Chapter Text
"Hey Wally,”
Kuki murmured, stepping up beside him. The vast, echoing observation deck of the decommissioning station was frigid, the silence between them a deafening vacuum. Wally’s fear was a cold presence in the room. His face was a stone mask; his green eyes, usually burning with chaotic, reckless energy, remained tragically fixed on the distant, heartbreaking blue and white marble of Earth. He hadn't even registered her presence, lost in a deep, agonizing thought Kuki recognized as pure, white-knuckle terror. The tension in his jaw and the rigid set of his shoulders made him look like he was in physical pain, wrestling with the weight of the inescapable end. Everything they had fought for—the endless battles, the shared secrets, the sticky, sweet joy of their victories, their entire, messy history—was about to be wiped clean forever.
Kuki bit her lower lip, tasting the metallic tang of fear in the sterile air, before slowly stretching out her hand to his. She gasped at the cold, shaking fingers she found. They felt like brittle, unfeeling marble in her grasp, icy and unresponsive. He was truly terrified, and she felt the raw, electric tremor shoot up her arm like a warning. The realization filled her with a profound, sinking sorrow—her furious boy, her rock, was crumbling.
“Oi... Oi dun' wanna go,” he mumbled, his voice a choked, pathetic plea, the Australian lilt dissolving into a heartbroken, childish whine.
Wally's eyes slowly shifted, glancing sideways at Kuki. Her heart felt like fragile glass shattering to see his usual tough-guy composure finally cracking. Under the impossible weight of the moment, his shoulders began to shake minutely, his lower lip quivered, and his eyes grew glossy with unshed tears. The harsh, fluorescent station light caught the moisture, making them look like polished, wet emeralds. She turned fully toward him, their hands instinctively interlocking over his thick uniform sleeves, the way they always did when the world was too big and they were scared and alone. “I... I don't want you to go either,” she whispered, fighting to keep the tremor of sadness from flooding her own voice. The deck's vast, empty silence swallowed the sound like a cruel echo.
He didn't speak, instead turning his gaze back down to the distant Earth, his lips trembling violently. “It isn’t fair... t'is isn't fair,” he whispered, the words barely audible, laced with bitter injustice.“We... we done everythin' for 'em. We defended, we worked, we kept fightin' for our roights. We watched 'em take away our friends, and did nothin'. We...” His voice suddenly swelled with a terrifying mixture of grief and rage. Just as the sound was about to become a full-throated yell, he slammed his free hand against the thick glass of the observatory dome, the impact a dull, heavy thud that vibrated through the metal grating beneath their feet.
“DAMN IT!”
He roared, a sound torn from his very soul, tears finally bursting free and streaming down his face. “Oi dun' wanna leave ya alone! Ya dun' deserve ta be alone! Oi wanna stay! Oi wanna remembah meh mates! Meh home! Meh treehouse! Oi wanna remembah Nigel! Oi wanna remembah Abby an' Hoagie! Oi wanna remembah ya!” He was yelling now, not from anger, but from a pure, terrifying, animal desperation. He broke their connection, pulling his hand free in a jagged movement. He started pacing wildly, his black uniform boots squeaking frantically on the metallic floor. “We need a plan! A plan, a plan, a plan! Grab da S.P.L.A.N.K.E.R.s, hide da G.U.M.Z.O.O.K.A.s! We can be tagethah, we can always be tagethah!”
Kuki watched him, silent tears tracing hot paths down her cheeks as she witnessed his total breakdown. Her sweet, angry Wally was dissolving into sheer, primal panic right in front of her. He stumbled backward, covering his face with his hands, his whole body shaking with ragged, gasping sobs. He was losing his grip completely. With a painful, absolute surge of resolve, Kuki moved. Her small, trembling hand shot out, grasping his wrist. Her fingers locked around his cold skin, anchoring him in place.
"Wally no we can'..wally stop...WALLY!”
The single word, sharp and clear, cut through his panic like a whip. Wally froze. His movements ceased. He slowly lowered his hands, his green eyes, wide and terrified, snapping back into focus on her face. He was breathing hard, a ragged sound in his chest, but he was present again. Kuki pulled him closer, planting herself directly in front of him. She was shaking, too, but she held him fast, turning the swirling chaos into something solid.
“Wally... we’re right here,” she said softly. “We got each other.”
He didn't pull away. He collapsed against her, his arms rising to pull her tightly against his chest. She could feel the erratic thump-thump-thump of his heart against her ear. The sobs were muffled now, less frantic—a deep, agonizing surrender. “Oi... Oi’m scared, Kooks. Oi’m so scared,” he confessed into her hair. “Oi’m actually terrified.”
“I know, Wally. Me too. I’m so scared,” she admitted, the truth tearing a quiet ache in her chest.
He pulled back just enough to look at her, their hands instinctively interlocking over the fabric of her uniform. “Not havin’ ya t’ere... it’s like not havin’ a whole part of mehself.” She managed a shaky smile. “I know,” she managed, leaning her forehead against his. “It’s like that for me, too. But hey... hey, listen, Wally. Remember that time… when Hoagie tried to use the G.U.M.Z.O.O.K.A. to paint the cafeteria ceiling blue for Nigel’s birthday? He got stuck to the floor! And Abby had to use the S.C.A.M.P.E.R. to pull him off, and then she ended up stuck to the table?”
A slow, painful smile tugged at the corner of Wally’s mouth. He let out a soft, wet chuckle that quickly turned into a shaky sigh. “Yeah, an’ then Nigel had ta get the bucket of warm water ta free the lot of 'em. Bloody stupid. We were always cleaning up after 'em.” But the distraction was short-lived. He gripped her tighter, his panic returning, colder, laced with fierce protection. “Oi jist... Oi dun' wanna leave ya alone, Kuki. Yer dun' deserve ta be alone. Who’s gonna be ya rock when Oi’m gone? Oi’m terrified of ya dealin’ with this by yerself.”
Kuki looked up at him, her own fear momentarily overshadowed by his profound, selfless agony over her fate. She didn't have an answer. Wally slowly released her hands and reached up, his cold, trembling fingers lifting to her face. He didn't wipe her tears; instead, he rested his forehead against hers. Their eyes remained locked across the tiny space, green meeting green, two terrified souls clinging to the last sliver of warmth. After a long, silent moment, Wally broke eye contact, his gaze sliding away. Kuki could feel her carefully constructed composure shatter. Just as the first true, ragged sob started to shake her chest, Wally looked back at her, his eyes serious and full of a final, desperate resolve. It was the most mature, the most adult, she had ever seen on his face.
“Kuki, there’s sumthin’ oi need ta tell ya. Kuki, Oi—”
Kuki sat bolt upright in bed, a strangled, silent gasp dying in her throat. Her heart hammered a frantic, irregular rhythm against her ribs. The observatory, the cold glass, Wally’s anguished face—it vanished, replaced by the familiar, dusty sunlight filtering into her bedroom. The air in her room smelled of lavender fabric softener and old paper, a sickeningly safe contrast to the metallic cold of the dream. The dream always ended just before that word. She was fifteen now, existing in the terrifying chasm between the girl who fought galactic threats and the young woman her parents expected. Her long, straight black hair, now reaching past her waist, cascaded over her shoulders. Tucked beneath the black strands were the tell-tale green inner layers she painstakingly hid from her parents, a secret patch of childish defiance.
Her fingers immediately went to the silver chain resting against her collarbone. She pulled out the half-heart necklace, the classic magnetic friendship charm. It was the right half, and the glittery enamel filling the interior was vibrant orange—Wally's color. She held the small, cold metal to her sternum for a long moment, pressing it hard, trying to anchor herself to a memory that felt like a lifetime ago. The tremor in her fingers wouldn’t stop. The nightmare came back again and again, each time sharper, crueler. With a heavy sigh, Kuki slid out of bed. The silence of the house was too loud. It was a school day.
She dressed with calculated purpose, her clothes a collision of nostalgia and adolescent performance. She pulled on the same long-sleeved green shirt she wore as a kid, still a bit big, loosely hanging. This she tucked into a severe black pleated mini-skirt. For her legs, she layered black knee-high socks over a pair of the old, familiar green fleece socks, folding the fleece neatly over the black cuffs. The fleece was soft and worn, smelling faintly of old missions and laundry detergent. On her right arm, she slid on a dizzying stack of ten brightly colored, woven friendship bracelets—a tally of every person she refused to forget. The thick, colorful stack covered her arm almost to her elbow, a gaudy, private shield.
Before heading downstairs, her eyes caught on the framed photo sitting beside her old Rainbow Monkey plush. The picture was faded but bright: five children laughing, arms slung around each other. Sector V. Her family. Her hand trembled as she reached out, fingertips brushing the glass, lingering over the freckled boy in the orange polo. “Good morning, guys,” she whispered softly, her voice catching. “Miss you.” Her vision blurred, and her throat tightened. She straightened her shoulders anyway, forcing her face into that familiar expression—bright eyes, curved lips, the practiced, perfect "Kuki smile." The muscles in her cheeks felt stiff, like she was wearing a permanent clay mask. By the time she stepped out of her room, no one would’ve guessed she’d been crying.
In the kitchen, her mother called her “sweet girl,” her father ordered her to “make us proud.” Kuki nodded, injecting high, false cheer into her voice. She couldn't taste the rice and eggs. The normalcy was a suffocating weight. She looked out the window, and for a fleeting, painful moment, swore she saw a flash of messy blond hair in the reflection—a grin she’d never see again. She snapped her mask back into place. “I’m fine! Just… thinking about school stuff.”
"Keep it up, Kuki. The top universities notice dedication,” her mother approved.
“Always,” Kuki said softly, bowing her head. I already did, she thought, the words a silent scream of defiance. You just don’t know it. When the front door clicked shut behind her, the cheer drained from her face like color washing out of a photo. She stood still on the porch, clutching the strap of her schoolbag. Her heart gave a soft, uneven flutter beneath her palm. “Another day, Wally,” she whispered, the words catching on her breath. “I’ll keep smiling. Promise.” The quiet predictability of the neighborhood felt like an insult to the chaos she remembered. The kind of normal that didn’t belong to someone who used to fight adults on the moon.
By the time she reached Gallagher High, Kuki slipped inside with the tide of teenagers, her smile in place, her thoughts far, far away. She navigated the hall like a ghost, blending in perfectly. Then a flash of blue broke through the blur—and her breath hitched.
Hoagie.
He was surrounded by the robotics club, animated, his hands moving as he explained something technical, his grin infectious. He still wore his gray goggles perched on his head, though his old pilot’s cap was gone, replaced by a brown tapper hat. He looked happy. He looked fine. He was the dorky genius, the same boy who could turn a spare toaster into a flying contraption, but he was also a functioning, adjusted teenager. Kuki turned quickly before he noticed her, a sharp, unexpected pain piercing her chest. Her heart wasn’t ready for that kind of memory, the quiet evidence of him moving on. She kept walking, then—another familiar shape.
Abby.
She leaned against a locker a few steps down, casual and confident. Her red newsboy cap shaded her sharp brown eyes. Her box braids were threaded with gold beads that caught the hallway light. She wore a stylish tube top and navy joggers. Her laugh sounded older—smoother, more composed. Grown-up. Happy. Abby looked so fine. Like the years had carried her forward while Kuki had stayed stuck, frozen between childhood and whatever came next. It hurt. Just a little. It hurt a lot. Kuki reached her own locker, her fingers spinning the dial mechanically. The metal door creaked open with a familiar squeal. Inside, taped to the door, was the faded photo of Sector V. Her fingertips brushed the glass, lingering over the freckled boy at the center.
“…I really miss you,” she whispered.
Her reflection in the locker mirror smiled back, lips curved perfectly. But her eyes glistened. Then— A sharp, shocking sound split through her thoughts as a hand struck the locker door beside her head. The metal impact was loud and aggressive, instantly pulling her back to the visceral vigilance of her past life. Kuki jumped, spinning around, heart leaping into her throat. A tall girl stood there, smirking slightly. Her fiery red hair, now long and sleek, was tied back into a high ponytail, the ends brushing against the collar of her crimson jacket. Beneath it, a fitted black shirt and dark boots completed the look—casual, but demanding. This was Franny Fulbright, the former Head of Decommissioning, Numbuh 86, and now a high-ranking Teen. She looked utterly in control, radiating an authority that made the teenagers around them instinctively part like water.
“Long time no see, Numbuh Three,” Franny said coolly, her green eyes gleaming with a familiar, official intensity. Her voice was deeper, edged with the polished confidence of someone who hadn’t looked back. “The Teens Next Door need you.” Kuki’s breath caught. Her pulse skipped once, twice. The air around them seemed to shift—electric, heavy with everything unspoken. The scent of Franny’s perfume was a heady, unfamiliar mixture of vanilla and something sharp, like metal. A dangerous scent. The smell of old memories colliding with the brutal necessity of growing up.