Chapter Text
Sevro sits on the skywalk above the hangar bay, bare feet swinging over the edge. Below, the Reaper of Mars wanders among the mechanics and pilots, shooting the shit and showing his support and appreciation. In the past, Sevro would have been right at his side, but things are different since his capture and time running for his life to escape the Minotaur. He doesn’t like strangers. He used to love wandering through the legions. He would spend his free time gambling and laughing with the free legions. He found all the best Howlers that way. Now, he hates being in a crowd. He had tried, but they would always reach for him. Some wanted to shake his hand. Others would give a friendly slap to the shoulder. Some just wanted to touch his wolf cloak. All of it made his skin crawl. It reminded him too much of the camaraderie he used to share with his Howlers. His dead friends.
Instead, he took up his old post. Out of sight but protecting Darrow from the shadows.
The first few weeks of the return journey home had been great. He and Darrow had spent nearly every moment drinking and rewatching Cassius’ recordings of the Institute. When those were finished, they had reminisced about the friends and family they still had left at home. Then Darrow had pulled away. The weight of grief and his responsibility to end this bloodydamn war was crushing Sevro’s friend. Sevro could never help with this part. Too emotionally constipated and only capable of blowing shit up. Plans be slagged.
Darrow started spending every moment they were apart standing over Cassius’ body. Sevro had come in multiple times to find his best friend sobbing over his other best friend’s corpse.
Sevro made the executive decision to land the Archimedes in the hangar bay of the Pandora for a change of scenery. It was odd to be aboard his wife’s ship again. In some ways, it felt comforting to be in the familiar space again. He was almost positive that Victra and he had made Calypso, his middle daughter, and for sure Diana, his youngest, on this ship. Thoughts of Ulysses surface, but he smashes them aside.
On the other hand, the Obsidians had desecrated Victra’s beautiful ship. The Browns had cleaned the ship until every hall sparkled, but everything still feels dirty.
Now he watches as Darrow wears the mask of ArchImperator again. The perfect, unshakable leader that his people expect. It pisses Sevro off. He sees right through the act. Darrow is too stiff. No one notices how he holds himself rigid, trying desperately not to jostle his still-healing shoulder. Darrow’s eyes scan the men around him. Even though he laughs and smiles he doesn’t really see any of the people around him. Instead he sees numbers and probabilities. Wary of traitors aware of expectations. He won’t even look at the Archimedes to his right. The Reaper exudes anxiety and discomfort, but no one sees. No one but Sevro.
That pink’s pixie book had seemed to help for a while. Darrow still reads it every night but as Mars draws closer, his confidence begins to wane.
“Hey.” Sevro nearly jumps out of his skin as the little Red plops down next to him. Then he curses at himself for getting distracted. He can’t afford to let his guard down.
“What the fuck do you want?” Lyria raises an eyebrow at his immediate hostility. She arrived with Volga and the Volk a week ago.
Sevro would never admit it, but the girl was actually pretty entertaining. He imagined that maybe his mother had been like her. The two of them had started a tentative friendship on the Archimedes based mostly on booze. Now she was a regular in their circle. She had earned everyone’s respect in the Rim. She was a lot like Cassius, not that she’d replaced him, but her presence seems to slightly fill the void of his absence.
“He doesn’t look so hot.” She nods down to the Reaper. Make that two people who could see through the Reaper mask to the man beneath.
Sevro doesn’t respond, so they sit in silence and watch. Sensing eyes on him, Darrow looks up to find them staring down at him. He flashes them the crux. He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Sevro throws an even ruder gesture but he can’t seem to muster a genuine smile either.
“You don’t look so hot either,” Lyria remarks. Sevro rolls his eyes.
“I’m just peachy, thank you very much.”
It’s Lyria’s turn to roll her eyes. She produces a bottle from her jacket and holds it up in triumph.
“I won this off some of the Reds.” She grins. “Authentic ruster moonshine. You could gas up a frigate with this shit.”
She offers him the bottle, and he takes a careful sip. Just the smell of it is already making his nose hairs curl. She laughs in delight at his pinched expression as he swallows. She doesn’t do much better, though, as she chokes down her own mouthful.
“Bloodydamn disgusting!” She beams before taking another swig. Sevro chuckles. Even when he has the best whiskey and wine at his disposal, he still prefers the Red swill. Maybe it’s some pathetic wish to be more accepted into his mother’s culture.
Darrow makes his way from the hangar, so Sevro stands to follow.