I did it. I actually quit.

Rick would have liked for it to make him feel better. It didn't. He'd assumed that Mark would go along with it, agree to set up the transfer to Team Three, get him out of G-Force's hair as quickly and quietly as possible. Instead, everyone was prevaricating, apparently in order to keep him in position. Unless he was exceptionally lucky, he was going to end up having to fly missions with four people who not only didn't want him there, they now knew he didn't want to be there either. He couldn't even start to imagine just how unpleasant that could get.

He wanted to talk to someone. He needed to talk to someone. Who, though? Jason simply wouldn't treat him as an equal, and goodness knew he'd tried. The rest of G-Force couldn't care less where he went, as long as it was away from them. Dimitri would probably be replacing him on G-Force and absolutely did not need to start off by having Rick unload on him. Dylan might be Force Two's golden boy, but he was still a kid. Everyone else he knew in black section apparently thought Jason could do no wrong. Out here, of his closer acquaintances only Dave knew that he was the Kite…and had done so for a whole eighteen hours. He'd have liked to ask Commander Nykinnen, with his calm manner and knack of getting people to see things they should have seen all along, but that would be effectively going over Mark's head. Mark was the one person he absolutely couldn't afford to tee off, controlling as he did the recommendations for promotion from Team Seven.

He reached the canteen counter, and eyed the menu unenthusiastically. He really couldn't face cooked breakfast right now. Toast, cereal and orange juice, and he headed for the emptiest table in the room, over in the far corner.

The only other person sitting at it looked up and nodded to him as he sat down, and Rick almost laughed out loud. Sometimes fate made decisions for you. He knew this man, or, at least, knew who he was. Probably wasn't supposed to tell him anything at all concerning black section, but hey, what real difference could it make now?

"Don Wade, right?"

The other paused, his last forkful of egg half way to his mouth. "Yes…but I'm afraid I don't remember who you are."

Here goes nothing. "My name's Rick Shayler. I do the same job you used to."

He hadn't anticipated Don going sheet-white, and hastily elaborated, as quietly as possible. "I'm the Phoenix's current co-pilot. But not for very much longer. Can I talk to you? There aren't too many people who've been in this position."

"Yes…I guess so." Don glanced around. "Should we be discussing this in here?"

"No. My quarters –"

"I'd prefer mine."

Rick nodded, and pushed his untouched breakfast away from him. "Okay. Lead the way."

.

Don's quarters were in a side wing of the main building, in a section which, from the contents of the noticeboards – almost entirely league tables for various varieties of target shooting and martial arts – Rick guessed to be mainly occupied by security staff. He commented as much, and Don flushed.

"It's an easy way for them to keep an eye on me. Everyone else on my corridor works in black section security. They know exactly what my history is, and aren't going to get tricked into treating me as a human being."

He unlocked and opened a door on the right hand side, about half way down this section of corridor, and turned on the light.

It wasn't a large room, and appeared even smaller because the shutters were fastened tight. High bed with a desk underneath, a couple of cupboards, a small TV on the top of the low one, a second chair. There were chemistry texts on the desk, and a pile of handwritten notes. A cork board over the desk held diagrams which Rick vaguely recognised as being chemical compounds. Organic, if he was remembering his long-neglected chemistry correctly.

"Have a seat," Don said. "Sorry – I expect your quarters are a whole lot nicer, but to go into black section I have to be under armed guard and I don't react well to it. Plus I'm not good with windows. You knew that, of course."

It wasn't a question, but it might as well have been. Rick felt himself flush. "I hacked into your personnel file a while back when your name came up and nobody would tell me who you were. It mentioned agoraphobia. It didn't mention why you'd be under armed guard in black section but wandering around freely out here."

"I don't think they know what to do with someone who knows all about black section but doesn't have a clearance and isn't going to get one. They'd have locked me up forever, except that Jason refused to let it happen and they need to keep him sweet. Out here? It's not like I'm going to leave." He shrugged. "Anyway, enough about me. What did you want to ask?"

Rick looked around him, and abruptly had no idea. Don hadn't resigned – he'd had the job taken away from him. He wasn't exactly after a posting as a fighter pilot.

But he did know what it was like to be on the outside looking in, knowing that what the world needed was for G-Force to go on without you.

"I resigned from G-Force yesterday," he said simply. "Jason doesn't trust me to do my job, and the rest of the team don't want me there. Now I'm looking for a transfer to something else. Admin are telling me to hang in there, the team just want rid of me, Jason apparently wants me to sit and play autopilot. Is it wrong for me to want a life after G-Force?"

Don paused. Almost smiled, before his face hardened back into that rigid, show-nothing mask. "No. But if you want me to tell you how to get one, you're asking the wrong person. I spend my days testing paint compounds."

"But not in a cell."

Don sighed. "Not in a cell. Big deal. Actually, that's not fair. It is a big deal. And you know why I'm not in a cell? Like I said. Jason. He's fair, and he's not afraid to stand up to authority when they're not being fair. Do you get on with him?"

Rick grimaced, thinking of how he'd naively assumed things would be. "We got on pretty well before I joined G-Force."

"Then go talk to him again. You must have a cover job here. Surely you can get a legitimate-looking transfer from that?"

Because trying to talk to him's worked so well so far. And you're just sending me back to Mark, who wants me to stay put. But that was obviously all Don had to give, and Rick nodded, trying to project a positive air. Just for a moment there, he'd seen more than the damaged ex-prisoner…and he'd liked what he'd seen. ISO would be a lonely place for him in the future, even if he did get the transfer he wanted. Having someone to talk to, who understood what it was like to lose G-Force, would be worth having. "I'll try that. Thanks, Don. I appreciate…not being judged."

Don shook his head, hands shaking, eyes on the floor. "I gave up judging people. I made too many fatal mistakes. I hope you get what you want."

What I want has been and gone. But saying that would be harsh, since it was even more true for Wade. Instead, Rick quietly headed for the door, mentally running through what he needed to say to Jason. It wasn't a discussion he was looking forward to.

Mark returned from his post-breakfast physio session exhausted, but feeling as if he might finally be getting somewhere. Crutches, at least under supervision, and something marginally more like walking than shuffling. True, after the session was over he was back in the chair again, but it was definite progress. The end wasn't in sight, but he was finally daring to believe that there would be one.

He'd steeled himself to believe that everything would be back to normal today. Jason wouldn't need him. Rick would be quietly absent. Things would be happening, but none of them would involve him.

So it was a bit of a shock to push open the door of his office and find both Jason and Rick waiting for him.

"I thought we should take you up on that offer of being mediator," Jason said.

Mark started to agree, but noticed Rick's posture. Arms folded, expression closed. Jason had taken a step towards the door when Mark came in. Rick hadn't moved.

Mediators were supposed to be neutral. Rick knew how close he and Jason had been. It wasn't much of a leap to see that he considered this something he had to go along with because G-Force was more important than he was. Which, granted, it was. But that didn't mean he was worthless.

"Rick, do you want someone else here? Someone who knows what's going on? Who will see that you get a fair deal?"

Rick shook his head, but he couldn't meet Mark's eyes. Jason was frowning at the interchange, and Mark decided to push.

"Dimitri, maybe? Dylan? I think you need someone."

"Heck no!" This time the eyes did come up. "Keep them out of it!" He looked shocked at his own vehemence, and the voice calmed. "They don't know anything about it, and given that you'll want one of them to replace me I think we should keep it that way. But..."

"Who'd you talk to, Rick?" Jason's tone was mild.

"Don Wade."

Jason rolled his eyes. "Oh, perfect."

"I didn't do it to be perfect. I did it because I needed to tell someone who wasn't involved and I couldn't think of anyone else."

"You dumped your problems on Don. You didn't think he's got enough of his own?"

Rick snorted. "Actually, he seemed damn glad that someone was treating him as other than damaged goods for once. But since I'm not a complete idiot, he doesn't know who Mark is, so I'm not asking to bring him in on this. Look, forget it, okay. You've got my resignation. Write up whatever the hell excuse you want for why I quit and give it to me to sign."

Storming out had worked when Mark and Todd were the two other people involved. Jason beat Rick to the door easily. "Excuse? You think I make excuses?"

"Enough!" Mark had never needed to shout to get attention. That single word had every ounce of command presence he possessed behind it - and both men froze. "This is crazy. Rick, you go get Don, bring him to my quarters in Heron One. Jason and I will meet you there."

.

"Does it always turn into a slanging match?" he asked as they walked - well, Jason walked while he wheeled - down the concrete path towards the accommodation blocks. It had rained the night before, and with the continuous foot traffic there was a thin coating of mud on everything. Slippery wasn't an issue, but he simply hated continuously getting his gloves soaked and filthy, and there was no way round it.

"Pretty much." Jason wouldn't have noticed the mud. Probably wouldn't have noticed if the sky had turned yellow, truth be told. He was wearing that hard, rigid mask which showed no expression whatsoever, but in Mark's experience meant he was deeply unhappy.

He was acutely aware of his delicate situation here. He had no authority at all when it came to black section matters. Rick had already demonstrated that his temper was on a hair trigger. Jason's was no better. And now he was throwing Don Wade, ex G-Force second-in-command and known Spectran collaborator, into the mix.

"You're taking a big risk," Jason said abruptly. "Personally, I mean. Don's no fool. He may figure it out."

"If he does, he does. Rick already told him who he is. Do we trust him or does he need locking up?"

Jason flinched. "I trust him. But if I'm wrong and a squad of goons comes for me at the track, I can…you can't…"

"If a squad of goons can get into ISO, we've got worse problems than them knowing who I am."

They arrived at the door to Heron block. Jason opened it, and Mark wheeled inside and straight to the door of his quarters. He stripped his right glove off and fished in his pocket for his key, swiping it through the card reader before opening the door right-handed and wheeling his chair forward with his left hand, still gloved. The mat inside the door was long enough for a full rotation of the wheels, and that would get rid of the worst of the mud. Even so, he didn't want it all over the carpet.

"Jase? Pass me that frame?"

Jason stepped past him and retrieved the walking frame, holding it as if it might bite. At any other time Mark might have laughed. Now, he reached out for the hated thing and aligned it before standing up, most of his weight on his arms. He tried to ignore Jason's presence and concentrate on what he'd been told he needed to do: try to use his leg muscles instead of leaning forward and letting gravity do the work for him.

"You're moving better than you were yesterday," Jason said when he was most of the way to the chair at his desk.

That'll be because it's morning and I'm rested. Mark didn't say it. Maybe Jason would start treating him like a human being again if he thought things were improving fast. But, now that he thought about it...perhaps it really was better? Just a bit? Was he taking longer steps than yesterday? Was there less weight on his arms and more on his legs?

Getting to the chair and sitting down was still a relief, and he'd barely pushed the frame behind him when there was a tap at the door. Jason strode over - five long strides, in place of his own fifty shuffles - and opened it. Rick's face was set hard. Alongside him, Don looked white and terrified. Agoraphobia, Mark belatedly remembered.

Both glanced around as they came in, though Don was visibly avoiding the window and took the chair furthest from it before anyone else could. Jason stepped past him and sprawled on the bed, back against the wall. Anyone who didn't know him would probably have thought he looked casually relaxed. That left one chair for Rick: the easy chair in the corner which Mark never used because he couldn't get out of it. From Rick's expression, he hadn't been missing much. The tall pilot looked faintly ridiculous, and distinctly uncomfortable, as he lowered himself into a seat only a few inches from the floor.

And then two sets of eyes were on him, and Jason was looking anywhere but at him. Mark knew exactly what that expression meant. It was down to him.

"So, Rick. Have you reconsidered?"

"No." Flat, blunt, emotionless.

"Jason?"

"I won't send you out there to get killed."

"It's my job. If I can't do it with G-Force, I want to do it somewhere else."

"Slow down," Mark said, seeing this heading rapidly down the same dead-end route as their last conversation. "Jason, you need a fifth man. You always have, you always will. Specifically, you need a co-pilot. If not Rick - then who?"

"Let's just lose that 'if'," Rick said. "I've resigned. As far as I'm concerned, there are two questions we need to address. Where does Rick Shayler go next, and what do you want to say happened to the Kite?"

Jason snorted. "Rick Shayler is a Team Seven operative."

"Jason, that's not fair," Don said quietly. Jason glared, and he quailed, but carried on. "I'm supposed to be here to see Rick gets a fair outcome, right? Well, if he'd said no to joining G-Force in the first place he'd be on Team Three by now. If he's as good a pilot as he says, why waste it? Why shouldn't he go on Team Three?"

"Apart from because of the highly classified implant in the back of his neck?"

"What, like the one in mine, that Spectra spent a couple of years poking around in..." His voice trailed off, as he looked desperately at Mark, his hands clenched white and shaking. "Please tell me you have the clearance to know that."

Oh, yeah. Mark just nodded, allowing himself a wry smile. If Don thought about it, it would be pretty obvious just how high his security clearance was. After all, he knew who the members of G-Force were.

"Anyhow." Don made a visible attempt to steady himself. "Is ISO so long on good fighter pilots they can throw one away, just because he wasn't cut out for G-Force? And what the hell else are you planning to do with him? Lock him up? Piss him off so bad he might even want to go sell everything he knows? You may not have a use for him in birdstyle, but I can't believe you don't have a use for him in a plane."

A use for him in birdstyle... Suddenly that part of the solution, at least, seemed so obvious Mark laughed out loud. How had they not seen it before? A pilot, a fighter, a leader, at least some experience even if he'd only been watching G-Force most of the time...

"I have a better idea," he said simply. "Rick, how do you feel about Force Two?"

Jason snapped his fingers, sitting forward cross-legged. "Bullseye."

Rick just stared, his mouth half open. Finally he said, "But I'm damaged goods. Why the hell would they want me?"

"Why the hell wouldn't they?"

"Well...you don't."

"There's all the difference in the world between joining an experienced team and going into a new one. I'd recommend you for that. Hell, I'll do it now." He lifted his left hand, and Mark realised that, in true Jason fashion, he really was going to do it right now.

"Hold it, Jase. You know what Anderson will say. You need a fifth man."

"Well, they can't bump anyone from Force Two. I think we just made them a viable team."

Don cleared his throat. "Look, I don't know what's going on here...but I'm going to state the bleeding obvious anyway. It sounds to me like you need the Eagle back pretty darn bad. So drag him out of whatever super secret assignment he's on and tell him to get his rear end back in that front right chair."

There was a stunned, horrified silence...and then Jason swore and lifted his bracelet to his mouth, displaying the coloured sparkles of a bird scramble. "G-1, go."

"All members of G-Force to the Phoenix immediately," Anderson's voice said, and then there was the distinctive click of the line going dead.

Jason was at the door before he turned, and Mark belatedly realised Rick was still sitting in the chair, unmoving, wearing a bereft expression that he could so, so empathise with. And, just for once, Jason said the right thing.

"You want to be on Force Two? Don't you think experience will help?" He dug in his pocket and held out a bracelet - presumably Rick had given it to him when he resigned.

Rick just sat there for a couple of seconds, and then he was on his feet, some of the tension gone. "Yes, Commander. I can take that seat for you if you want, since you're a man short."

Jason flipped him the bracelet, Rick caught it and fastened it on his wrist almost in one movement, and the two of them were out of the door before Mark could even wish them luck.

"Well...I'll be going, then," Don said awkwardly. "Dammit, Commander, I'd give anything at all to be able to say 'take me, I can come copilot for you'."

Mark very determinedly didn't react. Not at all. But Don still hesitated, obviously wanting to talk, and Mark regretfully returned to his day job, which included asking pertinent questions to make sure Donald Wade wasn't a security risk.

"I didn't know you were a pilot." Not strictly true - he knew which seat Don had sat in, and that he'd flown the G-1. But he'd mentally had the guy filed under 'scientist' in terms of what he loved and what he wanted to do.

"Were is the operative word." Don stood up, leaning one hand against the wall in a way clearly intended to look casual. It might even have worked, if his other hand hadn't been visibly trembling even tucked into his pocket. "The last plane I flew was the Phoenix. Right now? I couldn't go outside for long enough to even get close to one. Even if I did - sit a foot from a clear glass canopy and do anything except have hysterics? Yeah, I miss it, Commander. I miss it like hell. I'm never going to fly again - you needn't worry, I'm not going to vanish off with your new prototype. And there isn't a damn thing I can do about it. But dammit, I thought at least the people who knew who I was would know what I used to be good at. Oh crap...I'm sorry..."

Mark sat and thought for a while after the door closed behind Don's hunched, unhappy figure. The guy was still a complete mess, that was apparent. Not after his place on G-Force back again, though. That was fortunate. Or unfortunate. It was becoming more apparent that Jason needed someone in that chair who could pull with the team. And Rick might be prepared to play 'not a team member, just observing' for a short while, but if he was to move to Force Two, he'd need to be training with them, not G-Force.

And they would still have to persuade the senior black section management that Rick should move to Force Two. Actually, Mark couldn't see that being too much of an issue, if they could come up with someone to take his place on G-Force. Requirements: experienced, capable, implanted, capable of working with Jason sufficient to take some of the stress off him and able to mesh with the rest of the team, and a pilot.

He could think round this as many times as he liked. Once Don was ruled out, there only was one candidate, and he wanted it so badly he could taste it. Couldn't this whole crisis have waited another month? Heck, even another week? He was nearly out of the chair, and it would be so much more plausible for him to go to Anderson on his own two feet. Even if he was still walking with a stick, or even crutches.

The situation couldn't wait a month, that seemed evident. But could it wait a week? And could he, somehow, do a month's recovery in a week? Maybe he could. Just maybe.

Team Seven could do without him this morning. Mark pulled the frame round and stood up, worrying more about speed than form as he headed for his chair. Time for a trip to black section.