“Neither do they. They’re just petty and jealous.”
She studied him again – he had the sense, judging by the line that formed between her brows, that it was through a new lens. Like she was trying to reallyseehim this time, rather than tabulating his potential as a fighter.
“What do you say?” he asked. “Will you help me?”
The line smoothed, and her expression slid one tiny fraction toward amused. “You’re determined, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been told it’s a real character flaw.”
That earned another bare flicker of a smile. “Alright, then. I’ll help you, Francis.”
“Frankie,” he reminded, “for my friends.”
“Frankie.”
ii.
Their instructor pinned their wings on begrudgingly, Francis thought, on the day they graduated the Rift Walker training program. Rose looked like she was holding back a smirk.
Francis had to pause in the act of packing up his footlocker, securing all his meager belongings for deployment. His breath came quick, and his head spun, and he felt full of sparks, half-nerves and half-elation. He stood up, and braced his hands on his hips, and his gaze went to the poster on the wall – to Tristan, the lines of him familiar now: his folded arms, and his stern brow, and the firm set of his jaw.
“Admiring your boyfriend again?” Rose’s voice asked behind him, and he jumped.
He couldfeelhimself flushing red as he whirled to face her, and protested, by rote, “Not my boyfriend.”
“Not yet.” She offered one of her rare, fleeting smiles. “You getting all packed? We’re set to leave in a few hours.”
Something in her tone tightened his nerves; there was an almost sly glint in her eyes. “Leave for where?”
“Deployment,” she said, shrugging.
“Yeah, but deploymentwhere?”
The grin came back, only a little diabolical. “I did some name-dropping. We’re headed for R Base, to join the Golden Knights.”
His heart stopped.
And then started up again at a gallop. “That’s not funny.”
“When have I ever told a joke?” she countered, expression growing serious again – normal, for her.
He let out a suddenly shaky breath, scrubbing now-damp palms down his thighs. “How did you – why would you –Gold Company? Really?”
“Gold Company is the best,” she said, matter-of-fact. She was obsessed with being the best – which, he reflected, was the reason she’dbecomethe best. She’d graduated top of the class, no contest, and he was still stunned to have been right behind her.Competent, he’d been called.Teachable.
He knew he lacked Rose’s – well, her killer instinct, if he was honest. But he was proud of his proficiency; one that every one of his instructors had found to be a shocking contrast to the sweetness of his face.
Rose would have looked small and sweet, he thought, if the grief and anger hadn’t burned so brightly inherface. A beacon of ruthlessness, one that drew every eye, and pushed most away again. He’d caught glimmers of a softness, even a sweetness beneath the surface, but he thought he might have been the only one. She’d been kind to him, in her matter-of-fact way, and he’d been kind and supportive in return; he’d wanted, though impossible, to offer her some sort of comfort. When she’d finally told him about Beck – and he’d sensed he was getting a heavily-sanitized version – he’d told her of his own losses. She’d nodded, and he’d felt an unspoken closeness tighten their bond. He knew she was never going to cry on his shoulder, though.
“Get ready,” she told him, rapping her knuckles on the doorjamb on her way out. “We leave in an hour.”
He turned to contemplate his poster again. Tristan Mayweather, stern, strong…beautiful in his rough-cut, gray-shot way.
Butterflies filled his stomach, and he berated himself as he resumed packing.
~*~
By the time their transport – one of the ugly, boxy new ten-seater Workhorse helos – touched down at their new base, the butterflies had become hard, snarled knots in Francis’s belly. “Idiot,” he muttered, his voice thankfully lost beneath the steady thump of rotors as the Workhorse settled roughly on its struts, on the ground at last. Rain splattered the windows, and came peppering in as the door was rolled open from the outside. The whine of the motor shut off, and the rotors began their slow chug to a halt.
