Admission: Snow owns my soul. I don't own Final Fantasy. The plot of this story is mine. The players belong to Square Enix.

Dajh can't read this chapter. It's got too many naughty words. The rating in this chapter is for Snow's potty-mouth. I think he's earned the right to drop some F-bombs, though.

"Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin to slit throats."

H. L. Mencken

Chapter 13
Time to Murder and Create
Part I: Decisions and Revisions

Time to Launch:
T minus 12 hours
Location: Sazh's workshop, New Eden

If someone had asked Hope yesterday what the longest day of his life had been, he'd have answered 'the day of the Purge,' without question. That day changed Hope's entire life: his mother died, he'd met Snow, then Vanille, and, by the end of the day, Lightning and Sazh, before he ended up at exactly the right/wrong place at exactly the right/wrong time to be branded by a fal'Cie, and swept up into a plot to destroy humankind once and for all.

As days go, that was a long one.

As he waits for the sunset to herald the launch of the attack, Hope thinks today may just top that terrible day as the longest one of his young life.

On the other hand, Sazh seems to think there are far too few hours in this eternally long day. Hope has spent the past hour watching Sazh replot the flight plan, reprogram the bombs at least twice, and tinker with the prototype drone.

"So, how are we going to know when it's time to pick up Light?"

Sazh doesn't look up from his notes; instead, he reaches for a small, rectangular box on his desk and turns it to face Hope. Hope sees the numbers ticking down, 11:58:47, 11:58:46, 11:58:45, and understands that this is what Sazh has not-so-lovingly dubbed the 'Doomsday Clock.' There's a sign and everything.

Wait a minute…

Hope notices a line through the center of the 'D' that looks like it was drawn in crayon, and realizes that the sign now appears to read 'Boomsday Clock.' Hope cracks up, and Sazh gives him the stink eye. "Have you lost your damn mind, Kid? What's so funny?"

"Boomsday Clock? Please tell me that this is Operation Boomsday!" Hope laughs at the ridiculous name, made even more ridiculous by the fact that a six year old came up with it. Hope laughs even harder at the look on Sazh's face. He looks annoyed at first, but his brow unfurls, and his lips arrange themselves into a smirk that would be more at home on Snow's face.

"…It is now," Sazh replies, then lets out a devious chuckle: "And I can't wait to see the Soldier's face when she realizes that she has to say, 'Operation Boomsday' out loud." He turns back to his work muttering, "Serve her right for worrying this old man. Crazy woman!"

Hope starts going over the blueprints and maps, finds one of the cliffs north of Mah'Habara with two different markings on it.

"What's this?"

Sazh glances up then back at the drone he's working on. "That's a map."

"Really? Are you sure?"

"Don't you sass me, Kid! I'll recreate your birth through that window," Sazh harrumphs. "The red 'X' is the Snow Kat. The other 'X' is where the Soldier approximated the camp to be. Because it's only an approximation, I need to get eyes on the target, which is why I can't just 'set it and forget it' with the flight protocols on these drones. I need them to be reactive to my controls."

"Can I help?"

"Don't think so right now. But maybe. You can hang out and watch, if you want. Maybe I'll think of something you can help with." Hope resents being treated like a useless kid, but pushes the irritation away. Sazh never treats him like he's useless. He always listens to Hope and considers his input. The fact that he doesn't have anything for Hope to do right now isn't his fault.

"How do you know where the Snow Kat is?" Hope asks, curious about where they got all their Intel from. "Are you sure of these coordinates?"

"Yep. The Soldier left her communicator in it."

Hope panics. Wait, but how will she contact us?

Sazh continues, oblivious to Hope's concerns. "I haven't had a chance to install a locator yet, and she wasn't risking her communicator falling into the hands of these monsters. Especially once she found out they all double as locators." Sazh looks up and points at the terminal: "See that screen over there?"

Hope walks over to the terminal at Sazh's desk, comparing the signal location to the coordinates on the map. Perfect match, of course. Sazh is nothing if not a perfectionist about this stuff.

Hope notices something flashing at the corner of the screen, and he backs out of the map, widens the field of view and suddenly, there's another marker on the map, only a few kilometers from the Snow Kat. Approximately where Sazh has the target marked on his map.

"Sazh, can you come here for a minute?"

"What's the problem?" He asks, not getting up but looking away from his work.

"There's something I want you to look at here." Hope hears Sazh get up, feels him when he leans in beside him. "What's that?" Hope asks, unnecessarily.

Sazh stares at the screen, then shoves Hope aside so he can sit down at the terminal. Hope doesn't like the way Sazh is frowning at the screen. The furrow in his brow is worrisome, and Hope shifts from foot to foot to bleed off some of his rising anxiety.

Sazh taps keys, shaking his head. He finally says, "Can't be. It's gotta be an error of some kind. A ghost in the machine."

"What does it look like?"

"It looks like the Hero is sitting in the middle of that camp. That's what it looks like. But that can't be. You just spoke to him a day and a half ago, and he was at home. No way he made it from Oerba to the far side of Mah'Habara on foot in less than 36 hours, and there's no way he flew, because I didn't fly him anywhere."

Something about what Sazh just said sets Hope's teeth on edge. Anxiety starts churning in his gut, fluttering around like butterflies and making him wish he could sit down again.

"He was at home, right, Hope?" Sazh stares at him expectantly.

Was he at home? Did Snow say he was home when he spoke with him?

"He didn't say he was home," Hope concedes. And then remembers how difficult it was to hear Snow at all. "And you know, there was a lot of noise on the line."

"Noise?"

"Yeah, I could barely hear him," Hope admits. Hope remembers wondering if Snow was in a wind tunnel. Snow had refused to tell him what the noise was.

"Well, that's not good," Sazh says.

"Should we call him?" Hope really wants to make sure that Snow is okay. And tell him he's a jerk for not telling Hope where he was when he called, making him worry about him.

"Nope," Sazh says. "Either there's a glitch in the software, which means we'll just panic him for nothing, or…"

"Or?" Hope prompts, already anticipating the answer.

"Or, calling him might give away his position."

"You think he's in that camp, don't you?"

"I don't know what to think, Hope. But that don't mean we just do things without thinkin' 'em through? We'll leave that nonsense to the Soldier and Hero, thank you very much."

T minus 11 hours

Hope is still not sure he likes Sazh's decision to call Serah instead of Snow, but Sazh doesn't much seem to care what Hope thinks about this particular topic. He's not calling Snow, but he wants information about Snow's whereabouts. Hopefully, Snow will be home with Serah when Sazh calls, and this whole mess will just be one big misunderstanding.

Hope isn't particularly good at lying to himself, it seems.

Sazh stands with his communicator to his ear, facing away from Hope, but not forcing Hope to leave the room. Hope is infinitely grateful for this fact. Too many of his older friends treat Hope like a child, always trying to shield him from the world. It's irritating. Hope was just as involved in everything last year as they all were.

"Hey, Serah…" Sazh pauses, allowing Serah to respond. Hope can hear her chattering away on the other end of the line, but can't make out the words. She sounds like a tiny, woodland mammal, chittering away somewhere in the distance.

Hope immediately feels bad for making the comparison.

"No, everything is fine. No news is good news. The soldier is still on her mission, but we'll be rendezvousing with her in 11 hours…"

"I sure will, I promise. First thing. I will dial you myself…"

"No need to thank me. Listen, Serah…Is the hero around?"

He puts his head in his hands. "He did now, huh? Well, I didn't speak with him. I'll have to ask Hope…"

"No, no, don't do that. If he's trying to make it across the Steppe, he may just be radio silent. It's not unusual. Wouldn't want to distract him…"

"Nah, I'm sure he's fine. The hero knows how to navigate the Steppe better than most. If he's gone silent, then he might just be passing a herd. Or, he could just be a dumbass..."

"I know. I'm sorry. I'll let you know as soon as I speak with him. Okay?"

"You too. You take care of yourself, you hear me? Stay warm. Stay inside. Oh wait, Serah? Do me a favor. Call up one of those heroes-in-training, and have them stay with you for now. Okay? It's nasty out, and I don't like the idea of you bein' alone in this storm, okay? For me?"

"All right, now. You know I worry about you damn kids…"

"Naw, you don't have to do that!"

"Well…All right, then. I do love pie!"

"Every normal man loves pie, Serah. If that hero of yours doesn't love pie, it says a whole lot more about the hero than pie, that's for sure…"

"I always knew I liked you better than your sister or that dumbass of yours, just don't tell them I said that! I like my teeth just the way they are…"

"You too! Take care. Bye, now." Sazh disconnects the call and says, "Goddamn it, Hero."

"Snow doesn't like pie?" Hope has no idea why he says it, but there's something so bizarre about Sazh talking to Serah about pie when Snow is basically missing, and possibly a hostage in some terrorist camp.

"What? I mean, no. Apparently not. Are you surprised that the Hero's weird?" Sazh shakes his head though, and waves his hand back and forth in a dismissive gesture. "I mean, who cares? Hang the pie! That's not the point or the problem."

Hope knows that. He knows that pie has nothing to do with anything, but there's dread creeping in and spreading through his veins like poison. "What is the problem?"

Sazh ignores Hope's question to ask another one: "Did the Hero mention to you that he was looking for the Soldier?"

"He asked if I'd heard from her." Hope feels dread pooling low in his belly. Snow was already out looking for Light when he'd called? But that means…

"That's not what I meant, and I'm pretty sure you know that," Sazh says, and Hope can hear the irritation and impatience laced through the words.

"No," Hope replies. "He didn't mention anything about himself at all."

Upon reflection, Hope realizes that Snow had been uncharacteristically tight-lipped and evasive. Snow isn't one to hide or dissemble on anything. When he wants something, he says so. When he's going somewhere, he says where. He shouts when he's angry, smiles when he's happy, jokes when he's in a good mood, and mopes when he's sad. He hits things that threaten him, and lets threats hit him rather than any of his allies. Or anyone else.

Snow is honest about everything. But he wouldn't answer Hope's questions, and Hope had been too concerned about Lightning to even notice.

Goddamn you, Snow. You better be okay, you jerk.

"Well, that's just wonderful," Sazh says with more biting sarcasm than Hope can remember him using over the past year.

"What do we do?" Hope asks.

"All right, hang on a minute. Just let me think," he says pressing his fingers into his closed eyes. He whispers, "Goddamn Hero. Goddamn soldier. Goddamn it!"

If Snow crossed paths with this group of kidnapping murderers, there's no way he walked away from them. Snow doesn't know how to back down from a fight, even one he couldn't possibly win.

Hope has a bad feeling about all of this. What kind of mess did Snow get himself into?

"Alright, I got an idea," Sazh says. He walks across the room, opens a cabinet and starts rifling through it. Something goes flying past Hope's head as Sazh tosses odds and ends over his shoulder. "Come on. Where you at?" Sazh mutters to himself. "Ah, there you are! Help me with this thing, would you, Hope!?" Hope moves closer to Sazh, sees what he's wrestling with. It looks like the love child of a HAM radio, Cathode Ray Tube, Rabbit ear antenna, and old-school terminal.

It's about as heavy as an old CRTV, too, and leveraging it out of the cabinet and up onto the table is difficult work. "What the hell is this thing?"

"Watch your language!"

"Seriously?" Hope says. He cannot believe that he's still be scolded for cursing.

"Seriously. You're hurting my poor virgin ears," Sazh quips, and then snorts at the absurdity of his own comment. Sazh pulls a book out of his desk and sits down in front of the machine, flipping through pages.

Sazh starts spinning dials, flipping switches and clicking buttons, and typing random code into the whose-a-ma-whats-it-thing-a-ma-jig (if Sazh won't tell him what it is, that's what Hope is going to call it!)

"Um…Sazh? Mind sharing with the rest of the class?" Sazh eyes Hope for a moment before flipping pages in his book again and mumbling a soft, "Aha!"

For a long moment, Hope is convinced that Sazh will just ignore him. Hope's outrage doubles every second that Sazh remains silent. "Sazh?"

"Yeah? Oh! Sorry! Distracted. What was your question? What am I doing? Okay, well, every one of these communicators has an individual identifier protocol." Hope nods. "That's what allows point to point dialing, allowing us to call individuals, and not just have one big party line."

Wait. "What's a party line?"

"Never mind. Damn kids," He mumbles under his breath. "Anyway, that's the part of the communicator that was cannibalized from the old telecom networks on Cocoon."

"Right." Hope knows most of this because he helped Sazh build them, thank you very much.

"Another part of the communicator is based on CB radio tech. Cocoon Band. Two-way radios that all pick up and broadcast on 40 channels around 27 Megahertz in the high frequency band."

"So?"

"So, that means that, theoretically, if I can tune into the Hero's individual protocol, and redirect it onto one of those channels, we'll basically be listening to everything happening on his end."

"You can do that?"

Sazh shrugs, but bobs his head a bit up and down and side to side at once as if to say, 'who knows?'

"Maybe? It's not like I've done it. I didn't design 'em to work that way, but I know what tech I used, and it's sound in theory. We'll see, won't we?"

"Don't you have to hit a button to transmit on a two-way?"

"Yes. Technically. But the communicators are always broadcasting via the locator." Sazh keeps fiddling with dials on the monstrosity, and plugging in various numbers. "Like I said: it's not what I designed it to do. It's not something that I ever planned to do with it, and these communicators were always going to be upgraded as we built a more secure communication network. But we're the only ones who have them. There's only 10 total. Yours, mine. The hero's. Serah's, the soldier's, your dad's, one for those idiot puppies that follow the hero everywhere."

"That's seven."

"One for 'The Oerban Lady.'" The Oerban Lady is Sazh's airship. Hope loves that ship, and can't wait until Sazh lets him pilot it.

"Eight."

Sazh looks sheepish, like Hope caught him doing something wrong. "I could lie, and say I made two extras, just in case. But, I made the other two for Fang and Vanille." Hope's gut twists at the mention of his lost friends.

He loves Sazh. Why couldn't his dad be like Sazh?

Hope feels bad for a minute, but figures everyone has idols they look up to. For Hope, that person is Sazh.

And Lightning.

Not Snow.

Damn it. Jerk. He'd better be okay. Hope's never going to forgive him if he gets his stupid self killed.

Please be okay, Snow.

"I know it's stupid. That they're gone and there's no reason to think they're coming back—"

"No. It's not stupid." Hope has to believe they'll come back. He has to. "I think it's great, Sazh."

"Anyway, it's not like everyone on Pulse has one. Most everyone is using line of sight radio communication, with Cocoon as the main antenna, and another on the top of the Tower. That covers the majority of all the settlements. These communicators were for us. Our family. So we could keep in touch. Remind each other that…"

He trails off, leaving the thought incomplete. Hope understands anyway.

"Okay, so what's the point of trying to tune into Snow's communicator?"

"Well, two reasons. First, I'd like ears in that camp. I don't like the fact that I have no way of knowing what's going on with the soldier, and no matter what she said, I don't want to bomb the place as she's fighting her way to freedom."

That makes sense. "And the other reason?"

"I want to know if the hero is dead." He says it like he's talking about the weather, and Hope feels the world tilt beneath him.

"What?"

"Look, Hope. If the Hero snuck in, there's a chance he's fine. If they caught him sneaking in – and let's face it, sneaking ain't the Hero's strong suit – then…I don't know. You've seen what they did to those people. The Soldier was right: she had a better than average chance of surviving capture, considering what they're doing. The Hero, though? He's not their type. Let's just leave it at that."

Hope feels like he might throw up. Sazh slowly turns a dial and a terrible screeching sound fills the room.

Hope claps his hands over his ears, and yells, "What the hell is that noise?"

Sazh stops…everything. It looks to Hope like he even stopped breathing. Then he's a whirlwind of motion, shoving out of his seat, stalking across the room to a cabinet and pulling out a familiar bottle and a glass. He pours a full glass of the amber colored liquor, takes a full mouthful, winces then pins Hope with a terrible look.

"What?"

Sazh marches over to Hope, grabs him by the arm, and manhandles him out the door.

"What the hell, Sazh!" Hope tries protesting, but Sazh refuses to even look at him as he slams the door in his face.

"Sazh, what the—"

"Get out here, Kid."

"What's going on? What is that?"

"Go. Away!"

Hope presses his ear to the door, and hears the screeching change tenor, and there's something like – laughter? – coming over the airwaves. There's talking, but Hope can't hear what's being said, and then the terrible sound starts up again.

"Sazh!" he yells through the door.

"I'm not kidding, Hope! Get away from the door!"

Hope refuses to leave, but stops trying to get back in. He sits with his back to the door, listening to the inhuman noises with a rising horror.

T minus 7 hours

Hope must have nodded off at some point. He wakes, still seated with his back pressed to the door of Sazh's workshop. It's quiet in the room now, and Hope waits for his friend to open the door.

Then there's the sounds of things crashing, breaking. Hope panics, banging on the door again and yelling for Sazh. Sazh rips it open. He looks terrible. His eyes are ringed in moisture, threaded through with red, and Hope boggles for a moment at the idea of Sazh crying in here.

"Are you okay?"

"Me? Oh, yeah, I'm fantastic. Why? Don't I look okay to you?" Hope hasn't heard Sazh this desolate since he lost Dajh last year. It's terrifying.

Hope spies the drone Sazh had been working on earlier in the day smashed in the corner. Hope walks over to it, bends to pick it up when Sazh says, "No! Leave it! I like it like that – ruined. It matches everything else on this forsaken planet."

Sazh stalks back to his seat at the table, where he's pushed aside all his blueprints, in favor of his pistols. It looks like Sazh has been in here this whole time just cleaning and upgrading his weapons. It's such a strange thought, not because Hope thinks that Sazh doesn't maintain his weapons, but because, unlike Lightning, who treats her weapon as an extension of herself, Sazh has always treated his guns as tools to be wielded at the appropriate time. While he's certain that Sazh would bring his pistols tonight, they would be an option of last resort. He might clean them, but upgrading them? Modifying them? He hasn't done that since before Cocoonfall.

Something is horribly wrong, and a nauseous anxiety nearly puts Hope on his ass right there.

Sazh has a big glass of Fang's rotgut – his word for it, not Fang's – and he sits back down, pulls his earphones back on, and applies himself to the task of polishing off his drink like it's his job.

Nothing makes sense. "What are you listening to?"

Sazh's chuckle is creeping darkness; it's hatred and murder and rage. "What do you think I'm listening to, kid?"

"I don't know," he answers, and it's almost a lie. He has an idea, but it's a truth too terrible to countenance. He'd prefer Sazh just tell him.

"Sure you do. You just don't want to know."

Hope yanks the headphone jack out of the machine, and the terrible sound fills the room again. It's different now, though. Stuttering, and shuddery, and wet. Then there's a laugh, and a way too familiar grunt, and Hope shivers.

"Change your mind yet?"

A too-wet cough, then: "…get fucked," a very familiar voice says, and Hope feels like he might just throw up.

"Gimme the awl!"

"No!" Hope yells.

Sazh plugs the jack back in as he says, "Yep."

"That's Snow?" He knows it is, but somehow, he can't believe that the sounds he heard were coming out of his friend. Snow is stoic as hell. Sure, he's a loud blowhard, but Hope's seen him take hits that would turn anyone else into chum, and then turn around and say some stupid nonsense that always pissed Lightning and Hope off.

"Yep."

"What are they doing to him?"

Sazh laughs, but there's nothing of humor or Sazh in the sound. It's a sound that Hope would expect from Barthandelus, not his kindhearted friend. Sazh drains his glass, and pours two drinks this time and shoves one at Hope. "Here you go, Son. Don't tell your dad, okay?"

Hope sinks into the chair across from Sazh, palming the glass of liquor. "How can you listen to that?" He takes a sip of the drink, and gags on the taste.

Gods, that's disgusting! How can anyone drink this sewage?

"I'm bearing witness. I can't do anything else. I figure if he can endure it, I can at least bear witness to it."

"We have to help him!"

"There's not a thing on this accursed planet that can help him, son. It's over. Hero's done."

"Don't say that!"

"I've been listening to this for four hours! It's been going on for much longer than that," Sazh puts his face in his hands for a moment. Then he sits back up and says, "The kindest thing that anyone can do for him right now is put him out of his misery. That's exactly why they haven't done it yet. They'll make this last as long as possible." He drains his glass and pours another finger of the liquid heartburn, nurses this one a bit. "Joke's on them, though. They've only got" Sazh looks at the 'Boomsday Clock,' "Six hours and forty three minutes left with him. Then I get to end this and them."

A few more minutes pass in tense silence. Sazh 'bearing witness,' but outright refusing to allow Hope to do the same. Hope's not sure if he's angry or grateful. It's not as if Hope wants to listen to those men laugh as they make Snow scream, but he feels like a coward for leaving his friend to face his torment alone.

The idea of anyone hurting Snow for fun is beyond comprehension for Hope.

Hope thinks back to the day of the Purge. He'd chased Snow through Cocoon with murder on his mind. He was determined to avenge his mother's death by ending the arrogant, blond jerk who killed her.

Of course, Snow hadn't killed her. Oh, Snow believed he had: he blamed himself just as much as Hope had blamed him, and he'd been willing to accept whatever punishment Hope wanted to mete out to him. Hope was so close to killing Snow. He felt powerful and victorious as he stood above him with the knife.

Even at that moment, it wasn't about hurting Snow. He wanted to balance the scales. He didn't want to hear Snow's agonized screams. He wanted revenge, yes, and it was wrong. He was a grieving son who'd just watched his mother die. None of his motivations were rational, and Lightning had tried to explain to him that they were both wrong for blaming Snow for their grief. Hope refused to listen to her, and sought his revenge anyway.

But he couldn't do it. Snow didn't deserve Hope's anger or hatred. And he sure as hell couldn't possibly deserve the torment that was being inflicted on him by these murderous monsters.

Hope is torn from his thoughts when Sazh spits, "Forget it, I'm done!" Sazh rips the headphones off and tosses them onto the table before him. Then he shoves his bastard love child contraption right off the table. It smashes on the floor and Sazh smiles at it, looks like he wants to stomp it or shoot it to put it down permanently. Sazh chugs what's left in his glass, slamming the glass down. He shoves out of his seat, holsters his weapons, looks at Hope and says, "Get ready to get out of here. I'm changing the plans for the night. We're getting the Soldier out, or I'm going to die trying. And I'm getting some fucking payback."

He stalks out of the room, leaving Hope to chase after him or be left behind.

T minus 6 hours

Lightning's hands are shaking as she twists the detonating cord into the shapes that she wants, attaching the detonators, and carefully – oh so carefully – placing them in her pack again.

She has four bombs. Individually, they're small, but if she can either place them at various load-bearing points of the garage, or under the Skytank itself, they'll destroy both the building and the tank. She wants to get into the garage, which would mean blowing a hole in an exterior wall and placing as many bombs as possible on the interior. Preferably all on the Skytank, and/or any fuel supply.

Burning their fuel would be a huge bonus. Without fuel, the Skytank will still be useless. Whereas Sazh has worked to upgrade and retrofit all his machinery and his ship with renewable energy sources, these monsters have only stolen the limited fuel that the outposts had on hand. They'd run out soon enough anyway, and like locusts, would descend on any supply that fills their immediate needs.

The problem, as Sazh had explained to her numerous times, is that the fuel that they all have won't outlast the year. They desperately need to establish an energy source and power grid before that happens. If they don't, whatever semblance of civilization remains in this world would disappear.

So, burning their fuel supply is a highly desirable secondary objective for her. It's not mission critical: their mission is to save the hostages before Sazh blows the place to hell. That means she needs to neutralize the Skytank as a distraction in order to allow Snow and the hostages to slip away undetected. But if she can take out any reserves of fuel so that stragglers and survivors can't use it? That'd be a big bonus.

She takes a moment to check her rifle again. It's adequate, but she wishes she had the comfortable weight of her Edged Carbine at her hip.

She takes a moment to gather the chain up, remembering the master lock above. Snow doesn't usually use any weapons, preferring hand to hand. He's simply in no condition for it today. If anything attacks him, he'll need more than his usual agility and strength to save himself and the hostages. The chain isn't much, but he can put enough force behind a swing to knock someone out from several paces.

With the right application of force, he could probably snap someone's neck before they got near him. She climbs the stairs, plucks the master lock from where she left it, and locks it onto the hoop of chain that she created for it. It's a good weight, and she managed to balance it well. She pulls it over her shoulder and turns to look at Snow, finds him already watching her with a small smile on his face. He nods at her.

They're okay for now. She's more relieved than she'd thought possible.

Snow wasn't wrong about the two of them always fighting. Lightning and Snow have butted heads since the day they met. She thought he was a worthless, jobless, do-nothing, lay about loser sponging off Lightning by taking advantage of Serah's naivety. Snow thought she was a miserable, judgmental, stuck up bitch who was determined to control her sister's life.

Their opinions of one another didn't improve when Serah turned to crystal, either.

It wasn't until they started fighting side-by-side that Lightning admitted to herself that she'd misjudged Snow. She can't say when he went from thinking she was the human equivalent of cancer, to trusted comrade in arms, but she knows that he extended the olive branch long before she willingly accepted it.

Snow can't hold grudges. Lightning can't not hold grudges. It's who they are.

Right now, she is so thankful for Snow's forgiving nature that she could weep. Today had been a terrible day for the two of them, and Lightning really needs him on her side right now. She doesn't want to part here on bad terms. She's not an idiot. She knows that their odds are poor. They're surrounded by enemies, behind enemy lines. Snow is still nowhere near top shape, and neither is she, if she's being honest. Sure, she's in far better shape than he is, but she's sporting a minor concussion. She'd nearly died the previous day in that little avalanche, and then again of exposure as she lay freezing to death on the Steppe. A few hours' sleep and a bottle of elixir doesn't erase that kind of traumatic injury, any more than an Eidolon's healing spell can put to rights all the wrongs inflicted on Snow.

They're both the walking wounded. They need to be on the same page, or they'll never survive this night.

So Snow's small smile untwists a knot around her heart that Lightning hadn't even realized was tied in the first place. They're okay; they'll be okay.

Snow turns his attention back to the women and says, "Okay, here's the plan, ladies: you're all with me. You stick close to me; you do what I say, when I say it. I'm going do everything I can to keep you safe, but I need you to help me do that, okay? I promise you, as long as I'm breathing, no one is putting their hands on you again."

Lightning cannot express the love she has for this man.

"Lightning here," he points to her, "is going to set a distraction, and you're going to stick with me. We're going to be quick and quiet. I'm going to cut through the fence, and you're all going to go through ahead of me and keep the cliffs on your right. Stay as close to them as possible. Keep one hand on them if you have to. If you're out of the shadow of the mountains, they'll spot you easy. The Steppe is covered in a layer of snow and ice, which reflects any and all light. That means stay low, stay in the shadow and move. Don't stop! I don't care what you hear, you don't stop moving. If I go down, you keep moving. Do you understand me?" They all nod at him, murmuring quiet agreements. "Okay. Good enough. Get ready."

Snow moves over to Lightning, glances at the dead body on the floor as he passes it. "I know this piece of shit," he says. Then he spits on him. "Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy." Then he looks her right in the eyes. "You have 15 minutes. Then I'm coming back for you. That's the deal." He says it with a finality that indicates he will accept no arguments from her.

She has no plans to give him one. She nods, hands him the chain, which he gives a strange look but accepts. She gathers her belongings, slipping one of the bombs into each pocket, and leaving two in the bag. When she looks back at Snow, he's eyeing her unhappily.

Uh oh.

"What's the matter?" she asks.

"You stick out like a sore thumb. They'll spot you from across the camp." He heaves a sigh, and it looks for a moment like he's going to balk at the entire plan and insist they scrap it and start over. She knows how much he hates leaving her behind, and she knows that it's only because he trusts her that he conceded an argument that he'd already won. Then he looks at the dead body again and says, "Oh, I hate this idea."

"What?"

"Put his coat on," Snow says, pointing at the camouflage coat Jace was wearing when she caved in his skull. "With the rifle and the coat, you'll blend in from a distance. From close up, it'll buy you a second or two to act. You don't need more than that if you get cornered. I've seen you take out three guys in two seconds. Granted that's usually with your blade, but you have your creep friend with you." He smirks as he says it. She huffs a laugh at the use of Odin's hated nickname. Of course, she knows that's why Snow insists on using it: because it both amuses and annoys her. "He'll lend you a sword, and give you a ride, right? What am I worried about?"

She looks at Jace's dead body. The thought of touching him makes her skin crawl, but Snow is right. It's a good plan. She has no valid reason for refusing him. Still…

She hesitates too long.

"Light? What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Don't give me 'nothing.' If something's wrong, you tell me. We've got one shot at this. If there's a problem, let's go over it and fix it."

"There's no problem, Snow."

"I can see there's a problem. And the more you tell me there isn't one, the worse I think it is."

She sighs. "I just…" she has no idea what to say. All the reasons she has for not wanting to touch that man, never mind wear his coat, are firmly grounded in emotion. Reason dictates that it's just a coat, and it'll work as a disguise and potentially save her life, and Snow's life by proxy. He's already made it clear that he's coming back for her, and he's willing to die to do it. That can't happen. "Nothing. It's nothing." She kneels down and starts pulling at the jacket, willing her hands to stop shaking.

Snow kneels down next to her, staring at her with concern, studying her every movement as though trying to divine truths from her actions that she won't reveal in words. Then he looks down at the body. Then back at her again, and she sees the pieces fall into place. His whole face changes, transforms into a mask of horrified outrage.

Damn it.

"Oh, fuck this!" Snow says, and pulls her up and away. He leads her to the other side of the room, holds onto her elbows and tries to meet her eyes. When she continues avoiding them, he says, "Look at me." His voice is soft, but insistent. She'd really wanted to avoid this entire topic, but there's nothing to be done about it now. She sighs, then meets his eyes and he stiffens. She can see a tremor pass through his body. He closes his eyes, blows out a hard breath, and says, "Forget the coat."

She's so relieved that he's not going to make her talk about it!

"It's a good plan, Snow."

"Yeah, it would be a good plan if he hadn't—", he cuts himself off, shaking with rage. "Did you kill him?"

"Yes."

"That's my girl," he whispers; he tucks her hair behind her ear, then kisses her temple. "Come on, let's get the fuck out of here."

"Can you get me the coat? I just don't want to…" touch him, she thinks. She can't say it aloud. It's too much like admitting that he took something from her.

"You don't have to wear the coat, Light. I'm sorry I suggested it."

"No, it's a good idea," she says, meaning it. "I just don't want to—"

"I got it," he says. "If you're sure. I don't want you doing this if it upsets you. We have enough problems. It's not that big of a deal."

"A couple of seconds, Snow." A couple of seconds can and have meant the difference between life and death for her before. He knows it: that's why he came up with the plan in the first place.

He sighs and nods. "All right." She faces away while he retrieves the coat. She hears him say, "Motherfucker" and kick the dead body, before walking back over to her and helping her into the coat. She reaches for the buttons, but he whispers, "I got it," and brushes her fingers aside. She doesn't argue the point because she prefers not touching this coat at all. Once it's buttoned up, he looks her over with a critical eye. "Do you want to wear my hat? Cover your hair up?"

Translation: your hair gives you away. Except…

"No. You need it." He does. He's still too pale, and too cold.

"Not more than I need you, I don't." It's a devastating admission, and he says it like it's a lunch order. Unbelievable.

"I have an idea." She pulls his bandanna out of her pocket; she works to untie the knot, palming, then pocketing the blond hairs that she'd so coveted the entire journey here. "Think this will work?" It's obvious from the look on his face that he recognizes the bandanna as his. He tilts his head at her as if he's never seen her before, but she breaks eye contact and looks back at the bandanna.

He shocks her by not commenting.

"Here, I'll tie it on." She lets him have the bandanna, lets him pull her hair into it to cover as much of it as possible. When she turns to look at him, he kisses her forehead, then her lips, and says, "Now…let's get the fuck out of here."

TBC…

Is everyone ready to get the fuck out of here? Yes? Good. Next time, we are out.

End Note: I made up all that shit about the technology. Please don't tell me that it wouldn't work. I have zero doubt that it wouldn't work. But, I also don't believe in magical Eidolons. Just suspend disbelief for me. I know it's harder with tech than most things, but please. For me?
The Info about CB is true, except it stands for Citizen Band not Cocoon Band.
I keep telling you the big showdown is next, and now, it actually is. All the players are taking their assigned spots. The plan is set. All that's left is to execute it.

Let me know what you think...