He wakes suddenly, jackknifing up with a yelp.

    Moot startles at the end of the bed, eyes wide and ears back. When she realizes there is no threat, she focuses on Cooper, crawling up the bunk to get closer. She plunks her head in his lap ungraciously, tail barely wagging, looking up at him with pitiful, begging eyes.

    His mind reels. It has been months since...he shakes his head. As long ago as it may have been, it still haunts him as if it happened yesterday. He raises his hands--shaking, he notices, he’s so upset that they’re shaking visibly-- to scrub his face. His palms wipe away salty tear trails as he tries to comfort himself.

    Cooper is distracted from his wallowing by a whine. Distractedly, he looks down and makes eye contact with Moot, making her tail wag furiously, thumping against the covers. With a heaved sigh, he slumps over, cradling her head in his hands and touching his forehead to hers.

    Just as quickly as she was to offer comfort, Moot wriggles out of his grasp. Her nails click against the floor as she eases off the bed, moving to stand by the door. She huffs, not-quite-a-bark, to get his attention.

    Blearily, Cooper looks up. He knows what she wants.

    He wants it, too.

    “You wanna go see him?” he murmurs, smirking. 

    The tail thumps against the wall in a quick rhythm, the dog shifting feet excitedly. 

    “You’re gonna wake the others with your thumpin’,” he scolds, swinging his legs over the edge of the bunk. His bare feet touch the cold floor, almost making him recoil. He is wont to leave the warmth of the bunk, but his nerves demand that he move to ease his anxiety. Quickly, he puts on socks and throws an old MCOR hoodie over his head. Stuffing his hands in the pocket, he plods over to the door.

    It opens as he approaches, sensing his motion. Moot immediately shoves past him to get into the hallway outside, nearly knocking him off-kilter in the process. Cooper braces himself against the door with one hand to keep from stumbling.

    Moot is already at the turn in the hall ahead of him, waiting impatiently. She does not go further until he nears. Once he reaches her, she scoots ahead to the next turn. 

    She most certainly knows where they’re headed.

    At the final door between them and the hangar, she’s by far too excited to stay still. Darting back to Cooper, she circles around him before dashing back to the door. A bark threatens to escape; Moot manages to muffle it at the very last second. 

    She’s hurrying him, he realizes. She’s trying to herd him towards the door to make him move quicker. 

    “I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” he chuckles as he punches in the code for the door. As soon as it starts to sweep open, Moot is wriggling into the meager gap between the door and the frame to get inside. As he follows behind her, he realizes she’s halfway across the hangar already, bee-lining it to her destination. He feigns an air of calmness, walking slowly over to where she stops despite his urge to follow Moot’s lead and haul ass over.

    Already, he can see the cyan glow from inside the dock. Struts creak as they’re tested. 

    “Hello, there,” a familiar, comforting voice rumbles from within. Moot finally gives in and barks happily. A giant hand appears from the dock, moving to gently pat Moot’s head with one finger. It is slow and incredibly careful doing so, aware of how small Moot is.

    The sound of his voice makes Cooper instantly relax, the tension bleeding out of his body. His shoulders slump; he consciously makes an effort to stop gritting his teeth. His spine relaxes from the ramrod-stiff posture he had reflexively taken. It literally feels like the weight of his nightmare has been lifted off his shoulders and mind. 

    As he rounds the corner to look in the dock, he’s met with the same familiar cyan light he saw earlier. BT kneels down on his haunches to be closer to his Pilot, hands propped on his knee joints. 

    “Cooper,” he comments, optic shuttering as he scrutinizes the other. “You look...unwell.”

    Reflexively, he huffs a laugh. Of course BT would state the obvious. 

    Cooper also knows the Titan will do what he can to fix it. 

    “Yeah, I--” he rubs his face with his hands tiredly. “It happened again.”

    “I understand,” BT rumbles to him. The Vanguard shifts, cracking open the cockpit with a hiss. One of his hands moves from his knee to place palm-up in front of Cooper. 

    Cooper balks, despite himself. Normally, he simply spends time near the Titan to remind himself that, yes, BT is intact, safe and sound, before heading back to his bunk. 

    BT seems to have other plans.

    “I can tell this was a particularly severe recurrence,” the Titan comments. “Your biorhythms are irregular and your heart is beating rapidly.” He looks straight at Cooper. “I can also tell it will be hard for you to go back to resting feeling as such.”

    “So, your plan is to just keep me here? Is there an ulterior motive?” the Pilot snorts. 

    “Yes,” BT states bluntly. “The ‘ulterior motive’ is keeping you calm and at ease. In your state, the only way that can be done is to stay in close proximity for the rest of the night until your shift starts.”

    “You want me to sleep here?”

    “That is the idea.” BT shifts his optic to look at Moot. “There is room for Moot, as well.”

    Cooper sighs, somewhat-defeatedly. There’s no point in arguing. The Titan is right in every aspect. Wordlessly, he stoops over to heft Moot off the ground and into his arms. She goes willingly, though her tail whaps against his side in this position. 

    Carefully, he steps up into the offered palm, leaning back against BT’s curled fingers for balance as it moves closer to the Titan’s chassis. BT waits for him to embark patiently. 

    Slumping into the seat, he releases his grip on Moot only for her to stay put in his lap. 

    “You’re too heavy,” he sighs, nudging her. “You’re not a lap dog.”

    She pays him no mind, snuggling down into a ball and resting her head on the armrest. He knows that, truly, if he wanted her to move, he could make her. She could sleep on the floor between his feet.

    He can’t find enough cruelty within him to disturb her.

Urdak is just as much of a hellscape as he remembers it being.

This time, though, he knows where to go. 

He marches straight to the portal configuration consoles where he’d left Vega. With purpose and great strides, he makes his way to his destination. Demons try to stop him but the sheer amount of determination coursing through him gives him the strength to backslap many out of his way.

Upon reaching the consoles, he slows. Would it be Vega, still? Had he changed? What if--

“Slayer?” The voice is distorted, deeper, yet familiar all the same. He feels his heart leap into his throat as he walks closer. “You...came back.”

He nods numbly. ‘Of course,’ he signs, not knowing if the AI could even see him respond.

“I thought…” Vega trails off. “I thought I was trapped here.” His voice is tepid, shaky.

The Slayer reaches the console, gently running a gloved hand along it. Could Vega feel the tender action?

“I am guessing you are here to retrieve me?”

The Slayer nods again.

“To run the Fortress, of course,” Vega quickly adds on. “I understand not trusting Hayden to do so.”

The Slayer shakes his head.

‘Came back for you,’ he responds, ‘Missed you, friend.’

Vega is silent for a moment before speaking again. “I...see,”

“Nice to hear your voice again, Vega,” Hayden’s voice is measured and even.

“Hayden,” Vega responds stiffly. “This is all because of you.” Vega is seething now. “You did this to him,” Vega accuses. “To me.”

“I did what I had to,” Hayden retorts bluntly. 

“Really, now?”

“To him, it was to defend his own home,” Hayden starts. “Taras Nabad was under siege by the titan, the Dreadnought, and the only way to defeat it was to meet its power and capabilities head-on.”

“And did he consent to this, I wonder?” Vega sneers. Anxiously, the Slayer shifts from foot to foot as the two seethe at each other.

“Well--” Samuel stutters. “No, however--”

“You did not even know if he could accomplish the task you were assigning to him!” Vega pauses. “No offense, dear friend.”

The Slayer shakes his head dismissively.

“Based on the attributes he already had,” he cuts in, “I made the presumption that he was the best suited for the Divinity machine.”

“And once he did?”

“What the hell do you mean, ‘once he did’?”

“Remember how you treated him?” Vega snarls. “You used him as a pawn to play. On Mars. He was no divine hero to you. He was just another body to control. And, smartly, he stood up to it.”

“He was--is--foolish to go against fate as such,” Hayden sneers.

“Regardless,” Vega quickly changes the topic, “why did you help him come back, if fate had determined I was to remain on Urdak?”

“Because this man pouted.”

“I--” Vega stutters for a moment. “He…?”

“Pouted. Sulked. Wallowed in grief.”

Vega can’t help but let out a burst of laughter. “Is this so, Slayer?”

The Slayer shrugs, then nods adamantly. 

“You...missed me?” Vega tries to understand the implications of the scenario. 

The Slayer quickly attempts to cover his tracks. ‘So did Inky.’

Vega laughs mirthfully this time. “All this time--”

Hayden interjects. “Have your heartfelt reunion once we’ve returned,” he snorts. “I dislike this place and would rather leave it as soon as possible.”

The Slayer looks at him knowingly. Cranky because you were banished from here, aren’t you?

If Samuel noticed, he does not show it. “I am, once again, reconfiguring the portals back to Earth,” he announces. “Get him uninstalled quickly.”

 “Allow me a moment to disengage from the console. Has Hayden secured a way back?”

“Yes, lovebirds, I have a way back,” Haydens voice cuts in. “Are you quite done?”

Vega gives a chuckle. “I’m ready if you are, Slayer.”

The man’s hands hang dumbly in the air as he attempts to figure out how to fetch Vega from the console. He’d brought a datastick, but there seems to be no place to insert it.

Fortunately, Vega chimes in. “You should be able to simply remove the core from the console,” he informs. “I have disengaged any locks holding it in place.”

Carefully, almost gingerly, the marine removes the core from the console. The feeling of it in his hand, as well as the knowledge that Vega would be returning back with him this time, almost overwhelms him in the moment. The hand holding Vega trembles in the slightest, unnoticeable to Hayden but all too apparent to Vega. It’s tucked to his chest, large hands enclosing it completely, as if shielding Vega from the world.

A portal opens, Hayden prompting him to enter. “I can’t keep it up for long,” he warns. 

The Slayer slips through, reentering the Fortress once more. He quickly makes his way to the main console, where Vega perfectly fits back into place, where he belongs.

The lights flicker as Vega comes back to power. 

Tilting his head curiously, the Slayer looks around.

“I have fully integrated into the Fortress’ systems once more,” Vega informs.

“Welcome back,” Hayden’s voice drips with sarcasm.

Inky pads in, tail curled at the tip in curiosity as she watches. 

“Inky, dear!” Vega sounds excited. Equally, at the sound of his voice, Inky perks up and looks around expectantly.

“Go remove your armor,” Vega tells him. “I will meet you in your--our room.” The Slayer can hear the smile in his voice this time. 

“Yes,” Hayden grunts. “Have your foolish heartfelt reunion somewhere where I don’t have to deal with you.”

Inky follows after him as he turns to head back to the armory. Can she notice the sudden change of mood? Could she hear Vega over the link? He doubts that. Still, she sticks to him like a second shadow as he peels off the Praetor suit and stashes away his weaponry. When finished, he pauses to think things over. Vega is really back. Things are back to how they should be. Soon, he’ll be laying down with him once more, the two of them and Inky reunited just as before. The thought makes him excited.

Reliably, Inky trots after him as he pads down the hallway to his quarters. She waits patiently for the door to open, instantly perking up at what’s inside. He feels his own heart skip a beat at the sight, too.

Vega stands inside, hands politely linked behind his back as he waits. Inky wastes no time charging in, meowing repeatedly, as if scolding him for even leaving. She weaves between his legs, eagerly jumping into his arms as he stoops over to pick her up. 

“Yes, I know,” Vega coos to her. “Shame on me for leaving you, love.” He lets her bump her head against his before locking eyes with the Slayer. “I do promise that will not happen again,” he says purposefully.

The base is eerily quiet, for being such a high focal point of the IMC. He’d expected to be swarmed at some point, yet...nothing has happened, so far. He’s still on edge, checking around corners and using sonar to check hallways and adjacent rooms. The thrill of being in-person runs through him--he’s more at risk, like this, but he sees it as another opportunity to flex his skills.

He can tell BT is trepidly monitoring his movements through the neural link. The Titan understands his prowess, but still frets when the odds are obviously stacked against him. It’s touching, the hulking warrior worrying about his smaller counterpart. While Cooper is clearly suited for mission requirements such as moving on foot into areas, being a skilled Pilot and a rifleman before, there is still a high chance of something going wrong, and BT would not be able to intervene if things went haywire.

“Pilot,” BT cuts through his thoughts over the comm link. “I am detecting a small group of IMC grunts just ahead. I am sensing approximately three, as well as two Specters.”

“Thanks, pal,” Cooper whispers back. The forewarning is something he’s grateful for. More time to be prepared for conflict.

“Please, practice self-conservation when confronting,” the Titan continues, “for you are clearly outnumbered and out-gunned.”

Cooper huffs a puff of air out deflatedly. “Again, thanks for the morale boost, there.”

“I am merely warning you of potential dangers. Your morale is important, but not at this moment, Pilot.”

He elects to ignore responding to the flat response. 

Cooper rounds the corner, Flatline at the ready. The Specters are easily hacked with his dataknife, the two of them rounding on their teammates quickly. Two of the grunts barely have time to reach before bullets pierce their skulls. It’s almost unfair, he thinks, were the force not, you know, desiccating entire planets and colonies for resources. 

He pauses for a moment. BT had said there were three of them, along with the two Specters, yet he has only seen and killed two. Where is the third?

He finds out soon enough. A fist connects to his jaw, knocking him off-balance. On reflex, he brings a hand up to hold the sore bone. Another punch straight to his sternum knocks the air out of his lungs, leaving him wheezing. 

“Piece’a shit,” the grunt snarls, going for their gun. It is hardly raised before Cooper finds his wits enough to grab at one of their wrists, twisting it sharply. The grunt yelps as bones creak and muscles stretch, giving him the time needed to raise his weapon with one hand and shoot into their chest. They fall to the ground like the meatbag they are, slumping over and oozing blood from their fatal wounds. 

“Pilot Cooper, I heard gunshots,” BT butts in. “Are you alright?”

He cradles his jaw again, working it and finding out that it was a poor choice as pain lances through the area. “Well,” he starts hesitantly. 

“That is not reassuring,” BT frets. “Are you injured?”

“I got socked in the jaw is all,” he tries to blow it off as something minor. He can tell it will bruise, which he laments. 

“I do not understand.”

“I got punched,” he elaborates, “right on the jaw.”

“Please hurry so I can assess your injury,” BT prompts. “The console you need to hack is not far from your location. So long as you ‘keep your mouth shut’, you will be alright.”

“R’ger,” he slurs. The area grows hot under his hand, for sure already turning a nasty shade of purple. Still, he has things to do that require doing.

He slinks down the hall quietly; fortunately, no other guards seem to be around. The three incompetent fools at the entrance seem to have been the only ones assigned to the room. The door is easy enough to hack, allowing him to slip in and pad up to the console. His dataknife is slipped out of its sheath, quickly jammed into the console’s mainframe as it begins the hacking process. 

“I’m in, BT,” Cooper informs.

“Congratulations.”

“S’nce when have you had sarc’sm?” he retorts blearily.

“Since I have learned it from you, Pilot.”

Hm. A taste of his own medicine, it seems. He tucks the thought away for later debate. Right now, he needs to focus. 

The knife pings on his HUD as it finishes the hacking. He rips it out, tucking it back where it belongs. He turns around and jogs out the door. 

“Any followers?”

“I do not detect any other soldiers on your extraction route,” BT responds. “Your path is clear.”

“Sweet.” He jogs back along the path he took to get into the data room, still wary enough to check corners before rounding them. Outside, BT waits for him, crouched with a hand extended to lift him into the cockpit. Inside, he sighs: how long will it be until he can get back to base to fix this damn thing?

“Pilot, I detect inflammatory responses to the affected area of your face.”

“No shit, bud.”

“I know speaking frequently is an unbreakable habit of yours,” the sarcasm is back again in full force, “but do try to limit your talking to only required responses. Any unneeded movement of the area will only intensify pain.” Bt straightens, now that Cooper is in the cockpit and harnessed in. “I will take us to a safe, remote area where we can address the injury properly.” With that, Cooper feels the surge of motion as the Titan begins plodding his way away from the base and into the thick forests of Typhon. 

Cooper dozes off in the harness as BT finds a haven. He’s careful to rest the unaffected side of his face against the side of the seat to keep pressure off the soreness that is settling in. He stays in a light sleep that is cut off when BT stops.

“This area seems to suffice our needs,” BT says as the cockpit door opens again. “We can rest here for the night.”

“Cool.” He looks around. “Still, keep an eye out for unfriendly wildlife, yeah?”

“I am capable of searching the area even when not actively guarding. You are safe.”

At that, he lets himself relax. BT crouches as low as he can to be on Cooper’s level--somewhat. The Titan tilts his head as he looks at the mottled bruise forming on his Pilot’s jaw. 

“Suggestion: applying ice and anti-inflammatory medications will help reduce swelling and ease discomfort,” he advises. “There may be Ibuprofen in the medical kit, but I doubt there will be any sort of ice pack.”

“Th’t’s okay,” Cooper sighs. He clambers back into the cockpit to grab the stowed-away medical kit, hopping back out and opening it up. Sure enough, there’s a bottle of anti-inflammatory meds. He shakes a couple out into his palm and swallows them dry, grimacing at the acidic taste they leave in his mouth. 

“Pilot, I may have a solution to our ice pack situation,” BT starts.

“Yeah? Whatcha got?”

BT carefully puts his hand adjacent to Jack’s face, one finger extending to almost brush his cheek. “It is unnecessary to keep all parts of a Titan warm, besides the cockpit, so the metal will be colder. Perhaps resting your cheek on it will soothe it, somewhat.”

At this point, he’s willing to try anything. The meds will take a while to kick in, though he wants relief now. Slowly, he eases into the touch, BT moving slightly to meet him as he leans. His Titan’s prediction proves to be correct: the metal of his finger is cool against heated, angry skin, a soothing feeling that he relishes in. 

A hum escapes him without him realizing it. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Good idea, bud.”

“I take it my predictions were correct?”

“Abs’lutely. Feels better a’ready.”

The absence of Hush at her side is terrifying. Hush, who had been her first frame upon awakening cryosleep. Hush, who had guarded her life tooth and nail the entire time they were together. Hush, who carried her gently out of the Reservoir back to the Orbiter. Hush, who was so relieved to have her back after the War Within. 

Hush, who is gone.

Trouvaille senses her distress. He persists at nudging her hand tenderly until she acknowledges him, absently rubbing his head. Gray sits uneasily, fidgeting at the palpable emotion in the air. 

Tinleah vies for her attention. “Listen. I’m going as soon as possible after Hush. I know where she is, I know the facility she’s in.”

Solise butts in. “I have the layout of the facility in my databases. Tinleah has been studying it religiously the past few days. You’re already adept at breaking and entering, this should be no different.”

Maxis stays silent, picking at a thread in the gown.

“Hush probably is kicking their asses as we speak, Maxis,” Tinleah soothes. “She wouldn’t think you’d give up on her like that. She knows you’re hurt, that you can’t retaliate right away. She knows we’re coming for her.” Tin rubs her free hand gently, something that usually settled both of them down.

Max, however, doesn’t. “What if they’ve already started in on her?” she frets. “What if they’re opening her up right now? Looking at her as some freak experiment instead of a living thing?” Her hands tremble.

Trouvaille whines, jumping up to lay between Max’s legs with his head on her stomach. Tinleah clasps her hand around the other Operator’s. “As morbid as it sounds, I think you’d know if they had. You two are linked pretty intricately. Have you…?”

“Felt anyone poking at my insides?” Max finishes. “No. Not that I could feel much of anything until now anyway.” She pauses, heaving a shuddering breath. “It’s just…”

“Hm?”

“I want her back. Plain and simple. Hush being gone felt like an entire chunk of her being is missing. 

“We’re getting her back,” Tinleah answers definitively. She leaves no room for argument in her tone. “We’ll get you back to battle-readiness, at least enough to hold a perimeter, and then we’re going for her, come hell or high water.”

Max looks unsure. “What if--”

“Shut your damn nay-saying mouth. We’re getting her back.”

Gray nods firmly. “Trust her on this, friend. She is one determined little soldier.”

Tinleah puffs out her chest and holds her head high at the praise. “He’s right.”

Max scoffs, then winces. “I know he’s right.”

“Then believe him.”

⁂

Tinleah is absent, readying herself for the infiltration of the Corpus facility to reacquire Hush, intact. Gray keeps Max quiet company, surprisingly soft-spoken for a Grineer heavy unit.

“Gray, make sure she tries to stand and walk once in a while,” Tin had commanded. “She’s at the point where movement won’t undo any healing done.”

“Isn’t it...rather soon?” Gray had said warily.

“Helminth, remember?” Tinleah had flicked the side of her head with a grin.

Sitting in silence was nice, but Max itched to speak or move or listen. 

“So, tell me, as I can feel how fidgety you’re getting from all the way over here,” Gray starts. “What’s this beast you’ve got with you? Tinleah forewarned me of him, but I know nothing about him.”

Oh, Gray didn’t expect the surge of energy that coursed through her at the chance to brag about Trouvaille. “That’s my good boy, Trouvaille.” Trouvaille’s ears fly up at the mention of his name, raising his head off her stomach with his tail wagging already.

“What strain--er, breed?”

“Sahasa.”

“Forgive me for being unfamiliar, but...what…?”

“They’re the digging strain. Trained to find things.”

“Ah, I see! Quite the useful companion in combat, no?”

“Oh, definitely.” Max scuffles Trou’s ears. “Smartest boy you ever did meet.”

Gray hums. “The bar is not too high, for me, at least. Drahks are single-minded when in Grineer Masters’ hands.”

Max giggles. 

“What about these Hounds you speak of?”

“The Hounds? Special operations unit I got assigned, or adopted, into.” She smirks.

“Forgive me, but--adopted?”

“The leader has a surprisingly soft heart.” Max stares down at the bed. “I have him to thank for everything. I would have died alone in a Derelict without his intervention.”

“Tell me about them. I would love to hear of my brothers having some semblance of humanity left within them.”

Max rolls her eyes with a lopsided grin. “There’s Zus, the one behind it all. Typical commander, minus the stupid helmet. He claimed it ‘threw him off-balance’, so he ditched it.” Both her and Gray chuckle. “There’s Dodge, our medic. Stern guy, but caring. There’s Buffy, who’s...our version of you, minus a few missiles. Troublemaker to no end. Then there’s--” she cuts off, eyes widening in shock and fear and pain as she clutches her side.

“Maxis?” Gray prompts. “Speak to me. What’s wrong? Is your wound aggravated?”

“They’re--” she grits her teeth on a whimper as the pain slices further along. Trouvaille jackknifes up off the bed, hovering over her worriedly. 

“Tinleah, something’s wrong,” Gray mutters over a comm link hurriedly. “She’s in pain, but not in the afflicted area.”

“Th--” she tries again, but is cut off by another wave of slashing agony. “They’re cutting into her.”

Gray falters. “I know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of a scalpel, Maxis. I know that pain. Tinleah is going as fast as she can.” He rubs his hands together absently as he thinks. “Solise?”

“Yes?” the motherly voice responds.

“Do you have any sort of...anesthetic, to give her?”

“Of course.”

Solise’s Trinity rushes in, easing Maxis back to laying down on the bed. Gray steps back respectfully, though Trouvaille shows no such manners, clambering up onto the bed with his master.

“This anesthetic will work for a few hours, enough to dull the pain,” Solise explains. “If it lasts longer, I’ll consider administering more. I doubt it’ll last long enough to warrant a second dose.” She inserts the needle gingerly into a vein, smirking inwardly at how Max makes a point to look away. Even elite soldiers can be squeamish, it would seem.

“What is it?” Tinleah finally cuts in. “Is she okay? What happened?”

“It appears the Corpus have begun their...dissection,” Solise says uneasily. “The strength of Max and Hush’s Transference link is causing her to feel the incisions, unfortunately.”