Trauma bonding.

That’s what it was. That was the rational conclusion I had agreed with upon what had transpired since our incident with District Three. That’s all it could be.

Saving a life could be as equally powerful as taking it.

Perhaps that had been more true for him than myself. Saving him by placing my own mask on him was almost instinctual. I didn’t have to think twice or hesitate when it came to him. I suppose maybe that same intuition came to him when I was incapacitated. The difference between us was clearly motivation. He saved me because it was job, because his own life was somehow physiologically connected to mine. I saved him because…

Because that’s what good humans are supposed to do, right?

Trauma bonding isn’t exactly a bad thing. If anything, me recognizing it was a possible event would prevent any manipulation from either of us. Maybe this is what Ruenova wanted from us. Military operatives usually became brothers and sisters through the trials of life, from firefights where lives were on the line. I don’t know how that might work for soldiers and scientists. But if it could happen anywhere, it would be Colony Negative.

So, I had to excuse Damien Rok’s irrational behavior of kissing me as merely just a response to his trauma.

I thought the minute I came to that conclusion, the memoryt of it would just escape my mind. Unfortunately, two memories were bouncing around my synapses at all times, back to back. And I found myself finding more comfort in the memory of his lips on mine rather than that of me pulling the trigger on Doctor Wueh. I couldn’t get that image out of my head.

I didn’t just shoot once, but twice. I knew in the moment our survival, mostly Damien’s survival, depended on my actions. I don’t know. I was aiming for his hand holding that button, and ended up blasting a hole through his torso. That wasn’t an image I could get out of my head. At least, when it did leave my head, my anxious thoughts would wander towards that kiss instead.

It wasn’t even that good of a kiss. It was harsh. Aggressive. Borderline manic. That was Supervisory Agent Damien Rok, however. Yet behind all of those aspects of him, there was a humorous, kind, gentle approach to him as well. Like right now.

We sat on the barstools of an empty cafeteria. The door had even been locked but Damien somehow managed to convince Wayne we needed some substance before dinner. The chef was more than happy to oblige, setting us there before leaving us to our conversation momentarily to get silverware and the like prepared for us. It was unnecessary, and I certainly hoped Wayne didn’t get the impression this was some kind of date.

Because it wasn’t.

“Do you know what you want to eat?” Damien asked, a wrinkle in his forehead as his eyebrows furrowed down, “It can just be small. Nothing fancy or a full out meal.”

“No,” I sighed, “to be honest, I don’t even know what Wayne can make.”

“I can make anything you’d like, Doctor,” Wayne approached with napkins and silverware, “Within reason, of course. You just ring me over when you’re ready.”

“Thanks, Wayne,” Damien smiled.

“Are we still on for Saturday morning?” Wayne glanced at Damien.

“Of course, unless something calls me directly into duty,” Damien nodded, relaxing in his seat as Wayne left. His left arm leaned into the bar, bicep flexing as he leaned his head against his head.

“Another football match?” I questioned, not knowing what Damien did in his free time.

“Oh, no. Not a football game,” he shook his head. When I glanced over, I could almost sense a bit of embarrassment from him. Not an overwhelming blush or anxious rush of hesitation, just questioning my own judgment. “Promise you won’t laugh.”

“I’m not one for making promises, Rok,” I honestly replied, “but I am fairly hard to amuse. Try me.”

He sighed but nodded, “He’s giving me cooking lessons.”

At that, I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow in interest, “You? Cooking?”

“You sound rather amused,” he rolled his eyes, “look, I don’t know how to cook. I never knew how of course, in fact there really isn’t a need to learn. Back in 501, all I have is a tiny studio loft with just a bathroom and bedroom. No kitchen. I’ve always liked food, though. Sabbath food was…bland mush, just enough nutrients to sustain us. The second I got a taste for real food, I haven’t gone back.”

Well, that explained his physique, built yet undisciplined. Attractive-no. No, I shouldn’t coin an adjective like that to him.

It was so interesting his place had no kitchen. Meanwhile my stupidly luxurious penthouse had a kitchen probably the size of his loft quadrupled. He’d be more than welcome to have a place like that, if he liked. I hardly ever used it, besides the coffee machine.

“What drew you to it, other than food tasting good? A lot of people love food, and even fewer enjoy actually making it,” I asked.

“It just looked like fun. I like the idea of making something, of gathering materials and combining them to taste good. You know, like flavor profiles,” he shrugged nonchalantly, as if not thinking it was that big of a deal, “I don’t know, I think there’s food out there that really does touch the soul. If I even have one.”

“You have a soul, Damien,” I retorted. It may be a very morally distorted soul, one where he made two awfully evil decisions and followed it up with a kind of goodness I had never seen before. A type of goodness that came naturally to him too.

I truly did wonder if he was brought up in a completely different environment how different he’d be. There was no need for imaginary speculation, as I already knew the answer must be drastic. Yet, military life suited him. Minus the lack of a kitchen.

“Well, what are you ordering?” I asked him.

“I was going to get whatever you were getting.”

“Not helpful,” I sighed, pushing that black strand that always got too close to my eyes away.

“Is there a food that brings about a good memory? Something that inspires joy?” he questioned. Honestly, Chef Damien was someone I could actually get used to talking to.

“I don’t know, I was always busy in school, living off cheap and quick foods. The only time I ate fancy food was at conventions or lavish parties, both of which I hated,” I shook my head, not able to think of anything.

But, as I perused for memories, I did find one silly little thing. Angelique and I very rarely would sneak out when we were young to this odd part of Colony. By odd, I meant it wasn’t the cleanest part of the city where we lived. But there was a little place there where we’d sit on barstools similar to this now, and get a stupid little milkshake.

Most of the time we wouldn’t even talk. It was a much quieter part of the area where most people minded their own business. Angelique and I would hardly say much, as we’d often have school work or something else on our mind. It was a nice place to sit there and think, sipping on a thick and creamy drink that seemed to satisfy us.

The day Angelique had quit her doctorate program and signed up for the Refugee Corps, we went back only to find the place had been long gone. We had both laughed at that, knowing even sometimes the best things we enjoyed would often change. Even ourselves. I would have to tell her later about having a milkshake today, and maybe leave out the fact Damien was here as well.

I motioned for Wayne back over, removing any embarrassment from my sentiment as maybe my request would be seen as childish. Damien seemed intrigued, given I wasn’t giving him a heads up about what I was going to order.

“A milkshake. Chocolate one, please,” I added, waiting to see a judgemental reply. Yet, Wayne only nodded in approval.

“Make that two,” Damien hummed, “Add a bit of chips to mine too, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, that shouldn't be a problem!” Wayne enthusiastically made his way abc to the kitchen.

He left us with peace once more. Relative peace until Damien’s small datapad chirped with a message. He glanced at it briefly before putting it aside, far away from him as if he wanted nothing to do with it. Instead he just gazed at me intently, ready to give me his full attention. I could even see the blueness in his gray eyes when they finally softened a bit.

He didn’t look like he’d ask or question the milkshake. I knew it wasn’t the most nutritious thing in the world, but to be honest, a sweet treat felt well needed. Not just well needed, well deserved.

“Does it stop…the nightmares?” I asked as I looked at him, forcing my gaze to soften.

“Yeah, eventually,” he slowly nodded, “It’s a dangerous game, though. Some only overcome the affliction of killing by adding more tallies to their name. That’s how Sabbath handled the mental aspect of it, just constant conditioning for violence.”

“Is that what I really need to do?” I didn’t think I had it in me to really kill again, not when it made me sick to my stomach or made me lose hours of sleep.

“No. I don’t think so. I think the best solution would be justification but I know that will be hard for you. Yes, you could justify saving my life by taking his. But if his life is equal to mine, or even greater-”

“His life wasn’t greater than yours,” I interrupted, “Maybe on a rather introspective level in terms of scientific significance, sure. But to me, no. You are worth more to me alive than his existence could ever hold equal value. But that didn’t mean his life didn’t matter.”

He seemed surprised by my response, expecting a more pragmatic response but I knew I had to be honest. Honest with him and maybe myself. Yes, Damien in that moment held greater value, value in getting us back safe, value in keeping me safe. I didn’t know what District Three could have done to me with my only protection incapacitated.

“Sometimes we get decisions that there are no right answers to. Just as two perspectives could be equally right or wrong at the same time, so can choices. The consequences of both decisions can be as equally as damning but…we aren’t the ones exactly damning them, are we? Wueh damned himself with his decision to remove me the way he did. If he truly wanted to remove me, he should have shot me,” Damien hummed.

“Shooting you in front of me surely would not have made me cooperative. That’s what he wanted from me: cooperation. That’s why he did what he did, easing me into the idea that even if you were disposable, you’d still have your use as an object of study,” I exhaled sharply, “and for some odd reason, he thought I’d be okay with it.”

“Does that offend you? That he thought you would be okay with it?”

“At first it did. But I think there’s something about this place that changes people. Despite every horror I’ve witnessed, I still want to go back. I still want more answers. And that want for more is what encapsulated him into his violence. All of our studies, our history, our memories and experiences have shaped us for this moment of discovery. Yet, our shape doesn’t fit into the mold already created for us. He didn’t know what I would become, but firmly believed he could coax me into the change. In the end, I think he was right.”

“I don’t think you made a bad decision, Jack. Objectively speaking, even if it wasn’t my life on the line it was still admirable. You swallowed away your moral dilemma to save a life. Sometimes, I think we need a difficult decision placed in front of us to find out who we truly are,” Damien explained, “Nothing in life gives definite answers, finite data for what makes up a person but…I think it gives glimpses.”

He spoke from experience given his tone. I think he was right. In his little word-salad speech, I knew what he was talking about. Everyone in their lives had a pinnacle moment where a decision had to be made, one where we didn’t know the right answer. All we knew was that both choices would change us, we’d never know which was for the better.

“What was your choice, if you don’t mind me asking?” I inquired softly, implying he didn’t have to.

Yet, he seemed to nod in understanding. Maybe he felt he truly couldn’t help me overcome this horror without bringing up one himself. He fiddled nervously with the spoon, spinning it across the bar countertop like the needle of a compass that would never point the right direction.

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“It was when I knew Sabbath was dying. Of course, we all knew the funds were unsustainable. Their District had grown far too wide, too much, and too violent to sustain. Yet they still tried. ‘Recruitment’ was never a problem, it was always the money,” he took a deep breath, “I was on Colony 952 in the outer sections, outside the main asteroid belt. A lot of the Colonies out there are rather untouched but Sabbath wanted to claim this one. 952 refused a peaceful landing, so Sabbath did what they did best: raze them into submission.

“Ship artillery firebombed them before tasking me and my team to get on the ground and round up survivors. The Colony wasn’t meant for recruitment, only resource purposes as they apparently sat on a giant mineral deposit of gold and didn’t know it. There weren’t many survivors, but there was one that gave me a choice. I found a charred woman, pretty much burnt to a crisp from her backside, black as the sky with the debris still blocking the sun. I was going to move on but I heard a soft cry from beneath her. Turning her over, I realized she had shielded her child from the blasts, probably no more than two years old. That child was miraculously alive, protected by its mothers love and embrace. That was my choice.”

I swallowed hard, knowing the story he just shared couldn’t have been easy. If my eyes had been closed, I would have thought him to be so heartless and cruel with how benign he told such a tale. His tone was monotone and bland. Yet it was so easy to see on his face how much it pained him, how much it haunted him like Wueh haunted me.

“So, you let the child either live, or die. That was your choice,” I nodded, realizing how enigmatic it was. On the outside it seemed so simple. Of course, the assumption would be to let the child live, to bring it back to Sabbath. After all, this mother died for that very reason. But would she have made the same decision if she knew what fate had in store for that child, to be tortured, groomed into a child soldier and wreak havoc similar to that which killed its own mother?

“Yeah…yeah yeah yeah,” he whispered, as if talking himself through it, “The answer is simple, is it not?”

I think he was wanting me to say yes, or rather expecting it.

Had he asked me, weirdly enough, in that interrogation room that first month we had really begun our progress here, I knew my answer. I didn’t know much about him or his dealings with Sabbath. I would have scoffed at him, told him the obvious, empathetic choice would have been to keep that child alive. Knowing what I knew now, I think it was his greatest show of empathy: he didn’t want a young child to go through what he did.

Sometimes we judged decisions, not knowing the real person making those calls of ambiguous judgment.

“One could argue it shouldn’t be a decision any rational person should have to make,” I pointed out.

“Yet history is full of them,” he sadly replied, “and I was responsible for making such history. I have made peace with my choice. Hardest part was coming to terms that I went against that mother’s wishes.”

“It is a mother’s instinct to do what she did…” I responded, soon feeling a strike of ice at my heart from my own words. I thought maybe I should clarify myself that it was a maternal or paternal instinct to protect a child. A lot of people could become mothers and fathers. A lot of them weren’t paternal or maternal, my parents included.

My mother certainly wouldn’t have made such the same decision.

“I didn’t want another child to suffer what I went through. I thought maybe I was providing it some mercy. But is it mercy if maybe there was potential for that child to become something great?” he asked me.

“You won’t know. All you know is that the child would have suffered, that was guaranteed. But maybe there was a chance. After all, you’ve removed yourself from Sabbath. You’ve changed,” I pointed out.

Has he? The thought crossed my mind. It irritated me that my brain had thought that. I had a right to be cautious, of course. But it was always a disbelief of change that limited that potential in people like him. In people like me.

He nodded, finally stopping the twirl of the spoon.

“Some decisions, Jacqueline, you just don’t look back on. The only way to make peace is to continue off that path that you’ve made. Yes, you’ve killed. You tore a bit of your soul out. The question is, and I think that’s why you can’t sleep or eat, what will you do now?” he asked.

He had made his decision, and it sounded like ultimately it began his process in leaving Sabbath. I didn’t know anything about the details, or how one could even leave Sabbath peacefully knowing what he knew. Maybe he was on their list of targets too. But I knew he had made the jump to leave, based on the one decision that plagued him.

Now it was all about what I would do.

I didn’t answer right away as two cold encrusted glasses full of brown, chocolate deliciousness were placed right in front of us. In all honesty, the sight of a stupid milkshake seemed to make me feel a lot better.

“Anything else I could get you two lovely people?” Wayne smiled, placing straws for the both of us to the side.

“Not at all, thank you,” I thanked him politely.

“She isn’t that lovely,” Damien teased, making Wayne laugh. I only rolled my eyes at that, ignoring his comment as I was far too focused on getting a good sip. Wayne left to go clean up his slight mess.

I took the first sip from the straw, enjoying just how perfectly balanced Wayne had made it. Perfect texture, thickness, flavor…all of it was just perfect.

“Fuck,” I moaned slightly, humming at the taste.

“I didn’t know a milkshake was an aphrodisiac…” Damien side eyed me.

“I’m surprised you know what the word even means,” I teased back, “It’s a fucking good milkshake, let me enjoy it.”

“Yes ma’am,” he smiled in reply.

So we sat there in silence, sipping down to the end through it all. He seemed to drink it slowly, savoring every bit of it instead of demolishing it like I expected. It was a rather refreshing moment compared to the rest of the day we were having. The silence was not awkward at all.

He was silent only because I was. And I was silent because I was still hesitating over my decision. What would I do in response? I already had a feeling, an instinct to go a different route. I just wondered if it was the right choice. It felt right. In terms of an excuse for trying, it would sound rational. But what if it also led me down the path I didn’t want to go?

I finished my milkshake before him, setting the empty glass aside before topping off the aftertaste with some water. It also helped clean out the slit of the mask, despite having a straw. I knew I just had to outright ask it before I changed my own mind.

“I want you to teach me how to shoot a gun, a pistol,” I finally breached the silence.

His shock wasn’t unnoticeable. In fact, he wasn’t very good at keeping a poker face in moments like this. Perhaps he was so used to wearing tinted helmets that blocked his expression he didn’t feel the need to hide them here now.

“Sorry, you what?” he clarified, wondering if I was joking.

“Look, I meant to shoot Wueh’s hand. I didn’t mean to kill him. If I actually knew what I was doing, maybe that wouldn’t have happened,” I exclaimed.

“You meant to shoot his hand?!”

“That’s what I just said. I don’t like repeating myself,” I grunted.

“You have atrocious aim,” he teased.

“You know what-” I got off my chair, feeling him grab my wrist.

“Relax, Doctor. Of course I will help teach you,” he insisted, soon letting go. I got back on the chair, giving him a disapproving glare.

“Has anyone ever told you never to tell a woman to relax?”

“Plenty of times,” he smirked.

“And has anyone slapped you for that shit-eating grin?”

“No, not yet,” his smirk remained, “Also, Jack, I don’t like doing things for free. I teach you, I want something in return.”

What the hell would he want from me? Sex? Hell, if he even brought up the idea, I was definitely going to head right over to Security and end his fucking harassment. But I had to remember, if I was disgusted by the thought, surely he must as well when attached to me.

“I don’t know what I can offer you, Damien,” I shrugged.

“Crowe’s motorbike is all fixed up, wasting away in the auto shop. You ride a Kamelot, which is the same engine his bike is composed of. Teach me,” he insisted.

“You want me to teach you how to ride?”

“I don’t like repeating myself, Doctor,” he whispered lowly, trying to act intimidating but he followed it all with that smirk.

“Why do you want to learn how to ride?” I questioned. Why would he? If anything, he needed to learn how to drive a fucking Sioc first, but I knew that anyone could teach him that. I didn’t know if anyone else around here could ride or would care to teach Damien.

He shrugged, “I want to learn a new hobby.”

I wasn’t exactly buying it. Yet, he had wanted to learn cooking. Damien Rok, initially to me, seemed like a man who stuck with what he knew and that was it. He wasn’t adaptable, malleable…he was stuck in his own nature. Yet, he was reading my own research, was he not?

“Fine, you have a deal,” I nodded, knowing a compromise must be made, “But I don’t want anyone knowing about this.”

“Understandable,” he agreed, “You’re a night owl anyways. Your secret is safe for me. I’ll reserve the firing range late at night, I doubt anyone will question it.”

At that, his datapad chirped again and didn’t stop. He eventually reached over for it, glaring at me. He was subtly asking if it was okay to interrupt our conversation and I was more than happy to allow it. I had to keep my eyes off him anyways. There was something about him wearing stupid compression shirts and cargo pants that really was starting to bother me.

“Grimes…” Damien answered, speaking through it.

“Hey, where are you?” his partner asked.

“Cafeteria. Eating a milkshake.”

“Alone?”

Damien glanced at me, “Yeah, alone. I don’t want anyone on the team knowing I’m breaking our nutrition guidelines.”

Grimes laughed at that.

“Ruenova approved our FOB Plan. Obviously we will still need to reach out to the other units, the science team specifically. If they approve, we can start as soon as possible on getting that established, set up a more secure perimeter and keep it monitored at all times. It’s time we dig deeper into this place, yeah?”

“Absolutely,” Damien agreed.

“You want me to reach out to Deveraux? I know you’ve been avoiding her lately,” Grimes asked.

I tilted my head in amusement, seeing Damien not glance my way this time.

“Sure, you do that. She’s been in a very bitchy mood lately,” Damien sighed.

What a fucking asshole, I thought, even though I knew he was teasing. Grimes might not think that way though.

“Ah come on, give her a break. I’ll reach out to her and let you know, thanks bud,” Grimes laughed before ending the call.

I wasn’t going to give Damien any time to excuse his words.

“Avoiding me lately?” I questioned, crossing my arms.

“You’ve been avoiding me too,” he pointed out.

Well, he was right about that. I was struggling with what had happened between us, and most of all that kiss. I wanted to keep some distance between us and reevaluate my thoughts. Was that so wrong? Then again, was it wrong if he was doing the same as well?

Given his fight with Owen, I think he was entitled to that sentiment.

“Keep pushing my buttons, Rok. I’ll show you just how much of a bitch I can be,” I scowled slightly, but I think he clearly took that as a tease.

“I said you were bitchy, not a bitch. Those are different things.”

“Alright…” I wanted to ignore that, “What’s this FOB plan?”

“District Three got me thinking about a forward operating base procedure. After all, we saw what a labyrinth it is down there in that place. And now we know the anathema has an aversion to flashy lights. I think we might be able to establish a proper base, especially if we want to dig deeper. That way, the things that can’t be transported to your little lab can be studied there,” he explained.

“That’s risky, is it not? We’d be stretching our necks out, not to mention other Districts could get wind of it,” I observed.

“A lot of Districts don’t want to touch us right now,” Damien shrugged.

“Why?”

“Cause we’re fucking badass,” he laughed, as if that answer was there all along.

I wasn’t buying that either. He clearly believed that the other districts didn’t want to bother us, and maybe that was true. The reason as to why certainly wasn’t, and he had no intention of telling me. It could be very intelligence based, which I would understand. Yet, I did think I had a right to know.

I knew I couldn’t deny the FOB request. Even members of my team were itching to get in the field too, just like myself.

“Alright, how long will it take?” I asked.

“Few weeks maybe. Logistics is still figuring out the order in which supplies and equipment will be transported. We will save the mobile lab for last,” he answered.

“Okay,” I sighed, knowing I didn’t have much desire to go against that. It was wise to save us for last, given we wouldn’t be much help in defending off anathemas or attacks from other Districts.

I paused for a moment, looking at him, “And…will Excise Squad be there?”

Damien seemed to understand my question, “No. They’ll still be focused on the perimeter on the surface. Besides, Agent Owen is still in the infirmary recovering from his broken jaw.”

Right. I knew his injuries were slightly extensive, but a broken jaw would keep him at bay, for now. It was best probably for the both of us that man stayed away whenever he could.

“‘Thought that might make you happy, you won’t have to see me for quite some time,” his smile was slight, genuine this time.

“Oh, I’m very happy,” I replied, although I knew there would be a slight feeling of absence. All normal with trauma bonding. This would actually be a good break given all the chaos we experienced together.

“Good, I like it when you’re happy,” he admitted.

I stared at him for a moment, eventually having to look away, “I should go. I have a lot of work to do.”

“Okay.”

“Thanks for the milkshake…and talking,” I gently left my seat, still looking his way, “It was nice.”

Now the conversation was slightly awkward, and it wasn’t from his end. I think I honestly overstayed my welcome, but I was still appreciative of him forcing me to eat something. And to maybe overcome my latest obstacle. I just worried that if killing was some sort of disease, would it strike me too?

“Jacqueline? Sorry, Jack-”

“You can call me Jacqueline,” I interrupted him. Honestly, Jack had always been a preferable nickname. It suited me better. Yet, so did Jacqueline when his voice said it. Nobody else on Colony Negative was allowed to call me that without a consequence (usually just a stare). I wouldn’t let him know about that privilege though.

“Jacqueline…do you remember when you interrogated the fuck out of me?”

“How could I forget?” I smiled underneath the mask.

“You still stand by your reason for why you’d kill someone?” he asked.

I realized what he had meant by that. I had told him that I would kill for the people I care about, or kill to protect myself. That didn’t necessarily mean him. If anything I was protecting myself by protecting him. I wasn’t sure if he’d see it that way.

“Yes. Do you still hate doctors?”

He took a moment before smiling, “Yeah.”

“Good, let’s keep it that way,” I agreed, “thanks again.”

I walked away, hearing him exhale. I barely heard a whisper, which was merely a you’re welcome. I knew he wasn’t expecting anything further. I knew that our acquaintanceship, if I could even call it that, was improving. I also knew I would enjoy diving back into my work without this burden on my mind. Already I could feel the weight of my decision with Wueh lessening. I knew I had made the right call.

I worried, though, as I left: what if it wasn’t trauma bonding?