a/n: H.B. and Frye are terrible friends. I have this on good authority. They aren't any better on missions, or at Christmas time, and definitely not when those two things combine. A Secret Santa gift for Deltheor/Scarlen of the XCX tumblr discord.

Probably post game, mild spoilers to Ch. 5 and Frye, and weak swears (helloooooo! Frye, okay?).

All the good things belong to Monolith Soft, although two brand new OCs snuck in somehow. Ignore them and maybe they will go away again.

H.B. didn't bother to glance at the restaurant's clock, knowing that even on the off-chance it was set correctly, the analog format would render it hopelessly imprecise. The old-fashioned clock dial lent charm to Rosemoss' décor, but it was useless for assuring that missions started promptly. But that was probably his mistake, assuming that Frye would treat this appointment with even the limited respect he treated missions. The older Interceptor was late by at least half an hour. H.B. couldn't resist sliding a green glance at his own comm device. Make that 37 minutes and, of course, no message. H.B. didn't know how Frye would explain it, and he didn't care. There couldn't have been any confusion. He'd spoken to Frye directly, that afternoon, and well before the man was likely to be too inebriated to remember. The man had simply blown him off.

He sighed and decided he would finish his second beer, the one he hadn't wanted to order but which the waitress seemed to think was required as rental for the bar stool. Except it was gone. The polished wooden bar in front of him was empty except for a ringlet of moisture.

He swiveled his head to the right, finding only more empty stools, then to the left and startled so hard he almost tipped off the stool.

"Nice of you to order me something ahead of time," Frye said with a snarky smile, beer already half drained. "Even if it's weaker than grex piss."

"You're late," H.B. snapped before he could stop himself.

Frye's smile increased. "Miss me?" He made a few kissy noises, then took another deep slug of beer. "Make that baby grex piss."

H.B. frowned darkly, then calmed himself. When dealing with Frye, one had to accept the bad with the good. Regrettably large quantities of bad. He took a breath. He need to come directly to the point. Instead, he shuddered to a stop as he took a proper look at the other man. "What. Are. You. Wearing?!"

"Like it?" Frye tugged the hem of a hideous sweater in reds and greens, with a disjointed pattern of snowflakes and ornaments not so much stretching across it as splattered frantically over it. "Tatsu's mom's been knitting them for friends of the 'tato. We had a party to admire them. I think Phog's made him a little nauseous, so I had to make sure he got home safe."

H.B. blinked, appalled at the idea of more than one of these garments.

"Anyway, that's my line, and I'm sticking to it. Ah, sweet!" Frye turned to the waitress, somehow having flagged her without H.B. noticing. "My friend here's finished his, and he'd like buy another round." H.B. looked down to see the empty beer glass in front of his place.

"Let's move to a booth," suggested H.B., partly to get more privacy but mostly in the hopes of slowing Frye's ability to order more alcohol.

"Maybe get me two, then, so I can catch up?" Frye asked the waitress, hopefully. But she shook her head, raising a single finger. Frye laughed. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

As he slid into the booth, Frye pointed at H.B. "This night is on your tab, you realize. Last time I was here, they told me my credits wouldn't be any good in the future. Guess they've relaxed a bit for Christmas. Bless the season! I'm not too proud to drink pity beer."

"And beer is the best Christmas present they could give you," sneered H.B.

"Oh, the pity's all for you, kid. Only way you can get someone to drink with you is to cover the tab." The beer arrived, one and only one for each, the waitress again ignoring Frye's attempt to order an extra round, "for laters".

"So, you must be wondering why I asked you to come here," H.B. began.

"Not really," Frye interrupted cheerfully.

"I mean, I don't usually ask someone like you for a favor."

"So it is a favor you want. Figured. Don't care."

"You won't even allow me to explain?"

"Nope." Frye drained his glass and reached for H.B.'s almost full one. "I'm in. What are the deets?"

"What?" H.B. didn't move to defend his drink.

"You want something on Christmas Eve. Doesn't matter what it is, I'm in. Now, explain the details, but for god's sake, use small words. I've been hanging with my brother all evening and he's used up all the fancy vocab I can stand. I don't blame him. He doesn't mean anything by it." Frye paused, and then said, unnecessarily but with relish, "Unlike you, H.B. Now, tell me, what do you want?"

"I need a second for a mission. Something easy, in Oblivia, tomorrow morning."

"Christmas."

"Yes, that's what December 25th usually is, Frye. Very good."

"What's the mission? I thought they were only posting limited runs tomorrow."

H.B. shifted nervously. "It's not officially posted."

Frye laughed. "You're dumb. It's easier to hide a private job in the thick of missions, not on a day when there's only a handful of guys going out. How dumb is this idea, anyway? Something that's just gonna get ignored? Or something so brilliant that we'll both get killed?"

"It's an official mission, but not posted yet." When Frye drank his (H.B.'s) beer instead of criticizing him, H.B. decided it was his opportunity to explain quickly. "The older Frontier Nav probes are being replaced. Wear and tear, improvements, indigen damage. The one I want to replace…" H.B. stopped and corrected himself. "The one in question is due to be replaced next month. I'm doing the ECP a favor, getting it done early."

Frye started to hoot. "A Christmas gift for Pappy Vandham. You gonna take a selfie of yourself next to the site? Gonna have a giant bow on the probe?" Now he was howling with laughter. "Are YOU gonna be wearing the bow?!"

H.B. did not pretend not to know what was making Frye laugh. "The less said about that hologram, the better," H.B. said primly, before continuing. "It's an easy job. Across the bridge and around the curve of the Gap, not even to the first temporary station. I'll send you the exact location. I need a second BLADE to watch for indigen while I concentrate on the probe. You'll be home for lunch."

"Famous last words. You've doomed your job to an overnight disaster. Cool. Meet at the East gate at 6?"

"I'll be there at 0500."

"I'll be there at 6." Frye set the empty beer glass in front of H.B. "You should eat something to balance all this beer you've drunk."

"You are suggesting we have dinner?"

"Nope. I'm off to find something with more kick than this Koolaide." Frye stood up and stretched.

"Not before you prepare for the mission, surely?" said H.B. in shocked tones.

Frye leaned over the table suddenly, his face directly in H.B.'s. "I get ready for missions the second I get home to NLA," he growled. "I'm good to go any time, all the time, unless I'm actively swapping out augments. Even then, I'm willing to go out empty and see what happens." He straightened up and smiled narrowly at H.B. "But you wouldn't bother to ask me for a favor if you didn't already believe that." He stepped away, then turned and added with his normal grin, "Swing round the Repenta if you have time left after your own preparations."

Xcxcxcxcxcxcxcxcxcx

It was 0540 by the BLADE tower when H.B. arrived at the East Gate. He'd indulged himself by having his skell serviced by official Sakuraba technicians, then delivered to the upper staging area. He'd even gone so far as to ask another Pathfinder to review his gear. It was rather unlike him, but he supposed the holiday spirit had moved him into giving the other BLADE the rare educational opportunity of inspecting superior armor and weaponry. Christmas Day promised to be calm and clear. H.B. felt fit as a fiddle and ready for anything as he strolled toward the meeting point.

"Yo! Pathforker! You're 40 minutes late!" screamed someone.

H.B.'s aura of calm evaporated in an instant. He walked towards Frye, trying and failing to continue at a moderate pace. "You said you'd be here at 6," sniffed H.B.

"Don't you mean 0600? We'llall still be here at 6 unless you get your butt in gear." Two other BLADEs, standing behind Frye and wearing heavy armor, nodded in agreement.

H.B. looked at the interlopers with displeasure. "I don't recall inviting anyone else on this mission."

"Not a mission, and you know it. We're going on a bear hunt, gonna catch a big one, and I ain't going on my own. Say hello to Veena and Izzy."

H.B. ignored the introductions. "When I asked for a favor, I wasn't expecting my interests to be shared with all and sundry."

Frye crossed his arms and tilted his head. "And I wasn't expecting to go out on a death wish. We go out fully loaded, we come home safe, and I take Izzy out for Chinese."

"Not me?" interrupted the woman who must have been Veena.

"No big loss, V," confided the fourth member. "There isn't a decent Chinese restaurant in New Los Angeles. My Christmas is ruined."

"You don't celebrate Christmas," Veena laughed.

"I celebrate egg rolls, which NLA has none of," Izzy said in sorrowful tones. "I was thinking of hitting the Wrothian place for curry."

"That isn't curry."

"Says who?"

"Says my dead grandmother." The woman laughed again. "Unless she's been reincarnated as a kitty."

H.B. gestured sharply at Frye to step to the side for some privacy. Frye followed slowly, one eyebrow raised. "I did not plan for extra help," hissed H.B.

"In that case, you're welcome."

H.B. pinched the bridge of his nose and struggled to control himself. "I thought I explained last night. This is an easy job. Taking you is security enough, and unlikely to be necessary."

"Little man, I go with a full team."

"Honestly, Frye, I've seen the kind of people you associate with, and they are hardly the sort to fill me with admiration. I'm willing to risk my life with you, and I do mean risk, but not with some roustabouts you scraped off the pavement of a parking lot."

Frye dropped his arms and looked at H.B. with round eyes. "Hey, I pick a good team. I didn't choose them just because they were free on Christmas Day. I'll admit that helped, but it wasn't the only reason."

"What divisions are they?" H.B. asked resignedly.

Frye considered for a second. "Not certain about Izzy right now. He's usually Prospector, but he bounces to Harriers sometimes. Depends on if there's something big to take down. Veena's one of mine. Team Interceptor." Frye flashed a proud thumbs-up.

"One of yours," sneered H.B. "I really don't think…"

Frye spoke quickly, his usual drawl absent. "There's a reason why two divisions are fighting over Izzy. He's short, but he's pure muscle and he's got a steady hand. The Harriers would grab him in a second, but his heart's in geology. Do not get him started on that topic, especially not about Oblivia. He knows the area as well as any Pathfinder, including you. Veena's been with the Interceptors as long as I have, and that chick can read a swarm like I can read a text. Scratch that. Like you can read a book. A big old fat one. Best teammate to have if we aggro 15 indigen, three different species, all at once." Frye paused and lowered his voice. "You can trust me on this. I chose good for you." He waited, expectantly.

H.B. considered this information, and its source, and honestly could not decide whether to lend credence to any of it. He forced himself to say one final thing. "I don't have extra credits to pay for expenditures such as rewards or insurance."

"You're expecting them to work for free."

"Yes." It was bitter to admit this weakness.

Frye snorted and his standard grin reappeared on his face. "I knew it. Veena owes me, so that's okay. I'll drop one of her many IOUs. Hell, I'll drop 'em all, for Christmas. I already promised Izzy dinner, which, knowing him, is gonna include three different places in a row, all of 'em with tablecloths." He shuddered theatrically.

"I don't have enough to pay you either."

"Oh, I knew that already, my man. Didn't bother to get you a present, so this is it."

Xcxcxcxcxcxcxc

They'd reached the Frontier Navigation site with a minimum of fuss. Once there, Frye had stationed Veena, the other Interceptor, close by, with instructions to "grab the geek and go" if any danger offered itself. H.B. had winced but decided not to comment. Then Frye had left with the half Prospector, half Harrier, completely pointless gourmand of a teammate. "Bear hunting," repeated Frye. H.B. had noted that perhaps it would be better to have the full team, the one that Frye had insisted on, remain close together, in case of, oh, how shall we put it, deadly indigen attack. Frye had merely slapped his shoulder. "There won't be an indigen left between us and you. We'll make sure of it as we go along." He shouldered his Gatling gun and wandered away.

H.B. had repressed his dismay and focused on the true purpose of the trip. As he attached his skell to the probe, he noted how worn it was. In addition to the corrosion caused by the unending grit in even the lightest Oblivia breeze, he could discern striations, low and organic in nature.

"Probably grex," said a voice over his shoulder. He startled and turned to frown at Veena. She smiled shyly. "The pups chew stuff in order check it out. It won't be as bad for the new one. Modern probes don't taste as good, plus most of the adults are used to them."

"Thank you for that pointless information. I'm utterly fascinated by the teething habits of our indigen neighbors."

She wasn't smiling anymore. "Whatever. You need help?"

"No."

"Fine. I'm gonna check the perimeter. I came over to give you a heads up. There's something weird to the east."

When she started to walk away, he called after her. "What do you mean, "weird"? Be specific. I need to know anything that will affect the mission."

"I don't want to bug you with pointless information."

"Spit it out."

"The horizon looks wrong. Weird. We may need to cut things short, soon as Frye comes back. I've already pinged him. Too bad you don't have help to get stuff done faster."

Help would not make his job go faster. H.B. climbed into his skell and concentrated on the work. In a minute, he was almost done removing the old probe, a procedure made all the more complicated by the probe's inclination to shed fragments when stress was placed unequally on its anchors. Not too surprising, considering this was practically an antique. H.B. remembered his frustration during the first months on Mira, when planting a probe required a full crew, all members synchronized. So much better when improved models were released. Still inadequate and fragile, but balanced enough that he could place probes without having to suffer the constant presence of three other Pathfinders. Honestly, monitoring them had been the worst part of the job. Protecting them as well. He hadn't been especially outstanding at either aspect, back then.

The attachments slipped, and his face came dangerously close to slamming into the windshield. He steadied his grip, slowed the rate that the probe was turned, and was relieved to watch the main shaft slide out of its sandy prison. Entire, he noted with satisfaction; no need to spend humiliating minutes scraping the original scar. Better yet, he wouldn't have to select a new location. Even a meter's difference would require recalibration for the entire FN system, and lead to inevitable criticism of his actions. People were so quick to correct the decisions he made while in the field. Always after the fact, safe in NLA, they seemed to find fault. It was exasperating, to say the least. He cast the decommissioned probe to the side, a petty gesture but satisfying. He didn't even need to leave the pilot's capsule to ready the new probe. The attachments fit modern probes perfectly and automatically. He set it into its predecessor's place. A few minutes more and no one would ever remember the earlier probe.

Outside, he could vaguely hear shouting. He ignored it, starting the first of a careful sequence of concussions that would set the probe. Glorified thumps, he smiled to himself. Suddenly his windshield was blocked by a human form. The controls flew from his hands and he felt the probe screech and bend sickeningly.

"Frye! In the name of all that's holy …"

"We gotta go. Pull it out, toss it, don't care. Let's go."

"What are you doing on my skell?! Get off, you lunatic."

"Got your attention. Good. We. Got. To. GO!"

H.B. looked past the flushed Interceptor to evaluate how much damage had been done to the replacement probe. But even the few seconds that had passed had changed the quality of the light. The area was dimmed, and his vision was blurred. "A sandstorm," he muttered, then blushed at the obviousness of his statement.

"Bingo. Let's go." Frye's voice was muffled by the window, and a certain amount of rising wind, but H.B. could hear his anger at being ignored.

H.B. relaxed. "Oblivia has sandstorms every day, Frye," he said patiently. "This is just one of many. No need to panic."

Frye waved his arms and almost slipped off the skell. "Dammit, H.B. You brought a team, so use it. Veena says go, Izzy says go, I say go. Let's go."

"This is hardly a democracy. Kindly remove yourself and…"

Frye had gripped the edge of the small pilot's window and forced it open. Another proof that mim strength needed to be calibrated to their owner's control. His head was jammed into the capsule. "Ignore the team, but don't ignore your brain. This storm is different…" There was excited commotion down below, from either Izzy or Veena, H.B. couldn't determine which, and Frye pulled his head out momentarily. "Oh crap. Too late. Get ready to fight."

"I can't disengage the skell from …." But Frye was already on the ground, weapons ready. H.B. noted that Veena and Izzy were in their skells. He couldn't distinguish what was setting them in a panic, even as a gust of wind shoved his skell against the probe. He felt as much as heard another moan from the abused instrument. Then he spotted the front of the grex pack.

It reminded him of a nature documentary from his childhood, where a herd of wildebeest swarmed across a river as a single living mass. Shoulder to shoulder, running in blind fury, the wolf-like indigen came spilling over the ridge, one after another. Yet even in flight from the storm, they maintained their predator nature. Each one that passed snapped at the small crew. More or less harmless for Izzy or Veena, safely ensconced in their skells and able to swat the more vicious away. But H.B. was bound to the probe and helpless. Frye was busy fighting against the enemy as they tried to tear at H.B.'s vehicle, sometimes launching a volley at a group, sometimes slashing so fiercely at an individual, the heat signature left traces on H.B.'s retinas. Then the swarm passed. H.B. had just managed to undo his restraints and begun to climb out of the skell, hoping to aid Frye, but there were only footprints and a pair of dead indigen remaining.

"That was unexpected."

"Tried to tell ya, man."

"Well, hopefully the probe isn't too much damaged. I can return to …"

Frye tugged his white-blond hair in exasperation. "That was the first wave, asscave. There's more. We were already running when Veena pinged us. I think half of Oblivia decided to head our way, and the arch funnels them straight toward us. We gotta go!"

H.B. gestured with equal emotion towards his skell. "I can't move my skell. If I detach from the probe, it'll be destroyed. Do you know what that means for Frontier Nav?"

"One less probe, one more BLADE. Let's …"

"Frontier Nav goes down for this entire section. There's only a few minutes of lapse time allowed. This section goes dark. Maybe the better half of Oblivia."

"It's already been a good 15 minutes, H.B. What's done is done."

"It isn't done. The new probes go on-line even before final installation. No gaps. But if I pull it out, or if the indigen knock it loose, it will go dark."

Frye held up a hand to silence H.B. He turned to listen to something that H.B. couldn't identify. "Second wave. Protect the probe. Got it." Frye was shouting into his comm device. "Back off. Break the main group. We'll catch any stragglers." The two skells flanked the site, at a slight distance lest their movements damage the probe. "Got your weapons? Good." Frye looked at H.B., grinned his wolf's smile, and counted down. "3, 2, 1." Just as the first grex crested the ridge, Frye gave a whoop of glee and shouted, "Let's go."

Xcxcxcxcxcxcxcxc

"If you could simply muster more discipline," H.B. lectured his companion with exaggerated precision, "I'm sure that you'd advance much further and …"

Frye made a rude noise. They were standing in the Repenta Diner's patio. The parking lot, to be completely accurate. The holiday lights that edged the roof made the pavement alternately shine a cheerful red and green, blue and silver. Frye took a pull from his flask and repeated the noise, except louder.

"No, no, you clearly have fighting ably-ties…" H.B. stopped and attempted the errant word again. "Able-tes. Cabababilities. Skills."

"I can break stuff," Frye said helpfully. "Gotcha."

H.B. felt slightly nauseous. He wasn't sure what he'd been drinking for the past hour, and although he could recall all of the food he'd eaten during the extended roving dinner that Izzy had insisted on, that memory didn't help matters. Still, he needed to convince Frye on this point. NLA deserved it. "You need to bring more focus. Think of what you could do for humanity."

"Spare me. I lived with someone who breathed discipline. All it got him was a ticket for someone else on the Whale."

"Your brother is lucky to have…"

Frye smacked his own forehead so hard that H.B. felt sympathy pain. "Shut up, stupe. Phog's smarter than you even, and that's saying something. NLA's the lucky one, 'cept it wasn't luck. He was always s'posed to be here. I should'a stayed part of the past." He abruptly switched his full attention to his flask. H.B. couldn't explain it. The thermos never seemed to empty. Perhaps there was alien technology involved. Possibly the Ma-non had managed to create a miniscule distillery and located it in Frye's bottle. But why then didn't he have them plant one in his stomach and save the effort of swallowing?

"Hellooooo, Mira to H.B.!"

H.B. startled, then frowned. He was tired of Frye always surprising him. He was tired of never foreseeing Frye's points. He was tired of always being in the wrong. Maybe he was just tired.

Frye didn't notice his gloom. He said, loudly and with slow emphasis, "I said, why was that probe so important?"

"Nothing. It wasn't important."

"Liar, liar, pants on fire. You got a good team almost killed for a probe. I wanna know why."

"We were never in any real danger."

"We were in as much danger as we wanted to be. Which was plenty real, so long as we wanted to protect that stupid probe."

H.B. slumped suddenly. He looked at his shoes, as if that would remove him from the next few minutes. "It was my first."

"Your first probe? Which means you had to be the one to fix it? Talk about ego."

"I knew it was planted wrong. Even back when it first went in. I knew whoever was sent to replace it would realize that. The original shaft was clearly obdurate, no, wait, obscure, no, uh …" He slashed the air with his hands.

"Slanty?"

"Precisely. They'd see it and realize how incompetent the original workers were."

"Big whoop. It was scrap. No one would know who'd done it."

"I soldered my initials on it."

"God, you're an idiot. No one would care!"

"I cared! I did a bad job and I wanted to be the one to fix it!" H.B. shouted.

Frye stared at H.B. For his part, H.B. felt an increasing flush that had nothing to do with the unusual (for him) amount of alcohol that had been consumed. But the heat wasn't due to anger, either. He continued in a subdued voice. "I wanted to erase that mistake, and move forward."

They stood for a few minutes in swaying silence, in the parking lot of a diner, lit with artificial cheer, the clangs and screeches of the Industrial District in the distance. Frye coughed. "Anyway. Merry Christmas, idiot, and a happy New Year. Let's see what stupidity we can manage next."

"That's a dreadful toast to make. You should hope for something more positive."

"I'm not hoping. When you ask me on the next mission, I'm gonna find out for sure. I can't wait."

A/n: This was part of the super fun Secret Santa from the XCX Tumblr, and I drew the prettiest BLADE you ever did see. Too bad I wrote about H.B. Things I realized: 1) To write H.B., all I need to do is use my normal, formal voice and boost the vocab a little. Oh. Dear. 2) I don't have the FN sites memorized like I did a year ago. 3) "Official Sakuraba technicians" my fanny, it was Lila & Co. Wonder who the Pathfinder was (wink!). 3) I hate writing fight scenes, so I gave myself a gift and didn't. 4) I have no idea what H.B. meant instead of "obdurate". It was going on midnight and my brain wasn't working well. 5) Oblique! He meant oblique! 6) Koko knit a lot of sweaters and I need to figure a way to show them off. Maybe on the thumbnail...