Food was forgotten in favor of bruised knuckles and breathless bouts with an old leather bag. She could close her eyes and imagine it was anyone-- Gabe, Ryan, any number of faces from her past-- and if she pretended enough, it was almost like fighting. She could almost feel muscle and bone under her punches instead of cracked leather and stuffing. She could almost taste blood in her mouth instead of the salt of sweat and the stale odor of equipment too often used and too rarely cleaned. She could almost, almost pretend it was real.

Kat was trying. She really was.

Even if there had been other people in the gym, they would have known not to disturb her; there was something raw and rather frightening about the way she threw herself into her sparring, as if she were fighting demons and worse things. For that hour she was alone, her eyes gleaming golden and sharp, pain singing along her nerves and her heart beating frantically in her throat, and she was happy. Happy in a way that she didn't want with Mode; no, their kind of peace was loving and clean, in comparison to this dirty, angry business she reveled in for such a short time each day. It was almost enough.

Today, though, became different, as she felt eyes upon her back as she sparred. It made Kat angry, furious, even, to have her solitude broken, and she took it out on her target, growing less coordinated and more vicious until finally she couldn't stand it any longer. With a hiss she left the bag swinging in the air and whirled around, her eyes narrowed and her canines bared, ready to launch into a verbal assault on whoever dared to distract her, but she was not prepared for who stood there staring back.

You... you should be gone. I have everything now, he's back, he's mine, you can't take him away again, not when I have him. Don't you dare, don't you even talk to me, siste--

She thought of going to the library to do some research, but there was little her final polishing coursework was teaching that she didn't already know; her future in the laboratory in the field of chemical demolition had been assured years ago. Still, she didn't know everything, and it would be the perfect opportunity. Jor's training didn't involve a lot of text work, so it made sense to get any library trips out of the way. Unfortunately, she wasn't interested in studying at the moment, and so instead decided to use the opportunity to explore the arcades and the exercise areas.

The arcades were too loud, and the pool was too crowded, though Wick made a note to bring Jor back when she had the chance. That left only the ball courts and the gymnasium, and the courts were full, so she found her way into the weight training area and then past it to the sparring section. To her surprise, the room was virtually empty; at what should probably have been prime gym time during the height of one of the scheduled lunch hours, the place only had one occupant. Wick identified her after the second step, and stopped on the third, just inside the door.

The girl working the bag had red hair with blond highlights pinned in a messy pile of curls high on her head where it wouldn't lay on her neck, and she'd already worked up enough of a sweat to shed her jacket. Her taped fists pounded into the old leather again and again, the jerky rhythym punctuated by kicks when the bag swung far enough from her. Her muscles were wiry, her reflexes really too fast to get a real workout from something slow and inertia-ridden like a punching bag, but it looked like it was a good stress reliever. Even as she watched, the girl seemed to become more absorbed, her blows becoming more strength and less aim. Wick didn't know for certain what fury drove the attack, but she thought she could hazard some very accurate guesses.

With one final vicious clip to the bag, the girl spun and stood glaring at her, and Wick blinked and smiled at Katera Quistin, a small smile of appreciation for the comforting fact that some things never changed.

"Ho, Kat," she called out pleasantly, and began to walk towards her, icy eyes settled onto Kat's as the angry green gaze betrayed surprise and then grew dark and menacing. Wick didn't let that faze her, but she stopped just outside the girl's immediate reach just the same. It had been a long time since she'd seen her sister, but she knew her too well to underestimate her. The sweat and the violence made Wick think of another encounter she'd had with Kat in a similar state, and that memory whipped her tongue into action to erase itself from her mind.

She didn't answer immediately; instead she gave Wick the same slow perusal she'd gotten herself, taking in her sister from head to toe. Not much had changed. The name on her uniform badge, however, swung Kat's gaze to the ring on Wick's finger, and a smug pleasure overwhelmed her when she realized both that she wasn't wearing her own ring, and that Wick didn't know that.

"Just an old one," she said loftily, before turning her attention back to the bag and launching into another assault. The silence hung between them as Kat sparred and Wick watched her, but eventually Wick responded to the statement, just as Kat had known she would. "I hope he's worth your time."

Kat stopped again, to look over her shoulder and smile quietly at Wick, a smile that both taunted and pitied her with the question You really don't know, do you?

The last time Wick had seen Katera up close, the girl had been in the same state she was in now: disheveled, angry and full of battle lust. That had been a change from what had become Kat's usual manner since the Engineering Bay catastrophe, which was silent, slow and empty. Wick had often wondered what kept the girl going when it was so obvious her spirit was crushed. She'd seen the marks on her sister's wrist. What she hadn't seen, and what she had never been able to decipher, was what had kept the girl from finishing what she'd started.

On the other hand, soulless or not, that fight with Daniels over a year ago had brought life into her blank green eyes then. Maybe it was anger that made Kat whole, now that she'd been left alone. That made sense, and the expression on Katera's face as she turned and began to pummel the bag even harder than before supported that hypothesis. Wick could understand. It looked like Kat had finally come to terms with Nathan's death, and from the girl's response to her inquiry, it sounded like she'd gone back to what she knew, what she'd become comfortable with all those years she'd been in Charybdis.

Hunting.

Wick grinned. It would be nice to have Kat to tangle with while she stayed here. She and Kat were too similar to have a placid relationship, but Wick didn't really have much use for placid relationships, and Kat's taste in amusement wasn't too far from her own.

Speaking of...

"I hope he's worth your time," she said with an amused quirk of her lips. Holding a hand out to stop the bag's motion, Kat stopped and half turned, returning her smile, but it wasn't the kind of smile she'd expected to receive. It wasn't the fierce camaraderie that should have been there. It was cold, and knowing, and held an element of contemptuous pity that took her quite by surprise. "He always was."

Caught offguard by this inexplicable behavior, Wick blinked, but refused to be cowed. Was there some attachment she'd expected Wick to know about? Maybe she'd been checking up on her sister, and assumed that Wick had been doing the same. That possiblity made her feel a trifle guilty; she'd been too wrapped up in her own affairs to keep a proper eye on Kat, but then again, she'd always assumed Quistin could handle herself. Of course, it would probably be best to try to smooth things over now, and showing an interest was the simplest and quickest option available. She made her smile a little more friendly, a little less challenging.

"You might say that," she drawled mockingly, forgetting the boxing bag as a hand reached to her throat, touched bruises hidden beneath the collar of her undershirt, and then joined the other as she slowly began to strip the taping from around her fingers.

Wick's friendly smile had already faded, and Kat's too disappeared as she pretended to chew on her lip thoughtfully before giving Wick a sympathetic look. "You know, sister," she began conversationally, "We didn't take you for one to overlook details. You really don't know, do you?"

Now that feline gaze was burning into her with vicious happiness that told her Katera was enjoying her fear, and that wasn't how the game was supposed to go. They were supposed to taunt one another and reaffirm their bond. This was all wrong. Why was Kat angry with her now?

"That's awfully pretty. Did Jorry give that to you?" Wick glanced automatically down to the ruby ring on her finger and then looked up again, narrowing her eyes as her guard rushed up to protect her against this incomprehensible attack. "Are you married? It's too bad we didn't know sooner, we could have had a party."

Why is she asking about Jorry? And why we? How should I know who this new lover is?

Wick's mind had long been trained to guess at explanations, to gauge probabilities. Even concerning people she'd never met before, she felt confident that given enough data about their personal situations she could easily predict their reactions. Her inability to read Katera had unsettled her, but her mind did not like to accept excuses as weak as that one. Internally and instantaneously, she wiped her mental slate and made a list of facts to draw a new conjecture.

Kat has a lover, and expects this to be significant to me. Kat is angry with me. Kat is enjoying making me suffer. Kat...Kat has a lover...

And the horrible light began to dawn, a dull grey light with shades of slate and cloud and silver hiding in it. Wick felt her face and hands go cold, and stared at Kat with undisguised disbelief.

She's either mad...or I am. At least, I hope I am.

Kat stood there and smiled and tried to decide how she wanted to play this game. There were so many ways she could answer. The childish part of her wanted to taunt Wick, was busy chanting I know something you don't know, and it wanted to gloat. The rest of her enjoyed toying with her prey, drank in Wick's fear and let it feed her sense of control, but unlike the other voice, it was thirsty for conflict.

The foreplay is growing tedious. I want her to know now.

"I'm quite fine, Wick," she said rather snidely, as if offended by the insinuation that she was imagining things. "You don't have to act as if I'm crazy."

With that, she turned away and sauntered slowly across the room, to where her jacket lay on the floor. From the front pocket she retrieved her own ring, and slipped it onto her finger, the cold weight of the steel bringing pleasure to her eyes. Four years, Wick. Four years. While you have grown lazy and secure, I have been fighting. And you know what? I've finally won. I have everything I could want, and no one, not even you, can touch it.

The thought surrounded her like a warm embrace, and as she moved back toward Wick she slid herself into the jacket. Her gaze glowed with smug satisfaction as she smiled knowingly, and the collar closed around her throat with a final zip as Kat stood apart from her sister and waited for realization to come full circle.

But...but...

Wick stared at the name sewn into the jacket like she could will it out of existence, but reality would not bend to accommodate her, and the neat thread pattern remained untouched.

He's dead! He's dead! I saw his body, I saw them wheel him out, and I saw how many darts he took. There's no way he could have survived that much tranquilizer. He had more of it than he had blood left by the time he collapsed. I...I remember his face. He was dead...wasn't he? In the face of Katera's undeniable proof, her previous assumptions - for that was what they had been, after all - shattered and sliced into the layers of warm security she'd wrapped herself in for the last four years, peeling them away like skin. New probabilities bloomed, surrounded her and began to contract into incontestable fact.

Nathan had not died; she'd been too distracted with Jordan's wellbeing to pay attention to his monitors. She'd seen the men wheel him out, but his face had not been covered. She remembered that face, completely lax, appearing peacefully asleep. She realized now that that was why she'd thought he was dead. Only death could have taken the fury out of Asmodeus and left Angel behind.

But then where had he been? Not Command School. The expression on Kat's face told her it didn't matter in the least. Wherever he'd been during those four long years, the look on her face said he was here now, and Wick was beginning to realize how precarious her position really was. If Kat had Nathan back, it was extremely unlikely she would be interested in being friends. They would always be sisters, but that held very little comfort for her now. For Kat, blood ties were never a reason not to injure someone. It just meant there was probably always reason to shed a little affection.

"See, Wick? I know perfectly well how things are."

It was like fine wine, Wick's fear was, something to be savored, but Kat had little patience for prolonged games. She couldn't tell if Wick was sincere, whether or not it was all a lie, and that infuriated her further, because she did not understand it. When Kat hated someone, when she tried to kill someone, she was at least honest about it. With few exceptions, there was little doubt as to her feelings. When it came to Wick, it was all guesswork, and Kat hated things she could not decipher.

"No," she spat viciously, "you wanted to hurt him, and that's the same thing. And you still lie. You were going to kill me too, and the only reason you tried to help was because of Jorry, not because of me."

Then Kat slapped Wick.

The attack drew thin lines across her sister's cheek, and Kat instantly withdrew, having to clench her nails into her own palms to keep from striking further. She was close to losing control, close to wishing for a dagger and a chance for revenge, and it was hard to deny herself that. The desire to hurt that she'd subdued for so long came back stronger than ever, and it tore through her, made her double over and gave her voice the quality of a wildcat's scream.

"I never touched Jorry, but you had to take Mode; you don't play fair! Four years, Wick, you had it all and I had nothing, and you think just because I saved you once that you can just come back and take it all again? You can't, I won't let you!"

Kat struggled for control and found it, but Wick was still immobile until the other girl spoke again.

"I could let you see him, Wick. He doesn't have darts in him anymore, but I think you'd recognize him. Would you like that?"

The pure icy hatred in Katera's voice made her flinch involuntarily. Fury and violence she could accept; under the proper circumstances, she might even welcome them. Hatred, though...cold hatred was something she could have taken from almost anyone but Jor and the girl standing in front of her. It took a few moments for her to get past the tone and decipher the content of her words, but when she did, the spell of paralysis lifted, and she slid her hand slowly from her cheek to her left arm, wrapping her fingers around it just above the elbow. At least, it appeared that was what she was doing. Wick had no feeling there, and she had Nathan Terrence to thank for that.

It was time to find out how Kat really felt.

Hate overwhelmed her, hate and fury and bloodlust... and always, however unwillingly, understanding. She was blaming Wick again, blaming her for things that she herself would have done. She was no better than Wick. But knowing that she was a hypocrite and admitting it to another were two entirely different things, and Kat was not about to lose ground in this battle.

Her voice was like barbed wire, sharp in its bitterness. "Shouldn't it be, don't you think you've done enough?" She tried to laugh and failed, amusement nowhere to be found as she looked up and met Wick's eyes, pale glacier to glowing golden emerald. After a pause, Kat had to turn her head away briefly, her tone more subdued this time. "But no. No, I don't want you to see him."

I don't want you near him ever again. I don't want to lose him.

She tried to ignore the second and more powerful reason to make such an offer - she couldn't bear to have her sister hate her, not the way she seemed to now.

"You want to hurt me, Katera?" Her voice was quiet and calm now, and held no defiance, only acceptance. "You could have, any time in Command School. You had four years...and now you've...you've got him back, and you want to hurt me?" She reached out, too slowly for an attack but quickly enough to grasp Kat's wrist and bring the clawed hand to her neck. "If you want to hurt me, Kat, now's your chance."

Tear out her throat. Make her pay for what she's cost you.

"NO!" She tore her wrist away from Wick's grasp, stumbling in her haste to back away. Wick stared at her wide-eyed at she dug her nails into her palms again, the pain bringing her back to reality, and she tried to calm her breathing, tried to slow the frantic heartbeat that pounded in her chest.

I can't. I want to, but I can't. If I hurt her, they'll take me, and I won't go back, I won't leave Mode. Never, never never never.

"Kat?" Wick's voice again. Kat looked up to meet her sister's gaze, and the quiet pain there matched her own. It was too familiar, like looking into a pale mirror, and no matter how much she lusted for blood and vengeance, it was too much to bear.

"Don't... no. I... I can't, I won't. I can't hurt you." The reluctance in her tone was greater than her hate, and she was furious with herself for being so weak with this enemy, but she couldn't answer any other way. "Don't take him, Wick, please. I'll... I'll kill you if you do, you know I will, but... please, just let me have him."

"Please, don't hurt Jor, please, Mode, do what you want, but don't hurt Jor. He didn't do anything to Dante. It was all my idea..."

The memory made her wince, and destroyed any thoughts she'd had of trying to take advantage of Kat's unhinged state. There was too much of herself in those tortured green eyes, and she dropped her head a little so she wouldn't have to see it. The hatred had been unbearable. That pleading was unimaginable. It should never have existed, and she had to make it leave before she looked into her sister's eyes again.

"I won't touch him," she said in a whisper. "You keep him away from Jordan, and I swear I won't touch him." Her eyes snapped back into focus, and she brought her head up to meet Kat's gaze again, her tone becoming low and threatening. "But if he hurts him, Kat, he goes back to Hell where he belongs."

If you stand by your word, then I will keep mine.

There was a sudden, deeper understanding between them, and as Wick turned and left, Kat did nothing but stand there and watch her go. Anger had all but deserted her, leaving her worn and weary, and as a tired sense of relief filled her, Kat bowed her head and leaned against the heavy leather bag still swinging from the ceiling.

I hope this stands. I don't want to have to fight this again.

She rested there in silence until a wave of officers began to arrive, and not wishing to speak to anyone, she retreated to the showers. Fifteen minutes later found her clean and presentable, but she didn't' go back to her office. Instead she headed straight toward the Internal Alliance sector of the station.