^^^On the Island^^^

Mia had been with Slade Wilson for three days. She could move now without her scabs cracking and bleeding again. She still had bandages up her arms and one around her head over her eye.

She stood outside of the plane facing Slade. Her bare feet were freezing and he had refused to give her any socks. Her leggings were ripped in a few places and her sweatshirt was unzipped because of all the bandages. She shivered in the cool air and gripped the knife he had given her.

"Alright. Again." Slade commanded and Mia sighed in exasperation.

"This is starting to hurt and I can't feel my toes. Can I at least dry them off and put my shoes back on?" She asked.

"No. Do it again. You can't have a break until you've hit the target at least." He retorts and crosses his arms over his chest.

She clenched her jaw. She missed Oliver. She didn't know where he was. For all she knew he was dead. Had the arrow through his shoulder killed him? Who had shot him?

The knife had a wooden handle and a long blade about the length of her hand. She held the blade lightly between her fingertips.

With her only good eye, she looked back down at the target ten yards away. She looked over at Slade and the expression on his face was resolute.

She bounced her hand for a moment, then took a step back then swung with her arm as hard as she could and the knife hit the wooden stilt. "There. It hit your stupid target. Can I have shoes now?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You hit the stand. Is the knife anywhere near the bullseye, Maria? No. Try again."

She sighed heavily. "Why do I have to do this? The last thing I want right now is to be in contact with more blades."

"Because you're afraid of them. And fear won't do you any good. Not out here. You have to learn to fight. To protect yourself."

"Let me guess. Commander Fires and the freaky mask guy?" She asked dryly. Her toes were beginning to hurt and she looked at the target. She clenched her jaw then marched over to it and yanked it out of the wood and marched back to her spot behind the stick Slade had set up as a marker.

He walked over to her and put his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face the target. His hand came around her to grab hers and position the knife back into her hands. "It's all in the wrist." He said, beard brushing against her ear. She was stiff as a board. He moved his hand to her wrist and said, "Your power in the throw doesn't come from your arm, but from your wrist and your core." His other hand moved to her stomach.

She smacked his hand away and turned to face him, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Don't touch me."

He raised his hands in the air. "Show me." He nodded towards the target and returned to his place to watch.

She couldn't get the feeling of Slade's hands on her stomach out of her head and the discomfort only grew.

She raised her hand, planted her feet and looked at the target. She imagined him standing there in place of the target. The one who almost blinded her. The man in the mask. She imagined driving this dagger into his heart after cutting him up as he had done to her.

She closed her eye, then let out a slow breath. Counting to three, she stepped back, then tossed the knife, her stomach muscles tightening and her wrist flicking in more of an arch this time.

There was a satisfying crunch as the knife embedded itself  a mere inch from the bullseye.

Slade clapped a few times and said, "Very good. Now do it again."

For the rest of the day she trained. From sunrise to sunset she threw that knife, and by the end of the day, it it hit the bullseye every time. By the end of the fifth day with Slade, she was able to throw two at the same time and get them in the bullseye.

As the days wore on, she got progressively more and more worried about Oliver.

Then, one day, Slade came into the plane with a bag of game and said, "Maria. I think I may have found your friend."

^^^^^^

"Mia, are you even listening to me?"

"Hm...?" I asked and looked up. Sitting in front of me was Thea. I was sitting in a booth at Big Belly Burger with her for the sole purpose of her trying to get me to talk. About what exactly?

The island.

She seemed a little miffed at my aversion to the topic, but I didn't care. She was rude and insensitive and I was getting annoyed.

"Did you not hear what I said? I asked you if you saw any other people on the island other than Olly." She repeats. I was beginning to wonder why she was asking me about it in the first place, so I asked.

She sat back in her booth and stared at her basket of French fries for a moment, then said, "I saw Olly's scars. My mom told me he had some but it was...a lot more than I expected. And you have some too on your...and I just wanted to know. I'm concerned and worried. You're the closest thing I have to an older sister."

I smiled a little and twisted the knotted rope around my finger until it turned white. "It's...complicated. Let's just say there were only bad people on that island."

She frowned and ate a fry then said, "Did they-"

"Thea. Please. I don't want to talk about it. At all." I snapped and she looked a little startled, then her jaw clenched and she said,

"That's what Olly said. Are you two in cahoots or something? Is this some kind of game to keep me from knowing?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Sure, Thea. It's all a game." I leaned forward on the table and said, "I want you to imagine something for me. Five years. No cell phones, food, water, or any way to communicate. All you have are the clothes on your back right now. No way to shower or get clean. On top of that, you're wet. You just spent about a week adrift in the middle of the ocean with no one for miles except the one person in the boat with you. Your best friend and everyone else on board drowned. You're starving. Dehydrated. You constantly feel sick. And when you get to the island, it rains and it doesn't get higher than forty degrees during the day. At night it's even colder.

"Not only that, but your family doesn't know where you are. You can't tell them. And then you finally find civilization only for them to shoot at you and capture you and tie you up to torture you for hours on end for information you don't have. I was your age when that happened to me, Thea."

Her eyes were wide and face was pale. "I...I'm so sorry." She whispered.

I leaned back. "You want to know all the gory details, Thea? That's the least traumatizing thing that happened to me over the past few years. I'd take torture any day to replace what I went through. That little kidnapping was nothing. It was more like a tea party than anything. So, when Oliver or I say we don't want to talk about it, are you going to push us?"

She shook her head quickly.

"Good. Stay in school, Thea. I was in school when the boat sank. Make good choices, too, and don't follow in your brother's footsteps. Be you and no one else."

She nods and looks down at her lap and I clenched my jaw and looked down at my hand, the faint trace of black ink peeking out from my sleeve.

I pulled the sleeve back down and scratched at my cheek, my fingers tracing absently one of the scars on my cheek. The scar that started at my jaw and jaggedly traces up my face and over my eye.

I'd never get the past few years back. All I had was now. And I was going to cling to it.