25-Jan-2001
Title: Inferno's Touch ~ Chapter 16
Author: Ravynfyre
Archive: GW Addiction, Darkflame
Category: A little bit of non-ansgsty introspection, a little action, a little revelation, a little humor...
Pairings: hints of 5+6 in this chapter, although 3+4 also in the overall story.
Standard Disclaimer: All parts of Gundam Wing are Not Mine. It's all Theirs.
*sigh* Too bad, but otherwise, I guess I'd never get anything done *happy hentai thought*. Anyway, not makin' any money offa this so dun sue me. You'd only get some college debt, a few dogs, and a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers anyway. Ya know. blood. Turnip. Do the math.
Rating: PG at worst this time around
Warning: Umm... this is a pretty tame chapter all things considered... some Relena bashing hints maybe... nothing much
Spoiler: nope.
Notes: If I didn't explain anything fully enough, e-mail me and ask.
Feedback: Yes, please. All comments welcome (although flames may be fed to my dogs, who, since they have notoriously gassy intestinal tracts, will be spending the night with the flamer afterwards)
Reach through, grab, pull through, form the loop. Reach through, grab, pull through, form the loop. Heero's attention narrowed down onto his hands as his fingers danced along the sooty length of his rescue/search line, efficiently tying it into and endless series of slipknots. Reach though, grab, pull through, form the loop. Reach through, grab, pull through, form the loop. It was easy for him to tune out the world in such a soothing, repetitive task. Like the almost trance he used to put himself into when he cleaned his rifle after a mission, he could let his world narrow down to the task at hand and keep his mind from wandering down uncomfortable hallways. Reach through, grab, pull through, form the loop.
Inch by inch of the thin cord quickly wove its way into a thicker rope, the loops intertwining, back upon one another, in an endless ribbon. Each bit was interconnected with the bit before and after. Consolidating. Supporting. Protecting. From the beginning, you could pull with all your might, and it would serve only to tighten the weave in on itself, strengthening the bond. From the other. From the other end, however, a simple tug would unravel the whole design, loop by meticulously tied loop.
So much like life.
Unbidden, his cobalt gaze shifted over to where his Captain stood nervously nursing his third cup of coffee, pacing from one wall in the dingy little emergency room waiting area, to another. His sweaty bangs had long since dried to dull straggles on his forehead, plastering themselves into his eyes. Zechs' boots clomped fitfully against the drab linoleum tiles as he continued his restless trek, shooting an evil glare at the passing nurses every so often.
In his lap, the rescue line dwindled from its 100' length to a finely crafted woven nest, 10' long. Heero turned it over in his hands, examining the whole length once again, fingering the odd twists in the cord with a hint of annoyance. It was never as simple as it looked, weaving the Bird's Nest Knot.
Neither was life.
His glance darted back up to Zechs across the room as his fingers absently ran over the last loop he'd tied. One little pull and the whole thing would slowly unravel. One little disturbance could unweave it all. His hand flexed, and he tugged gently at that end. The loops slowly started to play themselves back out, the knot coming apart inch by inch.
Relena. Zechs' sister. Correction. Zechs' estranged sister.
Little by little, Heero worked his way down the length of cord, slowly playing it out and undoing the carefully crafted knots on his inexorable journey to the anchor end. His deep blue eyes watched the rope pool in awkward whorls at his feet, slipping off of his knees in tumbles as the cord played out. He finally reached the clasp that fastened the whole ensemble to his bunker pants. The anchor.
Wufei.
How metaphorical. With a snort, Heero started the long process of retying his rope into its neat nesting again, just trying to fill the time while they waited for word on the condition of Zechs' sister. Reach through, grab, pull through, form the loop. Reach through, grab, pull through, form the loop. Once again, his hands danced through the motions. This time, however, he barely spared his fingers a glance as they continued their work without him. Instead, his fascinated gaze followed the ebb and flow of people, nurses, doctors, patients, flowing past the door to their private little waiting area. In no time, without conscious effort, the cord shrank back down into its thick weave once again.
Heero found himself drawn back to its intricate folds, loops, and twists. Once again, his fingers slowly worked their way into that first loop, tugging at it almost warningly. Just a bit more, just a tiny slip, and it would all come apart.
Relena. The woman he'd pulled from the flames. The eyes of a child.
His fingers shifted, his palm flattening out over the coil, pressing it into his thigh as he peered down at it. Cocking his head to one side as he stared at the cord, he slowly began to unravel it again, concentrating on how each and every loop slowly vanished into the one before it.
Her doe-like gaze had caught him unawares. He'd read the stubbornness of her survival in those pale blue orbs. He'd also seen the adoration there too. That sickening mix of fear and wonderment that the uninitiated equated with need had darkened those pale eyes to a stormy blue and cast a pall over his own accomplishment. She would be back. He'd seen it before. She would be back to unravel his neat and ordered life.
His fingers continued their work, flexing against each precise twist, pulling against every simple fold, until he once again found himself staring down in surprise at a pool of unraveled cord, and the firm metal clip of the anchor point.
He sorted to himself as he mused upon the rope once again. Zechs at least had Wufei as his anchor against the meddling fingers of fate. All Heero had was.
The image of a damp mane of chestnut hair and the faintest scent of vanilla and hazelnut flashed into his mind.
As if summoned by his thoughts, Duo walked into the room, a collection of steaming styrofoam cups balanced precariously in once hand, while another hand carefully cradled a plain white paper sack.
As Duo juggled cups, sack, contents, and his own hands, forcibly planting himself in Zechs' path long enough to press items into the Captain' s hands, Heero's hands started dancing over the cord again. Reach through, grab, pull through, form the loop. The soft, almost inaudible creak of a well-worn recliner, shifting as it rocked slowly, and the sibilant hiss of that long fall of dark golden brown hair rustling across the floor in time with those creaks filled his mind's ear. Almost absently, he let his cobalt eyes wander over to where Duo was fishing more items out of the sack now clutched in his teeth to pass to Wufei. Zechs had been manhandled into a chair beside the Chinese man, and was being sternly ordered to eat the sandwich clutched awkwardly in nerveless fingers by both braided driver, and Asian investigator.
His fingers stumbled to a halt in his lap, thwarted by the warm steel clip at the end of his newly woven coil. Heero blinked down at the perfect Bird's Nest in his lap, surprised by the speed he'd managed to weave the 100 ' cord, with the memory of Duo rocking gently in his battered recliner occupying his mind.
A white blur interrupted his view, slipping between his focused stare and the tumble of loops and knots on his lap. He blinked again, his body instinctively tensing and drawing back away from the intrusion until he recognized the intruder as a white styrofoam cup being held in a sooty hand.
"Heero?"
Duo's slightly worried face hove into view above him as he glanced up.
"You okay?" Duo asked, one eyebrow cocked as he waggled the cup of coffee in Heero's line of sight again.
"Fine."
"You sure? You looked kinda spacy there," Duo expounded as he plopped to a seat beside the Japanese man.
Heero carefully stowed the precise twists of his rescue line into its pocket on his bunker pants, and then reached out to take the cup Duo was proffering him.
"Hn. Just thinking."
"About rope?" Duo asked, surprised, reaching into the sack on his lap to grab another wrapped sandwich to drop into the unsuspecting Heero's lap.
Heero shook his head as his thoughtful stare caressed the shiny cellophane covering the bread and meat and cheese.
"Fate. Life. Anchors," he finally admitted as he picked the sandwich up and examined it, turning it this way and that, immersed in the shimmering angles.
"Deep," Duo mused, ripping the plastic off of his own sandwich and pausing to blink at Heero's perplexing concentration, "It's a sandwich, Heero. Bread. Fake animal protein. Processed cheese food product. It's not beautiful, and questionably nutritious, but it's at least edible. Usually. Typically, one eats a sandwich."
"Hn."
"It's better than letting you guys starve. I swear, you'd all fall apart without someone to look after you. Don't make me bully you into takin' care of yourself like I had to Trowa and Quatre. Even you need to eat, Yuy."
Heero caught himself flinching at the harsh tone in Duo's voice. He suddenly found himself wondering when his name had become such an epithet. Why it tasted so dark and brusque on Duo's lips.
"Hn."
His fingers shifted without conscious decision again, worming under the clinging plastic, tearing it away to expose ham and swiss on whole wheat. Beside him, Duo nodded, satisfied, and Heero lifted the impromptu lunch to his mouth and methodically consumed it, one slow bite at a time.
Yuy. Not Heero, but Yuy. Unbidden, the quick ghost of a memory of himself growling out "Maxwell" rather than "Duo" sprang to the forefront of his mind. He felt a faint pang of guilt stab down his spine.
"Gomen, Duo," he murmured quietly, knowing how inadequate the apology was, but unable to offer anything else. Yet.
"No prob, man," was the cheerful reply, forced out around a massive bite of pastrami on rye.
Heero snorted at the sight, amused despite himself, before he let his mind wander back to its thoughts.
Yuy. Maxwell. Dr. J's weak but sinister chuckle and the thinly veiled threat against Duo as he lay sleeping in the hospital bed but a few days before. The swiftest flash of betrayal in Duo's amethyst glare as he took in the white coating across Deathscythe. A damp towel dropping unheeded to the floor, and the so faint scent of vanilla and hazelnut. The memories chased themselves around in his brain like dogs on a track, tumbling over one another in their clamor for recognition.
His introspection was interrupted when Zechs suddenly surged to his feet, muttering something about getting some answers, before he stalked out the door, Wufei in his wake. Heero tracked their progress until they vanished around a corner near the room where Relena was being treated. Heero 's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, staring down at his occupied hands, before resuming his mental inquiry.
How could this be happening? He couldn't afford to form friendships. Attachments. They were dangerous. And yet, something about the cheerfully insidious prattle of the braided baka was slowly worming its way into him. He could see it happening, and yet was still powerless to do anything about it.
He didn't want to do anything about it.
He paused, mid-bite, as the thought struck him totally off guard. What had happened to his neat and ordered life? What had happened with his simplicity? When had he started encouraging these encumbrances?
"She was kinda cute, wasn't she?" Duo observed quietly beside him.
"Nani?"
Heero's gaze snapped up to the braided man's face, brows creased in confusion at the soft question.
"I said, she was kinda cute."
Heero frowned and glanced away sharply, strangely uncomfortable with that tack of thought. Duo thought she was cute? What was it about that observation that made Heero's chest ache ever so slightly without his permission? And why had the braided driver said that in such a. subdued voice? Almost like he was afraid.
"She was barely conscious. How could you tell?" Heero grumbled sullenly.
"Whoa. Sorry man. Just tryin' to make small talk, that's all. Shouldda known better," Duo replied, holding up his hands pacifistically, "You just looked way thoughtful again, and I assumed you were thinkin' about her."
"Why?"
"I dunno." Duo replied with a shrug, popping the last bite of his sandwich in his mouth and washing it down with his soda before he continued, "You've just been quieter than usual today since you pulled her out of that place. Just thought you might have been thinkin' about her since she seemed pretty focused on you and she was kinda cute, I guess."
Heero's sharp mind instantly seized on the qualifier.
"You guess?"
Duo glanced over at him, peeking through his unruly bangs almost shyly with a mischievous grin teasing his lips.
"Yeah, I guess. Not my bag," he replied with another shrug, wadding his celophane up and stuffing it into his empty cup.
Heero's eyes tracked the small bundle as it sailed in a perfect arch to land in the trash can sitting by the door.
"Hn."
He followed Duo's example, wadding his trash into a tight ball that he tossed into the can with a casual flick of his wrist.
"So. What were you thinkin' about?" Duo asked nonchalantly.
Heero glanced back to his partner, eyes narrowing as Duo studiously examined the soot under the nails of his left hand.
"Fear," he found his mouth saying.
Fear? Where the hell had that come from?
"You?" Duo squeaked before he snorted mirthlessly, "You're not afraid of anything, superstar."
"Everyone's afraid of something, M- Duo."
"Even the unflappable Heero Yuy?" Duo asked with mock surprise.
Heero quirked up a single eyebrow before leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, silently staring down at the cracked and yellowed linoleum between his big boots.
"Almost had ya there, Heero. One of these days, I'm tellin' ya, I'm gonna get under that thick skin of yours," Duo assured him with a cheerful wink.
Inwardly, Heero winced. One of these days? Too late for that.
"Why bother?"
Duo gave a short, sharp bark of laughter as he stood and wiped his hands down his filthy bunkers.
"Because if there's one thing Duo Maxwell can't resist, it's a challenge," he confided before he tossed another wink at his partner and then strode out the door in search of their Captain.
"Lucky me."
As Heero glanced around the now deserted waiting room, he couldn't honestly say for sure if he'd meant that sarcastically, or not.
"So. She's here," Wufei observed neutrally as Zechs waited just outside the door.
"Appears that way," Zechs answered, his voice rough and deep, like muted thunder, as he stared morosely at the closed door.
"It could have been a coincidence," Wufei said.
Zechs turned and speared him with a sharp glance of disbelief.
"Even if it was, which I highly doubt. she's as tenacious as a Goshawk, it's too late. She's seen me."
"Perhaps we could get the doctors to try and convince her that it was a hallucination brought on by the smoke she inhaled?" Wufei offered.
Zechs winced as his sister's voice rose sharply beyond the heavy wooden door, berating the doctors treating her, and calling for "Milliardo."
"You were saying?" he asked dryly.
"It was just a thought."
The door swung open without warning, and a young man in a lab coat with a medical chart clutched in his white-knuckled grasp slipped out and shut it with a decisive snap once more. He leaned against the wall beside the heavy door for a moment, taking deep, calming, relieved breaths.
"Doctor?" Zechs said quietly.
The man jumped, startled, and flashed a wide-eyed stare at Zechs.
"Oh. I'm sorry, Captain Merquise. She's."
"A difficult patient at best. Yes. I'm familiar," Zechs interrupted with a nod.
"You brought her in?"
"My firefighter rescued her, and my Paramedics brought her in," Zechs replied.
"Ah. She's asking to see the firefighter who rescued her. And a. Milliardo?"
Zechs' eyes shut as he heaved a resigned sigh and slumped.
"That would be me."
Wufei dropped an unobtrusive hand on Zechs' arm and met the doctor's long-suffering stare.
"Don't suppose you could convince her that that part was a delusion?" the Chinese man asked hopefully.
Zechs shook his head as he pushed himself away from his slump against the wall.
"I'll go find Yuy. I'm not sending him in there alone. Or myself," Zechs said fatalistically.
Wufei snorted mirthlessly as Zechs pushed away from the wall and tromped painfully down the hallway towards the waiting room.
The doctor blinked after the retreating captain with a confused expression.
"Is everything."
"Don't mind him. It's just been one of those days, and it's not even lunch time yet," Wufei replied, turning to follow Zechs down the hall.
"Yuy."
Heero jerked and tore his eyes away from his hands as Zechs' voice broke his blank contemplation. He hopped to his feet, suspender buckles jangling pleasantly against the metal catches on his bunker pants, and turned towards the door where his Captain stood.
"She wants to see you."
He couldn't quite stifle the sigh or the slight wince at the thought of facing the woman again. There was something frighteningly unsettling about her fervent cornflower gaze that sent tremors of trepidation down his spine.
"Don't worry. I'll be there with you," Zechs assured him, his own voice strangely resigned and fatalistic.
"Sir?"
"Don't ask. Just. Just don't ask," Zechs sighed in reply, shaking his head and slipping back out the door.
Heero jogged a few steps to catch up, joining his captain in the hallway and falling into step beside him. Wufei and Duo stepped aside to let them pass, Wufei leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, and Duo slouching with his hands hooked into the straps of his bunker's suspenders.
"With the expressions on your faces, I feel like I should be singing a funeral dirge or something. Maybe the Imperial Death March from Star Wars," Duo said wryly.
Neither Captain nor firefighter deigned to answer that as they passed and continued to the door at the end of the hallway. Zechs knocked softly on the door and waited a moment before pushing it open and ushering Heero in.
The first thing he saw was her toes, peeking out from under the thin hospital blanket that was spread over her legs to ward of the sterile chill of the too tiny room. Idly, he noted the perfect pink pedicure before she shifted to draw her legs up under the blanket defensively.
"Hello," she said shyly, her voice suddenly quiet and demure compared to the banshee wail he'd heard coming down the hall before.
Before he could acknowledge her greeting, Zechs slipped through the door and stopped beside him. The woman's eyes grew round for a moment, before narrowing judgmentally as she took in his appearance.
"Milliardo. It wasn't a dream then," she murmured.
Beside him, Heero felt Zechs suddenly stiffen and almost inaudibly mutter a rather fierce expletive.
"You must have mistaken me for someone else, mam. My name is Zechs. Captain Zechs Merquise."
She scowled and sat up straighter in bed, clutching the blanket to her chest with an exasperated, and very unladylike snort.
"You're not still about that foolishness, are you Milliardo?" she sighed, before giving him a once over again, "Obviously you are. When-"
"Perhaps this isn't the best time for this discussion, Relena," Zechs interrupted, his voice tired, yet not defeated as he nodded his head at Heero.
Relena sniffed delicately and shifted again, once again assuming a somewhat dignified air, despite being reclined on an ER bed dressed in nothing more than a very thin pink flowered hospital gown and a pair of starchy thin hospital blankets.
"Perhaps you're right, Milliardo," she replied easily, emphasizing the name with mild rebuke before she turned her attention back to Heero, "I wished to thank you for saving my life. I hear that without you I would not have survived the fire."
"You're welcome," he murmured quietly, shifting uncomfortably under her scrutiny.
"I will find some more appropriate way to truly thank you once they release me from the hospital here."
"No need for that."
"Nonsense-"
"He's right," Zechs interrupted again, "We were all just doing our jobs. The only thanks we need is seeing you alive and well."
Relena cocked her head, peering through her long lashes as she stared critically at Heero's Captain.
"Perhaps we should discuss that later as well," she said, her voice dangerously pleasant.
"We should leave you to your rest, Miss Peacecraft. As always, it has been a pleasure speaking with you, and we hope that you recover soon and feel well," Zechs answered smoothly.
"I'm sure."
Zechs inclined his head in a mannerly nod at her before turning on his heel and slipping back out the door. Heero recognized the retreat for what it was and gratefully turned to follow his captain.
"Wait! I didn't get your name," Relena insisted.
"Heero Yuy," he replied reluctantly without turning around.
"Thank you again, Heero. I owe you my life."
He nodded once before following Zechs out the door into the safety of the hallway beyond.
"I'll speak to you again, Heero! Look for me! My name is Relena Peacecraft!" she called shrilly from the room behind him.
"We know that, you little-" Zechs' mutter was interrupted by the sharp squeal of all three of Engine 8's crew members' radios toning at once.
Instinct hurtled them all down the hallways at a dead run, racing towards their patiently waiting rig, and the next call of the day.
Click, click, tap.
What a fool. Didn't the young dunce realize that They would win in the long run?
Click, click, tap.
He shook his head to himself, his aged face etched with even deeper lines than normal as he scowled harshly. He'd raised the little fool to be smarter than that. Surely he had.
Click, click, tap.
Where had he gone wrong with the Boy? He'd been apprenticed to all the best assassins in the world. He'd been taught the nuances of nearly every known type of commercial firearm, and dozens more that the general public had never even dreamed could exist. He'd been carefully shielded from useless things like compassion and love, while honing indifference and that dead killer's soul.
Click, click, tap.
J had made sure that he was never allowed to stay with any one instructor for long enough to form an attachment. In fact, Heero's graduation exercise from each Master, was the calculated stalking and elimination of the Master whose skills he'd absorbed so effortlessly. Failure was death. Success was perfection. What the hell had happened?
Click, click, tap.
He'd even been taken from his home and his family removed when he was nothing more than a dewy eyed toddler. The team that had been sent had followed their instructions to the letter, right down to ensuring to make the removal as messy as possible, with only one witness to survive the process: the Boy himself.
Click, click, tap.
That was about the only part of the entire sordid mess that seemed to have gone according to plan. The shock of watching as his family was eliminated killed something within the boy, leaving him broken and scarred. And ripe for molding. That's when they sent in Odin.
Click, click, tap.
J gritted his teeth. Odin. It had to be that fool's fault. Odin had always been far too emotional for J's liking. Too sure of himself. There was a difference between assuredness, and cock-suredness.
Click, click, tap.
Odin had to have set the Boy's instructional foundations improperly from the onset. That was the only explanation. J refused to believe that anyone could be strong enough to withstand his rigorous training regimen. Odin had introduced compassion to the Boy.
Click, click, tap.
And then that hateful little street-rat had to slip into the picture. Whatever foundation Odin had laid within the Boy for compassion, that little amethyst-eyed monster was strengthening it. Something about the little piece of trash had gotten to his beautiful Boy. That braided firefighter was festering within J's Perfect Soldier, bringing the angel low.
Click, click, tap.
If only They had listened to him when he'd argued against sending in that flighty pyromaniac as the Boy's first mentor. Odin had single-handedly managed to set back generations of careful plotting and genetic manipulation.
Click, click, tap.
But only for a while. He would see to it. He'd get the boy back for Them, for himself, if it took eliminating every last firefighter in the city.
Click, click, tap.
J paused before an enormous, hand-carved mahogany door, the delicate scrollwork arching sedately across the deep wood like the gently floating flight of butterflies. Or a stop-motion snapshot of flame, burning away the crumbling ashes of an old world, while ushering in the new.
The armed guard to the left of the door nodded suspiciously at him, despite their long eight-year association with each other as members of the Foundation. Smart soldier. Obedient soldier. The stuff that armies were made of.
After a moment, the guard reached over and carefully pushed the door open for the old man, admitting J to the dark recesses of the inner chamber.
Click, click, tap. Click, click, tap. Pause.
"You're alone," the aristocratic voice observed quietly from the high-backed chair near the fireplace, the only source of illumination in the room.
"He was. less than receptive to the offer," J answered carefully.
"You were right, then. His training has been sorely compromised."
"Yes," J replied regretfully.
A faint puff of smoke wafted up from the shadows of the antique chair, wreathing about the occupant's head for a long while before dissipating into the gloom.
"Odin has proved to have been unreliable, I see." the figure mused quietly.
J wisely held his tongue.
"Once again, it seems that we should have listened to you more closely, old man. Perhaps the others will begin to show more sense now."
Once again, J remained silent, holding back his answer.
The figure stirred then, shifting more comfortably into the ornately upholstered 17th century Russian artifact.
"You know what needs to be done, then."
"Yes."
"Very well. I trust your judgment implicitly."
J nodded sharply to himself, the thick goggles hiding the flash of triumph, anticipation, and cold calculation within his failing eyes. He turned to leave.
"Don't shame the Foundation. We aren't ready to step forth from the shadows quite yet," the figure cautioned.
J paused, nodding once more without turning around. Absolute discretion. That would make things just a little bit more difficult. A malicious smile twisted J's thin lips. More difficult, but no less amusing.
"As you wish."
Wufei picked his way through the ashes, cinders, and debris littering the no longer steaming floor of the hallway very carefully, playing his flashlight over every inch. Here and there, he could see the very faint traces of another set of fresh footprints in the wet mess of the dark corridor. Up ahead, down the hallway, Wufei picked out the unmistakable crash of something large dropping to the floor, followed immediately by the harsh curse of a feminine voice. A wry smile tugged at the arson investigator's lips as he continued down the unlit hallway to the large suite at the end.
The bright laser beam of another flashlight knifed through the darkness of the hallway erratically, accompanied by another thin stream of colorful language. Wufei stepped up to what was left of the wrecked doorway and peered around the jam carefully, biting back an amused snort at the sight of the woman sprawled amidst the broken timbers beyond.
"Typically, it's considered bad form to. uh. Ahem... molest the evidence?" Wufei said dryly.
"You could do something more useful than run your mouth, you know, Chang," the woman replied acerbically.
Wufei stifled the smirk on the back of his hand as he slipped carefully through the mess up to the woman and reached down a hand to her.
"Are you all right, Inspector Noin?"
"Spare me your false concern, Chang," she replied with biting humor as she took Wufei's hand and allowed him to haul her to her feet, "The only thing hurt is my pride."
"I'd best get you some medical attention, then. A wound there might bleed you to death," he shot back.
She glared at him good-naturedly as she carefully dusted her gloved hands off on her soot-caked jeans.
"Always the charmer, I see, Chang."
He bowed to her, stepping neatly away from her as she aimed a clout at the back of his unprotected head.
"You know me well, then," he replied smoothly as he straightened up and turned to help her examine the destroyed remains of the room.
"Hardly," she snorted mirthlessly, "Otherwise I would have been the one who ended up with Zechs."
"You're not still beating that dead horse, are you?" he asked with feigned tired humor, falling into their familiar routine of mock rivalry.
A few years ago, it hadn't been so feigned, or as amusing. Both Noin, a classmate of Zechs' from the Academy, and Wufei, a young firefighter, new to the department, had fallen head over heels for the blond man. As they became aware of the other's devoted attentions, a bitter rivalry had sprung up between the two.
"The horse is alive and kicking, Chang. One of these days, it's going to kick you right in the head," she answered as she concentrated her attention back on the doorway.
"Only if it doesn't bite you first."
Over the years of constant contact through Zechs, the two antagonists had come to something of an understanding, and then, slowly, a warm friendship. Eventually, when Zechs had finally chosen Wufei, Noin had retired from the front line operations to become an Arson Investigator. Wufei had eventually followed her, happier using his mind and intelligence to find the fire and its cause, and hopefully bring a little order and justice to the world in the process, than he'd ever been relying upon brute force and water, trying to keep the beast contained.
Something about hunting fire down in its lair before it could strike appealed to him far stronger than trying to kill it after it had already escaped.
Noin hadn't been surprised. She'd seen the scholar's mind within him during their impromptu war with each other. She took him under her wing, intending to teach him everything she knew about arson and investigation. It proved unnecessary, however, when Wufei's sharp mind quickly assimilated the techniques of the trade, and they both discovered he seemed to have an innate knack for it.
"Dogs bite, Chang," she corrected him offhandedly, "Little yapping dogs, snapping at the heels of my greatness, aspiring to be me."
Once, long ago, she might have been bitter with the Chinese man for stealing the blond Captain from her. Although, when the mood had struck her, that bitter, flaming jealousy she'd endured after Zechs had made his choice clear, she'd finally realized that Zechs had never been hers to steal.
Of course, that had taken a two-week drinking binge that had landed her in the hospital to sink in.
A merry smile broke over her features as she remembered that horrible week in the hospital.
"Perhaps you need the services of a mighty dragon to quell these yapping mongrels for you then?" Wufei offered archly from across the room.
The flashlight in her hands danced over the water-soaked walls and floor as she fondly recalled meeting Doctor Sally Po. Who would have thought that having lost her bid on whom she thought was going to be her one true chance at happiness, would lead her to the very doorstep of real joy? Or rather, lead her to the curtained alcove of real joy, Noin mused to herself, remembering the feisty Doctor attending her in the emergency room.
"That might indeed be useful, Chang. Let me know if you ever happen across such a dragon in your travels. I've never seen one before," she flipped back.
The two women had struck up an instant friendship, each finding something of themselves in the other. It hadn't been long after Noin was finally released from the hospital that the best friends had moved in with each other, having finally found a room mate that they could each stand without the occasional homicidal impulses that accompanied most normal room mate relationships. Now, not only could Noin afford to live in the expensive city, she'd gotten a best friend to boot. Of course, if the signals she thought she was reading from Sally were right, Noin might be moving once again, and the two women might find themselves with a new guest bedroom.
"I'd always heard that 'onnas' were blind," Wufei observed dryly.
Noin shook her head, indulging in a good-natured chuckle.
"So how was the victim? I heard 8's newest rookie pulled her out of here," Noin asked, eyes narrowing as the splintered and cracked plaster and wood of the entranceway began unfolding its tale to her.
"Miss Relena Peacecraft survived, and will be just fine, according to the ER doctors," Wufei answered evenly.
Noin's flashlight paused, halting in its track as she turned and tossed the Chinese man an incredulous look.
"You're kidding."
"I wish I was. She saw him."
Another stream of colorful language burst out over the darkened room.
"Exactly," Wufei agreed.
"Poor Zechs. What's he going to do?" she asked, resuming her inspection.
"Wait and see, I suppose."
"Ah," Noin replied neutrally, "Well, then. You may want to keep a closer eye on him. And that crazy sister of his."
Wufei turned towards her, noting the carefully even tone of her voice, before picking his way delicately across the floor to join her. As she played her light across the doorway, he understood her caution.
"Blast concussion," he murmured, eyeing the patterns cracked and forced into the walls and ceilings of hallway and suite foyer.
"Yup. Incendiary scorches, too," Noin agreed, pointing out the deep char of what could only have been some sort of accelerant driven fire pattern.
"Looks like someone was trying to give Miss Peacecraft an exciting sendoff," Wufei intoned.
"Only you, Wufei, could make an incendiary bomb, sound like a party favor," Noin snorted, "But I guess that rules out accidental ignition."
"Indeed," Wufei agreed, some inner sense sending a trill of warning and foreboding along his spine.
There was a storm brewing on the horizon. And if they weren't careful, it would engulf them all.
~TBC~
RavynFyre
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