When Shiro said to spend their last day on Earth with loved ones, Ina and Nadia were spending it together. James and Ryan were nowhere on-screen so we can assume they were with their family but does this mean our girls lost their families to the war??
while others are out partying it up on a friday night, ryan and nadia will bury themselves under a bunch of blankets on the couch and binge watch stuff like buzzfeed unsolved.
Months after the Galra lay siege, the Garrison is down to its last drop of coffee. The MFE Ares are the only ones around to claim it. This was bound to happen eventually.
Veronica made a face. “Well, I’d like to see the brass crawling past Galra sentries undetected.”
A sly grin spread across Rizavi’s face. “You know Sanda can’t crawl,” she said, “She’s got that big ol’ stick jammed way up her ass.”
The tin can made a sharp noise when Rizavi tossed it in the sink. “Well, that’s the last of that,” she said, dumping about half a spoon’s worth of instant coffee mix into a mug. “Guess another supply run’s in order, huh.”
Leifsdottir didn’t bother to look up from her reading. “We have yet to run out on essentials. I estimate another two weeks before the Admiral deems it necessary to order another supply run.”
“Still,” Rizavi pouted, leaning forward on the table. “Doesn’t hurt to ask.”
Veronica snorted. “With Sanda? Everything’s a pain.” She leaned away from laptop to cross her arms and adopted a stern face. “‘What we’re preparing you for is war. If you have the energy to complain, you have the energy to train.’” She dropped the facade to make a face. “Well, I’d like to see the brass crawling past Galra sentries undetected.”
A sly grin spread across Rizavi’s face. “You know Sanda can’t crawl,” she said, “She’s got that big ol’ stick jammed way up her ass.”
Veronica laughed while Leifsdottir smiled. Even Kinkade cracked a grin. Griffin was the only one who seemed to care.
“Hey, quit it.” Griffin actually frowned. “There’s a lot of pressure on everyone. Admiral Sanda needs to make sure every movement counts. We’re all still alive in part because of her and the rest of commanding officers. Show some respect.”
Kinkade raised an eyebrow. “Why? She doesn’t respect us.”
To this, Griffin said nothing.
On the island counter, the water boiler hissed steam through its spout. All eyes looked to the electric kettle as it rumbled softly. After a few seconds, it shut off.
No one moved to get it. Instead, they all looked at each other.
Leifsdottir was the first to look away, more interested in a well-worn copy of a 1987 Garrison Quarterly they’d found amongst the debris about a month ago. She seemed neither to care for nor be interested in the last cup of coffee.
Her attitude was the exact opposite from that of most of the Garrison, for caffeine was a valuable commodity that many struggled to live without — most especially the officers. Of the brass, Commander Iverson was the only one who’d quit cold turkey as soon as rations began. Everyone else pulled rank to stow away whatever caffeine was dug up. Admiral Sanda was the worst of them all, though she claimed she kept it all strictly for the engineers working on the IGF-Atlas. Whether or not that was true, nobody could tell. But the eingineers had never once complained about a shortage of caffeine.
The MFE Ares pilots didn’t have the luxury of a secret stash. They’d become a strange, in-between rank of the Garrison, who’d never before had cadets acting as their first line of defense. It’d make sense to grant them some kind of promotion, if even they had to make it up on the spot, but there had been no such thing. They still wore the uniform from their training days, sporting only two stripes and being officer in name at best. And, of course, they had the lowest priority when it came to grabbing caffeine.
The kitchen was silent. They were the only ones up at 0300 hours for their routine 4-AM flight exercise, and each sported tired, haggard faces. But no one made to reach for the mug first, and not a word had been said since the kettle last hissed. They sat looking indifferent, each pretending not to care for the rich aroma slowly wafting in the room, a scent that used to mean nothing when there were still options like espresso or french roast readily on hand.
Finally, Griffin got up.
This didn’t surprise anyone; they had long since accepted where James Griffin would stand amongst them, whatever their first impressions had been. Seeing the unspoken leader of the MFE Ares pouring hot water over the last remains of the Garrison cadets’ supply of coffee for himself was well expected.
What wasn’t expected was for him to set the mug down in front of Veronica.
Veronica looked at it for half a second before going back to her laptop. “I don’t need it. I’m not the one flying circles 50,000 feet around Galra cruisers.” She adjusted her glasses. “Besides, I’m an officer. I can pull rank if I want.”
“But you don’t.” Griffin crossed his arms and looked pointedly at her. “And you work later than most of them who do anyway. Just take it.”
Veronica shut her laptop. “I’m late for a meeting,” she said, rising to her feet. “See you in a bit.”
She left, and they were wrapped once more in silence, the hiss of the air-locked door of the kitchen the only sound that rang in their ears. The remaining pilots looked hesitantly amongst each other.
Then, they all got up to reach for the mug.
Kinkade pulled back first, narrowly missing out on the opportunity to collide head-first with his teammates. With a heavy sigh, he sat back down and dumped his chin into the palm of his hand. He and Leifsdottir shared a brief look as Griffin and Rizavi each managed to get a solid hold of the mug.
The two of them had locked eyes, staring each other down. A weird growling noise came from Rizavi, but Griffin seemed unperturbed. They were frozen in place, each holding fast to the last cup of coffee. Neither of them made an effort to pull on the mug, but neither looked willing to back down either.
After a long moment of nothing but silent staring, Rizavi clenched her teeth and spit out a few choice words. “Don’t you have an ass to kiss?”
Leifsdottir turned a page in her reading. Kinkade just sat and looked bored.
Griffin looked amused. “Why? Want me to kiss yours?”
Rizavi started growling louder. Then, she suddenly stopped. Slowly, she let go of the mug. “You know what? You should have it.”
Griffin gave her a wary look. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing.” Rizavi smiled. “Just making sure our fearless leader can make it through the day.”
Griffin hardly looked convinced. “Right.”
“No, really! You totally deserve it. I mean, I’m not the one always sneaking out at night to race Garrison bikes every Thursday while all the officers are debriefing on the Atlas.”
Rizavi smiled sweetly through every word of her unspoken threat, sneering when Griffin’s features twisted with a scowl.
Without another word, Griffin turned on his heel and left, the sharp hiss of the airlock sounding in tandem with the vexed string of curses he muttered under his breath.
As Griffin left, Leifsdottir suddenly stood up, her copy of the Garrison Quarterly now ignored. Rizavi and Kinkade looked curiously to her. Leifsdottir looked back at them, and then back at the door. “Someone should apologize,” she said, making to leave.
Panicked, Rizavi called after her. “Wait! Wait, don’t—! Don’t talk about the—” The door hissed open and shut, and Leifsdottir was marching a fast pace after Griffin. Rizavi grimaced and crossed her arms tight. “Shoot,” she muttered, rushing for the door. “They’re all gonna kill me if this leaks!” She was gone in a flash.
Kinkade watched from inside as Rizavi ran down the hall shouting for Leifsdottir, who was already out of sight. Then he looked at the clock on the wall behind him, looked back at the hall, now empty, and then finally at the mug on the table.
Kinkade spent the last ten minutes before his routine 4-AM flight exercise slipping through the old Garrison Quarterly and sipping lukewarm, watered-down coffee. It was the best ten minutes he’d had all week.
