- Chapter 4 [A Visit] -

It was rare that the Dark Ace was punished by Master Cyclonis for failing a mission. Then again, it was rare that the Dark Ace failed. He'd slaughtered many a sky knight, and had defeated many resistance heroes. He was feared and respected by every Talon as well as Ravess and Snipe, and many resistors as well- not to mention favored highly by the Master herself. He spent his off-days lingering around base; lurking about the shadows and watching her at work. The glances she'd cast him from time to time were far from condescending. He knew she valued him above all else.

So today was unusual. Her rasping shout could be heard all the way out at the heavily guarded gates, and his eyes were wide with fury and shame as they burned holes before his feet. And yet that same night he was pondering other things. Trivial things. Things that had happened in the past, things he anticipated in the future. He even thought about Aerrow without any anger igniting in his stomach. For the first time in months he expected a decent sleep. His mind was slowly shutting down as he sat, arms behind his head and blankets draped halfheartedly over his chiseled torso. The raging storm of tangled thoughts was calming within him, working its way into flowing, whispery cobwebs that were lulling himself to sleep with their silent melodies.

Everything was fine until something bright reflected in his window. He squinted and turned his head the other way. From time to time the moonlight reflecting off a switchblade would hit his room, and although the rookie commander had promised it would be taken care of, every now and then a female Talon-in-training would ride by to glimpse his sleeping form. And as conceited as it was, he tried to look his best for them.

The light danced across his stone walls a second time- each little pinpoint hovering longer than the time before. He blinked groggily for a moment before he bloody eyes grew huge and he sat up.

"Oh, shit."

Throwing the covers off he darted to the window and thrust the drapes back. "What are you doing here?"

A pair of big blue eyes blinked at him and she put her hand on the glass.

Cursing again to himself, Ace unbolted the tall gothic window and pulled her quickly inside. She landed and flapped her wings for balance, looking around in amazement as he slammed it shut and leaned against it. He muttered to himself for a moment before whirling around. "Listen to me. You shouldn't be here." When she didn't listen he gripped her arm. She turned around and looked stunned. Her little slender fingers touched his chest and he nearly jumped at how cold they were. "Yes, yes, I know I'm not wearing a shirt. Listen to me!" Finally he got a nod out of her and pushed her hand away. "You shouldn't be here. How did you find me? Did- did you follow me?"

She nodded again and he cursed a third time.

"That was stupid! You shouldn't have done that," he scolded, jerking her by the arm and making her wings and shoulders droop with guilt. She pulled gently against him, attempting to get back to the window. "No, no. You can't leave now. You'll have to stay. Are you all right? You aren't hurt, are you?" He yanked her to and fro, making sure she wasn't injured. He gave a little aggravated grunt and looked at her face- it was dirty and frightened. "What am I going to do with you?"

As if in response, she gave a little yawn. His jaw dropped a little in anguished disbelief, eyes darting all over as he contemplated the responsibility and the weight of this.

"All right then. Let's get these off." He took her by the shoulders and eased her onto the edge of his bed, kneeling before her as he heaved a weary sigh. His clothes were covered in grit from her grueling trip. It was a bloody wonder she hadn't been picked up by a patrol and taken to the lab for experiments. Or, far more likely, savagely raped. The poor thing probably didn't even know such functions existed, he thought, as he unbuttoned her jeans, unzipped them, and pulled them gently down to reveal his ridiculously oversized boxers he'd put on her only a few hours ago. His mind on that subject, he swallowed and glanced at her apprehensively as he removed her pants. Her gaze was fixed on him; all-knowing as usual but eyes half-lidded with weariness. Her lips glowed in the faint moonlight and her wings reflected tiny rainbows all over his walls as they moved slowly. She was absolutely gorgeous. Assuming she'd been able to relieve herself, he opted to leave the undergarment on. Her shirt needed replaced, however.

"I'm going to get you a-" she interrupted him by pointing at something against the opposite wall. "So you brought it back!"

Indeed, she'd hefted the huge bag of clothes with her back to Cyclonia. It had to be forty pounds, the leather thing filled with heavy fabrics and whatever else he'd neglected to remove from it. Changing his course from his closet to it, he opened the flap and ruffled through until he found the old, flimsy gray shirt he'd packed her. "Nice and soft," he murmured, holding it up and watching the moon shine through the little holes in the tattered piece. He stood back up and pulled his curtains closed, making his way back over as he ripped through the back of the fabric. "This should be comfier to sleep in than that."

Again he was uncomfortable as he bent over to untie her shirt from earlier. He slid it off her shoulders, watching her small, curvy figure emerge. She blinked up at him as a range of emotions ran across his face. "Sorry," he muttered quickly before wadding the old shirt up and dropping it in the denim puddle already at their feet. He put the short-sleeved one on her arms, at least seven sizes too big and filled with little rips. He plopped down behind her to tie it beneath her wings, blinking in awe at all the veins he could see in their tips with the pale light shining through them. "Not too tight?" She didn't reply and he stood again to collect his dirty outfit and throw it in the basket by the bathroom door. He went in and came back out with a washcloth. "Now hold still. It's warm water."

The creature wrinkled her nose disapprovingly as he steadied her with one hand and gently wiped the grime from her face with the other. Nope. She didn't like washcloths. Nor did she enjoy her face being touched, it seemed. Regardless, he scrubbed lightly until the perspiration and dirt were gone. Her fair skin was red from being rubbed, and she glared at him as he pulled back.

"Sorry," he muttered with a smile. "I'm all done. No more molesting your dignity for tonight." He was too worn out to hang it back up in the bathroom, so he chucked the little wad of washcloth at the clothes basket. Two pairs of eyes watched it bounce off and flop to the carpet in the restroom doorway. "Oh well."

Relieved (and almost excited) to be getting back to bed, he climbed onto the covers and pulled them over his baggy black pajama pants. (They had little ace-of-spades cards on either side at the bottom. His favorite pair.) She crawled cautiously up next to him as he lay down, facing the window. His door was locked, so his concern was somebody flying by and seeing her through the curtains. He patted the spot behind him, and she moved weightlessly over to his back, pushing her little feet beneath the silk covers and wriggling down under. Her wings gave a little, tired beat as she molded herself to him, knees against his and chest against his spine.

"Are you comfortable?"

The papery sound of her hair rubbing the pillows as she nodded alerted him to her positive answer.

"Wake me up if you need anything. Will you?"

Another nod.

"All right. Goodnight then."

And he fell into a profound sleep.