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Hours after returning from battle Spoke catches himself not breathing again.
It's not really a problem; Spoke doesn't need to breathe. It is an acquired habit; something he teached himself how to do after looking at overworlders and their habits for so long. It's more of a calming motion than anything else; steady rhythmic movement of lungs seemed to work as a de-stresser for those who needed air. Spoke moved his own chest to mimic that. Surprisingly, focusing on it did work in his favor, even if he mostly forgot to use this trick when he actually needed it.
Spoke didn't exactly need to breathe right now. He wasn't stressed; he was victorious. He came out of battle with Jumper with all of his soldiers alive and well, isn't that a reason to party, ay?
He doesn't find strength in himself to do that. Maybe it is just the exhaustion from a hard battle, or maybe he was too busy worrying for what to do next. Good enough excuses if anyone asks, that's right, Spoke, always have a plan, always know what to say! Good, good. Jamato would be-
He skips a step and almost falls. A half-choked scream traps itself in his chest, burning it from inside out; why? Why now, from all times, would he still cling to what that pathetic excuse of a person think? What were you thinking, Spoke, that he would be proud? Jamato already showed him that he doesn't give a fuck!
Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid thoughts, stupid Jamato, stupid idiot guy who Spoke doesn't give a heart about! Just a fucking habit, just one more habit that needs to be cleaned out of his mind, erased and destroyed. Pointless. Attachments get you nowhere, after all.
Jamato proved it well to him. Hell, even Jumper did! And Minute! Everyone he ever cared about turned against him. Betrayed him. And after he has shown them mercy! He should have listened to Underscore and killed them all!
Spoke only catches himself clenching fists when he loses a heart from it. Dumbfounded, he looks at his hands with some kind of curious naive shock written all over his face. Big eyes opened wide, small "hummph?" escaping his throat; he doesn't expect to see sharp marks from his own nails and fingers on his skin and even less expects there to be blood.
It is just his anger then. Not much damage, just one heart, it is bearable. More unexpected than anything, really. Who even takes a damage point from being too upset?
He reaches for food, but sees none; ah. He ran out of it again? Already? Happened surprisingly often. Luckily for him, Underscore always provides him with more. The only person who never lets him down. What a guy.
Be Spoke foolish enough, he would call his commander a friend.
Be Spoke observant enough, he would realise that he already treats him as one.
But he is not; and so he calls for his commander, tail swishing behind him inpatiently. He still doesn't breathe, he notices, more as an absent thought than any serious upset. It comes and goes, leaving his head immediately, as any useless thought would.
He works well with no air in his chest; he only needs it for talking, after all, and he has long learned how to manage that.
Underscore doesn't look surprised to find him out of food. Underscore doesn't look like anything, to be honest, but Spoke finds pride in being able to read him anyway. He knows that he would be moving fingers in a funny circular pattern if he actually was surprised. He have seen it happen.
He also knows how he moves his tail when he is upset; he quick-checks it, and it's steady. Good. His chest doesn't rapidly inhale and exhale, so he is not worried; his stance is not strict and sharp, so he is not annoyed which means that Spoke didn't distract him from anything. Underscore becomes very bitchy if you distract him.
No signs of distress; that's great. That's great. Spoke's body falls back onto his chair, tail now comfortably wrapped around his legs instead of choking them like it did before. Spoke fails to notice it all together; he prides himself in being calm and collected and unreadable, thank you very much!
Still, Underscore watches him relax his shoulders and curl his body bit more comfortably; if he sees the signs, then he doesn't call them out, much used to Spoke being always a bit... on edge. Maybe it's familiarity; maybe he just doesn't care.
Sooke doesn't bother to ask himself which one.
His tail only swooshes once at this thought, then returning to his legs again.
"Here is your food, Spoke," commanders voice is as mechanic and emotionless as it always is, but it still brings smile to Spoke's face. This guy! Didn't even take him two minutes to find Spoke after he called for him! How nice of him to be so worried. Spoke, surely, wouldn't die from couple of minutes without a heart, but Underscore still came as fast as he could.
How nice, how nice. He takes carrots and apples - all golden, surely - from commanders expecting hands and bites into one immediately. He doesn't want to know how Underscore would react to seeing blood on his hands.
Minute moves to him the second he sees him; and Spoke expects him to shout, to scream, like he did at their last departure, like they both did back at Sleepy Nation; instead he reaches to hold Spoke's hand stupidly gently, carefully removing blood from it even though it was stupidly obvious that the hurts on it were no more than harmless scratches. He had bashed himself into bedrock way too many times and not all the bruises and cuts healed from the gapples Mapicc gave to him.
Minute's eyes are full of worry, and Spoke asks himself not for the first time if he truly deserves it.
"Spoke, what happened? Are you oka-"
"Spoke, I've moved our army to the strongholds, evenly distributing them so every single one is as protected as others. And I've instructed them to call help immediately if someone attacks them."
Underscores sharp itchy voice cuts through memory like fire aspect sword cuts through wool; destroying it immediately, only leaving bitter ash somewhere deep in Spoke's lungs. It tastes awful; every memory does now. He just leaves it be; the sooner you distract yourself, the sooner it stops burning.
(It never actually stopped. Not fully. Not like Spoke would ever admit to that.)
"Good, good. Great job, commander. Excellent! With this level of security not even a chicken! will be able to move under our nose. I expect you to hold our defences while I'm gone. I'm quite sure you can handle that."
"Of course."
Spoke stands to talk to him, two voices discussing plans and worries; they seem to stand too close to eachother, and Underscore moves slightly away from him while explaining his strategies. Spoke has to stop himself moving to him. It wouldn't suit him well to force himself into his null's personal space, wouldn't it? Underscore loves his space. No need to infiltrate that.
His tail tries to anyway. Meets Underscores, and they both clash away from eachother. Commanders flat heavy tail swishes from side to side; too fast, Spoke notices, and his posture straightens again.
Curly furry end of his own tail tickles him when it wraps tight around his legs.
And Spoke tries to concentrate on what Underscore says, he really does; if someone asks him, he would for sure be able to tell word by word what he heard, although it would take him time to actually understand the words that he would be retelling. He will remember them, surely. Come back to them later. He always does.
Like now he comes back to Jumpers words instead of listening to Underscores; like now he fights a memory of Jumper gently untangling his tail from his own legs and telling him oh so sweetly that she is not Leo and she is sorry if she sounded like him and that she would be more careful about her words and-
"-and that's why you should departure for Underworld immediately," he catches, and, oh, lucky him on actually catching those words. Clear dismissal; sure, it is not Underscores job to dismiss him, but Spoke trusts his judgement. Commander never failed him before. Not like others did.
Did Jumper ever realise how much she reminded him of Leowook when she stood there with her army, ready to fight against him after everything she'd promised him?
Leo had promised him a lot too.
Softly hummed "home is where your friends are!" sings itself in his mind; Spoke stomps it out like you would stomp on a spark of fire that has just ignited. He doesn't need these memories. He will not fall victim to them.
Friendship is fucking pointless after all. Underscore has teached him that; again and again reminding that it is better to step over your friends than to play into their hand. Maybe, in another world, Spoke would not believe his words; maybe, in another world, he still clings to that "home" that his "friends" gave him.
Maybe. Maybe in the world where Leo didn't try to put a sword to his chest. How can you trust the words of those who carved out the love for you out of their own soul willingly?
"Yeah, then. I should go now, Commander! Have any restocks for me before I go?"
And Spoke can kill his love for them in his own too. It's easy. He has Null, he has Underscore. Those who won't betray him; their lives are tied to him just like his is tied to them.
And Underscore chose him after all. When others didn't.
"I sure have food for you. Don't run out this time."
Sweet. Spoke rises up a bit, standing on his tip-toes and smiling way too brightly for someone with a fire in his lungs and chest; he doesn't bother thinking if it is a fake smile or a real one. Doesn't matter anymore. No one to smile for anyway.
And smile is no less of a tool than any; it stops Underscore from being annoyed at him, so that's a win. Spoke still recalls it when he departures from Underscore; still wraps his mind around commander putting his hand on Spoke's shoulder and wishing him luck. He is not someone who gives much praise and many touching, so having this is like a trophy. A proof that Spoke is still doing good, a proof that Underscore is not angry at him for failing Null before.
It is the only thing that matters.
The world unfolds itself before him as he stands on the exit of his capital. Spoke takes a measured breath to calm his own nervous tension; the kind that freezed itself in his chest and bones, squeezing him tight. He catches himself on it; stops; lets air go out and doesn't take it in again. He doesn't need to breathe. It is a pointless waste of time and effort. If his body forgot the habit, then there is no point on spending precious minutes on reinforcing it again.
He has job to do.