Vinnie was avoiding her.

Carbine knew it. And she knew why. It wasn't anything about her tail or her attitude. It was his face. He was hiding it from her.

It hurt her. She wasn't some fair-weather girl who was with him for his looks. She loved him and she knew that he knew that…

And she knew him. He was convinced he was no longer good enough for her, no longer fit to be in society. That he was a freak. That he was ugly. He'd always been justifiably proud of his looks and in his mind, they were gone. The first thing that would get noticed about him now were the scars from the horrific wound and that was a crushing blow to his pride.

She wanted to go to him, to tell him she loved him, that it wasn't the outside of him that counted but the person she knew he was inside. But he would never accept that. He would think she pitied him and would reject the supposed emotion angrily. He would reject her.

She didn't think she could take that right now.

So she sat at the entrance of Alternate post 14, looking out, watching him ride. He was tearing up the landscape, obviously furious and upset. Beneath his helmet, his face was a mess of bandages. He was feeling little physical pain thanks to Harley's medicine – but he was in pain. Pain from knowing he was marked now.

And this was one problem she couldn't solve with logic or planning. She didn't know how to address this one.

Her own tail had been looked at and pronounced permanent. The one she was born with was gone forever, no sign of it and no way to reattach it. But she had this new, stronger one. She had been told she was lucky.

She didn't feel lucky.

Throttle sat inside, wondering about his eyes. His left had been replaced, but his right seemed to be his own. The right had a horribly burned retina and without the field specs, he couldn't see anything through it. Like an Osmond in a snowstorm. All white.

The left however was another story. It had proven its worth as a heat seeker and a normal eye. Further tests showed him it also magnified, like looking through a microscope. But he had no wish to continue the experiments. Every time it changed functions, it made a whining sound right inside his head that made him cringe and reminded him that he was doomed to this for the rest of his life.

"Mirror on the handlebars…"

Vinnie looked at himself in the mirror. He looked good. Until he moved his head so the right side was in view. The wound had leaked and blood had seeped through the bandages. Only a few drops, but he could see them perfectly well.

"Who's the studliest mouse on Mars?" He tried for a sardonic chuckle, then felt rage well up inside him. He was... he was…

A freak and Carbine won't want to look at me without shuddering and mice will only look at me to laugh…

He knocked the mirror from the bike and rested his head on the bars. The bike wisely chose not to protest.

The other Freedom Fighters were in various states. Denel glared moodily at a wall, able to walk and her jaw reset with one quick wrench, held with bandages. Vendel and Phantom had matching, ugly bruises on their heads and various assorted minor injuries. Shrapnel's throat was a livid red beneath the fur and he was unable to speak above a croak. Redstone had a gash that had taken a lot of stitches and bandages, leading down from one shoulder and across his torso to his stomach on the other side. Any deeper and it could have been fatal. Jumo, who seemed to have aged decades in hours, had broken an arm in three places and wasn't going to be any fight for the foreseeable future, maybe ever again. Afterburn was dealing with a broken ankle and a flash burn over one arm that had taken off most of his fur there. He too was out of the fight.

And Cordite was dead.

"I know it's not the best time," said Stoker. "But we gotta plan what to do about the Tug Transformer."

Throttle shrugged. "What's the point?"

"Can't and don't wanna try." Vinnie started the bike and headed off again.

Carbine looked at him through saddened eyes. "It's pointless."

Stoker gave Harley a glance from the corner of his eye and she gave an almost imperceptible nod, taking off. Stoker approached Throttle and sat opposite him.

"You can see," said Stoker suddenly.

Throttle looked up at him. "Yeah, just. I'd be out of the Army…"

"There is no Army," Stoker said harshly. "There's us and that's it. You give up now; you doom us to be hovering around Plutark. No matter how bad you feel now, you'll feel worse with their stink in your nose."

"But we failed…"

"No. We were tricked. Won't happen again."

Throttle tried to smile. "Thought you were getting sick of the war Stoker."

"I am." Stoker stood. "But you talked me around when I wanted to quit and now it's my turn. You were right."

Carbine was standing at the exit when she felt the hand on her shoulder. She turned to see Harley stood behind her.

"What is it?"

"This." Harley showed her what looked like flexible metal. "It'll protect his wound and be a cosmetic cover. But… I think you should give it to him."

Carbine sighed. "Why? He wants his face back, not some damn mask."

"You can't give him that – but this is the next best thing."

"But…"

"Carbine." Harley smiled. "Let me tell you something about men. Appeal to their vanity and most of the battle is won. Vinnie's afraid of being pitied, after being the centre of attention for so long, you know how he thinks, better than I do. He loves you, anyone can tell – and he'll thank you. Go do it."

Carbine took the substance in her hands. It wasn't liquid, more like a strange hybrid between liquid and solid that she could hold onto but slipped between her fingers if she tilted her hand.

"You might wanna be quick with that," said Harley with a smile, turning to leave.

"Wait," said Carbine hurriedly. "Thank you."

Harley put her hand on Carbine's shoulder. "Anything for young love."

Carbine left the cave, realising the sound of Vinnie's bike had ceased. He was sat on it nearby, staring out at nothing.

"Hey hotshot."

Vinnie turned and gave her a weak smile. "Oh. Hey babe."

"Take off that helmet."

Vinnie sighed; closing his eyes briefly, but took it off and looked her full in the face. Half of it was unmarked, the other hid by the bandages.

"Do you mind if I…?" She put out her hands to unwrap the bandages.

"Hah! No!" He lied through his teeth. "I mean – half impressed is better than not impressed at all, right?"

Carbine looked at the wound, careful not to let her expression change from flirty good humour. But she silently vowed that the day she caught Karbunkle was the day he would lose his life. Slowly. Painfully. And at her hands.

Vinnie broke into her thoughts of revenge. "Sweetheart, I appreciate the thought…"

"You haven't even begun to appreciate what I can do." She put the metal plate to his face, allowing it to flow over his ear and cover the wound. "Good for the occasional mouse makeover…"

Vinnie checked out his mirror, the one he hadn't slammed from the bike, a grin breaking across his face. "Sweetheart!"

"To make you feel better," said Carbine, stroking his face. "Because your face isn't what's important to me. You are."

Vinnie stood, wrapping his arms around Carbine. "Girl, I... um, y'know... you're the best… you're…"

"Vin?" Carbine leaned up and put her face close to his. "I know."

Vinnie kissed her, running a hand through her hair and wrapping his other arm around her waist, just enjoying the moment. Until there was a cough from the cave mouth, obviously to distract them.

Stoker leant against the wall, tail swishing. "Ready to go back to fight rookies?"

Vinnie gave him a grin. "Stoker?"

"Yeah?"

"Piss off, I'm busy."

And then he went back to his girl while Stoker rolled his eyes and went back into the cave.

"Did it work?" asked Harley.

"It worked." Stoker looked skyward. "Save me from those kids…"

"Oh Stoke," laughed Harley. "You have no romance in your soul."

Stoker gave her a long look. "You think?"

"Well…" Harley took a step over to him and put her arms around his waist. "Maybe I can teach you."

"I'm a slow learner," said Stoker quickly.

"I'm a good teacher." Harley grinned, wrapping her tail around Stoker.

"Um… I'm going to bed," said Throttle from the corner.

"It's the middle of the day," said Harley with a devilish smirk.

"Okay…" Throttle sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'll go out!"

"Trust me, you don't wanna do that," said Stoker.

Throttle threw his hands into the air. "Jeez, I have to get a girl – just to get away from you all!"

He stalked further away, hoping that no matter what anyone did, he wouldn't hear it. Passing by Chopper, Rimfire and Primer, he was aware of them gathered around the Vid-screen, talking to someone.

Chopper turned and looked at him, a slightly guilty look on her face. "Um, Throttle, it's your mom."

Oh hell thought Throttle, suddenly glad that his injuries weren't as visible as Vinnie's. He might be an adult now, but his mother was still overprotective, much to the amusement of the other Freedom Fighters.

"Hi mom," he said, pushing past the twins to look into the screen.

Altezza looked at him, a slight frown creasing her face, but she tried to smile. "Sunglasses indoors? What you young people will do to look cool."

"Yeah… cool."

"I've been trying to get through ever since we found the kids have taken off – parents worry when their children run off," she added pointedly. Throttle winced. She still hadn't forgiven him for that. "And now all I'm getting is static."

"We're – having some problems with our communications expert," said Throttle in the understatement of the century. "Look, Chopper's safe with me – Rimfire and Primer too, if you can pass it on to Ballista."

"Of course they are dear," said Altezza with a warm smile that made Throttle feel slightly bad about his earlier irritation with her. "Just don't let them get away with too much."

"I won't mom," said Throttle, giving her a smile and remembering exactly why he was fighting in the war. To protect the planet and all the mice on it, especially those nearest to him.

"Deep Pocket?"

"That's me."

"What's going on with the Freedom Fighters?"

A chuckle. "They're at Alternate Post 14. Stoker forgot I could track them. You want me to tell you where it is – it'll cost."

"Name your price."

Mace smirked, his good humour restored. The Freedom Fighters might have caught him out once – but never again. And there was going to be only one winner in this war.

Him.