TITLE: Answer of the Moment
E-MAIL: eli @ popullus.net
ARCHIVE: Ask, please.
SUMMARY: Answer to Anna's UC challenge.
RATING: PG-13
POSTED: April 10, 2003
AUTHOR NOTES: This is all Anna's fault. If she hadn't gotten people talking about the UCs, I'd never have responded to the challenge. And, yeah, I settled on snapshots. But big thanks to her and Apathy for the beta service.
STORY NOTES: Spoilers through the end of S4.
DISCLAIMER: Quoth the writer, "Never mine." Read.

---

He still pulled people to him, and he did not appear pleased by that. There was no obvious expression of distaste -- the hard smile and the look in his eyes were hints only for those who knew him. Or those who studied him as she used to.

He had pulled her in as well. She had been caught in his downward spiral and, while she had seen the draw of the drain at the bottom, for a time she had not cared. That was a dangerous admission, even to herself.

The vendor continued to talk, praising what she had no doubt were not hand-sealed boots, but she let the woman babble as she looked past her again to the center of the market. The gathering had moved to the left, likely inched over by the shift of weight that she saw him making even now. Subtle, she thought with a smirk. Then a woman put her hand on his arm and the edge to his smile began to show. She paused. If someone did not intervene, many colors of blood would be blending on the ground.

She almost walked away.

(She will remember that decision later when she slips out of the quarters he rented for "a song," cursing herself.)

Instead she stepped away from the vendor, moving toward the gathering around him. He did not see at first, not until she put back her hood and let her hair fall free for him to notice the difference, as no one else would.

On cue, his head snapped up. He removed the man with the jintka bird from his path and appeared beside her so quickly that she wondered if he hadn't been playing with the thought of what he could do to the crowd.

"What in hell are you doing here?"

"An appropriate word. But appreciation of that is not reason enough for me to provide you with an answer."

The chill in his demeanor turned to ice. She raised her chin and faced him. No matter what had passed between them before, how much had passed since -- added lines around his eyes that could be from exposure to sun instead of shiplight, a grim set to his mouth that made her wonder when was the last time he laughed for fun -- he had never truly hurt her. She did not think that would change now.

"Let's go for a walk."

"To where?"

"To make a trade. Answers for answers." The smile appeared again, drawing away none of the frost. "Better than any other deal you're going to get on this dirtball."

She acknowledged that with a tilt of her head and felt the ice retreat as a spark entered his eyes, reminding her of why so many had and would maneuver to follow him. He took her arm and the jolting contrast of his heat surprised a shiver out of her as he turned them both back through the market.

They walked without words. Her eyes automatically caught the little signs that were the only way to distinguish one building from another. It had taken getting lost in the warren of streets only once for her to learn that trick, and she was not particularly surprised to observe that he was cataloging the same marks.

The need for information was something she knew they both felt burn through them.

(She will remember that description later when her throat stings as she sobs, trying to inhale every possible scent.)

He steered her into a small restaurant and she moved to sit at a table. He pulled her to the scarred metal bar. Ignoring her glare he hooked over a stool with his foot and ordered two drinks. She made no move, and when he turned to her with brow raised in question she crossed her arms. He shrugged and made a show of dusting off a stool for her.

"So where's Scorpius? The old son of a bitch out messing with someone else's head, leaving you free for a shopping spree?"

She sat slowly, somehow surprised that that would be his first question. In three cycles, she supposed, it was possible to forget some things.

"I...do not know. I went my own way some time ago." She suppressed the surge of regret. Primarily that the man who had portrayed himself as a complex puzzle had been so easy to solve. "He would have helped, you know."

With one elbow cocked on the bar, he snorted. "Yeah, helped himself. Are 'help' and 'take' the same thing in Sebacean? It's hard to tell from behind the little guys."

She did not want to ask, but the twitch of his lip lured her. "'Little guys'?"

"The all-powerful microbes that freeze your big brain, sweetheart. See, it was... Aw, never mind. She never did have much of a sense of humor," he confided to the man three seats down.

That he thought so was irritating, and she enjoyed the audience that accompanied sitting at the bar even less, but she stayed silent. Snapping at him would do nothing but provoke him. She remembered that as well as she recalled the sensation of grinding teeth. Her jaw used to ache from dealing with him.

He turned away from her and, as she watched, tilted the glass handed over by the server to examine the liquid inside. She did not bother touching hers. She had experienced a similar drink on the last planet in her search, one of the few times she had been tempted to sample something of which she had no prior knowledge. It was hard to believe that someone as familiar with this place as he appeared to be had never... Intrigued, she watched him close his eyes and, with a grimace, toss the liquid back and shudder.

"Why do you do that?"

The sardonic look he turned on her was retribution enough for letting that thought loose. She winced and moved on to the most important question: "Where is Aeryn?"

His eyes closed again and she held her breath long enough to feel the strain.

(She will remember that sensation later as she holds it even longer while he braces himself above her and looks down at her, waiting.)

He shook his head. "Oh, no. You don't get another one until I-"

"I did not get an answer, therefore I get another question," she cut in, impatient.

"No."

The snarl shocked her into turning to fully face him. "What?"

The server put another glass in front of him and his hand clenched around it. "You can have your question, any question. Just not that one."

She watched him, calculating how hard she could push. After all, this was the heart of the matter, was it not? The defensive hunch to his shoulders kept her quiet. If she pushed at the wrong time, he would simply leave. And while she had to risk it, she had the patience to be subtle about it.

"Fine... Why are you here?"

"Hmph. You don't believe in the simple questions, do you?" He scowled at the new glass and she wondered if he would refuse to answer that one as well. But he pushed the drink away, and settled more comfortably on the stool. "Okay, why am I here... An almost-midlife crisis walkabout at the back end of nowhere. How's that sound? Ever run across that concept in all those books you devoured on Earth?"

She frowned, trying to recall, then blinked at his chuckle.

"Rhetorical question, Sputnik. And what's up with the hair, anyway? Never seen it straight before. Bit of a shocker."

"It has been a while since I have been on a planet that had enough sense to not run off anyone that is...different," she said with a sneer. "It is easier for now to keep it this way."

"I like it." He reached out and the tugging tension as he drew his fingers through a section, pushing it back over her shoulder, made her uncomfortable for the first time in cycles. "Has it grown, or was it all the curl keeping it shorter?"

She narrowed her eyes. "It has been almost three cycles. Everything changes."

"Yesss," the word turned into a hiss as the last strands parted from his hand. She cocked her head at the pain in his voice, concern sneaking into her thoughts for the first time.

"What happened? Why--"

He pulled back, with another shake of his head. "Uh-uh. One question only."

"Then answer!"

The man on his other side looked over and the server cleared his throat, making her realize how loud her exasperation had made her.

(She will remember that caution later when she struggles to keep her tears silent as he cradles her, comforting.)

She leaned in, but he had noticed the interest as well and he took her arm again to pull her up from her stool.

"Y'know, I'm not in the mood for an audience any more." He dug a credit out of his pocket and dropped it on the bar. "Let's take this show on the road."

But she was tired of this game, this "show," and as soon as they were back on the street she shook his hand off to glare at him. "If you are not going to cooperate, why should I bother? I have other, more productive things I can do with my time than chat about the past with you."

"Oh, really?"

"You cannot live in the past," she spat. "You must always move forward."

"Sounds like you've been practicing that one. Does it sound better the hundredth time around?"

"You are the last one to speak to me of delusion." The smirk. Even as the anger took over she knew what pushed her. She thrust a finger into his face, pleased when he leaned back. "Are you prepared to tell me anything that is true? Or are you so determined to--"

She almost bit his hand when he slapped it over her mouth and pulled her forward into the cool shadow cast by the restaurant. After the first moment of surprise, she considered biting it anyway.

"People with weapons," he whispered in her ear, making her go still. "When they're obvious like that, it's usually a good idea to not stand out."

She nodded and turned, catching a glimpse of the last Charrid as it rounded the corner. A chill went through her. Charrids? When had they arrived? How had they arrived without her knowing?

Then someone else came down the street. She automatically pulled the hood of her cloak up, shrinking further back into the darker shadow he cast within that of the building. She felt his eyes on her, could almost hear the questions she knew were piling up in his mind. But the important thing right now was that no other eyes found her, so she looked at the ground, said nothing, and prayed for him to do the same.

After another moment, he touched her arm.

"He's gone."

She looked up and confirmed that, avoiding his gaze. It was no shock when he turned her, but it was when she saw nothing in his face except curiosity.

"Why are you avoiding Charrids, but scared white by another Kalish?"

She stared at him, unable to come up with a lie. She had never thought to prepare one, had never imagined this situation would happen and berated herself for that lack.

She stepped away.

He pulled her back.

***

He watched her go from beneath the lumpy excuse for a pillow. When the door eased shut almost soundlessly behind her, he rolled to bury his face in the covers and breathe the unhoped-for scent of something familiar.

(He will remember that ghost later when the familiar is a forgotten dream.)

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