"Did I ever tell you about how I dated a girl when I was nineteen who thought that 'sun's out, guns out' meant 'sunny weather is perfect weather to shoot someone?' So she was always horrified when people said that."

"You did not tell me that," Toby said, handing her the water bottle he'd grabbed from the cockpit. "Did you enlighten her?"

"I wanted to keep it going on as long as I could because it was amusing to me," Happy said. "But I ruined it almost right away because I couldn't help being like – "

"That's not what that means, you dummy," Toby finished the sentence right along with her.

Happy chuckled. "Yes." She craned her neck around to look at the dimming light.

Toby smiled at her. "Hey Florence," he said, leaning forward in the seat to look around his wife. "How are you feeling?"

Florence was still on the floor, lying on her side now, propped that way in the same way she was shielded from the actual floor of the plane – with every article of clothing that they had serving as a makeshift sleeping bag. "Tired," she said, shifting her weight. "Weak."

"You need to keep some food down," Toby said.

"I can't. I'm throwing everything up." Florence grunted, and Sylvester rubbed her back gently.

"You can go longer without food," Toby said, "but we really need to get some fluids down you. Your body could be trying to fight something. Baby wasn't delivered in sterile conditions. Anything you can keep down will help."

"Thanks, Toby," Florence said. "Now that you've mentioned that, I'm sure I can magically stop retching."

"Can we make an IV with anything?" Paige asked.

"We don't have anything," Toby said. "We only have the basic first aid kit to work with and the only stuff in there that hasn't been used is the epinephrine and turkey baster. If someone gets stung or needs a wound flushed it's in the cockpit with the womb, but beyond that, we're screwed." His watch beeped – his ten minute reminder to check on the baby. Toby headed back toward the cockpit.

"We shouldn't have taken this plane," Sylvester said. "We shouldn't have been so stupid."

"This plane should have been capable of getting us back," Paige said, "and then none of this would be happening. What on Earth hit us?"

"A drone of some kind, probably," Sylvester said. "Theoretically, drones can take out planes. It's one of the concerns the public has about them. But I don't know how plausible that is yet, at least ones that aren't military, plus this sounded like more than one and the average person – "

"Marie Lucas," Happy said, sitting straight up in her seat.

"Marcie Lucas?" Paige said in surprise. "Easy," she soothed when Florence grunted again and shifted her weight.

"Yeah. One of our competitors."

"I know who she is," Paige said. "She was doing work with drones, but I don't think…they were for good."

"Yeah. Knocking meteors out of the sky. Saving the planet by preventing a mass extinction."

"She said she was going to try something, prove…prove how powerful they were," Sylvester said. "Am I remembering that right?"

"Yeah," Happy said. "This is her fault. I'm sure of it. Either her or some wacko in the wilderness trying to take out planes."

Paige shrugged. "Honestly considering the stuff we've seen, I'd put the same odds on both."

"Happy?" Walter popped his head into the plane. "It's time to hike."


Sticks, twigs, logs, no matter what the official name was for pieces of wood that used to be trees, they had them on the pile. Walter glanced around, eyeballing the distance between what they'd gotten together and the trees that lined the clearing as he slung the container of jet fuel they'd siphoned from the plane. Jet fuel didn't light as easily as gasoline did, but it burned hotter when it did. They were dead center in the clearing, as far away from other flammable materials as possible. "This is still a risk," Walter said. "We'll have to calculate wind speed and direction to determine when it is safe to light. And hope we're able to get to the clearing to light it if we see a plane."

"I've got the matches," Happy said, "thanks to Toby's obsession with hoarding the free stuff that the hotels give out. I'll stay out here until someone comes by, even if it's days from now." She sat on the ground, crossing her ankles. "I've been out in worse. Remember Antarctica?"

"Happy, there is…wildlife…out here."

She raised her eyebrows. "It's a calculated risk, O'Brien."

"I'll stay out here with you."

"You really don't have to do that."

"I know. But isn't most of the things people do things they technically have an option on?"

Happy looked at him for a long moment. "Okay. Fair."

"It's getting dark," Walter observed.

"No shit, Sherlock." Happy immediately dropped her eyes. "Sorry. Defense mechanism."

"You don't have to explain that concept to me, of all people."

"Are you okay?" She asked, raising her eyes to his again. "You banged your head pretty hard."

"I have a bump," Walter said. "But I'm okay. Do I appear to be functioning at a lower level than usual to you?"

"No. I mean, not in any way that isn't explainable given…everything." Happy held onto her ankles. "Why is it always her?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know. She almost dies because of the jellyfish. Then she's in the coma after that explosion. And now this. I know we've all had some stuff but it feels like everything just keeps coming back to her."

Walter sat down across from Happy. "We've all had our share. Not that that makes it better."

"I used to hate her, you know."

"I know."

"Paige said that she told her once that back when we were two teams, she wondered if she was just a bad apple, destined to ruin things. It's stupid, but it feels like she's being punished. That she'll always be punished for things that really weren't her fault. That the universe hasn't forgiven her for 'ruining' us, even though we ruined us just as we fixed us again. Or maybe it's just that life isn't fucking fair."

"That would seem more logical," Walter said.

"It's crazy how sometimes it's just hard to let go of things," Happy said. "I think part of me still feels bad for the way I treated her."

"You were being protective of the rest of us," Walter said.

"I was also being a coward. I was afraid of change."

"Sometimes it's good to be reactive, if you've been screwed over enough. It's a defense mechanism."

"It's not always a good one."

Walter nodded. "No, you're right. It's not." The wind picked up, flipping the collar on his shirt out of place. He smoothed it back down.

"I've been working on it. That's really the only way to ensure I don't fall back into that place."

Walter was getting the sense that Happy just needed to talk. That was something he could understand. "That seems like a good strategy to me."

"What's that?"

"Your strate…" Walter trailed off as he heard what Happy was hearing. They looked skyward, jumping to their feet, Happy catching Walter by the wrist and steadying him as he wobbled. "It sounds like a helicopter."

"There!" Happy pointed.

Walter spotted the lights a moment later. "It's coming this way," he said. Glancing around, he bit his lip. "The winds…it could carry the fire." Forest fires could burn thousands of aces. There was most certainly private property somewhere within that range. Possibly innocent hikers. And certainly lots of wild animals. This was only safe for all of them if the fire could be contained.

"This could be our only shot to save the baby," Happy said. "We're in the middle of nowhere. And what if Florence has some sort of infection? We can last rationing food and eating bugs. She can't."

"Who has been eating bugs?"

"Not the point right now, O'Brien."

Walter felt his stomach tighten. Every instinct he had was telling him it was a bad idea, downright dangerous, to light the signal fire. But the helicopter… "Us," he said, feeling sick, "versus the Greater Good." He turned to Happy, expecting to see the same stormy conflict in her own eyes.

Before he could react, she lit one of the matches and threw it on the pile.