Night Wind
Part II – Let the Night Begin
Chapter Thirteen: Searching for Solace
Thirty-six hours.
Wufei leans back in his chair and stares at the silent and unhelpful vid phone. Absently, he slides one hand over his tightly bound hair and sighs. The meager sound is swallowed up by the cavernous maze of halls and rooms. The silence makes him anxious.
It's been forty-eight hours since these walls had alternately softened and amplified laughter. He briefly wishes he'd known that a mere twelve hours after those moments of undiluted joy things would take such a turn...
Thirty-six hours.
Of silence.
The first day they had waited, Barton had said nothing. He'd waited in icy silence – his anger carefully disguised – for his lover to call, to come home. Maxwell had spoken infrequently. He'd only bothered to throw off the slowly tightening hold of depression to reassure the boy... and perhaps himself.
Barton had felt betrayed, frustrated, injured by his lover's decision to run from him.
Maxwell had felt guilty, defeated, miserable by his best friend's choice to leave again.
Wufei had understood. After all, their reactions had been very understandable.
But today, things had been different.
Barton had been defeated, hopeless, sullen.
Maxwell had been tense, angry, irritable.
Wufei no longer understands.
He leans his head into his hands and frowns as his hair spills over his shoulders and across his hands. When had he removed his hair tie? He glances at the floor surrounding his chair and a broken length of silk-wrapped elastic tumbles out of his collar. He twists it between the fingers of his left hand and wonders how long he's been sitting here while his mind had been wandering over the past two days.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs draws Wufei's attention. Eager for a distraction, he listens to the steady pattern, not recognizing the sound of this person's locomotion.
One of the NW members, he surmises.
He watches as, a heartbeat later, Mark strides past the open door to the study and continues toward the front door. Thinking it would be unforgivably rude not to thank the musician for coming all this way to perform at the wedding, he rises and moves toward the door. Just as he steps into the hall, he sees Mark come to an abrupt halt in the foyer beyond. There, leaning against the front door with his jacket on and keys in his hand, is Luke.
"Hey, man. Takin' off?"
Mark hesitates before replying with a certain amount of reluctance, "Yes."
"Cool. Me, too. Gimme a ride and I'll be your best friend," the blonde promises, gamely ignoring Mark's uncooperative manner.
A moment of heavy silence vibrates in the air between them. Slowly, Mark draws a breath and nearly implores, "Luke... I'm not... We're not friends."
Surprisingly enough, Luke doesn't seem bothered by this. "You totally suck at lying, man. C'mon. Get your ass in the car."
"Luke, listen to me–"
"No," the percussionist replies with quiet strength. "We are friends and you are as tenacious as I think you are and I'm going to prove it to you."
"And exactly how do you plan to accomplish all of that while we're at opposite ends of the Earth Sphere?"
By way of an answer, Luke holds up a ticket purchase confirmation for...
"Cairo?" Mark breathes out.
Luke grins. "Never been there so I figured I'd go two for two..." He shrugs eloquently. "Besides, it seems like an expensive place to live. You're gonna need a roomie."
"Luke, you can't–"
Once again, Mark's protest is scattered. Luke steps away from the door and says very softly, his entire being intent on the eloquently dressed musician in front of him, "I am, Mark. I am."
Wufei remains frozen on the threshold of the study and watches as Luke opens the front door, tilts his head to one side and says, "After you."
Looking a little shaken, Mark sweeps past him and starts for the collection of vehicles in the drive. As Luke pivots to pull the door closed behind him, he catches Wufei's eye. Remembering his excuse for hovering in the hallway, Wufei nods and tells him, "Thank you for all you've done for my wife and I, Mr. Goldfeld."
"No, Agent Chang," the blonde says with a predatory glint in his eyes, "thank you."
Wufei covers his surprise at this unexpected reply by saying, "You won't be very thankful if you miss your ride."
"I won't," Luke replies. He holds up one hand and jingles the set of keys meaningfully.
Wufei chuckles and then Luke is gone.
The silence descends once again.
When Wufei catches himself wandering back into the study with both of his hands buried in his hair, he knows he has to find another distraction. Immediately. He turns neatly on his heel and marches out into the house, searching for his wife. Perhaps he can pick a fight...
He almost walks right past the now-clean dinning room without stopping. Almost. Following the hint of a figure seated on the terrace beyond, he alters his course. Brushing the gauzy curtains aside, Wufei finds himself in a painting. The myriad of tiny lights twinkle above his wife who alternates her attention between them and the portable easel propped up on her folded legs. The brush in her hand glides over the paper, coaxing the lights above to make their nests at the tip of the soft bristles. He watches for a moment and retreats slowly, unwilling to mar that perfect almost-masterpiece.
But just as he turns to walk away, he spies one of the many disposable cameras that had been left out with the sole purpose of documenting their wedding night. Grinning softly, he scoops one up and brushes the curtains aside once more. If Taki hears the click of the shutter, she doesn't look up. In fact, she barely reacts when Wufei sits behind her and presses his chest to her back. She shifts slightly so he can rest his chin on her shoulder but gives no other acknowledgement of his presence. Wufei doesn't mind. This alone is sufficiently distracting. Even if it is rather quiet.
...ooo...
"Duo?" Bisho hesitates in the doorway to her brother's room. She's never seen him like this. She's never seen him so... cold. "Are you all right?"
"Fine," he responds absently, moving restlessly around his room, straightening various items that are perfectly fine right where he'd put them days ago. "What time does your flight leave in morning?"
She blinks. "What?"
"Your flight," he repeats patiently. "In the morning. Back to L4 with Quatre. When does it leave?"
"Um... nine-thirty... Duo..."
"Hm?"
She almost asks if he'd like for her to stay with him, but knows the answer to that question before she's even asked it. She states with a shrug, "But, you know, this is my first trip to Earth. Maybe I'll stay a little longer..."
Duo still doesn't look at her. "You've got to get back to school, Bish."
"So?"
He crosses his arms and glares out the window into the darkness. "So you've got to go back. The Earth will still be here when the winter break rolls around."
She shakes her head at his indifference. "But–"
"Becoming an engineer is your dream, Bisho. I told you not to let go of the things you want."
The reminder is nearly a physical blow. Two evenings ago, he'd reached through his own pain and basically told her she'd be an idiot to screw up her budding relationship with Quatre. Don't let him go, he'd said. And now he stands here telling her it would be a mistake to not go back to L4 with him.
Into her uncertain silence, he tells her with surprising calm and candor, "I'll be fine, Bisho. Go back to L4 with Quatre."
She looks up and is relieved to see him standing still, watching her. She searches his face for confirmation.
And he gives it to her: "Call me when you get there, okay?"
She lets out a breath, relieved that her brother seems to be acting a little less like an asshole, and smiles. "Okay."
Bisho wishes him a good night and wanders away. She does not know that once she and most of the other house guests are asleep, he will creep downstairs and meet a green-eyed man in the kitchen. She does not know there will be two more empty bottles of rum in the waste basket by morning. She does not know that her brother had simply wanted her gone, had wanted the night to begin so that he might vent his anger with someone who understands. She does not know any of these things. She does not even suspect.
...ooo...
They'd traveled all night and on through the morning to end up here: in a modest cemetery beside a forgotten chapel just outside a lost little town in the French countryside. They'd followed – with uncharacteristic blind faith – the pull that had beckoned them here. To this specific grave. To the plaque commemorating a man – an Alliance soldier – who had died defending this remote populace from a rebel attack.
For years they had both known the name of their father. But seeing the raised letters etched in granite burns the truth into them. In silence they stand side by side, shoulders almost touching, and stare as if they could draw his forgotten essence into their minds as easily as they memorize the sight of his name:
Lieutenant Captain Benjiro Mori
The stark letters go on to spell out the dates bracketing his short life, his dedication as a father, and a soldier of the people. And the people of this town have not forgotten him. The siblings take in the carefully tended arrangement of autumn flowers warming the earth at the base of the plaque. There is also a single sunflower that has begun to wilt lying across the grave. And a few polished stones left on the raised ledge of granite.
It is obvious these people have been tending to their father's grave. They pause in their thoughts and sort through their emotions, trying to decide how they feel about this.
"Hey!"
As one, they look up. They are not pleased that their first visit to their father's burial site should be interrupted like this.
If the blond woman notices their dark expressions, she does not heed the warning therein. Steadily, she approaches. "What are you doing here?"
Her uniform is a surprise. Perhaps a better question is: what is a regional sheriff doing at this humble graveyard?
Neither brother nor sister responds verbally. They do not feel the need to explain themselves to this stranger. They will visit their father's grave if they feel so inclined. And, as a matter of fact, they do feel so inclined.
The sheriff suddenly halts in her approach but it is not because of anything the siblings have or have not done. She draws a breath and her frown of confusion vanishes only to be replaced by a bright smile of recognition. "Ossia? Fiero?"
They recognize these words as names. Their names. From a lifetime ago.
"My God," the sheriff continues, a little awed. "It is you!" In the next instant, the woman is standing in front of them, fairly glowing. "It's been... damn, twenty years! But I remember you. I remember."
The soft, fierce affection in her voice moves the brother and sister in ways mere words never could.
The sheriff reaches for them, her fingers closing gently over their hands in greeting. "It's so good to have back. Welcome home."
End of Chapter Thirteen
