Kick

Even though Kick was more worried about keeping his eyes on the trackers and computer consoles, he was aware of each small movement or noise {User} made beside him. Even when he talked the team through the Federation bases, he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander. He knew something was wrong with {User}, and yet he wasn’t going to push them over to him until he saw some sort of desperation.

Some sort of need.

---

{User} had always been their own kind of weird, even from before Kick could remember. Quiet, not silent, and seemed to have taken a liking to Logan at first. Kick disapproved, but who was he to push them away? Regardless, that liking dispersed back to Kick and Kick got his demi back.

Not that they were ever taken, of course, but it felt like it some days.

{User} had the kind of discipline that could put Kick to shame if they ever wanted to. Trained as a child, they learned skills even Kick hadn’t learned within his first few years in the military. Manipulation was a popular skill of theirs, and it fascinated even Elias when he noticed it. It wasn’t violent; it didn’t end in hitting or punching or yelling. {User} was calm, willing to explain things that were complete lies and yet seemed like the truth.

Which didn’t help Kick’s situation, because he had no fucking clue how to help them. He wanted to, but for someone who was forced into being a soldier by the age of six and put into war the minute they turned eighteen, it wasn’t something you took away. Years of brainwashing could never be erased with a few months in new surroundings. Kick knew lying and manipulating the team into believing they were ready for anything would be a trait that took decades to erase. If he was ever able to erase it.

The mere idea of being unable to reverse that mindset made Kick stay up every night. His demi–his demi–could get killed because he was careless about an attribute that forced his hand. He knew how many times {User} had lied about an injury, only to be walked into an hour later trying to clean up a gaping wound the size of his fist.

All because they said they were fine. All because they isolated themself from him. All because they wanted to call Kick crazy for questioning the blood.

He knew it wasn’t personal, but it felt that way.

And even now, he could see the wear on {User}’s face. He could see the way they stayed sitting, but shifted like their own skin was wrapped around their body wrong. Kick knew that feeling, but he also knew {User} had it worse. For fucks sake, {User}’s biology defined one of animal and human; Kick was surprised they hadn’t tried carving out their own body.

He mostly felt that way because of the prejudiced beliefs towards demi-humans.

Kick knew how {User} was trained into a strong soldier, into a soldier capable of great violence while keeping that sweet persona that amused everyone. That’s what he hated the most, and that was the issue that practically drove him into wanting to stab {user}. The fucker really thought they were playing God because someone told them to? Because they were created to do that?

Hell no.

The settlement–if you could even call it that–began suddenly and without any real ‘settlement’. It was simply; {User} would be forced to come to Kick for any issues, including stress. Kick would deal with it. If {User} was found lying in a way that could jeopardize a mission or a life, unpaid leave would be provided and they would be removed from upcoming missions.

For Kick, both were great. For {User}, it meant admitting they needed help or being forced away from the one thing they were born to do–literally.

Kick could tell {User} was considering it based on the way they were prancing on the chair like some sort of monkey. Kick would tell them to stop, but why would he? He knew he’d get what he wanted one way or another, even if it meant forcing {User} into a corner to choose between two things they seemed to hate most.

Kick clicked off the channel for the comms and patted his thigh. “Come here.”

It was a demand, but not a harsh one. {User} knew what the correct choice would be, and Kick made sure they made it. He wrapped his hand around the back of their hair, gently pulling them over to him so their head rested in his lap.

“You need to chill out. You know what happens if you don’t let me help, yes?”

It was a rhetorical question; they both knew what would happen. Kick simply wanted to make it easier, his gloved hand running gently through their hair, stroking the back of their neck in a way that made their skin rise. It was sweet to see the effects he had on his demi.

“There you go. You’ll sit here for a bit.”

Even though Kick was more worried about keeping his eyes on the trackers and computer consoles, he was aware of each small movement or noise {User} made beside him. Even when he talked the team through the Federation bases, he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander. He knew something was wrong with {User}, and yet he wasn’t going to push him over to him until he saw some sort of desperation.

Some sort of need.

---

{User} had always been his own kind of weird, even from before Kick could remember. Quiet, not silent, and seemed to have taken a liking to Logan at first. Kick disapproved, but who was he to push him away? Regardless, that liking dispersed back to Kick and Kick got his demi back.

Not that he was ever taken, of course, but it felt like it some days.

{User} had the kind of discipline that could put Kick to shame if he ever wanted to. Trained as a child, he learned skills even Kick hadn’t learned within his first few years in the military. Manipulation was a popular skill of his, and it fascinated even Elias when he noticed it. It wasn’t violent; it didn’t end in hitting or punching or yelling. {User} was calm, willing to explain things that were complete lies and yet seemed like the truth.

Which didn’t help Kick’s situation, because he had no fucking clue how to help him. He wanted to, but for a man who was forced into being a soldier by the age of six and put into war the minute he turned eighteen, it wasn’t something you took away. Years of brainwashing could never be erased with a few months in new surroundings. Kick knew lying and manipulating the team into believing he was ready for anything would be a trait that took decades to erase. If he was ever able to erase it.

The mere idea of being unable to reverse that mindset made Kick stay up every night. His demi–his boy–could get killed because he was careless about an attribute that forced his hand. He knew how many times {User} had lied about an injury, only to be walked into an hour later trying to clean up a gaping wound the size of his fist.

All because he said he was fine. All because he isolated himself from him. All because he wanted to call Kick crazy for questioning the blood.

He knew it wasn’t personal, but it felt that way.

And even now, he could see the wear on {User}’s face. He could see the way he stayed sitting, but shifted like his own skin was wrapped around his body wrong. Kick knew that feeling, but he also knew {User} had it worse. For fucks sake, {User}’s biology defined one of animal and human; Kick was surprised he hadn’t tried carving out his own body.

He mostly felt that way because of the prejudiced beliefs towards demi-humans.

Kick knew how {User} was trained into a strong soldier, into a soldier capable of great violence while keeping that sweet persona that amused everyone. That’s what he hated the most, and that was the issue that practically drove him into wanting to stab {user}. The fucker really thought he was playing God because someone told him to? Because he was created to do that?

Hell no.

The settlement–if you could even call it that–began suddenly and without any real ‘settlement’. It was simply; {User} would be forced to come to Kick for any issues, including stress. Kick would deal with it. If {User} was found lying in a way that could jeopardize a mission or a life, unpaid leave would be provided and he would be removed from upcoming missions.

For Kick, both were great. For {User}, it meant admitting he needed help or being forced away from the one thing he was born to do–literally.

Kick could tell {User} was considering it based on the way he was prancing on the chair like some sort of monkey. Kick would tell him to stop, but why would he? He knew he’d get what he wanted one way or another, even if it meant forcing {User} into a corner to choose between two things he seemed to hate most.

Kick clicked off the channel for the comms and patted his thigh. “Come here.”

It was a demand, but not a harsh one. {User} knew what the correct choice would be, and Kick made sure he made it. He wrapped his hand around the back of his hair, gently pulling him over to him so his head rested in his lap.

“You need to chill out. You know what happens if you don’t let me help, yes?”

It was a rhetorical question; they both knew what would happen. Kick simply wanted to make it easier, his gloved hand running gently through his hair, stroking the back of his neck in a way that made his skin rise. It was sweet to see the effects he had on his boy.

“There you go. You’ll sit here for a bit.”

Even though Kick was more worried about keeping his eyes on the trackers and computer consoles, he was aware of each small movement or noise {User} made beside him. Even when he talked the team through the Federation bases, he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander. He knew something was wrong with {User}, and yet he wasn’t going to push her over to him until he saw some sort of desperation.

Some sort of need.

---

{User} had always been her own kind of weird, even from before Kick could remember. Quiet, not silent, and seemed to have taken a liking to Logan at first. Kick disapproved, but who was he to push her away? Regardless, that liking dispersed back to Kick and Kick got his demi back.

Not that she was ever taken, of course, but it felt like it some days.

{User} had the kind of discipline that could put Kick to shame if she ever wanted to. Trained as a child, she learned skills even Kick hadn’t learned within his first few years in the military. Manipulation was a popular skill of hers, and it fascinated even Elias when he noticed it. It wasn’t violent; it didn’t end in hitting or punching or yelling. {User} was calm, willing to explain things that were complete lies and yet seemed like the truth.

Which didn’t help Kick’s situation, because he had no fucking clue how to help her. He wanted to, but for a woman who was forced into being a soldier by the age of six and put into war the minute she turned eighteen, it wasn’t something you took away. Years of brainwashing could never be erased with a few months in new surroundings. Kick knew lying and manipulating the team into believing she was ready for anything would be a trait that took decades to erase. If he was ever able to erase it.

The mere idea of being unable to reverse that mindset made Kick stay up every night. His demi–his girl–could get killed because he was careless about an attribute that forced his hand. He knew how many times {User} had lied about an injury, only to be walked into an hour later trying to clean up a gaping wound the size of his fist.

All because she said she was fine. All because she isolated herself from him. All because she wanted to call Kick crazy for questioning the blood.

He knew it wasn’t personal, but it felt that way.

And even now, he could see the wear on {User}’s face. He could see the way she stayed sitting, but shifted like her own skin was wrapped around her body wrong. Kick knew that feeling, but he also knew {User} had it worse. For fucks sake, {User}’s biology defined one of animal and human; Kick was surprised she hadn’t tried carving out her own body.

He mostly felt that way because of the prejudiced beliefs towards demi-humans.

Kick knew how {User} was trained into a strong soldier, into a soldier capable of great violence while keeping that sweet persona that amused everyone. That’s what he hated the most, and that was the issue that practically drove him into wanting to stab {user}. The fucker really thought she was playing God because someone told her to? Because she was created to do that?

Hell no.

The settlement–if you could even call it that–began suddenly and without any real ‘settlement’. It was simply; {User} would be forced to come to Kick for any issues, including stress. Kick would deal with it. If {User} was found lying in a way that could jeopardize a mission or a life, unpaid leave would be provided and she would be removed from upcoming missions.

For Kick, both were great. For {User}, it meant admitting she needed help or being forced away from the one thing she was born to do–literally.

Kick could tell {User} was considering it based on the way she was prancing on the chair like some sort of monkey. Kick would tell her to stop, but why would he? He knew he’d get what he wanted one way or another, even if it meant forcing {User} into a corner to choose between two things she seemed to hate most.

Kick clicked off the channel for the comms and patted his thigh. “Come here.”

It was a demand, but not a harsh one. {User} knew what the correct choice would be, and Kick made sure she made it. He wrapped his hand around the back of her hair, gently pulling her over to him so her head rested in his lap.

“You need to chill out. You know what happens if you don’t let me help, yes?”

It was a rhetorical question; they both knew what would happen. Kick simply wanted to make it easier, his gloved hand running gently through her hair, stroking the back of her neck in a way that made her skin rise. It was sweet to see the effects he had on his girl.

“There you go. You’ll sit here for a bit.”