14-Aug-2004

continued revision of The Worst Thing...

Title: Nothing Like The Sun
Author: Sol 1056
Warnings: nothing this chapter, except a few bad words and mild violence
Disclaimer: not mine. I know this. don't sue, it's all for practice.
Thanks to those reading & reviewing, and those archiving who are stuck re-coding each chapter. sorry!

Nothing Like The Sun by Sol 1056

Part Two

Time passes quickly when you've got your nose in a book. Four weeks into the semester, and I was still finding my feet, but that was mostly because I often had a book or notepad in the way. I'd taken to writing everything down, but still had time to doodle in the margins. Little sketches of my professors, my classmates, my hand, my shoe sticking out from under the desk. I also carried around a three-by-five card, to cover those sketches when I'd copy my notes for any classmate who'd missed class. The girl would giggle, and thank me, and take the notes while eyeing my notebook, and offer to buy me coffee. But I still wasn't going to show any of them my sketches, and I didn't really like coffee much, anyway.

I discovered that a cool way to spend a Tuesday afternoon was at the grocery store. Felicia called it a bodega. That was probably the coolest part of all. Bodega. There's a word I could roll around in my mouth, draw it out long and low like Felicia said it, and feel like it was something exotic. Narrow aisles of produce shining under the artificial lights, cans upon cans of different foods that I had no idea how to cook; I stuck to the simple things like sandwiches. When I found the bodega sold cheap pots, I bought one, and expanded my repertoire to soup.

Classes continued, and we built our suspension bridge. I had ended up being the de facto leader of the team, which was both something that flattered me and embarrassed me at the same time. I did my best to pawn off as much decision-making onto the rest of the group, but the more I did, the more they called me the team leader. Eventually I gave up, and let them say what they wanted. As long as we were working, Lola couldn't tease me, and Lisa wouldn't moon over Chip while he wasn't looking.

We were four weeks into the semester, halfway to midterms, when Dr. Robinson announced an opening in the laser lab. I checked it out while Chip chattered over my shoulder about an upcoming party, and reviewed the job responsibilities.

Check, check, check, I thought, pleased. I can do that. Then I scanned the second half of the posting, and my heart sank. A job would be good to have. I mean, money – really, at the bottom line – wasn't necessary. But I had put myself on a budget, based on the average amount of scholarship at the university. And besides, I was getting a little bored in Structural Engineering, although the professor was cool. Sanskrit was a challenge, but I was starting to suspect I could sleep through Calculus and ace everything.

The problem was that I'd never held a job in my life. How the hell was I going to explain I could handle the responsibility, when the only jobs I'd had were ones cut out for me, handed to me, and completed even if I didn't do the work myself? After the Eve Wars, Chang and Yuy had often called me up to help run the strategy on some of the more pressing rebel factions that sprung up, and I'd never had qualms walking away from my busy work.

That's what it really was, after all. There were reams of accountants and secretaries and assistants and analysts who were perfectly capable of doing their job without my interference. I was just the figurehead.

And now I had to do my own laundry, which was when I decided that going without underwear wasn't that difficult, once you got used to it. Socks were another issue, however, so laundry had some value. However, socks could be washed in the sink and hung over the shower rail in a pinch. I was rather proud of myself for thinking up that adaptation.

I thought I was adjusting well enough, even if I still got skittish the nights there was gunfire in the streets, and I still startled easily when pushed into a crowd of students. Chip and his friends coaxed me out to a few movies on campus, free to students, and I did my best to enjoy myself. The first two were comedies. The fourth week of school, it was some kind of shoot 'em up drama with a ridiculously implausible love interest.

So there I was, watching the hero and his girl trade insults. I kept thinking of Heero and Relena during the war, or Hilde and Duo: both couples I'd figured would end up together, being so perfectly simpatico. Nothing came of it. But Chang and Po were like that – and still were. I had to laugh, but not at the same thing as everyone else. I was imagining Po's face if I ever suggested that she and Chang would end up together, thanks to their obvious chemistry and passion. They sure always argued like cats and dogs, but insult one and you could expect to find the other one's gun in your face before you had time to blink.

Just as I got to that visual, the hero pulled out his gun. At first I was impressed with the model, being a newer kind that wasn't often seen on the open market. But when the hero fired, the hapless victim flew backwards ten feet and I nearly choked on my popcorn. I counted the bullets spraying from the hero's gun, which had passed ten bullets without reloading at least five minutes before. And I sank down in my seat, mildly annoyed when the hero knocked out five bad guys who'd had the decency to come at him one at a time.

All I could think was: damn, if only Oz had been that conscientious, we would've thrashed them even faster. Thoughts like that made me laugh, though, when everyone else was on the edge of their seats. I attempted a poker face, rather than pretend to be astonished, and to cover the helpless laughter I could feel bubbling up.

When we left the movie, Mike bumped me in the shoulder, his expression curious. "Hey, you not like it? I know the chick was skanky, but the action sequences—"

"Were absolute bullshit," I blurted out. Chip came to a complete halt on the sidewalk, his eyes wide, and I managed a wry grin. "But it was okay, I guess."

"What was bullshit about it?" Chip was watching me closely, and I wondered if I'd accidentally offended him. He didn't feel offended though, just puzzled, and I realized Mike and Vin were echoing Chip's look.

"Ten rounds to a magazine," I said, rather weakly. "That guy shot seventeen rounds before reloading."

"That's Hollywood," Vin said, laughing. "They do crap like that."

"And the girl was using a fifty-caliber round," I continued, unable to stop. "At her weight, she should've been the one flying backwards, not the guy she hit. Hell, if she could even lift the gun in the first place."

"You know guns, hunh," Chip said, his tone measuring. "See," and he turned to the other two guys, "Cat's got friends on the force, in Preventers. Bet they've pumped his head full of crazy ideas."

"Something like that," I muttered. Suddenly I wasn't so sure I wanted to go with them to the party Mike had heard about, off-campus. I felt instead like kicking myself. I hadn't yet found the rulebook, but I was sure somewhere in there had to be a passage against spouting esoteric technical trivia among my otherwise ignorant peers.

But then Vin changed the subject to the question of who'd slept with Lola already, and I let the topic move away from me, neither confirming nor denying my own interaction with her. I'd not slept with her. I didn't even have her phone number, unless she was the one who scribbled it on a piece of paper and shoved it into my back pocket the other day after class. I wasn't sure, so I'd thrown it away.

The party was loud, of course, free from the campus noise restraints, and filled to the brim with students. We had to crawl in through a side window to fit into the first-floor apartment, and soon we had our plastic cups filled with cheap beer, standing in a group waiting for pretty girls to notice us. I leaned against the wall, watching my friends over the edge of my cup, amused at their preening, loud joking, the boisterous movements of young men who want someone to notice them. This was behavior I could recognize; Duo had pointed it out to me often enough, and did it himself when the fancy struck him.

"Drunk yet?" Felicia's voice snapped me out of my entertainment, and I glanced down to see her lean against the wall next to me, her shoulder almost even with mine. I frowned, and bent over. When I stood up, she was grinning lazily.

"All right, you're wearing heels," I said. "Damn, and I thought I'd shrunk." I glanced down into the half-empty cup of beer. "For a second there, I thought this crap was actually having an effect."

"Fat chance," she retorted. "You'll need six more to get tipsy. Watered down, I'm sure."

"Too bad they don't have something worthwhile, like vodka." I drank the rest of the beer, and tossed the cup one-handed over my friends. It landed in the trash can, ten feet away.

Felicia whistled. "Not bad for a white boy."

I blinked, and once again she winked at me. She seemed to always know the right thing to say to trip me up, and I think she enjoyed doing it, too. Sometimes it bothered me, and sometimes I could shrug it off, but I always gave her the same response: a small smile, like I knew something she didn't. She'd begun answering the look with one of her own, and I figured that made us even.

"You here with Canh?" I leaned against the wall again, crossing my arms. Some blond girl had draped herself across Vin, who was looking mighty pleased with himself.

"Yeah. Got here half-hour ago." Felicia sipped her drink, too daintily in my opinion for someone rather blunt the rest of the time. "Might dump his ass, though, if he keeps making eyes at those girls in the corner." She shrugged.

"Get rid of him for just looking?" I was a little shocked. It seemed rather capricious.

"You think I couldn't get someone else even better?" Felicia cocked a hip, and gave me a smug look. "Don't underestimate me, handsome."

"Never would, gorgeous," I replied, and she laughed, a throaty sound. She'd come up with that nickname and didn't seem like she was planning on dropping it, so again fighting fire with fire seemed the best option. At least in her case, the moniker fit.

We ended up hanging together while Chip and his friends melted into the crowd. Lisa had appeared, so naturally Chip gravitated towards her, leaving the rest of us to our own devices. Vin was ensconced by the bathroom door with the blond, and who knows where Mike had wandered off to – probably doing beer shots with the other former athletes, I guessed. The comedies we'd seen, the weeks before, had characters like Mike and Vin, and I'd assumed the characters were cookie-cutter stereotypes. After several afternoons and two parties in their company, though, I was fully convinced the screenwriters had known Mike and Vin from somewhere, and were just faithfully duplicating their personalities on-screen.

It was a little after two when Felicia sighed and pushed away from the wall.

"Great picking on the locals with you, Cat," she said. "I'm going to find Canh and head out. See ya in class on Monday."

"Yeah, sure," I replied, and shrugged. "Probably head home soon myself."

"Alone?" Her look turned sly.

"Yeah." I frowned, but bit back the rest of the words: I don't want to meet someone here, and take them back to my place. It's my place. It's not open for public viewing.

"Chill," she murmured, and patted me on the shoulder. "Walk safe."

"Same," I called, watching the change in her normally strong walk, now a positive strut from the high heels combined with graceful legs. She was attractive, no doubt, and heads turned as she passed, that dark skin gleaming under the lights, the raised chin and confident smile adding to the sexiness. Yeah, she was sexy, but I didn't feel like she, or anyone else, would ever be someone I'd want to bring back to my place. It just didn't feel right.

I left about ten minutes later, too bored to bother fighting my way to the keg for a sixth beer when the first five had done little other than make me need to pee, and badly. It took several minutes before I got into the bathroom, and half of that time was spent pushing Vin and the unnamed blonde out of the way. Bladder empty and stomach growling for a midnight snack, I evaded several girls' attempts to waylay me about classes we shared, or that I shared with a friend of theirs. It was Saturday, at almost two-thirty in the morning, and I really couldn't see the point in discussing economic theory with a girl swaying on her feet. I thanked each politely, made my excuses, and stepped out into the September night.

It was probably an eight-block walk, and once I was at the corner, away from the old apartment building, most of the foot traffic had thinned out. It felt odd to be out, that late, without cold metal resting at the base of my spine, but at least I knew how to walk like I was carrying. A bit of a drag on the right foot, a heavier step, and I hunched my shoulders so my jacket stood out at the back.

I was two blocks from my place when I saw Canh and Felicia up ahead of me. Felicia was bending over, fiddling with the strap on her heels and cussing a blue streak, while Canh looked on with a long-suffering expression. He saw me and waved, and I couldn't help but grin as I walked up.

"You sure those are worth being three inches taller? Still only made you what... five-nine?" I dodged when Felicia came bolt upright and tried to swat me.

The feint and twist away from her hand was what distracted me, I think. When I turned to face her again, she was staring away from me, her eyes wide. There was a gun leveled at her nose, about a foot away. Canh had frozen, his hands raised halfway.

"Gimme your wallet, bitch!" The guy glanced over at Canh. "You, too, college boy!"

I scanned the sidewalk past the three, and realized the guy must've stepped right out of the shadows behind Felicia. And I hadn't even noticed someone was standing there. I felt like an idiot. The gun wavered, and I started to feel like an annoyed idiot.

I was halfway between Canh and Felicia, facing the guy, whose gun was within my reach. I wasn't five-foot-two anymore, and I didn't have the innocent look on my side, if I ever had. But I did have better reflexes, and I could only hope the guy with the gun didn't.

"Lower your gun," I told him, in a flat tone, "and you'll walk away."

"Gimme your money," he barked, "and you'll live."

"Oh, please," I retorted. At the same instant, I grabbed the barrel of the gun, grabbing it around the stock. Twisting against his wrist, I ripped the gun from his hands. I flipped the gun and leveled the barrel on him.

"You should've listened," I told him. The guy blinked, staring at the gun, then me, clearly uncertain how it had happened. I flipped the gun again, stepped forward, and smashed the butt against his forehead.

He hit the ground with a soft cry.

Canh was staring at me wide-eyed, and Felicia still hadn't taken her eyes off the gun. At least one of them knows where the attention should be, I told myself, and sighed.

"You two, go on home," I said, very softly. "I'll take care of this."

"Cat," Felicia whispered, her eyes still on the gun.

She wavered, unwilling or unable to move. I spared a glance at Canh, who looked like he'd been the one to get hit upside the head.

"Take him home," I ordered in the coldest tone I could manage. It startled her out of her fright, and Canh jerked as well.

"See you in class," Felicia said, and the next second she and Canh had stepped around the guy's huddled figure, and were hurrying off down the sidewalk.

I waited until they had disappeared around the corner before I crouched down next to the guy. He flinched, and I amused myself by dismantling his gun while waiting for him to raise his head.

"What are you doing," he said, his eyes wide.

"Checking it out," I replied. "Nice piece. You sure you know how to use it? Safety was on the whole time." I quickly reassembled it, feeling the pieces slide and click into place beneath my fingers, but kept my eyes on him the whole time. His gaze was darting between me, and the gun, and back again. I twirled the gun on my finger, letting it fall with a snap into the palm of my hand, butt towards him.

"Who the fuck are you," he asked, and didn't raise his hand to take the gun.

"Cat," I said. "And if you see me, you leave me alone. And if you see me with someone, you leave us alone. And if you see someone that you'd seen with me, even if I'm not there, you leave them alone. Got all that?"

"Uh..." He swallowed hard, and I held the gun out towards him. His eyes narrowed, and I had to up my respect for him somewhere above roaches, but still far below the average Oz enlisted man. "How do you know I won't take the gun back and shoot you?"

"Because first, I've got no money, so that's a bullet spent that didn't get you shit," I replied. "And second, because if you don't kill me with the first shot, you won't even live long enough to mourn your mistake."

He took the gun with shaking fingers, and I stood up, backing away a step. The closer look told me he was probably a boy, no older than I'd been when I'd gone off to war. The comparison made me ache, and I watched with a flat expression while he tucked the gun away, nodded nervously, and slipped into the alleyway. I waited until I could hear his footsteps fading into the distance, and then I headed home.

The first shop is a stationary store, and Quatre leans into the window, studying the pale cream and lavender shades of the parchment. It's a beautiful thing, unmarked, perfect, and he decides against purchasing any. He wanders into the store, and after several minutes of contemplation, picks up a gorgeous ink pen.

In twelve hours, he'll be young again, it seems.

"You just took it... like that," Felicia repeated. We were sitting outside after class, having managed to successfully ditch Lola for once. Felicia hadn't looked me in the eyes all class, but no one else was acting differently, so I hoped that meant she hadn't seen fit to tell them all she'd nearly been mugged.

"Yeah. Safety was on," I said, wondering if that would relieve the shock still radiating from her, two days later.

"How did you know?" She ran a hand over her thick hair, poking it behind her ears, and gave me a stern look. "It was dark, and you barely had time to look."

"I just knew," I told her, and sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't," she replied, relenting. "It's just...I know there's violence, and I know it's a bad neighborhood, but I've never been held at gunpoint before. Got mugged twice my sophomore year, but that was at knifepoint. It's...it's not the same." She sighed.

"No, I guess not." I leaned back on the brick wall, and curled my fingers around the back edge, drumming idly as I contemplated the idea in my head. "I think you should get a gun."

"Me?" Felicia came the closest to squeaking I'd ever heard. I almost laughed, but her look darkened and I knew if I even cracked a smile she'd swat me again. "I don't know how to shoot. I've never even held a gun!"

"Girls with guns, sexy," Chip drawled, appearing beside Felicia. He dropped his bag on the ground and plopped down next to her. "What did I miss in class?"

"Major pop quiz," Felicia replied without missing a beat. "Worth twenty-percent of our grade."

"Fuck," Chip said, sagging. There was a pause, and he sat upright again, leaning past Felicia to look at me. I nodded solemnly, and his eyes went almost impossibly wide. Unfortunately, Felicia chose that moment to laugh, and Chip scowled. "Bastards, both of you."

"I'm no bastard," Felicia replied. "Do I look like I've got a dick?"

"Hope not, or Canh's in for a surprise when you give up your virtue." Chip grinned smugly, then yelped as Felicia smacked him in the arm. Recovering, he rubbed his arm and gave her a slightly more serious look. "So what's this about you buying a gun?"

"For her protection," I said. "She needs to learn to shoot, too, but I don't know where around here—"

"At the range, just on the other side of Twenty-first, past the subway station," Chip said, and grinned widely. "My uncle used to work across the street from there. If you don't mind being side-by-side with cops, you could go there." He frowned, and scratched the back of his head. "I guess. I don't know if they let in people who aren't cops."

"I'll find out," I promised Felicia, who nodded, but looked worried. I gave her a small smile, the one I used when I wanted to look sympathetic, and she relaxed a little. "Don't worry. I'm not going to push a gun in your hand and let you walk out without knowing how to use it. If I do that, I might as well put a gun in someone else's hands to use on you, because that's where it'll end up."

"Okay, Cat," Felicia said, but she looked intimidated. Chip, meanwhile, looked fascinated.

"This is 'cause of that friend you've got in Preventers, right?"

"Uh, kind of," I said, feeling uncomfortable all of a sudden.

"I think we should make a day of it," Chip announced. "Get Lola and Lisa, and Mike, and Vin if he's up to it." Chip nudged Felicia with his shoulder. "That way you won't feel like you're wearing a big sign that says you're new to it. Always better to learn with other fools, so you won't stand out as much."

I thought Felicia was going to melt at the unexpected insight from our class clown. "Yeah, if Cat..."

She glanced at me, and I shrugged, but inside I was wishing I could come up with a damn good reason to keep it a private deal. I couldn't, not without really sounding like I had something to hide. I did my best to shrug, with a nonchalant air.

"Okay, then," Felicia told Chip. "Some Saturday coming up, maybe?"

"I'm free on Saturdays," I said. I knew Felicia knew it was true, but I wish it weren't. Going to a shooting range with that many people, and me... I squashed down my instinctive reaction. I could tell Felicia was getting tense next to me; perhaps she was starting to wonder if my dampened enthusiasm was because I'd changed my mind. I suspected she probably would have been relieved to hear me call it off, but I'd just spent a half-hour trying to convince her. It would definitely look strange now if I started whistling something different.

"Anytime after one," Chip agreed. "I'll talk to Mike and Vin, Felicia, you get Lisa and Lola. And Cat, you get us guns."

"The range may provide those," I said, amused at the idea of myself as a gun smuggler, selling bootleg ammunition on campus. Now that would be a twist. I spent a year purchasing bootleg. Wouldn't it be fitting to turn around and sell it?

"You're the man," Chip said, standing. "And I'm hungry! Can I get your notes later, when we meet?"

"Yeah," I said, sighing deeply. Chip grinned, and I made a mental note that I'd need to copy and cover my most recent sketches. I'd done one of Lisa falling asleep in class, and I doubted she'd appreciate me handing such material over into Chip's corrupted paws.

When the phone rang two nights later, at first I was confused by the sound. When I realized what it was, it took me several minutes to find it. Collapsing into a crouch where I'd located it, I answered somewhat breathlessly.

"Hello?"

"Quatre?" Iria sounded worried. "Are you busy? Is this a bad time?"

"No, not busy," I replied, delighted to hear from her. I had thought about calling, but the cost of a card to cover the dirtside-to-spaceball transmission was way beyond my current budget. I wasn't willing to break out of that frame just to touch base, settling for short emails every other week or so. "Just had to find the phone."

"Buried under homework?" She laughed.

"Uh..." I knew I was blushing. I could feel my ears getting hot. "Actually, no. It was kind of under dirty clothes."

"Kind of," Iria repeated, in a flat tone, "under dirty clothes."

"Yeah," I said, scratching the back of my head, abashed. I realized I was doing that, and dropped my hand, which only made me feel more self-conscious. "I've been meaning to do laundry, but..."

Iria cleared her throat. "Excuse me, but do I really have the correct Quatre Winner?"

"Hunh?"

"Little brother, I've seen your room on L4 and in Sanq, and your hotel rooms, and you never have a single thing out of place. I want to know who kidnapped you and replaced you with an inexact replica."

"Uh, see..." I squirmed, and swore at myself under my breath. "I've been busy."

"I see." Iria chuckled, and said in a knowing tone, "Oh...busy social life?"

"I guess." I leaned back against the wall, and kicked my pile of laundry out of the way, stretching out my legs. "I'm at the library all day Saturday and Saturdays night I hang out with some guys from my classes, and have study sessions on Fridays and Sundays, and during the week—"

"That's not what I meant. Studying doesn't—"

"I think I want to get a job," I added, quickly.

"A job..." Iria brightened, forgetting her previous line of thought. "What kind of job?"

"I'm not sure. They're hiring all over campus, but I'm not sure I want to work for the school."

"Just don't let it be retail," Iria said, and sighed. "If Alayah or Jasmine find out, they'll have fits."

She laughed again, and I joined her. Those two were among the seven who'd taken over the Winner conglomerate, and Alayah had been my so-called direct boss since the Eve Wars. Alayah had dropped more than a considerable number of hints that I should take business classes, when I asked for a one-year leave of absence. I had parried each attempt with a vague assurance that I had to take plenty of electives, too, and would get those out of the way first.

"Don't tell them, then," I said, hoping I didn't sound like I was begging. "I rather like this low-key peaceful life. I don't need them picking on me about what I'm up to."

"Does that mean I can't come for a visit?"

"A..." I blinked, and looked around my one-room apartment. "I don't really have room for—"

"I'd stay in a hotel, silly, but I'd love to see your place."

"It's not that grand," I hedged. "And it's a bit messy."

"You have four days to clean it up," Iria told me. "Unless you're hiding something..."

"No!" I sat up straight, and then scowled. "Stop making me feel like I'm fifteen again."

Iria laughed. "Just pulling your leg. I have a conference in March that will bring me planet-side. So you have six months to clean up, or move to a new address and hope I can't track you down."

"Thanks," I replied, dryly. "I'm packing now."

"You do that," she said, wished me well in my job, spun a quick Arabic phrase past my ears, and hung up.

The weekend before midterms, and we'd finally arranged for lanes at the shooting range, and everyone's schedule was clear. I'd studied with my various study groups over the previous week, making sure I had time. It meant staying up late several nights to get all my reading done for History of Law, but of all my classes, I was finding that one to be the easiest. It simply made sense.

I still hadn't found a job. I didn't need to work; my stipend from Alayah was more than enough. But sometimes I felt a little useless, watching my friends head off to their jobs on campus. And I'd wanted to decide that it didn't matter what I did, but then I'd come to my senses. It mattered a great deal. A job was something that I'd done because it's what I was supposed to do. It could be hectic or mind-numbingly bland, but if it's your job, you paste a smile on your face and you do it.

I didn't want to be pasting a smile on my face any more.

I set those thoughts aside and spread out my towel as a catch for the gun oil. The once-yellow towel was now stained with hair dye from my two messy adventures, and another few stains wouldn't harm it at this point. Dismantling the Ruger, I cleaned each piece carefully and pieced it back together, then took it apart again and reassembled, testing myself for speed. Satisfied I hadn't lost my touch, I slammed the magazine home, checked the safety, and shoved it in the holster at the back of my jeans.

The last thing I did was stare at my new jeans jacket. It looked like a regular black jacket from the front, but the back was emblazoned with a painting of a jaguar's paw, claws extended, as if appearing from shadows. Felicia and her roommate Kerry had talked me into buying it at the student bazaar, but I hadn't worn it, protesting it wasn't cold enough yet. The season was moving into late September. The rattling windowpanes meant it was windy, so I slipped the jacket on, twitching with the cuffs until I kicked myself out of my apartment.

At the foot of the stairs, my landlady was busy watering one of the plants by the door. It was gorgeous, and I'd assumed it was fake. Francesca leaned back to smile up at me, being all of about five-foot-one. It amused me to think that three years before, we would've been eye-to-eye.

"Cat," she said, "going out?"

"Yes, ma'am," I replied, automatically slipping into my best behavior. She was ninety, if a day. Living that many years in a neighborhood like this demanded respect, as far as I was concerned. She had to be tougher than Gundaniam.

"Where are your books?" Francesca tsked, her eyes disappearing in a wreath of fine wrinkles. "Hard to study without them. Midterms coming up."

"I'm ready," I assured her, then paused. "Actually...what's the best way to get to Twenty-first, by the subway station? I was given direction by the road, not for walking."

"Right out the door, four blocks, and cut through the back of the shopping center. That gets you around interchange with route 75." She explained the rest of the directions, then paused, staring at me with narrowed eyes. "Going to the police station? You in trouble?"

"Ah," I backed up quickly. "No, ma'am, just teaching a friend how to shoot."

"Female friend?" Francesca's smile grew wider, and I wondered why everyone always got that look when they asked that question.

"Yes, but just a friend," I said. I checked my watch. "I've got to go."

"Stay safe," she called, and I waved over my shoulder as I left.

The range was large and clean, with an excellent ventilation system. I let the clerk check my gun, paid my share of the group cost, and went to meet my classmates. They'd arrived a half-hour early for the introductory safety class, and even catching only the end I was impressed with the teacher's thorough approach. Felicia was looking far less nervous than she had when we'd discussed it the day before, and Lola was staring open-mouthed as the man demonstrated grip and posture. Lisa was nodding seriously, while Chip was busy staring at Lisa. Vin yawned and waved, and Mike barely noticed I was there, too focused on the teacher.

As beginners, they'd been assigned spotters, and we were broken into three sets of two, with me spotting for Lola and Felicia. One of the spotters was the manager, and the same guy I'd spoken to on the phone.

"Cat, right?" He stuck out his hand, and we shook, and he squinted at me. "You sounded older on the phone. Look awfully young for the experience you listed."

And I didn't even list half, I thought, and shrugged.

"We're in your group," Lola announced, as the class ended. She stuck her arm through mine, but the manager stopped her.

"I want to see him shoot, first," the manager informed her. He gave me another suspicious look, and I sighed, following him to the range.

I put on the provided ear protection and eye protection, mentally rolling my eyes at the fact that neither was second nature to me. Pulling out my gun, I racked the slide, braced myself, and fired off three rounds.

The first shot went clean through the target's center before I caught myself. I hoped the guy didn't notice the half-heartbeat of hesitation before I put one shot several inches to the left, and another slightly above. Checking the gun and setting the safety, I reholstered it before hitting the switch to bring the target paper up to the stand.

"Not bad," the manager said, while I pulled down the paper.

He stared at the first shot, the bullseye, just long enough to make me know he hadn't missed the fact that I purposefully let the other shots go wide. I waited from him to say something, but he didn't, and I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. Lola was too busy squealing about my magnificent aim, and fortunately that seemed to cover the awkward silence between the manager and myself.

"I'll be with those two," jerking his head at Chip and Lisa, waiting behind us. "Chris is helping the two guys." The manager left for his own lane; I turned to find Felicia and Lola, ear and eye protection already in place, and both looking as eager as if I'd promised chocolate and ice cream.

"Me first," Felicia said, stepping right up. She opened the metal box with the range's loaner .45, and her fingers hovered over it for a second before gingerly lifting it up. "First, I check...safety. The safety is..." She stared at the side of the gun.

"That thing," Lola offered, pointing.

"Safety is off," Felicia announced loudly, making sure to point the gun down, towards the table. "And next...I..."

"Drop the mag," I told her, and grinned. I hit the button for the new target paper to move along the line, stopping it at twenty feet distance. "That's the—"

"Magazine," Felicia said. She grimaced, then squeezed tighter, almost yelping when the magazine dropped out from the bottom of the gun's handle. I caught it, and handed it to her with a smile. She set it down on the table, as delicately as possible before studying the gun again. "And now I rack the slide."

"I like that phrase," Lola whispered. "Rack the slide."

"Shut up, I'm thinking here," Felicia retorted.

I leaned against the barrier, watching intently, correcting her as needed and the rest of the time giving her space to do everything at her own speed. Felicia turned out to have decent aim, and once she'd gotten past flinching with every shot, she settled her hands down on the wrist mat and fired off several quick shots.

After her, Lola went, equally intimidated but just as fast to get the hang of it, and I switched to the body outline target sheets. I demurred when they asked if I wanted to have a go, but they didn't protest too much, which made me chuckle behind them.

We'd been there almost an hour, working our way through a number of target sheets – all of which both women insisted they were saving. I noticed Lisa and Chip seemed to be doing well, and over on the fifth lane, it appeared Vin was a natural at crack shots, while Mike flailed too much when he pulled the trigger. I kept most of my attention on Felicia and Lola, showing them different stances and letting them get completely comfortable with the firearm.

"Backseat shooter," a dry voice said behind me, and I stiffened. I knew that voice, but just as quickly discounted it. There was no way.

"I'm spotting," I said, without looking around. I didn't want to confirm the suspicion.

"Or maybe you've lost your touch," came the answer, and the man stepped up beside me. I glanced to the side, and had to take a deep breath to regain my composure.

"Yuy. You're a long way from home."

He shrugged. "I was in the neighborhood."

I leaned against the barrier, keeping my voice low so Felicia and Lola didn't hear. They were discussing the stance I'd shown them. The gun was on the table, magazine ejected, and the two were pantomiming the stance, then turning around and trying to mock-aim with their less predominant hand.

"How did you find me?" I slanted a look sideways at him.

"Talkative landlady." He was a few inches shorter than me, but that dark brown tousled mop of hair still masked his blue eyes. I caught a flash as he glanced at me, then at the two young women.

Felicia turned around, saw him, looked at me, and smiled widely. "Come'on, Cat, have a go," she coaxed.

"I'm spotting," I reminded her.

"I can spot," Heero said. "Go on."

"No, really, I'm—"

"You got a bullseye on one of your shots," Lola interrupted. She pointed at the rolls of used targets, neatly rubber-banded. "I bet you could do it again if you tried."

"Out of how many?" Heero glanced at the target sheets, and back at Lola.

"Three," she answered, her brow crinkling in mild confusion. "Cat?"

"Nothing," I said, wishing there was a polite way to ask Heero what the hell he was doing in Chicago. Not exactly high on the list of Preventers hang-outs.

"Three, and only one bullseye." Heero snorted, glaring levelly at Lola and Felicia until they backed out of the lane and into the watching stretch behind the lanes. He stepped forward, glanced at me, and arched an eyebrow before the expression faded into the one I remembered on Sandrock's screens. One smooth move of unholster, cock, and fire. He emptied the entire magazine into the target, slammed the gun down on the table and hit the lane button. The target paper swayed as it was pulled forward.

I nearly growled. I should back down, I told myself, but Heero had come into my lane, with my friends present, and just shown me up. Some stupidly masculine part of myself remembered the awe I'd once held for him – and still did – and was furious he'd just shown me up. I kept my hands in my pockets, and glared right back at him.

He ripped down the paper target and tossed it aside, but it was enough for me to confirm there were five shots through the head, and another five through the heart. No scatter pattern. He set up another target paper, glancing once over his shoulder at me. It infuriated me, and I narrowed my eyes. He refused to back down, his lips quirking into that smirk I remembered so well. I'd never had it turned on me full-bore, though, and I didn't like it in the least.

"Get out of my way, Yuy," I snarled. He stepped back, not even bothering to raise his hands in mock surrender.

I held out my hand, and one of his eyebrows quirked. He hesitated a half-second, then nodded curtly, and unholstered his gun. A second magazine appeared from the inner pocket of his Preventers jacket; he jammed it home, racked the slide, and held out the gun, butt-first. I pulled out my own gun, flipped off the safety and racked the slide before taking his as well. Turning to face the target, I brought up the guns and fired. I didn't need to aim anymore than he had. My hands and body and mind told the bullets where to go.

Four bullets flew, and the target's kneecaps were destroyed.

Four bullets pulverized the target's shoulders.

Two more shots from each gun, and the target's hips were shattered.

Two shots, four bullets, straight into the target's head.

And the last four bullets were centered on the target's heart.

The slides slammed open as the last bullets flew. I spun, slamming both guns down on the table. Heero merely smiled. He picked up his own gun, popping out the empty magazine and tucking it away with the other. He ignored the two girls standing behind him, gaping, and I did my best to do so as well. I didn't expect him to invite me for coffee – hell, I didn't expect him to visit – but this? I felt played, but I couldn't blame him. I could've just said no, but damn it...I wasn't sure if I wanted to swear at him, or my own damn pride.

Heero opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. The uncharacteristic hesitation caught me off-guard long enough to really look at him, but all I could feel was waves of confusion in the wrinkle in his brow, the flex of his left hand, hanging at his side. He dropped his eyes, masking that sterling blue in his classic implied bow, turned on his heel, and strode from the range.

Damn it, Yuy, I thought, watching his unbroken stride from the firing range. He didn't look back, and somehow that hurt more than his unspoken taunt with the target paper. What the hell was he playing at? I was growling again, and bit back the sound when I noticed Felicia and Lola staring at me, wide-eyed. Chip popped his head out of his lane, and whistled.

"Remind me not to piss you off," he said, his awed whisper almost lost under the gunfire from the other lanes. "Fuck, man, you can shoot."

I dropped my head, looking down at the gun in my hand.

"Not really," I muttered, wrapping my hand around the grip, the metal warm from my fury. "Just lucky, I guess."

End Part 2

(:./sol/nothing2)