"It's not a big deal unless you make it a big deal!" Damien insists. It is above his normal volume. This has been the pattern for several minutes now: voices accelerating. No one in the front or back has noticed us.

This is probably why they keep yelling louder.

"It doesn't have to be a big deal, but it also doesn't have to not be a big deal, so it's up to us to decide that it's a big deal," Alex makes a hand gesture.

"I'm just saying, if this isn't a big deal, then nothing is a big deal," Mary says. "I am on the big deal side of this argument, and all of you should also be on the big deal side of this argument, because obviously it's the right side and I don't even know why we're arguing about this."

"Maybe we've never experienced a big deal," Alex says.

"But the getting shot thing was a big deal, right?" Damien yells. "You can't say that that wasn't big! It was huge! Awful! Kind of terrifying?"

"Are you saying that this is as important as that?" asks Alex.

"No! Wait, what am I even arguing for..." Damien stops. He puts his hand on his head.

"Do you not even care about Red and Dylan's relationship?" Mary says.

"Mary, if you got shot, would that be more or less important than if we stopped being... whatever we are?" asks Damien.

Mary tilts her head. "I guess more, but because I would be dead, maybe, and then we couldn't hang out together. That's kind of a dumb question. I'm not like Red. I'm pretty sure that nothing can kill me."

"The point is that you're wrong," Damien says.

Kali and Elle cross each other. My hair bristles.

"Shut up," I say. "All of you. Stop talking."

"Jeez, no one said you needed to join in the conversation," Mary says.

I shake my head. Elle and Kali are arguing again. This is definite. I step forwards, trying to listen in, and Elle leers and lowers her voice further. Blue fire flickers around Kali's hand. My pupils dilate.

"There could be another fight. Someone should tell Red."

"Why?" asks Mary.

I pause. This goes on for a while.

No good answer.

Later that day we are walking with no clear operative when I begin to start twitching. There is a lack of purpose that is gripping my arm. I turn forwards, then back, looking ahead, stopping Mary at least five times from walking up to the front and saying something ridiculous.

"I think they're busy," I repeat.

Mary raises an eyebrow. "Red's busy being sad, that's all. I should still be able to bother him about when we're going to stop. I mean, I'm not tired, but Damien is. Right, Damien?"

"I guess I'm a little tired," Damien agrees.

We pause. "Are we settling down for the night?" asks Angel.

"We could," Red says. "It doesn't really matter where we stop, so... I guess do whatever you need to do?"

I pause. My face twitches again, and I lower it into my hands. I know Mary has noticed, because she is very much in my face right now. The group disperses and I attempt to watch every member at once. Red slips away. Kali is gone. No one is doing anything productive. I feel the shell of the group slide away. There are no thin sinews of order here.

Mary asks, "What are you even doing, Gillian? Stop staring at me."

"I am not staring at you. I am making a reevaluation," I tell her.

"What, is that a big deal?" she asks.

A big deal. I leer. "I am not supposed to. I was given orders at the very beginning of this operative."

"But you can reevaluate those? That doesn't sound like you at all. I wasn't sure you were even capable of making your own decisions," Mary says.

"I came after you that night," I retaliate.

Mary's eyes narrow. "You did. That was because of your job, too."

"It was against conduct."

"You are conduct."

I stand up. Mary's eyes follow me out of our corner, but she doesn't follow. I remember the night, hesitate, and pass her towards the woods. I can scent Red out. I can sense the dismay that occupies him. My Veritas would know all about him. He turns as a plant does to the sun. His eyes are bagged. My heart is pounding. I grip my chest to steady my breathing, but something is lodged in there. I am choking and there is nothing in my body.

"Red, is there something I can do?" I ask.

"That's a great question I don't have the answer to," Red responds quickly, humorous in a way that is... not necessary. "I'm guessing you need someone else to continue to give your life purpose, and somehow, I've become the unwilling victim of your compulsions. Funny how it's continually worked out that way for all eleven of you. I love bearing the weight of all of your wonderful personality disorders."

My eyebrow twitches. There was not an operative in there. There were some thinly hidden expletives, but these are not part of protocol.

"That's a no."

"I am looking for some kind of operative response. It is verging on necessary at the moment and your compliance would be appreciated."

"You want something to do? Help yourself. That too abstract for you, Gillian? Should I chop it into little routine motions you can do? I'd love to tell you how to make everything better, but I don't know either, and I don't know why you expect me to tell you how to do it."

"You can't change how we are made, Red," I say. "This is... what I am. I did not choose it."

"That doesn't mean I need to bear it, either," Red says.

"Tell me something to do."

"No! Think of something to do. With your brain. Not that hard, Gillian. Really."

"Am I being insulted?" I ask.

Red lowers his head. "You're being helped. That's what you wanted, right?"

"I don't know what I want right now. That is why I came to you. You have always known what to do."

His face is dry. Dylan walks over, looking as if he is not performing these actions deliberately (it is within my limited intuition to say that this is a falsehood) and says, "Can we get the fire going? It's cold out."

I stand. "Yes." Red and I exchange a final glance. I tilt my head back over towards Dylan. "Let's go."

The fire smells like Damien's first ukulele that night. The nights are colder and so everyone sits closer to it. Mary leans over it in an alarming matter, but it is not my operative to move her back. I am thinking about the night when Red broke the ukulele and tossed it into the flames. At the time this was regarded as normal following of orders, and the breach was on me for waiting this long. Now the moment makes me pensive. The past and I do not talk much.

"What's up? You look like you want to kill the fire with your bare hands," Alex says.

I stare back at him out of the corners of my vision. "I do not currently have permission to leave the fire, although I would like, if possible, to exit for a brief duration of time."

"You leave all the time when we're talking to each other and you get bored of the conversation," Alex offers.

"That's different."

"Thanks. I almost forgot how little you respect me," Alex grumbles under his breath.

"I do not understand why you are thanking me, but in the spirit of tradition, you are welcomed."

Alex wheezes, which is strange, because we have not undergone physical strain that would cause him to be out of breath. Nonetheless, I stand up, and he keeps his eyes on me and his mouth pursed, so he is biting his lip. I start walking and do not stop until I am out under the stars. Far away is a road with a car or two. I wait until the world is still and extend my fingers. My hair curls around my back and I blossom up and out, reaching towards a desolate sky.

Give me an answer, I ask myself.

A grayness spreads across my vision. At first, the stars blink out of the sky. Then, the trees fade, the road goes, and when it is done, even the grays fade back into a single tone. My Veritas can not see anything. The whole world is the same paled-out gray, and I fall back down, crossing my claws over my face. A thick plume of smoke leaves my nose, and all I know is the heat above my body, and the grass beneath my feet. The only sound in the woods is my breath. I keep moving my head, trying to orient myself, but there is nothing there.

I feel something streak across my side, and my head jolts about in the darkness. I take in a deep breath and scent my quarry. It is Alex. Alex is here, in the dark, but I can not determine his intentions.

I can not see them.

I try to form 'Alex', but dragon teeth are crude implements, and I am stuck.

Alex's tail slides down into a hand. He is still against my side. "Hey, Gills. How's the weather up there? Seems a little bit foggy."

I transform back, keeping my eyes squinted shut. "The weather is the same down here."

"It's a... never mind! Gillian, are you okay?"

I fold my arms.

"What's wrong?" Alex asks.

I still have my eyes closed. "Nothing that it is within your set of duties to be concerned about," I inform him.

"Open those peepers," Alex says.

My face twitches.

"Peepers! Eyes!" he yells. "It's just a word. It's actually a really nice word. I'm fond of it. Sounds like a little baby bird. Peep peep. No idea where it came from, though... do you think some people think that eyes look like eggs? Angel says that the books she reads have all kind of words, and I mean, I know they do, because I used to use word looker-uppers too, they're on the phone, but I haven't had a phone for a while. I picked up peepers from the last city, but I don't know if we're going to go into one again, so this might be my last word for a while..."

"Alex, you are rambling again."

"Sorry."

I open my eyes. I feel all the air fall from my body as color springs back. Alex is opaque, but I see him, at least. Mary and Damien are behind him. I look them over, trying to see them as something besides something to herd. It is not that hard. I shift things, colors, meanings, and I nod to the group. Mary nods back, mocking my formality. Damien just waves.

"You make some kind of decision?" Mary asks.