Chapter Text
Stanley broke the surface of the water and climbed out onto the deck. Astronaut training was a bitch. He couldn’t do it while smoking. Heh. Might as well get used to it. There was no smoking in space. Science had gone a far way since the dawn of man but it couldn’t find a little loophole around that predicament.
Every day since his depetrification, Stan, Kohaku and Senku conducted astronaut training together. All around them the Kingdom of Science watched, cheering them on.
Today was more swimming training, something Xeno designed from his experience at NASA. They descended beneath the waves with weighted packs strapped to their backs, practicing underwater tasks meant to mimic movement in microgravity. Stanley would rather skip the practice altogether. He’d been in the Marines, for God’s sake. Even with his clothing anchoring him in the water, what was this compared to the crucible at boot camp?
Honestly, the only thing he lacked as an astronaut was the discipline to go without his cigarettes. Not that he needed to practice patience. He’d gotten plenty of it after his first revival. Yes, siree. No need to go through that hell again.
The air hung heavy with salt. Stanley stripped out of his astronaut training uniform until he wore nothing but his trunks. A dry cigarette pack and lighter were waiting for him on the wooden deck. In one swift motion, he lit the cigarette and inhaled. Smoke curled above him, briefly taking the shape of his wispy frontal bangs.
Stanley took deep drags one after another, burning through the cigarette fast. He didn’t savor the hit of nicotine through his bloodstream. Like chugging fine wine, he wasted the tobacco. It didn’t matter. He wanted the effects of nicotine to hit him fast and furious. He wanted the relief it offered him.
Kohaku finally broke the surface and claimed the spot next to him.
On any other day, Stanley would’ve made small talk with her even if he always hated small talk. One of his least favorite parts of growing up in the southern US. He needed to build rapport with his fellow astronaut beyond training sessions, and they needed to push past language barriers. The slightest miscommunication could spell doom for them—and, therefore, the rest of the world.
But no Japanese practice. Not today. He was too pissed.
The last time Stanley had felt this volcanic rage inside him was when he learned Xeno had been kidnapped. His anger hadn’t climbed quite that summit again but he was close to it. And for what? Not because Xeno was hurt.
But because Xeno was angry—at him.
And that made the feeling worse in its own way. Stanley couldn’t redirect the maelstrom inside him to one goal, one purpose—to help Xeno. No one to take his anger out on. Nothing to shoot at.
Stanley lit another cigarette.
Dark orbs fell on him. Xeno standing on the deck. Naturally the rocket scientist watched over the astronaut training, charting all improvements and shortcomings, while Gen stood by him, a timer in hand.
Finally, slowpoke Senku surfaced from the water.
Stanley resisted an eye roll. How did this leek-haired freak ever survive the shrapnel by his bullet—well, come to think of it, he oughta ask one day.
Gen paused the stopwatch. Xeno charted the time.
“Oh, Senku,” Xeno cooed. “You improved your last mark by 3.019 seconds. Elegant.”
Stanley bit down on his cigarette. Heat burst across his tongue and the roof of his mouth.
How in the world could Xeno be impressed by those numbers? Senku was still the slowest one by a mile. Stan could’ve reached the top of Mount Fuji in the time it took Senku to finish his laps.
Senku hadn’t even climbed out of the water yet. He was still catching his breath, gathering enough strength to haul himself onto the deck.
Stanley’s amber eyes gazed through the veil of cigarette smoke between him and Senku. As he was now, Senku wouldn’t survive the first day of Marine boot camp. And if he were going to become an astronaut and face Why-man, he’d have to be able to face tougher stuff.
The former Marine captain recalled what the drill sergeants did to all the dead weight back in boot camp.
And it wasn’t to look at them with adoring eyes.
Stanley lifted his boot and rested it on Senku’s forehead.
Senku’s breath caught in his throat, red eyes constricting into tiny dots. The Kingdom of Science audience turned to him, stunned, shocked, scared.
“Hmph. Not fast enough,” Stanley sneered. “Another round, astronaut. Go.”
His heel gave an encouraging shove, sending Senku back underwater.
“Ah, Stanley-chan,” Gen said, poking his head behind Xeno, “don’t you think that was a little too—”
“Stan.” Xeno’s steel voice cut through the sea breeze. “Before you take your frustration out on Senku’s poor performance, you should consider your own.”
His poor performance? Stanley would’ve laughed if he didn’t have a hunch Xeno was trying to piss him off on purpose.
Stanley met Xeno’s gaze at the corner of his eyes and lifted his chin in challenge.
Xeno continued. “Unlike Senku, who showed improvement over his previous performance, you had a decline. Your timing decreased by .002 seconds.” He punctuated with a tap of his pen on the clipboard.
And maybe, just maybe, if they hadn’t been fighting, Xeno would’ve left it there.
But he didn’t.
“Perhaps if you were as enthusiastic about your astronaut training as you are about smoking,” Xeno said with equal venom, “your marks would improve.”
That did it. Stanley rose to his feet.
Before he could close the distance, Kohaku sprang up to her feet as well. “I don’t understand what’s going on, but Stanley’s right,” she said. “We have a lot to improve on before our battle with Why-man.”
Stanley didn’t understand a word she said. Actually, he understood two words. His name and Why-man. Kohaku clapped his shoulder and the enthusiastic lioness joined Senku for another lap in the water voluntarily.
“I don’t think that’s what’s going on Kohaku-chan...” Gen said, speaking more to himself. His eyes darted between the two tall figures radiating a menacing aura, and he edged closer to Tsukasa. The brilliant battle strategist never moved a muscle, not even when Stan planted his heel on Senku’s forehead, knowing better than to get involved in a marital dispute.
Stanley tossed his cigarette into the water and peered down at Xeno through his cowlick. “Oh? That so?”
Xeno planted his hands on his small waist and glared up at him. “In fact, the improvements in the prior round could hardly be quantified as such. .008 seconds. .004 seconds. .005 seconds. Statistically insignificant. The difference may be human error at pausing the stopwatch. You may not have improved at all in your speed, unlike Kohaku and Senku.”
Gen’s eyes twitched at the rebuke of his finger dexterity, but the mentalist wisely kept his mouth shut. He stepped further behind Tsukasa’s protection, knowing a comment from him would only add fuel to the fire.
“Ever think human error could apply to my so-called drop in performance, doc?” Stan spat.
“Tch. No improvement is its own failure for an ultimate knight like you. Could, perhaps, the cause of your overall poor performance be a lack of enthusiasm?”
Something inside Stan snapped.
There were very few times they had a real fight. A truly real fight. Not just a you-can’t-smoke-in-the-bedroom-why-not fight. But a real fight that could test the boundary of their relationship.
During their fight last night, Stan didn’t think they had quite crossed that line.
But, now, it was clear they had.
How dare Xeno suggest that he lacked enthusiasm to beat Why-man?
His hands curled into fists.
The memory of their first ever fight flashed through his mind.
“What can I say, Xe? When you’re right, you’re right. You’re the king of swimming, ain’t ya, beluga head?”
Then Stan did the unthinkable.
His hand shot out—
—and he ruffled up Xeno’s perfectly sculpted pompadour.
Then Stanley stormed off, lighting up another cigarette just to take the edge off, like he had that morning, quietly sneaking away from bed to escape Xeno’s ice cold attitude. He didn’t need to be there and take Xeno’s bullshit. When Kohaku and Senku caught up to him, he’d be waiting.