Natasatch remained on edge the entire night, and even though the personnel she met spoke in a calm, reassuring tone, nobody would address the situation of their attempted murderer's presence on the ship. Immediately after their pickup it was straight to medical, then back to the Viper's hidey hole, with soldiers she didn't know posted at the entrance. It was only after Natasatch feel the Avenger's mass shift, sway, and finally rise did Bradford enter for a quick, curt debrief. Usually plenty talkative for the both of them, Malcolm proved equally laconic. The combination of painkillers and exhaustion meant he nodded off only a few minutes afterward, head propped on her coils as she kept constant vigil, at least until fatigue caught up with her as well.

It was the Commander themselves that woke her up, with Central Officer Bradford at their side. The lack of the slight sways of turbulence let her know their ship had touched down somewhere, while the digital clock near her bedding displayed 5:01. The Viper had a hundred questions prepared, but she never got to voice them before the Commander explained how Ackers would be dealt with:

Ackers was to be given one last chance.

At the very least he was being exiled from the ship indefinitely, and she could watch. Malcolm didn't want either of them to be present to see him off, but Bradford insisted for closure's sake, and Natasatch agreed. A few minutes later she was crossing through the bulkhead door to an evacuated Engineering bay, right behind Bradford, while pushing Malcolm forward on a wheelchair.

The cargo ramp was lowered, and new day just started to shift the horizon beyond from deep navy to a rising crimson. At the bottom of the ramp stood Ackers, the traitor, the man who called himself Malcolm's friend plotting his death. He stood handcuffed at the base of the ramp, while the absence of the regular loading lights just barely allowed her to discern his face, which turned from calm to sour the moment he caught sight of her. Natsatch intentionally adjusted her hoodie, making sure the sergeant stripes at the shoulders looked crisp and level. The Viper could sense his skin heating, seething, hateful, yet powerless, and she felt no guilt in the pleasure gleaned from that sight –why should she?– until she noticed another, identical reaction.

She couldn't see Malcolm's face, but his skin not covered in cast or bandage was practically boiling as he looked down at Ackers. It was righteous, it was justified, yet the prospect of her mellow companion filled with such rage upset her in a way she couldn't fully articulate. When Bradford motioned them both to stop, Natasatch took the moment to place a hand on Malcolm's shoulder, and she felt an immediate drop in her friend's distress.

Bradford picked up the arrangement of Ackers' personal effects from the crate it sat upon. Clothes, trinkets, a small survival kit, and a unloaded sidearm with three magazines plus a maintenance kit. The Commander insisted on the pistol's inclusion, as Ackers would never have the chance without it. Unlike the other two humans present, the senior officer kept himself composed, stoic, but the Viper could sense the rising heat that betrayed the anger Bradford expertly kept under wraps. He strode forward to the soon-to-be exile, Ackers didn't take her eyes off her even as Bradford addressed him, his low, gravelly tone making it hard to make out.

"You know why this is happening, Ackers, and you're lucky you're not dead already. You betrayed XCOM."

"XCOM already betrayed me." Ackers' voice was deep, intent, predatory. Natasatch was certain he raised his voice loud enough to make sure Malcolm and her could hear.

A crack appeared in Bradford's veneer of calm. "Call it what you want. You tried to murder your fellow soldiers."

"I call it the truth. No alien deserves a breath of Earth air, much less pretending to be one of us. I thought you of all people, Bradford, would understand. The aliens took everything from you, too."

Natasatch only realized how tightly she was gripping Malcolm's shoulder until she felt his hand atop hers. She released the tension and their gazes met for a brief moment. He wasn't worth it, his expression told her.

If Ackers' remarks had struck home, Bradford gave no indication. He simply balanced the scant supplies on one arm and reaching the electronic key up to Ackers' restraints. With a quick tap, the handcuffs flashed and released. "Leave, do some soul searching, and find us again. The Commander is giving you one more chance. I suggest you take it."

"Don't worry, I will."

Ackers' hands shot up and swiped the pistol from the top of the pile, loading a magazine and putting his vengeful aim squarely between the Viper's eyes. He pulled the trigger.

Natasatch flinched, then remembered she didn't need to. The toothless clang of the hammer striking the slide echoed throughout the cargo bay. Ackers looked confused, shocked, not aware of the fact that the firing pin was in the maintenance kit instead of in his gun. If he had done just about anything besides a suicidal attempt to kill another alien, Bradford would have let him know. Instead, Bradford's hands were already on the handle of the combat knife at his shoulder.

A few hours ago, she would have been elated seeing the knife slip between Ackers' ribs and pierce his heart, and have revelled in watching his face contort in frustration and despair. Instead, Natasatch felt no satisfaction, only pang of sadness. A casualty to his own stubborn hatred. He should have taken the chance. I would have preferred him to take the chance. She watched passively as Bradford lowered Ackers to the dirt, and the man died without any further fanfare. When he breathed his last, Bradford released a sigh, retrieved the bundle, and began his silent walk up the ramp.

The senior officer's expression echoed her own, stoic but twinged with disappointment, yet the resigned look in his eyes hinted this wasn't the first –nor the last– time he'd seen this exact scene occur, in this exact manner. He spared only a glance at the Viper's hand on Malcolm's shoulder before he placed his own on the other one.

"I'm sorry it happened this way, Malcolm. I know he was your friend."

"Was," Malcolm clarified, voice quavering. "Whatever I thought of him before, it doesn't matter after what he did."

"Mmmm," Bradford agreed. "Do you wish it turned out better, Mal?"

"...More than anything, sir."

Bradford took his eyes off the handicapped soldier, and looked up to the Viper. He nearly hid it, but she noticed the slight clench of of his jaw as he looked her over, and how his tired eyes lingered on the XCOM logo patterned onto her hoodie.

She spoke first. "Thank you for not abandoning me."

"You're XCOM, Sergeant. We never throw our own to the wolves, no matter where those wolves are hiding."

Her chest swelled at his affirmation, and Malcolm gave her hand a small squeeze. An unfamiliar moistness clouded the edges of her vision. Bradford turned and approached a wall console, and soon the cargo ramp gave a metallic screech as it slowly lifted up.

"Sir, may I ask?" Nasatach blurted.

The old officer shot her a curious glance, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere but here. He already had his hip flask in hand, still unscrewing it as Natasatch struggled to phrase her question.

"What are we expected to say to everyone else?"

Bradford sighed, resting a closed fist on the gunmetal wall. "The truth, even if it's an ugly one."

Natasatch made no attempt to hide her grin.

A/N: Shorter chapter, but still important. I'm not gonna wait another year for this story to continue, and more's on it's way.