The gardens didn't bother him. Neither did the stables. Or the kitchen. The cleaning was fine, just as the rest of the chores were. But apparently not for Ivan. And, if there was one thing that consistently annoyed Mateo, it was knowing he got partnered with the disobedient cadet every single day for the indefinite future.
"I feel like we get the same shitty list every fucking day."
No. Kostas and Kyler got the worst list. At least, that's what Mateo thought. He didn't like dealing with plumbing or anything mechanical. Never really clicked for him. Brought more frustrations than fulfillment.
"I'm sick and tired of using this crappy hose to water food that's not even growing."
The hose isn't that bad. Not for being three hundred plus years old. The food would grow in time. Ivan was just impatient.
"And I hate that my partner doesn't even talk to me. At the very least, it'd make me feel like I wasn't insane."
Mateo didn't talk to anyone. Well, that's a lie. But even with her, it wasn't often. Nothing personal. It was just the way he was. Quiet until his voice was needed. Griping about work wasn't a necessity.
Ivan snorted at Mateo's continued silence. Unfortunately, the former didn't return the favor, killing the rest of their time together on an endless rant about how arbitrary this whole endeavor was. How he should never have joined in the first place—something Mateo wholeheartedly agreed with. And how the payoff would be worth it…
Mateo looked up from the row he was watering. For him, the payoff was freedom and truth. And even if there wasn't a payoff, he'd seek to remain by her side. But, the way Ivan had worded his last statement…it didn't feel right.
Mateo was never generally right on feelings, though. His gut didn't work the way others did. Not that he didn't get gut feelings, but that they happened far too often to make accurate assumptions. Private Zubia always said it was his biggest flaw. She never condemned him for it. But she also never shied away from pointing it out, explaining why it was something that he needed to work on.
Instead, Mateo looked back to the tomato sprouts now drowning in water while keeping his ears peeled for anything that may confirm this new gut feeling he had about Ivan.
***
"'ey there, little stallion," Private Zubia greeted with her harsh accent as Mateo entered the room. "I hear Ivan's been a needle in yer spine for a while. How was 'e today?"
Mateo shrugged.
"Yeah, I figured as much," she replied to his nonverbal statement.
Private Zubia always understood Mateo. Words were never necessary to speak with her.
"'E's kind of…an odd one, 'e is," she continued while Mateo changed into cleaner clothes. "An' that's sayin' somethin' comin' from the likes of me."
That's another thing that Mateo liked about her. It was…odd, perhaps, but he enjoyed the fact that she never really shut up. It was comforting, in a way. Never having to be left in the crippling silence of his own thoughts.
As he slipped his trousers off, Private Zubia already had a fresh pair of sweats, throwing it to him just in time for him to catch it.
"Ya know what I was thinkin' the other day?"
Mateo continued putting on his clean set of clothes, unbothered by her company.
"Velicity seemed to find the stick in 'er ass and pulled it out 'cause the rapid development in that shit personality of 'ers is somethin' out of a fairytale."
Mateo's laugh was soft, with barely a sound to accompany it. But that didn't matter to the private. She heard it all the same. Like she always had. Like Mateo hoped she always would.
Despite the relaxation the private's presence usually brought, there was something still weighing on Mateo's mind. He'd tried to ignore it since it blossomed in the pit of his stomach, but this feeling was far harsher than those of the past.
"Little stallion?" Private Zubia's tone was no longer light-hearted. It was full of worry and concern. Of knowing. "There somethin' you wanna say right 'bout now?"
Mateo let out a long sigh. He really hadn't wanted to bring it up. What if it was nothing? What if Private Zubia now had to worry about a problem that didn't exist? Would it be a bother for her if he said any—
"Now, now, now, stop stallin' 'fore I git out mah trusty whistle pipe and start butcherin' them pretty ears of yers," the private warned, rising to her feet and walking towards Mateo.
The cadet fell back onto his bed, not wanting to talk about his worries backed only by a gut feeling. But the private never let him off that easily. Today was no different.
Sure enough, Private Zubia's ear for pitch seemed nonexistent, the instrument sounding like the call of death rather than the soft, melodic notes it was supposed to sing. He knew she played it wrong on purpose because he'd also heard her play it right. On nights when the terrors were the worst. On the nights when he could no longer breath or control the muscles that tensed on their own. On the nights when his thoughts threatened to bring his world crashing down around him.
He sat up with furrowed brows and a frown as he covered his ears.
Private Zubia laughed, setting aside her tool of interrogation.
"Ivan," Mateo spoke softly. His voice rarely reached a level that sent vibrations running through his throat. But, the private heard them as if he'd spoken like everyone else. "He worries me. Far more than I feel he should."
Private Zubia's eyes grew wary. That was bad. Very, very bad. The private never let Mateo's worries blossom if she didn't share the same concern.
"Anyone else share that there opinion of yers?" she asked, her own soft voice nearly as quiet as his.
Mateo shook his head. He wasn't entirely sure if anyone did, but all the other cadets got on with Ivan far better than Mateo did. Or rather, everyone got on better with everyone than Mateo did…
"'ey, 'nough of that," Private Zubia ordered, gently placing a hand beneath his chin and lifting slightly enough that he raised his eyes to meet her silvery-blue ones. "Is one 'bout to come on?"
Mateo didn't want to admit that there was. He could feel it climbing through him like a virus, tensing his muscles against his will. The private didn't need words, though. She never did. Instead, she helped him lie on his bed while the same instrument of interrogation played soft melodies of relaxation.
There was the short scream before darkness consumed the cadet. He wouldn't remember much of the conversation prior to this unwanted fall to the void. But he would remember the sweet notes that kept him company through it and the ones that would wake him as he found his way out of it.
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