It’s morning. It looks as though the sun has only been up for an hour or so. I’m being watched. It was first a feeling, but now I confirm it as I look to my side. Raberba is sitting in a chair by the bed and probably has been for some time. I should have realized that, despite how human he looks, he probably doesn’t sleep. I sit up.

“Good morning, Heero.”

I look back at him. I’ve got a fist in my eye. I’m rubbing at my eye.

“You should be careful not to scratch your cornea.”

I stop what I’m doing. Weirdo. But his admonishment that masqueraded as advice…it’s something the blonde would say…with a half-smile.

I look back at Raberba. He has one.

“You look unsettled, Heero. Has your opinion of me changed over night?”

Now, I’m frowning. He’s being coy. My stomach turns. Everything from last night just hit me like a wave. He was good, good to the degree that I’d forgotten what he is. I look away from him. I see where my clothes had been discarded. I push back the covers, get up from the bed, and retrieve them from the chair and floor.

“You’re finished with me,” he comments.

I’m already in my underwear. I pull my pants on. I don’t give him a reply. I don’t have one.

“Was I good revenge, Heero?”

I stop what I’m doing and look at him. His gaze is in another direction. His expression is tranquil as he whispers, “Why else would you consort with me? His shadow who causes him great unease? His shadow who he is afraid to lose you to?”

I zip up and button my pants. He’s still talking.

“You desire him a great deal and want to return to him, particularly to make him hurt.”

I’m staring.

“I can understand,” he says. “It’s rational. Recompense, in fact. At times, I would like to court pain in him. After all, he did abandon me for you. Before you, I was cherished.”

<< I can now say that it’s not imprinting that draws me to you. >>

My skin is cold. He has no real interest in me. He’s still fixated on his creator, without intervening programming.

He turns to me. “I suppose…we’ve both made use of each other.”

“I’m leaving. Now.”

I’d stuffed my feet into my shoes and grabbed my wallet and keys before snagging my shirt on my way out. His hotel room door closes behind me. My shirt is still in my hand. I’m taking fast strides down the hall when I suddenly have a reason to stop in my tracks.

An unexpected meeting. It’s the braid. He’s standing in front of me.

“What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, Heero.”

“_Why_ are you here?”

“You think you could be a little more belligerent?” He sighs. “I’m here to see Raberba. The vixen hiding him coughed up the name of his hotel as soon as it was sunrise…He’s got some explaining to do.” His mouth is open. He’d seen what room I came out of. He takes in my half-dressed state before commenting, “Or…maybe not. Swingers….all of you. Anyhow, spare me the seedy details. Where are you heading?”

“Are you responsible for them?”

“For Jiro and Raberba flying out here to stir things up? Not a chance. I’m just the clean-up crew. Originally, I came to drag Jiro’s ass back where he belongs. But, now, I’ve got all sorts of crap on my plate.” He snorts. “And don’t try blaming their finding you on me. _I_ didn’t even know where Quatre was.”

“Then how…”

“How did I find my way here if I was ditched and uninformed?” He sighs and shakes his head. There’s less wind in his sails as he says, “Yeah…don’t let them know this, but I made sure that Jiro can’t go AWOL for long.” He looks over his shoulder before mouthing, “GPS.” He taps his chest. Apparently, that’s where the tracker is. “I’m not as lax as Quatre. Hell, I can’t be. Your prick double doesn’t listen to anyone. Do you know how many times he’s skipped town without telling me? And he has sticky fingers. Mucking around with my cars like they’re--”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, aren’t we Mr. Happy Pants? Four years and you haven’t changed a bit. Anyhow, I need to grab Raberba, apprehend Jiro, and get back to Dottie before--” He takes in my expression and then sighs. “Yeah…I forgot to spell out the fact that she’s here, too. Great time for a reunion, with this island about to take a dive.”

“Dive?”

“According to the broadcast I heard a few minutes ago, the hurricane is going to more than graze this place.” He shakes his head. “I’m beginning to wish that I’d listened to the weather reports earlier…as in, last night earlier.”

The sky is overcast and the clouds look pregnant and irritable. There’s a rumble of thunder, louder than the ones yesterday. The house I share with the blonde is just ahead of me and so are two figures. I’ve already parked the car and am now approaching on foot. As I get closer, I realize that it’s the blonde and my interloping double that I’d spotted. I keep walking until I’m just a few yards away. I am not acknowledged by either of them.

The blonde’s back is to me. He doesn’t seem to be aware of my presence. After a few seconds of standing behind him, I realize that he’s never been oblivious to me before. I watch him. His movements are fluid as he steps forward and lifts his hands. They’re cupping Jiro’s face as he says to him, “If it’s what you want, visit…even without a warning.” The words were in an intimate tone I’ve only heard him use with me.

My double says nothing. Instead, he pulls the blonde’s hands from his face, but he doesn’t let go immediately. He stands there for a few seconds before releasing him. He glances at me. Then he walks away from the blonde and past me without looking at either us.

The blonde turns around to watch him go. He sees me and his face goes blank.

Nothing. He’s given me nothing to evaluate, except his earlier words and manner. There’s no expressed guilt, no surprise, and no dismay. It’s an insult. A big one.

After a standstill, he speaks. “He was seeking validation. I gave it to him. I helped him by making it possible for him to experience as well as give comfort.”

He’s lying and making his actions sound noble. He gave more than he’s letting on. And it was seedy and he enjoyed it.

But he doesn’t let me linger on the thought. He’s speaking and has his gaze fixed on me. I can’t tell if his question is rhetorical as he asks, “Is it infidelity when a person fraternizes with what is considered neither human nor alive?”

He’s onto me. With just one intent look, he’d gathered what I’d been up to and sent a clear message my way: Neither of us has leverage over the other. Neither of us can use what we did to inflict damage on the other.

It’s irrelevant. I have other weapons.

“You lied--”

He cuts me off. “About Raberba…yes, I did,” he concedes. “I didn’t take away his memories, not the way I should have, not the way I led you to believe. I should have told you earlier, but I didn’t want to give you an opportunity to leave.”

He’s finally showing a reaction. He’s pale and solemn, but I’m holding out for more. I want groveling and trembling from him, but unfortunately, as he continues, I realize that what he’s giving isn’t what I’m waiting for. His voice is too sure. His manner… is resolute.

“I have been neither clear nor honest…but, for the longest, I’ve preferred to have you uneasy and by my side than content and far from me.” He hasn’t dropped his gaze. “It took last night for me to realize that I’m in the wrong. I can now accept--” A drop of water strikes him on the cheek. He and I look up and then immediately down as a sudden blitz of rain castigates us for our inquisitiveness.

In a matter of seconds, we’re both drenched. But I’m not irked. There’s an odd sight in front of me. Two blue-green eyes are staring out from behind soaked, tangled blonde hair.

I’m staring at him.

He’s looking back with water running down his face as he says, “Our time together is not mutually beneficial. As it stands now, we’re simply incompatible.” He looks away. “It would be best for us both to part ways after the storm.”

There’s just the rain. He’s still not looking at me. I did…I heard him correctly.

Time passes slowly. The rain is starting to get violent and so are the winds. My legs are locked, but he’s moving. He’s facing me now. All this time, I’d zeroed in on his ear. I’d been staring at his ear.

“We should head inside.”

Somehow, I start walking before he does.

The winds are picking up our surroundings as we head back to the house. Brush and garden paraphernalia, possibly from our neighbors’ yards, are blowing past us. We’ve both missed getting side-swiped a handful of times before making it to the porch. At least, I made it there. I look back. He’s standing at the foot of the steps and looking over his shoulder.

The wind is gusting arrogantly and the rain drops feel like a barrage of blunt knives and he’s standing out there, staring. Briefly, I glance up at the porch’s ceiling. It sounds as though there’s frenzied tap dancing going on above. The storm is getting worse and what’s coming from my left is confirmation. The annoying wind chimes that I’ve loathed for the past two months are ringing frantically, so fast and so intensely that the noise is getting close to blurring into one sound.

But I don’t focus on that. I watch him. He’s standing motionless with his hands balled into fists. I watch his clothes and how they’ve adhered to his drenched form, clinging to him, making his build more apparent than ever. Every lean muscle is accentuated, outlined by wet cloth. His stance is erect and defiant in the face of what’s sweeping around him. Immediately, my body recalls the feel of his, warm and solid against my flesh, supple and willing beneath my fingertips. I don’t like it. I don’t like how he’s isolated and affecting me just by standing there.

My mouth is moving. My voice is unnaturally loud, louder than what is necessary to carry over the winds. “We’re going to get hit hard.” I’m walking down the steps. He looks back at me as I say, “It’s only going to get worse. Go inside.”

It’s already worse.

The rain is stabbing at our bodies as he says, “I have to find them before...”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but I get it. He’s going to use this storm to escape. He’s probably going to catch up with Jiro for his own seamy reasons…and maybe even Raberba to make sure that no one discovers what his “cousin” really is. He’s probably worried about what could happen if someone finds out about his walking, talking, plotting experiments. The prying press. Scientific scrutiny. Pointed fingers and questions. Perhaps, a court mandated trip to a psych ward. I don’t care about those repercussions. I won’t allow him to get away so easily, so coldly.

He’s walking away, heading in the direction Jiro took off in. I catch up and grab him by the arm. It’s difficult to secure a grip on him with the blasts coming from the side and his determination to break away. He yanks his arm free. He turns. I can barely hear him as he says, “No one else can fix them if…” He can’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t want to.

Once again, my mouth is being wayward, but the words come out slowly this time. “Duo…is here.”

“I’d…forgotten.” He still looks as though he wants to go.

I’m speaking again, dissuading him for my own cowardly reasons. “He can track Jiro and is already with Raberba.”

Ten seconds pass. He starts walking in my direction. He repeats his earlier words. “We should head inside.” He goes up the steps. I’m on his heels. We’re both pushing our way. It’s as though there are large, wet hands acting as opposition.

Just before he reaches the door, he suddenly turns around. I watch his mouth as he says, “Something’s wrong.”

Out of nowhere, he pushes me, hard. I falter and that’s when I see something zip by from my right. It strikes him in the head. And, as it does, there’s a clang that should have been multiple chimes.

The wind chimes.

He’s standing, barely. And there’s blood. He’s standing, barely, where I would have been without his intervention.

I don’t hear the storm. I don’t hear anything.

A strong gust shoves him toward me. I touch the blood seeping out from under his hair. My hand feels heavy. There’s blood moving past my fingers and down his face.

His lids look heavy. He’s falling. I have him. He’s slumped against me and, as I stumble, I realize something else. He’s become dead weight.

We live too close to the coast. Going into the house wouldn’t have kept us safe. I was still rational enough to make that assessment. By chance, I found a safe place: someone else’s house. I look around the room we’re in. Every once in a while, the lights flicker but they’re on. It’s a good sign in the face of the unfortunate events of this past day.

As I sit down with my back against a wall and my rear on the floor, I realize more. It’s clear. We didn’t prepare. Accustomed to moving around regularly, we didn’t choose a house with a locale and constitution that would offer much protection from climatic battering of this intensity. We took what was available. It never occurred to either of us to hold out for something more secure.

I’m tired. Getting here, with him on my back…trying not to be cast aside by the winds…getting attacked by debris. I’ve surprised myself. Neither of us should be alive.

Alive…

I look beside me. I have him on his back. We’ve been here for at least ten minutes. I’ve gotten him bandaged and the bleeding has stopped, mostly. But he doesn’t look alive and it’s bothering me, despite what I understand. He’s breathing. I know this because I’ve been checking. But even that doesn’t nullify my unease. He’s motionless with lax limbs. The storm is rioting outside, beating this house, swiping at it without showing any signs of growing disinterest. It’s too much to worry about this room we’re hiding in actually being hit.

Hit…I don’t like that word.

My fingers are on him, on his face, moving over his wan features, his nose and finally over his cold, unresponsive lips. I linger on them. They shouldn’t be that cold. Reason has no sway. We’re still wet, but my mind is resistant. It’s saying that cold is bad, irrespective of the cause.

And I crack.

“Get up.” My voice was a rasp. I can’t be heard at this volume. I lean closer, lowering my face to his. “Wake up.” The words were against his lips. My nose is at the side of his. I close my eyes.

I stay there, over him, listening for further approach of the storm and listening for more. After I don’t know how long, there’s a sudden gust of air against my lips, a whisper.

“You’re…dripping on me…Heero.”

I open my eyes.

He wakes up from a few drops of water as opposed to the torrents that were flung at us…I’m ready to kill him. But the anger is fleeting.

I lift my head and back off, a little.

He raises a hand to touch his head. I block him. He looks back at me. “It feels like something…is broken.”

“Stop talking.”

“I’m sorry about earlier.”

“It’s fine.”

“It isn’t.” His gaze is moving from one thing to the next. “Where are we?”

My tone is deceptive, as though there’s no reason to be concerned. “High ground, in a neighbor’s house, at the center…in a room with no windows.

A room with no windows…one that happens to be stocked with food, water…flashlights and first aid kits. This place was probably meant—

“Where is our neighbor?”

“I don’t know.”

“How did you…”

“The front door was gone.”

He’s quiet for a while. “What are those noises?”

“The storm is still going.”

There’s a long pause. “Is that why you’re back?”

“Back…”

“From the airport.”

He’s staring at me, waiting for a confirmation or a denial.

It’s slow, but the realization is there. He’s confused. Things are jumbled up in his head. He was knocked hard enough to… I look at the blood that’s crept from the bandages to stain the tips of his hair. I look at his face. He’s wary, uneasy. From his expression he knows something is wrong, but can’t figure out what.

I choose his direction. “I was prevented from taking the flight before the storm.”

He looks slightly suspicious.

“Someone with my features cancelled my reservation. It was a case of identity theft.” I watch him. Nothing. There’s no recognition, no mark of remembrance on his face.

“Did you arrange for another flight? If everything is booked, I can have--”

“It’s fine.”

It seems as though he’s doing better, because he looks more distrustful than before. “You made it more than clear that you were ready to leave here.”

“I changed my mind.”

“That’s unlike you, Heero.”

“It isn’t. I’m positive and can prove it.”

He looks like he’s just a few seconds from squinting at me, but the skepticism is suddenly shelved. He’s distracted. His hand is moving toward me as he says, “You have cuts all over your face.”

He touches one and I wince. It was a completely natural reaction on my part, but disturbing since I hadn’t noticed the wounds before.

His hand drops. He suddenly looks tired.

He’s murmuring, “More…expressive…than I thought possible.” He’s dozing off.

I can’t let him drift off. I shake him. I shouldn’t, not this hard, but I shake him anyway.

His eyes open, a little. He looks annoyed, as though I’m keeping him from a much needed nap rather than a potential coma. And he’s giving me lip. He’s actually frowning at me and his manner is snappish. “_What_ is it?”

As he stares back, I realize that he has it easy. He can say anything and have it seem fitting, have it pass as natural, even when he’s being an asshole. All I have are gestures, but they’re not good enough anymore.

It feels as though I have sandpaper in my throat. “You need to stay awake. Tell me what to do.”

The grateful expression and tender response I was expecting doesn’t happen.

He looks troubled as he responds, “This is not what I want.” His eye lids are no longer drooping. He looks awake.

I don’t like his tone. He sounded like this earlier: solemn and resolute.

“You shouldn’t try to stay.” His voice is lower. He’s not looking at me. “A sudden resolve to be kind doesn’t change anything.”

The light above us is flickering. It’s like a sputtering strobe light. It’s making me disoriented and unsound. I’m not taking in any breaths as he says, “There are some things I should have told you…years ago…about Raberba. I didn’t erase…”

He doesn’t remember that I already know. There’s finally air coming into my nose. And the lights…as everything is steady before me, I realize that the erratic flashes of shadow and light were simply the blending of my imagination with a dose of fear.

He’s still talking and not looking my way. I watch his lips. There’s more nonsense about Raberba spilling from them. He’s still forgetful and now completely unaware of what’s transpiring at his side.

I’ve already come to a resolution. The past can be forgotten on both of our ends. I don’t need justifications for any of his actions. I will take this second chance, reap the benefits of this storm, and stay as long as the urge is there, as long as he can tolerate me.

-----
ELA is complete.

There will be one more arc before the story is put to rest. The end is near, but damn it…not near enough. >_< The beginning should be posted by mid January.

~rubs eyes~