Author's Notes: As I wrote out the story line for future reference, I realized how...emo it was getting. So I've been revising it. I really don't want Brea to turn into an Emo-girl. Well...she might already...y'know...with the 'Oh noes I destroyed the world! Guilty by association' deal. Yeah. That would not be good. Yes! So I update once more, twice in one week! Yippee-skippy, are you all happy? Good! lol. Now review! Reviews make me happy and validate my existance! You dont want to not exist do you? Then review!

Also to Turtlegirl in regards to your review: If you're insinuating that I might have stolen/copied other people's work/ideas, I'd like to say that this fic has been in the works for over a year, going through well over 5 variations. If I have stolen anything in any form, it would have been from the Mirrorverse Fanfic called 'His Master's voice', which is where the original inspiration came from. Copy fics aren't rare, they're abundant. But this is not one of them. The concept is entirly my own which I have been musing over for a while. The original concept actually resembled more along the lines of Titan AE, and it involved another girl (forgot what I named her) and Smokescreen...and the galactic mob...and headmasters...and a lost colony...and some other stuff. So yeah, there you go.

Phase Nine: Regrets

Chapter Eighteen

She awoke from a pleasant sleep to see the spot where Annie had been laying before vacant. Slowly sitting up straight, Brea looked around and yawned, stretching out her stiff joints. The little sheds had no floor, rather they ground was covered in grass, but thick folds of cloth had been placed inside to line the structure and make for a makeshift mattress. It was no Serta, but it was comfortable and pleasant. Gazing through the little cut out for a window, Brea saw the pleasant glow of the fake sun light and felt a little twinge of melancholy when she didn't hear any song birds or sounds of nature. She suppressed the negative thoughts, trying to stay positive and keep her mind concentrating on the things that made her happy.

Faint voices drifted through the open door, coaxing Brea from the lingering fog of her mind and she wobbled as she rose to her feet. Once she was certain her equilibrium would stay in place, she ventured to the doorway and peered out. Annie was at the fire pit, stirring the soup they had the previous 'night' while Craig was sitting with the frail looking man Brea had seen before, Preston. He still looked awfully pale and she could see his ribs through the skin of his chest. There was a sickly green tinge to his skin and a slight tremor to him as if it took all his strength to simply sit up. Craig was helping the man eat a bowl of soup, holding the dish to the man's face as he slowly drained its content, sip by slow sip while his own bowl sat next to him, momentarily forgotten.

As Brea stepped out of the shed, the others all looked towards her.

"Good morning Brea," Annie greeted her with a warm smile. "I'm afraid all we have for breakfast is more tomato soup. We sort of have a surplus and we're trying to use them up before they go bad."

"That's fine," She replied and took a seat on the ground, carefully pulling the hem of her dress over her legs so as not to accidentally reveal anything. "I like tomato soup."

Preston motioned to Craig that he didn't want anymore and the other man placed the bowl on the ground beside him and took up his own. "Probably better then the crap those bucket heads fed ya, huh?" Preston asked, wiping a hand across his face.

"Definitely," She said as she accepted a bowl from Annie. It was wonderfully steaming hot and she raised it to her mouth and blew on it. "I wouldn't care if I never saw another piece of fruit in my life."

All three suddenly looked up at her incredulously, eyes blinking. Brea froze under their gazes and felt her stomach lurch. Slowly, she lowered her bowl. "…what?"

"Fruit?" Preston asked disbelievingly, eyes wide, "They fed you fruit?"

Brea felt her heart drop. It suddenly felt as though the world had iced over and she began to feel ill. She could barely meet their gazes as she replied, in a meekly uncertain voice, "Yeah…?"

There was a moment of awkward silence and the incredulity in their eyes did not leave. They stared at her as if waiting for her to admit otherwise.

"Well fuck," Preston replied, sifting into a more comfortable position. "All we had was that God-awful green lumpy shit."

"Ours was brown lumpy shit," Craig added before draining the last of his soup.

Annie's long raven hair hung on her head in a tangled veil and she turned to Brea as if to say something, thought better of it, and turned back to the soup. The woman's hesitance only added to Brea's anxiety. A long moment passed during which Brea had the very distinct impression she had just said something very stupid and very inconsiderate.

"They really gave you fruit?" Annie asked finally. "What kind?"

She felt the weight of their stares, feeling thoroughly exposed and vulnerable. "Well...apples and oranges mostly…"

Whatever curiosity Annie had seemed to have been met and she nodded absently, eyes trailing back to the soup. Another awkward silence filled the space and Brea turned her eyes away from the others and pretended to be engrossed with her soup. She took slow shallow sips, her mind spinning. Somehow, she didn't feel like she deserved to be eating the soup. Were they angry at her for something? Was she a 'pampered pet' in their eyes? Did that somehow mean she didn't deserve to be there? Her stomach twisted itself into painful knots and she unexpectedly found her appetite to be lacking.

"You probably got some of our crop," Annie said distantly, snapping Brea from her worries.

Brea looked up at her. "Huh?"

Annie was silent for a moment, seeming to choose her words, "I was part of the labor force before I was rescued. Me and about sixty others, we grew, cared for, and harvested fruits and vegetables. There was an orchard and a field. It was like an industrialized farm. I worked in the garden as a field hand. Me and my group had to inspect and pick all the ripe food. We never knew where it all went, since all they gave us to eat was this grey stuff. We assumed the fruit and vegetables were ground up into the food or something. It was kind of like oatmeal, but it didn't really have a flavor," She paused. "Where were you kept?"

Brea was very aware of their stares and something inside her really didn't want her to answer, but she knew leaving the question without one would simply invite more suspicion and maybe…contempt? "I…" she hesitated, "I was a pet…to…to some Mech in Kaon."

Their reaction was just as she feared. They all nodded noncommittally, mumbling or grunting in the affirmative, but not really seeming to hear her…or care. There was almost an air of disrespect about them, as if they were jealous of her more fortunate circumstances. She suddenly felt very ashamed.

"Well, lucky, lucky you," Preston drawled and she felt the words dig into her so much she almost flinched as if they physically hurt. There was an almost offended inflection to his voice, as if to say she had nothing to complain about. "So you were pretty lucky then huh? Got through all of that mess unscathed I suppose?"

Brea felt anger bubble up at the mere idea that anything she went through had been nothing, but she suppressed it with a force of will.

"No…" She said, trying to hide the hurt in her voice. Raising her neck and brushing away her hair, she ran her hands across the scars and she could see their eyes bulge at the sight.

A moment's pause and then…

"Oh my God," Annie left the soup and walked over to her, looking at the scars that they had all missed. "Oh my God! Sweetie, what happened?"

She was relieved to see the contempt leave their eyes and having it replaced with curiosity and perhaps a bit of…sympathy? It looked as though she had convinced them, that a pampered pet could still be a victim…that she was hurting too.

See, she thought in utter relief. I am one of you. I deserve to be here too…

"When I was being processed after first coming here, I got burned when they tried to tag me or something like that. They were going to send me away to be killed 'cause of it, but…the guy who owned me decided to keep me anyway. I was really lucky."

There was a pause while all those present seemed to absorb that. Preston grinned.

"Bitchin'," Preston said simply, making Brea smile. Annie shot him a dirty look and he shrugged. "What? It's like a battle scar or something."

She ran her hands across the fabric of the new dress that sat folded neatly in her lap, a strip of colored cloth tucked in between the folds, a sash. Annie had given the bundle to her and told her to change out of her old ones. Inside her shed, Brea stripped out of the dirty, worn, and ripped cloth before slipping into the new dress. She marveled at how easy it was to tell the difference between the two. Her old dress had been a sheet with head and arm holes, but the new dress was sewn with a curve and fitted her just right in places it should.

As she kicked her old dress away and slipped into her new one, Brea felt as if she were shedding her old life away like some a snake detaching its old skin to adorn a new one. Securing the cool blue colored sash around her waist, Brea ran her hands down the fabric in simple appreciation.

Upon exiting the shed where she had been changing, Brea glanced around to find only Annie sitting down near one of the sheds with Becky in her arms, the top of her own dress pulled down and the baby held close to her chest. Brea stared at the pair for a moment in confusion when she suddenly realized with a discomfited jolt that Annie was breast feeding the child. Annie looked up to meet Brea's gaze and the young girl squawked and whirled around in mortification, covering her eyes.

"Sorry!" Brea cried. "Sorry!"

She heard light lyrical laughter. "Oh don't be all embarrassed," Annie told her. "It's perfectly natural. You'll do the same when you have a baby. There's no room for modesty here, come over here and sit down. Don't be all shy."

Brea slowly turned back around to face Annie, but made sure to keep her eyes on the woman's face as she approached. Despite having been given 'permission' to look, Brea felt very uncomfortable, but tried to show some form of dignity and try not to look as though it bothered her and hoping she did not offend the woman. Her face must have been beet red.

"Just look at you, you're all sparkling new," Annie said with a smile as Brea sat down beside her, face flushing.

Brea returned the gesture despite her awkwardness, "Thanks…for the clothes I mean."

"No problem," The woman said, shifting Becky in her arms when she began to fuss, "Those old ones were horrible! You were in dire need."

Brea spared a light laugh, more for the sake of the moment then actual amusement, all the while trying to untie the sailor knot in her stomach that modesty had made. Her inner self scoffed at her, reasoning that if Annie was OK with her being there and being witness to her partial nudity, then it was OK. But old beliefs and habits die hard.

But curiosity was an ever present motivation and Brea, despite herself, made a quick glance at Becky. The baby glanced back Brea, but quickly turned her attention back to her objective and likewise, Brea returned her eyes to the mother, silently hoping she hadn't noticed.

"Where is everyone?" she asked in an attempt to stir the conversation into a more comfortable direction.

"The boys are probably out playing soccer," Annie said casually, "Jazz brought us a big box of random stuff a while ago and there was an old volley ball in there. They've been using it as a soccer ball. Craig's probably doing laps or something."

"Doing laps? Why?"

"He was a physical fitness trainer," Annie explained, "He does two laps around the Sanctuary every day to keep in shape and stuff. Keeps him busy."

Brea smiled. "Yeah, I guess that's one way to occupy your time."

The other woman nodded. "That's the only real downside to this place. It's really easy to get bored. We're always trying to figure out ways to pass time or come up with routines to keep us busy. The garden helps a lot, but that can only go so far. What's really bad is we have no real sense of time here. You see the lights are on 24-7, so it's kind of hard to judge time, which makes it hard to schedule and make routines."

"You can ask them to dim the lights or something," Brea offered. "Like, set up a night and day period maybe."

"We've talked about something like that," Annie admitted, a hint of hesitance in her voice, "But we haven't talked to any of the big guys about it."

Brea tilted her head in confusion. "How come?"

Annie looked uncertain for a moment and shook her head, "I dunno; I guess we were afraid that if we made too many demands or we became a burden they might…decide we weren't worth helping and we'd end up back where we were before."

At first she thought the idea was ludicrous and something in her mind shifted. She tried to imagine that, being sent back…

Her chest constrict as memories of Xeon's tower flooded back to her and in a flash of a moment she was back there; alone in a giant room, with only the fleeting company with a Mech who was a monster to whom she had naively submitted herself. She could feel the cold air and smell the room's alien yet familiar scents. And for a brief moment, she found herself staring out of a window to a world that was superficial and exotic, watching with a blind naivety to the trials and horrors of her people. If she had simple listened, she was almost certain she would have heard them scream.

"I know it's a little silly," Annie's voice broke her from her thoughts and Brea felt dizzy when she landed back in reality. An infringing feeling of fear gripped her. She tried to shove it off…but it held.

"I don't think it's silly," Brea replied, not looking at Annie, rather staring straight ahead, trying to mask the sudden fear she was experiencing. She pulled her knees up to her chest and out from behind her overgrown bangs, her eyes pierced out and stared. "I can see why you wouldn't want to even risk it…"

In her peripheral vision, she saw Annie nod and there was a moment of silence. The anxiety compounded…

"I know what I went through is probably nothing compared to you guys," Brea said, still not looking at the other woman. Her own words brought out a deep guilt and she had to suppress the urge to admit her sins of naivety to the older woman. "But I wouldn't want to risk being sent back. I'd die…I couldn't go back. Ever…"

She turned and looked at Annie who was nodded in grim assent. Glancing down at Becky, barely noticing any shame in doing so, she said in a quiet, cryptic voice, "He'd kill me if I did…"

Brea turned away suddenly when she felt her insides drop as a memory flashed in her mind, red eyes glowing, making her skin run cold and she felt ill. The brace on her wrist was a reminder and for a fleeting moment she wished she could tear the damn thing off. She felt dirty.

"Who'd kill you?" Annie asked, puzzled and a little shocked by the girl's strange behavior.

Brea didn't answer her. A feeling of absolute dread suddenly passed over her like a wave. Panic, unknown and unexpected, grip her.

"I'm…I'm going to find Caleb," she announced abruptly and rose to her feet and left, walking straight into the collection of trees, leaving a very confused woman and her child to stare off at her in bemusement.

Brea rubbed at her arms in an attempt to rid herself of the encroaching chill that accompanied the panic attack that continued to linger...

What was happening to her?

An overwhelming feeling of doom seemed to follow her like a morbid cloud, dousing her with poisoning thoughts of death. Despite being almost entirely impossible, Brea couldn't help but look around in alarm as if at any moment, Xeon or one of his cronies would jump out and squish her. She felt very small and very vulnerable. The walls, the security, the Mechs protecting the compound, etc…suddenly it all seemed very inadequate, that despite the fact that Xeon may very well believe her to be dead, she felt as though he could still reach her, still do her harm. And that terrified her beyond words. She could envision his blood red eyes and the pain in her ribs. She could hear her own screams.

The panic grew to a crescendo and she finally collapsed to the ground, huddling in a ball and pressed herself against the sturdy, reassuring, trunk of a near by tree, wishing she could melt into it and disappear. She stayed there, heart pounding in her ears and suppressing the urge to be sick.

Her face felt as if it were on fire as she held back tears, not wanting her sobs to attract any attention, yet she could not suppress the dieing wish for someone to come rescue her from the horrible thoughts and fears. But she did not want them to see her weakness. No. If she wanted to belong here, she needed to fit it…and to fit in, she couldn't show them how messed up she was…they would reject someone like her, someone who broke so easily at the slightest touch of pressure.

She did not have the right to break so easily when they…when they had to try so hard to keep together…they would see her as a burden; as weak and unworthy of such a safe haven. She was convinced.

Preston's voice, incredulous and insulted, rang out in her head. Fruit? They fed you fruit?

Those words dug into her, making her ashamed for ever thinking herself as a victim. She wasn't a victim…she was liable…guilty.

Ratchet was right, she supposed shamefully. Maybe she should have let him do what he thought best and let him go through his procedures. All that arguing, trying to convince them that she was fine, that she was ready and willing…only to find she was exactly as they had thought…broken, damaged…

…Mentally unstable.

For a long moment, she stayed there, easing herself from the adrenaline. The panic attack passed, but Brea did not move, feeling shaky and lethargic. She stayed there, propped up against the tree, looking out at the world around her. Her mind was so scattered, she didn't hear the soft pat of feet as they approached. She jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking up, she saw bright green eyes that stood over her. Strawberry hair, fuzzy and disheveled, puffed off her head, wayward strands loftily brushing her face.

"Kimberly?" Brea said in surprised, feeling oddly nervous. The girl nodded, a small smile coming to her face. Brea stared at her in wonder at her. Could this girl really be the same one she had seen so long ago? The first time they had locked eyes, she had been a youthful young girl, looking not but 16. However, the girl now in front of her had aged. She looked older, tired, and worn. Her smile was a ghost of what it should have been and there was some sort of underlining emotion that Brea couldn't quite place.

Remembering herself, Brea struggled to make small talk despite the fact Ratchet had informed her that Kimberly was a mute. She had to fill the silence somehow…it was deafening.

"So, uh…." Brea tried to smile, but had an innate impression it was a failed attempt. "Are you…OK? I mean, those other Mech said you might be sick and I…guess…I was wondering if you were OK. They said you don't come around a lot…and…I was…"

Kimberly simply looked her and Brea dropped the small talk. A nagging question lingered at the tip of her tongue and the red haired girl seemed to be waiting for something…

"Um…Kimberly? Can I…Can I ask you a question?" She asked, trying to be careful with her words, but only ended up sounding awkward and hesitant.

The girl nodded once.

"Oh…Ok. Um…well," She wasn't sure how to phrase it. "You…you were on the same ship as me weren't you?"

There was a faint twinkle in her eyes and she smiled the barest, almost unperceivable, smile. She nodded twice.

"And…you were…bought by Viral." Kimberly's eyes narrowed and a palpable jolt of hatred enemata from her. The confirmation hit Brea like a pillow; startling rather then jarring. She expected it.

"Did she…change your name?" She asked, feeling ashamed for asking such questions. "To Aida?"

Kimberly's eyes narrowed further to thin slits and she turned to look away, shaking her head as if to say 'Don't call me that'. A thick silence fell and Brea struggled with her next words. "I'm sorry," she said at last.

The girl's head snapped back, her eyes opening wide with a surprised look as if to say 'Why?' Brea felt a swell of tears. "I'm sorry for what they did to you…for everything! I'm sorry for what happened on the ship…with…that lady. Was…was she your Mom?" Brea had expected Kimberly to be angry at the mentioning of the woman, or at least sad, but instead, she merely nodded. Her absence of emotion should have consoled Brea, but it only seemed to compound her guilt. She shook her head, fully formed tears dripped down her face, "I'm so sorry…"

Pressing herself back into her ball, Brea's shoulders heaved as she sobbed. She didn't understand why everything had gone so wrong. She had awoken that morning, feeling as if the world was right again, despite everything, but one little comment seemed to have ripped open the box previously owned by the notoriously curious Pandora. Everything seemed to be falling apart. She felt like she was unraveling…drowning in her own repentance.

Warm hands gripped her un-braced wrist and pulled. Brea looked up to see Kimberly tugging at her, inclining with her head over to her right.

"What?" She asked; her voice thick with tears.

Kimberly pulled harder and this time Brea got up, albeit somewhat awkwardly. She tugged her along and Brea decided to simply allow the silent girl to guide her to wherever it was she was taking her. They walked through the trees in no particular path and for a moment, Brea supposed Kimberly was simply guiding her to a more secluded spot rather then a pre-formed destination.

However, she was proven wrong when Kimberly pulled her out into another clearing far from the camp. Two brightly painted Mechs were lounging on the grass. Brea's mind was too scattered to recall their names. Ratchet had mentioned them, but her memory seemed foggy and uncooperative.

The yellow one was leaning against a particularly large and sturdy tree, a strange device in his hands. Two metal rectangles were connected to a pane of glass on which scrolled rows of text and images. The red Mech was laying on his back, hands behind his head, legs crossed, giving Brea the impression he might be sun bathing. The yellow one looked up; blue eyes watching as Kimberly all but dragged Brea into the clearing towards the two.

Brea felt his eyes on her and suddenly felt uneasy. She felt the childish fear of strangers bubble up to the surface and she tried to turn around or pull away, but Kimberly held firm; tugging and pulling, ushering her towards the two brightly painted Mechs. The red one absently glanced over, but upon seeing Brea, he sat up on his elbows, optics glowing in interest.

"Well, I guess this answers where you ran off to, huh, Kimi?" The red Mech smiled and then looked over at Brea. "Hey there."

"Uh…hello," Brea said ineptly.

"So you're the new one, huh?" Red said casually. Brea nodded meekly, still not sure why Kimberly had brought her there. She wanted to leave. "S'what's yer name?" He asked. The yellow one seemed to be ignoring them all except for brief glances, mainly towards Brea. She shivered under their light.

She swallowed thickly. "…Brea."

The red one's smile faded and he looked at her for a long moment, seeming to consider her. His head cocked to one side inquisitively before he reached out towards her. Brea went rigid and flinched as a black finger softly brushed her right clavicle, "You're shakin'. What's wrong?"

Brea opened her eyes reluctantly, looking up into the red Mech's face. He seemed utterly harmless, but Brea couldn't shake her nervousness. She looked away. Perhaps it was remnants of her anxiety attack; she didn't know. She just felt utterly overwhelmed…by everything. Everything was too big, too bright, too loud. Everything was moving too fast. She couldn't keep up. She felt like she was drowning...

She started when a black finger rose up to her chin and the Mech gingerly tipped her head back, forcing her to look at him. She was surprised to see his optics dim slightly, almost unnoticeably. She saw sympathy in his optics and something swelled inside her chest.

"You been cryin'?" He asked, lowering his hand from her.

Brea was taken aback by the question and opened her mouth to answer, to come up with a lie or excuse, but found her voice on hiatus. In her voice's absence, Kimberly was nodding and pulling at her arm, beckoning her towards the red one. She pulled back. Kimberly shot her an annoyed look and let go of her hand, striding confidently over to the red Mech. Brea watched in confusion as Kimberly clambered onto the Mech's leg. He looked down at the girl, looking amused, and laid back down on the grass as she crawled onto his chest. Brea gawked at the girl's audacity to just start climbing on the Mech but, like Bluestreak, he didn't seem to mind one bit. Rather he seemed content to let the small organic clamber over him. However, Brea did notice the yellow one make a slight motion as if rolling his eyes…despite the fact he did not have pupils and therefore could not roll his eyes.

…right?

Turning back to Brea, Kimberly waved at her, ushering her over, but Brea just shook her head and motioned to leave. She glanced meekly at the red Mech who was watching her curiously.

"Sorry...I-I should go…" she turned and had taken only two steps when a black hand swept in, blocking her path. She tried to backtrack but the black fingers reached out and daftly lifted her from the ground. She choked on a startled squeak as the fingers laced around her, holding her in the barest of grips.

"C'mon," The red Mech said with a chuckle as her lowered her onto the red metal of his chest, beside Kimberly, who seemed awfully pleased, "I don't bite."

Thoroughly unsure what to do, Brea looked at Kimberly to see her nestling down against the metal, her eyes closing as if going to sleep. Brea's face felt hot with a blush, feeling indignant and bewildered once again by her audacity, and made a motion to scoot off, but the red Mech blocked her, cupping her back with his hand. His thumb gently stroked her shoulder and she shuttered, remembering how Xeon used to do that. She tried to pull away, but the Mech's hand came down on her further, keeping her from moving.

"Just calm down," The red Mech instructed. She stared at him, unsure why she was even there. She should just leave. "You're okay," he insisted.

The hand cupping her back was a strangely reassuring presence and as it pushed on her, urging her to lay down, and she complied wordlessly. She laid her head gently on the shiny red metal, unable to shrug off her discomfiture. Beneath the metal her head rested on, Brea could hear the soft murmurings of the Mech's system. And then, unexpectedly, she heard a soft Bom under the armor. She raised her head, startled and looked down at the metal. Confused, she laid her head back down and she heard a second Bom. Then another and another; like the rhythmic patterns of a heart beat. With each pulse of the 'heart' Brea felt a strange pulse of energy, like a wave of warm air. Each pulse brought a surge of energy that made her skin tingle. Her tense muscles began to relax and her tautly woven mind slowly unwound. The rhythm was soothing and she began to calm.

Looked over to see Kimberly gazing at her with a smile, green eyes sparkling, Brea felt the something in her chest swell again. The girl reached out to grab her hand, gently squeezing it. The swelling in her chest rose into her throat and into her eyes which brimmed with tears. Kimberly's smile widened and she nodded to some unspoken concern, some wordless pain. Without speaking, Brea felt an abiding gratitude towards the red haired girl.

She had left Annie and the camp, compelled by the fear of rejection or scorn for her break down, yet she could't shake the desperate wish someone, anyone, would come and rescue her from the weight of it all. And somehow, it seemed as though Kimberly had heard her…she had rescued her…from herself and her own poisoning thoughts.

Author's note on panic attacks- if you've never had one before, then good for you! After my family relocated to Alabama from California a few years ago I suddenly because a hypochondriac, big time. I had panic attacks and would think I was dieing or the sky was about to fall, all for no apparent reason or for a very silly reason. For weeks on end I would be absolutely convinced I was dieing. It was horrible. You really do feel like you have a cloud of doom around you. My Mom and I made up an emergency word so I could tell her I was panicking and she could help; Butterfly. That was the word I used when I had an attack. I tried to portray Brea's panic attack like the ones I use to have, only a little more severe. Ive never collapsed in fear but I probably came real close a few times. But I am glad to say I no longer suffer from hypochondria, or if I do it's very mild/rare now and not as bad as it was. I usually got them when I was under some form of stress; school, work, etc.