The shuttle landed in the docking bay with a drop and a shudder, but in the darkness of her room, Kat was still asleep. She'd slept during most of the three day journey; for lack of something better to do, and because excitement did not keep her awake as it did most of the other soldiers onboard. If anything, it made her exhausted, for she didn't want to be there. Her father was at the Command Post, and he was waiting. Kat wished the shuttle would never arrive.

Like all transports, this one had to be inspected by officers and a scanning crew before anyone could move on or off, and so a few hours passed before someone knocked quietly at the door to her tiny quarters. Her mind registered the noise, but by the time she opened her eyes, the intruder had already entered and was standing a mere three feet away, watching her. Kat didn't move; she just lay there and stared, unsure of what to do.

He wore the uniform of the International Fleet, with silver bars indicating the rank of first lieutenant, and patches on his shoulders that designated him as belonging to a technician division. She didn't know him, but he seemed to recognize her, because he smiled with a friendly air and winked. "Welcome to the big time, kiddo. You ready to go?"

Her eyes narrowed, and she was tempted to reach for her dagger.

They stared at one another for a minute or so; him with a grin, her with distrust and malice. He broke first, shrugging nonchalantly and reaching into his pocket. Kat tensed, ready to defend herself. But all he did was pull an ID badge out, and taking a step closer, proffered it to her. She sat up, and snatched it from him too quickly to be considered anything but wary of him, and he shook his head. "He said you'd be jumpy, but christ. I'm not going to hurt you, girl."

Kat flicked her eyes from the picture on his card to his face, and back again, checking. When she glanced up, a pair of baby-blue eyes were watching her, and he smiled disarmingly as she gave him a glare. "Who?"

"Your father. Captain Quistin. I was supposed to meet you here and take you through the registration; he wanted to make sure you got everything you needed."

If anything, that made her more wary. He was working for her father, and her father was an enemy. He wanted to rule her. He wanted to tell her what to do, how to act. He wanted her to forget Mode.

He wanted too much.

Any other order she could have swallowed with distaste and buckled down and done; any order but that. Not that she could have followed it, anyway, even if she'd wanted to. Forgetting Mode was like forgetting Charybdis; impossible. They had both taken her life-- for better, and for worse-- and that was not a thing easily dismissed. So if this man worked for Robert... then that made him an enemy too.

She scowled, but handed him back his card, and he took it from her with a look on his face that almost seemed as if he expected her to bite his hand if he held it out for too long. That made her smirk inside, but it didn't reach her face, and as she slid from her bunk he backed up a step. Her duffel lay on the floor, and she picked it up and slung it over her shoulder, brushing the curls from her face as she turned toward the door and nodded. "Fine. Ready."

She made him lead the way, so that her back was never to him.

He walked her through the bay, past a number of other shuttles docked there, and to a room full of people. Everyone was talking in hushed tones, milling about, and she recognized a few as ones who had come on her same shuttle. No one seemed to be in charge, but the man leaned against a wall in the back of the room, so she followed suit, standing near him and waiting. He wasn't looking at her, instead glancing around at the gathered soldiers, but she was watching him with sharp eyes. He didn't seem much older than her-- midtwenties, she'd guess-- with funny brown hair that stuck in all directions as if he'd just crawled out of bed, and those bright eyes that made her own narrow. She didn't like those eyes. They were too friendly.

Eventually an officer entered the room, and the soldiers quieted down, all attention focused on him as he made his way toward the front and began to speak. "Welcome to the International Fleet's Central Command Post. You have completed your training and are now ready to join the ranks of those defending our world from the bugger menace. For the first six months, you will be stationed here in order to receive basic instructions on how we run this battle station, after which time most of you will be reassigned to active duty elsewhere. This is no longer school, and you are no longer children; now we fight as soldiers."

Her guide yawned, and Kat restrained a smirk.

"You will receive your new uniforms and assignments here, and tomorrow your active duty begins. Please find your rooms and get acquainted with the station. If there are any questions, find a superior officer, or find out for yourself. All those of you who are pilots, please report to engineering bay four at 1900 hours; everyone else is dismissed for the day. Once again, welcome, and best of luck to you all."

A hand touched her elbow, and Kat turned her attention from the officer to the man once again and pulled away roughly. She did not like to be touched. Since Mode had gone, the only person who had touched her in anything other than combat had been... had been Wick. That in itself awakened some unpleasant memories, and when Kat gave him a warning glance, there was more anger in her eyes than might have been warranted. Somehow, though, he didn't seem fazed this time. That irritated her. He pretended not to notice, and nodded toward the registration table. "Let's pick up your papers and belongings, and then get out of here." She didn't have anything to say to that, and so remained silent, and he took it for agreement. When he moved, she followed, and found herself in the front of the line before she realized just what he was doing.

"Long time no see, Stewarts. Can we get her gear now? Kind of in a hurry to get her outta here, don't want to keep the captain waiting." The officer smiled at her guide, but when his eyes turned toward her, that smile faded. He looked at the man again. "This Quistin's daughter, Avrey?" The man-- Avrey-- nodded. "Yes. You mind giving me her papers?"

Two minutes later, Kat's arms were full of folded and stacked uniforms, and Avrey was carrying a bundle of documents. He grinned at the officer again. "'Preciate it, Stewarts." Then he placed a hand in the small of her back, ignored her furious glare, and shoved her gently in the direction of the exit. "Let's go."

They walked in silence. Kat's gaze flicked this way and that, trying to memorize her surroundings and keep watch in case of trouble, all the while still watching her companion with veiled resentment. It occured to her rather belatedly that she didn't even know his full name, and she was suddenly tired of not understanding what was happening. She stopped in the middle of the corridor, forcing several soldiers walking behind to go around her, and Avrey finally realized that she was no longer following him and paused. He turned around to face her, and she stared until his eyebrows furrowed. "What is it?"

"I don't know you." Her tone was undeniably hostile, but he laughed. "What, and you're not supposed to talk to strangers?" She didn't reply, and he studied her closely before approaching her. That made her uncomfortable, and she took a step back until he stopped. Kat was trying to figure out how quickly she could drop her packages and get to her dagger when he shook his head. "I'm Avrey. Lieutenant Mark McAvrey. I'm a computer systems technician. I've done work with your father, and he requested that I come collect you for him. So fuck, just be polite."

The last line was delivered in a slightly cold monotone, but there was still laughter behind his eyes, and Kat frowned.

She waited until it was obvious he wasn't going to say anything further before speaking. "Where's my father?" Avrey pointed in a general direction, as if she knew where he was talking about, and then shrugged. "Mess. But I'm to take you to your quarters first, so that you don't have to carry all that around. You can change if you want." It was Kat's turn to shrug, but the gesture belied the sharp malice in her eyes, and it did not pass him. He eyed her calmly, and then did a smooth about-face, continuing down the hallway as if nothing had happened. She watched him for a moment, licked her canines reflectively, and decided to follow once more.

He started to talk. She listened absentmindedly, but most of his rambling speech didn't register consciously. She was too busy glancing around, searching. Several times she spotted older soldiers that she recognized from Command School, but there was no sign of the only person she truly cared to find.

He must be here somewh-- His voice interrupted her thoughts. No, not his voice, but his words. "There's the Internal Alliance sector of the post. Need a guide to enter that area, not that you'd want to. Maybe you'll know someone to take you around. Interesting place." She cringed internally at the mention of the Internal Alliance, remembering DeVilleforte from Battleschool, Hentredan from Charybdis, and vonStarnburg from Command School. Avrey was right on one point; she'd certainly never want to go there. Not anywhere near it.

"And down that way are the administrative offices, some of the strategical planning decks and a few tech rooms. Nothing too exciting. But we're going this way." Avrey palmed a pad on the wall, and a door opened suddenly, allowing him access. Kat peeked inside curiously before entering. Elevator. He hit a button and she concentrated on standing as far away from him as possible in the small space. Even a few feet of proximity made her nervous, and she felt exactly as she had when Mode had first taken her around Command School. She felt newly uncaged.

His eyes fastened on her, and she followed his gaze with her own, looking down to see that the cuff of her uniform sleeve had pulled away, revealing the scar upon her wrist. Her stomach did a twist, and she didn't notice him reaching out to touch her until his fingers brushed the wound.

She hissed in shock and dropped her folded uniforms to the floor, going into a crouch as her hand shot down to touch the sheath on her calf. Her eyes narrowed and she snarled at him, her canines bared. Avrey only blinked and held up his hands.

"Sorry, sorry." He grinned apologetically, but it didn't last long as he glanced down at her. "Don't pull that out on me. I know you're wearing it. Pick up your things and at least try to be civil." Kat stood, but she didn't retrieve any of the scattered clothing. Avrey eventually sighed and kneeled, gathering everything up into one big bundle. She looked longingly at his back, right where her dagger blade could slide home between his ribs. "And don't even think about that."

This time Kat stared at him in surprise. How did he...?

He lifted the now-folded uniforms, but didn't give them back to her. Those alarmingly blue eyes focused on her with something akin to calculation, and she blinked before the lines of her face settled back into harsh wariness. He did not seem at all perturbed by her reaction, and that unnerved her. He should have been. He should have been afraid. Losing your touch, a voice mocked, and she bit her tongue to silence it.

Avrey smiled quietly. "Surprised? Please. I wouldn't come to meet any daughter of Quistin's without doing a little research first. Would you?"

She raised an eyebrow, and her face darkened, but she didn't reply. She wondered what this man had discovered, and the thought was disquieting. It made her expression shift further, and he lost his smile. "Now stop acting like I'm going to hurt you. I'm not that type." He tilted his head, and frowned. "I knew you were going to be an antisocial little psychopath, but I didn't expect this."

"Fuck you," she muttered, but she couldn't keep the smirk from tugging briefly at the corners of her lips. This was almost... almost normal. He noticed, and began to laugh, the sound uninhibited and sincere enough that she smiled at him a bit more, the slight grin rusty from lack of use. Still, even hesitant and unsure, there was a hint of predatory amusement behind it that spurned more laughter. He was still laughing when the door slid open, and this time she walked out first, her eyes glinting serpentine as he moved past her, arms cradling the bundle of clothes. A pair of passing officers gave him nearly incredulous looks, and having lost a touch of her reticence around him, she made a clumsy attempt at banter. "You look... ridiculous."

"No more than you," Avrey said loftily. "You're short and bitchy and your uniform's filthy. Robert will have a fit if he sees you like this." Kat tried not to react, but her lips downturned at the corners, and she blinked as if she'd been hit. Her guide caught the meaning behind her expression and slowed his pace to match hers. "Look, I'll be honest with you. I think Robert is a demanding, unlikeable asshole, and ever since we got your graduation notice he's been more so. I only work for him because he pays me, not for any other reason."

"What do you do for him?" He gave her a slight smirk. "That I can't tell you, unless you pay me more than he does." She eyed him flatly, but he wasn't trying to be sarcastic or mocking. It was the truth. She nodded. "So you're an information mercenary." He laughed again. "I guess you could say that. Now here's your room. Go get ready before he shoots me for getting you to him late."

Kat didn't smile this time; just took the clothes and papers from him, and stalked into her room. It was bare, like all the barracks she'd ever lived in, and its smallness reminded her of the cells at Charybdis. The comparison made her frown to herself, but there was no one to see the pain that flickered brightly behind her eyes. So empty. She dropped her burden onto the bed and sat down heavily beside it, her feet swinging over the edge as she rested her elbows on her knees and propped her chin in her hands.

So alone... so tired...

She'd forced herself to remain alive for so many years, and the effort was beginning to take its toll. At first, it was merely a matter of vengeance, all towards the end goal of bloody retribution... that was how she made it through Charybdis. But since Mode had gone, her strength of will had been failing. For the first time, she struggled just to survive. She had to live to see him again, but it was so hard, so...

It was like chasing a ghost, following something she wasn't even sure existed.

She buried her face into her hands, and her eyes were beginning to burn with unshed tears when there came a pounding on her door, and Avrey's voice filtered through. The distraction gave her enough time to shove all emotion back down, into the depths where it could remain chained until she was alone once more, and Kat pushed up from the bed. It only took a minute for her to change, and when she was finished, she stepped back out into the hallway to nod listlessly at Avrey.

"Hey, not bad." He flicked his fingertip against the weapons division patch on her shoulder and grinned. "Tomorrow when you report for duty, they'll give you the guns to match the job." He waited for her smile, but it never came. Kat just looked at him and then began to walk down the corridor. She was relieved when he dropped the friendly act and instead led her silently through the station. He didn't speak to her the rest of the way, and when they finally arrived at the mess hall, all he did was nod as Robert approached from across the room to greet them.

Her father's happiness to see her was evident, but there was a trace of some darker emotion behind his smile that made her wonder what was happening. He held out his arms, as if expecting to embrace her, and she obliged with reluctance. She did not want to be here, especially with him as her new master. Groomed during her years at Command School to join his department here at the Post, Kat certainly had wished for any other fate, even one that placed her on Earth. Anything was better than being under the rule of Robert P. Quistin.

So long, she thought, for not the last time. So many years wishing for freedom, and I still do not have it. Everything I've done, and I am still not my own master. But someday. Eventually. And I will find him.

"Katera..." he almost cooed as he hugged her tightly, and she tried not to flinch. "I've been anxious to see you. How was your trip?" Kat shrugged. Nothing to say, so remain silent. Perhaps it would work.

But Robert was not one to be so easily disregarded. He held her arm and led her toward a table, and Avrey gave them a wave before departing. Kat paid him no attention. They sat, and she clenched her nails into the palms of her hands under the table as her father looked at her, and got right to business. "You'll stay here only a fraction of those six months, to undergo basic training. After that time, I've asked that we be transferred to a journey position. We won't be sent to battle, but we won't be here much, either."

It wasn't necessarily his words, but his tone of voice, that suddenly bothered her. That we he spoke so casually, but so forcefully, as if he had decided and she had to obey. Maybe she didn't want to leave. Maybe she didn't want to be his slave. She knew that if she left the Post, her chances of finding Mode again would be significantly less... even nonexistent. Despite her growing apathy, that was not a situation she would allow.

"Perhaps I would like to stay here," she intoned as politely as she could, but the steel that slipped into her voice was unmistakeable. Robert's eyes narrowed slightly, but hers turned to ice, and he could not stare her down. His next words, however, plucked her from disobedient smugness, and she hissed quietly between her teeth. "If you think by staying here you're going to find Terrence, then you are mistaken, Kat. He's dead by now, somewhere. You're just wasting your time."

It's only a waste of time for me to stay alive if he no longer is, father. But you wouldn't understand.

Kat felt the sting in her palms as her nails drew blood, smiled knowingly, and demurred. "I'm sorry you feel that way. But I won't go."

She may have held her temper, but her father could not, and his face darkened angrily. Kat was not afraid of him any longer. Years of withdrawn meditation after Mode had been taken from her had left her impervious to any other sort of emotional pain, and where once his disapproval or rage might have intimidated her, now she was virtually oblivious to it. Robert must have realized that, and unable to defeat her in a battle of will, he raised a hand to resort to the only sort of conflict he was still able to win.

"Don't," she whispered, and he paused before striking her. He couldn't hit her here, not in public, not in the mess hall full of people. A group of soldiers walked nearby, and Robert dropped his hand, glaring at her furiously as she lowered her gaze to the tabletop in front of her. Saved. Not that it made any difference. He would most likely just hit her later, when there were no other eyes watching.

With that thought in mind, she was not prepared for what came next. "Kitten," he rasped, and the hoarse tone to his voice made her glance up to meet his eyes. They were as cold as hers, acidic green laced with phosphoric yellow, and the pain inside mirrored her own. It was a different pain, however, and trying to compare them was useless. He hurt because she'd been hurt. She hurt because she wanted to die and couldn't. He spoke again. "It'll be just you and me, kitty, like it used to be. No Jax and no Mode. We can go wherever we want, do whatever we want... you wouldn't have to worry about anything again."

He was pleading now, and it disturbed her. Her father was never like this. "Wouldn't you like that?"

Her first instinct had been right. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

He's hiding something from me. Why? Why does he want to leave? And why should I care?

Kat restrained a sigh. "No, Daddy." Her voice was quiet, almost resigned, and Robert shook his head angrily. Compassion, apparently, didn't last long. She hadn't really expected it to. "Very well. When we get our orders, you'll have no choice. Your boy is gone, Katera. I don't care what happened--" Liar. If you didn't care, you wouldn't be trying to take me away. "--but when the time comes, you'll go. Do you understand me?"

"Clearly." She didn't mean it, and he knew it. But it was just as clear that he knew further arguing was useless. He made as if to speak again, but Kat decided she wanted none of it. This was going nowhere, and sitting here passively and trying to ignore his tempting offers was beginning to wear thin. Patience, she reminded herself sternly. You've made it four years. You can't give up now. That would just be weak. You can't afford to be weak.

She put her hands on the tabletop and had just pushed herself standing when he reached out and grabbed her wrist, his fingers tightening over the scar. A little sound of injured disbelief escaped her before she could stop it, and he tugged her roughly toward him, making her stumble. His face was shadowed, and he growled when she tried to pull away. "You'd better learn to listen to me, Katera. You're here now; not where I can't watch you. I know you understand that." She hissed, and he let her go this time when she yanked against his hold on her. Anger flickered behind her own mask, and her words were cold. "Leave me alone, Daddy."

Then she turned and left him.

He didn't follow her, and she didn't know where to go without someone to guide her. The station was enormous, and she hadn't paid as much attention to where Avrey had been taking her as she should have. Soldiers were everywhere, but lacking the nerve-- or, more correctly, the ability-- to approach one and politely ask for directions, Kat began to wander aimlessly. For hours she walked, without any destination in mind. She didn't care; going back to her room now would only mean solitude, and she did not want to be alone with her thoughts. No one paid any attention to her, and safe in anonymity, she walked and walked until something caught her gaze, and she looked up.

She was standing at the entrance to the Internal Alliance sector.

A little voice was screaming Run, you fool, run!, and she almost did, but her feet refused to move. She stood and stared at the door for a long moment, until function returned, and she moved away as quickly as possible, ignoring that her speedy departure was anything but usual. She didn't care. If there hadn't been so many people in the corridors, she would have sprinted.

This part of the station she recognized, and she found a wall elevator near the one Avrey had guided her through and selected the proper floor, barely managing to keep her composure in front of the few other soldiers in the lift with her. The moment the door opened, however, she shoved her way through, and ran down the hallway until she found her room. When the portal slid shut behind her, she gasped and sank to the floor. Her breathing was rapid and shallow, and she began to shake.

I don't know why I'm here...

She hugged her knees to her chest and leaned against the wall, fighting for calm. When her vision began to waver, and she imagined fingers tangled in her curls and lips pressed to her throat, she knew it would be a long time coming.

Where are you...

The automatic lights began to dim much later, and she uncurled herself and kicked off her boots, stripping down to her undershirt. The air was cold, and she shivered even once she was stretched beneath the blankets. Icy metal brushed against her calf, and she reached down to pull the dagger from its sheath. In the gloom, the only light to reflect off that piece of steel was the hurt in her gaze, and a pair of emerald eyes blinked at her until she could look no longer, and clutched the weapon to her.

Eventually those eyes fell shut, and her breathing slowed... and as Kat fell asleep, her hand rested lightly on the empty space beside her, where Mode would have been.

His left hand contracted around the small slip of paper that carried the address Vaisou had given him. Old scar tissue pulled as the skin contracted, but he was far too used to it to notice. The door was just like the rest of the doors in the corridor, completely without adornment, aside from the 2-A-7 designation plate. These rooms didn't house permanent residents. They were set aside for the new recruits, here for their six month training before their ship and base assignments. This room was special only because of what it contained. What it might contain. Vaisou could be lying.

Vaisou could be telling the truth. He wasn't sure what frightened him more.

After his instatement, he had watched over Katera as closely as his duties permitted. He had tapped into the camera in her room at Command School, watched her sleep fitfully, watched her stare blankly at the ceiling before she was called away for meals and classes. It was torture, and Vaisou knew it; otherwise, he would never have allowed him video access.

And now...and now Katera was here, and Quistin and Vaisou were not. All he had to do was knock.

What if...

Frightening possibilities that he had not once considered during his long stay at the IA compound danced through his head now. He had not spoken to her in four years. Aside from the picture Sol had felt guilty enough to show her, she had not laid eyes on him that entire time. What if she's angry with me? What if she doesn't want to see me? What if...

What if she doesn't love me anymore?

He looked at the bell, mesmerized, before the same cold control that had gotten him through his training pushed to the front. He had come this far. He wasn't going to waste any more time. Either she loved him, or she did not; pausing her in the hallway would do nothing to change her feelings. She would see him, this once, and if she did not wish to see him afterwards, he would remove the hold from Quistin's transfer request and she could go wherever she wanted to.

But he would see her first.

Instead of ringing the bell, he placed his hand on the palmpad instead. It recognized his signature and security level, and the door slid silently aside, revealing the dark interior of the little cell. Before he could change his mind, he stepped inside, his eyes adjusting as the door closed behind him. He did not her in his initial rapid scan of the room, and he was about to relax a little, thinking perhaps he would have to wait for her to return, when he heard a light sigh from the general direction of her bunk.

The next second, her faint, nearly indetectable scent reached him, and his breath came more quickly, his heart beating a little faster.

Katera...

He wanted to call out to her. He didn't want to frighten her. He wanted to give her a chance to make him leave. He wanted all these things, and yet he found himself beside her bunk, looking down at her. She was...older. More worn. Tiny lines near her eyes, tiny lines near her mouth...her hair seemed faded, her skin too pale, as if some of her color were missing.

She was lovely.

All the control he had been so proud of, all the composure he had thought nothing could take from him ever again came crashing down and left him weak and open, and it was more for his stability than by design that he knelt next to her bedside as his knees gave way. She was six inches away, and it could have been six miles. He could not touch her, could not move. Instead, he did what he had done since the moment he left her four years ago.

Kat watched Mode die.

She whimpered in her sleep and curled in upon herself, fingers still coiled around the hilt of the dagger as she clutched it to her chest. She could smell blood, and fuel, and sweat, and all the minute details that had burned themselves into her memory as Jor fell to the floor, then Donovan, then Dominic, then...

The tip of the blade dug into her flesh as she shuddered and struggled against the visions, and she awoke with a little choking gasp of breath, her eyelids fluttering before falling closed again. She reached for the fragile hold on calm that she still possessed, and was nearly asleep once more before her heart had quieted enough that she could hear above its rapid beat, and the sound that reached her ears sent fear through her.

Breathing. It was not her own.

It was automatic, and she did not have the ability to react in any other manner. The dagger was held ready as her instincts screamed defense, and she was up and backed against the wall before she knew what was happening. She looked piteous, huddled there and so obviously afraid, when the darkness cleared from her vision and she saw who kneeled at her bedside.

Her golden jade eyes widened, and her breathing came quick and shallow as she stared, pain and disbelief and longing written sharply on her face. It couldn't be. She wouldn't believe it. This was all a dream; a mocking, twisted nightmare... it wasn't true, it had never been true. How many times had she awaken like this, to see him before her? How many times had she believed, only to watch his image dissipate, fading as she tried to touch him?

How many more times will I wish...

Her eyes were cruel to betray her like this, her mind was cruel to fool her heart, and the phantom who watched her through Mode's slate eyes was only that, a phantom, a ghost. Still, like every other time, even though the disappointment would hurt as much as it had always hurt, she hoped.

She stared in horror as her hand reached out hesitantly to touch him, certain that he would disappear like smoke.

Fingertips met warm flesh, and he was real. Not a ghost.

It was too much to be believed. Kat cried out, the same tortured sound she'd made when he had fallen at her feet, and jerked her hand away violently. She could not fathom that he was alive, that he was here, that he... that it was Mode so close to her. Her body stopped working as her mind was overwhelmed with trying to take all this in, and she stared, disbelieving. The black of his uniform blended into the rest of the night, but she could see his face through the shadows; those thundergrey eyes, the tiny scar above his brow, the near-white of his hair, and always, those eyes...

She did not know what to do. Everything she'd felt before had been locked away, kept hidden, for it was inexplicably precious and she would not allow it to be marred. Love and hate and rage flickered in her once more, the shell of suicidal apathy and long-borne pain beginning to crumble around her, and something flared, weakly. Something fluttered behind the mask, and changed her expression. It strengthened the lines of her face, parted her lips until the tips of her canines were revealed, and twisted serpentine in her gaze.

Life.

The pain of their separation didn't leave her-- it never would-- but it grew a little more dim, letting life take her again. Mode didn't move, didn't say a word, and Kat dropped the blade and glared at him furiously. She hated him for leaving her, needed him to complete herself... and loved him enough to understand that everything in the past four years had been worth it, for this moment.

I knew you'd find me, my love...

Her gaze flicked to the ring on his hand, rested briefly on the scar upon her wrist, and returned to meet the eyes she last remembered so full of love. But that was four long years ago. She had changed, and so had he; she could see it in the harshness of his face, sense it in the chill that lingered around him. She knew, but she had to know. Her whisper was almost inaudible.

Her voice broke the spell her sudden jerk to wakefulness had cast. He had felt her touch him, winced at her yelp, watched the mad flicker of emotion across her face helplessly, but when she said his name, his paralysis broke. He closed on her without meaning to, struggling desperately for control. No, she needs space, look at her eyes, she hates me, I can't do this, not again, not again...

And then she was in his arms, too astonished to struggle as he tangled his hands in her silken curls, still warm from sleep. Her hands came up, but before she could attempt to shove him away he kissed her.

During the long, long wait between his transfer and now, he had envisioned thousands of ways this moment might unfold. A few had been distant, cold, but those that were not were always tender, always gentle. He'd imagined it the way it had been the last time at Command School, loving and soft and unhurried.

When he kissed her now, it was not tender. It was rough, as if by sheer force of will he could prevent her from struggling - prevent her from wanting to struggle. He coiled his right arm securely around her slender waist as he wound the fingers of his scarred left hand into her hair to hold her to him. She exhaled in shock, and he took her breath for his own, the same taste, the same scent that had teased his nightmares for four long years.

There was distant pain as she dug her nails into his neck, and he broke the kiss with a nearly inaudible sound of frustration and longing to press his lips to her throat instead, unwilling to release her to see the hatred on her face. He left her arms free, unlocked his fingers from her hair, but would not let her go.

She didn't expect his touch to hurt.

He tangled his fingers in her curls and slid his arm around her waist, and she was frightened. Then his lips were on hers, forcing them apart as he kissed her roughly, and for the first time since Asmodeus had been destroyed, Kat was scared of Mode. Her eyes snapped open, wide with disbelief, and without much thought she curled her nails into the back of his neck, struggling for freedom. When he pulled away but kept his hold on her, pressing his lips to her throat, Kat started to shake and could not stop the whimper that tore itself free.

Why does this hurt...

There had always been rougher touches, rougher caresses. Mode had made her bleed and bruise countless times before, but this was different. This wasn't supposed to be like that. This wasn't...

Her attempt at suicide and subsequent withdrawal from life had given Kat the ability to survive without emotion, but having her love and pain exposed like this to him made her shy, made her soul feel raw and her heart like a wound, and she gasped and whimpered again and finally broke free from his grasp. They were just inches apart as he kneeled now on her bed, and she curled against the wall. His face was resigned, but there was fear in his eyes that mirrored her own, and seeing that hurt as much as his kiss.

He shouldn't be afraid. He loved her, and she loved him, and as she watched him, she knew he hadn't intended to cause her pain. He just wanted reassurance, like she did, just needed to know that years apart had not broken their love, like she needed to know, and right at this moment, when they both needed one another so badly, she could not bring herself to touch him.

"Mode..." she whispered again, to feel his name on her lips. "I..."

I'm sorry, my love, so sorry...

She slapped him across the face.

His head turned to the side, and she gasped in shock at what she had done. She hadn't meant to do that... and then she was finding it hard to breathe, hard to see. Black teased the edges of her vision, and she keeled over, burying her face into her hands as the words poured out without any guidance.

"I hate you, I hate you," her voice was low and tortured and heavy. "I thought you were gone, I thought you were dead... you left me... I wanted to die, why wouldn't you let me die, Mode...?" She raised her head, and her gaze was full of anguish. "Why?!"

The love in his eyes was answer enough for her, and Kat shrieked. "DON'T YOU EVER LEAVE ME!" The next instant she wrapped herself around him, clutching desperately at his back, her little hands clenched tightly into the material of his uniform. She was shaking, because he was here and she could have him again after so many years of waiting. He held her, and she sobbed without tears, and then she tried to kiss him, because it was the only thing she could think to do.

She kissed him, her hands twisted into the black fabric of the IA uniform. Leave her? Nathan didn't respond. He hadn't left Command School by choice. She had to know that. Was she blaming him for their separation? In a twisted way, he could see the logic behind that; if he hadn't attacked Wick, maybe the little bitch would have left them alone. Maybe not. Either way, Nathan suddenly felt guilty, and that made him angry.

He still wouldn't hit her. He kept her prisoner with one arm and took firm, painful grasp of her left wrist with the other. Her father's accusations he had long since confirmed, watching her in what she took to be the solitude of her Quad cell at Command School as she absently rubbed at the long scar there, to make it disappear, to make it reopen...he was never sure which.

Pulling away from the kiss, he brought that wrist up between them as he pinned the other behind her back. Her eyes widened, the luminous green with flecks of gold locking with angry slate as he looked briefly at the narrow cord of scar tissue and then back to her accusingly. His departure had been accidental and unwilling. Her own attempt had been deliberate, and far more permanent.

He said nothing, but the guilt that bled into her gaze was fierce enough to match his own, and that was sufficient to take the cruel edge from his anger. If she forgave him for causing his absence, he would forgive her for breaking her promise. His eyes softened to a darker shade of grey, and he released her wrist and drew her in. His arms encircled her waist, his hands splayed against her back as he rested his chin on her shoulder, and his lips brushed against her ear. He wanted to say it calmly, clearly, but his voice emerged as a charged whisper.

You didn't want to leave me, just like Jax didn't want to leave me... and still I try to kill you by killing myself.

He was angry, and she felt guilty... not wholy because she had tried to end her own life, but remorseful because he had to see that, because he had to know how unworthy she was. Kat was about to pull away, to hide from him, when he held her to him again and cradled her close. She felt his hands across her back, the slight pressure where his ring touched her skin, and when he whispered his promise to her, she could not help but close her eyes and echo his words.

"Never, Mode."

Four years of painful separation and longing for death left her in a harsh sigh, and she knew that she hated him and loved him, that he had left her but he had come back, and anything, even Charybdis, would have been worth knowing he would be waiting for her, whenever they parted. She pressed her face against his shoulder, trying to meld herself with him as they had once done, and the power that he always held over her comforted her now. Her lips touched his throat, the line of his jaw, his lips, and then his throat once more as she hesitantly loosened his collar and rested her cheek above his heart. Her eyes muted to emerald as they opened and she blinked, trying to clear the tears from them as one, then two, then three drops fell on his bare skin and she began to cry.

Four years worth of tears. She couldn't stop.

"I thought I'd never see you again..." she murmured brokenly. "I couldn't do anything, I didn't even know who hurt you so I could hurt them back... and so I tried... and Daddy said you didn't love me enough to stay, and Sol just... and Wick, so smug... I..."

Kat reached around to touch the hand that rested on her back, and as her fingers brushed his ring, she whispered. "Love you..."

"..and Wick, so smug..I..."

Wick.

His lips stayed against her throat, but he did not move. Wick had spoken with Katera. Taunted her with his absence. Aside from his forced association during the interrogations, Nathan had thought little about Wick since Vaisou's revelation. Wick was the past, and Nathan wanted nothing to do with his past. He was done with it, and with Wick. Nathan had been willing to consider them even.

Wick, you just don't learn.

He began to pull away. He wanted to question her, to find out exactly what had happened. Things weren't like they had been before. He wasn't a bland innocent like he'd been in Battle School. He wasn't a Charybdis probational student that could be shipped home at a moment's notice. He was an officer in the IA, and he was the one with the power now. It was Wick's turn to run.

Her fingers brushed his hand, and he looked down her back, past the tangle of red-gold curls to the ring he'd worn during the length of their separation. "...love you." Her voice was soft and warm and tender, and it sounded pained. Bruised love. She deserved better than him. She deserved better from him. He was not here to interrogate her. He was here to love her. He would always love her.

Lesser matters could wait.

"Love you, Kitten," he whispered back, bringing his hands up to her collar and unsnapping it with the gentle uncertainty he had kissed her with before. Her jacket was gone then, and he covered her bare shoulders with his hands as she peeled the IA skin away from him. Not Lieutenant Terrence, not an interrogator, not sir. Not Nathan for her. Nathan was Vaisou's puppet. Nathan was just a name for the rest of the world to know him by. For her, he would remember what he had been, and it would always remind him of what he had done, or what he might do, if he let himself slip again. For her, he would be Mode.

He embraced her, and where her body touched his, he woke. Desire he had locked away for the length of their separation flared immediate and undeniable. I should stop. This is too soon...

She was trembling when he pressed her back onto the bunk.

Her nails drew tiny lines on his shoulders and neck as he learned her over again. Her hesitance only made him more intent, and he won her back in little stages as her reluctance began to alternate with flashes of fierce desire. He couldn't stop. He could only make her want it like he did. When she forced him away to kiss him roughly, he responded in kind, and while she clung to him and dug her nails into his skin with her need, he let the last of his restraint lapse and satisfied his own.

Her breath caught, and he opened his eyes to look into hers, motionless. Her gaze was wide, unreadable, and too late, he wondered if he had been wrong, if she truly didn't want him. I'll fight you for that, Kitten. I'll fight you for your love. You'll have to push me away.

Her eyes narrowed then, and fingers coiled into his hair to drag him down for a savage kiss, and he was released from thought.

It was their love, condensed and distilled into a physical act: rough, often brutal, pain and pleasure an inseperable whole as they moved together. She carved lines into his back as he left tiny kisses on her throat, and he bruised her with his love as she pressed her cheek against his. Tremors that began with her spread to him, and he broke at last, his mouth covering hers as he slowly relaxed against her.

She was still afraid at first, but it was a good fear, the type that made one remember they truly didn't want to die if they could feel such reluctance to face the demons. She was still afraid, but she trusted him; not to be gentle, but to give her pain. She wanted it. She needed it, because it made her alive, it made her angry. It was who she was.

Their pain set her free.

He shared his hurt, and she shared hers, and after four long years, the accumulation and renewal was enough, more than enough, to make her whole again. She welcomed the bruises and the blood, and was proud of them, as proud as she had ever been since he'd taken her love and her ring. The scar on her left wrist was light against the shadow of her skin as she raised her hand, and as she tangled her fingers in the white-blonde spikes she'd always known, she knew that mark was a reminder that he could never leave. She would wear it for him as surely as she'd ever worn the slash upon her face for Jax, and she would never forget the fierce love that had forced from her need for death that nothing she had lived through before had been able to bring forth.

"I love you, Kitten," he whispered roughly as their consumation of pain was complete, and when he kissed her tears away she could not find the words to respond. There was simply too much to say, too much to think, and she let him hold her as her lips quirked at the corners. It was not the cold predator smile she'd worn as Wick's ally, it was not the mocking smirk or teasing grin she'd feigned countless times before, but as she had the day that she'd stood over Jax's grave, Kat smiled. It was happy. It was content. It was murderous.

You, Wick. My own sister. You dared to try to steal this from me, and I forgave you, because until this moment I did not realize how great a loss I had suffered. You put me on the altar as a sacrifice, and watched me bleed to satisfy your vengeance. I have done worse. I am no better. It still will not save you, and you will kiss my blade instead someday.

Kat shifted in Mode's embrace until she could meet his gaze; the gold in her serpentine eyes flaring to meet the tempestuous stormcloud grey of his own. There was anguish in her eyes, and hate, rage and love two emotions too similar to be separated, and she did not draw blood from him this time with her touch. She pulled away to kiss him gently on the chest, eight kisses that fell exactly where she remembered each dart piercing his skin, and then fitted herself against his side. It started as a sigh, and then deep breathes, and soon she began to purr raggedly, more to comfort herself than him as her hand touched the dagger forgotten in the folds of her blanket.

I am guilty of far too many murders, but I will have the blood of one more on my hands before I can love you in peace, my Mode. Wick already knows what she has done. The Creche twins, if they survived, have paid their price. But whoever shot you before my own eyes will suffer long before they die. They will see the most precious thing they own fall at their feet. They will understand what it feels like to have no emotion but fear. And they will want death as much as I wanted it, for as long as I was forced to live alone, before I give it to them.

"I know, Mode." Her voice was quiet, but precise. "I love you too. I missed you."

You promised. I swore. You will never leave me.

"How...how did you live?"

Most of his body remained unmoving, but his hand tightened on the blade involuntarily, and he hissed and withdrew his hand, surveying the fresh cuts on the insides of his fingers before pressing his hand flat against the bed. She looked up at him, and he made himself meet her eyes. He should have waited. She didn't know.

Looking into her jade eyes, the flecks of gold catching the ambient light in the dark little cell, he knew it was too late to undo what he'd done. She would have to accept it. He couldn't give her up now.

"I have a drug tolerance, Kat," he began slowly. "The tranquilizers Sol shot me with put me out, but the doctors said it was only uncertain for a few hours. I remember..." He grew quiet for a moment, pain passing over his features. It was hard not to look away...but he owed her that much. He owed her his pain.

"I remember everything, Kat," he said at last. "I remember...everything." Her eyes widened slightly in realization, and he nodded, touched his forehead to hers. "I'm...sorry."

"I wanted to thank you, Kitten..."

His eyes closed, and when they opened again, his face was the stern, implacable mask he used during interviews. This had to be finished. He could apologize more extensively later. Nothing he did would ever be enough to make up for what he'd done.

"When I woke up, I was here," he continued. "I wasn't sure where here was, at first. Kat, it was von Starnburg. He...recommended me. If he hadn't, I would have gone back to Charybdis." He didn't expand on that possibility. She knew what would have happened then. "He sponsored me for the IA program here. They wouldn't let me talk to you, Katera. I tried. I talked one of the computerists into slipping a picture into my file for me, hoping you'd get it." Catching gentle hold of her wrist, he ran his thumb over her scar delicately, brought it to his mouth and kissed it, as if he could erase it with his remorse.

There were too many revelations, too many discoveries, too many pieces fitting into place, and it was more than Kat was able to understand. She pulled away from Mode, not in anger or disgust, but because she was too overwhelmed. Her mind could not accept it, her heart could not believe it, and his scent and his taste and his warmth were distractions that she wanted but could not afford. Not now.

She leaned against the wall, drawing her knees to her chest and hugging them tightly. He had fear in his eyes, uncertainty and pleading, but she could find no words to reassure him. Instead she watched him intently, her expression serious, her gaze reflecting as much loving comfort as she could project, and her nails dug into her skin as she thought.

Mode's mention of Sol she set aside to be examined later, because in her state now it was too much to comprehend. But as she let her eyes run over him, they softened, and she reached out to briefly touch his hand. He was apologizing, and she wasn't sure why. He said he remembered. Of course he did; why shouldn't he? Kat had never fully understood Asmodeus or Angel; it did not occur to her that Mode might not remember all he'd done to her. All she'd done to him. He was asking for her forgiveness, and part of her wanted to apologize to him, wanted to beg him to forgive her, but she could not bring herself to speak. It no longer mattered. He had hurt her, and she had hurt him, and it was the way of their love. It was the past; he owed her nothing for old blood drawn and dried.

I don't care, she wanted to tell him, and tried, but could not find her voice. I don't care about it anymore. Suffering for four long years made me understand that anything is worth having you. You are now the Internal Alliance, and once, that would have made us enemies. I don't care. The only thing that matters now is that you are here, and you are mine, and you have promised never to leave me. That is all that is important. That... and what I will do, in the future, to ensure that you will always be with me.

She buried her face in her folded arms and trembled with cold, with... with anger.

Sol. It had been Sol who shot Mode. Wick she could forgive; she was her sister, she was a schemer, and she did what Kat would have done. She could hold no grudges against her own kind. But Sol... first she had tried to steal Jax, and then she had nearly killed Mode... time after time she sought to steal what was Kat's to own. How dare she... Sol had taunted her about Jax, once, and the picture of Mode that she'd shown her was just another taunt, another mockery, because she was a thief and she wanted Kat to know it. But not anymore. Never again. Never again...

"It was Sol," she whispered, and raised her head to stare at the empty dark above her. Wick tried to kill us, and then she tried to save us, she tried to save me, after you were taken... but it was Sol all along...

And to think I ever promised that we were even.

Kat sighed and uncurled herself to lay beside him once more. He stiffened, and she took her dagger from him and threw it to the floor, far away. She didn't want it, not now. Her fingertips traced patterns on his bare skin, and she kissed him again, hesitantly, as she had the first time. When he responded gently, she was able to close her eyes, and as she spoke against his lips, her voice was one of simple convinction.

"It doesn't matter, Mode." She needed him to understand what she meant; that the IA didn't matter, nor did their past, or what they would do in the future. He had to know that. "As long as you're with me."

Time slowed down for a while. It would never stop for him again; he was too rooted in paranoia, in protecting himself and Katera, to ever separate enough from reality for time to stop as it had at Command School, but it slowed, and it was gentle now, as it had been then. She was welcoming, and demanding, and he was insistent and accommodating, and when it was finished, he held her and breathed in the scent of their union and succeeded in thinking of nothing but her for nearly ten minutes.

And then she fell asleep.

He could tell, the way the little hands lay lax on his body instead of clutching him tightly, the way her breath deepened and evened out. He lay with her, looking down at her face, the redgold lashes long and lustrous on her cheeks, curls tousled by their lovemaking still clinging to her cheeks. With a light touch he smoothed them back away from her face and kissed her forehead. Tenderness...he could show her tenderness, when she was sleeping. When she was awake, he had to balance it with the fierceness he knew she needed. When she slept, he was free to be weak.

Exhausted with emotion and exertion, she slept deeply, but he was wide awake, and he took careful pains to separate himself from her beautiful body and leave her undisturbed as he dressed. He knew she would be angry, when she woke and found him gone. He knew everything about her. He had known her in Charybdis, had been with her at Command School, had watched her curl in on herself during the last few years without him, as close as a camera could bring him. He knew her.

Her hand was warm and limp in his, and she frowned a little when he slipped the cold steel band onto her left hand, but did not wake.

She would be angry, but she would find his gift. There would be no confusion between them. He wanted no misconceptions.

He only wanted her.

Dressed once again in the snakeskin of the IA, he let his eyes travel over her form, over the scars and the lithe muscles and the little steel ring, the copper curls and the talons and the innocent beauty of her sleeping face. There were arrangements to make, but he had time to make them. Vaisou would see to that. After all, they had an agreement.

Katera Terrence.

And then she realized she was alone.

Her eyes snapped open instantly, soft and dim until the emptiness of the room bore down on her, and then they sharpened, narrowed, and she fought against the tangle of blankets to sit up. Curls fell across her face and she brushed them away with an impatient gesture, her gaze flicking around the room with all the desperate seeking of a wild animal caught in a trap. Nothing. He was not in her bed, he was not kneeling before her, and the only trace that dispelled the fear it was a dream and reassured his presence was the faint lingering scent that clung to her pillow and made her tremble.

It hadn't been a dream, but why had he left? Where was he? Kat kicked the sheets from herself clumsily and tumbled out of bed, landing on the floor with a muffled hiss as she continued to look for him. She knew he couldn't possibly be hiding anywhere in the tiny space, but still she searched, fumbling and praying for any sign to indicate that he would be right back, that he would return. She found none.

Her whimper deepened into a growl, and she snarled angrily and threw her fallen dagger against the door.

Four years for only one night, and now you leave me again!

She managed to stand, but it hurt to do so, and she had glanced down to glare at herself when she noticed the bruises on her stomach, the marks on her arms, and her fingers gingerly touched the brands upon her throat. It made her angry, so very angry; how dare he come and mark her and disappear again. She rubbed her face roughly, pressing her hands over her closed eyes, when an unfamiliar stinging cold brushed her cheek, and she froze.

What... she slowly brought her hands away from her face, afraid to find out what was there, and it took an effort to open her eyes to see. When she finally realized what encircled her finger, what was as cold and bright as the blade of her dagger, those emerald eyes flashed gold and she made a choked sound of disbelief and amazement.

It wasn't her ring. It was...

Kat stared at the band in wonder, in awe, the lights of the room glinting icily from its surface. Minutes passed but all she could do was stare, until her knees began to shake and she was forced to sit on the edge of her bunk. Her eyes flicked toward the door, hoping he'd appear, and she was beginning to search for him again when the blinking message light on her desk caught her attention. Once more she stumbled from the bed, her hands trembling as she logged in and read the missive.

Meet me tonight...

No instinct or experience she'd lived with could have taught her how to cope with such emotions, and Kat had no artifice in place to remind her to remain calm, to tell her that love was real and safe. She had only known rough possession over Jax, and the reason she fought him constantly and hated him always was because she was so very fearful that he did not love her in return. With Mode, she knew he did... but it was too difficult after so long to leave behind her way of life and trust in his word. The only way she knew how to ensure that he could never leave her was to kill him, but at that she'd failed. This was his way of doing the same, and Kat almost wished she could run, but knew she never could.

He belonged to her as much as she belonged to him, and she was going to have to accept it.

She knew where'd she find him, and she wanted to go there right that very instant. She couldn't wait, because she was afraid that he might change his mind, that she might wake from this dream... or that she'd come to her senses and wear the blade instead of the band. But mostly, she was afraid he would somehow be taken from her again before he could make his promise eternal.

She dressed hurriedly, her movements without their usual grace as she awkwardly laced her boots and straightened her uniform. Her scheduled orientation into her division was in less than an hour, but it never once crossed her mind. There were more important matters to ponder over and focus on. Those matters all had the same name.

Mode...

The door to her room slid open and she was up and ready to attack him and demand he sanctify their bond with their blood when she realized the figure standing there was not her lover. It was the last person in the world she wanted to see, and the bruises on his face and the furious glare in his serpentine eyes told her that blood was to be spilled, if it hadn't already been, but it would not be for love.

They stared at one another like that for what seemed like an eternity, until she drew herself up and glared at him haughtily and whispered.

"If you hurt him I'll kill you."

His face instantly darkened at her words, and she bared her canines at him when he lunged forward and grabbed her arm in a tight grasp. Robert did not want defiance from his daughter. She would cooperate, or he would force her, and there would be no more of this nonsense. He was doing it for her own good. She'd realize that eventually. He didn't care.

Calm that she'd managed to hold onto until now frayed and snapped, and Kat struggled madly against her father's hold, swiping a taloned hand across his face and kicking wildly at his legs. His fingers only tightened into her arm as a response, and there was rage in his gaze that she hadn't seen since the day he'd taken her home after her fight with Jax. Then, he'd only watched the blood run down her face, and hadn't spoken a word. Not a word, but he'd beaten her, and it was her father's anger that had marked her the following day, not Jax's hate.

Not again. I won't let you do this again!

She resumed her struggles, and he finally tired of it and threw her across the room. She hit the floor with a painful thunk and hiss and rolled against the door, her already sore body crying out in protest of the rough treatment. When he drew from his uniform pocket a folded sheet of paper and a pen, the sudden understanding that he really was going to force her to sign a resignation made her eyes flash serpentine, and she snarled at him. He made no indication that he noticed her anger; just extended the document and spoke harshly. "Sign it, Katera. Now."

"No. No, I don't have to do what you tell me." She sat up and backed toward the wall as he stepped closer and continued to offer the papers to her. Her hands searched desperately behind her, looking for the dagger she'd thrown earlier. "Yes you do, Katera. You will sign it."

When the sharp edge of a blade nicked her, she wrapped her fingers around the hilt and glared up at him furiously. "No, I will not. I'm staying here with Mode and you can't make me resign with you. I won't do it."

Her father narrowed his eyes and smiled so coldly that Kat drew a sharp intake of breath. "Your Terrence and I had a discussion yesterday. You will not be remaining here with him. I have spent the last four years ensuring that you will not be near him again, and since he is staying here, we are not."

Realization dawned on her with enough clarity that she could only stare at him for the longest time. He had known Mode was alive all along, and he'd lied to her. She'd almost believed him once when he said Mode was dead. She'd almost believed, and almost finished what she started that first night alone in the infirmary. It was more than she could bear, and with a screech halfway between an angry snarl and a scream, she flipped her dagger and launched herself at him.

She flew at him, and he didn't realize she'd drawn her dagger until it sliced across his chest in a long, stinging and shallow cut. The force of her attack knocked him back a few steps, and he threw his fists out automatically. One hand caught her a glancing blow, and she staggered to the side, hitting the wall and spinning around to face him again. Savage bloodlust he'd missed in her before was evident now, and fighting rage lit their eyes in mirror emerald-gold fire.

They both snarled, and bared their canines at one another, and launched into another attack.

This round was more drawn out; he striking with his fists and using his superior strength against her, she flitting in and out in a dancing feint and stab, her dagger drawing lines along his arms and back. Their style was perfectly matched, as teacher and student fought, but there was nothing playful or careful in their sparring today. Robert wanted her incapacitated enough that she would be helpless and forced to obey him.

Kat just wanted him dead for his lies.

Blood flew from him and bruises bloomed on her face as he managed to catch her off-guard and threw her against the door again. She hit and slumped to the floor, panting with exertion and hate, and she was ready to throw herself back into the fray when he grinned her same shark smile at her, and growled.

"Don't fight me, Kitten, or I'll kill Terrence just like you killed Jax."

Her thoughts were fuzzy and disjointed, but as she looked up at her father and blinked to focus, the fear that he would actually kill Mode overtook her. He would do it, too. He had no love to hold him back. It was not an idle threat.

She wanted to cause him as much pain as he'd ever caused her, and while she held no fear over her own death, she could not let Mode be hurt. She had to protect him. If it meant letting her father win now, then it was worth it. Anything was worth it.

"I hate you," she whispered bitterly as she painfully managed to stand. She tucked the dagger back into its sheath, and surreptiously palmed the doorlock behind her as she glared, and he smiled triumphantly and was reaching for the papers again when she whirled around. Her hand hit the palmpad, the door slid open, and Kat bolted.

She would wait until Mode found her and made her his, and then nothing, not even her father, could tear them apart.

Nothing.. nothing... then he'll be mine...