Author's Notes: Oh my God... I can't believe how long it has taken me to get this together. I can only hope my muses get their shi-, er, STUFF together and help me turn out more than one chapter a MONTH! Argh. Thanks for sticking with me, folks! Appreciate it.

Warnings: Angst, language, original characters... (for this chapter anyway...)

Night Wind

Part I – See the Sunlight Fading... Fading...

Chapter Three: Shadows

Missions were easier than this, Heero grouses silently. He squints at the hand-drawn map Yokaze had emailed him and attempts to decipher the scattered scribbles. Lifting the larger road map from the passenger seat, he compares the two. And finds nothing similar with the exception of an ink spot that looks like it might read "Lisbon" on the far left.

With a long, quiet sigh, Heero allows the papers to slump into his lap as he leans his head back against the seat. For a minute, he indulges in emptying his mind of all thoughts and just breathes. But as much as he doesn't want to think about seeing Duo and Jaspien again, doesn't want speculate on how difficult it will be to explain why he'd left... he finds himself doing just that.

Heero shakes his head, soundlessly reminding himself not to think that far in advance. He turns back to the maps and pauses as something catches his attention. Yokaze's directions had landed at an odd angle against his leg. He tilts his head slightly to the side and manages to discern a second word. It's the name of the town where the villa is located. Eagerly, he returns to the road map and, tracing his route, realizes he's only a short distance away. Tossing both items aside, he turns off the rental car's hazard lights and navigates back onto the narrow highway.

...ooo…

Trowa sends yet another glance in his lover's direction. He watches as Yokaze yet again abandons her only partially unpacked bag and wanders toward the window as if answering a magnetic pull.

Although she'd managed a cheerful – if rather raunchy – conversation by way of greeting with Duo, Trowa knows that she is deeply troubled. And he has tried every subtle tactic in his knowledge to encourage her to share her thoughts with him. Her equally subtle avoidance has matched his efforts on every occasion. He is running out of patience, but this is neither the time nor the place for a confrontation.

When he sees her stare waver as she blinks out at the growing darkness, Trowa comments blandly, "It's a nice room."

She nods absently but he can sense she's more in the here and now at this moment than she was a few short seconds ago.

"I hope the bed doesn't squeak too loudly."

A ghost of a smile pulls at her lips. "Hm."

"Unless you're ready to have The Talk with Jaspien? In that case we could be as loud as we like," he concludes to the accompanying laughter he's managed to pull from her.

Yokaze shakes her head and takes a small step away from the window. "I don't think Duo realizes that's coming up on the agenda in the next couple of years."

Trowa smiles. "Can I tell him?"

Yokaze laughs again and, this time, she turns to look at him. "Only if I can watch."

"Fair enough."

He continues unpacking his own bag and surreptitiously watching Yokaze return to her own.

"We should ask him for copies of those photos he took of us in the hall of the academy."

Trowa's expression softens as he remembers that morning. In a husky voice he agrees, "Yeah."

"Of course, there's going to be cameras sitting out tonight..." she muses in a too-casual tone.

"And there's plenty of hallways..."

Their eyes meet over the expanse of the ornate brass bed. They grin.

"It's going to be a good night," she predicts softly after a long moment.

This time, Trowa doesn't have to say anything to express his agreement. He simply watches as she turns back to her bag and finishes transferring her personal things to the dresser squatting nearby. His gaze follows the motions of her hands as she tucks her clothes into one drawer then slides it shut. Her fingertips linger on the edge of the drawer and Trowa suddenly finds himself appraising the unsuspecting furniture's sturdiness...

Her hips shift to one side as her hand falls away from the dresser and Trowa realizes a moment later that she's not returning to the deflated bag still resting on the bed's coverlet. He lifts his gaze to her face and sees that faraway, focused look in her eyes as she wanders back toward the window.

Were there any other expression on her face, he would consider approaching her. But that look... He studies her body language and knows that if he were to approach her right now – touch her right now – she would not welcome it. It startles him to realize the woman sharing this room with him is not his lover, but a soldier.

He endures the sudden shifting as a deep crevasse of unease slices through his soul. He knows that surely something must be causing this odd behavior. Something... But what?

...ooo…

"A what?"

Mark crosses his arms over his chest and gives Ian's flabbergasted expression his full attention. "You heard me," he replies evenly.

Ian blinks, opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it once more. This time he manages to actually speak. "I... I don't think I did. You'd better repeat that."

With a sigh, Mark repeats, "I've been offered a job at the Cairo Museum of Antiquities as an assistant librarian."

For a long moment, the room is charged with a severely pregnant silence. Ian's confusion and shock and disbelief finally find an outlet in a single word: "Why?"

Mark draws a deep breath, preparing to deliver his planned speech.

Seeing this, Ian holds up one hand to halt his reply. "I mean, you love what we do. The song writing, the rehearsals, the interviews, the tours... You'll be bored to tears in Cairo dusting old books in some windowless room!"

Mark shrugs. "I won't know until I give it a try will I?"

Utterly unable to comprehend his best friend's decision, Ian attempts to push his earlier point, "You can't live without the music and the fans."

"I can," Mark says sharply, his eyes narrowing at Ian's firm declaration. "And I will. People change, Ian. NW isn't doing for me what it used to."

Ian leans back against the closed door with a deep sigh. "I can't believe I'm hearing this." He gets a little angry as the imminent collapse of the band he's spent so much of his energies on becomes apparent. "Damn it. First Yokaze and now you. The next thing I know it, Luke'll be..."

Mark turns away and starts pulling his costume out of the closet.

Ian trails off as it all suddenly becomes clear. "You're not bored," he accuses softly. "You're tired of waiting for a sign from Luke."

"No, that's not it at all," Mark replies, sounding tired and unconvincing.

"The hell it is."

Tossing his evening's attire down on the bed, Mark commands, "Just drop it, Ian. I have a party to get ready for and I sincerely hope that's not your costume."

Ian ignores Mark's attempt to change the subject. "When are you going to tell the others?"

"Tomorrow. At breakfast."

"Reconsider. Please."

"No. I'm twenty-eight years old. It's time to move on."

Ian shakes his head and moves to open the door. "Stubborn bastard," he mutters over his shoulder.

"Anyone I know?"

The sound of a third voice causes both Ian and Mark to freeze. There, framed in the now open doorway, is Luke. He looks from Ian's dark glower to Mark's carefully neutral expression.

"Guys? Something wrong?"

At a loss for words, Ian just shakes his head and shoulders his way into the hall. Luke watches his retreating figure for a moment, a small frown pulling at his lips and brows. A motion from within the room draws his attention back to Mark who has begun to smooth the wrinkles from the garments artlessly draped over his bed.

"Mark?" Luke tries, seeking some sort of explanation. He doesn't get one.

Without glancing up, Mark asks in a bland tone, "What do you want?"

"Um..." He hesitates. Sure, he's used to Mark's often coolly polite demeanor, but this indifference unnerves him. "I, uh..."

At Luke's fumbling, Mark looks up at him. "You, what?" He watches as Luke hovers on the threshold, neither leaning against the doorframe nor smiling, as is his wont.

"I came by to offer..."

Seeing Luke off-balance and unusually tense, Mark can't help but wonder exactly what Luke would be offering that would cause him to be so anxious. When no more words are forthcoming, Mark arcs a brow at him before turning back to his costume in order to pick a few bits of imaginary lint off of them. "I can't accept or decline if I don't know what it is," he points out dryly, prompting Luke to finish his thought.

Luke clears his throat and shoves his hands in his jeans pockets. "Want help with your makeup?"

They stare at each other for a moment. Luke endures Mark's searching gaze in silence. Is it simply his imagination, or is that stare far more penetrating than normal?

Mark turns away and shrugs. "If you want to."

"Um... okay." Taking a step back, Luke nods in the direction of his own room down the hall. "I'll just get my stuff. You need more than ten minutes to get changed?"

"Ten minutes is fine."

"All right. See you in a few, then."

As Luke turns and retreats down the corridor, Mark pauses in the act of unbuttoning the shirt he'd chosen for tonight and glances up just in time to glimpse the movement of Luke's shadow against the opposite wall. His eyes narrow and his jaw clenches. In the past five plus years, all he's ever managed to catch of Luke has been his shadow. It's time to stop chasing phantoms. Shirt still in one hand, Mark crosses the short distance to the door and pushes it closed.

End of Chapter Three