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The Lifestream

Gundam Wing

Fire ~ 2

~~~~~~~~

Yohji awoke in a motel room he only vaguely remembered entering the night before. There was a woman on the bed beside him, ungraceful and unattractive in a drunken slumber. The room was dark, though he had the feeling the sun was just beginning to rise. His head felt heavy as a rock, nailed to the pillow, and sand-blasted for good measure. Or maybe it was just his mouth that had been sandblasted. He ran his tongue over dry lips and tried to work up enough moisture to swallow.

He was still drunk enough to not want to go home, and sober enough to know that he should.

Getting up required an almost Herculean effort, but he pried his head from the pillow and rolled reluctantly to his feet. A shower seemed out of the question, at least until after he'd found something to drink. He was half-expecting to see a litter of bottles spread out around the bed and table, but the room was remarkably clean. The only bottles he could spot was the square decanter on the table, still half-full of a pale honey-colored liquor, and a matching empty one beside it.

The distance from the bed to the table was only about two steps, which was a good thing. Yohji staggered across the stretch of rough carpet and collapsed into the ugly armchair nearest the bed. Reaching for the half-full bottle, he found his hand was trembling. He frowned at it, wrapped it around the bottle, and slid the bottle across the surface of the table towards him. He picked the bottle up with his other hand, assuming it would be steadier.

Luke-warm honeyed alcohol slopped against his lips and slipped down his throat. The burn didn't catch up to him until he'd swallowed twice and set the bottle back down, and even then it was only the gentle scouring warmth he half-remembered and expected.

"Sweet," Yohji murmured, or tried to. It came out as a rasping croak that startled him. The girl on the bed -- he couldn't remember her name, couldn't remember if it mattered -- showed no sign of stirring.

Really ought to go home, he thought, closing his eyes and trying to rub the sandpaper feeling from his eyelashes. But going home meant seeing Aya... and there was something from last night, something about Aya....

Yohji almost laughed bitterly at that. There was always something about Aya. He didn't want to remember whatever he'd tried so hard to erase. Opening his eyes again, he got up and staggered into the bathroom, collecting his clothes along the way. They stank of stale cigarette smoke and worse, but he didn't stop to think about that, either. A night of clubbing would leave you stinking, especially if it ended the way this one had. He washed his face and hands in the sink, finger-combed his hair and avoided looking at himself in the mirror. Without his sunglasses, Yohji felt naked, unable to face himself.

"You're a sad, sad, little man," he mumbled. The liquor was warming his stomach, spreading a pleasant softness through his limbs. And giving him the urge to laugh at himself. But if he did that, he'd end up a giggling hysterical mess, he knew, so he fought it off.

A shower still seemed impossible, so he used the facilities and got dressed. Stumbling back into the bedroom, he almost stepped on his sunglasses. Cursing softly, he crouched down to pick them up. Once they were perched where they belonged, Yohji felt infinitely more in control. Moving to the table, he swallowed the last of the liquor from the bottle and glanced back at the girl. He was almost certain she hadn't been a hooker, so he didn't search his wallet for the cash he was also pretty sure he didn't have. Picking up his jacket, he shrugged it on and squared his shoulders.

Time to face the world.

~*~*~

"Aaay~aa!"

Aya winced, pulled the pillow over his head, and sighed. There were few things worse than Omi in the morning. He couldn't think of any off the top of his head, but there had to be something. The voice at least fell silent, but was followed by a sharp tattoo of knocks on his door.

Rolling over, he yelled, "I'm up!" It was enough to stop the assault on his ears. He lay there for a few minutes more, sprawled on the bed and staring at the ceiling, before forcing himself to get up. He didn't like mornings. He especially didn't like mornings where explanations might be required. He hated explaining himself.

And lying here thinking about it was going to put him in a fouler mood than usual, he realized. Sighing again, sat up and rubbed his face, trying to force himself awake. Getting up, he collected clean clothes and headed for the bathroom, which was empty, thankfully. By the time he'd showered and gotten himself dressed, he felt almost human enough to deal with Omi and Ken.

And Yohji, if he had returned.

Omi had already gone down to the flower shop by the time Aya made it to the kitchen. Ken was still there, lingering over a cup of coffee. He nodded to Aya, not moving from his seat at the kitchen table while Aya poured his own cup of coffee.

"Yohji didn't come home last night," Ken said quietly.

Aya paused in the motion of setting the coffee urn back on the hotplate. "Not unusual," he said. The urn clicked into place and he turned to face Ken. Leaning against the counter, Aya sipped his coffee.

Ken looked pensive, studying his coffee far too intently. "No, but... he was doing reconnaissance last night."

Aya rolled one shoulder in a shrug. "So he got distracted along the way --"

"Oh, c'mon, Aya," Ken muttered. "You know Yohji better than that."

A key snicked in the lock of the front door and they both turned to face the living room. The front door opened and slammed shut hard enough to make them both wince before Yohji stumbled into view.

"Ohayoo," he called brightly, spotting Aya and Ken in the kitchen.

Aya nodded. Ken frowned, but returned the greeting.

"If you two don't mind," Yohji said carefully, swaying a little as he leaned against the frame of the kitchen door. "I'm... heading to... bed."

"Yohji..." Ken began, but it was clear he didn't quite know what to say.

Yohji's eyes were still hidden behind his sunglasses, but he smiled brightly and pushed himself upright. "G'night," he said, his voice a little less than steady.

Aya nodded again. Ken just shook his head, holding back comment until they heard Yohji stumble up the stairs and slam his bedroom door.

"He was drunk," Ken said. Getting up from the table, he moved to the sink and rinsed out his empty mug.

Aya sighed. "So what, Ken? He's alive, and looks no worse than usual after a night out. Leave it be." Which wasn't quite true. Yohji did look a little rough around the edges, and he didn't normally come home drunk in the morning, but that was none of Aya's, or Ken's, business.

"Aya," Ken growled, turning to face him. "I don't know what your problem is, but if you don't start acting like part of the team again --"

"You'll what? Toss me out?" Aya asked, keeping his expression carefully neutral. "Get over it, Ken. Yohji can take care of himself. He -- and I -- don't need you and Omi hovering like nursemaids."

If Ken clenched his teeth together any tighter, Aya thought, he just might crack a tooth. They stared at each other silently for a good minute before Ken exhaled noisily and turned away.

"Fine," he muttered. "Look after your own damn hides." Stalking out of the room, he headed for the front door.

Aya sighed, watching the angry lines of Ken's back as he retreated. At least Ken didn't hold grudges for long, so it should be safe to head down to the flower shop in a few minutes. For now, though, he might as well just enjoy his coffee and see about finding something for breakfast.

~*~*~

Yohji wasn't entirely expecting to fall asleep, given that he'd managed to get home on an alcohol buzz. But he had only gotten two, maybe three, hours of sleep the night before. By the time he peeled his clothes off and fell into bed, he was more than ready to sleep again.

A voice in the back of his head nagged that it was the coward's way out, avoiding his teammates, but he didn't care. His body was too exhausted to stay awake any longer.

It was dark when he finally awoke, and it took him a while to figure out what had awakened him. Then someone knocked on his door again and he realized that the thumping noise had woven its way into his rather surreal dream before waking him.

"Don't beat the bloody door down!" he yelled, wincing at the sound of his own voice.

Silence fell, which made him notice that his head was throbbing. "Oh, dear god," he grumbled, groping in the dark for the switch on his bedside lamp. Light flooded the room, blinding him and bringing tears to his eyes. Scrubbing them away with the back of his hand, he blinked repeatedly, trying to focus his blurring eyesight. Clothes were necessary if he was going to answer the door, although he wasn't quite sure why he felt obligated to.

Stumbling out of bed, he grabbed a black silk housecoat from the back of his chair and stuffed his arms through the sleeves. The tie defeated him for a moment, but he managed to wrestle it through the belt-loops and cinch the housecoat closed. Having made himself decent, he moved to the door and pulled it partly open.

Aya was standing in the hallway, arms folded across his chest, and scowling.

Yohji sighed and very nearly closed the door on him, but Aya anticipated that and thrust one arm out to hold the door open.

"We need to talk," he said quietly.

Yohji frowned at him. "Oh?"

"Apparently," Aya replied, his lips twisting in a momentary, humourless, smile.

"Ah." Stepping back, Yohji motioned for Aya to come in. "Omi sent you up here, then?"

Aya didn't reply until Yohji had closed the door. It was almost... amusing to watch Aya assess his room the way he would if they were working, Yohji thought.

"No," the redhead said. "Ken, actually."

That was a bit surprising. Yohji shook his head and sighed. Crossing the room, he sat on the end of the bed and waited while Aya pushed the clothes of his chair and sat down. "Why?" Yohji asked. He wished he had his sunglasses, but they would look distinctly odd. He didn't want to give Aya any reason to really question him.

Resting his elbows on his knees, Aya leaned forward and clasped his hands together. "He wanted to know what happened to you last night."

Aya's attitude said, 'I could care less,' and yet he was here, asking. Yohji sincerely doubted it was only because Ken had asked. He shrugged, watching Aya carefully. "I got drunk. Crashed in a motel with... an acquaintance. Came home. Nothing out of the ordinary." Yohji forced a smile to his lips and leaned down to grab a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket.

"Ah," Aya murmured. "That's about what I told him to expect. He insisted, however...."

Yohji glanced up, smokes in one hand and lighter in the other. The look Aya fixed on him was searching, and not a little... uneasy, he decided. But Aya couldn't possibly be feeling guilty for leaving the reconnaissance to him, could he? Pulling a cigarette from the pack, he stuck it between his lips, studying Aya. The redhead straightened up, frowning at Yohji's scrutiny.

"You did go out to do recon, though, didn't you?" Aya asked, his tone almost accusatory.

"Yeah," Yohji mumbled around his cigarette. It took him three tries to get a flame from his lighter, and he was annoyed to end to find that his hands were shaking as he held the light up to the cigarette. He sucked back hard, breathed out slowly, and took the cigarette from his mouth before adding, "So you wanna know what I found, is that it?"

Aya's scowl suddenly disappeared, and he shrugged indifferently. "Ken wants to know. I did some of my own."

"You did recon?" Yohji said, waving his smoke at Aya.

"It's my job, isn't it?" Aya snapped. Getting to his feet, he paced the width of the room, then spun suddenly to face Yohji again. "Look," he said. "I'm not about to apologize for walking out on the briefing --"

Yohji blinked in surprise. "I wouldn't ask you to --"

"-- And I'm not about to be guilted into... anything if you got yourself fucked over last night --"

The faint memory of red hair and a mouth soft and warm around him made Yohji suck too hard on his smoke, which in turn triggered a coughing fit.

"-- But Omi and Ken are worried about you. And for Christ's sake you really ought to quit, y'know." Venom spent, Aya folded his arms across his chest and waited for Yohji to recover.

"I'm fine," Yohji croaked. Twisting sideways, he crushed out the cigarette in an ashtray on his bedside table. "Fine," he insisted.

Aya's expression suddenly softened as Yohji blinked at him through tearing eyes.

"Did you find him?" the redhead asked.

Yohji frowned. "Who?"

"Schuldich. That was who you were looking for, ne?"

Yohji shook his head, pushing away vague memories caught in mental cobwebs. "No," he said, rubbing at his eyes. "No, I didn't."

Aya nodded shortly, and turned towards the door. "That's all I needed to know."

"Aya," Yohji said, as the redhead grasped the doorknob.

Aya glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes gone hard again.

"Did you... I mean... you said...." Why couldn't he be coherent? It wasn't that difficult a question.

"No," Aya snapped. "I didn't find him either. But I wasn't looking."

And then he was gone, and the door slammed shut behind him hard enough to rattle Yohji's suddenly fragile head.

"Shit," he mumbled, cradling his suddenly aching head in both hands. "God damn us both for being liars."