"Thank God," he chuckles. "I was thinking of taking on more shifts, Pagan's been pretty well settled and I don't have much else going on. But that much time around food, I'm likely to raid the pantry."
"You're always welcome by our place for dinner," he offers as he filches another cookie. There's plenty in the bin. "Daniel's definitely feeling better about you."
"I'm glad. I've thought about what a shock it must have been to turn up here with you in a pack." He leads the way up a path, the smell of a lake not far off.
"That... definitely hit him a little hard. Like I said before. We've... always been a pack of three. SI-5. Very tight knit. But. I think he's adjusting. We both are."
He glances around the surroundings, lifting his nose a little to breathe in. He can't help but wonder if it'll smell like this when he's back at home, in a forest in the real world. How different it will be.
"We both have trouble admitting when we need something. Even when something? Is just... to talk to the other one. Or to know something. So we're working on that."
"It's a daily struggle," Lark chuckles. "I think you and I have always felt we perform better with our cards close to our chests. And we're not wrong, but... at the end of the day there are always things I regret not saying. Or lately, regret saying."
"We're used to taking care of ourselves," he says with a soft little huff, "and Daniel is... used to me taking care of him. In large and small ways. Just like I'm used to deference from him. It... requires adjustment."
"Shortly before the coma, I leaned on the deference. I never have before. I swore to myself I never would, I'd never resemble the people who bred him to be a soldier." He hates himself right now. "That's what we were fighting about when I went to you."
"How did that turn out, anyway?" he asks, and he keeps his tone mild. Because he knows that with Jacobi? Everything is 300% more intense. And he doubts Lark is any different with Alec.
"We had another massive fight about it before we both went into a coma. I mean an hour before." He grabs another cookie, chewing to soothe himself, to keep the emotions down.
He doesn't even think. He just moves his hand to put it against Lark's back to try and offer comfort, contact. Something.
"Fighting's a good sign. It means he's not leaning into the deference. And. It means you both care about what's going on. Fighting means you're working on it."
The response is immediate: a relaxing of his posture, a need to be closer. "I don't know how to let myself feel... like I'm not the same as they were. God knows I trample people sometimes, like they did."
"It's an easy trap to fall into," he says with a sideways look, "but it's also a bad one. Being them? Gives you an out. It means you can't get better."
He offers a crooked smile as he leans in a little.
He glances at him, reflecting again on how glad he is that he brought Warren into the pack. He's never been sentimental about his packmates: they carry his DNA and now Warren does too. But it's only with Warren that he feels a sense of family because of it.
"I'm going to push very hard for you and Jacobi to come with me when we're all done here, Warren." Just so he's prepared.
"I think Iris had some ideas too," he says with a quick grin, "but. nothing so far? Seems to contradict. So. As long as you can charm Maxwell? You've probably got us."
He keeps walking.
"Jacobi's family's useless. Maxwell has a restraining order on hers. Mine is all dead. And Goddard? Is going to be a mess."
There's a hesitation, but he'll explain it before he continues.
"I... don't talk about her? Because I got her killed. And... it doesn't feel like I... deserve to. But she? Is why I'm here."
But his smile stays on, crooked as it is.
"Dr. Alana Maxwell is the most brilliant programmer, AI specialist and linguist you've ever met. Yes, even counting here. She's... essentially, Jacobi's platonic soulmate. And she's-" How to explain? "if I needed a daughter or a sister or an aunt, she... fills that role for me. Ur family. None of those and all."
"How did you meet her?" He knows Warren has spent time with a dozen brilliant people. What he's curious about is how else Maxwell is special; what sort of person fits his need for family? Not everyone could.
"Recruited her, same as Jacobi," he says easily enough, though there's a huff of a laugh as he adds, "not that she made it easy. I had to set up an entire operations hub to show off the level of sophistication in Goddard's AI program to entice her away from the idiots who were holding her back."
He loves hearing about Warren's schemes. It makes him a touch homesick, and a touch excited for the things they could do. "which brings me to Goddard, who I'm almost sure you never mentioned before."
"Because it's a what, not a who," he says as he reaches over for a cookie, "Goddard Futuristics. The company I worked for. The flag I marched under. The master I ripped myself apart for. Oh, they had a President and a CEO and all of that? But anyone who was anyone? knew that the company was run by the head of communications: Marcus Cutter."
His nose twitches at the name itself.
"Originally known as Matthew Newman, and also known as Jonas Highland, Arthur Keller, Charles Kerr, Wyllis Fletcher, R.W. Niemann, and of course... William Carter, co-author of Pryce and Carter's Deep Space Survival Procedure and Protocol Manual. There's a copy in the library. Not that I need it. I've had it memorized for years."
"And a voice like an ice pick in your ear," Kepler says with absolutely no fondness. "You mean by the end? Because for twenty-something years... I was his man. His top man. The things I did for him? 'Kill' was somewhere near the middle of the list."
Lark, thankfully, has never been beholden to anyone that way. He imagines the weapon Kepler was and pities the people he must have shredded like so much wet tissue paper.
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He glances around the surroundings, lifting his nose a little to breathe in. He can't help but wonder if it'll smell like this when he's back at home, in a forest in the real world. How different it will be.
"We both have trouble admitting when we need something. Even when something? Is just... to talk to the other one. Or to know something. So we're working on that."
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"Fighting's a good sign. It means he's not leaning into the deference. And. It means you both care about what's going on. Fighting means you're working on it."
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He offers a crooked smile as he leans in a little.
"Whereas I? Know you can."
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"I'm going to push very hard for you and Jacobi to come with me when we're all done here, Warren." Just so he's prepared.
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He keeps walking.
"Jacobi's family's useless. Maxwell has a restraining order on hers. Mine is all dead. And Goddard? Is going to be a mess."
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"I... don't talk about her? Because I got her killed. And... it doesn't feel like I... deserve to. But she? Is why I'm here."
But his smile stays on, crooked as it is.
"Dr. Alana Maxwell is the most brilliant programmer, AI specialist and linguist you've ever met. Yes, even counting here. She's... essentially, Jacobi's platonic soulmate. And she's-" How to explain? "if I needed a daughter or a sister or an aunt, she... fills that role for me. Ur family. None of those and all."
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His nose twitches at the name itself.
"Originally known as Matthew Newman, and also known as Jonas Highland, Arthur Keller, Charles Kerr, Wyllis Fletcher, R.W. Niemann, and of course... William Carter, co-author of Pryce and Carter's Deep Space Survival Procedure and Protocol Manual. There's a copy in the library. Not that I need it. I've had it memorized for years."
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"What made you decide to stop?"
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