"Listen to me, you're getting the color-coding wrong!" Her voice rose to a shout and some of the other Right Arm recruits glanced at them uneasily. She waved them off, red hair floating around her with the wind her excessive gesture created.

"Who cares about the color-coding?" Gally said, managing to keep his voice low, but still sounding extremely pissed. Her eyes widened and she sat back, rocking onto her heels.

"Imagine you're on a mission in—" she glanced down at their assignment, "Ann Arbor, Michigan. Notorious for being a pre-sun flares college town and fairly liberal. Town in good shape from lack of exposure to floods. But, still home to a booming weed and, now, bliss industry. Do you really want to be the one to stumble into a highly illegal group of would-be cranks when you think you're walking in on some stoned teenagers, just because your map is just labeled with only one drug color?" 

His face dawned with some comprehension and she huffed out her irritation. "I'm going to use the bathroom," she said, turning and practically running away.

In the bathroom she took a moment to breath, gripping the edges of the sink and observing her blood-shot eyes before turning the water on, splashing her face with water. She was tired and emotionally exhausted, but work had to come first. It was just... it was the day. That day. 

She shook herself again, not wanting to think about it. Not when she had to walk back out there, help Gally look through mission reports and put together a comprehensive, color-coded map of a city she'd never get the chance to go to.

After several minutes her breathing calmed down, cheeks only showing a light blush, and she left the bathroom, walking just as quickly back to Gally and their table. He was hard at work outlining buildings in color on one of their test maps. She smiled at him, and he spared her a small grin before focusing back on his work.

The rest of the job passed in almost-silence, the comfortable sort that made the small smile stick to her face for the whole hour, and when they were finally done they walked back in mutual comfort, hands brushing while they returned to their room.

Right Arm had rescued them at an odd time, and so far had only been able to spare a single room with two mattresses for them. They didn't mind after the first few days, pushing the mattresses together so they both had more room and not caring that sometimes that meant Beth woke up with Gally pressed along her back or with her head laying on his chest. It was just how they worked.

It was dark out when they got back to their room— they caught a glimpse through one of the high up windows in the all-metal building. Beth considered pouring over more reports, preparing for their next assignments, but when Gally huffed, quickly turning his back and changing into pajamas, and dropped himself onto the mattress— she changed her mind.

She changed quickly, breath catching when she heard him turn to watch her, and then she flicked the light off, crawled onto the bed with him. They didn't quite touch, but she faced him, feeling his breath rustle the top of her hair and reaching her toes out to leech warmth from his legs.

After several minutes, he spoke. "It's been a year since we... since we were forced to kill them." He sounded broken and she ached to hold him.

"Yeah." Her voice caught before she could get their names out, but she forced herself to try again. "Rachel and Chuck."

"It's not our fault," he said, voice angry. "It's WICKED, it's always shucking WICKED." His voice broke and he whimpered. On impulse she reached out and he all but flew into her arms, face ducking to hide in her neck.

Beth bit her lip, not wanting to cry but failing when she felt Gally's tears hit her skin.

"It's not our fault. Gally, listen to me. It's not our fault," she said it like she was sure, but she knew he could feel the tremble in her arms. He ignored it, putting his arms around her and squeezing tight.

They fell asleep with faces still wet with tears. 

It wasn't their fault, and they were going to take WICKED down.