Transformation

Baird wasn't one to pry into the personal affairs of others but this was a special occasion. Anya had asked him to find Marcus, who had gone missing almost forty minutes ago. She was still on duty tasking Gears but the rest of Delta had the chance to relax on Azura—not that any of them really wanted to, anyway. Jace, Sam, and Cole went to help with preparations, Carmine was on the beachfront attending to any wounded, and Marcus had gone completely dark. If he couldn't be raised on the radio, something was wrong. Baird had the free time; he wasn't interested in working just yet, he wanted a little time for himself, and so he could search. Asking around, he learned that some people had spotted Marcus moving toward the rise of buildings in the east, the living quarters.
Baird jogged across the open courtyards and neatly trimmed walkways and was reminded of a place in time when things were simpler, beautiful. He once had an expansive front yard with tall hedges and trees; his backyard was even bigger and held a tennis court and in-ground pool. His family once owned twenty acres of land—none of which he had the chance to explore. He was stuck inside a bright, luxurious prison.

What about Marcus? Did he look around and remember his own courtyards? Did he miss his old, perfect life?

Baird passed a group of Gorasnayans as he neared the towers. He stopped long enough to find out if they spoke Tyran—only one of them understood him—and was pointed in the direction of the second most hotel. He thanked them and moved on.

The architecture on Azura was definitely older than the Pendulum Wars, maybe more like the Era of Silence architecture he'd seen in places like Tollen and Halvo Bay. It had been the only major renaissance Sera had; art took on new life and was full of brightly colored, swirling expansive designs. Looking at it now, Baird wondered why anyone would like something so gaudy.

The hotel wasn't new to him—Marcus had chosen to come back to Pinnacle Tower. Myrrah's body was probably still cooling on the rooftop. He almost felt sorry she had to die so soon; he had questions for her, like how a little old lady could become ruler of a strange race.

The grand doors of the hotel were once glass, but they were now blown out by explosions and gunfire. The lobby was a mess of broken furniture, paper, and blood. When the Locust took Azura, they were undoubtedly thorough. It had never even crossed Baird's mind to search for survivors.

He called out for Marcus as he checked the first floor. When there was no answer, he searched for a tenant list. Marcus didn't skulk around anywhere without a good reason. There were two possible reasons he came here—either he wanted to see Myrrah's body again, or this was where his father had been holed up for years. The tenant list was in a black leather folder shoved under the main desk, the pages coffee-stained and torn, but it held the answers Baird hoped.
Fenix, Adam. Room 3113.

So Marcus was in his father's room probably having a mid-life crisis. Did Baird really want to walk in on that? He couldn't help remembering that Marcus had disappeared fully armed. Yeah, I can handle a breakdown. Not a body.

He went to the elevators, thankful the electricity still worked. With his ingenuity, Baird thought the third floor would be the beginning of the room numbers he wanted. He underestimated the architecture; it took him two more tries to figure out he was looking for the twelfth floor.

When he stood outside room 3113, Baird pressed his ear to the door, listening for any signs of life inside. Either the door was too thick or the room was as still as a mausoleum. He didn't want to barge in on Marcus's personal moment—if he was even in there—but Anya hadn't contacted him with any news. Baird was starting to worry.

He knocked on the door with more force than necessary. When he didn't receive an answer, he took hold of the knob and steeled his resolve. If there was a warm corpse behind the door, he was going to be seriously pissed.

The inside of the apartment was more luxurious than Baird imagined. The far left wall, past the spacious living area, was made of glass. It gave a perfect view of the beach front and the setting sun; Adam Fenix even had a patio where he could sit and observe the peons below. Prescott had really set him up with something nice.

Baird moved further into the apartment, trying to ignore the lush furniture. That couch looked really comfortable. Somewhere a man might throw up his feet and take a nap. "Marcus, you in here?"

"In the back," the familiar voice replied. Baird sighed with relief. He wouldn't have to tell Anya that Marcus caved, after all. Baird didn't think he would really do it, but the poor guy had been through so much in the past twenty-six hours. It would take its toll on anyone.

Baird found Marcus in a home office. Of course, with someone like Adam Fenix, there was nothing homely about it. His research was everywhere, as if this was where he spent all his time. There were labs on Azura. Did he ever use them?

Marcus sat behind the oak desk, his head bowed. He was looking at something in his hands. A small perfume bottle sat on the desk and when Baird moved closer, he picked it up to toss between his hands. He had to take some time to think of his approach now that he was here.

Your overworked girlfriend thought something happened to you and she sent me to investigate. By the way, how do you feel after your father disintegrated in front of you?

Yep, he was trained for this kind of shit.

Without looking up, Marcus asked, "Do you need something?"

Baird—surprised he didn't have to make the first move—fumbled for an excuse. "Yeah, uh, hey what's that? Letters or something?" He could see what Marcus held now. They were almost the size of a postcard and had a small amount of writing on them. Marcus turned one over to reveal a photograph. He handed it to Baird.

It was a young Marcus—one who still had innocence and baby fat in his cheeks. He wore the uniform of some school, smiling the tiniest bit at the front gate of his estate. Damn, Baird never knew Marcus could smile at all. Seeing his sergeant as a kid was surreal.

Marcus gave him another photo, this one with a woman. The Marcus in this picture couldn't have been much older than the last, yet he looked different. He was trying too hard to be severe. The woman, however, smiled openly.

"That's my mother," said Marcus, clutching the rest of the photos. "Both of my parents were scientists but Mom would spend more time with me; Dad was either away on deployment or doing research. She took me on trips to the Outer Hollow and explained the different species. She let me help her collect samples. Dad barely talked to me."

"He couldn't have been worse than my old man," Baird replied. He returned the photos and continued to turn the bottle in his hands, watching the crystal liquid lap at the sides. "He let his wife and his career run his life and look what it got him. My parents never gave a damn about what I did. At least yours tried."

Marcus grunted.

Truthfully, Baird wasn't upset with his parents anymore. He still felt wronged and used the excuse as a chance for attention but he wasn't a twenty-something who loathed the world now. He couldn't waste the energy to be angry with the dead. Yet there he stood, silently fuming.

The only time he remembered a camera in his life was for the family portrait. His nanny would dress him in the most extravagant monkey suit he owned and he would be forced to sit in front of his parents on an uncomfortable stool. Sometimes Jocelin would touch his shoulder; most of the time his hands stayed at his side. There were always strict warnings not to scowl; Baird didn't always listen.

But here was Marcus—stone cold, scarred and broken Marcus Fenix—with obvious signs of his parents' love. A picture from the first day of school. It was something every family should have. Except mine.

Baird gripped the bottle tightly between his hands. "Hey, weird question. Do you think things would have been different?"

Marcus didn't reply.

"Say I enlisted when Mother wanted me to and you went off to do … whatever it is you were going to do. Would I be the almighty sergeant leading a suicide squad? Would I make major by now?"

"You'd be the unlucky bastard bringing his buddies back in body bags."

"Think about it, man. We're similar."

"Superficially, maybe." Marcus looked up and stuck Baird with the familiar freezing glare. "You sound like you've had some sleepless nights over this."

"Maybe I have," Baird replied, but there was no sting. He was telling the truth. "We're both rich kids with emotional issues. If I had joined the army earlier, Bernie would have punched me out of my comfort zone and turned me into a 'real man,' as she puts it. I could be the brooding hero."

"Is that what this is about? You can have the damn medal, Baird."

Baird slipped off his goggles and ran his hand through his hair. He was saying everything all wrong—like always. His brain ran on autopilot in conversations and because he never knew what else to say, he spat out the first thought that came to mind. It always got him into trouble.

Marcus spared him a look and leaned back in the chair, setting the photographs on the desk. "You know you wear those things too tight," he said.

Baird rubbed at his forehead. He felt the slight indentations and knew they were red. "Keeps my genius from slipping out," he mumbled. He just didn't want them slipping down his face in the battlefield.

"So what are you trying to say, Baird? That you want to switch places with me? You want to watch your childhood friends kill themselves because you fucked up? Spend half your life in prison? Watch your father—who was supposed to be fucking dead—disintegrate in front of you?"

Marcus's voice raised with every question, his spine straight, fingers gripping the chair arms as if it was the only thing anchoring him. Baird had never heard him this loud off the field and for one split second, he was afraid. He was staring into a void of anger, agony, and years of interactions he couldn't even begin to understand. And then he became Private Damon Baird, back when Marcus first found him. He rose to the challenge in Marcus's voice because that's what he was hard wired to do.

He set the perfume bottle down and glared at the bigger man. "I don't want your goddamn life—I just want to be you! We're from the same lot in life. What makes you so much better? Why does Sergeant Marcus Fenix get to run around acting like his shit doesn't stink and get away with it? Why do you succeed at everything you do and I don't? Why am I the only failure?"

The loss of Sofia and Paduk was still fresh, clawing at his insecurities. It was only hours ago when Paduk—who Baird never imagined to find in his lifetime—walked back into his life only to disappear again over a minor disagreement. Paduk was always passionate about fighting, no matter if it was right or wrong or for who's side. But the COG would never be his side after what they had done.

And Sofia. Baird never imagined anything would happen to her. She was strong, and with Paduk's mentoring, he assumed she became an unstoppable force. Kidnapped. Dragged away right under Paduk's nose. Shit, I can't even imagine.

Marcus didn't know any of this, Baird realized. He didn't have the time to listen to Baird's whining before, so why now? They had just saved humanity. There was no room for his problems. There were crops to grow, neighborhoods to build, medicine to research. No one had time for personal issues.

"You think I'm infallible? You honestly believe I don't make mistakes? Do you even know why I was in The Slab?" Marcus asked quietly.

Baird had never thought to ask. He didn't care. He just knew his promotion had been stolen by some criminal who had returned to the war effort because he was noble or some shit.

"I made a mistake." His voice was a whisper as he stared at the floor. "We lost Ephyra because of me, because my dad sent me a message and I got scared. They threw me in prison where I belonged to rot. You want another mistake? Battle of Aspho Fields. Anya's mom and Dom's brother—dead because of me. Because I was selfish and young and stupid. Dom is dead because of me. Because I fuck up."

Baird swallowed the lump in his throat. When did this become honesty hour, and why wasn't he prepared for it? He'd opened the can of worms. Maybe it was the look on Marcus's face. He was being open, honest, but also vulnerable. After knowing him as an unshakable mountain, it was strange to see him look so close to crying.

Suddenly his earlier comment about body bags made a lot more sense.

"I never knew that," Baird replied. "Sorry."

Compared to that, I've got nothing.

Yet this was the first time Baird had ever felt such a searing loss. Dom, Paduk, Sofia. He didn't know how to feel or handle it. Shit, he watched Dom walk around in a daze after the death of his wife. Was that what he would become? Baird's hands shook. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest. He realized he didn't know any of the answers, and that terrified him more than having to rebuild an entire nation.

I don't want to become a shell. Not when people are depending on me. But how do you go on living normally for the one's that didn't make it?

"How do you deal with it?" Baird asked in the heavy silence. "Do you ever get over it? Losing people, I mean."

Marcus shrugged. He looked up from the floor, his unreadable expression back, and that made Baird breathe easier. "If I did, I think that's when I'd be more afraid of myself than whatever we face." He rubbed his temples and his voice was weary when he spoke again. "We're all on edge right now, Baird. I don't know what the hell you're talking about but I am far from a failure. I didn't ask for awards, I didn't ask to be promoted, and I damn sure didn't ask to be alive at the end of this shit. But we're here now. We have to do what we can."

"How do you know we can do anything?" His chest felt tight.

"Because I believe Prescott had some kind of plan somewhere on this island. We don't have all the scientists and laborers that he did, but we have a whole force of people dedicated to surviving. They'll become what we need when we need it. And besides, we have your genius still. You've pulled Delta out of some hairy situations. You'll do the same for humanity."

Baird couldn't think of anything to say. In his time serving with Marcus, he had never heard the stoic man say so much. Baird's chest swelled with something other than pride or anger; he swallowed emotions he didn't have a name for.

He offered the weakest version of his best smirk. Marcus gave him a chance out of the deep conversation and he took it. One day he'd tell someone about Sofia; he could whine to Cole about it tonight. Right now, the emotional insecurity never happened.

"Yeah, well, I knew I was born for greatness. If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't have an ass to save."

Marcus sighed and stood up. He came around the desk to clasp Baird's shoulder, a small smile on his tired face. "My dad had some brandy in the other room. Come on, jackass, let's get a drink and then it's back to work."

If the future included more alcohol, maybe Baird could handle it