Waking Up

"Agent York, the ship's food is nutrient rich and formulated to sustain agents longer in a firefight."

"Thanks, D."

"Orange you glad he didn't say banana?" Cali asks with a giggle.

"I am confused, what do bananas have to do with your current meal?" Delta – a small, green glowing armoured figure – queries. His voice is even and, though stiff and formal, does carry an undercurrent of emotion. Sometimes.

"It was a joke," York explains to his AI, somewhat exsaperatedly. "We talked about those before. This one just wasn't funny."

"Oh, come on," interjects Wash. "I haven't heard that one in years."

"Yeah," North says slowly, "some of us were enjoying the streak."

"Nobody cares," says Cali quickly. She shoots him a joking glare.

Maine rolls his eyes and huffs. He lost the ability to speak a month ago when he was shot in the throat half a dozen times by a Charon operative. Bottom line is, the agent formerly of few words now is feeling out a growl-based language. Not many people understand anything he tries to say, though.

Texas glances down the table at the three chuckling Freelancers, the hissing man mountain that is Maine and the confused AI. That's right, Agent Texas, a formidable woman clad in flat black was added to Team One's roster. It has been three months since Cali last went planetside with the squad, her position now largely obsolete.

"Well, I'm done," announces Wash. He pushes his tray away. "Coming, Red?"

Cali shakes her head. Wash has taken to calling her that just recently. Partly due to her hair, partly from her tenure at Over Flow. "I'm going to take a walk before I head back."

He dips his chin, catching her meaning. "I think she was in Sector Seven. Catch you later."

After he leaves, Cali gets up and puts her tray on the rack. She follows him into the hall and nearly smacks into Nev. The smaller woman tosses her mane of black hair. "Watch yourself, Cali," she warns.

"Sorry," she apologizes before hurrying off again. She hops into the nearest elevator, just opposite the line of apartments.

"Wait!" calls a familiar voice. "Wait for me!"

Cali holds her hand out to keep the doors from closing. DC runs into the elevator. "Thanks." He leans on the wall.

She presses the button for the seventh level of the frigate. "Where are you off to?" she asks, finger poised to punch in the next floor for him.

"Shooting range," he replies. "Thanks again."

She hits the five. "Sorry, you'll have to go up to Sector Seven first, then back down."

He shrugs. "What're you doing all the way up there?"

"I'm supposed to find Connie," she admits, not meeting his eyes. "I want things to be the way there used to be. You know, when we were still okay."

DC's eyebrows jump. "Look, I hate to tell you this but," he sighs heavily, "but if Connie wanted to still be friends, she wouldn't avoid everyone. She would work to get past… whatever the issue is. You can't keep chasing after her and Cali her into being friends again."

The elevator draws to a stop with a bing. Cali hesitates, thinking over what DC told her. She shakes her head. "I want her to know I don't hate her. That's all."

She gets out of the elevator, shoulders square and standing tall.

The doors slide shut on DC's expression of mingled sadness and disbelief. Cali shakes it away and turns to look down the long corridor. It is entirely devoid of life. She takes a handful of steps before leaning against the wall. She makes a noise of anger. Hotness pricks at the back of her eyes.

You can't chase her.

She swallows hard.

I'm good. Busy.

Footsteps echo in the quiet corridor. They are heavy with a metallic clang, definitely an armoured agent. Heart pounding a frantic rhythm in her chest, Cali scoots into the first room she sees and locks the door. Through the window she watches the brown EOD helmet pass by. Just before Connie disappears altogether, she casts a backward glance almost exactly at the door Cali cowers behind. Then she is gone.

Hands shaking, the redhead slides down into a heap. She misses her friend, her roommate. She can't shake the feeling that it's all her own fault. No. How can it be her fault that Connie just stopped talking to her? She stands and tosses her head. She lets herself out of the room, hating herself for hiding like the coward she is. Face burning and hot, she begins walking. Then stops.

Cali swears. She turns and slams a fist into the metal wall. She doesn't notice the stinging pain lace through her knuckles. Instead, she retreats back down the hallway. She stabs the button to call the elevator back with a hissed curse. She gets into it when it announces its arrival, hand sore.

On the ride back to her room, Cali tries to calm herself down. She can't do much to quell the bitter taste of a long-ago betrayal. The way they used to be, closer than anyone else could possible imagine, burns in the back of her mind. They could go back to that. If Connie would try. But she won't.

She walks quickly back to her room. If Connie wants to be like that, fine. What does Cali care? It's not like she's her nanny. With a pang of sadness, Cali remembers the first day, collapsing with laughter in their shared room. She shoves the memory away in disgust. No use to dwell on the ghost of friendship.

Cali enters to the sight of Wash on her bed. He looks up from the data pad on his lap.

"That was quick," he says. The hint of a frown touches his lips.

Wordlessly, she sits on the floor next to his feet. She inspects her hand. The flesh is red and swollen, heat radiates off her knuckles. She flexes and bends her fingers. It causes a little pain, but clearly it is not broken.

She looks up at him. "Promise me you'll never fade away from me."

He leans down to touch his forehead to hers. Wash is gone for now, David in his place. He brushes his lips over hers lightly, pressing one word to them.

"Never."

Cali pulls him down and kisses him. "Good," she breathes into his mouth.

But Cali knows, no matter what anyone says to deny it. One tiny fact that can change everything.

Project Freelancer and its agents are not okay.