Will and Fate
By Jeremy
Chapter 12
August 16, 1997
If there was one thing a fighter hated, it was waiting. If there was one thing a fighter feared, it was helplessness. And right at this moment Jeremy Storm was feeling both. Two hours ago Cammy and he had finally left the Limerick Airport, after a full day of repeatedly arguing their case with the SCD commanders. Mark had been very easy to convince, but Julia and Brisby had been reluctant to let go of two agents, even if their reasons WERE sound. There was no evidence, they said, that the Circle would make such a blatant move against a family that was well respected in Maine. Jeremy counter-attacked the argument by drily observing that the man who had ordered the attack did not care a damn about evidence and practicality when it suited him, something that Cindy and Cammy - the others were stunned by her support - had agreed with vehemently. Finally Giorgio, Mark and Joan had added their weight to the investigative team's point of view, and finally Julia and at last old Major Brisby, had relented, albeit reluctantly.
They had wasted no time after that, packing, booking the first flight to Portland and saying hasty goodbyes to Cindy, who was going to arrange the meeting with the informant and then hightail it back to London. And now they were soaring high over the Atlantic Ocean, on the way back to old places, old friends and old memories. Pack the situation, the tension and the possibilities together, and you got a very nervous man. He fidgeted in his seat, yearning to run, to jump or to punch the hell out of a punchingbag - anything that might relieve his stress a little. But it was darn impossible thousands of feet in the air.
A stewardess had the unfortunate fact of noticing this. "Are you alright, sir? Is there anything you need?"
His head snapped around, his temper flaring from the wait, the fear, the anger and the frustration that he had amassed during the last few days findind an outlet.
"If I ever have a damn problem, you'll be the first to know!" he snapped, glaring murder, "Now go back to being all nice and smiley to someone who CARES, and have the damn mercy to LEAVE ME ALONE!!!"
The stewardess' eyes widened, and it was clear only the fact that she was was on duty prevented her to tell him just what she thought of his manners. She couldn't help but tense, however, and her demeanor became several degrees colder.
"Such behaviour is not allowed here, sir." she stated, just a trifle angrily. Other passengers were looking over, from interested the farther they were, to uneasy the closer things got and mildly frightened of the whole thing when they were at hand.
Jeremy was making a fool of myself, he knew it. But he wasn't in the mood to be reasonable. He opened his mouth, fully intending to tell the woman that if he wished to behave the way he was, it was his own damn business. But before he could get the statement out, a firm hand grasped his arm, startling him out of his angry funk. He turned to his friend and partner, his face a mix of surprise and rebuke.
Cammy ignored him. In fact, if it wasn't for the added determination he saw in her eyes, she could have been back to the time when nothing and no one seem to be able to get an emotion out of her. She looked at the stewardess evenly, with a force that still surprised him, so new was it.
"Please excuse my friend." she said firmly. "There was fatality in his family and we are on route to the funeral." she patted his arm almost fondly, drawing him into yet another maze of surprise - he was getting those a lot these days. However, the bluff had the intended effect. The woman in front of them lost much of her coolness, and the tension, which had been running high an instant before, suddenly dropped to near nothingness. Many people seated near him let out a secret - and sometimes not-so-secret - sigh of relief. Jeremy decided to dissipate the rest of the problem.
"I'm...sorry." he said, both looking and feeling ashamed of himself. "I...its my sister."
The stewardess nodded, calm again. "Its understandable then, sir. Just make sure this does not happen again, alright?" he nodded. She then went off to another part of the plane. Within a minute all was back to normal amongst the passengers. The incident was understood and therefore, largely forgotten. After a few minutes had passed, Jeremy leaned toward Cammy, whispering softly so that none but she could hear.
"Thanks for that save, Cammy." he said in earnest "You really helped me save face out there."
She only turned to him, looking at him with that mild concern again. This time he was ready to see it, however, and did not show surprise at that. "What is happening to you?" she whispered back "You're never this agitated. Is something bothering you?"
Knowing that a few days ago she NEVER would have asked, it was his pleasure to be honest. He lay back and sighed, closing his eyes and choosing his words to explain.
"Yeah, there's something bothering me. Lots of things." he no longer whispered but kept his voice low. "I'm going back to my hometown, which I left behind broken and grieving. I'm not sure what kind of reception I'll get. Especially my aunt." he stopped, coughed to clear the catch that was suddenly in his voice "She never truly forgave that I nearly killed my....Thomas. Even though everyone who saw Melissa's body didn't seem to mind..." he trailed off, looking nowhere in particular, reminiscing. "Joy awaits me there, but a lot of pain too. And what's worse, I come bearing rather BAD news."
There was a moment of silence. "You speak as if you were some sort of...of curse."
"Yes, well, got my old girlfriend killed, nearly killed my cousin, antagonized an aunt I who was a mother to me and now, because of me, my own sister in everything but blood find herself in danger." he smiled sadly, looking in his friend's eyes. "Kinda makes you feel like a loser, not."
She suddenly turned colder, almost angry at him it seemed. "Well, you're not a loser, so just quit talking like you are." she fairly commanded. Jeremy blinked at her. He suddenly, for some twisted reason, found her eyes the most beautiful he had ever seen before. Said eyes had appealed to him even while they were lifeless, but now, with an actual light in them, they seemed like a world of difference...for the better.
He smiled. "Thank you, I'll try." he assured her.
She did not smile back. That was something she still didn't do. But she nodded firmly before turning her attention back in front of her. He shook his head. It was better than nothing. He was finding himself enjoying her emerging emotions so easily. He wished Cindy was here to chat too, somehow. The chatter might have numbed a bit of the tension he felt. But Cindy had sais, with sad eyes, that she couldn't follow them, that she had to arrange things. He silently wished her luck on that. Then his mind came back to his more immediate concern.
The Circle was going to make a grab at his sister, huh? They thought the Storms were people you could just toss aside, huh? Well, the bastards were about to get a pretty nasty surprise. His family wasn't made of people you tossed aside. Those who tried were always sorry.
But not as sorry as the Circle was going to be.
"America, here I come." he whispered. It was time to come home.
* * * * * * * * * *
One hour later...
Cindy was sitting in a chair, in her room, looking out her open window and calmly breathing the moist, breezy air that wafted in her room. Of the cheerful, sensual and undiplomatic girl that the SCD members openly growled at but - she knew - inwardly loved, there was little sign left. Her eyes were sad as she looked back at the sheet on her lap, where she had scrawled a few lines to people that wouldn't understand the situation, that hadn't been there ten years ago...
Or was it ten lifetimes? It seemed to be that to her.
She pondered her friends' reactions. Giorgio would probably be saddened, but would understand - he too, had his own dark secrets, the side that few truly knew about, which fewer still could comprehend. Julia would be angry at her for letting such weakness take her life, but then the young shade had never allowed weaknesses that she could see, making her seem always so detached, less human than she should. Mark, well, Mark had a thing for her, although he tried to hide it behind his work and his high-tech equipment. He would take it hard, harder thanthe others. For him, there was a little note, that only he could read. Brisby, well, he would probably be the only one who wasn't truly shocked. He was old, had known more about her first mission against the Circle than faint, vague rumors. It had been a surprise that he had acquiesced to her request. But it had been the reason she had joined the SCD, her option, the path he could not stop her from. He probable knew that. Joan would have much work helping the others. Micheal - well, he might miss her, or not. She never could read beyond his dark, hooded eyes. He too, it seemed, had a darkness he never shared. He might understand.
And then there was Jeremy and Cammy. Those two, so young and so scarred by events in their lives, they would feel failure, anger and shame at being played for fools and not allowing this to happen. She doubted they would be calmed by what she told them in her letter of apology, her small, secret will. They would probably become a great threat to the Circle. She hoped they would.
And, perhaps, this new pain would help them realize how much they truly loved each other, how they needed each other. As an afterthought, she left a little note for them as a post-scriptum.
She had just finished writing it when the door opened softly. It could have been soundless, as soundless as the one who had opened it could be, but the person had no need to use his stealth. She didn't turn around, just looking out the window again, as the person approached her. She waited for him to speak first, as she knew he would feel the need to say something.
When he spoke, she wasn't surprised by what he asked. "Why?"
"It had to be done."
A strong hand grasped her shoulder delicately, belying the great strength that it usually possessed. "You knew what would happen, if you ever came close to us again." the masculine voice displayed distress, something it wasn't accustomed to. "You knew that coming back would be your death! Why did you come back. Why didn't you leave with your comrades."
She closed her eyes, knowing that the answer, the only one she could give, would never really be understood by this man. "Officially, I chose to stay to meet up with our informant."
"That's folly! Your informant was dead before you arrived. Kale took care of him, only let the fool draw your team for his amusement and his experiments!" the voice fairly shook with anger. She didn't heed it. Finally the man sighed. "You knew, of course. You know us very well. So...what is the unofficial reason?"
She turned her head around and up, and fixed black eyes that were trying mighty hard to be emotionless with her own calm, green one. She smiled at him. "Because, simply because, I love you and I wanted to see you again, Everick."
The tall, black-garbed man seem to flinch at her declaration like it was a blow. He attempted to regain his control, but a quiver remained his voice when he spoke again.
"That's even more nonsensical!" he half-growled, half-pleaded. "To come back because of me! I've changed in the last decade, Cindy! Your fate is death, and your declaration cannot - WILL not - sway me!" he took out a sharp, curved knife "You should have stayed in London."
She did not show fear at the sight of the knife. She did not even feel any. She felt only acceptance. She stood up, and walked toward the one who she knew would shortly kill her, the paper she had written held in one hand. This seemed to agitate him even more, so much that some anguish became apparent on his hard-set face. In his hand, the knife, a deadly object in hands like his, seemed to be hesitating.
"Cindy, don't...don't make this any harder than it has to be." his voice was no longer firm, but instead was now plainly pleading. Still she came to him, until she was almost pressing against him, looking up at the broad-shouldered, towering man of black. His arms were spread, and still he hesitated.
"Don't worry, my love," she said softly. "This will liberate us both. Me, of a decade of emptiness; you, of something that has been on your conscience." With that, she reached up, put her slender hands behind the muscular neck and brought his face down to her. And she kissed him passionately. He seemed to become rigid at first, as if thunderstruck, then, with a choke, he put his arms around her and held her tightly, returning it fully.
How long did the kiss last? Possibly a long time, althought it was over far too quickly for Cindy's taste. He held her close still, his embrace bruising and desperate. She didn't mind. It was the end of the road, and she knew it. But at least she knew she would die in the arms of a man she loved and who loved her back.
"Stupid bitch." he said, his tone lacking strength. "I...I have t-t-to do this..." he trailed off.
"I know." she remembered the sheet she was holding in her hand. "These papers. See that the SCD get it, alright? Its my last wish." She felt him nodding, and smiled, pressing her head against Everick's chest. "Do it."
The large body trembled, but the arm that held the blade twisted backward, gauging a blow that would kill her instantly. There was hesitation in the poise, however, and she felt Everick's unsteady breath, his rapidly beating heart. The man who had killed so many, it seemed, had found a place where he did not want to kill at all. Finally, his head bent to her ear, and it was a broken voice that spoke softly.
"I-I love you, my Cindy." he choked. And then the arm the was holding the knife jerked like a spring, towards her neck.
Peace at last, she thought, Peace for the both of us.
* * * * * * * * * *
Two days later...
The Maine State Airport in Portland was a rather large one, used to a lot of special and common people arriving or going in throngs. There could be anyone. Farmers, teachers, doctors, priests both true and false, and all the kinds of occupations that could exist, in all the shapes and colours that the reckless and advanturous race known as humanity could genietically come up with. If the floors and walls could have, talked, it would have been with the voice of people who've seen everything, and who can't be surprised anymore.
But they would have looked at one with interest today. One who walked the tiled floor with natural soundlessness, whisping by the walls, unnoticed. That is the way this person wanted it to be.
Had people taken a good look, they would have seen at first nothing more than a a casually outfitted teenager of between fifteen and eighteen. A cute one too, her fine features would normally have made more than one of the young - and older - men around the place craning his neck to see better. Her hair was longer than most women wore it, but that did not mar her at all. And she was athletic, everyone could have seen that. But then they would have seen other things, details that would have made many want to leave the young woman alone.
Was it the stance, which seemed to be feline in nature, and just as potentially dangerous when menaced? Was it the underlying tension beneath the calm, the slight but precise moves that showed perfect control? Or was it the glint that lay in the deep brown eyes of the asian? Who could tell? But it did mark her as a special person. Yes people would definitely had noticed the girl called Ibuki. That is, had she wanted to. She did not. And thus, few even glanced at her. Looking at her watch, she couldn't help but sigh.
Three am back home, she thought gloomily, one in the afternoon here. Man I'm so tired I could fall asleep right now! Why am I here losing myself in America, anyways?!?
But she knew why. Because her grandfather Geki had told her to. Not truly a request, it had more been asked in the tones of a favour. She still remembered how it had been, that time when the venerable and respected shinobi had told her what she had to do.
"Granddaughter, you will go to America to meet a man named James Storm. You will have little difficulty in that, I can tell you where he lives. "He had almost smiled then "Even without the information, you would have no true problem, for he is revered in that country amongst those like us and those who fight in the streets."
Sitting cross-legged in front of her grandfather, she had been unable to suppress her disbelief entirely. "But, grandfather, why must I seek this man? Is he a danger to our clan?" She said this in an hesitant tone. She hoped it wasn't an assassination. She didn't want to kill anyone, and yet she did not want to disobey her grandfather. However, the old ninja shook his head.
"Rest assured, he is anything but an enemy. In fact, Ibuki, I wish to send you to help his own grandson, who, if the clan's sources tell true, may be on a path towards dire troubles."
She was so surprised she spoke rashly then, forgetting herself. "But why should we help an american?" she demanded, realizing a split second too late that this wasn't the tone one should take with the revered Shinobi Master, even if said master was her grandfather. The old man, however, did not seem offended by her reaction. His face only became very solemn.
"When I was barely older than you are, I was saved from certain death by James Storm. It was during the Second World War, when the Japanese and the Americans were fierce enemy. He had no good reason to help me and yet he did. That is a debt I can never truly repay. The very least I can do is help when I can, and I have never been able to before." his expression softened "I am not forcing you to do this, Ibuki, but I am asking you: will you do it? Will you go to America?"
She had given the only answer that she could give. And here she was in a country she had always heard about but never seen. She found the atmosphere less authoritarian, more carefree, yet full of near-arrogant assurance.
A hand clapped her shoulder. She did not start. The person, the man who had done the gesture, she had felt coming for a good while. She sniffed a faint trace of cheap alcohol from him, and a slight jerk in the way he had put his hand on her. A man who had drunk a bit too much then. A weak man, lacking a will of his own. She was disgusted, but kept her face cleared of any emotion. The man seemed to find this encouraging. He leaned down.
"Hey, cutie. You all alone here? Want some company?" he said leerily.
Ibuki just turned her head to face him, keeping her face still, and fixed his slightly unfocused eyes with her own Had anyone been paying attention to the scene, they would have felt the silent but palpable menace that came from the cold brown eyes, felt the tension and the hostility shift toward the non-too-sober man. The man blanched when it penetrated his weakened senses. Still he did not let go, seemingly unable to grasp the fact that this girl could be a danger to him.
"Let. Go." she spoke firmly, the menace translating sharply into her voice. Now the man believed there was danger at last, but still looked incredulous. Ibuki couldn't belive how slow on the uptake this guy was.
"I would really do what she asks you to, young man." said an old polite voice suddenly. "It really would be to your benefit." The added support did it. The foolish man huffed incoherently and left a little unsteadily, grumbling under his breath. Ibuki didn't even look to see him go, instead looking over at the man who had spoken, aman who, to her distress and annoyance, she actually hadn't felt coming.
She saw an old, well-dressed man in front of her. Of average height and build, he gave the looks and the impression of greater musculature than his age let on. And vanced it was. No less than seventy, if she was any kind of judge. Yet, even thought the man was wrinled, his skin the leathery thinness of old age and his thinning hair snowwhite, he held himself straight and pround, unbent. His eyes, raven-black, stared at her with the benevolent intensity of a man who had seen a lot in his life, and to whom Ibuki was nothing more than a skilled child. It was a strange impression, both an humbling one and a gratigying one. Humbling because one felt small before the amassed wisdom and strength the man shown, and gratifying because the man looked at her with quiet respect and approval. Immediately, recalling what her grandfather had told her, she knew who this old man was.
He looked at the jerk who was walking away for moment, the returned his gaze on her. It was a very strong gaze, equal to Geki's in its own way. She could see why her grandfather respected this man enough to wish to help him.
"You certainly took care of this unpleasant fellow adequately, my dear. " he smiled a weathered and kind smile. His voice lacks that hesitancy many older people's voices had "I see that old foolish grandfather of yours taught his family well."
She did not know how to take the word 'foolish' but since the rest of the sentence was a direct compliment, she took it as such. "Thank you, sir." she said, her english a bit halting for lack of use, though she knew the language nearly as perfectly as any American. "How did you know when and where to look for me in this place?" she gestured at all the people milling about.
He smiled wider. "That's easy, young lady. Geki told me when, and as for finding you, I looked for the one which reminded me the most of him. And that was you." he looked around, frowned. "Now where is that young fellow?" he muttered. His face clear. "Ah! There he is!"
She wondered who that he could be for a moment, but soon saw the one who was slowly making his way to them. It was slight man, dressed in black pants and a white shirt, leaning on a cane , his left leg pronouncely limping, making his going slower than it would be for a normal person. His face was the worst: his right side was covered with faint and plain scars which criss-crossed and gave half his face an unsettling look that was further contrasted by the thin but ruggedly handsome left side. He smiled as he came over.
"Sorry about that sir." he told James Storm politely. "I was held up by the throng. Can't believe how many people can stroll about this place." he chuckled slightly, and looked to Ibuki. She immediately saw the light in his eyes, saw the will that carried this shattered body throught everything. She all at once felt great respect for this man. "Oh, hello! You're the person we're here to get then?"
"She most certainly is. Nathan McIntyre, meet Ibuki. Ibuki, meet Nathan McIntyre."
Nathan thrust his free hand forward. "Pleased to meet you, Ibuki." he said.
Hesitating only an instant, she took the proffered hand and shook it firmly. "Likewise...Nathan." she replied. Nathan shook his head. "Please call me Nate, everyone my age call me Nate." he looked toward the aged man. "Ready to go sir. Let's go back and I'll drive us to the fun."
"Such as it is."
"YOU drive?" Ibuki asked, looking at Nathan's leg, unable to repress some doubt while fully knowing she had just made a terrible mistake. Both men looked at her, then at Nathan's leg. And both men's look changed. James simply frowned, and as spasm of disappointment crossed his face rapidly before disappearing as he sighed. But Nathan's look was far worse. He looked at her with bitter amusement, his eyes flashing in fury - some at herself, some directed inward. He smirked without humor.
"Yeah. I drive." with that he turned on his heels and stalked away from her his step unsteady but holding great emotion. James just beckoned her to follow him before following the limping man with a firm stride. The young Shinobi fell in step beside him, seemingly unfettered by the gaffe she had just made. Inside, however, she was sheeting at herself.
Oh, yes, SPLENDID remark, she thought cynically, Just go ahead and insult a guy who was just lightening the mood. Sometimes, it stinks for me to have mouth. I'm SOO good at putting my foot in it.
She just had to hope this wasn't an omen. If it was, this trip was going to be disastrous.
* * * * * * * * * *
Two hours later...
"The house is being watched." Jeremy stated as a matter-of-fact. Beside him, Cammy nodded in agreement. Behind them both the reaction was less static.
"What?!? Since when?" was the startled boom that came from behind them.
"Oh, at least since the day before we arrived." said her partner, glancing backward and upward.
There was a grumble and then silence. She knew that Alex Hammerstrong was thinking this over. Jeremy's mountainous friend maybe be imposing physically, but he didn't follow the categorisation that said "the biggest are the stupidest". He was a very bright man who caught on things quickly. Cammy was secretely glad to have him, and had grown to respect the family and friends her partner had in and around his hometown.
They were heading for that family's home now, she, Jeremy and Alex having volunteered to do the grocery shopping. The walk had been good for both of them, for their arrival had been taken with...mixed feelings. She thought again about the people she had met, reminiscing.
There had been the family first. Mattew Storm, a salt-and-pepper haired, black-eyed man of mid-forties, was the first they'd met. Vibrant, energetic, he seemed a slightly taller and older version of Jeremy, as if he really was his father instead of his uncle. His greeting had been restrained but warm, and she had later learned that he was always restrained, the only time Jeremy had seen the man lose all restraint was the day the baby of the family had been born.
The baby of the family...Cammy smiled inwardly at the memory. They had met her next, a happy, bouncy little girl of red brown curls and flashing blue eyes that stared at people with nothing but gentleness and appreciation. She had litterally flown into her 'brother's' arms gleefully, whooping, and the athletic young man had laughed as he had hugged the little child. Mary Ann. The one they had to protect. It took only that moment, seeing the innocence and the natural gentleness in the little girl's face, why the only man she could inwardly claim she trusted wanted so much to protect her. She was more than worth it. In fact the little one had seem to immediately connect to her, and had pestered her with innumerable questions since she had arrived.
Samantha Storm was the opposite of the first two. Were there had been warmth in Mattew's greetings, and unbridled joy in Mary Ann, her greeting had been cold and distant. She had barely spoken to them the entire time, and the only time she had shown anything else toward the man she had raised was when they had explained why they were here. She had accused Jeremy of bringing nothing but hurt to the family, to which Jeremy had scathingly replied it wasn't him who had killed a dozen people over the years. Things would certainly have escalated into a shouting match had James Storm, the head of the family and Jeremy's grand-father, hadn't sharply brought things back under control. It seemed Samantha still hadn't forgiven what had created the rift between she and her nephew. As for the grandfather, she knew little about him, except he seemed like a wise, well-mannered old man who retained the outlook of the fighter he had been long ago. It was, all in all, a spectacular family, each member possessing a great spirit and an unbreakable will.
The friends Jeremy had joyfully presented to her were no less impressive. There had been Nathan first. She had been surprised at first that a crippled man would be the friend of street fighters, but had amended her opinion when she had felt the strength that carried the scarred, shattered body forward everyday of its painful life. She then knew why his more physically imposing friends held him in high regards. Next had been Claudia, a blond, inquisitive young woman who was so beautiful that Cammy had felt a surprising and unusual spasm of jealousy. She would never be that beautiful, she knew. And until then, she didn't think she cared. But the good-willed personality of the girl had offset that unease quickly.
And then there had been Alex. Huge, heavily muscled, blond-haired Alex, who seemed to spend a third of his time training himself, another third mooning over Claudia and third - and, to Jeremy, the most annoying - joking and teasing. A fighter as well, with a bright spirit.
She envied her partner for having had people like these with him so long. She never did.
They were within sight of the house when she made her declaration.
"They're coming tonight." she said as neutrally as she could.
"I agree." stated Jeremy solemnly. That did it. She could feel Alex's impatience with them both long before he spoke.
"Okay, now this is becoming more than its share of ridiculous!" he growled. "How do you guys know that. Can't be military training. You're not ninjas or anything!"
The brown-haired SCD smiled widely as he stopped in just next to the front door of the two-storied house. "No Al, that we're not. But the MI6 is very good in training people in detecting stealthty people. And the people watching the house are aren't that professional."
"If the shifts are what I think they are, we're talking about over twenty people ready to come at us tonight - and I know its tonight." she said.
Alex looked at them both, stunned. "Twenty goons...that,s a lot of money."
"The guy that hired them has money to spare." stated the smaller man darkly. "That means that during the day we find a way to get Claudia to pick up Samantha and especially Mary Ann. We don't want those three in any kind of danger."
The huge man nodded vigorously. "Got ya there."
Nodding back, Jeremy opened the door and then dumped his bags on the floor. He leveled his gaze at Cammy. "Drop yours too. We need to talk." She blinked at the grim seriousness in his voice for a second, then proceeded to do just that, her head ringing with curiosity. The huge man coughed, rapidly excusing himself and assuring he'd get their things to the kitchen. He then disappeared as if someone was drowning in that very room. Left alone, Jeremy pointed to a more secluded spot with his head, nearer the trees. She nodded and moved off with him to that spot.
He went to the heart of the matter quickly, without preamble. "Mary Ann told me about last night."
She sighed, knowing what lay ahead. His next sentence surprised her not one bit.
"How long have you been having nightmares again?" and his tone was dead serious.
It was inevitable that he would learn of the recurring nightmares. Ever since Cindy's rather unhelpful proclamation, her sleep had been nightmarish. Memories locked away, that she never wanted to contemplate again were surfacing again, manifesting themselves in her sleep. She never could really grasp everything that she saw and felt in those dreams, but she knew the nightmares were made up of the beatings and the abuse she had been subjected to when Shadowlaw had captured her, the pain of having her mind put behind a seemingly unbreakable wall and, worst then everything, the sights of herself doing exactly what Bison told her too, without a hint of complaint, whether it was killing someone or sleeping with the bastard or doing anything else that came to his tyrannical, twisted mind. She always woke up dazed, frightened, with a feeling of uncleaness that she couldn't totally shake
She had thought that her nighmares didn't show that much outwardly, that no one really could tell that she was suffering in her sleep. That was until Mary Ann had shaken her awake, concerned. The little girl's room had been the place the Storm family had put her bed - she had no wish to sleep in the same room as Jeremy not because she feared him, but because of what his reactions to the nightmares would have been. But sleeping in the same room as a child - who had only a very vague concept of privacy - had been just as worse, it seems.
She couldn't help but stating something defensively. "I told her that it was alright." she said, realizing how ridiculous she sounded. He didn't seem to care a wit right now, however.
"You told her so and she told me what you told her." he shot back. "Did you think she wouldn't? I took care of her before I went away: I baby-sitted her, took her to the park, bought her candy. We always told each other everything. Its normal that she would tell me." he took a deep breath. "We're getting off-track. How long have you been having these nightmares and how long were you goin to wait before telling me or at least Joan?"
"I can handle myself. I did survive Shadowlaw..."
"With OUR help! Joan was very helpful with you, as was I, and Giorgio and Wolfman and others in the MI6 and SCD." he gave her a disappointed look. "I thought you trusted us."
The last comment was harsh to her ears, but it had a ring to it that made her pause. DID she trust the SCD? She was suddenly quite uncertain of that. She liked them, she realized that, and she trusted them...to an extent. But she didn't think that she could confide herself to any of them, not even to him. Not now, not yet.
"You can't judge me. You didn't...you didn't know how it was like." she said.
He nodded gravely. "That's true. Then talk to someone who CAN! Julia told me of someone she knew, someone who knew Bison. She's a psychic, too..."
"I know!" she cut off harshly, then lowered her tone. "But I can't trust that person, this Rose. She's the kind of person who did this to me."
He frowned. "But she's not that KIND of person. You should see her. Trust me on this."
"I can't." she said firmly. But,oh, I WANT to. But he never heard her unspoken words, never felt them, and thus stiffened in rejection. She could have wept for that.
"Then you have a problem." he retorted, turning away and leaving her to her thoughs.
She remained near the trees for a long moment afterwards, lost in her own musings.
* * * * * * * * * *
At the same time...
"And the cargo of weapons has been sent to the extremist faction in Sligo upon receiving the thirty million pounds as per your orders, milord."
Kale sipped his liquor inside his meeting room, only half intent upon the day-to-day running of his little territory and all that went on inside it. He would much rather be doing something else: reading books, torturing some jock, kicking a dog, anything with some kind of fun in it. But even the Lords of the Circle had some work they could not escape. This litany was one of them.
"Then there is the matter of Dublin, the last six terrorist attacks on civil propriety have been graded a marginal success. Ah, Elder Hirolk has sent a message to you."
He raised his eyebrows. Elders rarely took the time to write messages. "Hirolk. What does that old fart want with me?" he demanded.
The acolyte frowned upon the rude way a High Master had described an Elder, but knew better than to argue with Kale. A bright boy. Wouldn't go far but would definitely stay alive. "Well, the Elder tells that..."
"...That you will leave this room at once." growled a voice.
Kale started at the interruption, while the acolyte looked toward the door and quite blanched on the spot upon understanding what he was seeing. The Lord of Limerick swiveled his chair to face it idly, and couldn't help but recoil slightly at what he saw. In the doorway stood Everick, all in black as usual. He seemed exactly the same as he had been three days ago, except for his face. Where there had once been indifference, there now was controlled wrath. A wrath that gave even people like Kale second thoughts about crossing this man. The Acolyte seem well ready to faint here and now. No blame there. He would do it himself if his pride allowed it.
But it wouldn't allow it. So he tossed the rest of his drink down and stood to meet his old friend. He gestured for the Acolyte to go, something he did with great relief, skidding around the motionless Everick and then barelling down the corridor at full speed. The two men stayed standing, staring at one another. For once, Kale did not find any fun in the situation, not one bit.
Finally, after the silence had gone beyond uncomfortable, he coughed. "Well...haven't seen you for a while. Been busy? Is it done?"
A slow nod. "It is."
Kale sighed and reached for the decanter, intent of pouring himself a calming dose of Porto. "Good work, as usual. Now that this is settled, let me offer you something do drink s toast to Cindy Herman, the only person to ever escape ther Limerick Lair."
"No."
Kale stopped at the tone, unsurprised somehow but wary all the same. The tone was harsh, filled with menace. The tone of someone who had been pushed too far too fast, and who stood on the bring. It was a very dangerous tone and, to Kale, it seemed deadly, for never had he heard Everick speak such. He fixed his old friend with a stare that was meant to be indifferent, but remained nervous nevertheless.
"I've been by my own for two days now, thinking. I know you wanted nothing of Storm's sister, I know the only reasons you did what you did was to kill Cindy and demoralize an enemy organization. I know your reasons, your official ones and your real ones. And I've got only one question now..."
Before Kale could react, put up a shield, put up a spell or any kind of defense, Everick lunged to him, grabbed him by the throat and held him up by one arm. He helplessly dangled from the unbreakable grip the dark-clothed man had on him.
"How could you order her death?" he hissed.
"You accepted...the...plan...yourself." Kale gasped, knowing it was better not to struggle right now. Not the answer he should have given, for the pressure incresed. He coughed.
"I accepted, " Everick said through clenched teeth. "Because I knew the only person who would treat her with the dignity she deserved was I. And at that time, I thought I could do it easily what a fool I was."
"Had-d...cough... had t-t-to be d-d-d-done..." was the weezy reply.
"Damn you!" Everick cried, and he let go then, turning his back on Kale as the man fell down on his knees and retched. He made for the door without a backward glance. Only just before he left did he speak.
"I am going to rest at my private chambers. Until I walk out of it I want no interruption. I will kill anyone who interrupts me during the next few days." With that ultimatum, he walked out.
Kale lay on his knees for a long time, regaining his strength, when he did, he puahed himself upo with a groan, walking to the decanter unsteadily. Pensively, carefully, he opened it and poured himself another drink. He slowly lifted it up, but for a long time he only stayed like that, the words he had wanted to say.
Then it came to him. He knew what toast to make.
"To Cindy Herman, a very peculiar woman that few will really ever understand. To the woman who escaped death to return to find it again. And mostly, to the only woman..." he stopped, smiled slightly, but for once, without malice "to the only woman Everick will ever grieve for."
And he drank.
* * * * * * * * * *
That evening...
Seventeen guys attacked the house that evening. They came silently upon the the silent and dark place, certain that they had not been seen. And why not? After all, no one had acted in such a way that meant they had been discovered. No, these people were ready to fight in a few days only, not tonight.
They did not know how wrong they were. The four people remaining inside the house had been waiting for them. Eagerly. No one was surprised when they heard some sound outside. They shut the lights out, decided on how to split, and engaged the throng. They were quite surprised when four people - three young and one older - attacked them with grim determination. But then who wouldn't have been?
Mattew would have been.
Seventeen against four were bad odds, but they weren't impossible to deal with. The retired Black Panther took on the tree nearest him, taking full advantage of the surprise their charge had induced. He rushed low, his elbow in front of him, and dodged the clumsy, startled swings of his attacker. His elbow went full force into the man's abdomen, a shot backed by pounds upon pounds of strength. The air went out of the man, and before the other two had gathered their wits and rushed him, he uppercuted the man from below, using the momentum to roll back ward and execute a backflip, timing his arrival so that his defense would cover any possible attack.
Not bad for a retired old guy, he though a little cynically. He then pushed out such thought from his mind as the two goons decided it would be better to attack at once. A commendable strategy, but one which needed skill to accomplish. They did not have that skill. He could see it plainly. These were hired thugs with poor hand-to-hand abilities. Weaklings.
The two men were as tall as he, and more muscled. That gave them confidence, the fools. Mattew had fought skilled midgets before, and knew now that size meant little compared to skill.
He let them come close, preparing his defense, letting them think he thought them a danger. They were young. No more than eighteen. Children. Children who wanted to tyake away his little girl. That thought fueled him with energy. He attacked.
He dodged a kick catching the leg and thrusting it back, making the fool lose his equilibrium. One down. He took a hit from that corner, but he partially deflected it with his forarm. Bidding the ringing gone, he pressed on, putting in three quick kicks to the ribs, one of which told enought for him to get in closer quarters. He then hit the man with his strongest punch, right in the face, without shame. The man cried out in pain as his nose erupted into a crimson fountain. He growled and swung at the older Storm, who expertly melted out of the way, grabbed the arm, pulled and pivoted and threw him across the lawn. Nearby houses were alight by then, neighbours certainly calling the police. Good. They won't be of any use, but good. As the goon tried to stand up, his eyes unfocused, Mattew kicked him right in the face. He crumpled and did not get up. He then felt lacerating pain throught his back., The other one! He had forgotten that one. He growled and lashed out with a combo of punches and kicks, not caring the amount of damage he made. The grunt tried to stand up to it, but his arms started to tremble soon, and he breathed heavily.
Mattew found he was pretty much doing the same. He felt a bit shamed. I'm getting old huh? He then promptly kicked the man aside, did a backkick that caught in the ribs - oh, terrific sound bones cracking - and followed by no less than half a dozen punches at the very same ribs. By the time he was finished, the man was doubled over, gasping in pain, and Mattew finished him by a blow to his temple. Huffing and puffing, he then looked to see how the others were doing.
"CANNON SPIKE!"
He heard that in time to see one goon fly ten feet in the hair, before crashing to the ground motionless, with Cammy coming down more gracefully. That had be a special attac, no doubt. And a pretty good one. She had been fighting four opponents, but two were already down nearby and the little feat had taken care of a third. She was in no danger. Neither was Alex, who was gleefully trashing two men, another two groaning on the ground. His strength and the intelligence with which he used it made him a powerhouse.
Jeremy was the one who seemed to have trouble. He fought not four men, but six. Three were down, but the men were numerous enough to surround him still, battering away at his defense. He was tiring, trhat was clear by the way he held himself. As Mattew watched, one man pressed the attack. The young fighter fought back easily, but failed to see that another was coming behind him, a large log in his hand, ready to strike.
Mattew started to rush to his aid, warning him of the danger, when something happened. The man about to strike with the log stiffened, his hand going to his shoulder, in pain. He turned around to as if someone had hit him. That's when a shadowy form moved, in front of him. The man gave muffled cry, then was flung backward.
"FLARE TALON!"
The attack was shouted, but not by Jeremy, who was finishing his opponent with powerful combos of quick punches, hooks and uppercuts. The voice was much older than Jeremy. It was a voice Mattew had none ever since he was a toddler. The chi flowed toward the sole man of the trio who was still standing, overtaking him and pushing him nearly forty feet away with incredible, blazing force. There was the scent of scorched meat. The man did not rise again.
Within moments, it was over for both Cammy and Alex as well. After asking them both if they were all right, he jogged to the spot where Jeremy was already in deep conversation with the two that had helped him.
"....To help me?" he was exclaiming. "Well, that's sure nice of the Shinobi! There's something we were planning to do, Cammy and I, about Circle activity in Canada. You'd certainly be welcome!"
"I thank you." said a young voice seriously. It was then Mattew saw, besides his own father, a young asian woman. Striking for her obvious young age, she had the outlook and the aura of a full-fledged warrior. He started as the pieces started to come together and he recognized something in the young woman's face.
"Excuse me, father..." all three turned to him "But this young woman, she looks like..."
"Indeed, son. This is Ibuki, Geki's grand-daughter. Ibuki, this is my son Mattew, Sensei of a dojo and in his youth a great warrior."
Ibuki bowed. "It is an honour to meet you, sir." He surprised her, he supposed, when he bowed back.
"No. It is even more of an honour to meet the descendant of Geki." he smiled. Slowly, she smiled back.
"You fighters are weird." stated Nathan, limping out of the shadows, giving Ibuki a cold look. Sirens were heard in the distance. "Ah, the cavalry. For what its worth."
It was then that a phone rang. Everyone stared about in confusion - they were standing in the middle of a grassy field, after all - when Jeremy gave an exclamation and fished inside the pockets of his pants. He soon got a small cellphone out. Alex tapped the grey-eyed man on the shoulder lightly. "Jer."
"Yeah?"
"You had that all the time?"
"Huh-huh."
"Even when fighting?"
Jeremy smiled. "Looks that way!"
"How come you didn't lose it?"
"Luck?" he ventured as he opened the phone. Alex raised his hands up in surrender and grunted, looking if any of the goons were getting up. None were. By the time they stirred, the police would be there. "Hello? Micheal? What are you...yeah, took care of them...we... Limerick? Yeah, we...." his voice caught, his grip on the phone tightening. "W-w-what? Cindy... she...she WHAT? Tell me what happened!" the last bit had a point of grief to it. Mattew's stomach clenched: this wasn't good news. His suspicions were confirmed as Jeremy's eyes closed and he gave a few shivers. "U-understood. Cammy? Yeah...Cammy!" he called, handing her the phone. The sirens were getting louder, nearer, but they all were looking at Jeremy now. He opened his eyes - red-rimmed, grieving eyes, and gave an equally grieving smile.
"They never were after Mary Ann." he said softly "They wanted Cammy and I out of the way...to take out Cindy."
"They succeeded?" asked Ibuki, keeping her own voice soft. He nodded sadly. James put a sympathetic hand on his grandson's shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Jeremy."
"Me too, grandpa. Me too." his gaze became even more sad. "But its nothing compared to the grief another is feeling right now."
* * * * * * * * * *
At the same time...
He was being closely watched by his friends and colleagues, but Mark Culhen didn't care one iota. Sitting in his usual chair he kept looking at the small memo that Cindy had sent him, only to him. Giorgio Castillo looked towards his old friend, and found him aged, drained. Broken. He was clutching the note as if he could draw some explanation from it.
But explanations never come after a tragedy. He had found that out when Vega had taken his brother and his brother's family out. Now Mark was finding that out for himself.
Dio, what a cruel world you left us in.
Beside him, Julia came up. The strain in their relationship had slackened upon receiving the terrible news of Cindy's death. Cindy. So goofy, yet, it seemed, so mysterious. He would miss her dearly. They all would. And Mark as well. Mark in particular.
The scottish stood up slowly, almost painfully, and turned around. There was a bleak look to him. The spike, the joviality that had been his trademark, all gone it was. All that remained was a thin face with dark, empty eyes and slumped shoulders that showed that the will had left. He started walking towards the exit, only pausing next to Julia and Giorgio, not sparing them a look.
"Never had the guts to tell her...anything." he said, voice void of feelings. "Now I never shall." He resumed his walk somberly.
Julia took a step in his direction, most probably to offer some bit of comfort, but Giorgio caught her by the arm, firmly. She looked back at him, confused at his interruption and angry that he would impede her.
"Let him grieve right now." he said "He's strong, nina. He'll come to us when he needs us. We'll be there when he does." he let go of her arm. Hesitating, she finally nodded, and both of them looked at the retreating back of their friend comrade, who was still clutching the note that the woman he had always loved secretely had given her.
"Yes, for now, let him grieve."
______________________________________________________________
Chapter 12 is over! Hoped you guys liked it! I think that this fic really is in the angst category, huh? Well, next chapter, get ready, as Jeremy's little band takes on the Circle in Canada.
I crave FEEDBACK and IDEAS, as always!
See ya soon!
Jeremy
By Jeremy
Chapter 12
August 16, 1997
If there was one thing a fighter hated, it was waiting. If there was one thing a fighter feared, it was helplessness. And right at this moment Jeremy Storm was feeling both. Two hours ago Cammy and he had finally left the Limerick Airport, after a full day of repeatedly arguing their case with the SCD commanders. Mark had been very easy to convince, but Julia and Brisby had been reluctant to let go of two agents, even if their reasons WERE sound. There was no evidence, they said, that the Circle would make such a blatant move against a family that was well respected in Maine. Jeremy counter-attacked the argument by drily observing that the man who had ordered the attack did not care a damn about evidence and practicality when it suited him, something that Cindy and Cammy - the others were stunned by her support - had agreed with vehemently. Finally Giorgio, Mark and Joan had added their weight to the investigative team's point of view, and finally Julia and at last old Major Brisby, had relented, albeit reluctantly.
They had wasted no time after that, packing, booking the first flight to Portland and saying hasty goodbyes to Cindy, who was going to arrange the meeting with the informant and then hightail it back to London. And now they were soaring high over the Atlantic Ocean, on the way back to old places, old friends and old memories. Pack the situation, the tension and the possibilities together, and you got a very nervous man. He fidgeted in his seat, yearning to run, to jump or to punch the hell out of a punchingbag - anything that might relieve his stress a little. But it was darn impossible thousands of feet in the air.
A stewardess had the unfortunate fact of noticing this. "Are you alright, sir? Is there anything you need?"
His head snapped around, his temper flaring from the wait, the fear, the anger and the frustration that he had amassed during the last few days findind an outlet.
"If I ever have a damn problem, you'll be the first to know!" he snapped, glaring murder, "Now go back to being all nice and smiley to someone who CARES, and have the damn mercy to LEAVE ME ALONE!!!"
The stewardess' eyes widened, and it was clear only the fact that she was was on duty prevented her to tell him just what she thought of his manners. She couldn't help but tense, however, and her demeanor became several degrees colder.
"Such behaviour is not allowed here, sir." she stated, just a trifle angrily. Other passengers were looking over, from interested the farther they were, to uneasy the closer things got and mildly frightened of the whole thing when they were at hand.
Jeremy was making a fool of myself, he knew it. But he wasn't in the mood to be reasonable. He opened his mouth, fully intending to tell the woman that if he wished to behave the way he was, it was his own damn business. But before he could get the statement out, a firm hand grasped his arm, startling him out of his angry funk. He turned to his friend and partner, his face a mix of surprise and rebuke.
Cammy ignored him. In fact, if it wasn't for the added determination he saw in her eyes, she could have been back to the time when nothing and no one seem to be able to get an emotion out of her. She looked at the stewardess evenly, with a force that still surprised him, so new was it.
"Please excuse my friend." she said firmly. "There was fatality in his family and we are on route to the funeral." she patted his arm almost fondly, drawing him into yet another maze of surprise - he was getting those a lot these days. However, the bluff had the intended effect. The woman in front of them lost much of her coolness, and the tension, which had been running high an instant before, suddenly dropped to near nothingness. Many people seated near him let out a secret - and sometimes not-so-secret - sigh of relief. Jeremy decided to dissipate the rest of the problem.
"I'm...sorry." he said, both looking and feeling ashamed of himself. "I...its my sister."
The stewardess nodded, calm again. "Its understandable then, sir. Just make sure this does not happen again, alright?" he nodded. She then went off to another part of the plane. Within a minute all was back to normal amongst the passengers. The incident was understood and therefore, largely forgotten. After a few minutes had passed, Jeremy leaned toward Cammy, whispering softly so that none but she could hear.
"Thanks for that save, Cammy." he said in earnest "You really helped me save face out there."
She only turned to him, looking at him with that mild concern again. This time he was ready to see it, however, and did not show surprise at that. "What is happening to you?" she whispered back "You're never this agitated. Is something bothering you?"
Knowing that a few days ago she NEVER would have asked, it was his pleasure to be honest. He lay back and sighed, closing his eyes and choosing his words to explain.
"Yeah, there's something bothering me. Lots of things." he no longer whispered but kept his voice low. "I'm going back to my hometown, which I left behind broken and grieving. I'm not sure what kind of reception I'll get. Especially my aunt." he stopped, coughed to clear the catch that was suddenly in his voice "She never truly forgave that I nearly killed my....Thomas. Even though everyone who saw Melissa's body didn't seem to mind..." he trailed off, looking nowhere in particular, reminiscing. "Joy awaits me there, but a lot of pain too. And what's worse, I come bearing rather BAD news."
There was a moment of silence. "You speak as if you were some sort of...of curse."
"Yes, well, got my old girlfriend killed, nearly killed my cousin, antagonized an aunt I who was a mother to me and now, because of me, my own sister in everything but blood find herself in danger." he smiled sadly, looking in his friend's eyes. "Kinda makes you feel like a loser, not."
She suddenly turned colder, almost angry at him it seemed. "Well, you're not a loser, so just quit talking like you are." she fairly commanded. Jeremy blinked at her. He suddenly, for some twisted reason, found her eyes the most beautiful he had ever seen before. Said eyes had appealed to him even while they were lifeless, but now, with an actual light in them, they seemed like a world of difference...for the better.
He smiled. "Thank you, I'll try." he assured her.
She did not smile back. That was something she still didn't do. But she nodded firmly before turning her attention back in front of her. He shook his head. It was better than nothing. He was finding himself enjoying her emerging emotions so easily. He wished Cindy was here to chat too, somehow. The chatter might have numbed a bit of the tension he felt. But Cindy had sais, with sad eyes, that she couldn't follow them, that she had to arrange things. He silently wished her luck on that. Then his mind came back to his more immediate concern.
The Circle was going to make a grab at his sister, huh? They thought the Storms were people you could just toss aside, huh? Well, the bastards were about to get a pretty nasty surprise. His family wasn't made of people you tossed aside. Those who tried were always sorry.
But not as sorry as the Circle was going to be.
"America, here I come." he whispered. It was time to come home.
* * * * * * * * * *
One hour later...
Cindy was sitting in a chair, in her room, looking out her open window and calmly breathing the moist, breezy air that wafted in her room. Of the cheerful, sensual and undiplomatic girl that the SCD members openly growled at but - she knew - inwardly loved, there was little sign left. Her eyes were sad as she looked back at the sheet on her lap, where she had scrawled a few lines to people that wouldn't understand the situation, that hadn't been there ten years ago...
Or was it ten lifetimes? It seemed to be that to her.
She pondered her friends' reactions. Giorgio would probably be saddened, but would understand - he too, had his own dark secrets, the side that few truly knew about, which fewer still could comprehend. Julia would be angry at her for letting such weakness take her life, but then the young shade had never allowed weaknesses that she could see, making her seem always so detached, less human than she should. Mark, well, Mark had a thing for her, although he tried to hide it behind his work and his high-tech equipment. He would take it hard, harder thanthe others. For him, there was a little note, that only he could read. Brisby, well, he would probably be the only one who wasn't truly shocked. He was old, had known more about her first mission against the Circle than faint, vague rumors. It had been a surprise that he had acquiesced to her request. But it had been the reason she had joined the SCD, her option, the path he could not stop her from. He probable knew that. Joan would have much work helping the others. Micheal - well, he might miss her, or not. She never could read beyond his dark, hooded eyes. He too, it seemed, had a darkness he never shared. He might understand.
And then there was Jeremy and Cammy. Those two, so young and so scarred by events in their lives, they would feel failure, anger and shame at being played for fools and not allowing this to happen. She doubted they would be calmed by what she told them in her letter of apology, her small, secret will. They would probably become a great threat to the Circle. She hoped they would.
And, perhaps, this new pain would help them realize how much they truly loved each other, how they needed each other. As an afterthought, she left a little note for them as a post-scriptum.
She had just finished writing it when the door opened softly. It could have been soundless, as soundless as the one who had opened it could be, but the person had no need to use his stealth. She didn't turn around, just looking out the window again, as the person approached her. She waited for him to speak first, as she knew he would feel the need to say something.
When he spoke, she wasn't surprised by what he asked. "Why?"
"It had to be done."
A strong hand grasped her shoulder delicately, belying the great strength that it usually possessed. "You knew what would happen, if you ever came close to us again." the masculine voice displayed distress, something it wasn't accustomed to. "You knew that coming back would be your death! Why did you come back. Why didn't you leave with your comrades."
She closed her eyes, knowing that the answer, the only one she could give, would never really be understood by this man. "Officially, I chose to stay to meet up with our informant."
"That's folly! Your informant was dead before you arrived. Kale took care of him, only let the fool draw your team for his amusement and his experiments!" the voice fairly shook with anger. She didn't heed it. Finally the man sighed. "You knew, of course. You know us very well. So...what is the unofficial reason?"
She turned her head around and up, and fixed black eyes that were trying mighty hard to be emotionless with her own calm, green one. She smiled at him. "Because, simply because, I love you and I wanted to see you again, Everick."
The tall, black-garbed man seem to flinch at her declaration like it was a blow. He attempted to regain his control, but a quiver remained his voice when he spoke again.
"That's even more nonsensical!" he half-growled, half-pleaded. "To come back because of me! I've changed in the last decade, Cindy! Your fate is death, and your declaration cannot - WILL not - sway me!" he took out a sharp, curved knife "You should have stayed in London."
She did not show fear at the sight of the knife. She did not even feel any. She felt only acceptance. She stood up, and walked toward the one who she knew would shortly kill her, the paper she had written held in one hand. This seemed to agitate him even more, so much that some anguish became apparent on his hard-set face. In his hand, the knife, a deadly object in hands like his, seemed to be hesitating.
"Cindy, don't...don't make this any harder than it has to be." his voice was no longer firm, but instead was now plainly pleading. Still she came to him, until she was almost pressing against him, looking up at the broad-shouldered, towering man of black. His arms were spread, and still he hesitated.
"Don't worry, my love," she said softly. "This will liberate us both. Me, of a decade of emptiness; you, of something that has been on your conscience." With that, she reached up, put her slender hands behind the muscular neck and brought his face down to her. And she kissed him passionately. He seemed to become rigid at first, as if thunderstruck, then, with a choke, he put his arms around her and held her tightly, returning it fully.
How long did the kiss last? Possibly a long time, althought it was over far too quickly for Cindy's taste. He held her close still, his embrace bruising and desperate. She didn't mind. It was the end of the road, and she knew it. But at least she knew she would die in the arms of a man she loved and who loved her back.
"Stupid bitch." he said, his tone lacking strength. "I...I have t-t-to do this..." he trailed off.
"I know." she remembered the sheet she was holding in her hand. "These papers. See that the SCD get it, alright? Its my last wish." She felt him nodding, and smiled, pressing her head against Everick's chest. "Do it."
The large body trembled, but the arm that held the blade twisted backward, gauging a blow that would kill her instantly. There was hesitation in the poise, however, and she felt Everick's unsteady breath, his rapidly beating heart. The man who had killed so many, it seemed, had found a place where he did not want to kill at all. Finally, his head bent to her ear, and it was a broken voice that spoke softly.
"I-I love you, my Cindy." he choked. And then the arm the was holding the knife jerked like a spring, towards her neck.
Peace at last, she thought, Peace for the both of us.
* * * * * * * * * *
Two days later...
The Maine State Airport in Portland was a rather large one, used to a lot of special and common people arriving or going in throngs. There could be anyone. Farmers, teachers, doctors, priests both true and false, and all the kinds of occupations that could exist, in all the shapes and colours that the reckless and advanturous race known as humanity could genietically come up with. If the floors and walls could have, talked, it would have been with the voice of people who've seen everything, and who can't be surprised anymore.
But they would have looked at one with interest today. One who walked the tiled floor with natural soundlessness, whisping by the walls, unnoticed. That is the way this person wanted it to be.
Had people taken a good look, they would have seen at first nothing more than a a casually outfitted teenager of between fifteen and eighteen. A cute one too, her fine features would normally have made more than one of the young - and older - men around the place craning his neck to see better. Her hair was longer than most women wore it, but that did not mar her at all. And she was athletic, everyone could have seen that. But then they would have seen other things, details that would have made many want to leave the young woman alone.
Was it the stance, which seemed to be feline in nature, and just as potentially dangerous when menaced? Was it the underlying tension beneath the calm, the slight but precise moves that showed perfect control? Or was it the glint that lay in the deep brown eyes of the asian? Who could tell? But it did mark her as a special person. Yes people would definitely had noticed the girl called Ibuki. That is, had she wanted to. She did not. And thus, few even glanced at her. Looking at her watch, she couldn't help but sigh.
Three am back home, she thought gloomily, one in the afternoon here. Man I'm so tired I could fall asleep right now! Why am I here losing myself in America, anyways?!?
But she knew why. Because her grandfather Geki had told her to. Not truly a request, it had more been asked in the tones of a favour. She still remembered how it had been, that time when the venerable and respected shinobi had told her what she had to do.
"Granddaughter, you will go to America to meet a man named James Storm. You will have little difficulty in that, I can tell you where he lives. "He had almost smiled then "Even without the information, you would have no true problem, for he is revered in that country amongst those like us and those who fight in the streets."
Sitting cross-legged in front of her grandfather, she had been unable to suppress her disbelief entirely. "But, grandfather, why must I seek this man? Is he a danger to our clan?" She said this in an hesitant tone. She hoped it wasn't an assassination. She didn't want to kill anyone, and yet she did not want to disobey her grandfather. However, the old ninja shook his head.
"Rest assured, he is anything but an enemy. In fact, Ibuki, I wish to send you to help his own grandson, who, if the clan's sources tell true, may be on a path towards dire troubles."
She was so surprised she spoke rashly then, forgetting herself. "But why should we help an american?" she demanded, realizing a split second too late that this wasn't the tone one should take with the revered Shinobi Master, even if said master was her grandfather. The old man, however, did not seem offended by her reaction. His face only became very solemn.
"When I was barely older than you are, I was saved from certain death by James Storm. It was during the Second World War, when the Japanese and the Americans were fierce enemy. He had no good reason to help me and yet he did. That is a debt I can never truly repay. The very least I can do is help when I can, and I have never been able to before." his expression softened "I am not forcing you to do this, Ibuki, but I am asking you: will you do it? Will you go to America?"
She had given the only answer that she could give. And here she was in a country she had always heard about but never seen. She found the atmosphere less authoritarian, more carefree, yet full of near-arrogant assurance.
A hand clapped her shoulder. She did not start. The person, the man who had done the gesture, she had felt coming for a good while. She sniffed a faint trace of cheap alcohol from him, and a slight jerk in the way he had put his hand on her. A man who had drunk a bit too much then. A weak man, lacking a will of his own. She was disgusted, but kept her face cleared of any emotion. The man seemed to find this encouraging. He leaned down.
"Hey, cutie. You all alone here? Want some company?" he said leerily.
Ibuki just turned her head to face him, keeping her face still, and fixed his slightly unfocused eyes with her own Had anyone been paying attention to the scene, they would have felt the silent but palpable menace that came from the cold brown eyes, felt the tension and the hostility shift toward the non-too-sober man. The man blanched when it penetrated his weakened senses. Still he did not let go, seemingly unable to grasp the fact that this girl could be a danger to him.
"Let. Go." she spoke firmly, the menace translating sharply into her voice. Now the man believed there was danger at last, but still looked incredulous. Ibuki couldn't belive how slow on the uptake this guy was.
"I would really do what she asks you to, young man." said an old polite voice suddenly. "It really would be to your benefit." The added support did it. The foolish man huffed incoherently and left a little unsteadily, grumbling under his breath. Ibuki didn't even look to see him go, instead looking over at the man who had spoken, aman who, to her distress and annoyance, she actually hadn't felt coming.
She saw an old, well-dressed man in front of her. Of average height and build, he gave the looks and the impression of greater musculature than his age let on. And vanced it was. No less than seventy, if she was any kind of judge. Yet, even thought the man was wrinled, his skin the leathery thinness of old age and his thinning hair snowwhite, he held himself straight and pround, unbent. His eyes, raven-black, stared at her with the benevolent intensity of a man who had seen a lot in his life, and to whom Ibuki was nothing more than a skilled child. It was a strange impression, both an humbling one and a gratigying one. Humbling because one felt small before the amassed wisdom and strength the man shown, and gratifying because the man looked at her with quiet respect and approval. Immediately, recalling what her grandfather had told her, she knew who this old man was.
He looked at the jerk who was walking away for moment, the returned his gaze on her. It was a very strong gaze, equal to Geki's in its own way. She could see why her grandfather respected this man enough to wish to help him.
"You certainly took care of this unpleasant fellow adequately, my dear. " he smiled a weathered and kind smile. His voice lacks that hesitancy many older people's voices had "I see that old foolish grandfather of yours taught his family well."
She did not know how to take the word 'foolish' but since the rest of the sentence was a direct compliment, she took it as such. "Thank you, sir." she said, her english a bit halting for lack of use, though she knew the language nearly as perfectly as any American. "How did you know when and where to look for me in this place?" she gestured at all the people milling about.
He smiled wider. "That's easy, young lady. Geki told me when, and as for finding you, I looked for the one which reminded me the most of him. And that was you." he looked around, frowned. "Now where is that young fellow?" he muttered. His face clear. "Ah! There he is!"
She wondered who that he could be for a moment, but soon saw the one who was slowly making his way to them. It was slight man, dressed in black pants and a white shirt, leaning on a cane , his left leg pronouncely limping, making his going slower than it would be for a normal person. His face was the worst: his right side was covered with faint and plain scars which criss-crossed and gave half his face an unsettling look that was further contrasted by the thin but ruggedly handsome left side. He smiled as he came over.
"Sorry about that sir." he told James Storm politely. "I was held up by the throng. Can't believe how many people can stroll about this place." he chuckled slightly, and looked to Ibuki. She immediately saw the light in his eyes, saw the will that carried this shattered body throught everything. She all at once felt great respect for this man. "Oh, hello! You're the person we're here to get then?"
"She most certainly is. Nathan McIntyre, meet Ibuki. Ibuki, meet Nathan McIntyre."
Nathan thrust his free hand forward. "Pleased to meet you, Ibuki." he said.
Hesitating only an instant, she took the proffered hand and shook it firmly. "Likewise...Nathan." she replied. Nathan shook his head. "Please call me Nate, everyone my age call me Nate." he looked toward the aged man. "Ready to go sir. Let's go back and I'll drive us to the fun."
"Such as it is."
"YOU drive?" Ibuki asked, looking at Nathan's leg, unable to repress some doubt while fully knowing she had just made a terrible mistake. Both men looked at her, then at Nathan's leg. And both men's look changed. James simply frowned, and as spasm of disappointment crossed his face rapidly before disappearing as he sighed. But Nathan's look was far worse. He looked at her with bitter amusement, his eyes flashing in fury - some at herself, some directed inward. He smirked without humor.
"Yeah. I drive." with that he turned on his heels and stalked away from her his step unsteady but holding great emotion. James just beckoned her to follow him before following the limping man with a firm stride. The young Shinobi fell in step beside him, seemingly unfettered by the gaffe she had just made. Inside, however, she was sheeting at herself.
Oh, yes, SPLENDID remark, she thought cynically, Just go ahead and insult a guy who was just lightening the mood. Sometimes, it stinks for me to have mouth. I'm SOO good at putting my foot in it.
She just had to hope this wasn't an omen. If it was, this trip was going to be disastrous.
* * * * * * * * * *
Two hours later...
"The house is being watched." Jeremy stated as a matter-of-fact. Beside him, Cammy nodded in agreement. Behind them both the reaction was less static.
"What?!? Since when?" was the startled boom that came from behind them.
"Oh, at least since the day before we arrived." said her partner, glancing backward and upward.
There was a grumble and then silence. She knew that Alex Hammerstrong was thinking this over. Jeremy's mountainous friend maybe be imposing physically, but he didn't follow the categorisation that said "the biggest are the stupidest". He was a very bright man who caught on things quickly. Cammy was secretely glad to have him, and had grown to respect the family and friends her partner had in and around his hometown.
They were heading for that family's home now, she, Jeremy and Alex having volunteered to do the grocery shopping. The walk had been good for both of them, for their arrival had been taken with...mixed feelings. She thought again about the people she had met, reminiscing.
There had been the family first. Mattew Storm, a salt-and-pepper haired, black-eyed man of mid-forties, was the first they'd met. Vibrant, energetic, he seemed a slightly taller and older version of Jeremy, as if he really was his father instead of his uncle. His greeting had been restrained but warm, and she had later learned that he was always restrained, the only time Jeremy had seen the man lose all restraint was the day the baby of the family had been born.
The baby of the family...Cammy smiled inwardly at the memory. They had met her next, a happy, bouncy little girl of red brown curls and flashing blue eyes that stared at people with nothing but gentleness and appreciation. She had litterally flown into her 'brother's' arms gleefully, whooping, and the athletic young man had laughed as he had hugged the little child. Mary Ann. The one they had to protect. It took only that moment, seeing the innocence and the natural gentleness in the little girl's face, why the only man she could inwardly claim she trusted wanted so much to protect her. She was more than worth it. In fact the little one had seem to immediately connect to her, and had pestered her with innumerable questions since she had arrived.
Samantha Storm was the opposite of the first two. Were there had been warmth in Mattew's greetings, and unbridled joy in Mary Ann, her greeting had been cold and distant. She had barely spoken to them the entire time, and the only time she had shown anything else toward the man she had raised was when they had explained why they were here. She had accused Jeremy of bringing nothing but hurt to the family, to which Jeremy had scathingly replied it wasn't him who had killed a dozen people over the years. Things would certainly have escalated into a shouting match had James Storm, the head of the family and Jeremy's grand-father, hadn't sharply brought things back under control. It seemed Samantha still hadn't forgiven what had created the rift between she and her nephew. As for the grandfather, she knew little about him, except he seemed like a wise, well-mannered old man who retained the outlook of the fighter he had been long ago. It was, all in all, a spectacular family, each member possessing a great spirit and an unbreakable will.
The friends Jeremy had joyfully presented to her were no less impressive. There had been Nathan first. She had been surprised at first that a crippled man would be the friend of street fighters, but had amended her opinion when she had felt the strength that carried the scarred, shattered body forward everyday of its painful life. She then knew why his more physically imposing friends held him in high regards. Next had been Claudia, a blond, inquisitive young woman who was so beautiful that Cammy had felt a surprising and unusual spasm of jealousy. She would never be that beautiful, she knew. And until then, she didn't think she cared. But the good-willed personality of the girl had offset that unease quickly.
And then there had been Alex. Huge, heavily muscled, blond-haired Alex, who seemed to spend a third of his time training himself, another third mooning over Claudia and third - and, to Jeremy, the most annoying - joking and teasing. A fighter as well, with a bright spirit.
She envied her partner for having had people like these with him so long. She never did.
They were within sight of the house when she made her declaration.
"They're coming tonight." she said as neutrally as she could.
"I agree." stated Jeremy solemnly. That did it. She could feel Alex's impatience with them both long before he spoke.
"Okay, now this is becoming more than its share of ridiculous!" he growled. "How do you guys know that. Can't be military training. You're not ninjas or anything!"
The brown-haired SCD smiled widely as he stopped in just next to the front door of the two-storied house. "No Al, that we're not. But the MI6 is very good in training people in detecting stealthty people. And the people watching the house are aren't that professional."
"If the shifts are what I think they are, we're talking about over twenty people ready to come at us tonight - and I know its tonight." she said.
Alex looked at them both, stunned. "Twenty goons...that,s a lot of money."
"The guy that hired them has money to spare." stated the smaller man darkly. "That means that during the day we find a way to get Claudia to pick up Samantha and especially Mary Ann. We don't want those three in any kind of danger."
The huge man nodded vigorously. "Got ya there."
Nodding back, Jeremy opened the door and then dumped his bags on the floor. He leveled his gaze at Cammy. "Drop yours too. We need to talk." She blinked at the grim seriousness in his voice for a second, then proceeded to do just that, her head ringing with curiosity. The huge man coughed, rapidly excusing himself and assuring he'd get their things to the kitchen. He then disappeared as if someone was drowning in that very room. Left alone, Jeremy pointed to a more secluded spot with his head, nearer the trees. She nodded and moved off with him to that spot.
He went to the heart of the matter quickly, without preamble. "Mary Ann told me about last night."
She sighed, knowing what lay ahead. His next sentence surprised her not one bit.
"How long have you been having nightmares again?" and his tone was dead serious.
It was inevitable that he would learn of the recurring nightmares. Ever since Cindy's rather unhelpful proclamation, her sleep had been nightmarish. Memories locked away, that she never wanted to contemplate again were surfacing again, manifesting themselves in her sleep. She never could really grasp everything that she saw and felt in those dreams, but she knew the nightmares were made up of the beatings and the abuse she had been subjected to when Shadowlaw had captured her, the pain of having her mind put behind a seemingly unbreakable wall and, worst then everything, the sights of herself doing exactly what Bison told her too, without a hint of complaint, whether it was killing someone or sleeping with the bastard or doing anything else that came to his tyrannical, twisted mind. She always woke up dazed, frightened, with a feeling of uncleaness that she couldn't totally shake
She had thought that her nighmares didn't show that much outwardly, that no one really could tell that she was suffering in her sleep. That was until Mary Ann had shaken her awake, concerned. The little girl's room had been the place the Storm family had put her bed - she had no wish to sleep in the same room as Jeremy not because she feared him, but because of what his reactions to the nightmares would have been. But sleeping in the same room as a child - who had only a very vague concept of privacy - had been just as worse, it seems.
She couldn't help but stating something defensively. "I told her that it was alright." she said, realizing how ridiculous she sounded. He didn't seem to care a wit right now, however.
"You told her so and she told me what you told her." he shot back. "Did you think she wouldn't? I took care of her before I went away: I baby-sitted her, took her to the park, bought her candy. We always told each other everything. Its normal that she would tell me." he took a deep breath. "We're getting off-track. How long have you been having these nightmares and how long were you goin to wait before telling me or at least Joan?"
"I can handle myself. I did survive Shadowlaw..."
"With OUR help! Joan was very helpful with you, as was I, and Giorgio and Wolfman and others in the MI6 and SCD." he gave her a disappointed look. "I thought you trusted us."
The last comment was harsh to her ears, but it had a ring to it that made her pause. DID she trust the SCD? She was suddenly quite uncertain of that. She liked them, she realized that, and she trusted them...to an extent. But she didn't think that she could confide herself to any of them, not even to him. Not now, not yet.
"You can't judge me. You didn't...you didn't know how it was like." she said.
He nodded gravely. "That's true. Then talk to someone who CAN! Julia told me of someone she knew, someone who knew Bison. She's a psychic, too..."
"I know!" she cut off harshly, then lowered her tone. "But I can't trust that person, this Rose. She's the kind of person who did this to me."
He frowned. "But she's not that KIND of person. You should see her. Trust me on this."
"I can't." she said firmly. But,oh, I WANT to. But he never heard her unspoken words, never felt them, and thus stiffened in rejection. She could have wept for that.
"Then you have a problem." he retorted, turning away and leaving her to her thoughs.
She remained near the trees for a long moment afterwards, lost in her own musings.
* * * * * * * * * *
At the same time...
"And the cargo of weapons has been sent to the extremist faction in Sligo upon receiving the thirty million pounds as per your orders, milord."
Kale sipped his liquor inside his meeting room, only half intent upon the day-to-day running of his little territory and all that went on inside it. He would much rather be doing something else: reading books, torturing some jock, kicking a dog, anything with some kind of fun in it. But even the Lords of the Circle had some work they could not escape. This litany was one of them.
"Then there is the matter of Dublin, the last six terrorist attacks on civil propriety have been graded a marginal success. Ah, Elder Hirolk has sent a message to you."
He raised his eyebrows. Elders rarely took the time to write messages. "Hirolk. What does that old fart want with me?" he demanded.
The acolyte frowned upon the rude way a High Master had described an Elder, but knew better than to argue with Kale. A bright boy. Wouldn't go far but would definitely stay alive. "Well, the Elder tells that..."
"...That you will leave this room at once." growled a voice.
Kale started at the interruption, while the acolyte looked toward the door and quite blanched on the spot upon understanding what he was seeing. The Lord of Limerick swiveled his chair to face it idly, and couldn't help but recoil slightly at what he saw. In the doorway stood Everick, all in black as usual. He seemed exactly the same as he had been three days ago, except for his face. Where there had once been indifference, there now was controlled wrath. A wrath that gave even people like Kale second thoughts about crossing this man. The Acolyte seem well ready to faint here and now. No blame there. He would do it himself if his pride allowed it.
But it wouldn't allow it. So he tossed the rest of his drink down and stood to meet his old friend. He gestured for the Acolyte to go, something he did with great relief, skidding around the motionless Everick and then barelling down the corridor at full speed. The two men stayed standing, staring at one another. For once, Kale did not find any fun in the situation, not one bit.
Finally, after the silence had gone beyond uncomfortable, he coughed. "Well...haven't seen you for a while. Been busy? Is it done?"
A slow nod. "It is."
Kale sighed and reached for the decanter, intent of pouring himself a calming dose of Porto. "Good work, as usual. Now that this is settled, let me offer you something do drink s toast to Cindy Herman, the only person to ever escape ther Limerick Lair."
"No."
Kale stopped at the tone, unsurprised somehow but wary all the same. The tone was harsh, filled with menace. The tone of someone who had been pushed too far too fast, and who stood on the bring. It was a very dangerous tone and, to Kale, it seemed deadly, for never had he heard Everick speak such. He fixed his old friend with a stare that was meant to be indifferent, but remained nervous nevertheless.
"I've been by my own for two days now, thinking. I know you wanted nothing of Storm's sister, I know the only reasons you did what you did was to kill Cindy and demoralize an enemy organization. I know your reasons, your official ones and your real ones. And I've got only one question now..."
Before Kale could react, put up a shield, put up a spell or any kind of defense, Everick lunged to him, grabbed him by the throat and held him up by one arm. He helplessly dangled from the unbreakable grip the dark-clothed man had on him.
"How could you order her death?" he hissed.
"You accepted...the...plan...yourself." Kale gasped, knowing it was better not to struggle right now. Not the answer he should have given, for the pressure incresed. He coughed.
"I accepted, " Everick said through clenched teeth. "Because I knew the only person who would treat her with the dignity she deserved was I. And at that time, I thought I could do it easily what a fool I was."
"Had-d...cough... had t-t-to be d-d-d-done..." was the weezy reply.
"Damn you!" Everick cried, and he let go then, turning his back on Kale as the man fell down on his knees and retched. He made for the door without a backward glance. Only just before he left did he speak.
"I am going to rest at my private chambers. Until I walk out of it I want no interruption. I will kill anyone who interrupts me during the next few days." With that ultimatum, he walked out.
Kale lay on his knees for a long time, regaining his strength, when he did, he puahed himself upo with a groan, walking to the decanter unsteadily. Pensively, carefully, he opened it and poured himself another drink. He slowly lifted it up, but for a long time he only stayed like that, the words he had wanted to say.
Then it came to him. He knew what toast to make.
"To Cindy Herman, a very peculiar woman that few will really ever understand. To the woman who escaped death to return to find it again. And mostly, to the only woman..." he stopped, smiled slightly, but for once, without malice "to the only woman Everick will ever grieve for."
And he drank.
* * * * * * * * * *
That evening...
Seventeen guys attacked the house that evening. They came silently upon the the silent and dark place, certain that they had not been seen. And why not? After all, no one had acted in such a way that meant they had been discovered. No, these people were ready to fight in a few days only, not tonight.
They did not know how wrong they were. The four people remaining inside the house had been waiting for them. Eagerly. No one was surprised when they heard some sound outside. They shut the lights out, decided on how to split, and engaged the throng. They were quite surprised when four people - three young and one older - attacked them with grim determination. But then who wouldn't have been?
Mattew would have been.
Seventeen against four were bad odds, but they weren't impossible to deal with. The retired Black Panther took on the tree nearest him, taking full advantage of the surprise their charge had induced. He rushed low, his elbow in front of him, and dodged the clumsy, startled swings of his attacker. His elbow went full force into the man's abdomen, a shot backed by pounds upon pounds of strength. The air went out of the man, and before the other two had gathered their wits and rushed him, he uppercuted the man from below, using the momentum to roll back ward and execute a backflip, timing his arrival so that his defense would cover any possible attack.
Not bad for a retired old guy, he though a little cynically. He then pushed out such thought from his mind as the two goons decided it would be better to attack at once. A commendable strategy, but one which needed skill to accomplish. They did not have that skill. He could see it plainly. These were hired thugs with poor hand-to-hand abilities. Weaklings.
The two men were as tall as he, and more muscled. That gave them confidence, the fools. Mattew had fought skilled midgets before, and knew now that size meant little compared to skill.
He let them come close, preparing his defense, letting them think he thought them a danger. They were young. No more than eighteen. Children. Children who wanted to tyake away his little girl. That thought fueled him with energy. He attacked.
He dodged a kick catching the leg and thrusting it back, making the fool lose his equilibrium. One down. He took a hit from that corner, but he partially deflected it with his forarm. Bidding the ringing gone, he pressed on, putting in three quick kicks to the ribs, one of which told enought for him to get in closer quarters. He then hit the man with his strongest punch, right in the face, without shame. The man cried out in pain as his nose erupted into a crimson fountain. He growled and swung at the older Storm, who expertly melted out of the way, grabbed the arm, pulled and pivoted and threw him across the lawn. Nearby houses were alight by then, neighbours certainly calling the police. Good. They won't be of any use, but good. As the goon tried to stand up, his eyes unfocused, Mattew kicked him right in the face. He crumpled and did not get up. He then felt lacerating pain throught his back., The other one! He had forgotten that one. He growled and lashed out with a combo of punches and kicks, not caring the amount of damage he made. The grunt tried to stand up to it, but his arms started to tremble soon, and he breathed heavily.
Mattew found he was pretty much doing the same. He felt a bit shamed. I'm getting old huh? He then promptly kicked the man aside, did a backkick that caught in the ribs - oh, terrific sound bones cracking - and followed by no less than half a dozen punches at the very same ribs. By the time he was finished, the man was doubled over, gasping in pain, and Mattew finished him by a blow to his temple. Huffing and puffing, he then looked to see how the others were doing.
"CANNON SPIKE!"
He heard that in time to see one goon fly ten feet in the hair, before crashing to the ground motionless, with Cammy coming down more gracefully. That had be a special attac, no doubt. And a pretty good one. She had been fighting four opponents, but two were already down nearby and the little feat had taken care of a third. She was in no danger. Neither was Alex, who was gleefully trashing two men, another two groaning on the ground. His strength and the intelligence with which he used it made him a powerhouse.
Jeremy was the one who seemed to have trouble. He fought not four men, but six. Three were down, but the men were numerous enough to surround him still, battering away at his defense. He was tiring, trhat was clear by the way he held himself. As Mattew watched, one man pressed the attack. The young fighter fought back easily, but failed to see that another was coming behind him, a large log in his hand, ready to strike.
Mattew started to rush to his aid, warning him of the danger, when something happened. The man about to strike with the log stiffened, his hand going to his shoulder, in pain. He turned around to as if someone had hit him. That's when a shadowy form moved, in front of him. The man gave muffled cry, then was flung backward.
"FLARE TALON!"
The attack was shouted, but not by Jeremy, who was finishing his opponent with powerful combos of quick punches, hooks and uppercuts. The voice was much older than Jeremy. It was a voice Mattew had none ever since he was a toddler. The chi flowed toward the sole man of the trio who was still standing, overtaking him and pushing him nearly forty feet away with incredible, blazing force. There was the scent of scorched meat. The man did not rise again.
Within moments, it was over for both Cammy and Alex as well. After asking them both if they were all right, he jogged to the spot where Jeremy was already in deep conversation with the two that had helped him.
"....To help me?" he was exclaiming. "Well, that's sure nice of the Shinobi! There's something we were planning to do, Cammy and I, about Circle activity in Canada. You'd certainly be welcome!"
"I thank you." said a young voice seriously. It was then Mattew saw, besides his own father, a young asian woman. Striking for her obvious young age, she had the outlook and the aura of a full-fledged warrior. He started as the pieces started to come together and he recognized something in the young woman's face.
"Excuse me, father..." all three turned to him "But this young woman, she looks like..."
"Indeed, son. This is Ibuki, Geki's grand-daughter. Ibuki, this is my son Mattew, Sensei of a dojo and in his youth a great warrior."
Ibuki bowed. "It is an honour to meet you, sir." He surprised her, he supposed, when he bowed back.
"No. It is even more of an honour to meet the descendant of Geki." he smiled. Slowly, she smiled back.
"You fighters are weird." stated Nathan, limping out of the shadows, giving Ibuki a cold look. Sirens were heard in the distance. "Ah, the cavalry. For what its worth."
It was then that a phone rang. Everyone stared about in confusion - they were standing in the middle of a grassy field, after all - when Jeremy gave an exclamation and fished inside the pockets of his pants. He soon got a small cellphone out. Alex tapped the grey-eyed man on the shoulder lightly. "Jer."
"Yeah?"
"You had that all the time?"
"Huh-huh."
"Even when fighting?"
Jeremy smiled. "Looks that way!"
"How come you didn't lose it?"
"Luck?" he ventured as he opened the phone. Alex raised his hands up in surrender and grunted, looking if any of the goons were getting up. None were. By the time they stirred, the police would be there. "Hello? Micheal? What are you...yeah, took care of them...we... Limerick? Yeah, we...." his voice caught, his grip on the phone tightening. "W-w-what? Cindy... she...she WHAT? Tell me what happened!" the last bit had a point of grief to it. Mattew's stomach clenched: this wasn't good news. His suspicions were confirmed as Jeremy's eyes closed and he gave a few shivers. "U-understood. Cammy? Yeah...Cammy!" he called, handing her the phone. The sirens were getting louder, nearer, but they all were looking at Jeremy now. He opened his eyes - red-rimmed, grieving eyes, and gave an equally grieving smile.
"They never were after Mary Ann." he said softly "They wanted Cammy and I out of the way...to take out Cindy."
"They succeeded?" asked Ibuki, keeping her own voice soft. He nodded sadly. James put a sympathetic hand on his grandson's shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Jeremy."
"Me too, grandpa. Me too." his gaze became even more sad. "But its nothing compared to the grief another is feeling right now."
* * * * * * * * * *
At the same time...
He was being closely watched by his friends and colleagues, but Mark Culhen didn't care one iota. Sitting in his usual chair he kept looking at the small memo that Cindy had sent him, only to him. Giorgio Castillo looked towards his old friend, and found him aged, drained. Broken. He was clutching the note as if he could draw some explanation from it.
But explanations never come after a tragedy. He had found that out when Vega had taken his brother and his brother's family out. Now Mark was finding that out for himself.
Dio, what a cruel world you left us in.
Beside him, Julia came up. The strain in their relationship had slackened upon receiving the terrible news of Cindy's death. Cindy. So goofy, yet, it seemed, so mysterious. He would miss her dearly. They all would. And Mark as well. Mark in particular.
The scottish stood up slowly, almost painfully, and turned around. There was a bleak look to him. The spike, the joviality that had been his trademark, all gone it was. All that remained was a thin face with dark, empty eyes and slumped shoulders that showed that the will had left. He started walking towards the exit, only pausing next to Julia and Giorgio, not sparing them a look.
"Never had the guts to tell her...anything." he said, voice void of feelings. "Now I never shall." He resumed his walk somberly.
Julia took a step in his direction, most probably to offer some bit of comfort, but Giorgio caught her by the arm, firmly. She looked back at him, confused at his interruption and angry that he would impede her.
"Let him grieve right now." he said "He's strong, nina. He'll come to us when he needs us. We'll be there when he does." he let go of her arm. Hesitating, she finally nodded, and both of them looked at the retreating back of their friend comrade, who was still clutching the note that the woman he had always loved secretely had given her.
"Yes, for now, let him grieve."
______________________________________________________________
Chapter 12 is over! Hoped you guys liked it! I think that this fic really is in the angst category, huh? Well, next chapter, get ready, as Jeremy's little band takes on the Circle in Canada.
I crave FEEDBACK and IDEAS, as always!
See ya soon!
Jeremy
