Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W or any song by the Smashing Pumpkins. Don't sue; I'm simply an E5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

Additional Note: Roughly 5 years, 3 months and 18 days is equal to 1934 days. I'm trying to keep the format constant, so it ended up in a huge number of days rather than the easier to read year/month/day styling. And yes, I did take one leap year into account. Deal. :P

-BEGIN FIC-

Let me know the way from of this world of hate in you
cause the dye is cast, and the bitch is back
and we're all dead yeah we're all dead
inside the future of a shattered past

Tales Of A Scorched Earth

-- 07:42 --

Hazel eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, watching as the flitting touches of sunlight that peeked past the gauzy white drapes with their spongy painted leaves of green and brown skittered merrily across the smooth white expanse that encompassed his field of vision.

It had been three days since he'd first opened his eyes to this now overly familiar sight. Thirteen days, by his best approximation, since the woman who was his current capturer had slammed her tire iron across the back of his skull and stolen his consciousness and ability to fight her grip away.

'Guess she got sick of moving me around,' he ruefully thought, his long lips twisting with a sneer.

Indeed, since he'd fully revealed that he knew nothing of relevance to her or her compatriots, he'd had a much easier time. He was actually receiving water on a daily basis and his mornings consisted of being spooned a thick, tasty porridge. The serrated edges of kitchen knives, the leather of whips, the burning wetness of liquid concoctions designed to torment and torture those persons to which it was administered hadn't touched his flesh since that last session as well.

James Waverly blinked, letting the view of the plain white ceiling be stolen from his sight for a moment of time to rewet his eyes. 'Pity all of this effort is being exhausted because I was so close to death that threats had become entirely ineffective. Trying to nurse me back to health so they can use those involved in my life against me to pry what I know away, refusing to believe that I truly know nothing. Silly wench.'

As he studied the plain white expanse above, he let a grumbled curse come to his dried, cracked lips. 'And there's been no sign of the kid. Everything I've sent searching for his signature has returned with apologies and sorrow.'

'Can be construed as either good or bad, I suppose. He's either been moved, or he's been killed.'

'God, if you'd consider listening to one hell of a sinner, please hear me out on this one. Let that fucking Barton brat have the common sense to drag the kid out of danger's line. If he doesn't, Quatre's just going to sit and let what's coming come down on his blonde head just so he can figure out what's going on with his dying breath by gleaning it off the minds of his murderers.'

'I don't want to live in an Earth Sphere like the one that'll arise if he dies now.'

'I might have before – not anymore.'

The door creaked against its hinges as it was slowly swung open. Soft footsteps padded into the room, slippers scraping across the hardwood floor as they made their transition from soft hallway carpeting.

'Lyssa. And she's not alone. Heh.'

Split lips turning with a vague smile, James let a faint chuckle leak from his worn throat. "Never thought you'd grow the balls to come down yourself, old friend."

Those soft footsteps stopped even as the hazel-eyed prisoner tilted his head towards the door to get a view of what was entering.

Lyssa looked truly stunned, her chocolate eyes wide and her hand caught in the midst of its action of tossing her short brown ponytail back over her shoulder where it belonged. Lips faintly touched with light pink lip-gloss parted to reveal pearly white teeth that were agape in shock as well, accompanied by a pale face and lightly shadowed eyes. White slippers dug against the hardwood floorboards for a nervous instant, the slight motion of the leg within the blue jeans that encased them causing that fabric to shake itself smooth of the slight wrinkles that still clung in its folds.

A slender hand settled upon her white t-shirt clad shoulder, giving it a light squeeze that wrinkled the article's surface. "Don't be so shocked," a chipper voice chirped out to her from thin, smiling lips. "I told you what he is. You don't think he'd be able to sense me and recognize me from a mile away?"

"O-of course," Lyssa replied with a small nod. Taking a step back, she shook her head. "It still makes me uneasy, though."

"As it rightly should," her partner chuckled as he stepped around her and crossed his lean, muscled arms before his black t-shirt clad chest, obscuring the message upon it that read 'Your village called. Their idiot is missing.' "After all, not every day one gets to deal with a subject like this one."

"Neh, would'ja mind not talkin' 'bout me as if I weren't in the room, prick-ass?" James snorted, hazel eyes narrowing as his lips turned from their vague smile of recognition into something more predatory, more fierce.

"Oh, of course, old friend! Very sorry about that," Xavier chuckled as he approached the rack that dominated the room's center. "So what was that you said earlier?"

"That I can't believe you grew balls," James snickered. "Look at you. Prime and proper and ever so smug as you hover over me. Thinking your top of the world right now?"

"You tell me," Xavier said with a smile.

"Fuck off," the hazel-eyed prisoner cajoled with a smirk. "So, why exactly are you here? Something's telling me that it's not to entertain me with your presence."

"Just as sharp as ever," the other man replied with a nod.

"Well?"

Lyssa stepped forward. "He's going to question you. You won't tell me anything, so I figured –"

"You figured that someone with whom I'm familiar might be able to talk his way around my barriers and defenses and give you something of relevance so you can find the kid and start your new revolution, hm?"

She stared before frowning, her teeth lightly biting at her lower lip.

"Ain't gonna work, sweetheart."

Xavier arched a brow. "And why do you suppose it won't?"

James levied his stare at his old working partner, his eyes fiercely determined and his lips set in their strained smirk, teeth gritted to the point of grinding. "Because, 'old friend.' There's still an entire world of bitter emotions standing between us that'll keep me from ever telling anything you may want to know."

Xavier arched a brow, his jester's grin falling for a moment.

His smile firmly in place, his brow knitting into a glower, James softly hissed, "I still hate you."

-- 16:29, 15 Days Ago --

'I certainly hope you're resting in peace, Theresa. That you're not rolling over in your grave, knowing that I'm still doing this.'

Rising to his feet, he sighed quietly.

'I hope you're not pissed with the fact that I'm carrying on with the plan that killed you.'

"Never imagined you'd bring your sorry ass back here."

James' shoulders instantly tensed as the breath he'd drawn but moments earlier froze in his lungs, refusing to ease from his body. His eyes slowly narrowed of their own accord, their hazel coloration dark and displeased as his lips curled into a sneer, revealing tightly clenched teeth. "Xavier," he acknowledged, his words substituting fully for the nod of the head that normally would have accompanied his greeting, "what the hell. Didn't think you visited graveyards."

"Same could be said of you, old friend," the lank man said with a chipper smile gracing his angular face. Walking towards the grave's visitor, his hands stuffed in his acid-washed jeans' pockets, he nodded his greetings. Coming to stand next to James, he pulled his hands free of his pockets and quickly tucked in his loose, unmarked white t-shirt. Lifting one hand and brushing its fingers quickly through his shortly cropped russet hair, he glanced over with innocent chocolate-brown eyes and chuckled. "Didn't think you were one to reminisce on the past."

"Always have been. I pay homage to those who've died because of what I've done."

"That's surprisingly sweet of you, James," Xavier cooed.

"You, though. I didn't think you were one to come slinking around the graves of those you've murdered."

-- 19:41, 1934 Days Ago --

The black Focus eased into its parking spot on the driveway beside the large beige Jeep Grand Cherokee. Headlights dying, the interior light was activated as the vehicle's occupant gripped the door handle and pulled it, unlatching the barrier that stood between him and the outside world and letting it be opened.

A long, low sigh of exhaustion escaped thin lips that turned with a slight frown. Eyes closed, head hung so long bangs swept over his face, the man within the car took a few moments to collect himself. It had been a horribly long day.

He'd been visited at work by a rather unsavory partner of his that he'd prayed he'd given the slip to months ago, his office door having been opened during lunch to shock him with the vision of Chad Lesley.

The conversation between him and Chad, who had arrived in a brown suit with a white shirt and silk tie that eerily matched his suit and shoes for that matter to utter perfection, hadn't been the most pleasant one they'd ever participated in.

Chad had wanted to know why he'd abandoned the organization. He'd refused to accept the answer of having found better pay and more opportunity for advancement elsewhere.

An hour of staring one another down had left the stalwart man in his brown suit perspiring along the creases in his forehead and along his jowls while he ran his thick hands profusely through his short, professionally styled brown hair. Moustache-bearing lips frowned with disappointment as the answers he wanted were not provided.

Chad had hinted that he was needed by the organization. James had made it clear that he had no intention of returning. And when Chad had pushed, informing him that it would indeed be in his best interests to return to Mr. Kesslinger at his earliest convenience, James had called security to have him escorted out.

James pressed his forehead against the steering wheel of his vehicle.

It hadn't taken his compatriots more than four months to find him.

"Damn it all," he snorted to himself. "This is exactly what I didn't want to happen. How could they have seen through it? I have death certificates and everything, for crying out loud."

Four months earlier, he'd made his escape from the training facilities of the Specials. He'd orchestrated his death, the disappearance of all of his material, and the apartment fire that had destroyed every loose end he could think of. Even his most precious guns, including the one he'd assassinated his first victim with, had perished in that outrageously hellish fire. His squad had been decimated when they'd left to fight rebellion forces that threatened the nearby Kenya Alliance Outpost. He'd 'perished' with them, his last radio transmission being one of dismay asking that the remainder of his troops fall back and leave him to finish things 'with style.' His suit had self-destructed in a fiery blossom of glory, spreading its burning arms in triumph as it praised the heavens for granting victory over its enemies. He left the battlefield, walking over body of friend and foe like, making his way back to the dwelling he shared with the woman he had given his heart to. Together they'd packed and abandoned Africa, fleeing to the United States, to the state of California, where he'd taken up working in the southern region's only nuclear power plant within a hundred miles of his home and she'd discovered work in her field of legal sciences as a legal secretary for a local law firm.

They'd lived their lives of peace and quiet, far from the increasing problematic Alliance's view or concern. James had been hoping it could continue that way.

Once, he'd followed Romefeller. Once, he's adhered strictly to the plans of its most powerful and influential individuals, seeing the prospects and promises held in those plots. Once, he'd sacrificed his humanity, his soul, to see its agendas come to light. He'd murdered without discrimination, stealing life with bullet and knife, with rope and bare hand if necessary. He'd thrown his ethics and morals away with hopes to make those plans he'd been presented with a reality, with hopes to make a difference in the world even as the man who had changed the course of history with a single bullet placed expertly through the heart of the pacifist colony leader who was leading space to unity had done when James himself was but a four-year-old child.

He'd particularly agreed with the plan of Douglas Kesslinger, the quiet voice behind Duke Dermail's most devastatingly successful maneuvers and compatriot of Colonel Tsuberov, who was involved in the development of a fully automated mobile suit control system that would make living pilots a thing of the past.

The plan to utilize Romefeller funding, the very lifeblood of the Earth Sphere, to bolster and build the colonies while militarizing the nations of Earth; indeed, to give the colonies the ability to be equal to Earth in all respects and encourage a perfect stalemate of power to hold peace in place lest Sphere-destroying war be unleashed, was a plan he could see the prospects for.

He didn't agree in the peace-bearing vision that would encourage Romefeller prosperity, though.

What James had desired was the war. The war to end wars, the war to demolish humanity.

The war that would cleanse the Earth of primitive Homo Sapiens, leaving the Sphere open and free for the more peaceful minded Newtype, leaving the Newtype with a world in which they would have no fear of being persecuted. Leaving a world in which they were not the oddities, but rather the mainstream, not science gone awry but truly the next step in human evolution, taking their place as supreme beings without fear of retaliation against which they would have no defense. A world in which the experiments and torments of the past would never again occur, where curious humans doubting the validity of human evolution would not have the ability to capture and test on living subjects, where innocent youths wouldn't have to undergo horrific experiences for the benefit of scientific exploration and investigation.

But the times of those longings were far over and long gone. He blamed his interactions with Earth-based humans over the last couple years for tainting his hatred of their kind and destroying his fidelity to Douglas Kesslinger's dreams, for demolishing his own ambition for twisting those plans into his own formula and seeing even the Plan's almighty creator cremated by it.

He was no fool – he never longed for there to be naught but peace, as he knew that war was to come. He was a child of the colonies. He knew the unrest, the anger, the respite that rested in the stars above. He knew the rebellion that was forming, and indeed had been doing what he could to harbor it and strengthen its resolve, seeing it as the means to fulfill the prerequisites for the Plan of Kesslinger to be thrown into action.

James just no longer wanted a part of it. He would let humanity ride out its chaotic wave of evolution and revolution on its own, finding contentment in his own life. He didn't care about Romefeller, the colonial rebellion, the Alliance, or anything else. He'd purposefully chosen a location which was relatively unimportant in the view of those organizations which would soon be making the Earth a battlefield, which stood a fair chance of remaining untouched and undisturbed while Death road his gundanium and titanium horses over the landscape.

He'd found peace and love with the woman he'd fled with. He no longer needed a revolution or genocidal cleansing of the Earth to find a place where he could live without persecution or fear.

His service to Douglas Kesslinger had been finished, his last job with the Specials a raving success that had produced soldiers of the finest caliber ever seen. His service to the rebellion had been completed, the strengths and weaknesses of those soldiers dutifully reported in full detail. His services with Xavier Johnson had been terminated, the last target they were to hunt together having been brought down days before he'd gone on his fateful mobile suit mission. His tasks with Chad Lesley had been closed out, the Alliance system they were to infiltrate raided for all pertinent information, that information forwarded to Romefeller networks, and that original system demolished beyond repair. Everything he'd needed to complete had been completed. His old life was over and done.

Lifting his head from his steering wheel, he unbuckled his seatbelt and slid out of the vehicle. His feet carried him without energy or vigor to the front door as he flipped through the keys on his overloaded ring, trying to locate the one for the front door.

Gripping the doorknob as he finally located the right key, he stooped to shove the metal length into its corresponding hole.

His eyes sprang fully open as the knob turned freely under his fingers.

'Maybe she forgot to lock the door. Damn it, Theresa, how many times have I warned you about leaving this thing unlocked? Do you really want our house to be broken into?' he mentally snarled as he walked in.

His silent admonishment of the woman he lived with came to a screeching halt as the delicate scent of copper met his nostrils.

'Blood…?'

Breaking into a run, James tore up the stairs as quickly as he could take them, following his adrenaline-heightened senses to the source of that odor.

He stared as he pushed their bedroom door open.

"Theresa…."

The bloodied mass on the ground didn't answer.

Stepping gingerly into the room, experience leading him to move with dancer's grace around the pools of still wet red that stained the light blue carpeting, he walked to her side and knelt. Hazel eyes narrowed critically for one moment before closing completely, letting the tears that formed along the glassed sheen of those orbs be pushed onto dark eyelashes and finally spill onto sun-darkened cheeks.

The gaping hole in the center of her forehead refused to vanish, no matter how fervently he wished it to do so.

Rising from his stance, his hands curled into fists, he glared at the body at his feet. Seconds later, the flashing red indicator of their answering machine caught his attention.

With an angered snarl, he punched the button almost hard enough to push it completely through the machine that housed it. It dutifully played its message.

"Hey, old friend. Sorry about the mess, but you refused us. Chad relayed your answer to me. So if you don't want anything else to occur, I'd suggest meeting up with me tomorrow at that merry casino that overlooks the nearest Indian reservation to your quaint little home. You know the one – it's in that town who's name is something along the lines of San Mateo and is really naught but a jump down the freeway from that Palm Springs place. Hope to see you there around noon, James!"

As the machine informed him that he'd reached the end of his new messages, James let his head hang loosely. Minutes later, he began the tedious task of packing all that he desired to remove from the house into his suitcases, preparing to once again leave his life behind, to sacrifice what bare hints of his soul that had been returned to him to his compatriots, their organization, their plans.

After throwing his suitcases into his Focus, two filled with clothing and the necessities of survival and one with those guns he owned that were unregistered and not known to exist, he gathered those which were listed under his name in police records on the kitchen counter, handling them with kitchen towels to keep his fingerprints from getting slathered across their surfaces. Picking up the phone, he sighed as he dialed 911.

A few moments passed after the connection to emergency dispatch had been made before he could find his voice and force it past the lump that filled his throat. "My girlfriend's been murdered," he simply stated into the handset.

After finishing his brief conversation with the police, having given them a brief synopsis of his alibi and his address, he set the phone down on the cradle and eased himself down onto the floor, using the wall behind him to support his frame. Lifting his hand to his face, he rubbed lightly at the corners of his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He steadfastly refused to let his emotions get the better of him – the last time he'd sobbed was when he'd lost his mother, the same year Heero Yuy had been eliminated, the year he'd been introduced to the curiosity of the Alliance-funded scientific community by those who were appointed by the loose government of the run-down, chaos-torn L2 Colony A42C to foster him in his youth.

Shoulders shaking without control, James Waverly took a deep, steadying breath, silently berating himself for losing control of himself, ridiculing himself for letting a simple life's loss crumble his resolve and fortitude. Lips scowled even as he sniffed and tasted salt upon his lips when he realized that, for the first time in twenty-four years, he was crying.

-- 16:46, 15 Days Ago --

Walking past the perfectly still man, Xavier let his eyes narrow, his friendly smile fading once more into a predatory slit of a sneer. "Still, it was such a loss. She was a great woman. Would be a pity if it had to happen again."

Fist clenching tightly at his sides, James' lips turned towards a scowl as his hazel eyes closed.

"Best be careful with your actions, James. Remember; failure won't result in the end of your life alone."

As Xavier wandered out of the graveyard, his white t-shirt and jeans clad body fading into the distance, James let his eyes open once more.

The wet blood droplets that pooled on his knuckles, oozing from his palms, raced towards the ground to splash into the steadily growing puddle that had over the course of the conversation formed at his feet.

-- 07:54 --

Xavier arched a brow. "You still hate me, eh? And why, dear friend?"

"You know why," James huffed, closing his eyes and turning his face so when his eyes reopened he would be viewing the ceiling once again rather than the cheerful visage of his old working partner.

A bright laugh rang from beside his makeshift rack. "Still! My goodness. So you lied your ass off to me when you said that her death was water under the bridge?"

James refused to dignify Xavier's question with an answer. Instead, he snorted and glowered at the man, quietly grumbling, "So, will you tell me exactly what you're up to?"

"Not until you tell me what I want to know, old friend."

James smirked wryly. "No can do. I don't know."

Lyssa shook her head, lightly touching Xavier's shoulder. "This is what he's been saying the entire time. Looks like your presence isn't having any effect."

Xavier nodded. "Obviously. I'll tell you why."

Both persons stared at him, hazel eyes glowering, brown eyes curious.

"He truly doesn't know."

-- 10:00 --

Lyssa sighed as she leaned forward, resting her elbows upon the grainy wood that made up the rack she was seated beside. Curling her toes behind the wheels of her worn student chair to keep it beside the makeshift torture platform, she laced her fingers together and set her chin onto the handily created platform her hands made. Soft brown eyes stared down at the man who was stretched before her, his face stony as his hazel eyes stared without emotion at the ceiling above him.

She'd just sat through nearly two hours of plot revelations, motive explanations, and eye-opening confirmation of what the world was truly like both upon the planet and in the stars. Her stoic faith in her organization had been both strengthened and shaken, the evils of those who had fallen in the past and those who still existed in the shadows of the modern day revealed and rebutted, the righteousness of those with who she allied herself to fight those forces that were currently in places of power and influence both verified and undermined.

She was confused and miserably shaken in her fortitude. The fact that she and her organization had been so thoroughly duped and that it was far too late for her to be able to warn everyone of the horrors that awaited them thanks to their leader's allegiance with their current source of funding had her more upset than she wished to acknowledge. The fact that she'd been dragged unwittingly into a side-plot that had resulted in no positive outcomes, which had brought her not a single step closer to finding the key to igniting the revolution her people desired but had rather pushed her further from his vicinity, also had her on edge.

And after discovering that the man she'd captured was in this to disrupt not her organization's revolution but simply the murder of one he considered a friend, after being imparted with the knowledge that the man who worked in correlation with her was a murderer who'd stolen all that was precious from the one she held captive, she was having serious doubts about which side was right in the personal battle she'd inadvertently become enmeshed with.

The smiling jester who had so little care or concern for the world and was so motivated by personal success and greed that he killed without a care versus the snide jackass who's heart had been so shattered and faith in humanity had been so demolished that he killed without remorse.

She herself, while not one of the newly developing gifted children of vacuum, was a product of the colonies, having grown up surrounded by ventilation ducts rather than natural wind and cities overhead instead of stars. Her resolution to see her fellow colonists' freedom and rights fully recognized, to see her people granted the opportunity to escape the barricades set upon them by the Earth Sphere that swirled through space with them with its superior power and resources, was a resolution born of experience and first-hand knowledge granted by life under the Alliance's iron fist.

And now, she was faced with the realization that she'd been duped, that she'd been used, and that she'd acted exactly as any of her oppressors would have to another citizen of the stars.

A soft, steadying breath leaked from her nostrils before she decided to address her prisoner.

"So you were right. I'm willing to bet you're laughing hysterically at me behind those straight lips of yours," she quietly huffed.

"Not really. I'm too pissed at myself for not seeing it before now to bother finding the humor in what just happened to you."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah," James quietly snorted. "I should've seen what he had up his sleeve. Xavier's been a greedy bastard ever since he figured out that he wasn't capable of besting everyone else around him for the sheer fact that there are some in the universe who're higher on the evolutionary ladder than himself. Should've figured that with the amount of information he was privy to that he'd be setting the stage to undermine Century Discover as soon as their war was set to begin. Sneaky little prick."

"So, what are you planning to do?" she quietly asked, her voice filled with soft pity and sorrow for his position for the first time since she'd captured him.

A cynical chuckle leaked from his throat. "Take a nap."

Lyssa's hands fell from their comfortable embrace, one smacking loudly on the table, the other plopping indignantly on James' arm. "Take a nap?" she incredulously bit.

"Yep. Can't do much else. I'm in no position to stop Xavier right now. At this rate, he'll find the kid. You'll get to see the 'traitor to space' dead as you wish. You'll get your revolution. And White Fang will be slaughtered when he undermines Century Discover, reveals them and their ties to your organization to the Earth Sphere United Nation, and the fury of Earth comes down on you both. And Winner Industries will go down when he reveals that not only was a member of the board responsible for setting up the assassination of the CEO, but was also holding correspondence with those organizations that created the new war, breaking the pacifistic dictates established by the Winner family before their corporation moved into space. He'll be making a shit-ton of money from his scheme and dancing off while innocent people like you get crushed."

Shaking her head, she scowled. "He had us all fooled."

"No, he had you fooled. And he has Century Discover fooled. He has Fugardi fooled. He has Sogran fooled. But he never fooled me."

"So you were never working with him?"

James smiled faintly. "Nope. Joined with him to see what he knew and throw everything he was doing askew. Pity you're so damned persistent in holding me in place, otherwise I could be succeeding."

"Do you truly hate him so much that you'd destroy the revolution to come just to spite him?" she spit, her lips turning with a scowl.

"Nah, not really. I hate him enough that I want to squeeze his neck between my fingers until I see the blood vessels in his eyes burst and his tongue fill his mouth. I don't give a rat's ass about the revolution, save for the fact that it'll upset the nice li'l life I've got going on the side. Plus I rather like Quatre. Can't have you slaughtering one of the keystones of future peace, now."

"You like…?"

"He's a pleasant enough kid, when he's not scheming against you and locked in mental battle with you over everything on God's green earth."

A small smile lit her lips as she silently giggled, disbelieving her own heart as it began to inform her that her prisoner could be quite charming during those times he wasn't being a decrepit jerk. "You're a funny man, Mr. Waverly."

"Try to be, sweetcakes. Can't deal with life otherwise. Gets too damned depressing."

Shaking her head, she lifted her hand from his arm and set her fingers lightly upon his forehead. "Why wouldn't you tell me all of this before?"

"I really didn't have a reason. As I said, I had to keep at it until I figured out what Xavier was up to. Now I know, so there's no reason to hide anymore. Revealing what I think and feel won't result in any difference in my future, the kid's future, or Earth's future. I'm still probably going to die soon enough with the amount of injuries you've given me. Ain't feeling the hottest, you know."

She quirked a brow, a tiny frown demolishing her previous shy smile.

"But that's beside the point, of course. The kid's still going to be running from all of you, especially with his overly vigilant protector by his side. He'll run 'till you get sick of chasing him, or he'll run 'till he's caught and killed. He's out of my hands. And you and your revolution won't be stopped, no matter how many people it's going to kill."

"The lives of those who are dedicated to the sanctity of-"

"Can it, Lyssa. I've heard it all before," James tiredly huffed. "I've heard it all before. And before you go into the speech, I know how this is an illusory peace. I know that better than any of you, I'm willing to bet. But this revolution isn't the way to go. Killing innocent people isn't the way to do things. Having dedicated soldiers fighting for their ideals isn't going to solve anything."

"Then how do you suggest we-"

"Don't do anything," he interrupted, closing his pained hazel eyes. "Don't do anything. Just let things roll out as they should. Problems have a tendency to solve themselves over time. Hatred turns to indifference. Loathing can turn to love. Hardened soldiers can find peace. Murderers can discover guilt and absolution."

Closing her eyes, she buried her lightly painted pink fingernails into his bangs, lightly caressing his forehead. "Speaking of yourself, Mr. Waverly?"

"Mm."

"You paint a desolate picture with your words. Forbidding us to do anything because it will inadvertently slaughter those we're trying to win freedom for…?"

"Just telling the truth."

"How do you know it's the truth?" she softly pressed, even as she slowly eased her seat from the chair to the edge of the rack he was tied to.

"Because I've seen it. I've been seeing it my entire life. I saw it with the Alliance's march across the colonies immediately following Heero Yuy's assassination when I was a child. I saw it when the rebellion started trying to strike against their oppressors. I saw it when the Specials broke loose of the Alliance as OZ. I saw it when madness struck those who had flown from the colonies to find revenge and turned their weapons towards the colonies that were their homes. I saw it during the holiday season last year."

"And you don't see an end?"

"Not unless humanity changes. Not unless people like you learn to let things progress as nature would have them and let time create our desired world."

"But some of us can't just idly sit by," she whispered as she slowly bent at the waist, bringing her hand out of his bangs and resting it instead at his side. "We've got to press the issue."

"Fault of humans right there, I say."

"Are we really so bad?" she quietly breathed as she set her lips over his, silencing his rebuttal with a tender touch and teasing tongue.

As she pulled away, James let his hazel eyes slowly drift back open. "No. You aren't."

She smiled as she swept her hair behind her ears, readying herself to descend again.

Turning his face, James huffed softly. "But you do expect the impossible."

"The impossible?"

"Yep. Revolutions to occur that won't hurt innocents, people with the determination to live to simply roll over and die for your plans, the people that love those people you want to kill to stand idly by, and me to forget that you've been torturing me for two damned weeks and make out with you."

Lyssa's eyebrow ticked.

"Told'ja when you picked me up, kitten. I've got a girl, and she'd kill me if I betrayed her."

The woman's lightly glossed lips turned with predatory intent. "You're in no position to deny me."

"True enough."

"So-"

"You won't."

She stared, her eyes wide, as she focused on the golden-hazel eyes that were fixated on her.

"Leave the room, Lyssa. Leave now."

Dutifully, the woman rose from her chair and left the room, ensuring that she shut the door behind her, her movements stiff and swaying as she hazily went through the motions demanded of her.

Sighing, James returned his gaze to the ceiling.

-- 08:05 --

"He doesn't know?" Lyssa quietly breathed.

"Nah. Can see it in his eyes. The frustration that's burning there is rather palatable, don't you think, dear?"

Lyssa stared for a few moments at Xavier, and then at James, then returned her gaze once more to Xavier. "You aren't-"

"No, he isn't one of us," James interrupted. "We've just been working together for awhile, so he can read me fairly well."

"Got that right, buddy," Xavier playfully chirped. "So, you really have nothing useful for me?"

"Nothing at all." Shutting his hazel eyes, he sighed quietly. "I'm telling you that he's been moved. I have no clue where Barton's taken him by now."

"I see. And that pleasant little twerp you sent after me? It was you, wasn't it?"

"Oh, Duo?" James laughed. "Got caught, did he?"

"He's quite dead by now," Xavier said with a smirk.

James' laughter caught in his throat. "Oh really," he replied moments later.

"Yep. Sogran had him locked down after we'd run him through the wringer a few times. Should've died by dehydration by now."

"Fuck," James softly breathed.

"So, anyone else I should know about?" Xavier playfully pressed, yanking the student chair along the hardwood floor to come to rest beside the rack. Tossing himself into it, he flopped his elbows gracelessly on the table and held his chin in his hands, smiling all the while.

"No. If the braided wonder's dead, there's no one else."

Xavier chuckled softly. "That's two of yours under my belt. We're almost even again, dear friend."

James' glare was poisonously venomous as it set itself on Xavier's grinning face.

Lyssa simply stared between the two men, wringing her fingers nervously as the uncomfortable energy that all but radiated between them seemed to permeate the entire room.

"So, why are you fucking White Fang? Because they're partially my brain child?"

Lyssa nearly choked, her eyes wide as she stared at the man upon the rack.

"Nah. Because once they're tied with Century Discover, the pay granted by the Earth Sphere United Nation for their undermining will double," Xavier honestly replied, his smile deepening with the thought. "The fact that you convinced Quinze that it would be a good idea to organize such a group doesn't factor into things a bit."

"Should've known, you lousy son of a bitch," James bit.

"But you didn't," Xavier said, his grin filling with malice. "Just like in the good old days. You running after my heels, yipping like a pathetic little dog, all your space-bred abilities failing to beat me."

"You're killing us all with this plot of yours, Xavier. You know that," James hissed. "Not just the White Fang and Century Discover, add in Winner Industries, the Earth Sphere United Nations, thousands of innocents and every one of us. Can you live with that on your conscious?"

Arching a brow, the brown-eyed man simply chuckled. "What conscious? We're all dead, anyway. Every one of us, lead to this dreary future by a shattered past flooded with mistakes and misery. Might as well make the best of it while I'm here."

Xavier lightly patted James' head as he rose from his chair. "Now stay there like a good boy, will you? Don't want you interfering now, you know."

James glared daggers at the back of his former working partner as the slender man made his way out of the room, leaving him alone with the young lady who'd captured him two weeks ago.

tbc...