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Alec thinks of them often, keeps them alive in his crystal clear memory of them, but the combination of his self imposed conditioning never to betray their confidence and his own practical mindedness has been too powerful over the years to let him actually talk about them. For it to even occur to him to talk about them.

He starts to say something but it doesn't make it easily now either. He swallows and tries again, thumb tip tapping against the pillow.

"I was closest to Evan," he finally manages. It's not a name he's mentioned before.

He doesn't look at Alec, he just listens the quiet way he does whenever Alec's past comes up.

"What was he like?"

"Clever." He can picture his brother as readily, as accurately as he could the tile he's staring through.

"He was the first to work out any puzzle we were given. You think I'm fast with a rubix cube? I'm full seconds behind his fastest time. But he was quiet, too. Not shy, not stupid. Just quiet."

The obvious question is what happened to him, but that isn't what Lark wants to know. Maybe not ever; it's not the important thing to learn. "What was he like when he did talk?"

He's grateful for that; grateful too for the space Lark makes for him, that lets him ease this out of his own mind as painlessly as possible.

"He talked to me most, but it was always to the point. It was the only time he'd say anything, and he'd say what he meant, and that was it." He notices his tapping thumb and stills it, lips quirking faintly. "'Stop overthinking, Knox.' He was a bossy little shit but usually right. 'You know what to do, so do it.'"

He feels so nauseous his mouth waters in response; he ignores it. It's just the conditioning.

Lark isn't looking at him but he knows Alec's voice so well that he can all but see his expression. Both the faint smile and the nausea.

"You said you were closest to him?" Gently prompting for more, for whatever comes to Alec's mind.

Alec is quiet and still for a long, long moment. Possibly so long it might seem he's not going to answer.

But finally, swallowing again, voice flat just so he can say anything at all, "He said I made him feel safe." A beat. "He made me laugh for the first time."

He made me laugh for the first time. That leaden fist to the gut again, because he knows Alec isn't talking about as a toddler, the way everyone else first learned.

"What made you laugh?"

Here at last is the first hint of uncomplicated fondness: he smiles, just a bit, like a knotted up muscle finally starting to slowly release.

"He could wiggle his ears." Alec learned the name for this skill much later than most people do. "You know how hard it is to be upset when someone stares at you, dead serious until you pay attention, and then does that with a straight face?"

Lark doesn't know what Evan looked like, but he's seen how utterly blank Alec's face can be and he can imagine this scenario so well it makes him laugh. All the more because he can picture a very, very young Alec finding a few seconds' relief from the bleak world he'd been born into.

No one at Manticore outside of those fifteen soldiers knew Evan could do that. It wasn't important to them. It didn't matter.

Evan didn't matter to them. But Lark laughs at this one stupid small thing that Alec misses keenly about his brother, and Alec's smile warms as he breathes out. It lets him relax enough to turn over on his side towards Lark.

"I can still hear him, clear as anything." Alec tends to overthink. From Evan he learned how to be more direct. "Cutter reminds me of him, a little. How he might have been as an adult."

"Then I would have liked him." He already does, for the bit of happiness he gave Alec. "I don't know anyone who can do that ear trick. Not without being a wolf, in wolf form."

"It's a ridiculous trick," Alec agrees. He's even tried it himself before, of course, and even with his precise control over his body he can't do it like Evan could.

"He even got Shila with it, once."

"She probably needed a good laugh." They all did, but it has always sounded as if Shila had their wellbeing more squarely on her head. "What did he look like?"

It's a difficult question. Alec can list off exactly how tall he was, how much he weighed, his BMI, the angles of his face to a double digit degree. That's not what he looked like, though.

What he looked like was harder because of personal hygiene standards when they were young. Alec closes his eyes, ultimately, trying to find the words to describe him.

"Taller than I was, but lighter built. He might have grown into it eventually, but I remember... long arms, long legs. Dark skin and darker eyes and hair darker still. One of only two models like him for our series."

It fills in a few places in Lark's imagination. He studies the ceiling of their luxurious little bedroom. "What do you think he would have thought of the Barge?"

It's funny how Alec can imagine Evan so clearly, but the moment he tries to put him into more modern context, the memory starts to break apart and fragment.

Actually, funny isn't the word for it. It's not amusing at all, but he tries, opening his eyes again but leaving them unfocused.

"Shila wouldn't let us talk about the world outside the compound much. She wanted us focused, and I helped her. But Evan used to watch the humans more closely than anyone, and if a question came up and any of us at all had the answer, it was probably him. He was watching them as people, not as captors." This, too, is maybe a bit of where Alec gets it. "He'd be good at this. And he'd enjoy the same things I enjoy about it, and never let us take that for granted."

"Makes me want to enjoy it a little more," Lark murmurs. He has always known he was more privileged than most kids, but he's only become aware of the things he took for granted since he met Alec.

Alec makes a small sound of agreement. Then he reaches out to brush Lark's wrist with his fingers.

"I want to tell you about them. It's just old habits die hard."

"I know. You don't have to tell it all at once. I'm not going anywhere." He's waited all these years to learn Evan's name.

He nods and leaves his fingers there, touch light.

"It's the Barge. No one back home knows anything I didn't tell them, and I'm careful what I say because we have to live here. But here it's different."

"Different how?" Turning his head now to glance at Alec, now that he isn't so cautious of breaking up a stream of thought. He knows how, mostly; he just wants to see if Alec has more to say, or needs to say more.

Edited 2021-05-20 16:41 (UTC)

He shrugs, then takes another moment to turn over in his mind what the differences actually are. What roots they have.

"It's common knowledge here that I graduated. That I needed to in order to get out. That none of us are from here. So I can be more honest about what I am without worrying it's going to start something in a place I want to stay."

"I'd wager there are people who either won't believe you if you tell them anything you can do," and he doubts Alec will; neither of them are the type to show their hand, even if someone has seen a few cards. "And others who will test it. Which I would buy tickets to watch."

"Well, you're in luck: you have season tickets," Alec replies drily, because whatever advantages he can glean from being here - and he will; he always will - he would never have come back here if not for Lark. The moment Lark leaves, Alec is gone, too.

"But it's just... like it fits better in a way, almost. Even though it doesn't. Not really."

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