It felt good to relax. Truly relax.
She wasn't asleep in a cockpit, or on the ground, or on a stranger's couch. She was in her own home, in her own bed, the past several days seeming to melt away, as if only a bad dream.
Brad lay beside her, asleep, a picture of calm. Besides the fact he remained more gaunt than she was used to seeing him, everything was fine.
A flicker of movement in her periphery. Her focus slid to the far side of the bed, to a dull green glow of optics gazing idly over the bedspread.
Naomi's breath caught.
Intellectually, she understood this wasn't cause for alarm. But every fiber of her being squirmed uncomfortably regardless. Humans on Zi had never dealt with predation, but their minds never stopped bristling at the gaze of an obvious predator.
It was difficult to simply accept that this thing was just going to be part of her life now.
Naomi glanced at Brad, watching his eyes twitch behind closed lids.
She could always dismiss him from her Team, sure. Tell him to leave, take himself and this damn beast away. And she knew Brad would oblige.
But it hurt to consider. She didn't want that.
He loved her, she loved him. They didn't need each other - they wanted each other. They had each other's back in a seamless way that Naomi had only otherwise experienced with Leon - who she loved just as much.
Weaknesses silently acknowledged, quietly protected, never violated. A strange, effortless trust that Naomi didn't really want to be without again once she'd had it.
She assumed Brad felt the same way. His default hostility never failed to vanish when he looked at her, replaced by his polite, wolfish half-smile.
Realistically, all other considerations aside: Naomi wanted this man around so she could jump his bones at her leisure. She surfaced from her thoughts with the realization she quite resented a large metal dinosaur intruding in upon any of this.
Her eyes narrowed at Ambient across the bed. She made a mild shooing motion. "Get out of here."
Ambient rumbled, the sound suspiciously like a chuckle.
"I mean it. Just... go somewhere else."
Even as she said the words, she realized how lame she sounded. She didn't want to be intimidated by the beast, but it weighed many times what she did and wasn't quite dissuaded by firearms.
Naomi's first clue something was off was that she couldn't quite bring to mind her closest weapon. The thought seemed distant, dreamlike.
Ambient stood, hunching to avoid the ceiling, and placed a hindtalon on the bed, which creaked deeply in protest.
Naomi wanted to move, and she couldn't.
The beast hefted its other hindtalon onto the bed, the ridge on its back scuffing the ceiling and its massive tail arching for balance. Ambient leaned down over Naomi, loosing its slab of tongue from between massive jaws, dragging said tongue irreverently up across her body.
Indignation and fear flared at once. Her normal calm disintegrated, choked out by a surreal and growing haze of panic.
When she looked up again, it wasn't Ambient looming over her, it was One. The nightmare snapshot in her mind of the demonic-looking black Organoid as it'd dropped down at her, eyes and gaped jaw equal voids-
Naomi startled awake.
The light outside indicated mid-morning.
She was indeed in her home and in her bed, but the space beside her was empty, and there were no monsters in the room.
There were no monsters in the house, either.
Naomi walked silently through her apartment, lightly tracing a finger on the wall as she went.
The serenity felt jarring, compared to the rough-edged chaos of the past several days. Zoids weren't made for extended travel - transports were. Zoids were loud and not terribly comfortable. Between navigating treacherous terrain for miles on end and... well, murder...
Naomi let her arms drift to her sides as she gazed around the room. Her thick jacket lay folded beside Brad's on the couch. On the table beside that she saw both her pistols and his revolvers, laid out neatly - freshly cleaned and oiled.
That both pleased her and grew a sudden pit in her stomach.
They really had gone off and done all of that shit.
Naomi stood, silent for several moments.
She lowered her head and skulked to make herself some coffee, only to find a warm, fresh pot with a lot missing.
Brad.
She absently poured herself a cup and walked back to the bedroom. The only place she hadn't looked for someone was on the porch, and that's exactly where Brad was.
The man stood in the morning sun, eyes closed as he leaned forward on the wide rail. In his hands, an empty mug, on his lips, a mostly-spent cigarette. A picture of calm, with the desert wind making an occasional pass at his hair.
He glanced over his shoulder as she stepped onto the porch.
"Mornin', babe. Sleep ok?"
Bit stood holding a broken bolt as large as his fist.
He stared at it, then up at the Liger.
The Zoid's injuries ended up a bit more complex than just a broken latch or two. Not only had all of the main structural bolts involved in the undercarriage been ripped off, their mounts and associated structure were damaged and hanging out too.
All bleeding and leaking of fluids had stopped, but the Zoid's broken underside looked awful. It also didn't want to continue standing - uncomfortable, not painful - and had settled to the hangar floor with a tired growl.
Bit sighed and looked at Zero, who stood nearby. "You can really just... fix all this?"
The Organoid looked thoughtful. ~With your help, yes.~
"Well then. Tell me what I need to do."
He stood at the door and knocked, just as he'd done several days preceding.
Leon wasn't expecting anything to be different, given he still hadn't been able to raise Brad or Naomi on their home or Zoids' comms. Neither of their Zoids even seemed to be in the area, which Leon found strange.
He simply didn't know what else to do. He stood, silent in the crisp morning shade, staring at the dusty doormat.
After a few moments there came the rustle of movement behind the door, the click of the lock.
Leon blinked and looked up as Naomi opened the door. He couldn't quite parse the look on her face; she just blinked up at him.
He ached with the adoration of simply seeing her, and spoke softly. "Hi."
"Leon. Hi." Naomi held the door open, motioning for the man to enter.
He did.
The apartment was strangely tidy.
Brad lay on the couch, and cracked an eye to regard Leon's entry. "Hey man."
"Hey." Leon replied. "You two okay? Where've you guys been?"
"We're good. Past few days? Just been out."
Naomi made intense eye-contact with Brad and held it. He looked back at her idly, seemingly without a care in the world.
Leon noticed the exchange. "Am I... interrupting anything?"
"Nope." Brad said, and closed his eyes again.
"Brad, Leon's part of this Team too. In all but name." Naomi shook her head. "We're not-"
Brad sharply raised a brow at her. She spiked one right back with a scowl.
"Oh-h-h-h no. My house, my rules, Hunter."
The rare surname-scold. Brad studied the woman for a moment, then abated with a shrug. "Yes ma'am."
Naomi sighed, and turned to Leon.
There weren't many windows in the small garage-hangar. The late-morning light filtered in through what few there were, piercing otherwise-dim stretches of space with soft bars of light.
Above this all, Ambient lay on a rafter, neck arched over its forelimbs as it gazed upon the area below.
The Organoid had returned to Layon's base to keep an eye on the Fox. Distance wasn't really an issue for it and Brad any longer, and they were both concerned for the injured Zoid.
The Fox had feebly acknowledged Ambient's presence. That was really all the Organoid could hope for, glad for the Zoid to broadcast any notion at all. Ambient looked on morosely.
~Ah'm sorry, lad. Ah wish ah' could help. But I cannae. Not with yeh like this. Somethin' just isnae right with me.~
Ambient had been relieved to discover it was able to symbiose with the Fox at all, albeit uncomfortably. To lose that good fortune so soon would've simply been more of fate's cruelties, of which Ambient was well-used to at this point.
But a Zoid too weak to negotiate was a dead Zoid. Symbiosis required effort from both parties, and Ambient didn't think it could hold back.
No. It knew it couldn't hold back.
It wasn't even hungry, but the mere thought of interfacing with a weakened Zoid core - only to overpower it and delightedly tear it to pieces - was too much.
Ambient simultaneously salivated and balked at the thought, disgusted with itself.
Movement caught its eye.
Ambient glanced to the door, watching Layon plod in. The large man was dressed in a wrinkled robe and held a mug of undoubtedly-spiked coffee. He didn't see the Organoid, but did go looking around for Brad.
After several minutes of searching, Layon seemed content that the mercenary wasn't there. He stopped in front of the Shadow Fox and sighed, looking up at it.
Ambient's talons twitched, and its body tensed. It almost always killed lone humans, when it'd been lucky enough to come across them. Of course, it knew better than to do so in this situation. But the thought was a pleasant distraction.
"You're certainly stubborn. I'll give you that." Layon muttered, obviously speaking to the Fox. "Can you actually recover, is the question."
Layon picked up a datapad from a table, eyes dull as he read it.
"These fucking Organoids. I always thought they were supposed to... I don't know. Benefit Zoids somehow. Not this." Layon tossed the datapad aside like a frisbee. "Shows what the fuck I know."
The man went through the rest of his coffee as he studied the Shadow Fox. His brows gradually lowered, bunching with upset as he sighed.
"Real fun being the smartest guy in the room and still managing to be useless. Wish you would've just crapped out when your shithead pilot was here." The man chuckled, the sound dark and humorless. "No more worries for you or me, then."
Things fell silent.
"But. That wouldn't be fair to you, would it." Layon shook his head. "Dicked over by the likes of that asshole. He's why all this happened, you know!? You would've been just fine with me at Backdraft. You just..."
No.
Layon trailed off. He couldn't say that. He didn't know that.
His eyes flicked, and he sat down heavily.
He wasn't sure why it hadn't occurred to him before.
He and his work had been just as disposable to the organization as the Fury's pilots had been. The lack of worth he assigned to most people? Was the same overall lack of worth Backdraft had seen him with - especially after he'd failed to deliver.
Sure, he'd made up for it with subsequent tasks, but...
With equal amusement and unease, Layon found himself relieved Alteil was dead and gone. Who knew how the man would've turned, with things as they now were.
But the man frowned as a new, deeply unpleasant thought cropped up.
What if Alteil wasn't the only one who knew what they both knew?
A drop of weight, a clack of talons, powerful movement echoing in the dark.
Layon startled badly and shot to standing, readying his empty mug to throw.
~Lad.~ Ambient said, voice low. ~Rest assu'red. Ainnae no one touchin' yeh or the Tod but me.~ The gleam of its fangs flashed in what little light there was. ~Got it?~
Given that most of the night had been spent awake and in some form of panic, an exhausted Jaime lay face-down in his bunk, trying to reclaim some lost sleep.
It wasn't happening.
Part of him wanted to appreciate the 'unique' nature of all what'd been going on recently. All narrowly-avoided death aside, he had front row seats to the existence of creatures long thought fictional.
...but the rest of him didn't feel like processing that, or anything related. He just wanted things to go back to normal. Eat a bowl of cereal. Watch shitty TV. Simple. The Team was supposed to have won the Royal Cup and proceeded on to bigger and better things.
Instead, Jaime had been treated to his few hopes and dreams withering in real time.
He'd not even been that set on his path forward with the Blitz Team to begin with. He wondered if he'd still be able to get into the University in Guygalos, something he'd dismissed not too long ago.
Well, part of him had.
Nuh-uh. The Eagle's thoughts irritably shuffled through his mind. Like hell we're going to waste time with that nerd shit. I already told you. We've got our foot in the door to fucking Class S! What kind of idiot walks away from that!?
That argument worked several months ago. It wasn't working anymore.
It seemed increasingly unlikely that a functioning Team would ever emerge from the base again. Leon was furious with Steve, and deeply-concerning strangers had taken up residence almost unremarked. Bit was... Bit, and-
"Jaime?"
It was Stoller.
Startled, the teen sat up sharply. He felt simultaneously indignant with, and grateful for, the interruption.
Stoller hadn't even entered the room. He simply stood in the open doorframe - which Jaime had left that way.
Jaime sighed, brows arrowing together. "Yeah?"
Stoller somehow commanded respect without being intimidating, an ability Jaime envied. Though the older man's - admittedly limited - prior contact with the Team had convinced Jaime he wasn't a danger... that he also so easily associated with Sara and Polta remained a concern.
"I know things have been... unusual lately." Stoller said. "But you often seem to be pushed aside here. After what happened last night, I wanted to make certain you're doing all right."
Jaime stared a moment, not used to being singled out like this. "I'm fine." We're not, but thanks for the patronizing bullshit, old man.
Stoller arched a brow.
"You two couldn't have - I don't know - told me you were just - going to go to the fucking Mackarays? At this time of year?"
The unusual expletive underscored the anger in Leon's voice. With an expression lodged somewhere between concern and rage, he desperately searched Naomi's face for some answer.
But she kept looking away. It wasn't like her.
"It was my decision to go." Brad input quietly, at length. "And Naomi wouldn't let me go alone. If you wanna be mad, be mad at me."
Leon looked squarely at Brad. "Why do you do stupid things?"
Brad sat up to return the firm regard. "Bad habit."
"What could you possibly-"
"It's none of your business." The mercenary produced a cigarette and lit up, shaking his head. "And you don't wanna make it your business. Trust me on this, okay?"
Leon blinked several times, not used to being shut out. Again, he glanced at Naomi for any explanation - and again, she avoided his eyes.
Brad went on. "We're home now, and we're fine. That's the important part. If you're sick of your old man's shit, stay here for awhile. We're happy to have you. It's all good."
Naomi nodded her agreement. She and Brad had discussed the topic considerably: Leon was always welcome. She wished he would stay, now more than ever. But that was another, more complicated issue.
Leon looked between the two, brows sinking. "...fine. But can you at least promise if you're going to just... run off, again, that you tell me?" His composure faltered, and you could almost visualize the stress-fractures in his voice. "I'm so tired of being treated like an afterthought."
Brad frowned. He wasn't great at dealing with emotions. His own, or other people's. But he really didn't like seeing Leon upset.
"I promise. And I'm sorry."
And he was.
Leon nodded, once. He looked at Naomi yet again, then away as if embarrassed.
"I apologize. I should be stronger than this."
"Don't know who else you hang out with, but you're the strongest person I know." Naomi said, then flicked her wrist and smirked at Brad. "Stronger than that guy for sure."
Her tone was lighthearted. In jest.
But Brad happened to agree, and painfully grinned.
Indeed: he'd been the one hiding from Leon, too mortified of what he'd done in the Berserk Fury to even ask if his friend was okay. That was going to follow him around for a long, long time.
"Yeah. Fuck that guy," Brad added with a chuckle, working to keep the troubled quiver out of his voice. "He's an ass."
Leon smiled a little.
She found him seated on a small bench in a small room.
Steve sat holding a small Shield Liger model, his focus consumed by it.
Sara didn't say anything, just moved silently to sit beside the man. Close, but not too close: she shifted her eyes, but not head, to watch his face. Steve didn't look at her, but didn't really seem to be looking at the model either.
Several minutes passed. At length Steve acknowledged the woman, twitching his gaze her way.
"Aren't you worried about Vega?"
"Always."
The man didn't say anything.
"I know how it felt when he was in real trouble." Sara added after a moment. "And I don't feel that. So I have to assume he's all right."
Steve gave a half-hearted puff of breath, a chuckle that'd died. "Or you'll go crazy?"
"Something like that."
Steve shook his head and looked back at the Shield Liger.
"I can't keep anyone safe, Sara."
"Could've fooled me."
Another head shake. After several seconds Steve finally looked up and straight at the woman. "Leon doesn't trust you. Him and I can get on each other's nerves sometimes, but..."
"But you wonder if he has a point."
Steve gave a very small nod. "I trust you. And I get where you're coming from. But he was... he's been very upset since the battle."
The man uncomfortably avoided mentioning the Berserk Fury. Yet, it was obvious: the more he tried to ignore the thought, the more he kept circling it. Anxiety burned in Steve's darting eyes; Sara merely watched the snare of cognitive dissonance tighten.
"Damn it, Sara. Why didn't you do anything!?"
She didn't really want to deal with this particular mess. Right now, or ever. Her fingers pulled into a loose fist on the cushioned bench as she began to concentrate.
But it became difficult. As her silence held, she watched Steve's shoulders start to round, despondent.
"What I need you to understand... is that Leon's like me. Too much like me." Steve paused. "Like I was."
And I always used to be right. I don't want him to be right.
Pride turned self-loathing, despair refusing to be hope. Sara both heard and felt the thought with equal intensity. The insight, she expected; the emotion, she did not.
It made her hesitate.
Sara had slept with Steve several times at this point - both in an intimate sense, and otherwise. Once realizing the man genuinely meant her no harm, it was quite literally to her advantage to sleep with an extra pair of ears and eyes close nearby.
The concept of a partner truly having her back, though?
Foreign. Painful.
Nobody cared about her. She didn't even know how to deal with the thought.
Life had sculpted a woman devoid of mercy, a furious mongoose in a never-ending den of snakes. Smiles, extended hands? They were never what they seemed, only hidden dangers to be torn into, Even those supposedly offered in friendship.
Especially those.
This was why Sara had been quick to sink her metaphorical fangs into Steve, as she'd done to so many others. Seizing his mind as his body moved with hers, critically distracted.
Ego often presented a hard but brittle exoskeleton, one easily chewed through as sensual pleasures mounted. It was in this space Sara thrived: here, that she wreaked havoc, stole secrets, built people up, tore people down.
But Steve offered no resistance. At all.
She could've taken anything, said anything, destroyed the man.
She didn't.
There was nothing to gain by hurting him. He'd helped save her son, and wanted nothing in return.
She was ruthless, not cruel.
He'd accepted her advances, yes - but she'd been the one who made them. She'd banked on lust and grasped a fistful of loneliness instead, something she wasn't at all used to. And in that strange and foreign void between them, Sara hadn't known what to do.
She still didn't.
"I already apologized, Steve. I don't know what else you want me to say."
She wasn't sorry for the Fury's attack or anything that'd led up to it. She was only sorry she'd caused the man such pointless distress.
And perhaps sorry for herself, for having to deal with it.
Sara watched Steve withdraw, his mind frantic to repackage his upset and shove it away. It was an admirable effort that would've gone completely unnoticed by anyone else.
"I just don't know what I'd have done if I'd lost Leon." Steve finally said, clearing his throat and struggling for composure. "I don't know if I could have extended any kindness. To you, or anyone. Ever again."
Sara said nothing.
"I only ever thought that the world could be unfair, Sara." He locked eyes with the woman. "Not dangerous. Not like this."
"Then you've led a very sheltered life."
"Maybe." Steve reached and gently took one of Sara's hands, putting both of his around it. "I don't know how else to ask, but. I need you to promise that you're not going to hurt my family."
Sara's lips thinned. She was used to threats, coercion, and manipulation.
Promises? Were weak tools used by weak people.
"I can't." She said, bluntly. "Because I can only control what I do, not what I cause. And I don't know what to expect anymore."
It was the honest and uncomfortable truth. She watched the man's body cord, and went on.
"What I can promise you though... is that Leon is wrong. He doesn't understand that you and I both want the same thing."
The tension lessened. Steve looked at Sara intently.
The woman grinned as she spoke. "For our families to be safe."
He became aware again as One did.
Without moving, Vega stole a glance through One's dark optics.
The sense that overtook him immediately was a new one. One felt excited, threatened, and predatory all at once, glazed by a thick and conscious contempt. A territorial response.
What? What is it?
~Sshh.~
Vega couldn't personally articulate some of the senses One had, but he understood what they relayed: a stranger, an intruder.
A prey item.
He shifted to glance, but One quickly tucked him back into place.
~Remain still.~
Vega's pulse began to race, anticipation for whatever had One so riled up. The excitement made staying still difficult, so he closed his eyes to concentrate. This plunged him immediately into the cold, velvet sensation of their indistinct selves - which he knew to be mindful of, but-
He became keenly aware of something he'd not before noticed.
We're… invisible?
He was familiar with One's propensity for resting in shadow. But Vega suddenly understood it was more than simple preference. One - when not critically distracted - was apparently capable of masking its presence. And that it did, easily melting into the late afternoon's lengthening shadows.
One could taste the energy in the air, smell hot metallic blood trapped in veins. Together, the two felt it before they heard it: a tapping of metal against the deck. Patterned, specific. Talons.
Another Organoid. But not one they knew.
Not that they knew many. The pair shared a flash of disdain for Ambient, and a vague apprehension towards Zero.
Vega's throat worked.
This unknown Organoid was neither. But One had no interest in determining its identity. After all that'd gone on with both Ambient and Zero, One was quite done with any notion of its species' decorum. It had already decided killing and eating its conspecifics would be simpler, going forward. It had no use for others of its kind.
Vague dissonance arose. Vega questioned this, but it didn't seem terribly important right now. The silky flow of One's thoughts held much more appeal.
The two watched the slim outline of an Organoid poke into view on a deck above. A slender head on an equally-slender neck, framed by broad, sharp mandibles.
Vega watched it scent the air.
Just as One visually masked itself, so masked were all traces of its presence - though the physicality of its scent made it the most difficult aspect to hide. It forcefully asserted the notion that nothing was there, nothing was unusual. It would've worked on most Organoids.
This one cast bright yellow optics down at the two, in question.
Vega met its gaze directly, and could tell it couldn't see them. But the brush of contact further drew the Organoid's attention and it froze, staring.
Vega felt the smooth shifts of muscular cabling in One's body as it tensed, readying itself.
More faint dissonance. Vega was curious: One was not.
There's actually more Organoids?
~I do not know. Nor do I care.~
The unknown Organoid hopped down from above, landing gracefully nearby. It was blue, about Zero's height and length, but far more slender.
The two silently stared. The stranger truly had no idea how close they were, though it behaved with such thorough caution it clearly knew something had been - or might still be - around.
One leapt.