Once again, notes about vehicles and guns that may not be commonplace knowledge will be at the end of the fic.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Gundam Wing or any song by the Smashing Pumpkins. Don't sue; I am simply an E5 in the USN, and thus have no money. So ha.

-BEGIN FIC-

I'm never coming back
I'm never giving in
I'll never be the shine in your spit
I disconnect the act
I disconnect the dots
I disconnect the me in me

Fuck You (An Ode To No One)

-- 11:24 --

The wind whipped violently around the man dressed completely in black as he sat astride his Harley Davidson VRSCA V-Rod (1), binoculars lifted to his face, eyes squinted as they peered through the devices to watch the activity that was proceeding to unfold in the basin of the small valley he sat beside.

It was a bright, windy day on the colonies located in the cluster at the LaGrange Point 4, as determined by the program that selected the weather specifications. The artificial light that mimicked the sun so very well shone upon the gleaming golden sands that made up the cluster environment, even as the volatile gusts of wind stirred those sands. Seated in the protection of permanent valleys crafted of metal and imported stone, shielded from the violent winds and scorching sands, business continued as planned in the major cities upon the colony, completely unaffected by the colony's turbulent weather pattern. And with the natives of the colony used to the peculiarities of the colony's weather and underground tunnels being available to those who were unused to traversing through a sandstorm in the midst of a desert, it would have no affect on the citizens of the colony, either.

No, the only one it was affecting was the man who dared to stand unsheltered upon the cliff-top overlooking the small man-made basin that held the L4 spaceport, holding binoculars to his face and balancing precariously on his bike, noting the fact that the kickstands of his vehicle were sinking into the sand that made up the ground it sat upon.

'Come on, kid. Get here already. Let's get this plan going.'

As the long black limousine rolled towards the space port, finally having emerged from the hidden shaft-like tunnel that burrowed through the very rock and steel the colony was crafted of that connected the sprawling expanses of the Down Town region to the spaceport, the man lowered his binoculars. 'Finally. Time to roll.'

Turning the key of his bike, he turned the throttle a few times, listening to it growl viciously, the noise of its powerful engine rocketing above the ferocity of the storm with ease. Kicking the stand that held it upright back and seating himself comfortably upon the seat, he gripped both handles of the cycle and placed his foot upon the clutch. And, giving it another gunning burst of gas with a wrench of the throttle, he let the engine engage and roared across the top of the cliff towards the road he'd previously taken to reach his precarious perch.

Leaning over his Harley to minimize the amount of drag his body created with the winds ripping at him, he tore rapidly towards the shelter of the basin below, barely feeling the wind at his face and the sun on his black leather-clad back.

Instead of focusing on the weather around him, he focused instead on what was destined to occur, what he knew was about to happen, and what he was hoping would arise in response to the situation he had knowledge of.

Pulling onto the road as it dipped into the valley and into the sudden chill of shade, the man let off the throttle a bit, sitting more upright to watch the spaceport grow in his visor's span as he approached. It sprawled already across the entire plane of his vision, tall control towers reaching above where his vision was allowed to peer and crawling two story terminal buildings flung to the sides of those towers. The long monorail trams that connected those terminals were humming as they ran rapidly from one building to the next, taking their passengers with swift efficiency to their destinations before picking up their next load of people and spiriting them away to yet another building.

Slowly driving towards the parking lot beyond the loading area, the man set his gaze upon the black limousine that he'd observed pulling out of the Down Town tunnel and which was still being unloaded of its luggage. Shaking his head, he stared for a few more moments. 'Trust that kid to turn a classic Bentley Arnage (2) into a limo. Such an obvious flaunting of wealth. Still, it is tasteful to say the least. At least he didn't do that shit to a Sports Utility Vehicle. That'd be tacky.'

With a turn of the throttle, he eased the bike towards the parking lot and brought it to a halt before the ticket dispenser. Watching the machine as it ticked off the time, he drummed his fingers impatiently on his handle grips, waiting as it printed his ticket. "Thanks," he growled at the mechanism as it finally produced the paper strip he'd been waiting for, snatching it roughly from the slot through which it had emerged and stuffing it into his jacket pocket. Gripping the bars again, he slowly started rolling once more, lifting his feet onto their bars and making his way towards the nearly full motorcycle parking area.

After securing the bike, he strode confidently into the spaceport, briefcase in one gloved hand and the other twirling his bike's keys. Their jangling was lost in the soft murmur of constant racket that filled the terminal he'd entered. The ringing of cell phones blended with the chatter of people conversing in the hallways and carrying on their private conversations on the multitudes of public pay phones and cell phones throughout the area. Dress shoes clicked and sneakers squeaked on the highly polished tile floors, luggage dropped to the ground and rolled noisily along, children squealed and sobbed, people discussed business and family.

Making his way easily through the large gathering in the terminal lobby, he strode swiftly towards the monitors upon which were displayed the flight times and estimated times of arrival for the flights that would be coming in and leaving from that particular terminal's ports. 'Well, everything's running on time so far. And Gate Nine's closed and rerouted, meaning that the kid's private shuttle's probably already there.' A quick nod later, he walked away from the display monitor and crossed quickly to the metal detectors. Wallet and pocket knife landed in the small bin awaiting them even as he produced the paperwork he knew would be necessary for the briefcase that laid upon the conveyor belt and was being dragged under the watchful electric eye of the x-raying computer system.

Picking up his briefcase after a quick jaunt with the guards around him about the gun show he was eager to get to, he strode towards the window and leaned against it, jacket-clad shoulder pressed to the glass and eyes half-closed to spare them from the bright, invasive light of the computer-generated sun that poured through the tall terminal windows.

He sighed, watching the large silvery shuttle roll towards the loading dock, being ushered into place by multitudes of men in bulky, warm flight suits and helmets with added ear protection waving lighted guiding sticks in their hands, the orange of those florescent hand-held lights shining more brightly than anything in the area that surrounded them. Huge black tires rolled over the smooth, hot black asphalt, rolling effortlessly over the stray patches of sand and scattered rocks that littered the ground. Silver wings folded in towards the shuttle's sides, reducing its overall girth to allow it to fit more easily in to the area allocated for it. Engines rumbling quietly as they were powered down and the plane-like shuttle rolled to a halt, the shuttle stopped and its doors swung open, making way for the extending rolling walkway that awaited its readiness to connect to be extended to the vessel. Trucks rolled immediately towards the shuttle, some with large pressurized tanks of water meant to wash the glistening silver shuttle bearing upon its tail fin the spectacularly detailed gold-emblazoned globe superimposed with the script 'W' and surrounded by orbiting colony clusters that was the company logo for the Winner family company, some carrying luggage, some bearing the food and finery that was to be served to the shuttle's passengers on their trip to the Earth.

'Any one of those could be… wait a minute. Is that…?'

The man in black chuckled softly, shaking his head. 'Amazing that kid can infiltrate anywhere. Can tell who it is thanks to that fucked up hair any damned day.'

A smirk across his face, he calmly watched as Trowa Barton walked amongst the spaceport employees who were quickly servicing the shuttle, preparing it for the flight it was destined to make in one hour after its safety inspection.

'Well, he'll be able to take care of any threat that may be presented by whoever is down there to rig that shuttle. It won't be going down.'

Laying one hand upon the glass, he squinted and surveyed the surrounding area.

'All that remains is takin' care of anyone who may be prepared for me to fuck with the shuttle setup. They should be expecting me to be the only one involved – two people are an unexpected factor that'll turn on them.'

Stepping away from the window, the man stretched, groaning in content satisfaction as his back popped loudly. Leaning over and picking up his briefcase, he glanced back out at the shuttle.

'Yeah, the kid's got to die, according to my employer. But now, my friends, isn't the right time. Why can't you realize that assassinating the little twit now is going to do nothing but ruin your happy little plans for the future? All you'll do is draw the wrath of the Nation; gotta sully his reputation first, or set it up right so the blame can't possibly be placed on another party. Common fucking sense. If it's too obvious, you'll do nothing but chop off your own damned cock and screw yourself up the ass with the rest of the world.'

Walking calmly away from the window and passing the rows of molded plastic chairs which were slowly filling with passengers awaiting the arrival and boarding calls for the shuttles that were to be arriving at gates five through ten, he shook his head.

'Meaning that for now I've got to stop you.'

Tightening his grip on his suitcase, he sighed quietly and walked towards the restrooms.

'At least this isn't you, Xavier. I won't be losing anyone who's of any worth or importance to me.'

As he ducked into the hallway that lead to the restrooms, walking calmly down the nearly abandoned passageway lit by its flickering florescent lights, he stepped quickly into the men's restroom. Looking around, he sighed quietly. "What a fucking trash pit. I really ought to talk to management about this." Staring in disgust, he placed his hands on his hips and snorted.

"If they expect me to go in a urinal in this condition, they're smoking something strong and not fucking sharing."

-- 13:48, 6 Days Ago --

The phone receiver rang loudly from its place on the floor below the cluttered coffee table, as did its base from its corner of the kitchen counter.

"Damn it, have some fucking patience," the lump on the couch growled as he shifted underneath his warm brown blanket. One hand snaked out of the small cocoon of warmth, feeling around on the floor in a vain effort to find the missing receiver, missing it completely on every desperate grab it made.

Finally, long tanned fingers curled around the receiver and lifted it towards the blankets, sliding under the soft covering and dragging the phone with it as it vanished under the warmth-providing fabric. The beep of the 'Talk' button being pushed, muffled by the thick blanket, sounded and was followed a few elongated moments later by a yawn and a slurred greeting that was nothing more than the last syllable of the word 'Hello.'

The blanket was tossed to the floor a few moments later as the person who'd been laying below it in its soft warmth abruptly sat upright, hazel eyes wide and long unbound brown hair in utter disarray, receiver pressed to his ear and mouth open. "Xavier, you shit! Wha…" he exclaimed, lifting his other hand to throw his hair out of his face, blinking rapidly. "Yo, shut up," he snarled a few moments later, following his command with a simple question – "How the hell are you still alive?"

The television was soon shut off and the man left the comfort of his couch to stalk over to the refrigerator, phone receiver still held to his ear as he listened intently to the murmuring on the other end of the line. "If you give me a few fucking minutes, I'll get to the vid phone. I'm going to get a beer before I bother. Fuck, salmon cakes, salad, leftovers, more leftovers, milk, sausage… damn it, where the hell'd she put the carto… here."

Crossing the room once more, he sat down heavily at the kitchen counter upon one of the stools that sat before it and dragged the phone's base towards him, staring at the monitor upon it as he pressed the green power button that blinked brightly in its lower right hand corner. As the monitor flickered to life, he tossed the receiver onto the base and let a vicious, twisted smirk take his lips. "So, you shit, what has you calling me at this time of day?" he asked as he twisted the cap of his Bud Light off the bottle and tossed it towards the trash can, sinking the metal cap into the yawning orifice with deadly accuracy.

The caller smiled his most friendly grin, brown eyes open and bright as he ran a hand quickly through his shortly cropped and spiked brown hair. "Nothing much, old buddy. Just have a proposition for you. A bit of a job, you might say."

"Proposition, eh? Sorry, Xavier, but I retired awhile ago. You know that. Otherwise I'd still be working for Kesslinger, running around in the colonies instead of here in Butt-fuck Alaska freezing my ass off."

Nodding, Xavier lifted his own drink to his lips and took a sip. "I thought as much. Otherwise it would have been easier to track you down. It took me half a year to locate you, you know."

"Glad to hear I was that well hidden. Wasn't even trying. You must be losing your touch, man… I'm in the fucking phone book."

"Heh. I should have thought of that," Xavier chuckled, shaking his head. "But anyway, are you certain you won't even hear my proposition out?"

"Pretty fucking certain. My girl won't be happy if I left."

"Your girl…? Since when did you have… I can't see how….."

Rolling his hazel eyes, the man took a long swig off his bottle and grunted. "Not daughter, you shit. My girl. The one I'm living with."

"Oh, gotcha. When do I get to meet this one?"

"Never, prick."

Xavier smirked. "And why not?"

"Because. She doesn't need to be associated with ass-wipes like you. Plus I know what happens when you drop by for unexpected visits. You're almost as bad as I am."

Shaking his head, Xavier laughed. "Not even, old buddy. I couldn't come close to you when it comes to murder."

Smirking at his friend, the man chuckled softly, menace lingering in his voice. "Don't even fucking lie. I know what you're like."

"Well, if you know me so very well, then you'd think again about listening to my little proposition, my friend. After all, I know where you are. Otherwise I'd never have been able to call you, especially considering that I didn't use the phone book to track your ass down."

Smile vanishing, he leaned forward, his hazel eyes narrowing. "You wouldn't fucking dare."

"Try me."

"Fucker!"

Xavier smirked, lifting his drink and sipping from it once more. "You know how it is, my old friend. The purpose, the plan, the job is everything. Ruthless behavior is necessary to bring the plan into being and to successfully see its end. And if ruthless behavior is needed to bring a means to an end, then it must be used. After all," he started, taking another sip before continuing, "you can't be there twenty four hours a day, seven days a week to protect that which is precious to you. And you can't be on the ball and aware of everything that's surrounding you at all times, either."

"Now you're stooping to threats."

"Because you're necessary, and threats are all that move you at times. Right now seems to be one of those times when you won't respond to anything other than threats, which you know are in no way idle. You don't move, I will. And as you know, I'm as dedicated to the completion of whatever job I'm assigned to as you are to your almighty plan."

"Shit," the man snorted, leaning back, glaring at the monitor coldly as he relied on the backrest of the stool to hold him upright, "how am I to know that you'll even do anything? You're a chicken-livered shit-brain after all. Never been capable of much."

Chuckling quietly, his smirk turning more menacing than before, Xavier leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table upon which the videophone he was using sat. "But I am capable of murdering your little girl. Maybe not you, but your girl would be easy prey. And I'm willing to do such, if you don't listen to my proposition – and agree to assist me. The person I'm working for could very well bring about the future we've desired for so long; the very future that was stolen from us could be achieved by following this new path. I want to see it happen. I want it more than anything. I want the happiness that was stolen from me, the life that was taken from me, returned. And I'll do anything to retrieve it."

"Even if it means selling yourself out, Xavier?"

"Never stopped either of us before. First Kesslinger, now my newest employers for me. For you, I'll be damned if I can even start to count."

"But why me?"

"Because you're the only one I can trust to pull it off."

"You expect me to work with you after you've threatened her? And you're expecting me to fucking abandon the life I've finally found to follow you and your ridiculous plots into whatever future it'll craft, one that's likely to destroy the one I've already made?"

"You have before, my friend. Family, obligations, jobs and normal lives have never appealed to you for as long as I've known you. After all, weren't you the one who shrugged off the fact that I killed your last precious little interest? And why did you shrug it off? Why'd you make up the excuse that you were better off without her leeching off of you and holding you to the stagnation of an ordinary family-man life? Because you know that the future we both seek would be ideal for both of us, giving us everything we could ever desire with our filthy, greedy minds and hearts. Because you know that I'll not let you go without reward if you cooperate with me, nor will I let you go unpunished if your refuse me."

The man snarled softly, "You lousy bastard…."

"Just tell me one thing, my friend," Xavier said, his smile falling away.

"What?"

"You have what you lost before. You've returned to being an ordinary, every day guy. You have your girl, your home, your financial stability…"

"Yeah?"

Xavier frowned. "But are you really happy?"

Time seemed to stand still as the two men stared at one another, hazel eyes glazed, brown eyes narrowed.

"I…."

"Meet with me at the Anchorage Airport. I think what we have to offer could result not only in the continuation of the life you're living without my interference, but also in your plans coming to fruition – in your happiness."

"I…."

"No obligations. Just meet me and consider it. And if you meet up with me, I'll leave her be. Deal?"

"…. Fine."

Reaching forward with a trembling finger, the man pushed the power button in the corner of the video monitor, turning the unit off and thus ending the phone conversation. Rising from his seat upon his stool, he walked back to the couch and flopped down upon it. Lifting his beer to his lips, he sighed softly and frowned as he stared at the blackened television.

Nearly an hour later, he rose from his seat and walked upstairs. "Honey," he called softly to the person huddled over the desk, staring intently at opened books and a thick stack of notebook papers, "have you seen my suitcase?"

Lifting her gaze from the books laid before her, the young woman frowned. "Why? Planning on going somewhere?"

A soft smile taking his lips, he sighed and walked over to her, laying a hand upon her cheek. "Just for a couple of weeks. I've got to meet up with an old friend of mine. Some sort of emergency. I'll be back as soon as I possibly can, alright?"

She stared at him. "Call me."

Nodding, he bent at the waist and wrapped his arms around her frame, holding her in a tender embrace. "Of course."

"Your suitcase should be in the closet, my dear."

Taking her lips in a warm kiss, he sighed softly before pulling away. "Thank you."

A bright smile took the young woman's lips as she turned to face her schoolbooks, her face flooded with determination as she gripped her pen and bravely flipped the page.

Setting his suitcase upon the bed and flipping it open, the man turned his gaze to her, watching as she stooped back over her books, her delicate fingers finding their way into her bangs as she growled in frustration.

'I'm sorry for leaving like this, my sweet girl. But I'll not risk your life by denying his will.'

'I can't lose you now that I've finally found you.'

"Get me something from wherever you end up, will you?" she called, glancing over her shoulder.

"You've got it, sweet-cakes."

He sighed once more as he began to stack jeans into his case, discretely burying assorted guns and ammunition in with his clothing to hide them from prying eyes, using his body as a barricade to prevent her to see what he was packing away.

'I hate leaving you, but I've got not choice. I won't let him hurt you.'

'I love you.'

-- 12:40 --

Leaning over the railing that skirted along the edge of the roof, hazel eyes narrowed to block the majority of the light that reflected off the audaciously bright silver shuttle, the man sighed softly as he tucked the janitor's keys into his pockets.

'Hopefully they won't find his body until I'm out of here,' he thought with a grimace even as he opened his briefcase and lifted the contents of his luggage free from its confines.

Rotating the barrel forward and down, he nodded as it clicked solidly into place and swiftly keyed it locked into its open position. And flipping the safety off, he lifted the Kel-Tec Sub Rifle 2000 (3) to his shoulder and peered through the sites.

He watched as Trowa discretely slid from the wheel well of the shuttle, a small package under his left arm, and slunk away towards the nearest dumpster.

'Good work, kid,' he silently praised, watching as the boy with the wild bangs sneaked into the building, unseen by the people who milled about the scene.

Hazel eyes squinted as the blonde boy emerged from the terminal on the moving walkway, talking easily and merrily with the swarm of business-suit wearing associates he was travelling with. Followed by constituents and bodyguards, the adolescent businessman made his way towards the shuttle.

The dumpster Trowa had deposited his package in suddenly exploded.

Screaming and yelling rang from the terminal grounds as people fled the area, high-heels and loafers pounding the tile floors below even as the burly bodyguards that accompanied those businessmen who were heading towards the ostentatious shuttle attempted to hurry their wards into the vessel.

The man in black stared down the sites of his rifle, watching as a similarly clad man on the roof of the building beside him did the same from the corner of his eye.

Turning on his heel, his finger pulled sharply on the trigger of his gun. He closed his eyes as it recoiled, his movement having set it away from its comfortable station in the cushioned flesh of the joint between arm and body and instead placing it to ram its hard butt across his collarbone and slam into his cheek. Quickly opening his eyes, he glowered down the gun's sites as he repositioned the weapon.

His target slowly knelt, weapon dropping to its feet and hands clutching its right breast.

'Sorry 'bout this, but you're moving too early. I can't let you finish the job just yet – not with everything at stake as it is.'

His next shot blew the back of his target's skull out.

As the body on the roof across from him collapsed in a bloody heap, he calmly folded his gun, swinging the barrel upwards and back to pack it back into his briefcase. Clicking the snaps of the carrying case shut, he lifted it and walked towards the trap door that lead to the janitorial service ladder that would take him into the gear locker next to the men's restroom.

'You owe me, kid. You've got at least another day of life.'

'Now, to get that Barton kid down to Earth. Ought to be fun.'

Wiping his smirk off his lips, the man hurriedly sprinted out of the hallway, a false look of panic instantly upon his face as he joined the screaming crowd that fled the terminal.

-- 20:48 --

Calmly sipping a beer, he leaned back in his chair, hazel eyes slowly letting their focus on the television screen drop away. 'He'll be here any damned minute. All he has to do is trace the car license plates and find out it was rented from the spaceport, then find out the supposed identity of the man who used it, reroute his search for the most current purchase that individual has made by utilizing his National registration number, and that'll lead him right to this hotel room. Not very fucking hard at all. And I know that kid has the brains to try it.'

Sighing, he changed the channel. 'After all, isn't that what anyone would do? Doesn't take a damned genius to figure out how to track someone down. Especially not with the resources I know he's got access to.'

Glancing out the window, he sighed softly. 'Going to be a pity leaving that car, but the bike'll be worth more to me on Earth. Cheaper to ship, too… can't spend too awfully much, or I'll wipe out our account.'

'Wonder how she's doing.'

His eyes found the phone. As his fingers slowly began to wind themselves around the receiver and lift it from its base, he frowned as the roar of a Honda motorcycle's engine rang from the parking lot outside of his hotel room.

Forcing his fingers to unwind, he glanced back at the window and watched as the lank youth in his turtleneck pulled his black helmet off his head and pulled leather gloves from his hands. Lifting his thin-fingered hands, he swept them through his hair, dragging them amongst sweat-dampened strands which were wet enough to lose most of their perky spring. Dismounting the bike, the new arrival stalked towards the hotel office.

Shaking his head, the man rose from his chair and threw open the door. Walking back to the chair and flopping lazily down into the cushions once more, he grunted and changed the channel once more. 'It's about damned time, kid.'

His eyes closed as he heard Trowa's surprised gasp and the click of his boots stopping just outside of his door. "You… you're…" the teenager's voice cracked, the hint of shock lacing every breath that emerged from his frame.

"Nice to see you too."

"How're you still alive?" the emerald-eyed boy said with the slightest of frowns appearing on his lips, before he followed his question with yet another; "And what are you planning?"

"Questions for another time. But maybe I can clarify a few things for you."

Trowa nodded once.

Glancing over, hazel eyes dull, a strained smile met the man's lips. "How do you feel about the deserts of California, boy?"

-- 13:47 --

The man grumbled quietly as he made his way back to his Harley Davidson. "Fucking hot out here," he observed, tugging his jacket and sighing. "Too fucking hot to be running around like a crazed idiot just because some fucking dumpster blew up and a moron got his head blown off."

Fishing his keys out of his pocket, he walked calmly to his bike.

His hazel eyes widened considerably.

The note, taped to his windshield, merrily scribed in sharp, elegant scripted handwriting, refused to change its message no matter how much he longed it to.

"Thanks for the save," he quietly read, shaking his head, "I'll be seeing you in California."

"What the fuck…?"

Scratching his chin, the man snarled softly. 'How did he know? How the hell is that possible!'

Ripping the note off his motorcycle's windshield, he stuffed it into his back jean pocket and mounted the bike. Starting it quickly and giving the throttle an angry turn, mouth grimacing even as the bike roared fiercely, he tore out of the parking lot.

'He knows I'm here. He knows I'm involved.'

'And he's playing right along.'

'How is he already ahead of me! How?'

tbc…

1) See this beauty. Drool over her. It's alright. I know I drooled. slurp Stare at the photo gallery and appreciate her beauty even more. She's at: http/ www . harleydavidson . com remove the spaces - and yes, I'll get a more precise link up soon

2) Imagine it as a limo. http/ www .bentlymotors . com remove the spaces - and yes, I'll get a better link up soon

3) Kel-Tec Sub Rifle 2000: Caliber: 9mm, 40 S Capacity: Various double columns; Action: Semi-automatic; Barrel: 16.1"; Weight: 4 pounds (unloaded); Length: 30" (open); 16" (closed); Stock: Tubular steel stock with polymer butt stock; Finish: Hard anodized black (aluminum parts) and blue (steel parts); Price: POR (price on request in other words, EXPENSIVE); Misc: By rotating the barrel upwards and back, the SUB-2000 can be reduced to a size of 16"x7" for secure storage. Also features an internal keyed deployment lock.