*HxH Disclaimer*

Author's Notes: Hmmm, I have to admit, Cheadle was a tad OOC in the first chapter, but I guess that adds to the odd humor of the situation. ^^;;

Also, many thanks to a guest reader and Age-san for their honest reviews and comments! ^^

Any other Chairman Pair "fans" out there? xD I guess this pair is fairly not very popular yet since the anime is still at the Chimera Ants Arc, and the politics of the Election Arc in the manga may have confused a lot of younger readers (hey, it confused me. Lelelz. :PP).

Anyway, I guess you can say they are still "underappreciated." :P

Let's continue ze story. ^^

Challenge Accepted
By: DW-chan

Two: Dream A Little Dream

"A defense mechanism?"

Mizaistom looked at Dr. Fiz, suppressing an urge to fiddle. Dr. Fiz was a middle-aged man with glasses so thick they magnified his eyes quite hideously, and Mizai had to keep himself from recoiling. It looked like a dragonfly was staring into his soul.

"Yes, quite," said the doctor, who happens to be a psychologist, part time, to the Hunter Association. But as to state all woes, the presence of such a professional at the disposal of the organization earned only but a dollop of attention. Had the populace known, everyone's state of mind would have been, let's say, much improved.

Mizai, apart from harboring such a thought, added in zest, Cheadle's got the place in an uproar, and all because of a defense mechanism?

"Please explain, Dr. Fiz," requested the Ox, aloud this time.

"You see," began Dr. Fiz, "Something may have triggered Chairperson Cheadle's drastic behavior change. I believe she has always been a woman of temperance: simple, and as you've said… conservative?"

The Ox blinked a moment. "That's how I've known her all these years, doctor."

"It's called a compensatory defense mechanism. I believe that she has gone from one extreme to another, at least from what I see are her standards. She may have thought to be lacking in one aspect, so she unconsciously made more amends than she ought to, to make up for what she lacked."

"Well… not to seem like an idiot, doctor, but I don't think I understand," replied Mizai, truthfully.

"In short, she still hasn't found a middle ground between her two behavioral poles. Don't worry, Mr. Mizaistom. It happens to the best of us," intoned the good doctor, his hands clasped calmly on his desk that separated doctor from consultee.

The Ox had an expression on his face that he wished to ask more questions, but Dr. Fiz raised a patient hand.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you more, Mr. Mizaistom. Even we psychologists keep a code of confidentiality. If Chairperson Cheadle had sent you on her behalf, perhaps I could be more liberal about it. But it appears that you've come here out of concern for her."

"Well, yes, it's because some… well, quite a number of us have been rather worried…" Mizai wanted to ease an itch in his brain.

Dr. Fiz's smile was decorous. "Of course, I understand. I believe Chairperson Cheadle had been quite the gentlewoman, but now, she's been causing quite a stir. I appreciate your concern for her, because, well, to be honest," this was when the doctor bent down and in a low voice; he looked to the left, and he looked to the right, and then told the Ox, "You see, it's becoming my concern too."

"Oh," said Mizaistom.

The doctor coughed a generous cough, bent back and graciously straightened his collar.

Mizai sighed. "Well, I appreciate your cooperation, doctor."

Dr. Fiz nodded and smiled.

Mizai cleared his throat, his voice muted as he bent towards the psychologist again. "Doctor, you uh…" he shifted uncomfortably. "You wouldn't mind if I look into psychological report, would you? I mean, you seem to have all our files…"

"Why, I don't mind at all!" chirruped the doctor, and he rummaged for a moment and handed Mizai a thick folder. "You can certainly look at your report."

"Thanks."

Mizai peeked at his report. He grimaced, and part of him wish he hadn't peeked at all.

It was two o' clock in the morning, and Cheadle Yorkshire was pacing back and forth her rather humble abode's living room (where she had dragged her quarry in). There, sitting on the couch like a mannequin in a middle of a juggle, was Ex-Vice Chairman Pariston Hill, all smiles and with a growing bruise on his left eye. He was still under the power of Cheadle's Prayer Paralysis, but only from neck-down. Cheadle wanted to simply paralyze his face too if only to keep his mouth shut, but she didn't want to freeze that unnerving grin at her, too.

Besides, he had a lot of explaining to do. That is, if he willed to cooperate; Cheadle, however, decided it was easier to convince a blind man to see.

"My, my, such violence," were Pariston's liquescent words when he first blinked back into consciousness. He sounded like a child who just got aced for show and tell.

Cheadle bristled. "Good talk for someone who's just trespassed into private property," she said sharply, trying to keep her bearings straight. She then took a few steps towards him, but keeping a meter-long distance between her and the amused man. "No honorable man would sneak into a woman's home at an unholy time of night." She paused, and with a needle in her voice, added, "Of course, not that I know you as a paragon of virtue in the first place."

"That punch," said Pariston, as though he hadn't heard the dog-woman speak, "did you practice that especially for me?"

Cheadle held her breath, and counted to ten. "I would appreciate it," she said slowly, "if you answered my question." She gave a tremulously fidgeting glance. "But if you must know, you simply have no idea how much I've wanted to do that."

"I'd imagine, dear Cheadle." Pariston looked peaceful as a pea, listening to a bedtime story.

Count to ten, breathe deeply. "Please don't you ever call me 'dear' again."

Pariston seemed unnerved. "And if you must know, dear Cheadle," said he, his eyes dancing, earning a look of a million daggers from the woman before him. "I just saved your life."

Cheadle stopped short. "Excuse me?"

Pariston kept on his toothpaste-commercial smile, the light of amusement ever growing in his eyes.

"Your room closet, if you please," said the fair-haired man simply.

Cheadle at once grew an expression of suspicion, and a dash of bewilderment. Her bright blue canine eyes shifted to him, then to the direction of her room, to him, then to her room…

"No games," informed Pariston, good-naturedly. "I promise."

"I'm not especially fond of your promises, Pariston," admitted Cheadle with a passion. "But as a member of the Zodiac twelve, I'd like to believe that there's still a tidbit of honor to salvage from you." With a motion of her hand, she released him from paralysis. Pariston casually stretched, elongating his body like a cat, ironically, for someone known to be a Rat.

"Well, then," said Cheadle. "Show me."

Pariston noted her poise in passing appreciation, which visibly irked the Dog, and with a half-jesting gentleman's bow, he gestured. "After you."

It was late and Cheadle was rather getting tired than irritable, so she shrugged and retraced her steps to her room; Pariston motioned her to stop, which she did, and he went before her, walked to her closet, and swung it open.

A bundle of five bound and gagged half-men, half-monsters tumbled onto her pristine carpeted floor. She jumped back, indeed surprised, but it took a while for it to sink in.

"Don't tell me," she spouted, "that these men were trying to assassinate me."

"Passing marks, passing marks all around, my dear," replied Pariston brightly.

"I told you—"

"Very apt Nen users, too. Although," the blond man looked ponderous, "I heard the Zoldycks were better and cleaner at their work. Whoever hired these thugs knew little about quality."

There came a series of muffled and offended protests from the bundle on the floor.

Cheadle looked exasperated. "And I suppose that you took them out for me."

Pariston clapped once in delight. "Wonderful guess, which is, of course, a fact!" He continued. "In the late and beloved Chairman Netero's time, about two hundred and fifteen assassins tried to put his office to an end. Of course, none of this ever made the news; it was really not much to make a large fuss about."

"I wish I could put this more gracefully, Pariston, but how do I know that you yourself didn't send these thugs to get me?"

Pariston feigned hurt. "Why, Chairperson Cheadle, what a felonious accusation! Whatever would I gain from your assassination, my dear? After all, I never really wanted to be Chairman in the first place. I could at least have a slice of gratitude."

The bound and gagged men squirmed like fat worms in their cocoons.

"All right!" Cheadle acquiesced, flinging a thin paw in the air. "It pains me to say this, but 'thank you.' Thanks for the trouble even I don't exactly understand why you'd go through all that trouble. I could very well handle these assassins myself."

More mumbling and heated protests from the defeated bunch.

"I most warm-heartedly accept your thanks, dear Cheadle. Moreover, consider this as a gift," cooed the dapper man, mysteriously.

"A gift?" echoed Cheadle.

"Of apology. I have judged you wrongly about creating a boring organization."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Yes, yes I admit my lack of good judgment, my dear." He theatrically placed a hand to his forehead. "You are doing a wonderful job as Chairperson. A wonderful job."

Cheadle didn't exactly anticipate such an oily concession from her adversary, but she returned, nevertheless, with a, "Well, I suppose I must thank you again for your—" she paused. "most kind words."

Pariston smiled his dazzling elfin smile which can never really fool the Dog. "Ah, Chairperson Cheadle, you do have a charm to you. Now, I must take my leave." He made a gesture with his hand, and with a burst of Nen, the bundle of five goons melted away into a ball of light and shrunk to fit Pariston's hand. Screams of surprise fell into the wake of their shrinking.

"You know you could have just done that in the first place," suggested Cheadle, and her paw flew to the direction of her closet, "rather than mess up my wardrobe."

"Ah yes, wardrobe," trilled Pariston, and once more Cheadle's words fell to seemingly deaf ears again. "I do like the stunning new look you have on, my dear."

"For the last time—"

"Ah, but if only such raiment came with the most endearing adornment of all."

Cheadle just wanted to fling her paws up in defeat. Will this man ever shut up? "And what would that be, Pariston?"

The man leisurely strolled out her bedroom door, then looked back at her with his pixiedust presence. "A smile."

He glided away.

Cheadle wanted to wake up from this nightmare.

"Oh," concluded Pariston, stopping on his tracks. "Don't worry about the carpets, dear Cheadle. You'll have shiny new ones in the morning. I'll see to that."

But before Cheadle could say a that won't be necessary, the man seemed to have disappeared into thin air.

All was quiet in her humble abode once more. The crickets chirped incessantly and everything else was silence that even one could hear the stars blaze in the sky.

Cheadle, like an incensed teenager, threw herself, back first, onto her mattress. The very reason why she had decided to change her game as Chairperson was to avoid ever seeing her emissary again, at least not after a very, very long time; but lo and behold, he simply stepped into her door anyway, literally, uninvited. She stared up at her room's ceiling for a moment before mumbling, "This is not the best day ever."

"Pariston did what?!" cried Piyon, her bunny ears bouncing in distress. She twisted her fingers uncomfortable around her cell phone. "Ewwww, that pervert!"

"I'll make sure venom gets into his drinks next time," drawled Ghel, her Snake arm leisurely giving a hiss.

"Now, girls, no need for alarm," clucked Clook, casually tapping her fan over her knee. "Cheadle's unhurt and that's all that matters, right?"

"It matters," Ghel said pointedly, "whenever that Rat is involved."

"Well, he did say that he was just 'saving her life.'" Clook made the "quote unquote" movement with her fingers. Piyon shook her head.

"Pariston's lucky that Cheadle had mercy enough to leave his liver intact," said the Rabbit with a pout, but of course, she may be joking (and jokes are half-meant).

Cheadle walked in, still in her bouncy, fiery ponytail, still free from her huge round spectacles, but there was something new—or rather, old—oh well, even the author is confused.

She was wearing a skirt long enough to grace the floor, and only the tips of her heeled boots peered out of the hem.

"Oh darling!" cried out Clook. "What happened to La Femme Fatale?"

Cheadle failed to hide a frown. "I'm saving that for casual Fridays." She proceeded to walk to her office, but before then, she addressed the Chicken. "Oh Clook, please, gossipmonger-ing?" She made a motion of zipping her mouth; it looked odd because she had a straight face. "Don't."

Clook, Piyon, and Ghel followed her retreating form, and when the Chairperson's Office door was closed, they huddled once more.

"I live for gossip," fiercely whispered Ghel, her slit-eyes beaming.

"What else did Cheadle tell you?" Piyon asked, springing like a child, or rather, like the Rabbit she was.

"Well, uh, she didn't exactly tell me anything, girls," admitted Clook. "I've got a nice network going on, see. I can always trust my pretties."

The two other girls thought for a while.

"Oh, your birds!" volunteered Piyon.

"Yes, my pretties," chirped Clook.

"That's rather handy," remarked Ghel, elegantly taking a sip from her sparkling juice. "You're getting the best news in the morning than ninety-nine percent of the population, Clook."

"Oh, shucks, woman, I don't use and abuse. It was urgent! You know how Cheadle dislikes the Rat."

"Don't we all," gurgled Piyon.

"I don't suppose," Ghel thought, "the Rat might be up to no good again?"

"God knows!" replied Clook. "You think he's up to no good, when he isn't. You think he's finally redeemed, when really, he's not."

"Pain in the ass," remarked Piyon, unfeminine-like.

"In any case, girls, my pretties are always on standby whenever I need them."

"Is anyone going to comment how worried she is that someone actually tried to assassinate the Chaiperson?"

"Oh pshaw," Clook tapped Ghel with her fan. "We all know that Cheadle could take down an army if she wanted to!"

"That's not entirely true! We're all still mortal, you know!"

"I think we should worry about the Rat while we still can," offered Piyon rather helpfully.

"Bunny baby's always makes the best suggestions. Lighten up, Ghel! Cheadle will be all right." She swallowed hard. I hope, she added, in her mind.

Just then, Cheadle emerged from her office once more, and Beans was with her, carrying a stack that drowned his little form into oblivion. This caught the attention of the three Zodiac women instantly.

"Oh my gosh," whispered Clook. "I think we're interrogating the prisoners."

"The assassins?"

Clook patted Piyon with her fan spiritedly. "No, silly Rabbit, the aliens!"

"Do you really believe in all that?" asked the skeptical Snake.

"We're about to find out," drawled Clook, and just as she was done with her words, Chairperson Cheadle walked up to the female Zodiacs.

"Seventy suspects, seventy files," she breathed. She took a load off poor little faithful Beans' shoulders, and handed a bundle of folders to each girl. "There's ten of us present in the Zodiac so far, but we'll work in pairs. So, unless any of you have any questions, comments, and violent reactions, are you coming with me?"

The three Zodiac girls looked at each other.

"Hell yes!" they cried, and in a flurry of feathers, scales, and furry ears, the four Zodiac women filed out, perhaps, to also fetch the Zodiac men—

"Kindly make that eleven," came a voice from behind them.

Clook, Piyon, and Ghel (almost), tripped over in surprise. Cheadle, not the least perturbed with the commotion, turned to check on her fallen comrades. She was about to open her mouth when she realized that she recognized the voice.

Security, please escort this man downstairs, was what her unprofessional self really wanted to say. Instead, she said, addressing the voice. "Why, very timely of you to show up, Pariston."

"Indeed," said the man, in a voice as rich as alabaster cream. "It would sadden me greatly if I am to be left out of one of the most intriguing incidents in Hunter history." He gracefully held a hand to his chest. "I would gladly be of service to our Chairperson."

Cheadle didn't want to argue and create a scene in front of her subordinates, even when most of them still glanced at her with adoring eyes. "Very well," she acceded.

The three Zodiac females looked at her with round eyes, a silent What the HELL are you doing? brimming in their expressions.

Not now, came Cheadle's own hard expression towards her female comrades.

"Here," she gave Pariston a set of files, without giving him as much as a miniscule glance.

"Much obliged!" said Pariston in his honey-tongue. Cheadle raised an eyebrow. At least, when among the public, he refrained from calling her the much detested dear. Then again, what could really stop him from doing so if he wanted to?

"How's the eye?" she murmured, still looking straight ahead, as Pariston had the gall, or rather, the confidence, to walk abreast with her.

"I'm most touched by the concern!" cried saccharine marmalade, dabbing the portion where the bruise was, except that the bruise was long gone.

"That wasn't concern. That was a question," retorted bitter orange peel.

Pariston clicked his tongue. "Such tact! But if you must know, Chairperson Cheadle, I'll live."

"Oh," said Cheadle. "Too bad." She pattered ahead of him.

Pariston halted a few steps behind, and somewhere in his sapphire-blue gaze was a slowly intensifying fire.

Walking through a tunnel, basked under slits of light, the Zodiac Eleven filed into the holding facility of the seventy supposed alien life forms, still in their human guises. Military men, employees of the hold, and Hunters who had stood watch for a few days all greeted the Chairperson with a lively twinkle in their eye. Only a few shuddered.

"If anyone in this wide world wants to get rid of the Zodiacs," muttered Saiyu to Kanzai, "now's the perfect time."

"Oh shut it," grumbled the Tiger. "And I'm sure we'll have Ging weeping over our cold dead bodies."

"Hmph."

Many mazes and security codes later, they finally arrived at the main cell. Lupe Highland was there, and he greeted Cheadle with a small nod of his head.

"Ain't got nothing from them," he reported, "about the eighteen missing Hunters."

"Thank you, Mr. Highland," acknowledged the petite dog-woman. The said Hunter seemed a tad startled; perhaps he was one of the few who had not seen Cheadle out of her nun-ish attire and into clothes that accentuated a little more of the feminine form. Lupe blinked for a moment, and then, as politely as he could, leaned over to whisper into Cheadle's ear.

"It's right and good that you're here, Chairperson," informed Lupe. "They won't be talkin' much; says they'd speak to you, once you're here."

Cheadle acknowledged the Lost Hunter's words again, with a tiny nod.

"If you'll excuse me," Lupe said finally, a little distracted and a little in a hurry, and with a quick, courteous wave to the rest of the Zodiacs, shuffled out of the main cell's receiving room like a crouching soldier.

Cheadle did a turn-about so she faced her interrogation team.

"Change of plans," she announced with a raise of her hand. "It appears that they would want to converse with me first before anyone else. I don't want any further hostilities, and I trust that they won't do me any harm. I'll go alone."

She heard low grumbles of displeased Zodiacs who "won't get into the fun right away" as she turned around once more, and she mightily tried her best to ignore them. Another Hunter—a Rookie, surprisingly—was about to escort her as far as the entrance to the first unit of the main cell, when Pariston abruptly grabbed her by the hand.

"How dare you!" she hissed, more in her great surprise, as she turned to him. "What do you want now, Pariston?"

"My dear," said Pariston in a disarmingly low voice. "Allow me to accompany you."

"There must be part of the word 'alone' which you didn't understand. These beings want to talk to me first."

Then, a voice called out from within the cell's first unit, which had the entrance very much like a gargantuan vault. "It's all right." It sounded like an old man's voice, gentle, wise, and full. "The young man can go with you, Chairperson Cheadle."

Cheadle felt her face grow hot. Whoever the person behind the vault door did not only hear her snappy conversation with Pariston, but knew that the pest of a man was clearly much intent in going with her.

"Right," she said to Pariston, who had the most excruciatingly triumphant smile on his face. "So, you're coming with me."

She stepped into the first unit cell, and there, sitting on a solitary cushioned stool at the center of the room, was an old man—dark-skinned, salt-and-pepper hair, and a wrinkled face that seemed wiser than his years. He had the deepest, clearest, most astonishing brown eyes she had seen on an aging fellow. This man looked definitely, and yet not definitely human.

The old man smiled. It was sincere.

Cheadle swallowed hard. She had a very good memory, but she did not exactly recall if she was the one who arrested the old man. She was certain that she was seeing him for the first time. Cheadle failed to keep her composure when she started rummaging through the files she had in her arms.

"It's the fifth folder from the top, young lady," said the old man, politely.

Cheadle suspiciously looked up from her work. It was apparent that these beings had extrasensory abilities. From the corner of her eye, she saw Pariston calmly look at the elderly figure with bright baby blue eyes, seemingly fascinated, more files tucked in hand.

Cheadle fished the fifth folder. She flipped it open.

"Manu Graives," she read aloud.

The old man smiled wider. He raised both his arms in acknowledgement. "That's me," he pronounced heartily.

Indeed, it was. The report had the man's photograph, his "address on Earth," his family, and friends who could also be possibly just like him.

"A grade school teacher," she read aloud some more, her eyes trying to adjust to the near-infinite golden sky within Manu Graives' eyes.

"Yes, yes, and I love my students, every single one, bless their hearts." Manu smiled, and there was nothing threatening about his wide toothy smile; soft, like the placid surface of a lake in June. It shone as the opposite of Pariston's garish pixiedust grins.

"I'm sure you do, Mr. Graives," replied Cheadle; she was surprised with her own sincerity.

But Manu Graives was scrutinizing her with his friendly eyes, squinting a little as if reading her thoughts, or so imagined the canine-like woman. For a moment she broke eye contact. "Nothing to worry about, Chairperson Yorkshire," said Manu cheerily, at length. He then extended a hand. "I believe this is how most of you greet each other hello?"

"Yes, I believe so," said Cheadle in slight surprise, and she took Manu's hand and gave it a firm shake. Manu then turned to Pariston; "Mr. Hill," said Manu with his friendly, old man smile, and Cheadle thought she saw Pariston blink a tiny moment's surprise at Manu's very familiar attitude.

"A pleasure," expressed a very amused Pariston, eyes shining with a million sea-shards.

When formalities were exchanged, and Manu Graives had resumed his seat in his tranquil manner, Cheadle found her voice. She recently discovered that she was beginning to want something for her nerves.

"Mr. Graives, I won't be beating around the bush," she declared.

"To be sure," replied Manu in good spirits.

"My informants and reports say "aliens." I see a human being before me."

"We've come to love our earthly skins, Chairperson Cheadle," Manu conveyed. "And if you must know, we've been living on dear planet Earth for nearly a century, and we remained undetected, until now."

"Planet Earth is your home," said Cheadle.

"Earth is our home," agreed Manu.

"What planet were you from?"

"It no longer exists," voiced Manu, as if referring to an old stain at the back of his mind.

Pariston was leaning towards her. "The last of our kind ploy," he whispered. Cheadle resisted the urge to spray a bit of sanitizer on where his breath had just lain on her.

Manu was looking at Pariston with patient, ancient eyes. "Mr. Hill, you are right, we seventy are the last of our kind, but it is far from a ploy."

Pariston looked a mite censured. Cheadle found warm victory and wanted to thank Manu secretly, which, of course, the alien man might have known already…

"Then, Mr. Graives, please show us," Pariston intoned silkily, but his tone was surprisingly friendly as well, "your true alien form, if it pleases you."

Manu seemed to frown a little. "Well, it pleases me little," he truthfully revealed, "but if it must be done…"

Cheadle held her breath. She tried to calculate the situation as fast as she could, but all the answers led to one thing: Manu Graives was no threat. At least, she added, as of now.

All of a sudden, beams of light, little by little, began to break through Manu's dark skin, like sunshine breaking through stone. Three rays, four rays, five rays, pure energy, laser-like, but not burning the atmosphere. In fact, the air slightly tingled, as though it were acknowledging a long-time friend.

In a few seconds, there stood—no, floated—before them was a being of pure light, but in a form of a man; blazing white-yellow, with tendrils of energy swirling into itself like liquid electricity. Cheadle looked at the face of the figure made of light and that's where she saw two deep, crystal clear brown orbs looking at her, as huge as tennis balls—the being's eyes.

"I must admit," mewled the Rat. "That this is quite unbelievable."

"Yes," Cheadle found herself saying, too entranced at the sight.

They have a real live alien being in the room with them right now, went Cheadle's mind, and the CCTV was on, and everyone who had access to the feed must be watching them, recording every second that ticked by, every shard of evidence that documented the fact that Manu Graives had transformed into a man made out of the sun.

The folders from her hands fell; she was bending to retrieve them but Pariston had beaten her to them. With his trademark smile, he handed her the stack; she gave a sniff, and took the folders from his fingers.

I believe you've seen all that there is to see, came a voice from nowhere and everywhere.

This startled Cheadle, her lovely little ponytail bobbing. "Are you hearing this?" she was not sure if she wanted to address Pariston, but he was the only one with her apart from the being of light.

"Yes," returned Pariston. "In my mind."

And just as quickly as Manu Graives transformed, he reverted back to his human self; the great light was extinguished, and there was old man Manu again, with his friendly grade school teacher eyes, clear as champagne pools.

"You're their leader," stated Cheadle, in half-jitters, as soon as Manu completely turned into his dark-skinned human self once more.

"You can call me that," Manu said. "But we're free people. I only happen to be one of the oldest among us."

"Which is?"

"Seven hundred and fifty two years old."

"Mr. Graives," continued the ruffled Chairperson; if she had her glasses at that moment, they would have teetered askew from her dog-like nose. "So you've been here a century, and you've somehow co-existed with us for a time. But many renowned Hunters raised the red flag on you and your people. I have reports here—"

"Please, show us," said Manu. Cheadle wondered why he was genuinely interested. Perhaps their semblance of psychic abilities had limitations, after all.

"There are some among you," she began, "who can, to an extent, bend space and time. Some among you as well who can filter bad memories from someone's head, or bring people back from the dead as long as the body remained intact and fresh within five hours." She read his file. "And you, Manu Graives, you are one among those who can allow people to see their future through dreams."

She looked up at the alien being. Manu was placid as ever, ancient eyes soft and blinking.

"And in addition, you all seem to possess some psychic abilities. And you can also communicate through telepathy."

"Only when in our alien form, as you call it," admitted Manu, his large, wrinkled hands clasped in front of him.

Pariston was observing the canine woman, observing her closely. She talked with a passion. She seemed to be bubbling with a new kind of excitement. Who wouldn't be excited at all? It wasn't everyday when one can converse to a being of light, and know that that person was a being of light. Pariston smiled his secret smile.

"Mr. Graives," yapped the lovely Chairperson Cheadle, and she continued on…

She's lovely, isn't she— said a voice in his head.

Pariston started. He decided to play along. I thought you can only communicate telepathically in alien form? he talked to the voice with his mind.

Yes, said Manu to his mind, but remnants of the telepathic signal are still accessible a few minutes after reverting to human form.

I see…

So, lovely?

Why are you bringing this up, kind sir?

A good-natured laugh lightly shook his cranium. You thought you knew her, continued Manu's voice, but everything changed one day. You don't know all of Cheadle Yorkshire. You want to get to know her, really get to know her…

Playing matchmaker, are we, Mr. Graives?

Ah, no, not really, young man. I was not suggesting matchmaking, but it seemed like you made that suggestion yourself.

Pariston wished Cheadle had not seen him turn a light lobster pink. He tried to brush a seeming filthiness in the air away, but in vain…

Cheadle was still speaking, her eyes alight but determined. "Mr. Graives," she said (we repeat from last time), "it's said that only a few, trusted people know of your abilities. Now, none of them have betrayed you; our Hunters only seem to be efficient. They have brought this matter to our attention: only a few humans know of your people's abilities. A group of thirty, yes, that's all right. You're a family. But a group of three hundred, then three thousand—you see… bending time and space, erasing memories, bringing people back to life, augury dreams…" She pressed on. "Humans can have those abilities. They are discovered. They are—"

"Abused," finished Manu Graives.

"Exploited is more of the word I'm looking for," said Cheadle, who was smiling affably. "And it will be a mutual exploitation before we know it. Sure, we can do what you can do but only to some extent. But you are infinitely much better, and…" her brows twitched, "you're doing it for free."

"We never charge for latent gifts, my child," said Manu Graives. Cheadle was taken aback, somewhat. No one, not even her parents, addressed her as such before.

"Yes, but what you're doing is potentially dangerous."

"We never meant any harm."

Cheadle's eyes began to soften; her lower lip was beginning to tremble as well.

"We have co-existed for a century long. We will continue to co-exist for centuries to come," conveyed the dark-skinned man in his gentle, preacher-ly voice.

"I—I was rough on some of you—"

"Yes, Chairperson Cheadle. You were only doing your job." Manu Graives smiled, wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes; for a moment he looked comical, like a friendly old toad, but a very wise and friendly old toad.

Cheadle Yorkshire seemed lost in a trance. Pariston blinked in feigned nonchalance, but he was rather curious with how much she had lost herself in her thoughts.

She's a respectable young lady, Mr. Hill, came Manu's voice in his head again. Now this is my last minute of telepathy so I'll be giving you some age-old words of advice. Don't break a good girl's heart.

And Manu's voice was gone from his head.

Manu was regarding him with his placid gaze, and Pariston smiled, placing a hand, with the flow of dramatics, to his chin.

Manu then returned his full and impartial attention to the dog-like woman. "Don't worry, Chairperson. We can protect ourselves. Thank you for relaying your concerns to us. We are now in full awareness of those concerns."

"You are then requesting me," attempted Cheadle, "to release you all, return you to your respective homes, and leave you be for the centuries to come?"

"Yes on the first two points, young lady," said Manu. "But it would be a shame if gentlepeople like yourself won't pay us a visit some time. We'll have proper cakes and tea for you. No turpentine, that's a guarantee—"

"Turpentine?" inquired a mildly inquisitive Pariston.

"They drink it," informed Cheadle, without looking at her addressee—although she could feel the heat of Pariston's smile at her back.

"Ah," said Pariston. "Charming bunch."

"That's a very generous offer," returned Cheadle to Manu Graives in all genuineness. "Yes, I might be dropping by some time, Mr. Graives. How's Mrs. Graives?"

"She's fine." Manu pointed with a thumb at his back. "She's actually beginning to like Unit Four. She says it's much cleaner than back at home. Smells a good deal of Febreeze too. She likes the smell of Febreeze."

"Oh," said Cheadle, not really knowing what else to say.

"I can also guarantee you, Chairperson Cheadle," Manu went on, "that we have been treated well in our stay here. No one hurt, no one mistreated, not even a shout or a cruel prod. They say it was your orders for us to come to no harm. We are much indebted."

Cheadle began to verily turn a shade of poppy red. "Well, I, uh… just doing my job, I suppose."

"These people are beginning to adore you, young lady," admonished Manu Graives, much to Cheadle's slight embarrassment (and perhaps, annoyance—Pariston was just right behind her, after all, and he could hear everything). "They've adored you before, and they're adoring you now. Change is good, but change only when you need it."

"Oh, that—" How much exactly did this nice-like old man know about her?

"And one more thing, if you don't mind," added the kindly old Manu. "I've given you a dream tonight. Don't worry, it's not a scary future; at least I'm hoping it isn't." He smiled with good humor. "Take it as a token of my gratitude on behalf of my people."

Cheadle seemed like she was shaking, but she was not sure herself if it was excitement or worry. "You're welcome, Mr. Graives, and we thank you as well for understanding our stand on the matter."

Manu waved a hand. "Nothing doing!"

Cheadle imagined that she was walking in a tunnel within a tunnel within a tunnel, and she felt slightly claustrophobic as she passed through the mazes out of the holding facility once more. She tottered. Pariston was at her side, and he caught her.

"Dazed?" smiled the blond haired man.

Cheadle was not sure if she was herself. Then again, she had thought that she wasn't really herself for the past few days. There was something of a muddle in her brain. "Aliens," she mumbled, like a sleepy little child.

"You're tired, my dear Cheadle," said Pariston, quite indulgently.

That seemed to wake Cheadle up. She straightened and weaseled away from his hold. "Kindly not touch me again, Pariston." She trudged on.

As expected, there was a commotion among the Zodiacs when they learned that the planned interrogation would no longer take place.

"And I wanted to ask how the girls are in their home planet too," bemoaned Kanzai in his gruff voice.

They all looked at him strangely.

"What?"

"Cheadle, why d'you had all the fun, dammit! Even that bastard Pariston—"

"CCTV camera number eight," pronounced Cheadle; she addressed the mish-mash bunch of Zodiacs before her with a certain fondness. "What happens in Zaiban, stays in Zaiban. Never speak again of what you'll see, and well… if you like, you can shake their hands as we escort them out of the facility."

"Their?" asked Mizai (he still hadn't told her of his visit to Dr. Fiz. It would seem like he was stalking her, you see). "You're letting them go?"

"With every hair on their heads intact."

"But they're aliens."

"Yes, yes."

"Did they speak gobbledygook?"

"Camera number eight at the security room," she ordered, rather darkly, "now."

"Yes ma'am!"

And they all marched in as much orderly fashion as they can manage to where Cheadle instructed them to go, but Pariston stayed.

"Sweet dreams, my dear Cheadle," was all he said, as he waved, and stepped into the darkness.

Cheadle was not sure if she should go after him and give his other eye the same glorious treatment.

Cheadle had tried to stay awake as long as she could, but all in vain. She had managed forty minutes awake with a thriller novel on her lap, but then her eyes began to flutter. At the back of her mind, she saw a ball of white light, now shifting to human form, and then there were eyes, golden-brown, gentle and friendly and wise.

There was a house, not too huge, not too small, and it had a nice, picket fence; it was the dream house of most little girls, and as a little girl, she had wanted a house with a picket fence. It was charmingly quaint that way.

There was a family there, in their lovely garden, having a picnic lunch. The weather was fine, the wind was cool, and the leaves were lush and green.

There was a little girl, a toddler baby, holding a flower, a beautiful red peony. She had just learned how to walk, and she was tottering with her plump, stubby legs towards a feminine figure—the baby's mother, it looked like. The woman's hair was golden-brown, and it was shadowing her face…

No wait, the woman was really her! It was—or will be—Cheadle some years from now, the future Cheadle, and she will have a baby girl, a wonderful, beautiful baby girl.

Dada, said the toddler. She addressed the lanky man beside her mother, and the man had his arms tenderly wrapped around his wife, and he had golden hair, yellow like sunflowers blinking in the sun.

Wait a minute…

There was something oddly familiar about the man. The way he moved, the way his arms moved, and then the way he spoke—well, Cheadle couldn't really hear him speak, even when she had heard the little girl speak, because maybe his words were lost in the wind, there was a pinwheel on the ground and it was brimming with colors, bright yellow, green, blue, orange…

The man looked up.

Dada, said the girl again, throwing her chubby arms around his neck.

Cheadle will have a baby girl, and she will have a husband.

And that husband will be Pariston Hill—

Four o' clock in the morning, and Chairperson Cheadle woke up with a start. Her eyes were wide and she surveyed her surroundings—she was in her room, under her covers, and she could hear her old-fashioned wall clock ticking, and she was shivering.

She felt a sudden urge to consult with Dr. Fiz at this lovely time of dawn.

She never really swore, not aloud, and not when she can help it.

"Shit," she said.

A/N: Sorry for the language, but the rating is "T," and while most young adult books don't publish with potty language in it, there may be some exceptions. Only I haven't read them yet. Haha. But for Cheadle to say "dung" instead would sound even sillier. I mean, who says the dumb word "dung" when she just learned that she'll be married to an a**hole? x3 At least, in Cheadle's humble opinion, as per manga. xPPP

I'm not getting a lot on hits for this one, since this is a relatively new pair, but send those reviews and comments in, nonetheless! Much obliged. ^^ I do plan to finish some more entries before the June 20 deadline, and this will be one of them. ^^

Cheers!

DW-chan :3