A/N: It's been a little while, but I got sick right as some projects and exams were coming up, so I didn't have any time to write for a few days. I finally got an update out on this, and I'll update my other fics over this weekend. Enjoy!
The woman in red calls herself Cinder and doesn't like the crew. That's what Winter finds out within the first five seconds, when she brazenly ignores the weapons pointed at her and calmly demands to know who is in charge of the research vessel. Winter identifies herself as the leader of the scientific side of the expedition, at which the woman smiles, showing a few too many teeth.
"Excellent," she says. "Of course, the crew are nominally in charge of the research vessel, but I'm far more interested in the – scientific side of things, and I'm sure we don't need to involve them in our discussions."
"Our discussions?"
"Yes, our discussions. I have a few harmless questions about the research conducted here." Cinder smiles again, ignoring the crew and focusing solely on Winter.
"We can't just let you walk in here; there are protocols," Winter insists, although she has a growing feeling that this situation is spiraling out of her control.
"I think you'll find they've been dealt with," Cinder says carelessly. "The crew will hardly notice I'm here."
She's right, oddly. The crew are halting emergency protocols and returning to their posts, ignoring both Winter and Cinder. Ignoring is the wrong word, because it implies a conscious gesture. The crew don't see Cinder; they look around her and through her, even though moments ago they had her at gunpoint.
"It's harmless," Cinder purrs. "Don't you want educated company for once?"
"Are you from the Cities?" Winter asks, furrowing her brows. "I don't see how you could be educated here."
Cinder sighs quietly. She turns around and walks back out the airlock, but something is missing. Cinder is blurred, as if she's lower-resolution than her surroundings. Winter blinks and rubs her forehead. She hasn't been sleeping much, between her experiments and the debates in the Cities.
…
Cinder settles casually in a vacant chair in the lab, trusting Emerald's illusions to keep her invisible for a few minutes, at the very least. She's here to scavenge technology, although she doesn't like that term. Cinder has never been a scavenger, even when she was a starving little girl. Scavengers gave up and accepted their existence. Cinder has never been content with reality.
Watts says he can hack into the mainframe of the Cities with any device, but Cinder doesn't think as highly of his skills as certain colleagues do. She takes objects almost at random, confident that she'll be long gone before they're missed.
…
Even Ruby doesn't have much hope left now.
There are new scientists, but they wear the same white coats and ask the same questions and they all have faces that are too similar. They have no scars or injuries, and their expressions never change. They don't seem like individual people in the way that those out in the desert do; they're more like small parts of a larger machine.
Ruby stands again and perfunctorily tugs at the locks. Every hour she does it, on the chance that someone may have made an error. She doesn't hold out much hope; the locks are secure, and the discipline of their captors is military. They would never let an error like that slip by.
There's a slight give. Almost unnoticeable. The faint sound of tumblers clicking. Ruby frowns and tugs it again. It's unmistakable.
There's an object in one of the gears of the lock, too small to be noticeable on casual inspection, but more than large enough to leave that gear stuck in the correct position and let Ruby turn the other gears to their "unlocked" position far more quickly. Ruby feeds a thin tool through the small gaps and begins twisting the first gear, gesturing to Jaune and Ren to stay quiet. With luck, the cameras won't pick up what she's doing until it's too late.
The first gear clicks into position, and Ruby moves on to the next, trying to keep the concentration from showing on her face.
The third gear is more difficult, but at last there's a familiar click and the door doesn't resist.
"We'll have to make a run for it," Ruby says quietly. Her teammates nod, and whisper their own theories about where exactly the exit is, but both defer to her, and it's a little exhilarating, even if Ruby is mostly terrified.
Nobody stops them. They run, pausing for a moment at each intersection, finding one blank white wall after another. Ruby opens each door that isn't locked, and finds blank white rooms, likely soon to be filled with people like them, to be experimented on and then – God knows what would happen to them next.
…
The subjects' escape isn't noticed for almost an hour, thanks to Cinder's arrival. An ideal distraction that Winter couldn't have predicted.
Winter is suitably outraged over the loss of her precious specimens, then retreats to her lab. They've evidently taken a few pieces of technology with them, which will be irritating to replace. What a tremendous shame, and a loss for global knowledge. They'll find more specimens quickly enough, or succeed in tracking down the originals again, but for the time being Winter has given them a temporary freedom. Freedom to go out into a barren wasteland and die while she gets court-martialed.
Winter sinks into her chair, and dials in a phone number she's long since memorized with shaky hands. Stares at it for a long moment.
All it would take to begin to fight for the people is one phone call to Robyn Hill and a few apologies. All it would take to lose everything: her job, her status, the company she's set to inherit. One phone call would be enough.
Winter isn't brave enough. All it took to free them was a slip of her hand, almost an accident. To keep fighting takes far more strength than she has.
…
"Can I braid your hair?" Nora asks, settling down next to Blake as she rearranges their scant medical supplies again. Nothing can save a serious injury like an amputation, but broken bones or even lesser wounds are fatal, sometimes to entire teams, if they don't heal fast enough. Blake will do what she can, but she's used to the White Fang and their resources, not this.
Blake turns to look at Nora, tilting her head in confusion.
"If you don't want me to, that's fine," Nora says quickly. "I mean, I just like to braid Ren's hair sometimes when I'm nervous, and he's –" she pauses and coughs quickly, but not fast enough to hide the tears in her eyes – "You have nice hair, and I'm nervous, so, uh, can I?"
Blake nods and turns, tugging her scarf off to give Nora better access. It may well just be a convenience, Blake may well just be a replacement, but it's close enough to a real connection. They feel comfortable enough with her for this.
Ilia used to love Blake's hair –
Ilia does love Blake's hair, she corrects herself. Ilia is most likely alive, in the White Fang, as she was always more careful than Blake. She could hide and camouflage her true feelings and survive, but Blake was careless and paid the price for it. Ilia didn't leave with Blake because she was secure in the White Fang, not in a precarious position where she could be cast out on Taurus's whims.
Blake is secure now, she realizes. She may not be safe – there is no true safety in the desert – but she is secure, with Nora's hands threading carefully through her hair. Secure. She has to fight back a sob at that. Finally.