(A/N) Hey all, here comes your Saturday dose of Phase Two: Betrayal! Written by the always fantastic Warg, I am proud to introduce the return of Agent Georgia, and, well, you know it's gonna be good when you meet one of the lead antagonist's former best friend again, and when Warg's writing, you know it's going to be great. The delayed X-Ray and Vav chapter will go up early tomorrow, and hopefully will be accompanied by the very delayed Grifball: Running Rampant chapter (had a bit of deadline trouble), but we'll just have to see. At the very least, this will keep you distracted for the time being, and hey, you won't have to hold out for too long, I promise!
Enjoy!
Chapter Six - String Theory
Agent Georgia
Written by WargishBoromirFan
"Rashness is the faithful but unhappy parent of misfortune." - R. Buckminster Fuller
"You don't risk your life to save your enemies. You protect your friends and destroy your enemies. That was life. That was reality. Basic survival of the fittest: Protect yourself first, protect your own family and tribe second. Protect your enemies never." - Cassie, Animorphs: The Departure
The wrench was firm and solid in his hands, twisting exactly as he wanted it to, the resistance from the socket a predictable thing, an expected and quantifiable result. The weight of the chromed steel was not outside standard deviations, even filled as it was; his rifle was heavier by far. The narrow space might have been claustrophobic to someone else, but it was plenty of room for the thoughts to echo in his head.
"So what are we shooting for?" South had asked him, shotgun rested casually against her shoulder.
"A chance to talk. And best of ten?" Well, just because he'd wanted a serious conversation didn't mean they couldn't have any fun.
"What, you can't speak to me unless you're armed?" It was definitely easier to speak when he could keep his eyes on a target, line up what he wanted to say to her with a shot in front of him.
"It is easier when I know what targets you're aiming at besides me." He wasn't trying to put any malice into it, but she narrowed her eyes behind that purple and green helmet and slammed open the door to the second training room before practically dragging him inside.
"If you've got something to say, say it." It was easier to load rounds into his gun than meet her eyes, even with her hand gripping his shoulder a little too tightly.
"I'm not trying to talk to Cal right now, because there is no talkin' to Cal right now. He acts like he's got somebody else talking to him most o' the time since that shot, if not before then. But South… you know what you'd do for your brother." He second-guessed himself and attempted to drop the subject without fumbling his shotgun as he glanced upward. He should have polarized his visor. "Hell, he's probably already given you the third degree; let's just shoot some clays."
South released him, but wasn't so ready to give up the conversation, pressing a finger into his cheek-guard. "North knows when to keep his mouth shut. He has as many morals as your precious roomie, but North's aren't about to get us all killed."
"Seems to me like Ark's morals saved some lives," Georgia said with a shrug, pushing her hand away.
"Innie lives?" She snorted dismissively, twisting the wrist he'd used to push her off just enough to prove she could break it if she'd really wanted to. "At the risk of California's."
"Sounds like you're not so sure of Ark's morals, as much as you belittle him for keeping 'em."
"Hey, he drew first." South certainly had her gun in position quick enough, on the training room floor and before that.
"That doesn't mean he'd actually use it. You know how he let Cal win that training match." How he'd worked an already volatile Cal into a lather and then given him live ammo, just to prove a point to himself…
"Keep telling yourself that you're doing the same here," South said, and called out for F.I.L.S.S. to start the first round. "He still kills people, Georgia."
It hurt worse now, but even then, he wasn't sure he was saying the right thing, not that he'd ever let that stop him. "He kills those that deserve to die. You can handle yourself, South. You're a big tough badass and I love that about you. But if you're acting as the devil on North's shoulder, doin' what he can't, forgive me if I do the same for Ark."
She'd stared at him for much too long, eyes narrowed, calculating. Then she appeared to decide that he wasn't worth her time, not then and there. "Please. You're no badass." She'd won the round, though Georgia had kept at least a few tatters of pride for standing up and saying something. Now, he was happy to have most of his upper torso wedged beneath the drain line.
He twisted the wrench. Even if the contents of the pipe were currently a mystery, this was a solvable one. It wouldn't come back to haunt him later, give or take the scent of ancient pureed tuna. "Think I've got it, Miz Babka." He pulled the disposal unit loose and pushed out for the trash can.
"You're sweet boy." The little old lady patted him on the cleaner side of his t-shirt, hardly looking like the type to touch the orange blood the graphic designers had silk-screened around the "This is My Horde-Killing Shirt" logo, much less the miscellaneous lubricants, oils, and actual types of blood to stain the front, back, tail, collar, and sleeves of Georgia's clothing. He hadn't quite believed that this seventy-something four-foot-nothing neighbour lady was ex-military even after seeing her pictures, but he liked to come over and do odd jobs about the place anyway. It gave him something to do, and the stories she provided about her post-war life almost gave him hope. Georgia wasn't sure he'd ever be ready to hang up his rocket launcher indefinitely, but the wrench offered the chance to build something, and he'd been working with too much rubble to add to the destruction right now.
"Aw, I like fixin' these. Sweet has nothing to do with it," he waved her off bashfully. "He kills those that deserve to die. …Forgive me if I do the same for Ark."
"Still, you're good boy. Make some girl happy one day," Babka insisted. Her English wasn't the best, but his Russian was much worse, and they both communicated well enough in the common language of explosions, hand gestures, and clogged pipes.
He could not meet her face. "Maybe so." He'd had plans at one point - idle ones, certainly; you didn't go into engineering on a military scholarship to pick up chicks, but he'd vaguely toyed with "Cody George" for a boy or "Savannah Shannon" for a girl - but he could accept the truth: they weren't happening.
There was a knock on the door, and Georgia let out a breath when he saw York on the other side. Of what was left of the team - at least those that had stuck together - York and North were probably the least broken. At least they faked it well. "Dosvedanya, Mrs. Babka. Might you have a handyman around here that I could borrow?"
"Fixing sink," Babka said, taking the ruined disposal unit from him and raising it up where York could see. It rattled as she held it up, and she peered nearsightedly within. "Aha! Was penny in sink." Along with several other things, but she pulled it out with little concern for the mess or shredded disposal blades. "Here," she wiped it off and handed it to Georgia. "Is lucky."
York just smiled at her expression, and Georgia pulled his ballcap lower over his face, unwilling to contrast the old lady's satisfied glow or York's gentle upturn about the lips, not quite as present in the grey eyes, but certainly reflecting at least an ember of happiness. "Good to see you're getting paid well," the older Freelancer teased him.
"I've already gotten one for luck," Georgia attempted to turn her away. It was now floating somewhere in the Byzantium system, but he'd had it, at one point. "Best you keep it, Miz Babka." She, at least, need never be broken again. His tool belt felt too light, and he couldn't exactly stuff an AR down his pants leg while doing a repair job.
"Money brings money," the septuagenarian insisted, closing his fingers around the abused copper. "Luck for two." She winked, and to York's credit, he didn't laugh too loudly.
"So what brings you over?" Georgia asked. "Cal break the dishwasher again?" There was less talking to him, since Harper had slipped out of containment, leaving Mich and Massa dead and a bad taste on more than Cal's tongue. Harper hadn't stolen out of there by himself or pulled the triggers.
"Nah, I just figured you'd be making the rounds rather than hanging at your place. Wanted to let you know we've got tickets to the Rampancy game next Friday. You have a date you wanted to take with you?" York jibed. Babka waved him off, laughing at the light bow, but tapped her nose conspiratorially behind Georgia's back.
"We all know you'll have a distraction from the game, but most of the rest o' us go to actually see Grifball," Georgia returned, rising to his feet and knocking the grease and lime off his hands.
"Carolina has been watching the game for longer than you've known about it," York argued, only a slight blush giving him away. Georgia had seen her sit through a few minutes to a round of any given match, but she never seemed that interested in what was going on onscreen. "She said she wanted to go."
"'Cause of you." The engineer pressed his advantage while York was still off balance. "You've gotten a lot of us hooked on the game."
York could only rub at the back of his head at that, mussing his hair further than usual. "Well, I haven't sold Florida on it, entirely, and you know how South generally reacts to the offer. Wish we knew where the rest of the crew was bunked down; Niner and Killian really would love to go and I hate to lose the tickets…" As usual, he attempted to deflect any teasing about his own love life with a distraction.
The Director of Project Freelancer didn't necessarily guard his female agents as if they were all his own dear overprotected daughters - the sight of a bespectacled old man cleaning his sniper rifle, no matter how wily and determined that man might be, was a little less discouraging when the girl one was pursuing could make better use of the weapon than he ever could - but nobody wanted to get into a discussion about fraternization with the boss, either, least of all York. Still, better Dr. Church than Harper… Neither was here right now, and Cal wasn't teasing York about his less successful flirting record, but flirting in Cal's presence felt like taunting him well beyond anything he'd ever deserved. York avoided the topic by involuntary reflex now.
"I think they'd go along, if only for the chance to get outta the apartment," Georgia opined optimistically. And if Florida would rather curl up in a ball in the dark, North and York could probably carry him out with the offer of a round on them. Georgia respected that the oldest Freelancer needed his space, but Florida was looking in desperate need of some sunshine in his life, the boiling Texas weather be damned. "Anything else I can help you with, Miz Babka?"
"Nyet," she waved the two Freelancers off. "Go play. Come back later and tell about ball game."
California seemed to perk up when Georgia walked back into the Freelancers' quarters, and for once it wasn't solely a broken glass mouth with dead eyes gazing at someone else. It still wasn't the cocky grin he'd worn while making an off-colour joke on their first Pelican ride over to the Mother of Invention, but the pupils were focused in on the real world, and if the crooked smirk wasn't reflected in them, the lines around his lips hinted at a genuine smile. "This guy tell you that he blew half his pay check on sixteen front-row tickets?"
Georgia raised his eyebrows. York had told him that he'd gotten enough for everyone, but not that he'd bought enough for everyone. "You do know there're only seven of us, right?"
"Well, I am trying to sell a couple, since Killian and Niner are off who knows where," York argued sheepishly.
"Two. Out of sixteen. That's still two seats for each of us, provided we even get Florida, South, and Carolina to go." Cal underestimated York and North's persuasive abilities, even as he made a textbook case for York's.
"One for each of us, really." York took a breath, watching Cal carefully and then glancing sideways at the man following after him as if worried about how Georgia would take it. California, Georgia could understand, but since when had the others tried to spare his sensitivities? "I wanted to have a seat available for the agents who couldn't be with us, since they're still with us in spirit." Yet he was planning to give away two spots… It didn't take a whole lot of math to make that subtraction. "I wanted to do something while we were all together, but it was too soon and then we got stuck in interrogations and then half the team wandered off, but I don't want to put it off forever. Let's do this while we can, right?" York meant well. One could tell even without meeting that painfully earnest gray gaze, that hesitant half-smile. Georgia pulled his cap lower.
"Neither of them were really into Grifball," Cal replied, letting both Georgia and York breathe slightly easier. Slightly. "But put Mich's seat between me and Sota, right?"
York nodded. "Considering that I bought tickets, I think that gives me dibs on a spot between Massa and Carolina, if only because Wyoming and Alaska aren't here to argue." It went without saying that there'd be another empty seat on Massa's other side. "North should be trying to get South on board right now."
It didn't sound like it was going well. "Maybe I could help?" Georgia screwed up his courage and resettled his shoulders. Generally, if the twins were fighting, the best options were time, distance, and Florida, but those weren't options right this second and Carolina's brand of solving the problem would probably not help South enjoy a live match.
"Good luck, man." Cal saluted him. Georgia knocked at the Dakotas' door, wondering idly why they'd still chosen to room together in the apartment even when South kept publicly demanding her space. Force of habit, he supposed, and the fact that the only other obvious option for South to have as a roomie was Carolina, which likely would not turn out well. The team's number one still kept to herself for a reason. Technically, Georgia shared an apartment with her - insofar as he had space in the Boss Lady's spare bedroom where he failed to sleep and usually failed to put any of his own designs together at night, but he'd at least managed to install a door into Florida's spare bedroom connecting it to his. If he left the door half ajar with the lights off, every now and then he could leave the belt sander running, retreat to the spare room, and catch some z's on the floor.
"What?" South fired the first shot across the bow before the door even opened. York flinched and shook his head on the other side of the common room couch.
"Just got back and heard we had plans for this Friday!" Georgia attempted to keep his voice peppy.
North opened the door, relief evident in his features. "You're in, I take it?"
"Of course! York was hopin' you could help him get Florida on the wagon - er, bandwagon," Georgia verbally backpedalled, attempting to give the male twin an easy out. He understood trying to kill a few noisy brain cells with the proper drenching of alcohol, but sometimes the room Georgia shared with the older Freelancer felt emptier than Carolina's. It was easier to go help Mrs. Babka.
North closed the door behind him a little too loudly, and Georgia waited until the other men left for his room before trying the knob.
"Whatever you're about to say, don't bother," South growled as Georgia entered, hands up in a guard position.
"Don't go for Grifball, South," he told her. It would be great if she enjoyed the game, but she had her own hobbies away from her brother, just as North had his Grifball guy time. "Go for the team. We're trying to do a memorial for those missing. Massa. Mich. Ark." The last had come out before he'd even thought about what he was saying.
South lowered her head bullishly, narrowing her eyes behind crossed arms. "Ark? You sure you don't want to hold a wake for Penn, too? It's a little early for me to have killed them."
"I know it's stupid, but I still hope that Ark'll realize what he left behind and come back. He had so much going for him with the Project…" he trailed off half-suggestively, giving her a heavy-lidded glance.
South had no empathy for his line of thought. "That is about the stupidest thing I've heard all day. What he left behind was a bullet in the Director and two dead Freelancers. Have you even looked at the news?"
He shrugged. "Just my tech journals and the sports feeds." Rumour invaded everywhere, but he'd fallen out of the habit of trying to keep up with the civilian galaxy since he'd left behind his name in it. Even when he'd gotten the latter back, his little brother threatening to share it with the whole project, it was easier to go by Georgia. Georgia was a top-notch engineer and fighter; the other guy… he wasn't sure anymore. The name on the back of his shirt over the "25," the in-joke he'd first bought it for, had gotten covered in stains - oil, grease, and too much blood.
South sneered at his self-inflicted ignorance. "I can't wait to see your face when you see just what your precious Ark has done."
"My precious Ark? Maybe I was reading too much into it, but I saw the way Cal and Mich started off and I saw the way he treated you, the way he saved you when panic held me back… he didn't say anything, but neither did you and I wasn't goin' to get in the way of either of you for nothing. If that's what it takes to bring him back, South, I -" love you but - "I'd step back for you two without a word and smile for it." It was an impossible thought, but it wasn't the worst one. The worse image was how South shrunk into herself at the very idea that Arkansas might have been interested in her, leaning for her absent brother to come cover her six. At one point, Georgia had hoped he'd be able to save North the trouble, but he mostly seemed to be making it worse. He shouldn't have said anything.
"Georgia, shut up." He had flustered her, and the only reason she was still winding up to furnace-blast rage was that she wasn't used to fighting with him seriously. The easy target had revealed a spot so weak that it might hurt her to hit it. "You were never in the running. There is no running, and Ark should damn well be running away from me. So why bother wishing for the impossible?"
Because it was easier for both of them than to keep discussing the tangle of parts that had never quite meshed, as much as he wanted them to. "I keep thinking Harper must've done something; the general must've twisted his mind somehow when he went down there alone. You didn't see what Harper did to Cal, but it wouldn't surprise me in the least to know that he and the other Innies just snapped something in Ark. My fault for lettin' him down there alone; York was pretty much conscious and Cal would've done no worse than slice the prisoner to bits if we'd left Harper restrained good and tight…" Georgia trailed off. It was far too late to second-guess himself, but since she'd asked, it all seemed to flow out of him like poison from a lanced cyst.
"We can't trust him. The bastard's shown his colors, and they sure aren't UNSC. Cal would be first in line to kill him, if I don't see him first." The way South Dakota reached for her gun seemed more a security ritual than a threat, Georgia having done something similar enough times, but he didn't doubt she'd blow away whoever interrupted her at it.
"Yeah, but he used to sleep not five feet from me, in a room so full o' sharp, heavy, and flammable material that smothering me with a pillow would be the least believable way to kill me without leaving evidence, and I probably gave him plenty of cause." Like not sleeping when most everyone else would be in bed, three nights out of six... "That just doesn't seem like the type to kill Mich or Massa in cold blood."
"Fuck that traitor and fuck you," she spat.
"Well, that, uh, was kinda what I was hoping for your help with." She didn't seem too pleased with the joke.
"You better figure out your priorities and do something about them, Georgia. 'Cause if you leave me and Ark to do it, it's not gonna be pretty." South loomed over him. Georgia couldn't resist. He tilted his head up and kissed her, lips soft and inquiring against her cheek.
She knocked him good and didn't talk to him again until game day.
"...Forgive me if I do the same..."
"...Forgive me if I…"
"...Forgive… Ark."
"...If I do..."
Forgive me.