Author's note: Hey there! Here's the next chappie, with a sincere apology for taking so long! I ran into a little trouble working on this chappie! Can you believe this is my third draft? And all my drafts are completely different! Oh well, what's important is that this one is finally complete! So read on and I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 59

It was early morning. 6.30 a.m. to be exact. The sun only just rising, streaking the sky in hues of pink and orange, and his face was warm when he tilted it up to meet the rays. But winter was fast approaching and the wind that howled past was cold. Kira turned his collar up, stuffed both hands deep into his pockets and walked on, head down against the wind. He was by the river – it was more of a canal actually – not too far from the pub Stellar worked in.

He had been in the bar all night because the rest of the team had drunk themselves unconscious. They had met the night before, sitting around the bar counter, watching as Stellar picked her way through the crowd, her deft fingers working into the pockets and purses of the people gyrating across the dance floor. She had turned up with decent loot. But drinks had still been on Auel because the cache of jewellery he had snatched up had been worth millions. He had kept a little for himself – a thousand or two – and dumped the rest into the canal, along which Kira was now strolling.

There was no sign of dollar bills floating on the water surface though. Kira figured the current must have swept the cash further downstream, where some poor soul would have seen the money and jumped in to fish out as many wet bills as he could.

All for the thrill. That was what Auel had said, as he gulped down another glass of Scotch.

Sting had been busy too. The son of a rich man had hired him to kill off his old man. It wasn't a difficult job. He had executed it perfectly. Two hours of planning, Sting had boasted, and just five minutes to get it done. His personal best.

As for Kira, he had taken a walk around the north of the city, found a bookstore that he didn't know existed at the far end of an alley, as well as a deli which served very nice coffee behind it.

A fruitful couple of days for all of them, and they had toasted to that. The rest of the team wanted to get drunk but Rau's Rules made it clear that at all times, at least one member of the team had to be clear-headed. That meant no booze and no drugs, because you didn't know when an enemy would show up and you didn't want to be caught unaware. So Kira had volunteered to be the sane one, while he watched Sting, Auel and Stellar drink to their hearts' content.

They had slept through the night in the pub – the boss knew Stellar well enough to let them be. And Kira had kept a vigilant eye on all of them, until they woke up at dawn with a tremendous headache. The hangover had died off fast enough though. Something to do with the chemicals in their body. And in an hour or two, they were wide awake and good as new. The bar was mostly empty in the morning. The real business came only at night, and Stellar was practicing her 'sleight-of-hand' stealing techniques on Sting and Auel. None of them had objected when Kira rose from his seat and excused himself for some air.

So here he was, by the river, strolling along without purpose, going nowhere in particular, while the people around him bustled past, doggedly heading for their destination. He paused by a streetlamp and leaned against the rusted green rail, staring down at the muddied waters of the canal, wondering where he was going to go. Perhaps tomorrow, he would try the west side of the city, even though that had been where he was two days ago. But he had nowhere else to go. He had covered the north and the south. Only one he hadn't, was the east.

And that was where Flay's diner was.

He had to stay away from the east, stay away from her. No one could know that she was still alive. No one. It had been four days since he had last seen her, a figure silhouetted in the spilling light from the diner's kitchen, staring at him with her large blue-grey eyes as he turned his back on her. Whatever she had said had frightened him. She was testing him, he knew. All that rambling about 'Kira Yamato' and brown hair and purple eyes.

She was describing him.

Oh god. She was actually describing him.

Kira was certain that she hadn't seen his face. No way. She could have seen his hair colour, because the last time he had barged into the room to save her from Auel, he had forgotten to conceal his hair. But he had been diligent about hiding his eyes, because their colour was too unique. The only time she would have seen him without his mask on was when they had been dancing in the Clyne Mansion's ballroom.

Did that mean she had put the pieces together? Did she already know that he was the one who had danced with her?

But what was all that about 'Kira Yamato'?

That name again... Who the hell was he?

And then there was her request for him to shed his mask. What was she expecting to see? Why was she so curious? Who was Kira Yamato to her?

Questions. So many questions and none of them answered. She was the key to them all, but he couldn't get close to her. If he did, it was equivalent to him pulling the trigger on her himself. He would cause her death. So he had to stay away.

But he thought about the earnest eyes that looked at him, the gentle touch of her fingers as she bandaged his wound. He glanced down at his forearm. The gash had healed completely. There was not a single trace left of it – no redness and swelling, no lingering soreness, no scar. Nothing. As if he had never wounded himself at all. Yet, there it was, he could still remember the brush of her fingers across his skin, prickling him like electricity. How could that be imagined?

"What are you looking at?"

Kira spun around, right hand diving into the inner lining of his jacket, where he could feel the hilt of the switchknife he kept close to him all the time. He stopped, fingers touching the blade, when he found himself staring at an old man who was smiling up at him with a toothy grin. Hunched over, his small wiry frame was draped over with an ugly khaki-coloured overcoat.

"You looking for the money?" The old man beamed.

Withdrawing his hand, Kira gave a non-committal shrug and turned back to the river, leaning his elbows against the railing once more. He had hoped the old man who take the hint and leave him in peace, but the next moment, he felt the stranger saddle up beside him, brushing close, looking over the edge of the rail at the churning waters below.

Kira took a step left and put some distance between them.

The old man gave a low whistle. "They're gone," he sighed, "all swept away." He waved his arms dramatically, nearly hitting Kira in the process. "But, look," he said, cocking his head to the side thoughtfully as he turned to look at Kira. There was a sly glint in his eye that made Kira perk up and raise his defences instinctively.

"I saw the guy throw the money in, I tell you," he said, voice dropping to a whisper. "I saved a couple. Lookie here!" He reached into his oversized coat.

Alarm bells ringing in his head, Kira took a step back subtly, unzipping his jacket in one smooth motion so that he could access his knife more easily. Who the hell was this guy?

Then the old gnarled hand retreated and in his hand was a dripping-wet banknote. "Lookie here," he repeated, brandishing the soggy cash in Kira's face. "Here, you can have it."

The wave of paranoia in Kira subsided, and he let his tensed shoulders slump back down. "Save it," he muttered, zipping his jacket back up against the cold wind. He turned on his heel, hands back in his pockets, heading back the way he had come.

"No, no, hey!"

His path was intercepted by the old man, who could certainly move faster than most men his age. Kira froze in his tracks. The stranger waved the bill about, sending a fan of icy water droplets scattering. "You'll be interested in this one. There's something you ought to see. Lookie here?" He pushed the cash up into Kira's face and Kira smelt the stink of rubbish and waste wafting off the bill. He had to take it from the old man so that he could see the tiny scribble at the bottom of the sheet.

HQ. Now.

Kira glanced up quickly. The old man was already on his way, blending and mingling into the crowd without a backward glance. In seconds, he was gone from Kira's sight, just another homeless bum heading nowhere, doing nothing.

Kira shredded the bill and tossed it over his shoulder into the river, watching as the little tiny pieces of paper drifted and fell like ashes until the murky water swallowed them up in their depths. When he turned around, he saw a familiar flash of blonde hair. Stellar was running towards him. Behind her, Sting and Auel were jogging to keep up. The expression on their faces told him all that he needed to know.

Rau had a new mission for them.

Ninety-six hours.

Four days.

Four days melded into one long, endless period.

A ray of warm sunshine fell across her face, and she cracked her eyes open and blinked in the gold light.

Morning again.

She remembered the first morning she had woken up here. Everything had looked so unfamiliar. But four days later, things were starting to slip into some kind of routine. Some kind of familiarity.

Lacus lay where she was for a moment, just staring up at the ceiling, which was now awash with light that flooded in from the open window. Thinking about where she was and how she had got there. Thinking about the man, whose eyes she longed to see. And thinking about how eager she was to find out his identity, and how afraid she was at the same time. Was that possible? She sat up in the bed, swathed among the warm sheets. The radiator was humming pleasantly in the corner and hanging over the cast-iron grates was a pale pink robe of silk. She glanced towards the closed door of her room, a little amused by how deep a sleep she had fallen into, so that she hadn't even been aware that her hostess had snuck in and left her the robe.

Swinging her legs over the edge, she got out of the bed and her feet found their way into a pair of cosy, warm slippers that had been set to the side. Padding over to the window, she looked out onto a street lined on both sides with single-storey shops, interspersed by low apartment buildings. The neighbourhood was a little run-down, probably sitting on the outskirts of the city, where the not-so-rich but not-so-poor dwelled. Despite the fact that the sky was still grey, streaked only with faint pink and orange hues, down below, the streets were already full of cars and people. Heads down, striding fast, going about their business. For a moment, she felt the urge to yell down and wave, for she felt as if she hadn't seen another person in a long long time. But the thought reminded her of his warning.

Stay low, understand? No phone calls, no going out, nothing. Pretend you've vanished from the surface of the earth. Pretend you're dead. That's the only way for you to stay alive, got it?

Trust me.

She stretched her arms out, closed the window and drew the curtains, the metal rings rattling noisily against the aluminium rail overhead. In the ensuing darkness, she slumped back against the closed window and the drawn curtains and stared at the blinking digits on the digital clock that Sai had so kindly lent her. 6.30 a.m. Lacus didn't have to look to know that she was alone in the apartment. Sai and Flay had already gone off to the diner.

For four days, Lacus had hardly seen any sign of them.

The first day, she had woken up to find that she had slept late into the afternoon and she had felt immensely guilty about it. Sai and Flay were of course gone by then. She waited up for them until the sky outside had turned inky-black. Eleven p.m. She meant to thank her kind hosts for letting her stay, but the moment they got back, they said they were exhausted and she left them to troop off to bed.

The second day, Lacus woke up early, hoping to catch them before they headed off to the diner, but then, she realised that they had left the apartment even earlier. That night, they came back at twelve and seemed surprised to find her waiting up for them again. The same excuse, and Lacus had no choice but to let them go.

The third day, Lacus woke up before dawn had even broken, but the apartment was cold and empty. They returned home only at two a.m., sneaking in through their own door like thieves. Lacus had been waiting up for them on the sofa actually, but she pretended to be asleep as they tiptoed past her to their room. The moment she heard their door close, she got up and headed off to her own bed. She knew what was happening – it wasn't that Sai and Flay were tired. They just didn't want to see her, or worst still, talk to her, because they knew what she was going to say, knew what she was dead-set on finding out.

So it was the fourth day now. No doubt Sai and Flay were gone. Lacus wondered for a moment if it would be worth staying up to wait for them tonight, then decided that they might even stay over at the diner, just to avoid her. A tide of guilt bothered her – she was actually driving her hosts away from their own home.

Lacus pushed herself away from the window, pulled on the robe that was warming over the radiator, and stepped out into the empty living room, cordoned off from the kitchen by a single bar counter. A glance at the open door of the other bedroom confirmed that she was alone. The clock, propped up against a metal tin of flour on the Formica-topped counter, reminded her again of the time, and how they all seemed to be playing a childish game of cat-and-mouse, stepping around each other.

Four days of chasing after them like a debt collector.

Feeling frustrated, Lacus wandered across the living room, skirted the counter and stepped into the kitchen. She already knew what was written on the sheet of paper stuck to the metal door of the refrigerator with the magnet shaped like a daisy flower. But still, she bent close and read the neat writing running across the white surface. Maybe hoping to see something different after four days.

Good morning Miss Clyne, we hope you've had a good sleep. Sai & I have gone to the diner; we didn't want to wake u as u haven't slept well these few days. Breakfast is on the counter; lunch and dinner in the refrigerator. Keep the door locked and let the calls go to voicemail. Please do help yourself to the TV & anything else u require; feel free to make urself at home. – Flay

No mention of when they were coming back.

Or if they were even coming back.

Breakfast had indeed been laid out on the counter. Lacus lifted the top off the plastic ware and found a stack of sandwiches. As if on cue, her stomach rumbled to indicate its interest. Pulling up a chair, she sat down by the counter and stared at the neat slices of bread, between which were packed vegetables and hefty slices of turkey.

All around her, the apartment was silent, except for the quiet hum of the radiators as they busied themselves expelling the cold. The silence reminded her of her isolation in the warehouse, which had its own unique humming that came from the vastly bright fluorescent lights in their steel cages overhead. And she remembered the gentle fingers that broke off the sandwich and fed them to her patiently, while her wrists remained tied behind her back. The eyes watching her from beneath the mask as she chewed and swallowed hungrily. The soft, gentle voice that had told her to trust him, that promised he would let her go.

She made up her mind.

She was going to find out his identity, whether Sai and Flay liked it or not. Whether he liked it or not.

Athrun awoke with a start and stared up at the ceiling, heart thumping, mind racing. Outside, the sky was grey, and the drawn blinds across the window threw dark shadows across the room. Squinting in the darkness, he saw that his watch read 6:30 a.m. The nights were getting longer, and colder. He glanced down to find Cagalli snuggled against him, blonde hair splayed out across his chest. All was quiet.

He wondered what had woken him up. Had he been dreaming again, like what Cagalli had said? He couldn't quite remember his dreams though.

That is, if he had indeed been dreaming in the first place.

A creak startled him and he glanced quickly towards the closed and locked door of their motel room. Had he imagined it? These old buildings often creaked and moaned as they settled in the cold. He listened hard, and heard nothing again. Decided that he was indeed being paranoid; the news of the DNA result had unsettled him much. To think that all this while, the man he had been chasing had been his goddamn best friend. A man he had assumed was dead, but had turned out very much alive.

His eyes scanned the small motel room, noting the papers and files that were scattered all over the floor. From his angle on the bed, he could see the photograph pinned to the manila file by a paperclip. The image of the young boy. Brown hair and sparkling amethyst eyes. Looking straight at the camera, hand raised in a wave, smiling. Exactly the way Athrun remembered him.

Meyrin and the rest of the department had worked the systems hard, pulling out all the files they could find that were relevant to Kira. Of course, they had found his file in the Missing Persons Database. The hospital records turned out to be botched. Mu had called two days after the DNA results were revealed to inform Athrun and Cagalli that he had roped in a favour from the Headquarters' IT department. The tech boys had looked through the hospital system and confirmed that there were traces of hacking. Someone had been diligently erasing signs of Kira's existence. And over the past four days, Athrun and Cagalli had pored over the documents repeatedly, trying to find something, anything that would hint that Kira was possibly still alive.

And perhaps, explain why he had somehow become their enemy.

Lying awake in bed, Athrun recalled the livid red scar stretching across Yzak's face, the stiff bodies of his officers, the woman who had died the moment she opened her door, the corpses littering the forest floor amidst the wrecked cars, the grotesque folding of Yuna Roma Seiran's body as he fell. He remembered the last time he glimpsed Lacus: her worried face glancing out at him over the limousine's lowered window outside the Central Police Headquarters, the wave of her slim hand as the black car drove away. Most of all, he recollected the near-paralyzing fear he had felt when he saw the gun trained on Cagalli.

How could it be Kira?

And yet, all the evidence suggested that there was something suspicious about Kira's disappearance. How it hadn't been a kidnap, because there had been no ransom demanded. How his existence had literally been wiped out from the system. Someone was trying to hide something. But who, and what?

Another creak. This time louder, firmer.

Athrun sat up, dislodging Cagalli, his intense emerald eyes fixed on the door. Outside, the corridor lights, which should have been on throughout the night, were off. Something wasn't right. His sudden movement had awakened Cagalli and she stirred, stretching a little. In the gloom, Athrun saw her open her mouth to speak, and he clapped a hand over her mouth quickly. "Quiet," he whispered, "someone's here."

Amber eyes widened and stared back at him in alarm.

Athrun gestured for her to collect her jacket and the documents strewn across the bed and floor. As she slid out of the bed to do as told, Athrun snagged his loaded gun from under his pillow and crept to the window, lifting the blinds carefully with a fingernail. He glanced down at the carpark, lit only by the dim streetlamps that stood around its perimeter.

There were two cars, sitting still and silent in the darkness. No one else out and about at all. Which was a little strange.

Behind him, he heard another soft creak, an almost inaudible shuffle, and the sound of metal striking metal. Someone was picking the lock of their motel room. Very quietly.

Athrun spun around and saw Cagalli crouched close to the floor, her arms full of the papers and files, her jacket slung over her shoulder. They wouldn't have time to escape. Scrambling across the room, he pulled her to her feet and towed her towards the adjoining bathroom. "Get in," he whispered anxiously, bundling her, together with her papers into the narrow cubicle. "Stay low," he said, pushing her down with a hand on her shoulder so that she was hunkered down underneath the sink. "No matter what, don't make a sound and don't come out. Lock the door when I leave. Here." He thrust the gun he had bought the day before at a pawnshop into Cagalli's hands. He had bought it as a spare, in case he lost the .SIG Sauer or ran out of ammunition, but he figured Cagalli needed it more now. Remembering the disaster that had taken place the last time he told her to let lose all the bullets with her lousy aim, Athrun revised his instructions. "Keep it with you," he whispered, "shoot only when you're under threat."

He didn't wait for her to reply. Just closed the bathroom door, made sure that Cagalli snapped the latch shut, and hastened over to the entrance of their motel room. The doorknob was vibrating ever so slightly. He took up position behind the door, so that when it swung open, the intruder wouldn't be able to see him. He held his breath, tried to slow his beating heart. His damp fingers adjusted their grip around the gun. Who was it on the other side?

The sound of a soft click as the doorknob gave. Now, all that was keeping the intruder away was the door chain and Athrun had a feeling that it wasn't going to stop whoever was determined on entering.

He was right, because the door slid open an inch or two. Athrun stepped back, melting further into the shadows. He could see nothing outside – the corridor was swallowed in darkness, so was the intruder's face. A pause and then Athrun caught sight of the intruder's fingers inching through the gap between the frame and the door, which was held in place by the chain. In that instant, Athrun realised that the intruder had a full view of the room. He glanced quickly at the bed that they had deserted so rapidly. The sheets and pillows were askew. Would the intruder be able to see that there was no one in bed?

The gloved fingers eased around the door, feeling for the end of the chain - the gold bulb that lay trapped in the bracket - and finding it, slung a rubber band across its head. Ah, Athrun thought to himself, watching with some amusement as the intruder twisted the rubber band taut and snagged the other end over the door knob, the age-old method of removing door-chains.

Whoever it was on the other side was no amateur. Moving silently and quickly, his deft fingers indicated experience and even at this close proximity, Athrun could hardly hear the intruder's breathing. If he hadn't been a light sleeper, he and Cagalli would have slept through the break-in.

The gloved fingers retreated and the door closed with a faint click. Athrun held his breath and counted backwards.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

The taut rubber band sprang apart, hauling the golden bulb towards the end of the bracket, and the chain swung free. Athrun was startled when the door burst open silently on its hinges. The movement was fast and quick, but controlled, and the gloved hand caught the chain before it could clatter against the door frame. And then Athrun saw what he expected to see – a masked man stepping through the doorway, preceded by a raised gun. Only, the gun didn't point towards the bed as he had expected. Instead, it swivelled around, spinning in Athrun's direction.

The blue-haired detective reacted fast. He ducked the swinging arm with its gun and slammed an elbow into the intruder's gut. There was a grunt and Athrun snapped his arm upwards, trying to wrestle the gun from the man's hand, or at least deflect the shot if he pulled the trigger. A stunning blow clocked Athrun hard in the head as the intruder retaliated and kneed him in the brow. Rolling away to lessen the impact, Athrun scrambled to retain his grip on his own gun. Lights were exploding in his vision and he had to shake his head to clear it when he glanced up to look at his enemy. The intruder was stumbling through the open doorway, into the room, heading for the armchair, and Athrun realised that in their struggle, he had actually knocked his gun aside. He glimpsed the weapon under the armchair, black metal gleaming even in the darkness.

Staggering to his feet, Athrun launched himself at the man and they fell to the floor, several feet short of the armchair. A rough hand grasped his right wrist in a vice-like grip, fingers digging hard enough to bruise, and Athrun was suddenly aware that the man was grappling for his gun. He kicked out, and his shoe impacted flesh. Another grunt. A fist shot out for his face and he wasn't fast enough to deflect it, so Athrun whipped his head around and took a glancing blow across his jaw.

They grappled across the floor, rolling, trying to gain leverage over one another, the loaded gun trapped between their sweaty bodies. Athrun knew he hadn't pulled the safety lever yet, so the gun wasn't at risk of misfiring and hitting one of them. He protected the little lever with all his might. The intruder seemed to have realised it and he was struggling to pry Athrun's fingers off the gun. In a desperate attempt to distract the intruder, Athrun hooked his left thumb under the hem of the man's ski mask and ripped it off. The sudden attack stunned the man, and so was Athrun, for Athrun had, in that crazy moment, expected to see amethyst eyes staring back at him. But no, this guy had lime-green hair that hung down the side of his temples and intense emerald eyes. It wasn't Kira. The burst of relief roused Athrun from his stupor and he straddled the intruder, raising a fist to deliver the decisive blow.

But then he froze. Because there was a hard metal gun barrel pressed tight against the back of his skull.

"Get up and get off him."

A woman's voice.

He paused, left fist raised, fingers of his right hand still wrapped tight around the .SIG Sauer.

"I am not going to repeat again. Last warning: get up and get off him. Now."

Athrun did what the voice asked. Slowly. But he kept his grip on the gun, which hovered in mid-air between him and the intruder, who was still on his back, his own fingers gripped tight around the barrel of Athrun's gun. Could he fire it? Athrun wondered. He knew he had the advantage, his fingers were positioned around the trigger. But no. He couldn't. The barrel wasn't pointing at the intruder. It was pointing in the direction of the bathroom. Where he had just left Cagalli all by herself. There was no way he was letting go.

"Let go of the gun, Mr. Zala."

He paused for a second, until the woman shoved the gun barrel harder into the back of his head as a physical admonition. Athrun let his fingers loosen a little, bit by bit, feeling the hope drain out of him with each digit that uncurled from the trigger guard. Then the intruder wrenched it away from him, and the dread blossomed deep in his stomach. No way out.

"Now, turn around."

He did and found himself staring at a shadowy figure. The lights were still off, but Athrun's eyes had adjusted to the gloom. He could see the outline of the newcomer. Slim, smaller in build. Definitely a woman, her face hidden underneath a ski mask. And behind her, was another dark shape. This one slightly bigger. Lean, broader shoulders. A man.

Three of them in all.

Which only made him feel worst.

The green-haired man scrambled to his feet, and lifted the gun he had snatched. ".SIG Sauer," he said. There was a hint of a smile in his voice, "Nice." He turned it onto Athrun.

"What do you want?" the blue-haired detective bit out.

"We're not looking for much," the man said. "All we need you to do is come with us, and no one has to die."

"And why do you need me?"

"You'll see," the woman said.

"And if I decline?"

"Then you'll just have to die."

Athrun stared hard at them. There was no mention of Cagalli, thank god. "Where're we going?" He asked, trying to drag out the time. He only had speech as his defence now.

"You're asking too much," the man behind the woman snapped. "Now, let's go, or I'm going to pull the trigger."

"Easy," the first intruder said, tutting. "We're inviting Mr. Zala to come with us. Be polite."

Rather than calming down, his companion took a step forward, fists cocked, as if going to swing at Athrun, when all of a sudden he paused and cocked his head towards the bathroom door.

Then all hell broke loose.

Athrun hit the deck as the bathroom door exploded outwards, and the sound of gunshots split the air.

Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.

Six rounds, a voice in Athrun's head screamed as bits of plaster and brick rained down on him. He knew he had given Cagalli a Glock 22, which could hold fifteen bullets. Automatically, he counted off the rounds and knew she had nine left.

Risking it all, praying that Cagalli wouldn't hit him by accident, Athrun lifted his head off the floor and realised that Cagalli was the only one standing. She had taken the intruders by surprise and they were all lying prone on the ground, heads under their arms. No time to retaliate at all, as Cagalli continued to pull the trigger repeatedly.

There was only one way out.

Athrun struggled to his feet and leapt for the armchair, all the while counting the rounds that Cagalli was letting loose. Seven more to go. Six. Five. He crashed heavily into the armchair and it fell onto its side with a loud thud. Snatching the gun underneath it, he fired a single shot at the glass window, which shattered with a deafening explosion. Four. Three. "Come on, come on," he yelled, deafened by the crash and the gunshots. He avoided the barrage of bullets from Cagalli's gun by diving under her outstretched arm, grabbed her wrist and hauled her after him. The gunshots died down instantly, leaving behind a ringing in their ears.

They ran across the room and Athrun released his grip on her just as they approached the empty window frame, now a gaping hole that led out into the dark night. He didn't think twice. He leapt through the window and for a second, he felt as if he was suspended in mid-air, and then gravity began its pull and he fell ten feet down to the hard asphalt ground below.

It felt as if a truck had hit him, forcing all the air from his lungs. He did a tug-and-roll and landed on his knee, which sent a mind-blowing shot of pain through his leg, but he didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Winded, he scrambled to his feet with difficulty and yelled up at Cagalli, who was staring down at him wide-eyed. "Jump," he shouted, "I'll catch."

He expected Cagalli to hesitate, but she didn't. In an instant, she had leapt clear of the jagged glass shards and was freefalling through the air, barrelling straight for him.

The blow when he caught her in his arms drove him backwards, and he fell sprawled onto the hard ground. The back of his skull cracked hard against the asphalt, and pain exploded in the form of a blinding white light.

Athrun wasn't sure how much time he had lost, probably seconds, because through the throbbing agony, he felt someone hauling him to his feet, tugging and pulling at him so hard that his shoulders ached. "Athrun, come on." The panic in Cagalli's voice drove through the haze like a stake. He opened his eyes. The image of Cagalli bent over him wavered and rippled like a reflection in water. He pushed himself to his feet, stumbled a little, then snagged Cagalli's wrist and ran. Not really knowing where they were going, only aware that they had to get as far away from the motel as possible.

As they raced across the parking lot, Athrun cast a look over his shoulder. On the second storey, through the open window bordered by jagged glass shards, the intruders were staring down at them. His vision was still blurry, and Athrun could see only the faint outlines of the intruders, but he recognised the lime-green hair and felt absurdly relieved that it wasn't Kira.

Author's note: There you go! Quite a long chappie here! I hope it's clear who the intruders are! Just to clarify, it's not Sting. So more action to come, now that Athrun and Cagalli are under attack and Lacus is determined to find out Kira's identity. I wonder how Lacus is going to go about doing that… Oh well, don't forget to review, review, and review! Hope to hear from all of you!