It Could Be Worse (3rd Season)

Episode 3: Expedition

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke.

BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…)! E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw.

IMPORTANT NOTE: I'm still accepting people into the mailing list. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

Rating of this episode: Let's say… PG-13 for mild cursing.

~~

The tops of the clouds reminded him of plowed fields with furrows covered in thickly bloomed cotton plants. He'd never seen cotton fields, and he knew cotton could not look as heavenly as this did, but the idea of it pleased him enough to keep it the way he first thought of it.

He could feel the cold vacuum of air outside when he pressed his hand against the window. The weather as well as the mountains would not be so kind to their heat-hungry bodies. How formidable would these mountains prove to be? He'd no idea of the secrets within its isolated, untouched realm.

The majesty of the Eastern Yamani Mountains stemmed from the fact that no ancient culture asides from the mountain peoples had been discovered. Unfortunately, these same mountain peoples had long lost their original ways and became one with those people living in rural villages in the mountain foothills.

The mountains themselves were not at all interesting. They had the same wildlife, if not less, as other mountains in other regions of the world. Neither the weather nor the appearance sparked any curiosity in the rest of the world (more specifically, it sparked no interest in a generation accustomed to technology and virtual living).

Thus historians argued that civilization tended to grow toward the west and the south, and even recently toward the north (though in a strictly scientific Wild Preserve sort of way). The world on the other side of the East Yamanis was barren and empty. Brave fishermen and oceanographers alone made the arduous trips to the other side, and even they never set foot upon land. Cartographers also expressed no wish to map out the area. Consequently, little of the mountain terrain was ever recorded. The knowledge of the land itself belonged exclusively to those Eastern Yamani denizens.

"So what's our plan?" Neal asked. He sat opposite from Joren across the narrow isle. The plane itself was tiny and its crew, very few. The taller officer had to slump down in his seat to avoid striking the top of the cabin with his head.

Joren lowered his hand from the window. He busied himself by putting on gloves, not meeting his new partner's eyes as he replied, "We've already been over the plan."

Neal frowned. "I know, but there's nothing to do. The crew isn't at all talkative."

"And you think I am?"

"Oh, I know you're not. But you're familiar, at least." He paused. "So let's go over it again. We're landing at the base of the westernmost mountain to refuel and supply. Then we'll employ a guide and fly to the area in which the International Airspace Authority last received a signal from the University's plane. That's when we begin the real search and rescue part."

"Recover. Search and recover," Joren corrected.

"I thought we were going to…" Neal's voice faltered.

Joren looked at him, lacking anger but also lacking any concern as well. It was hard to tell. Neal did not consider himself good at reading people, but he ignored that and became mad at him anyway.

"Do you really think they would have survived the crash? And even if they did, how long would the supplies last? It's been a few days and there have been rampant snowstorms—" Joren stopped. Neal hadn't asked Joren to defend his position. The moment of weakness passed and Neal still felt like flinging the younger man out of the plane.

"Then why are we even going? Tell me that!" he demanded uproariously.

"Because she doesn't want whatever's left of them to just lay there," Joren smartly answered, feeling that he'd finally said the right thing to shut him up. It was not enough.

Neal glared at him with fire and brimstone close to blazing visibly in his eyes. "I hate the way you act about it. It's like… like you're performing some obligation and you don't even want to be here!"

"That's not the point," Joren muttered.

"It most certainly seems like the damn point to me."

The blonde turned away. He did not do it right away, but seemed to let Neal search his pale blue eyes as a bit before withdrawing into himself. Words could not be exchanged anymore. Neal had been so desperate to talk, but he'd thrown his chance away by self-righteousness and now there was nothing to be had. He inwardly cursed Joren for making it so difficult. He denounced childhood scars. Whatever excuse Joren had for the way he acted wasn't good enough for Neal. It never would be.

There are plenty of us who've gone through worse. He's the one who decided to start living a brand new life. Sounds like a hypocrite, the way he's reverting back to old habits.

Another voice inside him argued that it took time, but his pride and arrogance informed him that he wouldn't take so much time. He'd just up and do it right away because changing your lifestyle could be fast and painless if done the right way. One only had to ask to know so.

The crew did not seem to think of the trip as much more than a job. Half of them didn't even know it was a civilian plane that they were looking for. They simply knew that their mountain skills were needed at an exorbitant rate per hour. It made them proud, but not too apt to do much else. The money made them eager, at least.

"So we have four men and two pilots on call. Then we'll have that guide, is that right?" Neal asked a man who seemed to be in charge of the crew. The man had a deeply lined face that was dark with frequent sun exposure.

He nodded rigidly. His movements were slow and measured, like he had spent his life perfecting the way to use his energy as conservatively as possible.

"We're covering a large area. I'm not sure what to look for, but there should definitely be signs of a wreck—" Neal stopped prematurely, wishing he hadn't used that particular word. The blame went unspoken as he glanced across the aisle again and cursed.

~~

Back in the safe, familiar world of civilized men, two (mostly) law-abiding citizens of Mithros were having an argument of little significance. Unlike Joren and Neal, they argued for no other reason than to argue. It gave them a feeling of importance and self-worth to be able to debate on topics.

"That's incredibly tacky. Just buy the movie. You're a DJPF officer. You must set the example."

"On video piracy? I just copied a DVD—for myself and not for the mass reproduction and marketing of bootleg movies," Cleon retorted. He waved the shiny silver disk in his friend's face and gave him a bored look.

They lounged in the cafeteria of Faleron's workplace, as per usual. Nothing had changed much for them. Their routine from day to do went uninterrupted by tragedy or otherwise. And the boring life seemed to suit them. They were quite content to be without adventure, as long as they had each other to keep their wits about them.

So when Keladry first told them that she was going home, they both felt shamefully relieved that they had no cause to return to their respective homes. They hid their reactions by being her support. Cleon had even offered to escort her, though he was secretly praying against it; Kalasin was still in town.

Faleron glanced at the second hand of his watch. He sighed and fidgeted in his seat. Meanwhile, his companion sat gazed past him at the COMscreen fixed against the wall of the cafeteria. The screen was snowy with minor static. The redhead frowned.

"Where's Neal? He hasn't been home for days."

"I don't know. Stone has been missing as well. I suppose they had a case that took them out of the city."

Cleon shook his head. "Dude, that doesn't make sense. Stone doesn't take those out-of-town ones anymore. And would Kel—"

"Have gone with him?"

"Dude, don't do that."

"Do what?" He smirked. Then he picked up an apple he had neglected during the meal and took a large bite. After he swallowed, he gestured casually. "Well, you know Kel is going home. She couldn't possibly choose her job over her family."

Cleon smiled a bit too widely for the response to have been genuine. Faleron seemed to know that he had spoken a lie, but they didn't really feel like talking about it. Keladry had spent a good portion of her life, choosing career over her family. They didn't need to dwell on it.

Faleron glanced at his watch again. "Don't you have a date with Kalasin?"

"Yeah, but it's still a bit early, right?" Cleon replied. He leaned over to look at his friend's watch. He sat back again and began drumming his fingers on the table. There was an air about him that always reminded Faleron of a large, lovable brute of a dog, constantly wagging his tail and constantly whining for attention. The metaphorical tail paused midair. Abruptly, he commented, "Sometimes, I think I'm too lucky in life."

"How so?"

He started counting off his fingers. "Good job, good home, good friends…good girlfriend... It's like the scale is tipped in my favor too much. One day, everything might just fall from the scales and that will be the end of my luck."

"So you're saying that you fear paying for your current happiness later on in life." Faleron grinned. He held his arms out in an amazed expression."That might be the wisest thing you've really ever said to me."

Cleon looked both surprised and offended. He narrowed his eyes. "So what, everything I've been saying up until now has been complete idiocy?"

The former thief's mouth resembled that of a gaping dead fish. "Hey, now—"

"It's okay, it's okay. I'm not sinking to your level."

"Yes, because I'm scum," the shorter man sarcastically answered.

"You're darn right you are!"

"And I should probably respect the fact that you're sensitive like a woman."

"Yeah! Just like a—"

"Woman? Thanks for the compliment," a voice came from behind him. Faleron grinned instantly. He sat back in his chair and rested his folded hands in his lap.

"So you're confronted with a potentially ruining situation, Kennan. You can either a) continue your detrimental dramatization, b) remain perfectly quiet and hope your guest leaves, or c) face your girlfriend's critical and suspicious eye. I don't think B will work and I'm almost certain A is a death wish."

Cleon paled. He slowly turned. "Oh, hi Kally! I mean, Kalasin." He winced. He knew she didn't prefer nicknames, even innocuous ones. "I was just coming to see you."

"You're an hour late, Cleon."

Faleron chuckled as he looked at his watch again. "Oops. So sorry, chap. The blasted thing needs to be repaired."

The grin on his face told the sharpshooter that it had not entirely been an accident. He glared at him as he stood up and placed a hand on Kalasin's arm.

"What's so wrong, Kennan? You have a somewhat murderous twinkle in your eye."

"Oh, it's more than just a twinkle, Ice Cream Pants."

Kalasin cast a wary eye on both men. "Ice Cream Pants?"

"Don't ask," Faleron advised.

"Well, let's go. Nice seeing you, Faleron," she said, tight lipped.

He shrugged and waved them off with his hands. "I know you don't mean it, but thanks all the same."

As the couple left, Kalasin glanced over her shoulder at the curiously smiling man. She turned to Cleon, who was still holding her at the elbow. He also looked half bothered, half amused. She looked back again at Faleron and then to Cleon. "Well, he's an insightful little bastard if I ever saw one."

He laughed. "That's what I like about him."

"You have an odd taste in friends."

"I have the best."

~~

Neal surveyed the landscape below. The clouds parted to reveal the rolling, green-gray hills, seeming untouched by man. The stillness and the silence made it seem like a snapshot in time. The wonder of such natural beauty was unknown to him. How odd it was to grow up in a mechanized world! What he had always called nature—his cousin's back yard and the city park—was nothing like this.

As they began to descend, Neal noticed a small dirt road. Wooden carts pulled by doddering horses and mules seemed to be frozen in mid step. He could only get a glimpse of them before the plane moved past. This was nature. A free, uninhibited world like this was not fenced in and trimmed like a prized lawn.

It gave birth to life in the purest way, from its naked ground. The sun smiled on it. Like little tear drops weeping for joy at the creation, rain nourished it. The world suckled it until life sprung from the barrenness.

Neal pretended to breathe it in. Without tearing his gaze off the scenery, he beckoned to Joren. "Stone, come take a look at this."

"I see it just fine from here," was his biting reply. He lowered his chin toward his chest. "We're landing soon. Be ready."

Neal rolled his eyes. He shouldn't have bothered speaking at all. The moment was ruined now, and he felt cheated. "I've been ready for hours. I'm dying to get out of this plane, Stone." He turned his attention back to the dark green of the ground, with the small dirt road winding around the country like a brown thread on a wavy wrinkled cloth. "I wouldn't expect you to appreciate the Yamani countryside, anyway."

Joren's hand tightened imperceptibly around his armrest. He lifted his head. After that, only his eyes moved, like bright white flames dancing on the surface of a star. In a deep, restrained voice, he replied, "I know Yamani countryside better than you ever will."

His companion smirked. "Oh? Care to explain that claim?"

The blonde was quiet at first. He sneered at Neal as if the older man had stepped into a steel jaw trap. "I don't have to explain anything to you, but since the answer ought to embarrass you, I'll say it." He tapped the glass with his knuckle. "I grew up in the Yamani countryside. The hills and mountains are just as beautiful in the Western islands."

The word beautiful was like profanity on his lips. Neal didn't know what to make of it.

"You're a—"

"Native to Gala? Yes. Stop trying to bait me, Queenscove, or else this trip will be more miserable than necessary." He settled back into his seat and glanced at his pager. He dismissed Neal's tactlessness from his mind. The green-eyed officer wasn't a bad person. He was simply irritated and unsure. Times made people hasty and foolish. Joren understood that.

But he wouldn't approve of it. And he wouldn't let Neal have the unearned privilege of knowing Joren's opinion on the matter. He let his mind wander back to the reason he was here on this plane. More like the reason I'm still here on this earth, He thought.

He paged a short message to her, brief as he could make it without seeming uncaring. She was probably not thinking of him. He'd rather that she didn't. Joren knew that her thoughts about him were still troubling, just not in as great abundance as before. There were so many more important, significant things to worry about. He knew it was true. Why… why let this one thing…

~~

Later, when she checked her email, the single message would read:

"We're all looking up at the same blue sky, no matter where we are. What do you think of that? –J.S."

And she knew that he wasn't necessarily talking about the sky and that he probably expected her not to see his hidden meaning. She deleted the message and smiled, trying to think of it the way he'd intended her to.

~~

Author's note:

Hey everyone! Sorry I took so long again. I'm getting into the third quarter crunch. Unlike all you lucky people up north, we don't have snow days. We have miserable foggy mornings and hot afternoons followed by chilly evenings that don't let us off school. I'm busy as hell. Bad simile, give me a break. I say 'as hell' with everything, for some weird reason.

I tried fitting in a Cleon and Fal scene in here… I suppose I'll have to wait for the more funny material to come in later episodes. *sighs*

I apologize in advance for the upcoming series of late postings. Junior year sucks. I have to dedicate most of my spare time to rowing, fit in some piano, get my grades up in math (I have to have an academic scholarship. I'm not that strong enough a rower to ever get athletic scholarship), and look for colleges (ma and pa: blah blah blah blah college search blah blah).

So! It turns out that I need to get involved in more literary things (when I have zero time) and work on my essay writing. It's very different, you know. I can do fiction. Short stories, prose, poetry… Even non fiction pieces. But essays! Analytical, persuasive, expository, critical… All these colleges want to admit me for my essays. I'M NOT GOING TO WRITE ESSAYS FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE. THE AVERAGE PERSON GOES TO THE BOOK STORE FOR ACTUAL BOOKS, NOT ESSAYS. Why must they throw this in my face? I suck at essays—I get B minuses. Friends that don't go to my school say that my essays would get A's, but I go to the hardest friggin' college prep school in the Southeastern United States. How the hell am I supposed to get admitted to these selective college writing programs? *cries and screams and cusses out world*

Okay. Steam blown. I'm good now. Hope you liked the episode! *sweatdrop* I wish I could put down fanfic writer on my activities list. Hey! Does anyone know if I could do that for any applications? I don't have enough time to alter the entire ICBW fic for any sort of portfolio thing. I started this series as a freshman. I'd have to completely rewrite the whole first season to reflect my maturing style! Geh!

*cries again, and stubs toe on desk as she kicks it childishly*

Hope everyone has a nice day (or night)

-Sulia S.