And now, here it was.

He was almost afraid to enter when she opened the gate, the familiar distant lights illuminating the far wall in a straight precise line. Then she dropped in and disappeared, and his spell of paralysis was broken. He stepped to the rim and launched off into the welcoming embrace of the microgravity, his arms out and back. It all came back so quickly, the little movements he'd learned so long ago to turn and rotate without the wall. Ten feet from the far wall, moving at dangerously high speed, he executed a flawless roll and twist in time to plant his boots and push away again, nearly doubling his velocity to the next surface where he caught easily and then dropped off backwards, slowly descending hands-first towards the floor, spinning slowly.

He hadn't been nicknamed "Angel" for no reason.

It was amusing just to watch him launch himself around, his grace and coordination leaving her in quiet awe. She'd only been in the battleroom twice while at the school before she was iced; the first time, for a few minutes. The second, a joint practice with the other launch. And it had ended in disaster, her first ruined attempt to make contact with Ryan. How things had changed.

He skimmed close to her, close enough to touch the curls that floated out behind her, the silky strands sliding past his fingers. The next pass he pushed her boot, sending her into a spin.

She was still trying to regain control when he pushed off and caught her around her slender waist, allowing her inertia to slow them, but not completely, gentling the spin and sending them slowly towards the wall beyond. Drunk on flight, he held her close to him and kissed her, eyes closing as he slid a hand into her hair, the other at the small of her back.

He knew her body well enough to guide her easily, and as they progressed he began to let her fly farther and farther unaided. She was eager for speed, and her first landing he darted forward and caught her in his arms in time to keep her from smashing into the wall, taking the shock with his feet and shoving them away.

He didn't chide her. She knew what she'd done wrong. He just stole a kiss and let her go again, and she corrected her mistake. The perfect student.

He guided her at first, lengthening her leash slowly so that she could fly on her own, and she relished the freedom, correcting her mistakes as they came. He finally caught her in the middle of the room, laughing as he kissed her, and Kat kissed him back with a smile on her lips as she kicked away and twirled in the air, curls spinning as she threw her head back and laughed with untarnished joy.

If only I could live in space like this forever...

The other soldiers in battle school had mostly lost their enjoyment of the battleroom, seeing it as more of a chore they had to perform instead of the joy they'd known it for when they were launchies. He'd never been hardened to it, never lost the original thrill, and it warmed his heart to see his beautiful Kitten feeling it like he did.

Her peace had been shattered, and Kat felt unarmed and unprepared.

Kicking off from a crouch, she launched herself toward the door, in her haste barely latching onto the edge with her fingertips. She struggled for a moment, using her feet to fly head over heels and land painfully on her back on the hallway floor. Rolling onto her stomach, she watched Mode, still motionless in the battleroom, and her sharp canines showed themselves in a predatory grimace. Something didn't feel right anymore... and pushing herself to her feet, she tried to lounge casually in the doorway, knowing the tenseness of her muscles gave away her fear.

She looked...nervous. Not nervous. Scared.

Nathan.

Not Nathan... Angel, as he'd been before, back in Fox when their greatest worries were whether or not someone might guess he'd stolen a few kisses. He had a smile, a smile, on his face, not that cold smirk, but a happy grin she never thought she'd see again. His eyes were closed as he flew by memory, sailing so gracefully, fluidly in the space that she felt an unwilling tug of awe and froze, watching him intently.

Sadness overcame her as she followed his movements with her eyes, still propped in the doorway, one arm wrapped around her side, the other resting against the portal's frame. She smiled slightly despite herself, fiery curls tumbling around her shoulders as she allowed herself one last glimpse of what she used to hold, before she sighed and her arm tightened in remembrance of her old injuries.

Anjélice stood in the doorway.

Launching away from the wall, he contacted and caught himself near the entrance. She took a half-step back as he landed, and that kept him from moving any closer. There was a strange expression on her face, near-happiness deteriorating to confused remorse. The bars on her shoulder were gone, but he knew what that look meant, coupled with her half-hearted retreat. He had done something that overstepped his bounds. His mild grey eyes settled on hers, a little troubled, and he inclined his head slightly.

Dante straightened unconsciously, his words bringing back the precise military bearing she used to wear. Shoulders back, head inclined perfectly as she watched him with swirling silver-violet eyes. Sir. Not since... not since Fox, when she had been in command. That seemed so long ago; back when life made sense, and she ruled... not this twisted macabre game they played now, when she was anything but in control. Sir.

Her eyes drifted to her wrists, and his followed, and his entire body tensed when he saw what it was she was looking at. The skin there was roughened and shiny pink in places, as if she'd been restrained, as if...

My poor Angel. You're so broken...

She tugged her wrist from his grasp, held it up for him to see as her own eyes froze back to mercury. "You did, Nathan. Don't tell me you don't remember... you... you tied me to the bed, tried to..." she trailed off, raging at herself for her lack of strength, her lack of rage over what he'd done. His befuddled expression, mixed with outrage that she'd been hurt, twisted her heart as the last few remnants of warmth melted into her voice for a final moment. "I would have loved you if you'd only asked..."

Too late now.

What he did know was that whoever had injured her like that, whoever had bruised her cheek, was going to suffer a long time before he died.

He shifted and flew to the wall a short distance away, grabbed and launched, taking her with him as he passed and depositing her carefully at the landing site, his own boots touching down seconds later as he turned to face her, her back to the wall as he looked down into the amethyst eyes he loved. His hands slid up to cup her face as he held her eyes with his own, steel melting into dark smoke. "I would never let anyone hurt you, Anjél," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper, and kissed her gently, as he had in the infirmary when Jor had nearly beaten her to -

Jor.

Jor was here. He'd seen him. He must have been the one who'd injured his Anjél...and she was angry because he hadn't been there to protect her.

He kissed her softly, and Dante closed her eyes against touch, her lips moving gently under his. Angel kisses, like she still dreamed about at night... and a quiet sigh escaped her when he pulled away. She fought the urge to stop him from leaving, her hands shaking and shoulders trembling from the effort as he gave her one last glance and left.

Alone again...

Two days since he'd last seen Katera Quistin. Two days since he'd looked upon her beautiful, abhorred face... and in all that time, Ryan hadn't known how to find it within himself to feel relieved at the absence of her presence. How could he...? There was never any other thought on his mind. Which was why these first few days at the CS had been the most efficient and team-building ones the Jaydes had had in years, since the beginning of BS. For at that time, Ryan's passions had been fed by his determinations to defeat Zion and so the brothers had excelled... yet when the hero had disappeared, things had slowly begun to go downhill. He would never tell his men this, but they had hardly made it into Command School. Still, now they were here. And now he had his new passion to fuel him, his duty to avenge Zion Freeman and to take his place as the buggers' conqeror. He would not let the brothers slacken so near to the prime of their years. And he would not forget Zion.

It was daytime, which meant no hunting, no amusement. Mode was absent from the barracks, still, even though she'd returned after classes to see if he might have shown up again. Even her father, a last ditch resort for entertainment, was occupied with "official business" as he told her, the military personnel around him brooking no arguement. Nothing to do, no one to play with, and Kat was bored out of her wits.

Not that thoughts of Mode didn't keep her at least half-way occupied, but that was not a preferred distraction from boredom. She was still puzzling over his demeanor, his actions, his words. Last night's fighting had given her barely enough time to begin to think; over before it started, with not much clarified or resolved. Frustrated, she headed toward the last place she remembered being free to mull over her thoughts. The battleroom, where Mode had taught her to fly. At least there, in nullo, she was somewhat released from worry.

Kat placed her hand on the palmlock as she reached the battleroom, the door slowly opening. What met her eyes on the other side was not quite what she'd expected to find, but the automatic malicious smirk appeared on her features while her serpentine-gold gaze slitted dangerously.

Ryan.

Wanting to block the sight of her, Ryan worked the hook and closed the door of the BR, but Kat moved forward and the force field materialized behind her back. A characteristic smirk graced the features of her maliced face, as overt as the cold blankness on his own. He answered her.

"I don't know. You miss Jax?"

Her voice when she finally spoke was that same silky purr, smooth and malicious. "Only as much as I'm sure you miss Zion..."

The anger flamed in his eyes, but she didn't give him time to react or attack as her boots kicked off from the wall. Kat tucked herself into a spin, slapping a hand against his chest as she flew by, a practiced pickpocket touch that deftly snatched the Jayde patch from within his breastpocket. Across the room she tumbled, thankful to Mode for the instructive, if rather brief, lessons in nullo maneuvering. As she hit the far wall, she grabbed a handhold adroidtly and let her body float as with her free hand she waved the patch tantalizingly, mockingly. "Unless you didn't miss me, in which case, I'll just take this back."

His eyes lingered heatedly on the patch in her breastpocket, his voice rumbling resonantly calm in his throat. Letting the darkest shadow of a leer cross his lips, Ryan called out to her. "You would truly have me force it from you? After I'm done I wouldn't have any choice but to miss you."

And he thumbed the hook, propelling himself backward to contact with the wall behind him. Then thrust. He bounded his feet from the wall and fell across the room at a hawk's speed, diving upon Kat as his body collided with hers. Arms pinned to her sides, body struggling against his grasp, Ryan's weight threw them both back against that wall. He fumbled with the hook, freezing her there.

"Don't play games with me, bitch." He savagely seized the Jayde patch from her front pocket, not bothering to keep his hand from hovering at her breast as he did so. "You signed your warrant the moment you'd decided to be fool enough to tell me what you'd done. And you'll pay Zion with your life, to God I swear." Time slowed to a standstill as they stayed there, Ryan savoring the fury he saw burn in the girl's eyes. Suddenly he was aware that his breath had gone ragged, but not because of overexertion, not entirely because of his hate. The freezing of Kat's uniform did not still the sensation of her gorgeous, gasping body beneath him, did not conceal the beating of her heart... and something inside of him was flaming in a way he'd never before experienced in his life. Something inside of him was losing its rock.

"You're the fool, Ryan, a bigger fool than I'll ever be for taking your revenge. You think you'd still be Jayde captain if he was alive? You'd just be one of the ranks, darling, and you know why?" Oh, how she was relishing the look of raging disbelief on his features, the anger burning in his eyes as she leaned closer, lips brushing his ear. "They were going to replace you with him."

She pulled away then, licking the sharp point of her canines as she tilted her head to watch him. "They didn't tell you, did they? But he knew, and told Jax, and I knew. Poor Ryan. If I hadn't killed him for you, sweetheart, you'd be one of the grunts and nothing more. And I doubt you're the type to be his bitch, neh?"

The knife. You have your dagger, reach for it now... finish him off, just like his brother...

The girl's hand was desperately trying to reach for something below her waistline. Ryan stopped it mercilessly and shoved her body even more harshly against the wall. What the fuck was she trying to do? Suddenly, an infuriatingly belated alarm sounded through his mind and it occurred to him what she might have been looking for. Roughly, Ryan groped at the leg of Kat's uniform until he found the knife, the intechnological sensation of it in his hand strangely foreign beside Bianca's hook. Somehow he wasn't surprised at all that it had been found strapped to her leg.

Slowly the man raised his dark, enfating eyes, overtly embracing the fear he saw barely concealed within the emerald of Katera's. He pocketed the hook, deliberately turning the knife over in his fingers as he gazed intently at the features of the girl's face. Along the side, an old thin scar was cut into the satin of her skin- the likes of which he had no doubt as to who had been its artist. Jax, who'd known well but apparently not well enough about what sort of bitch this girl truly was. Well. Perhaps it was time for Kat to feel her enemy's wrath once again. And so as Ryan raised the tip of the knife to meet with the top edge of that past slash, he whispered ominously into her ear... "You would jest at my scars, Kat, you who've felt your own pains a hundred times over?" Slash. "Fine. Then I'll do the same. Bitch, you open my wounds, I'll bleed yours to your death."

The shallow gash he'd made on Kat's face cut along the lone of that old scar and Ryan breathed. It was the adrenaline in his veins, he told himself, that was making the orbs of blood floating out into nullo seem beautiful. No more. His hands were trembling when he pulled the knife away. This was a game that perhaps Tony and that Amazon goddess Selena would use to play, feeding with one another's perversions. And he was loving it... what the hell was the matter with him? He was the captain, no matter what anyone said- and it was his to win, not to savor torture in this sickening, arousing way. So at last, he raised his knife again, this time to touch against the vessel that shivered along the delicate ridge of Kat's neck. Time to have it over now, and Ryan didn't bother to hide his pain... he let his grief show.

"God help me, Kat... you should have told me that it was time. You should have waited for me to kill him myself."

He might kill her. He might not. But her fear melted away as the dagger point rested lightly against her throat, and Ryan met her gaze with undisguised anguish. His grief was her own, however, and she closed her eyes slowly, the smirk gone from her face.

Everything was feeling new, and she didn't know how to categorize it. Despair, she knew, when he found her knife and slashed her across the face, along the old scar that Jax had given her. The cut stung with delightful pain, but it was his words that cut a far deeper wound. She had jested at something she knew altogether too well, the grief of her scars, and her heart burned as she heard the torment in his voice. That sensation was unexpected, unfamiliar. Remorse? Compassion? She wasn't sure, and gave up on trying to understand it as she was held trapped beneath Ryan, the blade on her neck, and her eyes opened suddenly to stare at him.

Emerald-gold, wide and full of all the pain she'd withheld over the years. If he'd killed Jax, she would have loved him, hated him for stealing her prize. She'd taken a life that was not hers to take, but now felt no remorse as she had over the past. Zion was dead, and now, would Ryan kill her for that? Her gaze locked with his as she searched his face for any signs of the bloodlust she knew she would have carried, and it frightened her to find none.

"They would have known then, Ryan," her whisper was resigned, quiet. "They were already watching you, in case you tried. I had to do it. I never would have gotten another chance. Then neither of us would have had our revenge."

She was still trembling when he pulled away, the adrenaline still flowing through her veins like liquid ice. His soft kiss was a bewildering contrast from the sharp dagger point still pressed into her throat, his arm around her waist as he pulled her closer to him. She watched his face carefully, pupils constricted in the light and eyes almost completely emerald green, and a tiny smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she tilted her head to the side.

Love and hate. With them, there wasn't much of a difference at all.

But he did still have that knife held to her throat, and being kept helpless with her own weapon was not to her liking. Kat tried to move away, finding him unwilling to release her, and her eyes narrowed slightly as her lips drew back to reveal the points of her canines. He could lament all he wanted, but not at her expense. Zion was dead. Jax was dead. And they were both very, very alive.

The girl's body beneath him was vaguely struggling for freedom, but Ryan stubbornly held her fast to the wall. "No. No, I want to hold you. Let me keep you here awhile... you owe me as much as this." And he bound her to himself ever closer, letting his fingers run through the copper of her hair and savoring the feeling of her sweet body in his arms. A moment and he gently launched them both away from the wall, letting them float freely into microgravity... he took her face in his hands once again and kissed her, more fire in his lips than he had done before.

Ryan gazed intensely into the emerald-gold of Katera's eyes as he slowly crept his hand up to the zipper of her uniform. Somehow it was at this time that he wondered vaguely... was this woman whom he held in his arms aware of what he was about to do? Ryan himself had done this a few insignificant times before, but he had no knowledge of what Kat's previous experiences had been like... Well. It didn't matter. It didn't matter if it mattered, because already Kat's jacket had been eased off her shoulders and cast away into the weightlessness of nullo, the knife along with it as Ryan no longer had any mind for anything save for her. Slowly, sensually... the Jayde danced his hands along the curves and arches of Kat's back, his lips travelling from her face down to the flows of her neck... And what if you refused me, kitten?

Their movements caused them to drift in midair as if in an ethereal dream, and eventually Ryan came into another state of mind... a mood in which he was aware of all the ragings and passions burning within his body, in his soul... a high that he reached in feeling the tensions and slackenings of Kat's movements as he felt her responding to his touch. With one fluid movement, he swept the girl's bra from her torso and his breath caught. My god... he had never seen a woman so beautiful in his entire life. Why couldn't things have been more simple? Why did he have to fall in love with the person he hated worse than anything else in this universe?

Mode.

It was so tough to fight, though, so difficult to resist what she wanted so badly. Ryan was so rough, so angry and possessive, but thoughts of Mode abated her lust to mere rage, and she shoved him away from her with all the strength she owned. His arms were strong around her, however, and she didn't get far, only managing to separate them a few feet as they hung motionless in the air. Her long coppery curls floated in a redgold cloud around her face, and Kat shivered as his eyes ran over her naked form.

Unarmed, defenseless, and trapped. Bloodlust rose, washing through her in hot waves, and her eyes narrowed dangerously at the man who dared to touch her like this. That she'd returned his kisses and caresses with her own ardor was forgotten, and crimson blurred her vision as she kicked both her legs out in a powerful thrust, catching Ryan square in the chest. The momentum allowed her to tuck herself into a ball and spin away, a wild twist that sent her in the direction of her clothes and dagger, and the snarl from Ryan left no doubt that he knew exactly what she was after.

He captured her into his arms once again and this time, nothing would ever be able to force him to release her from his grasp. Never again did he want her to fly.

"You were mine from the moment that you killed him. When you took my purpose away, you became my own." And then this hungry, torturous growl, emphasized by his commanding kisses pressed against the heated pulses of Kat's skin... How had his body come to touch the air in this honest, clotheless way...? Ryan couldn't remember, couldn't care less. "And if you never wanted to want me this way, Kat..." ...you never should have killed your Jax. For he knew she wanted him... he saw her desire for him flaming in her eyes, gasping in her breath as her body danced with his in this timeless harmony... he knew her blood cried out for his touch and yet Ryan felt in his heart the rising tides of an overwhelming pain. It was a sweet agony that heightened in his soul, threatening to murder him with brokenness of his own love... for even as he gently embraced Kat's legs around himself, allowing his aching love for her to enter slowly into the earthly ecstasy of this woman's body, even as he felt Kat's suddenly faint form sway in his arms for the sensation of himself inside her... Ryan felt no obstruction to his penetration, no blood to mark any significance of what he had just done. Kat, do you have any love for me at all...?

He drew himself away from her, then slowly drew back in. Then again, harder and deeper than before. Again, and he took this chance before he lost himself completely to kiss the girl gently where his own hand had riven her face... Again, he had to clench his jaw to keep from shouting out. Kat... why did you have to take my brother... Again and he dizzied with pleasure, feeling the rumble of a soft purr and the sting of claws digging into the muscles of his back... Again, and he wrapped himself around the sensation of the girl's heartbeat, drumming at his own rhythm, the tremors of her chest as she vainly tried to contain what cried out from deep inside of herself... Why did you have to take my revenge? Again, and now Ryan did shout out, his growls muffled as he buried his face in the scent of Kat's hair... Again. To think that you would have grown to bring all this upon me, Carrots. Again... again... and again. Goddamn, I hate you...

And one last time, Ryan thrust himself zealously into Kat's body, his conscious elsewhere, his body and emotions taken control... Intensely and yet somehow gently at the summit of this lovemaking he held Kat's shaking form to his chest, feeling all his furor, his youth, his manhood explode into her. Time and laws and heaven all turned blind in his eyes, but only for this one moment of passion.

"Kat, I love you..."

The minutes rolled away then, timeless in this instant within the sweet weightlessness of this familiar Battle Room... Ryan waited to let the labors of his breathing cease, tenderly making his arms to soothe the tremors still travelling the length of Katera's body... and with his manhood still alive inside her, his hands caressing the copper hair tenderly from her lovely face, Ryan kissed her one last time, this soft, leisurely kiss that asked nothing more from her than to wait until he was done... until he could let her go before she condemned him.

It was almost eerie, watching her body respond to his touch, while her mind remained separate, compartmentalized. No one at Charybdis could live without learning to disassociate mind from matter, and she was no different. Her psyche felt nothing, even as she arched her back to press herself closer, wrapped her legs around his waist to pull him deeper into her, nails clawing into his back as a growl rumbled low in her throat. Pain, pleasure, love, hate... it was all irrelevant as she hid within the core of her being and tried to make sense of everything that was happening.

"Kat, I love you..." Long moments until his words registered, then other voices whispered. "Love you, my Kittycat..." from her father, "Katera, I'll always love you..." from Jax, "I love you, my Kitten..." from Mode. Too much, too overwhelming. Pull away and hide and cower in your little protective shell, that hard rock surrounding her heart. Barriers and shields and everything thorned surrounded her as Ryan lost himself and kissed her sweetly, but the tenderness was lost on her. Her body might have responded, but her mind was already ice cold and watching him with bloodlust.

Love and death walk hand in hand...

Her unresponsiveness must have disturbed him, because he pulled away as she stared blankly, green-gold eyes flat and unseeing. He was watching her carefully, trying to analyze, to understand, but her features were a placid mask, unreadable. Autopilot. She separated from his grasp and kicked away, deft practiced and unconscious movements snatching her clothes from the air as she redressed with shaky fingers. Not shaky from fear, lust, none of those humanly emotions.

She didn't bother with anything difficult; just pulled on her undershirt, pants, unzipped jacket. Shoved her feet in her boots, leaving them unlaced, dagger in hand with familiarity as the tiny wayward curls clung to her fevered face as she turned to fly back toward Ryan. He was still silent, eyeing her warily as she raised the dagger, passive as she drew a thin bloody line with her knifepoint along his jaw. After all, he'd reopened the wound Jax had drawn. Only fair to repay the favor with the scar her J-Bear had worn.

Not just a scar. A mark of absolute love, absolute hate. No distinction; they melded together to form one emotion as she tilted her head to press her lips against his for the briefest touch, unfocused gaze never wavering as the blood dripped from his chin and she was redeemed.

That done, Kat floated for another long moment, eyes unblinking before she flew at the exit and grabbed a handhold adroitly. The doorway swung open, and she limped away without ever looking back, dagger held loosely in her small hand and clothing rumpled, her copper curls a tousled cascade and shaded emerald eyes completely blank.

His words echoed in her head as she moved automatically through the corridors. "Kat, I love you..."

Good fucking God... what the hell had that bitch just done to him? He stared at his own hands, feeling as if they must have belonged to somebody else. Heaven damn him and let Kat throw that fucking knife straight into his heart if he ever let himself turn so goddamn weak again. He was a Jayde, for chrissake...! The Jaydes' captain! And he had allowed this woman, this blade-happy little girl to break him down in this way? Ryan fisted the wall, the pain in his hand doing little to alleviate this shame heavy on his shoulders, this brokeness of heart... for Zion would never have had anything like this happen to him.

But then... when he died, Zion had been a child only nine years old. His heart hadn't known yet how to feel this raging... or had it? Vividly in his mind, the captain recalled the long-past screaming of car brakes, the crash of metal and rubber as a vehicle carouseled lethally into the face of an eighteen-wheeler... the death-pale face of a girl, Zion's sister only fourteen years old... never to see anything more than the blinding white of that truck ever again. Felicia. Your blood on my father's hands stains my own even now...

And this blood from Kat's blade steadily beading off his jaw into the still air made Ryan understand Tony's pride for his own scars, torn into his face by the claws of Selena, bade come into the light the strange yet profound philosophies of Bryo's beliefs on love. This hate, now beginning to cool itself twistedly in his veins made him see why Oris begrudged and embraced his past so arcanely... forced him to comprehend what hell Davn has been having to live every day of his life since he initiated into the Jaydes.

His Jaydes. Ryan checked his watch, reading fifteen minutes before his men would begin to file dutifully into the Battle Room. Fifteen minutes, but already he pulled his uniform on, making his way over to a loudpeaker and commanding roughly into the mouthpiece, "Jaydes! You know when it's time for practice, your asses better be at the Battle Room in three minutes or else you're going to be doing bombs for an hour! This is your captain, says move!" How else would he be able to use up the frenzied energy of this pain?

Hook in hand, he pushed himself away from the wall and flew back towards center of the room to meet Mik as she headed back with two flashguns and ten targetballs she'd pulled from the bin on the other side. He could have used the hook to stop her, but instead he reached out and caught her arm to slow her down, absorbing a little of her inertia and using the hook to stop himself instead. She came to a full halt against his chest, and he looked down at her with a little evil grin before he released her arm, handing her the hook and taking the tube of targetballs.

Damn. He wondered how well he'd have to shoot to convince her he wasn't just throwing the game. She'd be so much less pleasant if he hurt her feelings. A mental image of her target in the range made him rein in his ego. He wouldn't have to try to avoid winning, necessarily. The girl was good with paper targets. Could she hit a moving one as easily?

He was about to find out.

He flung the targetballs one by one towards the different walls of the cubic BattleRoom, and as they hit the surfaces they lit up, red against the white lights and black walls. Only a direct hit or a recall from the hook would turn them off.

Sasha's, on the other hand...

She raised an eyebrow as he offered the two guns to her, his voice sardonic and politely mocking. "Ladies first." That warranted a smirk, and her eyes flashed as she took one and tapped the muzzle against the palm of her hand. "Wouldn't that mean you're up first, sweetheart? But if you insist..."

Ten seconds later, and there were no target balls left unhit.

Child's play. West Point had trained her to snipe in whatever environment, whatever situation, whatever mission they could dream up. Sometimes stationary targets. More often than not, moving ones. Once or twice, the moving ones had been running... away. But they weren't allowed to talk about those ones.

In such an enclosed space, there was very little room for anything. Her targets were close, and she had no trouble hitting each one. Steady arm, precise aim, and quick motions. A new ball every second. Simple. Wham bam thank you ma'am. What did he think this was, anyway? A challenge?

She pressed the activator, and the targets lit up again. He twirled the gun with a flourish, set himself into a spin and began the show.

Maybe she was a little faster than he was, but no one downed targets like Sasha Illiet.

Twisting and turning and flipping in the null g as he fired, it took him nearly seventeen seconds to darken the last of the targets, almost double her time, but when he was done, he was smiling. What a great way to relieve stress. He could only think of a couple of others anywhere near as effective. Maybe he could talk her into one of them. If she hadn't handed the gun over the way she did, he might have been satisfied with just the shooting practice. As it was, he'd still be more than happy to run through a few more sets. Maybe she'd take two out of three.

Mik reluctantly decided that she had to give him at least that much. So he had style. His technique wasn't bad either, nor was his aim. But whoop-de-fucking-doo, she thought as a little more arrogance bled into her smirk. When you're gunnin', speed is better than "style".

Aww hell. Why couldn't she just admit it? She'd hoped he'd lose his cockiness so that she could just write him off as some pussy little flashboy and ignore him. He'd nearly matched her in accuracy at the range, and if he hadn't disabled the targets in the same quick fashion as she had, he still did it in a more difficult way. She could spin and shoot and flip all she wanted, and beat his ass, but it'd be close, and she knew it. The prick. Why'd he have to be so good?

She felt like shooting him somewhere irritating. Like the foot.

Only two men had ever beaten her, and they earned it. They were more arrogant, more self-confident, more unconcerned with politeness than she. Blunt, hard, and they always won. Mik had liked them both. Not many people ever stood up to her attitude for long, and she only respected those who refused to back down. Now this. Fuck. Sasha wasn't backing down. Mik hated to lose.

But she wouldn't go down without a fight.

"God didn't give each man his own gun, Sashy, just so you could try to play with mine."

She pulled away and winked, bringing her booted feet up to plant them solidly on Sasha's thighs and kicked off. The motion propelled her toward the door, while Sasha flew backwards to the opposite wall. If he wanted to play his other game so badly, he'd come and make her. That was all part of it. Want, and take. None of this coy bullshit.

Her brief wish for her own real fletchette pistol dissipated as he smirked at her, an answering arrogant grin appearing on her face. Now this was someone she could like. An equal. A match.

An insufferable cocky bastard.

Wondering about that woman... Katera... Amazing how his anger for her had not abated despite that he had not seen her face in years. Amazing how his love had not abated... Never had Ryan known that such a thing was possible. He had left business unfinished, running away into training instead of avenging Zion as he had sworn to do the moment he'd learned of his death. Why? Did the memory of Katera's violation, his moment in this weightless room with her, have that much deathly hold over him? Bullshit. He was a Jayde, such things were not and never would be allowed. Instead, Ryan had used her in another way, a way that would have made Zion proud. He'd created a battery of Kat, a fuel to pull the brothers through these past two years, improving their skill beyond anything he had ever seen. The Jaydes would be shuttling to the IF Command Post in months, if that damned Tyrel Malcolm didn't get in the way. And the brothers' sanities...? Well, marred psyches could be dealt with during this break, a waste of time if nothing else. And perhaps this was a chance for them to see Kat again. To renew their fervor, per say. His fervor.

That was the real cause of why he had come here, if Ryan had to be completely honest with himself. The Battle Room... he felt a heat rise up, simply reminiscing of what had occurred last time he'd been here. Damn bitch. He'd heard that she had become a recluse in his time away, the result of certain losses in the name of Asmodeus. Mixed emotions... anger at not having disposed of the bastard himself, compassion for Kat - how many loves had she lost in this lifetime? Ryan shrugged the question away. Hissa got every damn thing she deserved. Yet there was also the slight disappointment of knowing that if Kat was depressed, she would be weak, easy to kill off. And he didn't want that. He wanted her to fight, wanted satisfaction, wanted a worthy adversary. In a single flash of absurd thought, Ryan realized that when he first saw Kat, he would have more desire to embrace her, to show her that he understood loss, than he would to kill her. He launched himself harshly into the null-g, thrashing a little as to lose the disgusting thought.

I used to hate you. I almost can't remember why.

How much he had changed. His expression was harsher, more rough. Authoritative. Commanding. His time away had altered him, and she did not know whether to feel fear from this. Perhaps he'd forgotten what she'd done to him, what he'd done to her. He turned to face her, dark brown eyes meeting her own golden jade, and Kat knew that he had not. He still remembered.

Now he was watching her, and she knew that she had changed too. She didn't hate him any longer, because she didn't hate anyone. Everyone and everything had become just slightly unrealistic after Mode had gone, including Ryan, and no one mattered anymore. Kat didn't enter the battleroom; instead she sat down in the corridor, drawing her knees up and hugging them against her chest. She was unarmed, but it did not concern her. She wouldn't fight Ryan, not now. Probably not ever again.

It took all of Ryan's self-possession to keep the compassion from showing in his eyes. As he stared at Katera now, he felt as if he were looking at a ghost, a shadow, an empty shell of the girl he had once known. He hadn't realized that it had come to this. What happened to her life, her fire? Even the brilliance of her red hair had dimmed from what he remembered.

"Katera." Yes, his voice was of efficient coldness despite what he felt. He stared at her wordlessly for endless moments... what in the hell could say to her?

Kat didn't move, didn't flinch, didn't make any outward indication that she'd heard him. But her eyes she could not control, and they dimmed a little, flamed a little; strange serpentine and painful gold as she stared at Ryan. She had thought-- had hoped-- that the sting of Mode's loss would lessen over time. It had, in a way, because no one dared speak of it around her, and she'd grown sheltered in her own withdrawal. Until Ryan. Her heart did some odd and uncomfortable twist and drop, and she felt as if she'd been stabbed.

I didn't kill him this time. I was only trying to save him.

She didn't know how to reply. She didn't know if she was even capable of replying in the first place. Her throat seemed to have closed in upon itself, and even something as simple as breathing was becoming difficult to manage. Her soul limped, injured, back to reality, and Kat was forced to close her eyes for a moment to hide the depth of love and hurt inside. She hadn't cried for Mode since that first night in the infirmary, and she wouldn't cry now, but her eyes insisted on burning and her chest insisted on tightening until she almost choked.

Did she think that she could hide the pain from him? He knew her eyes far better than his own. And yet he coiled at his voice, so relentless in his accusation. He was hurting her.

On cold impulse, he launched off from where he hung onto the relative "roof" of the Battle Room. He propelled himself towards the gate, stopped himself at the edge and tugged Katera forcefully into nullo with him. He didn't know why. Only that he didn't want her sitting in the middle of the corridor that way, looking at him so inane and vulnerably - Kat, vulnerable! It was an image he didn't want to see or accept. If she struggled, he soon put it out of his mind. For the arm in his - Ryan pulled her sleeve up to see more closely - had an alarming scar running down its wrist to the inside of its elbow. Feeling the insane desire to embrace her, he so then released her. He searched her face, trying in vain to find some vestige of the slash he'd given her two years ago. The scar was gone. She seemed even the less his own.