Page 27 of Every Almost

Elena stared at him for a long time. Then she turned to Reyna. "Is it too late to request a different cohort?"

"I looked into it," Reyna said. "The transfer window closed last term."

"So you're stuck with me," Jere said. Elena eyed him. "Oh, don't give me that look. You know you love me."

Once graded, the instructor marked their team as "effective but chaotic." Elena treated this as a professional wound that would require years to get over. But Jere had it engraved on a small piece of scrap metal that he kept on his desk for the remainder of their time at Novahall. Reyna occasionally caught herself looking at it and having to turn away before her expression betrayed her, because if either of them ever found out that she thought the entire event was funny, she would never hear the end of it.

As time went on, it was interactions like these, ones that were loud, ridiculous, and, most of the time, full of arguments about tactics and animals and whether Jere's enthusiasm constituted a security risk, that helped form them into a crew of their own. And though this small group of three helped Reyna learn that she could, safely, open up to people around her and lean into other parts of her personality, they also taught her how to trust, even outside of a mission. In these moments, every now and then, the noise stopped, and what was underneath came through.

There was one night where Jere got a comm from his former research posting. A species he'd been tracking, the Veylani reef crawlers, a population he'd spent months trying to protect, had been wiped out by a mining expansion.

All of them. Every last one.

He sat in the corridor outside his quarters with his back against the wall and his hands hanging between his knees. He was so small and so reserved, that Reyna almost walked past him.

But she didn't.

She sat down beside him with her shoulder close enough to his that he could lean if he needed to. She didn't speak or offer comfort, solutions, or even the particular Kaelari brand of composed sympathy that she'd learned to perform when situations could require it. She just sat there, in the corridor, at 0200, with her friend.

After a while, Jere did speak, saying, "They were so small, Rey. They could fit inside your hand."

"I know."

"I named them. Each one." Then he sighed heavily. "I shouldn't have named them." Reyna saw the complete resignation seep out of her friend as he battled his emotions over his loss.

"But you name everything. It's one of your better qualities," Reyna said softly. "How else would we have a meal generator named 'Mobius?'"

He almost smiled. Reyna recognized it wasn't the full and practically trademarked Jere grin, but it did incorporate the edge of it. That was enough.

They sat there until the ship's lights shifted to day cycle. Then Reyna stood, offered him her hand, pulled him up, and said, "The chef made those grain cakes you like. If you don't eat them, I will, and I don't even like them."

"You like them a little," Jere said.

"I tolerate them. There's a difference."

He laughed. Small and rough, but real. But then Reyna linked her arm through his, starting them off toward the galley together.

Reyna didn't know when she'd learned to do that, to sit with someone and stay in their silence without needing to fill it or fix it or escape from it. She'd had fifty-one years to make sure she never needed anyone, yet somehow, without her permission, these two people had taught her that some people were worth it.

Her own discovery of this came out in small ways she couldn't always control. Like the first time Jere made her laugh, a genuine, hearty laugh, the full sound escaped before she could catch it.

Both Elena and Jere went completely still when it happened. Reyna, completely and one-hundred percent mortified, pressed her lips together and made an attempt to look dignified. Though, it almost felt as though her methods to convince them nothing happened made it more obvious.

As Reyna made every attempt to direct their conversation elsewhere, Jere leaned in to Elena, whispering to her loudly enough for Reyna to hear, "Did you HEAR that?" Elena nodded, and Reyna's face began to morph into a grimace. "We need to make that happen again. Immediately, if possible."

"I agree," Elena said.

"New mission priority."

"What say you? How do we crack this newfound experience with our dear friend?" Elena asked Jere, eyeing Reyna as Jere turned to look over at her as well.

"Oh, I can think of some pretty good ideas?—"

"I hate you both," Reyna interrupted. But the truth was that she was fighting a smile, and both her friends knew she was losing spectacularly.

These kinds of discoveries among the three of them continued throughout their time at the academy together. Occasionally, discoveries about each of them happened in times where subjects weren't always easy to discuss. There was one night in the kitchen, late enough that the mess hall had gone dark, where Jere was engaging Elena and her in a story about his parents.

Jere often talked about his family with love. His mother was a healer on Velanthos, the Qorrathi homeworld. His father was a builder who crafted structures from living materials, makingwalls that could grow and roofs that breathed. Jere's own family home, he explained, was technically alive.