A/N: We're back again with another story from Joey. This one's about Ilia adapting to life on the Avenger, and wrangling with her self-perception of an outsider (no, not that kind) and a traitor.
I say it a lot, but it's worth repeating: it's stuff like this, the little details that are fascinating to me, but can't justify the wordspace in RU proper, that make the TFTA project one of my favorite things to come out of this whole crazy ride.
In any case, enjoy.
Title: Colors
Author: Joey
"Pick up the pace, Rangers. I wanna see those feet moving faster."
Ilia Amitola scowled as the voice of Captain Beagle echoed around her, overpowering the sound of pounding footsteps and her own panting breathing. Her Faunus agility and reflexes granted her an edge in short sprints, but for long runs like this one her stamina was severely lacking. On her left, Jane Kelly barreled past her with a machete slung from her back, while on her right she was overtaken by a Scout with long black hair and an ornate-looking dagger. Not far behind her, Fox Alistair and Velvet Scarlatina slowly closed the gap, with Yatsuhashi puffing behind them brandishing his giant sword as though it barely slowed him down.
"Stay in your lanes. Your targets should be about ten meters ahead of you. Grayson, good sprint, but watch how much pressure you put in each step. This ain't the pool, and your knees are gonna feel the shock if you keep pounding your heels like that. Amitola, remember to breathe. Slow down if you have to."
The chameleon Faunus scoffed and rolled her vibrant blue eyes. Slow down...yeah, sure. Maybe she'd go and get some tea and put a frilly dress on over her infiltration outfit and take a nice herbal bath while she was at it. None of that would happen, of course - no one had seen the Atlas prep-school girl-turned-radical terrorist-turned-XCOM operative in a skirt and lived to tell the tale, and no one present that day was gonna see her take it slow. If anything, it just made her want to go faster in defiance of the Captain's advice, but her body was unable to comply.
Regardless, she locked onto the ballistics gel dummy that was standing on the track, ready and waiting for a blade to be lodged in its throat. There was one in each of the lanes, one for each running Ranger on the course. Drawing Lightning Lash from her hip, Ilia aimed at the target, pulled the trigger, and fired the bladed whip out and delivering a potent strike right where it hurt. With the advantage of a long-range weapon, the chameleon Faunus got to watch as the other runners had to slow down to strike their dummies with blades of all shapes and sizes. Whatever lead she had gained from those precious seconds was quickly lost, as Kelly and Grayson resumed their measured sprint. Three-quarters of team CFVY weren't far behind, prompting Ilia to once more pick up the pace to the best of her ability.
"Big finish, Rangers. Almost there. Just a few more meters...and time! Forty-seven seconds, not bad. Need to be better, though. Go ahead and hit the showers, then we'll pick this up again tomorrow. Same time tomorrow!"
With a wheeze and a groan, Ilia flopped down on a nearby bench, pulling the hair band off her ponytail and letting it all hang loose as she tried to get her breathing back under control. When she was confident she wasn't gonna pass out from lack of oxygen, she got up and started heading to the locker rooms. She noted, with some amusement, that she wasn't the only one who took a while to recover - in the corner she saw Grayson pour half a water bottle over herself and her long black hair, while Fox "watched" as Yatsuhashi knelt on the ground, leaning against Fulcrum for support.
"Hey. Nice work out there."
If chameleon faunuses were capable of leaping out of their own skin, Ilia Amitola might have done just that.
"Captain." She hastily saluted as she spun on her heel.
The Australian Rocketeer chuckled. "At ease. Like I've said time and again, no need to be so formal around me. Speaking of form, make sure to keep your shoulders loose and your feet pointed forward when you need to move like that. Doesn't much matter how much noise you make - if you're sprinting, speed and stamina are what matter, not stealth and subtlety. And stop pushing yourself so hard. You know what they say, 'the fire that burns twice as bright…'
"'...lasts half as long,'" Ilia finished, looking down at the ground. "Any extra assignments for me, sir?"
"Oh, just the usual. Spend at least an hour at the firing range, do your usual fitness drills, and make sure you get a good night's rest and plenty to eat. And one more thing."
Ilia stared up with a bored expression. "What's that?"
"I want you to spend at least an hour talking to another operative."
An odd request, but sure. "Will do, sir."
"And no, Sergeant Belladonna doesn't count."
Ilia froze. "...sir?"
"Only way we got through the Long War was by being there for each other," said Beagle, "On and off the battlefield. So I want you to go and talk to people. Get outside your comfort zone. Make new friends, meet new people. Take a chance on a stranger. Like Lieutenant Arc says, 'strangers are just friends you haven't met yet.'
The blue-eyed chameleon faunus stared down at the floor, considering changing her colors to match the training hall's gray walls so she could escape this conversation. "Yeah...alright. It'll get done, sir."
"Good. Dismissed."
With one more half-hearted salute, Ilia stumbled into the women's washroom with a perpetual frown on her face.
Make new friends...meet new people…Easy enough for him to say.
After all, she was pretty sure Captain Beagle hadn't almost destroyed Kuo Kuana.
Now, one could argue that she wasn't entirely responsible for the Grimm attack. She hadn't orchestrated the plot at all - that was the Albain brothers. She hadn't been the one to blow up the Belladonna mansion, or the one who planted the charges, or even the one who had knocked out Blake. And it was the Grimm that had killed all those hundreds of people, not her. Yet deep down she knew that every single one of those names in the casualty reports was her fault - including five of the names on the Avenger's memorial wall.
Who would want to be friends with someone who's done something like that?
Blue...the color of serenity. The color of the ocean that caresses the world, gently inviting all into its embrace…
***
"Oh wow, they turned out really well!"
Blake chuckled as she watched Gillian's gray eyes widen at the developed photographs that Velvet laid across the table. The young Lieutenant beamed as she reviewed pictures of undersea landscapes, gardens of kelp and coral, and homes that seemed to be carved into the side of the cliff that separated Kuo Kuana's shores from the rest of the ocean.
"I'm glad you approve," said Velvet as she took a sip of her tea, smiling with pride. "Took a bit of touching up, but I was able to make something workable out of almost all those pictures you took."
"Oh man," said Gillian, still smiling, "I wish I had one of those scrolls back on Earth. We haven't exactly figured out how to make our phones waterproof - at least, not to the degree these things are. Still...wow. Thank you for this."
Velvet nodded, while Blake scratched the sleeping Zwei on her lap with a mechanical finger. "I still can't believe you actually went and visited the Reef District," said the Pathfinder Faunus. "The people there usually come up to us for trading, on account of the rest of us not being able to breathe underwater and all."
"Which is a real shame, because they're really friendly. One of them - Coral, I think her name was? - saw me swimming off the coast and thought I was drowning. But I wasn't, I was just doing that thing where I curl up into a ball underwater and let myself float. Anyways, she brought me up to the surface, we got to talking, and eventually she asked if I wanted to meet the rest of her family. Besides, since they donated a couple hundred tonnes of dried salmon and tuna, I'd like to think that it was less of a 'visit' and more of an 'official XCOM diplomatic outreach.'"
Blake smirked. "Sure...and I suppose getting to meet several beautiful women who love the sea as much as you had nothing to do with that."
"They're all gorgeous! They're like real-life mermaids!" Gillian blinked at her outburst, then blushed, trying to hide in her hair. "Sorry...that wasn't racially insensitive, was it?"
"You're fine, Grayson," said Blake with a soft chuckle.
Velvet, meanwhile, seemed puzzled. "There's just one thing I don't get. How did you get down there? Last I checked, XCOM didn't have diving gear."
Gillian grinned. "Who said anything about diving gear?"
"Wait. You mean...you held your breath the whole time down there?!"
"The whole way down and the whole way back up, yes," said the scout with pride, "Almost had a panic attack at around the twenty-meter mark, but I pulled myself back. And they like to keep and maintain these little air pockets for visitors to catch their breath down in the homes proper - it's just a matter of getting down and back that's tricky."
Blake was about to bring up Gillian's pooltime activities during the Long War when her ears perked up, and she saw something out of the corner of her eye. She looked over, and saw a figure with freckles and a ponytail staring dejectedly at the ground, trying to blend into the shadows beyond the doorway.
Ilia.
Velvet must have noticed it too, because she perked up at the presence of a new person. Following the gazes of the Faunus women, Gillian also looked over, and broke the silence.
"Oh. You must be Ilia."
The young Amitola seemed to shrink. Way to call her out, Lieutenant, thought Blake, loud enough for the not-quite-psionic Gillian to pick up on. Zwei's nose sniffed the air, and soon enough he wriggled his paws enough to squirm in Blake's metallic lap until he was upright enough to leap onto the tabletop, then off the edge onto the floor.
"Zwei! Careful!" shouted Velvet, holding her tea close while Gillian instinctively went to protect her precious photographs. But the small corgi did not heed the command, hopping over to the shadowy form of the new arrival. Ilia reeled back as Zwei approached, the cuddly canine nearly setting off her "fight, flee, or freeze" instincts. She eventually picked "freeze", standing ramrod stiff as Zwei cocked his head to the side, barking twice to say hello.
Blake's ears caught a soft, strained whisper. "Blake...help…"
With a soft chuckle, the cat-eared Huntress got up and walked over, kneeling next to Zwei. "Don't worry. He won't bite. He's harmless. See?" She ran her hand down the corgi's coat to demonstrate. "Just lean down and let him sniff your fingertips. Then pet him like this."
Ilia audibly gulped, then slowly inched her way towards the corgi. Soon she brought her fingertips just near enough for the tiny dog's snout to sniff, then anxiously rubbed her hand down his fur. Zwei responded with an enthusiastic tail wag, propping his front two paws on Ilia's shins and licking her exposed knees.
"Wh-whoa!" Ilia nearly jumped backwards, but Blake smiled at her encouragingly.
"It's alright. That means he likes you. It's okay if it takes a bit for you to warm up to him - I was the same way when I first met him. Just take it slow, and say 'down' if he does something you don't like. Okay?"
Ilia nodded tersely, but the tension seemed to leave her shoulders as Zwei yipped happily, his tail causing hurricane-like windstorms with each wag. "Y-yeah...thanks, Blake. I...appreciate...you...it…"
Blake sighed internally. It had been about two weeks since she and Ilia had The Talk - the one wherein Ilia revealed her long-harbored feelings for the Belladonna huntress, and where she had to gently rebuff her advances - and although she tried to hide it, the young chameleon faunus was still suffering from a classic case of heartbreak. Combine that loneliness with the guilt of her actions in the "name" of the White Fang, and the result was a wandering soul that needed to connect with others, but was too afraid to do so. She knew that she had been kinder to Ilia ever since Sienna Khan had abandoned her, but there was only so much she could do without enabling her behavior.
Fortunately for Blake, Gillian and her quasi-psionic "empathy" were right there with a rescue, as the long-haired scout approached the pair.
"Um...hello. Ilia Amitola, right?"
Once again almost freezing on the spot, Ilia managed to choke out a forced "yes."
The quasi-psionic Lieutenant smiled warmly. "I'm Lieutenant Gillian Grayson. Callsign, Robin. It's nice to meet you. Well, I mean...I saw you in training, but we didn't really get a chance to talk. Would you like to come and sit with us?"
Ilia's eyes darted from the bold young woman to Blake, who just nodded. Slowly, the chameleon faunus nodded as well.
"Fantastic. I'll go and pull up another chair."
"Looks like I'll have to make some more tea, then," said Velvet as she stood up, taking the tea set back into the kitchen. Ilia followed Gillian uncertainly as she led her back, like the scout was a siren from one of her earth legends. But there was no trickery, no deception - Blake had to admit, the somewhat-odd girl had that sort of magnetism to her, that kind of aura that put other people at ease...that made other people feel welcome.
Once again, Blake thought loud enough for Grayson to pick up on.
Thank you.
Green...the color of fortune. The color of Mother Nature and the threads she weaves through her garden that alters every outcome within it, for both better and for worse…
"Operative Chloris, power off your board this instant!"
Reese's only response to MacAuley's command was to flip both birds in the vague direction of the intercom speakers. "You can't tell me what to do, old man!"
"First off, I'm not that old," came MacAuley's indignant reply, "Second off, technically I can, since I rank higher than you on the chain of command. Thirdly, at least watch where you're going when you're joyriding, otherwise you're gonna - "
WHAM!
The wind was knocked out of Reese's sails (and her lungs) as she slammed chestfirst into someone crossing the hall, sending herself and her obstacle collapsing to the ground in a pile of tangled limbs. Her board zoomed off without its owner, before it smacked into the wall, spun out of control around a corner, and clattered to a stop.
"-do that…" finished MacAuley, "I swear, if you made any dents, you're pounding them out yourself."
Groaning, Reese tried to pull herself up while her head was still spinning, only to fail. Though part of that could be explained by the fact that a slender, freckled woman was laying on top of her, eyes rolling in her sockets as she too tried to get her bearings. As Reese's eyes refocused, she caught a glimpse of the skin changing from pale white to red, then slowly fading back to its natural color. Her eyes trailed down her "obstacle", taking in the smooth, strong-looking arms, the long legs, the ponytail that pulled back enough to reveal the back of her neck…
Shit. She's hot. Shit shit shit shit shit.
The woman rolled off of Reese, grunting as she felt her own ribs. Reese shook her head, trying to snap her mind back to reality.
Don't just sit there like a gay idiot, Chloris. Ask her if she's okay!
Reese meant to ask "Are you okay?" She really meant to. She had the phrase in mind and everything, and had it on the tip of her tongue. But what came out of her mouth was not what she meant.
"Are you gay?"
The woman snapped up and stared Reese in the eyes.
Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.
"I-I mean areyouokay?"
Ace recovery, Chloris. You can stop talking there -
"N-not that there's anything wrong with that! Uh...being gay, I mean! I don't want to imply that it's -!"
Great. Just great. Keep digging yourself deeper. Pretty soon you'll need spelunking equipment to get out.
The woman tested her ribs again. "Yeah...I'm fine…"
"Yeah you are."
Gods dammit, Reese! Shut! Up! Stop being! A useless lesbian! For two! Seconds!
"And what about you? Are you...are you alright?"
Reese blanched. "Huh? Me? Uh...y-yeah! Yeah, I'm okay!"
Totally not having a mental breakdown here. Nope. Not at all.
The two of them stayed there in silence a moment longer, checking for bruises or broken bones as they stood up. Eventually, Reese opened her mouth to speak again - despite her brain's protests.
"Um...you want me to, uh...walk you down to medical? You know, so we can check you out - UP! Check you up!"
Hitting on girls immediately after crashing into them. Smooth.
"No, I…" the woman folded her arms behind her back, her freckles changing from brown to a light shade of pink. "I think I'll be okay. Aura took most of the impact. But...I appreciate the offer. I, uh...guess I'll see you around?"
Reese just sort of nodded mindlessly, grateful for an out of the conversation. It was only when the woman turned to walk away that she realized she had forgotten one very important step in the courting process.
"CHLORIS!"
The woman froze, then turned on her heel to face the flustered young Huntress. "Um...what?"
"Uh...m-my name. It's...Chloris...Reese Chloris...from team...ABRN?"
A sequence of blinks. Then a smile. "Oh. Well, in that case...it's nice to meet you, Reese. I'm Ilia. Ilia Amitola."
And with that, she walked away again, her ponytail swaying with her hips as she made her graceful exit. Reese's exit was a little less smooth - she nearly tripped over her own two feet as she stumbled to retrieve her board, repeating the name she had just heard in her head over and over again.
Ilia Amitola...Ilia Amitola...that's a nice name. A pretty name, too. Pretty like her…
Then, like a chunk of gravity dust powering down, the weight behind the name struck her.
Wait. THAT'S Ilia?!
For the next hour, her thoughts merely consisted of the word "shit" repeated endlessly.
***
Red...the color of intensity. The color of pumping blood and screaming violence, and of hands forever stained with actions that can never be taken back…
"Sister Amitola, we have a task that we believe would suit your skill set...quite well."
The chameleon faunus shuddered as the soft, venomous voice of Corsec Albain washed over her, echoing and reverberating in the field of red mist she saw herself standing in. It had all started with that phrase, that simple request. At the time, Ilia just thought it would be something low-key, like Dust smuggling or hitting another SDC shipment. But arranging a series of events that would get the Menagerie Branch of the White Fang to throw in their lot with ADVENT? Ilia almost said no. She almost asked why they were asking her. Wouldn't Sienna be more suited to a job like that? Or Adam Taurus?
And then she heard that Blake was coming home.
For some reason, the knowledge that Blake Belladonna, the woman who had spent years chasing Adam Taurus's "tail" while ignoring the chameleon practically bursting with love for her, the prodigal daughter of the White Fang who was coming home only to preach the religion of XCOM, who openly pranced around with some air-headed blonde human bimbo - the very same one who had killed Adam Taurus, even! - burned inside Ilia. Her reluctance turned to rage, her indecisiveness turned to indignation. She got back to the Albains with a definitive answer.
And the results spoke for themselves.
The red mist around her coagulated, and the ground changed from crimson to black. Ilia swallowed hard as she saw dark shapes moving around her, shuffling and rising from the inky ground. Only it wasn't the creatures of Grimm. It was the people they had killed - or what was left of them, at any rate. Humanoid figures with missing heads, arms, upper torsos, and even legs hobbled and crawled towards her. It would have almost been a comical image...if it wasn't for the voices that threatened to overwhelm her mind.
I just wanted to make sure my wife survived. She died in my arms. A Canis killed me shortly after.
A Cockatrice pinned my legs to the ground, then ripped me in half with its beak. I was trying to get my baby to safety. I survived just long enough to see another bird gobble her up in one bite.
A Strider stepped on my fishing hut. I wasn't inside it, but my family was. A Scarab tore me apart a moment later.
I was so scared. So afraid. Where were my mommy and daddy? Why was everyone afraid? I just wanted to see Mister Belladonna speak. But then a Ravager picked me up and I flew above the ocean. Then it dropped me.
My wife and children are dead. And it's your fault.
Your fault.
You did this to us.
You betrayed your people.
You killed me.
You killed my wife.
You murdered my baby.
You did this.
You.
Brought.
This.
On.
Us.
Ilia clapped her hands to her ears, hot tears streaming down her face. "I'm sorry!" she screamed, voice and throat raw. "I-I didn't want this! I didn't want...any of this! I...I…"
The horde of shambling corpses linked broken, slimy limbs, and twisted and pulled and wove themselves together until they became a massive Gigas, the primordial sandworm that had been awakened by the panic. It shot into the sky, then descended on Ilia, who simply stared up at it. She couldn't run. She couldn't hide. She couldn't flee. She couldn't even stand up in the face of her own demise, as it crashed down on her and swallowed her and dragged her into an ocean where she couldn't breath and she couldn't see and she couldn't feel anything.
It was a fate better than she deserved.
Only darkness surrounded her for a moment, before her eyes snapped open. She gasped for breath, then sighed, noting that her blanket and pillows were once more stained with sweat and teeth marks. Trembling hands reached up to her bedside lamp, turning it on as she sat up uncertainly.
She looked around. The others in the bunks were still asleep. Good. She pulled a pink fluffy robe on over her shivering frame, snuggling into the warmth and comfort it brought for a moment. Taking a moment to steady her breathing, she finally slipped on a pair of boots before she headed to the kitchen to make a late night snack. Nothing too fancy or complicated. She just needed the toaster, a few pieces of bread, some lettuce, a tomato, a few slices of cold-cut venison, and -
"Another nightmare?"
Ilia just about jumped out of her skin for the second time that day, sending the knife and a jar of mayonnaise clattering to the ground. "Gods. Dammit. What is with you people and appearing out of nowhere?! And yes, I realize the irony in me being frustrated by that, thankyouverymuch!"
Hogarth gave no response other than sipping on his cup of coffee. Though Ilia couldn't see it, trillions of microscopic crystals beneath the man's skin shifted ever so slightly, allowing light to once more be blocked by his physical form rather than allowing it to pass through. The result was instantaneous - what was once a blurry outline became a man with shimmering hazel eyes, close-cropped blonde hair, a young face with the expression of a man much older, and a cool (but not cold) demeanor.
For a moment she felt a chill. Not because of the man's ability but because his look was well known to her. An office executive or professor who had grown up competing in physical sports. She had seen many of the type while undercover in Atlas and Mantle. Always stronger than they looked. Always knew more than they were letting on. She was all too aware of how dangerous such men could be if they were pushed, and she had no intention of toeing that line.
"Apologies," said the Sharpshooter, "I prefer to remain cloaked when I'm alone. Makes it more difficult for others to interrupt me. It was not my intent to scare you, little one."
Ilia mumbled something about how "intentions didn't really matter" before she leaned down to pick up the fallen silverware and mayonnaise jar. Her "mentor", the one who had put himself in charge of "watching the prisoner", seemed to follow her everywhere. How long had he been tailing her? Had he been there ever since she left training? Before she even got out of bed that morning? And why did he insist on wearing that same damn suit all the time?
She finished making her snack, put it on a plate, and considered walking back to the bunks to enjoy her sandwich in peace. But after ten steps, it became clear that whatever caused that nightmare would keep eating away at her unless she talked to someone. So spinning on her heel, she walked to where Hogarth was seated, setting down her plate and sitting down herself.
The suited man kicked the toe of his shoe against the paneled flooring, mumbling something about "real wood" under his breath before he noticed that Ilia had joined him. For a moment, they sat there in silence, her taking bites out of a sandwich, him taking sips out of a cup of coffee. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them made eye contact.
Until Hogarth spoke first.
"There is no shame in having nightmares," he said. "Even the strongest men and women cannot control what they dream about. The Lieutenant you spoke with earlier, Gillian Grayson - she whispers mission names in her sleep. Words like 'Vengeful Serpent', or 'Broken Wish', or 'Crumbling Castle'. And she laments the love of her life, the woman of her dreams, separated from each other by the Disconnect and waiting for a chance to return to those distant shores. And Reese Chloris...she had friends with front-row seats to Coco's match with Orryn, just before the Black Queen virus went live. Just before the arena's shielding went down...she screams their names into her pillow every night before she sleeps. No one is immune."
Ilia frowned. That definitely confirmed that Hogarth had been tailing her for most of the day. Regardless, she shook her head. "So why are you telling me this? So I don't feel as bad about having nightmares about what I did?"
"Do you feel you deserve them?"
"Considering I indirectly killed hundreds of people?" spat Ilia, "Yeah. I'd say I deserve them. I probably deserve worse, if I'm being honest."
"Like what?"
"I don't know!" shouted the chameleon faunus. "I...I don't know, okay? I guess I deserve whatever Sienna had planned for me! But I sure as hell don't deserve...this!"
"Deserve what?"
"This!" Ilia swept her arm across the room. "This life, this chance, this...all of this! Being part of XCOM, having friends, being in love, being able to talk to people...I don't deserve any of it!"
"Why do you say that?" Hogarth's voice never wavered. He simply kept sipping his coffee as Ilia ranted.
"Because I fucked up!"
Tears burst from Ilia's eyes as she cradled her forehead in her fingertips, resting her elbows on the table. "I-I got people killed! I went along with Corsec and Fennec's little plan! I-I hurt people! I ruined lives! I brought a goddamn Gigas down on my home! What would - "
Ilia paused for breath, her tears redoubling.
"...what would they think if they were still here?"
The memories of her mother and father, the ones who inspired her to fight for the White Fang in the first place...she could only imagine how they would have reacted if they hadn't been in that cave-in…
She buried her face into the folds and sleeves of her robe, sobbing uncontrollably. She was vaguely aware of a warm hand reaching across the table, clasping her own and squeezing gently. Her skin shifted and cycled through about twenty different shades of blue, green, red, yellow, orange, purple, before she finally settled on pure black with white freckles and hair. Bone white, ink black. Like the Grimm.
"...I'm a monster…" she wailed.
"Only if you choose to be."
Ilia pulled her face out of her arms, looking up at Hogarth with bloodshot, tear-stained eyes. The man was still, his face neutral, his gaze unaffected by Ilia's outburst. Yet despite the chill in his stare, there was still a warmth in the hand that held to hers, keeping her anchored and grounded in the storm of her own feelings.
"Regardless of whether or not you feel you deserve this chance, you still have it. You have done a terrible thing that cannot be taken back. You cannot change that. But you have the opportunity now to atone for it, to show the world that even those that once walked the path of violence can find peace. That those that did evil can still do good. While the scars will always remain, it is up to you to decide if you will allow them to cripple you...or if you will let them fade as you continue to grow stronger."
The chameleon faunus sniffled as her normal colors returned.. "And...how do I do that?"
"That is between you and your sin, little one. As a man who has made peace with his own demons, I can aid you in finding solace. I can assist you, advise you, answer your burning questions. But I cannot walk that road for you. Only you can do that. I guarantee that you will not be alone...but I can only help if you allow me. And others can only help if you allow them into your life."
Ilia choked a bit. "I guess that's why Beags told me to spend an hour socializing with other people."
"Perhaps. That man has overcome many of his own demons to get to where he is. He may know the value of surrounding oneself with people who can aid in working through grief. Either that, or he's completely insane. The jury's still out, really."
With a chuckle that almost sounded happy, Ilia leaned her forehead against the back of Hogarth's hand. "Thanks…"
"Do not thank me yet," said Hogarth, "That was the easy part. The hardest parts of this journey are yet to come. But one step at a time. Now then...perhaps you can start by telling me more about this...Corsec and Fennec? You say they were the ones who masterminded the plot? Anything you can share about them - including, for instance, information that Covert Ops teams might find useful - would be a strong start for your atonement."
Ilia smiled as she leaned against the table again, sitting up and sharing everything she knew about the Albain brothers, the splinter section of the White Fang, and whatever key members were still active. As she did so, her mind flashed back to a song her parents sang when she was younger, when things were simpler and she was happy…
Show them how you smile
If only for a while…
Show how you feel
Show them what's real
Be any color that you want them to see…
She was part of XCOM now. She was free to be whatever color she wanted.