Review Replies:

Pandora-chan: Thanks for reviewing both the story and the prelude! I was wondering if the letter was getting overlooked. (sweatdrop) To explain myself as to the 'same title, different postings' question, one's rated T so the average browser can spot it and advises that average browser that the rest is rated M (I had some reviewers for Once, also rated T, who may or may not search under the All Ratings listing, so I wanted to ensure they could find it. .;;)

Yurikitsune: Thanks for all the reviews! The prelude seems to get a bit overlooked – thanks for taking a few moments to read it. :) And for your reviews of the rest of the story, thank you again! Such glowing compliments. You guys make me blush like a school girl. OK, yes, I'm a girl, but I'm far removed from school. (laughs) As for characterization, I'm playing in the newest chapters. Heh heh. Can't wait to see what you guys think!

MikaSamu: I'm glad you liked the return of the OCs! Sometimes people seem to flail over original character inductions, but I'm happy to see that those two are being well received. Thanks for continuing to read, and I hope my newest chapters are satisfying.

Angl: (laughs) Well, I was listening to the Trowa character image songs (and shuddering like mad, as his voice actor (love him to pieces, however…) can't carry a tune to save his life) and typing out that scene. Sure enough, the first thing that popped into my head was the Lollypop Guild. It all came together. I laughed like crazy. Glad you found it funny as well! Now we can all snigger as one at that thought, neh?

A/N: Information on the guns that may not be well known and are presented in this chapter can be found in the end-chapter notes.

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, therefore I have no money. Ha.

-BEGIN FIC-

I walk alone, I walk alone to find the way home
I'm on my own, I'm on my own to see the ways
that I can't help the days, you will make it home o.k.
I know you can, and you can

We Only Come Out At Night

-- 06:31 --

Stretching, a mighty yawn roaring past his lips as his fingers intertwined with one another and reached for the bright blue heavens and stringy wisps of pale white cloud that floated overhead and eyes pinched shut against the bright intrusive rays of the morning's sun, James greeted the newborn day with a groan of satisfaction as his back crackled and popped. Smacking his lips as he dropped his arms, he stood for a few moments facing the sun with his eyes closed, the small smile upon his lips belaying his enjoyment of the mild, cool atmosphere that lingered over the yellow desert sands and black California highways at that time of morning, when the sun had barely crested the eastern horizon to bathe the desolate land with its soft warming rays. Soon it would be ungodly hot, the sands and those few unfortunates who dared to walk or ride openly upon the reflective crystalline sand or the black asphalt road that served as the only path to follow towards civilization being baked by the sun like any baker's creation simmered on a stove or cooked in an oven.

Wiping the moisture that had gathered at the corners of his eyes during his yawn away with a fingertip, he cracked open his eyes, squinting at the radiance that already danced over the desert landscape, bright and cheerful yet foretelling of the immense misery that would be deposited upon the shoulders of any who dared to risk the wrath of the wastelands later that day by travelling over them. "Gonna be another lovely day," he commented to no one in particular while nodding at the scene before him and spreading his arms to his sides, soaking in the cool air even as he stretched his chest and grunted in pleasure as his sternum popped audibly.

"Don't you ever sleep in?" a quiet grumble leaked from the doorway, accompanied by the shuffle of slipper-covered feet scraping along the pavement of the walkway that was laid outside of the dark hotel room's door and the scent of pungent, overly-strong coffee. "Could be a little more quiet when you get up for the benefit of those people who actually like to sleep in the morning."

Arching one slim brow over a completely aware hazel eye, James chuckled. "Fuck off, Barton. If you can't sleep through the supposed 'racket' of me getting up, then you aren't sleeping heavily enough to warrant continued slumber. Besides, I need you up to start the coffee going."

Sleep-glazed green eyes glowered with venomous hate as the other man merrily whistled and walked into the warm hotel room to empty the coffee pot into one of the provided plastic cups that was laid upon their dresser whenever housekeeping swung by in the early afternoon. "I see. So my only purpose on this entire little trip is to make you coffee."

"Pretty much, for the time being," James replied with an uncaring shrug, stepping back out of the hotel room's dark interior to bask in the early morning light again. "Hey, mind turning on the radio? I'd like to listen to the weather reports for awhile."

"Why?" Trowa huffed after he'd swallowed the large gulp of the black liquid he'd brewed earlier that he'd sucked into his mouth upon the moment of James' order. "It's going to be hot. Again. Like it has been every damned day that we've been here."

"Just do it, you little brat."

Rolling his eyes, Trowa grumbled quietly that he needed to brew another pot of coffee anyway as he turned and shuffled into the warmth of the hotel room. Looking longingly at the rumpled sheets that sprawled over his cooling bed, he sighed. "Not going to be any time to get back to sleep, is there?"

"Doubtful," came the reply from just outside of the room.

"Figured as much," Trowa grunted as he meandered to the coffee machine and withdrew the small filter basket. Ripping open the second of the coffee-ground packets with his teeth, he dumped the fine powdery substance into the basket on top of what already rested there, his tired eyes watching as the dark brown pieces of ground bean created a fine dusty layer over their soaked, blackened brethren from the previous bag. Replacing the basket, he then took the coffeepot into the small restroom the hotel room provided and filled it with barely enough water to fill two cups. Pouring it into the machine upon his return to the main bedroom, he pressed the power button and sat down on the edge of his unmade bed, staring intently at the small white machine, willing it with all of his soul to begin to drip. "Going to fill me in on what we're going to be doing today?" he called, eyes glued to the small pot, watching as the first of many dark droplets danced upon the bottom of the glass pot.

"Depends on the weather."

Grunting, Trowa dragged himself off of his comfortable seat and shuffled to the clock radio that rested on the nightstand that separated the two beds. Switching the switch found upon the device's left side to the 'ON' position, he wandered back to the edge of the bed to continue his vigilant surveillance of the coffeepot's progress as the radio slowly came to life.

James wandered in a few moments later, closing the door behind him and dragging the drapes open by the pull-rod attached to them. Smirking as he watched Trowa, he shook his head. "You look so fucking pathetic in the mornings, kid. With this astounding level of awareness, it's damned near impossible to believe that you were once a Gundam pilot."

"Shut up," Trowa snappily grumped as he reached for the coffeepot and poured the already brown liquid that filled it back into the water chamber. Replacing the pot on its heating pad, he pressed the power button again and leaned back, staring through half-hooded eyes as it began to gurgle once more.

Cocking his head, the older man smirked. "Storm out in the Pacific. Tomorrow's going to have some good surf."

"And so?" Trowa uttered through his yawn, barely remembering to cover his lips with his hand in the barest sign of politeness to his roommate that he felt obligated to show.

"We'll be hitting the beach tomorrow."

"Why? We've got more important things to do." Smacking his lips, Trowa turned his plastic cup round and round between his dexterous fingertips, snorting as their tired efforts allowed the vessel to topple onto the carpet. Leaning at the waist, he swiftly scooped it back up and resumed his menial game of spinning it, huffing a tired breadth of air through his bangs to temporarily sweep them out of his eyes.

"Like what?" James asked, arching a brow.

"Like meeting Quatre at the space port. He should be coming in tomorrow, right? That's what you've been telling me all this time."

A smirk took the longhaired man's lips. "He'll be meeting us, if nothing else. Betting anything, the kid's already on Earth. Probably biding his time till he feels its safe to meet up."

"You're not serious are you?" Glancing over his shoulder, Trowa glared as devastating of a glare as he could muster given his current state of awareness.

"Actually, I am. I've been suspecting that he'd get here tomorrow. That means that very likely others are suspecting the same. Meaning, to keep himself safe for the time being, he's probably arrived today and is just hiding out somewhere." Rising from his seat, James swept to the coffeepot and grasped it the moment the last drop that struggled to separate itself from the thick maze of grounds that filled the filter basket plopped into the black liquid contained in the glass housing much to Trowa's dismay. Pouring his plastic cup to the brim, he replaced it upon its hot pad, leaving the ex-pilot to quickly scavenge the remains on his own. "The kid's smart. He won't fall into anyone's expectations. Keeping one step ahead of the competition is his specialty – hell, he was one step ahead of me when I got you involved in the rescue act. Already knew that it was me who was saving his ass."

"Really? You never told me that before," Trowa noted as he slurped his pitch black coffee, his emerald eyes starting to show the most vague spark of life possible in their depths as the caffeine contained in his drink finally started filtering into his blood stream. "So he's been ahead of not only your cohort's plans, but of you too? Just like before?"

"Yeah, just like before."

Trowa smirked at James' obvious agitation. "He's outsmarting you again."

Fixing a glare over the edge of his cup as he finished draining another draught of the bitter, thick fluid, James huffed. "Do you want to live to see your little would-be lover-boy, or don't you?"

Temporarily satiated with his small victory, Trowa leaned back with a smile on his lips. "I'll be quiet."

"Good."

-- 10:44, Yesterday --

"You going to tell me what I want to know?"

"Shut up, kid. I'm trying to listen."

"You've been telling me that for the last four hours."

"Quiet already."

"What're you listening to?"

"Xavier's chatting with someone."

"I see."

Turning up the volume on the receiver placed upon the small table that occupied the hotel room, James scowled as he simultaneously pushed on the earpiece he had inserted, trying to discern exactly what was being said. 'Come on, you little cock sucking fuck. Speak up.'

He narrowed his eyes in frustration, trying desperately to separate static from voices in his mind.

Trowa wisely remained quiet, seeing the intense concentration written across his impromptu partner's face. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on his own hearing, trying to listen to what few scraps of conversation he could glean from the high-powered device that was currently being used, its static-laced noise being the only sound in the room.

"- you're certain of this, are yo – ay after tomorrow?" one voice chirped brightly, its friendly tone easily recognized and placed as being the vocalizations of Xavier Johnson.

"- am. The shutt – at L – around noon," another voice muttered, its distance from the small remote placed in the rental car Xavier drove causing it to mingle with the static that came over the receiver more than the other spy's voice.

"I see! Very we – en, we'll be on the lookout. Ja – ld be getting into position."

" He kno – othing, right?"

"No problems there. I to – them nothing."

"Even to th – id?"

"He knows enough to no – st him."

"Perfect."

The sound of the car's engine starting was deafening, roaring through the small microphone's receiver. James' finger quickly found the power button and flicked it, killing the noise that poured from the tiny device. Leaning back in his chair, placing his fingertips together after rolling the wires of his receiver into a neat bundle, his dark hazel eyes found their focus on Trowa's face. "What do you make of that, kid?"

Trowa frowned, scratching his chin. "They were talking about Quatre, weren't they?"

"Yep."

"He's arriving the day after tomorrow. And you're supposed to be in position."

"Obviously. I'm asking what you're reading from the conversation, not what they said. I know exactly what they said, just as you do."

Remaining silent for a few moments, Trowa's emerald eyes matched the hazel stare of his companion. "They've been lying to me, attempting to get me to not trust you for some reason. And they've really told me nothing, just as they've so informed you. We're both lost in the dark."

Leaning forward, gathering the device off the table with a swoop of the hand, James rose from his seat and walked to his suitcase. Dropping it onto the clothing bundled within the luggage, he nodded once. "Bingo."

"But why would they do that?" Trowa quietly mused.

Walking back to his seat, James flopped back down onto it and sighed. "Because both of us are being set up."

"Why would anyone be after me?"

"Not you, you pompous jackass. Me and Quatre."

Arching a brow, Trowa leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and his chin upon his hands. "Why are they after Quatre in the first place, Mr. Waverly?"

"Because he's an obstacle."

"To what?"

"Their plans."

"You mean the plan?" Trowa asked, arching a brow. "The plan you're always harping on?"

"Wrong plan, kid," James replied with a smirk. "Not our plan. Their plan."

"Who's?"

"Can't tell you that."

Rocking back in his chair, his lips twisted with a scowl of frustration, Trowa grunted, "Damn it. This is starting to sound a lot like the last fiasco we were involved in."

"Why do you say that?" James asked with an amused glint lighting his eyes.

"Everything I wanted to know was something that I wasn't allowed to know. All I ever got was 'I can't tell you, Trowa.'"

A barking laugh escaped the older man. "Well, we have our reasons, you know. The more people that know, the worse it is for subterfuge."

"In other words, you're afraid I'll spill the beans and muck up your entire little operation," Trowa huffed with a peevish snort, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Yep."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence. I'm not Duo."

A wry grin took James' lips. "Of course you're not. If you were, I wouldn't go through this trouble – I'd just shoot you the moment I'd thought you'd caught onto anything important. You're actually worth something."

"Then why not tell me anything?"

"Because while you wouldn't intentionally 'spill the beans' as you put it, you might subconsciously subvert what I've got going on."

"Oh really."

"Really. What I've got going on is a bit more involved than just making certain blondie is kept alive."

"And you aren't willing to share any of those details?" Trowa muttered, his scowl lightening into a mild frown.

"Not really."

"Something I don't need to know?"

"Exactly."

Leaning back in his chair a bit further, balancing it upon its two back legs, Trowa swung his feet back and forth in the air. "And why are they after you? Quatre's an obstacle, and you…?"

"… know to much."

"That all?"

Silence was Trowa's only answer.

-- 21:09, Yesterday --

"Bye, baby. You take care of yourself, you hear?"

Trowa arched a brow as he walked into the hotel room, his arms cradling his Stater Bros. bag protectively. A slight smirk took his lips as he shook his head.

James laid sprawled on his bed, phone pressed to his ear, fingers entwined in the looping spiral cord that connected the handset to the beige base of the phone. Sighing quietly, he shifted his elbows underneath him, more firmly propping himself up as he crossed his legs at the ankles. "Of course I'm being careful. And no, I haven't had to use the M4 yet. Things haven't gotten that bad." A few moments of silence passed, before he chuckled quietly. "Yes, I brought it with me. I'd never go anywhere without that present you gave me, baby. You know that. And yes, I'll use it to keep myself safe. So stop panicking, will you?"

Trowa arched a brow as he listened to the conversation.

"Love you too. Bye, sweetheart. Kick ass in class, alright? Yeah. Bye."

Chuckling as the other man tossed the handset of the phone back into its cradle, Trowa shook his head. "Who was that?"

Arching a brow, staring as if he'd only just noticed that Trowa existed, James sighed before rolling over to lay on his back and stare at the ceiling of the room, studying its stucco coating. "No one that you need to know about."

"Oh, come on," Trowa persisted, seating himself on the edge of James' bed.

"My girl."

"You have a daughter?" the ex-Gundam pilot gasped in obvious shock.

"No, shit-head! Why is it that you and every other-"

"Then what?" Trowa interrupted. "You mean your significant other?"

"Yeah."

"You're capable of having a girlfriend?" Trowa gasped again.

"I'm damned near ready to rip your jaw off your head."

Smirking, Trowa shook his head. "Got a picture?"

"Why are you suddenly so interested in my personal life?" James snarled.

"Because I didn't think that ruthless bastards like you were capable of having a personal life outside of spying and subterfuge."

Rolling his eyes, James huffed. "Sure, fine." Drawing his wallet out of his back pocket after some well-managed shifts of weight and grunting, he flipped it open. "That's her. Happy?"

Trowa nodded as he looked at the picture, taking in the sight of the rough and tough man who occupied the room with him lounging in a mall photo-booth, holding a young woman perhaps a few years older than himself but definitely more youthful than her suitor with brown hair streaked with blonde highlights and hazel eyes who lounged comfortably in his arms. "She looks happy."

"Certainly hope she is." Snapping the wallet shut without another word, he quickly stuffed it away.

"You don't seem happy that you have her."

"I am," James grumbled quietly.

"Then why don't you show it?"

Glaring once, the pure frigid threat that was held within his eyes' depths easily silencing his inquisitor, James snorted, "Because I don't need anymore trouble on her behalf."

Trowa watched silently as the man stormed out of the room. He moved only after the strong, pungent scent of a burning cigarette began to leak into the room through the open door, swinging the panel of wood only partially closed as to not lock his temporary roommate out in the cold of the night.

-- 09:31 --

Trowa stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Did you see where I tossed my shoes?"

"Do I look like your fucking nursemaid?"

"Never mind. I found them."

James rolled his eyes as he returned his attention to his duffel bag. "Give me your bag, will you? Got to get you packed and ready."

Trowa arched a brow. "Get me packed? Why?"

"We're leaving here tomorrow."

"And you don't think I'm capable of packing myself?"

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, James glared at Trowa with dark hazel eyes. "Listen, kiddo. How many guns did you bring? How much ammunition did you have packed in your bag when you found me at the hotel on L-4? Whatever you have, it isn't going to be enough. You're gonna have more."

"Oh, like I won't have you constantly hovering at my side to cover me?" Trowa asked with a frown, his voice as flippant and mocking as he could force it to be.

"No, you won't. We'll probably be splitting come tomorrow."

Trowa stared. "I can't say that I'm not ecstatic, but this is rather sudden. Why?"

Grabbing Trowa's bag without invitation or care, he dumped its contents out and quickly sorted through them, plucking two pairs of jeans and two turtleneck sweaters from the pile that he'd dumped onto the floor. "Jesus, kid. All you wear are fucking turtlenecks, huh?"

"You're dodging the question."

"No, I'm just making an observation," James grunted as he folded the articles of clothing he'd picked up and stuffed them into the bag. "I was getting to answering your question. As I was about to say," he started, stooping to pick up a couple of balls of rolled up socks, "you're going to be accompanying the kid. Whether or not he knows it. Whatever situation arises, you stick with it. If he knows you're there, stay painfully present by his side. If he doesn't know you're there, then protect him from the shadows and don't let him know you're protecting him, 'cause that could fuck up his concentration. I've got things I need to tie up that have nothing to do with him, and watching his back will do nothing but slow me down."

Arching a brow, Trowa frowned. "I see. So you're leaving Quatre in my hands?"

"Pretty much."

"Entirely?"

"Not entirely. Just mostly. I'll be communicating with him from time to time, but to get what I need to get done completed, I need to be working on my own. After all, James Waverly just doesn't work well with groups, you know." A small, bitter chuckle leaked from his throat as he stuffed underwear and socks into Trowa's bag. "This should be enough for your living provisions. Time to start with the weapons."

"Nothing too big."

"Of course not. I'm keeping the big stuff."

Trowa watched in silence as a Browning Buck Mark 22 (1), E.A.A. Witness DA (2), Kahr Arms K9 (3), Magnum Research One Pro (4), and Phoenix Arms HP 22 (5) were loaded into his duffel bag. Soon those guns were joined by filled clips that corresponded with them, and boxes of additional ammunition worked their ways in as well.

"That should hold you, kid," James grunted as he zipped the bag shut and hefted it onto a strong shoulder. "You should be able to carry this without any problem. Here you are."

Trowa staggered only momentarily under the surprising weight of the bag before easing it comfortably to the floor. "It'll work," he affirmed with a nod. "So, you're going out on your own."

"Of course. As said, I work best alone. On my way to see what I can or can't do to try and avert the mess that's heading our way."

"And you're trusting me with Quatre."

"You'll make it fine, kiddo. Have some faith in yourself."

Arching a brow, Trowa snorted. "Oh really? I'm to take it that you have faith in me, right?"

"In your ability to live a normal life? Fuck no. In your ability to make sure the little Winner brat lives through this fiasco? Yep. I know you can, and you can."

"Sure."

Silence fell between them as James resumed digging through his boxes, apparently looking for something of grand importance to pack away.

As he dug, Trowa let his eyes fall upon James' opened duffel bag. Paling, he stepped away from it.

He suddenly had no interest in knowing the grueling details of what James Waverly was going to do with himself.

Not after seeing the handcuffs, the vials marked 'poison,' the gags, the flails, the chains, and the bullwhip that resided in the canvas bag he would be taking with him on his journey.

-- 12:53 --

"So in the entirety of Cabazon, there's nothing you want?"

"I don't take charity. Especially not from persons such as yourself."

"Oh ho! And I'm to take that as an insult, yes?"

"You can take it however you like."

"I'm liking this change in you, kiddo. You're a lot more talkative than when we last worked together."

"…."

Rolling his eyes, James smirked. "And here we get the all too predictable sudden silent act. Thanks for meeting my expectations."

"Whatever," Trowa snorted, before continuing. "As I was saying, I don't need anything. I've got the equipment I need. I've got enough clothing. I'll buy food on the way. I've got my own credit card, so I don't need nor do I want any tainted cash from you. I'm fine."

"Alright already," James said with a huff. "Then we hit just one more shop."

Trowa arched a brow, staring critically at the store they were about to enter, his eyes absorbing the gaudy colors that hung in the windows and the hula girl mannequins dressed in their bikini tops and grass skirts that sat on either side of the doorway. "A surf shop?"

"Surf's going to be great tomorrow. It's been forever since I've caught a decent wave. Living in space's done nothing but ruin me. They try to simulate it, but no wave pool can ever hope to match the real thing."

Bowing his head, Trowa sighed in resignation as he followed the would-be beach bum into the store.

Nearly two hours passed as James spoke with sale representatives and Trowa stared at his reflection in the smoothly waxed dark blue surface of an exotically painted surfboard, which featured a coiled Chinese dragon erupting from violently roiling curling waves as its signature artwork, its golden countenance a stark contrast to the dark navy water and the swirling pastel blue foam that gave definition to the water the bottom of the board was supposed to portray. Trowa had previously studied the top of the board, finding it disappointingly ordinary being a white field encompassed by a board-tracing blue line, which was likewise surrounded with a thick red ribbon of color.

Emerald eyes blinked in surprise as the small board, which measured barely a few inches over seven feet in length, was suddenly lifted and his gaze bereft of the reflection they'd been perusing for an indeterminate amount of time. Looking up at the store employees that hauled the board away, he arched a brow even as he slowly straightened his legs, his face draining of color as the blood that had stagnated in his veins suddenly flooded his limbs once more, causing him to stagger with the onset of sudden dizziness.

"Plumeria Pro Gun. One of the better boards that are actually available for ready sale and don't take forever to be custom made and molded to the rider," James said with a wink.

"Hmm," Trowa simply observed as he slowly bent at the waist, bowing his head for a few moments to regain his sense of equilibrium before attempting to fully regain his upright posture. "So you're really meaning to go surfing tomorrow instead of meeting up with him."

A mocking, sharp crack of laughter escaped James' lungs. "Kid, if he means for us to all meet up, he'll arrange it. I'm not going to waste time trying to track him down when he's very likely already got something planned."

"You sound confident that we'll meet up."

Glancing over, James winked. "You're damned right I'm confident. He'll meet us. It's just a matter of us being in the right place at the right time."

"And you know that place and time?"

"Fuck no. But I can take a wild stab at it. And very likely I'll be right."

-- 23:44 --

Leaning against the railing that ran outside of the hotel room, James slowly lifted his cigarette to his lips and drew a long breath through it, sucking the hot smoke it provided into his lungs. Holding it there for a few moments, he stared at the stars above before releasing the searing heat that raced along his throat with a slow exhalation. 'Sorry, baby. I swore I'd quit this, didn't I?'

Glancing down at his cigarette, he smirked slightly. 'Another lie I suppose. Not the first I've told. Probably not the last.'

"You going to get to sleep, or should I give you the room key you keep forgetting on the dresser and close the door?"

Peering over his shoulder, he shrugged. "I'll be coming in after this one."

"You said that three cigarettes ago."

"This is the last one in the fucking pack."

Trowa shrugged. "Then I'll leave the door open," he said before turning and returning to the warm, dark sanctuary that was their hotel room. "Just don't make too much racket. I want to get a few hours of sleep before you drag me to the beach," he called even as the rustle of his body slipping underneath the sheets that covered his bed leaked from the blackness that permeated their temporary living quarters.

"Sure thing," James replied as he turned his attention back to the stars. Leaning against the rails once again, he lightly pressed a fingertip to his ear.

The microphone jostled slightly in his ear channel.

"- certain they kno – ing? – aren't walki – to it with knowle – ight?" one voice softly questioned.

"Of course not," the other quickly replied.

"And thi – s viable? He'll act a - anned?"

"He's predi – table like that. No wor – ies."

"Great."

James scowled. 'No worries, eh?'

'And just what do you have to worry about in the first place?'

His thumb slowly turned the power switch on the remote receiver he held in his left hand.

'Just what are you afraid of?'

'What don't you want me to find out?'

tbc…

(1) Browning Buck Mark 22: Caliber 22 LR; Capacity 10 rounds; Barrel Length 5.5"; Weight 32 ounces; Grips Black molded plastic (plus has laminated wood grips); Sights Adjustable rear, ramp front; Price $265 (blue (used in fic)), $312 (nickel), $324 (Buck Mark Plus)

(2) E.A.A. Witness DA: Caliber 38 Super, 9mm (used in fic), 40 S&W or 45 ACP; Capacity 10 rounds; Barrel Length 4.5"; Weight 35 ounces; Grips Checkered rubber; Sights Adjustable rear, undercut blade front; Misc Compact models available, blue or chrome finishes available; Price $351 to $366

(3) Kahr Arms K9: Caliber 9mm Para; Capacity 7 rounds; Barrel Length 3.5"; Weight 25 ounces; Grips Wraparound, textured soft polymer; Sights Blade front, rear drift adjustable bar-dot combat style; Misc Double action only, matte black finish, all steel (used in fic), also available in nickel with wood grips; Price $538 to $836 (Duo-Tone with tritium night sights)

(4) Magnum Research One Pro: Caliber 45 ACP (used in fic) or 400 Cor-Bon; Capacity 10 rounds; Barrel Length 3.75"; Weight 31 ounces; Grips Textured plastic; Sights Fixed; Price $209 (400 Cor-Bon non-compensated) to $249

(5) Phoenix Arms HP 22: Caliber 22 LR (HP 22); Capacity 10 rounds; Barrel Length 3"; Weight 20 ounces; Grips Checkered composition; Sights; Adjustable rear, blade front; Misc Available in satin nickel or polished blue finish; Price $116