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The Lifestream

Gundam Wing

Fire ~ 3

~~~~~~~~

The slamming of the door reverberated in the narrow hallway, sending shockwaves of anger through the air. Taking a deep breath, Aya slumped against the wall, his hands curled into fists at his sides. He was so tense he could feel the muscles in his back and shoulders knotting, and his jaw was clenched so tight his teeth ached. Thumping his fists lightly against the wall, he concentrated on breathing and relaxing. He couldn't let Ken, or worse yet, Omi, see him like this. He shouldn't be this tense, dammit!

But he was, and all because of Yohji's careless question.

Did you... I mean... you said.... The question, and the words left unsaid, rattled around and around in his skull like marbles in a tin can.

"Shit," he growled. Pushing himself off the wall, he stalked into his room and collected his trenchcoat and katana. He stood for a long moment, fingers wrapped tightly around the hilt and sheath of the sword. It wouldn't be easy to hunt Schuldich down in a nightclub with a sword at his side. And deep in his heart, he was not certain he could use the katana when it came right down to it.

Reluctantly, he set it back on its stand beside his dresser. There was a time and place for the sword. Tonight, in a club, would be neither. Instead he contented himself with tucking a set of knives into hiding in his sleeves and belt. He fully intended to get close enough to use them.

Checking the fit of his coat, he stalked out the door and locked it behind him. He'd been hoping to avoid both Ken and Omi, expecting them to be still down in the flower shop, but they must have closed up early. Ken was just leaving the kitchen, headed upstairs. Setting his lips in a thin line, Aya prepared to ignore him.

"Where are you going?" Ken asked, too sharply, as Aya stormed down the stairs. "What about Yohji?"

Ignoring Ken wasn't going to work. Aya suppressed a sigh and snapped, "He's fine," Brushing past Ken, he added, "I'll be back later. Don't wait up."

"But Aya --"

"Later!" he called back over his shoulder. And then he slammed the hall door behind him, taking the stairs down to the street two at a time.

His pace didn't slow until he'd reached his car in the tiny garage down the alley from the flower shop. His trenchcoat flapped behind him, threatening to become entangled with the door of his car, until he yanked it angrily out of the way. Tucking himself and his coat down into the seat, he slammed the door shut, shoved the key in the ignition and started the car. As he shifted into gear and let the car roll forward, the door from the alley opened, and Ken stood framed there, dark and glowering. Ignoring his teammate, Aya reached up and hit the button for the garage door. By the time it was halfway up, he was already accelerating, aiming the car like a bullet into the narrow barrel of the alley.

Once he was out on the road, the garage door closed behind him, he took a deep breath. Straightening his fingers, he tried to force the tension out of his hands and arms. Focus. He needed focus. He needed to be sharp, sharper than he had been the other night, when he.... Well, no, he wasn't going to think about that. He had an address to get to -- he knew the logo he'd seen on the pack of matches that had fallen out of Yohji's pocket when Yohji had dug out his cigarettes and lighter. It might not have been the right place -- the place where Yohji had obviously encountered Schuldich -- but it was a place to start.

~*~*~

Yohji sat on the end of the bed, head in his hands, for what seemed like a small eternity. Distantly he registered the sounds of Aya's bedroom door opening and closing -- twice -- and felt more than heard the faint rumble of the garage door opening. His head ached in a way he hadn't had to endure in months. Part of him argued, quite sensibly, that he should shower, or get some food and non-alcoholic drink into him. He didn't even have the energy to feel nauseated by the thought of food. Despite having slept all day, he was still damn tired.

Raising his head, Yohji scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed. It was safe to assume Aya had left the apartment -- though he wasn't going to think about where the redhead was headed -- but that left Ken, and Omi, still lurking somewhere with the best of misguided good intentions. Not that he blamed them; Weiss worked best when they functioned as a coherent, cooperative team. Well-oiled cogs in a well-greased machine. And right now, at least one of those cogs had slipped, and another was grinding away faster than it should, throwing the whole out of sequence. His metaphor amused him, and for a moment, he could almost visualize the four of them as little geared wheels, locked together in some larger design, some black box machine labelled, ironically, "white cross."

But the discordance remained, and the image just served to remind him that he and Aya were rubbing each other the wrong way. Sighing again, Yohji reached for his cigarettes and lighter. A gentle, almost timid, knock at his door made him pause. Staring down at the smokes and light, a sudden and unwanted sense of disgust swept over him. Aya was right. He really ought to quit. It was only obvious that the sex appeal of smoking was either over-rated, or not working for him.

Aya, Aya, Aya, he grumbled silently. Dropping the pack and the lighter to the floor, he kicked them aside. It was probably Ken at the door, and he might as well answer it. Do his part to smooth out the grinding, twisted motion of their barely functioning machine.

Moving much more gracefully than he had the previous time, he made his way across the room and opened the door. "Hello, Ken," he said quietly.

Ken had already half-turned away, obviously not expecting him to answer. He turned back a little too quickly at the sound of Yohji's voice. His dark eyes swept over Yohji, registered the lack of cigarette and the housecoat, and widened a little in surprise.

"Ah, hi..." Ken muttered. "Are you...?"

Folding his arms across his chest, Yohji leaned against the doorframe. A shadow of his usual carefree smile ghosted his lips. "Hung over," he said. Taking the direct approach to answering questions would disarm Ken, he knew. "But otherwise intact and mostly sane."

Ken blinked, studying Yohji's casual pose. "You seemed rather --" he hesitated, obviously searching for a polite way to phrase it.

"Drunk," Yohji supplied, his tone rather more blunt than he meant it. "I was. Bad night. My fault. It happens sometimes, you know?"

Ken shook his head slightly without seeming to realize he did so. "I guess. But you said you were doing recon..."

"And I got sidetracked." Pushing himself upright, Yohji rolled his shoulders in a self-deprecating shrug. "Pretty girl with a bottle seduced me." Now that was more than he'd meant to say. Damn his own runaway mouth.

Ken frowned. "But why, Yohji? I mean, you don't usually... it's not like you... mixing pleasure and work."

Yohji smiled sadly. "No, it's not. But sometimes, the past comes creeping in, and you know, the best laid plans of mice and men...." Maybe lies were the oil and grease in their machine. His glib tongue surely spun them out easily enough. And he knew his teammate's sense of discretion would keep the truly hard questions at bay.

"Often go astray." Ken sighed and nodded a little. "I'm... sorry, Yohji. I shouldn't have... asked Aya to pry."

Well, that gave him opportunity to ask about something that had been bugging him. "Why did you, Ken? Why didn't you just come talk to me yourself?"

Ken's cheeks flushed, and he looked away. "I... thought you might... trust Aya... more than me. You two are..." he glanced sideways at Yohji, but wouldn't meet his gaze. "More... alike."

His mind skipped back to the scene in the hallway -- how long ago had it been? Just yesterday? What conclusions had Ken drawn, he wondered. Probably worse ones than his own. "Ken-kun," he said quietly. "We're a team. If we don't talk to each other...." Death would walk among them. He'd seen it happen. Not that this had made him change his ways. No, he was a fine hypocrite to be preaching communication to Siberian.

Ken nodded, still not looking directly at him. "Are you... uh... did you find anything?"

Right. Debriefing. Damn. He'd lied to Aya. He could lie to Ken. But wouldn't it be simpler just to give a pared down version of the truth? They needed to know. Lives could be on the line. "What time is it?" he asked, surprising both himself and Ken.

"Uh, about eight, I think.... Why?"

Early yet for Aya to find his prey. He had time. "Give me a half-hour or so," he said, laying his hand on the door handle. "I need a shower. And maybe food. Then I'll fill you in."

"Alright." Ken glanced up, his dark eyes suddenly direct. "What about Aya?"

Yohji shrugged. "Saa... Aya never said he was in, officially. Did he go out again?"

Ken nodded, his frown turning to a grimace. "Said he'd be back later."

A shiver ran down Yohji's spine, but he hid his uneasiness from Ken. "So he can catch up, if he wants, when he gets back, ne?"

"Yeah," Ken said reluctantly. "I guess. In a half, then?"

"Or so." Stepping back, Yohji swung the door closed and turned to search for clean clothes. Versions of the truth most definitely greased the machine. Now if only nothing would happen to send Aya's cog spiralling even further out of control....

~*~*~

When he actually stopped to think about what he was doing, and thought to check the clock in his car's dash, Aya realized he'd let his anger get ahead of him again. It could be hours yet before sensible people showed up at nightclubs. He wasn't particularly in the mood to spend the time between nursing a beer at some bar either. Driving around aimlessly was only a waste of gas and time.

So he ended up heading back to the warehouse, knowing he wasn't really dressed for surveillance, but needing something to do. It wouldn't hurt to just prowl around the area without getting too close. Maybe a truck or two would even pass by, and that would be enough to hold his interest for a while. Not the most carefully laid of plans, granted, but like most of his choices recently, it was better than nothing.

Parking in the shadow of a decrepit building, he switched off the engine and sat, staring blankly at the world beyond his windshield. Reaching into his pocket without looking, he pulled out his pocket PC and propped it against the steering wheel. A few quick taps brought up the surveillance data he'd recorded the night before, and he tapped the blunt end of the stylus against his pursed lips as he considered it.

There were only two doors large enough to accommodate cargo shipments of any decent size, and those were conveniently on the north and south ends of the building. But from what he'd seen the night before, neither of those doors had moved in quite some time. His high-power binoculars had been sharp enough to let him see the undisturbed dirt lining the bottom edges of the doors. That left a side door of a standard size on the southwest side, which had been at an awkward angle no matter where on the roof he placed himself.

Something didn't add up, Aya thought. Frowning at the thumbnail images on his Pocket PC he realized that it was all too perfect. Like he'd thought the night before, it was exactly how he'd expect a warehouse to look. Except that no one had gone to the trouble of perfecting their cover by using the warehouse for anything clandestine. The evidence on the building pointed to it having been abandoned, in reality, for weeks, possibly months.

And that wasn't like Takatori at all. It reeked of a set up. A trap, neatly laid for White Hunters who'd grown complacent in the business of vigilantism.

Grinding his teeth together, Aya slipped the PC back into his pocket and reached into the back seat for the camo tarp. Opening the car door, he slid out, closed the door behind him, and tossed the tarp open. With a few quick tugs, he arranged it over the car, hiding its tell-tale paint. Turning sharply on his heel, he stalked towards the warehouse. His shoulders tensed as he walked, expecting the sharp crack of gunfire, or at the very least to be confronted by gun-toting watchmen.

The silence and stillness mocked him, dogged the echoes of his boots thudding against the concrete. He was half-expecting a sudden gust of wind to send his trenchcoat flapping dramatically behind him. It would have fit the scene far too well. But there was no wind. There was only the dead air of the city hanging heavy around him. Reaching the small door on the southwest side of the building, he stopped, squared his shoulders, and reached for the door handle.

It opened at his touch, strangely quiet on well-oiled hinges. The interior of the warehouse was dim, lit only by faint sunlight falling through the begrimed windows. And it was, he discovered, as he'd suspected, completely empty. His boots left faint trails in the dust as he explored the perimeter of the warehouse. Poking his nose into the office space built in to one corner, he noted the lack of a computer with grim satisfaction. There was nothing here for Weiss to find. If they'd come sneaking in in the middle of the night, their confusion at the discovery of this unoccupied space would have left them dangerously susceptible.

As it was, he was still expecting Schwarz to pop out of thin air and confront him. But he was alone, and even if they were ready to spring their trap, they'd want to net as much of Weiss as they could. One distracted, mostly unarmed, swordsman wasn't really fair game. Making his way back to the door, he smiled grimly. He had a chance to change the rules of the game now, but first, he wanted some answers.

And Yohji had given him the perfect opportunity. For once.

~*~*~

In the end, it was surprisingly easy for Yohji to grease the wheels of the Weiss machine with a few carefully crafted truths. He didn't have to stretch the facts very far to be able to pass off his sighting of Schuldich as a chance encounter, a glimpse caught across a crowded bar. Nothing more than that. And, job done, he'd let himself be seduced by a pretty lady with a bottle. Not so far from what had happened, but far enough that it left Ken and Omi with no unwanted questions. If Omi could have frowned and scowled the truth out of him, though, Yohji was sure he'd have spilled his guts.

"And you told Aya-kun this?" Omi asked, sounding far older than his years for once.

Yohji rolled his shoulders in a lazy shrug. "He asked." He could have added that Ken had asked the redhead to ask, but didn't. No need to shift gears too soon. Ken shot him a grateful look, and Yohji nodded slightly in return.

"But you're going after him, right? He can't go hunt down Schuldich alone!"

Trying not to roll his eyes in exasperation, Yohji sighed. "Omi, if Aya was serious about taking on Schwartz, don't you think he'd have asked for some backup? Or at least said that he was in on this mission?"

Omi's frown was going to become a permanent crease in his forehead, Yohji thought, as the younger boy dropped his gaze to his laptop on the table.

"Aya's been... strange these past few days," Ken said quietly.

"And this is news?" Yohji muttered. "Saa... anyway, I'm going to go look for him. Just in case."

Omi perked up at that, though his frown didn't quite fade. "We'll help!"

"No!" Yohji and Ken exclaimed. Exchanging startled glances, they both fell silent for a moment.

"Why not? We're a team, aren't we?" Omi demanded, looking from Ken to Yohji and back again.

"Yes," Yohji said finally, since Ken was studying the toes of his boots. "But that doesn't mean we all need to go haring off after Aya."

Omi made a disgusted noise, pushing himself away from the table and standing up. "I didn't mean that kind of help," he said, exasperation clear in his body language. "I meant we could track your location, keep an eye out for Nagi. You know, the things the team usually does?" he added sarcastically.

Ken turned away, moving over to one of the racks of gear that lined the wall of the meeting room.

Yohji grimaced. "Ah-heh. Yeah. I don't really think that's necessary..."

The rustling sound of Ken rummaging through the gear distracted them both for a moment. Omi shook his head, resuming his seat at the table and shifting his scowl to his laptop. Ken turned to face them again, his expression wary. "At least wear the mic and earpiece," he said, holding out the unit.

Yohji took the neat parcel of wires, earbud, mic, and black box, holding them carefully and thoughtfully for several long moments. There was a tracker chip in the black box that also housed the mic's transmitter and receiver. They wanted to keep tabs on his location -- which was only sensible, really, but it made him wonder how much Ken was trusting him. But really, how much did any of them trust each other? Each of them was so deeply wounded in their own way.... Even Ken would explode in strange directions if you pushed the right buttons -- and Ken certainly had reason not to trust anyone.

"Alright," he said, clipping the black box to the inside of his jacket just as Ken opened his mouth to add something.

"Oh. Good," Ken said, not bothering to hide his surprise.

Yohji suppressed a sigh as he tucked the earbud into his ear and arranged his hair over the almost invisible wire that ran down the back of his ear and the side of his neck. The tiny button mic clipped onto his jacket. "But no one follows me, alright? You two stay out of this unless I ask for backup."

Ken pressed his lips together in a thin line, but nodded. "But Schuldich is dangerous," Omi protested. He glanced up from his laptop and there was nothing innocent or naive about the look he shot Yohji.

"Yes. But he's not out for blood. Not yet, anyway." Yohji didn't bother explaining what Schuldich was out for. He still didn't want to think about that. Shrugging one shoulder, he forced a smile to his lips and winked at Omi. "Don't worry about me," he said.

Folding his arms across his chest, Ken nodded again. "Just be careful."

Yohji turned, waving one hand in a casual acknowledgement and goodbye. It wasn't as easy as it should have been to put on a good face for them.

But then nothing about this mission was being as easy as it should have been.