Fist flew after fist, strong and aggressive. Valerie, Finn, Stefan, Aimee and Gavin were sparring amongst the other RDAs, partaking in bare hand-to-hand combat. They could fire a gun, like they were born with one in each hand, but they could not depend solely on weapons, on pieces of unreliable metal.

"You should be able to take out the entire AIM organisation, without them," said their ruthless personal instructor, the current first-place holder in the Ranks, Kimiko.

Gavin was her sparring partner for the time being. It seemed as if his breath had escaped him, in the form of the sweat on his brow, chin, and RDA shirt, vacating his lungs. As basic as the training was – the motions and attacks – Kimiko trained wearing a backpack filled with dumbbells for resistance, and so she had them train under the same conditions. She had convinced them to imagine the backpack was an adversary, and that they had to be able to fight, to endure the colossal mass upon their shoulders. But Kimiko was an android, walking, talking and fighting as if it were as easy a task as counting your fingers. She was not out of breath, her sweat trickled like steam on a cold surface. Sure, she was tired, but you wouldn't notice by looking at her.

Routinely, she would step away from Gavin and assess the others, and she saw as Aimee lost her focus, as her cheek was met with one of Stefan's fists. He retracted his hand as if he'd killed an infant, his mind still processing what had occurred.

"I'm so sorry, Aimee!" he uttered desperately.

"I'm fine," she replied, her cool fingers on her broiling cheek.

But her mind was anywhere but in that room with her, and training, even the idea of it, was enervating. She tried to get back into her stance, but every part of her refused to continue.

"Kimiko, this is ridiculous," she breathed.

The android leaned back as Gavin's foot approached her jaw, and she glanced at Aimee out the corner of her eye. Gavin stopped and waited for her to respond to Aimee's remark, slowly backing away. Kimiko sat down on the tiles and crossed her legs.

"So, what do you suggest we do?" she queried. "You know, we leave in two hours."

"We should take a break," Aimee answered, ignoring the flabbergasted faces of her peers. "Truth is we don't know enough of what we are up against."

Suddenly, she was talking to the whole Ranked Division, eyes and ears called by her display of sophistication. Aimee thought about what Dominick had said earlier about Buckley and GINM. She'd had enough of secrets and lies, of training and of acting strong all the time when really she was terrified. She was never good at pretending, even as a kid she'd giggle and blush helplessly whenever she told a lie, but she was different now. The inevitable transformation that her life had undergone, the thought of it, rested in the back of her mind. Sometimes, it would sneak up on her, reminding her of the things she missed – seemingly juvenile things, like accompanying Emma on one of her frequent shopping sprees. With a shake of the head, she put her thoughts away.

Aimee sighed, "I'm tired. All we ever do is train until we're dripping in our own sweat. What are we trying to prove? We are brave, brilliant fighters, but we're also people and we should get to just be people. Why can't we just spend the next two hours doing something we actually want to do? Why are we here?"

Everyone was quiet and kept in contemplation. A hand sprouted up from the audience, and its owner was speaking even before they had made their way to the front of the gathered crowd.

"Most of us don't have a home or a family to go to," said the girl, she was circa sixteen-years-old, one of the newer recruits from central Africa. "But we have this place. At least here we have a chance to make a difference in the world. So we train and we fight, until the last minute." She had such enviable hope.

"I didn't mean to..." muttered Aimee, losing the rest of her sentence as she slowly breathed in.

She realised something then, she had no right to say anything. There were so many people here that she knew absolutely nothing about. Heck, she barely knew the backgrounds of the friends she had made here. Aimee looked the girl in the eye for a while, her stern glance reminding her just how unready she was – even a newbie RDA seemed braver than her.

When she unlocked from the girl's gaze, Aimee headed for the door, more desperate than ever for that break. The girl's words rung in her head most of us don't have a home or a family. Aimee had so much to lose.

A man guarded the door, one of Buckley's assistants, but he backed away when Aimee made her way out.

"Stefan," Gavin addressed him, waiting for him to say something or go after her, but he did neither.

The guard was giving Stefan a death glare, passing him a guilt that wasn't his, blaming him for the clamour that had taken root. The crowd was rowdy, not pulling each other's hair out or anything, but they were registering what had been said. They were overthinking, worrying and some of them even said they were not going on the mission anymore. Somehow, because Stefan was Buckley's son, this was his problem. As his friend, Gavin understood, but he was frustrated by the amount of power Stefan gave his father and his minions because honestly, they had no power over him. He was just too obedient sometimes. Gavin sighed and Stefan knew exactly why. Gavin rushed out the door to find her. The guard let him go; Buckley still favoured him too much to give him any degrading responsibilities.

"Guys, everyone, calm down," he heard Stefan say as he walked out, and he could have sworn Stefan's eyes were on him until he left the room.

Aimee was in the elevator. Her thumb jabbed hastily at the button to close the door, but Gavin ran faster than the doors could shut, the challenge bringing a smile to his face and a laugh to his voice.

"Made it."

"I don't want to talk," Aimee murmured tediously.

"Sure. I just had to make sure you were okay. Come on, I'll drive you home."

Aimee looked up into his calm eyes and smiled; something in them cheered her up. She nodded and spoke none, although she had to wonder why he was there, why he kept trying, kept being her friend even though he knew that was all they ever could be.

Gavin walked her to First Division, which was like a gym agents trained in, usually before going on a mission. Clifford wasn't there – Aimee remembered him saying that his boss couldn't give him the day off – but they found Molly. She was wearing boxing gloves and punching into one of the many animatronic punching bags in the room. It twisted and manoeuvred like a living target, calculating her every move. Maybe Aimee should have practiced here; she might have avoided being punched in the face.

Aimee ogled Molly unconsciously, because she looked different; excited, vigorous, strong and focused. Training was a good thing for her. When Molly looked their way, Aimee reeled back with a face that said she had done something wrong. Seeing Molly there made Aimee feel guilty for wanting to pull her away. She leaned towards the door as if she wished Molly hadn't seen her, but she had already taken off her gloves and dropped them into the slick fiberglass trough she'd acquired them from.

"Where are you two off to?" she approached them.

"We're just going to take a little break," Aimee endeavoured to smile. "I wanted to ask you if you'd like me to get you a snack or something."

Molly said nothing more, but she aimed her concerned glance at Gavin, hoping he would explain Aimee's uncharacteristic behaviour, yet all she got was a shrug.

Eventually, a smile cracked her suspicions, "I'm alright, thank you. Call your father, he wouldn't say no to a bite to eat."

Before they knew it, Molly's gloves were back on. Aimee and Gavin took the elevator to the underground parking, where he picked a cobalt-coloured something from his assortment of automobiles. The drive home seemed to drag on, extended by the silence that filled that car. There was no music on the radio, no good music anyway. Gavin's driving was steady. The silence was unbreakable, and it lasted until they stopped on the Griffiths' driveway.

"Thank you, Gavin," Aimee gradually removed her seatbelt as if she was deciding whether to say anything more.

"Always a pleasure, Ms. Griffiths," he smiled, unlocking the car doors. Gavin waited until she entered the house before leaving again.

What Aimee needed then was a shower – she liked to think it would take her mind off of things. Maybe she could wash the feel of training from her skin. She took a look at her face in the bathroom mirror; the flesh of her cheek was bright red.

Cool and soothing water poured from the showerhead above her. She had a habit of closing her eyes for a minute or two to enjoy the water, but this time, she feared she would drift into deep thought. Her thoughts however could not be outrun, and once she was dressed and atop on her bed, they caught up to her.

"Good going, Aimee. Way to prioritise lying on your bed over training for Doomsday."

She checked her phone for the time, trying not to count down the minutes, but she struggled. She knew Clifford would be home soon, in-time for...

It seemed so unfair! Aimee would rather have spent her day sitting in the park with her parents and engaging in playful arguments about Molly's bad cooking. Instead, they were going to be dressed up in spy gear, getting ready for a killing spree. Not even Valerie could cope. Yes, she was younger than them, but they were all human. Aimee needed her parents to stay in California, but it was apparent that even if they could, they would only worry. And if she did not come home in the end, what would become of her parents then?

Aimee opened her eyes and stopped thinking at all. She had heard knocking on her door.

"Come in," and the door opened with a cautious creak.

"Am I late?"

Stefan.

He drew nearer to her and sat beside her on the bed, touched her cheek.

"I should've followed you, I couldn't, I just..." he endeavoured to explain. "I'm sorry."

He looked into her eyes, her lashes flecked with the tears her imaginings had caused, and then he kissed her. Even his kiss was apologetic. When her lips were hers again, she asked him not to apologise, in her friable tone. Her dim eyes and brazen red cheek caught Stefan's glance and guilt consumed his heart – Aimee was the last person he ever wanted to hurt. He kissed her again, and again and again, kissed his guilt and his supposed failure away. He leaned into Aimee, when she eased onto her back and Stefan followed. They held that position, glancing at each other without a word. Aimee brought Stefan closer, her hand on the back of his neck, and kissed him once more. She really had missed the sensation of his kiss, the slow, compassionate, easy and heart-sweeping wonder that it was. But something was not right; somehow, it felt like a goodbye, it felt final. Stefan held her at the waist and untucked her top slowly so that he could touch her warm, unclothed skin. His mouth kissed her forehead and trailed kisses down her neck.

In a brief, yet everlasting moment, he paused, lost in her eyes, and just smiled. A smile graced Aimee, too, as she looked away with cheeks burnt pink. Leisurely, she glanced back at him, and leisurely, he brought his kiss to her lips again. He unbuckled his belt at a regular pace, removed his T-shirt, but to Aimee it seemed too fast. Her hands placed delicately on his bare chest, she stopped him.

"You don't have to do this," she whispered, sadness in her words.

"Do what?" he queried nervously.

Aimee pieced her words together in her head, over and over again, uselessly, because there was no gentle way of saying what she meant to say. That feeling came back, that finality.

She muttered, looking painfully into his eyes, "This. Don't sleep with me because you think we won't come back."

He stopped breathing. For nearly ten seconds, Aimee could not hear his breath, and then one burdensome, aching exhale escaped him. He grabbed his shirt, climbed off of the bed and walked to the door, halting in the doorway. He wouldn't look at her, and she was teemed with biting remorse.

"You know, Aimee, sometimes people want to do things for you because they love you. You are loved," his voice croaked as he finally looked back at her.

He pulled his shirt back over his head, stood there for a moment longer, before heading downstairs. Aimee was frozen. She hoped to hear the door close, signalling his departure, yet at the same time, she hoped he would stay long enough for her to come together and apologise to him in every way she knew how. But what she did was something necessary. At least, that was what she told herself.

The front door hadn't made a sound, he hadn't left yet. Aimee walked out of her bedroom, but her feet refused to leave the hallway; they knew Stefan was downstairs. She leaned against the wall, listened for his voice, but she only heard her heart's robust beating on her eardrums.

Before Aimee could reach the stairs, Stefan left – she heard the door come to a close as she grabbed the railing and made her way down. Having let Stefan out the door, Molly stood in the foyer. They heard the gurgle of his car's engine as he pulled out of the driveway.

Quietly she said, "Whatever happened between you and Stefan... fix it."

"W-what did he tell you?" she could not express it, but she knew that Molly was right.

"Nothing. I have eyes, you know. It has nothing to with Gavin, does it?" her eyebrows pulled toward each other.

Aimee's eyes went wide, "No. It has nothing to do with him."

"Speaking of which, I thought you were going to take a break not come all the way home –"

She tiptoed down the last few stairs afore her, "Mom."

"I was worried when Gavin came back alone, is everything okay?"

With a lengthy sigh, Aimee approached her, slipped two small pieces of paper into her palm and curled her fingers over them.

"I can't let you come to Lorient."