First things first: Important announcement! I was looking back at some old chapters and realized that I, um, made a mistake... When I first introduced Boron, I said he was 16. Then, later on, I said that each of the experiments from this project (I really need a name for them) fit into one of four age groups. There's Silver, who's 27, then there's the 21 year old group (Caboose, Nickel, Platinum, etc.), then the 14 year olds (Rhodium, Iodine, etc.), and the kids (Frnac, Lico, and Rubi), who are 10. Boron's age doesn't work with this. So... Update! Boron is now 21. Sorry for the mistake. I'll probably go back and fix little things like that once the story is finished.
Nick stares through the small window into the infirmary, watching Rhodium and the medic examine Silver. She looks so small without her armor, and paler than he remembered. The harsh lights of the infirmary make her injuries stand out even more. Nick hates this part; the waiting. He needs to know she'll be okay now. He'd tried to stay with her, but Rhodium felt it'd be best if he waited outside. Nick wishes he didn't know how smart the kid really was. It would make it easier for him to think that he doesn't know what he's talking about.
"She looks pretty beat up," Wash remarks, startling Nick.
Although Nick doesn't show any outward signs, internally he jumps. How can someone in armor like that move so quietly?
"Rho asked me to check on her," Wash continues. "She seemed really worried."
Nick nods. "Rho tends to switch from snarky sarcasm to motherly concern without much warning," he remarks.
Wash wants to make a comment on this, ask if an AI like that can really be safe, but decides against it. Rho got Silver home in one piece. At this point, they probably trust her more than they trust Wash and his team. He just hopes nothing bad will come of it.
"So, how is she?" Wash asks again.
"Some cracked ribs, a pretty bad concussion, light plasma burn on her back, although it looks like her armor absorbed most of it, and a lot of bruises," Nick lists off the injuries with mechanical precision.
"Nothing she shouldn't recover from fairly quickly," Wash says, voice uncharacteristically optimistic.
"Yeah," Nick says, not sounding at all certain.
"I mean, if she's half as tough as Maine was, then this is nothing. I'm sure she'll be fine."
Nick sighs. "If she were half as tough as Manny, then I'm sure you'd be right," he says tiredly. He looks back at the window. Doc is trying to give Silver some pills, which she appears to be refusing. "But she's not. Silver isn't as tough or as strong as she u-… as she thinks she is. She's so stubborn and she won't listen. She's going to get herself killed."
Wash doesn't respond. He feels like he wasn't really meant to hear that. Nickel's venting is a little too personal and it makes Wash feel like he's eavesdropping somehow, even though Nick is talking to him. He's not used to people being this open. The other Freelancers never really spoke about themselves, at least not with him. Although, he had been the rookie on the team, so maybe they just left him out of the important conversations. The reds and blues never really spoke like this either. However, between Caboose not understanding anything, Tucker trying to pull his ladies' man routine despite there being no ladies around, and Sarge not wanting the reds to talk to 'a no good dirty blue', it wasn't very surprising that conversation options had been limited.
Still, this isn't something he's used to, and he's not sure how to respond. Eventually, after a few more moments of awkward silence, Nick speaks up again.
"Why are you here?" He says it so softly, so tiredly, that for a moment Wash isn't sure how to respond.
"We agreed to help you," Wash says, voice deadpan. "We want to prevent another war as much as you do."
"I don't mean your team." Nick turns his back on the window to look directly at the armored soldier. "And I don't mean just helping us in general. I want to know why you, specifically, are here, and why you seem to care so much about my sister." As he speaks, his eyes narrow in suspicion and he folds his arms across his chest.
For the first time, Wash notices how strong Nick looks. It's a slim type of muscle, like what you'd expect from a sniper, but strong nonetheless. He also notes the gun on Nick's hip, a sure sign that he still doesn't fully trust his new allies. Added to this is the disconcerting appearance of a man both young and old all at once; grey hair falling into young, bright eyes, skin unmarred by scars or wrinkles but lacking any sort of youthful color. It's almost frightening and Wash involuntarily takes a step back.
"You know I was partnered with Maine during Project Freelancer," he starts to explain. "I'm sure you know what he was like. He hardly ever talked unless it was to communicate during training and missions. But the few times he did, it was always about Silver. He said she was stubborn and headstrong and never gave up, and that she was the most important thing in the universe to him.
"I couldn't help Maine. I couldn't stop Sigma, and I couldn't stop the project from failing, and in the end I- he left us no choice but to kill him. For a long time, all I wanted was a second chance; some way to fix what had happened and make things right. I know I'll never get that chance for everything else, but maybe I can with Maine. Silver's the one person he cared about. I feel like maybe, if I can help her, it'll make it up to him somehow."
Nickel's expression doesn't change as he listens to this speech. When Wash finishes talking, he remains silent for a moment, thinking. "So, you're repaying a debt," Nick guesses eventually. Wash nods. Nick sighs, arms unfolding into a more relaxed stance. "You can't help Silver," he says, shaking his head. "Not if she won't let you."
"I have to try" Wash says. "I owe it to Maine and…" he trails off, glancing toward the infirmary window. A very stern Rhodium is handing Silver a cup of water and two pills, which she grudgingly takes. "I know what she's going through. Well, part of it, at least." He turns back to Nick. "You're right. She's going to get herself killed if she keeps this up. I have to stop her."
"How will you do that if she won't listen?" Nick asks. He wants to tell Wash that it's futile. Silver's problem is so beyond what he knows. Still, some part of him thinks that maybe Wash can actually do it. He doesn't know why, but Silver seems to listen to the Freelancer. Maybe he could get through to her where no one else can.
"I don't know," Wash says, shaking his head. "But I have to try."
Simmons watches as Yttri balances precariously on a ladder and removes the damaged plates of metal from the side of the pelican, carefully piling them up on the floor. Nearby is another pile of new, un-burnt metal plating which she begins welding onto the ship's hull. Despite having only known her for a day, Simmons can tell the mechanic is upset. Her eyes are narrowed into a constant glare, she's haphazardly pulled her hair into a loose bun, and he can see the muscles in her jaw moving as she grinds her teeth, as well as hear her occasional whispered curses.
"What's wrong?" he asks hesitantly. He hopes speaking up isn't a mistake. He's already heard enough warnings about her temper to know that the smart thing would be to leave her alone. Still, he wants to help if there's any way he can.
Yttri turns off her plasma torch and spins her head around to glare at him for a moment before getting back to work. There's a long stretch of near silence, interrupted only by the surprisingly quiet hum of the welding tool, and Simmons starts to think she won't answer. "Silver," Yttri grunts eventually without bothering to turn around.
Of course, Simmons thinks. She's just be worried about her sister. "I-I'm sure she'll be fine," he says.
"Oh, yeah, she'll be just fine," Yttri says, sarcasm and bitterness dripping from her voice. "She'll heal, like she always does. Then, when she's all better, she'll go out on some other suicide mission and get herself hurt and her equipment damaged all over again."
"Does this happen often?" Simons asks.
Yttri stops welding for a moment, a tired sigh escaping her lips. "It didn't used to," she says softly. As she continues working, her voice regains its angry tone. "Now, it's like an everyday occurrence. She keeps getting shot and stabbed and all sorts of stuff. She's tough, she always comes out okay, but… There's only so much one person can take."
The two lapse into silence once again. Simmons awkwardly shifts his feet as he wonders what to do. He doesn't feel right stepping in to help without Yttri's permission, but it doesn't seem right to ask. Besides, she seems content silently working on her own.
"I'm sorry," Simmons eventually says, wishing there was more he could do.
Yttri lets out a huff of air and wipes a drop of sweat from her forehead. "Don't be. It's not your problem," she says. "Not your fault."
"Still, I wish there was something I could do to help," he tells her.
"You really wanna help?" Yttri asks, looking back over her shoulder at him.
"Of course," Simmons nods.
She smiles at him for a second before pointing to her toolbox. "Hand me that wrench."
I stare at the screen, absentmindedly poking at a bruise on my arm as I watch the action unfold. Two military vehicles barrel down a city highway, cars swerve to avoid them, and shots fire in the scene before my eyes. Two hornets follow alongside the cars, as well as men in jetpacks.
"How are you feeling?" a voice asks behind me. I press a button to freeze the video before turning around to see Agent Washington leaning against the doorframe.
"Like I got hit by a tank," I say, rubbing the back of my head. "Those Sangheli pack a punch." For a moment I wonder why I'm admitting this instead of insisting that my injuries are insignificant like I normally would. In the end, I decide it's just the painkillers. Whatever it was Doc gave me, and Rhodi insisted I take despite my protests, it really does the trick. It certainly cuts down on the pain in my ribs when I breathe. Although, I still don't think that's good enough to forgive the lack of concentration that comes with them. "Rhodi said I should be fine, though. Just need some rest."
"That's good to hear," he says a little awkwardly.
I recognize that tone. Nick sounds the same way sometimes. He's trying to find some way to bring up a subject he'd rather not talk about. I try to think of what it might be, but eventually give up. My brain and I don't seem to be on the same page right now.
Wash glances around the room for a few seconds, looking anywhere but at me. His eyes eventually settle on the screen over my shoulder. "Are you watching television?" he asks, voice sounding slightly amused.
The question snaps me out of my thoughts and I glance back at the screen. "Not exactly," I answer.
Wash steps forward to get a better look at the still-paused video. "That's us," he gasps when he recognizes the armored figures. "That's a Project Freelancer mission."
I nod, turning back to the screen. "I've been trying to piece together everything that happened to Manny after he left," I explain. "Rhodium insisted that I rest for a while, so I figured I'd work on this."
Wash hums thoughtfully for a second. "So, what's happening here?" He gestures toward the screen as he asks.
"Agents Carolina, New York, and Maine just blew up a building and are now attempting to recover a briefcase," I tell him. Wash shifts his feet uncomfortably for a moment. "What?"
"You, uh, might not want to watch the rest of this one," he says eventually.
I look back at the armored man holding his helmet under his arm. His face looks almost like he's in pain and I know he's remembering whatever happened on this mission. "These recordings were recovered from their helmets after the mission. This particular footage was attached to Maine's medical files." I turn back toward the screen. "I know he gets hurt here. I need to know what happened."
"It's bad," is all Wash says.
After a moment of silence I press a button and the video continues. Carolina is using a turret on the back of their warthog, shooting at someone on a vehicle ahead of them. The readout on the screen says this footage is from Maine's helmet, so I know this is what he saw. Suddenly there's a dot of red on his leader's back. He turns and sees a sniper riding on the back of a truck behind them and aiming for Carolina. There's just enough time for Maine to move between Carolina and the sniper before it fires. He starts to shout out a warning but is cut off by a high-caliber round piercing his chest.
"No," I whisper fiercely, leaning toward the screen. Wash's hand comes to rest on my shoulder. Some of the tension drains out of me at the touch, and I continue to watch the scene unfold.
Maine slumps over in the back of the jeep and the video switches to Carolina's perspective for a while. Eventually Maine gets back up and reenters the fight. I smile. Of course Manny wouldn't let something like that keep him down. The footage is now from York's perspective as he watches the other two fight. My smile fades as I focus on Maine's movements. He's slower and sloppier than I've ever seen him, and I know the shot to his chest must have been affecting him.
That's when it happens.
One of the jetpack wearing soldiers is fighting Maine while the other takes on Carolina. The one fighting Carolina tosses a gun to her partner. He catches the gun out of the air and shoots Maine in the throat. The soldier then slams Maine to the ground and fires again and again, not stopping until Carolina tackles him away. Then, somehow, Maine's standing again. He shoots a grenade into the side of the vehicle and gets thrown into the street. I see from his perspective as he gets hit by a few cars before getting knocked off the highway.
The video continues for a few seconds, nothing but blue sky and Maine's ragged breathing as he waits for rescue, until Wash reaches around me to stop it. It's not until the screen goes dark that I realize I've been holding my breath. As I draw in air tears begin to slip from my eyes.
We sit in near silence for a few moments as I try to regain my breath, until Wash speaks. "Silver," he says quietly.
I blink a few times, trying to clear my eyes. "I- I didn't…" I stop, trying to regain my composure.
"It's okay," Wash says calmly, hand still on my shoulder.
I take a deep breath before trying again. "I didn't think it would affect me like that. I already knew he survived that mission and I thought that would make it easier." I say this as though it's a confession.
"It's never easy seeing someone you care about get hurt," Wash agrees.
I stare at the blank screen for a moment before my eyes drop to the floor. "I should have been there for him."
"You couldn't."
"Yes, I could." I mean to snap at him, but instead my voice comes out quiet and full of remorse. "If I had been better, if I had convinced the Director to take me as well, then maybe I could have helped. Maybe everything would have been different." I clench my hands in fury. "Instead I was just sitting here, watching mom run her experiments and training for a war that was already over."
"You shouldn't blame yourself," Wash says. "It's just as easily my fault, or North's or Carolina's, or anyone else who was there. If any of us had done our jobs better, then maybe things would have happened differently. We can't change what happened."
"He was my partner," I say, shaking my head. I can feel my voice cracking as I speak and I wish, above all else, that I could lock this away and not deal with it right now. I want to regain control of myself but I can't. Stupid fucking medicine. "It was my job to be there for him and I wasn't."
"Which is a good thing," Wash says.
I whip my head around to look at him, ignoring the pain caused by the sudden movement. How could he possibly say that? How could he possibly think that my brother dying while I wasn't there to help him is a good thing?
Wash grabs the back of my chair and turns me so I'm fully facing him. "If you had been in Project Freelancer, then you wouldn't have been here when your family needed you." I look back at my hands, but he kneels in front of me and forces me to look him in the eye. "I know you wish you could change things, but you can't. You need to give up this guilt, Silver, or it will destroy you."
"How do you know that?" I ask weakly.
"I've seen it before" he says. "I lost my team. They were betrayed, and they tore each other apart and killed each other, and I- I couldn't do anything to stop it. The whole time it was happening, I was drugged out of my mind in a mental hospital because my AI fell apart." He pauses for a moment, catching his breath. "I know guilt like that. I know what it feels like, and I know what it can do to you. You have to let it go."
I shake my head, a sad smile spreading across my lips. "I'm not looking for peace, Wash. I'm not trying to settle this or get past it. I just…" I glance back at the dead screen. "I'm just trying to say goodbye."
Wash stays there for a few moments longer before rising to his feet, apparently giving up. He's smart enough to know that I won't listen to his advice, at least not now.
An awkward silence stretches through the room for a few minutes until Wash speaks up. "Nick wanted to talk to you."
"What about?" I ask, looking back at him.
"We have a plan."
I don't think this was my best chapter, so I apologize for that. That being said: Woo hoo! 100 pages! That's according to the word document this is saved in on my computer. This is, by far, the longest thing I have ever written, and I owe it all to you guys. Thanks for all the encouragement. It means the world. Keep being awesome, and see you next Friday!
-J