Tethers: Invasive Negotiations

A/N: The sexism is supposed to be taken from the point of view of the characters, not me. Thanks.

Grieg City, Icarus, 5th Month of Year 24, 71 Days after First Deployment

This was sort of degrading.

Tide had come to expect certain reactions out of the squad. She was different from them in a way that none of them could control, and no matter how hard she tried to fit in with them, match them, even surpass them, she would always be female. It was not a mark of shame, assuredly, but she was inherently different--the squad didn't think so. No, she was one of the boys through and through as far as Sigma was concerned, but High Brass knew she was the only special ops female soldier, and they monitored her.

There were several things, however, that Tide could guarantee regardless of anything: she would always be smarter than Flare, faster than Storm, and more aggressive than Puck. And with each of those advantages, she would never fall behind, never belittled because of her sex. And if there was one thing about being female that Tide could always rely on, it was the mystique--the unfathomable mystery of being a girl. Just a glare could send any man running, and sometimes, that was all she needed.

One would think being selected out of over one hundred and twenty candidates to run a vital mission would make Tide feel something like honor, but she was well informed that the only reason she had been chosen was because she was female. Storm assured her that she was more than qualified for the mission, though she was still nagged by a voice in her head that wanted to prove that she was more than just a covert ops asset with distracting anatomy. She was going to own this job. Own it.

Tide folded her arms and shifted her weight to one side, making sure her disgust was rather apparent. She saw Puck's and Flare's eyes follow the hemline of her loose summer dress as it grazed her thighs, and she let out a quick breath and rolled her eyes. By that point, none of them really questioned why she seemed to get so easily annoyed, as there was inevitably something they were unconsciously doing to make her so.

Storm rolled a suitcase toward the squad, which prompted a snort and a guffaw from Puck and Flare, as the suitcase was floral-printed and pink. They were all in civvy clothes because they were in a civvy place: the monorail station. It was a very strange assignment for a group of young adults who had hardly ever left their training grounds for anything other than battle, but Sarge was with them to help them carry it out. At least, he was in the same city, but probably helping himself to a quick meal at a diner currently.

"Here are your belongings," Storm announced, nonplussed by Flare, who was whispering something that was, no doubt, an attack on Storm's masculine integrity. Storm propped up the suitcase next to Tide and looked her up and down, deep creases forming on his brow. "I'm not sure if I like this... ordnance."

"Oh, please," Tide snapped. "This dress is flattering."

It was, really. Tide never fancied herself to be the kind of girl who would pay attention to the way clothes fit her because, well, she spent most of her time suited up in full armor or in sweaty fatigues. But to be in a dress... to see the heads turn when she walked up the hallway, the way Sarge lost the ability to form proper sentences, and Puck and Flare staring at her (albeit creepily), it was like having a jamming device implanted in the brain of nearly every man she encountered. It was sort of invigorating, in a way. And Tide could at least take solace in the fact that she knew she was sneaky enough to slot any enemy regardless of what distracting clothing she was wearing. This dress with its plunging, v-line neck, slim silhouette, and lack of length was not a crutch; it was an asset.

Storm sighed. "As long as it gets the job done."

Tide gave her brother a hug around the neck and pecked him on the cheek. "You're not worried, are you?"

"I'm just afraid of what you'll get into," Storm admitted, awkwardly returning the hug. His sister was so... small without the baggy uniform fatigues or armor.

"Get into? Why, I've only got permission to 'stop at nothing' to complete the mission." Tide grinned almost playfully. "I'll be fine."

Flare came over and slung his arm around Tide's shoulders. "You know, that dress almost gives you some cleavage. I have to give it some credit." Flare immediately moved away to avoid a potential blow to the jaw from Storm and an imminent elbow to the gut from Tide.

"I think what Flare means is that you won't have to go very far to get the intel," Puck said in his usual mediating manner, sliding his hands into his pockets and seemingly avoiding looking at Tide altogether. "So Storm shouldn't worry or anything."

"I'm not worried," Storm insisted uselessly. Sigma Squad's dubious stares all went to him until he finally said: "Okay, okay. I just want Tide to keep her clothes on."

"All right, enough about my invasive negotiations tactics," Tide said with a wave of her hand. She grabbed the handle of her suitcase and nodded to Puck and Flare, who were still ogling her, though by this point, with some ostensible restraint.

"You know how to contact us," Storm needlessly reminded her. "We'll storm in and slot everybody in a heartbeat if you need us."

"And we'll wear fantastic shiny armor while we do it," Flare added.

"I doubt you'll need us," Puck chimed in with a shy grin.

"Thanks, boys," Tide said. A fast breeze shot across the platform and Tide instinctively moved her free hand to her skirt, her self-consciousness suddenly getting the better of her. The platform was more or less devoid of any civilians (it was a Saturday and before sunrise, so that was no surprise), but she figured she should probably start getting used to acting like a self-respecting teenaged girl who wasn't frequently exposed to a squad of three boys.

"Check in when you get there," Storm said with a nod as the monorail pulled into the station.

"Brush your teeth!" Flare said.

Puck lifted his hand and faltered in what he was about to say. "Keep your... pants on?" he stated, more like a question than anything.

"Will do," Tide said with a small chuckle. She boarded the train with her suitcase and turned to look out the window at her boys, who were all staring at her as if they were worried parents sending a child out on her first day of primary school. It was sort of endearing, in a way, and Tide would have certainly thought that if their lack of confidence didn't annoy her so much.

The monorail began to pull out of the station, and Storm, Flare, and Puck began waving simultaneously in a belabored manor that could have been taken out of a corny holovid. Tide waved back nonetheless, and suddenly felt very alone on the sparsely inhabited monorail car. The more distance the monorail put between the platform and itself, the more Tide became aware of her solidarity. It was both liberating and terribly frightening--she had never gone on a mission on her own up to this point. Nothing had really prepared her for that.

Chalking it up to boredom and not her insecurity, Tide reached for her comlink, which was shaped like a normal civilian's and lacking in surreptitious design. She was about to dial in Storm's code when it rang on its own, and she answered it. "Hello?"

"Tide!" Sarge's voice came from the other side. "Well--Lisa, I guess, is the proper name now. Just checking up on you. Are you on the train?"

"Yes," Tide said, stopping herself from saying "sir." This was a normal conversation between two civilians in the event that anyone was observing her. "We're just exiting the city now."

"All right, so you're about fifteen minutes from Dresden," Sarge said, more for himself.

"Correct," Tide confirmed. Then, in an attempt to sound "normal," she asked: "How was your breakfast?"

"Cholesterol-filled and wonderful," Sarge responded blissfully. "Make sure you get one... if permissible. But really, do try. I'm taking your boys out tonight."

"I'm jealous," Tide said flatly, trying to sound uninterested, though she was admittedly envious of them.

"You won't miss much, I'm sure," Sarge assured her. "Maybe just some bad jokes from Flare, and Puck drinking too much."

"Puck's under-aged!" Tide whispered harshly.

"Details, details," Sarge said dismissively. "Check in when you get there."

Tide sighed. "Yeah, yeah. See ya, Pops," Tide casually said, clicking off her comlink. Her eyes drifted to the windowpane and her visage became dazed, but her mind was racing as fast as the monorail. Dresden.

Dresden was a small community east to the east of Grieg City, a sizable metropolis of the waning human empire. Grieg City was nothing compared to Ithaca, but it was growing with refugees in search of work and the displaced wealthy tycoons looking to start anew. Dresden had yet to feel the growth of incoming refugees, however, and Intel reports--which had to be taken with a grain of salt--were fairly confident that the ratio of men to women in the predominantly working town were outrageously mismatched--about five men to one woman. Needless to say, it was obvious why Tide was selected for the job.

Intel had also caught wind that someone was making massive communications with Bedlam. Sympathizers. Some humans didn't like the war. Many of them thought that history was repeating itself--humans claiming new territory and blasting away anyone who mucked up the works. They called for negotiations and compromise. Some even went as far as to sabotage the human war effort. And whenever Intel detected that, someone was put on the case. And without the illustrious military secret services, it was up to a Cross-X spec ops to stop it.

The monorail stopped in Dresden and Tide disembarked. A worker on the train helped her with her suitcase, and she thanked him graciously and made sure she didn't lean over for too long to lift the handle. She had to remind herself to be polite and smile. Non-Cross-X people weren't going to tolerate her usual brusque demeanor, and she needed to be sugary sweet if she wanted to complete the mission successfully. Tide could act.

As she began to walk off the platform, she noticed three men walking in her direction from her left. She found herself suddenly nervous, but she feigned normalcy and kept walking, waiting to see what they were going to do. They kept coming.

---

Flare sat down at the bar and twisted side to side on the stool, drumming his fingers on the bar's surface. It was 1000 hours and the place was empty except for a few shady middle-aged men talking intently at a booth. But Flare wasn't allowed to go upstairs yet. It would be suspicious for a grown man to go up to his rented apartment with three young men. Two was more believable, sort of. Storm--or Bruce, as he was now called--could pass easily as Sarge's son, and Puck--Simon--the ambiguous friend or potentially second son. Flare was named the third wheel mostly because of his bleach-blond hair, which made him a better lookout than a family member. He sat sideways to the bar so he could keep his peripherals on the door as Sarge, Storm, and Puck loaded what looked like very large suitcases into the elevator with hover-dollies. Sometimes surveillance equipment could get...bulky.

There was still someone tending the bar at even at 1000 hours. Go figure. "What'll you have?"

Flare glanced at the bartender and lifted his eyebrows emphatically. "What do you recommend?"

The bartender huffed, annoyed. "I don't know. I'm assuming since you're at a bar at this time a day, you must be a real alcoholic. And a young one, at that."

"Not necessarily. Maybe I'm just thirsty and I want a professional to make me a drink."

"And you think you're going to get a discount for saying that?"

"No, I flatter people at random." Flare was still twisting side-to-side on the bar stool as if he was an antsy six-year-old. "Do you have chocolate milk?"

The bartender paused and gave Flare a look that in itself said "No."

"Strawberry smoothie?"

"Kid, I'm about to ask you to leave."

"Fine. Diet cola. Although ma always said not to drink cola before noon."

The bartender rolled his eyes and sprayed a glass of cola from one of the hand pumps behind the bar, then handed it to Flare and made it obvious he was done talking by going to the empty opposite end of the bar. This left Flare to his own tormenting thoughts.

Flare sipped the cola and momentarily reveled in the fizzy, sugary sensation, a rare treat for any Cross-X soldier. Puck could probably spit out every adverse effect of cola off of the top of his head, but sometimes Flare wanted to do something that wouldn't have any dire consequences. And he was pretty sure a little sugar and caffeine wouldn't hurt him. Besides, it was diet.

Puck entered the bar for his second trip, carrying two duffel bags and a pack on his back. They were getting down to their personal items--the pack had his armor in it, and the duffel bags carried the rest of his personal effects, including some small weapons and his data-hacking paraphernalia. They were almost done.

Flare watched the door with his peripheral vision, staring down at the floor and letting his mind wander. Tide was alone. And if they were going to send a girl in for this, it had to be Tide--she was a menace on two skinny legs that went forever, and he loved her for it. She was going to get the job done right like every other job she'd ever done. But he worried. He didn't doubt her, not one bit--he just worried, worried like Storm every night before he slept. Yeah, they all knew he worried. But who the hell didn't? Tide felt pressured to succeed. Not one soldier in Sigma Squad didn't feel like he had something to prove, though Tide seemed to really take her performance to heart. Flare could see it in her concentration, her forced smiles, and the days she suffered from unbearable headaches. She was one of the smartest Cross-X soldiers in the organization, and even Sarge knew she was more intelligent than him. She was the best shot, and the best close-quarters combatant in spec ops. Somehow, though, that didn't seem good enough.

But, God, she was perfect.

Flare thought of the comlink in his pocket. He wanted to call her, but he didn't want to compromise the mission or, worse, annoy her. He abstained from making the call but continued to grapple with the hurt of missing her. It was tough on the squad whenever they were apart, but it especially hurt Flare. It was hard enough sneaking moments alone with Tide, and it was damn near impossible when trying to talk to her on the comlink.

Storm said in Flare's earbud comlink: "We're done. Come up at your discretion."

Flare continued to casually slurp cola, still sitting and twisting in the stool. When he was almost done with the drink, he beckoned the bartender, who came over reluctantly. "Can I get a burger to go?" Flare asked with an innocent smile.

"A burger? Sure." The bartender shook his head and left for a back room, returning several minutes later with a small bag, which was being pulled with the weight of an undoubtedly greasy burger. Flare took it and slid the bartender some currency credits, with a couple of extra as a tip. He grinned at the disgruntled bartender and went to the elevator.

It was already waiting for him, so he stepped it and rode it up to the third floor rental apartments, enduring the boring, almost surreal synthesizer music that played for the ride. It opened into a small hallway leading to three different flats, and Flare went to 3C and knocked three times.

"Room service!" he called in a sing-song voice. Storm appeared on the other side of the door as it slid open, and he grabbed Flare by the shirt and dragged him in, the door closing behind them.

"Could you not make a giant moron of yourself? Thanks."

"Sure. Whatever you say, Bruce," Flare responded, grinning. It was so hard taking Storm seriously when he was calling him by his real name. Bruce was so... grandfatherly. "But fun-less people don't get burgers. Yo, Puck, you want some?"

Puck was sitting on the small futon putting together some equipment that Flare couldn't quite figure out in its disassembled state. He flinched at his name. "Drew. Seriously. Make yourself useful and help me out here."

"I don't know if I like Drew. Should I do Andy instead?" Flare asked as he stepped over equipment parts and sat next to Puck on the futon.

"We're going to start calling you Smart Ass at this rate," replied Storm irritably.

Sergeant Elias Kadlec came out of an adjacent room and put his hands on his hips, eyeing Flare. He was wearing faded, black denim pants and a crimson polo shirt with all of its buttons undone and the hem tucked in. The pants seemed to squeeze his growing midsection, but it must have been due to the thin armor he was wearing under it, not his expanding waist size. Sarge was as cautious as he was intimidating. "I knew a Drew at the academy. He was a real genius--liked to show up late to morning calisthenics with Sergeant Payne." Sarge grinned sarcastically. "I think it's fitting for you, Drew."

Flare had unwrapped the burger and taken a bite out of it, the farthest he had gotten to helping Puck was moving to sit next to him. "Thanks. I'll take that as a compliment, Pops."

Sarge's comlink began to ring. They all froze--it was playing a little repeating melody like most other civilian's coms, and the song was Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata." It was Tide. "Hello, Lisa," he said calmly.

The rest of them waited, fixated on Sarge, who had turned his back on them as if to hide his reactions.

"Uh-huh. Some new friends. Well, you've got enough of those, so why don't you lose them?" He waited. "No, no. Don't make a mess. We don't have enough connections to clean up a mess that big."

Flare glanced toward Storm, who looked as stoic as ever, if not paler. He swallowed so hard that Flare could see his throat move. Flare's heart was pumping so rigorously that his ears must have been pulsating with every beat.

"They're gone?" Sarge went on. "Strange. All right. Be careful. Go somewhere safe, but don't go to--" Sarge broke off. He chuckled. "I know you've got it. Call back as soon as you can, honey."

Storm, Flare, and Puck seemed to relax simultaneously. Sarge didn't use "honey" just to stick with the paternal façade.

"Tide called to try and act distracted around some suspicious characters." Sarge sort of paused as if belatedly catching his slip on Tide's name. "Simon, is that thing ready yet?"

"It would be done if Drew would stop pigging out and help."

Flare made no snide remark as he set down the half-eaten burger, wiped his hands on his pants, and had some equipment shoved in his hands by Puck.

Sarge came over and picked up the burger, taking a bite out of it himself. "Not bad," he said, chewing. "Ol' Hal can still run a decent bar. Too bad he's a bit of a priss."

Flare was stuck holding equipment while Puck carefully connected some wires. He recalled the bartender, a short man, rather skinny, his only intimidating feature being the articulate scowl plastered on his face. The image of "Ol' Hal" sort of melted with Puck's displeased concentration face, and Flare felt guilty for making the connection. Puck wasn't a priss.

"Done," said Puck.

"Let's get the sucker going so we can keep an eye on her," Flare said.

"You guys do that. I'm gonna give this place some better sound-proofing." Storm grabbed his pack and went into another room.

"I'll give Storm a hand while you guys set up," Sarge said, following Storm.

Puck looked up from the signal device and gave Flare a knowing grin. "So. Who's excited for the all-access feed from Tide's room?"

"I'd hit you if I wasn't so excited," Flare replied with a mischievous grin.