As much as the young agents wanted to delve into what they found, they knew they had to wait. Not only were their parents on their way, but if they kept going without a break they were going to burn out. It was better for everyone's frustrations and anxieties if they walked away for a moment. There were a lot of other things they had to take care of anyway. Max called his mother back to explain the interruption, inform what exactly was discovered, and ask if the other half of the team could bring food. The young agents were starving. They were also feeling disgusting after running around for days and sifting through the dirt and grim of Division for more than several hours. Taking care of themselves had to become a priority.
It was difficult, yet the young agents managed to put aside the journals and doctored personnel file to study later. Maybe if they rested they could come back with fresh eyes. They wouldn't be weighed down by thoughts that could obscure their judgement. Going into anything in their war with an open mind was practically impossible. Except, they had to try. The intel had to lead them, not the other way around. Things like that were always easier said than done. In their war with villains they knew too well for comfort, not jumping to conclusions was a struggle. They couldn't rush into things in an attempt to end it all. How many times have they thought that, however.
They really needed a break. The young agents pulled all their intel into an open area wide enough for the whole team to gather in, then dispersed. Water was turned on to shower and wash the clothes they found with, the computer rooms and monitors were explored to their fullest, a target range was reopened, and a sparring mat discovered was utilized. They were looking to blow off steam any way they could. Pj was also looking to push aside those bitter thoughts that kept resurfacing. She couldn't completely shake them no matter what she tried. It was starting to become annoying. Shouldn't she have control of herself. Why did she keep faltering. The only answer she could find was ignoring it.
She could only assume that it was working. Whereas Felicity's excitement about all the tech in the bunker (apparently one of the tech rooms even had a couch in it) made Pj want to check what other excitements could be found within Division, she decided to shower instead. She needed a moment to herself. It was easy to blame the torture chamber for her jumbled thoughts. A part of her knew Amanda did something to her in that chair when she was kidnapped, yet she didn't want to believe it. Though, who would ever want to believe they were fucked up. That damn needle kept reappearing proving she wasn't okay; she was far from it.
That pissed her off more than anything. Something had happened to her, and no one knew what that could've been or why she had been tortured. Maybe the 'why' was her parents. Amanda would do anything to get back at Nikita for simply existing. But when Pj encountered the bitch in the fighting ring, she wasn't sure she even existed. She thought she was her mother or some other member of the team. So was kidnapping and torture always part of the plan, and Amanda was just going to ruin another teammate like Owen. Or did she change it all for Pj.
As the spluttered cold water raced down her back, she couldn't help but stifle a scream and punch at the old tile. Nothing made sense. They were still digging for information despite the war lasting decades, and they were nowhere near defeating Amanda. In fact, the team was constantly torn apart as though they were nothing. They couldn't make a dent in their enemy's operations. It was all too much to take. But they kept fighting as if there was hope- as if they were making some kind of difference in the world. Did that make them stupid, or brave, or stubborn, or so goddamn righteous.
Pj had no clue. She only knew she was angry. The fury at least shifted from only her parents to every single thing. But, God, she was so tired of being angry. When was she going to wake up and just be happy. She used to be able to. She remembered feeling peace and love and freedom. She wanted that back. Out of everything, she deserved that the most. Her entire family did. If they were the heroes of the story, then why did they keep suffering. They should've been victorious time and time again, with a happily ever after in the bag. Instead, they were back where it all began.
There was hope in that, though- wasn't there. The team was making some progress and they had viable intel. Pj just had to fight to see that. Punching at the shower wall wasn't helping. She needed to hop out, dry off, and redress. Max and James had washed everything. Along with their belongings, there were pairs of sweats and tanktops, some jeans, a few t-shirts, and a dress. None of them wanted to throw back on what they had been wearing. So, Max took some sweats, as well as Kara. Oliver and James took the jeans and tees, regretfully looking very similar in their matching outfits. And Felicity took the dress. That left the last tanktop and sweatpants for Pj. But she was fine with that. They were comfortable and easy to move in. With the gym she had wandered past earlier as her destination, the 'borrowed' sweats seemed like the best option.
Maybe if she actually took a break instead of sorting out her thoughts and emotions, she'd actually feel better. The best way to ignore something was to actively push it away, right. Pj found a sparring dummy in the gym to take her frustrations out on. It wasn't the same as a partner to trade blows with, but it would do. Besides, punching the dummy was better for her sore knuckles than the shower wall. There had to be a more constructive way to get it all out of her system than violence. But she was supposed to be ignoring it. Deep down inside her that lividity went, as she fiercely battled the punching bag.
Again, the torture room was easy to blame for the resurgence of her complicated feelings. Yet what she had read in Amanda's journals, was what really pushed her over the edge. It was possible Pj was trying to forget that more than her fury. However, that was an even worse can of worms to open. Punching a dummy was simple, and all her focus was put into that repetitive motion. Strike, breathe, strike, breathe, strike, breathe. She became swept up by the monotonous motion, the world around her finally drowning away. It was by no means perfect. But at least she was breathing and she had stopped thinking so damn much. That was the best she could've hoped for.
Kara eventually gained Pj's attention, startling her. On reflex, she swung at her friend. She managed to deflect, sort of expecting the reaction. But Kara didn't falter or judge. She smiled, and offered to be a sparring partner. Pj accepted the offer, yet she didn't smile in return until they started talking. As soon as jokes flew along with their fists, the weight on her shoulders lifted. She got to laugh and tease with her friend. A sort of brightness filtered into the dim room. Whatever fucked up thing that was wrong with her wasn't fixed. However, being around others was a more substantial solution than ignoring the problem. She wasn't alone. That should've been obvious, but it was easy to forget others were also hurting when you were surrounded by pain. She wasn't struggling to fight demons by herself. They were all together.
Hearts sank as the elevator creaked and groaned its way down into hell. They shouldn't have been back there. They should've destroyed the place instead of dismantling it and going into hiding. It didn't matter that the hellhole was buried underground in the middle of nowhere. Someone was bound to find it. Strange enough, it wouldn't have been so terrible if a stranger or even their enemy rediscovered the bunker. Yet the fact that it was their children- those that were supposed to have remained innocent- that reopened Division stung more than anything else. No matter what, the team was always dragged back into hell.
A hum washed over the older rogues once they stepped into the vehicle bay, making Nikita sick. God, she always hated that sound. Somehow, the place kept the disturbing noise despite having been abandoned. It was as though Division existed only to torture her. By that point in time, maybe it did. There was no reason for it to come back into play. Except it did, and there was no way to avoid it. Their children claimed they found damning intel against Amanda with files that hadn't been completely erased. It was slim, but it could connect with what they discovered about the doubles. They had once claimed that they'd do anything to end their war. Returning to Division couldn't be the exception, no matter how awful it was.
Their kids had scattered throughout the hellhole, causing the older rogues to search for them. Nikita figured they were still trying to dig up secrets about Amanda; they wouldn't give up, just like their parents. She continued to debate if that was a good quality for any of them to have. If they kept digging- if they kept fighting- they were only going to discover more pain. Where was the good in that. She attempted to shake that feeling away, yet when they saw that their children had inadvertently set up in Operations her hopes started fading. The cycle really did just continue didn't it.
The older rogues then split to track down the young agents to reunite, eat, and talk. They could've pretended it was like when they had to bring them back home after the park. But that was so tragically far from their reality. It was almost laughable to think Division was anything like those blissful times. Staying behind in Ops, Ryan and Cassandra set up the information they had learned in order to compare it to the others. Birkhoff and Sonya, on the other hand, found Felicity in the former nerd hacker cave, checking things out while Oliver cleaned weapons on the old couch. Michael and Sean quickly ran into Max and James firing off pistols and talking in the shooting range. And Nikita and Alex soon stumbled into the old training room.
Everything appeared exactly as they had left it. The mats were laid down, the punching bags and dummies were strung up, and the weights were gathering dust in their racks. Even grunts of agents and recruits sparring filled the air. Though, that was explained by the two young women giggling and struggling on the center mat. Nikita watched herself spar with Alex. It wasn't quite right, however. Alex's hair wasn't blonde, her eyes weren't green, and they both weren't that tall. But it was the two of them, in recruit sweats, laughing and talking as they traded punches. She couldn't help but smile at the sight. They had been so young, so strong. They thought they could take on the world together. And maybe they could have if surprising life hadn't come along, forcing them to hide and slow down. They might have gotten the blessings of family. Yet the curse of their war continued for far too long.
Alex came to the same horrific thought as Nikita in that moment. They shot each other a shocked expression, not wanting to believe what they had seen. Underneath their surprise, however, was a layer of fear and fury. Their daughters were the ones sparring, not them. Kara and Pj were inside Division, wearing those asinine sweats, and sparring with moves passed down from handler to recruit to children. They were their mothers, no questions about it. But they should've had more. It was the thought and belief that stirred the older rogues into most of their actions. Their kids had to be better than them. They deserved a life outside of that pain.
But they were in Division. The young agents had followed the path of their parents right back into hell. Some of them were even wearing the same clothes, not knowing the impact they held. There were heroics and justice in their motivations, however. They wanted to save the world. Except how much more hurt were they going to stumble into before they reached that glorious end. No one could really be protected anymore. And that terrifying realization was going to break hearts.