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But after hours of walking back and forth through the capitol building, getting the lay of the land, finding the cantina and the mess—and finally eating—and all the escape tunnels and familiarizing himself with the building and feeling his feelings to the utmost, boredom finally overtook him.
He found Maxwell in the auditorium-turned-medical-wing where there were always things that needed doing, and Maxwell raised an eyebrow at the sight of him but put him to work without asking any questions.
Sebastian worked away the hours tending to the men and women who had barely made it out of Kaston, disinfecting medical tools and organizing and restocking bandages. By the time Maxwell approached him with a tired but satisfied smile as he dried his hands, Sebastian’s anger had ebbed into a simmering grumpiness.
“Night shift just got here,” Maxwell said as he tossed his used towel into the hamper Sebastian had emptied earlier. “Shall we head to the cantina?”
Sebastian snorted as he tucked his last box of reorganized bandages onto a shelf. “You don’t even like the cantina.”
“No, but you do.”
Sebastian huffed a guilty laugh. “I really do.”
“So, let’s go.” Maxwell nodded to the door, and Sebastian followed after waving a goodbye and a good luck to the night shift. “I just need to pick up someone along the way.”
“Who?”
“Oliver Turner.”
Sebastian stopped. “I’m sorry, what?”
Maxwell kept walking a few paces and then turned back to face him with a patient expression. “I invited Oliver Turner to join us for drinks tonight, and he accepted. We’re going to pick him up.”
“What do you mean you invited him to join us? You didn’t even invite me to drinks until two seconds ago!”
Maxwell’s patient expression didn’t waver. “Were you ever going to say no to drinks?”
“Well, no—”
“So it was a safe assumption.”
“But why are we having drinks with Turner?” Sebastian threw his hands into the air.
“Because he doesn’t have any friends here.”
“Because he’s a bad guy!”
“He’s not a bad guy, Sebastian.” Maxwell turned and kept walking down the hall, and Sebastian followed him in a sulk. “He’s sacrificed a lot to help us here, and I’ve found him to be a very engaging conversational partner.”
“Ugh.”
Maxwell did not dignify that with a reply.
They wound through the capitol building until they got to a long hallway of rooms, and Maxwell knocked on one. After a pause, Oliver Turner opened it, striking the same impressive figure he always had. Despite his new attire of old, worn, whatever-he-could-get-his-hands-on-out-here, he still wore it like the expensive clothes Sebastian had first seen him in, and he still had every hair in place.
Sebastian scowled. “You’re sure you’ve got the time for us? Wouldn’t you rather be holed up with your klah’eel captain?”
“Of course.” Turner shrugged a single shoulder. “But he’s holed up with your leader, so I guess you’ll have to do.”
Sebastian refused to think too much into your leader. Hess was his leader, and Turner hadn’t meant it in the same way Sebastian had meant your captain. Even if Sebastian’s heart had skipped and twisted as he’d said it.
He turned on his heel and waved a hand over his shoulder. “Whatever. Let’s go before all the alcohol’s gone.”
“Don’t worry.” Maxwell chuckled. “We’ll run out of bandages before we run out of alcohol.”
Sebastian led the way to the cantina with a stomping stride as Maxwell and Turner chatted behind him. Maxwell asked how some injury Mal’ik had sustained was healing. Turner said it was fine, paused, and then admitted that the ports for his mechanical arm were starting to hurt him and asked if Maxwell had any lotion. Maxwell did and offered oil for the machinery as well.
Turner thanked him.
