(A/N) Hey guys, time for the latest update in Phase One: Genesis, and here's everyone's favourite field-medic Freelancer, Agent Massachusetts, written, as always, by the sensational Ayane458. We're getting closer and closer to the end each and every day that passes by. I hope you'll all stay along for the ride, because – and I can guarantee this – it'll be worth it.

At this point I'd like to make an announcement, and that announcement is that from this point on, we will respond to every review made by a person outside of The Freelancer Collaboration. It's been a bad policy of mine up to this moment to not reply to reviews, and I've become aware of the need to change that. I would just like to thank everyone that has reviewed one of our fics up to this point, and thank them for their time and dedication. I hope you enjoyed our work.

Now, without further ado, enjoy!


Chapter Eighty-Seven – Analyse This

Agent Massachusetts

Written by Ayane458


"Never hold resentments for the person who tells you what you need to hear; count them among your truest, most caring, and valuable friends." ― Mike Norton, Just Another War Story


Massa walked through the halls of the Mother of Invention with unnatural (and annoying) trepidation. Florida matched her pace and seemed confident beside, even if his usual bright nature seemed a little dimmed. She thought he'd gone to see Al before. She didn't think it ended well. Penn was quite content to trail behind them, a large and imposing shadow in their wake.

Massa was unarmoured for the occasion. She didn't particularly like walking around in the light t-shirt and pants combination provided by Project Freelancer, but she wanted to look as unthreatening as possible. Penn's presence, strangely, did bring her a certain amount of comfort –if anything went wrong, he'd be better equipped to handle it.

They were heading to Alaska.

Massa hadn't even known where he was being held up until now, and while she was glad for the chance to see him, she wasn't entirely sure how well she'd be able to handle him if he was as bad as the Director made him sound. Massa tried to offer support where she could, but mental health wasn't entirely her division.

"Agents, we believe you three have the most positive relationship with Alaska. We would normally not ask you this, however he is becoming increasingly aggressive in the face of our attempts at rehabilitation. The Director and I would like to request that you try to reason with him and encourage him to recovery."

The Counselor had called the three of them out of the cafeteria, where several Freelancers had been eating. It had felt like being called to the principal's office in front of the whole school. He had delivered his speech in the briefing room like it was a mission rather than an attempt to help a friend as the Director stood back, watching them all like a hawk.

After everything he'd done to them –forced them against each other both psychologically and physically (that battle royale wasn't worth anything), forcing many to pine for his approval (he doesn't care) and cutting them off from the outside world (when was the last time I talked to my dad?) –Massa was pretty sure she'd started to hate him.

They stopped outside a discreet doorway in the bowels of the ship, the added security noticeable only to the trained eye. A young, meek-looking guard jumped to open the door when he met the full force of Penn's impatient glare, and it was Penn who pushed past Massa (not quite a shove, but not gentle) to enter first.

Massa hurriedly followed Penn into the small, sparse room that housed Alaska. There was only a bed, a small table with notably rounded edges and another door, presumably to a bathroom.

Her worst fears were not realised. On the bed sat Alaska, slightly paler, hair a tad longer, eyes slightly listless, but still healthy on the surface. He turned to give them a dry look when they entered which changed to one of amusement as he saw who had come.

"They're allowing me more visitors now, are they?" he mused. He smiled brightly, if a little strangely, and looked between the three of them. "What brings you here?"

"You're not cooperating," Penn said bluntly. "With the recovery."

"Ah, that," Alaska nodded. His eyes darkened slightly, but he maintained his calm demeanour. Massa took the liberty of dragging Al's thankfully sturdy-looking table towards his bed, and sat next to him. His eyes flickered to her briefly before settling on Florida as the blue agent spoke.

"Now listen," Florida began cheerfully. He was maintaining his usual demeanour, but Massa was certain there was cautiousness there. "Al, I know that you're not a normal person. No Freelancer is; that's why we're here. But you still need to be able to tell what's real."

"You could've gotten us killed," Penn cut in bluntly. "Your freak-out happened in the middle of a Covenant attack. We had to waste time and resources to get you out."

Al narrowed his eyes but seemed to accept Penn's words. Al was, of course, practical. Even if he was also unconventional.

"We're worried, Al," Massa spoke up. She made sure to make eye-contact, wanting to be sure Al listened to her. "We just want you to be ok."

Alaska's gaze swiftly turned to Penn, then back to Massa. She frowned, conceding the point. She didn't know the exact nature of Penn and Alaska's relationship. An ulterior motive on the large man's part was entirely possible.

"We want to be able to know you're ok." Florida picked up where Massa left off. "And the only way we can do that is if we see you. Up. About. Not holed up here." Florida paused, before continuing right on with the elephant in the room. "The only way you're getting out is if they know you can tell what's… real, and what's not."

Al raised an eyebrow. His shoulders tensed subtlety and Massa suddenly wondered if choosing a seat so close to him had been wise.

Well, she wasn't moving now. Show of faith.

"And when have I shown that I can't separate reality from imagination?" Al challenged. Neither Massa nor Florida wanted to say it, so Penn did.

"That hallucination of yours. Moi or whatever her name was."

Al's face twisted into a snarl and he moved forward; for a second Massa thought he was going to launch himself at Penn. On reflex, she snatched at his arm. He was significantly stronger than her –he probably could've dragged her behind him, if he'd really wanted to –but he stopped, staring first at Penn's fighting stance, then Massa's hand on his wrist, and finally Florida, who looked like he'd been just about to jump between the other two men.

A memory crossed her mind – a memory of a moment three months and five days after a new member had joined her old squad. A memory of two men prepared to rip each other apart because of their differences. The biggest difference between those two men was the same difference between Al and Penn now.

One had a gun, the other didn't.

Alaska slowly sat back down from where he had been crouched on the edge of the bed. Massa removed her hand and breathed a sigh of relief while Penn dropped his fists, still looking like he was assessing the best way to take Al out. Without Al's armour, it'd be a quick fight.

"We lost a lot of people that day, Al," Florida began slowly. Penn stood stoically by his side. "But we never lost anyone by the name of Moi."

Alaska curled in on himself, just slightly, before staring pointedly at the wall between Florida and Penn's heads.

"He's right, Al," Massa murmured. "I went over the casualty reports myself. I don't even think there was ever anyone on board with that name."

"Then what did I see?" Alaska demanded, still not looking at any of them.

"I don't know," Penn answered before either of them could. "Florida and I aren't doctors. Massa is, but she's not a psychologist. We can't exactly diagnose."

"What Penn means," Florida said sternly, "is that we don't know what you saw." He continued in a more soothing tone. "I don't pretend to know what you're going through. But you gotta break out of it, Al! It's not the same with you down."

Alaska stood up suddenly, nearly startling Massa off her chair. He glared at Florida. He didn't say a word, and she wished he'd just yell.

"Down," Penn said, as if something had occurred to him. "Do you know where you are, Alaska? On the board?"

Alaska turned his glare to him.

"Last," Penn said. "Even that stupid rookie you taught a lesson is above you now. You really gonna take that?"

"Shut up," Al hissed. Massa stood behind him, hand hovering above his shoulder –she was afraid that if she actually touched him, he'd round on her. Florida looked ready to jump in on Penn's defence, but hesitant. Penn stood implacably.

"You got kicked down because you couldn't keep it together," he continued. "You had a damn breakdown in the middle of combat. All because your imaginary friend died–"

Penn cut himself off as Alaska stepped back, legs hitting his bed before he half-collapsed onto the mattress.

Massa crouched before him. "Al?"

He stared at her, gaze empty. Massa cursed quietly.

Penn scowled and made a move to leave. Before walking out the door, he turned to Alaska's motionless form.

"Pull yourself together," he ordered. Massa thought that might be his way of admitting worry. She couldn't really tell with Penn.

Florida hesitantly patted Al's shoulder, trying to be supportive. "Good luck, Al."

He waited for a response, didn't get one, and left looking like a kicked puppy. Massa hoped he wouldn't be too hard on himself. He only ever wanted what was best for his team, and each defeat always fell so hard on him.

Massa, still crouched in front of Al, tried to meet his eyes. When that didn't work, she spoke anyway.

"Al, I can't pretend to know what happened to you," Massa said. She thought she should be choosing her words more carefully, but she didn't know how long she had until she was kicked out. "Or what – who – Moi was exactly. But…"

Alaska didn't make a move, still staring blankly at his knees. Massa liked to think he could hear her.

"We all know what it's like to lose someone," she continued. "That's gotta be why at least half of us are here. So we… understand, a little." Alaska didn't react, and Massa figured she'd screwed up. 'Understand' was really the wrong word. They'd already demonstrated that they didn't.

Massa squeezed Al's arm gently. "Later, Al."

She left, jogging to her room the second the door closed behind her.