Her bloody dagger.

He was at her side the next moment, but she paid him no notice, not even when he pulled her to the side of the hall, blocking her as best he could from view. There was no one else in this hallway, but there was no telling how long that would remain the case. As it was, he had no idea how far or long she'd walked in this state. No one had followed her yet, but they needed to get out of the hallway. He yanked her into a small side passage that serviced a small janitorial closet. Better, but still not ideal.

He pushed her up against the wall of the side passage and examined her more closely. The blood on her face came from...from the old scar that Jax had given her, a fresh wound crossing the old. Taking her chin in his fingers, he turned her head roughly to either side, more from an eagerness to spot any other wounds than anger, but she seemed otherwise undamaged.

Those emerald eyes, once so vibrant and full of life, were frighteningly blank.

His hand tightened on her arm and he shook her. "Katera! Kat, goddamnit, answer me!" His voice was a low, tortured hiss, tight with anger and fear. No response. Mode slapped her lightly. Nothing. Fuck. She'd gone too far under. He had to get her out of sight and hide her until she came around, or they'd report this and she'd be shipped back to Charybdis on the next transport, and that wasn't something he would tolerate. God knows whose blood was on her dagger, but if she'd made it this far without pursuit, chances were no one had seen her do it - whatever it was she'd done - and this wasn't entirely out of hand yet. If someone tried to come forward and say something later, he would talk them out of it. No one was going to take Kat away from him.

If she wasn't gone already. He'd seen too much at Charybdis to trust her to recover. Anything that put Katera under had to have been...severe. When she came out of it, she would tell him. And she would come out of it, goddamnit, she wasn't going to abandon him here to the rest of the outsiders, not like this.

First things first.

Fastening his fingers around the wrist of the hand that held the dagger, he applied pressure until they spasmed open and caught the blade neatly by the handle as it fell. There was no change in her lack of expression, and he wiped the blade neatly on the inside of her uniform jacket and then zipped it up for her. The sheath was easy enough to find, and he put the dagger away, wiped the blood from her cheek with his thumb and rubbed it into the dark green of his uniform trousers before crouching to tighten the laces of her boots and make her outwardly presentable. They were going to move fast - as fast as they could, with her like this - but he covered as much detail as he could, running his fingers through her curls to pull them off her cheeks and straightening her jacket, snapping her collar.

Despite his resolve, her empty eyes were beginning to unnerve him, and he led her the short distance down the hallway and into the deserted shower area he'd just come from.

Once there, he stripped her as efficiently as he'd laced her up. His eyes widened as he saw the new bruises on her body, the ugly fingermark-shaped ovals around her ankle, similar marks on her arms and on the smooth skin of her back and abdomen. Kat's own scent was there, but mingled with another strange bitter one he didn't know, and his eyes narrowed in comprehension. Someone had done more than cut her. Cold fury settled over him as he looked into her unfocused gaze, fury at her for allowing this to happen, fury at himself for not bothering to protect her, fury at the playmate who'd broken her more thoroughly than he had...

Later.

Gathering up her uniform, he dropped it into the cleaner in the wall before turning back to her. He stripped off his uniform jacket and turned a showerhead on, verifying the water was a tolerable temperature before he pushed her back into it and washed away the evidence of her encounter. She was pliable, and supported herself, but even this contact did not wake her. He washed her hair and bound it up with a towel before drying the rest of her with another. His battle braid had been gone a long time, but he was familiar enough with the routine.

Up and about, he would take longer to heal, he knew. But he would not die, nor would he damage himself permanently, and so if his discomfort lasted a few extra days then so be it.

But here, alone, he could lean against the wall and not have to worry about putting up the appearance of being fine.

A plan. They needed a plan.

Well, the first step in planning was to pick the objective. Gabe's first thought was, to kill Kat. But as he thought of it, that wasn't the real objective. It might be a step toward the objective's achievement -- indeed, the final step. But it was a means, not an end. Gabe did not want to kill Kat. Not for the sake of killing. For Sol's safety and for his own he would kill her if necessary, but he didn't want to.

Why not? The bitch beat me bloody with a metal pipe. She jumped Sol in the garden, and then roughed her up again in the bathroom after I was already lying broken on the floor. She stabbed me, for christ's sake. Why the hell shouldn't I want her dead?

But the simple fact of the matter was that he didn't care. If she wasn't a threat to his continued existance and well-being -- and, of course, Sol's -- then Gabe would have been perfectly willing to leave her alone. Even now, just over twenty-four hours after she'd buried a dagger up to its hilt in his chest, he didn't care. He didn't want revenge. He just wanted the fighting to stop.

So Kat's death wasn't the objective at all. It was the end of all this that he needed to bring about. If Kat's death achieved that, then fine, that was how it would be. But if there were some other way, some path through the darkness that didn't mean more pain and more violence, Gabe would embrace it with open arms.

Gabe turned beneath the stream, so that he could lean his shoulders against the wall to support his weigh while his hands went to the bandage affixed to his chest. Gabe lifted a side, just enough so that he could see one edge of the wound within.

This is what it always comes to. This time I was lucky, just like I've been lucky over and over again. But someday I'm not going to be lucky. I'm going to be dead. He that lives by the sword dies by the sword.

I don't want to die.

There had to be a way to end this without any more bloodshed. He cared nothing for Kat -- if he and Sol could kill her off cleanly and get away with it then Gabe wouldn't hesitate. But it never worked out like that. There was always something they didn't expect. And someone always got hurt. There had to be another way.

They slowed before parting to head for their separate showers. Both Rabin and Riya had already disappeared into each. Gabe's eyes met Sol's, and he suspected that his were saying the exact same thing he was seeing in hers. Be careful.

Gabe kissed Sol gently, and then strode through the door that lead into the secondary showers. The primaries would have been empty at this time of day, and Gabe wouldn't have to be watching for Rabin, but those were a ways away, and if something were to happen in the girls' showers, he'd never hear it from that distance.

Gabe wasted no time upon entering. He shrugged off the black jacket, and then pulled the dark grey undershirt over his head. He moved to a stall and folded the items on the bench beside it, and then stepped out of the rest of his clothing.

The water was cold. Gabe didn't bother waiting for it to heat. Warm showers were a luxury that he had neither the time nor the inclination to indulge in right now. If Rabin wanted a fight, he would begin it here. Gabe would not let his guard down.

Eleven of their allowed fifteen minutes had passed when Gabe shut off the water and toweled himself. He was in the middle of dressing again when Rabin approached. His undershirt and jacket still lay folded on the bench, but he'd put on his shoes. If he was to get in a fight, shoes were much more important than a shirt.

"Pompous fucking showoff," Rabin said as he stopped a meter from Gabe and folded his arms across his chest. Rabin was wearing his pants and undershirt, but not his shoes or socks. If he'd been wearing his socks he'd have been much easier to bring down, but Rabin surely new better than that. Gabe straightened up, and met Rabin's gaze, but apathetically. His eyes held no challenge, no dare. Nothing. "You feel big now, bitch? You a big tough man now that you showed me up in there? That was a cheap fucking trick, and then only reason it worked was because it was just a simulation. In the real world I'd have fucking tagged you coming in that door."

They were drawing attention. The other three from Cell C were watching. Not approaching, Gabe noticed; Rabin wasn't going to get any backup from these other boys. But they weren't moving to help Gabe, either.

"How about you show me what a big tough man you are right here, Gabriel? How about we see how you handle yourself without cheating like the bitch you are."

Gabe didn't move. Rabin growled, and swung his arm in a wide, powerful arc that might have actually snapped Gabe's neck, if his head had still been in its way when it arrived. Gabe had ducked beneath it, however, and was backing along the line of stalls toward the open area that contained the sinks, cleaners, and most importantly, the door.

Rabin rushed at him, pulling back his fist for another swing. Gabe wove backward, and then ducked under a second that came arcing at him immediately after. As he came up, he interlaced his fingers and brought both fists up to catch Rabin on the side of the face.

The larger man staggered. The daze wore off almost instantly, and his eyes focused on Gabe. He grinned his sneering grin. "The butterfly's got sting. But you still ain't no hornet, fucker." He swung again, but even as Gabe ducked, he brought his knee up and caught Gabe beneath the chin. Gabe's head rocked back, and Rabin head-butted him. Gabe stumbled backward and fell against the wall, remaining on his feet by grabbing hold of the sinks on either side of him.

Rabin did not press the attack. He waited while Gabe struggled to pull himself up. "Not so flash now, are ya, bitch?"

"Not so flash now, are ya, bitch?"

The next moment she was through the door. The grouped boys beyond didn't concern her. Gabe almost on his knees near the sinks and Rabin standing over him did. The larger boy turned obligingly and she kicked him in the face hard enough to knock him back towards the group of gawkers and put him on the ground. When he opened his eyes a quarter of a second later she was between them and glaring down at Rabin from behind the Gabemask, and she fed the rage in his eyes back to him ten-fold. The quiet, painful sound of Gabe straightening up behind her was all that kept her from launching herself at the fallen Rabin. She didn't care that he was down; rather, she preferred it. There was no fairness alotted to someone who'd tried to kill Gabriel. At least Kat had had a better reason.

Sol was not in the mood to rationalize why this might or might not have been as serious an altercation as the one on the surface of the asteroid that had nearly cost Gabe his life. That had marked Rabin very clearly, and she had no qualms about returning the attempt. More than the attempt. None at all.

Gabe got back up to his feet. He was still swaying slightly, but at least his vision was clearing and he wasn't seeing spots anymore. He placed a hand on Sol's shoulder, only partially to steady himself.

Sol was standing with her fists clenched and feet apart, and Gabe could read the rage written into every line of her body, even without seeing her face. And Gabe knew that it wasn't just Rabin. Riya had upset the balance of their universe; she had made their own cell enemy territory, and represented the worst kind of evil: a cold, uninhibited sociopath. And now this second threat, this prideful and angry Rabin, had presented himself, and it was more than she could stand. She would hurt him if Gabe didn't do something.

There was a very good reason not to hurt him. Gabe was sure of it. He was just having trouble remembering why it was.

But at his touch, Sol turned her head to meet his eyes, and Gabe remembered. They could not ice here. If they were dropped from the program now, for hurting Rabin, then they would land themselves in the Marine AIT. And that was the last place Gabe wanted to be. That was the last place he wanted Sol to be.

No, they had to get out of this program, but they had to pursue it through the right channels. Because if they fell to the Marine AIT, the only option left to them was to ice out and go back home, and that meant that Sol, because she was still a minor, and would be until the next January, would be released into her mother's custody.

He didn't say anything. Just met her eyes, and said all this without words.