betterthanaplan | The Cape Rouge, Port of Fandom, Monday

"Sure," Octavia said, because she couldn't help herself.

The ill-fitting clothes were finally starting to bother her. Her fingers were curling into the end of the too-long sleeve. The 17-year-old version of herself from this weekend would have loved it.

That made it worse.

Duke set about bustling around his kitchen, pouring all his nervous energy into fixing up breakfast and putting together a plate of fruit and cheese for her to nibble on.

And trying to figure out what he was going to say when they finally started talking.

(He really should have planned that part ahead of time, yeah.)

Octavia watched him for a moment. Trying to take some pleasure out of seeing him doing something so mundane, something she'd watched him do many, many, many times before.

Failing, because dread was already settling in the pit of her stomach.

Then she slipped quietly away, to find her own clothes to wear. Something even moderately comfortable.

Duke paused once she was out of sight, to just lean against the cabinet and breathe for a second.

She wasn't leaving-leaving. She was just . . . getting something. Changing, maybe. She wasn't leaving.

He three long, measured breaths, counting them out in his head, then started setting the table. Coffee cups, plates, food on trays. The french press.

He avoided reaching for a bottle of bourbon. He needed to be sober to make sure he didn't say anything too stupid.

She wasn't leaving.

It took a while, but eventually Octavia came back, now clad in some basic black leggings and a hoodie. She'd been drawn to her leathers, something more like armor, but... She'd deliberately gone against that urge. It wouldn't help.

Her footsteps were exactly as quiet returning as they had been leaving.

Duke was On the Alert, so he glanced up when she came in, anyway. "Coffee's about ready," he said. He tossed a couple napkins onto the table and slid into a seat.

". . . So."

Octavia forced a little eyebrow raise. "Way to make a girl feel like sitting down," she drawled, without any heat.

While she took a seat, yeah.

Duke winced, and busied himself pouring the coffee.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I shouldn't have kicked you out. I didn't mean to, I just -- wasn't thinking."

"You were upset," Octavia muttered, looking down at the table. "I know."

Didn't mean it hadn't hurt. For days. And then again once she'd woken up next to him the previous time.

"I was." He still was, but in a quieter, more reasonable way. "That's not an excuse. I know what that feels like. Getting kicked out. I never wanted to do that to you."

Octavia's gaze flicked up to his face. "But you did," she said, mildly. "And then I flipped out and left you. Think that makes us even on that front."

"Oh good," Duke said, more flippantly than he intended to. "At least we're even."

He scowled at himself and rubbed both hands down his face. "I still don't really know how to deal with . . . all that. From the bunker. I wish I did. I just -- I still love you. And I miss you like crazy. And I want us to be okay."

"I want that too," Octavia replied, watching him, her own face mild, impassive. The last bit of armor she couldn't quite help pulling on.

He still loved her.

He still missed her.

"And I don't know what to do about it."

"I wish you had told me," Duke said softly. "I know why you didn't. I get it, I really do, and god knows I probably reacted exactly how you were afraid I was going to. But -- I wish you could have trusted me enough to tell me yourself."

Octavia's eyebrows twitched up. Just a fraction.

"You think trust has anything to do with it?"

"Yeah," Duke said, giving her a little nod and shrug. "I mean. You were right not to, I guess, considering how I reacted."

"It's not that I didn't trust you," Octavia said. "I didn't want to tell you. How do you tell someone that?"

When that someone wasn't already used to facing all of humanity's sins.

"I don't know," Duke admitted. "And maybe it would have been just as bad. I don't know anything, Tavi. I've been trying to wrap my head around it for months."

"And I've been trying for years," Octavia said, finally letting her gaze drop to the table to between them.

Maybe she needed to regroup for a second.

Duke nodded, buying himself a few moments by sipping his coffee. It was a little too hot, and he couldn't really taste it, but at least it kept his mouth busy so he didn't say something stupid.

He took a breath.

"I didn't want to listen to you, before," he said. "I was freaked out, and hurt, so I hurt you. Now, I've -- I've heard about it from that man in your -- and from Lucifer, but." He swallowed. "Can you tell me now? I promise I'll listen. Just listen. Not attack."

Slowly, Octavia looked up. With her eyes, not with her head.

"Where do I start?" she asked. It sounded a little helpless, but still like a genuine question. How far back did he want to go?

That was a good question. Duke felt he had a decent grasp on how she ended up in charge, so. . . .

“Luce said you all were going to run out of protein?”

Octavia wasn't even remotely surprised he went for that.

She swallowed, and chewed on the inside of her bottom lip for a second before she spoke. And when she did, her voice was carefully flat, all rasp.

"We had a hydro farm," she said. "It was supposed to keep us going for five years. But two years in, it started to fail. Soy bean crop got infected."

In all the years since the dark one, she hadn't talked about this to anyone but Lucifer.

"We could save it, with seeds from the healthy plants. But only if we eradicated the rest. Which was going to leave us without protein for an entire year."

"So . . . you had to find another source." Duke nodded. "I understand that." He flicked her a tiny smile. "Remind me to tell you about the Benton sisters later."

Octavia wanted to ask whether they'd been farmers.

But she knew better than that.

And lighter questions wouldn't make this any easier. "We already had the fighting pits."

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