Fortnight
Ch 06 – Winnow
by APs
Betas – Now by gothic-pixel , who is made of pure, incomprehensible awesome!
A/N – Hi, I'm back! Yes, I am finishing Fortnight. Fridays sound good, let's make it Fridays for updates. However, the main push that made me come back at this specific moment is that there is an auction at LiveJournal right now where authors offer to write stories in exchange for donations to help Japan. I've made an offer, the link to which is in my profile, and if you ever wanted to see my take on another couple, have me write a proper ending to one of my one-shots, or do something else entirely, this is your chance. This is fanfiction to help Japan, so I strongly urge you go look through the offers, even if you don't bid on mine.
As before, though perhaps now more than ever, I cherish any and all feedback!
i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i
To love a thing means wanting it to live.
-Confucius
i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i
For the first time since the war, things were too still for Chang Wufei. He and Duo had been sharing Trowa's claustrophobic accommodations for between twelve and sixteen days, allowing for time loss due to his concussion and the fact that the cell never actually changed. The dim, flickering light never actually went out. The low hum of the vent never changed pitch. The door never opened. If it wasn't for the food plate that was shoved in every now and again, Wufei would have been tempted to assume they'd been forgotten altogether.
Apparently, the three of them rated a plate of food, depending on your definition, and a cup of water, singular, a day. He assumed it was per day, but it may have been whenever their captors felt like it, or remembered, even. With a sigh, he looked down into his portion of muck and realized there was too much again. Grinding his teeth to stifle a growl, he swept up the dish and paced to the back wall of their cell where Duo was sprawled on his back, one arm behind his head and eyes closed.
"Maxwell," he stood and waited, glaring.
"What, Wufei?" the question came with a sigh and a smirk, "I'm sleeping."
That was what they mutually accepted these long silent periods to be. Of course, it was also mutual knowledge that only one of them slept at a time and as Trowa had been leaning back against the opposite side wall, Wufei was well aware of Duo's current state of awareness. "You didn't finish."
A single violet eye blinked up at him, "Eh? Oh. Yeah, I did."
"You didn't," the Chinese man flatly refuted, "Finish your share."
That one violet eye held his gaze for a long moment. Finally, he stretched his arms over his head and turned onto his side, "I ate what I could stomach. Trust me, I'm done with that shit."
"You have to eat, idiot," Wufei explained slowly, squatting to hold the plate directly in front of the braided man's face. He had every intention of forcing the slop down the American's throat if need be, but the other's glance was plainly unimpressed.
"I'm not gonna starve, Wufei," Duo growled, a little too reminiscent of a feral dog for Wufei's tastes, knowledgeable in all the wrong ways. The Chinese man didn't move, didn't waver, just stared. Duo Maxwell wasn't the only one that could be stubborn. A soft hum from across the cell caught Wufei's attention, informing him that Trowa was both awake and fairly damn amused. Wufei did not find it funny. He couldn't fathom one of them willfully weakening themselves to be anything but base stupidity. Worse, he didn't know how long it had been going on, how long Duo had been depriving himself for others, for him.
Wufei leaned in close, bleak stare just above jaded glare, "Neither am I."
Duo arched an eyebrow at the sustained invasion of his personal space, "Then give it to Trowa."
The Chinese man blinked. The taller ex-pilot was certainly in the worst condition of the three, evidenced by the large, infected gash on his right arm and compound fractured left leg, which would more than likely need to be re-broken to have any chance at healing correctly. Of course, that was only what could be seen. Judging from the man's reluctance to any kind of motion, Wufei was fairly sure he could guess the rest, or at least the majority of it. Bottom line, the man could use the extra food.
The braided man snorted and closed his eyes, "Right, I'm going to sleep now, buddy."
He licked his lips and backed off, pausing to let an appraising onyx eye pass over the braided man's curled form. Lean, confident, and relaxed, Duo had changed as much as their cell. Consistency was proving to be a trait Wufei despised. He could feel the cool emerald gaze on his back, neutral, but exhaustive. With a snort, he stood and crisply turned to march toward their other cell mate.
Roughly halfway, the door screamed on its hinges, flooding the room with light and snapping everyone to their feet. Wufei froze, caught in the middle of the room, armed with the only metal not bolted down in the cell, their plate. A singular silhouette stood in the doorway, waiting. Wufei's eyes adjusted relatively quickly, enough that he could make out the hard blue of the piercing gaze.
"What the hell, Heero?" Duo was drawling familiarly from behind Wufei, that particular mixture of amusement and anger only he could manage. There was comfort in that tone, an old ritual of sorts, but nostalgia didn't sit right with Wufei. The Japanese ex-pilot held a gun loosely at his side, something he had refused to do since the Mariemaia Incident, and his body was relaxed, almost lank, yet there was definite purpose in his posture. Danger hung in the air like a scent. Wufei felt himself shift, coil, physically blocking Duo and drawing the dark blue glare to himself. The cool, flimsy plate tingled in his grip as distance calculations flew through his head. Impenetrable blue never even flinched.
The gunshot was nearly deafening in the confined space.
A body twisted, collapsed.
"Tro!" Duo was halted by Wufei's raised arm, keeping his body between the American and the sinisterly smoking barrel of the gun. Wufei kept Heero's hard, clinical gaze. No motion was registering in his peripheral where Trowa should have been, no sound.
Then Heero spoke, applying first pressure to the trigger, "Drop it."
The Chinese man bristled, but silently held the plate out and let it fall from his fingers. Behind him, Duo had simply stopped. The smile in his low tone was chilling, "You're gonna-"
"Maxwell!" Wufei left no room for argument in his bark.
Duo found some anyway, "He just-"
"I'm aware," Wufei growled, boring his gaze further into icy blue depths to no avail. Heero wasn't answering, wasn't there, hollow. Something was wrong, off. Despite his reputation, Heero had never been completely emotionless. He could shut down for missions, but this was different, significantly so. At the moment, Wufei was pissed beyond making the distinction.
Heero tossed something into the room that clattered on the floor and slid to a stop at Wufei's feet. Forearm manacles. Charming. He glared into cold blue expectantly. Heero took his cue, easing off the trigger fractionally, "Maxwell, secure Chang's arms."
"Screw y- Fei!" The Chinese man had already bent to retrieve the manacles, visibly clamping one about a wrist before standing and turning his back to their 'friend'.
Wufei brandished his arms, "Do it."
"Wufei..." The braided man stood, maniac smile rapidly fading.
He wondered if those violet eyes could see the tempest raging beneath his placidity, if that accounted for the quiet fear in the American's voice. Wufei met his gaze, "Now, Maxwell."
It was as though Duo snapped out of a trance, smile slinking back to his lips as he complied, "Yeah, sure, whatever you want. Not like it's my funeral."
Once the restraints were fastened, a touch tighter then necessary perhaps, a hand slipped into one of Wufei's and squeezed. He reciprocated without reacting. He was nowhere near as successful when Duo grabbed either side of his face and rammed their mouths together. For an interminable moment, Wufei was frozen to the spot, then something small and metal brushed his lips and he understood. His eyes sank closed, relenting, breathing mingled air, soft tongues touching, caressing, sharing more than breathe. When they parted, the small lock pick was safely under Wufei's tongue and Duo was smirking like the devil over his shoulder as he took two steps back, hands raised.
Wufei clenched his jaw and turned away, letting his eyes sweep over Trowa for the first and last time. The tall man laid crumpled where he had fallen, terribly still. He couldn't see the wound, but the dark, expanding pool was unmistakable. He felt himself detach again as he met Heero's eyes and waited.
Coldly impassive, Heero motioned for Wufei to step out. The hallway was blocked on either side of the cell by two highly armed guards, well out of charging distance, who appeared just as intent on shooting Heero. Apparently traitors were still universally reviled and distrusted. Casting a glance back into the cell, Heero paused, announcing to no one particular, "Someone will come for the body."
Then the heavy door slammed closed. Wufei stared at Heero, who stared back, obsidian and ice. Heero's head tilted ever so slightly to indicate direction, "Walk."
They traversed the hallways in a silent caravan: armed guards three meters ahead, prisoner, Heero roughly two meters behind and more armed guards further back. Wufei was well aware that a gun was a ranged weapon and an effective one in Heero's hands. And Heero knew he knew. Intersections were sealed on two sides and they never saw another soul. The Chinese Preventer was actually slightly flattered.
He'd worked the stiffness from his muscles by the time they'd reached the large, bare room with its single overhead light and chair bolted to the cracked cement floor. Apparently the classics never went out of style, cliché though they may be. Two guards remained outside while two stood on either side of the large door, which Wufei watched Heero lock.
"Please have a seat, Agent Chang," a falsely pleasant voice came, tinny, from the darkness on the opposite side of the room. Speakers. Wufei could barely make out a large pane of one-way glass from where he stood, unmoving and quite obviously not planning to move.
"Yuy," the voice sighed.
Heero trained the pistol between Wufei's eyes, keeping his distance, "Sit."
The Chinese Preventer scowled for a long moment before he moved, head high and jaw clenched. The chair was cool and sturdy, solid metal, but its bolts were loose, moving slightly when he sat. He wondered vaguely if that was from age or use. The voice drawled in amusement, buzzing mechanically, "Much better, I'm sure."
Wufei was fixated on his immediate problem, who was keeping well out of leg range, to his frustration. He felt the gun as though the bullet were already shattering his skull. Steady as the man that held it.
"We have some questions, Agent Chang. Your friend here has offered to retrieve the answers for us. The boys were a little heavy on the encouragement and light on the questions when they interviewed the now late Agent Barton, but such are the fortunes of a spy," the voice hissed through its speaker and into his ear, wrapping about his shoulders and making his face twist with disgust. When it was obvious the seated man was not going to respond, the voice continued, "Are you sure about this, Yuy? Chang's always been such a proud bastard."
"Pride is brittle," Heero replied without inflection, low, blunt. Wufei's serene stare dared him to try. Blue eyes over a barrel flashed and were ignored.
The voice had chuckled, "Not sure what you did to piss him off, Chang, but I'm glad I'm not you."
A minuscule smirk twitched at the Chinese man's lips, pure knowing malice, and deep blue eyes narrowed. Wufei had never had to do much to get a reaction out of Heero, though he agreed with the second sentiment emphatically.
Quickly the voice moved on, suddenly all business, "Franklin, secure the Agent, please. Hurley, assist."
The thugs guarding the door moved forward, one extracting a roll of heavy tape from a pocket.
"Are they here?" Heero droned, much to Wufei's confusion until he realized the Japanese man had been addressing the voice.
"He is," a new, more familiar voice corrected, "You may begin, Yuy. Just remember, broken, not dead."
The Preventer felt a chill run through him at the presumption, which only fueled his anger. Heero, whom many believed couldn't feel anything, knew pain intimately and could administer it masterfully. Franklin had knelt in front of the seated Preventer and was reaching for one of his legs while Hurley stood behind him, a tower of muscle. Wufei noted them in his periphery, unwilling to let Heero's gaze wander. Blue eyes flashed once more, blinked twice, and the barrel lifted bare millimeters.
Wufei drove a knee into Franklin's throat as a bullet seared past his scalp and into the man behind him. Deafened by the gun's report, he felt more than heard the other man's windpipe crunch. He gripped the thug's shirt, keeping the choking man in front of him as he levered himself forward out of the chair, feeling the front bolts give. The second bullet drew white agony across his shoulder as he tossed his dead weight at the gunner. Heero danced to the side, re-aimed, too late. Wufei was there, disarming, sending the third shot up. The single light popped and darkness fell, hard. All that was left was black and the pained moans of horribly wounded thugs.
"Yuy!" the voice screamed, though in the darkness the glass now revealed two people, one of which was screaming into a microphone. The other was wearing a Preventer's jacket, gun out and warily backing toward a door.
"Tanner?" Wufei heard himself shout in disbelief. He saw the name register on the two faces and then they were gone, a not too far off explosion rocking the building and plunging them all again into darkness. An alarm shrieked, emergency lighting flashing everywhere. Wufei stood, staring for a long moment, feeling his blood boil. Then he was back at the chair, rending it the rest of the way free of its bolts and charging at the mirror. He roared as the shatter resistant glass spider-webbed, manacles biting into his wrists.
In the myriad shards, he saw Heero coming up behind him, "Chang."
He spun, flinging the chair into the far wall, "You knew about this!"
The Japanese man stopped where he was, "We should go."
"You- You used us as bait," He found himself sputtering as the lay of the land made itself clear to his mind in fits and starts. "You knew we were coming and you used us to get to that traitor!"
"Yes." Heero stood his ground as though he had always been and would always be there.
The chaos around them only served to highlight their deadly abeyance. The gun lay forgotten on the floor, gleaming sinister red in the pulsing emergency lights. They stared and this time there were no calculations, no hypothetical victories or stalemates. Blood slid down the side of his face and dripped from his chin, turning the air he breathed metallic. Wufei's stomach churned at the familiarity, fueling his anger more.
Heero's lips parted and motion erupted. He didn't want to hear. The only exchange he knew was that of blows. He felt a smirk slit his lips like a knife wound when his first sweeping strike met a block. Jarring. Like hitting a brick wall. Though the wall had stepped back. He didn't pause, left no time to think, pressed his opponent hard. The manacles gnawed at his forearms, made it harder to balance. Everything was adrenaline crisp, strobe light stuttered, and crimson stained. Fists and elbows and boots and knees sailed home and moved on, flitting from attack to attack, registering his growing wounds and bruises. Registering, not feeling. Feeling required thought and he was beyond that point. Something grabbed him, an echo of the steel on his forearms. He torqued, breaking free and ramming a shoulder into his opponent, driving them both to the ground. He brought his arms up to club his opponent, his enemy, and froze.
"Wufei!" The appeal, a rough bark more than a shout, finally punctured his understanding and he was left staring at his friend, his clansman, who was prone before him. The crushing blow had stopped inches from Heero's face, but the other hadn't even attempted to block it. The man lay there, unabashed blue gaze full of blatant concern and growled softly, "Are you okay?"
The Chinese man blinked and realized he'd been crying. He snarled, grabbing handfuls of the other's shirt, grinding fists into flesh, "What the hell are you thinking? You can't just stop fighting."
"One of us had to," Heero pointed out blandly, ignoring the physical provocation.
Wufei, likewise, ignored the verbal provocation, digging fists deeper into the other's ribcage. Attempting to crush the Japanese man into the concrete floor. All of his words vaporized by rage.
"Trowa was compromised from inside Intelligence," Heero explained, laying still, "We couldn't retrieve him without alerting the mole. We couldn't contact Preventer's without knowing who to trust. The only viable cover was as myself."
"And we were your proof of defection?"
"I provided Quatre's gun, badge, and blood upon my arrival, claiming to have terminated my mission partner. A polygraph and the mole corroborated the story."
"Then you didn't trust us," Wufei snarled, leaning close enough for blood to drip from his face to Heero's, pushing more of his body weight into the other than was wise. "Or did you want revenge?"
Blue eyes blinked, the inflexible line of his mouth bowing downward slightly, "I wanted those I could trust together and nearby."
In one expression, Wufei understood that Heero honestly had no concept of the treacherous thoughts he'd attributed to him. In that cell, they had been safe from their ignorance of the mole, able to tend Trowa, and positioned to help in, what he presumed, was this very sting. The concussion hadn't been anything a Gundam pilot wouldn't have been expected to recover from quickly, if not ignore entirely. Apparently, Heero still held him in some esteem. His pride stung along old scars, reminding him that not everyone held grudges. Reminding him of what he'd subconsciously always known, even if he still didn't like it. He trusted Heero Yuy. Trusted completely.
With a last shove, his last flare of anger smothering itself, he pushed off and away from the other man. Throbs of pain from his shoulder, head, and forearms beat in time with the lights. He couldn't look back at the other, but gestured with his manacled arms, "Key?"
The silence that followed was about as sheepish as Heero Yuy ever got.
Wufei nodded, spat the lock pick into a hand, and offered it.
Confusion flashed across Heero's face as he took the thin piece of metal.
"Maxwell," Wufei explained and Heero nodded curtly, something clicking painfully into place behind blue eyes. The Japanese man knelt before him, bent to his task. "You shot Barton."
Heero grunted agreement, "Shoulder."
"Why?"
"They wanted to torture two of you to question the third. I counter proposed. Barton was already a casualty." The summary was calm and unaffected, a string of facts. Logical.
The manacles clicked open and were gently removed, tossed across the room. Their eyes met, steady onyx prodding further than he dared ask.
Blue eyes responded in a confusion of emotions too quick to be interpreted before sweeping away. Heero reached for the pistol, but Wufei neither moved or even tensed. The other man offered the grip, barrel pointed at his own chest, eyes mild.
The Chinese ex-pilot accepted the gun and turned it away, checking it over as Heero stood, "You still love him."
"To love a thing means wanting it to live."
Blue eyes gazed off toward the discord of battle, but a hand was stretch down toward him. Wufei hummed a soft acknowledgment of the quote and, taking the proffered hand, stood. Together, the friends burst from the room, into the fray.
i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i
The small medical bay was quiet, save for the steady, reassuring beep of Trowa's monitor. The tall, lanky man lay strapped into the recessed bed, unmoving and heavily bandaged. Chang Wufei had spent the last ten minutes simply watching the shallow rise and fall of his friend's chest, cementing the knowledge he was alive into irrefutable fact. They had found Duo, carrying Trowa, and rendezvoused at an unmarked Preventer's stealth shuttle Quatre had apparently commandeered from their fleeing traitor, traitor included. After assisting with takeoff, Heero had made him go see to his various minor wounds, making sure to note that the flight was easy and relatively short, hardly requiring two pilots.
So here he was, shirtless and freshly bandaged, proving to himself that the man he confided in the most was not dead. He didn't look up when soft footfalls halted abruptly in the doorway upon entering, but when the silence stretched with the feeling of eyes on his back, he breathed an internal sigh. Glancing slowly over, he was afforded a rare sight. Quatre stood on the threshold, staring evenly back at him, not smiling or with a brave front. Actually, there was a slightly tragic cast to his pale features, a piercing understanding in pale blue eyes. The last time he'd seen him like that was on Peacemillion.
"Winner," he greeted softly, inclining his head.
The spell was broken. The blond straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and pasted on a small, somewhat cold smile, "Wufei. How are you?"
"Tired, hungry, and sore, but nothing serious," he listed honestly.
The Arabian swept a cautious, yet appraising eye over the bandages he wore, "I can get you something to eat, but first, isn't that the second head injury in as many weeks?"
"It is," Wufei brushed a singed lock of hair from his eyes in annoyance. It had been burned short by the passing bullet and now refused to stay put anywhere.
"Oh," the blond took two worried steps toward him, then stopped, "You should have someone check that."
With an owly look, the Chinese ex-pilot gestured for the other to get on with it. He'd already resigned himself to the batteries of tests Preventer's in general, and Sally in specific, would require him to endure to assuage fear and grant him a clean bill of health. A preliminary would be a show of good faith on his part and hopefully calm Quatre.
The blond blinked and moved forward as though he hadn't expected to be allowed near. He started the minor examination hesitantly, all physical contact gentle, but clinically so. Wufei frowned, puzzled, to which Quatre smiled, "I didn't expect you to be in here."
The neutrality of the statement made it seem strange. Wufei quirked an eyebrow, "Where else should I be?"
"I just thought you'd either be co-piloting, or questioning our prisoner," he commented casually, having turned to rummage for a penlight.
Wufei blinked. Quatre had expected him to be with either Heero or Duo, since as far as he knew, the braided man was still menacing the traitor bound in their hold. Apparently, it had surprised Quatre to find him sitting with Trowa. Honestly, he'd been surprised to find Quatre not beside his lover when he had first come. Also, he couldn't remember the blond so much as glancing in the taller man's direction since he'd entered.
Taking the silence in stride, the blond kept diligently about his business, temporarily blinding each of Wufei's eyes in turn with the penlight, "How bad was the first injury?"
"Yuy pistol whipped me," he admitted in a low growl.
Quatre grimaced, "I'm sorry."
Wufei waited to see if he would elaborate on what exactly he was apologizing for, but that seemed to be all the other had to offer. The Chinese man was well aware of the circumstances now, but realized he was still unsure of something. "What were you doing while Yuy infiltrated the group?"
The Arabian ex-pilot glanced at him from the corner of his eye as he straightened the small first aid drawer he'd taken the light from, "Surveilled, data gathered, and prepped extraction routes."
Wufei nodded. He knew the task, the days spent in trees and ventilation shafts, the nights spent memorizing layouts and wiring explosives. Living as a ghost. It was never pleasant to have to watch high risk operations without doing anything. His eyes slid across the room to where his friend lay strapped in and too still by far.
"We got the traitor, at least," Quatre murmured, watching him watch Trowa.
At least. Wufei let that sentiment sink in for a moment before moving on. The throb in his head was being echoed in his shoulder and forearms. Quatre hadn't asked about the other injuries; the shoulder was superficial and they were all familiar with restraint abrasions. They had been fortunate the majority of the men hadn't been well trained and the expertly placed explosions had offered enough confusion to rattle them. Getting out had been fairly simple. Yet, he couldn't shake it. Heero running, unarmed with Trowa across his shoulders, blood slowly running down his arm. Quatre recklessly laying down desperate suppression fire without actual cover or a second thought. And, most of all, the smile that had contorted Duo's face in hideous glee as he spared none and let God winnow out the rest. A smile he only now realized cut both ways. It all cut both ways. They had done what they were best at and gotten out alive. At least.
"I'm done."
"Pardon?" Quatre seemed unsure.
The Chinese man turned black eyes on the blond, "I'm finished with this. With Preventer's."
His friend blinked and frowned, "Now perhaps is not the best time for a decision of that magnitude, Wufei."
"It is," he insisted harshly, staring evenly at the man in an attempt to press upon the other just how calm and lucid he was at the moment. "I'm through with this mess. Maybe I'll teach, but no more field work. I'm done."
Quatre stared openly. Then he seemed to remember himself and let his gaze slip awkwardly to the floor, finishing his straightening of the medical supplies, "I suppose that's your decision to make. I'll see what I can find for you to eat."
"Wait," Wufei barked, feeling frustration flare at the other's sudden retreat.
Quatre paused and turned back, all apparent innocence, though innocence rarely paused to brace itself, "Yes?"
"Have I offended you somehow?"
Pale blue eyes blinked at him, "No."
The Chinese man sighed, standing, "I only ask, so I may make amends."
"You haven't offended me, Wufei," the blond reiterated, smiling wanly.
Wufei frowned, "Then am I acting in some wrong manner?"
Quatre shifted to his back foot as though contemplating a dash for the door, "Not at all."
"This has gone on long enough," he stated plainly, stepping up to the other and confronting him, "What is wrong?"
"I really don't know what you're talking about," the blond seemed to deflate under the other's presence, eyes scanning to the side as he made to leave.
Wufei grabbed his upper arm, anchoring him in place, "If you tell me, I can school my actions, or attempt to explain. That is all I am asking."
Quatre rallied, planting himself more firmly before the Chinese man, voice steadier, but still avoiding his eyes, "Let go of my arm, Wufei."
"You're my friend, my clansman, Winner. For honor's sake, tell me."
He saw the blond's jaw clench, "It's nothing."
"I didn't imagine this. I'm not making it up, Winner. Just tell me."
Quatre's head snapped upward, locking a fierce gaze with Wufei's. His voice was harsher than Wufei had ever heard it, even in battle, "You remind me of my Father."
And then the blond was gone, shrugging off his hand, turning, and marching from the room before Wufei even had the time to comprehend the actual words, let alone the tone. The Chinese man had no idea where to start with that statement. He checked Trowa's vitals and bandages. Sat, feeling the tilt and sway of the shuttle as it bore them homeward. Watched the rise and fall of his friend's chest. Finally, he replayed the conversation. The answer still made no sense. So he sat in the oppressive stillness of the medical bay, not listening to the measured beep of the monitors and wishing he knew what to do next.
i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i
Aurora Musis Amica – Thank you. The concussion was written based on my own experience with a very minor one and descriptions from someone I know who had to wrestle a match with a moderate one, so I'm very happy it came across well. And, yes, I have been considering changing the description.
Berkie88 – Wow... That's a lot of questions. I believe most of them were either answered in the above chapter, or will be answered and me telling you would be spoilers for everybody. I will say that the situation is more or less a lose/lose all around and agree that Sally is a pretty smart cookie. I love seeing people's theories so thank you kindly.
Saiyanzrepublik – I'm very glad you enjoy the boys and the quotes. Hopefully, this chapter was enjoyable, too. Thank you so much for reviewing.