A/N: This onescene was the real reason why it took me so long to continue this story. I had to get it just right, and I'm still not sure if I did, but I'm still pretty happy with what it became.

Thanks to tehangryxeno for proofreading

For the second time in a row, the setting sun only gave Natasatch worry.

It had been months since Natasatch watched a human settlement commence its nightly rituals, and certainly in a better context this time. The marketplace folded itself neatly into the trailers it sprung forth from, and the permanent hanging holiday lights gave the compact streets a completely different atmosphere. There were a few humans milling about, most of them militia guards, but a few were those who missed out on satisfying their curiosity of the local alien earlier in the day. None gave her anything resembling trouble, however, and she took the time to peruse the amenities until she grew bored. Inevitably, her mind turned to her friend Malcolm, who had passed through the marketplace fourteen times on his aimless walking. She counted.

Natasatch knew he needed help. How to achieve that was one of her greatest challenges yet.

Ultimately, she decided to copy her friend's strategy, applied to the very same friend. Experience showed Malcolm was happiest when sharing "human culture." The formerly-upbeat human had a list of memorabilia or events he insisted she must experience eventually, one that she had trouble remembering at the moment. Near the end of the day, the sight of one such promised experience on the edge of the marketplace jogged Natasatch's memory, and fortunately, Aida's blanket discount applied.

The reserve that Safari Outpost eventually became already possessed a restaurant, and little had changed in the fifteen years since it officially closed, or so she was told. Busts of dead animals and pictures of humans with firearms lined the walls, all cast in a soft yellow from the few hanging lights that still worked. The wooden-floored center of the rectangular building was empty. It was late, and Natasatch surmised the restaurant must've already served its regular patrons. Only a waiter and a bartender remained, but both seemed to be quietly working once their orders were placed. The two looked nearly as antique as their restaurant, and they weren't going to let any alien interrupt their routine.

Malcolm sat opposite her in the corner table for two. Natasatch still found human chairs difficult, and opted to rest upright on her own coils where her seat would be. In the background, a wooden jukebox delivered music consisting of simple guitar strings, but their focus was elsewhere. An electric imitation of a candle added an orange glow to their faces: one hopeful, one sullen.

Malcolm cut off a slice from the "steak," which was an ADVENT burger patty in a different shape with some minced plants and sauce on top. He took a bite and said, "You know what? You're doing your best, and I'm proud of you, actually."

Natasatch, who was debating between awkwardly imitating the human food custom or simply snatching the identical meal in one bite, looked up at her companion. "What do you mean?

"Trying to cheer me up. The food, the small talk, and the sort. Getting my mind off our shitty vacation." He had a bit of his confidence back, but a sense of resignation offset whatever gain she witnessed.

"Is it working?" Natasatch asked.

"Not really."

Natasatch deflated instantly. She let out a tsssk, but managed to prevent it from becoming a full hiss. Her frustration lingered. "I'm... trying. What more do I need to do to make it work?"

He shrugged. "I don't think you can, to be honest. I'm a tough case."

She rose to the challenge. "I learned 'cheering up' from you. What makes you special, that it wouldn't work?"

He chose not to answer directly. After a few moments, he sighed and said, "I did this talk for Ackers too."

"Hmm?"

"That's why this one bites hardest. Ackers is- was, I suppose now- he was a unique friend to me. We're assigned to the same cramped bunk; he gets it night hours, me the day hours. He started out real quiet, since he had been through a lot, like the rest of us. Family suffocated by viper poison, he admitted after I got him a few drinks at the bar, in a spot just like this one."

Nat commented, "This situation... is similar, yes."

"But Ackers, he also didn't say he just wanted to kill aliens. He said he wanted to make the world safer for his sister."

She tried her best to put aside every instinct telling her to make Ackers suffer for his betrayal, and tried to view him through a sympathetic light. Just like Malcolm would. "In a way, I suppose I could understand. He still viewed me as a threat, and one that everyone in XCOM seemed to be blind to."

"That's horseshit."

Her first thought was that Malcolm had never said anything so gruff before. Her second thought was to wonder what a horse was.

Malcolm cut off a slice of his food, chewing away in the silence. When it was obvious Natasatch wasn't going to speak first, he continued, "You look surprised to hear that. Probably thinking I would say 'He's really a good guy this,' 'his parents were killed by Vipers' like that'd make everything okay. Ackers was ready to throw away everything he stood for, to try to murder us 'cause of a grudge meant for someone else."

"Yes." She gave an awkward laugh, which died the moment it left her mouth. "I feel like we decided to switch the sides of the argument between us."

"And you're probably right. In fact, I know I should be at his side. Hell, before today, I'd be first in line for the Ackers Defense Squad. 'Till this. Cuts right through my lie."

A pause, and the Viper blinked. "Lie?"

Malcolm sighed, then focused on her. "This lie," he said in a resigned tone. Then he smiled.

It was Malcolm's regular, easy-going, worry-assuring look, once again on her human friend's face. His lips pulled back across his white teeth, the muscles pausing in the right spots to create youthful dimples, and the way one corner of his mouth rested further back than the other... and the warm look in his eyes, bright and brown, impervious to the damage that their owner suffered yesterday. Natasatch almost reflexively grinned back, caught herself, but then let it show. Why would she need to conceal it, after all?

Then there was only one smile at the table. Hers. Her human friend looked back at her, sullen and shaken once more. His eyes drifted down to her mouth, still pulled into a happy look, and she sensed his skin grow cold as his muscles clenched. As if he realized a terrible mistake.

Natasatch put her smile on hold. "I'm... afraid I don't follow."

"Me," Malcolm gestured toward himself in its entirety. "I'm the lie."

Her mind raced, a hundred horrifying possibilities dueling for control of her mind. Was he confessing his guilt as an ADVENT spy? Some advanced Faceless? Mind control puppet? Something worse? Natasatch looked around, seeing how the chef and waiter reacted, only to find them gone and herself alone. She was still on edge, ready to fight or flee, as he continued. "I mean, it's an act. A sham. Not the real me. It pays off being raised by thespians."

Thespians... actors? What? She finally externalized one of her countless questions. "Then who are you actually, Malcolm Silva?"

"I'm pretty damn depressed, actually," Malcolm responded without missing a beat.

When it became clear Natasatch wasn't prepared to respond, Malcolm calmly continued, "I think my parents raised me right. Community-minded, moral, always seeing the best in people, and an aficionado of the cultural arts. That got them killed by us, other humans, volunteering for ADVENT outreach in our slums when ADVENT was still deciding if the carrot or the stick worked better. Everyone else I knew died when the aliens brought the stick down on the entire favela. My parent's dream of a better world was doomed from the start because us humans were gonna let fear and paranoia ruin it and the aliens were gonna prove their fear and paranoia right. Maybe, one day, we can fight off ADVENT, but our real enemy is gonna be ourselves."

Malcolm looked her in the eyes, resting his chin on his hands. With a sorrowful calmness, he said, "Even in the group most likely to change the world for the better, human nature is going to win out."

"Would you say the same, even if you were not swimming in pain-killers?" Natasatch asked.

"Well, I admit I get philosophical when I'm loopy, but all this was there before." He appeared slightly annoyed as he responded.

"So, where did this 'lie' come from?

"Acting is just another kind of lying, Nat. You pretend you're someone you aren't, saying a script that isn't true, convincing others that you're genuine." He shrugged. "Like I said, it pays to have thespian parents."

"That is not quite what I asked, Malcolm. Why did you even 'lie' about being happy at all? There are no shortage of traumatized soldiers on the Avenger. You would have fit right in."

"I..." he trailed off. "Well, you're right about that," Malcolm conceded. "That's all I saw when I first stepped on board. Nothing but misery everywhere. I guess I must like being a rebel, because I just... put on that mask as a spur of the moment, and then never really took the smile off."

The Viper focused in on Malcolm, upset without anger, interrogatory without malice. "Then explain why you tried to rescue me when your comrades would rather me dead? Why try to teach me about human culture and ethics and history? Why would you even bother to show me Star Trek? Was every single one of those a calculated ploy?"

"Well, I had Star Trek on hand anyway," Malcolm mumbled. She raised an eye ridge. Of the expressions she'd copied from her humans, she enjoyed that one the most, since humans somehow always knew the thought behind the gesture. This time was no different.

He sighed, and shrugged, not looking her in the eyes. "...I think I started believing in that lie for a bit too. 'Specially after everyone started lightening up around you, it started getting easier to tell myself tomorrow was going to be better when I woke up. ... Least 'till Ackers pulled the curtain back on what I'd ignored."

"You know what I think?" Natasatch offered, not giving him time to brood. "I think that whatever you claimed to think before, you actually still believe in that pointless optimism, because now you have proof you were right."

"What?"

The alien lowered her head, meeting him at eye level. The electric candle's glow against her scales shimmered, and her hood's slight flex solidified her human's attention. Natasatch placed her hand, the one that Malcolm bandaged, over his own injured forearm, and gave him the most determined look she could. Yet, in the alien's genetically-engineered eyes, he saw nothing but sympathy and kindness in the deep red, and in turn Natasatch saw a spark of understanding in his.

This.

Moistness came at the edges of Malcolm's eyes. "I've already killed more aliens than I'll ever befriend, Natasatch," he almost whispered. She finally recognized the guilt for what it was.

"That is not true," came the gentle counter. Yet, Natasatch found the answer she sought. You do care.

It was another few moments before Malcolm finally broke eye contact. The Viper took a deep breath, and started again. "Look, Malcolm, you may have killed many ADVENT, and you'll probably have to kill many more."

"That... really doesn't help, Nat."

"Yet, if those you ended were offered the same choice you gave me, not all of them would have been your enemies."

He actually seemed to recoil from that. "I could have... Nat, you're doing the opposite of consoling m-"

"Listen, Malcolm. We did what we needed to survive, so do not begrudge yourself for that. But the other aliens like me will never get that choice as long as the Elders control them, but you may have been the first to convince your kind to make the offer. Do not ever forget or downplay what you've accomplished."

The human gave a humorless chuckle. "Watch me. In fact, yesterday you just watched me almost get die trying it again! I've started this dance before, Nat, and it's ended in misery each time. Even if I keep trying, even when it works, it's a drop in the bucket for the better Earth we need. If that future happens —which it can't— I'm never going to reach it."

"Not without me at your side," Natasatch affirmed. She slid her hand back and clasped his fingers in her palm, giving it a small squeeze. Humans preferred to confirm deals with a handshake, after all, though her adjusted version was far from standard. A curious heat bloomed on Malcolm's face, around the cheeks, and she couldn't explain why seeing such gave her a feeling of contentment. "After all, you wouldn't survive for a minute without my help."

Finally, a genuine smirk, one that Malcolm was actively struggling to suppress. "I'm gonna drag you down with me, Nat. I can't do that to you."

"Perhaps you will. Perhaps not. Everything in XCOM seems to a roll of the dice. Until we get unlucky, I promise to do my utmost to make sure we both see it. Together."

Then she tilted her head to the side, ponderous and mischievous both. "...But only if you promise me something in return."

"What's that?"

"Stop being depressed."

He gave her a look he reserved for displays of severe naivety, the one weapon in his arsenal that could legitimately still discourage her. "That's not how depression works, Nat. It's... chemical, and psychological. The right medication helps along with therapy, but ADVENT's got a monopoly on antidepressants and our only psychiatrist shot himself." He paused as he realized what let slip so matter-of-factly. "Damn, that apparently just happened when I went onboard, a month before the Commander was rescued. Explains why everyone seemed extra miserable."

Her hood dropped, dissatisfied. She didn't like his response, but there still didn't seem like an easy fix to his 'depression.' "Alright, then you will promise two easier somethings for me."

"Fine. The first?"

"You can promise me to smile right now."

"One fake smile, coming up."

The smile seemed convincing, but Natasatch wasn't yet able to know for sure. His expression looked touched by mirth and misery both, the former only overcoming the latter when the soft guitar tune in the background switch to a track with a higher, variable tempo. Natasatch heard it before, trying to recall its name. Flamenco? Yes, Malcolm enjoyed this style. She did as well, noticing her tail-tip start to sway in time to the drum beat.

"What's the second promise, Nat?"

A tongue shot out to her plate, bringing the entirety of the ADVENT steak into her mouth, followed by another shot stealing away the remaining half of Malcolm's meal. Her human had reflexively pulled his hand away from the surprise, but the incredulous, amused, yet not annoyed face he made sparked a familiar feeling of contentment in her.

Without addressing the theft, she asked, "You fulfilled the second. Now, will you be more honest with your feelings from now on?"

"You know what?" Malcolm pushed his chair back, using his uninjured arm to help him rise. He caught sight of the Viper's tail waggling to the beat, and his own hand began to tap on the table in unison. He stretched slightly, closing his eyes and focusing on the tune. It was just the two of them and their music. "Honestly, I feel..."

The smile Natasatch saw couldn't possibly be faked.

"...I feel like dancing! Let's go!" Malcolm announced, clasping his hands over hers and tugging.

Natasatch had no response for this direction of her human's spontaneity. "Wait, Maaaaaal-!"

But he was already in motion, and was pulling her along to the open space in front of the jukebox. Well, he tried to, anyway. Malcolm's stretching stood no chance against half an hour of sitting, and his leading step was onto his injured leg to boot, so he would have quickly danced his face into the floor if his Viper hadn't been there to pull him back upright. He continued, undeterred, moving and swaying while Natasatch awkwardly fell into complimentary motions.

Obviously the painkillers haven't worn off. She nearly shrieked, "This is a terrible idea! You need rest!"

"Terrible ideas will save the world. You said so yourself!" He replied, thankfully using his uninjured foot to stamp along to the rhythm.

"I said no such thing!"

"Pretty sure you did. Now, move! You have two feet, use them!"

The Viper was too busy floundering to counter his joke. Her face ran hot, but she thankfully remembered nobody was there to see her struggle. Yet, dancing was an action she possessed zero experience in. She gripped Malcolm's hands tighter as she swerved, somehow bumping into two tables simultaneously. "How?!"

"Fake it until you make it. Works every time!"

Natasatch gave up trying to copy the human's motions, instead just going with the physical curve of her body. Oddly enough, the less she focused on imitation, the more natural the motions felt. Her random tail lifts and sways eventually evened out, progressing along with the beat of the song. The unconscious movement of her tail played itself over the whole of her body. When she got a glimpse of Malcolm, bruised and bandaged and trying to ignore the fact, she saw his face content but eyes closed, the moistness at their edges returned.

At that, a peacefulness came over Natasatch. She could close her eyes, and not worry that Malcolm would crush her tail underfoot, that or a series of bullets would burst through the shuttered windows. Here she was, enjoying a song she was never meant to listen to, swaying to a dance she was never intended to, holding onto a human she should have never spoken to. The unique combination of closeness and color and music and warmth gave her a sensation that she never felt before, nor knew how to describe.

Everything else felt secondary, after that. The music continued but felt mostly ignored, the furniture melted away, and even the inevitable stumble on the tail was corrected with a low scoop and dip. The two might have danced their way outside, but she couldn't quite tell. She only noticed the warmth of their contact contrasted by the sudden coolness of the air.

When there was no more music left between the two, the Viper slowly opened her eyes. All she could see was Malcolm, hands still grasping hers, standing bathed in moonlight against a black background. Genuinely happy, and certainly exhausted. Natasatch couldn't help but smile when he awakened to her gaze, his deep copper meeting her deep red.

He spoke something, but she couldn't hear it, because she finally noticed her ears were filled already. A low droning she had practically ignored gradually increased in volume until she could recognize it as a lift engine, and it kept booming as she finally noticed movement above and to her left. She looked up, seeing a blinding light in one half of her vision and the rear portion of Firebrand's dropship in the other. Looking around, she saw the darkened buildings of Safari that the searchlight blinded her to, and the few denizens stuck between gawking at the two dancers and the squad of XCOM soldiers rappelling down from the aircraft.

They were equipped in their glittering plated armor as if an ADVENT fortress was next on their hit list, but fortunately their boxy magnetic weapons were pointed everywhere but the two. XCOM was obviously past taking any chances. Natasatch and Malcolm quickly and awkwardly broke their security cling, when Central himself lowered his retrofitted combat rifle and stepped forward, sizing up their numerous injuries.

"Well, Sergeant...s," Central started, hastily making the rank plural, "Hmm, no funny quip, Silva?"

Malcolm composed himself. "Honestly Bradford, I'm just glad you're here."

"We're XCOM. We don't turn our back on our own."

Natasatch smiled. Finally, their longest day came to an end.