A/N: Title from a track off of OCR's Lucid Dreaming because I couldn't think of one myself. Thanks to Doll and Ayayne458 for the beta.

"I see your mastery has progressed greatly."

"Yessir."

"You are confident in your AI's control of your equipment, then?"

"Yessir. Very much so."

"I need something more substantial than just your word, of course. I will not risk losing such important technology merely because you feel... restless."

"Of course not. Perhaps a demonstration will persuade you?"

"A demonstration...?"

A cold, ambitious smile spread over Wyoming's lips, hidden by his helmet. "Yes, Director. And I have the perfect candidate in mind."

"Wyoming challenged York to hand-to-hand combat? Are you kidding me?" None of the other Freelancers clustered around the observation glass deigned to give Wash a response. "Ever since his synch rate with Delta started climbing, the rest of us can't touch him."

'Except for Texas and Carolina whose scores shot even beyond York's reach,' went unsaid.

"Maybe Wyoming's AI turned him fucking stupid," said South, leaning against the bulkhead with her arms crossed.

"I heard his AI can actually control the equipment Wyoming was given," her brother added.

Wash gave North a sideways look. "Does anyone even know what Wyoming's equipment does?"

"Never told anyone as far as I know. But I hear he's been doing some training with Maine he doesn't want anyone to know about."

CT snorted, "Can't find a better secret keeper than Maine. He couldn't tell us even if he wanted to."

Annoyance shot through Wash. CT's growing cynicism had been grating on his nerves more and more recently. "He'd still be able to talk if your team hadn't dropped the ball on that mission."

"Yes, Wash," there was a rare and decidedly dangerous icy tone to North's voice, "we're aware of that."

Not wanting to get into a fight with one of the few actually decent people in the Project, Wash just turned his attention back to the training room floor as two figures finally entered, one clad in white armor, the other in tan.

"You sure you wanna do this, Reggie?"

"I wouldn't have asked otherwise, my dear fellow."

"Alright, then." York rolled his shoulders before getting into position. "Suit yourself."

[Agent New York,] Delta asked within his head, [will you be requiring my assistance in this training exercise?]

"Just watch my left, D. As always."

[Understood.]

Overhead, F.I.L.S.S. announced, "Training room is locked down. There is no unauthorized entry while training is in session. Beginning hand-to-hand combat, one round session. Agent Wyoming vs Agent New York. Round begins."

York took a fighting stance and waited. Across from him, Wyoming took a similar stance. And also waited. ...Ooooookay. That was new. Wyoming was usually part of the 'immediate attack' group. When York began to circle, Wyoming did the same. They circled each other for nearly half a minute and York had to concede that his usual tactic of exploiting an opponent's attack wasn't going to work if Wyoming didn't come at him.

"Alright, D, change of plans. We're gonna have to bring the fight to them. Keep alert for any cheap trick they might pull."

[You do not trust Agent Wyoming?]

York laughed, "It's Wyoming. I don't even trust his accent and ever since he got Gamma, he's been cagier than usual." As his foot touched the floor, heel to ball of the foot, York's weight shifted and he rocketed forward, putting all his momentum into a lightening fast punch.

His brain flared green and thousands of counters flashed in his mind but before York could react, pain rocked the left side of his head.

Above, hands and helmets pressed against the glass. "What the fuck just happened?"

"Did Wyoming seriously coldcock York?"

"He got 'im on the left. York's still partly blind in that eye."

"Delta's watching his left!"

York shook his head, surprised to find that he was on the floor.

"Come now, old boy," Wyoming's voice had an unpleasant hint of mocking, "surely you've got more fight than that."

"D," York asked with forced evenness as he climbed back to his feet, "what happened?"

[Agent Wyoming dodged your attack and struck your blindside.]

"I know that," he circled the other agent again, his wariness suddenly on full. "How did it happen? Close combat was never Wyoming's strong suit."

[I do not understand the question. He dodged by shifting his body and struck via a cross punch to the helmet.]

"Forget it," he growled lowly. Something wasn't right- not for the fact that York had been knocked down but because it was Wyoming that had done it. Again Wyoming made no move to attack so York lunged in and had to block a fast punch that came from the side. A flurry of attacks came at him and he was shocked to find he was on the defensive. "What the fuck is going on?"

Delta's voice was perplexed, [Odd. Previous data suggests Agent Wyoming should not be able to react so quickly.]

"I know, D." Despite the situation, York remained calm. Even with his shocking display of prowess, Wyoming's attacks were still sloppy and slow. "So how is he doing it?"

"Okay," Wash said in disbelief, "I don't care what kind of secret training he's been doing with Maine- there is no way Wyoming got that good so fast."

"He's not that good yet."

He shot CT a look. "York's on the defensive."

She shot him one of her own. "York's biding his time until Wyoming messes up. Just like he always does."

There! York let a punch skid over his shoulder pad, getting in close and ripping off an upper cut to Wyoming's unprotected chest-

Wyoming jerked sideways and York's fist barely clipped his helmet. "How-"

A white helmet crashed into his, the move more surprising than painful and York staggered backward trying to figure out what was going on. It gave Wyoming ample time to hammer-fist him into the ground. Slowly York got to his hands and knees, giving the other Freelancer a long, bewildered look.

What the hell was happening? Did Wyoming get that good without York noticing? Impossible- his position on the board hadn't changed in a month. Was York's left eye that much of a liability? Even more impossible- he'd trained with Delta and Carolina to compensate for it. So how the hell was Wyoming beating him? Did the AI he was implanted with do something?

[Not possible,] Delta's voice said evenly. [AI cannot enhance speed or strength. The most we can do is activate issued equipment or modify one's personality.]

"Or annoy the hell out of them," York muttered.

"Aren't you supposed to be the best of the rest of us? That can't be all you have." Wyoming tilted his head in thought and York could hear that sneering grin. "Though now that our lovely Carolina has left you behind to pursue Texas, perhaps the loneliness is getting to you."

York made a show of standing up and dusting himself off, even though his annoyance was growing. "Bringing up Carolina isn't going to make me go berserk, you know."

"Merely stating a fact, dear chap. Though I do have to say: Knock knock."

Seriously? He was doing this now? "Who's there?"

"Your beat down." Wyoming charged and when York easily sidestepped him and countered, Wyoming lashed out with a foot, kicking York's ankle into an awkward angle that forced the locksmith to topple over with a yelp.

"Dammit- status, D!"

[Hyperextension damage to the ligaments of your right ankle. Administering painkillers.]

The sharp throbbing immediately gave way to a cool, soothing sensation and York cursed himself. Wyoming fought dirty, he knew that but having trained with other Freelancers skilled enough not to have to resort to tricks, he'd forgotten all about it. York was going to have to step up his game if he wanted to win this.

"Alright, I'll admit," South said with admiration, "whatever Wyoming's been doing, I'm impressed."

"There's nothing impressive about this."

"Aw, what's wrong, Wash?" She sneered at him, "You worried about being permanently knocked off the board?"

The gray Freelancer paced in agitation, sparing a look at the training ground from around the other three's heads. "Wyoming's using some trick, I know he is."

Ever the voice of reason, North said, "That may be, but you'd need some concrete proof if you want to log a complaint with anyone."

"Even if you did, the Director would probably end up praising Wyoming's 'creativity'," CT added. Wash merely glared at the back of her head. When York moved below, Wash stopped his pacing and watched with growing concern.

None of York's attacks were getting through and he couldn't figure out why! Wyoming was supposed to be slower than him, dammit! He was one of the least technically skilled in hand-to-hand combat so how could he be blocking everything so easily? It was like Wyoming knew all of York's attacks by rote!

York threw a right and Wyoming caught his fist. He threw a left and that fist was also caught. "You know," Wyoming said almost conversationally, "this feels even more satisfying than I anticipated." He raised up a foot and Delta only had the time to get off one [Warning!] before the heel slammed into the junction of York's arm.

"Holy shit!"

"That's a disabling move! He just tried to dislocate York's shoulder!"

"I don't think 'tried' is the right word..."

They crowded against the glass, watching York grip at his arm. Part of Wash couldn't help being satisfied with the fact that even South seemed concerned.

"Fuck," York's instincts were going wild, chief among them all was the get the hell out of Wyoming's range, "fuckfuckfuckfuck."

[Warning: right shoulder dislocated. Recommended course of action: seek medical attention.]

"There're no medics in the middle of a fight."

[Recommended course of action: end the training session and seek medical attention.]

York spared the time to grin. "Heh. No worries, D. I got this." Wyoming wasn't chasing after him, obviously that meant he was being allowed to fix his shoulder. Jackass. York made his way to the nearest wall, braced a forearm against it, took a breath and slammed his injured shoulder into it. He couldn't stop the scream as the joint slid back into place with a stab of white-hot pain.

It took a moment for the pain to subside even with another dose of painkillers. But when it did, York turned to his opponent, roiling with anger. Wyoming wasn't even phased. "Well, if you insist on continuing." The Brit fell into a ready stance. "Maybe you'll actually be able to hit me."

York brought his hands up, wincing at the stiffness in his shoulder. "Keep smiling while you still got your teeth, Reggie. They'll be wiring your jaw shut after this."

"Please, old boy. Your threats are frightening me."

[Continuing to fight is reckless and unnecessary.]

"You're going to have to learn to deal with it, D." York shot forward in a lightning fast lunge, only to find that Wyoming had somehow moved to the right. The white Freelancer cupped the back of York's helmet, pivoting and using his own momentum to slam him face-first into the bulkhead.

Something moved out of the corner of Wash's eye and he turned to see North retreat from the window. A hand was braced against his helmet, as if trying to stave off a headache- a gesture growing increasingly frequent in the agents that had already been implanted with AI. Wash could just barely hear North muttering, "No, Theta. No. We're not butting in."

As Wash turned back to the window and watch York slowly stir on the ground below part of him wished they would.

York's head was throbbing. Correction- his left eye felt like it was going to explode, the scar tissue burning against his skin and that was what was making his head throb. Something trickled down his brow and York automatically put his hand to his visor. "Fuck. Tell me I'm not bleeding out of my eye."

[The orbital socket has been chipped on the superior lateral side.]

"English, D."

[There is a gash near the outer end of your eyebrow. A clotting agent has been applied. I cannot ascertain if any damage has been done to the optical nerves.]

"Great." He had to take a few deep breaths to keep the sudden wave of nausea down.

[Agent New York, we are overpowered. I suggest we concede before we sustain any major damage.]

"Not happening, D." York could taste blood on his teeth and was sure (hoped) he had only bit his lip or the inside of his cheek. "I never lost to Wyoming before and I'm not going to start now."

[It is my understanding that Agent Wyoming has never displayed skill like this previously, therefore past training sessions will not indicate your chances of success.]

York warily circled Wyoming, trying to think past his growing frustration and anger. "D, either give me options or shut the hell up."

[Very well,] a deluge of possible routes of attack filled York's mind as Delta spoke, [from what data has been gathered, Agent Wyoming is clearly anticipating your moves. The most logical course of action would be to attack in a way he would not expect.]

"Good. Any suggestions?"

A stream of options broke off from the main body. [You tend to go right, leading with a high punch. Perhaps going left and leading with a low kick will put him off balance.]

"Will do!" York dashed forward, feinting right before moving left, using his momentum to swing his leg up-

Wyoming ducked, letting the attack sail harmlessly over his head.

"What-" York's surprised was ruthlessly cut off by a knee to the ribs, followed by several more knees to the ribs and York was certain he felt something give under the attack. He gasped for breath through the red haze of pain, just in time for Wyoming's foot to come up and snap York's head back.

Wash shoved away from the glass. "That's it- I'm putting a stop to this."

The others gave him surprised looks, "Why?"

"He won, alright? The only reason York's still standing is because of that healing unit he has!"

"Do you think you're doing York a favor?" North asked. The way he held himself, the almost-accusatory tone in his voice seemed more like he was trying to convince himself rather than Wash. "If he thought he lost, he'd stay down. He doesn't need your pity."

Even so, the fact that North of all Freelancers- sensible, reliable North; North who was still standing far from the window -was the one to say that made Wash's jaw drop inside his helmet. "Are you kidding me? Wyoming is beating the shit out of him and you don't care? All he's doing is getting in cheap shots on York's blindside-"

"Why is it a cheap shot?" CT asked pointedly, "Because Wyoming knows about it and is willing to exploit an opponent's weakness? Like we were trained to do?"

Wash had to pause, hands fisting and he didn't need to look to know York had gone down hard again. The way South and CT's helmets flinched away was enough. "I don't care," he said firmly, "I'm stopping this."

"You will do no such thing, Agent Washington."

The four of them whirled around and, upon seeing the Director, automatically fell into line and stood at attention. "Sir," Wash said promptly, "this match needs to end. If Wyoming keeps attacking York's left side, it could cause permanent blindness in his eye."

"If Agent New York's wound causes him to become a liability in the field, it's best to find out in a training session rather than on a mission. In addition, it is a well documented fact that Agent Wyoming has never bested Agent New York in hand-to-hand combat and yet is clearly dominating this match." The Director moved toward the glass, peering down at the battling Freelancers as if they were little more than interesting animals in an experiment. "Therefore this session is not about their abilities in combat, but rather the abilities of their equipment and AI and until one agent stays down, this match is not over."

The Director's casualness horrified Wash. "But Director-"

"Do not question my order, Agent Washington. The match will continue without interference."

[Danger, Agent New York. You have suffered two rib fractures and a concussion. Continuing to fight is not recommended.]

"I have a healing unit, D," York gasped out, rolling painfully onto his side. "Do something with it."

[Administering painkillers. Your ribs are not set correctly, beginning treatment now will cause them to heal improperly.]

"I'll live." He tried to push himself up on his hands and knees but something hot flared in his shoulder and shot all the way down. "Ah- fuck!"

[The muscles around your right shoulder have become inflamed following the dislocation. Even with the healing unit, continual use will only aggravate the damage. The current level of injection will not be enough to override the pain.]

"Then increase the dose."

[Your body is already subjected to a dangerous level of-]

"Do it, D!"

If it was possible, York was certain Delta was frowning at him from within his head. [Understood. Dosage has increased. I assume that you intend to continue this battle.]

"Yes, I am." The pain ebbed away, leaving York feeling numb and struggling to focus. He got up on shaky legs and from the way Wyoming stood, the way he shook his head, York knew the Brit was laughing at him. "He knows how I plan to move somehow. Like he can see into the future or something."

[Unlikely. One cannot observe future events until the action that causes that event is taken.]

"Well he's doing it somehow! He's countering all my moves... so I need to counter his counter. Options, D."

This time the info dump made York's head feel like it would split open. [Agent Wyoming favors retaliating from your left. If you attack in a way that will put him in a position to attack on that side, it is highly likely he will take that chance.]

"Let's go." He charged forward and York could feel the sluggish response from his own body, the way the room tilted dizzyingly around him and knew he wouldn't be able to put up a decent fight if Wyoming knocked him down again. He leapt with a double kick, both of which hit air and even before he touched ground, York lashed out with his left, slamming his forearm into Wyoming's throat.

He spun on the choking Freelancer in a flurry of punches to the weak points of his armor. His speed was gone and strength sapped but York knew if he gave Wyoming one chance to recover, this match was done. "Stim!" He barked at Delta and the black that had been edging his vision was chased away as adrenaline rushed through his body. Wyoming stumbled and York hooked his right into the other's unprotected stomach. The knee to the helmet wouldn't do much damage, but it disoriented him around enough for York to do a jump spin kick, his heel catching Wyoming in the head and smashing him face-first into the ground.

Wyoming didn't move and as the stim wore off York could barely keep his feet. He put a hand to his side where his ribs had shifted uncomfortably. "Next time you wanna fight," he all but spat on the unconscious Freelancer, "don't fucking toy with me."

"Round One goes to Agent New York," F.I.L.S.S. called out, "Training is complete. Training room lockdown disengaged."

He made his way to the doors and by the time they opened York was limping and could hardly see straight. But he recognized the medical stand-by team and the Director and the fact that Wash was at his elbow, trying to help him. He shook the younger Freelancer away with a harsh, "Get off." York was furious and he didn't know why and that just made him more furious.

Before Wash could snap back, the Director ordered, "Delta, report on Agent New York's condition."

The little green hologram flared on. "[Yes, Director. Agent New York is suffering from a concussion, two fractured ribs, inflamed muscles around the right shoulder and ankle and several minor internal bleedings. There is also a possibility of renewed damage to Agent New York's left eye.]"

"Are any of these injuries life threatening?"

"[No, Director.]"

"Have the medical team reset your ribs and check your eye. The rest will be dealt with via your healing unit. Is that understood, Agent New York?"

York lowered his head fractionally, voice tight. "Understood, sir."

"Good. I want an update as to your status in twelve hours or when your injuries are healed." With that the Director turned away.

It wasn't good enough for Wash, though. "Sir-" All it took was one cold look over black-rimmed glasses and Wash shut up. York said nothing as he let the medics lead him away.

CT apparently followed them down and for once her bitter sarcasm was a perfect fit for Wash's mood. "Guess we've just been downgraded from 'personal army' to 'guinea pigs'."

He couldn't even attempt to defend the Director.