Mad Agent Phoenix

For the second time, she stepped out of the lift- this time, Phoenix stepped out after her, and the elevator’s glass doors slid closed behind him. “You have too much faith, dear.” She didn’t need to be told that twice.

That was her fatal complex after all; she was too faithful, too eager to believe. Too convinced in the absolutes of the world- that there was always a way to win a battle or fix a mistake. That redemption was within grasp if you believed in it, that you could do the impossible if you just wanted it enough. She was someone poisoned by her crippling inability to ever lose faith; she was the one who would much, much rather die, trying to push an immovable Sarcophagus off of an overun enemy ship, than to lose faith, than to allow any acceptance of defeat. 

A short walk down the hall and they had reached her door. Again they had walked in silence; as Providence took out her key, she wondered if this was what it would be like, from now on. Mutual silence? Passing by each other on the Equinox with a vague air of confusion, unease and discomfort, civil and distant. Because how could it go back to how it was before? And yet, it was equally as hard to imagine, how could it not? Just because she could sympathize all too well with him now, didn’t mean that Phoenix didn’t grate on her every last nerve. Just because she saw her own flaws mirrored in him, didn’t mean that she didn’t hate them almost as much as she did her own.

She unlocked the door but paused with her hand on the handle; she reckoned she should at least break the silence somehow, say a polite goodnight. As if “polite” was something she normally associated with her interactiongs with Phoenix.

But after she turned around to face him, she didn’t say anything. Her lips parted slightly but no sound came out. For a heartbeat of a second, she was caught dead in the silence just as he seemed to be, and then the next second, she felt hands on her shoulders pulling her close as his lips collided against hers.

She tensed, mostly in surprise, mostly because that was her instinct. But with the force that he pressed her to him, she didn’t push away. Her body responded instinctively to his without waiting for her mind’s opinion on the subject. In fact, for a few moments, her mind was empty of all her cluttered, constant thinking; her senses were only preoccupied with the smell of whiskey and cigarettes and faint musk.

When their lips broke apart and Phoenix pulled away, their faces seperated by mere inches, a small and shaky exhale escaped her. She could practically feel the adrenaline coursing with her blood; the alcohol only amplified it, this feeling of ignited electricity buzzing under her skin. And her thoughts, they came flooding back with a new intensity and chaos. Her analytical mind was working at full-tilt, frenzied speed, throwing a million different warnings and alarm bells and panicked notions into her brain. All her reasonable doubts and sensible skepticisms resounded like ominous echoes, while question after question richocheted through her mind like rapid-fire bullets. All the little voices were telling her to assess the sitaution, to figure it out, to think about what was happening, what it meant, to think, think, think.

 Well, the Elite would have to be highly attractive and possessing of an exquisite figure, of course, but that was beside the point. Because he was here and this was now, and now happened to be when suddenly Providence's lips touched against his for the second time, but this was different. It wasn't a hesitant brush, like the first, but one that was intent and warm as they pushed the door open into the privacy of Providence's room. Fingers tangled in her mass of red hair, Phoenix nudged the door closed with his foot, wondering briefly if this was real. It wasn't as if it hadn't happened in dreams before, after all. 

 It was certainly a surprise; it wasn't as if he'd not always found the other Freelancer attractive, because that sure as hell wasn't true, but rather they'd always hated each other. No, hate wasn't the right way to describe it. That made it sound like they had some hot, hate-filled sexy relationship, and God knew that wasn't right either, despite what amount of entertainment it might bring to consider that. Yet it was undeniable that there had always been a sort of inexplicable tension between them, most likely from the constant and mutual loathing. Such as when he'd put her in that lock while she was training, just go get a reaction - and then a few seconds later he'd ended up with arms twisted high behind him and her bent over him, knee planted firmly in the center of his back.

 That had been a shitty lock, and - to himself, he'd admit it, he supposed - he'd wanted to see what would happen. He'd wanted to be close to someone, and at that point was on friendly speaking terms with no one on the ship. He'd still been on Gamma for kicking Austin's ass, and he and Juneau were having their usual... disagreements. Pissing fights. Frustrated shouting matches. With both of his friends gone, he and Prov had still been on that same level. They were still enemies. He could always count on her for that.

 Wincing at the thought of June, he quickly drove himself back into his half-drunken, foggy haze, pulling away from Providence slightly to smirk and mumble, "Well, dear, it seems like hell is finally freezing over." His hands slid under her shirt, slipping along her hips and trailing upwards. Actually, he wasn't sure what exactly was even fucking happening, which was unusual, seeing as he usually put himself in positions with people where he made them look like idiots. This, of course, was a bit more than a little different.

She gave their hands a little swing as they walked at a nice pace. The silence that settled over was anything but awkward. Instead it was serene, birds could be heard chirping in the distance and the sun shone brightly. June closed her eyes for a moment and tilted her chin back letting the warm rays touch her skin. “Lovely isn’t it?” She smiled “When you’re away for so long its easy to forget the small things” 

As they passed a small fruit stand a man held a tray filled with an assortments of exotic fruits, some of which she recognized. June smiled and plucked two pieces of pineapple off the tray before thanking the man. She popped one into her mouth and offered the other to Phoenix “It’s good I promise” She held it up to his lips until he opened. When he took it she giggled “I wish we could keep fresh fruit on the ship but I suppose it would go bad after only a few days.” June said with a sigh before breaking into a smile as they came upon her small little destination. 

 He glanced down at their entwined fingers, still in a sort of surprised disbelief that they were holding hands. Couples held hands. Normal people who were dating held hands. They weren't normal, and they certainly weren't dating. Freelancers didn't date. 

 Yet then why were they doing this?

 A very fucking valid question.

 "Imagine that we’re not here on vacation, we live here and work too. Just normal civvies with a dog perhaps and a large house that overlooks the ocean. The only war we ever hear of is on the telly and right now we’re going on a long walk and discussing mundane things but it’s okay because I like hearing the sound of your voice."

 The petite, dark-haired Freelancer's voice was crystalline as she said this, and matter-of-fact, as if they were discussing some legitimate reality. Even odder was that when she spoke of the civilian lifestyle, of just settling down, with little action and even lesser danger to ever excite them, it appealed to him for the first time. He unconsciously found himself imagining their spacious home, furnished richly with Juneau's fine taste and a nice large television and an even more pleasant sunroom, where they could lounge in each others' embrace and talk about life and little things that didn't matter -

 Goddammit, Phoenix. Shut the fuck up and stop being such a pussy, for God's sake.

 Unable to resist a smile as June swung their hands, Phoenix raised his brows dubiously despite his wide grin. "My, my, we've put some thought into it, have we?" After a moment's consideration he opened his mouth to let her pop the pineapple into it, savoring the exotic flavor. Was this actual fun? Just walking around, not really doing anything in particular? He didn't know and wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

 But he was still thinking of that idyllic picture she'd painted, and after a few more seconds of silence finally responded. "No, we wouldn't hear about the war at all. I'd make damn sure of that. If we were going to live here, it would just be us and no one else and their stupid fucking war to ruin it." Extricating is grasp from hers, he settled a brawny arm about her shoulders, pulling her close into him without a thought. "The dog would be named Mo," he added. "We'd adopt it from somewhere and he'd be an ugly-ass mutt, but a good one."

 They stopped at the edge of a sprawling field, the beach laid out to the sides. The wind tore past them, tugging at their clothes and blowing Juneau's long silky hair across her face in a way that made him wanted to reach out and brush it out of her brilliant blue eyes. Despite himself, he laughed as she twirled. "Come on." He rushed forward, wrapping her arms around her waist and spinning her around once more with dizzying swiftness. "You didn't import any kangaroos then, hm? Well, I'm disappointed, dear."

However, in this particular instance, Madison was quite literally running from the law - precious cargo in the backpack bouncing and bobbing on her back as she skirted around the back alleys and rooftops of the rather more distasteful side of Meridian. 

With a pained exhale she landed awkwardly on her stomach on the building edge and scrambled ungainly to push herself up from her current hanging position to standing on the roof. She’d lost her pursuers a few streets back and was a little worse for wear - covered in dust and gunk, and sweating like a junkie going through withdrawals. She reminded herself inwardly to work on her endurance. 

“Alright, I’ve got a good haul here. Don’t eat it all at once.” At her words a motley crew of street urchins and orphans alike bounced out of the shadows. Somehow they persuaded her to share an apple and a fruitcake with them as they told her the few and far between happy stories of their times together. They called themselves the Lost Boys (she bit her tongue on the fact there was a 2:1 girl:boy ratio going on). 

It took Madison the journey back to the hotel, the quick shower and the mosey over to the Beta meeting to figure out that Lost Boys was not a reference to Peter Pan - Madison was willing to bet none of them could read, let alone obtain the novel - but a literal reference to their shared tragedies. And though they weren’t on the streets or in Neverland, Madison couldn’t help but see Beta as their own special version of the Lost Boys.

A good load of them had experienced loss, and the rest had just straight up lost their minds. They were a bunch of fucking losers and they had to finally accept that they were in this together. Oh jeez, she sounded like a cheerleader. In few minutes she was going to do a round off into the splits, shaking her pom-poms. 

 Shit.

 Fucking Beta and their fucking incessant urge to have team counselling sessions every other day or so. Not that they didn't need counselling, of course, because they sure as hell did, but they were without a doubt the most generally dysfunctional and downright weird out of all the Freelancer teams. More forced interactions wouldn't fucking help, but would anyone listen to Phoenix? No, because just since he'd killed a handful of people and happened to be an asshole meant that his opinion was completely void. Well, it made sense, but that didn't mean it didn't fucking piss him off nonetheless.

 As was the case with most things he dealt with.

 At least when he was leader, he'd gotten to act like a dipshit without anyone chewing him out too harshly - now Asstin Fuckface had replaced him, and he himself was once again just another lowly cog in the idiot machine. The upside, though, was that now he didn't even need to try to pretend that he gave a damn about the others and their welfare. It was really quite a relief. Pretending had been a difficult feat, albeit one he was bloody terrible at anyway.

 Phoenix left his bar of choice ten minutes or so after the set meeting time had came and gone; he didn't want it to look like he actually cared, of course, and he was only a minuscule walk away from the hotel anyway. The hotel with that fancy-ass name - what was it even fucking called, anyway? Ad Space? Aspirin? It started with an a, he knew that.

 Coincidentally, he'd also happened to retain his grasp on his whiskey-filled glass when he left the establishment. Nobody on this dumbass planet enforced anything anyway, and if this meeting went as fantastically as the Beta debriefs usually did, then he would sure need the alcohol soon enough. Perhaps he'd even share some with Tara. Or Austin. Or June.

 His step faltered slightly as he came to that realization. Juneau would be there, wouldn't she? They'd gone down to the beach the day previous, and he couldn't help but allow the small, pleased smile onto his face as he swaggered into the designated area. Austin's array of dark curls was already within view, and Phoenix subconsciously straightened his long-sleeved plaid shirt as he came within most of Beta's sight; it was admittedly strange to see them all in civilian's clothes, and he had no doubt they would feel the same about him. June had handpicked this shirt for him, after all, and he supposed he hadn't actually realized he'd be wearing it to the meeting. Damn, he didn't want to look so neat. Maybe he should go back and change into a hoodie or something.

 Glass still in hand, Phoenix slid into the booth beside Juneau, smiling slightly. "You better be happy, darling. I'm wearing the shirt." Taking a deep sip of his whiskey, he then nodded at the rest of Beta, offering them a wide grin. "My, my, don't you all look lovely. As shit, that is. I'd hate to give you any compliments, hm?" Winking at Tara, he then shifted his gaze to the German Beta. "Denver love, it appears that your AI is miss-"

 Acadia.

 He'd just fucked up, hadn't he? Because, right, she was dead. Along with Gem. Goddammit.

But the tone of their exchange seemed to continuously fluctuate. The note of amusement would be struck in one remark, and Providence would feel as if drinking and forgetting was easy, as if maybe there was still humor left if you just didn’t think about the things that made the world so un-funny. If you made dry comments but skirted around the topics that lurked underneath. If you forgot who you were talking to and were just grateful to have someone to talk to at all.

But then, just as quickly, their talking took sharp left turns back into very sobering reality. And maybe- maybe because she knew that they were both masochists, in their own separate ways but undeniably their own torturers- it seemed as if the conversation was drawn to these pitfalls every time it strayed away to a small smile, or a nonchalant laugh. When she mentioned her family, his expression grew dark. He seemed to be assessing something internally.

“I didn’t used to be a selfish son of a bitch, though. Hell, I was a good person like you-” her mind hitched on those words in slight surprise, the way he said she was ‘good’ like it was just a plain fact- “One of those funny dipshits that the other recruits liked, right? I was one of those for the first half-year as a cadet.. Then this jackass who took point during a sim gave me an absolute bullshit order - but I followed it. Because that’s what I was taught. It got my entire squad shot down in thirty seconds. Everyone was pissed, you know, I was pissed, then next time I disregarded orders and everyone just got more pissed, and I wanted to prove that I could fucking do it. But I couldn’t.”

Providence was good at reading people; pinpointing Phoenix’s whole persona from the first day she had met him had not seemed that much of a challenge. He was the kind of person that always wanted to go against the grain; he wanted to fray nerves and provoke aggravation and prove people wrong whenever possible. Really, she hadn’t been far-off the mark with that initial observation. She just hadn’t realized that it was because he had given up on trying to prove people wrong about himself, and decided to just prove them right. Fucking up, again and again, would meet the low expectations that were already in place.

“Do you know how it feels to be liked? It’s pretty fucking nice, isn’t it?”

His smile was bitter now, curved up at the edges like singed paper curling in on itself. “I wouldn’t know,” she replied simply with a shrug, leaning back slightly as she took another sip of her drink.

"And from the perspective of the person on the other side of the bullet, let me just tell you: it sucks. Nothing’s worse. Nothing’s more shitty than getting hurt by someone you’re supposed to trust with your life.” “Yeah, well, it can be pretty shitty to be the person doing the hurting, too.” 

The one doing the hurting- the bull in a china shop, always breaking, always ruining, always causing more damage to yourself than the world would ever dare to inflict.

Here was the thing about the truth: it was always sobering, no matter how many drinks you had. And it was bitter, more bitter than any alcohol you could find; it was all Providence could taste in the next sip that she took, swilling the whiskey around in the nearly-empty glass. People were always saying how badly they wanted truth, but when it appeared in some dingy little bar between two people spilling their old, festering secrets just because they were desperate to talk, truth didn’t taste quite so good when it was finally served up. 

Because before, Phoenix had been someone she could easily hate. The scapegoat for all her frustrations and pent-up insecurities. Now- it was tarnished, and he was too human to her. He was too similar to herself. Truth had no concerns about the comforts it destroyed.

 ”After all, we’re all dead in the end. Even you, pretty little Providence, the hero. The good person.” 

There it was again; the conviction, the resignation. The separation of good and bad drawn like a line in the sand, on which they stood on opposite sides of. Phoenix slapped own some bills on the bar indiscriminately, already standing up.

She looked at her empty glass for a moment longer as he walked away from the bar, thoughts blending and swirling in her head. She stood up from her bar stool, nodded to the bartender as he took her empty glass, and then turned on her heel to follow Phoenix out of the bar.

She didn’t think she was drunk because that wasn’t really a state she would’ve liked to associate herself with. But she had downed three- or was the last one the fourth?- glasses of ice and whiskey, and the world seemed simultaneously clearer and more uncertain. Under her boots, the sidewalk felt unrelenting and solid while the rest of the night wavered. She picked up her stride to catch a few steps up to Phoenix.

Was it possible to reach a limit, could you be all talked out? The walk back to the Prima Astra was almost dead silent between them, and Providence wondered if whatever momentary possession had overcome the both of them back at the bar- call it circumstance and alcohol-fueled loneliness- was now dissipated. Now she was left with a lingering and persistent feeling of denial that any of that had actually happened, that anything had changed at all. But it had changed, in some way, and now they were in this strange, quiet limbo.

The Prima Astra rose before them like a soaring, glittering tower. Everything was beautiful and big and bright in this city, especially by night. They crossed the enormous main lobby towards the glass elevators, and Providence pressed her floor, a lower number than his. It dinged in the whoosh of just a few seconds, and she stepped out.

But leaving without a word didn’t feel right. Before the door closed entirely she stopped it with the toe of her shoe and it slid open again. Providence crossed her arms tightly against her chest as she stepped back into the lift, closer to Phoenix; she felt slightly shaky, and she wasn’t sure if she should chalk it up to the alcohol. The light of the elevator was a white glow that cast everything into sharp contrast of shadows and light, black and white.

 No, civil wasn't the word. What they had just done was beyond merely civil; to have been civil would have been to slide into a seat a few away from hers, to nod in acknowledgement and exchange a few false pleasantries then retreat into their separate spheres of thought. Yet that was hardly an accurate summary of their interaction, seeing as at one point he'd even been so fucking stupid as to give away his goddamn surname. Secrecy didn't appeal to him, of course, but to tell Providence? Providence, his eternal enemy until one of them got shot to hell. He'd just delegate the blame to the whiskey.

“Do you know how it feels to be liked? It’s pretty fucking nice, isn’t it?”

 Her expression had been blank and accepting, paired with a simple shrug that conveyed more than any words might. “I wouldn’t know.”

 For God's sakes, he didn't want to sympathize, or understand, or feel any sort of connection to anyone, because that shit was complicated and he usually just fucked it all up anyway. Yet, hell, he could nearly feel some sort of grisly tether that linked himself to the woman beside him; one that was made of deep hatred and a kind of loneliness and a whole bunch of depressing bullshit that was pretty damn mundane to consider.

 The silence between them was palpable as they made their muted way down the sidewalk, barely any words exchanged. He wondered vaguely what this reflected; would she choose to ignore the strangely deep conversation and they could slide smoothly back to their wonderful relationship of hate and sarcasm, or was she - just as he was - considering what had just been said? This shit had always been to complicated - that's why he preferred to be a self-centered, egotistical bastard. You didn't waste time trying to map out what everyone else was thinking and feeling and what they might be trying to say but not really, or what was said inadvertently and wasn't really meant. Hell, now he couldn't even determine whether the silence was comfortable or not. Damn Providence and her thought-provoking ways. He'd done just fine being a thoughtless asshole.

 As a matter of fact, their conversation had been so somber, Phoenix really didn't feel that drunk. He'd had plenty of drinks, and, sure, felt that familiar buzz, but for some fucking reason, the Curse of Gamma apparently kept him from even getting plastered. It didn't seem possible, yet here he was, able to walk within the confines of a - debatably - narrow margin. If he hadn't cared, he would have been pretty damn pissed.

 The ebullient neon cast onto the sidewalk from the buildings towering above them gave to the air a sort of electricity, a current that made him feel strangely alive - but not the kind of alive that he felt whenever he blew the shit out of a large structure. This was something different, and he wasn't entirely sure what he thought of it.

 His eyes wandered up the impossibly tall structure that they were approaching. What was the thing even called? Some weird name that just made it sound all the more fucking ritzy and high-class and all that dumbass idiot stuff that he detested. But now his hate for the world was slightly dulled, most likely by the alcohol, or perhaps by something else, but, really, who the fuck even knew? He felt slightly dazed as they walked into the astonishing lobby, remaining wordless as they swiftly crossed it, even going so far as to board the elevator together. Goddamn, how could an elevator be elegant? Elevators weren't supposed to be elegant. Elevators were elevators were elevators, for the love of God, not some piece of priceless artwork.

 Phoenix crossed his arms and leaned against the cool glass as Providence punched the button of what apparently was her floor. One below his, hm?

 Interesting.

 His eyes flicked deftly to her fine-featured face as she stepped back, also folding her arms against her chest; he was slightly surprised as she stepped a bit closer to his person than need be. So she hadn't gone back to hating him already. That shouldn't make me happy. Why the hell does that make me happy? Go back to being a hateful prick already.

 Was her hair always that shockingly bright? Her skin seemed to be lit with some sort of pale glow, almost sheet-white under the stark cast of the fluorescent light above. But her hair was rough and half-curly and inexplicably silky and why the fuck was he even thinking about her goddamn hair - 

 Ding.

 Providence was out of the small space within what seemed to be a half-second, with the doors whooshing shut behind her with even further rapidity. She was almost completely gone from view when suddenly her shoe appeared between the two doors - Phoenix almost expected to see a spurt of blood paint the corridor as the foot got chopped in half - and they retracted, allowing the redheaded Freelancer to step back into the elevator, once again settling close to him. He frowned slightly, wondering just what she might have to say at this point. They'd already gone completely silent, the thread of their conversation dissipating into the windy atmosphere of Meridian.

 "You sell yourself too short. You’re so sure that I’m a good person, but I’m not convinced that you’re a bad one."

Phoenix blinked for a moment, for the first time in recent memory being rendered entirely speechless. Providence, his nemesis and biggest antagonist - though, to be fair, he was undoubtedly her biggest antagonist, as well - was telling him he wasn't a bad person. Was she implying that he was a good one? He thought back to Helena's apologetic note.

 Both Helena and Providence were mistaken. He wasn't a good person. He'd tried to kill himself and countless other people before, and just one quasi-drunken heart-to-heart couldn't change that. But she sounded convicted, and genuine. A person who saw any good in him was rare. A person who didn't just see him as some bombastic, destructive moron who senselessly exploded stuff meant something to him, no matter what he may consciously deny.

 Especially when it was Agent Providence.

 He shook his head, refusing to acknowledge that statement. Phoenix didn't want to take the time to explain that her statement was wrong and while yes, she was a good person, she might have to rethink her opinion of certain people's character. "You have too much faith, dear," he responded finally, exiting the lift with her. After all, she at least deserved getting walked back to her room, after being forced to listen to all of his boring, depressing personal shit in some dingy bar. It wasn't usually how his conversations with girls went at places like that. Of course, she wasn't just any girl - she was a tightass bad motherfucker who could probably beat the shit out of him - but that was beside the point.

 He watched as she started to slow down near her doorway, and they eventually came to a stop outside of it. Sticking his hands into the depths of his pockets, he wondered vaguely what he should say. Perhaps he would just nod then walk off down the hall. That would certainly be the easiest method, after all. He didn't want to be too friendly, or, God forbid, friends with her, since that would just be... unnatural. He didn't have friends, or anything beyond than that.

 But, oh, God, what he'd said to her, and told her about his dad and his brothers and his fucking name and she had her own pair of dipshit brothers and she punished herself for mistakes just like him and dear Jesus they were so similar yet entire worlds apart and the way her green eyes glinted with something that wasn't hate, and how they'd just sat and confided like he hadn't in years, and how his head was spinning because that goddamn alcohol was apparently starting to kick in and was it because she was leaving him, because he didn't want her to leave him but what could he say, they weren't friends, they were just two lonely people but shit couldn't he use a friend, didn't he want one, and fuck it what the hell am I doing-

When she mentioned how she had “never really been soldier material”, he smirked with an expression of disbelief. Of course, it did seem ridiculous now. But back then- well, who would’ve expected the quiet bookworm to announce that she wanted to enlist in the UNSC? 

“Not soldier material? Your brothers sound like dipshits. Kick their asses for me next time you see them.” 

Just for a second, she froze; the expression on her face was caught in a thoughtful look as, out of hiding, the thoughts of the last time she had seen her brothers came to mind. Trent, she had seen him at the funeral, after she had taken temporary leave from her assigned training base. He hadn’t really seen her, though, since he had been particularly hard to reach that day. And the last time she had seen Dan was in the open casket.

She blinked and dispelled the split-second flashback like a ripple in water. She didn’t need those thoughts on top of everything else right now; she was getting drunk with purpose, and that purpose was not thinking and not caring. And she wasn’t doing a very good job of it so far. How could people do it so easily? How could they just shut off all the thoughts, when her’s were constantly crowding her brain every hour of every day?

She didn’t think Phoenix had noticed any momentary change in her demeanor, as he went on talking. “If you see them again. If we’ll be allowed to see our loved ones sometime before we die. God, I hope not. For my sake, not yours, I mean. Because I’m a selfish son of a bitch. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Now it was she who scoffed, her nostrils flaring with slight amusement. A smile tugged up the corners of her lips, unexpected and unbidden. A fluke, if you will. “Of course, Phoenix, just as you know what a tightass control freak I am by now. We know all there is to know.”

She took a drink of her own whiskey, the ice clinking against the glass, and then a reflective look crossed over her features. “Truth be told, I don’t think I want to see them again- my family. I mean, they already think I’m dead by now. No communication for years kind of implies that. So they’ve had plenty of time to cope, and showing up on their doorstep or calling them up, and giving them any hope like that before I- well, before whatever happens, inevitably, it’d just be cruel. Making them go through the whole process again.” She shrugged, as if this was just a passing thought, not one that she had given plenty of thought to and slept with it’s shadow over her head.

Phoenix looked suddenly pensive, as if a new thought was occurring to him, and his next words caught her slightly off guard:

“You were shot in training. An equivalent of death in the field, so basically would’ve been killed by someone on your own side. That’s why you were such a fucking jackass when I shot the Tevenaum mission to hell, or when I killed Topeka. It’s happened to you.” 

Providence opened her mouth instinctively to speak, but remained silent for a beat. After a few seconds, she just pressed her lips together and nodded slowly, swirling her drink around. 

"Yeah," she finally said, her voice a bit lower and softer than it had been before. Yeah. Literally and figuratively, she knew what it felt like to be shot in the back. "And from the perspective of the person on the other side of the bullet, let me just tell you: it sucks. Nothing’s worse. Nothing’s more shitty than getting hurt by someone you’re supposed to trust with your life."

The mood had gone still again, until Phoenix broached the silence. Providence was grateful for the change of subject. Drinking and not thinking were harder than they seemed.

 “Why be in the field? You’re smart. You could’ve designed weapons, or been hired for tactical advice, or do planetary research and do shit like that. Shit like my shitty brothers do. Why not do that to prove yourself? And don’t say I wouldn’t understand, because I know all about proving myself, believe it or not.”

Once again, Providence shrugged rather noncommittally as she looked over at the other Agent. “I probably could’ve. I mean- I was going to go to school, and then maybe join one of UNSC’s research divisions. That was the plan but- I was tired of the backseat. I was sick of not being involved, and I just wanted to do something actually worthwhile. And fighting off aliens seemed to be that route. It was exciting, and my brothers were doing it, so I saw no reason why I shouldn’t be able to as well. I’m sure you know what I mean. I mean-” she hesitated for a moment, gauging whether or not asking more questions about his family and past was a good idea, “- if you had those ‘shitty’ brothers to live up to, and that tactician father, I’m sure you know what it’s like to just want to get out of that shadow.”

She found herself wondering what his family was like, those six brothers, his parents- and then stopped herself by instead wondering the fuck she was wondering about that. In fact, it was rather confusing that she- in contrast to most previous encounters- didn’t have the immediate urge to rip Phoenix’s head off at the moment. Their conversation now was not it’s usual pattern of veiled insults and sarcastic comments and snippy rebuttals, all building off of a mutual hate.

 But suddenly her face seemed to be given some sort of unnatural pause, contracted into a visage of deep concentration. Drink somewhat having gone forgotten in his grasp, he wondered absently just what it was that was the source of such hurt and contemplation behind those solemn green eyes. She'd gone quiet when he made some idle threat concerning her brothers, but he wasn't entirely sure. He'd said a great deal of things, and was at that point not entirely concerned as to what they might be. This was strange enough; he and Providence were getting on well, exceedingly so, and speaking as if they'd been close for years. Which resulted in his doubts, of course, that this was a real and lucid experience, which was really a reasonable concern.

 “Of course, Phoenix, just as you know what a tightass control freak I am by now. We know all there is to know.”

 Holy hell - she was smiling. Fucking smiling, of all the most impossible things. How could her face even bend that way after apparent years of disuse? And look so appealing while doing it, yet that was a snippet of a thought which he preferred to keep vague and unrealized. Some goals were unattainable and might as well not be sought after, with redemption and Providence being two of the more prominent ones. But who gave a shit? It was a strange occurrence, and, despite himself, a small, genuine smile of his own escaped onto Phoenix's features. "Well, naturally. It's already been established that we're the two geniuses of the Equinox, hasn't it?" His eyes were riveted to hers as he raised his glass, taking a deep sip. "Maybe a bit too generous on your part, but oh, well. I suppose I'm just a generous person." The Freelancer shrugged, unable to restrain a slight laugh. 

 Goddammit. Why was he laughing? He shouldn't be laughing. This was Providence, for the love of God. Providence, who'd told him to die and harped on him endlessly, a person whom his hatred for was unfathomable. Yet this conversation - this strange, quasi-drunken conversation - made her seem, oddly enough, human. She'd been hated by her squad, just like him, and spent her life trying to prove the world wrong. It was weird.

 “Truth be told, I don’t think I want to see them again- my family. I mean, they already think I’m dead by now. No communication for years kind of implies that. So they’ve had plenty of time to cope, and showing up on their doorstep or calling them up, and giving them any hope like that before I- well, before whatever happens, inevitably, it’d just be cruel. Making them go through the whole process again.”

 The honest amusement died on his lips, and he glanced with a decided frown down into the depths of his drink. She seemed to be slightly embittered towards her brothers, perhaps, but she still cared for her family. Loved them, it seemed like. Providence wanted the best for them and thought of their happiness before her own and avoided being cruel. She was a good person, damn it to hell - a bloody good person, and he couldn't deny it, no matter what lengths he could go to. She might be a bossy dickhead, or an obsessive bitch, but she was good.

 Which was rather upsetting.

 Phoenix pursed his lips tightly, raising his eyebrows sardonically and allowing a mockingly wry smirk to come to his mouth. "I didn't used to be a selfish son of a bitch, though. Hell, I was a good person like you. One of those funny dipshits that the other recruits liked, right? I was one of those for the first half-year as a cadet.. Then this jackass who took point during a sim gave me an absolute bullshit order - but I followed it. Because that's what I was taught." He shook his head. "It got my entire squad shot down in thirty seconds. Everyone was pissed, you know, I was pissed, then next time I disregarded orders and everyone just got more pissed, and I wanted to prove that I could fucking do it. But I couldn't." Still with a nonchalant, bitter smile, he shrugged and took another drink. "Do you know how it feels to be liked? It's pretty fucking nice, isn't it?"

 There was so much more to it than just that; the life spent following orders from his father, and his brothers, and all that shit with getting beat up, but he didn't want to go into that. This was enough. She'd shared her depressing cadet tale, and so had he. Yet he had to admit that it was nice to at long last get it off his chest, to let someone understand why he was such a bad person.

 "Yeah. And from the perspective of the person on the other side of the bullet, let me just tell you: it sucks. Nothing’s worse. Nothing’s more shitty than getting hurt by someone you’re supposed to trust with your life."

 Maybe he shouldn't have asked, after all. Maybe he didn't want to have some drunken heart-to-heart with Providence, because a lot of her personal shit was either depressingly similar to his, or just set a pleasant backdrop against what an ass he was. For instance: in this case, he would be the one who betrayed that trust and forever broke the redheaded Freelancer's sense of faith in teammates. Oh, he wasn't the one that shot her in the back, but he was the one who blew up her mission and Topeka to boot. "Yeah, well," he said, "it can be pretty shitty to be the person doing the hurting, too." Because you have to know that you just caused the shittiest event to ever happen in the other person's life. "But getting shot in the back?" But almost killing your team members and blowing up civilians? "That's pretty fucking low." I'm sorry.

 But he couldn't apologize out loud to her. He just - he hadn't had that many drinks.

 “I probably could’ve. I mean- I was going to go to school, and then maybe join one of UNSC’s research divisions. That was the plan but- I was tired of the backseat. I was sick of not being involved, and I just wanted to do something actually worthwhile. And fighting off aliens seemed to be that route. It was exciting, and my brothers were doing it, so I saw no reason why I shouldn’t be able to as well. I’m sure you know what I mean. I mean - if you had those ‘shitty’ brothers to live up to, and that tactician father, I’m sure you know what it’s like to just want to get out of that shadow.”

 Phoenix rubbed his forehead amusedly, scraping his stool across the floor through his haze and standing to his feet, leaning against the counter slightly. "Exciting," he repeated with a vague smile. "A bit of a huge fucking understatement, but oh, well, what the hell. We're here. And who gives a shit about fighting off aliens here? After all, we're all dead in the end. Even you, pretty little Providence, the hero. The good person." He slid his wallet from his back pocket, squinting down at it; there were several rolls of very hefty-priced bills, due to the fact that he really hadn't done much besides drink at this point. Quickly he snatched a handful of the larger bills and set them heavily on the counter, sliding them towards the bar tender. He didn't bother to count - what else would he spent money on? "I've got yours, dear. But just because I don't feel like counting, not like this is a..." he searched for the right word, "... a date or anything. God no."

 He tried to imagine an actual date with her and shivered.

Her head was buzzing slightly from whatever was in that glass. She looked to him with determination before holding out her hand “Come on, we’re leaving” She said looking down to her hand then back at him. She didn’t know why she had expected him to take it. With a sigh she grabbed his and pulled him off the bar stool. June didn’t understand why she was trying so hard but she was nonetheless. She turned back and thanked the bar tender before dragging Phoenix out of the bar. 

His hand was warm in hers- she cut herself off mid thought. She didn’t want to think like that not until she could grasp what was happening. June wasn’t the type to get herself into these kinds of situations but somehow she had convinced herself that Phoenix was different. It was naive to think that she could change him, she could barely fix herself. It was just a matter of time before something would happen, that she would realize how stupid she had been to trust anyone. June knew this but for some reason she continued to pull him out of that bar. 

 "No more. Come on, we’re leaving."

 His eyebrows rose as abruptly his hand was seized in a soft, firm grasp, Juneau's hand clasped about his with determined intent. Caught slightly off-guard, he allowed himself to be pulled from his stool and dragged  across the floor of the smoky establishment and out the door, squinting slightly at the sunlight. Why did she even give a shit about him? They hadn't exactly been on friendly terms following their few past encounters, which was hellish enough - one of the two people who could stand his presence, who got him, he'd single-handedly driven away in an amazing feat - but was this another of her tricks? A kiss and rebuke?

 On the sidewalk, her grip on his hand loosened slightly; his gaze lingered on the contact with a sense of consternation. Phoenix's eyes trailed up her face to the gentle, genuine smile creasing her fair face. Her eyes were so crystalline, so honest, he'd never - goddammit. Shut the fuck up, Phoenix. Since when had become such an enamored pussy?

 “Let’s do something fun. We are on vacation after all who knows the next time we’ll be in a place like this. We can be normal, at least for a few hours."

 For the first time since Juneau had serenely reached her hand out to clasp Phoenix's, the explosives expert spoke, darting gaze flickering across her face studiously. "Normal," he repeated mirthfully, raising his eyebrows. "You and I, normal? Just if we're on some fancy-ass vacation planet, dear, we're still Freelancers. We're still soldiers. We're still going to die." He paused there, considering with a long stop the statement, only realizing its legitimacy until after it'd left his mouth.

Phoenix wasn’t looking directly at her any more. He was looking down at the pockmarked wooden surface of the bar, through it and past it, and the glint in his eyes was no longer playful. His smirk was gone; she had managed to wipe that arrogantly smug smile off of his face. And when he looked at her again with  a sharp, angry clarity in his eyes, Providence knew that her little rant had not succeeded in it’s very clear message of “fuck off”, but instead lit the fuse of a whole new stick of dynamite.

“You think I’m not handling my personal shit? Really? Because you’re always fucking right? Well, let’s see. Have I killed myself yet, or anyone else, purposefully? No. And I’m pretty goddamn pleased with that. Because, believe it or not, Prov, you don’t know anything about me besides that I’m an asshole that killed my leader. Did you know I have six older brothers? Or that my dad’s an asshat prestigious military tactician?”

Her face registered a shadow of surprise because she couldn’t help it; hearing Phoenix voluntarily spill information about himself, his past and his family, was something she had not expected. Hardly anyone in the Project talked about their backgrounds and the identities that had been taken from them when they had been recruited. She didn’t know their names; she just knew the codenames they had been given by the Director, the same way he had assigned numbers and names to the A.I. he had created. It wasn’t a huge leap from that to realize that he had created the Agents, too; he had taken the raw material of trained soldiers and made Freelancers.

Six older brothers, a military official father. It was nearly impossible for her to imagine Phoenix as anyone other than Phoenix- to imagine him in any other setting other than the one she had met him in, aboard the Equinox. Sure, she had a past too- but if she were to be truthful, it was getting harder to remember that it was real, that it had happened at all. That she hadn’t always been Agent Providence.

She was still processing the unexpected information- not surprising itself, but surprising that it had been revealed at all- when Phoenix continued. 

“You? Fucking you and your fucking competence. I know who you’d be. You’d be the little bitch always taking point, always at the top of your goddamn class and of course all the instructors fucking love you because all you do is kiss their asses.”

She nearly laughed. The edges of her lips curved upwards in a dry, sardonic smile so brittle that she was surprised it didn’t crack. It was a humorless expression, a sneer. “How amazingly perceptive of you, Phoenix, you’re spot on.” She raised her eyes to meet his with a dull, burning look that flickered somewhere in the depths of her gaze. “Except there’s also the part that you left out, where the little perfectionist bitch got shot with live rounds on the training floor, becuase how funny is that? You say I know nothing about you? You know shit-all about me, too.”

She grimaced visibly at the ex-wife comment, shooting the bartender a look at sent him off to the other side of the bar, eager to avoid the whole situation. 

Now they were both silent for a beat. Phoenix seemed to have deflated after his rant, settling back into a sour, brooding expression with a sigh. Providence wrapped her slender fingers around her glass, encircling it with both hands as she leaned forward and stared absently at her drink. Half-way through it, and she felt the tired carelessness of alcohol settling down on her mind. One thing he had said came back to her.

And of course then you’re a fucking tactician, of all things. Because that’s the one thing I’d sell my goddamn soul to be, because then at least I’d fucking prove I’m not the Tartacki shitstain.

They were nothing alike, and she did not need to convince herself of this. There was plenty of evidence to support that rash and careless Phoenix and careful, meticulous Providence were as polar of opposites as could be. And yet, it was an odd thought that they could have more in common than she cared to admit. She knew that he tortured himself for Topeka; maybe she knew this because she was good at reading people, but there was a part of her that knew it because it recognized it all too well. Masochism came in all different shades.

 Yet here he was, sitting side-by-side with Agent Tightass Bitchface Providence, drinking large amounts of whiskey in a very small amount of time. Not that the latter was anything different than what he'd spent most of his time in Meridian doing - it wasn't the what, or the where, but the who. Phoenix wondered briefly if this was rock-bottom, then smiled elusively at the thought. He'd either already hit rock bottom, he supposed, or it lay somewhere within the near future. As if the current situation wasn't an accurate enough sketch of the idea, his life was pretty goddamn fucked-up. And that was putting it lightly.

 In the ensuing silence, he stared at Providence's wavering expression for a moment before glancing down to the perspiring glass in his hand. He brought it to his mouth and took a deep sip after a minute moment of consideration - he was well on his way to being plastered pretty bloody good, and there was no reason for him to have any qualms concerning it now. 

 "How amazingly perceptive of you, Phoenix, you’re spot on. Except there’s also the part that you left out, where the little perfectionist bitch got shot with live rounds on the training floor, becuase how funny is that? You say I know nothing about you? You know shit-all about me, too.”

 Phoenix's intent gaze froze for a lagging second, unsure of how to react to this development; then his eyes narrowed, flicking up to find Providence's green ones as he deliberately moved his head towards her. Disregarding the tone of total disgust and visage of sheer abhorrence - two mutual attributes which had become twin staples of their customary interactions - as she spoke, the burly Freelancer couldn't help but feel mildly impressed. Her voice had been filled with her dislike of him, yes, but there was also something there out of the ordinary, something that took him a moment to pinpoint. Providence was revealing a part of herself, one that meant something. One that was genuine.

 How strange.

 Shot with live rounds. That was low, even for his own despondently low morals, especially on the training floor. Yet he could see the sense, in some twisted way - the chance to take out the kissass kickass know-it-all-bitch with the highest scores in the entire facility? Why wouldn't you take a shot? Hell, he was lucky that hadn't happened to him, though it wouldn't have necessarily been for performing above average.

 He knew she hadn't been well liked, he supposed... it was just odd to think of her as anything even vaguely subhuman. That was his natural view of people, since then it was just too easy to single them out for incessant torture. Yet this showed that she was real, that she was a person. Being disliked by team members was a feeling he knew. He wasn't sure how he felt about the sudden ability to sympathize.

 He mulled over this momentarily, then raised and dropped his shoulders in a noncommital shrug, the movement tainted with fine strains of apology. Apology. Goddamn, the alcohol was really starting to set in, wasn't it? Assholes are assholes are assholes, and they act like assholes, and if they feel bad about being an asshole, then they just go and be more of an asshole to make themselves feel better. That was how it was supposed to work. "You're right. You're just Providence and you hate fuck-ups with a burning, murderous passion. That's all I know about you, really. But -" he raised his drink to jab an index finger at her, "- there's one more thing that I know, and that's that your squad fucking hated you. And I don't want to make you feel better, since you probably deserved it, but everyone on my squad fucking hated me too. Got the shit kicked out of me weekly." The older cadets had taken a particular abhorrence to him, since they were the best ones to mouth off to. Ah, the good old days, full of pissing off peers and actually respecting commanding superiors.

  “A tactician for a father. I guess that goes a long way to explain why you have such a particular distaste for them. My parents weren’t military. My brothers were though. I was… I was never really soldier material, in their opinion. So I had to make sure I could rub it in their faces later on.”

 Phoenix begrudged the smirk which came to his face at this. What the hell would Providence be other than a soldier? Some type of homicidal librarian who broke kids' spines when they came in to pay late fees? Imagining the redhead as anything other than military was ludicrous. "Not soldier material?" He scoffed. "Your brothers sound like dipshits. Kick their asses for me next time you see them." He paused slightly then, picking up his drink once again and swirling the amber liquid around in contemplation. "If you see them again. If we'll be allowed to see our -" he lifted his hands to form sardonic airquotes, "loved ones sometime before we die. God, I hope not. For my sake, not yours, I mean. Because I'm a selfish son of a bitch. But you already knew that, didn't you?"

She knew she could trace this- this constant, unrelenting animosity, this ongoing and never-ending frustration- back to that mission on Tevaneum. Phoenix hadn’t been Beta’s team leader for long at that point, and Providence had given him the benefit of the doubt. She knew he was capable, and she had trusted him to live up to that. The key to being a soldier was teamwork, after all; really, the key was trust.

Providence didn’t trust with ease. She had an old wound in her lower back that ached occasionally but reminded her endlessly that too often, trust backfired right into where it hurt.

"I’ll refrain from any direct suicide in the future. Proving you right would just be unacceptable, don’t you think?” 

When that building had come down like a collapsing mountain, Providence had watched her carefully-laid plans crumble down with it. Her entire team was put into jeapordy in just one flash of a moment; control of the situation was ripped out of her grasp in just a split-second. And despite the fact that she would only blame herself, just as she was always only blaming herself, in the aftermath of the mission she had pretend otherwise. She had distracted herself from her own uncompromising self-loathing to put the blame on someone else- Phoenix had detonated that building, and it was her trust he had blown sky-high along with it.

I’d be hoping that the next time there’s a body bag in the morgue, it would have your own name on it, not just your conscience.

Providence didn’t take back words she meant. She had certainly meant them then, in all her rage and resentment and disappointment. But in hindsight, she knew how much of that rage had been directed mostly at herself. Only stupid people let themselves be shot in the back twice.

She finished her drink, nodded to the bartender ever so slightly for another. Her third, at this point. She should be more conservative with the alcohol she was consuming, but since it was quite obvious that Phoenix planned to stay right where he was, she was going to need every drop.

The drink arrived and she wrapped one hand around it but didn’t take a sip; she just focused her gaze down on to it. Phoenix’s sarcastic tone had turned biting and sharp as he talked

“Beside, if you think I give a damn about your personal issues, you’ve gone fucking batshit again. I don’t give a damn about anybody’s personal issues, actually. I’ve enough shit of my own to handle. After all, anyone who joined Freelancer is one screwed-up fucker anyway.”

 Phoenix watched her closely, eyes locked onto her fine features with a sort of absent intensity as he tilted his head back to finish off his own drink. The redhead was going through hers with surprising rapidity, and hell if he were going to be showed up by some Gamma dipshit who could identify more with a piece of fucking paper than a human being. Yet, then again, he wasn't exactly one for humans either. Or anything in general. 

 Such a charmed life he lead.

 Signaling the bartender swiftly for another, he flicked his gaze back to Providence, fingers tapping against the counter in an erratic beat. She really was thinking hard about something, wasn't she? Little goddamn freak. You don't think about things in bars, you don't ponder  or consider or remember, because isn't that the whole point you're there? To do the exact opposite of all those things? No, because she had to be the incessantly solemn, unhappy killjoy who was just too fucking smart to do anything different. He snapped back to the dusky, pulsing atmosphere of reality as she finally turned to look at him, eyes narrowed with a familiar vehemence.

 Bloody fantastic.

 "Then I’ll tell you what, Phoenix. Why don’t you actually handle some of that shit you’ve got, for once? You’re right. Everyone has their own damn personal issues. You’re not the special case here, but you flatter yourself with enough self-pity to think so. But instead of dealing with your own problems, you do this, this constant need to make sure I feel worse.”

 Phoenix looked at her flatly for a moment, struggling to contain the rising urge to break his stool over the counter and beat the hell out of somebody. With a clenched jaw he heard the distinctive clink as his glass was set down near his now-still hand. He forced himself to look away long enough to reach down and grasp it, face taut.

 He owed her, as much as he abhorred to admit it. He'd fucked up her mission and screwed up two of her team. Just this once, he wouldn't try to argue.

 “I know you think I’m some tight-assed bitch that’s fun to mess with, and I know you enjoy playing this game to see how far you can “push the robot’s buttons” until it self-combusts and finally shows some emotional response or weakness that you can get a good laugh out of. I’m not a stranger to that game, you’re not the first and you’re not the last to find it so entertaining. So- you win, congratulations, you know how to short-circuit the robot. But can you just spare me the whole ordeal tonight? ”

 He couldn't do it.

 His stare bored into the wooden counter a few more seconds before he jerked his head up to curl his lip in disdain at the Gamma agent. "You think I'm not handling my personal shit? Really? Because you're always fucking right? Well, let's see. Have I killed myself yet, or anyone else, purposefully?" Phoenix narrowed his eyes, drink practically strangled in his forgotten grip. "No. And I'm pretty goddamn pleased with that. Because, believe it or not, Prov, you don't know anything about me besides that I'm an asshole that killed my leader. Did you know I have six older brothers? Or that my dad's an asshat prestigious military tactician?"

 Shit, you moron! What the fuck are you saying? 

 The Freelancer took a long drink of his whiskey. "Of course I'm not special. I never have been. You? Fucking you and your fucking competence. I know who you'd be. You'd be the little bitch always taking point, always at the top of your goddamn class and of course all the instructors fucking love you because all you do is kiss their asses. And of course then you're a fucking tactician, of all things. Because that's the one thing I'd sell my goddamn soul to be, because then at least I'd fucking prove I'm not the Tartacki shitstain."

 Feeling as if someone was staring at him, Phoenix glanced up slightly to notice the concerned gaze of the bartender and smiled apologetically. "Sorry, darling. My ex-wife and I haven't talked in quite a while."

But when her glare locked onto the gaze of the man besides her, it wasn’t some skeevy stranger after all. Immediately, Providence realized she would’ve definitely preferred it to be.

"Oh, for God’s sake. Phoenix,” she hissed through a clenched teeth, dropping her eyes back to her drink because that smug smirk he always wore never failed to instantly aggravate her. It was just asking to be punched off of his face. "Well, Prov, I really can’t say I’m disappointed. He was a rather good-looking fellow, don’t you think? You should’ve gone for it. Or perhaps snapped his neck. The entertainment value would be equal.” The exasperated noise she made sounded like steaming escaping from a high-pressure pipeline.

Without invitation, he pulled up the bar stool besides her. Providence rested her forehead in her palm, staring down at the amber liquid in her glass and continuing to look vaguely murderous as Phoenix blithely ignored her hints of irritation and went on talking.

“I never saw you as the drinking type, dear. I’m sure it’s against some strict moral code you like to pretend you have. But you mustn’t worry, Providence love. Everyone has to drink their brains out at some time or another.” His words were always so drenched with sarcasm, so aggravatingly sardonic and arrogant and taunting. She didn’t think she could hate anything more. Phoenix had made it a point to get under her skin whenever he got the opportunity, and goddamn him, but he knew how to do it. Providence took a gulp from her drink, pursing her lips like they were pulled by an invisible drawstring.

“So why are you here, hm? You should be off in the backroom with your papers.”

 Then again, that was before he also killed three civilians while wounding two of her team. Their relationship of sheer and utter hate had progressed with wonderful rapidity since then - save for that Sarcophagus incident. They'd actually worked together reasonably well then, though mostly due to the fact that she was half-batshit from the poisoned air or whatever the hell had gone wrong there. He didn't care to remember much of it beside the fucking medic threatening to kill him, in response him trying to discern whether or not he should blow up the Pelican, then instead getting to explode the entire fucked-up cave system. The air really hadn't effected his usual levels of homicidal and suicidal tendencies. It had Prov's, though, seeing as she apparently shot Olympia in the leg.

 Too bad it wasn't the head.

 He grasped his squat glass of whiskey, swirling it contemplatively before taking a deep, stinging gulp. Setting his elbow on the polished counter, Phoenix then turned towards the red-haired woman, raising his eyebrows mockingly. "Well, I'm glad you haven't forgotten my name, darling. I always did see such a marvelous future for the two of us." Still gazing at her, he took a polite sip of his drink. "Though it is such a pity I'm not on your fantastic team of slightly lesser fuck-ups any more. I was greatly looking forward to more debriefings so boring I'm tempted to blow my own brains out." He paused, pressing a finger to his pursed lips and looking upward in faux rumination. "But then that would please you, wouldn't it? In that case, I'll refrain from any direct suicide in the future. Proving you right would just be unacceptable, don't you think?" The run-in he was referring vivid in his mind: "I’d be hoping that the next time there’s a body bag in the morgue, it would have your own name on it, not just your conscience.” Words of wisdom from their very own charming Agent Providence.

 The man looked up at her high-pitched noise of exasperation, eyebrows lowering in disingenuous concern. "You don't sound well, Providence love. Perhaps you should consider going to the doctor, hm? I'm sure a few people would be disappointed to lose another leader."

 Taking another drought, he smiled into the amber liquid at her sudden violent outburst. 

 “Look, I just want to drink another couple of these- on my own, without anyone trying to talk to me or bother me or keep me company. Including you. Especially you. You have the whole space of a city to be irritating in, so go do it somewhere else. I’m sure there’s some cheap brothel where you could find company that actually wouldn’t mind having you around.”

The glitz of the city was quite different than she was used to as she walked through the hotel she felt extremely underdressed in her romper. A woman walked past her in eight inch heels and bright red lips, she caught herself staring and glanced sheepishly down at her sandals. It was strange to be around people whom dressed so lavishly in a time of war. It was as if the destruction and death completely escaped them. But of course it did, they were living in a world of ignorant bliss. A life completely opposite to her own. She felt out of place despite being on a planet like the one she had grown up on. Part of her was thankful they were only their for vacation. 

The longer she was in public, the longer she realized how weird the planet really was. She had seen some bizarre aliens but these people gave them a run for their money. June spent a few moments people watching, her eyes following person after person. Each of them was unique and dripping in luxury. One figure stood out amongst the rest, she recognized him immediately as he stepped into the building. His t-shirt and pants were extraordinarily mundane compared to the inhabitants of Solace. Phoenix had plagued her thoughts for days, yet they hadn’t spoken since he had left her standing in the center of the training room. 

 After all, it wasn't as if anybody actually knew him on the Equinox. He had an inner circle of one, just as he bloody well liked it. Yet there were two people, he ruminated, gazing thoughtfully at his glass, that had gotten somewhat closer to him than the other losers. Sir Fuckface Bigass Agent Austin, of course, then Juneau. But Phoenix wasn't sure exactly where he and Austin stood now that he'd broken his nose and the other had stolen his position as Beta leader; a sort of swap in which he'd gotten sorely fucked over in. Especially when Austin had come in to dump all that sad depressing mopey shit on him about dying and his AI and his sister and his family. Phoenix wasn't sure if he necessarily wanted any more of those sappy conversations, unless Austin would be willing to lend him a flamethrower.

 And then Juneau. Who the fuck even knew what was happening there, because he sure as hell didn't. He'd kissed her, she told him not to, he broke Asstin's nose, gave June a concussion or some shit like that, he got demoted and transferred to Gamma, she locked him in the training room, she kissed him, he kissed her back then walked out. Phoenix had considered briefly maybe trying to seek her out and... then what? That's where his interest had ended. It was just too damn weird and he didn't want any part of it. And now they were back on the same team, he was pretty somewhat sure, so that just screwed everything up just to even higher fantastic levels of bullshit. Maybe if he killed someone else he could get transferred to Alpha. That's where everyone went to blow the fuck up to death, after all. 

 "Isn't it a bit early to be drinking?"

 Goddamit.

 Swiftly ordering another drink, he turned in his chair to face Juneau, absorbing her attire. What was she even wearing, an elongated cover-all diaper? She looked good in it, he had to admit, with her petite frame and long, thick dark hair and bright eyes and kind lips - fuck. Phoenix raises his eyes to hers, offering a mocking smile. "My, my, what a surprise this is. Juneau, is it? Nice to see you, dear. And-" he glanced toward the clock before looking back to her, "-no, not really. If anything it seems a bit late."