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"In here, Commander." Iverson opens a door that is almost too low and too narrow for Antok to pass through.
Antok steps into an office—at least he thinks that it is an office—the room is filled with shelves and documents. Earth furniture is small and fragile. Then again, everything is, seen from Antok's point of view. Ulaz is taller that him, granted, and that is as far as it goes, matching his size. Earthlings are fragile, too, and if Antok hadn't known how resilient they were from humans such as Pidge and Shiro, he'd have been worried about their… longevity.
"Thank you, Commander Iverson," Antok says politely; he has certainly brushed up on his diplomatic skills since the Blade decided to branch out and put him in charge of the ordeal of finding a location, hiring Earthlings to construct a suitable building, and lead the Blade's negotiations with the Earth authorities, one of which, these days, is Commander Iverson.
Antok misses Kolivan. Even though there are more than a handful of their best agents here with him, Antok misses the closeness he had with his leader, and being separated from him has left an empty void in Antok's heart. He misses Kolivan, his best friend—not that he would have admitted to that before the end of the war, having such a deep love for his friend. Now? It's different. They are allowed now, to feel—openly.
Antok takes the chair that looks the most sturdy. It creaks underneath him as he sits, but it doesn't break. Earth wood is durable, it seems; maybe that is why Iverson has that kind of furniture; not the plastic that is most common on the base. "Is it possible to build from this type of… wood?" Antok asks. Earthlings have buildings made from clay and concrete, but Antok doesn't like it much. He likes wood.
"I am not an engineer," Iverson says. "But yes. It is commonly used. Whether it works for the kind of complex the Blade wants… you would have to ask someone else."
"I like the feel of it," Antok says. "Being on Earth. The forests."
"Not that there is much of that around," Iverson comments. "But maybe with some of your technology it's possible to grow one? Despite the heat. Here, I mean."
"You would have to ask someone else," Antok says with small smile. "I'm not a gardener. I'm just the guy who teaches soldiers to fight."
"As am I," Commander Iverson says. "We're a bit out of our environment on that one." He moves sheets of paper around on the desk, the sound of the shuffling foreign and somehow antiquated to Antok. "Ah, here!" He holds up a piece with blue lines scribbled all over it. Antok knows they are human letters. Why Iverson doesn't use a tablet is surprising, but then again, it's Earth. Not fully developed, tech-wise.
Iverson puts the list down and reaches for two mugs and a bottle of some kind. Antok recognizes the scent. It is the drink most humans prefer. Coffee. It teases his nose and makes his mouth water. He likes coffee. There are several things that Antok likes about Earth. Peace. The Paladins. Forests. Coffee. He also thinks favorably of Iverson; he's a no-nonsense military man, and they understand each other, all things considered. Antok's list of things he likes is growing. He's also quite fond of pizza, but then again, he likes anything that does not resemble Blade rations.
A mug is pushed in Antok's direction and he grabs it eagerly, careful not to crush it. It has been known to happen. He hurries to take a sip, ignoring the burn in favor of the full flavor of the drink. "What was it you wanted to show me?" Antok asks, breathing in air to cool his tongue, pointing at the piece of paper.
Iverson looks at the round plate at the wall. Antok knows it's some kind of Ticker. It shows time. "They should be here by now. I've chosen a few of our people to serve as liaisons between the Garrison and the Blades if you'll agree to it."
"Yes." Antok nods. He has nothing more to say. It is a good idea. It saves time. "If they have proper clearance."
"Of course. The one I recommend in particular is someone who is able to help you out with the Marmora project as well. He was one of our best pilots. We have much to learn from you and he understands tech. If you do not approve of my choice, we have a few other options. But this one is as knowledgeable about the Blade as can be, not that it says much, seeing that you were… are a secret organization."
"Good, thank you," Antok says with honesty. He is not here to be diplomatic; he saves the lies they call diplomacy for the humans that did not fight in the war. Politicians. There is a lot that Antok likes about Earth, but politicians are not one of them. "I am sure he will be adequate. I find that I lack the knowledge to properly negotiate with the humans about the build. Help will be most appreciated."
Understanding human culture is both easy and difficult. Antok finds that no matter where he turns, there is a new part of it that he doesn't know about. Luckily most humans are happy and willing to help. Yet there are still considerable differences between the Galra and Earthlings, and having an assistant, a liaison, who does not have other duties to take care of—like Iverson and the Paladins—will definitely make Antok more comfortable. Not that he is afraid of humans, the mere idea is laughable, but he would prefer it if he did not start another war by accident. His instinct tells him that this is also how Iverson thinks. Commander Iverson is clever.
Iverson presses a button on something that looks like a box made of wood. No wonder that the Olkari and humans work well together. Maybe it will take a while before humans get used to the alien look, though. But two races who share a love of wood, making useful things out of it have something to share. Antok shrugs, earning a look from Iverson. Iverson speaks into the box, and a few ticks later the door to the office slides open.
"Commander Iverson, sir?"
The liaison-assistant is a young man, glasses and golden-brown hair, a bit like the color of Iverson's desk. He is slender and looks serious. Antok likes that. Being serious.
"Come in, Adam. Meet Commander Antok of the Blade."
Adam is about to salute, but Iverson stops him. "Leave it for now. If you are to serve as Commander Antok's assistant you will have to adapt to life as a civilian for a while."
Antok leans back in the chair carefully, listening for any signs of having exhausted it. He looks at Adam, lips pursed, a look that is returned by a set of slightly gloomy eyes. At least this human is not appalled by him—or scared. "Why do you wish to take on this task?" Antok asks. "Would you not rather be flying? Commander Iverson tells me you are a pilot."
"Maybe I wanted to see what the hype was about," Adam says. "I wanted to see what it was that was so alluring. About aliens." There is a flicker of something dark and angry in his eyes for a tick.
"I fear I lack any allure," Antok says. "Or hype." Whatever hype is. His translator's output does not make sense. For a tick, Antok returns the dark gaze. "I tolerate no rudeness. I will demand your cooperation, and not least, your dedication. If you are only here to gawk at me, I suggest you decline the position. If you can or will not commit fully, we will not work well together. I need someone I can trust. Can I trust you, Adam?" Antok's gaze is unwavering. "I demand loyalty, though not without giving it in return."
Adam is the first to look away. He looks up again, and this time the anger has faded. "Yes. I will stand by you. No matter what.Unless you plan to start the war all over." He sighs deeply and his shoulders fall, tension gone. He presses his lips together, then opens his mouth and closes it again, like he was about to share something.
Antok is, if nothing else, someone who has honed the art of being silent, always watching, always letting others be fooled by his size and his intimidating appearance. But Antok is good at what he does: he watches, analyzes, calculates. And he doesn't take chances.
Not yet.
There is pain and honesty in Adam's eyes. It is good enough. For now.
***
Somehow it does work, with Adam. Antok has made a home at a suite at the Garrison City Hotel, in lieu of something better. It is not as if he cannot afford it; he has the entire fortune of Marmora behind him, and his own funds are not inconsiderable. He has merely been too busy to care. The hotel is a place to sleep. And work. Eat. Live. There are many things that Antok likes about Earth, but his hotel room is not one of them.
It's better than a Marmora-base, sure, but it's impersonal and boring, and the carpets make Antok sneeze. Maybe he should have inquired about an office at the Garrison? Commander Iverson surely would accommodate him for the time being.
Adam says he is allergic. Antok doesn't like being allergic, either. He is going to ask Princess Allura if he can borrow one of the Paladin healing pods to get rid of the allergy, but it can wait. He is busy after all, and Adam is very attentive, so it is not that much of a bother. Somehow it turns out that Antok likes that someone cares about him. Or about the allergy.
They have been working together for a few weeks, but Adam has already made himself useful. He has managed to find a decent architect, hired a project manager who comes highly recommended, done a lot of the work regarding the planning permissions—those are a riddle to Antok, seeing that there is a vast desert outside the city where nobody lives, and apparently nobody wants. When the trial month ends, Adam is no longer useful, but irreplaceable.
Antok doesn't mind. Fighting Zarkon made him take change and challenges calmly. He settles in, lives with the sneezing, and pretends to be surprised when Adam suddenly dumps a pile of folders on his desk one movement after the construction of the Blade base begins.
"Pick one." Adam pokes at the pile. "This cannot continue."
Antok looks from the pile to Adam and back again. He shuffles the glossy prints around, again wondering why humans insist on using wood for paper, for something that could just as well have been seen on a screen.
"What this are we talking about," he asks. He knows already when Adam has decided on something that the argument is going to be long, and that he probably will not win it. Somehow, those little arguments are up there with things he likes, like coffee, forests and pizza. One would think the heated discussions with Adam would be detrimental to something that Antok values above anything else: peace, but somehow he feels strangely peaceful when Adam does not back down. It has been some time since anyone has dared contradict the Blade's second in command, and Adam's determination is refreshing. Antok is sure that Adam is doing it because he wants to take care of him, and knowledge is better than pizza. Better than coffee, even.
Adam waves his hand, indicating the hotel room and everything in it. "This. As I said. Pick one." He flips a few of the brochures over, pulling one out. "This one, in particular, would suit your needs. You need somewhere to stay that is not here."
Antok looks at the pictures. It is a house with large, airy rooms and an open plan. Not too many doors. Earth doors are small and not to Antok's liking, but this house looks as if it has been built to accommodate Galra. He looks from the pictures to the cluttered hotel room, and maybe he likes it even less now that something suitable is right there, presented to him on a silver platter. Not that Antok understands why anyone would use silver or platters for many of the things that humans say they use them for, but he does understand the metaphor. Maybe. He likes the house better than the hotel.
"I would like to go see it. I might need your help with the— If you are free?" Antok both hates and likes the emotions he feels when he asks. Maybe he likes the smile, too, that Adam sends him.
Adam makes a small sigh, the smile still on his lips. Antok is sure he likes it a lot. It is not that often that Adam smiles. On the other hand, neither does Antok, but that does not mean that he is not happy. There is very little that Antok does not like about being happy. Nothing, to be precise. Other than the slight confusion as to why the feeling appears every time Adam smiles.
***
Adam is free and even though he complains about how his work hours are insane, he goes anyway. The house turns out to be just right, and for some reason it is very important that Adam likes it too. So Antok buys the house on the first viewing because he is in a position to do so, and he really, really likes how pleased Adam looks when he tells the real estate agent that he wants the property. He cannot have it right away, of course, but with Adam pushing things ahead, the wait will be short.
Right after the viewing Antok stops outside the house. His house, at least it will be in a few weeks. The heat is staggering, yet Antok is reluctant to get in the car. They watch the real estate agent drive away in a cloud of dust and sand.
"It's a beautiful house," Adam says. "And there is no carpet."
"It's an empty house," Antok says. "Maybe I'll feel lonely."
"I don't think you will. Not unless you want to." Adam looks up at him, sun reflected in his glasses. Or maybe it is the color of hope that shines in them, golden and warm.
"I do not want to be alone." Antok's voice is firm. It is still firm when he decides to be brave. Antok asks Adam out for dinner. Not dinner, but dinner-dinner. A significant dinner, one of those that are a part of human courtship, at least that is his understanding.
Adam says yes.
Antok's stomach immediately feels like it did right before a raid, before a battle. But it's fine, he needs to be alert. Because the stakes are much higher now.
*
They end up in a small Italian family restaurant, dark wood panels and delicious pizze. Antok likes it all. Antok is being himself, and it turns out not to be awkward at all. Maybe because they already know each other well. Maybe because it is that easy when one guy likes another, despite one being Galra, the other not. Antok's pizza is perfect, and it arrives right after they are done with the antipasti, nice timing that Antok appreciates. He is hungry.
Adam laughs at him, and his smile stills a hunger in Antok that cannot be appeased by food. He smiles back, something that would have frightened lesser men, but Adam is used to him. Suddenly it is difficult to imagine a life without Adam in it.
"I never had the opportunity to court a mate," Antok admits. "There was always the war."
Adam looks like he understands, his eyes turn sad. "There is always a war. Mine was at home. I lost."
Between the main and the dessert, Adam tells Antok about Shiro. Takashi.
"Both he and I hoped for more than the other was willing to give." Adam sighs deeply, moisture welling up in his eyes. "I should have let him go willingly, supported him when he reached for what he longed for. If I had loved him enough I would have waited for him. And he should have loved me more, more than the dream he had, the mission mattered more to him than I did. We were both to blame. It was not meant to be."
Antok understands Shiro. He left family and loved ones, just as Antok had done, the mission the only thing that mattered.
Antok has been… unsure about missions for some time, longing for the fragile peace on Earth. He is not old, he could still be of use, but when he looks up, looks into Adam's eyes, he knows with a deep certainty that his fighting days are over. "For many years the mission was all that mattered to us. The Blade, the Paladins." Antok feels the sadness, too, the loss of all the things that could have been. "For the Blade, feelings were a liability. We could not form bonds… mate. It would endanger the cause, endanger those close to us. We won, so it was worth it, but we could have lost, and we would not have had any dreams left. Those who died—" He pauses, the memories of so many dead comrades are too much to deal with here, this instant. Too many dreams were crushed by Zarkon's armies.
Adam makes a small sound, comforting, then reaches out to touch Antok's hand.
Antok doesn't move away. There are things he likes and things he does not like. Adam's hand on his? That, he likes. So he turns his own hand, offering it up to Adam because it feels right. It feels like he is done fighting so that he, sword hand empty, can reach for Adam's hand, never letting go. It feels right to reach out and get a smile in return, telling him something that words haven't, not yet.
"I have made sacrifices enough," he says. "There won't be more."
"I'll go with you if… if…" Adam's chest heaves, his next breath comes out a bit shakily. "There won't be any ultimatums. I will go with you."
"It is good enough for me." Antok squeezes Adam's hand. "Ancients forbid it will ever be necessary."
They take their dessert, a decent Tiramisu, with coffee. There is very little that Antok doesn't like about their evening together. Their… date. It has pizza and coffee, the warm glow of the wood panels on the walls. And then there is the warmth in Adam's eyes when Adam looks up at him, less strict than he usually is, softer.
Antok doesn't resist, but leans forward, pressing a kiss to Adam's mouth. The ghost of a laughter passes them, and Adam mumbles a "finally," just before Antok closes the distance between them once more, taking the kisses he has longed for.
There are several things Antok likes about Earth. Peace. The Paladins. Forests and coffee, Commander Iverson and pizza. Sunsets and drinks. Glasses. Those on Adam's nose. He likes Adam's nose too. In fact, Antok likes his entire face. His lips. The way he sighs when he is being kissed.
***
Antok likes Earth. But he likes Adam better, even better than coffee and pizza and peace. There is no second date. Or one might disagree and say there is, a second and third and fourth, and as many as there are days in Antok's life. Thing is: the Galra do not date, they mate, and when they do, that is forever. Usually not so soon, but taking Adam as his mate is an end to a perfect evening that both Antok and Adam like very much.