Val finally gives Adya a break from constant target practice and sparring combos, inviting her on an errand across town with the rest of the team. All of them need something to keep them from worrying about Nate as he continues to sleep the days off from the post-procedure narcotics. The glass dome of the greenhouse reflects pale, glossy light on the plants strewn about the space. Some stand in heavy pots on the ground while others sit in cheap, plastic cups on the old wooden table that stretches across half the lot. Adya pushes a windchime, taking in the droning jingle it leaves in its wake. She pushes it again and smiles.
“Hey, Prisham,” Val says from across the room, startling her. “We need your advice.”
Adya wanders over while running her fingers along the ferns and the flowers. Now within earshot, she watches Tristan and Murphy argue over the short, potted plants on the ground between them.
“Left is a snake plant, right is a bird of paradise. They can’t decide on which one to get.”
“What’s the point of getting a bird of paradise if it’ll never flower?” Murphy says.
“Why is that a point of contention? Snake plants don’t flower anyway!” Tristan responds, brushing the dirt from his fingers when he puts the snake plant back onto the table. Murphy immediately grabs it and puts it back on the ground.
“Well, where do you plan on putting it? And how much sunlight does the room get?” Adya asks. A sudden hush falls over the boys.
“The living room has a big, glass door against the back wall. It only gets direct light in the evening.”
“Hold on.” Adya’s shoulders relax and her eyes gloss over for a few seconds, leaving her motionless in the middle of the room. She springs back to life with a jostle of the head. “Birds of paradise like lots of indirect light. Snake plants can survive low-light and they can be neglected for long periods of time.”
Tristan sneers at Murphy, taking it as a win. Murphy isn’t so quick to do the same. “Not so fast,” he says. “Keyword, survive. I don’t want to get a plant that’s just barely hanging onto life at all times.”
“I don’t want to get a plant that’s so tiny it’s out of my line of sight,” Tristan remarks.
“You’re six-foot-four! Everything is out of your line of sight!”
The discussion devolves back into incoherent arguing while one constantly tries to put away the other’s plant. Val chuckles and reorganizes the tiny potted plants in her basket. Adya follows her to the back wall. “Are they always like this?” she asks.
“It’s literally only about cooking and home decor. They have some of the best teamwork skills until you ask them the right way to make stir fry or organize the dishes. It’s a miracle anything gets done around our apartment.” She swaps one of her plants for another on the shelf and her lips curve into a smirk. “Who do you think will confess first?”
“Confess what?”
“Nate and I have this bet-- if Tristan fesses up that he likes Murphy first, I win. If Murphy does, Nate wins. Loser has to do all the dishes and chores for a month.”
Adya’s eyes widen. “A month?”
“They’ve been putting it off forever! Even General Morales can see that they’re into each other. They were cadets in the same division and they’ve been stuck together ever since. They might be able to fool everyone else, but not the person they take orders from and definitely not Nate and I.”
She walks back over to the boys, still babbling nonsense about the potted plants at their feet. Crouching down and running a finger over a leaf of both, she admires the crisp, vinyl-y texture.
“I think it’s worth mentioning that you guys don’t spend a lot of time at home,” Adya adds. “A plant that can be forgotten about is probably better. I’m with Murphy on this one.”
Murphy lets out a single, triumphant laugh and shoves the bird of paradise back onto the table. Tristan grabs his companion’s head and jostles it around. When Adya glances at Val, she shrugs and cocks her head to the side. Told you.
When the boys slink out of the greenhouse to pay for their plant, Val holds back and insists that Adya do the same. The sun has started to set, bringing a warm glow and hazy shadows across the plants waiting to be taken home.
“I know you heard what Armstrong said,” she mutters from the far side of the room.
After finally getting rid of the feedback loop in her head after two days, President Armstrong’s voice calling her a “science experiment” starts up again. It never stings any less. If she could taste, there’d be a bitter, acidic feeling in her throat. “He thinks I’m a kid. A charity case,” she responds, hating the way the words sound from her mouth.
Val sets her basket onto the table and leans back against it. “You know who else was a charity case?” she asks. “Nate. Did he tell you about the Brotherhood?”
“A little. Just called them a bunch of ‘fascist assholes’ and said he’d rather die for a good cause than live for a bad one.”
“And did he tell you that when Goddard took him in as an addict?”
Adya goes quiet. “He didn’t.”
“Goddard runs a rehabilitation program twice a year. Patients are allowed to run errands, shadow bionicists, and take classes in exchange for therapy and their sobriety. When he was in rehab, I was an intern, fresh outta high school. We did some work together.”
“What was he like?” Adya asks, giving the wind chimes another gentle push. The sound seems to glow as bright as the sun outside.
“Isolated. He didn’t know what to do without someone telling him what to do. That was the hardest part, I think-- because nobody was forcing him to be there. To get better. He had to learn to not only give himself orders, but take them.” Val taps a metallic finger against the chimes, creating an echo that resonates even longer than before. Adya stares in awe when the sound swells up to the glass and dissipates across the greenhouse. “Most of the patients graduate from the rehab program and move on. Only a few end up applying for ACA jobs. But every once in a while, one or two people will be recruited outright. And it takes a lot of fighting on Elora’s behalf to encourage Goddard to hire a newly sober cadet.”
Adya’s smile is laced with pessimism. “I’m not really sure where you’re going with this, Val, but it feels a little backhanded.”
“It’s not. What I’m saying is that, to the world, Nate was a lowlife. His whole life, he was told that he wouldn’t amount to something. But he finally pulled the chains off and let the cuts and bruises heal-- and look at him now. Nobody gets to tell you who you are, Adya. Not me, not some… weird cult leader, not even the president of the ACA.”
Her leaderly, lieutenant exterior has melted away into that of an older sister. There’s a softness in that solemness of hers. Val snatches the windchime out from in front of Adya’s nose, her hands instinctively grabbing for it.
“Hey!”
“Relax, I’ll give it back once I’ve paid for it,” she says with a big smile. “Hang it up on your balcony or something. I’ve heard you’ve decorated your room pretty well, but if you need any more tips, I’ll be sure to put in a word with The Boyfriends on your behalf.”
Adya doesn’t even have time to object before Val has disappeared out of the greenhouse, heading to the clerk’s counter on the far end of the lot.
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