All notes/warnings/disclaimer from chapter 1 apply to this one too.

xxx

Riki finds Katze at the garage. The red car gleams from the open gate. Katze, in a loose black sweater, sleeves rolled up to bare his forearms, and jeans so tight they look like painted on to his backside, he is leaning over the hood and buffing the chrome frame of the windscreen with a rag. He is smoking, the fag dangling from a corner of his mouth when he looks up go give Riki a curious glance.

Riki knocks the gear lever into idle and lets the machine roll grumbling onto the court. "Hi," he says.

"Hi rat," Katze says around his fag, and a slow smile tugs at his mouth.

"I told you to leave him alone."

Katze's strange eyes narrow, his expression somewhere between vague annoyance and amusement, and for a moment Riki thinks it's strikingly like Iason's. "You know what killed the cat?"

Nervously revving the engine, Riki frowns. "What?"

"What, what," Katze apes, "just keep your nose out of this, or you'll regret it. Iason doesn't like anyone meddling with his stuff."

"Yeah, right," Riki snaps bitterly, "and what's to lose?" He regrets his words the moment he says them and catches the spark of irony in Katze's eyes although he doesn't quite understand what Katze could find so funny.

"Okay, I got it," he says, "it's business, nothing to do with me, yaddah, yaddah."

Katze straightens and wipes his hands on the rag, then tosses it into the footwell of the car. "You know nothing. You're fishing. Somebody made an offer to your boyfriend, and he's saying no but means perhaps, and perhaps means yes. He's feeling the pressure – from the rest of your gang, and now because you're back, and he wants to offer you something better than Ceres. He's scared of losing you, you're scared to tell him because you'd be rumbled, and he'll throw you out. He's got no time for pets, right? Not even to make a few shipments from A to B. Sealed containers, fully legal documentation, nobody's going to check."

"You're behind all of this shit," Riki bursts out. He feels miserable.

Katze shakes his head and props his backside against the front wing of the roadster. "Wrong," he says calmly. "I'm only the messenger."

Riki swallows. "So who is? Who's doing all of this crap to us? Why can't you leave us alone, for fuck's sake?"

Katze pushes himself away from the car and comes out to settle his hand on Riki's shoulder. Riki can smell the aroma of car polish, tobacco and strong aftershave. It's a sharp, spicy scent, and it triggers a strange nausea in him. "Take your dirty paws off me," he grinds out.

"Hey." Katze leans forward, his yellow eyes boring into Riki's dark ones. "Get real, Riki. Time's ticking."

Hearing his name like that makes Riki's head swim. "Leave Guy alone," he says fiercely.

Katze shrugs and straightens. "I'm not doing anything. I'm just offering choices."

xxx

Nothing and nobody will hide for long from Katze, not in Ceres, or Mistral, not even in HerBay or Midas. In fact, there is nowhere in Tanagura where Riki could stay under Katze's radar for long, but he doesn't know that, and neither does Guy.

Katze, from a ruined building opposite Bison's hideout, watches Riki scramble back to life. Days, weeks, months of monotony, broken only by blazing rows with Kiri – but Katze feels almost jealous of the gang in their attempt to make a living. In the end, Guy threatens to throw Kiri out. Faced with this, even Kiri takes on occasional jobs, working at the same bar as Norris, or helping Luke washing cars.

A pair of expensive, night-vision binoculars in hand, Katze spends long hours standing by the cobwebbed window on the top floor of the old warehouse, amid dirt- and rust-encrusted machinery, the smell of old grease and engine oil still thick in the musty air. The roof, made of glasspanes, is long blind and grey, and daylight filters into the production hall in muted grey swathes.

A mirthless smile tugs at Katze's lips as he watches the gang go out to work, come home to get drunk and high on whatever is at hand, their bikes idle apart from a few lazy spins to Dana Bahn and back.

Iason is getting impatient. The year he's given Riki is coming to an end, and he is demanding results. Katze loiters, not sure why he is hesitating, before going to see Iason in person to give him the news that Guy won't be willing and Riki is sticking to his guns.

xxx

Katze has to ID himself and wait for the door to open. The apartment is dark, the glittering lights of the city casting a faint glow through the panorama window. Iason sits by the window in his chair, his posture relaxed, a glass of wine in one hand. Katze needs a moment for his eyes to get used to the shadows before he realises that Iason is naked, one hand covering loosely his groin, his hair a flood of silver over his shoulders and the back of the chair.

Pausing by the door, Katze feels his throat tighten, and he quickly casts his gaze down. He doesn't want to feel what he does, and he can't help it.

"Come in," Iason summons.

Katze steps in, his steps almost soundless on the polished floor even though he's wearing boots. He links his gloved hands in front and keeps his head lowered. "You won't like the news I have."

"Old news," Iason says, sounding uninterested, almost bored.

"You know?"

"What do you think? That I need to wait for you?"

Katze purses his mouth. "They why waste my time?"

"I didn't think I would. There aren't many who have the privilege to come and go at will here."

"I didn't ask for it."

"Did you not? I recall you begging."

A shiver runs down Katze's spine. He clasps his hands together more firmly. "If there's nothing else, then perhaps I should go now."

"Won't you look at me?" Iason's voice drifts through the dusky space between them.

Katze swallows hard. "I know what you look like."

"Then remind me," Iason says calmly, "of your looks."

"I can't," Katze murmurs hoarsely, "not the way I'm now."

"Once," Iason says, rising in a smooth, powerful motion, "only once in my life I felt... something." He sets the glass on the desk and slowly crosses the room until he is so close to Katze that they can sense each other's heat.

"The likes of you," Katze says weakly, "don't feel anything."

"I felt close. As if we were one." Iason reaches out and brushes the coat off Katze's hunched shoulders. His hands are heavy and warm and they make Katze shiver.

"We aren't. We never were."

Iason's hands slide under Katze's grey tee-shirt. "Liar," he says softly.

Katze's breathing becomes fast and deep when Iason stills, holding him in a firm grip that could be many things – protective, steadying, possessive...

"You have Riki," Katze manages.

"Do I?"

"You-"

"It's different." Iason leans in and brushes Katze's scarred cheek with his lips. "Haven't you had enough yet?"

Katze startles and pulls back abruptly. "Of what? Being your punchbag?"

Iason stares at him. His face is shaded but Katze can feel his gaze, just like his touch.

"Say that you hate me," Iason says quietly.

"I hate you," Katze almost breaks in, so quick is his retort, and it cuts him to the bone. "I hate you," he repeats, his voice cracking. "This isn't fair..."

And Iason's reply, as he begins to undress Katze, is a distant echo: "Nothing is fair."

xxx

Katze stands pressed back against Iason. His arms strain, elbows locked, sinews standing out like cords between taut muscles, as he pushes against the glass of the panorama window. Iason cups Katze's throat with one hand, and the other slowly trails down Katze's spine, tracing the curve of his back, down between his buttocks, and ends up gently mauling his mutilated groin. Katze has long discovered that the knotty stub of flesh responds to arousal, that the scar underneath is super-sensitive to touch, and that he can find enjoyment and relief if he wants, through touch inside and out. It has been easy enough to replace chemically what his body has lost physically, but sometimes he wonders whether perhaps this makes it worse – he can't, he won't forget, and it's driving him mad. With resentment, with longing. He's been looking for a vent elsewhere, but there is no satisfaction in banging some jaded rentboy – he's always sought his own release afterwards, in private, with closed eyes, images of Iason tearing through his mind.

Iason leans forward to kiss the nape of Katze's neck, then lifts his head to watch Katze shiver, goosebumps raising the fine hairs on his lower arms. Katze bites his upper arm to stifle a groan. His hands clench against the thick glass, his knuckles pushing sharply against his skin.

"Let go," Iason murmurs, entreating, his fingertips pressing lightly against scarred flesh. Katze hisses his breath out through his nostrils. Iason smiles, his gaze dark and hooded. "Let me in," he rasps softly. A small push, and his thumb sinks into Katze's body whilst his fingers keep rubbing.

A sound wrenches from Katze's throat – half sob, half curse – as he tries to twist away from Iason's touch that is skilled and sure, tearing into him with all that he's been missing bitterly in those eternities spent alone in his bed.

"Stop struggling. Haven't I made up for your loss?" Iason carries on, establishing a rhythm that flares through Katze's parched body like wildfire, driving him on relentlessly, burning, coiling, screaming through him.

"You- ah- never-" Katze bites his lip hard enough to draw blood. He is teetering on the cusp, staring down in the abyss he knows will swallow him whole when Iason nails him and stays put, leaning over to touch his mouth to Katze's scar. Katze's skin tastes of sweat and aftershave. His hair, soft and tangled and a bit greasy, tickles Iason's nose. It makes Iason dizzy with hunger, the need to hold, to own and keep close, to choke and suffocate all resistance out of Katze, until he can be sure, completely sure...

"I've given you power," Iason says, each word a biting kiss, marking the side of Katze's neck with reddening bruises. "Have I not?"

"You took my- oh god, Iason- my nuts- ah..." Katze's squeezes his eyes shut and shudders. He can feel Iason like living fire inside him, and then he breaks, a loud, breathless keening coming from him. He explodes, relief surging through him as he spills himself into Iason's palm.

For a few heartbeats, he is empty, his mind light. He can feel wetness on his groin and Iason's hand, seeping between those skilled fingers. And then defeat washes over him, black and bitter.

xxx

Katze, naked, his legs crossed, sits on the floor by the panorama window. He is smoking in deep, slow pulls.

"I missed you," Iason says quietly as he settles next to him. "Beauty. Youth. Talent.."

"No match for age and treachery," Katze retorts, a lashing of spite in his tone.

Iason smiles, raising his hand to comb through Katze's hair, pushing it back so he can trace his scar.

Katze shakes his head and flicks ash onto the floor. "I keep forgetting, you know."

"What?" Iason murmurs, bending to kiss him, sucking some of the smoke out of his mouth and breathing it in, before letting it curl from his nostrils.

Katze leans against him, their foreheads touching. "That you don't age like we do. People in the slums... most of us won't even live out our normal lifespans, but you know that. I've seen the stats."

"They aren't good."

"Is that why the Council won't publish them? No, forget it. No citizenship registration means we don't exist."

"That came in handy for you. And if I remember this right, it was one of the demands that came from the Ceres administration after the Dana Bahn disaster, to avoid purges, as they called it. We just complied."

Katze snorts. "Sure thing. And you save on civic services."

"Including law enforcement," Iason reminds him. "That's part of our deal, is it not?"

"That your kingpin makes the law in Ceres?" Katze shakes his head. "Well... Most of us get killed in some way. In the streets. At work. By sickness. But you... three, four, five generations... How old are you? Three times my age? Young for the likes of you, and you still you don't look a day older than me."

There is a small break before Iason says, "Is that what you want? I can give you that."

Katze watches smoke rise against the window and drift towards the ceiling, dissolving in the dusk of the large room. "What's the point?" he says.

He turns his head so that he can look at Iason over his shoulder. Iason, struck as always by the strange perfection of the unmarred half of Katze's face, stares unashamedly, his gaze trailing the contours of Katze's semi-profile, the arch of a high cheekbone, the narrow nose, the perfect bow of lips that are neither too full nor too thin. He marvels at the deep gold of Katze's pupils and the fiery copper of his hair that is smooth and thick and contrasts pleasingly with the translucent white of his skin. Iason can't, doesn't want to help himself and reaches across to let his fingertips follow his eyes, before leaning in and touching Katze's temple with his lips. "Beautiful," he rasps.

Katze wraps his arm around Iason's neck, dragging him close firmly, then pushes him back. "What was it, Iason?"

"What?" Iason murmurs, his hands sliding lower, down Katze's shoulder, his bare chest, his arm.

"Why did you do it?"

Iason smiles faintly but doesn't reply. He strokes past Katze's mutilated middle, along the inside of his thigh, watching the trail of goosebumps in the wake of his touch.

Katze shivers, then slaps his hand over Iason's. Iason pauses, irritation warring with control on his face. Irritation wins. He pulls back. "Don't do that again," he says.

"Or what?" Katze replies, heat coiling beneath his cool. "What are you going to chop off me next? Want to wipe my brain? Why didn't you?"

There is a small break, a rift between them, a yawning crack in time. Iason's features regain their serenity. "You have a beautiful mind," he says quietly. "I like beautiful things."

Katze stares at him for a moment, then pulls his knee up and props his elbow on it. He lets his head loll forward and rests his brow in the crook of his arm, his eyes drifting shut. "What was it, Iason?" he asks, his voice muffled. "That Raoul knew, or that I found out?"

Iason strokes Katze's arm, from his wrist to his shoulder, and up his neck into his hair, then slowly back. "I don't know what you're talking about. There are no records."

"Sure, there aren't now. A mixed-blood Elite, the head of Tanagura Council no less, fancy that. Is that why you had to be the best at everything? More Elite than the Elite, right? Because you were pissed that someone messed up your imprint? "

A long, heavy silence passes before Iason says, "How could this be? That we're born unfree, worse than the most miserable Ceres rat... It's the fatal flaw. A giant joke."

"Your mom's got a weird sense of humour."

Iason draws a slow breath. His gaze strays through the dusky room as if he was seeing it for the first time, as if trying to comprehend. His voice is quiet and unusually subdued when he says, "Jupiter assigned a prime inventory item as surrogate to create me. But the Elite who made me liked the surrogate. It should not have happened..." Iason glances out of the panorama window over the glowing city. "He convinced the laboratory to keep some of her imprint and blend it with his own. The scanning methods were less rigorous back then."

"Is that why you're looking for pirate imprints, why you keep buying odd items? To trace your past?"

Iason turns back to Katze. He brushes the hair back from the scar that disfigures the redhead's face and runs his finger over the puckered flesh. "Perhaps I should allow Raoul to test your imprint."

Katze shrugs. "Waste of time. I grew up in Ceres, there's nothing to it. I'm a freak there, with this crap hair. But you... what did you want to prove to me, Iason?"

Iason lets go and rises abruptly. "Nothing."

Katze gets to his feet too. He leans against Iason from behind, bedding his face against Iason's shoulder, getting dizzy with the scent of his hair, the flavour of his skin – sweat, salt, strong and clean. Longing and pain sear through him, and the words he's planned to say since he's come to see Iason that evening jump from his lips at last, before he has time to swallow them. "It won't happen again."

"What?" Iason asks, his voice husky and low.

"I won't let you screw me again."

There is a long pause. They can feel each other's pulse, warmth and closeness almost overwhelming, until Iason says, "I know."

xxx