Nine days after the confrontation with Asteroth, Winterwing and Emily arrived in the Pond’s underground gymnasium together. He had been instructed to dress in something more loose fitting than the combat gear. Something that would clean easily. He did not think to question why. It was earlier in the morning than he would have preferred, but if Mallory was in charge of his continued existence, it was best not to annoy her.

Emily had suggested that she come along, and he agreed with some trepidation. The anticipated confrontation with the rest of the team had still not occurred. No one came for her and no one had further accusations for her. The dynamics of their situation had changed, and he did not understand what the new rules were. He only knew that whether or not he survived—they survived—relied on their fufillment. Maybe it would be beneficial to make sure Emily was seen as participating, or maybe the attempt would appear superficial. He could not decide.

Mallory looked up from her preparations as they entered the gym, and then gave a curt nod of approval.

“You two finally decided to stop bickering. Good.”

Emily said nothing, though her eyebrows threatened to assault her hairline. Winterwing gave her shoulder a polite shove, encouragement to keep the facial expressions under control.

Mallory then spent two solid hours flipping him on a mat that was not thick enough to keep the air from being knocked out of him, and called it combat training.

With the interim boss somewhat satisfied with Winterwing’s compliance, if not his competence, he chose to chance eating breakfast with the rest of the team. He was not going to receive an invitation, tacit or explicit. He and Emily were outsiders, they were likely always going to be outsiders, but Mallory had been in good spirits that morning, and he hoped it indicated some good will.

So, once he had complained of his bruises to his satisfaction, he and Emily made their way to the kitchen, and pretended they belonged there. Grin was the only one to greet them, and he appeared to be immersed fully in making a large enough meal for everyone, leaving little else to do but grab two cups of coffee, and sit down to wait. What followed was a tense silence of every unoccupied member of the team inspecting Winterwing, and then Emily, and then pretending neither warranted notice at all. It was the childish behavior of a school lunchroom, practiced by a group of adults. The team could not decide if they were supposed to be exclusionary or not, and waited for a signal before they made a decision of their own.

Wildwing, seated at the far end of the table from them, seemed to be contemplating the exact wording of his declaration.

Nosedive intercepted his brother’s attention on their behalf. When contemplating later whether or not the diversion was intentional, Winterwing could not say for sure. It may just have been Nosedive was a creature of noise, and the strange silence of the room had proven to be torture.

The teenager shouted “Hey Wing!” and when they both reflexively turned, hurled something small directly at Wildwing’s head. “Catch!”

Wildwing’s honed goalie reflexes reacted quickly enough that he did, and a raw egg exploded in his hands, half covering his face. He sat in his chair, eyes wide, as if he couldn’t comprehend what had just happened.

Tanya gave Nosedive a swat on the shoulder. “What is wrong with you?”

Duke hazarded a barked laugh, Wildwing’s shoulders slumped forward, a small, thin smile might have appeared, just for a moment, as he stood up to wash himself off. It was a slight glimpse into what Winterwing and Emily had interrupted with their existence. It was cute.

It stung, Winterwing realized.

It did push the mood of the room into something far less adversarial, so it was probably worth his bitter memory.

Mallory entered a few short minutes behind them, ignored the coffee in favor of orange juice, and sat down next to Wildwing. She turned to Winterwing with a smile laced with venom. “So, what did you learn this morning?”

“Torture is an ineffective method for information gathering,” Winterwing said, flatly.

“I hope not, if you’re never going to figure out how to protect that midsection.”

Emily looked away, poorly hiding her own amusement.

“You do recall I’m injured, right?” Winterwing asked.

“Do you think you’re always going to be in perfect form when you have to grapple someone for real?” Mallory asked mildly, sipping at her juice as if she were talking about the weather.

He hated that these people seemed so able to say the exact right thing to both end the argument and make him more angry. It was a skill that they had all honed to a razor’s edge.

The conversation shifted to inane things, quiet, but sincere. Grin placed the first pile of pancakes in the center of the table, plain, and they were descended upon by a group ravenous not to have to talk to each other.

Winterwing hadn’t eaten anything beyond the snacks he had been stealing for the last week, and actual cooked meal had a strange transcendence to it, like he had never eaten anything so decadent in his life. Emily sat curled up on her chair next to him, her knees against her chest. She pulled apart her plain cake with her hands, and ate the crumbs like some small rodent, never touching her silverware or any of the dressing options. If anyone else noticed, they did not say anything.

The relative quiet clatter of fork and plate was interrupted, by an accusatory shout from the adjoining hallway.

“WHO LEFT FAKE VOMIT ON MY CHAIR?”

Tanya stopped mid-stride with her plate, “I ….feel like that’s a very short list of suspects.”

A human burst through the doorway that Winterwing had never seen before, with a finger raised in accusation. In contrast to the little shouting cop, this one was easily as tall as himself, though built much more stoutly.

Nosedive made a half-hearted wave from the fridge. “Sorry man, not my best work, I’ve been under a lot of stress.”

“Insubordination! All those hours of work and sleepless nights to keep this ship afloat, and this is the thanks I get.”

“My guy, I haven’t seen the org chart lately but I am definitely not your subordinate.”

“Also, you can let the ship sink at any time,” Duke added.

“You know the only reason I had to take that vacation was because of the ulcer I get every time I look at the balance sheet-” it was at this point the human took stock of the room, could almost been seen doing a visual head count, and his gaze finally landed on Emily and Winterwing, tucked into a corner at the table. “You… guys do some recruiting?”

Winterwing coughed. “So, exactly how many people know about your secret base?”

“Not for lack of trying, but it was hard to build it without him noticing a hangar under his office,” Wildwing said. “Do not sign anything he hands you.”

“All these cruel barbs are suggesting to me I was not missed,” the human said.

“Phil, you are not the only one here with an ulcer, did you need something?”

Phil smiled broadly. “You know! I am delighted you asked.”

Mallory gave Wildwing’s foot a light kick under the table and muttered, not quite low enough that no one else would hear, “You are out of practice.”

“You all owe me some headshots and interviews for pre-season!”

Mallory gave a slight raise of the eyebrow, considering the request. “Center-mass tends to be more effective but if you let me have my breakfast first-”

Wildwing made a noise of disapproval that cut her off.

“And we’re going to have to figure out this situation!” Phil gestured to the two new ducks. “Interesting angle, I’m excited to hear the courageous backstory, I am sure it is very inspiring, but there’s absolutely no sex appeal here.”

Emily’s eye’s widened. “ W hat ?”

“Pre-season.” Winterwing repeated. “You’re actually using that arena? For actual sport? After that lecture you gave me about everything being ‘in service’ of the mission?”

Wildwing took this opportunity to lean against the table and bury his face in a hand. “I did not want to deal with this today.”

“I’m tellin’ you, we can let the whole thin’ go under,” Duke insisted.

The human sat at the table without an invitation, and decided to serve himself a share of breakfast. Tanya reached over his shoulder to retrieve her coffee, her spot forfeit.

“You’re so sure I’m just here to ruin your fun but if you think hiding a hangar from me is hard, wait ‘til you see how hard it is to hide from the guy who gets my office when this franchise goes bankrupt. Then you'll be sorry.”

“We own the building,” Wildwing said, flatly.

“Not if you can’t afford to keep the lights on, you don’t.”

“We have an unlimited power supply,” Tanya protested.

“It’s a figure of speech,” Phil chewed thoughtfully, and scrutinized Winterwing and Emily across the table. “Klegghorn know about them?”

“Yes,” Wildwing said.

“Unfortunate,” Phil shook his head. “You two play hockey?”

“Not... really?” Emily said.

“No,” Winterwing said.

This seemed to stump Phil, and after a long chew and a swallow, he looked to Wildwing. “Okay, we need to talk a bit about your recruitment strategy.”

At this point, Wildwing had slumped fully in his chair, his eyes shut tight to hold in his irritation. “Just hand me a schedule and I’ll figure it out. We are busy . But I’ll figure it out.”