Jacinto Beach

Approximately 10 Years after E-day

You told me 'be fearless, be strong, and be brave'
But momma, it's lonely this side of the grave.
The songbirds are silent, the colors are gray;
I want to come home, but I can't find the way.

Excerpt from a little known Pelruin folk song dedicated to the lost soldiers of the Pendulum war.

Her chest squeezed tightly with every panting breath. Her oversized, floppy running shoes slipped in the wet sand on the beach as she chased after Ace's footprints. A startlingly sharp pain blossomed from her right side and grew to take over her midriff; she ignored it and tried to breathe around the pain as she sped up. Ace's dark silhouette bobbed in the distance in front of her, outlined by the quickly rising sun.

With a few last bounding, reaching strides, she finally caught up to Ace and his invisible finish line. She immediately crumpled into half, her hands resting upon her knees as she fought to regain her breath. Ace – who was breathing deeply, but not desperately – eyed her warily. "If you want to be a Gear, you need to start pounding pavement," he said with an unimpressed tone. "Five miles, four times a week."

Her head had been hanging loosely upon her neck, but she snapped it up to stare at him. "Five miles?"

"At least."

She straightened up to argue with him, her pounding heart and harsh breathing evidently forgotten. "But this isn't even pavement. It's sand."

"Wet sand is easier when you first start running. Less impact on the joints. Don't want you to hurt yourself." As if to demonstrate his point, Ace started jogging in place – his well-fitting shoes making deeper indents in the dense beach. "Eventually you'll be hitting 10 miles a day without breaking a sweat."

Bri – who had gulped down a mouthful of warm water from the canteen she had clipped to her side earlier that morning – choked at Ace's absurd statement. "No freaking way. I understand the need to be in shape, but there's no way I'll have to run ten friggin' miles in a war zone."

"Nope, you're right. A thirty mile forced-march with a loaded pack is much easier. Besides, how're you gonna pass the Gears fitness test?" Ace, evidently bored with simple jogging, started adding a bit of shadow-boxing to the mix. His steps became more of a dance than a prance as he bobbed and weaved, keeping both fists up as he traded jabs with an invisible partner.

"Fitness test is two miles – not ten," she said as she watched Ace's boxing show with an uninspired eye. "Besides, we should be working on stuff that matters – shooting, fighting. Not running. You know, real-life skills. Not phys-ed."

Ace reached out and caught the back of Bri's head with the cuff of his fist. "Skills don't mean shit if you've got the endurance of a corpse!"

A few weeks ago Bri had finally worn Ace down until he agreed to help her train. She was coming up on the minimal age a gear could enlist – 16. Bri considered fudging her application and her age – after all, it wasn't like the COG could prove she wasn't old enough, but Ace wouldn't hear of it. He wanted her to continue her education despite the piss-poor condition of the schools. When he found out that she had cut class to join morning PT he realized that they needed a compromise. He'd help her train to be a Gear as long as she didn't cut any more school. Bri thought that Ace meant that he'd help her train for fighting scenarios – wrestling, hand-to-hand, even gun fighting. Bri had developed her own style of street fighting during the years past, and Ace had complimented her creativity in the ring.

He cuffed her again on the shoulder before motioning for her to get her hands up. She rose her fists, warily, as they began to circle each other. Ace was every bit the boxer as he bounced on the balls of his feet. Bri was cautious, lithe as she circled, keeping low to the ground and on the flats of her feet. Ace pitched out a couple of quick jabs that she easily dodged. "What are you going to do if you get cornered by a grub?" he asked.

Bri, who had been watching Ace's fists, met his gaze with a gleam in her eye that meant Ace wasn't going to get a serious answer. "Uh, I shoot it."

He faked her out with a right hook that dusted past her face, only to catch her in her solar plexus with a lighter-than air left jab. It didn't hurt, but had they been fighting for real it very easily could have. Especially if her assailant had brass knuckles, a shank, a knife, or any of the other easily manufactured weapons floating around Jacinto. She grunted with irritation and reworked her footwork, keeping her left foot farther back and her body angled.

"You're outnumbered," Ace continued the scenario. He easily ducked around her fist that swished through the air on the left side of his face.

"I shoot fast," she grunted with annoyance as he bounced out of reach again. He lunged back in and caught her upper arm with a light tap.

"You run," he said seriously. When she rolled her eyes he tapped her arm again – harder this time – to make sure she was paying attention to him. He dropped his fists and his smile as she rubbed her arm with a scowl. "I'm serious. Not everything in this world is a fight you can win."

"So, I'm supposed to…what? Just turn tail and run away? Is that it?"

"If it means living to fight another day, yes."

They stared at each other for a long moment, Bri searching Ace's face for sincerity. His expression was grave, with a single arched eyebrow that showed that he meant every word. She nodded once, showing that she understood, even if she didn't necessarily agree.

"Thought Gears weren't supposed to retreat."

"Gears are supposed to win battles. Sometimes that means walking away and regrouping." He motioned with a jut of his chin. "When we're boxing, what do you do when you see a punch coming your way that you can't block?"

She shrugged once, until Ace demanded an answer with the folding of his arms. "You take a step back, out of the way, and come back swinging even harder than before," she answered.

"Exactly." The corner of his mouth upticked into a smirk. "Although, with your skinny arms I have doubts about how hard you can hit. We'll have to have you lifting 50 kilo boxes of supplies for the kitchen staff to bulk up." She scoffed, and he reached forward and grabbed her arms and wiggled them like a doll's. "I mean it! Look at these shoestrings!"

Bri pulled her arms away from Ace's antics. She laughed, and he winked at her. Ace's winks were their silent language. It's you and me, kid, they said. We're the only ones who get it.

The sun was now completely over the horizon. The sunlight shone brightly on the back of her shirt and neck, warming without scorching. The sand under her feet was transforming from a dark shadowy grey into a toasted brown. The white-capped waves inched closer and closer to their position on the beach, flecking them periodically with cold drops of salty water. Overhead white sea-birds screeched and swooped in their hunt for fish. Bri took a deep breath of the sea-tanged air and smiled again at Ace.

"Come on," he said. "Let's run out to that lighthouse before turning back."

Bri immediately lost her smile as she looked behind her. She didn't see the lighthouse at first; she had to scan the horizon before she finally saw the black, defunct tower a full mile out. "Are you freaking kidding me?!"

Ace had a wide grin on his face as she turned around with an incredulous expression. "Well, maybe not all the way out there. Just go as far as you can, and we'll turn back."

She frowned when confronted with the idea of more running – her side began to ache with just the thought of it – so when Ace passed by her on the first steps of a slow jog, she curled her leg around his calf and dropped him to his knees in the sand. She twisted her small body around his, gripping his wrist tight in her hands, as she spun and brought him down to his back with an arm bar.

He grunted with pain and surprise as she tore him down. He didn't stay there long however, as he used his superior size and strength to pry her legs from his chest. Before he could extract his arm she was already shifting, winding her way to his back as he began to sit up. Before she could get behind him he caught on and rotated quickly, pinning her to the sand.

He laughed as her arms struggled against his tight grip. "I swear you-"

Before he could finish his sentence she swung her legs out and over, catching his midriff with her strong legs in a guard. She used her lower center of balance to topple and flip him over into the sand, rolling them closer to the surf.

"You were saying?" she asked, straddling him and pinning his long arms above his head. Normally she'd swing around and grab his arm in another arm lock, but she preferred to remain sitting upon his chest, bouncing slightly as he laughed.

"Ass…" he cursed at her with a smile. "I said I swear you were a commando in a past life."

"Nope," Bri said, popping her lips on the 'p'. "Just grew up liking to rough-house." She sat up and flexed, her biceps curling into outlined bumps upon her forearms. "Still wanna call these guns 'shoestrings'?"

He curled an arm around her back and flipped her once more. The point of her ponytail landed in the waves, clumping her hair into dark locks. He smoothed her hair against her scalp, and she ignored how her skin flushed as his hand brushed against her cheek. She thought that she had enjoyed sitting upon his chest earlier, but that moment couldn't even hope to compare to the feeling of laying pinned beneath him, blanketed by his warmth.

Ace grinned down at her while he supported his weight on the palms of his hands. "Friggin' spider monkey," he teased her. "Forget boxing, you're clearly meant to be a wrestler."

As I slept, the memory morphed into a dream, taking on a different turn than reality. What had actually happened was that Ace leapt up off of me, extended a hand to help me up off the sand, and then continued our early-morning run towards the lighthouse. I had wanted to quit about three-quarters of the way there, but had forced myself to keep going to impress Ace. Even though I had first balked at the idea of running ten miles, it wasn't long before I was running that distance and more.

But in the dream version of this memory, Ace lowered himself onto his elbows, pressing our chests closer together. His grin dimmed first into a fond smile, and then into a look of solemn…something. His eyes searched mine – warring with his conscious - before flicking downward to gaze at my lips. He closed his eyes, whispering my name in a pained groan.

I freed my arm from the cage of his chest and stroked the curve of his cheek with my hand. "It's okay," I assured him. "I want this…you…"

He opened his eyes to examine my expression, doubting the sincerity of my words. Ace always had a thousand reasons for denying my feelings for him – age, duty, and decency – but this Ace, my dream Ace, released his hold on his inhibitions. He lowered his face to mine slowly. His warm, full lips pressed against mine softly. My eyes drifted shut as our lips – fumbling, inexperienced – moved together for the first time.

When Ace and I had our first real kiss – in reality, many months later – he would pull away at this point, blushing, admonishing himself for losing control, taking advantage. In my dream he instead deepened the kiss, pressing himself against me with more urgency. I groaned in pleasure at the electric tingles lighting my nerves on fire. My hand drifted from his cheek to the back of his neck, losing my fingers into the thick of his dark hair.

My breath hitched as he ran his fingers up the curve of my ribs. His lips tightened against mine, demanding instead of deepening. At first I was pleased by his enthusiasm, but the thrum of my heartbeat changed from excited to nervous. His hand ran back down my ribs to my hips only to snake its way under my shirt and against my bare skin.

My soft hums of pleasure turned to grunts of discontent. Finally pulling my mouth away from his, I muttered his name in protest. "Ace," I hissed, but instead of heeding the warning in my tone his lips began tracing the curve of my neck. His hips – which had been laying atop of mine – shifted to slide their way between my legs, opening me up. I squirmed again as the hand under my shirt found the soft fabric of my bra. When he reached behind me for the clasp, I bucked against him. "Ace, don't-

I had finally jerked myself far enough away from this dream-Ace to extract myself from his overzealous advances. The hand I had used to caress the back of his neck was pushing against his chest, putting space between us. I tried to shove him off, but when he lifted his head from the corner of my shoulder his face morphed. The brown of his hair had faded to grey, and his golden brown skin was mottled with sores and warts. Darvish leered up at me, pinning me down with his weight. The soft sand at my back shifted to harsh, cutting tree bark. I sucked in a startled breath before I started protesting for real; panicky sobs escalating into screams for help before I was jolted awake.

"Bri!" A nervous voice boomed out – much too loud for the early morning. I jerked away from the heavy weight of someone's hand on my shoulder, reaching blindly for my sidearm. My hand instead found warm fur and then Sam's tongue as she gave my fingers a courtesy lick. I was leaning against the wall – half crouched – from when I had jerked awake, my eyes unfocused in the way that came from waking out of a nightmare. My head snapped to my right to find the owner of the nervous voice. Dom crouched down next to me, his face contorted with concern.

"Hey, you okay? What's wrong?"

It took me a minute to find my voice. "Yeah…bad dream."

"You want to talk about it?"

Hell no, my mind responded instantly – at least my instincts were still sharp. I shook my head and allowed the tension to fade from my body as I sat back on the ground. Slowly, memories of yesterday came flooding back in - the dog attack, patching Sam up, Dom and my conversation in the hallway of the hospital. As I remembered where I was it explained why I could hear the bustling of busy bodies and the slight smell of vomit and blood in the air.

I focused again on Sam to escape Dom's worried look. Usually when I woke out of a nightmare there was no one around to see the aftermath. His level of concern was actually disconcerting. I talked first so he couldn't ask any questions. "Morning," I said without meeting his gaze. "You got plans for the day?"

It took a minute for him to follow my cue and relax. Evidently my nightmare had waken him up as well; he yawned, rubbing first his eyes and then the dark stubble growing along the edges of his jaw. "Guard duty," he answered. "Wanna grab some food first?"

Sam – who had been content to simply lean into my hand as I stroked her soft head – jerked awake. Food!? Her expression clearly said. Where!?

I smirked despite myself. "Well, now that you said the 'F-word' Sam won't leave me alone until she gets fed. Let's go." I situated the straps of my guns and pack and braced my hand against the brick wall at my back to stand. Before I could heft myself upwards, Dom rose and extended his hand towards me. Hesitating only briefly I grabbed his hand – warm, and rough in my own – and allowed him to haul me to my feet.

Sam was a bit slower getting up. She didn't whimper as her wounded skin tightened and pulled, but I could tell she was in pain. She took a few, limping steps towards Dom with her tail hanging heavily behind her. "Let's not go anywhere far," I told Dom. "I don't think Sam could make it."

Dom was watching Sam's pained walk with as much concern as I had. "How about this," he proposed. "You go ahead and change bandages – hers and yours,"- he tapped the bite mark on my left arm as if I had forgotten about it – "and I'll be back with some meal bars. Sound good?"

He took off as I nodded. His heavy gear boots echoed down the hallway with a ringing confidence that absolutely did not help my blossoming headache. Sam watched him go and then looked back at me. Despite her hunched, pained body, her face was still bright and expressive. Thought we were getting food? She seemed to chastise me.

"Give him a minute," I scolded her. "He's doing his best."

I changed Sam's bandages first. Dom had left a small, white plastic bin next to my pack after he had returned from clearing out the cache last night. Inside it I found gauze, tape, pads, and even an antibacterial cream. I checked the expiration date on the tube of antiseptic with a skeptical eye – about twenty years out of date. Shrugging, I decided to go ahead and use some of the salve on her and me. There were worst ways to die than expired antibiotics.

Outside the hospital the weather was no more hospitable than it had been yesterday. The sky was grey and dreary despite the sun having been up for hours. Cold wind bit and nipped at any exposed skin, and jealously grabbed at loose clothing as if it begrudged the small bit of warmth there was to be had. I huddled deeper into the large, grey hoodie that I still hadn't returned to the COG, and looked for Dom.

He came jogging out of the east with a verifiable horde of meal bars. "Here," he said, slightly breathless with the cold. He shoved a good half dozen foil-wrapped bars into my arms – far more than I had ever taken for myself.

I held them loosely in my grasp and gave him an incredulous look. "I can't take all these!"

He shrugged. "Well…half are for Sam."

"No!" I protested again and tried to shove some of the bars back into his hands. "Seriously, no. I can't accept these. I'll go hunting or something later."

"Fine, here," he said and took one bar back out of my outstretched arms. He held it up and winked with a small smirk. "The rest are yours."

"Dude, no! I-"

"If you don't stop complaining I'm going to head back to Sharle and grab another couple handfuls," he threatened. His voice had a bit of exasperation, a hint of a threat, and just a touch of lecture in it. I was quickly coming to recognize it as his 'Dad' voice. Apparently he was making up for lost time by wielding it repeatedly.

I glared back at him with my own fit of exasperation. "It's not fair-"

"The cache last night had stores of MRE's, meal bars, and crackers. The crackers will probably get thrown out, but the MRE's and bars will help relieve the rationing a bit. You helped find them, so you deserve your cut of the haul. Now quite arguing with me!"

I kept my pissed-off expression on my face for just a bit longer, loathe to concede the argument. "Fine," I finally snapped, opening the flap of my pack and letting the silver slabs tumble inside. I pulled two back out before fastening my pack. I fed Sam one and slowly unwrapped my own. COG meal bars were brown, dry, crumbly blocks of calories and nutrition that looked and tasted like cracked dirt. I hadn't had much to eat the past few days, and I half suspected Dom knew that, which was why he forced the bars on me so strongly. I silently hoped the meal would stay down where it belonged, but the uncomfortable knot my stomach had become after swallowing my last bite did not bode well.

I followed Dom through camp to the CIC so he could report in for guard duty. "You got any plans for the day?" he asked as we walked.

I shrugged. "Not really. I had some traps set up in the woods. I should go see if they caught, but I don't want to take Sam with me. She won't stay here alone, though."

"Leave her with me," Dom suggested, holding out his hand for Sam to sniff for crumbs. "She can take a nap in CIC while we're both working."

It was as good a plan as any. Dom walked into CIC to check his orders, bribing Sam with a piece of jerky to get her to follow him. I watched them both walk into the decrepit building, wincing slightly when I observed the slight limp Sam now walked with.

The traps I has set were a few miles outside of camp. Once I was in the trees the wind cut down considerably. Here there were no unnatural streets and alleys for the wind to cut through, sweeping down the broken pavement with a hollow whistle. The bare branches twisted, fighting the wind and blocking it from reaching the forest floor. Compared with the freezing temperature of the Port, the woods were almost cozy.

Most of the traps I had set were still set up. Trapping was hard in winter; most of the animals were more dormant, or had migrated out of the area. I did end up with two squirrels and an immature opossum.

I cleaned the animals while kneeling on the bank of a creek, sending the innards downstream. I kept the skin on for now, figuring I might be able to dry and trade the fur later. Tying the three small corpses to my belt, I headed back for port.

Dom was patrolling the western edge of the town when I got back. There was a chance he'd randomly been assigned that detail, but I had a suspicion that he had requested this route. It was the closest patrol to the woods; he probably had been waiting for me to return. When he saw me walking out of the trees he held up his hand and waved me over.

"Hey," he greeted me for the second time that day. "How'd you do?

"Two squirrels and an opossum." I said, showing him the haul on my belt. "Not exciting, but it'll build a turd."

He winced before smiling slightly. "You've been spending too much time with Dizzy."

"Maybe," I agreed. "Go ahead and smack me if I ever ask you to 'butter my butt and call me a biscuit'."

"Will do," he agreed.

Just over Dom's shoulder I caught sight of Mataki strolling up to the pair of us. She was in full kit with her rifle hanging ready but pointed downward. She looked the business from the neck down, but it was still disconcerting seeing full armor on an old lady. Even an old lady that could bulls-eye the balls on a boomer from a thousand yards.

"Bri," she greeted me evenly with a nod of her head. Her eyes were still cautious, but there was no hatred layered in her expression. Maybe I had earned a bit of her respect after all.

"Hey," I returned her greeting. "You on patrol together?"

"Yep. Want to join? You might learn a thing or two."

I agreed and fell in step between the two gears. Typically I let my lancer hang from its sling, but for now I brought it forward and carried the weight of it in my hands. The barrel swept the ground in front of me – always away from others. Without gloves the metal was cold in my grip, but I didn't tuck my hands into my pockets.

Maybe I wasn't a gear, but I was on patrol with a lancer in my hands and my squad at my back. It was the closest I'd ever come to my dream of being enlisted. As my eyes floated around the horizon – scanning for threats – I caught a glimpse of Dom's grin.

"Man, you're a pair of boots and some COG tags away from looking like a real soldier," he said from my right. Maybe I was imagining it, but he sounded a bit prideful.

"We'd have to bulk her up a bit, first," Bernie answered. "Get a couple of real meals in her, then maybe she'd pass physical."

"What, is squirrel meat not enough for you guys?" I teased back.

"Squirrel meat is fine," Bernie said. "Just make sure to save the liver for Dom over there."

Dom laughed, but I didn't get the joke. "Bernie taught my survival skills class in basic," he explained. "Forced me to kill and skin a chicken, cook it and eat it. And I did it too – but I couldn't bring myself to eat the liver."

"How old were you then, Dom?" Bernie asked. "Sixteen? Seventeen? Nothing more than a wet-behind-the-ears city boy."

"Hey, I just didn't like the taste!" Dom defended himself. "And I was sixteen – with a lancer in my hands and a kid at home. My ears were nice and dry at that point."

I glanced at him warily, but for once the mention of Mom and home didn't bring that excruciating expression to his face. Maybe he was getting better, or just getting better at hiding his pain. Either way I decided to dance away from that topic. "Doesn't matter anyway; you're out of luck. Sam always gets the liver – it's her favorite."

"How is that mongrel of yours?" Bernie asked. "She's bloody useful."

"She'll be fine," I answered. "Couple of days of bed rest and she'll be good as new."

Up in the distance another pair of gears turned onto our street and started walking in the same direction we were. They weren't wearing helmets, so they either had to be insane or a part of Delta. When I squinted I could make out dark skin on one and blonde hair on the other – Baird and Cole.

Dom, Bernie, and I sped up to catch up with them. When we got close enough for words to carry I caught some of their conversation.

"Man, I was there and I still don't get it." Cole said, "How can something as big as Jacinto just sink?"

"I'm sure the survivors of the Titanic were thinking the same thing," Baird answered.

"Yeah, yeah. 'Guessing there's no way of rebuilding, neither. Bring it back."

"It's a city, not a yo-yo," Baird snarked. "It's down; it isn't coming back up."

Bernie took a few long, loping steps to catch up to the blond gear. "And how's Granny's little Engineer doing today?" she said loudly in a mocking tone. She slung her arm around Baird's shoulder, going up on her tip-toes to do so.

"Fucking excellent before I saw you," Baird answered, shaking her arm from his shoulder. He twisted his neck to look behind him, catching sight of Dom and me.

"'Sup, Santiago?" Cole asked, holding out a fist to be bumped. I jumped, startled, wondering how he had figured out my name before I realized he was talking to Dom. I watched, chagrined, as Dom repeated Cole's greeting and bumped his gloved fist.

I glanced back at Baird to find him gauging my reaction. He was the only one in the group – besides Dom and I – that knew Dom was my father. And judging from the expression on his face, he knew he was the only one in the group with that information. It hadn't even been a week and I could tell Baird was going to make me regret having that conversation with him. He'd reveal in the subterfuge; he always like feeling like he knew more than anyone else. In this case, he'd be right.

"Look at you," Baird said, taking a step closer and brushing his knuckles against the squirrel at my hip. "Squirrel stew for dinner? Guess you're trying to make your daddy proud, bringing home the bacon and all."

Dom visibly bristled at Baird's comment. "Man, shut the hell up. We all got to eat."

I kept a cool expression on my face, but inside I was seething. He only made a comment like that to watch Dom jump and jerk at his leash. "If you're nice, Damon, I'll save the testicles for you," I said sweetly. "I heard that you've been needing a new pair, seeing as Bernie's carrying yours around in her ruck."

"Squirrel balls?" Bernie interjected. "Nah, they might be too big for him. I'll see if I can catch a rat later, or a vole."

Cole chuckled: "Man, what'd I tell you about try'na play with girls? Last time I tried playing Thrashball with some of the neighborhood sisters I got my ass handed to me. Mama told me it was my fault for underestimating them. Then she whupped my ass fo' tryin' to hit a girl."

"How's patrol going?" Dom asked Cole, in a not-so-subtle attempt to change the subject.

"Not bad," Cole answered. "Except we had a kid fall off a roof."

"Shit. He okay?"

"Oh he's fine," Baird interrupted. "Luckily it was head-first, and the concrete broke his fall."

"Too bad it wasn't Blondie here, then," Mataki quipped as we all started walking again. "His head's hard enough to smash concrete."

"Baird's best asset is his brain," Dom disagreed. "Now if he fell on his mouth, on the other hand…"

Cole laughed – a deep, guttural, chuckle – while Baird debated the logistics of how someone would manage to fall on their mouth. "You'd break your nose first. Practically physically impossible."

"Want me to show you how, Baird?" Dom argued back with just a bit of bite in his words. "Take a hit on the chin for science, what do you say? Bet I can make you bite your tongue for once – literally and figuratively."

I smirked at the mental image of Dom curb-stomping the blond soldier. Baird waved Dom off, and for a moment I thought he was seceding the argument. Then his eyes glinted as he caught my gaze, and I realized he had found a much larger button to press.

"What do you think?" he asked me. As we walked down the road he easily re-rerouted himself to wander closer to my side. He did it so stealthily it almost could have been an accident, had it not been for the stirring look in his eye. "Be a shame to damage these perfect lips, right?"

I scoffed. "Baird, if you're looking for someone to tell you that you 'have a purdy mouth', I suggest you look elsewhere."

My comment got a couple of laughs from the group, but Baird was unperturbed. "How's your lancer running?" he asked me, reaching a hand forward and running single finger down the curve of the chainsaw. "I could always help you out with it, if you have any more problems with it. I've got up a nice workbench set up in one of the abandoned buildings. It's nice – quiet and…private."

I swallowed hard at the implication in his voice. As the flush rose to my cheeks I glanced to my right and caught a glimpse of Dom. He looked like an enraged Doberman – practically foaming at the mouth as he fought to keep his composure. A thick vein was crawling up the side of his neck and his face was turning an interesting shade of red.

The problem was, so was my face.

I hadn't realized that Baird even knew how to flirt. Flirting seemed a bit too subtle an art for the crass engineer. The only thing that made this worse was the fact that I knew it came from a desire to needle Dom, not from any true interest in me.

Fuck it. Baird could take his pointed comments and shove them up his perfect ass.

I paused, blinking in surprise. Perfect? Well…damn.

Baird stopped caressing the end of my weapon and instead stroked his fingers along my left arm, outlining the edge of my bandage. "How's your wound?" he murmured in a low voice, glancing at Dom as he slowly wrapped his fingers around my arm to trace the inside of my wrist.

In an instant I was transported back: sharp-tasting alcohol, rough bark at my feet, the spoiled scent of Darvish's unwashed body. Baird's grasp felt far too similar to Darvish's dirty fingers wrapping around my wrist to stop me from fighting back. I jerked away from Baird, clenching the hand he had been reaching for into a fist. "Get the fuck off of me!" I shouted, glaring at Baird's shocked expression.

In an instant the easy-going, teasing attitude of the group was gone. Everyone instinctively tensed up. Before I could blink Dom was there, grabbing Baird by his armor and shoving him back. "What the hell are you doing?" Dom growled, anger practically dripping from his words. "Leave her the fuck alone."

Immediately I wanted to apologize to Baird, to let Dom know that his demonstration wasn't necessary, but I couldn't find my voice. I was too scared to say the words I needed to: 'I need help', so instead I buried them in half-assed jokes or pointless one-liners. And when people got too close to digging up the truth of me I sent them away again with razor-tongued insults that I didn't really mean.

I had been doing so well. I had almost closed off the anger inside of me. I had stopped snapping at people, stopped picking fights that would have no true winner. In a couple more days, maybe even the nightmares would have stopped as well. I was almost free from the dark cloud Darvish's actions had cast over my entire life.

I had almost found my voice again when everyone's hand snapped to their ear, pressing on the comm unit. Even Dom released Baird long enough to listen to the incoming message. I stared at the group surrounding me – all gears, all listening intently with their heads tilted slightly to the left – and waited impatiently for someone to tell me what the hell was going on. Was it another attack? Were the grubs back?

"Civvies shaping up for a riot," Mataki finally said. "Marcus is already over there."

"Excellent," Dom said, shoulder-checking Baird as he took off to the north. "Looking forward to cracking some heads."

The squad followed Dom's run towards the impending riot. I trailed along behind them, uncertain and wallowing in self-hatred. Making a mental note to apologize to Baird later for my over-reaction, I ducked my head and ushered my feet into a light jog.

The crowd was audible long before it was visible. Angry shouts from the screaming mob drifted on the wind as we turned the corner. We were about a hundred meters away when the scuffle spilled over into something uglier: a man went down hard on the concrete. The crowd pressed in to surround him, some getting in hard kicks and punches. Marcus waded into the center of the horde. His heavy armor and build made it easy to pick him out amongst the mass of angry, thin men and women. He kept his lancer close to his body and simply shouldered his way through like a warhorse on a battlefield.

Dom's jog shifted into a hard sprint as Marcus disappeared into the press of bodies. With no helmet, Marcus would get a harsh beating if he lost his footing in the riot. That was the kind of stupid shit that killed you when years of grubs didn't.

"Hey, enough!" Marcus' yell was loud enough to cut right through the cacophony of angry shouts. "I said enough – back off!" When he appeared again, he was standing his ground and letting blows glance off of his plates. For a tense moment nothing happened. Then, slowly, a space began opening up around him.

I stood next to Dom on the edges of the group. Marcus evidently knew we were there without ever turning around; he motioned for us to keep back. As the crowd opened up I caught sight of the man - crumpled and broken on the ground. He kept his hands over his head even though no one was approaching him now that Marcus was standing guard. "I want you to step back, folks," Marcus said firmly. "Now. Move it. I'm dealing. Okay?"

The man at Marcus' feet was obviously Stranded. "That animal shouldn't be here!" a woman snarled at Marcus. "They're parasites. We're struggling to stay alive, and he just walks in to steal our food!"

On the ground was a small loaf of bread – smashed and ground into the dirt. I felt a pang of sympathy for the man. I'd been there – several times, in fact. No, stealing wasn't right, but neither was starving to death. It was simply a bad time for everyone.

"Okay," Marcus said, squatting slowly and grabbing the man by his collar. As he was hauled upwards by Marcus, he kept his hands up near his head in a protective stance. He'd obviously had the shit kicked out of him – he was covered in blood, clothes ripped. Between Marcus and the man's arms, I couldn't see his face. Instead I watched the crowd. Most people were beginning to back away, but a few still teetered on the knife-edge of breaking up or pitching in again. Marcus had to walk through a small crowd to get the guy out, and that was the likely flashpoint.

"We don't take much pushin' to go over the edge as a species, do we?" Cole wandered up on my left. He broke my scan of the crowd as I turned to look at him. "Shit, we all behaved ourselves when the grubs were around."

"Yeah," I agreed, beginning to speak as I turned to watch Marcus and the man. My mouth froze, then clenched as I caught site of the man's face for the first time. He recognized me at the same time I recognized him. He halted and backed into Marcus' chest, as if he preferred the bloodthirsty crowd to the snarl crossing my face.

"You SON OF A BITCH!" I screamed out before I could stop myself. I lunged out at him, dropping my lancer in an idiotic show of rage. I reached for my knife with one hand as the other reached for his throat. "You fucking sonovabitch!"

Cole immediately turned his shoulder into my stomach, holding me back. Anyone else probably wouldn't have been enough to stop me. "I'm going to fucking kill you! I'm going to rip your dick off and shove it so far down your throat you choke! I'm going to claw your fucking eyes out! I'm going to – FUCKING COLE LET GO OF ME! LET GO OF ME! I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL HIM!" I screeched.

"You think she knows him?" Baird chimed in.

It was Darvish.

The same piece of shit who tried to rape me in the woods had the nerve to show up here, at a COG outpost, and try to steal from them. I guess he hadn't gone back to the camp, just like I told him to. Apparently enough time had passed that he'd gotten hungrier than he was smart.

He tried to run when he saw me, his eyes growing wide with pure fear, but Marcus grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and kicked his legs out from under him, forcing him onto his knees. "You move, and I'll shoot you myself," he threatened, and apparently Darvish believed him because he didn't try to run. He didn't move despite the fact that I was still fighting against Cole so I could slip my knife between his ribs and watch the light fade from his eyes.

Cole grabbed my wrist, holding the knife hand steady so I didn't accidently cut him. "Hang on there, Lil' Sis," he coached me down from my rage, his voice never escalating beyond that of polite conversation. "Settle down and maybe we all can figure this out."

I wrenched away from Cole, tearing myself in the opposite direction from Darvish. Cole hadn't been expecting me to beat a retreat, so it was easier than it should have been. Cole looked ready to tackle me again, should the need warrant it, but I steadied myself. I settled for glaring daggers at Darvish from behind the line of Cole and Dom.

"You're a real piece of shit, you know that?" I spat at him. "What did I tell you last time I saw you? What did I fucking say!?"

Darvish spoke quickly, tumbling over his words like he was afraid I'd attempt to jump him. "Shit, ain't my fault, man! 'Figured you'd be staying at the camp! I ain't trying to play with you, man, honest!"

"Bri," Marcus called to me in a stern but patient voice, "We need some information here. What did this guy do?"

"What did he do?" I spat out, ready to curse him all over again. He attacked me. He took my piece of mind, my sleep, my personal sense of security…

"He-"

I froze. For the first time my eyes left Darvish's bloody and broken face and turned to the men watching me. Dom. Baird. Cole, and Marcus. Even Mataki. How the hell was I supposed to voice what he had done to them? They never would understand, could never sympathize with my situation. They'd see me as a victim for the rest of my life – someone weak and broken by a worthless excuse for a man.

My eyes flashed to Dom's. And how was I supposed to say it to him? Would I lose his respect for being in such a stupid situation in the first place? Everyone had already voiced disapproval for me getting drunk, how many of them would think I deserved it? No, I couldn't…no one could know.

"He…I can't tell you."

"Then let me the fuck go!" Darvish hollered and made to get to his feet, but Marcus cracked him over the back of the head with his sidearm.

"Move again and I'll let her have you," he threatened in a low growl. Marcus scanned the crowd of civilians that were all staring at my display. In this mood, a mob only needed one trigger to kick the whole thing off again. My shouting and threats could easily rile everyone back up. "Baird, get him somewhere secure and make sure he can't leave until we figure out what's going on here."

"Come on, asshole," Baird dragged him upright none too gently and shoved Darvish in front of him, keeping the point of his lancer trained on his back. "Just give me a reason to pull the trigger. I'm begging you."

I trained my eyes on the ground while willing the burning in them to stop. I wouldn't shed another tear over this fucker. I wouldn't. I still trembled with rage, and damn near leapt out of my skin when Dom's hand brushed my own.

"Hey, sorry," he said soothingly, both hands raised in a placating manner. "Just…lower the knife, okay, sweetie?"

I hadn't even realized I'd been holding it. I glanced at my right hand, surprised to see my iron tight grip on my knife. I could see the white ridges of my knuckles standing out in sharp contrast with my scarred skin. Without making eye contact with anyone I holstered my knife and picked up my lancer from where I dropped it. Readying my courage, I glanced up at the four of them.

"Come on," Dom said gently, gesturing for me to follow him. I stared down at his boots as I walked behind him like some kind of scolded dog. I didn't even care where he was taking me. I was still reeling from the turbulence of emotions within me. There was so much anger, some shock, and – more disappointingly – fear. Fear of Darvish, and a greater fear of what would happen when the truth of his attack got out. Of how differently people would treat me. Like I was a victim. There was a plethora of victims in the world; I was not one of them.

Dom led me back to the old office building turned CIC. There was motley of people there working, but they ignored us as Dom led me through the office. He headed for a back room with a locking door.

He unlocked the door and held it open for me to pass through. Inside the room Sam slowly got to her feet and greeted me. Apparently this was where Dom had kept her during the day so she could get some rest.

She pressed her nose into my hand, sniffing deep and then moving on to smell my belt. I suddenly remembered the dead squirrels and opossum hanging there, now frozen.

"Alright," Dom said, turning and facing me after shutting the door. "Let's start simple. What was that man's name?"

'Fucker', I wanted to tell him so badly. 'His name is Fucker. "Darvish," I answered instead.

"And you know him…how?"

"He's…he was a part of Dix's camp." I still couldn't meet his eyes, but in my peripheral vision I saw Dom sigh and cross his arms.

"Why do you want him dead?"

"Because he deserves it," I answered. Finally, I met my father's eye. He didn't look angry, or maybe I just wasn't skilled enough to read him that well. "And that's all I can tell you."

Dom nodded once, not really accepting my response but rather not being willing to argue that point with me. "Here's the thing," he said gently. So definitely not angry after all, unless he was really skilled at hiding it. "We can't hold him prisoner unless we have some reason to. We don't have the resources, and the longer he's here the more stirred up the civilian population gets. So you either have to tell me what he did or…or we have to let him go."

My eyes flashed to his, suddenly burning with righteous anger once again. "No!" I protested strongly. Part of what had been haunting me had been my decision to let him go the first time. Out there, he was free to prey upon other girls just like me. Others without a shepherd-mix to chew through his leg.

Internally I struggled over whether or not to come clean. I desperately didn't want Darvish to be let go; I'd hunt him down myself if the COG released him. But on the other hand…Dom's kind brown eyes searched my face, desperate for some reasoning behind my fury. I couldn't tell him that the daughter he'd gotten back two days ago had already been attacked. That despite him being in my life again, he still couldn't protect me. I couldn't tell him. It would devastate him.

So I had a choice. Stay silent and destroy myself, or tell the truth and destroy my father.

It was actually a very easy choice, in the end.


Author's Note: GEARS OF WAR 4! Who else is totally hyped? Seriously – Daddy Marcus. Absolutely nothing better!

Anyways…I feel like this chapter was a lot of dialog, which can sometimes be hit or miss. Hopefully it all worked out.

I considered not bringing Darvish back, but I figured Bri needs some sort of closure. Also, I really wanted him to get his ass kicked. Two birds, one stone, all that. Also this will set up some mushy Dad-daughter scenes, which is always good, right?

So drop me a line and let me know what you think of GOW 4! Or this chapter, or what you want to see in the future, or how much you hate Darvish. Seriously, come talk to me. I'm lonely.

Take it easy until next time! Maybe go chainsaw a grub or two. You know, enjoy the little things!