Archive of Our Own ^beta

“See what Karl got in the care package?” Six asked idly, polishing her knife.

“Some of us have more important things to pay attention to,” Kat remarked dryly, eyes glued to her microscope as she quality checked the machining on the part she was working on.

“Flowers,” Six went on, undettered. “From his boy back home.”

“Tch,” Kat rolled her eyes within the microscope. “How nice.”

“Now that doesn’t sound very sincere, lieutenant commander,” Six smirked playfully. “Not happy for the lovebird?”

“I don’t care about the lovebird,” Kat replied. “I just don’t understand flowers as a love language.”

“They’re pretty, smell nice, that kind of thing. Not everybody thinks the best stench on the air is gunpowder,” Six pointed out, finishing with her knife and inspecting it for further maintenance needs.

“They also rot,” Kat argued, satisfied with the current piece, setting it aside, and inspecting the next. “At best, you keep them alive in a vase for a few days. Then you either have to let them starve to death and throw them out, or you have to plant them and take care of them forever.”

“So it’s a practical concern,” Six said, standing up and sheathing her knife.

“And a semiotic concern,” Kat shrugged, not paying attention at Six walked over to the welding station behind her to work on something. Her workshop was open to Six, she could work on whatever project she had in mind, as long as she didn’t leave a mess. Kat liked having her around, anyway. She was competant, could keep up in conversation. She was easy to be around. Not everybody was. Most weren’t.

“Elaborate?” Six pressed, collecting some scraps of sheet metal.

“The flower is supposed to be a sign of affection, yes?” Kat said. “So when it rots, what kind of message does that send? You tore something away from its body, its home, shipped it off as a trophy of love, and let it rot. Not my idea of romance.”

“No,” Six agreed, sparking an arc on her torch. “You’re more practical than that. You prefer something that lasts longer.”

“I prefer something that’s more consistent in its messaging and less wasteful,” Kat replied, moving onto the final piece she needed to check. “Helps if it shows something of the person giving it, too, beyond their ability to find and harvest biomatter.”

Six laughed at that. “You really have a way with words, Noble 2.”

“I told you,” Kat looked back at Six, mindful not to get an eyeful of the flare from the torch, “when we’re alone… it’s Kat.”

The arc stopped for a second—as did Six’s heart.

“Right,” was all Six said, before resuming her work.

“Anyway,” Kat took the parts she had machined, and began working them into her prosethetic. “You know I’m not the one who bothers with poetics. Talk to Jun if you want eloquence.”

“Don’t want eloquence,” Six said, bending more sheet metal scraps with her bare, augmented hands, before placing them and welding them. “I’ve got enough of that for both of us. I just want your company.”

“Not my genius?” Kat smirked, screwing a part in place.

“That’s part of your company,” Six said. “I also want your humor, your perspective, your experience, your skill, your passion, your independent streak--”

“Independent streak?” Kat laughed, slotting the last piece. “You’re the lone wolf, lieutenant.”

“Kat,” Six said, pausing the torch again. “Just Six.”

“Not even your real name?” Kat asked. There was a hesitation to it. A barely detectable softness.

“I don’t like that name,” Six said. “It’s someone I don’t want to be anymore. NOBLE is a chance to be someone else. Someone better. Someone who’s got something worth sharing, someone who’s got someone worth fighting for.”

Kat finished her work, and paused, before looking behind her. There was Six, standing behind her station, looming over her, close, too close for a soldier to be standing by her superior officer, not close enough for… she put that thought aside.

“Humanity isn’t worth fighting for by itself?” Kat asked, almost idly.

“It is,” Six shrugged. “But it’s nice to have something more… personal.”

“How personal?” Kat asked, staring up at Six, looking into her eyes, steely and gray, trying not to glance at her lips, at the scar she had wondered about since meeting her. Six met her gaze, looked her up and down, then at the door, as the sound of footfall outside the door reminded her – and Kat – of their circumstances.

“Guess we’ll both have to figure that question out,” Six said. “I better go. Emile will be waiting for me in the gym.”

“Kick his ass,” Kat smiled, trying not to make it too warm.

“Is that an order,” Six smirked, “Kat?”

“If it needs to be,” Kat smirked back, “Six.”

Six didn’t bother with a salute as she left the room. Kat watched her go, soaked her presence in for the last few seconds she could. She sighed once the door was closed and she was alone again.

She looked over at the table in the middle of the workshop. Sitting there, in the middle, between her and where Six had been working, was a single rose, made of sheet metal folded artfully and welded skillfully together. She picked it up; it was still warm from the torch. She smelled it. The carbonization smelled almost like gunpowder.