Back at it again! Thank goodness that Writer's Block is only temporary, eh?
Anyway, let's jump right back into it!

RECAP:
- The prisoners have been saved by the rebels, who are keeping them in an abandoned shipping container in the forest
- The date for Yao's trial is quickly approaching (the 29th), and tension is rising in the camp, especially among supporters of Yao's. The hunt for the real spy is ongoing.
- Arthur is still very sick, and his hair has started to turn grey (for unknown reasons, winkwink nudgenudge)

NAMES (In case anyone forgot):
Ayshe Kartal: Ottoman Empire
Ali Ghafoor: Afghanistan
Cera Bannion: Celtic Empire/Ancient Celts
Gonzorig Khar: Mongol Empire
Romeo Bianchi: Seborga

Also, there are a few mentions of torture and some other dubious elements in this chapter, just be warned! And thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! Your encouragement makes for an effective cure for the dreaded Writer's Block! ;)

An abandoned shipping container,
Draak-Zafi Forra, Nyma,
27th Maarch

It…was an indescribably hard thing to think about. It always had been.

For years, it had been a subject of taboo in his family. Their grandmother had died of it, and to so much as speak the disease's name was to bring sorrow to the eyes of their mother. So, they obeyed their father, and never asked anything about the last three months of their grandmother's life.

They never spoke about how she hadn't been the only one, and how, without fail, one person per generation seemed to be struck down. Their mother had luckily avoided it, though her older brother was diagnosed when he was in his mid-forties. After he died, they refused to talk about him, too.

He loved his mother, but she made it so hard to talk about. And she wasn't the only one. No casual conversation with an acquaintance could easily broach the subject of Chalydrantis. Mentioning it was always followed by a sad sigh or a despondent nod, and a thoroughly uncomfortable, depressing conversation.

As such, growing up in rural Pyndaph, it had been less of a disease than it had been a vicious, unrelenting phantom. A fear unrelated to the disease itself had manifested itself in every member of his family.

That was why he found it so hard to admit to anyone.

He had been living on Xexei, near the slaver district, when he had noticed the intense headaches, nausea and dizziness which had started to haunt his very steps. He'd been a poor, idealistic teen of 18, who'd made his living in a small convenience store on a rundown corner. He could hardly afford to keep the mildew-crusted lights on, much less afford a doctor's appointment. It had taken over five weeks of living even more frugally for him to be able to afford a single appointment. Luckily, Xeir doctors were increasingly efficient. All he'd had to do was explain the issues he'd been having, let them take a blood sample and do a scan of his head, where most of the problems lay, and was sent off only an hour later.

He'd been called back in the next day, where the friendly doctor had greeted him with a grave expression on her face. She'd asked him, quietly, what he knew about the disease known as Chalydrantis. It hadn't taken him more than a second to understand.

Arthur had cried for hours after that.

In addition to being royally fucked over, his particular branch of Chalydrantis was the deadliest type known. The disease typically manifested into physical growths, and from there released toxins into the body. He had been unfortunate enough to have the growths manifest in his brain, which meant that he had about half the time left to live that any other patient would have.

He had only ever admitted what he was suffering from to Colin, who had been understanding and thoughtful ever since. He had wondered if he should just let the disease run it's course. But Arthur hadn't been ready to die, so he'd turned to piracy to afford the treatment. It was ridiculously priced – 10,000 marks per injection. He had put his inner elbows through hell over the years, given the number of times those needles had pierced his skin. He wasn't surprised that Francis now thought he was a drug addict.

The whole affair with Roderich's mother had scared him more than he would ever admit. He'd realised his mistake in following his colleague the minute that he'd spotted the sign on the door to the ward, but he'd found himself following the other man inside anyway. The sight of them all suffering had very nearly ejected his stomach out of his mouth. The sight of their grey hair, nails adorned with dark smudges, frames rail-thin…

He had fled the ward as quickly as he could, and just barely made it to an alleyway before throwing up. He'd wandered around, but, lost in his confusion, had just walked back to wait outside the hospital. Roderich had seen him, and they'd passed the night in silence, both pretending that they weren't on the brink of tears.

Arthur had managed to keep it fairly subtle over the years. He went through certain periods where his condition was worse than normal, and he'd needed to buy additional doses to keep himself functioning normally. He'd realised that he was headed into another bad period right after they'd run into the bounty hunters on the anchorage. But from there, they'd ended up shuttling themselves around the universe, on the hunt for their friends. His supply had dried up, and was finally completely gone. It had taken only a week off for his hair to start transitioning into the grey colour which indicated that the toxins were reaching a lethal level. He doubted that he would last another fortnight. But…he wasn't as scared as he should have been. The past few weeks, though chaotic and bizarre, had been fun to experience (minus him getting his finger ripped off, that is). Despite the fact that he was locked in an old shipping container, tired, and hungry, he didn't feel any discomfort.

He was just tired of being so scared all the time.

Ayshe was silent as she watched Octavia curse and file through the security footage from the night before. They didn't have any cameras around the cell block which the criminals had 'escaped' from, mostly due to a combination of age, and the fact that it was normally well-guarded anyway. The cameras nearest to the cell block were too far away to give the frustrated Daernic woman any solid information on where they could have gone. Ayshe was almost disturbed by how well their plan had gone. She had expected some sort of complication to come up, but it had gone off without a hitch. It was a pleasant surprise.

Octavia had tears of frustration and worry in her eyes, and Ayshe felt guilt course through her. Octavia was a good person, and was only trying to do what she thought was right for the resistance. Ayshe couldn't fault her logic, whether it was in choosing to investigate Yao, or in how she had intended for the prisoners to be disposed of. She enjoyed being the other woman's friend, and hoped that finding the real spy would finally put all of the drama to rest.

"If you don't mind, I'll excuse myself." Ayshe said, interrupting Octavia's profanity-strewn muttering. Octavia barely looked up, nodding.

"Yes, of course," Octavia said, sounding more than a little distracted, "if you don't mind me asking, where?" Ayshe turned. The Daernic woman was watching her, green and gold eyes piercing her. She had already lied to Octavia enough today.

"I was going to visit Yao." Ayshe said honestly. "If I am permitted to do so, that is." Octavia blinked, before seeming to realise that Ayshe was asking for permission. She nodded.

"Of course." She said, turning back to the monitor. Ayshe sighed in relief a little, before pivoting and marching from the tent. Octavia was still ruled by sense. Clearly, if she saw no harm in Ayshe visiting Yao, she still did not think that she was involved in the prisoners' disappearance.

Ayshe crossed the hot, sandy common area as quickly as she could without drawing attention to herself. The last thing she wanted was to get side-tracked by some young recruit wanting to fawn over her. She was always flattered by the attention she received, but had never really thought that she deserved it. Operation Parasite had been almost 8 years ago, and yet people still nearly tripped over themselves to congratulate her on the success that it had been. It scared her, to think about what would have happened if the events of that night had played out just a little bit differently. She likely wouldn't be alive, and who knew where the resistance would have gone without Yao?

The memory of their first meeting swam before her eyes.

Onboard the SS Arbiter,
Orbiting Yan,
2nd Septombre, 4504CC

Ayshe cursed as she hurtled around the corner, praying to any god or saint that would listen that her shoes didn't squeak on the frighteningly pristine floors. To make the slightest sound now would be to concede to capture. Her heart was pounding, so hard that it felt like it was trying to leave a dent in her ribcage. Her lungs ached as she struggled for air while maintaining her speed.

It was early, extremely so. This ship was one of the most secure in the entire Universe, so there weren't even guards wandering the corridors. When you had cells which bore three high-strength locks each, and a sophisticated system of trackers embedded into your prisoners, there was no need to keep people on hand to watch them. She slowed down as much as she could without her shoes making a noise on the floors, peering around the corner again. Her paranoia was sending her stomach rolling and pitching like a ship in a storm. Realistically, it was highly unlikely that anyone would be in these corridors tonight save for her and her friends, but she was careful to still exercise caution. Any wrong step, and the four of them would end up being the newest playthings of the sadistic interrogators.

Ayshe took a moment to catch her breath as she moved down the hallway. Though there was technically no real 'night' when they were onboard this ship, they followed the average day on Yan. Right now, it was 'night', so all of the lights on the ship had been dimmed down to essentially nothing. She let her hand trail along the wall to guide her. According to the small watch which Tanlin had given to her, it was about their equivalent of 2:00am. Their timeframe roughly followed that of the Tua-Zhan Province, which was small but densely populated. Ayshe bit her lip. Their wakeup call came at roughly 6:00am. They didn't have very long.

She switched her small communicator back on as she darted down to the small files room which Ali had commandeered. He glanced up as she entered, hand halfway to his Union-issue revolver before he realised that it was her.

"What's our status?" she murmured as she kneeled over a little to look at the screens which he was peering at. Ali sighed, running a hand over his head. He'd shaved it to match the standard, clean-cut look of most of the other workers on this ship. It had annoyed the man greatly, as he'd had quite an impressive beard growing before then.

"Cera and Gonzorig have collected about 30 prisoners." He murmured in response. "They're mostly those from the low-security cells, or those which we deemed to be particularly important."

Ayshe bit her lip. There were about 50 prisoners on the Arbiter as a whole. The Union didn't store nearly as many prisoners on board as they had initially believed. Though, of course, this ship was only for the prisoners that they wanted to ruin beyond repair. To liberate 30 of them was an incredible feat. But guilt over those that they wouldn't be able to help plagued her. Ali's hand flew to his communicator. He frowned for a moment.

"Make that 36." He corrected, a smile overtaking his features. "Cera says that we should start loading them onto the bridge soon. If we hesitate much longer, our chance of getting caught becomes exponentially higher." He said. Ayshe nodded, before gesturing to the monitor.

"So, what's the purpose of this?" she inquired. Ali leaned forward as a box appeared on the screen, squinting before muttering a curse and tapping at the keyboard once again.

"This is a direct link to their major database." He said, nodding to the screen. "We can get all of their info about their interrogation techniques from here, not to mention any information that they have weaselled out of the prisoners." He said. "It'll be invaluable." Ali continued to flick through several windows on the screen, before he came across a screen with a series of names listed, seemingly in some sort of order. Ali leaned forward even further, grinning maniacally.

"Score!" he whispered in excitement. "It's their list of their current prisoners." He explained, when he saw the perplexed look on her face. Ayshe nodded, gaze roving over the details on the screen, before she noticed something, and leaned forward, jabbing a finger at it.

"Look there. Execution date." She drew her finger away, feeling nauseous as Ali examined the column.

"It seems to be the dates that they've set for their executions, at least right now." He murmured. He tapped at it a few times, and scrolled down, frowning. He paused, then tapped Ayshe's arm to get her attention.

"Ay, look at this." He pointed out one name. Ayshe glanced at it. The execution column, unlike all of the others, did not bear a date. Instead, a small line of text read 'undeserved'. Her stomach turned over. She had heard rumours before starting this mission, about the prisoners who received the dreaded 'undeserved' tag on their profile. This prisoner wouldn't be executed. Rather, if the rumours were to be believed, they were to stay on the Arbiter indefinitely, suffering more torture and pain purely for the fact that they had held out against all odds. Her eyes swept left, toward the column which held what the guards called 'common tags'. The column, rather than the prisoner's names, held the cruel, degrading or often bizarre nicknames which the guards gave them. It served to dehumanise them even more.

Her blood ran cold when she saw the tag on the prisoner. It was written in Yanish, a language which she had very basic knowledge on. But she recognised the characters, primarily due to the fact that Wuhan had drawn them out for her when explaining this particular prisoner. They called him Bù chén – 'unsinkable'. Wuhan complained about him constantly. He was well-known around the Arbiter – mostly as a prisoner who had never given up a single one of the secrets which his torturers had sought out. Ayshe's hands were shaking as she pushed Ali's hands out of the way and pressed on the profile. Her mouth fell open a little, and she heard Ali draw in a surprised breath as a picture of the man showed up.

"By the saints…" Ali whispered, turning to her with confusion in his eyes, "Bù chén? He's Yanish?" they stared at each other for a moment, before a look of horror crossed Ali's face, and he dropped his gaze to the floor. "Oh god. Oh no." Ayshe stared at him in alarm.

"What? What is it?" Ali met her gaze again, looking distraught.

"There was a Union defector who worked for Arshad for ages. He disappeared a few months before Arden happened. Everyone blamed him for it, called him a spy. Even Arshad seemed to have given in and believed it." Ayshe stared at the screen. She had heard the story as well.

"So, this is Blackbird, then?" she asked. Ali nodded.

"It would have to be," he said, "there's no other explanation as to why a Yanish citizen would be on the Arbiter as a prisoner." Ayshe nodded, staring at the photo. He didn't look very old at all – perhaps a few years older than her. A shudder passed through her.

"We need to get him out." She said firmly, already taking note of his cell-number. Ali seized her arm as she moved to go past him.

"Ay, think this through. We're pushing it as is-" she whirled around.

"Ali, if we don't get him out, he'll be tortured to death. They don't intend on giving him any sort of mercy." She jabbed at the screen as she spoke to emphasize her point. "He's held out for a year, Ali, an entire year! He's done more to serve the resistance than half the people in our infantry! I'm saving him if I can."

"There's a very small chance that his physical condition would improve once we get off, if it's as bad as I'm thinking it would be."

"That might be true, but if it is, don't you agree that he at least deserves to die with dignity? Die at peace with no-one hurting him?" Ali stared at her, hesitating, before his grip loosened, and he let go.

"Hurry. We don't have long."

Ayshe had sprinted down the halls, uncaring if her shoes made noise. They were pushing it. They should have been gone half an hour ago. Ali had told Cera and Gonzorig about what she was doing, and though Gonzorig had cursed at her, Cera had wished her luck and speed, as had a prisoner who had heard that the infamous Unsinkable was the one that they were trying to free.

She sighed with relief when the doors to the 2nd ward came into view. These weren't very widely used, and were much more isolated than the cells in the 1st ward. Then again, perhaps that was their intention, to drive Bù chén as mad as they could. She gritted her teeth as she darted inside, nose immediately wrinkling up. The pristine floors did not reflect what must go on in here, because the entire place stank of rancid meat and blood. Breathing in through her mouth to stop her eyes from watering, she ventured forward, glancing at the numbers on the cell doors. Realising how far into the ward they must be keeping the poor man, she sped up.

Ayshe couldn't stop herself from gagging when she turned a corner. Evidently, no-one had gotten around to mopping up around here. The floor was deeply stained, with stretches of brown and crimson visible. That wasn't half as disturbing, in her eyes, as the small dashes of white which she also saw staining the carpet. Forcing down the bile which had surged up her throat, she kept walking, checking the numbers on the doors as she passed. Finally, her eyes landed on number 17. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward and peered inside.

She couldn't keep her tears at bay this time, when she caught sight of the crumpled figure on the floor. A sob tore itself free, and her hands flew to her mouth, gaping in horror. Her entire body shook as she opened the three locks and swung the door open. The idea that a person could do this to someone else nearly made her sick. She moved slowly, cautiously, towards the crumpled figure. His skin was grey in tone, and she blanched. Oh saints, he wasn't dead, was he? Considering what he had experienced, it would likely be a sweet release.

She shifted his long hair away, wincing when she noted the colour. In his picture, it had been pure, obsidian black. Now, however, it was shot through with white. Forcing herself to focus, Ayshe gently probed his neck with her fingers, sighing in relief when she felt a faint pulse hammering away underneath. She drew away, just barely suppressing her gasp when she saw that his eyes were open. They were the colour of dark coffee, and, even bloodshot and dull as they were, Ayshe found them beautiful. They stared blankly for a moment, before they shifted downward, to the guard uniform that she was still wearing.

She expected an adverse reaction, but the man just seemed to slump, eyes going even duller. Ayshe could almost see him 'going away' mentally, so she shook her head frantically at him, wiping her eyes with the edges of her sleeves.

"I'm not a guard." She whispered to him. "I'm part of the resistance." He was still staring at her blankly. She hesitated for a moment, before leaning forward and sliding her arms underneath his, and pulling his torso toward her. He stirred a little, eyes clouding with confusion and fear as she pulled him upright. He was frighteningly light – she barely broke a sweat pulling him up with her. Ayshe quickly looped his arms over her shoulders when she noted him swaying.

"We're getting out of here, okay?" she murmured to him, gently pulling his hair away from his face. His expression was slack, and still bore signs of fear, but he didn't seem to be in danger of screaming or trying to fight her, so she counted that as a success. She walked slowly, even though they really didn't have the time to spare. She didn't want to risk hurting him more than he had already been hurt here.

It was only when they were well out of the ward that she started to quicken her footsteps a little. Ali was right that they didn't have much time, and she couldn't bear the idea of getting caught now, not after they'd been through so much to get here. Bù chén seemed to understand that she was hurrying, and also sped up his footsteps as much as he could. It almost made her weep.

It seemed borderline unreal, when she finally found herself outside the escape pods. He was almost completely slumped over her – even the small effort of walking down a few hallways had exhausted him – and his breath rattled in her ear. Ali caught her eye, grinning when he saw the man she was holding up. Behind him, she could see the other prisoners – all scarred and emaciated – already waiting inside the ship. Several of them stood, peering at Bù chén with recognition in their faces. She hurried forward as Cera rushed to help her escort the emaciated man inside. She heard what sounded like a low whisper from the prisoner, and raised her head inquiringly. His eyes were distant and clouded, but she heard his next words clearly.

"Thank you."

Ayshe roused herself from the memory as she noted that she had arrived at Yao's cell. The guards looked at her quickly, before stepping aside with a certain degree of reluctance. She eyed them for a moment.

"I would request a few minutes alone with General Yao, if you will." She said sharply. The pair exchanged a look, before one of them bowed her head.

"As you wish, Admiral Kartal." She said, though her flinty gaze indicated otherwise. Ayshe watched them as the two marched from their place, noting the unhappy expressions on both of their faces. She waited until she was sure that they were far enough away that they wouldn't be within earshot before she walked into the small cell block. It was almost ridiculously humid inside, and she felt herself immediately start to sweat. She couldn't imagine what it was like for Yao in here, given the long clothes that he favoured.

Relief washed over her when she saw him. He looked tired and worn, but healthy. True to her expectations, a fine sheen of sweat coated his brow, and he was glaring absently at the wall. She grinned as she approached, unnoticed.

"I must say, you're looking a little worse for wear, Yao." He turned his head slightly, eyes widening when he saw her. He almost leapt to his feet, grinning widely.

"Ayshe! When did you get back?" he laughed, eyes sparkling. She reached through the bars to grip his hands as a substitute for a hug, as he seemed to almost drink in the sight of her. It had been long, far too long, since they'd seen each other in person.

"Only a few days ago," she said, "I'll admit, hearing that you'd been thrown in prison wasn't what I wanted to hear upon arriving back." Yao smiled sheepishly.

"Ah, yes, there's that," he chuckled, still keeping his gaze rapt on her face, "Believe me, I wasn't planning on it." Ayshe laughed.

"I didn't think that was the case." She said warmly. She sunk down to the floor, Yao joining her, and sat cross-legged in front of the bars. She pressed her fingers against the dark metal and shook her head slightly. It had been years since he'd been behind bars like these. She had hoped, after that first time, that she would never have to see him behind them again. He must have deduced what she was thinking from her facial expressions, because he reached through the bars and took her hand again.

"Hey. I'm managing alright." He said, smiling without strain. "It hasn't been too bad in here. They feed me regularly, though showering seems to be off limits for now."

Ayshe giggled at that, leaning away and screwing up her nose over-dramatically. Yao grinned at her, and she felt some of the tension slip from her shoulders. It really didn't seem to be getting to him that much, for which she was grateful. If she noted even the slightest sign of discomfort, she would likely try to lynch his guards. Yao's gaze was still affixed on her face. she flicked him lightly with her finger.

"What are you staring at me for? Don't tell me you'd forgotten what I looked like." She teased. Yao smiled again.

"I don't think I'd ever be able to forget." He said gently. He chuckled softly, finally breaking eye contact. "You're the most beautiful thing I've seen in over a week, is all."

Ayshe was grateful for the darkness of her skin – if she had been much lighter, she no doubt would be blushing scarlet right now – but she collected herself enough to teasingly retort, "In over a week? And here I was thinking that I'd be one of the most beautiful things you'd ever see."

Yao was looking at her again. "You are, no doubt about that."

Okay, no matter how dark her skin was, Ayshe knew that her blush was visible now. They lapsed into a comfortable silence while she tried to school her thoughts. Yao had always been charming, and always fast to compliment her on her intelligence, strategic thinking and humour. Compliments on her looks came less often – likely due to the fact that Yao prioritised a person's physical appearance far below factors like intelligence and courage – but were always as sincerely meant. He was one of the few that could compliment her in such a way and not get a shrewd look.

"My trial is on the 29th." He said after a few moments of silence. Ayshe nodded.

"I'd heard that, yes." She responded quietly, her grip on his hand tightening momentarily. He smiled sadly at her.

"I've been told that I'm allowed to call a few people in particular to help with my defence." He said softly. "I'm going to have to talk about the Arbiter. I was wondering…would you mind being a witness for my side of the case? You're one of only a few that can verify that I was ever on that forsaken ship, so…" he trailed off, but Ayshe was already nodding vigorously.

"Of course I will, Yao. You know that I'm always on your side."

He relaxed exponentially, bowing his head and placing his forehead on her hand. It was a sign of deep respect on Yan, though it was far more commonly used on Misor. She blinked, then laughed softly.

"You don't need to bow to me, Yao." She said, voice warm as she covered his hands with her own. "I'm here, always. And this trial will go fine. We'll find the real traitor, that, I can promise you." He smiled at her, expression so kind and open that she felt her stomach flutter. Looking away so as to preserve some semblance of her composure, she asked,

"Who else were you planning on asking? To be witnesses for your side, that is."

Yao considered a moment. "I was going to ask Elizabeta and Kari, and I also considered Matthew and Tino, but…" he trailed off for a moment. "Well, the side arguing against me will have very respected officials on it. Octavia and Batbayaryn, to be sure, and Aelia, Jamael and Ehsan are likely to also offer up testimony." He sighed. "Their opinions may be more well-regarded than those of 'mere captains' like Elizabeta and Matthew."

"Hey," she said, squeezing his hand, "you also have a well-respected Admiral on your side, don't forget." Ayshe gestured to herself. Yao laughed.

"That's true." He admitted.

"Not to mention," she spoke up again, "though Yaretzi and Ali have already been called up as 'neutral' witnesses, they both like you more than Octavia, so that's something." Yao nodded again, looking thoughtful. Ayshe bit her lip. "What about Mohammed? He's sensible."

Yao laughed, a little bitterly this time. "Yes, he is. He's an excellent leader, and very well regarded around here, too." Yao looked down. "But I doubt that he'd be so partial to me. We get along well enough now, but they'll be asking questions about things that happened years ago, and his opinion of me hasn't always been so glowing."

Ayshe frowned. "How so?"

Yao winced. "It's irrelevant." Ayshe's glower deepened.

"If it's going to come up at your trial, it is relevant, Yao." He stared at her a moment, and sighed,

"He didn't trust me much when I first joined the resistance under Arshad's tutelage, that's all. Most people didn't. He'll just have to talk about why he didn't trust me, and things like that."

"Well why didn't he trust you?" she pressed. Yao winced further.

"You'll hear it at my trial, Ayshe. Surely you want something to remain a surprise?" she glared at him, no humour in her expression.

"If I might ask, would his disagreement with you have any association with where you came from?"

"Well, a few of his choice words come to mind." Yao admitted.

"Such as?"

Yao was silent for over a minute before he responded. "Well, it was 'euyun mayila' and 'niqabat' in Low Nymian, and 'catlaka' in High Nymian. They were the most common, anyway."

Ayshe was still for a moment, before she moved to stand. Yao reached out and seized her wrist. "Where are you going?"

"I just need to murder Mohammed Hassan. It shouldn't take long." She said. Ayshe wasn't even bothered by the audible shaking in her voice. Anger had surged up inside her and taken hold of her thoughts. Indignation and disgust raced through her bloodstream. The 'well-respected' and 'considerate' Mohammed Hassan said those sorts of things?

Yao's grip on her wrist tightened. "Ayshe, it was years ago. It doesn't matter."

"Doesn't matter!" she cried, voice cracking. "Of course it matters!" but at his words, she paused, and let Yao gently pull her back down to the floor with him. There were tears budding in her eyes, but she ignored them. She distantly realised that she was shaking. Nymian was one of her native languages, and she understood both the High and Low dialects. Unlike most other planets, the 'high' and 'low' tags depended, quite literally, on the altitude of the area. Mountainous regions filled with highly-educated, honourable old tribes used High Nymian, while poorer plateau and desert inhabitants used Low Nymian. She had heard those three terms before, and asked her father what they meant. All she really remembered of the encounter was the sheer disgust in his expression as he told her to never repeat them, ever.

Yao's hand was on her back, rubbing gently. "They're just words." He said firmly.

"Racial fucking slurs." She choked out, wiping at her tears.

"I know. And I've heard much worse ones, let me tell you that." He smiled softly. "We've put it behind us, as should you." She looked at him indignantly.

"Put it behind me? Yao, if someone called me something like that, there'd be nothing left of them. Mohammed doesn't deserve any less." Yao chuckled a little.

"He's apologised over and over, if that helps." Ayshe grumbled, crossing her arms. She shook her head a little, but sighed, knowing that Yao wouldn't want her to lash out at the General, especially not for things which he had said years ago. She turned her head back towards him a little.

"Well, what would you do if someone said things like that to me, then apologised over and over?"

Yao watched her a moment, expression measured. "I'd wipe all traces of them from the earth, regardless of their apology. But this is different. I'm not worth that, Ayshe." She scoffed, folding her arms tighter. But that was Yao, she supposed. He would go to great lengths for his friends, but seemed to inexplicably think that he wasn't worth the same effort. Personally, Ayshe thought that Hassan still deserved to be wiped from the earth, but she wasn't going to fight Yao on the matter. She sighed.

"As you wish." She said sullenly. "But if I hear anything similar from him, regardless of who it's directed at, I'll shoot him. Fair enough?" Yao shook his head, laughing a little.

"I know that there's little I can do to deter you if such a situation arises." He said, eyes sparkling. "Though I would hope that you'd exercise more caution than that."

Ayshe made a simple 'pssht' noise and waved her hand dismissively, drawing a laugh from Yao. She relaxed against the bars a little more, though the smile dropped from her face when she saw the two guards approaching from outside. Groaning, she turned back to him.

"It seems that the extent of my influence has been met." She sighed. "I'd best get going before they have to drag me away kicking and screaming." Yao smiled, though it was distinctly sadder now than it had been before.

"Though I do wish I could steal away more of your time, I wouldn't punish the rest of the resistance by depriving them of your radiant presence for so long." He sighed. Ayshe grinned, and dragged Yao's face closer to the bars, slotting her own face partially through so that she could kiss him on the cheek.

"I'll see you on the 29th." She said. "We'll prove Octavia wrong, I swear." Yao smiled.

"I hope, for my sake, at least, that that is true."