The Perfect Soldier
Chapter 12: Violet Eyes
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He should have been glad to see her go.
And he was.
He should have been relieved, vindicated.
Wufei Chang told himself that this was the case as well.
So why was he dwelling on that final image of her?
His mind forced upon him the memory of her eyes, in pain, in rage, in defiance—always the defiance. The tension in her slim, strong shoulders. The way her dark hair had shone auburn in the dimming sunlight. In that final moment before she had turned away from him, she had been enraged, yet silent, calm, confident. Beautiful.
His hands fisted and he growled at the colony's battered cityscape. The cityscape did not flinch under the force of Wufei's aggression. Ruthlessly, he forced the tension and unease from his face, from his neck, until it was a tight, poisoned ball in his gut.
He hated this emotion; it made him weak, useless.
He'd only felt this way once before, when the warm body he'd held close had shuddered with its last heartbeat; when Nataku herself had become mortal with a final breath.
Wufei forced himself to take a deep breath, but it didn't calm him. Instead it fed the fire he'd banked deep within. The uselessness. The rage at his own weakness.
Why was he still plagued by this? Hadn't he become stronger?
He thought of Meiran. He thought of Taki. In his mind, they became one, and he understood at last; he'd failed all over again.
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"Maybe we should take him some cookies."
Duo glanced up sharply, possession stamped on his features. "Not a chance, Quatre. These are my Oreos. And he was a total jerk today. There is no way I'm going to share my chocolate with... with that."
Quatre's gaze didn't waver from the fire escape; Wufei had secluded himself on the roof shortly after Taki had gathered her things and walked out. Quatre was concerned; the thunderous expression on the other pilot's face was more than unusual; it was unprecedented. Slowly, the venom in Duo's words called Quatre back to the card game they'd been struggling through for the last hour. Quatre's large, aqua eyes studied Duo.
It was easy to see that the other man was angry. Usually, Duo barely glanced at his cards and shuffled them often. Tonight, however, he stared at his cards with an intensity that would cause spontaneous combustion in a matter of minutes and his hands were still, clutching the cards, even bending them a bit. Quatre received the message loud and clear.
After a minute of awkward silence, Quatre said, "You like her."
It took Duo a minute to comprehend what his card opponent had suggested. Surprise made his jaw slacken. "Huh?"
Quatre was patient. "Taki. You like her, don't you?"
Duo had recovered. "I respect her," he grudgingly admitted. A slow smile started across his face. "I have to. She stole Wufei's bike not once, but twice. That kind of achievement ought to be rewarded." He frowned as his thoughts returned to Wufei's most recent activities. "But Wufei's such a self-righteous..." Duo sighed. "He's skeptical. Sure. All of us are. So much has happened these past few days that it feels like old times, you know? But he didn't have to treat her that way. She's an orphan, like me. And, well, deep down, all of us want to know if we're a part of something. If we belong someplace."
There was long, thoughtful pause.
"Argh! Listen to me! I'm letting that idiot ruin my evening. So, it's your turn, right, Q?"
Quatre blinked. "I... I don't remember."
For a moment, they simply looked at each other.
Duo threw his cards down and stood up. "Me either," he admitted with disgust. It was obvious that neither he nor Quatre would be able to concentrate on strategy, at least until they'd had a snack. Duo took stock of his food supply. "The milk's almost gone," he thought out loud. Obviously, he would have to rectify that; a person can't eat Oreos without milk. He said, "Com'on, Quatre."
"Where are we going?"
"To Yokaze's kitchen."
"What for?"
"For food, what else? I'm starving. And I'm going to need you to help me carry this stuff."
With no small amount of reservation, Quatre followed. Maybe he'd be able to keep Duo from completely cleaning out her refrigerator. Maybe.
The downstairs was completely dark; Yokaze hadn't yet returned from The Red Eye. Confident that she wouldn't be returning for at least another hour and a half, Duo flipped on the kitchen light and considered where he should start. So many possibilities, so few arms to carry them. He briefly considered heading back upstairs to recruit Heero, but, in the end, simply opened the pantry and got to work.
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The window in the guest room was watched over by the artificial stars that dotted the colony's domed atmosphere. They gazed on in steady silence as the curtains parted and a small, heart-shaped face peeked into the gloom. The bandage was gone and the discoloration of the many bruises had faded to some extent. But determining the features of that face was still difficult due to the wild mass of honey-brown hair that insisted on obscuring as many details as possible. The tresses were alive with the single purpose of maintaining its mistress's anonymity.
On the other side of the glass, the young girl searched the darkness. She was bored. Hopelessly, undeniably bored. And all Yokaze had brought for her to do was read books about survival techniques in just about every clime imaginable. Bisho could take only so much.
She let the curtain fall back into place; she wouldn't be entertained by anything out there. Her violet gaze roved to the door. To say she was curious about the rest of Yokaze's digs was an understatement. For the past two days she'd kept herself cooped up in this room, taking her hostess's advice to avoid her other guests. But it was nearly midnight. Who would be up at this hour? Surely she could safely explore the place now.
Her mind set, she threw back the covers and gingerly arranged herself so that her long, skinny legs dangled over the side of the bed. She sat there for some time, catching her breath. Her bruised ribs still hurt like lousy sons of bitches. But she didn't let that stop her. Slowly, she stood and pulled off the nightgown that was beginning to smell like her. Ick. She needed something fresh.
Carefully, she moved to the wardrobe and examined the contents. After a long moment, she pulled out a pair of baggy sweats and a tank top. They weren't her preferred choice of outer wear, but they'd do.
Ten minutes later, she'd wrestled herself into the outfit. She was winded, sore, but twice as determined. After all this effort, like hell she was going to lay back down again.
She wrapped her slim hand around the door knob and hesitated. For days she'd feared that it was locked and feared that it wasn't. Was she trapped? If she wasn't, did that mean anyone could get in while she slept? She turned her wrist. The knob rotated in her grasp.
Well, that answered her question. She'd been a willing prisoner, then. And the other house guests had—as far as she could tell—behaved themselves and left her alone.
She'd never seen the rooms beyond the guest room. It opened up into a spacious living room that was pretty plain except for all the blankets and swords. She let go of the door and heard it snap shut behind her. Using the dim light that found its way through the front windows, Bisho drank in Yokaze's den. She had good taste. Bisho caressed a blanket and amended her thoughts. She had expensive taste. Automatically, she calculated the monetary value of the things around her. On the heals of those figures, Bisho wondered where Yokaze had gotten the money. Did she work? The single question opened up an endless void of others. There was so little Bisho actually knew about the woman who'd taken her in. In fact, all Bisho could say for sure was that there was no such thing as crossing Yokaze. It was impossible. If she told Bisho to sleep, Bisho slept. If she said "Eat," Bisho ate. It was weird. Bisho never intended to be cooperative, but Yokaze's timing had always been so damn accurate that—
A loud thump and a soft oath interrupted her. Her eyes focused on the kitchen door. Someone was down here. A man. That wasn't right. Yokaze had told her that her guests stayed upstairs at night. From ten until seven in the morning, it was just the two of them; Yokaze had promised. So, what was a guy doing in her kitchen after midnight? Bisho inched toward the door, straining to hear. She drew close enough to catch the concerned inquiry of a second man and the reply of first. Violet eyes narrowed. There were at least two of them. She was out numbered. If she were smart, she'd head back to her room and wedge a chair under the knob. But, on the other hand, did she really want to barricade herself in a room, looking like an invalid if these two came knocking? Better to be brazen now than have to bluff her ass off later.
She stormed into the kitchen.
She saw one of them immediately. A young, blond man was trying to balance several items in his arms. He looked away from the open refrigerator, blinking at the sudden interruption. The second one was half in and half out of the fridge, a long brown braid dangling down his back.
He said, "Is that you Heero? Get over here and give me a hand with this."
The blonde said, "Uh, Duo..."
"What?"
Bisho saw that she had them right where she wanted them. In a loud voice she demanded, "What the hell do you think you're doing in Yokaze's kitchen?"
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Duo's hands stopped in the act of shoving tuperware dishes out of his way to get at the chocolate cake he'd spied in the back of the shelf.
Someone else was in the kitchen. It wasn't Yokaze or Taki or Trowa or Wufei or Heero.
What an interesting development.
Interesting, not life-threatening. For the life of him, he didn't understand why Quatre had that horrified expression on his face. Duo shot him an irritated glare before leaning around the fridge door.
He saw the problem immediately.
A steady, insistent chant of denial started rolling through his skull.
Slowly, he stood up and regarded the skinny girl with the heart-shaped face, violet eyes, and long gold-brown tresses.
No. No, no, no, no—
"Duo," Quatre said, a little awed, "she looks just like you."
As if Quatre had pressed an electrode to Duo's brain, he instantly recalled his vain claim that no female, and certainly no sister of his, looked like him. Had it only been yesterday that he'd uttered that ignorant boast? It seemed as if his claim had purposefully conjured a female who made him a liar. He swallowed audibly. The intruder seemed no less amazed. The intruder. A female. Who looked like—
God... please... somebody... shoot me and put me out of my misery...
Quatre's voice filtered through his ears again, "Duo?"
With an effort, he recovered enough to level a glare Heero would be proud of at Quatre. "Oh, shut up."
"Who the hell are you?" Her voice was soft, shaking. She'd intended for it to be a shout, but it had come out as barely a whisper. She realized then how terrified she was of this man. This man who looked so much like her, who had the same violet eyes. No. It couldn't be. He couldn't be.
At that moment, Bisho's brain chose to recall Yokaze's promise. I want many things for you. You'll leave here with more than you arrived with.
Shit. Somebody please tell her that this wasn't what she thought it was.
She had to get out of here. Run. Who had Yokaze thought she was, forcing this on Bisho? She refused to cooperate with Yokaze's will on this one. No way. She turned to make a run for it and stumbled upon a familiar cobalt gaze.
"I see the two of you have met. Shall I make the introductions?"
Yokaze was blocking the door with a hard look in her eyes. Bisho, realizing she was trapped, spat, "Shit."
The corner of her hostess's mouth twitched. "Not in my sweats, you won't."
Bisho's eyes narrowed. She was not in the mood to deal with Yokaze's dry humor. She opened her mouth to say something she hoped would be as witty as Yokaze's rejoinder, but another voice cut across the kitchen.
"Tell me you didn't."
It was the man who had the violet eyes.
Yokaze actually grinned. "It seems, Mr. Maxwell, I did."
Duo Maxwell groaned and grumbled a few choice words to himself.
Reluctantly, Quatre suggested, "There's always the DNA test."
Both Bisho and Duo glared at him.
He said, "Sorry."
Silence descended, but Yokaze studied it carefully. Long moments passed before she saw it: the first spark of wonder, of speculation, of hope in two pairs of violet eyes. It was so tentative, so new. A single wrong word or wrong look and that hope would be crushed. It had to be preserved. At any cost.
She told Duo in her characteristic monotone, "For God's sake, don't call her Violet."
It was the right thing to say. Bisho's lips curled at the edges, mirroring Duo's. Identical violet eyes grinned at each other in shared humor.
It wasn't much, Yokaze knew. But beginnings never were. They were simply beginnings. The rest follows after.
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~End of Chapter 12~