Nathan. The Angel had come back from the ice. They hadn't iced him for real. They sent him to the Institute instead. Wick tried unsuccessfully to repress a shiver. She'd heard vague rumors of what that place was like. It was enough to give her some idea of the magnitude of his hatred. His eyes held none of the easy-going calm she remembered from before. In its place there was a vicious light, something she recognized. She carried the same light for her mother's killer.

"Jor...?" She looked up at him as he turned to her, his emerald eyes wide from shock, anger...and fear. The Angel had grown, stronger and taller, and acquired a new sort of deadly energy that came with a skill in injuring others. There was no guarantee they would win as handily as they had before...and Nathan didn't look as if he cared to wait for them to make the first move.

That avenging angel was not going to kill his spark.

Jor would die before he let him near her.

No, Jor, she said to him silently, you'll die before you let him near me. And that's not at all the same thing.

She looked away. She loved him. This was going to be difficult, if not impossible. Playing with her internal inferno was always a game of release and contain. She knew what she had to do, and she was hesitating. Despair is an illusion of the mind, her mind giggled at her, a twisted parody of her father's words floating back in funhouse fragments. She had to keep Jor safe from Nathan, and to do that she had to keep him from fighting him.

And to do that she had to remove his reason for fighting.

She reached down into herself and slowly released the fire, feeling it surge into her body, flushing her white skin a pale pink, lighting her eyes from within. Her remorse and uncertainty dissolved into ash, and she smiled at him, a sarcastic smirk. She was still trembling, but it was with energy now, not fear, not sadness. Immersed in the flame, it was easy to look back on her pitiful weakness and laugh.

"How sweet of you, Jorry. What makes you think I can't take care of myself?" She pulled her hand away from his roughly, ignoring his look of shocked disbelief slowly changing to anger. "You've always been weaker than I am, matchling. I should have known you wouldn't change when you didn't kill Dante. If you hadn't been so weak, they would have iced him and we wouldn't HAVE this problem." She stood up and stared down at him with burning eyes...and even the fire couldn't completely silence the tiny bit of Wick left that cried quietly in a corner.

"I failed you? I got Nathan sent to that Institute, I'm the one who had to fight him... you little cold bitch, using me to fight your enemies for you. Never again, I swear, you can face him alone from now on, you deserve whatever punishment he gives you. Yes, Wick, I must have been weak to ever believe that we could be together, to ever believe that you could love me." Jor shot her an icy, disgusted look, even as his heart was tearing. The ring he'd given her caught his eye, and with an angry snarl he grabbed her hand and stared for a moment at the token, before throwing her hand away.

NO! screamed Wick as she fought back to the surface, wresting control and pushing the flame down. It was much harder this time than it had been before, because she didn't really want it to go. It kept away pain, fear, doubt...love...

Giving up in disgust, the flame withered and withdrew, settling back into herself, and she sagged against the wall and closed her eyes, her forehead against the cool tile. The ash the fire had left behind was beginning to stir with life again. Feeling began to return, and Wick suddenly wanted nothing more than to die.

She fought it like she fought everything else, grimly pushing back the dark until she could breathe comfortably again. He was gone. Jor was gone. He was safe, too.

And very, very gone.

Wick stumbled away from the entrance, back towards the stacks of clean towels, and hid herself among them in a dark space. She had to come to terms with this. She had to function. If she didn't, then Nathan would kill her, and she'd never have Jordan Windhaven again. Eventually, her solution to Jor's safety would require its own solution. For now, she had to get Angel out of the picture, and quickly.

But how? She knew nothing of his habits or his attachments. She'd have to make a study...but she couldn't take too long, because Jor would not be recoverable forever, and if she lost him permanently, she didn't care what Nathan did to her.. The thought that all was not entirely lost sparked her enough to quit shivering, and her mind cleared somewhat.

Rabin passed the laundry room, and then slowed to a jog and doubled back. He pushed through the door, breathed the smell of soap and bleach. Rabin didn't like the smells. Too artificial. So much time was spent here trying to cover scent, to smooth all surfaces, to dull all tastes, to blind all senses except sight. Rabin trusted his senses. Cleanliness was one thing. Cultural obsession was another.

But he entered, because sweat was getting in his eyes and no matter how much he valued all his senses, sight was still an important one.

Wick was lying in the towels, looking like she was switched off. He stopped in front of her, and knelt to pick up a towel from a pile that had spilled across the floor. He stood again, wiped his face, and draped the towel across his shoulders as he let his breathing and heartrate slow.

"Hmm," he said, lifting his face just a bit as he sampled the air. Even through the soapsmell, he could find them both. Wick was a light trace -- she had showered recently -- but there was the tang of fear, of subsiding adrenaline. Her man was a stronger scent, still carrying traces of pheremones from their activities earlier that day. There was anger, too, but that was only barely detectable above the soapsmell. Either Wick's man hadn't been very mad, or he had been very mad, but hadn't stayed long. Given the look of the green in the corridor, Rabin would have bet on the latter.

Anger from the flashboy, fear from Wick. Rabin didn't have many morals, but one was that he didn't like to see women get intimidated or hurt, especially not by muscular young men that were looking to exercise their new-found strength on those weaker than them.

But Rabin hadn't been here, and wasn't going to make any accusations. Besides, Wick didn't seem like the type that would let herself get pushed around. Her green was a big boy, granted, but there seemed to be a lot more fight in her than her size suggested.

He was tall and muscular, his skin darker than Jor's. She was getting nowhere sitting around here anyway. She needed to find out more about Nathan before she could really be effective in her planning.

But first she had to deal with Rabin. He had a smug arrogance about him that reminded her of her father, but less cold. He obviously had an ego about three sizes too big for him.

"Didn't feel clean enough?" he asked snidely.

His first instinct was to leave. If there was no fun to be had, no game to be played, then he would look elsewhere. But he'd seen the fire in her before, that flash in her eyes. And now it was gone. That wasn't right. Fire like that should never have to go out.

"Just keep pushing me, flicker," she growled, and stalked past him and out of the Laundry, back towards the barracks. She didn't feel like eating.

Oh well. Rabin wasn't going to lose any sleep over it.

Opening the door for her, he waited until she hobbled inside before securing the door behind them. She moved to sit on a pile of towels, relief evident on her face as the weight was taken off of her injured ankle. Dom moved near her, seating himself on the floor, back against the wall, and leaned his head back with a thump as he closed his eyes.

"Nathan and I were transferred into Fox at the very beginning. He was...a lot different, then. He had this long battlebraid, and he was a lot...calmer. Easy-going. He and the Commander were on each other from day one. Everyone knew, pretty much. No one really cared. He was a good soldier, and she was a good Commander."

"I made friends with this guy Jor, who knew the commander from his last army. She cut him out for toon leader, and he was...he didn't like her much after that, you know?" She gave a hint of a smile as she remembered Jor's seething fury at Dante.

"Her toon leader, this bitch named Zvede - if you know Dante, you'll know her soon enough - tried to attack me, and Jor fought her off. Dante didn't like that, and attacked Jor, and we were just getting into the spirit of things when Angel Nate saw his chance and stepped in to save her." She remembered the blank, confused feeling she'd had in the infirmary when she woke as the concussion interfered with her awareness.

"He was a lot greener then, but he's always been able to move, that one. I've looked over his files. I think that was his first fight on record. I was there. I saw his face, before he knocked me out. I'd say his first ever. Hard to imagine, neh?" She shook her head and continued, taking a deep breath. He just might leave, after this, and injure her in the bargain, but there was a sort of relief to it, telling someone after all this time.

"I don't like being injured, Dominic," she said in a low, intense voice, her eyes locked on his. "And so I decided to return the favor. Jor watched them for me, and when Nathan left Dante's quarters half-undone and blushing, I sent her a letter with his name on it. A very...effective letter. She took it to heart, dragged him into her quarters and attacked him. Those injuries you saw on her report...most of them were just complications from what she sustained in our little tussle earlier. Even then, Nathan was still mostly Angel." She paused, then hurried on, wanting to say what she had to before he did something to stop her.

"I tipped off the Zvede that something was going down, and she went in and attacked him too. By the time he was through with her...he was easy for Jor to finish off. The administration believed Dante and the Zvede...and they didn't see us. I thought they iced Nathan. We all did. But here he is." Her breathing was faster now, adrenaline releasing just from her recounting.

"He's back, and...he is not pleased with me, Dominic." She unsnapped her sleeve and pushed it up, pointing out the faded pink lines where the skin graft had begun to heal. "And he is not a well boy. I think whatever happened to him while he was earthside broke him. He gets...flashes." She lowered her voice to nearly a whisper. "You saw his face. Your brother didn't get a hit in, Dom. Mode started to attack Dante...and then almost fell over. He started bleeding without anyone touching him at all..."

Little flashes of her story tugged at him. Dante and Nathan's... involvement with one another. It accounted for her withdrawn shield, but he inwardly raged over the chaos Wick had inflicted upon the girl he'd somehow found himself defending. And the thought that Nathan, that bloody bastard who had injured his brother, his only kin... the thought of him being with Dante enraged him. She was right. He didn't know her. And this broken angel had taken her heart and blood and tears, leaving him with a fiery glacier shell.

Dom didn't even get a hit in before he was beaten. Not one. The insane, wicked flash in Nathan's eyes did nothing but reaffirm Wick's statement about him not being stable. Dom had seen nothing to give him the slightest sense of disbelief... only anger, rage. Their little game had turned into something far, far more frightening and dangerous.

It seemed Wick had created this monster. She led him through the years, breaking and destroying everything in his path. Now, he and Donovan were stuck in the crossfire, and nothing but ill could come of this.

With sudden cold fire, Dominic threw himself at Wick, pinning her against the floor with his fingers tightening around her slender throat. Her eyes widened as his narrowed, purple midnight gaze locked with hers, and the muscles in his arms began to shake as he held her helpless beneath him. The hairs on the back of his neck raised, an ominous feeling as he could sense the Creche tattoo on the base of his spine. Donovan, my brother....

"Very well." His tone was placid, reasonable as he watched the carefully concealed surprise in Wick's eyes. Rage was one thing. Bloody vengeance for Donovan's attack was another, more pressing, matter. His fire tightly controlled, Dominic rubbed the back of his neck in absentminded reflextion, the almost undetectable rise of his brand smooth under his fingertips.

He raised an eyebrow in derisive analysis. "Have you been facing Nathan alone, or do you have a companion? Is that boy you allianced with the first time-- what happened to him? If this "Mode," as you call him is so dangerous, the fewer but stronger allies we possess, the more likely an outcome of success will be."

This boy was different, older, controlled. Wick wondered fleetingly what he was like under that control, if he ever let it go like she did, besides the teasing little flare she'd just seen.

But when she tried to imagine anything further, she could only bring Jor to mind, her match with the soft black curls and the deep green emerald eyes whose kisses had left marks she could still feel on her throat as she tilted her head to the side, her gaze growing focused once again.

Palming the door open swiftly, unsure of what he might find but wishing vehemently to see anyone but Nicolai, Jor stomped inside. His eyes narrowed at the sight of Wick and some unknown man, much older than himself, both of them seated on the floor as they glanced up in his direction. That scheming fire was lit in Wick's gaze, and his own angry flame ignited. First Nicolai, and now this?

No. He refused to believe it. Wick loved him, him, and he was tired of dealing with the transgressions of the past. Folding his strong arms across his chest, lips twitching downward at the corner, Jor watched the pair with serpentine coldness in his gaze as he waited, unspeaking.

She nodded against him, and Jor lifted his head to stare at Dominic before extending one hand, Wick still held tightly against his chest. "I'm Jor. Jordan Windhaven. You are...?"

"Dominic Creche." Dom took Jor's offered palm in a hard handshake, then leaned against the wall, lounging as he watched the pair with lazy midnight eyes. Interesting... so this was Jor, the "friend" she had spoken about earlier, the one who had initially beaten Dante and Nathan. The little anger that seeped through in disbelief that this boy would be a nemesis of Dante's was quickly repressed. That was the past. Revenge lay in the future. He would wait and watch.

She'd never seen one up close before. Not knowingly, anyway. At least she knew what the accent was now that had been bothering her. It was the clear, too-precise speech of someone who had learned entirely from audio instructional tapes. She'd heard stories about them, how they were raised entirely independent of adult intervention beyond informational capacity, in batches, like litters of kittens.

She didn't know they allowed them in the military. Most of them were genetically engineered and in small subtle ways superior to the average human. None of them ever had genetic defects, of course. This one was a prime example. Those even features seemed almost unnaturally so, now. No moral structure, no loyalty...what interesting allies this boy and his brother would make.

"Yes." He said precisely. "Donovan is my twin brother. Is that significant?"

"Now sit with me, Jorness. Scheming is a lonely business." She shot a tiny grin at Dominic as they all sat down, Wick leaning back to rest her head on Jor's shoulder, his arms about her waist, her hands on his.

Jax looked like a younger version of Nathan.

At least, upon cursory inspection. Leaning closer to examine the display, Dominic studied the boy's face intently. Same white-blonde spikes, black eyes instead of Nathan's slate grey, but dark nonetheless. And the matching hardened expressions were unmistakeable. Not the same person, but close enough to draw some unsavory conclusions.

He heard Jor's quiet instake of breath as he noticed the similarities, and looked up just as the other boy hugged Wick with a strangely vengeful expression on his face. Just perfect. If he couldn't manage Nathan's death alone, then he'd found himself two very willing and able allies. Leaning back once again, he let a tiny grin twitch his lips.

He continued to process this new data even as he smirked quietly at Wick and Jor, receiving smiles in return. So interesting, and so complex this initially simple game was becoming. He almost doubted the disappearance of Jax and Zion; in all seriousness, he found it unlikely that an eight-year-old was capable of murdering two older boys, especially while at an IF military facility. And yet, as he shifted closer to scan Kat's disciplinary record, he started questioning his own judgement. She did not look like a friendly little kitten. This one had claws and teeth.

Which only made everything just a little bit more enjoyable.

Thoughts of Dante were quickly shoved away. Once he dealt with Nathan, he'd fine time to continue what he'd started... or rather, had tried to start. But kin came before anything else, and pushing himself standing, he motioned toward the door. "You going to come watch my artwork?"

He didn't bother waiting for a reply before turning and stalking out the door, already in search of Kat. She had to be somewhere around the school, and perhaps by scouring the main areas, he could unearth her quickly. If not, he'd start the hunt. Either way, it was time to immerse himself in this scheme, to get into the mindset and begin in all seriousness. Donovan still lay unconscious in the infirmary, and with that in mind, Dominic steeled himself for whatever might happen, and morphed himself into his twin. An arrogant smirk flicked across his lips, cocky sauntering walk taking him down the corridor, the charmingly boyish expression on his face just like Donovan carried. Perfect. He'd find this Kat, and...

Handsome features, jade eyes with a slightly mischevious tilt to them and smooth olive skin that shaded to a lovely pattern of bruises on his lower throat. This man was hers. What would she want with Dom? He'd never light her the way Jor did. No one could. Jor knew her heart, knew that she was a schemer of the first rank, and he loved her anyway. What more could she ask?

The question remained unspoken in Wick's pale eyes, and seating himself near them, Dominic leaned his head back against the wall with a muted thump. He could hear Jor's barely-restrained laugh of understanding, and opening one eye to stare at the boy, a smile made the corners of his lips twitch in comraderic joking. "I don't think they could have named her anything better than cat."

She giggled quietly at his feigned resigned sigh, and with a slightly bigger smile, he opened both eyes and raised his head to watch them carefully. "Hard to pin her down. Referred to Mode as a "friend." She was very predatory, then started to become antsy toward the end of our... conversation. Has some nice bruises, a black eye and fingermarks on her throat. If Jor is correct about an altercation or two between the pair, we are definitely set up to start a larger rift."

She stood, wincing only the slightest bit this time. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, I have some classes to catch up on. Catch you later, matchman," she said touching her forefinger to her lips and throwing him a tiny kiss before she switched her eyes to Dominic's face. "Nice to meet you, Creche baby. Take care of yourselves, neh? No unauthorized Mode encounters..."

"Yes." Dominic nodded, before becoming blunt. "She mentioned that you saw Kat before. What happened then?" With another sigh, this one lacking in the feigned resignment like the time before, Jor ruffled his tousled curls, eyes downcast. "I went to confront Nathan after he attacked spark... I mean, Wick. Kat was there; I tried to fight him, but she kept getting in the way, finally kicking him and helping me up. It was obvious I couldn't do any harm then, so I left to plan my next attack better. Still waiting for that chance..."

"I see." He pondered this for a moment before raising what he was sure to be a delicate subject. "Wick also mentioned briefly about a history between you and Dante, in your previous army. I know what you two did, Jordan, because she admitted it all. I won't make any judgements about the past..." Dom leaned in slightly closer, tone dropping intensely. "But don't touch Dante again."

But soon a nearly silent triple knock was heard on the door, more vibration than noise, and she moved away from the entrance. She raised her own fist to tap the wall three times, and then a tall man slid inside the room, quickly shutting the door behind him. He turned to smirk playfully at her, but she kept her reserve, nodding once. "No one saw you enter?"

When he shook his head, it was then a grin started to grow across her face, and she giggled quietly as swept her into a bear hug. "Long time no play, eh, Rox? Don't tell me you been keepin' outta trouble."

"When did I ever keep outta trouble, huh, Vinny? You doin' good? I don't think I've seen ya for months, babe-o, ever since we almost got caught that last time."

He sighed in feigned sadness. "Yeah, we woulda been in some bad shit then, but nah, I'm doin' good. Missin' the play with you, girl. So whatta plannin' now?"

"You get the disc I asked for?" Rox wasted no time explaining her plan yet, just eyed his pocket pointedly. Vin made a face at her and withdrew the discette slowly, holding it up in front of her. When she made a motion to grab it, he lifted it higher, above her reach. "Yeah, I've got it, but first tell me why you need access to the sim mainframe and all the programs."

Rox pouted with irritation and huffed, finally abandoning her useless efforts to jump high enough to snatch the disc from him. "Fine, fine, you big bully. 'Cuz I gotta teach flashboy Nico a lesson. And we both know the most effective place to kick a guy is right in his pride." She kicked him then lightly in the lower abdomen, hopping up to grab the discette from his hand as he exhaled sharply and doubled over, glaring at her as she giggled. "Aww baby, I didn't get you that hard, stop whinin'. I wouldn't have hadta kick ya if you'd just given it to me nicely in the first place, right?"

"Beetcha," he made a menacing gesture but she only skipped to the side, patting his head as he rubbed his stomach ruefully and stood, stretching. "Ko, Roxdoll, when ya gonna run it? I think it take you a while to get into the CS server, don't you? Need some help?"

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Me, hacka extraordinaire? Nah, I gots time to fiddle with it... 'sides, less people know, more people to laugh their asses off at him. Heehee, wait'll you see his face. Nico won't know what hit him. I can't wait! Now c'mon, Vinny, before there start bein' rumors 'bout us gettin' nookie in the laundry room. My boyo might hafta kick your ass then, neh?"

"You have a boyo now? Or another plaything? Here, take one. Alibi." Vin grabbed two towels, tossing one at her as she tucked the disc into her own front pocket and patted it happily. "Thankee. 'Course I does, cutiepie too. You know him, one o' the twins. Dominic."

Vin raised and eyebrow and opened the door for her. "Never cease to amaze me, Roxy."

"Well, just you wait, Vinny. When I'm done with the sims, you be worshipin' at my door." Rox winked and sauntered out into the corridor, towel slung over her shoulder. "Now shh. I'll send you something, same encrypt as always, you stay mum 'bout this though, mister. Don't make me tell on what you've been up to..."

He noticed, as he was attempting to dry his hair, that the pained expression that had been on Sol's face hadn't left. She'd removed her helmet, but hadn't even started to doff her pressure skin.

She met his eyes and nodded slowly, automatically reaching behind herself to pull the seals on her suit, before she dropped her gaze. Her face winced without any help from her eyes as she pulled at her injured shoulder. The suit clung, making it hard to get off, and when she was finally free of it her hair was glued to the back of her neck and against her cheeks, sweaty clothing damp and uncomfortable.

She couldn't quite shake the image of Nathan breaking Donovan's neck with hideous simplicity. It was so easy for him to do. He didn't hesitate, he didn't smile or frown; he simply grabbed and twisted. There was no last minute thought, no regrets, just a very brief flash of satisfaction when the man crumpled at his feet. Katera had paused. Katera had thought. Sol didn't know what she'd thought, and Kat had cut Dominic's throat anyway, but that hesitation...it had to mean something, didn't it?

They were both alright. I should be thankful for that, she thought wearily as she rubbed half-heartedly at her face with a towel, running her fingers through her hair to get it away from her eyes and off her skin. I am thankful. But what was the point of saving Kat and Mode, if he was going to die and she was going to be sent away to Charybdis? She would be; Kat's knife was the only thing that could have cut Dominic's throat, and her prints were on it. Dante had seen it all anyway. Maybe Mode wouldn't die, and he would go with her. Maybe Gabe had been wrong. Maybe they wouldn't be separated there. Maybe they could still be together.

She'd never know.

Sol felt unreal. This wasn't really happening, a small bit of her mind insisted. Any moment she'd be awake and panting in her cell, and Gabe would cradle her close and life would resume. Why did it choose to interpret things like that now? Everything was finished. Why not while it was happening?

Because while it was happening, I could still change it, and now I can't.

She took a step to reach Gabe, hugging him loosely with her good arm, her temple pressed against his jaw. He was sweaty, but so was she. She didn't really notice.

She tilted her head up to kiss him. His lips were salty with perspiration, and she almost started to relax, the cold shell around her emotion beginning to crack.

This is what Kat cut Dominic's throat for...and I took it away from her anyway. She hesitated. She didn't want to, and I made it worthless.

A turn of her head broke the kiss, and she released him and moved away a step to the side, absently rubbing the towel on her forearm. She remembered what she'd felt like for weeks after she'd shot the man in the library in Juneau. Did Kat feel that way about killing, too? Sol had done it then, because she had to. So had Kat...but Sol had stolen away what she'd been fighting for.

Now, Kat had nothing. She would go to Charybdis and spend the rest of her life alone in hell.

How could she find comfort in the same thing she'd destroyed for someone else?

She couldn't let it go at that. Gabe would think he'd done something wrong. She lay a hand on his arm briefly, but didn't look at him again before she reached down and gathered the p-suit with her left arm. It didn't quite work, and she fumbled it. The helmet clattered to the floor, and she knelt next to it so she could fold it better without having to use her right arm quite so much, setting the helmet on top.

The visor on the helmet was tinted, but not opaque. Mode had known it was her. Strangely, she didn't feel as guilty, for him. Katera was the one who'd beaten them in BattleSchool. Katera was the one who stabbed Gabriel. One moment of hesitation didn't erase that. Why did she feel guilt over Katera and not Mode, then? Because Mode had known, and he'd almost smiled, before he fell. Mode had asked her to do it, and after watching him break Donovan's neck, she knew why.

If she could have killed that easily, with that little forethought, without visible hesitation or remorse...she would have wanted to die too.

She lifted the helmet, her fingers wrapped around the padded edge, and flung it as hard as she could with her uninjured arm. It sailed across the laundry room and hit the wall, bouncing off the metal surface with a loud, shallow ring and rolling to a stop near a pile of folded sheets. She felt guilty about Kat. She felt used for unintentionally fulfilling Mode's request. More than anything, she wanted Gabe to explain to her why this was right, why what they'd just done was justified, but that comfort carried guilt with it now. It wasn't pure anymore. Sol felt hopelessly unclean.

Gabe stood still, watching her shoulders rise and fall rhythmically as she fought to control her breathing, her heart rate, her anger. After a few moments, her breathing seemed to slow, and she set about collecting her pressure skin with the precise, efficient movements and blank non-expression that Gabe had come to dread seeing in Sol. She never stepped fully behind that shield she'd learned from him except when she could no longer bear to feel what she was feeling. And she never felt like that, except when she felt alone. When Gabe would not or could not help her.

She'd hugged and kissed him before, and it hadn't helped. But Gabe didn't know what else he could do. He took a few slow steps toward her and slowly put his arms around her. She did not pull away, but she didn't hug back. Gabe shut his eyes. How can I help, Sol? Please tell me. I don't know how to make it right unless you tell me.

Kat and Mode. It had to be them. They were who she'd been staring when he'd been speaking to Dante. It was for them that she had shed tears up on the catwalks. I don't understand this kind of compassion, Sol. Because they are in love, I did my best to make sure that they would not be killed. Even if they are sent back to the Institute, even if they are not allowed to look at each other, even if they are caged like animals, they will be alive. There's nothing in the universe short of death that could keep us apart, Sol. If they are in love they will find a way also. We saved them from death, because death is so very final. The rest is up to them.

Was that what was bothering her? Was it something else entirely? Gabe could not know. He had no idea what to say. He could only hold her and wish she would tell him, so that he could say whatever would make it better. He wanted desperately to make it better.

After a few moments Sol pulled away, gently but firmly. She looked up at him with a tangled, unhappy expression, squeezed his hand, and walked toward the door.

Sol. Please.

She waited, but her posture was stiff, tense. Gabe gathered up his pressure skin also, and moved toward her. "We should return these, before anyone notices they're gone," was all he could think to say.

For three it was celebratory; they were the only three that had passed the L3 Final, and would be continuing on to their fourth and final semester. Dietz and Pedersen had passed with flying colors; Sanchez had been touch and go for a while. Davis would be leaving tomorrow; he had not passed.

The only one of them not from Cell B was Rabin, sitting in the corner, drinking in silence. He'd passed; that much was fairly clear. And yet, he was drinking like a man that didn't expect to see tomorrow, who wasn't even sure he wanted to.

They didn't know exactly where the alcohol came from, and they hadn't asked; Rox supplied goods, not information. They didn't particularly care, so long as it arrived cold. Sanchez had invited Rox to stay, but she'd remained only long enough to count her money. She'd glanced at Rabin before she'd gone, and but Rabin hadn't looked close enough to identify any emotions that might have been visible in her eyes.

The soapsmell mostly drowned out the booze; even Rabin's nose had trouble sensing it. The four younger boys drank and told filthy jokes and laughed -- even Davis, because this might be the last time he saw any of his friends. Rabin remained in the corner, silent. They didn't ask why he wasn't celebrating, and he didn't say.

When the girl from Cell D showed up -- Riya, Rabin's mind supplied, sluggishly -- Rabin said nothing still. He lifted his eyes to her, staring sullenly. She'd been the one that had shot him. It occurred to him that she might be needing to be taught a lesson. But that was just the game, not personal, and in any case Rabin didn't hit girls, not unless they were hitting him. He didn't have to like her, but he wouldn't hurt her.

She couldn't have asked for a more perfect opportunity.

Someone else piped up-- Pederson, she noted peripherally-- standing unsteadily on his feet as he stumbled over toward her. "Heyah schweetheart, you wanna--" Her eyes remained locked with Rabin's, but her hand shot out, knocking Pederson onto his back as he hit the ground with a painful thud. The corners of her lips twitched in a smile, even as her midnight eyes remained as blank and cold as before, and Riya held her ground and spoke in that quiet unperturbed tone that could have been said to be threatening if it had held any sort of emotion at all.

"You hate Hunter Gabriel." It wasn't a question, just a statement. They both knew its truth. Anger flared a little brighter in Rabin's eyes, giving her a hint of satisfaction, and she waited until it looked like he was about to speak before she interrupted. "You want revenge." Again it was a fact, not an inquiry, and his face darkened just as she gave him a tiny hint of a smirk. "Soo desunee. It is useless to attack him. One must attack what he values most."

Solenis. Gabriel. Revenge.

Riya was telling him that attacking Gabriel was useless. Stupid, stupid, attacking was not useless. To inflict pain, to teach respect, that was why he needed to attack. He'd been waiting, biding his time; Gabriel's bodyguard was always there, and Rabin liked a fair fight, one on one. He could bring a second of his own, but what he wanted wasn't a brawl. Too messy, too chaotic; Rabin wanted the simplicity, the straightforwardness, of a simple toe to toe with that cocky little bastard.

Attack what he values most. Solenis. This seemed odd to Rabin. It seemed a very cowardly way to fight. Like kicking an opponent in the balls before the fight started. Cheap, weak, spineless. Rabin didn't fight like that.

Rabin remembered a fight, six months ago, in which Solenis had fought like that.

I don't beat up girls. I don't get at somebody I hate by hurting somebody close to them. I'm not a coward. I'm not weak. I'll fight him myself, face to face, goddamnit.

Baka.

Rabin was a lost cause, and Riya mentally added him to her list of unworthy adversaries. Riya had neither morals nor virtues to restrict her, and attacking Solenis was just as good as attacking Gabriel. Besides. She hadn't wanted Rabin to injure Gabriel too badly; if he was taken out of the picture, then where would her own revenge lie?

She had just turned to leave when she noticed something odd. The other boys were silent, and watching her intently.

Riya was uncertain. These four had heard her ingenerous conversation-- if it could even be called that-- with Rabin, and had no doubt drawn the appropriate conclusions. When she wanted to, she could be the portrait of apathy; now, however, she didn't have that control. She was irritated. Rabin had thrown her for a loop, and it did not please her. She'd almost been resigned to abandoning her scheme when the thought of continuing this, just with other toys, began to become more attractive. They didn't look too bright, sprawled there on the floor and reeking of alcohol. Perhaps they could be persuaded; and it they chose to talk afterwards, well... Riya had no disinclinations toward violence. They'd stay quiet.

It had worked on Kanchou, and she had no doubt it would work on these boys when she tilted her head and gave them a smile, a hint of suggestiveness masking the iciness in her eyes. One of them grinned in return, and she encouraged it by stepping a little closer, kneeling to a crouch in front of them all. The tallest boy, Sanchez, proffered his drink to her, and she shook her head, but continued to smile.

"You heard what I said to Rabin?" They nodded, and she frowned a little, the corners of her eyes narrowing almost imperceptably. "Rabin's your friend, right?" Again they nodded, and Dietz slurred. "Coursh he is, but what the fuck do-- do you care?"

Riya managed to look concerned, which made them worried, and she wanted to laugh. "Because Hunter Gabriel is trying to get him iced, but he won't listen. Don't you want to help?"

"Fuckkkk..." Davis mumbled, dropping his bottle. "So who's dis Solenis?" She glanced around and picked up another full bottle from the floor near her feet, and handed it to him. He snatched it up and took a long swallow, spilling it down the front of his jacket. Riya refrained from looking disgusted and shook her head again. "His girl. She's a bitch, but she's pretty..." Pretty. Pretty encouraging, the way their eyes lit at this last bit of information, and Pederson stumbled to his feet again. "Sos you want ush to get her."

Precisely. "I can't do it myself, and you four are so big." Riya shuddered a little, internally. Men. Humans. All the same, and if it hadn't suited her purposes, she wouldn't have ever touched Kanchou in the first place. So distasteful. She couldn't keep the dead cold from slipping back into her gaze again, but none of the boys even noticed as they eyed her and grinned to eachother. "Why shuld we listen to you?"

"Because if you don't, Rabin will be iced, and you won't be getting anything." She stood and turned toward the door, before pausing in the doorway as if the thought had just occurred to her. "Unless that's what you want. Catch Solenis when she's alone. In the hallways. I trust you'll manage. And if you do, well..." Her voice trailed off, and she smiled quietly before palming open the door. "Find me after."

She smiled a little more to herself as sounds of arguing and affirmation echoed behind her, and as the portal slid shut, Riya wished briefly that she could see the look on Gabriel's face when he found Solenis.

Thoth was waiting in their cell. Her alibi had to be set.