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Strangely, Ilmenite didn't really mind being summoned into Tanzanite's presence. Sure, he'd been enjoying a perfectly nice slice of pizza on the corner of his bed, flipping absently through a library book. Sure, it was gut-wrenching, and the panic of getting into uniform before appearing before her in his boxers was a bit stressful. Sure, the summons usually came with life-changing or life-threatening revelations. But there was always a purpose behind it, at least.

So. He was still chewing on the last of his pizza but he was decent, at least, as he popped into being in the Rift. Hair a bit wild. Only halfway standing. He turned in place to address the General-Queen, her chaotic aura distinctive as it washed over him, and --

And he froze. His eyes were too high, settling almost a foot over Zinkenite's head, and he took a moment to consider the room he was in: unfamiliar, the War Room wasn't where he was usually called, wasn't comfortable territory -- so to speak. Even the grasping statues were more familiar with this.

His expression went from attentive, almost apologetic, to confused, to mild frustration, and mostly he wished he had swallowed before answering the call. He did that now, posture shifting as his face did, working to sort things out.

"...I thought we weren't...I mean, things were...I didn't want to do this, Zink."

His instinct was, naturally, to argue -- to bite back. If Zink was going to call him names, he'd toss some in return, superior officer or no. It wasn't that Ilmenite's loyalty was an issue, that wasn't the core of the problem. The problem was giving up face to someone he'd been intimate with: not only in the physical sense, no, but also in the less crude one, the meaningful one.

Tanzanite had always had his number, and had been able to get a grasp on what he thought, more or less. She'd understood him, yes, to a degree that made Ilmenite snap to attention. Zink, though, knew him. Better than anyone right now. Better than anyone in his family ever had.

So they bickered. They argued. So Ilmenite -- and Ever, for that matter -- tried to lay down ground rules. They were a wall for both of them, meant to keep both from getting hurt, but mostly so that he could have some sense of protection for himself. It kept one life spilling into the other.

Instinct, however, wasn't fast enough here. Fingers grasped around his star seed while his mouth was still opening, and the retort died on his tongue, the world turning to pain before he could speak. In an instant, two lives certainly mixed thoroughly together. It hurt, but there was very little more intimate than this.

His skin still felt like it was sizzling, when Zink pulled his hand away, his heart beating too fast and too hard, pushing out against his rib cage. Memories of his corruption, and of his captain promotion, had blurred with time. It had been months since he'd made the leap up to Captain, long enough that the pain had blurred out to 'passable', that what had come before and after was more memorable than the act itself. His mind filled in grasping statues and Tanz's youma fingers and Zink waiting for him, after. Everything else faded to the background.

Ilmenite wasn't sure he could forget this. As Zink stepped back, he sank down to his knees, both arms folded across his chest. His head tipped down enough that the brim of his new hat covered his features, hid whatever expression might be lingering on his face.

Walls. Protection.

He sucked in several deep breaths, digging for a comment, but nothing that he could come up with was entirely fair. 'Why couldn't she have done it?' was at the front of his mind, wishing he could separate Zink more properly from this moment. He didn't say it. He was silent, but for deep breaths drawn in to drive away the ache. Maybe that was as bad.

"...damnit, Zac..." It was quiet, and frustrated, Ilmenite drawing in another slow breath and rubbing at that spot in his chest. A brush of fingers across his face knocked the hat crooked, but -- at least Zink could see his expression, now, still more than a little bit pained, and impossible to tell just how much of that was physical.

For a moment, it seemed like he was going to refuse the hand, was going to protest. Instead he wrapped both of his own around it and hauled himself, stumbling just a little, up to his feet. He wanted to feel tired, worn out. Instead he felt stronger, chaos in his veins, and he reeled trying to get a grip on it.

"Why?"

"It could have...it could have waited until she was around, Zac." Ilmenite licked his lips and stared down at the shiny toes of his boots, the jangle of lock around his waist. At least he did feel stronger. It was bracing. It helped him focus as he looked up to Zink again.

And then he paused, fingers still wrapped around Zink's, hair just a little too long as it curled out from under his new hat. His expression shifted toward concern, that betrayal faded to background noise. "Couldn't it?"

Ilmenite made a noise, definitely negative, though right now he didn't quite have the guts and come out to say 'no' as such. He blinked down at Zinkenite and slowly untangled their hands, reaching up to tug the hat off his head and smooth hair back up off his forehead. He'd never been quite comfortable in uniform, but something about this one just -- it worked. It worked better at least.

"...I don't know. I'm going to...I don't know." A pause, and he shoved the hat back on, taking a few steps away from Zink. This probably wasn't according to protocol, wasn't usually how promotions went down. He should have been thanking Zink, not running away to the nearest bar. There were probably things about the position he needed to know.

They'd have to wait. "Call me when you're out."

He turned enough to sweep out a bow toward Zink -- meant to be relatively joking, relatively friendly, but considering his lingering frustration and discomfort, it probably came across a bit more mocking than he intended. It would probably leave the General-King worrying and Ilmenite with a bad taste in his mouth, wondering why he always had to be such an a*****e.

Nothing to be done about it now. He straightened and left.