Chapter Text
Breakfast on the Titans is a utilitarian affair. An urn of instant coffee, cold cereals, canned fruit. Stuff that survives a long time.
It's the scrape of a chair that does it this time; metal on metal. Suddenly, all she hears is her name shouted, smells thick smoke. Searing pain courses through her. And then, as always she sees the body. His body.
“Everything all right, Captain?” The quiet voice of Commander Berenson penetrates. Her face betrays nothing of where she's been, but her knuckles gripping her tray are white.
“Fine.”
She tries to relax her grip. It doesn't work.