Author: Cyclone
Feedback: Please be gentle.
Distribution: Gimme credit and a link.
Rating: Violence, harsh language, the usual.
Spoilers: Up to Chosen, Red Eye's, Possession, and Return of the Joker.
Disclaimer: The characters depicted herein belong to a bunch of other people. I'm just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: The fate of the human race hangs in the balance... again. Sequel to Fifth Knight and One Eye's.
Author's Note: What? Didn't anyone get the On Leather Wings reference in part one? I was sure there'd be at least one person out there who'd mention it...
The quartet moved through the Ladys 633 building until they reached the elevator. Sylia hesitated before activating the code that granted access to the Knight Sabers' hidden facility. Her gaze bore into Batman like lasers.
"Take off the mask," Xander advised.
"But..."
"Off," Bruce said. "Now."
With a sigh, Batman doffed the mask, and Xander blinked. His head whirled around to look at Bruce, "He's just a kid."
"Older than you were when you started, from what you've told me," Bruce replied, unwavering.
"Yeah, but I was just the sidekick," Xander snorted.
"So am I, half the time," groused the teenager. He extended a hand, "Terry McGinnis."
"Shouldn't you be wearing red or green tights, then?" Xander snarked, shaking his hand.
"If you two are quite done," Bruce interrupted, "I'd like to see what Miss Stingray has accomplished."
"Yes, Mister Wayne."
"Almost, Bruce."
Bruce rolled his eyes.
Sylia keyed in the command code that sent the elevator to the Knight Sabers' maintenance facilities: the workshop, hardsuit storage, and more. She still felt uncertain about the whole affair. Bruce Wayne's extensive knowledge of her contacts and the presence of the new Batman was enough to convince her that he was probably telling the truth, but...
Quite frankly, it was Xander's own reaction to Mr. Wayne that had reassured her the most. Xander had shattered her nice, comfortable worldview when he'd first arrived, but Linna -- whom she trusted with her life -- had vouched for him. If she hadn't, Sylia would probably be well on her panicking right now.
"Xander," she said, "I've been meaning to tell you. Your new hardsuit is ready." When the dust had finally settled after the incident with Largo and the hyperboomers, Xander's hardsuit had taken a serious beating. While it was salvageable, he had approached her with several requests, and she had decided to acquiesce.
Besides, the white knight joke was getting old, and she was getting tired of hearing him complain about it.
When she finally stopped and pulled off the dust cloth that concealed the hardsuit, the reactions were... varied, to say the least.
"Schway," Terry commented.
Xander let out a distinctly undignified squeal of joy, clutching his hands together in front of him, "It's... perfect..."
Mr. Wayne, on the other hand, groaned and buried his face in his hands, "You didn't."
Sylia blinked at Mr. Wayne in confusion, "Excuse me?" She looked back at the hardsuit, trying to figure out what Mr. Wayne found so objectionable about it.
Though not as graceful as the others, it was still a sleek design, its paint gleaming under the harsh flourescent lights of the hardsuit bay. The face plate was more human-like than the other hardsuits, even including a pair of mock eyes and a mouth speaker. The hands were half-plate gloves -- chain weave with segmented armor plates on the backs of the hands and fingers -- rather than the remote manipulators or full-plate gauntlets the other hardsuits had, allowing for greater manual dexterity at the cost of greater vulnerability. Ovoid cowlings bulged and extended protectively over the hands to compensate, and the extra internal space was put to good use.
Knuckle bombers on the cowling combined with folding sword blades in each arm to round out the hardsuit's melee weapons, much like his first suit. The ranged weapons had received an upgrade, however. Both arms now mounted a railgun, while the extra room in the arm cowlings were given to a pair of pulse lasers, one in each arm. Another, much smaller, pulse laser emitter was mounted in the chest to provide a surprise to his opponent if he got into a grapple; it was an idea that she was considering adding to the other hardsuits. On the back, behind each shoulder was a modular rail mount in case a mission called for heavier weaponry or more specialized gear, though they weren't visible at the moment.
She had wondered about the red and gold color scheme he had demanded, though. It had seemed... unlike the scarred veteran.
"You built him an Iron Man suit?" Mr. Wayne finally said, his eyes boring into her incredulously.
She blinked again. "'Iron Man'?"
Mr. Wayne continued to look at her for a moment before he sighed and hung his head slightly, "No, of course not. You don't know who that is, or you wouldn't have let him do it."
"Oh, knock it off, Bruce," Xander said, not taking his eyes off the hardsuit. "If there's one thing I've learned, it's to enjoy life's little pleasures before you go completely insane." Xander paused and then finally looked at Bruce, "Never mind. Forgot who I was talking to."
"Ahh, nothing like the smell of opportunity," the old man said as he emerged from the airplane and stretched, inhaling sharply. He was still a fit man, but age was clearly catching up to him... and fast. His steel-grey hair was tied in a ponytail, but his dark eyes were as sharp as they were forty years ago.
"That's the smell of smog, Dad," the young man behind him said. "You know, you really didn't have to come. Owen and I could have handled this. You're not as young as you used to be."
"No one ever is, Alex," the old man said. "You should know that by now. Besides, Quincy rebuilt Tokyo after the Kanto quake, just as I rebuilt New York after the Pulse. The least I could do is meet the man." He looked over his shoulder, "Owen, shall we?"
"Of course, Mister Xanatos," the twenty-something blond man nodded.
The day had been long and tiring for Xander, between Bruce grilling him on his analysis of the Knight Sabers and Sylia running him through the wringer in training with the new hardsuit.
"Honey, I'm ho-ome!" he called cheerfully as he opened the apartment door. After a little explanation, the out-of-place greeting had become something of a private joke between him and his two guests. He frowned at the lack of response, "Anri? Sylvie?"
"In the bedroom!" Anri's voice called out. He ambled in and knocked politely. She opened the door and waved him in.
"Where's Sylvie?" he asked as she stepped between him and the door and shut it.
"She went biking with Priss," Anri replied. "They probably won't be back until late." Her voice dropped huskily, "Leaving us alone for the next few hours.
He turned quizzically, "Huh? Mmph!"
Xander felt the heat rising within him as she kissed him hard, one arm snaking around his back while the other cupped the front of his pants. She gently pushed him backwards, toward the bed, and he offered little resistance. Her lips were delicious, her smell intoxicating, and he felt a electricity shooting up and down his spine.
His libido was suddenly at full strength, though reduced in the past thirty years -- being the only male consistently present around over a dozen beautiful Slayers did wonders for improving his self control -- and it was screaming at him to seize the opportunity before him: She was beautiful, built for sex, and obviously willing.
Another part of him, though, refused to give in. Why was she doing this? He couldn't fathom why Anri would suddenly try to jump his bones like this, and an errant thought set off alarm bells in his mind. She was built for sex. Did she really want this? Or was this something else?
He wrenched himself free and crab-walked backwards across the bed until he stood on the other side of it. He watched Anri warily, and a look of shock, hurt, and confusion crossed her face.
"What's wrong?" she asked. Alarm suddenly crossed her face. "Was it... was it Sylvie that you wanted to...?" she trailed off.
Okay. Obviously, there was something going on here that he didn't understand. Stay calm. Be rational. Don't overreact.
"What the hell is going on here?" he sputtered.
She flinched and said, "I-I was just... trying to repay you."
"Repay me?" he said dumbly. "For what?"
"You saved our lives," she said quietly. "A-and when I asked you why, you never answered. So I thought... I thought you wanted..."
Suddenly, it all fell into place, and Xander repressed a snarl of anger at the people who did this to them. He did groan in frustration as he considered how to handle this.
"We're friends, Anri," he said firmly. "When friends talk about owing each other favors, it isn't serious. It's just... friendly banter. You're free now, Anri, or as free as anyone else is, these days. You should never ever feel obligated to pay for anything with your body, you hear me?"
She nodded silently.
Xander sighed and walked around the bed. Gathering her into a comforting hug, he murmured, "Oh, what are we gonna do with you, Anri? You really don't know what it means to be free, do you?"
"I'm... I'm scared," she said quietly into his shirt. "I just... it's so different down here."
"Shh, I know," he said, stroking her hair comfortingly.
Author's Postscript:
Spot the hidden crossover!