It's been a while since an update here -- and I apologise. Real Life came running headlong at me and I had to cease the writings for a bit... I've actually had this written for a while. Silly me didn't post it.

Big thanks to GoGirl for looking over this chapter for me. I forgot how wonderful it was to work alongside a beta reader and hope beyond hope that I can convince her to continue to help me out with this and other pieces -- she's a smart girl!!

~~O-O-O-O-o-o-o-o-o-o-O-O-O-O~~

Anderson and the compound security force swooped down on the four teens with all the thunder and light of Thor descending from the Heavens. As his staff worked to secure the scene, Anderson found himself nearly senseless from rage. He heard nothing, saw nothing, as he pulled Mark out of Princess' hold and tossed him into the chest of one of the base medical personnel officers. "Mark," he growled in about as much of a supportive tone as was possible given his ire. "Are you okay, son?"

He didn't hear the lad repeat that he was okay. All he saw was blood – and plenty of it. "Take him to medical, immediately, for treatment. We don't know if that strike hit anything important." He stammered as he felt the feather-light touch of Princess' hand on his elbow and roughly jerked away from her. "I want immediate notification of the severity of this injury and what treatment plan you have in mind."

Princess' voice softly wafted inside the swirling and muted sounds around him, but he took no notice of it. He was concerned for the young man bleeding in front of him, and way too angry with her to even look in her direction.

"God tell me why I thought a girl would be a good addition to the team," he snarled finally under his breath as he stalked behind the med techs toward the compound. "They're nothing but trouble.."

Princess' hands flew to cover her mouth with Anderson's comment. Her world was tinted orange through her visor, and now swirled inside a wash of tears to distort and elongate his departing figure. "Sir, please," she begged with a voice full of apologetic agony. "I…"

Anderson spun on his heel and raised a finger. "Don't talk to me. Don't utter a word, don't make a sound. I can't deal with you right now." His vision finally cleared and he took his her complete despondence. He flicked a handkerchief from his pocket and tossed it at her. "I'm not falling for that act again, Cassandra. You can cry all you want right now – I'm not buying it." He flicked a finger at the mass of prostrate teens on the ground. "And someone do something about this. Find a way to erase their memories or something. This mess is seriously going to jeopardize this entire project."

She let out a choked sob and threw herself to him, ready to beg his forgiveness. "Please, Sir …"

He sidestepped as she tried to clutch at his waist to bury her face into him. "Just get out of my sight." He looked toward Jason and Tiny, who both half-appeared to be whistling their own innocence. "All of you just … get out of my sight."

Princess swayed on her feet and openly began to sob into her hands. "I'm sorry."

Jason let out a breath of empathy and found himself leaning forward to pull her into his hold. "Hey Cass. It's okay. The old man's mad now, but he'll get over it."

She clutched at his shirt and buried her head into the valley between his pecs. "No. No," she sobbed with a shake of her head. "He hates me. I really screwed up."

"Nah," Tiny crooned from her left. "He's mad, but he doesn't hate you."

"Yes he does."

Jason had a half wince on his face as he lightly stroked her back with the palm of his hand. "Give him some time to calm down, he'll be okay." He began a slow stalk to the front doors of the compound house. "I've gotten him this fired up more times than I can count. Just give him an hour to swear and yell at a few people and try talking to him again."

"I didn't mean to blow our cover like that, Jason, but Moose hurt Mark and…"

"I know, Cass," he assured softly as he leaned forward to push open the door. "We were all ready to do the same thing, trust me. You just got in first."

Tiny clicked in a loud snap of air through his teeth in agreement. "Got that right, Jase. Hell, I hope Mark's gunna be okay."

Princess inhaled a high and hard gasp. "Mark! Oh my god, I forgot…" She tugged herself out of Jason's hold and stumbled as she took off toward medical. "I have to make sure he's okay."

Jason coughed and slowly tilted his head at the flash of white panties as she took off down the hall. "Tiny, man. How long do you think it'll take for that sight to lose its appeal to me?"

Tiny's head was angled in a similar matter and he wore a goofy grin. "I dunno, Jase, but I hope for both our sakes it never does."

"Yeah," Jason breathed appreciatively. "The day either of us stops looking at that is the day we're no longer men, right?"

"Right."

~~O-O-O-O-o-o-o-o-o-o-O-O-O-O~~

An-ger

[ang-ger] –noun

1. A strong feeling of displeasure and belligerence aroused by a wrong; wrath; ire.

2. Obsolete. Grief; trouble.

in·so·lence

[in-suh-luhns]-noun

1. The quality or condition of being insolent.

2. contemptuously rude or impertinent behavior or speech.

Anger. No dictionary could quite define the emotion as eloquently as his psyche was currently feeling it. 'A strong feeling of displeasure' was a rather mild description for it. Anderson could quite honestly refine it to a far more specific and vivid definition. Somewhere along the lines of:

A blistering hot internal pressure increase that initiates its control of host beginning from the body's extremities. Total consumption of the host presents first as temporary tunnel vision, at worst blindness, deafness to anything beyond the passion's flow throughout the aural canals and an inability to speak to the individual(s) guilty of insolence (see definition) in fear of tearing them apart physically with words alone.

Oh he was pissed off. Pissed off. Did Webster's have a definition for that well-known phrase?

He was sure that throughout the years of training with his wards that he was explicit in ensuring that they knew discretion was imperative; that they were to ensure that their skills, abilities, and futures were shielded from everyone around them not affiliated with the project.

…Sure of it.

Why then, if he had been so specific in his orders to the team, had Princess used her new battle uniform in public, against known competitors, less than five hours of having received it? Furthermore, why had the child outright lied to him about her plans for the evening, then managed to involve the boys in her scheme, which ultimately resulted in a serious injury?

The question; the anger; the confusion; the betrayal by his little girl; all culminated to draw the entire left side of his face to twitch and flicker in a motion so much more than just a tic.

Princess rounded the corner hard and fast; fast enough that her brand new rubber soles skidded and jumped much like the initialization of the ABS in a car when the brake pedal is shoved to the floor. The jumpy movements of her feet on the polished tile caused her to stumble slightly, but she maintained her balance enough to not fall onto her ass.

She let out a yelp as she collided with the sharp corner wall, and then crashed into Dr. Anderson, who stood at a viewing window to a room where Mark was being treated.

"Sir, I'm sorry."

Anderson shifted his gaze slowly at her, but said nothing as he slid his eyes back to the window.

There was a subtle shift in his jaw as he watched the flurry of activity inside the room. Princess caught on to the movement and took it as him trying to find the words to say. She figured she'd save him the need and just blabber herself. "Sir, please. I didn't mean to go against your orders, but. Well. But, well, Moose started it. He and is friends cornered me and then was going to force me to kiss them…" she paused at the sound of a growl from Anderson and waited for him to say something. He didn't. He didn't even shift his gaze to look at her reflection through the glass.

"Sir," she tried again. "I am so sorry. When he hurt Mark, I just… I was so scared that…" She cleared her throat as she vainly attempted to figure out what she wanted to say. "I had to, you know. I was so mad. So upset and …" She raked her hand over her head, with the intention of clawing at her hair, and let out a grunt when her fingernails met only with the hard lacquered surface of her helmet. "And…"

"When you have finally worked out what excuse you want to use, Cassandra, then attempt to talk to me," Anderson grunted finally, sick of the mumbled, pathetic attempts at apology. "In fact, don't even bother. I'll deal with you when I'm ready."

She hiccupped. "You never call me Cassandra."

He ignored her and flicked open one side of his sport coat to thrust a hand into his pocket. He used the other hand to rap his knuckles on the glass. "Doctor, a word?"

Princess touched her hand to his elbow to attempt to coax some form of gentleness from him. "Sir, please. Can't we just talk about this? Can't you let me explain?"

He brushed her hand from his elbow and strode wordlessly to the door to speak with the doctor overseeing the Commander.

The doctor handed his clipboard to Anderson and let one side of his mouth curl into a smirk. "Mark is going to be okay. The blade used was sharp and the wound only a shallow slash. It barely cut into the abdominal muscle grouping." He folded his arms across his chest. "The implant you put in the boy has put his immune system in high gear. The laceration is healing at five times the rate of an unenhanced individual."

Anderson grunted. "The tone of your voice suggests that it is a bad thing."

The doctor grunted. "It is if the lad needs stitches, it is. You have to make sure that one or more of your team of delinquents has heavy triage training if you want them to remain pretty out there." He caught a glare and rolled his eyes. "Suturing is important if these kids want to retain their dexterity, John. They slice something in their hands or legs that goes unchecked for a few hours and they'll end up useless on their following battles."

Anderson snorted in agreement. "I'll have Jason and Keyop interning with your team starting tomorrow."

Princess timidly piped up. "Can I volunteer, Sir. I have already worked alongside the medical teams and have extensive…"

"Jason," Anderson snapped in interruption. "Will be our field medic with Keyop as his second. They seem to have the most level heads in the face of crisis." He passed a gaze at Princess, whose facial expression wore the lines and tear stains of distress. "I need to know that I can trust the person I charge with assisting my fallen team members. I need to know that my medics will be responsible, reliable and level-headed when someone gets hurt. I need to know they will respond like trained professionals not like a sniveling, overwrought, irresponsible little girl."

That jibe hit, and hit hard. Princess' hands flew to her mouth as she inhaled the longest breath she'd ever taken. She took a couple of steps backward and began to pant as a brand new wave of hot emotion worked its way up her spine and into her throat. "Striking me would have hurt less," she breathed sorely. "If you don't want me on your team anymore, why don't you just say so and send me back to the orphanage where you found me?"

At that, and at the absolute sadness in her voice, Anderson finally turned to her. "Princess…"

"Don't call me that," she snapped. She clawed at her communicator and tore it from her wrist. She let out a yelp as her body thrust up, alight with the detransmutation to civilian clothing. "If you can't trust me, then why am I here? Take this and find yourself a boy for your team." She threw the communicator to the floor at his feet and spun to run down the hallway.

Anderson winced. His anger had taken it too far. "Princess," he called down the hallway after her. "Princess, wait."

Mark staggered through the doorway with a wince and a groan at a nurse who insisted he remain in bed. "I'm fine, shit…" His head shot up to the sound of Princess' wail. "Cassie?" He shot a glare at Anderson. "What happened?"

Anderson stopped and swept his fingers along the floor to clutch her communicator tightly in his hand. "I swear you kids will be the death of me." Even though he attempted to sound legitimately annoyed there was a soft break in his voice.

Mark angled his head and offered a stare of disappointment. "I'm going to go talk to her." He turned to stalk down the hallway but was halted as Anderson clutched at his upper arm.

"Leave her," he ordered firmly. "She needs time to work this all out in her head before anyone talks to her. She made a grave error of judgement this evening and needs to learn from it."

"There was no error," Mark protested. "She defended herself against a possible gang rape and then came to my defence when I was taken down." He gave a hard wipe of his hand across the bandage around his waist. "She reacted in the way you taught her to, like a soldier defending her squadron."

Anderson's whole body tensed. "Was it really to that extreme, Commander? Were those boys about to attack her; or were you just being a jealous boyfriend?"

Mark rolled his neck. "Jealousy has nothing to do with it, Sir. I believed she was in immediate danger and enlisted the help of Jason and Tiny." He pulled his shirt up over his head and yanked it down hard over his torso. "If anyone is to blame for what happened out there it's me. I was the one who started the fight – Cassandra merely ended it."

Anderson let out a long snort. "I will be the judge of that claim once I view the security footage of what happened." He strode a single stride forward and angled his head to keep a glare on Mark. "Until I say otherwise, noone speaks with Princess. She's grounded, as are all of you. You will all sequester yourselves in your rooms until further notice."

"Then maybe while you're viewing the security footage you might check out some of our training disks as well," Mark countered arrogantly. "If you are going to persist in becoming belligerent every time one of us acts on the instinct you've forced into us, then you might want to adjust our training a little to something more..." he circled his finger in the air as if searching for the right words. "…more, typical of a teenager."

"Now who's being belligerent," Anderson snapped back.

Mark shrugged and stalked down the hallway toward his room. "I had a good teacher."