A/N: Well, I'd hoped to come out with this one a little faster because I had large chunks of it pre-written, but that ended up not happening. I apologize for having one more chapter of stuff before getting on with the trial bit, but I felt that these scenes were important from a character development standpoint (as well as a bit of pre-trial prep for the last section), so I didn't want to skip them. Thank you for bearing with me while I try to weasel in time to write between my other life commitments.
Enjoy.
Life aboard the Avenger, all things considered, was rather boring.
Sure, that may have been due to the fact that he had been locked up in the brig for the entire duration of his stay, but honestly? The one time that Roman wasn't locked up almost made him glad that he was for the other 99%. The fact that everyone else who'd been standing around that surgery table seemed completely unperturbed by the sick monstrosity cut up in front of them seriously made Roman wonder if he was really the most reprehensible person in the room.
Neo was bored, but at least she found some ways to entertain herself with the door guards. It had taken Roman completely by surprise when his request to have the Reaper guards replaced with the old watch detail was acknowledged. He'd been certain that he'd get laughed at for asking to be guarded by someone less unnerving. After all, wasn't keeping your prisoners uncomfortable (and therefore off-balance) a major advantage in making sure they stay right where they're supposed to?
But when Roman called out to the nearly-invisible watchers and explained that his partner was really, really terrified of snakes? The human-looking half of the duo got up, promised to ask Bradford, and left. Roman had to resist rolling his eyes and accusing the Reaper of playing him for an idiot, because there was no way it was going to be as easy as asking. And yet, the old security detail was back outside when Roman and Neo woke up the very next morning.
Maybe it was part of some sort of reverse psychology trick that Bradford was playing on him, but Roman couldn't deny that it was working. Not only did he find himself being less of a dick to his guards than he was before, but Roman was also getting the sense that this XCOM crowd treated both friends and foes alike a hell of a lot better than Cinder ever did. Either way, he was rather eager to not piss off the new (old?) guys and have them decide that the Reapers were better-suited to keeping an eye on the prisoners.
And the guards seemed to be plenty eager to pass the time by chatting with Roman.
On one occasion, one of them noticed a hand gesture that Neo made to herself and asked about it. When Roman explained that he and Neo had some gestures that they shared so that they could more easily communicate, the operative's eyes lit up. A flurry of hand waving ensued, followed by a blank look from Neo, and then a sheepish explanation from the operative about this "sign language" that she was hoping Neo was familiar with.
While Neo was aware that signing was a thing that deaf and mute people used to communicate, it wasn't something that she'd learned herself. The hand gestures she developed with Roman were just a few, quick-and-dirty signs that the two of them came up with together to get critical information to each other during a job. At the same time, it didn't take a genius to see that Neo was clearly interested in learning what the guard was offering. And from the look that she gave to Roman, it was clear that he would be learning this, too.
And what the hell… why not? There wasn't anything better to do around here anyway.
At least, that was true until the next time Bradford decided to stop by Roman's neck of the woods.
The guards looked up when they heard someone coming down the hall, and Roman was able to guess who was coming from the way they all got to their feet and stood at attention once they recognized the visitor.
After a brief exchange of words between the guards and Bradford, the former cleared out while the latter pulled up a chair and sat down facing Roman.
Good morning, he signed.
Roman raised a questioning eyebrow. Apparently word had gotten around about that. Or maybe it was just Bradford who'd been informed.
Was this some kind of trick? He'd heard about police investigators offering detained suspects a donut to see whether they would ignore it or eat it. He couldn't remember what it supposedly said about the suspect if they took the donut, but maybe that didn't really apply in this case anyway.
Thanks, Roman signed back.
Did Bradford actually know this sign language thing, or was "Good morning" all he knew?
The flurry of gestures Bradford threw at him next answered the question pretty quick.
I'm not… so we can… or talk.
Since Roman was only able to pick out a fraction of what the Central Officer was saying, it seemed like talking would be his only real option.
"Cut me some slack," Roman said, rolling his eyes. "Your guys have only been showing me this stuff for a couple of days."
Bradford laughed. "I didn't want to be rude and make any assumptions."
"So why are you here?" Roman asked. "I get the feeling that you weren't just 'in the area' and felt like popping in on a whim."
Where others may have feigned shock that Roman wasn't interested in a little small talk before getting to business, Bradford seemed to have no trouble switching gears and addressing the point of his visit.
"Well first of all, I do want to know how the change in guard arrangements is working out for you. I figured that the sign language thing was a positive… well… sign."
Roman sighed.
"... But I thought it was also worth confirming with you directly that the new accommodations are better."
Roman and Neo, who'd been laying down on her bed this entire time, exchanged glances.
"Why do you care?" Roman asked suspiciously. "I'm just a prisoner, aren't I? Or are you trying to bribe me to get on my good side? Butter me up, or something?"
"Yes."
Roman raised an eyebrow. "You, uh… maybe didn't notice, Brad, but there were two options in there. That wasn't really a 'yes' sort of question."
"Would you like to guess which option I was answering?" Bradford asked, matching Roman's expression.
Bradford was enjoying this. He had to be enjoying this. Guy had all the power in this situation. He'd just finished swinging it around even further by showing off his signing, and now he was playing games with them. At least Neo seemed intrigued.
He meant Two, she signed. She looked at Roman, then over to Bradford.
Bradford smiled, then signed back, Yes. I meant Two. Sort of.
"Sort of?" Roman asked warily. "So you're saying there isn't just an angle that you're playing here?"
"I'm dealing with you, Roman," Bradford said with a slight snort. "Of course there's an angle. That's the language you're fluent in."
"Touche," Roman answered, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back. "So what's the angle?"
"Couple of things," Bradford said. "For now, it's about your old boss."
"Colleague," Roman corrected, eyes narrowing.
Bradford laughed. "You could've fooled her. Maybe things are different here on Remnant, but where I'm from? Colleagues don't throw each other under the bus."
Roman remained silent, and Bradford seemed to take that as his cue to continue.
"You've probably heard about the trial coming up," he said. "You're also smart enough to figure out that Cinder wouldn't pass up an opportunity like this to try and humiliate me on a public stage."
… Interesting.
Bradford grinned. "You interested in helping me return the favor?"
Roman and Neo exchanged glances.
Too easy, Neo said.
"It would be, if I was thinking what you're thinking," Bradford acknowledged.
Shame.
"I may be trying to butter you up, but I'm not dumb," He said. "And I think you and I both know that walking into the courtroom with you would be pretty dumb."
"So you want information," Roman guessed.
"I want information."
"And what's in it for us?"
Roman was already trying to figure out what measly scraps Bradford was going to offer, and how he was going to negotiate his way up into something more reasonable for both himself and Neo. Bradford said it himself: there's no way he could trust them yet, so the only thing he'd be offering is a token gesture with the expectation that Roman would fully cooperate to "prove" his value.
"I don't know," Bradford grinned. "What's your angle?"
There was that donut again.
Neo didn't wait for Roman to answer.
Freedom.
"Can't blame you for that one," Bradford said. "I like to think that we've made these cells more accommodating than the ship's previous owner, but… a cell is a cell. I've actually been discussing with my staff the possibility of letting you two out for periods of time so that you can stretch your legs for a bit. Maybe get some fresh air on the top deck."
"We'd still be on a leash," Roman said.
"Of course," Bradford agreed. "I'm trying to be friendly, not stupid. Right?"
"So would it be one of your psionic lackeys or your Reapers?"
Bradford grinned again. "Yes."
Roman rolled his eyes.
Neo grimaced and quickly signed, No snakes.
"I'm sure Vessira won't be offended by your request," Bradford quipped.
Alright, time to get back on track.
"Regardless," Roman said, "we both know that's not the kind of freedom Neo is talking about."
"And are you sure that's the kind of freedom you want?" Bradford asked, his tone suddenly turning serious. "After everything you've seen and heard, you want to just get dropped off somewhere so you can go back to doing crime as if the world isn't faced with an existential threat?"
Roman mustered the poker face that he'd crafted and perfected over years of being a charming con artist, looked Bradford square in the eye, and answered, "That's not my problem."
Bradford said nothing as he maintained his stare-down with Roman.
It wasn't Roman's problem. XCOM had decided to make it their problem, but whose fault was that? And… okay sure, Roman had been involved in the whole thing before when he was working with Cinder, but he was just doing fun crime stuff for someone who was giving him the opportunity.
Who would turn down the opportunity to take a joyride in one of Ironwood's shiny robo toys?
Hell, his antics probably didn't really make a difference in the long run. That Ruby brat and her merry band of do-gooders foiled all of his efforts while he worked with Cinder anyway, so none of this world-ending bullshit was his fault. If he'd never been captured by XCOM, he could have lived out his little crime life blissfully unaware of all the crap that was going on between them and Cinder.
… Right?
He couldn't shake the mental image of that body on the cutting table. It had become even worse lately when his stupid imagination decided to replace the memory of the tall, muscular body stuffed with all of that goo with a smaller, leaner figure with pink and brown hair.
They'd done it to Winter, hadn't they? Ironwood's top attack dog? Maybe if Roman had stuck around long enough… maybe Cinder would have decided that he didn't have a choice in the matter if she'd wanted him or his companion next.
"It's bothering you, isn't it?" Bradford said, but it didn't sound like a question.
Roman glared at him.
Smug bastard could go straight to hell. Who did he think he was, expecting to win this just because Roman maybe had a conscience?
He caught Neo's concerned look, and he remembered how long he had to spend convincing her that he was fine after their field trip to the medbay's surgery room. He was a good liar, but not with her. They had quite a few conversations after that.
But what good would they be to XCOM? Roman could give Bradford only so much information… and then what? Would they join in on some field ops? No way. They'd never be trusted, and for good reason. So wouldn't dropping them off somewhere and making them someone else's problem be the best solution for all parties involved? Bradford could be confident that Roman wouldn't make a beeline straight back to Cinder, and Roman could go back to living his simple life of crime with Neo.
… Unless Salem won.
Fuck.
"The good news is that you have time to figure out your angle," Bradford said. Apparently he felt that Roman had spent long enough stewing in his own self-doubt. "For now, why don't we talk about Cinder?"
That sounded like a good distraction.
"Alright," Roman said. "Let's talk about Cinder."
"Okay, ready? Go!"
An observer quietly watched as Annette, Qrow, and Ruby launched themselves at each other with Aura up and weapons raised. Weapons clashed on the Avenger's flight deck as the three of them ducked and weaved between one another. Temporary truces formed as two would gang up on one, only to be broken just as quickly when allies turned into enemies once more.
Good thing it was only a scrimmage, Winter thought. The three of them seemed far too willing to trust their supposed enemies in combat.
But even so, she couldn't deny how much skill was on display, especially considering that two of the three fighters were still recovering from some serious trauma, both physical and mental. Winter had only heard bits and pieces about Ruby Rose's ordeal over the last week, but even that was enough for her to appreciate how much willpower was necessary for her to be running and fighting on that tarmac.
Annette was much the same, though her recovery was a source of slightly bitter resentment for Winter. The two of them had been in the same fight, and Winter had effectively brought her opponent to her knees before Durand had found a second wind that allowed her to win. And yet, despite the massive injuries both of them had sustained battling each other, Annette was out there training while Winter was still here, watching from the sidelines.
A small voice reminded Winter that their recoveries weren't the same. Annette didn't have a parasite yanked out of her neck, nor did she have to deal with learning to live with… Grimm organs.
Winter winced just thinking about it. That had been an interesting conversation with Doctor Vahlen. The organs hadn't vanished when the parasite was removed, thankfully, because Winter herself was the host and was very much alive. While nobody knew whether or not the essence would continue to spread and corrupt Winter's body, her vitals seemed to be stable for now. But with the parasite gone, it felt like a crutch that Winter hadn't realized she'd been leaning on was suddenly no longer there. Certain functions that were once automatic had become laborious.
Walking, unfortunately, was chief among them.
She didn't know if she watched these training sessions as some means of self-torture, or if it was her brain trying to motivate her by giving Winter something to strive towards. Or maybe she just wanted to see XCOM fight, to see if she really had been bested by a superior adversary.
And rescued, Winter reminded herself. They had sacrificed a lot in order to bring her back from the brink.
That reminder pulled a sigh of frustration out of her throat. Winter had been fighting a battle against herself over the past day between making good on her promise to let go of her hate and internally taking out her frustration and resentment regarding her current condition on XCOM. It wasn't their fault. It was the opposite of their fault. And yet, as she sat here on high above the flight deck watching members of XCOM happily duking it out down below? It felt really easy to direct her anger towards her savior.
"Maybe it's self-torture after all," she muttered to nobody.
"Oh, I don't think so," a gentle voice answered, taking Winter by surprise. She turned around to see Pyrrha Nikos's face peeking out from the top of the ladder while she made her way towards Winter's little makeshift observation deck.
Winter wasn't sure how Nikos had found her, honestly. She'd set herself up on one of the signal towers that was somewhat removed from the forward-facing flight deck while still offering a rather commanding view of XCOM's "training area." Nobody came up here except for the occasional technician, and they were courteous enough to leave the recovering Atlesian Specialist alone to her thoughts.
"Hello, Winter," Pyrrha said, slowly seating herself on the platform.
How kind of her to take care not to indecently expose herself to Winter while getting settled. That dress really wasn't meant for windy weather.
"You're supposed to be dead," Winter answered, keeping her eyes on the fight below. Maybe if she was brusque enough with her speech, Nikos would take the hint and excuse herself.
"I thought the Central Officer was pretty clear when he said that I was with XCOM," Pyrrha mused, directing her gaze to follow Winter's down below. "Though I suppose ADVENT would be overjoyed to know that people believe my friends are instead lying to the world."
Right. XCOM was supposedly this paragon of virtue and good in the world. Popping up out of nowhere, conveniently at the moment when the world started to fall apart, and they somehow managed to wrangle a ship out of Ironwood so that they could go galavanting off to wherever, whenever they pleased.
Enough.
Another sigh. Winter made a note to talk with Bradford at some point to get the full story on XCOM, but filling in the gaps with presumptions that would make Cinder giggle with glee was not productive in the meantime. Winter forced herself to ignore the sounds of clashing swords below and focused on reminding herself that XCOM rescued her.
Pyrrha waited patiently, as if she didn't notice that the person sitting next to her was suffering from an internal struggle.
"Lady Fall has pointed out several times that XCOM never put you in front of a camera despite claims that you're safe," Winter said, trying to carry the conversation with just enough unpleasantness to maybe convince Pyrrha to leave.
The cheerful look on Pyrrha's face became a lot more forced as she answered, "I would greatly appreciate it if you would not bring that woman up in our conversation, if you don't mind."
Interesting.
Winter wanted to be left alone, but she also didn't want to actually distress Pyrrha. The younger huntress did an admirable job of hiding her emotional pain at the mention of Cinder, but Winter was both an Atlesian Specialist and the daughter of Willow Schnee. If there was anyone on Remnant that Pyrrha shouldn't try to politely lie to, it was Winter.
All the same, she had asked nicely, so Winter didn't see any harm in indulging Nikos's request. Even if it meant that she'd have to try harder to get rid of her guest.
"Very well," she answered, returning her attention to the fight on the flight deck. "So did you come up here to just be cheerful in my general presence, or did you have some other purpose?"
Pyrrha seemed to give the sarcastic question more consideration than what Winter was honestly expecting. Perhaps her positive demeanor meant that she had entirely missed the snarky undertone, and was taking Winter's words seriously.
Winter could have been imagining it, or maybe it was just the shadows of sunset playing tricks on her, but Pyrrha looked like she had an almost guilty expression while choosing how to answer a question that didn't really deserve it.
"I've… been watching you," she said.
That was enough to pull Winter's focus away from the fracas down below.
"Oh?"
"A little bit," Pyrrha admitted.
With the initial shock of the realization wearing off, Winter found herself drawn back to the dipping, ducking, and diving of Qrow and his huntress trainees. She was particularly impressed with Annette's mastery and application of her jump jets. It would be interesting to see how well she fought without that advantage, though.
But the fight was just a distraction. Winter now had some questions for Pyrrha. "And may I ask why?"
Weiss's partner, Ruby, was also a sight to behold. She seemed to be less confident with her weapon than either Qrow or Annette. Then again, Winter recalled that she'd been using a rather large scythe during the Vytal tournament instead of the (rather plain) sword that she now brandished. That didn't stop the young huntress from zipping around and clashing with her opponents with all the energy she could muster.
Which was a lot more than Winter could say for herself at the moment.
"Because I'm worried."
Winter snorted.
"Why do you care?"
Pyrrha wasn't Weiss. Those two might be friends, but why would that give Pyrrha cause to extend her concerns to Winter? Surely she had more important things that demanded her attention.
"That answer is the exact reason I care," Pyrrha said quietly.
The two of them continued to watch the fight unfold below in silence while Winter chewed on her companion's answer. What was that supposed to mean? Why would Winter questioning Pyrrha's motive be her motive? It was circular logic at best, so maybe she was just bullshitting Winter to avoid being honest? That seemed rather uncharacteristic of the noble persona that Pyrrha had cultivated during her time in the gladiatorial circuit.
Qrow was holding back, which mildly annoyed Winter. It was only a little bit, but obvious enough that she could spot it from this distance. Surely Annette and Ruby would have wanted to be treated with respect in a fight, no? Why would they allow him to insult them by keeping the training wheels on?
"Removing the parasite was an important first step," Pyrrha continued, "but you still have some inner demons to grapple with, whether you like it or not."
"The hell do you know about inner demons?" Winter asked, her temper rising. A small voice reminded her that she promised to try and let go of anger, but Nikos was making that difficult.
So she waltzed up here just to lecture Winter about something she already knew? To wag her finger and say, "Now, now…" as if she had a better grasp on Winter's issues than Winter did herself?
"You didn't have a… a thing shoved into you that made you into a slavish whelp, ready to do anything—anything—that some sick bastard asked of you, including betraying your own sister," Winter spat. "You didn't lose complete control of yourself, weren't gaslit to think that it was all in your head, weren't forced to endure sleepless nights for weeks because of the rage being injected into you by evil beyond your control."
It almost felt like the parasite was back and stoking her anger, except Winter knew that this rage was very much her own.
The absolute nerve. Being a four-time tournament champion didn't make Pyrrha Nikos qualified to dispense psychiatric advice like she was some sort of therapist. It didn't make her better than Winter. What sort of high horse was she riding on?
And that pitying smile was absolutely maddening.
The sounds of steel on steel echoed across the deck. A reminder to Winter, once more, of something she'd lost.
"Would it surprise you to know that I've had to grapple with some of those emotions myself?" Pyrrha asked, her gaze focused on the fighting below.
Winter stared at Pyrrha. She wanted to roll her eyes, but she was also willing to let Pyrrha try and prove her point.
"Enlighten me."
Why was she still smiling?
"I spent about a month aboard this ship where I had to be bathed daily because I couldn't do it myself," Pyrrha answered. "And I needed to be fed every morning and evening because I didn't even have the strength to lift a spoon to my lips."
Right. Didn't one of XCOM's operatives claim on a VNN broadcast that Cinder had crippled Nikos? If that was true… then it sounded like the injury was a lot worse than the soldier had let on during the interview.
Winter sighed.
Pyrrha, it seemed, wasn't done talking. "I had plenty of time to myself, as you can imagine. Time to relive my failures over and over again. Time to wallow in self-hatred for how useless I'd become, and time to feel humiliated and undeserving of the kindness that was shown to me day after day by the people who cared about my well-being."
Winter felt her anger dying down as Pyrrha spoke. She wasn't entirely sure if she believed everything the woman was saying, but she said it with a gentle earnestness that couldn't be ignored.
"It's not the same," Winter muttered, casting her eyes down at the scrimmage below.
"Of course not," Pyrrha agreed, "and I would never even dream of trying to downplay the horrors you had to endure. Or the ones you are still coming to terms with. But the similarities are enough that I see some of what I used to be when I look at you."
Winter looked questioningly at her companion. "What do you see?"
Pyrrha turned to face Winter directly. Concern was etched into her eyes as she answered, "Someone who thinks she's alone, and is understandably angry because of it."
The fight raged on. Between Winter and the combatants was a cavernous distance, both physically and metaphorically. A mocking reminder of what she used to be, and proof of what she'd lost.
"I had to rest three times on my way up here," Pyrrha commented. "And I still get out-sparred by a teenager who has never set foot in a combat school and who has no Aura or weapons training to speak of."
Winter snorted.
"Then perhaps we are more alike in our pathetic state than I gave you credit for."
"But that doesn't stop me from trying," Pyrrha said. "Because even though I'd given up on myself for a long time, my friends never did. Their positive energy never faltered, and Dr. Vahlen never missed an appointment to come take care of me, despite the mountain of other work she is entrusted with."
Doctor Vahlen…
"She's the one who pulled the… the thing out of me," Winter noted.
Pyrrha nodded. "Along with Doctor Tygan and their medical staff, yes. She can be cold and emotionless when her work calls for it, but there is a beautiful soul that rests just beneath the surface."
Winter saw a twinkle of amusement flit across her companion's face as Pyrrha added, "There's a reason she gets along so famously with your sister."
The two of them grew quiet again while the huntsmen continued below. Winter noted that, though the temporary alliances were certainly fluid amongst all three of the combatants, Durand and Rose seemed to team up more often than not. Perhaps they knew Qrow was the most skilled of the three, and they needed to work together to counter him. Or perhaps there was another reason that was more personal.
"You can look at this in one of two ways, I think," Pyrrha mused. "It is either a mockery of what you've had taken away from you…"
"... Or a goal that lets you focus on what you have to regain," Winter finished.
The smile she earned from Nikos felt a little different from all the others that Pyrrha had given her during their conversation.
"In position?" Ilia whispered.
Just by speaking, she knew that her comm was transmitting to her partner. Raising a hand to her ear each time she wanted to open the channel would look too suspicious while in a public setting, so the Always On system was her only option.
"Yes," came the quiet reply.
Ilia felt a little… weird. Not because she was on an operation with Blake. That was the good part! The weird part was that she was back in the Uptown part of Atlas, literally shoulder-to-shoulder with the kingdom's upper crust as she made her way towards the floating city's CCTS tower. It almost felt like she was coming full-circle, back to where her life truly began. Except instead of going to school here to try and join Atlas's high society, she was working with XCOM to try and help save it.
The other part that made things weird was that she didn't look like Ilia anymore, courtesy of Coco Adel. She'd maintained her beloved ponytail for so long that she almost flinched when Coco had told her she'd be getting a makeover to avoid getting recognized. Fortunately, the fashionista was more than capable of making Ilia look different without applying pounds of makeup, changing her hair color, or anything equally drastic. Just a hairstyle change here, an outfit rework there, and a pair of sunglasses to tie it all together.
As long as Ilia could keep her emotions in check, nobody would give her a second glance.
"Remember, we're just here to scout things out and verify that the intel gathered by Odei and her network is still good," Blake said.
"Right."
While the Covert Operative had spent most of her time and effort in the Downside, she had of course been working contacts and operations in the Uptown as well. Most of those links had been made by her associates before they'd been caught by Jacques Schnee-
Ilia had to pause for a moment and concentrate to keep her skin from flaring into a scarlet color.
Right. Focus. Odei's people had risked a lot to map out as much of Atlas as possible for XCOM's eventual arrival. The least she could do to repay them was validate their work without creating a scene.
Ilia pulled her scroll out of her pocket, put it up to her ear, and put on a smile.
"Heyyyyy, I'm at the front steps," she said, casually glancing around. "You inside?"
"See anyone?"
One, two, three, four. Four guards at the front entrance alone, keeping an eye on all the people filtering in and out of the communications tower. So that meant she needed to start her response with a D.
"Dad's over there in the corner, I think," Ilia answered. "I'll go see if he's busy."
"Don't forget to say hi for me."
Ilia made it inside without any issue, but the four guards out front still concerned her. From Odei's intel, Atlas always kept only two guards stationed at the front of the CCT. She would need to compare against several other soldier count data points that Odei had given them, but if it turned out that the kingdom had doubled everything in the tower in response to the recent unrest? That might be a problem for XCOM.
People went about their usual business within the CCT, seemingly content to let the government ensure their safety. Nobody seemed worried, on edge, or otherwise disturbed. Maybe it was because all of the fighting happened down below, away from their gilded cage.
How lucky for them.
Ilia continued to "chat" idly into her scroll, looking around and taking note of the various points of interest that Odei had asked her to check on during her recon.
A cheerful voice chirped in Ilia's comm piece, and she was reminded that she came with a passenger.
"Electronic security is very tight in here!" Nichole said. "Surveillance appears to have every angle covered, with redundant fields of view in all areas except for a few corners!"
Must be nice for her to be able to speak freely like that, given that she was communicating directly to Ilia through an encrypted close-range link.
"Dad wandered off into the crowd again," Ilia said, speaking more to Nichole this time rather than Blake. "Trying to find him."
"Not much movement out back," Blake answered. "Lot of presence, though."
"Let's move upstairs," Nichole suggested. "Sabretooth will figure out a way in, but we need to make sure we understand the security on the inside first!"
Ilia followed a few people up to the second floor so that Nichole could get a look around up there as well. At the top of the stairs, she was stopped like everyone else by security.
"Identification, please," the guard said.
Standard procedure, since entry to the second floor required credentials indicating that you had an appointment to use the tower's higher-end services.
Good thing XCOM had Dr. Polendina on their side.
The guard scanned Ilia's scroll, and she heard a small ding before he handed it back and nodded.
Second floor was much quieter and much less crowded. Still quite a bit of security, but a lot of available terminals where Ilia could sit down and do her thing after doing a walk around to give Nichole a chance to sweep.
"Found an opening," Blake announced. "Service door that gets checked on only during an intermittent patrol."
Perhaps something XCOM could notify Atlas about… after they used it to their advantage first.
"Ready for the phone call!" Nichole said.
That meant she finished her visual check from Ilia's sweep and had loaded herself into the scroll.
Ilia approached one of the open terminals, put her scroll on the adjacent pad, and the holographic UI winked to life.
Polendina had arranged for Ilia to call one of his colleagues as a pretext while Nichole worked with her father to conduct her cyberintrusion into the tower's system. With a few keystrokes, Ilia placed her call and waited. She wouldn't have Nichole in her ear anymore, so she just had to trust that everything was going well on the digital side of things.
A face flashed on the holographic display, and it smiled when it caught sight of Ilia.
"Ah! Sandy!"
Ilia returned the smile and greeted, "Hello, Doctor Linden."
"Please, please…" the man said, waving her off. "Jasper is just fine."
From what little Ilia had spoken with Dr. Polendina, she could already see how he would get along with someone like this. Friendly seemed to have a habit of attracting friendly.
What did that say about Ilia's attraction to Blake, then?
She pushed the thought aside and continued to talk with Jasper, asking how he was doing and making sure he wasn't affected by the riots. Polendina had told her that he would only need five minutes to do his sweep with Nichole, maybe ten if they encountered a snag. Dr. Linden had been informed that he should expect a call that would last that long, and was happy to help as a favor to Polendina.
The radio silence from Blake rang loudly in Ilia's ear while she chatted with the scientist. She figured that it would be too risky for Blake to be speaking while intruding in a restricted access area, but it still would have been nice to get updates on her progress. All she knew was that if she heard three clicks on the comm, it meant that Blake was in trouble.
Then again, she'd probably also hear from Nichole. No doubt their little cyber ghost was keeping eyes on Blake while she explored the CCT's back access.
"You really should come to visit sometime," Jasper said, smiling warmly at Ilia. "It's been so long since we've sat down for a cup of tea, and there are just some things that are missing from a video call like this."
Wow. Linden was really selling the whole "friendly and familiar" ruse. He must really be good friends with Polendina if he was willing to work hard to make this believable. Maybe XCOM should recruit him? Or maybe not. Linden's work was here, and he could do good things for the kingdom. It wasn't like he had a daughter traveling with XCOM that gave him reason to join the organization.
"That sounds lovely," Ilia answered. "Do you have time this week? I could stop by after I finish up my errands in the city today and tomorrow."
"Marvelous!"
They still had another three minutes to go, per Polendina's request for ten.
Ilia's mind wandered to Blake again. She knew her friend was alright, since there hadn't been any warning clicks in her ear. But… was she alright? After hearing about the stuff she'd gone through back on Earth, and after seeing the limbs that Blake now had to use…
But that's what Yang was for, right? She was right there with Blake on Earth. Ilia remembered being jealous of the blonde girl when she was spying on them during Ghira's speech, but now that she'd had some time to speak with Blake, and some time to see how she behaved around Yang? Well, it was pretty clear to her that Blake was in good hands.
And speaking of good hands...
The distracting thought of Reese almost turned her freckles pink on the spot. Almost. She refocused her thoughts. After all, being distracted by jealousy and anger had driven her to the point where Lady Khan had sentenced her to death. It was only thanks to XCOM that Ilia still had a chance to redeem herself, and from the sound of it? It was only thanks to Blake and her friends that XCOM was able to be around to help.
Well, now it was Ilia's turn to help XCOM. She could let herself think about Reese later.
Linden checked his watch and made a face. "Oh dear. Time flies, doesn't it? Especially when you start to get as old as me. Hah!"
Ilia checked her own timepiece. Ten minutes had passed.
"Unfortunately," she agreed with a smile. "Well, it was wonderful catching up with you again, Jasper. I'll see if I can swing by your neck of the woods later this week for that tea you promised."
"I'll be waiting!" the scientist answered before giving one last wave and severing the connection.
Ilia got up, pulled her scroll off the terminal's dock, and left.
Once she was outside and away from the CCT, she keyed her comm to contact XCOM.
"Central?"
"Read you loud and clear, Skittles."
"I haven't heard from Nichole after I closed the call and grabbed my scroll," Ilia said. "She was supposed to acknowledge that she was ready to leave. Did something change?"
A second voice came on the line.
"I can answer that for you," Pietro Polendina said. "But first, let me assure you that everything is okay."
Well, that was good.
"Nichole and I agreed that she should stay for the next couple of days until the time has come for Phase Two of the operation."
Stay in the CCT system? That was a surprise. One of the officers had floated the idea during the initial briefing, and Bradford made it clear that he was not going to expect Nichole to hide herself away for days on a server that had counter-intrusion software running constantly that posed a threat to her very existence. So what changed?
"Is Sabretooth alright?" Ilia asked. "I haven't heard from her, either."
"That's part of the reason we made the decision. Ten minutes was not enough time for Sabretooth to finish her part of the operation, and Nichole proved invaluable for her safety. While she probably would have been fine on her own… Nichole wanted to keep helping."
She wanted to keep helping. That seemed to be the recurring theme for XCOM, didn't it? They were trapped here, according to Ruby, but they could have simply set up shop in Vale and hired themselves out as a mercenary security force. That would have been a lot safer than what they were doing now, surely.
Nichole's plan made sense, though. If Blake wasn't done mapping out the service routes, then there was a greater risk of XCOM getting caught during the intrusion later on.
"What's the other part?" Ilia asked.
"Simply to monitor the situation before Phase Two begins."
"Is that necessary?"
"Odei's people didn't have that luxury, since they couldn't hide within the mainframe. But my Nichole? She saw the opportunity to do good, even at risk to herself, and she took it."
Ilia couldn't deny the bravery Nichole was demonstrating here. She almost made a comment to that effect when Polendina added, "She mentioned that she knew someone who kept watch in a tower for an entire week just to help keep Sabretooth safe. She said she wanted to honor him by doing the same."
Ilia felt her stomach flip at Polendina's comment while her mind tumbled backwards through time.
You've been with us for all of two days before Bradford has decided to send you out into the field.
He was assigned as your senior operative, was he not? Are you surprised that he's taking his job seriously?
Warmth rushed to Ilia's cheeks, and she was relieved that she no longer needed to remain inconspicuous. Still, she saw a small alley up ahead and moved towards it so that she could get away from the busy crowds while her mind continued to play its highlight reel.
Failures are how you learn. Nobody ever got better by remembering what they did right.
When I look at you, I am looking in a mirror from fifteen years ago.
I committed murder, Ilia, along with more unspeakable acts than I care to count. And yet, I was able to find a purpose that renewed my will to live. One that has led me here to help you search for the same.
Her vision grew blurry, and Ilia wasn't sure how she managed to reach her destination without stumbling.
"Ilia?" Polendina asked, and she realized that she hadn't responded to his last comment. "Is everything alright?"
The path to Atonement varies from person to person. For some, the mere act of seeking a change of heart is enough for their healing to begin. For others, they require more tangible proof before they are able to convince themselves that they once again have worth. It is up to you to decide what needs to be done for you to believe that there is value in your every breath.
It was fortunate that Ilia happened to be passing by a wall right at that moment so that she could use it to hold herself steady. Otherwise, the people on the street would have witnessed a young woman collapsing to the pavement.
"He… was a good man," she whispered, fighting to keep her skin from turning blue. "I am sure he would be honored to have inspired Nichole to follow in his footsteps."
"And I am sure he would be proud of you, too, my dear."
No matter how long it takes you to walk that path, know this: I am proud of how far you have already come.
If only Polendina knew how right he was.
A/N: So I have bad news and good news.
The bad news is that this glacial pace of writing/updating is likely going to persist for a while longer.
The good news is that I (hopefully) have an end in sight, as I'm working to secure a change in my living arrangements that will allow me to have more free time to write. Living half a minute away from my parents (instead of half an hour) who are very keen with spending as much time with their granddaughter as humanly possible means that my wife and I will have a lot more readily-accessible support that will give us more breathing room without wasting two hours a day in round trips in order for the little bambino to see her grandparents. When that change will happen, I don't quite know yet. Hoping for sometime before the new year, but... best laid plans of mice and men, and all that.