Chapter Two - Tricky

a k a n t h a e - h i m e

Authoress' Note & Disclaimer: I'm amazed I can actually get past chapter one on a fic. It's actually rather difficult for me, believe it or not. I need to watch more Storm Hawks, which I do not own except for my still nameless original character. Thank you for your concern, and for reading, but I intend to introduce her name soon. I totally do not need suggestions.

I'm a bad liar.

-

She looked back at him; it seemed as though by virtue of the seconds ticking by, each one gave the Condor's visitor a little more courage, until finally she was standing proudly in front of him. Aerrow considered that an improvement to her wild look before, although he didn't understand a word of her insistent babble - only the phrase, "not a cyclonian," and the name, "Starling." With each word - as if this stranger girl in cyclonian garb expected him to believe her - Aerrow became more and more certain it was a ruse to gain his trust and sabotage the (self-proclaimed) only sky knight squadron capable of bringing Cyclonis down.

When she took a breath to begin again, he held up a hand. "Okay," Aerrow said, "so lemme get this straight: first, you're not a cyclonian. Second, Starling is in trouble. Third, you used to be a member of the Interceptors."

She didn't answer; merely looked at him expectantly, as if to ask (which she did), "Well?"

"Well," he responded, "I just think that the rest of us need to hear about this. They'll be in the cockpit."

He pivoted in his place, grabbing the stranger's wrist with a certain reluctance, and made his way into the corridor. Thereupon, the girl tugged her arm out of his grasp, cradling it with her other hand as she said - quite clearly - "Usually, the main cockpit is the other way in a carrier vehicle."

Aerrow glanced at her nervously, forcing himself to grin. "We're taking a shortcut."

She didn't have time to ask, "you're sure?" before he pulled her into the opposite hallway, past a flight of metal stairs, and into the spare room they kept for all of their junk - Stork's more difficult tools, extra weapons, some of Piper's maps, though all had been cleared recently (Piper's cleaning purge had swept the entire airship except for Finn's room) in favor of the stacked jumble of cots. This was the room that was generally a hospital ward on ships...and from the look on her face, Aerrow's counterpart knew it, but she wasn't quick enough to turn and leave before Aerrow darted out the door, pulled out a key, and looked the door.

"Hey!" echoed the girl. Aerrow was a little more than worried when he heard the sounds on the other side of the door that suggested his visitor was trying to get out: the pitter-patter of footsteps and loud thump of a shoulder colliding with the metal frame; but now wasn't the time to get guilty. Before he could contemplate letting her out (no doubt to wreak havoc on the rest of Stork's prized ship), Aerrow began a shuffling walk along the corridor that led to the real cockpit.

-

"So you locked her into the spare room? Idiot!"

Piper turned around, beginning to pace again as the gears of her brain worked overtime to puzzle out if Aerrow could really have been that stupid.

Stork cleared his throat, eyes dilating rapidly as his gaze flickered from Finn, to Junko, to Aerrow. They all focused on him, even Piper stopping her pacing (Finn could've sworn she was wearing a hole through the floor) to listen to whatever pessimistic comment Stork had in store for them...mostly because at times, those comments were the spawn of some awesome plan Stork inadvertently seeded.

"You don't happen to mean the storeroom where," - here he abandoned his train of thought to scratch at some nonexistent rash near the nape of his neck, before he skittered towards Aerrow and leaned in closely for emphasis - "I keep all of the spare parts and dangerously dangerous tools that most of you wouldn't dare go near for fear of losing body parts?"

Aerrow glared at Stork menacingly, Finn snickering at the sight.

"Well," he defended himself slowly, thoughtfully, "it seemed like a good idea at the time."

Stork let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding, moving back to crouch next to Radarr, who supported Stork with a chitter and nod of his head. His voice was breathy and ominous when he next spoke: "Now would be a nice time," - and again with the itch, spawning stifled snorts of laughter from Finn - "to start praying that she doesn't know how to use any of those dangerously dangerous tools. Because the last time someone went near my stuff - "

"Dude," interrupted Finn.

Stork turned his head to look at the sharpshooter, who was oh-so-obviously not taking anything they had said seriously.

"Why can't you keep your stuff in your room like the rest of us?"

Aerrow and Piper joined in with a rousing cry of, "shut up, Finn! This is serious!"

-

"Fuck."

There was no one there to wince at her bad language as the girl whose entrance in the Condor had been so rudely interrupted by Aerrow banged her fist against the door once last time. She had to admit: even if she did think the Condor was falling apart on the outside (depicrit and old-looking), the inside was sturdier than a lot of the airships she'd seen in her day...which hadn't been that long ago. She was young, not even Aerrow's age, which merited that she should be given credit for even managing to make a dent in the door.

Which she hadn't. As far as she could tell, it was the same as it had been a whole hour ago. She regretted leaving her other weather crystals on her skimmer: the one she brushed her hand against now, lodged firmly in the compartment on her metal stave. It emitted a faint blue light, but the rain weather crystal wasn't doing much. Her hair, obviously dyed its current shade of platinum blonde (the russet roots shone through clearly, though they weren't meant as highlights), was plastered against her forehead.

Metal, unfortunately, didn't rust easily, especially when it was built to maintain against rust for what seemed like a very long time.

I'm just taking a break, she told herself, but her body told her otherwise when she tugged a cot and matching blanket off the stockpile in the corner. She collapsed in the makeshift bed with gusto.

Mere moments later, the Condor's unwelcome guest gave up the attempt to get up and try again. All her efforts had earned her were a bruised shoulder, a barely (if at all) dented door, and some hostility from people who were supposed to have trusted her like they trusted Starling; not to mention this conclusion: humans, including the girl herself, were a tricky lot.

-

Around the same time, Piper sighed. "Well, it's not like we have any other choice," she said primly.

"Well, why not?"

"Piper, she's a cyclo - "

"Is not."

Piper pivoted where she stood, leaning forward to glare at Finn menacingly for his lack of sense at Aerrow's unfinished comment towards Junko's inquiry. "And why don't you think so?"

"Because." He paused. "Cyclonian girls are ugly."

Aerrow sighed. "Okay, look. First, she's not Dove. Hands off, Finn."

The sharpshooter blinked in confusion.

"Second," Aerrow continued, "she's a cyclon - "

Piper twitched. "Aerrow?"

"Hmm?"

"Please. Shut up."

Aerrow was silent, although it was a brooding silence that came from being so rudely spoken too.

Piper smiled. "Thank you." She leaned forward again, her hands resting on the table's end as she surveyed the motley crew in front of her. "Now, first: like Aerrow said, she's not Dove. Hands off."

A shaky breath.

"Second, we don't know who she's working for or if she's on her own. All we know is that she, according - again - to Aerrow, claims to be on our side...or at least friends with Starling. I say we put off the interrogation for tomorrow when we aren't all brain-dead and twitchy, maybe until after lunch."

Stork looked ready to protest at that with a comment that it was merely in his nature, but before he could Aerrow began to talk again.

"I'm all for it," he replied evenly. Piper's solid, diplomatic, there-is-no-way-in-hell-I'm-letting-you-convince-me-into-murdering-that-girl-at-one-in-the-effin'-morning expression melted into relief.

"But," - and then Piper groaned - "I still say we put a guard at her door."

Finn nodded in agreement. The earlier statement about Dove hadn't jarred him at all. He sat up straighter, then said, "I call first shift."

"Second."

"Third."

"..."

Radarr was asleep.

"Fourth."

Aerrow looked around at all the resolute faces, all the faces staring back at him.

He sighed.

"Fifth."

"And sixth," added Piper, "because if we put Radarr on a shift alone you can be certain your fantastic cyclonian cronie will be piloting the ship in the morning."

"Actually, no. That's my job," Stork replied. He emphasized his statement with a jerking, twitchy motion.

And suddenly, Aerrow had this odd sinking feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with his lack of dinner. His only protest was, "Why do I get a double-shift? Heck, why does Radarr get a shift?"

(Finn shrugged. "It was your idea, dude.")