AS THE FIELDS HALF DISAPPEAR
chapter 13
by AliLamba

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She'd never ridden in a dress before. Now she knew why, when women did ride horses and wear dresses, they sat in those ridiculous side saddles, because, freezing cold wind aside, handcuffs aside, slave to the ridiculous route of her captor aside, her legs hurt like hell. With no control over her horse and every muscle committed to just keeping her from falling off, her thighs chaffed and slapped against the saddle, the sensitive skin rubbing raw the longer they rode.

North. They were going north, and…she had something of an idea of where they could be going but no practical idea why.

She was trying so hard not think about, about Heero, about his face when – no.

She…didn't know whether he would even come after her, now.

She would deserve it if he didn't. If he just abandoned her, if he let someone else take over the job. If he never wanted to –

Her heart squeezed painfully inside her chest.

He knew. He knew. What a waste. What a gods damn waste. She didn't want him to know like that, she'd wanted to tell him herself, maybe, if, she'd ever even had to, and…and…

The look on his face. The open horror. She'd never forget the way he looked in that moment.

So Relena endured it. She endured the pain, and the cold, and the oncoming storm, because nothing mattered anymore. Because it did not matter at all if she survived.

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The lights were still off in the house.

That was the first thing he noticed, when he got close enough, when the dawn was still an hour or so off, when he'd been running for forty-eight minutes without pause, with a fucking swinging piece of metal attached to his wrist. His ribs hurt, the muscles between each one shredded and raw. He needed water. He needed a phone.

Heero didn't even slow as he got to the house, thundering up the stairs in twos and threes. He burst through the door and made Kitty scream.

He skid to a stop. Chest heaving, sweat dripping down his body. He checked the clock on the wall. Shit. Shit, so much shit.

"Where is everyone," he demanded, voice harsh and breathless. Kitty recoiled, and he saw evidence that she'd been holding something and dropped it. Shit.

"I – I don't know," she said. "I just woke up, and, no one's awake. I think they're all really hung over, but, it seems like more than – "

"They're breathing?"

"I – think so."

"Check la—" He was breathing too hard. "Later. Evan drugged them."

"Eva—" she started, consternation flashing. "What?"

He could barely breathe, talking was impossible. He needed – "Evan van Zandt drugged everyone. And he kidnapped Relena."

"He kidna—who?"

"Lena." Shit. "Relena. He's kidnapped her." Fuck, it didn't matter. "She's in danger. I need your help."

Kitty's eyes went round. "Me? I don– "

"You do. I need a map."

"It's – " she took a short breath, hand on her head. "It's right over here by the phone." She went to get it, brought it back. Heero's pulse was pounding in his veins, his lungs were filled with glass.

"Open it."

She did, spreading it over the counter with shaking hands.

"We're here," she told him, pointing. The map was a travesty; it was worn nearly all the way through in half a dozen places, the creases heavy with age. Heero put his own finger down, dripping sweat.

"He left me here." He ignored the way her eyes flared. "They were heading north. Tell me what is north."

Kitty's gaze narrowed as she examined the map. He watched her eyes travel, looking for –

"There's not a lot," she said, considering, voice with a warbling undercurrent. "Not for miles and miles."

"They're on – on horseback."

"On horseback?"

"Evan came prepared."

She whispered his name under her breath, still not seeming to believe it.

"Kitty," he barked. "What's north."

"Blackfeet," she answered, quick. "There's just Blackfeet that way. Nearest towns are south and east. This land's all ours but there's nothing, Heero. And Blackfeet on horseback would be days and days away."

"There's something else."

"Somethi—?" She looked again at the map, biting her lip. "There's nothing. Just way stations."

"Way – "

"Yeah, for like, when we move the cattle on long hauls. Sometimes we'll take 'em out for weeks at a time, and we keep these stocked with food and supplies and whatnot. They're emergency shelter in a tornado. Not a lot of space though. Like, no running toilets or anything."

Heero's frown turned colder, calculating, vicious.

"Good." He pushed off the counter, heading to the interior. "Call Preventers."

"Call—"

He didn't hear the rest. His feet pounded on the wooden floors, past the closet he'd hidden in with Relena, past the bathroom I don't use that bathroom, up the stairs where he'd followed her, ignoring the still-open door to the room where they'd –

He punched through his own door, heading immediately to the dresser.

He ripped out the lowest drawer and threw it halfway across the room, not seeing where it landed. Flat against the bottom were his most vital possessions: there was his phone, probably dead, maybe not. There was his gun. That's all he needed. He shoved the gun into his empty backpack with his leather jacket and raced back down the stairs. Forty-one seconds since he left the kitchen he burst back in, and when Kitty turned to look, he threw the phone to her.

"Use this. Code is seven-eight-one-four-six-two. Call Zechs. He'll answer."

"He'll—who is Zechs?"

Heero wasn't even slowing down.

"You're—!" she shouted from behind him, and Heero forced himself to slow. He had no time. She looked so concerned. "Are you—are you sure you shouldn't wait? There's a storm rolling in. Another one. It's not safe out."

His hand tightened on the door. Not safe.

"Just, call Preventers." He looked her in the eye. "Call Preventers, Katherine."

Kitty's mouth opened, and Heero threw himself through the door.

"How did…" He was already gone. "How did you know my name?"

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Heero's mind was racing, examining his options. His motorcycle was still parked in the garage. Relena mentioned ATVs when they were going to the cabin, as in plural, there were probably more, but he didn't have the patience to find them, make sure they had adequate gas; not to mention even Evan's rig had a hard time with the uneven terrain, and he didn't want to run into the same problem.

He knew the viable alternative.

And it was so stupid.

So fucking stupid.

And yet, he was definitely doing it.

Fucking Montana.

Heero was feeling god damn dour by the time his feet were already sprinting towards the stables.

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He'd left the map.

It was too easy to follow the trail of Katherine's finger in his mind as the dark horse raced north, the wind whipping his hair and clothes and body to the side with the coming storm. Thunder was rolling behind him as they ran.

"Faster," he whispered to himself, to the horse, to whatever, when he could see the abandoned trailer in the distance.

Faster, he thought when they passed it, when it was a gray blur in their side vision, and they streaked into open fields. It was so much easier to think about the mission than –

"Faster," he might have yelled, were it not for the wind, and the speed, and the distant clouds full of freezing rain.

He'd lost her once. Well and truly lost her. He remembered brushing hair out of her face that last morning – she'd already known – she'd already had a plan – and there was no fucking way he was letting her go again.

Evan had no idea what was coming.

The storm was the least of everyone's problems.

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Relena had earned the slap to the face. Honestly, she had, because for some reason, she didn't quite feel like following her own rules anymore. She didn't feel like going quietly.

She's not sure she'd ever uttered fucking jackass before, but damn if the imagery wasn't pleasing.

She knew, vaguely, where they were going. North. Only Blackfeet Nation was north, and that was days away. She knew there were outposts dotted throughout the thousands and thousands of acres in the Harris's lands, supply stations that coincidentally could accommodate a helicopter if needed. That had only happened once, maybe five years ago.

She might die of hypothermia before they got to wherever they were going, actually. The season had apparently changed.

The sky was still so dark now, the air chill with the coming autumn. She was only wearing her sun dress. Her teeth were chattering, intermittently, uncontrollably, her skin pebbled with goosebumps, her lips vaguely numb. The cluster of storm clouds obvious from their vantage were building like a great mountain in the sky, so menacing in the relative dark of early morning. With the way the wind was blowing, it would be on them any minute.

"I'm going to need to stop soon."

Evan at first, pretended not to hear her. How long had they been going? She couldn't see anything familiar at all, anymore. Just endless rolling hills, dry and silver in the waning moonlight. The pureness of the night was fading; the deep indigo of approaching dawn pervaded instead. She was hungry, she was thirsty, she was in pain, and damn it, now she needed to pee.

"I said I'm going to need to stop soon," she repeated, louder.

"You can piss on the horse," he said, as if anticipating her needs. Her face burned with fury, inflaming the sore spot from the hit, and for a moment, she honestly considered his suggestion. But her inner thighs were missing layers of skin in too many places. The horses were worn out, refusing to gallop now – which was fine by her, but the friction still stung, each step forward a reopening the small slices along her thighs.

"The horses need water," she protested. There was a clap of thunder so loud that it made Evan jump.

"They're fine," he shouted back.

"They're not," she shouted in turn. "That grove of trees. Just there. It's going to start raining any moment. We can stop there until it passes."

She saw as Evan bared his teeth, glaring at the clouds. Mother Earth, however, seemed to be on Relena's side.

The first plops of rain dropped on her head.

It was small, the grove, couldn't really be called a forest. A copse? It didn't matter; it had some semblance of shelter, and she wanted to go there. The storm honestly was moving quickly. A crack of lightning flashed, streaking through the sky, and the rain increased in tenacity.

"Fine," Evan snarled, wrenching the reins so the two horses moved in that direction. She again wondered, as she lurched, what would happen if she simply found some way to piss the horse off enough, whether it could break away. But the animal was completely knackered and Evan still had a gun; she wouldn't make it far.

Relena frowned, wishing herself beneath the trees already. She hated being wet. But, honestly, its discomfort could get in line. A wet dress and wet hair couldn't ruin her mood much more than it was already. They reached the trees and passed under the protective canopy. The trees were old and densely packed, an unregulated growth in the downward sloping valley of two meeting hills. With much more rain there'd probably be a stream.

The uproar made by the rain indicated that it was a proper downpour now, only mitigated by the wind and the branches overhead. The horses walked between the trees until they were all well-hidden, probably, and then Evan pulled up on the reins. He slid off the saddle, and Relena did the same before she was given permission.

"Don't go fucking far," he warned, and Relena used her bound hands to push wet hair out of her eyes.

There's nowhere to go, she wanted to shout back, but she didn't. Instead she just slipped behind a tree, went a few steps away, and squatted.

It was probably a new low. She'd been through a lot in her life, a lot in the last few years, but, here she was, about to be raped or ransomed or killed or all three in sequence, and, some asshole was probably listening to her pee in the woods. Lovely. Her cheek still stung.

"When did you figure it out?" she called, loud enough so he could hear it. He didn't respond, so she stood, figuring out how to clean up as much as possible, and walked back to where Evan was sitting on a rock, checking his gun.

"When did you figure it out," she repeated, and Evan looked up at her. He didn't look proud, really. More…vaguely disgusted. He looked back at his gun.

"When I first met you I thought—" he stopped and looked away for a moment, as if slightly embarrassed. "A few months ago I suspected. When Heero Yuy showed up, I mean, you basically spelled it all out for us."

Relena raised her eyebrows.

"What, some random guy comes looking for you, and he just so happens to be in peak physical condition and super vague about his background? Come on. You're not that pretty."

She chose to ignore the barb, sitting on an fallen log instead.

Evan shrugged a shoulder. "Looked him up. Asked around. Still have connections…from before. He had so many blocks on his identity at some point it was just a joke. A high-level Preventer, he had to be. And a high-level Preventer looking for you? Just boring old Lena? I spent a year and a half convincing myself you weren't Relena Peacecraft, and then it's – hey – hey wait – " She looked up at him, found him staring at her feet. "Where the hell are your shoes?"

Relena looked down at her bare feet, picking up one, where it was gingerly avoiding anything too sharp. Evan cursed under his breath.

"You know what? Fuck. It doesn't matter. None of this shit matters. We're nearly there."

"Nearly where, exactly?"

He gave her a sardonic sneer. Hm. She looked back at her feet. Worth a shot. She exhaled, then held up her shackled hands.

"So this is, what, just ransom? You think people will pay for me now, after two years of everyone else moving on?" He wasn't looking at her, but, he was sitting deceptively still. Clearly listening. "Evan. Please. You have a good life, good friends. The Harrises are practically family to you. Why would you want to mess that up? What more could you really want from them?"

Evan stood up all in a rush. "You have no fucking idea, do you?" He advanced on her so quickly, just one heartbeat and he was on her, and she had to smother the urge to bolt out of instinct. "No fucking idea," he continued, two steps away. She glanced around quickly. Where is the gun where is the gun he was still holding it "Evan," he parroted, a mocking falsetto. "My name means nothing to you, doesn't it? Doesn't it?"

What?

"Van Zandt. Zandt."

Relena's frown turned contemplative. The cuffs were rubbing her wet skin raw. Evan started pacing.

"My father was an idiot. Okay? A fucking idiot. But he was trying to make a better world, a better life. His methods were shit, but – he had ideas."

"Evan," she started to say. "Evan I have no idea who your father is."

He laughed, sarcastic.

"Like hell you don't."

She racked her brain. Van Zandt? She knew a lot of people. The name had never meant anything to her before –

He screamed through his teeth then, stopping to dig his hands in his hair. The gun pressed against his ear. "You – you hypocrite! You fucking should!" He rounded on her. "You should. You were no better than him, no better. But – but you – you always managed to fuck it up, for him. Van Zandt. Because of you he lost his job. He lost his job and his livelihood because of you, but he still didn't give up. He had friends. People who believed in him.

"And they got together and realized the world would be better off without you. So they made a plan. They had a plan."

He looked at her again, and for a brief moment, he almost looked…sad. "And you…you really have no fucking idea who he is, do you."

Relena was trying hard to keep her face neutral. She had no idea what Evan was talking about. She had no idea if any of it was true. And honestly – she was pretty tired of the unimaginative use of language. Her old rhetoric about pacifism was on the very tip of her tongue; she wanted to contend that preserving human life, and health, and happiness, had been what drove every single action she took in her work.

But she'd been a politician long enough to know when words would fall on deaf ears, and at this moment, all Evan could see was red. Her protests would be wasted. And she was over it.

Her stare turned cold. "I'm afraid that that doesn't narrow it down in the slightest, Evan. Do you have any idea how many threats there were on my life? How many people would have wanted me dead? You want to know the truth? Your father likely wouldn't have cracked the top ten."

"Well he could, except he's dead."

She held his stare. Licked her lips. "Guess this is where I'm supposed to say that I'm sorry."

Maybe she was the world's greatest hypocrite, after all.

No. Honestly, no – because, if she paused to ruminate on it even a little she'd realize that she was, quite honestly, sad.

Her shoulders dropped a bit. Because – really, honestly, Evan's father hadn't been born like that, hadn't been born wanting to kill her, and some series of unfortunate circumstances had apparently led to the end of his life while trying to end hers. It was those circumstances that needed to change, needed to be prevented. There was still so much work to do.

Evan hissed through clenched teeth, turning away. "Whatever. You'll be gone soon enough."

She almost didn't hear him. She waited for him to fire the gun. But he just…it was still raining…he took a few steps away, kicking rocks.

Her stomach muscles slowly relaxed.

Conversation over, apparently.

The wind whipped through the trees, and it seemed to wrap all the way around her. She shivered, teeth clattering involuntarily, suddenly remembering the cold. She shoved her hands between her thighs, pressed her legs tight together.

Van Zandt. No, she couldn't place him, and maybe it didn't matter anyway. For now they were both distracted, both busy thinking other thoughts. Under any other circumstances this is where she'd try to plan some sort of escape. But – no. Stop thinking about that. Rest. Take a break.

It was too cold, sitting on the log. She slumped down, onto the very cold ground, trying to find more shelter against the tree instead.

The rain was incessant. She could hear it. Occasional drops were permeating the tree cover, falling on her head and shoulders and arms. The storm must be right on top of them, now, because there was a blast of thunder that shook the ground.

Relena looped her hands around her pitched knees, pulling them in to her body. She was still shivering, somewhat. Crap. No, shivering was good. Shivering was her body's way of keeping warm. It was when you stopped shivering when –

Relena tilted her head. The ground was still rumbling.

She frowned. Still rumbling? But then – her eyes started to widen, a bit. Her breath pressed against the inside of her chest. What –

Heero. It had to be.

She looked up.

There was another flash of lightning.

Evan was thirty, forty feet away from her, pacing as he looked at the brightening sky, at the distant trees to the north. Didn't he – didn't he feel it? She – she had to be –

She turned her gaze southward, and saw it: Heero, on top of Deathscythe, racing full pelt directly at Evan van Zandt's turned back. The horse was a miracle; it dodged trees effortlessly, picked its way over rocks and boulders as if it had an extra set of eyes. What was he – what was –

Instinctively, she wanted to call out, in spite of everything, and maybe she did, because right before Evan was completely trampled by a rampaging horse he turned.

He didn't even try to use his gun – no time – instead bunching his muscles in haphazard panic as he lunged to avoid the impact.

But it was never going to be enough time. Because just as the horse clipped his leg, sending Evan flying, probably breaking it with the horse's speed and force and mass, Heero Yuy leapt off the animal's back.

It seemed to happen slowly, though it was barely the blink of an eye.

The laws of physics were still pulling Heero forward, but he seemed to have accounted for them, turning midair, so his trajectory was absolute. He went right for Evan van Zandt, fist pulled back behind his head, and hit him before the man had hit the ground.

Relena was on her feet now, racing forward the few steps so she could see. Evan had recovered from his shock and was fighting back, the rip of wet clothing wrenching through the air.

The gun, the gun, the gun she wanted to scream, but it was unnecessary. Heero knew about the gun.

They were tumbling over the uneven earth, Deathscythe a blur in the distance as he skid to a stop, leaves flying as he made to return to his master. Heero's limbs were impossible to track as he fought, and after six unbearable heartbeats, it was clear how things were going to end.

Her shoulders fell, after another moment.

It was hardly fair, maybe.

Evan had found a rock, and was holding it feebly, swinging it vaguely in Heero's direction as Heero hovered above him, landing blow after blow. Blood was coursing down Evan's face and Relena could hardly see the source.

She glanced around for the gun. She saw it, half-hidden by brush, a few dozen feet away. Heero wanted this to go slowly, then.

She took careful, steady steps toward them.

Evan was moaning, a high-pitched, pathetic keen. Heero was grabbing the front of his shirt, yanking him off the ground so he could throw him against it again and again.

Relena didn't stop.

She took a careful breath, and put her clasped hands on Heero's retracted fist.

He froze.

"Heero," she said.

The hand he had on Evan's blood-stained shirt gripped harder, for a moment. His hand beneath hers tightened. She considered whether to say his name again.

And then Heero dropped Evan to the ground.

He landed with a thud, the rock tumbling out of limp fingers. His eyes were closed. At least a concussion, probably trauma. The man was breathing, but, well, just.

Heero stayed over him, straddling his torso with impressive strength. His arms and shoulders dropped.

"He'll live," Heero grumbled, answering her unspoken question.

Relena exhaled slowly, through her nose. She wasn't sure about that, but, she'd defer to Heero's expertise.

Deathscythe came trotting up to them. Seemingly aware that the danger had passed, he stood a bit away, breathing hard, and apparently…waiting. She nearly rolled her eyes. Waiting.

"We're not keeping him," she warned, and when Heero looked at her, she jerked her head at the horse.

Heero turned to look and snorted. He barely seemed out of breath. Then he looked down, at his hands, coated with blood. She could tell pretty easily that the blood wasn't his. Relena licked her dry lips.

"How many of those hits were just because," she murmured, regretting the question almost instantly.

Heero took a quick breath, then, he looked at her. His eyes had that sincere, plain look that she saw so rarely, that always rooted her so firmly to the spot.

"None of them."

Several things happened inside her, at once: everything tightened, everything was released. She remembered all at once what their last conversation had entailed, what had been revealed. Whatever was inside her chest tangled, a giant knot within her ribcage as emotions clashed, and she stepped away.

"Um. Where is he nearest outpost?"

Heero stood on steady legs, wiping his hands on his jeans.

"We need to head back."

Relena chose to ignore him. "Ah, well, you see, I have become accustomed to certain creature comforts. Comforts like: food, and water, and warm clothes." She turned to him, not quite able to make eye contact. "Where is the nearest outpost?" He was quiet. "I know you know. You must've seen a map. You got the horse."

He looked at her. "It's about a mile, mile and a half."

"Good."

"It's in the wrong direction."

"Then you are welcome to stay behind and wait."

Another beat, and then, he sighed with his whole torso, capitulating with a frown. "I've been told there's no working toilet."

She wasn't sure if it was an attempt at a joke or not, or if she just smelled like pee or not (horrid), and didn't really feel like clarifying. Her mind was taunting her with the last words spoken between them, around them, while she furiously tried not to remember them. Had she honestly thought this meeting was hypothetical? That she could die without having to face him again, with this knowledge shared? Oh god, she had once. Two years she'd –

"Let me break apart your cuffs first."

Relena stopped, turning slowly on her heel to face him. She'd nearly forgotten about the handcuffs. It was on the tip of her tongue to deny him, to just tell him to forget it, because she really didn't want him close enough to help, right now. But that was unreasonable. She was being unreasonable.

She nodded, though he probably couldn't see her, as he was looking around the site for a sizable rock. She didn't watch closely as he found whatever suited him, and then as he found an even enough surface, moving only when he was waving her over. She followed. Apparently they were just going to ignore Evan's limp and comatose body, for now. Just as well.

She spread the handcuffs as far as they would go over the rock, and grimaced in preparation.

In other circumstances she might complain, might point out that had he unlocked them like she'd asked back in the trailer he wouldn't be so close to potentially smashing one of her hands instead. But she set her lips in a line, bracing herself for the worst, as Heero steadied himself, aimed, and smacked the rock down with precision. It was crude, and it was loud, but, a minute or two of hard work and her hands sprung apart.

"Ah," she cried, in part with surprise, in part relief. She didn't know what to do with her arms first, but, she shook them out, a bit, wincing when the metal rubbed wrong against one of her unseen wounds.

"We'll have to wait until we get back to Evan's ATV to unlock them," Heero said. "I checked his pockets. He doesn't have the key on him." Relena hummed her acknowledgement, stepping quickly away. She walked up to Evan's horse, stopping just before getting on, rolling her shoulders just because it felt nice, preparing her legs for the pain of the saddle again. Maybe she could ride bareback? Or just on the blanket beneath the saddle? Hmm. There was another peal of thunder. Heero saw her, looked at her sharply.

"You want to go now? You don't want to wait for the storm to pass?"

She opened her mouth, sucking in a breath to respond, but – held it. How could she explain? How was he still talking to her?

"I'm – cold," she said, instead, putting a hand on the horse.

Her fingers tightened on the saddle as she heard Heero walking closer, her breathing increasing in measures when it became obvious he was coming right for her. What was he doing? What was he –

She half-turned her head in his direction, the flash of something dark brown and familiar crossing her vision, before she felt the weight of Heero's leather jacket on her shoulders.

She froze with her hands on the saddle, and tried to adjust to the feel of this jacket on her body again. What – how did he still have this? Why had he – he'd brought it, somehow, he hadn't been wearing it while beating the living crap out of Evan. She turned to look at him more fully, eyes wide, and Heero's gaze was cool, direct.

"Are you okay," he asked, in the flat, nearly casual way of his. It wasn't a question, really. It never was.

She searched his gaze then, searched and searched it. She knew what she was looking for: for the anger, for the accusation, for the condemnation. She deserved all three, and more. Something inside her wanted to see those things in Heero's eyes.

And yet, she saw…none of those. She saw mostly nothing; a calm, implacable soldier instead. Looking back.

"I'm fine," she answered, short. "Just, cold, like I said. The jacket will do nicely, thank you." She pulled it tighter around her shoulders, then tested her arms through the sleeves. The cuffs felt bulky and constrictive but they more or less fit through, so, she reached again for the horse and this time did not give herself time to pause at all. When she was on top and Heero was still hovering below her, she thought to ask: "What happened to yours?"

He looked up at her, eyes narrowed, about to open his mouth to ask her to clarify.

"Your cuffs," she answered, quickly. "You don't have your cuffs on, anymore."

Heero's expression tightened. "Blow torch. They had one in the stables. I should have brought it with."

Her eyes darted to his arm, looking for what she could only imagine was a vicious burn along his skin. He probably didn't even feel it.

"I—" she started to say, when it felt like the silence had been stretching for too long. What did she want? She wanted – well, god, pants, she wanted pants, and, a shower, and, medicine, and, home, she wanted to be home, on the couch, drinking tea, wearing the fuzziest pair of pajamas she owned with a box full of cookies, or something. God, she wanted a bucket of salve. She wanted –

"Let's get out of here," she said.

Heero nodded, just, or maybe he just looked away. She half-watched as he went to Evan's limp, still breathing body, then as Heero dragged him to a tree, snapping the reins off the third horse to tie him to it.

He was resourceful, she'd give him that.

Heero checked through Evan's pockets once more, turning them out, probably still looking for the key. When he didn't find it he stood, stooping only once more for the gun, throwing it into the backpack he'd strapped to Deathscythe's own saddle.

She tried not to think about the leather jacket she wore as she nudged the horse in Deathscythe's direction, the other horse instinctively following suit.

God, this jacket. Why was she letting it get to her? It was just – she'd lost count of how many times she'd seen him wear it, or seen it slung over a chair in one of her rooms. (Or messed up in her bedsheets, shucked off in the back of a limo, thrown haphazardly on the floor.) Hmm. She'd loved this jacket. It was jarring to realize he still had it.

Heero led the way out of the trees, and his suggestion to wait until the worst of the rain had passed suddenly felt exceedingly reasonable.

But Heero was a professional, and this was probably a professional mission, so he didn't comment on her choices as he led them through the pouring rain, aiming northeast.

She watched his back through the deluge, feeling the cold wetness drip down her forehead and neck and legs. Shouldn't he have said something by now? Shouldn't he have – he hadn't even mentioned the…the circumstances, of it all. Did that mean he was, what, okay with it? Or just that he didn't care?

Or was this just him being so professional, completing this job before he would explain that he had to go, including the very practical reasons why he would never be speaking to her again.

That…that one sat with her, that one twisted up her insides.

She knew it was partly irrational; he was still here, still being decent to her, and surely someone who was disgusted with her wouldn't have come to her rescue.

But – it stuck. It stayed, and she found herself getting increasingly anxious the closer they got to the small, nondescript, rectangular structure now obvious in the distance, through the blustery rain. She found herself flinching every time he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, steeling herself for the worst.