!!"

>Your heart still hangs in tatters, bleeding sorrow across everything. How the hell can she even put you back together?

"It's just not right. I live alongside that monster..."

>The guilt twists the hanging shreds of your core, your final mission was a failure, you deserve less than nothing.

"It's not right. I should have died back there, it's what I deserve."

>Suddenly her grip on you is almost crushing and you feel a paw snaking under your neck, cradling your chin and wrenching your skull upwards.

>Almost nose to nose, you're caught by her eyes striking through you. The cool radiant blue magnetizes your focus like the first time all over again.

>And you notice that the fur beneath them is sullied and damp, even now tears gather at the edges to those majestic pools.

>Her face is twisted in pain as her ears hang low, her mouth twisted in a waining snarl caught between melancholy and fury.

>"Don't say that! Don't you ever say that!.

>"You have everything to live for! Their memory, your family, your home! Ending this goddamned war!"

>"And you have ME!" She whimpers as a few more tears stain her grey fur.

"Teth'ra."

>"Don't you dare forget! Even if there's no one else.. I care."

>"Stop blaming yourself! There isn't anything you could do, you were lucky to get out of there... and I was lucky to find you."

>"Do you know how close I was to just... doing something stupid before you showed up? I was considering desertion!"

>She... She's right. You did everything in your power, you just didn't have the time, or knowledge, or equipment.

>None of you could have seen him soon enough, but your heart still twists, the red sash is out there somewhere, and you HAVE to kill him.

>You would end that monstrosity, before it enacted anymore tragedies.

>She was pulling you out, and the tide of tears stemmed. Your heart was recollecting itself like a broken machine set to self repair.

>You lowered your head back under her neck, and she covered you again with her snout. The vibrations of her voice surrounded you.

>"What I saw was a broken man with a fruitful heart, that just needed someone to help him. I saw my own despair, my own loneliness reflected in a human of all things. So I reached out, in my own stupid way, disbelieving it even worked as well as it did. And I found someone on the edge, someone that nobody would help but me. I found someone that still cares."

>The tatters of your heart are coming back together, Knitting around themselves on an updraft of warm feelings.

>"I care, Tom. I care, because I know how much you care too. Don't ever forget that."

>Soothing, caring feelings wash over you. And you realize how exhausted you feel, you can barely move. But that's okay.

>Because you're in her arms. Your breath calms, your eyes wish to shut instead of burn themselves out.

>You can swear she really is what's best for you, somehow. Still you feel like you somehow must be burdening her.

"Teth'ra.. I'm sorry. It must be so hard setting me straight, some days... I feel like I don't deserve you."

>"You aren't a burden. I'm happy to help you walk. You just need a little help, and I'll fix you, I promise."

>"It's going to be okay. Just go to sleep, I'll be here for you." It feels like it really is going to be okay.

>A sound soothes over you as your eyes weigh heavy, some winding wind of comfort that lifts away your doubts and musings.

>She's singing.

>You can't parse out the words, but her quiet melody is beautiful, swelling and diving through the air in a sonorous dance.

>The tune swells into your own breath, and you find yourself blearily humming along as darkness creeps over you.

>It carries you off, on a bed of gentle song.

>You catch one last thing before you slip under.

>"Good night Tom."

<Teth'ra>

>'I love you'

>The phrase almost coasted out of your mouth, that would be a handy way to make things awkward. You had almost said it out of habit from those heart breaking nights cradling your frail brother.

>Of course there was the obvious second reason as to why, but it wasn't the time. He was vulnerable and had finally broken apart himself.

>As much as you were expecting a tearful apology in the morning, you hadn't expected his restless mumbling to turn into strangled cries and pleading.

>The way he called for you, the way he launched into you as soon as you finally managed to shake him awake, denoted that he had been in agony.

>A gripping despair, over what you could only guess as him helplessly reliving the last moments of his unit. You had worried over him holding this in, and for good reason, it took that much for him to finally get it off his chest, and even then he was determined to blame himself.

>You could never stand that, he only had a single kill mark back then, a bright eyed rookie. How was he expected to fight on equal footing with an opponent that made such short work out of a full squadron?

>He had apologized and more, must have worried himself sick over how he hurt you, that's the sign of someone you can count on.

>Someone you could trust, the way he was trusting you, lulled to sleep in your arms. You had missed this, holding someone this close.

>Having another person trust you so much with all of your strength to just hold them securely while they're at their most vulnerable. It coursed a warmth around your chest to know that your gentler side hadn't failed to be seen.

>Most people look at you with masked fear and only see the giant to break their backs, not him. He sees past that to your better side, and he wants to stick close to you for it.

>And you want to draw him just a little closer. It's finally happening. The fear is starting to subside, and he's confessed his burdens to you. You're fixing him.

>You KNOW that once all of that is out of the way, you'll find that you like who he is underneath. You've grown a good sense of people, and with how much time you've spent around him, you are dead certain you have a grasp of who he is.

-not good enough to sniff out Feldspar-

>For some reason you were never good with cats, and most of your squad are felines. That may cause more problems in the future if the lioness isn't an outlying case like you hope she is.

>Even now you still hold anger for her and your opinions had soured, she drove Tom into this desperate state, and the less reasonable parts in your head chanted with the crash of wardrums.

>That dark part of you wanted to hold your fangs over her throat to make her understand that unabated terror she leveled at your Tom.

>But as furious as you were with her, a night in the box should at least bring her to her senses. You would make it clear she just tore down what friendship she built up with you though.

>Montana was an anthro majority state, and so few people lived up there anyway. What validity she had for her bigotry was thin in that sort of environment.

>You had every reason to despise your (mostly) hairless fellows, having grown up alone among the worst of them.

>However you didn't hate the species, you hated that damn cult that excused itself as a proper religion, all you could see were drones, content and brainwashed under a puritanical system.

>A system that excused the things it did to you, as an obstinate outsider that refused to convert.

>His last name and fiery temperament pointed towards an upbringing among immigrants, he had to come from somewhere along the east coast, likely one of the old colonial cities.

>To be honest with yourself, you liked the idea of such a hotheaded companion, the idea of someone smaller than you getting riled up to defend your honor was charming, and adorable.

>You could always step in to keep him from getting into any real trouble.

-you're staring at him again-

>You know, it's just flattering to see him resting so peacefully in your embrace. You are tired yourself, and you can already see tomorrow being a challenge.

>For one thing you have to browbeat Feldspar into dropping her discriminations and you have to coax Tom towards being less scared of everyone that isn't you. You'll have to think on exactly how to go about that in the morning.

>Finally deciding to rest, you plant your head back into your pillow, somehow the feeling of your arms braced protectively over another body lets the sleep drift in faster.

>One thing seems to query you as you fall into rest. You can't be sure but.. was he humming along as you quietly sang?

>Your mother had always soothed both of her pups with that melody, even when you both thought you were too old for it, and it seemed to work on him just fine.

>But you have to wonder: what does he sound like if he were to sing? Could his voice harmonize with yours?

>Does he even sing? Maybe your tired mind is just prattling off wishful thinking again, better just go to sleep. Tomorrow hopefully won't be as much of a mess.

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