[center][h3]Ziska[/h3][/center]

"You're still alive."

"Still alive," Ziska replied, running a hand through her sweat plastered hair. She closed her eyes and let the exhaustion tug at her body, pulling on the thin threads carried only by fading adrenaline. 

Blood trickled along the edges of her lips. She had a new bruise. Several even. She had new cuts. And worst of all, she could have sworn her lips were chaffed from the heat of the cockpit. Ziska frowned. The bottle cradled in her arms felt suspiciously light. She suspected Witchcraft. Witchcraft, not just witchcraft. Ansi couldn't be trusted. Not when it came to matters of drinking. 

Davids was uninvolved. The pair had left him fuming, swearing up a fresh storm of hatred as he stood in front of the battered RVN-3L she had returned to him. Sunther was too busy calculating, mapping out the damage, and measuring to care. He had a new task, another job to do. Licht had been crestfallen, Ziska thought that he might have cried had she not been there. Lyrans always had strange ideas about the chain of command. Kan and Minhas had been more worried about the weak flesh, the battered MechWarrior piloting the bird of prey. It would have been sweet if it wasn't so inconvenient. And so embarrassing.

She was alive. She was still alive. That was all that mattered.

"You were a bit too daring."

"Yeah, well, someone's gotta be." 

"Tsk tsk, Ziska. Cutting it awfully close aren't you? Over and over again. If I didn't know any better I'd say you were trying to prove something."

Ziska shook her head, irritation burning across her cheeks in a burst of red, "It's just math. A Hunchback and a Catapult. A medium and a heavy mech. 115 tons for 35. A battered Raven for two fresh BattleMechs. A good trade. An excellent bargain that any commander would be happy to make in any battle."

"Ah, but what about you? I'd have lost you, my dear friend. They'd have lost you. And your work has only just started. There's much for you to do here. I sense the merciful hand of Blake, blessed be his memory, in all of this. The prophet has not forgotten you."

"Thomas."

"Yes?"

"Shut up

"You wound me, Ziska. I came to congratulate you. You should be happy. You should be celebrating with your...ahhh friends."

"Somehow I don't think there's going to be much celebration."

"Tell me you aren't pleased? With all of this."

"Oh, I am. But they aren't. You think the Colonel wanted this? You think Ingrid was happy to lead a kill squad? Marit, mmm, she might not have minded as much as I thought she would. She's more mercenary than she seemed when Wayne hired her. Rivers is...Rivers. He's out of his fucking min-"

"He's playing his own game, a different game," Thomas interrupted, his grating laughter shaking Ziska's head. "Oh, do not be too harsh, dear Ziska. He has been dealt a poor hand and is locked in a gamble with stakes far higher than yours."

"Not my problem. Besides, you now how this is going to end Thomas. You always knew."

"Perhaps, but so did you."

"Yes."

[hr]

"Ziska?"

The voice was familiar, and Ziska felt her senses returning. Slowly drifting back to baseline as she listened to the soft words. Stern, but not unkind. Calming somehow, despite the unwelcome context and the uncomfortable table. 

A distant memory threatened at the edges of Ziska's awareness. A Long buried recollection. A week of R&R. A week that had turned into two weeks and then a month. Too much saké. Too many designer drugs. And all together, too much fun. Chu-i Matsumoto had been one of a kind, she mused. It was a shame things had ended like they did. Like they usually did for Ziska. Badly. And with a gun pointed at her. Several guns if she remembered correctly. They'd always have Solaris though. No one could take that from her. Not even Chu-i Matsumoto.

"Yeah."

"Who are you talking to?"

"No one."

"Right."

"So what's the damage this time, Doc? What do I owe you?"

"Ziska..."

"Don't hold out on me, Doc, the suspense is killing me."

Sitting down on a bar stool that the junkyard rats had helpfully provided for her makeshift office and surgical suite, Doc Nakajima sighed,"Another set of bruises. Moderate. Some cuts. You'll be fine. But you should really get some rest."

"No time for that Doc, I got places to be and people to see."

"You're exhausting, Ziska. You know that, right?"

"That's what they tell me, Doc, but help me up. I need to find my lance. There's a party. And best of all, they're all invited!"