There were still robberies in Brockton Bay, break-ins, and the occasional cape deciding that post-disaster recovery was the perfect opportunity to test the PRT’s patience, but most patrols ended with little events more exciting than directing traffic around collapsed roads or helping emergency crews reach another flooded basement.
Jaime couldn’t complain.
This was what he had wanted, wasn’t it?
People were rebuilding, families were returning to neighborhoods they had thought were lost, and stores reopened one by one, some with missing walls patched over by plywood and optimism. Every uneventful patrol meant someone else got to go home without becoming another casualty.
That was supposed to be enough.
It mostly was. Mostly. Still, something restless had welled up beneath his skin.
He noticed it first during patrol, catching himself looking toward distant explosions that turned out to be controlled demolitions, or finding his attention drifting whenever Khaji-Da flagged an unusual energy signature that inevitably turned out to be faulty wiring or damaged tinker equipment.
His eyes kept searching, and he kept waiting.
“Your awareness has increased by fourteen percent,” Khaji-Da observed one afternoon.
“I’ve always been aware.”
“Correction. You are anticipating combat.”
Jaime frowned. “I am not.”
“You have scanned eighty-three potential threats during this patrol.”
“…Seriously?”
“Eighty-four.”
Jaime looked toward the elderly man slowly wrestling a shopping cart across the street.
“What exactly was threat number eighty-four?”
“The cart possessed sufficient mass to become an improvised projectile.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
“You know, sometimes I wonder if you’re making me paranoid.”
“I am making you prepared.”
That should have been the end of it, yet Jaime caught himself watching the rooftops again.
A burst of dust rose three blocks away. His pulse jumped before he realized a demolition crew had brought down another condemned building.
“…Damn it.”
Even with the acknowledgement, the feeling refused to leave.
It reminded him of sitting through classes before basketball practice, knowing he had somewhere else he needed to be. Restless energy built inside him with nowhere to go, and every uneventful patrol only seemed to make him more aware of it.
Maybe it was Khaji-Da rubbing off on him. Maybe he’d always been like this and was only noticing now. Maybe there wasn’t much of a difference anymore. Either way, the scarab seemed just as eager as he was whenever something actually happened.
He didn’t like thinking about that, especially since he wasn’t hiding it as well as he thought.
The common room was unusually full that afternoon. Patrol schedules had lined up just right, leaving the Wards with nearly an hour before anyone had to head back out. Kid Win occupied one corner of the room with three different laptops spread across the table. Clockblocker had claimed the couch and was making a determined effort to annoy Vista, who insisted she was trying to read.
Gallant wandered in carrying two cans of soda. Without asking, he tossed one toward Jaime.
The scarab caught it automatically.
“Show-off,” Clockblocker muttered without looking up.
“I didn’t even move.”
“Exactly.”
Jaime laughed, popped the tab open, and leaned back into his chair.
For a little while, he just listened as conversation bounced from patrol stories to terrible cafeteria food, then somehow drifted into an argument about whether Kid Win technically qualified as an engineer or just someone with expensive hobbies.
It felt… Normal. Admittedly strange, but ultimately normal.
“You’ve been quiet.”
Jaime looked up.
Gallant had taken the chair opposite him, helmet tucked beneath one arm while he rested the other on the back of the seat.
“I’ve been listening.”
“You’ve been fidgeting.”
“I have not.”
Gallant raised an eyebrow.
Jaime glanced down.
His foot had apparently been bouncing against the floor for the last several minutes.
“Huh.”
“You’ve been doing that all week.”
Jaime stopped. “…That obvious?”
“A little.”
He scratched the back of his neck. “I guess I’m just…”
The words refused to come.
Gallant waited anyway.
“…Restless.”
There.
He had finally admitted it.
“I keep expecting something to happen.”
Gallant nodded slowly. “I figured.”
“You did?”
“You spend every patrol with your head on a swivel.”
Jaime furrowed his brows. “I do?”
“You also look disappointed every time nothing happens.”
“I do not.”
“You looked disappointed when a gas main turned out to be a water pipe.”
“…Okay, maybe a little.”
Gallant smiled. “I don’t think you’re hoping something goes wrong.”
Jaime let out a breath. “No.”
“I think you’re used to every problem ending in a fight.”
That landed a little closer to home than Jaime expected, and he stared at the unopened soda in Gallant’s hand for a moment.
“…Maybe.”
Silence settled comfortably between them, then Gallant spoke again.
“Wanna spar?”
Jaime looked up. “What?”
“A sparring match.”
Vista immediately looked over the back of the couch. “Oh, that’s gonna be fun.”
“It’s not a competition,” Gallant said.
Clockblocker snorted. “It’s absolutely a competition, and my bets on BB.”
Gallant ignored him. “You killed Leviathan.”
Jaime winced. “Can we maybe stop leading with that?”
“No.” Kid Win answered without looking away from one of his screens. “It’s objectively the coolest thing anyone in this building has ever done.”
“Coolest thing I’ve ever done is survive Arcadia's cafeteria meatloaf,” Clockblocker stage-whispered, “so thanks for raising expectations.”
Thump.
A cushion bounced off the side of his head.
“I wasn’t even talking to you,” he complained.
Vista didn’t look up from her book or even respond.
Gallant laughed for a bit at the byplay before turning back to Jaime.
“You’ve shown us what you can do against something that could level a city.” He shrugged. “What none of us have really seen is how you handle someone… smaller.”
“Small-fries?” Jaime offered.
Gallant pointed at himself. “Exactly. Small-fries.”
Gallant’s expression became a little more serious.
“And…” He hesitated. “The Merchants.”
Jaime’s smile faded. “I know.”
“You were trying not to hurt anybody.”
“I almost did anyway.”
“You almost made a decision.” Gallant corrected him gently. “There’s a difference.”
Jaime wasn’t entirely convinced.
Gallant leaned forward. “Maybe it will help.”
“How?”
“You learn how to pull your punches.”
A real spar against people who knew what they were doing. Against teammates.
Jaime looked around the room.
Nobody was laughing anymore. Clockblocker watched him with open curiosity, Kid Win had finally looked up from his computers, and even Vista had put her book down.
They weren’t judging him. They were waiting for his answer, and unsurprisingly, his answer was halfway to his mouth before he’d even thought about it. Khaji-Da still reacted before him.
“Combat exercise detected,” the scarab announced with unmistakable enthusiasm. “Permission requested to optimize engagement parameters.”
Jaime smiled despite himself. “Absolutely not.”
“Request acknowledged.”
The disappointment in the scarab’s voice made him feel even better.
Jaime stood, finished the last sip of his soda, and set the empty can on the table. “…Alright.”
He looked at Gallant.
“Let’s see what you’ve got.”