The infirmary is the farthest area of the second floor from both the elevators and the staircase. The walk to get off this floor is long, and painful. I have to pass through the cube farm -1-, and force myself to concentrate on just putting one foot in front of the other.
Again, my nerves decide to remind me that I've abused them, and pain shoots up my right leg, the pulse of my blood suddenly painful. I stumble into one of the sections of temporary wall units, and in less than a minute, heads have popped up everywhere. I frown a little and force myself upright. I start walking again, and I can hear the whispers. The prairie dogging -2- has begun.
I'm surprised they didn't all look up the minute I walked into the wing of bad fluorescent lighting and cage-sized cubicles. I make it to the elevator, and I can feel eyes on my back. I press the button to bring the car down to take me up to my own floor.
I've never felt so small before. I hate this.
I'm very glad that the field operatives are at least friendly to each other when someone gets hurt. There isn't the necessity of all this useless gossiping when everyone has real work to do.
Not that the grunt file clerks don't, but the work they do makes it much easier to get bored, and bored people look for whatever source of entertainment they can find.
I guess today it's me.
I press the button again.
"You should all just shut up already!" a clear voice rings out.
I don't dare look back over my shoulder, but I want to know who the sensible person is, and why the woman's voice sounds so familiar.
The not-quite-whispering continues. I can hear someone, close by, commenting on the skirt I have on, and someone else points out that my right leg looks like a tomato.
"Can it, would you?"
Courageous woman. I should at least have the guts to turn around and offer her a grateful smile. I glance over my shoulder, and find that the speaker is standing up on her desk, glaring at her coworkers.
"You should all be ashamed of yourselves," she has short black hair in a boy's haircut, and pale skin. "Sally's a good operative, she doesn't deserve all these stupid rumors you're starting about her."
"Jeez, Schbeiker," a man off to our right says, "can't we have any fun?"
"Hilde?" I ask, incredulously.
She half-turns towards me, and smiles a little to accompany her sympathetic wink. "Go on and get in your elevator, Sally, let me handle this."
I start to speak, but behind me the elevator makes it's mechanical chime and the doors open. I guess she's got things under control… I turn and hobble my way into the elevator, glad to find it empty. The doors close on Hilde's parting words, "You want to make something of that comment, George?"
I didn't know Hilde worked here. Last I heard, she and Duo had a scrap yard on L2. Something must've happened that I don't know about, because she'd never have left it if Duo were still working there. From time to time she even used to help us out on missions in the area, since she had the right kind of contacts to know things pertinent to our investigations.
And if she didn't, then Duo always did. I haven't seen his face since the shuttle that took he, Trowa, and I back to earth from X-18999. Just before Earth we all parted ways, the two pilots hopping onto one of the smaller transports on the shuttle to go and meet up with Quatre at the rendezvous point to pick up their Gundams. But usually when I need information, I find an email or a short burst of transmission that's unmistakably Duo-esk.
Neither Wufei nor Trowa ever talk about where Duo is now. The most I ever hear about any of the non-Preventer ex-Pilots from the two that I work with was on Sunday when Wufei said that he had spent part of his day with Heero. But Wufei didn't say a word about what Heero was up to, or how he was.
Quatre's the one that it's easy to keep track of. Winner Corp is still the biggest company in ESUN, and after the public unrest on the general topic of the Gundams, Quatre resurfaced as the owner and president of the company. Not that the company is a dictatorship, with twenty-nine sisters sharing stock, and at least fifteen on the Board of Directors, I'm sure Quatre's become quite the diplomatic acrobat when it comes to dealing with the business.
I try not to think about the space of the elevator, the smell of cleaning solution is strong in the closed space, and the floor, as I shift my wait, is still a little slick, meaning the must have only recently gotten the coffee cleaned up. The ventilation hasn't lowered the concentration of chemicals in the air to the point where many people should be in the elevator at once yet. I probably shouldn't be in here myself, come to think of it.
I don't really care.
I must be really distracted, because the elevator ride up to the tenth floor doesn't take nearly as long as it did yesterday. The doors open, and I step out, hobbling down to my office and fumbling with my keys. I glance at my watch as I push the door open, and see that it's just about eleven.
I'll take lunch after two, to make up the hours I missed this morning, I guess.
My briefcase is seated on the middle of my desk, and I just now remember that I didn't carry it. There seems to be a note next resting against it.
I'm wary of that. I don't want any more notes, no more letters, I'd like to curl up into a ball and forget that this morning ever happened. So long as I never have to see another paper envelope with my name on it.
I cross to my desk and gingerly sit down. The envelope has my name in printed letters that look almost like they're typed. I take a deep breath and open the envelope.
It's from Une's secretary. I smile a little. Only my boss would bother to have her secretary type out a short get well soon note, along with varied instructions on how I shouldn't come to work tomorrow if I don't feel up to it, and I'm allowed to go home this afternoon to get some rest.
I'd rather not, thanks, Missy. Missy put a smiley face on the bottom with a personally scrawled addition that everyone hopes that I feel better.
As though they know that the reason I spilled the scalding hot coffee on myself was because my father is dying somewhere in China. I may not be on speaking terms with the man, but the last thing I want is for him to die without me being there. Samuel won't make it, of course… but Lin might be there.
If he's forgiven father, of course.
Samuel died during the Eve Wars, after I quit the Alliance. My father was always very proud of his son's decision to join the Alliance, more proud of Samuel's decision to join the military than with mine, though he accepted that I enlisted after a while. Part of the reason I quit the Alliance was because of the needless death of my brother Samuel. My father refused to believe that was why I was quitting the Alliance, he thought I was being childish and stupid.
Lin argued with father about it, and the two of them had a falling out. Lin moved away from home shortly after that, despite mother's protesting. She was already getting sick, then. I went home to visit her, shortly after meeting Wufei for the first time, and she smiled and told me that her strength had followed Samuel.
She was glad to see me, though, I can remember it well. There was something she said that struck a chord within me.
*
"Sai Lei," she hated that people shortened my name. She had taken great pains to pick it out for me before I was born, and she called 'Sally' a cheap bastardization.
"It's good to see you again, mother," I responded.
"I was almost worried that you weren't coming home…"
"I'm sorry for his loss." I was, but Samuel was never my favorite brother. Lin and I were always closer than Samuel and I were. The problem with Samuel was that he and I tried to hard to disobey our father. Though he could speak all those languages, and read them as well, Samuel never spoke Chinese around my father. He wouldn't use it in the house if our father was due home, or even after he'd gone to bed.
Somehow, Samuel was still father's favorite.
Lin should have been, he was very quiet, and very studious. A good son, according to custom. Whenever father or mother got sick, he was right there to take care of them, calling a doctor if it got to serious, taking time off from school to go and work.
"There's something in your eyes," my mother said, cutting off my thoughts. "What's made you so different, child?"
I couldn't understand how she would know what was going on with my life, or that I had started running into the gundam pilots. After meeting Heero, I had been staggered, after meeting Wufei, I had been calmed. The other rebels said that they noticed it, after he left. The fact, one of them said, that I was going home to visit my parents, meant that 'that kid' had affected me more than either I was willing to admit, or more than I knew myself.
"My new job," it was one of the only lies I ever told my mother, and from the look she gave me in response, her blue eyes narrowed slightly, one blond eyebrow arched finely, I knew she didn't believe me. "I'm working at a hospital…"
"Sai Lei, you shouldn't tell such lies," my mother snapped. She sounded very much like my father at that moment. As a child, he could see right through me, and it scared me. He said that if I worked very hard, one day I might be able to do the same, but I was so angry each time that he caught me lying to him that I never bothered to try. It scared me that he could see through me so easily. It made me feel vulnerable, and naked, whenever he was around.
"How-"
"No hospital would make you smell like gunpowder," she said quietly. I started for a minute, and then laughed, I knew she had caught me, just as surely as my father always used to. She smiled a little, and I sat down and poured tea for the two of us.
There was a long, comfortable silence in the small, uncomfortable living room. My father was at work, thankfully, he still refused to admit that he had as disobedient a daughter as me, and that I had quit the Alliance. I think, somehow, he always blamed me for the mistake that Heero made because of Treize's trick, just like he thought that it was my fault Samuel died.
As though I somehow could've stopped either attack.
"Tell me about him," my mother said softly, eyes trained carefully on her teacup.
I've only met my grandmother, my mother's mother, once, but from the stories the old woman told me, when I was sixteen, always gave me the impression that my mother, with her long, wavy blond hair, was a bit of a wild woman before she married my father. My grandmother told me that my father had a very calming affect on my mother. I noticed, at that instant, that it was true. Somehow my father had made my mother into a damn good approximation of a traditional Chinese woman, for all the fact that she was American.
*
There's a knock on my door. I glance up from the note, and tip my briefcase over on it's side before calling for whoever it is to come in. The doorknob turns and I glance at my watch.
Lunchtime, already?
"Sorry to intrude on you, Sally…"
Oh no, I take a deep breath. It's Jean.
I look up to see his figure framed by my doorway, but blink a few times, trying to tell if there really is someone behind him. There is.
Wufei.
He whispers something that only Jean can hear, and Jean gets a wincing expression on his face, before smiling and stepping aside. Wufei winks at me as he closes the door in Jean's face.
"What was that all about?"
"Jean's a nice man, but he's going to have to learn a thing or two about fidelity." Wufei crosses to look out my window, running the horizontal blinds so that they're open instead of blocking light, and stares out at the city.
"You say that pretty casually. Mean anything specific by it?"
Wufei glances at me from the corner of his eye and remains silent. I shrug and set my briefcase on the floor, leaning back in my chair a little to stare at the ceiling.
"How are you feeling?"
"All right, I guess."
"You guess?" he turns to face me, leaning one shoulder against the window frame, folding his arms low in front of him. "You look tired."
"Maybe I am," I say quietly, stretching my neck out, and letting my hair fall over the back of the chair. "What about you?"
"I'm fine," his voice is tight. I've come to realize that means there's something he isn't saying. He keeps speaking, however, not giving me the chance to corner him on it. "Trowa and I leave in the morning."
"I know," I say, hoping to keep the sigh out of my voice. I… I'm really going to miss him, I realize for the first time.
"Don't hesitate to call us if you need backup," he adds, eyes tracing the profile my position gives him. "I don't want…"
I sit up straight and look at the door. "Have you had lunch yet?"
"After another free meal?" he asks, but in his voice, I can see the same smile that's always there as he tips the waiter.
"No," I say, pushing my chair carefully back from the desk. "But last I checked, you usually only work half a day before you leave on assignment." I stand up and turn to face him, holding up the re-folded letter. "I'm allowed to leave if I don't feel well."
His face registers confusion, and I smile a little, licking my lips.
"I don't feel well, to tell you the truth. I feel rotten. I'm hungry, I'm feverish, and I don't want to be here right now." I reach for my jacket, and he stands up, away from the wall, and steps over to help me put it on.
His hands linger on my shoulders, and he asks quietly, "You want me to take you home?"
I turn my eyes away from him, towards the door, and shake my head. "No. I'm not up to being alone right now," I say in a quiet tone of voice. "I-"
"I understand," he says, cutting me off. "Still got your gloves?"
"Yeah, why?"
He smirks a little and opens my door again. I step out, and he follows, waiting on me to lock the door before leading be down the hallway, half a step in front of me.
"I didn't bring my car today."
"It's fine," I mutter, glancing around and feeling guilty. I don't do this sort of thing. I don't just pick up and walk away from work without my briefcase, without clocking out… well I never clocked in today, but still. "We can get a cab."
"I'm not leaving it here while I'm away," he says, we round the corner and manage to catch the elevator just as Trowa's stepping in. He's got his briefcase in hand, and his jacket on too.
I knew Wufei had a tendency to not stay the whole day before a mission, but I never noticed that Trowa took half the day before off as well. Wufei nods to his partner amidst the dense elevator, and with the faint pressure of his hand on the small of my back, he guides me to the back corner of the elevator, and stands half a foot back from where I'm standing, to give me room.
I can smell his scent again, calming, reassuring. If I close my eyes it smells like the dojo where Lin had kung fu lessons when I was young. I would have to wait outside, of course, because it was between home and school, for me, but every time he came out the sliding door would open and I could smell that same scent. Lin was a good older brother, and we got along well. What little I know of Cantonese, he taught me. What little I care for our Chinese heritage is because of him.
Wufei reminds me of him, a little. But there's something in Wufei's eyes… in his spirit, that was always missing in Lin's. I close my eyes and recline my head in the corner of the elevator, waiting for the slow trip down to be over, and for whatever Wufei was trying to explain to me to make sense.
At the lobby, the elevator empties out, except for the two of us. I start to get out, and he shakes his head, one hand stopping me by resting on my forearm gently.
With a shiver I huddle back into the elevator, and wait some more.
He steps out on the garage level, and I follow.
That's when I see it.
No, he didn't bring his car…
He brought his motorcycle.
I pause.
"What's wrong?" his voice is gentle, he's taking out a helmet for me.
I glance down at myself, and then back at his motorcycle.
"Sally?"
"Fei… I'm wearing a skirt." He blinks, and looks down at my lower half, possibly for the first time since he walked into my office fifteen minutes ago. It's reassuring that he doesn't spend so much time staring at me that he already thought about the logistics of me on his motorcycle.
"It's kind of cold to be wearing that, Sally," he comments, offering me the helmet in his hands. "Your leg looks a lot better."
I glance down, and nod, taking the helmet. "You know I'm going to freeze on that thing."
"Aren't your uniform pants dry yet?"
"Jerry wants me to leave my burn open to the air so that it doesn't blister too badly." I glance down at the helmet, and see my reflection in it. I look downtrodden, and sad. It makes me blink. I look up at Wufei and find his eyes on me. He reaches up and puts a hand on my shoulder. "I guess I can call a cab," I say, offering him back the helmet.
He shakes his head. Somewhere else in the garage, a car starts up and pulls up to the exit and out into the street. I turn my head to look towards it, and Wufei says, "Nonsense, it's not too far to my apartment anyway."
"It's far to mine."
"When you're ready to go home, we'll take my car," he says, removing his hand from my shoulder and turning back to the motorcycle to collect his own helmet. He throws one leg over and turns the key, looking at me expectantly through the slightly tinted shield of the helmet.
I put the helmet on and strap it under my chin properly. He lowers the bike from it's kickstand and turns it around, backing up so that he's next to me again. I zip my jacket up to my chin and turn the collar up before sitting down on the back of the seat of his motorcycle. It's odd, trying to get situated, but he doesn't go forward at all until I'm balanced and have my hands on his waist.
"You're probably going to want to hold on tighter than that," his muffled voice says from under the helmet. "We'll be able to keep each other warm better if you do."
Logic. Always the blasted logic.
Something it's useless to argue with.
I loop my arms tighter around him and lean up against his back, putting the side of my head against the dip between his shoulder blades. He revs the motorcycle once, and pulls forward experimentally.
Once he's sure that I won't fall off, he pulls up the slight incline and turns out onto the street. Traffic isn't bad, but it isn't good either. There are cars sitting basically stationary in the street, moving, at most, five to ten miles an hour. The joy of a motorcycle is that rush hour traffic doesn't really affect you. Carefully, with a skill that seems reminiscent of piloting a mobile suit, Wufei weaves us in and out of the line of traffic.
We don't stop until we hit a red light. Around us, the car engines fill the air with exhaust and the engines make a pleasant rumble in the air. The buildings tower around us, like the arms of some fallen giant reaching up to draw circles in the overcast sky. I don't really feel like I'm outdoors. It's too enveloping. I'm used to outdoors feeling free and open, not closed off and suffocating.
Through the myriad of scents, mystically it seems, I pick up the smell of his jacket, so close to my face through the helmet. My arms are latched one over the other around his abdomen, and I feel the tension in his muscles as he maintains a strict posture, both to hold the bike on course and to help me stay on.
I find I'm no longer cold.
*
-1- "cube farm" - an office full of cubicles. In this instance, a floor full.
-2- "prairie dogging" - When someone yells or drops something loudly in a cube farm and everyone's heads pop up over the walls to see what's going on.
Both this chapter's terms come from a funny
forward about office terminology I got a few years ago and kept for some reason.