"There's more than one way into Deepground," Nero began, bringing up his shadow model of the subterranean city once again. After the first rather fraught meeting, Reeve had come to the obvious conclusion that they needed more information. That meant another meeting with Veld, Vincent, and Nero in the same room.

"There's at least two access points per sector. I'm pretty sure the ones nearest Reactor Zero- what used to be your Shinra building- are gone. However, there's a couple of potential spots farther out." Little dots of vibrant purple sparked to life near the edges of the city wall in each sector.

"Now these entrances are blocked, locked, and possibly no good. I don't actually know because they're right at the edge of the microchip's range. However, they're a hell of a lot better than trying to access the lower levels through the middle."

Vincent, seated across the table from Nero, studied the map for a moment. "What about the elevator you created in the WRO lobby? Is that still a viable option?"

"Yeah, I could move that," Nero agreed. "If we can find a better outlet for it, I can shut that one down and open another one somewhere else if you don't want it in the lobby. I don't know if I could hold two open at once."

"One is enough," said Vincent. "We could use it for anyone who's injured to get them out more quickly. Thank you, Commander Sable."

He sat back, making notes on a yellow legal pad. He'd never quite gotten the hang of using his phone for things like this.

Nero blinked at the title, but said nothing. "Anyway, the trick will be identifying who's where. All the Mothers and Kids are probably in one spot, but I don't know about any surviving troops or support staff. They could be anywhere."

"Wait," Shelke said softly. "The microchips! Oh my gods I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner!"

"Wait, what?" Reeve held up one hand. "What are you talking about?"

"Every citizen of Deepground is implanted with a microchip," Shelke explained, pointing to the nape of her neck. "It's a way to track your location, as well as to keep you in line. You can't venture past Deepground's borders without risking the chip detonating. You also don't dare attack the Restrictors for the same reason."

Taking a deep breath, she went on. "The mainframes for the chips went up in smoke, but I bet I could still use the microchips to track anyone who's still alive."

"Tracking the survivors via the chips should make things a lot easier," said Veld. "How accurate can you be? Once we're down there, we don't want to have to search miles of unstable corridors to find the right room."

"Not a problem," said Vincent without looking up from his notes. "Commander Sable and I will do the dangerous areas. We'll be fine."

"Good for you," Veld said, rolling his eyes. "The WRO troops aren't so lucky. Shelke?"

"The Restrictors could pinpoint you to the square inch. If I can find an active chip and get a location for it, Vincent and Nero can go in and clear the way for an extraction team."

"Good," said Vincent. "Commander Sable? Is that all right with you?"

"It's fine," Nero said slowly.

"Um," Shelke began awkwardly. "There may be… There are people down there who may not see us as delivering angels. Most of the troops and Mothers are imports and will be only too glad to be rescued. The true born, however…"

"The what now?" Veld asked.

"Sorry," Shelke apologized. "I mean the children born in Deepground, the children of the Mothers. There are kids as old as Nero and myself who might see this as an invasion, and not a rescue mission."

Nero shifted, unsure if he liked the direction the conversation had taken.

"Either we do it or we don't do it," said Vincent. He turned to Shelke. "Do we have any idea how many troops might still be down there, capable of fighting back? And what they're armed with?"

"I'll run the chips first," she said. "I can pull serial numbers, see who's still alive, and what we're dealing with. Nero can tell you what to prepare for once we have an idea."

"Fine." Vincent looked at his notepad again. "Commander Sable, when Shelke gives you the numbers, please provide a summary of troops and weapons we're likely to face. You can send it to my office here."

"Yessir," Nero replied flatly.

Shelke visibly held back a frustrated sigh. "I'll get started on that right away. Nero, why don't you help me? You know the military personnel better than I ever did."

"Sure," he agreed. "If that's all?"

"I think we're done," said Vincent. He rose and turned to Veld. "Coming?"

"You," said Veld. "My office. Now."

Vincent sighed. "Make it quick. I have work to do."

Veld shut his office door and looked at Vincent. "What the hell was that?"

"What was what?" said Vincent, flipping through his notepad.

Veld reached over and snatched the pad from him. "'Commander Sable' this and 'Commander Sable' that. Is that your idea of giving him space?"

Vincent made a grab for the notepad, stopping when Veld tossed it onto his desk. "Keep my emotional distance, you said. I didn't before, and now I regret it. I just corrected the error. You should be pleased."

"Don't give me that crap. You said you wouldn't turn your back on your son. Now you're treating him like a stranger, at best. You're making this harder than it has to be."

"Really? Because from where I sit, it's pretty damn hard." Vincent crossed his arms, scowling. "He doesn't want any kind of family relationship with me, Veld. If I have to be just another acquaintance, then I might as well start now."

"You don't have to be rude."

"I'm using his title. How is that rude?"

"Valentine. I'm going to say something you won't like, and I'm sorry I have to say it. Grow up."

VIncent stared at him blankly, then grabbed his notepad off of the desk, and walked out.

Veld sighed.

"Do you really want to go back?" Shelke asked, not looking up from her computer console, voice small. "Back to Deepground?"

"...no," Nero admitted after several moments of silence. He stared hard at his own screen. "No, I don't want to go back. I don't want to live in fear of the Restrictors, or eat garbage. I don't want to kill good troops for no reason."

"But?"

"But I'm not having any luck up here," he sighed. "I'm not like you Shelke. I wasn't born to this. I have no idea what the hell I'm doing."

Shelke smiled for him. "I think you're doing pretty well. Hell of a lot better than I did my first week in Deepground."

"Maybe," Nero conceded, "but you were nine."

"And you're an adult. It's a lot harder to adjust when you're older. As a kid you're used to taking orders and just doing whatever the adults tell you," she explained. "You've had time to grown into your role. You're a general, a leader. It can't be easy to suddenly have to take orders because your rank isn't recognized up here."

Like Max, Shelke had hit the nail on the head. Her accuracy struck a nerve, and Nero winced ever so slightly.

"They made you start at the bottom," Shelke went on as the revelation continued to roll over her. "Nobody trusts you. They don't know how dangerous you are, or how much you know."

"Any ideas on how to get them to see me as an adult with a brain in my head?" he asked dryly.

Shelke shrugged. "I think you're doing a decent job so far. Seems like you might have some unfinished business with Veld and Vincent, though. I know what you were trying to do with the shadows during the last meeting, but I don't know how much they really understood it."

"Not as much as I would have liked."

"Nero."

Nero stopped typing, looked down into her little face.

"A good leader knows when to back down; when to retreat and parley whether he's commanding hundreds of men or just one."

A brief laugh fizzed through his respirator. "You're saying I should apologize."

"I'm saying you shouldn't cut out any potential allies. You may not need them to babysit you, but it wouldn't hurt to have them in your corner. They're both powerful in their own right. They command a lot of respect up here. People will listen to them even if they might not listen to you."

Slowly, he nodded, recognizing the sense in what she said. "Okay," he sighed, respirator humming. "But you know talking's not really my thing."

"We're talking."

"Yeah, but that's different."

"They don't outrank you," Shelke reminded him, "but they are older. They've been doing their jobs longer. You can call them 'sir', but you don't have to take orders from them if you don't want to, but it might be a good idea if you listened to what they have to say."

"Okay, okay," he told her, laughing outright. "You don't have to tell me twice. I'll go. Just let me figure out what to say first."

Except Nero still had no idea what to say when he arrived at Veld's office. He had texted both Vincent and Veld, but wasn't sure he could face both of them at once. A good leader might know when to back down, but he also knew when he was out-numbered. Veld was the one in charge, no matter how much he might insist otherwise, and it had been Nero's mistake to only ask Vincent about Ned and the other squeakies. Vincent wanted him to like him for some reason. Vincent would agree to things that Veld would not.

Per protocol, Nero knocked on Veld's office door and waited to be admitted. At Veld's assent, he opened the door and stood at attention before his desk. Veld looked as if he was caught somewhere between exasperated and amused. Shifting to parade rest got him a barely disguised snort of laughter.

"Yes?" he prompted.

Now that he was here, words had fled, and protocol demanded he ask permission to speak. Veld had told him a hundred times it was not necessary, but it had been mandatory for so long, it was hard to get past. He half wished they could settle it in the training simulator, but given his track record, that might not end any better.

Behind his respirator, Nero's mouth opened and closed, but nothing more than wordless static emerged.

"P-permission to speak, Sir?" he managed to stammer. Veld suppressed a sigh, but nodded.

"I…" Dammit, what had Shelke suggested? Nero took a deep breath. "Sir, I was out of line that night. I broke protocol. I broke the rules. It was not my intent to aggravate you, or cause you to lose sleep. You and Vincent went out of your way to be hospitable and I...am still not sure what to make of that."

It was clumsy, but honest, and all he had.

"I'd like to apologize, if I may. I don't want what was said to interfere with day-to-day operations."

Veld checked his first instinctive response. Nero's words rang a bell - more than one. 'Protocol', asking permission to speak, and the structure of his speech were all standard military pattern. He'd noticed this before, but somehow it had not occurred to him that Nero responded best to this type of communication.

The Turks had been something of a quasi-military organization. Working from that thought, Veld finally had a clue on how to communicate effectively with Nero.

"Accepted," he said. "Thank you. Do you have everything you need to provide the information we requested for the rescue operation?"

"Yes, Sir," Nero replied. "Shelke and I are still compiling the information. At present she's counted over a hundred survivors and she's still scanning. We anticipate high numbers of non-combatives and a few dozen like me. The imported troops shouldn't give you much trouble once they know who you are and why you're there."

"Like you? You don't mean Tsviets, correct?"

"Well, some of them are Tsviets, but a lot of them are too young. I meant that...they don't know anything else. They're not bad, not evil, but…" Nero trailed off lacking the words to explain. "They're like me," he repeated, not knowing how else to put it. "They're not going to understand. I'd like authorization to deal with them personally, if at all possible."

Veld smiled. "That's exactly what I was going to suggest, actually. Consider it a priority." He paused, thinking back on his recent conversation with Vincent. "You'll need to coordinate with Vincent. He can deal with anyone who's not afraid to get out of there, you deal with the ones who are. The two of you are more or less immune to most weapons, but don't take unnecessary chances. I'll leave it up to you and Vincent to decide who goes where once you're down below."

With that, Veld sent up a brief prayer to the gods he professed to not believe in. If he was very lucky, they might actually listen, and Vincent and Nero would be able to bridge their differences as they worked together. It was worth a shot.

"I will, Sir." Nero saluted automatically, caught himself, and flushed a bit beneath his mask. "Sorry. Old habits. If there's nothing further?"

"Nothing further. Go on." Veld waved a hand at the door. "Dismissed."

That had gone better than expected. Bolstered a bit by his success with Veld, Nero knocked at Vincent's office door. This was likely to be much harder, if for no other reason than it was difficult to gauge Vincent's motives, or follow his logic. He'd seemed angry over the meeting, and Nero wasn't entirely sure why. He waited for Vincent's assent before letting himself in.

"Commander Sable." Vincent removed his reading glasses, looking up from his notes. "Was there something you needed?"

The whole 'Commander' thing threw him a bit. Nero wasn't used to Vincent being so formal. He'd thought about reciting the same speech he'd given to Veld, but somehow that didn't seem appropriate here. Nero shifted awkwardly where he stood, floundering for something to say. Perhaps it was best not to overthink it.

"Sir...why are you calling me 'Commander' all of a sudden?"

"It's your title," said Vincent quietly. "I thought you'd prefer it." He didn't quite meet Nero's gaze, instead glancing down at the glasses he still held in one hand. "You obviously thought I was being too familiar. I gave you the wrong impression. I don't want to make that mistake again."

"Please excuse the assumption, Sir," Nero offered by way of an apology. "I'm still familiarizing myself with Surface customs."

This wasn't going as well as he'd hoped.

Vincent nodded. "I see. So...did you need something? I know Shelke was putting together the chip info. Do you have the troop summary?"

"Shelke's still compiling it," Nero said, resisting the urge to grab his own shoulders. "I'll send you a full list once it's ready."

A very awkward pause.

"Sir… I don't… That is… I'm not sure…" Nero contemplated the carpet for a long moment before taking a deep breath and looking up. "Sir what does it mean to be a father up here?"

Vincent went completely still for a moment. A dozen different emotions chased themselves across his face, and he turned his chair away from Nero, so that he faced the back of the room.

"Why are you asking that now?"

"Because… Because you've said it several times now and I just kind of nodded and went with it even if I didn't really know what you were talking about. I know it means something to you, but I don't know what," Nero told him honestly. "I don't… I mean…" He let out a frustrated sigh that buzzed through his respirator like a saw blade. Maybe if he started smaller.

"You keep using the word 'dad'. I'm assuming it's a diminutive for 'father', but I don't understand the significance." He'd never heard it at all until Vincent had used it.

"It is that. It's like...a nickname, I guess." Vincent still didn't look at Nero, studying the ceiling instead. "To be a father means...family. Caring. Protection." He stopped, swallowed hard, and went on. "It's a blood tie, but it's more than that. A good father will do anything for his children, his family. Including die for them." His voice dropped lower. "If he can."

He turned around to face Nero. "There's no proof, but you only have to look at the two of us to see it. It would be a hell of a coincidence if we weren't related. Deepground didn't attach any significance to fatherhood. We do. There's not much else I can say. It's not words. It's feeling."

Nero nodded slowly, a slightly perplexed expression lingering on his face. "I'm sorry, Sir. I didn't realize." A pause. This wasn't likely to go over well, but they kept telling him if he didn't know, to ask. And Nero had no idea how to parse what Vincent was trying to explain.

"Is there similar significance and...feeling...for a son? I just want to know because…" Nero faltered, floundered, lacking the words. "Because I don't know. I've never been a son before."

"I guess that makes us even," said Vincent, his voice showing a hint of surprise. "I've never...well, never had the chance to be a father, let's put it that way. I don't know if I'd be any good at it. It's a big responsibility when you're dealing with a newborn. I thought it would be easier, in a way, with a grown son, but obviously I was wrong."

"No excuse, Sir," Nero said. "I'm not any more informed than you are in this instance. I don't know what to do with a father. All I know is rank and pecking order. If...if it makes a difference, Sir, I'm not expecting any of that from you. I mean…" Dammit, why was he so bad at words?

"You don't… You don't have to go to any special trouble for me. You and Veld have already done way more than anyone's ever done. I'd actually like to apologize for that one night. It was not my intent to get you in trouble, or to initiate an argument."

Vincent said nothing for a long moment. His eyes shifted from place to place as though he sought something; maybe he was just as bad with words as Nero.

"You don't need to apologize to me," he said. "Veld was the one who got angry. As for the rest, I… I don't want to talk about it.

"Was there anything else? I have a lot of work to do before we go back to Deepground."

Nero consulted the carpet for advice, but none was forthcoming. Well, it was as Shelke had said: a good general knew when to cut his losses and retreat. He'd tried to parley. If the other side wasn't interested, there wasn't much he could do.

"No, sir. Sorry to disturb you." Offering a brief salute, Nero dismissed himself.

Sometime between five-thirty and six o'clock, Veld stopped at Vincent's office. His partner still sat at his desk, apparently transcribing his notes from the notepad to his computer. The reading glasses gave him a serious, bookish sort of look. It was, as the kids would say, 'hot' - but Veld wasn't about to admit it.

"Thought I'd head home for dinner," Veld said, "as it's likely to be our last decent meal for a few days. You coming?"

Vincent didn't even glance at him. "Little early, isn't it?"

Okay, that was Valentine-speak for "not talking to you." Vincent was still pissed off at being told to grow up. Veld was getting good at this. About time, after thirty-plus years.

"Well, I'm going," he said, keeping his voice level. "Am I cooking for one or for two?"

"I'm not hungry."

He rarely was, but he usually ate anyway, to please Veld, who knew a verbal flipping-off when he heard one.

Damn it, he really wasn't in the mood for another fight. Vincent was the expert at holding grudges; for Veld, anger was a shell that burst and quickly dissipated. On the eve of a major operation, peace was a much more appealing option.

"Vincent," he said gently, "I could use the company."

Vincent blinked, and Veld couldn't be sure, but he may have blushed just a little. "Sorry."

Removing the glasses, he rubbed his eyes. "I just...I'm not...handling things well."

"You mean Nero?"

"Yeah, what else?"

"He stopped at my office to apologize for the Ned incident," said Veld. "He didn't come talk to you next?"

"No, he did, but we just...talked in circles. I couldn't answer his questions, and he made his position crystal clear."

He glanced at Veld. "He doesn't need me, Veld. He doesn't want me as his father, maybe not even as a friend. No one really-" He stopped, scowling."Never mind. It doesn't matter."

Translating in his head, Veld came up with, 'It matters a hell of a lot, but I don't want to talk about it.'

He reached over and with a few clicks, shut down Vincent's computer. "Come on, Vince. Come home, have dinner, and try to relax a little before you have to go below again. It'll work out."

Vincent rose, tucking the glasses into a pocket. "I'm sure it will. Just not the way I want it to."

"Enough negativity, Valentine. Giving up is not an option."

Vincent sighed. "All right. I'll...think of something."