Mode gave him an even stare, and eventually the soldier looked away, a little uncomfortable, collected his things and left.

Setting his bag down on the bunk assigned to him, he remained standing, closed his eyes and inhaled. Whatever they said about the filters, recycled air smelled different, tasted different than earthside. This was his first real breath of it in a long, long time, and as he slowly opened his eyes, exhaling, he felt truly alive for the first time in two years.

A small mirror hung on one wall of the cell. He smirked, approached it and examined it carefully. Metal frame, glass with polish, easy to disassemble. He hadn't seen one free of transparent polycarbon casing since he'd been dragged down from the BattleSchool, and the reflection seemed unnaturally clear as he studied himself.

His grey eyes, once so changeable, had solidified to a flat slate. His jawline had strengthened, and he looked older by years than he had when he'd been taken into the institute. There was a new hardness about his lips and eyes. The battle braid was gone, replaced by short spikes of the same white blonde. He was taller, his shoulders broadened, hips narrow, his entire body a lean, muscular machine. That was something the doctors had never denied him, the opportunity to hone himself, and he'd taken full advantage of it.

When they'd told him he would be sent to Command School, near the end of his "rehabilitation", he had remained reserved, withdrawn. He hadn't wanted to risk disappointment. Now he was here, and somewhere in the maze of corridors and rooms that occupied this little asteroid was the person that had driven him to defeat the screening process and gain admittance.

Wick.

He'd made subtle inquiries after he seemed assured of his enrollment. She was here, or would be, shortly. So was Jorry. He smiled a little to himself. His re-instatement had given him access to all the IA compound had to offer in the latest in hand to hand combat, and he'd taken it all. If Jor attempted to balk him, he was in for a bloody surprise.

But it was Wick he wanted the most.

She had used him as a pawn to hurt Dante and Swede, nothing more. God knows what Jor and Wick had done to them after she'd knocked him out, but from the look in Dante's eyes as she saw him dragged away, it wasn't something forgivable. Not by Dante, and not by him. His jaw muscles contracted in the mirror. Thinking about Dante always brought pain, and he shoved her out of his mind.

It was little Silk who'd finally told him who was responsible for the letter, just before he'd been shipped to earth. In the first rush of clarity after the thorazine injection, locked in the small restraining pod they used for transport of dangerous criminals, he'd shivered in tune with the ship engines and imagined wildly all the horrible things he would do to her, given the chance.

She shifted and caught sight of herself in the wall mirror. Stepping closer, slowly and deliberately, she watched her reflection smirk back at her, and a satisfied purr escaped her throat. Same long coppery-auburn curls, same piercing green-gold eyes, same faded scar drawn across her now-defined cheekbones. She stretched, smile widening as the golden locket and ring hanging on a delicate chain around her slender throat twinkled in the light. The picture of her and Jax still sat inside, the only difference now was his ring; she'd thought to bury it with him, but chose instead this constant reminder. Jax was gone. Jax was dead. She had finally completed her revenge. Ahhh yes, she blinked in satisfaction.

Kat was back.

Making it here had been anything but easy. She'd been iced as a launchy eight years ago, sent back to Earth under careful supervision, placed in the Charybdis Institute for "rehabilitation." It was her fight against Gabe and Sol that had been the final straw, they said-- after all, her placement at Battle School had been a gamble in the first place, a risk because of her psychological evaluations. Extraordinarily violent, they'd called her, unstable anger and too inclined to sudden and complete retribution. Such bullshit; everyone knew that was what the IF was looking for. But the injuries of her enemies was enough to convict her, and she was shuttled away to the Institute to see if whatever talent she had could be salvaged.

And thus Kat was placed amongst all those psychopaths and murderers and just plain crazy inmates. She wasn't crazy, not in the least-- Kat knew that, her doctors knew that, the IF officers who visited her monthly knew that. But being so completely and utterly rational about her actions was its own kind of madness, they'd told her. If there had been remorse or any sense of acknowledgement that what she had done was wrong, then perhaps they could "reevaluate her situation." But Kat felt no remorse. She felt no guilt for finally killing Jax, for disposing of that Zion Jayde after what he'd done to her. Of course, that made her a murderer too, no better than some of her cellmates. The only difference was that the doctors didn't know what she'd done. The only difference was that if she was anything, she was an utterly believeable manipulative girl. And those lies saved her from being stuck in the Institute the rest of her life.

Of course, it hadn't been all that bad. There had been one boy there, another inmate she'd allied... no, befriended. As a "veteran" of the Institute as some of the newcomers called her, she'd shown this boy around at first. A few months later, when five other boys had attacked her, caught her by surprise in an attempt to... Kat shook her head. Her rescuer had arrived and saved her, and later, when he needed her help, she'd found herself at his side. He too would be here at Command School, and she'd find him soon. It'd be wonderful to see Asmodeus again.

Katera Quistin had somehow materialized in his Quad Cell.

He moved three silent, graceful steps to the side. Maybe he was mistaken. This newcomer had her coppery curls, her lithe figure, deceptively compact, her silent breath as she slept. The scar on her cheek that came into view as he circled her made it clear. If it wasn't her, someone had gone to great lengths of imitation.

How was this possible? There was no way she could have gotten up here without being approved...and there was her duffle. She was here legitimately, in his Cell, no less. Absolutely fascinating. She was obviously here to stay.

He'd hated the institute, hated everything about it. Kat had been the first person he'd talked to that still retained any measure of coherency. He'd gotten the "30cc Tour". Nothing could make the Institute bearable, but she'd made it a little less grim. For him, anyway. There were rumors about what'd she'd done to get there...and what'd she done after...that made him a little wary of her, but it hardly mattered when insanity was all around them anyway. She always managed to find some grisly humor in a situation, no matter how horrible or vile. At first he'd turned away, a little disgusted, but he soon realized that it was a necessary survival trait. He didn't say it out loud like she did, but he found himself doing the same thing, finding humor in the death and madness around him.

He hadn't known her that well yet the night he'd fought one of the gangs of army brats off her. He hadn't known anything about her when he'd tried to help her up. When she knocked him away and vaulted to her feet in time to kick the leader in the face before he passed out, he began to learn.

The girl was a survivor, and that was something he respected. A guarded friendship had grown up between them, the fallen angel and the stray cat. When the junkie high on crystal bliss had almost killed him, she'd shown up in time to keep his throat intact, and as hard and cold as he had grown, he was grateful. They'd traded histories. It was enough.

"Mmmmmm Mode..." she purred, pushing the tousled curls from her face and smirking cockily at him. As much as she hated to admit it, to herself or anyone, she had liked him, as much as she was capable of feeling anything for anyone. He'd been her only friend at the Institute, and their mutual wariness toward one another did nothing ease her loneliness when he'd been taken away a few weeks before her. Reaching out a hand and flicking his ear lightly, Kat's green eyes flashed with taunting happiness.

"Oh, I escaped, y'know. They couldn't possibly keep me there any longer. I missed you too much." His own cold steel eyes shifted color at her mocking tone, but Kat merely stretched in languid relaxation. "The doctors somehow became convinced that I had changed for the better. We both know how innocent and remorseful I am... once they figured that out, they let me go."

"Shhhh, nite darlin.' You snore, I'll slit your throat before you wake." With that final goodnight, Kat turned over and closed her eyes.

Her arm was across his chest, one of her legs smooth and warm against his hip and the top of his thigh, her silky curls draped over his shoulder. The curve of her upper body rested against his side, and Mode eventually opened his eyes again.

Sleep was going to be difficult tonight.

A twinge of guilt flickered through his mind and he chased it away immediately. He had nothing to feel guilty about anything that might happen between him and Katera, no matter how far it went. And this wasn't very far.

Still, her lithe body felt good against his, and it was an automatic gesture that felt so natural he almost didn't notice it when he brought his arm down and put it around her, his fingers coming to rest against the smooth skin of her waist.

A different sort of texture met the ends of his fingertips, and he delicately traced a long, fine curving scar that ran the length of her side. Whatever had made that cut had been sharp and quickly swung. There was another on her arm, and as he finally cradled her close, curling his fingers against her flat muscular stomach, he felt the edge of another. Such a battleworn girl so young.

The stinging sensation on his chest reminded him that he was bleeding, but he ignored it for now.

He could see her dimly, the faint light from the wall terminal casting a strange reddish cast over the room, outlining her figure, muscular and delicate at the same time. He could see a few of the scars he'd touched before, and a few more he hadn't. So many scars.

With the grace only an angel could have matched, he tilted her face up to his, brushing the curls gently away from her tearstained cheeks. Whatever fights this girl had been through, the torture her body had been through didn't compare to the pain in her eyes. Her scars were on the inside, too.

Mode backed away from her, his eyes cold slate as they ran over her face, her body as she half-sat sprawled on the barracks floor. Her own green-gold eyes widened, watching his muscles move dangerously beneath his own taunt skin as he shifted gracefully, and a choked husky growl escaped her throat.

Something cold and metallic was pressed between them. A locket, he remembered. He tilted his head slightly and kissed her curls -

...Shh, Anjel," he said in a whisper as he stroked her hair. Her name was so close to his own. Her evident fear made him weak and strong at the same time, weak with pain and sorrow for her, strong with anger against Jor and anyone else who might ever cause her this kind of pain.

Still holding her, he resolved to protect her, from Jor or anyone else.

Even himself...

Mode's eyes flew open and he pulled his head away from hers slightly, let his arms drop to his sides. He'd failed Dante. He'd left her broken on the floor like a doll. He wasn't going to allow himself to do the same to Kat, no matter what his body wanted.

With a disgusted smirk and fire dancing in her emerald-gold eyes, Kat ran her hand roughly across his torn chest, growling as he winced. Served him right. Always, always the same with everyone. Draw her in and push her anyway. Mode was no different.

He knew how to find out.

He stood and crossed to his bunk, knelt down beside it on the right and slid the fingertips of his left hand into that silken jumble of curls. Tightening his grip, he lifted her head up and kissed her again, tasting his blood on her lips, wrapping his other arm around her supple waist. Her arms and legs remained free. She could strike him now, if she wanted to. At least he would be sure.

He remained kneeled beside the bunk, his cold slate eyes watching her. Kat drew her feet under herself, crouched and watching him curiously, her head tilting slightly to the side as her cascade of curls drifted across her face. Her green eyes hardened, trying to analyze his motives, trying to calculate what he might do next. It both frightened and excited her to think that perhaps this time, he meant no harm.

But she wasn't accustomed to any form of affection. Jax had been appropriately rough, up until she'd disposed of him; but her love for him had never reached this stage, had never gone beyond anything except a few innocent kisses when she was younger. It wasn't tenderness or softness that she appreciated. Kat had always grown up with pain, using force and aggression to keep herself alive.

She needed that fierceness in a mate.

Mode continued to stare at her as she sat poised, still meeting his gaze squarely. Her muscles stopped shaking with hurt, tensed instead with predatory lust for this one person who was using his strength against her. He hadn't cared what she felt when he'd kissed her just a few moments ago. In some twisted way, that was exactly what she'd wanted.

When she brought her face down to his he bit her as he wrapped his hands around her forearms, preparing to shove her away when she started scratching. Her blood touched his tongue, but she wasn't biting him as he'd thought.

She was kissing him.

His slate eyes widened as they met hers. He let her lip go, but she didn't pull away. She'd kissed him and he'd injured her in return. He'd seen enough of what she'd done to the boys at the Institute to know this was strange behavior for her. Did she really have some sort of affection for him past the wary friendship they shared? His thoughts were interrupted as she kissed him again, split lip and all.

His eyes narrowed, and his fingers tightened on her upper arms, this time to hold her to him. He was tired of attempting to analyze. At least Kat was up front about the violence she intended to inflict. She didn't pretend to be weak and passive as she dug her fingernails into his arms. He didn't pretend to be gentle; his grip was undoubtedly going to leave her with bruises. With a single smooth motion he braced and rolled, flipping them over and pinning her to the floor of the cell. He pressed her wrists to the tile and studied her face, cold eyes taking in her split lip, the tiny trickle of blood that ran from the corner of her mouth, vampiric.

She wasn't Dante. The animal gleam in her gaze had never touched those violet eyes. Until the end, she'd been gentle, passive...innocent. So had he. He wasn't any more. He felt no remorse now as he looked down at the damage he'd done. He felt nothing at all but anger at her for threatening his icy control and a lust to use her as she wanted to use him.

Kat suddenly felt trapped.

Her pupils slitted dangerously in the dim light, watching Mode with calculated anger. He was stronger than her; so much stronger, his shoulders broad and body muscled far more than hers could ever be. She possessed her own lithe strength, but nowhere near his, and this knowledge spurned her into action. Bloodlust lit in her eyes, her bloodied lips drawing back to snarl at him as adrenaline surged through her veins and her survival instinct overrode whatever rationality she'd held before. Kat was no different than any other cornered animal. Fear brought aggression, and that defensive rage melded uncontrollably with her lust for him.

Arching forward suddenly, she grabbed the hand that he held to her abdomen, nails digging into the nerve complex in his unprotected inner wrist. Raising her other arm swiftly, she wrapped her fingers around his throat, tight enough to feel his pulse quicken, pounding against her fingertips. His own steeled eyes narrowed as she strained to throw him off her, struggling madly against him, her hips pinned to the floor by the weight of his body. She couldn't escape... she hissed helplessly, still fighting, unwilling to give in. And for the first time in years, Kat felt the same despair she'd been drowned with the night the army gang at the Institute held her in the backroom and stripped her nearly naked, ready to use her the same way she was sure Mode wanted her now.

He'd saved her then. Only she could save herself now.

That is, if she even wanted to be saved...

Mode freed his wrist of her fingers with a careless flick and caught her own with one hand, ripping her fingertips away from her throat as he fastened his other hand around hers and brought her face up to his, her front against his. He stared down into her face as he moved closer, pulled her tighter against him as he prepared to put an end to her games.

The look in her eyes froze him, and shame he didn't think he was still capable of feeling flooded through him in a torrent. He remembered that look, the wide-eyed bereft half-madness that had been in her eyes the night he'd found her with the army brats crawling on her... and he was doing the same thing now. He was no better than they were.

The Angel had fallen, but not that far.

She could feel his heart beating rapidly, a staccato that matched her own as she pulled away, silent as her green-gold eyes widened, flicking across his poised body as he continued to hold her wrists tightly. Kat's breathing quickened as he met her gaze unwavering, his eyes muting to smoke for a moment so brief she wasn't quite sure she'd seen it. But that almost indetectable softening raised her lust again, and with sinuous grace she lowered her head, watching him with predatory anticipation in her eyes as her curls half-obscured the smirk that twitched her lips.

But if he couldn't trust her that far, why was he still holding her against him?

But he understood, as well as anyone could. He'd only spent two years in that hellhole, but it had been enough. Pain was relative. This girl was broken in a fundamental way...but so was he. Their pain united them together in a way no one else would comprehend.

He stood, taking her easily in his arms. She weighed little. He paused long enough to pluck the last of the torn material from her before he laid her on his bunk, using the ruined shirt to wiped the blood from his chest before tossing it aside and joining her.

He ran his hands over her torso as he kissed her, his deft touch eliciting tiny growls and hisses of pleasure when he broke away to nuzzle her neck in a catlike caress before sliding down her body. Pain registered as her fingernails bit into the back of his neck when he took the last of her clothing away, but he ignored it, his own clothing easily removed as he kissed her stomach.

She was too tense, the muscles in her legs too tight. He bit the inside of her thigh and she hissed in shock, forgetting to tense her legs long enough for him to move them. Everything felt planned, like he'd done this hundreds of times before and just didn't remember.

His touch had her well-relaxed and trembling when he finally moved his face over hers, brushing her cheek with his own as he whispered hot breath into her ear. His heartbeat was rapidly accelerating, and his exquisite muscular control was sorely strained to keep him where he was. It would be so easy, not to pause...

He was quick about it, but the effort and the sensation pulled an unsteady gasp from him anyway, and he was forced to stop and breathe as he attempted to regain control. When he found it it was tenuous and fragile at best, but he forced himself to move slowly at first until her body began to relax.

He hadn't expected her inexperience. The Institute was a harsh place, and Kat was a very pretty girl. He had assumed...but he had been wrong, and that knowledge made him keep his pace until the purr in her throat and the fingernails scratched down his back demanded more.

Kat managed a sharp intake of breath as he stopped, panting rapidly as she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, digging her fingernails into his back. He moved slowly at first, until her muscles relaxed of their own accord and she felt warmth building, and then she turned more rough. A purr tore from her throat as he came up for a kiss, biting her lip enough so that a trickle of blood leaked from the corner of her mouth. But she didn't even notice, arching against him as he fell to his elbows, wrapping his hands into her curls and kissing her hard.

He played his eyes over her face, the cold slate shifting back and forth to smoke as the last tatters of his ice began to strain. He raised his hand and stroked her cheek with a single finger. He made no move to restrain her, but the urge was there; her sudden assertion of control made him wary, but he was nearly past caring.

His jaw ached. He ignored it.

He'd given her exactly what she wanted. He'd done everything he could to make it easy for her. She'd been enjoying as much as he had, surely, for a few moments at least.

And then she struck him and fled, muttering something about Jax, one of her old "friends" from BattleSchool that she'd said disappeared. She'd said it with a smile on her face. What the hell had brought him up now of all times?

He said nothing. There was nothing to say. It appeared she was done with him for now. He had fulfilled whatever twisted purpose she had required him for and he was of no further use. His eyes slitted, and he clenched his teeth. Used. Again.

Or had he imagined her desire? His anger turned to uncertainty. He replayed the situation in his mind. It seemed as if she were appropriately enthusiastic...but in the aftermath he felt less like he had been in control. He remembered the look in her eyes when he'd torn her shirt and bit his tongue hard to keep his eyes from watering.

Mode felt unclean.

Her breathing slowed gradually as she calmed down and fell asleep. Silently he crept to her bedside and looked down at her. Coppery curls framed her tear-stained face on the pillow, and he looked away for a moment.

When he looked back, his eyes fell on the locket.

She was dead to the world, but he knelt and opened the little heart with thieving stealth. Inside the first half was a picture of Kat, impossibly young, with a wide smile, her smooth child's cheek free of the scar that was there now. In the other half was a picture of a little boy that might have been his younger brother. His hair was white-blonde and spiked as he wore his now, face stamped with the same brand of hardness that his had acquired at the Institute. It was clearly not him; this boy had black eyes and rougher features. But it was close enough to be unsettling.

He closed the locket quietly, laid it gently down before he picked up the ring and examined it.

Kat and Jax Forever... ran the inscription.

This boy was Jax? The one she'd helped to disappear?

Mode suddenly got the feeling he'd taken just a bit more than he could handle when he'd allowed Kat to invite herself into his bed.

He retreated back to his bunk, leaving the ring and the locket on her. He was worn out, frustrated, angry...and concerned. He admitted the last to himself only after some serious struggling. He closed his eyes and weariness began to take over.

Maybe tomorrow he would discover some way to undo the damage he'd done.

Then the lights clicked on, and everything came rushing back.

Her eyes opened automatically as light shone through her closed lids, and with a start she was sitting up in bed, back against the wall and legs drawn up to her chest. She flicked her gaze around the room nervously, finally settling on Mode's sleeping form in the opposite bunk. Mode. Kat sighed wearily to herself, all too painfully aware of what had happened between them last night. Not Jax, her mind kept replaying endlessly, a broken recording. Not Jax, it's not him, it's Mode...

But the resemblance last night had seemed far more striking than it did this morning as she watched him sleep, saw how he barely breathed, his long blond lashes almost indistinguishable against his cheeks. The coldness in him last night, the hardness to his face as he took her had been overwhelming, and in all the confusion of pleasure and pain she'd lost control, had struck out at him. Kat's heart warmed, just slightly, causing her to draw her still-bloodied lip down into a frown.

She felt... remorse?

It had to be. Mode had been rough, bruising, but she had wanted him too, and could lay no blame. He'd been tender, enough to frighten her, so unused to affection or softness. But maybe, she tried to reason, that's what I needed. Fingering the locket nervously, trying to calm herself, she finally got up enough nerve to crawl from her bunk and step over to his.

He didn't want her to be sorry. He didn't want to forgive her. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to hit her and leave her alone as she'd done to him last night. The muscles of his arms tensed. He was tired of caring. He'd nearly managed to cut it out entirely last night, but his emotion had tripped him at the last moment. Despite his best intentions, he'd been gentle. Tender.

And then she'd lost her mind and struck him and stumbled away, muttering about Jax.

He remembered the picture in the locket he'd seen, of the boy who looked somewhat similar to him. She'd done something to him, something awful...what could drive a young girl to do that to someone she obviously cared about?

He needed to understand that before he could attempt to understand her...but he partially forgave her anyway, against his better judgement. Sighing, he sat up and forward enough to wrap his arm around her waist and pull her up the bed and against him, his front to her back. He didn't kiss her, just kept her embraced closely, his eyes on the tangle of red-gold before him.

"Tell me about Jax, Kat."

Every muscle in her tensed just briefly, a sudden tightening of her body that was gone before she could control it. But Mode had felt it, and Kat's relief at forgiveness turned to cold defensiveness. She'd apologized, as best she could, for losing herself last night. Now he had to go and bring up the most painful memories she possessed, her worn scars still smarting after all these years. Jax. Jax...

He'd felt her body tense when he mentioned his name. She tried to control it, but he felt it anyway. Her sudden defensiveness made him wary of her again, but he forced himself to stay relaxed. They were just chatting now.

He tightened his arms around her, but not as gently as before.