(A/N) Hey guys, time for another update in Phase Two: Betrayal, written, as promised, by the sensational OhSoDeadly, and we've got another incredible Florida chapter on our hands. At this point, I'd really like to establish to title of "OhSoAwesome" for OhSoDeadly here, because I feel that's a closer reflection on how much he just nails this character. Let's make it happen guys! Break!

Oh, and enjoy!

Chapter Fifty-Three – Team Dad in Action

Agent Florida

Written by OhSoDeadly

"What's got up your arse anyway?"

"This! Just this! Nothing's changed that much, has it?... Winter, summer, winter, summer, and it's more of the same old shit. Here we are, fewer of us than there used to be, but still pissing around in the woods. Feel familiar?"

– Black Dow, Last Argument of Kings

"Hellooooooooooooooo?"

There was no answer. Ah well! Everyone must have been off, busy as bees.

Florida hummed as he strode into the men's shower room, his towel in one hand, his bright blue bathing cap in the other. Seeing no-one about, he undressed, hopped into the first cubicle he could find (there was a communal shower bank, but he'd always been a big-ol' believer in modesty) and started bathing. The hot water felt amazing, especially after a tough training session!

And yet, he still felt a little…frustrated. Yes, that was it. He hadn't felt anything like this since Alaska had been swaggering about, talking so tough and thinking he knew it all. That they'd settled with a true-blue fight in the training room, but this frustration was far trickier. It felt like trying to catch a cloud of smoke with his bare hands. It was, he realised as he soaped his underarms, bigger than just him. It was as big as everyone on the darned ship, in fact!

On a ship like this, with a project like this, it was easy to pin down the atmosphere at any given time. And the atmosphere was, no doubts about it, frustrated and growing ever more tense. The veteran agents were getting ornery because so far trying to track down Ark, Penn, Harper and their gang of no-goods had yielded no real result. The Crimson Sun led them a merry chase across the galaxy, leaving bodies in their wake. The hunger for payback was still strong-but there was doubt now, too. A mounting suspicion that they were being toyed with. The thought that Project Freelancer, with all its gadgets and soldiers, was nothing more than a moderate distraction, didn't fill him with cheer.

Then, as if to complicate matters, the young 'uns onboard were itchin' for action and had precious little patience to spare! Connecticut had already gotten her mission, so she was happy enough, but that left quite a few people starting to complain. West Virginia, 'Rado and Jersey were the most vocal among them. While he wanted to be understanding, at the same time Florida wanted to shake some sense into them. They'd seen agents come back torn up bad; they'd seen that the agents were as mortal as the next person. Why couldn't they just relax and enjoy being teammates? The new armour abilities had drawn their attention, but it wouldn't last long.

Well, he reflected, not everyone was like him. Some fellas and gals were here to fight and win, nothing more. That made him a little down, but what could you do? Florida had to serve his allotted number of years. And while he liked to help people out, he wasn't planning to do anyone else's time here. Just his own.

Out of nowhere, a spike of pain shot through his forehead, and he grimaced, leaning his head against the blue tile surface of the cubicle wall. The sudden headaches had been on and off for a while now, but thankfully his anxiety attacks had ceased, along with any…flashbacks. The voice in his head seemed gone for good-at least, he hoped. As if to counter this, the headaches were worse. It was probably time to head by the infirmary and pick up another prescription…

He shut the water off, reached for his towel and wrapped it around his waist. He pushed open the door-

"Whoa!" He stumbled sideways, and only didn't fall because he got a solid grip on the cubicle door.

Barely five metres away from him, sitting down on a bench, was Agent Nebraska. Upon seeing Florida's alarmed reaction, he smiled thinly. "Florida. How are we this fine day?"

Florida was just startled, that was all, but something about this man made his hackles rise ever so slightly. Nebraska was hard to get a read on, which was strange seeing as he was almost always around. Looking at someone, or talking to someone, or just sitting back from everything, watching stuff happen. For all intents and purposes, a people person.

And yet, there was something…off about him. Like he was always considering whomever his attention was upon, in precise, scientific detail. The fact that trying to observe him was like trying to walk on ice made him feel uncomfortable. He's like a big ol' eye, always watching, Florida decided. But he put on his best smile. "Howdy Neb! Things are fine, thanks for asking." He rifled through a locker near the bench, trying not to seem like he was in a rush to get out.

But Nebraska was far too wily for that ol' game, and kept his eyes on him. Florida kept his own on his things, but knew that the other man's gaze was burning a hole into his back. He searched his mind, looking for a safe conversational topic, but came up with zilch. Weakly, he tried, "So how are you?"

He turned with his bag, and stifled a yelp as Nebraska was darn close to him! The thin smile had stretched even wider, and now it looked almost…malicious. He was reminded of Alaska back in the early days, when nobody knew him at all, and felt a chill run up his spine.

"I'm just fine, Florida," he drawled, taking yet another step closer. There was barely anything between them now, and there was a faint squeak as Florida's foot juddered on wet tile. "Personally, I think you should be more honest with yourself. You're not fine, are you?" His features morphed into a smirk, and a mischievously-raised eyebrow. "You'd have to be anything but fine to be on this ship, am I right?" And he laughed, as if he'd never heard anything funnier. There was something…not quite right about the sound.

Alarm bells were going off in Florida's head at this point, but he was a soldier, and he forced himself to stay calm. "Ah…things aren't always as bad as they seem?"

"No, you're right. They're usually much worse." Suddenly he swooped closer, and he all but hissed into Florida's ear. "It's okay to feel a little blue, Florida. Honesty is the best policy, don't you think? After all, you do have a good…head on your shoulders."

Abruptly, he drew back, and his smile was as sunny as Florida's daughter's had once been. "I'll see you later, Florida. Take it easy, now." He turned and was gone, whistling a tune which echoed briefly, then dissipated.

Florida finally released a breath, and sat down to pull on his boots. It was a sad thing, but there was something wrong with that boy. Almost like there was something wrong with everyone! As much as he hated to admit it, the ship sure was a breeding ground for some bad eggs. You had stone-cold killers like Alaska, big bruisers like Maine or Utah even. And then you had folks like Nebraska, who concealed everything behind a personality like it was a plastic screen. No telling what those kinds of people were thinking!

Only…Nebraska had shown himself to be pretty darned perceptive. Why had he chosen to drop his unassuming façade to him? Why, because Florida was the resident "good guy", the one who wouldn't spread rumours. True to form, Nebraska had read him, read him like he was a big ol' storybook. And found him…easy. Knew about his trips to the medbay, probably too. A good head, he said…that ain't a coincidence.

As if on cue, another tremor of pain resounded in his skull, and he blew out his cheeks in a decidedly grumpy gesture. Ah, the heck with Nebraska and his creepy-crawlin'! He was still a rookie, and besides, if he tried anything, there was always the training room floor. A good bout was one sure way of getting any grievances settled, he'd proven that with Al, hadn't he?

Exiting the men's shower room, he ambled off down the corridor, rolling his shoulders to work out the stiffness. His mandatory training session was done for the day, but he still felt wide awake and ready for action! Maybe he'd take a stroll, check in one some folks? It was something that should happen more often, but as usual, little things like the leaderboard kept them from happening-

And speak of the devil! Here was one such readout, filling the corridor with a pale blue glow, and as usual, somebody was staring at it, lost in thought. His old peepers weren't what they used to be, but even from here he recognised the slight build, the odd haircut. "Hey there, Connie!"

She turned with a whopper of a frown, but it stabilised into a thin smile as she saw who it was. "Oh, hey Florida." She looked like she was about to say something else, but chose instead to sigh and rub her eyes. "Sorry. I just…not a great time for small talk, I suppose."

By heck, he understood that all too well! "No worries at all, Connie," he said warmly, clapping her on the shoulder. "It can be a hard knock life on this ship, but we've all got to look out for each other. Is there anything I can do for you?"

She laughed, a mirthless sound, and waved a hand at the leaderboard. "Oh, I dunno, could you maybe get this taken down? The entire concept of the leaderboard, just throw it away?"

Florida gaped at her suggestion. Though he was perfectly aware she had been kidding, the idea was so unprecedented, so, so…shocking, that he was momentarily without words. "But, ah…" He eventually collected himself, and refocused. "Connie, the leaderboard is very important! Without it, we'd have no way of telling who's been putting in the hard work, or who deserves to be where!"

The young woman looked at him with something approaching pity. "Florida, you can't be serious. The board does nothing but creates strife. It reduces every last one of us to a name on a screen." She turned back to it, and her features twisted into a sneer. "Try to tell us we're a team, and have this hanging over our heads every day? It can't work. It's not possible."

Now, Florida had been prepared to weather any sort of grumblin' about positions on the leaderboard, and a truckload of arguing over who deserved to be where, but this sounded a lot different than something as simple as competitiveness. It had none of South's indignation, or Rado's rage, or even Nevada's disappointment. No, this was something else. He frowned uneasily at Connie. "What do you mean-"

"Agents."

That familiar, menacing drawl whistled through the air, and they both whirled and stood at attention. "Director, sir!" they both chorused.

Hands clasped behind his back, the director came to a halt in front of them, and peered at Florida over the rims of his glasses. "Agent Florida, kindly depart elsewhere. I have something of importance to discuss with Agent Connecticut here." Connie, for the record, looked pale, almost sick upon hearing this.

There was nothing nasty in his voice (there never really was, apart from the constant trace of impatience he carried wherever he went), and yet Florida was still feeling uneasy. What if he'd heard what Connie had said? What if he was going to kick her off the team? Or worse? Stalling for time, he cleared his throat. "Director, I-"

The green eyes flashed. "Dismissed, Agent." He then turned his shoulder, as if inviting Connie to turn away as well. She did so, but not before casting Butch a final glance. One that screamed I told you so.

Giving a half-hearted salute, Florida strode off down the corridor, head filled with misgivings. Part of him was darned glad that he didn't have to be there for whatever that was, but another part of him genuinely feared for Connie. Why, if she didn't straighten up and fly right, then-

A piercing scream rang down a side junction, and his combat instincts kicked in, all thoughts of Connie and the Director forgotten. Sprinting down the pallid grey corridor, he slowed down to turn a corner-

-and crashed right into a frantic New Jersey, who yelped and ended up in a heap on the ground. Florida gasped with shock, then reasserted himself. "Jersey! You alright? Sounded like somebody was screamin' blue murder!"

The young woman licked her lips, and sighed. "Yeah. That, uh…that was me." She propped herself up using her prosthetic arm, and the servos whined in sympathy as she did so. "I ran into a-you know what? It doesn't matter." A shake of the head, an attempt at a breezy smile. "Forget about it. Sorry about-"

He'd had his fill of feeling powerless, thanks very much! He gave Jersey a boost up, but kept a hold of her hand. "Jersey, come on, you can tell me! What good's a teammate if you can't count on them when the chips are down?"

She bit her lip, and sighed again. "I'd really rather not, Florida. It's kind of stupid. Besides, if the others found out about it…" Jersey trailed off, but Florida understood that all too well. Even the littlest thing, the smallest, mouse-sized weakness, was fair game at Project Freelancer. Something that could be exploited, even by those that were meant to be your teammates and buddies. People like South and 'Rado, they'd jump on it like cats. It was, Florida reflected, gosh-darned sad.

But he knew where his bread was buttered, and gave her a kindly smile. "They won't hear about it from me! I promise you that." He uncurled his other hand and extended a blue-sheathed finger. "Pinky swear?"

Jersey stared at him, then burst out laughing. "Florida, you are such a dork." When her laughter subsided, she rubbed the back of her neck and muttered, "There was a spider at the terminal I was using. I don't even know how, they don't even let a speck of dust gather in the corners, but…"She took a shaky breath. "I kind of lost it for a moment."

Florida chortled. "Come on, a big girl like you scared of a-"

"Don't talk like that."

Her voice had been like a whip crack, and he blinked in sudden consternation. There was none of the bashfulness that had been there a moment ago. No, this was anger, pure and simple. She shot daggers at him, and muttered, "Everyone treats it like a fucking joke. Oh, you're an adult, why should you be scared of a spider?" The breathy falsetto left her voice and rage replaced it. "It's a fucking phobia. It's not meant to make sense. So don't act like it's stupid, or petty, or not worth respecting. 'Kay?"

Her outburst had left him silent, and now, he realised, ashamed. She was right. Whether she was deathly afraid of spiders, or elephants, or goodness knows what, it wasn't right or fair to tease her about it. Even if this was Freelancer, where you cut your teeth on the scum of the galaxy and wore armour to protect your everything. He held up his hands in placation. "Gosh, I'm real sorry about that, Jersey. I'll try to keep that in mind from now on."

Her snarl dimmed, and became a thin smile. "OK. Good. Thanks, I guess." She sighed for the third time. "Wish everyone was as quick on the uptake as you. That phobia's been giving me hell since I was a kid."

Florida was curious. "How did it happen, anyhow?"

She snorted. "I'm not gonna get into that, Florida. I'd be here a while, and besides, I'm just trying to get away from the bedlam back there." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder.

Well now, he was curious as someone who'd bought theirs at a two-for-one sale! "Bedlam, you say?"

"Uh-huh. 'Rado and South are having a "who can be the bigger bitch" competition in one of the armour maintenance halls. They've scared away just about everyone." Jersey shook her head exasperatedly. "A little professionalism, is that too much to ask? We're meant to be an elite strike team, or is that just what we write on our bumper stickers?"

Though privately he agreed, Florida threw her a gentle smile. "We're a wild and woolly bunch and no mistake! But we're all tough as heck when the time comes." He dropped his voice a little, threw her a conspiratorial wink. "Y'know, I reckon somebody who's good leader material would be able to sort them straight."

It was a sly ploy, of course, but he only wanted to see the girl succeed! Jersey had all the makings of a good egg, salty but tender as his dad used to say. She'd lead a team already on a simulation, after all. He'd love to see her climb the rankings-

A wave of a finger, and a tut-tut. "Nice try, Florida, but I'm sitting this one out. But you, as the level-headed one, should get over there pronto." Her slight smile morphed into a cheeky grin. "Enjoy!" And she was off, helmet under one arm.

He chuckled, making his way towards armour maintenance. Little smart-alec! Still, she had a point. Over time, he had assumed the role of the "team dad", or at least, he liked to think so. They were all like that actually, he thought, warming to the idea. York was the fun older brother type who cracked jokes and kept everyone smiling. Wyoming was the imperious uncle who stayed aloof, but probably cared deep down. Alaska was the odd young man who probably burned ants with a magnifying glass, ha ha! Utah was the big, goofy cousin who loved a bit of a tussle every now and then. And-

A shattering of glass, and the sounds of furious yelling. He sighed, and sped up into a swift jog. And no doubt South and 'Rado were the sisters, always fighting!

He arrived at a long hallway, with dozens of small, glass-fronted booths set into the walls. The first few were empty, but the next one had a bent-legged chair lying outside, complete with broken glass scattered all over the place. Florida tutted. Lord only knew what all the fuss was about, but that was a mess some poor janitor was gonna have to clean up! He jogged the last few metres, went through the door-

"BITCH!"

It was a good thing his reflexes were still tip-top, because he only narrowly avoided taking a wrench to the face. Gasping in shock, Florida held up his hands in placation. "Whoa, whoa! What's all the commotion?"

The poor armour maintenance bay looked like an Arcadian college party, and he'd been to plenty of those when he had been a younger man. Smashed glass wherever you turned, and runny, multi-coloured coolants and oils ran everywhere, forming a gelid soup. The once-tidy workbench was covered in stains and scratches, and there was an ugly-looking smear on the far wall that looked like blood. Yep, those poor janitors are getting a heck of a surprise.

Usually there'd be an army of techs hanging about the place, but they were all gone, obviously chased off by the hot-tempered occupants of the room. South stood on the one side, fists clenched by her side and face bright red. A nasty gash covered her right temple, and already her blonde hair was matted with blood. On the other side was young Colorado, cobalt armour splattered with fluids and shoulders heaving. Not-quite-between them stood North, arms folded with a martyred expression on his face. He didn't look too happy either.

The room was filled with the sounds of heavy, angry breathing, and nobody seemed to be paying attention to him, so he tried again. "What's-"

Both ladies rounded on him and yelled, "SHUT UP!" And then they were at it again, fighting and tearin' at one another! North looked at him and shook his head, as if to say, what can I do?

Well this wasn't going to cut it! He ran forward, and grabbed 'Rado's waist, dragging her backward. As he'd expected, she snarled, and threw an elbow back, catching him in the jaw. But he kept chin to chest, and took most of the blow on his shoulder. By that time, he'd managed to pull her back, and smartly stepped between her and South. Maybe not the safest place to be right now, but darn it, this was ridiculous!

"Get the fuck off me, old man!" 'Rado was right up in his face, hair askew and teeth bared. "That bitch needs to be taught a lesson-"

"Oh, you think you could, that's cute!"He turned, and saw South swagger forward aggressively. "Just step off right now, little girl, and I'll let you get away with this." She pointed to her temple. "But you better watch your back, or you'll find a knife in it!"

What a horrible thing to say! Before Florida could remonstrate, North got there first. "South, you need to get a grip on yourself." His voice, usually calm and measured, was starting to strain with the obvious stress of having to deal with his sister. "'Rado's your teammate, and whatever disagreements you two might have, you need to-"

A high-pitched scream of laughter from South. "Don't be a fucking idiot, North! She wishes she was even so much as a blip on my radar-"

A responding snarl from Colorado. "You think you're so goddamned safe on the leaderboard-"

"-but she was lucky to last one fucking day-"

"-you don't know a fucking thing about fighting the Insurrection-"

"-can't believe you'd think you were good enough to fight me, bitch-"

"-you're just a goddamned show pony who can't even-"

A thunderous boom. "ENOUGH!"

Against his better judgement, Florida had drawn his sidearm and fired it at the ceiling. In the confined space, it had been deafening, so much to that the apoplectic agents had stopped yelling. But before they could start up again, Florida got in quick.

"Look at you two! Squabbling like a couple of kids on the playground! Is this any way to get up the leaderboard? What do you think the Director would say?"

There it was, the magic words he was looking for! At hearing this, the pair of them glanced away uneasily, and South hissed in frustration. "She-"

"I don't care!" It wasn't often Florida found himself saying that, but he honestly didn't. They had better things to do than fight about a couple of spots on a board. "One of you take a walk, cool off. No more fighting." He injected a little scorn into his voice. "Or, stay here. Keep up this sort of attitude, and get kicked off the team. I bet dollars to donuts that's what'll happen."

He was bluffing - the Director had been pretty lenient thus far with this sort of behaviour. But South snorted, and made for the door, being sure to bump 'Rado's shoulder on the way out. Florida turned to watch her go, hoping, praying, that they would both just-

"Yeah, that's right, walk away, South. Knew you were too chickenshit."

South whirled around, and marched straight back the way she had come from. "What the fuck was that?"

Florida shot Colorado an angry, pleading glare, but the young whippersnapper was in full force now. "I said, you're chickenshit. And you're going to stay chickenshit, because a rabid dog deserves to be higher up than you-"

"Girls! Calm down now! It's not-" He stepped between them again. A mistake, as it turned out.

South shrieked with rage and threw a punch meant for 'Rado. Unfortunately, Florida was standing in the way. He had the impression of a star bursting in his vision, pain, and then he fell to the floor before falling unconscious.

"I said I'm fine, doc. Really!"

Killian finished applying the soothing cream to Florida's purple mess of a jaw, and shook his head. "Look, champ, I know you wanna get out there again, float like a butterfly and sting like a bee, yadda yadda. But you really ought to take it easy before trying to take on the next heavyweight. Which should either be Maine or Utah."

Florida grumbled, settling back into the chair. "Alright, alright."

"Just so you know, my money's on either of those two. I mean, you're an alright puncher but it seems you're weak in the clinches-"

"Killian, stop bothering our patient!"

To Florida's relief and gratitude, the rest of Team Nice Dynamite strolled right into the medbay! Georgia and Kent, his true-blue pals, were here to see him. Gosh, what a nice thing for them to do! He beamed, and waved. "Howdy fellas! So what's the word from outside?"

Killian scowled. "Your patient? Kent, that lab coat doesn't make you a doctor."

Kent spun a circle, and set the hem of his purloined coat a-flapping. "It gets me at least halfway there! Dropping bombs and doling out drugs, that's the profession for me! Now go on, run off while we talk with our sick friend here." Killian sighed, flipped him off and went to attend to some other task.

Georgia sighed, and threw himself into a squeaky visitor's chair. "Well, South and 'Rado are both facing some minor disciplinary charges, but nothing major. North sends his greetings, by the way. Says he's sorry he didn't put a stop to it sooner."

"Ach, nothing to apologise for," Florida said dismissively. "A dust-up is just part and parcel of living here. Any idea what started it? I never got round to asking 'em."

A snort, and Kent was, for some reason, leaning uncomfortably close to him. "Take a guess! Take three! It's all this waiting. Diddling around with little rebel groups here and there is playtime for pre-schoolers. Ve need ze blood! Fresh blood!" He bared his teeth and hissed, until Georgia yanked him back from Florida with a slap to the head. Stroking his head ruefully, he winked. "And the blood we want is crimson."

"Poetic, Dracula," Georgia drawled condescendingly. "But it's not like the Crimson Sun are leaving us a big trail of breadcrumbs. They make small, incisive strikes, and-"

"Wait, breadcrumbs? Why the fuck would they leave breadcrumbs? Are they robbing bakeries now?"

"Seriously? You know Dracula but not Hansel and Gretel? What are you, an idiot? No wait, don't answer that question. I know the answer."

"Oh fuck off, old man. The rate we're going, by the time we find the Crimson Sun we'll have put you in a home. I'll send you a postcard! Dear Georgia, kicking ass in outer space, wish you were here!"

"Jackass."

"Jerk."

"Fellas, give it a rest," Florida implored them. "My head's achin' fit to burst. OK, so not everyone's happy. We just need to be patient."

"Well, I wouldn't say that's accurate," Georgia disagreed. "Some people are getting along like houses on fire. Maine and Utah have been pretty close since their bout, actually. And Cal and 'Rado seem to be something approaching friends. Or at least, not enemies."

"Then there's Nebraska," Kent chattered, rocking back and forth in his seat. "Always talking to people. Only when he does it, it's a little bit creepy. Like, the lights are on but nobody's home, you know?"

Florida hummed uneasily. "I know just what you mean, Kent. He seems decent enough, but he seems to be hiding something. Gave me a heck of a surprise in the showers today."

That innocuous sentence was enough to send Georgia and Kent into a fresh wave of laughter, which only stopped when there was a light tap at the door. They all turned, and saw the Counselor standing by the door, data-pad clasped between his hands. "Agents, might I have a word with Florida?"

Kent rolled his eyes, and stuck out his tongue at Florida. "Oooooooh. Someone's in troooooooooooooooouble." Georgia slapped him again, and the pair left, giving the Counselor a nod on the way out.

Speaking of nice-but-creepy! The Counselor was a polite fella, but the way he moved and spoke, like some sort of oily shadow, gave him the willies. The man sat down at his bedside and smiled that reptilian smile. "Florida, I understand you see yourself as a man of…social values."

"Sir?"

"To that end, I carry a request from the Director. We would very much appreciate if you would…evaluate the mood of your fellow of agents."

Florida frowned. "Y'mean, look in on them, see how things are going? That kinda thing?"

"Essentially, yes. We believe a man of your temperament and mindset is well suited to such a task. As opposed to, for example, Agent South Dakota." The smile stayed on his face the entire time.

Well, he certainly had a point there. Heck, just earlier he'd be saying how much he fancied being the team dad! Wasn't this a chance to prove it? Talk to folks, listen to their worries and cheering them up, now there was a mission and a half! He nodded fervently. "Sign me right up! So, who should I visit first?"

The Counselor handed him the data-pad. "I believe you will find a list of names here…"

"So, you want to know how I'm doing?"

Florida nodded.

"Just out of the kindness of your heart, is it?"

Some hesitation, but he nodded again.

"Well. Isn't that kind of you." Alaska leaned forward, his right hand tapping a constant beat on his leg. "Especially since I know the Counselor has nothing to do with it." Upon seeing Florida's expression, he rolled his eyes. "The man is not as subtle as he thinks. I know he sent you as his catspaw, his envoy. To assess the mood of the team."

Well, that was a bit off-putting, but he had a job to do, darn it! "More or less," Florida admitted. "So, is there anything you wanna talk about?"

Alaska did not answer him, and stared off into space instead. Before Florida could try again, he raised a hand, and began to speak in a monotone:

"I did not imagine her, Florida. The Director, the Counselor, everyone else believes that I did, but I know that to be a lie. Moi was not a figment of my mind, not a shadow." The last word he practically spat out. "A ghost would leave nothing behind but a restless mind. She has done much more. She has given me proof of her…tangibility." A bleak smile crept onto his face. "I just need to find her."

Oh gosh, not this again! If Alaska was going coo-coo, then he needed to tell someone. He opened his mouth. "Al, maybe-"

Alaska's grip was like iron, and he flinched away from it. Still his roommate continued to talk. "Florida, no doubt you wish to report to the Counselor. To tell him about my search for Moi. You cannot. I ask only this of you, my friend. You cannot tell him. Not a word. I will do all else I can to make this team the best fighting force the UNSC has to offer." His head dropped. "Just grant me this."

How could he refuse him? Florida nodded, and smiled sadly. "You got it, Al. I just hope you'll be okay."

Alaska looked up, and his face went from grief-stricken to sarcastic. "Okay? Florida, remember what I said in the training room? Those recruits are shadows of those that came before. Even if we met the Crimson Sun today, here and now, we would fail. Utterly. And with such finality that we would not rise again." A dismissive wave of the hand. "I'll fight with them. But let's be realistic here. They're not up to the task. Not yet, anyway."

"Al-"

"Leave me now, Florida. I have to think."

"Hey, Maine old buddy! How's tricks?"

A grunt, and the door slammed in his face. From behind it came a muffled growl. "Go away Florida."

"Please? I'm sorry if now's not a good time, but I'm looking in on everyone. Just wanted to see if you were doing okay!"

"I'm fine. Now leave."

"…you're fine! Okay! Alright! Excellent! So I'll, uh, I'll just. Get along now."

"Good."

Well, Florida reflected, that could have been worse.

"Has this been sanctioned?"

Carolina's lips were pursed in a razor-thin line. Her arms were folded on her lap, and her forehead glistened with the remnant sweat of yet-another brutal training session. Even here, in her own private room, she was all business.

Florida decided he would be all business too. "Yes ma'am. The Counselor himself gave me this assignment. He wants to know how morale is on the ship."

If he was hoping for her to let down her barriers, even just a little, he was bound to be disappointed. "Morale is important. But we all have to stay focused on the mission. Namely, catching Ark and Penn and their band of terrorists." Her mouth puckered into a frown. "They knew this wouldn't be easy. They knew the risks. I won't have any bellyaching on my squad. Not while I'm Number One."

A trace of pride in her voice there, and he bobbed his head understandingly. "Darn right, ma'am. But what about you? Are you doing okay?"

She tilted her head, as if not understanding the question. "I'm combat ready."

"Yes," Florida pressed, "but there's more than that to life, y'know? I mean, we all have ways of blowing off steam. I myself like a nice bath and a newspaper! Well, I mean, I did." Neither of those things existed aboard the Mother of Invention. "But you get my point. What do you do for fun?" He beamed at her.

She still had that look, as if he was speaking gobbledegook. "Training. Exercising. Reviewing mission protocols." She shrugged, looking a little unsure of herself. "Sometimes I read."

"Ooh! Anything interesting?"

"Manuals, mostly."

"Ah. Right. Well, what about personal stuff? Got any family or friends back home?"

Something flashed in her eyes, and before he knew it she was up and about, arranging personal effects on her dresser, not meeting his eyes. "The Director is very demanding, Florida. As you well know. I don't have time to fraternise, and the Director obviously has no problem with that, so what does it matter?" Her voice was cracking even as she spoke.

Florida frowned. He could deal with shut-ins like Maine, but Carolina was the leader. She couldn't afford to close herself off, and yet here she was, doing just that. "But ma'am, don't you have anyone here you care for? Not even, say, York?"

Blazing green eyes, right up in his face. Gosh, people sure are keen on invading my privacy today. "This conversation is over, Agent. I am fine and ready to serve. Dismissed."

Florida sighed, and looked down at the data-pad. He'd sketched a brief list of names, and a few words detailing their mood. Most of them were negative.

He wondered if he had the stomach for this job. Things were hard enough without having to see everyone's glum faces all the time, not being help to help. Try as he might, he couldn't help everyone. Heck, at this point it was hard to help anyone.

Doing his own time seemed a better proposition with every passing day. But that wasn't in his nature. He'd promised to be a better man.

And what if the voices came back?

That, if nothing else, was a reason to keep on doing his job. Gritting his teeth firmly, he proceeded down the hallway back to the medbay, where the Counselor would be waiting for him. At least he'd carried out his mission properly-

He stopped, and thought about that with some unease. Mission. As if talking to his teammates, going into their rooms, all but spying on them, had been nothing more than a task handed to him by the powers on the ship. As opposed to genuinely wanting to help. That was why he'd taken the assignment, right?

Yes, he decided, that was the reason. He would never sneak around or manipulate like Harper would have done, the low-down scoundrel. No, he was a better man by far. He wasn't the Counselor's puppet either. He was doing the right thing for the right reasons.

Right?