Surya looks at the raw red wounds on his knuckles, all up and down his fingers. A few of them had to be broken and somewhere, very far away, he recognizes that this should hurt. A lot. But somewhere between the club coming down on them the first time and the last time, it faded out of existence. A tiny little voice easily ignored. Training.
His father is, always has been, a traditionalist.
---
“If you look at the diagram-”
Surya feels his eyes glazing over for a moment. Maybe science isn’t for him after all, because this endless droning makes him want nothing more than to be back out in the field, looming intimidatingly over people. His chin sits in the cradle of his hand and he huffs a gentle sigh, eyes blinking rapidly in an attempt to keep sleep from overtaking him. The professor notices instantly.
“Mr. Reeds. Aren’t you a little old for nap time?”
And then they’re off. Surya sits a little straigher in his chair at the question, already ordering his rapid-fire and borderline rude responses. This was more like it.
---
“No. Absolutely not.”
Harold Reeds’ voice doesn’t make him quiver and waver like it once did. Instead, Surya squares his shoulders and stares the now almost elderly man down, gaze not faltering. (He hadn’t been sure he could do that. Pride surges through him at this small accomplishment.) His father will not let him go without an argument, the one son that he deems capable of ruling the family’s financial empire with an iron fist. Maybe even a fight will be in order, but Surya doubts it. The time for punishment by the rod passed a long time ago
“It wasn’t a question.” A pause and he refuses to let his gaze divert. “This is a courtesy. I didn’t have to tell you at all.”
His father’s gaze is stony. Surya wants to pretend that the spark in the man’s eye is pride, pride that his son is opting to blaze his own trail like he did so many years ago. He knows better. That’s just a child’s wish and foolishness is something Harold had his children abandon early in life. So Surya turns on his heel and stalks out of that large echoing office, shoulders tense, like he’s waiting for his father to grab him by his neck and haul him back before he ever begins that degree.
He doesn’t, of course. Harold Reeds always been a painfully prideful man.
---
It isn’t the first. Not the last. Surya has honestly lost count at this point. But when he takes a deep breath and looks at himself in the mirror, he’s satisfied with the person who stares back at him. Or he thinks he is. Some days it’s harder to tell than others, but he knows his father is waiting for his report, which might actually be the most stomach wrenching part of this whole process. One last handful of water splashes up onto his face before dripping back down into the basin of pinkish water below.
(He can’t predict if that split lip and black eye will please his father or draw a clucking disapproval. It depends on the day.)
Straightening, Surya begins that long walk down the long imposing hallway leading to his father’s office. Mixed success weighs heavily on his shoulders, but all he does is stand a little straighter in response, palm resting comfortably (reassuringly) on the handle of his baton.
---*---
Surya blinked at the ceiling for a few long moments, like it was taking him those few extra seconds to figure out where he was.
Anywhere was better than that ugly building, the way the halls echoed with hatred and disapproval, the way a threat of violence hung heavy in the air. (No one in their family ever saw that violence made real; too many people outside their family did. Too many of them had seen it at Surya’s hands, in fact. But those days were over now. Or were they?) Surya sighed and stood to his feet. There were so many things yet to explore, more than he could realistically do on his own - hell, more than the entire crew could realistically do on their own - but wasn’t that the challenge of it, the whole fun of it?
None of his equipment, no familiar faces (yet), none of his usual comforts, and still he’d rather be on this strange planet rather than kneeling at his father’s side.