Belated thanks to the many anon guests (including Mei. You are love.), Marmalah especially, thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying my writing style! I hope I'm not disappointing you with a slow style plot. This is a work-in-progress, and I'm trying my best. If it's not working for you, let me know, and I'll see if I can revise.

Chapter 5
Rooftops and Conversations

(Kanda)

I watch Walker wander through the District until he goes to a street near the Noah district. His white head disappears into a café and then I notice another figure following at a discreet distance. I walk around a nearby shop and come back around from the other side to see the figure slink into the back entrance next to cardboard boxes leaning in a heap alongside a few crates.

I give the building a quick look over. There are several windows on the ground floor, but the first floor looks easier to go in unnoticed. I jump to catch hold of the fire escape and slide along the edge to the window farthest away from where Walker is probably talking. It takes some work, but the window only justcracks open. A few back and forth jiggles the window is wide enough to slip in.

The whole procedure took little less than five minutes, but it sounds like they're already talking.

"We didn't find any hint of anything like that—Allen, you need to keep your head down and stay out of this. If we find any connections, we'll peruse them."

"What did you find? I think he was connected to something over here. Why else would anyone here know his name?"

"But drugs? I don't think so. The man was fit, and had a regular job at a sports center."

A cold sweat runs down my neck and back. I shift awkwardly, and refocus on listening.

"He might have been a dealer," Allen presses on. "He seems mixed up in something—"

"Something? And how did you get to that conclusion?"

"I was asking around…and some people said something that made me think that one of the syndicates is already aware of him."

The man makes an exasperated sigh. "You're attracting the wrong sort of attention. People are going to associate youwith a syndicate." There are sounds of slight shuffling, as though he's too agitated to stay still. "You're not acting like a wrongly accused citizen, Allen." Worry and annoyance color his voice.

The idiot interloper makes equally annoyed noises. "Yes I am! Anyone would try and clear their name," stubborn determination makes his voice whiny and high pitched. "Justice and truth are very important to the Noah." I can almost hear his frown. "Or to me, at any rate."

"Keep your head down. And stop doing things that attract attention to you."

"Well, then you ought to stop coming around here. This is the third time you've come to talk, you know."

"I am more careful that you. I doubt anyone noticed me coming and going." Gristly indignation colors his voice. Suddenly, I'm sure he must not be that much older than Allen at all.

I take a few steps backwards to go farther up the stairs to be securely out of sight. The back door opens and closes.

I wait three minutes, considering my options. Walker probably will stay here and finish whatever work he needs to do, or maybe talk to some more of his resources. It sounds like his story about being accused pans out, so I'm not entirely sure what kinds of sources he might have. I close my eyes, considering my orders and my options, but there's not enough time to decide anything.

The sound of breaking glass is all I hear of the first shot. The bell clatters and boots thud against the floor.

Allen makes a startled noise, and furniture clatters.

I'm down the stairs faster than they can make their second move and at the assailants' side before they're even halfway through the store. The man with the gun is wearing non-descript dark clothing. There's a bulge where another weapon is, but I disregard him almost immediately. I kick the gun out of his hand, fracturing his wrist, and maybe his arm. It only takes a few moments. My heart isn't even sounding in my ears.

Allen stares, uncomprehending, beside me. He manages to dodge the second man's clumsy rush, but can't move fast enough to keep from being hit by the chair hurled at him. He reels, stumbling backwards.

I give a quick chop to the back of the man's neck, not caring if I use too much force and paralyze him. He's unconscious, paralyzed or dead, but either way he falls to the floor.

I narrow my eyes, considering Walker. Maybe he knows more than he's letting on, if someone is sending men after him. Cheap, unskilled men, but still.

"Come on," I order, my voice gruff. "You're easy to find here. You need to go someplace else." I tug at his apron, pulling him towards the stairs.

"That's upstairs, Yu."

"Kanda." I correct, and shove him a little harder.

"The doors are both downstairs," he explains, sounding far too normal for some civilian who has just been shot at.

"We're going out the window. The doors are both likely to be watched." I open the same window as before, but this time climb to the roof.

Allen chuckles, but climbs up after me with practiced ease. He moves across the dimly lit roofs as easily as he went down the street only fifteen minutes ago. Curious.

We go across a few roofs and down another fire escape to hide among the throngs of people in the street. The bar and club area is just starting to attract the usual crowd. But I take us a winding path away from the clubs and their many eyes, and take him to a street full of rundown apartments. A few buildings in, we go to the second floor of a two story building.

"Where are we going?" Allen asks, speaking for the first time since we started running. "This place looks…"

"Decrepit?" I offer. I shrug. "It will do." I don't bother to tell him that the place we've stopped before are my rooms, as rarely as I visit them. Not many even in the Quartered District will house a doll. Without official papers, it's not legal. And I certainly don't have any papers. I open the door.

Walker looks around hesitantly, and I see he's holding his arm stiffly. He looks as though he's ready to fall down, either from injury or shock, but I can't tell which.

"What's wrong?" I demand. "Show me your arm."

Allen looks at me affronted, his light eyes finally leaving the pile of blankets in the corner.

I shrug easily, not bothering to change my stance or change my expression.

"You don't need to worry." He meets my gaze squarely, quite willing to smile justenough to show the tips of his teeth.

My responding laugh comes out more like a grunt. "Uh-huh.

With a flash of frustration, he stiffens. I've noticed his body movements aren't the shuffling, cumbersome gait most people do, but more controlled. He's not aware of outside surroundings or carrying any weapons, so I wouldn't peg him as a fighter. But something about him...

"I just need to rest a bit," he shakes his head a little.

With a shrug, I half guide, half push him toward the futon bed roll. Unceremoniously, I lay it out, but Walker is making the strangest of faces. "Stop gawking and sit down."

His smile wavers, and that gold flying thing flits up and over. "I told you, I'm fine."

It might be politeness. It might be fear of germs. I scowl at him either way. "There's nowhere else to sit." I pull it out into the center of the room and sit carelessly, unconsciously sweeping my clothing behind me.

When no cloud of dust or hoard of roaches come out, Walker helplessly follows suit. His movements are also a little showy, but in a (slight) mock of nobility. "Yes, of course." His scowl is much less pronounced; more of a twitch of the lips. He looks around one last time, but at a raise of the eyebrow, he reluctantly settles his gaze on me. "...do you think Link got away all right?" I shrug, and a flicker of something goes over Allen's face as he confirms that I heard his conversation with the detective.

"He looks green...not a lot of experience. He might have, but he might not have." I shrug, indifferent. That detective doesn't look important no matter his affection for Walker. So long as he doesn't get in the way…

Walker looks at me, pursing his lips. "So you wouldn't care if he died or not?" With his hands tucked neatly in his lap, it's difficult to tell when they clench, but his body goes stiff. Not so good at grace after all.

I snort. "I don't care." Shifting a little, I just barely manage to keep from touching his arm. It doesn't seem"fine." "One less stupid cop."

His correction is deceptively absent-minded. There's metal under those words. "Detective, actually. Junior Detective Link." Then his eyes track the yellow winged thing.

With his hands in his lap, Walker looks neither like a kid nor an adult when he takes that pose. I don't know quite what to make of him; I've never met anyone so serious about other people's lives.

"A lot of talk for a brat who doesn't defend himself." I settle on, watching him for a reaction.

For a moment, it reminds me of Lenalee...but then, she's not quite the same. He bristles. "I—" For the first time, anger tightens the lines on his face.

"Forget it. I don't care about the detective. So he thinks the stiff wasn't involved with drugs." I shrug. "I doubt he knows much about the Quartered District, or who goes in and out." Not many of the police do…unless they've dirtied themselves enough to take active call in the area.

"So you think that Atkins had dealings here?" His voice is far off. Deep in thought, I guess.

"Probably. He was probably killed by someone who does, at least."

His eyes are unfocused but this one hand makes a series of movements—that I think indicates worry. "I didn't smell any blood...so he probably got away..." He fidgets anyways. "I'll go—" Definitely not talking about the stiff now. He's seeking livetrouble.

"Don't." This kid needs things told flat out. "If he's dead already, it won't help, and if he isn't, he won't thank you for walking right into trouble." Do I even need to sayit?

With a quiet look, he waits a beat. He doesn't say anything, but drops his gaze to look at his hands. Anyone else might even look flustered, or scared, even. Somebody else might think he conceded the point but I decide that Walker only looks annoyed. "Is this your place?"

I nod.

"Why do you live here?"

I shrug. "It's convenient enough."

Walker stares at me. "How, exactly?"

"They don't ask for papers. It's close to the Black Tower," I name the headquarters. Really, it's a collection of buildings and a club, not an actual tower. Everybody knows there's no tower around here, but we call it that anyways.

"Papers," he says reflectively. His expression is contemplative. He looks up and gestures lightly with the one hand. "...dolls are quartered too, then?" he shrugs in a gesture of helplessness he doesn't display. "Like the Noah."

I shake my head slowly. "Technically, I'm not Quartered. I'm ignored. I don't have the right to exist without an owner and property papers." I look him in the eye, daring him to say something.

This kid would probably try and stare death down himself. It's odd. Most people can't make eye contact with me for more than a minute. "...an owner." he repeats. "Wouldn't that be Lenalee?"

Taken aback, I blink. "Why would you think her?" I consider Walker, thinking. "Komui is higher ranked."

With an expression most would call "innocent," he continues glibly, "She seemed...to think of you differently...maybe she lets you have more freedom?"

I chuckle. "I have freedom. No one is my owner. There aren't any papers because I didn't finish my training."

He looks reflectively at my hands, and his eyes stray to where I keep my knives. "...you didn't finish training." A smile quirks his lips out of that polite, attentive expression. "So...what does that mean?"

I don't know what to say, so I just say what comes to mind. "I ran away...someone convinced me to." I swallow hard, bile coming up in my throat.

Allen looks at me with pronounced interest that he tries to hide under a sympathetic smile. I don't buy it.

"It was a long time ago." I insist.

He tilts his head, a question on his lips like a child with a new toy. But then his eyes slide to the side—not where the gold thing is sitting, but towards the window. It's like his eyes go out of focus, but the one seems to glimmer just a fraction. Like cut glass catching the light and making a rainbow in reds. Very odd.

"People tend to think of time in different ways." His gaze drifts back to me forcefully, as though he's trying to keep from looking at whatever he sees towards the window. I get the feeling he's not exactly talking to me.

On that hunch, I wait.

"A year is measured the same, but it feels different to each person." He continues, as though elaborating to a question I didn't ask.

"Are you trying to tell me that I'm too young?" I demand.

Walker starts. "What? No." He looks at me with an odd expression. Something like embarrassment and pride all at once. "The people…I mean, Noah…age differently is all. Time doesn't always seem the same."

My eyes narrow and my lips press into a thin line "Yes. Dolls also have a faster maturation stage, but we will outlasta human many times over." Provided, of course, we don't die by overexertion or plain bad luck. "And besides," I smirk. "This is as old as I'll ever look."

"Oh." He blinks and leans forward, a childish expression overtaking his mannerliness. "So, how old are you?" A smile plays from his eyes and his lips. His whole face is alight.

I feel myself stiffen and turn away. "I was technically…born…nine years ago." I growl a little, unconsciously but to good effect. A lot of his mischief bleeds out. "But dolls develop in the…womb…a sort of well of life…before we're born."

Walker nods dumbly. "You're nine." He repeats. That's always the part that gets through thick people's heads. Idiot.

"I'm the same as any sixteen or seventeen year old." I insist, and I can feel my eye twitch.

He shrugs. "Then technically, or comparatively, we're about the same age." He draws himself up, his chest puffing out. "But I'm actually forty-two."

I stare at him.

He laughs out loud. "No, really. Noah age differently than people too; there's a higher number of people born with special abilities…and they can live for years and years." He offers an apologetic smile that looks entirely too cheerful.

I shrug. "Whatever. You can grow old and die slower, but I'll still outlive you." I say loftily.

He giggles. Actually giggles."Maybe? But the oldest Noah I know looks like a young girl…no older than thirteen."

Giving him a pointed look, I scoff. "Sure. And mentally, you're thirteen too, right?"

He only laughs. "We do get along for the most part…" he chuckles some more. "But it's true, we do mature slower than human people."

I decide it's time to change the subject. "Do you plan on continuing researching that guy?"

His cheer drops considerably. "I can't exactly—"

"I thought as much…"

I stand up to make some hot tea, and when I come back, Allen is lying down on my futon. A lot of the energy is gone out of him, and even the flying thing—a golem, I wonder?—has settled down to lazy, occasional flap from a sentinel perch from my pillow.

I settle to the floor to sip my tea and meditate. I certainly have enough to think about.

tbc...

Thoughts?