For as long as I live, I will never forget the day Sherlock brought John home. He was so proud – Sherlock, I mean – to finally have found someone. A friend at least, though I suspected it wouldn’t take long before they’d only need one bedroom. John scoffed when I mentioned it, which I suppose was fair. It had only been ten minutes.
After John had shot that awful cabbie – yes, I do have my sources, thank you very much. Besides, I’m neither deaf nor blind; like some… As I was saying: things changed between the boys after that night. They had clearly been to Sherlock’s favourite Chinese restaurant; I could smell the soy sauce and shrimp chips – the entire meal, come to that – when they returned. I was certain John had no clue that Sherlock never took anyone out to dinner. My conviction also included the fact that the good doctor hadn’t the foggiest about the significance this mundane action was proof of. To anyone else, a dinner invitation was an everyday occurrence, but to Sherlock…well, it was more like a love declaration really.
I knew that Sherlock’s overbearing brother had tried to threaten and bribe John mere hours after their meeting at St Bartholomew’s. I was also aware that it would take more than a big cheque and poorly hidden innuendos to sway the likes of John Watson.
***
“John, dear, will you – “
“He’s busy,” Sherlock interrupted.
“I’m not, Sherlock,” John protested and sighed exasperatedly.
That was a promising start, I thought.
“What can I help with?” John asked politely.
Sherlock had a lot to learn from John when it came to manners.
“Only a light bulb, dear. But my hip won’t allow me to climb the ladder today.”
The impressive eyeroll Sherlock gave me did not go unnoticed, but it certainly went uncommented.
“No problem, Mrs H. Lead the way,” John said; still polite.
“I have already estimated the time frame for this endeavour, Hudders,” Sherlock muttered darkly.
“Don’t you worry, dear. I will hand your precious blogger back to you unscathed,” I teased, which made John’s ears turn dark pink alarmingly quick.
***
When John busied himself with changing the light bulb, I put the kettle on. I knew John never refused tea, no matter the hour. The shortbread I placed on a porcelain plate, made his eyes sparkle, and a genuine smile appeared.
“I haven’t had those in ages,” he stated emphatically when I urged him to taste the biscuits.
He closed his eyes and sighed happily while he chewed. This smoothed out the lines on his face, and I could easily picture him as a boy and a teenager.
“So, John, do you like it here? Sherlock isn’t driving you around the bend with all his quirks and oddities?”
I tried to sound innocent, making conversation rather than interrogating the man.
His face lit up, and I knew he was telling the truth when he gushed about the low rent, the excellent location, and he also made sure to praise my baking while he was at it.
As I said: a polite man.
Before I got the chance to ask about the queries he hadn’t answered, he continued.
“Sherlock…God, where to start? He’s obviously brilliant and extraordinary. A bit mad. Extremely untidy. He’s got no boundaries, you know. But that brain of his…”
He stared into space for a long while, and then he smiled broadly as if remembering a particularly fond moment.
“But it’s more to him than that. I felt it the second he stood next to me in the lab at Barts. There was an invisible connection between us. Utterly curious. Electric, almost. I didn’t even know his name yet, but I knew that my life was about to change. For the better. I was so sure of it.”
“And now?” I prompted when he fell silent again; my patience was wearing thin at that point.
“I was right. My life is getting better by the minute. Being allowed to live and share space with him is…more than I could ever have hoped for. He gives me purpose. I feel valuable, needed; cherished even. Sherlock saved my life that day and I can never repay him. He scoffs at that, of course. Tells me I saved him as well, which I found utterly ridiculous. Until I learned about…his previous troubles. The drugs.”
“I know, dear. So, you will stay, then? You will break his heart if – “
“For as long as he’ll have me.”
Forever, then, I thought to myself. There was no way Sherlock would throw John out. He was already head over heels.
John bid me goodbye, and I heard Sherlock’s deep voice complaining: “She interrogated you. More subtle than Mycroft, but still. Insufferable busybody, is what she is.”
“She just looks out for you, Sherlock.”
“Did you…”
“No, but I think she’s clever enough to figure it out. At least if she dusts upstairs.”
“Oh, she definitely will. Probably the next time we leave the flat. Mark my words.”
“Agreed. Now, how about…”
The talking stopped, but the muffled sounds I heard before I closed my door, were convincing enough. My job was done, and I decided to celebrate with some Stilton, port, and Moulin Rouge.
Flash Fiction Friday is a fun writer event that’s meant to inspire, share and connect writings of all genres and writers of all ages. It’s designed to make people want to write, especially if they’re feeling blocked. Everyone and everything is welcome!
We always do our very best to keep the prompt’s genre open, entertaining, positive and encouraging.
Write between 100-1000 words. It can be any genre, in any text format and 18+ is fine by us, just please tag accordingly.
Use this Friday’s theme in your text. Any way you see fit. This means that your text is newly written for the prompt by you. We do not allow any contributions created or aided by AI/LLM.
Post on your tumblr blog and remember to tag us at @flashfictionfridayofficial!! So we’ll see it, read it and reblog it!!
Deadline is 24 hours after the prompt has been issued (12 pm CET).
And then, next Friday, we’ll mention your work in a showcase post on our main blog before our next prompt drops.
Please post your entries as regular posts, not screenshots — or provide the text as a regular post as well. Let’s keep everything as accessible as possible!
We ask you to tag your works with any appropriate content warnings and let the reader know what they’ll find before they get the chance to read your work!
If you have a question, check out our FAQ page! If your question isn’t on there, don’t hesitate to ask!
You don’t need to ask for permission or need to get added to a list to join in. Just write, have fun and don’t forget to tag us!
Tag your fandoms correctly and remember we now have an Ao3 collection (‘FlashFictionFriday’) ✨
We do not condone fiction, asks or comments that glorify: direct hostility, unconstructive critique, LGBTQIA+ hate, slurs, racism and/or general no-no behaviors.
If you want to be closer to the epicenter, you can come chat on our open discord: https://discord.gg/rUWCE8a
✨ We also introduced our very own Wishing Well, a place for you to whisper your prompt suggestions into. And we’ll listen! Check everything about it out HERE.
✨All your amazing works from last week can be found HERE.
Go check them out and consider supporting your fellow FFF writers with some likes and reblogs!
✨ And now, the new prompt!
[#FFF355 A Curious Connection]
The prompt was submitted by @cocoamoonmalfoy, thank you very much!
You wouldn't think these two things are connected. You wouldn't guess how they are connected. And yet! And yet there is a thread that links them, a curious thing, as fine as a spiderweb and just as strong. It came to be organically, and most would look right past it - but not you. You noticed it, so shed some light on it. We're dying to hear all about it!
Summary: Shortly after Lin is injured in the line of duty, some interesting developments occur between the triads.
“Lin, what are you doing here?” the newly appointed police chief Detective Hana Li asked, stern and gentle in equal parts, as soon as Lin appeared in Toph's doorway. Detective Li’s doorway now. Chief Li’s. In truth, it was all enough change to make Lin’s head split mercilessly, even with all the painkillers and muscle relaxers Katara had insisted on her taking since the incident. “You're not supposed to be back yet.”
“I'm fine—”
“You were recently injured in the line of duty and have three whole weeks of medical leave left. I know because I signed off on the paperwork. And I also know that your doctor hasn't cleared you for field work yet.”
Lin took a deep breath and tried not to flinch when her cheek smarted on the exhale. “I know,” she said. “It's just too quiet in that house. I feel like I'm losing it.”
“Then move, or get a hobby. I'm not risking one of my top detectives' safety because she's bored.”
“It doesn't have to be in the field,” Lin said. “Just let me help with something. What are you working on now?”
“Payroll,” Chief Li said flatly. “And annual budgets. The triad maps are shifting like never before and here I am arguing with the council over fucking decimal points. I finally see why your mom always had such a massive stick up her ass.”
“What's happening with the triads?” Lin asked, sensing an in.
“The Triple Threats are running Sandshark Heights these days.”
“But that's the heart of Terra territory.”
“Not since they pissed off the Triple Threats, it seems.” Chief Li said. “You know, it's a curious thing how this turf war seems to have started as soon as you went out on leave. If I didn't know any better, I'd say those stolen jewels you recovered were worth more than our investigation accounted for. That, or Lightning Bolt Zolt must have had a thing for your side profile.”
For the first time, Lin felt grateful that she couldn't move her face much until she recovered. “You think a kingpin would start a deadly turf war over my face, when my own mother wouldn't file a damn report over it?”
The laugh that bubbled out of her was mirthless and cold, but in truth, it was not a thing she would put past the Zolt she had once known.
“Sometimes a good enemy can be more consistent than anything else in our lives,” Chief Li said. “So I've heard, anyway. All my enemies are in a cell block or a plot of dirt. It'd make a hell of a story, though.”
Lin shrugged and it only aggravated her head a little. “Better than payroll at least. But I'm glad it was you who got promoted to chief.”
Chief Li rolled her eyes. “And flattery will not get you back to work any sooner. Go home, defective. And that's not a suggestion.”
Mako rubs his neck one last time before tugging his uniform into place and fastening the catch at his throat. It won’t do to show up on his first day as squad captain looking like he slept in his uniform.
Again.
He shakes himself and turns the final corner, just in time to see a blue blur of motion on the far end of the receiving dock. But there are any number of other people coming and going as shift change begins to crank into gear.
When he spots the Chief with a lunch pail, he checks the ‘make sure Chief eats lunch’ off his mental agenda for the day.
.
Officer Song is trying very hard not to groan in pain as Mako helps him enter the Emergency Department, but no one would blame him if he did. That rookie’s poor aim with his boulders had gotten him mustered out and sent back to the bending school he’d come from. They had enough problems with injuries from active duty to need to worry about training, too.
They get waved to the back, and Mako thanks the staff. He gets Song settled on a gurney when he thinks he hears Beifong’s voice. Confused, he peeks out through the curtain. He doesn’t see anyone, but a lunch pail he could swear he recognized sat on a counter near the nurse’s station.
And then Kya emerges from another patient’s bedside, smiles, and comes to take care of Song.
.
When he spots the same lunch pail in the kitchen at the Air Temple, Mako realizes it really does have some sort of curious connection to… someone.
But Beifong is out on an incident out at the wharf, and Kya is on a ship to the South.
What is it doing here, of all places?
Before he can do something truly radical, like ask Pema, Ikki and Meelo tug on his hands and haul him out into the back yard for sparring practice.
.
Bolin chatters the entire ride over to Beifong’s place, but Mako knows he will barely remember any of the details. He’s glad his brother is finding a place with Zhu Li, but the amount of gossip he has to listen to strains all of his patience.
At least it makes it easy not to overshare. Chief had warned him to be careful, knowing that Bolin possesses so little self-awareness, and is so intrinsically trusting. It wouldn’t do for details of police work to seep into the political arena through his little brother.
Turns out, it has been easiest just to encourage Bolin to talk. Once in a while, he says something interesting enough for Mako to remember. And about every tenth time, something interesting enough to relay back to Beifong. Who frequently is able to make a connection Mako can’t.
When they pull up to the street outside of her building, he spots Beifong getting out of her own sato. He calls out to her, and she pauses long enough for them to join her before entering the building and heading up to her floor.
Her hands are full, so he calls the elevator cab.
She’s holding that lunch pail, but between Bolin and the elevator operator, he keeps his mouth shut.
At her door, though, he’s prepared to offer to hold the pail so she can get her key.
Except the door is open.
And there’s a voice of someone singing.
Stunned, he glances at Beifong.
Only to be stunned again at the sight of a soft smile on her face.
She strides ahead, comfortable in her private spaces. She carries about her own business of arriving home, leaving Mako and Bolin to enter and shed their shoes and jackets.
Beifong locks her briefcase in the safe near the door, and settles the lunch pail in the crook of her elbow. She glances back at the two of them, then walks toward the kitchen.
They follow, pulled along by the smells of dinner cooking. Not to mention the mystery of the other presence in the apartment.
Mako turns the corner into the kitchen just as the lunch pail clinks against the counter.
“You’re home,” Kya says, turning around with a smile.
“Thank you for lunch,” Lin replies, reaching out to slide her hands along Kya’s hips.
When they make the connection crystal clear, Mako briefly wonders if he should resign as a detective.
Greg Lestrade startled awake; his mind was already racing ahead to his evening shift, walking the beat as a constable for the Metropolitan Police. The text from his older brother came just as the alarm woke him.
TEXT>> Landing at 6:30. Can’t wait to see U Greggie.
Denys Lestrade was the only one who still called his Greggie. The only family member who hadn't drifted to his formal name during his wilder times in his teens. The only family member who understood that, for better, but usually worse, it was something he had to go through. Denys, to the chagrin of the rest of the family, supported Greg’s right to be a delinquent arse if he so chose. Denys didn’t give him a hard time unless he was about to do something truly insane. Greg cried privately when Denys moved to the States, but their connection remained close as adults.
The ride to the airport was congested as he checked his phone repeatedly until he arrived.
The airport terminal hummed with its usual chaos. Arrivals, reunions, departures, lives intersecting in a constant flow of London’s humanity. Greg's eyes scanned the crowd, searching for a comfort port in the sea of faces that threatened to overwhelm him.
Then he saw it, the spiked hair that Denys had been dying platinum blonde since A-levels to hide his very early greys. Also, the sight of Denys’s familiar distressed leather jacket. Without thinking, moving on pure emotion, Greg stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him from behind.
"Sorry, I’m late," he mumbled into the jacket, inhaling a scent that wasn't right, his tired brain taking too long to process the wrongness of it.
The man turned, clearly about to say something scathing, but froze.
And Greg's world tilted sharply.
Instead of Denys's familiar face, he found himself staring into startled eyes that were not the brown of his brother’s, but storm grey. Though taller than him like Denys, the man appeared to be slightly younger than Greg, with an expression that shifted from surprise and offended to intrigued.
"I don't believe that I am," he said, his voice cool and precise. “Though I'm suddenly wishing I was whoever you're waiting for.”
Mortification crashed over Greg, stepping back so quickly he nearly stumbled.
The man, who wore an expensive suit costing more than Greg’s monthly salary with the casual ease of someone born to wealth, raised a brow. There was a condescending look that Greg had come to expect from people of his obvious social status, but a hint of something genuine also reached his eyes as he looked Greg over.
And Greg had the odd sensation of being totally stripped bare.
“No, no, you’re not, s-sorry. I thought you were my brother, ” he managed, his voice steady despite the embarrassment burning in his cheeks. “He has the same hair and similar jacket, but not of the same quality; now that I’m really looking at you, I mean it. I'm so sorry…”
“No harm done.” He extended his hand, and Greg found himself taking it automatically. Alex’s grip was firm, and for a brief moment, he felt the strange spark of connection that sometimes occurs between strangers in moments of shared vulnerability. “I'm Alex. It’s not often my naturally hard mien is mistaken for someone else.”
"It doesn’t look that hard," he replied honestly, trapped in Alex’s blue-grey gaze. He slowly pulled his hand back, tucking it into his pocket where it still tingled from the contact. “Besides, I grabbed you from be-“ Greg cleared his throat, “I… I should go find my brother.”
"Of course." Alex’s eyes narrowed, but didn't leave Greg’s face. “It was a pleasure being mistaken for him.”
Greg’s heart pounded with an unfamiliar rhythm. He was 27 years old, far too old for this kind of teenage embarrassment. Something inside his chest fluttered, a sensation so heavy with the unspoken.
He had a job, a fiancée, a wedding in a few days, and only minutes to find Denys and spend some time with him before his shift started.
He forced himself to turn and walk, not run away.
It took all he had not to look back.
He found Denys at the correct carousel, wearing the leather jacket and a concerned expression as he saw Greg.
“You okay, bro?”
Greg shook his head, pushing away the memory of a firm handshake, a small smile, and exquisite cool grey eyes that seemed to see straight into him.
“Fine, fine, just tired. Come on, I've got to get home, change, and get to work for my shift tonight.”
As they left the airport, Greg deliberately avoided looking toward the carousel, where he'd left Alex. Only then did he realize he had not given Alex his name.
Still, he’d swear he could feel Alex's gaze following him.
A part of him knew he had just crossed a Rubicon in his life and severed a connection that may forever be closed to him. Greg knew he had done the right thing, but could only hope to live without regretting it.
Written in ~40min for a combination of @flashfictionfridayofficial's prompt #FFF355 - A Curious Connection and Revalink Week Day 6: Rupees.
-
Back when @heleentje and I were working on Moonlight, we (& @coconi) had a running joke about Robbie (somehow) spotting Revali's 'ghost' during the Loop 5 Roadtrip, and trying to get him to pay back an old debt.
On the maths: if two apples used to cost 1 green rupee, as Revali claims, and now you're looking at one apple costing 12 green rupees... Hyrule has an inflation problem.
-
"Tell me," says Revali, "how much an apple costs these days."
Link looks up from the Sheikah Slate. "Buying or selling?" he asks. It's a pretty important distinction. "Depends on the season. I can sell them for three rupees when they're in season. Five rupees in winter." By early summer, when the stocks from last year's harvest have run empty, somebody might even pay seven. "I usually cook them first. Then people pay better."
Though not everyone's as deep-pocketed as that honeymoon couple that were staying in Rito Village before.
"And if you happened to run out of apples"—Revali throws a dubious look at the Sheikah Slate, as if realising how unlikely that situation is to come to pass—"or lost that thing, I suppose... How much would somebody charge you to buy an apple from them?"
Link has to think about that a little harder. "Twelve," he says after a moment
"Twelve?!" Revali all but yelps; then, when Link glances at him, he coughs to cover the crack in his voice. "That is simply extortionate. 'Two reds for a green' - that's what they used to sell them for in Castle Town Market..."
Link must be misunderstanding him somehow. "Forty rupees for a green apple?"
"Two red apples," Revali snipes back, "for one green rupee."
That still doesn't sound right to Link, but he doesn't remember the minutiae of the market place from a hundred years ago, so he'll have to defer to Revali's memory.
"It's daylight robbery," Revali continues to grouse, frowning at the slip of paper he'd had Link pin against Vah Medoh's foot with a rock. The winds up here are so strong, Link's surprised it hasn't yet been snatched away. He had tried reading it himself, but the penmanship is too small for him to make out. "And so is this. Tell that ancient buffoon that I don't care what mathematical contortions he's put these numbers through. He won't get anything out of me."
--
"He's still on this plane of existence, isn't he?" Robbie retorts, when Link relays Revali's answer back to him. "Then he's extant enough to pay off his debts. Research doesn't happen in a vacuum, and progress isn't cheap!"
--
"You only have his word to go on that I owe him anything at all!"
--
"He's had the summary. I've got the receipts to prove it. Plus a century's interest on top-"
--
"Interest? What is he on about, interest?"
Link doesn't know either. "Purah said it's something banks charge."
"Since when is Robbie a bank--"
--
"Well I can't go charging his debts back to the treasury!" Robbie eyes Link speculatively. "Unless you're willing to settle it for him..."
--
"And end up owing you? No. I refuse."
--
[six time loops later --
Robbie: so, you were alive after all! pay up. | Revali: I was kept alive against my knowledge. Take it up with Medoh. | Link, thinking: can Divine Beasts pay in rupees when I already looted them of all their contents?]
prompt from @flashfictionfridayofficial, divider under the cut from @strangergraphics
Fandoms: Lars and the Real Girl (2007), Barbie (2023)
Lars extends a metaphorical hand to the new guy in town.
Wordcount: 895
When someone new arrives in a small town, word spreads quick. When they seem to not know how they got there, the whispers get louder.
When the person turns out to be a platinum blonde man better dressed for a California beach than winter in Wisconsin, well, it’s only natural that everyone gets involved to figure out this mystery.
Church is held as usual on Sunday, with their strange guest sat at the back, and Lars can’t help but glance over whenever he gets the chance, curious. There’s a feeling of recognition he can’t quite put his finger on. If Gus and Karin feel any particular way about his distraction, they do a good job of keeping it under wraps enough to not draw his attention towards them.
“Hey,” Karin whispers as the service ends, a smile spreading across her face when Lars finally looks her way. “How about you go talk to him? I bet he could use a friend right now.”
His lips purse as he considers this, blinking hard. He’s gotten more comfortable with socialising since his relationship with Bianca so long ago, but it’s not often he has to deal with strangers in their small town.
… Then again, this particular stranger must be more anxious than he is, in a whole new place with so many new people.
“I suppose I can try,” Lars allows, tone soft.
He waits for the congregation to head out before crossing to the other side of the aisle, gloves held in hand.
Whatever the man was wearing before, Reverend Bock and his flock have seen fit to help him into new clothes, no doubt more church appropriate than whatever he’d had on before. It makes him look… soft, even with his angular face, his pronounced pout, his sharp eyes.
“You’re new in town, right?”
His eyes shift in Lars’s direction, before focusing straight ahead again. It is far from the worst judgement he has ever received in his life, so he soldiers on.
“I just wanted to see if you wanted a friend. I know it can be lonely, being somewhere new.” A beat. “I’m Lars.”
“I'm Ken.”
Lars lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, relieved. Socialising gets much easier when the other person is actually willing to speak to you.
“Can I sit with you, Ken?”
The stranger nods, just a fraction, and Lars settles down beside him, mirroring him and looking ahead. Perhaps Ken does it to avoid eye contact, but Lars sees something else; The beauty of his church in the morning, how the sunlight pours in through windows and lights the space.
“Where did you come from?”
“Barbieland. They kicked me out after I made the patriarchy.” Ken huffs now, scuffing his shoe on the kneeling pad before him. “I didn’t really mean to make things bad, I just— I was feeling frustrated, you know?”
Lars isn’t sure that he knows, but he tries anyway. “It’s good to recognise that. Lots of people don’t care about the bad things they do once they’ve come out of their bad feelings… They think the feelings excuse it all.”
“I guess I’m just self aware like that now,” Ken shrugs, a terribly acted show of nonchalance as he sits back. “Way more self aware than Ken. Because I’m better than him in every way. Always.”
“There’s another Ken?”
“All the guys in Barbieland are Ken. Apart from Allan. He’s Allan.” Turning his head, Ken squints. “You remind me of Allan, sort of.”
Lars glances over, startles when he finds Ken already looking at him, and quickly looks ahead again. “I’m Lars.”
“Never heard of a Lars.”
“Never heard of a Barbieland.”
“Hmm.”
“He’s Ken?”
“Mhm.”
“From Barbieland.”
“That’s what he told me.”
Gus sighs, head shaking as Karin pours coffee for all three of them. “I hate to say it, you know, but we should probably get him talking to Doctor Dagmar. Sounds like something’s going on.”
“He doesn’t look sick,” Lars offers, hands around his mug to heat them up. “He looks…”
Karin raises her brows subtly, looking over to Gus. This is new. “He looks healthy. Fit, even.”
Lars nods, staring down into his mug.
Furrowing his brows, Gus looks between them, puzzled. What’s Karin giving him that face for? Why couldn’t Lars find those words? “You know, Lars, it’s okay if—”
“I told him he could stay with me, if he doesn’t want to stay at the church.”
Karin grins like she’s just won a bet, turning to put the coffee pot back on the counter. “Oh, I think that’s kind, Lars. Very generous.”
Lars smiles after her, blinks, and refocuses on Gus. “What do you think? I figured we all did so well taking care of Bianca…”
Just like that, he can't argue with the idea.
“It's a great idea. We’ll all help Ken. Ken from Barbieland.”
“Gus.”
Karin runs the tap just long enough to get her fingers wet and splash water his way, and he snickers a “what?” as he comes over to join her at the kitchen counter, but that's all background noise to Lars as he thinks on what to do to help his new friend.
Doctor Dagmar is nice and helpful. But Ken does also look healthy and fit. Maybe it's just best to wait and see how things go first.
Prompt: A Curious Connection for @flashfictionfridayofficial
Fandom: Halo TV Series (Silver Timeline)
Summary: Kurt remembers Julia, and Julia’s brother. (What’s in a name?)
Notes: Set in my Silver Timeline Kurt-051 head canon, going along with my fic Kurt Ambrose and the Ghost of Onyx. Unedited. @authortobenamedlater, look, more of Silver Timeline Kurt! Need more of yours, too!
Spartan Training Facility
Lights Out
Kurt opened his eyes but otherwise remained utterly still as he stared at the ceiling of the barracks, attempting to figure out what woke him.
Illumination was still at ‘Lights Out’ level, and a glance at the one narrow window at the end of his bunk show showed it was still night. There were no klaxons going off and no drill instructors standing over them with batons. Though, that hadn’t happened in years. He sniffed the air for smoke or other gasses, but detected nothing. Then he heard that soft sound of a door.
He sat up and met Nora’s brown eyes, sitting up on her own bunk. She made the sign for J and then 013. He inclined his head in question and she gave a gesture for unknown. Kurt narrowed his eyes in consideration. The facilities were in the opposite direction. Julia left by the exit to outside.
Both he and Nora slipped on their waiting boots and made their way down the line. Other recruits were awake, but didn’t join. Kurt took the lead going out, looking for handlers or other personnel before motioning to Nora it was clear.
There were only so many directions Julia could have gone without immediate detection. They wound up climbing a storm drain to the roof. Over months, recruits had been nudging some of the surveillance equipment to create blind spots. Centimeters at a time so The Watch wouldn’t notice. Kurt suspected Dr. Halsey and her AI assistant noticed, but it didn’t seem to have been mentioned to their drill instructors.
Julia sat on the roof with her knees folded so she could rest her chin on them. “I’m not making a break for it,” she mumbled at Kurt and Nora’s approach.
“This would be a shitty starting point if you were,” Nora said, crouching next to her. “Maybe if you make the jump to the commissary...”
Kurt glanced at the adjacent building, maybe twelve meters away, and considered. They were getting to a point where they could almost make it with a running start.
“What are you doing up here?” Nora asked.
“I had a dream,” Julia said. “Wanted some air.”
Kurt moved to sit on Julia’s other side. “What was it about?” he asked. Nearly everyone hated talking to the camp phycologists, but more of his fellow recruits would talk to him. Sometimes it made them feel better, and that made him feel better.
Julia didn’t talk for several minutes. “Do you ever think about your old name?”
“No,” Nora said, while Kurt admitted, “I don’t remember it.”
Julia pressed her forehead against her folded arms. “A lady was calling for me by a name. I knew it was mine from before I was Julia-013, but I can’t quite remember it, just ‘Julia Ah...’“
“You need to forget that. Dr. Halsey says all the before stuff is a distraction,” Nora said mumbled, eyes focused on an owl swooping in the tree line. “Becoming a Spartan is all that matters.”
“And I want to be a good one,” Julia said. “I just can’t help remembering before, sometimes. I miss my brother.”
Nora shifted uncomfortably while Kurt gently put his hand on Julia’s back, because it seemed like the right thing to do. His instincts were usually right about this sort of thing.
“He always held my hand and kept me safe,” she said, and her voice cracked. “I wish I could remember the name we shared. Ah... Something.”
Kurt rubbed Julia’s back as the three of them sat in silence until they had to get back to their bunks.
Dropship Ares
In descent to Camp Currahee, Onyx
Ackerson, Kurt thought to himself. Ackerson was the name Julia had been searching for all those years ago.
There was a jolt of thrusters coming online as the dropship transitioned from the vacuum of space into planetary atmosphere. Safety straps strained against his chest, reminding him of his lack of armor. The regulation uniform was uncomfortable. Its stiff collar chafed his neck, laden with the Lieutenant insignia he didn’t feel was earned.
He did a scan of the other four, no, five occupants of the transport. Dr. Henry Glassman was absorbed with whatever was on his tablet, while drill instructors Kerrigan and Hardy were discussing the results of some sporting event. Project Hauteclere was in a case next to him. Nora. Or what was left of her. He wondered if a crystal matrix being transported felt like sleep or if it was claustrophobic.
Kurt shook his head a fraction. It was still awkward having to be concerned with emotions. But, back in training, he always had been. John was better at mustering the troops. Kurt had been better at understanding them.
His gaze flickered over to the final occupant of the dropship. Colonel James Ackerson. Kurt’s new superior officer and Dr. Halsey’s replacement.
There was a chance he wasn’t related to Julia, but Kurt knew in his gut this had to be her brother. His age was right. He had the same coloration in skin and hair. Similar bone structure with the high cheekbones, but Julia never had the chance to lose the ‘baby fat’ and gain definition. The question was, did he know Julia had been part of the Spartan II class? It seemed impossible to be a coincidence. Did he know what happened to her?
“Is there something you want to say, Lieutenant Ambrose?” Ackerson asked, noticing the attention and meeting Kurt’s eyes.
There it was, in Ackerson’s eyes. That hostility that Kurt felt directed at him and not at the same time. The sense taking over the Spartan Program was not simply a post, it was personal.
“No, sir,” Kurt said. “Just ready to see the camp.”
