Well, another Monday. The good thing about this fic updating every week is that I always know what day it is. No summer mix up. I hope everyone is enjoying their vacations and, for those of you who aren't on any vacation, have a good week!

I am also very sorry that this is going up so late. I admit I forgot.


When We First Met

-You were hopelessly confused by a heap of metal

"Banana who?" York yells again.

"Shut up!" replies Maine, his gravelly voice angry.

"Knock knock," reiterates Wyoming, unfazed by the hulking Freelancer's glare.

"Both of you shut your faces," South says darkly.

Cali shakes her head and pushes through the knot of people standing in front of the locker room door. She leads them inside. Two long rows of grey metal lockers line the main room. A pair of squat benches sit between them, forming a wide aisle. Around the corner is a row of walled-off showers.

The Director and Counselor stand in the aisle. The Director points to a locker when he meets Cali's eyes coolly. Wordlessly the Freelancers are all directed to a locker.

Cali goes to hers quickly. It is situated in the centre of the left row. She touches her index finger to the scan pad and hears a click as the lock disengages. She swings the door open and lets out a tiny gasp. She wastes no time hauling the black undersuit on over her t-shirt and shorts. She fumbles into the slate gray armour. Piece by piece, she finds out how it fits together. It isn't entirely unlike her Marine suit. After about ten minutes Cali steps back.

She is the fourth to get fully armoured. Florida has his adjusted by Maine as the Counselor is shown by Carolina where hers is too loose. Cali gazes around the room, trying to find someone to lend a hand to. She sighs after spotting Wash. He is only about half-dressed. Cali rolls her eyes and watches with mild fascination as he hops on one foot, trying in vain to jam on a boot. She crosses the locker room.

"Sit," she commands.

He bumps heavily down onto the bench and surrenders his boot to Cali. She crouches down and undoes the latches on the side. "Try now."

Washington takes his boot back and slides his foot into it self-consciously. "Thanks," he mutters.

Cali doesn't waste time with a reply. Instead, she roughly slaps on a shoulder guard and begins to tighten it. She is faintly satisfied when he makes no complaint as to her gruffness or how hard the metal connects with him. Cali then cinches his chestplate more snugly. Together, Washington and Cali manage to get all of the flatly-shining suit on him.

"Again, thanks…?" he trails off questioningly.

"California." She meets his kind green eyes. They are paler around the pupils and a stormier, harder green on the outer edges. "Cali."

He stands and sticks out a gloved hand. "Wash."

She shakes it firmly.

"Now that you are correctly suited," drawls the Director with a half-glare to Washington – Wash, Cali corrects herself – and continues, "follow me and we will paint your armour so you can recognize one another."

Cali scoops up her helmet from the shelf in her locker before shutting it. She files out behind the others.

"Who the hell is there?" asks York, a note of desperation creeping in.

"Banana," responds Wyoming smugly.

Cali grits her teeth.

She puts on her helmet. Instantly a dozen windows open, clouding her vision. She lets her eyes fall into the disorienting double-focus to keep from ramming into the back of South, just like in Basic, to address them. As she walks – every step heavier than usual due to the added weight of her armour – she begins to play with her heads-up display settings.

The Counselor calls her name. She steps up into the strange apparatus and seals her suit against the paint spray. After a minute of breathing recycled air, Cali is waved through. She climbs out of the narrow tube, brushing shoulders with Carolina.

As Cali joins the group that has already been painted, she takes her helmet back off. She studies the light reflecting off the gold metal and forest green accents. Then she scrutinizes her team.

Maine in white and brown will be easy to remember with his EVA helmet. York's tan colour gels with his Cowboy attitude. Florida, in dark blue, Cali can associate with the ocean. Wyoming went with white. North and South stand shoulder to shoulder in purple and magenta respectively, showing off their matching green accents. Wash shuffles his feet as she takes in his silver and yellow choice.

Carolina steps out of the painter a cyan blue. Connie takes her place.

"Banana."

"Banana. Fucking. Who?"

The Director ignores Wyoming and York.

"Knock knock."

York fixes the white agent with a cold stare.

"Oh, come on, you can't leave me hanging," prompts Wyoming.

York looks the other way and spits through his teeth, "Who's there?"

"Orange."

Connie rejoins them, her armour now a rich brown and striped with pale grey.

"Or… Orange?" York reels in shock. "Orange who?"

"Orange you glad – " Wyoming breaks off to chuckle. "Orange you glad I didn't say Banana?"