His hand slipped into the small pocket on the inside of his uniform sleeve and the single object he'd managed to smuggle into CS, past the guards. A tiny vial of fluid he was saving just for her. But not yet...there was so much more to do.

He followed her in silently, the door sliding shut behind it before he locked it, leaning against it enough to break it out of its track. Even if they managed to unlock it, they'd have to move the door by hand, and that could take a while.

Red light. Locked.

She looked at it disbelievingly, hit it again.

Locked.

This wasn't supposed to be locked. The strongchests inside were supposed to be locked, but the room was supposed to be open. A strange tight feeling constricted her stomach.

And then the lights went out.

She looked up, startled, pupils dilating. The only light in here now was too little for her to make out anything specific. She couldn't see the fingers spread in front of her face as she started to get up, to make her way back to the door.

The slow, low chuckle made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, and she whirled to search for the source, her eyes stubbornly refusing to yield her any clear images. Then the lights came back up, nearly blinding her as she shielded herself with her arm.

Asmodeus was standing near the light pad, an evil smirk that seemed so entirely out of character she almost felt sick for a moment.

Her face was even paler than usual when he turned the light on, and she fell back a pace, blinking savagely to adjust her eyes. She was all alone, as he had expected. No Jor to help her this time. He could take his time. There was no where for her to run.

He advanced on her slowly, and she backed up until she encountered a wall. She seemed half-fascinated, almost mesmerized, and he got a little too confident, approaching her too closely.

Her first kick caught him by surprise, but not her second, and he grabbed her foot and twisted with all the vicious strength his arms could muster. There was a sharp cracking sound, and he caught Wick's head with his hand over her mouth before she screamed, the force sending vibrations through his palm as the pain from her broken ankle made her stiffen and sag at the same time.

Maybe not. But maybe for Jordan...who knew? She had to try, before the fire got loose and ruined the last unlikely chance of her survival.

He didn't want to hear her beg for Jor's life. He wanted her to beg for hers. He twisted her arm again for emphasis, and to feel her scream against his fingers. He liked that, the vibration. It felt right. "Now why would I want to do that...?" he asked conversationally, easing and applying pressure to her arm, her painful breath hot on his fingers.

She gritted her teeth. He twisted her arm a little harder, but she only looked up at him, into his eyes. "Because I won't tell on you," she said in a voice strangled with pain. He narrowed his eyes down at hers. "What makes you think you'll have the option?" he asked almost gently, and Wick remained silent, defeat in her glacier gaze.

He yanked her wrist away from her body and she screamed again as he dislocated her arm. The effort pulled her uniform collar unsnapped, and he noted the bruise there with interest. She was still panting with pain, her breath coming in short wheezy gasps as he unsnapped and unzipped her collar and dragged her back to look.

Her throat was a mass of bruises and bites, the color showing up vibrantly against her pale skin. He smirked, pressed on her throat with his fingertips, surprised at how easy it was for him to bruise the soft white skin. "Jor's been at you," he said in a low near-whisper. "Where is he now, hmm? Not here to help you. That must hurt."

It did, it hurt, and she finally lost her grip.

The fire swelled and expanded, her physical and emotional pain burned away in its wake. Pain is an illusion of the senses her mind screamed insanely, and despair an illusion of the mind. Wick shivered and burned and fell unconscious.

It was the fire in control now.

She kicked at him, almost scoring squarely, but he moved away too quickly and then threw her over on her face. Strong hands tangled in her hair and slammed her face into the floor, once, twice, before he turned her over. Everything seemed distant for a moment as she lay involuntarily still.

Then he was unfastening her cuff, pushing her sleeve up her arm. She struggled as much as she was capable of struggling, but he back-handed her and everything got unfocused again. She felt cold on the scar on her relatively uninjured arm and managed to smirk up at him anyway.

"You going to take me too, flicker? I didn't know you cared."

He was practically trembling now, so close to his goal, and he brought his hands together in a double fist and drove it into her stomach before hitting her across the face again, splitting her lip and bloodying her nose. He didn't hit her too hard, though. He wanted her awake for the finale.

She tried to curl up, but he kept her flat, waiting for the chemical to set. He saw her eyes widen as she recognized the odor of alcohol and petrol that accompanied the accelerant he was sure she would recognize, the little pyro bitch. It had brought her shuttle from earth to the battleschool. It was only fitting that he use it to send her back.

"No..." The word fell from her lips in a wondering tone, as if she couldn't quite credit that he was going to do what he intended. When he produced the match and struck it on the bottom of her boot, she began to believe, and her broken body struggled with renewed vigor.

He leaned down and kissed her, his mouth mashing into her split lip painfully before he broke it and leaned over to whisper in her ear.

When it hit and ignited, the last of Wick was burned away. The fire recognized its cousin, and as it rapidly spread as Mode backed away, they began to meld. The pain was incredible, beyond comprehension, but it didn't matter. For all the world, she felt like she was coming home. She knew this feeling, and that gave her something dangerously close to peace as she slowly closed her eyes. The fire danced on her flesh, and her last thought before she passed out was just one word, three letters.

The uniform didn't burn well, but the accelerant kept the flame on her pale flesh alive long enough to turn it black and crisp. As quickly as it had come, it was gone, and the rest of her was nearly untouched...but her arm was black and charred. Sick fascination pulled at him, but then he turned away and ran, an easy lope to the secondary door and out of it, away from what was left of what used to be Wick.

He didn't stop running until he reached his quarters, and there he sat down and tried to calm his breathing. He had expected to feel triumphant, glorious, justified. At first he had.

But the sight of her crisping flesh had left him nothing but disgusted and sick to his stomach. He barely made it to the little bathrooms just outside his Quad before he threw up.

Wick was laying unconscious inside, smoke rising from her burnt arm, face bloody, shoulder and ankle twisted in gruesome angles.

Wick...

He rushed over to her side, suddenly uncertain as he kneeled beside her, his eyes widening at her horrendous injuries. Slapping her lightly on the cheek, he leaned down, hovering his face above her mouth. Nicolai sighed in relief as a whisper of air touched his skin. She was alive, at least, and needed a doctor now. Careful not to hurt her more, he slid his arms under her knees and back, and lifted her easily. Wick's head fell back against his shoulder, blood still dripping from the corner of her mouth, and with frantic strength he bolted from the storage bay in search of the infirmary.

He slowed to a stop. There was no mistaking it. It was smoke. There were other traces, too, but they were fainter, harder to identify. Whoever had been carrying the scents had been moving too quickly to leave a good solid smell behind.

To his right, the door leading into the storage area was forced open. The smell got stronger as he entered. He could see droplets of blood on the floor. And he didn't have any doubt that they were blood. That smell . . . Rabin had learned that particular smell while he was still very young.

And as he approached the blood, the smell became very strong. Here, the scents' origin had remained for some time. Long enough to leave an imprint in the air. And he could identify them easily.

There were the emotions he expected. Fear, or anger, or both. They were adrenaline smells, sweat smells. But those took a back seat to two very prominent scents. One was fuel. Rocket fuel. The other was burnt flesh.

Rabin was on his feet and out of the room immediately. He looked down the corridor the way he'd come, and knew that if the source of these scents had gone that way, he'd have smelled them much sooner. So his head turned to look in the other direction.

Toward the infirmary.

He made sure to lock the door securely behind them, after checking to ensure that no one had seen them enter. There was a lingering scent of smoke, unpleasant, and he almost winced as he was reminded of Wick's attack. Shaking his head to dispel those thoughts, Dominic followed the pair, taking a seat off to the side, out of view from the main entrance, still wondering what this was about.

The quicksilver in Dante's eyes gave him a hint.

It had been him or them, and they'd had no trouble making their decision...but the dreams that had followed still woke them every now and then, always in synchronized horror, never one or the other alone.

He settled back more comfortably against the wall, arms still folded, legs crossed at the ankles as he lounged. The mirthless smile he had shared with Donovan reminded him none too happily of the demonstration they'd been forced to give. But if they were trained for anything, it was combat, and fighting was one of the most powerful skills they possessed together. Separate, and they could be defeated. Together, and even a grown man with a weapon had been no match for their 15-year-old talents.

But Dante didn't quite look as if she would believe any of this. The ice was back, and she was watching Donovan oddly, an unreadable expression on her features. Dominic studied them for a moment, caught his brother's glance with a look that meant "watch your girl," and then with a tiny smirk to himself he began.

"I know that Donovan's told you about the Creche, Dante. We've been raised together since birth, and the Creche has trained us since birth. That goes hand in hand. We were raised to become bodyguards, assassins, whatever they chose for us. So you see..." he tilted his head to smile reassuringly at her, a grin that never reached his eyes. "If we do anything, it's fight together. You needn't worry. Nathan has had unarmed combat training. We have had much more. We won't lose."

Whether she liked it or not, she was going to have to trust them.

Dante had very little faith left in them anymore.

He was right, that Nathan wasn't invincible. That didn't matter. Schemes and plans and plots always went awry. One had turned her against Nathan, and everything fell apart. This would be no different. Where Wick was involved, chaos followed, the same with Jor.

She watched Donovan passively through mercury-shielded eyes, features a mask. She had nothing to say that hadn't already been said, nothing she could do to stop their intentions. They wanted to kill Nathan. And Dante didn't want anybody killed.

From the look in Donovan's eyes, he wouldn't understand.

He held her for a long time that way, until the ice began to dissolve. He turned her face to his but didn't kiss her, just rested his eyes on her own, indigo to her silver violet, the shards of ice melting slowly.

I don't want this, her eyes told him.

Let me protect you, his own responded.

She crawled into his lap, rested her back against his torso, leaning on him as her head cradled into the space between his neck and shoulder. Nestled like this they sat for a long moment, his arms moving to encircle her waist as she dug her hand into her pocket and withdrew her amulet. The chain tangled in her fingers as she held it up for him to see, tiny golden star reflecting the light, and she waited until her thoughts solidified and the ice in her veins gave her the strength to tell him just what she felt.

"My mother gave me this, before I left for Battle School. I guess it used to belong to her mother, passed down. But she gave it to me for protection, an amulet to keep me safe she said. I had to sneak it up there, because they didn't allow jewelry or anything from home, which made it all the more precious that I could keep it." It took another moment to regain her calm, and then she continued, not quite as confident as memories of home returned. "I always wore it, until I met someone I thought I could love. Then I gave it to him to wear, you know, as a charm for him. We ended up getting into a fight, and Jorry, he... well, I ended up taking it back. A year later, Nathan came, and he too wore it. We both know what... happened, and here I am, holding it again."

"It was supposed to protect me, Donovan, like a guard against pain. But it didn't, and you see, even charms that worked before don't always work now. You think you and your brother can protect me, but I know better. Something will happen, and that it why I don't want you to fight Nathan. I don't know what, I can't know... but I just... have a feeling, I guess. It always happens, and someone always gets hurt."

Her last few words stole his jealousy away, though. She was afraid for his safety, and Donovan felt strangely ashamed. He wasn't sure why he should; she was the reason he was going to place himself in danger, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was going to cause her pain, and that caused him pain.

There was nothing he could do about that. Nathan intended her harm, Nathan could not be arrested, and Nathan could not be reasoned with. Nathan had to die.

There was sadness in his face, but no regret, and he held her a moment longer and then nodded in acknowledgement before releasing her. He needed to catch up with his brother so they could discuss the specifics.

"Okay," he replied, softly. He hesitated there, wavering. Part of him wanted to turn and run. Part of him wanted to kiss Sol and apologize. And part of him wanted to say goodbye, for he would surely meet his end, with this guilt inside him, eating away at him, distracting him from his mission.

"I'll be back as soon as humanly possible," Gabe said, completely honest. Then he held her eyes for another moment, just one moment longer, before turning and striding off.

Gabe moved down the corridor, desk gripped tightly in his hand, eyes intent. He felt rotten. He felt unclean. He had never, in the eight years he'd known her, lied to Sol. Others he could lie to easily; with others, words were weapons for Gabe to use against them. But not with Sol. With Sol he always told the truth.

Until today.

I had to. I had to lie to her, it's the only way. I need to keep Sol safe. Even if it means I can never look her in the eye again, even if it means I don't deserve her anymore, I have to keep her safe.

He wondered, dimly, if this was how Sol felt when she turned them in to the police back in Juneau.

He forced himself to sweep all these thoughts aside. Now was not the time to be thinking about any of this. What was done was done, and even though Gabe felt horrible for lying to Sol, he knew he wouldn't take it back, even if he could. What he needed to concentrate on now was how he was going to take Kat out.

Last time he'd set up a trap for her, and she'd walked right into it. If only Jax had not intervened, Kat would be dead now, and Gabe would not have been forced to lie to Sol. Gabe doubted, however, that a trap would work this time. She would be expecting it. So Gabe would attempt a more straightforward approach.

He ran through the map of the school in his memory, and selected a site he thought might do. He altered his course, and found his way there.

Storage Bay, the door said.

Gabe entered. Open space, secluded; it looked perfect. Gabe sat down in the back corner, facing the door, and turned on his desk. He entered in a quick message.

Kat--
I know you're here, and I know what you want.
Meet me in the Storage Bay and you'll have
your fight. Just you and me -- this time
we leave allies out of this. Be quick.
--Gabe

He hit send, and then shut down his desk and set it aside. His head leaned backward, to rest on the wall behind him, and his breathing slowed. He was afraid. He would not lie to himself and pretend he was not. He'd be a fool not to fear. He'd challenged a certifiable psychopath to an honor duel, and was actually going to go through with it without so much as acquiring a weapon first. She was definitely insane, and probably quite angry with him, and with Sol also. If she knocked him down, or worse, knocked him out, then death was assured, for she would not hesitate to kill a defenseless foe. And
if that happened, Sol would be on her own. And more than that, Gabe feared because he was alone. When Sol was with him, Gabe could face anything; he could be strong for her, and she for him, and neither had to fear. But he'd tricked Sol into staying behind; he'd lied to her, and now he had to face danger on his own. And he was afraid.

For a moment Gabe had a doubt. If he failed, Kat would be after Sol, and she'd have to fight Kat alone. It wasn't too late. Gabe could send Sol a message too.

But no. Gabe did not want Sol to be a part of this. If he lost, then Sol would be on her own, yes; but that was all the more reason not to lose. Gabe would not lose. He could not. He had too much to live for.

Hunter Gabriel was standing inside. Alone. Centered in the empty bay. And trying his best to look ready.

Fool, her mind sneered at him. You have had all of an hour or less to plan. You might have grown taller, stronger, more agile. But you have not faced what I have faced. More times than I can count, I have faced death and survived. You will die here today, my dear friend, for sending me to hell. I have returned, your own devil. An hour to prepared is nothing compared to what I have had to dream of your death. Eight years of thoughts of bloody retribution. I am your reaper, Hunter Gabriel...

"Why, Gabriel. What a... surprise."

Kat smiled with disarming innocence at the boy, the door sliding shut behind her as she tilted her head and watched him carefully. He'd grown much, and there was something different about his demeanor... but deeper thoughts were lost in her lust for his death, and she giggled quietly to herself as she stalked closer, maintaining enough of a distance that he would be unable to attack without giving her enough time to react.

But my heart. My heart is stronger than you could possibly imagine. It is my heart that will defeat you, for I cannot fail. I will not fail. For Sol, I will make sure you never harm anyone ever again.

"Well?" she asked. She looked like she was enjoying this. There was a gleam in her eye, a mad glimmer as she watched him like a wild animal, her body all blinding motion frozen in place. She too had grown up. She too had hardened. But Gabe found that he was not afraid anymore.

He'd realized something. Before, he'd known fear, because he'd thought he was facing Kat alone. He now realized he was not. For though his body was strong and his mind was quick, neither of these were a match for Kat's burning hatred without something more. But Gabe's heart -- his love for Sol, his will to live, to return to her safely -- that was what would win this for him, if he did win. And that he had because of Sol. She was with him, even here. She had his back.

Kat shifted her center of gravity, and crouched lower. Slowly, she began to circle, her eyes still gleaming with that disturbing glint. Gabe's head moved to follow her, but the rest of his body remained still, even when she passed behind him. For eight years he'd practiced defensive fighting -- she could attack him from any angle, and he'd be confident of his ability to respond.

As she circled about back into his field of vision, on his back/right side, she spoke. "So where's your Solbaby, Gabe? She's not gonna come play too?"

Gabe closed his eyes, only briefly, and then reopened them. He opened his mouth to respond, and in that moment, he dashed toward her. His weight shifted in preparation for a kick, and she saw this, raising her arms to block. She blocked him, and darted forward as well, her right arm swinging toward his head. Gabe's left arm shot up, to block, and his right elbow came
up as well, and caught her under the chin. Her head rocked back, but after that it looked like she'd not even felt it. The gleam in her eyes just got crazier.

She dropped, and her leg swept out and took him off his feet. Even as he fell, she rose back up, and then grinned happily as she swung her leg backward in preparation for a soccer kick. Gabe pulled his knees up to his chest, and then launched his feet out toward her. She was able to move back, but just barely, and Gabe's momentum brought him to a crouched position. He
rose with his fist leading him, and his uppercut landed on her jaw.

Again her head rocked back, and again, she didn't seem to notice. She grabbed his shoulders, and head-butted him savagely, her canines visible as she grinned like a child with a new toy. Gabe stumbled back, and she aimed a kick at his chest, but Gabe pivoted on his heel and grabbed her leg, pulling hard. She lost her footing, but even as she fell she managed to kick out with the foot he was holding, and catch him on the cheek.

All cats like to play with their meals before the kill...

He managed to snatch her ankle as she lashed out in a kick, tugging on her leg enough to throw her off balance. With a mighty shove with her other leg, she swung her other foot out, catching him on the cheek and tumbling to the ground. He stumbled back a few steps, and she was up onto her feet in a flash, purring voice taunting. "You've gotten better, sweetheart... c'mon now, though. Stop fighting like Sol."

The expression on his face never changed, but she detected an almost unnoticeable flash in his eyes as he moved to the side just in time to avoid her attack. Kat tripped as he kicked her knee, rolling in a tumble only to turn around and pounce once more, movements fluid and dancing, her eyes shining happily with malicious delight.

This time her kick did connect, but so did his punch, and she hopped back, rubbing her chin ruefully as he shook his head to clear himself again. That one had dazed him, enough that she was able to step in and place a solid blow to his abdomen, then swung her fist wildly against his temple until he staggered to the side.

But she didn't anticipate such a quick recovery, and was caught off-guard as he launched himself at her. Kat snarled and fell back as his shoulder slammed into her stomach, the breath knocked from her lungs as they toppled over together with a loud thump against the concrete floor. She struggled beneath him, but he punched her solidly in the ribs, warranting a loud hiss of pain that tore itself from her throat.

The knife... kill him now...

Her hand inched toward the hidden sheath on her leg as he looked down at her, the same mask on his features as he had worn in her nightmare, when he'd stared down into her grave as he buried her alive. That thought spurned her on, serpentine eyes gleaming with mad bloodlust as she smirked up at him... but further actions and thoughts were shattered at the sound of the storage bay door sliding open. They both paused, Gabe even foolishly turning his head to see who had entered.

Kat wasted no such effort. With a giggle, the dagger was out of her knife sheath, and she twisted under his hold and sunk the blade into his upper right ribcage, beneath the shoulderblade. Blood instantly began to soak his uniform as he took a sharp intake of air, and she smiled wider as her little hands gripped the hilt tightly and twisted in his flesh.

Gabriel. My love. No...

Any guilt Sol might possibly have harbored about injuring the men in the library evaporated and took her little cache of emotion with it as the wrath burned away whatever might have separated her from Gabe as he was when she'd first met him, ice from skin to soul.

The rest of his brain has other worries.

The stab was bad; he thought he could feel every single muscle fiber break as the blade slipped between his ribs and sank further and further into his chest. And then he felt her give the blade a twist, and all rational thought left him. He’d never felt pain like this before. He’d broken bones and suffered mild hypothermia before, and both of those were bad, but they were very different kinds of pain. He didn’t have enough presence of thought to determine if this pain was necessarily worse; that kind of objective comparison was way beyond him. All he knew was that this hurt. Bad.

Then something happened; something rather strange. It was like his mind pulled back, pulled out, pulled away from this pain, from his body, retreated into some reserve bunker where it could be by itself. He could still feel the pain, of course; quite vividly, in fact. But it was like conscious thought and pain sensation were taking place at two separate levels, and that both were arriving with quite absurd clarity.

Only once before had he ever really thought he was going to die. Ironically, that had been at Kat’s hands also. That was almost funny, in a way. Almost.

Last time, as he’d been lying beaten and bloody on the tile floor of the launchy bathroom, he’d practically welcomed death. He’d been waiting for it – waiting for death to realize that he was supposed to have died in that crash, that it had made a mistake. It was like his life between the crash and that moment of death had been all borrowed time.

He had not died, however. He had survived, because Rebecca Solenis – his ally, he thought, with a mental glare at himself – had come to his rescue. After that his life had belonged to her. Whether he’d realized it or not, from the moment he woke up in the Infirmary and sensed her near him, his future was decided.

Now he lay dying again. Again Sol was here, but he doubted she could save him this time. Kat was insane. Sol could take on any sane student just fine – Gabe knew firsthand the skill she had in combat. But Kat would not stay down, would not stay beaten. She was too crazy to notice pain. How could anyone fight that?

This time, though, Gabe would not welcome death. This time death was his enemy. This time death was a thief. It had come to steal his time away from him. It had come to steal his future. Gabe raged against it, against the sneaking tendrils of unconsciousness, against the creeping blackness. He wasn’t ready to die. Not yet. There was still much to do.

There was still much to say.

It was a losing battle, though. Consciousness was quickly fleeing him; the darkness would not be denied. In the last moments before falling into the abyss of unconsciousness, his thoughts were of himself and Sol that morning, in her bed. She’d told him she loved him.

But not all. There was still Sol to kill.

Her eyes snapped open suddenly, shining with an insane emerald-gold gleam as she pushed Gabe from her and yanked the dagger from his chest. It dripped crimson to the floor in soft pitterpatters like rain, and she breathed in the metallic scent, her lips drawing back into a mad grin as she tilted her head to smile at Sol.

She felt no pain, not really, although a dim part of her mind registered the throbbing in her sprained ankle, the bruises on her face, and everywhere the marks of Ryan and Mode's attentions. Kat shook out her shoulders, pupils slitting dangerously and canines bared in a snarl as she threw herself at Sol.

The girl had improved, she gave her that much. In her injured state, Kat should have known better, should have waited for Sol to attack her. Being on the defensive, especially when armed, was always easier than playing the offense. But bloodlust brooks no argument, and her conscious thought shrank away until there was only here, now. The dagger in her grip. Gabe's blood on her hands. The taste of her own blood against her tongue. And Sol's blank, wrathful eyes as she stared at the girl who had sent her to hell.

I should thank you, Rebecca. I would have had to wait all those years through Battle School to finally enact my revenge. You sent me away-- and gave me Jax's life. He wore your scar across his cheek, and every time I saw it, I thought of you. He never would have hurt you if I hadn't made him, and that tore me inside, to know he treasured your safety over mine. Join him, Solenis. Join him now.

Kat lashed out with her blade, drawing a thin, stinging line across Sol's abdomen. The girl hardly seemed to notice, swinging her fist against Kat's face, and she backstepped with the force of the blow. Sol hardly gave her time to react, on her again as she kicked out, causing her to buckle to her knees before her enemy. No. I will not lose.

With a growl, Kat spun on the ground, knocking Sol's feet out from under her. About to pounce, she was knocked back again as her opponent kicked out with both feet, catching her squarely in the chest. She hissed, the air pushed from her lungs, but backflipped to her feet once more.

Still no pain. Just hate.

Eyes gleaming madly, Kat giggled and threw herself at Sol once more, feinting to the side and landing a sharp punch to the girl's ribcage. But Sol brought both her fists down onto her back, and Kat sank to all fours, grinning up at Sol with a trickle of blood leaking from the corner of her mouth. She brought her hand up, dagger still clenched tightly in her fingers... and her eyes widened as Sol kicked the blade from her hand.

He was in time to see the boy and Kat trade blows, each stepping back in pain, but Kat recovered first. The fight continued. The boy was good, but Kat wasn't fazed by the damage he inflicted. Mode frowned. That wasn't ideal. The boy knocked her to the ground, and he rolled from sitting to a crouch, preparing to enter the fight.

The door opened, and the boy was distracted, and a giggling Kat shoved her dagger into the boy's chest. A little frown appeared on Mode's face. Careless, that. Bladed weapons were strictly illegal for students to possess. Fist fights, even of the lethal variety, could be described and explained as self defense. When two people and one knife came together, however, it was always the one who held the knife who took the blame.

Her technique was impressive. He wondered how much practice she'd had at it, and his smile widened a little. She twisted the knife in the boy's chest, and it wasn't until the sound of the door closing drew his attention that he was able to look away.

A girl stood there, staring at Kat with something reminiscent of the silver-eyed stranger that shared his head. His smile disappeared. The girl was only a little taller than Kat, her muscles less defined, but that look in her eyes made him uncomfortable. He considered jumping in now, but decided against it. Katera had surprised him before...and besides, she had a knife.

The battle with the dark-haired girl was faster-paced than the one with the boy had been, and Mode watched with interest. Her hair was loose and straight. She really should have that bound back, he thought, and that prompted another grin. A seasoned fighter would know better. Kat's going to take her apart.

Kat cut her across the stomach, and he made a good-natured wince. Nothing more than a cosmetic hindrance, but enough to leave a thin line of blood on her cut uniform. It wouldn't be long before that bloody dagger buried itself again.

The wound went unnoticed, and the girl pressed her attack, and Mode suddenly saw how worn Kat really was. Her blows were just as enthusiastic, but they were getting less and less well-aimed. Her opponent had been doing more damage than he'd thought. His brow was just beginning to furrow when the girl kicked Kat's knife out of her grasp and knocked her to the floor. Kat grinned up at her, and the dark-haired girl grabbed her head by the hair and kneed her in the chin before slamming her cheek with a balled fist. Kat fell to the floor again, and sound floated to his hiding space as he looked on in surprise.

Kat was giggling.

Well, that was unexpected...but he'd seen enough. Asmodeus didn't hesitate.

He darted in and caught the other girl by her hair as she prepared to kick Kat in the head, yanking her back away from Kat and spinning her into one of the crates nearby hard enough to bruise her shoulder and knock her over. While she was stumbling,he turned and shoved a bleeding Kat out into the hallway with enough force to put her on the floor. Kitten had bitten off a tad more than she could chew.

It was time to regroup.

A tiny sound behind him made him whirl, duck under a high kick aimed at the back of his head. The girl had recovered faster than he had expected. She was quick, too, and landed a hit on his chest before he blocked twice and dragged her closer with one hand as he hit her across the face with the other, stunning her. Amused by the dazed fury in her eyes, he pulled her to him and bit her neck as he squeezed the back of her thigh.

She hit him hard in the ear with a tight fist and he threw her away from him, hissing in pain. He wasn't used to being caught offguard, and part of him wanted to pursue the matter, but Kat was already struggling to her feet and limping back into the fray, so he turned and swept her off her feet, carrying her away as the door to the Storage Bay closed behind them and trotting back towards the barracks. She continued to struggle, but he ignored the little scratches and bruises she was giving him and entering the first empty Quad they came upon and throwing her down in the hallway. The rooms were all locked, of course, but this was better than nothing, and they couldn't go back to their own barracks until she calmed down.

Blood seeped...?

She touched his slack lips and was rewarded with a hint of breath.

He lived, but barely, and not for much longer if she didn't get him to the nfirmary. She quickly unzipped his jacket, exposing the reddened undershirt below. The wound was ugly, and he was bleeding badly. She couldn't get his undershirt off without hurting him worse.

Stripping off her own jacket, she removed her undershirt, folded it tight and slid it under his, covering the wound and placing pressure on it. She was rewarded with more blood, and it was rapidly soaking through her makeshift bandage as she zipped his jacket up again tightly. She donned her own then, zipped it up and surveyed the room for prospects.

After she and Gabe had become companions at BattleSchool, Sol had practically given up on expecting good deeds from uninvolved parties. Why did she suddenly expect them now? These two were already going out of their way to help her out. She had no right to be angry.

She put this aside with her pride to be examined later, along with a host of other things fate seemed determined not to let her work out at leisure, and moved towards the stack of crates she remembered the dagger sliding under.

The fight had been intense. She didn't immediately remember where it was, but a few moments of fishing and her hand closed on the handle and she drew it out.

She spent a moment staring at it. The blade was encrusted with dried blood. Her blood, Gabe's blood. She controlled a shiver and stood up, preparing to turn, when the hard sound of boots behind her made her jump. Painfully strong arms wrapped around her, pinning her own to her sides, and merciless fingers dug into the inside of her wrist, and she cried out and dropped the dagger as she felt a breathy chuckle on her neck. The hand released her wrist and caught the dagger deftly as it fell, and she wrenched free to elbow him in the nose and almost hit Dominic instead as Mode vaulted up and over her head to land on one of the higher crates, out of immediate reach, and turned to look at them.

It wasn't Jax, she could tell now. No scar, and his eyes were hard slate, not charcoal black...and the vicious leer he had on her changed for a knowing smirk as he studied Dominic behind her. "Got something for the dark-haired girls, Dommy?"

No, goddamnit, I had it, I can't lose it this easily...

This was a game, a scheme, no longer.

He snarled, enraged, Donovan moving beside him as they stared up at the other man. Twin portraits of hate, of rage, or burning bloodlust to destroy that which had threatened them. Beating his brother, his kin, had been Mode's death warrant. Mocking Rox, his love, merely ensured that his death was going to be as painful as Dominic could possibly make it.

Torture suddenly sounded like the happiest word he'd ever heard.

"You motherfucker! You stay the fuck away from Roxy, little Charybdis green, or by God I'll fuck Kat before your very eyes before I kill you! You're going to die for that, Mode, you and your little bitch!" Dominic grabbed Sol and shoved her roughly behind him and Donovan, ignoring her hiss as she hit the floor and rolled. He didn't care that Mode held a dagger. He didn't care to think that he wouldn't win. He would. He would kill Mode for all he'd done.

He had known there was a possibility he'd see the girl here, but the twins were an unexpected pleasure. He could have just taken the dagger and bolted...but he just couldn't resist needling Dominic. His encounter with Roxy still had a bitter edge, and it felt good to see someone else cut with it instead.

When Dominic started screaming at him and shoved the girl behind him hard enough to knock her to the floor, he just grinned at him with an incredibly amused expression of mock surprise on his face.

"Oh yes. Just like Kat always purrs..." he made a low purring noise in the back of his throat, smiling broadly at Mode. "Those claws are sharp, but I'm sure you have scratches on your own back. Sure feels good, eh, Mode? She sure is a kitten, alright."

Donovan was still fuming, and Dominic could sense the waves of rage coming from his twin. Whatever. Mode hadn't taken Dante, not like he'd taken Rox. He just continued to eye Mode coldly, the grin on his face never come close to the swirling midnight madness in his eyes. You'd better come through for me, Wick, and burn this bastard to ashes...

"If you'd tried it, boyo, you'd have more than scratches on your back," he said, his smile and his tone gaining an angry tinge. His gaze turned back to Donovan, ready to launch another barb when a sudden double blow to the back of his head made his vision black at the edges, and he turned around in time to block Sol's third booted kick as he tried to shake his head clear.

The little bitch snuck around and climbed the crates...

A little slow on the uptake, are we?

Alright, cherub. You deal with it.

Silver eyes blinked as his mind clarified, and he blocked the blows as she rained them upon him, but did not counterattack. She was moving back and forth in a repetitive pattern, and it took him only moments to realize her intent. She was driving him, attempting to force him off the crates and into the eager arms of the twins below, but she was wary of the dagger, though he had not yet used it.

He had no quarrel with this girl, but he had a mission to complete, and she was in his way. The next time she punched him, he grabbed her arm and propelled her towards the edge. One of the twins would catch her, he was certain, and he turned to bolt towards the secondary exit while they were thus distracted, a little remorse tugging at him. What if they didn't...?

Sol?

His eyes shot back up to where she stood sparring with Mode, rapid blows coming faster as he merely blocked her, not attacking. That was even more bewildering, and Dominic took a tentative step closer, eyes widening as Mode flipped Sol to the edge and she lost her balance, falling, falling...

"Shit!" He dashed forward, barely managing to catch her in time as she hit him hard, his curse turning into a gasp at the impact. Donovan was instantly behind him, hands on his back to steady him as he stumbled, Sol panting with shock and anger as he stared down at her, surprised. "Mode..."

In unison their heads tilted to the side, all three pairs of eyes focusing as Mode took a while leap from the stack of crates and bolted for the door. Dominic dropped Sol from his arms and took off, Donovan right behind him as their boots pounded on the concrete floor. But the other man had a head start, and he slipped through the portal and slammed the door off of its track before they could follow. "Goddamnit!" Donovan pounded on the door, cursing. No such luck. By the time they made it to the other door, Mode would be long gone, probably already locked in his cell with Kat.

They'd lost this round.

With a synchronized curse and shared angry glance, they both turned and trudged back toward Sol. She was rubbing her head ruefully... Dom really hadn't given consideration when he'd caught her, had just dropped her in favor of chasing Mode. The look she shot him, however, didn't quite reach past his rage, and it was with a frown that he extended a hand and hauled her to her feet.

"What did I tell you before about fucking with him, Sol? You keep pulling stunts like that and Don and I will be visiting both of you in the infirmary." Still that same defiant glare, a little less cold this time. Donovan shot him a quiet glance that he ignored. Those taunts about Roxy... damn, he could still feel the sting, and whatever remnants of civility he'd held in his demeanor this morning had quickly faded.