17-Aug-2004

Title: Nothing Like the Sun
Author: Sol 1056
Rating: R
Pairings: 1+R, 1+2, 2+3, 3+4... oh, and 4+OC
Warnings: quatre gets laid, cusses, and beats a few people up.
Disclaimer: not mine. I know this. don't sue, it's all for practice.
Note: in-canon, post-EW; quatre decides it's time to find out who he really is, other than 'businessman' and/or 'gundam pilot'
many thanks to all reading and reviewing!

Nothing Like The Sun by Sol 1056

Part Five

The last day of exams rolled around, and at eleven-fifteen, I was turning in my exam only to find Lola, Felicia, and Chip were right behind me in line. Lisa waved from her seat, and I found myself being dragged to lunch.

"So," Chip said, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "You've been person non exista for the past week. You'd better ace everything, with the studying you've been doing."

Actually, I thought I was going to be lucky if I passed Sanskrit. I'd spent my time since Trowa left putting serious thought into what he might've been trying to show me in the mirror, but all I ended up was giving myself sleepless nights. I just couldn't get enough distance to figure it out.

The most I'd been able to figure was that I'd been a prick, but I didn't know how to fix that. It seemed like the only thing I could do, really, was give Trowa a little time before I said anything, let alone apologized. I knew, intellectually, that he'd visited for friendly reasons. But emotionally it still rankled that he'd show up with the express purpose of asking for help getting Duo's attention. It was petty, but sometimes during study breaks, I felt like I'd been just the smallest bit justified for being cranky in response. Or maybe I hadn't. I just needed objectivity, somehow, and then maybe it'd start to make sense.

I realized Chip was waiting for a response, but I just shrugged instead of saying anything.

"Party tonight at my place, to celebrate," Lola said, giving me a hopeful look.

"Sure." I unbuttoned my coat when we entered the Wilson building, and smiled down at her. She responded with a brilliant grin. She didn't put her arm though mine, though, and I frowned. She stepped back, and I snagged her arm, tugging her closer with my arm over her shoulders. It was rather funny, in a distant way, how she tensed then relaxed into the curve of my arm. She fit perfectly.

Well, as perfectly as I was going to be able to manage.

"Cat?" Lola nudged me.

"Hm?"

"Lunch?" She pointed to the food court line, and I shrugged.

"I'll just have coffee," I said. "Not really hungry." And it was true. I hadn't had much of an appetite in the past week, between the aftermath of Trowa's visit and the stress of exams.

"My treat," she coaxed, leaning up to whisper in my ear. "Like a date."

"Ah," I said, chuckling. "But I'm still not hungry. Rain check."

"Rain check," she agreed.

I carried my coffee to the table, where Lisa joined the group and was ranting about the third question on Riley's exam. Lola slid her tray onto the table, and Chip immediately latched onto the fries. I sat beside Lola, and gave Felicia a quick smile. She relaxed almost imperceptibly, and offered me some of her green peppers.

"Take a day to recover, and you'll be ready for the holidays," Felicia promised. She was busy removing the green peppers from the deli sandwich. "You going home?"

"Home?" It hadn't even occurred to me. "No. Think I'll stay here for a bit."

"You're not going home?" Lisa stopped, a fry halfway to her mouth, her eyes round. "But think of all the food you'll be missing!"

And all the sisterly lectures, too, I grumbled. "I like the quiet," I said.

The party was not quiet. The party was closer to reaching noise levels equivalent only to three jet engines or one screaming baby. Lola was in her element, and I'd done my best to make up for a week of neglect. I wore the blue shirt she'd complimented once, and my cleanest jeans, though I didn't bother to lace my boots. I wasn't planning on moving a great deal, just standing by the wall and watching.

Felicia and Canh were at it again, and Felicia stuck by my side for an hour or two so we could partake in our tradition of a running commentary on everyone that walked past. Eventually she got fed up with watching Canh drool over freshmen, and went to remind him whose bed he really belonged in. Within minutes Lola appeared to take Felicia's empty spot, and I casually slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close.

I remembered the days I had to attend parties where people wore black ties, not choke chains masquerading as accessories. Or double-breasted suits, not old t-shirts with older work shirts thrown on overtop. The pants were tailor-made, not jeans off the rack with holes in the knees. And I mingled and chatted and smiled and kissed more cheeks than a politician at a baby-name convention. Well, I was a politician, in one way, wasn't I: the unofficial ambassador for Winner Conglomerate.

God, it had been insufferably boring. Problem was, I wasn't sure this was much better.

"What's wrong?" Lola tilted her head, giving me that worried look.

"Hunh?" I dragged my attention away from the crowd long enough to move my hand to her neck, brushing gently. I'd seen someone do it in a movie, once, and she melted against my hand.

"You seem awfully far away," she observed. "Ever since that friend of—"

I scowled, covering quickly with a laugh, and bent down to kiss her, hard. "We could get closer... "

"I'm one of the hosts," she protested, but I noticed she didn't let me pull away. When I opened my mouth to tease her, she took full advantage of it.

When we pulled apart, I raised my eyebrows at her, nudging her legs open with a knee. Lola groaned, and dug her fingers into my shirt, jerking me down to her level.

"Bastard," she insisted, and kissed me hard, again.

The noise was still thumping downstairs, which was fine by me. It'd covered the sounds of Lola moaning and whimpering as she thrashed on the bed. And it covered the sounds of my whispers, half-spoken chants calling her name, as though afraid I'd forget who it was, and want something different.

No, I told myself sternly, cupping a hand around her bare breast. This is fine. This is good. This is someone who sees I'm someone, too.

It didn't help.

"Where are you going now?" Lola rolled over on her stomach to lie across me, her chin on my sternum. "You just went away again... "

"You have a pointy chin," I informed her. "And I'm not going anywhere yet. Unless... " I twisted my lips into a smirk. " ...It's to the drawer for another condom."

"Hey," Lola protested, poking me in the armpit. "I am not walking funny to the train station tomorrow."

I laughed, twitching away from her fingers.

"You don't like your family much, do you," she whispered.

I sighed. I'd forgotten she talked after sex. "I don't know. They're okay," I told her. "They mean well."

"All families do."

"Yeah." Duo's words came unbidden: there's more than one kind of family.

"So what are you going to do, with all that time on your hands?"

"Don't know." I ran my hand through her hair, scratching her scalp lightly, and she purred. "Catch up on my reading, hang out... never really had time to myself before."

"Mm," she murmured. "Don't stop that."

I chuckled, and within minutes, she was asleep.

The clock said it was three hours later when the music finally died down; tromping footsteps and softer voices in the hall signaled everyone departing. I'd been lying there the entire time, feeling Lola's body pressed up against mine in her small bed. The shadows cast by the first floor shop's neon sign, outside her window, were in shades of blue and red, beating in time with the music.

When she stirred, I'd go back to scratching her head, or running my fingers up and down her spine, and she'd drift into sleep. I waited, but sleep never came for me.

I'd start to drift away but the slightest sound had me awake, instantly. I simply couldn't relax enough, and it was only once the music faded that I realized it wasn't going to happen. I didn't know why, but I kept glancing towards the door, uncomfortable with the fact that the bed was under the window, and that she was between the door and me.

My exam-exhausted mind kept playing scenarios at the edge of sleep, causing me to jerk wide-awake, my breathing quick and light. What if someone burst through the door? Came through the window? How many? I knew I'd push Lola off the bed, and roll off after her... and then I'd remind myself, we are not at war.

But there was no one watching my back, and I couldn't sleep.

I exhaled slowly, and once again found myself cautiously crawling out from under her. She shifted, an arm reaching to embrace me in sleep, and I disengaged slowly before sliding off the end of the bed and digging for my jeans. I had just found my shirt when the bedclothes rustled, and Lola sat up.

"Another guest," she whispered, and it took me a second to place the jibe.

"No," I told her, leaning over to give her a quick kiss. "Just figure I should get back to my place."

"Cat... " She latched onto my shirt, puzzled. "You can stay. It's okay."

"Yeah, I know." I smiled for her, but it faded when I pulled the shirt over my head. I knelt down on the floor, looking for my socks. "But I should... "

"I guess." Lola was quiet, watching me dress, and when I stood, boots laced for once, she caught me by the hand. "Can I ask you something?"

"Depends," I teased. "I can't cook, so if you're wanting breakfast in bed, it'll have to be doughnuts."

"No," she said, brushing her red hair out of her face. "That guy... your friend."

I stiffened, and she tugged on my hand again. "What about him?" She flinched, and I knew my tone had to be defensive. I tried again, softening my expression. "Sorry, I'm tired."

"You... he's someone you fought with, isn't he," she replied. The neon light bathed her in a flashing outline: blue, blue, red.

I was silent for several seconds, trying to decide how what to say. I couldn't, so instead I nodded curtly.

"From the wars. Someone you know from back then." Her grip tightened on my wrist, then relaxed to thread her fingers through mine.

"Lola." I sighed, unable or unwilling to explain. Where would I even start, and did I even want to try?

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "But he... was scary. And then... I looked at you, and you... " She shook her head. "I guess that's silly, but for a moment there... "

I was still trying to process the idea of Trowa as scary, not sure I wanted to follow the rest of her words and put myself in that category. I couldn't answer, and the silence stretched across the room, broken only by the faint clicking as the neon sign flashed outside the window. Blue, blue, red. Blue, blue, red.

I turned and knelt before Lola, resting my hands on her blanket-covered knees, as if in petition, and she stared down at me. There was a line between her brows and I reached up, pressing against it gently, before running my finger down her nose. "Lola," I sighed. I let my fingers run down further, past her mouth, to her collarbone, and down her sternum. I tugged at the edge of the blanket, revealing the curve of one smooth breast.

"I just wanted to apologize for not being... more friendly," she whispered.

"I'm sorry, too." I smiled, a little, trying to turn it into a joke, and ran my fingertip across the underside of her breast, smiling when her breath hitched. "He usually has better timing. And I think he was equally surprised, if that helps."

"He did get an eyeful," she said, laughing softly. She grew serious just as quickly. "But it was the way you both---"

"But it's a good eyeful," I told her, nuzzling my nose against her collarbone, and running my tongue along her skin, following the path of my fingers.

"Cat," she tried, valiantly, one last time. "It's just that sometimes you---"

I bit down on her nipple, and her words ended in a gasp.

"Oh... "

Lola arched her back, letting the blanket slip down. I gently pushed her backwards, my lips and tongue suckling harshly at her breast, while my hands dug into her waist. She wriggled backwards and I crawled with her, only breaking away long enough for her to pull the shirt over my head.

"I just got dressed," I protested, but my fingers were already dipping between her legs, stroking and tugging and investigating. She whimpered beneath me, and I smiled against her skin, moaning when her fingers clawed my skin when she tried to get my jeans off.

"You can do it again later," she promised. And then there was no conversation but the whispered pleas of two bodies, moving in gentle rhythm, echoed by the beat of neon: blue, blue, red.

I had to brace myself, one hand on the windowsill, or I would've collapsed on her.

"Need air," I said, panting. Her legs were locked around my waist, and I shifted, pulling out and falling on the bed beside her with a groan. "Woman," I told her. "You're going to kill me."

"No, it's the opposite," she said, humming as she rolled over to spread herself across me again. "Sex with you makes me surprised I don't have a sunburn afterwards."

I blinked, and raised my head up, giving her a bewildered look. "Did you just compliment me, or insult me?"

"I don't know," she answered, and ran her tongue across my nipple, tugging a little at the ring. I squirmed – I know I did, because she giggled and did it again. "Just that... you ever been to the desert, Cat?"

"The desert," I gasped, trying to keep up despite the lazy post-sex floating and the twinges shooting from my chest to my groin. "Ah... Lola... can't think... when you do that... "

"Mm," she purred, and licked my chest one more time. "The desert's pretty cool. The only time there's life is in the dark. And it's vibrant, but it's hidden. The rest of the time, it's all a mask. Gorgeous, but barren, and it keeps its secrets."

I did my best to stifle a sigh. Perhaps if I got her drunk, we could have sex without her being so damn poetic afterwards. I cancelled that idea. Drunk, she might end up ten times worse and I'd have to listen to her psychoanalyze me in three-part rhyme.

"There are a lot of different kinds of deserts," I finally said, not really sure what I meant. Her lips were trailing down my ribs, and I groaned. "Do I get a break, or not?"

"Hush, Cat," she ordered, and one hand came up to pat a finger across my lips. "If you're not going to sleep, then I'm going to get some more sun." I opened my mouth to say something, but I was silenced when she slipped two fingers into my mouth. I sucked fiercely. She giggled, disappearing under the blankets. Her fingers slid from my mouth, and I was about to protest when something warm and wet enveloped my crotch.

Wasn't much I could say after that but a few choice words to make sure she didn't stop.

I got back to my place at noon the next day, a newspaper-wrapped bundle under my arm. When I stepped through the door, it was a shock, now that I'd seen how another occupied space. My apartment seemed empty compared to Lola's; she had fanciful posters, scarves over the closet door, and an old rag rug by the bed. Every surface had been covered with something - rows of nail polish bottles on the old dresser, pens and pencils stuck in plastic cups with her high school's logo. Books, papers, old projects tossed in the corner with mismatched high heels. My place felt like a damn museum, an empty storage unit, a dead resource satellite.

I dropped the gift on the bed, and took a shower, first. The only benefit to the place was the massive water heater in the basement, and I took full advantage of it, scrubbing thoroughly in the hottest water I could manage. I wasn't sure why. It just seemed like what I needed to do.

We'd stayed up most of the night, with breaks while Lola napped. In those spaces filled only by her even breathing, I would sit by the window and run my fingers across her skin, marveling at the lack of scars, but my eyes were always on the street. The night was cold, overcast, the moment frozen, waiting for the right silhouette to come strolling down the sidewalk, pause, and look up towards the window as if calling me down.

When she'd wake, I'd lie to her, and tell her I'd been sleeping, too.

I saw her to the train station, and she pushed the gift into my hands with a casual laugh but tightness around the eyes that belied her nervousness. I hadn't expected a gift, and I hadn't planned on one in return. Don't open it until you get home, she said. I didn't get you anything, I replied, and she laughed and said I'd given enough.

Returning to the bed, I collapsed cross-legged, shivering a bit in the cool air as the water dried on my skin. One towel was around my hips, the other around my neck, and I wondered why I bothered with modesty when there was no one around to see me. Chuckling and yawning at the same time, I studied the newspaper wrapping, and tentatively shook the box again.

It was thick, and a little heavy, about the size of a shirt box, but she'd sworn it wasn't clothes. And there was something rattling in there, too. I wondered why she used newspaper, and wondered what kind of a budget she was on. I knew she had a brother who'd been in the Alliance, during the first war. I knew her parents were divorced, and had been since she was in grade school. I really didn't know much other than that. I didn't even know - and hadn't asked - where she was going to stay over the break.

Sighing, I opened the gift, figuring I'd put it off long enough. The newspaper tore away, revealed a box, which I opened... and inside was a medium-sized tin, and a large sketchbook. Stunned, I opened the tin to see a row of chalks lined up, colors from white to black and in-between, stout and powdery against my fingertips. Unlike Wufei, she'd included a note.

Use all the colors.

I will, I promised her silently. Then I pushed everything aside, tugged the blanket over me, and crashed out for the next twelve hours.

The phone rings when he steps out of the clothing shop, and he has to struggle with his two packages before he can get the phone from his pocket. It's one of the few numbers he'll actually answer, and he hopes it had better be important.

The phone rings again a moment later, and he's about to bark a comment to Marie when he thinks to check the caller ID. His car is ready, and he can return any time to pick it up. Quatre assures them he'll be there shortly, and puts the phone away.

When I woke up, it suddenly hit me that everyone else was gone, and I didn't have classes the next day, or the day after that. Stunned, I threw the towel off and dressed quickly, shivering a little in the chilly room. Then I stood in a circle, almost as if seeing the place for the first time. It took me about ten minutes to snap out of it, and I checked my watch. Liquor store wasn't closed yet, and for what I had planned, I'd need alcohol.

Out the door in two minutes, down the block, for a bottle of vodka, orange juice, a deli sandwich, and a few extra items that the man stocking shelves swore would do the trick if nothing else. I bundled it all up and lugged it back to my place despite the sideways wind sending icicles down my neck. At the very least, the vodka would be nicely chilled, I assured myself.

It was nearly ten when I got back, and I set everything on the counter and stared at my apartment for several long minutes. Taking a deep breath, I rolled up my sleeves, made sure I was wearing clothes - as the man suggested - that I wouldn't miss if they were ruined. Then I put on the bright pink gloves - not without a slight groan - and the scrubbing sponges. I peeled the cap off the scouring powder, read the directions thoroughly, and headed into the bathroom. My bathroom - well, my entire apartment - was filthy. I'd had enough of it.

War was not hell. War was purgatory. My bathroom floor was hell.

The guy at the bodega was right, though I wasn't sure how he'd known. It took an entire bottle of the scouring powder before I could see the tiles on the shower and the bathroom floor. The toilet, I found, really was white, inside and out. So was the sink. I moved on to the stove, the sink, the countertops, and by three in the morning I was scrubbing fingerprints off the doorjambs.

It's not that I liked living with dirt. And it's not like I hadn't had the time to clean up, before. I had cleaned a little, here and there, but most of the time, I just didn't notice. A lifetime of having other people clean up after me, and I simply didn't see dirt anymore. Why should I bother? Wouldn't someone be along eventually to take care of it?

Six months, and no one had come along. And unless I wanted to keep living in the midst of some pretty nasty messes, it was about time I do it myself.

The sun was just starting to come up when I rinsed out the sponge and pulled off the horrendous gloves and shoved them under the kitchen sink. I wet down a dirty shirt and cleaned off the windows, unsurprised when the fresh water formed a thin sheet of ice on the glass. Heat wasn't the apartment's strong point, but I kept moving, and the cold didn't bother me.

Actually, I didn't think I'd worked out that furiously in months. Cleaning is a lot harder than people realize, plus the fumes are worse than vernier engine stripper.

I sorted my clothes into clean and dirty, and neatly folded and put away the few clean clothes. The dirty ones were shoved into a pillowcase and left by the door. I was considering doing laundry, until I noticed the time.

Exhausted, I fell back into bed, fully dressed, and slept until four.

I had a headache and an appetite when I woke. Both were fixed with a sandwich, shot of vodka, and then I went down to do my laundry. On the way back up the five flights of stairs, I noticed several pieces of furniture left in the hallway by departing students.

My evening became an adventure in moving, starting with one small dresser, which fit all my clothes with a little room to spare. I stacked the plastic crates by the door, undecided on their fate. Next came two folding chairs, one with a cracked seat, from the third floor, and a card table from the second floor stairwell. I found a cool blue lamp that sparked when I plugged it in, but I knew I could fix that. And someone had dumped blanket in the basement. It had coffee stains on one side, but those were easily hidden when I folded it in half and taped it up over the window to keep out the cold.

By midnight, my clothes were clean, dry, folded, and put away. I wasn't sure whether to drink the rest of the bottle in congratulations or collapse on the floor after being so industrious.

But something was missing. I tapped my hand against my thigh, feeling the twinges of old aches in my shoulders and knees as the cold seeped past the blanket's edges. I ran over the list in my head: table, chairs, clean kitchen, need to figure out hooks to hang coats by the door. I also decided I wanted two hooks in the bathroom for towels and no more dropping them on the floor behind me.

Maybe I'd get a bathmat, too, when I got my monthly check in a week.

That's when I realized what was missing: I wanted to tell someone. It was just past midnight, so it'd be about eight in the morning Duo's time. My hand hovered over the phone while I dug for the calling card I'd carried in my wallet most of the semester. But then I pulled my hand back, uncertain.

I wanted to tell someone, but I doubted it'd really be that exciting. Duo probably cleaned on a regular basis, judging from Trowa's comment. The state of his place when I'd visited... if that was the everyday status, me cleaning for the first time wasn't a victory. It was a farce.

Maybe Heero, I thought, and cancelled that, as well. He'd be just leaving for work now, and besides, he'd had his own apartment for two years now. This certainly isn't such a big thing for him, either. And Wufei... no, Wufei would probably snort and ask me why I didn't hire a maid service rather than tackle six months of cleaning on my own. It'd be his version of teasing but... I didn't want to be teased.

I wanted someone to pat me on the back, that's what I wanted.

The thought made me suddenly angry, and for a split second, I was tempted to tear open the window and throw out everything I'd achieved. Dirty it up. Mess it up. But just as quickly the feeling passed, and I settled down on the less rickety of the two chairs, and dragged my new sketchbook towards me.

I hadn't drawn since Trowa came to visit. And I'd never drawn anything using chalk before. I took a shot of vodka, hissed when it hit my throat, and followed with a long swig of orange juice. I stretched my arms over my head, took a deep breath, picked out the blue stick of chalk, and touched it to paper. The first line was light, jagged, uncertain, and then I let my eyes fall half-closed and my arm moved of its own accord and the whoosh of the chalk slipping across the paper, scratching as it curved...

An hour later I finally had a sketch of Duo that I was happy with. It was completely in blue, a shade just lighter than the royal blue of his eyes. I stared at it for a bit, seeing the few lines implying his impish grin, looking backwards over his shoulder at me, long strokes to indicate his braid flying from the movement of his head. I fingered the edge of the paper, then carefully ripped it from the book. Grabbing the tape roll I'd used to put up the blanket, I taped Duo to the wall, over my bed. I stood, looking at him for a long time, and nodded in satisfaction.

"Look, Duo," I said. I downed the shot and wiped my mouth with the back of my wrist, feeling like an idiot and not caring. "Clean, hunh. Bet you wish you could've seen me wearing pink gloves."

And then I had another shot, another sip of orange juice, and drew Trowa in green. I drew him as he'd been by the kitchen sink, the look of surprise and amusement on his face when I handed him the beer. Eyebrows barely arched, a whisp of chalk for his thin lips, a long line for the curve of his jaw. I taped him next to Duo, and introduced them to each other. I made them promise to take care of each other.

I drew Heero at the range, the taunting smile on his face as he dared me to join him. With the fourth shot of vodka - or perhaps it was the fifth - it dawned on me that Heero's expression had not been a smirk but a genuine, shy smile. It was me that had been smirking. I nearly crossed out the portrait, a big red X of chalk, angry with myself. But I didn't, unable to destroy what I'd already spent an hour trying to achieve, in quick sketch after quick sketch... and eventually, I taped Heero next to Duo, and made them both promise to always care for each other, no matter what.

Wufei came next, drawing him as I'd seen him last. That pleased look - just the merest twist of the lips - when I'd congratulated him on a dangerous mission gone well. What you saw was not what you got with Wufei and it wasn't even close to what was really there. I'd known that for years. But when you were allowed to see the merest bit, it was a compliment. Few even got that much. His was the simplest of the ones so far – a hint of the curve of his brows, the set of his chin, the tilt of his head.

I put him on the wall, next to Trowa, and thanked him for his gift.

After them, I drew Relena, then Lola. Then Lisa, and Sally, and the light of dawn was creeping past the blanket edges when I tried to draw Felicia, Hilde, then Canh. I ripped off page after page, working through the chalk, and by the time I got to drawing Chip, I had figured out that using a little bit of white chalk on top of a colored line gave the illusion of highlights above the simple lines.

When I fell asleep, my head on the half-full sketchbook, it was twelve hours later, and I'd done fourteen sketches. They hung around my apartment, smiling at me the way I wished they always would in person.

For three days, I slept, drank, ate macaroni and cheese while continuing to draw. I finished the book on the third day, and lay on my back staring at the pictures. Then I drew the apartment: the kitchen-pantry, the door to the bathroom – the half-open perspective was frustrating – and then the dresser, with my textbooks stacked on top of my laptop. After all the time I'd spent studying Gundam design plans, drawing perspective was far easier than people. I wondered why I'd never tried it before.

I experimented with colors, and went from one color to using all of them in one picture, with no basis in what color the real world was. I lay under my card table and drew the underside and one of the chairs, and nearly tore up the pictures when I couldn't get it right. I found myself laughing when I did.

It was nine o'clock at night, and I had a wall of portraits, and another wall of still lives. I'd draw my feet, stacks of clothes, my coat on the wall, the fire escape out my window. My hands were cramped, and I'd even taken to trying to draw with my left hand to give my right hand a break. I couldn't draw faces quite as well, but I could manage perspective better with my left hand.

On pure impulse, I decided it was time to get out of the apartment, and find more to draw. First I needed more paper, but that was easily obtained – I checked my wallet, and thought I might be able to manage something cheap. The art store on campus wouldn't be open, but the big market six blocks away might have something if I stopped by the next day. Staring up at the portraits, I studied the ones of Relena and the other pilots.

It was a long moment before I decided, and then I took each down, rolling them up carefully. Tucking them gently inside my coat, I put on my boots, grabbed my keys off the counter, and headed to the all-night mail stop.

The bar was on the way back from the mail stop, and I stepped in, nodding to the doorman as I filed past with other college students who hadn't yet left town for the holidays. I didn't have ID, but I'd never been carded. Lola told me once that as long as I kept ordering only one brand of expensive whiskey, they'd assume I was old enough to drink.

I ordered a shot of whiskey, neat, and leaned against the bar to watch the crowd filing in. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I realized I missed Lola, but it was a faint kind of loneliness. My entire mind was too preoccupied with visualizing the line of chalk, scraping across the rough paper.

"Hey, band's playing tonight," someone said, and I looked up to see one of the doormen holding a set of ticket stubs and a wad of credits. "Twenty if you're going to stay."

"Not planning on it," I told him.

"You should stay," a guy's voice said from behind me. I turned to see a man with jet-black hair cropped short, grinning at me. He was dressed in black from jacket to boot, but his smile was infectious. "It's a great band."

"I'm sure it is, but—"

"Here," the guy said, handing the doorman a handful of credits. "Two. For both of us."

"That's really not—"

"Come'on, stay, you'll like 'em, I promise," he said, clapping me on the shoulder. He leaned close enough for me to see he had gray eyes, his grin getting wider as I leaned away from him, startled. "And if you don't like 'em, your tab's on me."

"Ah... " I managed a smile back at him. "I have expensive tastes."

"That's cool. So do I," he replied. "Whatcha drinking?"

"Twelve-year single malt." I tipped the empty glass at him, and he whistled.

"Jamie," he said, and stuck out his hand.

"Cat," I replied, shaking it. The whiskey had dampened my senses and I was sitting at the end of an exhausting several days, but I could feel the sincerity, and a strange trill of excitement coming from him. I managed a tired smile. "Thanks for the ticket."

"No problem, man, just here to spread the good word." Jamie leaned forward and winked at me. "My little sister is the lead singer for the second band playing."

I started laughing. "So you're on a one-man mission to make sure the place has as many bodies as possible?"

He grinned and waved for the bartender. "Another one of those for him, and a Manhattan for me." Jamie slanted a look at me, his smile turning devilish. "More like a five-man mission. She's the youngest. That woman over there's my eldest sister—" he jerked his head towards a dark-haired woman chatting with several college students I vaguely recognized. "And my other brothers are around here somewhere."

"Family affair," I said, chuckling. "Yeah, I'm familiar with that."

Jamie gave me an appraising look, but it was mostly teasing. "You have the look of a man with older sisters."

You have no earthly idea, I thought, but shrugged and grinned.

"We've got to stick together, man!" He clapped me on the back again, our drinks arrived, and he insisted on a toast. "Tradition," he insisted.

"We just met," I protested.

"Gotta start them somewhere, right?"

The band wasn't that bad. Actually, the band was decent, and the lead singer was petite and fiery with a powerful voice. For all Jamie's insistence that his family had probably spent as much packing the place as the band would make that night, it seemed to me that his sister's band might not need his help. The college students had come out in droves.

The problem with college students in droves, after exams, with alcohol, is the reason I rarely came to bars except when Chip and his friends dragged me out.

Brawls.

The first started not far away, and I managed to avoid the flying bar stool, finishing off my whiskey rather than risk getting bumped while I was drinking. Two doormen wrestled the kids off each other, and we had peace for ten minutes. Then several students got mad Jamie's sister's band hadn't left the stage yet, while the band's loyal fans took exception to such catcalls.

Jamie tapped me on the shoulder, and when I raised my eyebrows at him, he motioned for my coat. I grinned and handed it to him, watching as he passed it over the bar into the bartender's waiting arms, along with Jamie's leather jacket. Jamie turned around, pushing up his sleeves, and I did the same.

We waded into the midst of the melee, and I know I had a grin on my face to rival Duo's worst. Elbow to one chest, dodge a fist, backhand. Grab a kid by the scruff of his neck, spin him around and shove him into the nearest doorman, who hauled him off. Someone got me in the back of the knee, and I dropped to the floor and swept the feet out from under three people – including Jamie.

"Sorry, man," I said, about to help him up.

"Behind," he gasped, pointing.

I twisted, blocking the punch. Left-hook to the jaw. The guy went straight down. "Crap," I said, shaking my hand out. "What the hell, you got a metal plate in there?"

"Cat," Jamie said, laughing. He draped an arm over my shoulder and I tensed for a moment, but he didn't let go, and gradually I relaxed. "Cat, Cat," he repeated. "Do not, and I tell you again to make sure, do not ever get mad at me. Please."

"I'm not that bad," I told him. "I just—"

"Yeah, yeah," he said, shoving me away.

"You," one of the doormen said, pointing at me.

We moved away from the center of the floor, and the band's fans, demanding an encore, soon filled the gap. The doorman led us to the back end of the bar, and spread his legs, crossing his arms over his chest. He was at least a head shorter than me and twice as wide, with keys jangling from his belt and his dreadlocks far back on his head. He was balding, a little, but doing it with style, I decided. I stared at him, memorizing his face. Definitely an interesting face to draw.

"Sorry about that," I said, giving him a polite smile. "I'll get my coat and go."

"Go?" The doorman opened his eyes wide, then laughed. "Screw that. Wanna job?"

It took only a half-second. "Hours?"

"Eight to three, four or five nights a week. Sometimes out earlier if it's dead."

Next to me, Jamie nudged me and I elbowed him right back. He had the same kind of instant-friendship attitude Maxwell had demonstrated, after the wars, once he'd let down his guard. I elbowed Jamie a second time for good measure, and nodded to the doorman.

"Pay scale?"

He named a rate, and I shrugged. Not like I had anything to compare it to, really. I never even got paychecks from Winner Conglomerate. It had gone straight into an account.

"Start date?"

"Tomorrow night," the doorman said. "The guy who started that last fight was a doorman." He gave me a toothy grin and stuck out his hand. "Fred. Head doorman."

"Cat. Not head doorman."

"Cat, yeah," Fred said, laughing some more. He seemed to find the entire thing too funny, and I gave him a mildly bemused look. It only made him laugh harder. "Meow, boy, I won't rub you the wrong way. Got fifteen minutes for paperwork?"

With Jamie egging me on in the background, I followed Fred into the bar's office.

Jamie left with me, and we walked down the street, laughing about the fight. It felt like I was back in a place where I belonged, to fight at someone's side. Granted, Jamie was nowhere near the caliber I'd been used to with Heero, or Wufei – or even Trowa. Jamie was, at best, where Maxwell might've been at age six. But he had spirit, and had struck out with force and taken his blows with a grin.

"So you just finished school? Or one more semester?" Jamie stretched his arms over his head, and groaned, grabbing his ribs. "Man, that kid could punch."

"I'm a sophomore," I admitted.

"No shit," Jamie cried, backing up and looking me over, head to toe. I pretended to glower, and he grinned. I smiled back, and he bent over laughing. "Hell, now you look sixteen."

I went back to glowering.

"Just giving you hell, man," Jamie assured me. "So, what did that guy say? Did you tell him? Ya gotta be twenty-one to work a bar—"

"I told him," I said, a bit smugly. "And he said pity my birth certificate was incorrect. I start tomorrow night."

"Incorrect!" Jamie hooted, and threw his arm over my shoulder. "Just don't smile, man, or they'll—no," he stopped, and gave me a sideways look. "Smile like you did during the fight. Man, that was some scary shit on your face."

"Me?" I twitched, a bit uncomfortably. "I wasn't—"

"Someone should take a picture and show you," Jamie said, releasing me. He stopped by a set of steps leading up to a door, between two shop fronts. "My place," he announced. "Come up, we'll get a drink. No twelve-year scotch, but I've got beer."

"Beer's fine," I said, not really sure why I was agreeing, but it wasn't like I had anything better to do.

End Part 5

next chapter: tomorrow morning...

(:./sol/nothing5)