Final Fantasy VIII 1. Introduction

****

BETWEEN THE SHADOWS

An epic and ambitious English project by Ethereal Fury. And a great thanks to Ifalna for the title

(Please note that all this is background information and, whilst helpful, is not essential to understanding the story. Feel free to skip it if you want, though I have spent quite a while writing this, so I would appreciate you reading it) 

****

Synopsis:

Zephyr is the stoic young prodigy of the elite Zion Akademy of Espionage and the Battle Arts, a youth with a tragic past and a secret mission to assassinate the President of his country. Aurora is the beautiful and spirited girlfriend of his fellow gunbladesman and nemesis Reed, a worthy ZEG candidate and consummate ladies' man. A serendipitous twist of fate brings them together and their instantaneous teenage attraction evolves into a deeper and intricately sensual game of emotional cat-and-mouse that threatens to imperil Zephyr's deadly mission. As the days to the assassination wind down and their involuntary relationship grows forbiddingly close, can Aurora change Zephyr's mind?

****

The Characters:

Zephyr Leonstrife—The young seventeen-year-old protagonist of this story. Surrounded by an

alluringly mysterious aura and a shield of indifference, little more than what he explicitly reveals is known about him, though through his ever-sarcastic inner voice we catch glimpses of his true psyche. Taciturn, aloof, and seemingly unfeeling, Zephyr is the unprecedented 'wonderboy' of the Zion Akademy, a military school dedicated to training recruits for the elite and secretive organization ZEG, and an indisputable specialist with the mystical gunblade. A turbulent past he'd rather forget and his one weak spot—his sister Storm—lead Zephyr to undertake a perilous assassination mission through which he unwittingly meets the striking Aurora—Reed's sweetheart— whose stunning radiance and candid frankness turn his world upside down and threaten to discredit everything he's ever believed in. Little does he know that his mission will prove to be far more than he bargained for. 

****

Reed Lockheart—At seventeen, Reed is every Akademy girl's dream and boy's nightmare. Ruggedly good looking, charming, and incessantly flirtatious he is popular even amongst the female Akademy Instructors, facet he uses to obtain good grades without studying. He is a naturally talented fighter with a deadly sniper's aim and skill with the gunblade surpassed only by his rival Zephyr, his sole competitor for Akademy supremacy. With a penchant for trouble and a philosophy to break every possible Akademy rule, many see Reed's entrance to the obedience-demanding ZEG as an impossibility. Honoring his reputation as the institution's resident ladies' man, Akademy life for Reed consists of clandestine parties, daring late-night escapades, verbal spars with Instructor Brendyn Blade, and an interminable procession of women through his bed, despite his four-month relationship with the coveted Aurora. When he is commended the critical task of preventing an assassination, he is thrust into the raging personal feud Zephyr, too, finds himself entangled in. With the knowledge that their country is under threat, will Zephyr and Reed—rivals since the beginning of time— unite to save it? 

****

Aurora ? – Reed's beautiful, spunky, and somewhat rebellious girlfriend of four months. As the only daughter of a widowed rich and powerful man, the strict controls placed upon her life have driven her to seek solace from the monotony of rich life in the raucous halls of the Akademy and the charming flattery of Reed's company, despite his recurrent infidelities. Her presence at the Presidential reelection reception fatefully crosses her path with Zephyr's, whose apparent callousness and reticence—along with his chiseled good looks— act as the forceful magnets of her inextricable attraction. Albeit both are mutually sure that they are wrong for each other, circumstances continuously fling them together so that their attempts at combating their unequivocal magnetism serve only to bring them threateningly close. After astounding revelations about both youths shake their individual worlds, can Aurora be the one to change Zephyr's mind about his deadly mission? 

****

Brendyn Blade—Young, beautiful, brilliant, and successful; at only nineteen, the distant and icy Brendyn has become an important member of ZEG's top-secret Intelligence Team, as well as a valued Akademy Instructor and Head of Technology. Worshipped by many a male student and fellow faculty who pledge their eternal love and vie with each other for an unattainable date, the frosty young Instructor can boast of an extensive and obsessive fan club and a surging popularity within the Akademy. With her eye set on the lonesome Zephyr, however, every request for a date has been politely rejected in an unconscious wait for him to graduate into ZEG and take notice of her attraction. Serious and focused on her work, it is seldom she leaves the confines of her research laboratory for social purposes. Assigned a mission with her least favorite student Reed, the only one with the audacity to incur her feared wrath with his constant insolence and disrespect, she learns as they race against the clock that behind his cockiness and irreverence lies an astute young man she can actually grow to like. Will friction between the two turn to sparks, even if Reed is her student? 

****

The Places:

In the distant planet of Terra, seven countries exist:

****

Democratic Republic of Zanark: Known more commonly as simply 'Zanark', this expansive country sits amidst the serene oceans of eastern Terra. Its capital Zion, the 'city by the sea' with its infamous alleyways, plays host to the yearly meetings of the Council of the Seven Nations, a high-profile gathering of the political figures of Terra's seven countries to discuss trade and military endeavors as well as each nation's individual standing. As the most technologically advanced-- feat achieved through the migration of talented scientists to the nation in the wake of the Zanark-Aerith war-- and politically stable of the seven nations, the President of Zanark also presides the Council and can exert an invaluable influence over its decisions. Resentful of the nigh-absolute power of the Zanarkist President, virtually the most powerful man alive, many disgruntled political leaders, mainly from the nearby land of Aerith, conspire together to topple Zanark and rearrange Terran hierarchy. As a result, the Zanarkist President's life is often at risk, but despite repeated assassination attempts, President Decan Jecht continues to preside over the Council and work towards the de-militarization of the tumultuous country of Aerith. Zion also serves as the headquarters of the elite espionage-mercenary force ZEG, which-- with its base at the Zion Akademy for Espionage and the Battle Arts-- dispatches agents worldwide to ensure national stability.

Official Language: Zanarkish, the flowing, melodic tongue spoken by the kings of old who settled and governed the land until its shift to democracy prior to the Zanark-Aerith War twenty two years ago. Several sub-dialects may be spoken in the more remote areas of the country, but media broadcasting and education are only in Zanarkish. 

Currency: Zanarkads, the strongest currency in Terra.

****

United Dukedoms of Aerith: A feuding nation steeped in a bloody civil war, located in the turbulent northwestern seas of Terra. Originally, Aerith was a collection of ten individual dukedoms with a classical feudal system, each of which was ruled by its founding Duke, who established laws and economic structure as he pleased. The 'Dukes' were once top officials in the Zanarkist Royal Army, exiled to the barren 'western continent' after a brutal and costly disastrous military campaign against the mountainous nation of Duragon that had threatened established Zanarkist boundaries. Each Dukedom vied and competed with the others for resources and prestige, so they all harbored powerful militias for defense from each other and foreign threat. The Dukedoms lived in relative seclusion, structuring themselves as they pleased for many centuries until the dashing young descendant of the Duke of Galia (one of the most powerful) concocted the bold plan of unification to contend the might of Zanark. He waged a successful military campaign that placed all ten dukedoms under his control, naming the newly-formed country 'Aerith'-- or 'united' in the archaic dialect of Thith, the smallest of the dukedoms. With the military might of the ten dukedoms combined, Aerith launched and ambitious offensive against the powerful Zanark in what came to be known as the Zanark-Aerith War. The surprise defeat plunged the young nation into civil war, as war reparations proved too much for the budding economy, and the strict Council controls prevented growth. Some hungry and restless rebels, longing for the glory Aerith had seen in times of old, incited violent uprisings as citizens tried to reclaim their dukedoms. Others blamed Zanark and the Council for their woes, and coveting the power of the Zanarkist President vowed to replace him with one of their own. Still others supported unification and fought bloody, drawn out battles with the dissenters. ZEG had to invest many agents and countless billions to reestablish a semblance of stability in the war-ravaged nation. 

Official Language: Originally, each Dukedom spoke a modified version of the Zanarkish of its founder. Over time, however, the Dukedoms shed their fluid Zanarkish tone and adopted the harsh guttural sounds of the few natives in each area. Each Dukedom developed a distinctly unique dialect, and years of seclusion resulted in such divergence that residents of neighboring Dukedoms could not understand each other. Kein of Galia, the brave unifier of Aerith, combined the ten dialects (with a predominance of his native Galian) to create a colorful hybrid known as 'modern Aerian', language spoken today. Some of the Dukedoms-- now provinces with restricted governmental control-- still retain their initial idioms, which are spoken by the elder members of the communities. 

Currency: Aerian Sickles, weakest Terran currency.

****

City-State of Komark: Strategically located in the ocean separating Zanark and Aerith, this diminutive city-state-- albeit the smallest nation of the Council-- is the grand economic power of Terra. Favorable underwater currents and legendary shipbuilding techniques have turned Komark into a wealthy and bustling port state through which virtually every viable sea route passes. Originally an imperial colony of Zanark, Komark played a crucial role in the Zanarkist war victory over Aerith; its proximity to both countries made it a valuable military assembly area from which to dispatch Zanarkist troops into the Aerian heart. Having been granted its independence after the war, Komark now exists as an autonomous city-state with its own laws and leaders, and even its own subdivision of the Zion ZEG Akademy.

Official Language: Komarkese, a modified version of the dialect spoken in the western lake region of Zanark. Retaining the typical Zanarkish melodious tones but spoken with lightning rapidity, Komarkese can be picked up with relative ease, especially by Zanark's residents. In fact, a Zanarkist and a Komarkian can engage in conversation-- each speaking his individual tongue-- and still understand each other.

Currency: Komarkian Kryhnns, commonly referred to as KKs. The Kryhnn (Zanarkish for 'colony' and Komarkese for 'currency') is second in power only to the Zanarkad, statistic that gives the tiny country illustrious status in the Council.

****

City-State of Arkadya: This remote icy island off Zanark's towering northeastern mountains, also once an Zanarkist colony, housed Aerian and Duraguese captives seized during the various Terran wars. The lengthy harsh winters and billowing blizzards that buffet its rocky shore make for a barren landscape inhabited solely by the hardy descendants of the war prisoners of old. With fishing and hunting of rare snow animals as its main trade, Arkadya exerts the least influence-- apart from the war-ravaged Aerith-- in the Council and often must seek help from its conqueror Zanark. Reclusive and insular, Arkans care little for the matters and idiosyncrasies of the rest of Terra and participate in Council meetings only when obliged. Content with living their own lives and lasting through the perpetual winters, Arkans are simple-minded folks uncorrupted by the greed for power that consumes the governments of the other nations, though they still maintain close relations with Zanark, which many still consider the 'fatherland'.

Official Language: Arkish, a picturesque hybrid of an archaic Zanarkist idiom as well as Durag and the Aerian of old. Combining the flowing rhythms of Zanarkish with the harsh sounds of Aerian and the intricate grammar of Durag, Arkish is a rare but harmonious dialect difficult to learn and understand. Few outside the isolated nation speak it, and with the dwindling Arkan population, it may forever disappear in the near future.

Currency: Arkan Arahans; a relatively weak (second to the Sickle) but stable currency with a fixed exchange rate to the Zanarkad. Employed mainly in everyday transactions in Arkadya or in the few rare international export conferences the country attends, this currency is known little throughout Terra.

****

Empire of Duragon: Sheltered by the towering cliffs of the Southeastern Continent rests the dormant power of a nation scorned. One of the first founding countries alongside Zanark, Duragon once was a nation of much prestige governed by a mighty emperor-- but his desire for unbridled power and domination led him to colonize much of the unknown Terran landscape and challenge Zanarkist claims. A long bloody war with the reigning power of Zanark resulting in a bitter defeat brought the proud empire crashing to its knees. Stripped of most colonial claims excepting a few remote islands off its eastern seaboard, the old empire plunged into a drawn-out civil war with secessionists in the fertile Western Lands who succeeded in their quest for independence and established their own queendom. Torn and tattered, ravaged by the war with Zanark and at home, and humiliated by the terms of the peace treaty with its once-fellow world power, many Duraguese turned to the illicit but profitable technology and arms trade, making Duragon an opulent nation of tainted money. Now specializing in the production and sale of semiautomatic weapons and top-secret scientific information, the ' Glorious Empire of the Eastern Sea' (the country's name in its native Durag tongue) is under close scrutiny from the Council, and extensive regulations are enforced to curb the nation's growing military might. Resentful of the authoritarian power bestowed unto the Council's President-- the President of Zanark-- vindictive residents longing for their power of old are often found backing Aerian underground resistance factions who seek the demise of Zanarkist power.

Official Language: Durag, a graceful language combining intricate grammar and flowing sounds.

Currency: Duraguese Ducats, a currency whose worth fluctuates with the demand for weaponry in the illicit arms trade that generates it. On good days, it can rival the value of the Zanarkad and Kryhnn; on bad days, it can be almost as weak as the Sickle. This fluctuation poses economic hardships for the residents, who can be millionaires one day and unable to afford bare necessities the next. The Council is working to oust the arms trade as the main income-generating industry and restore some stability to the currency by pegging it to the Zanarkad.

****

People's Republic of Gaetan: A fairly reclusive nation bathed by the tropical waters of Terra's Eastern Sea, the Republic of Gaetan was once under the colonial rule of the Empire of Duragon and gained its independence after the Duraguese might was shattered in the First War with Zanark. Now it has made its place in the Council as a strictly republican nation boasting envious freedoms and strictly-enforced popular elections for both the Presidency and the Gaetan Congress. Boasting expansive mineral reserves of the priced mythril ore-- used extensively in both military equipment and technological contraptions-- the people of Gaetan have become skillful and prolific miners and refiners, becoming the primary producers of military advancements. With highly protectionist economic measures-- designed to shield the mythril mining industry upon which the nation has been subsisting for generations-- in place and intent on keeping the barriers, it is not often that the Gaetan representatives to the Council join the economic symposiums, attending only when required and reluctant to agree to trade commissions imposed by the Council. The Gaetan government maintains friendly but scarce relations with the dominant superpower Zanark and its closest neighbors: the farming Queendom of Adrya, the port- City-State of Komark, and even the toppling United Dukedoms of Aerith. Relations with its old conqueror are amiable, though discrepancies often ensue over Duragon's choice of illicit involvement in the arms trade and its vindictive desire to oust the Zanarkist Council President.

Official Language: Gaeic, a colorful mix of ancient Durag-- a remnant from colonial times-- with Komarkese & modern Aerian influences. As with its reclusive people, Gaeic is not commonly spoken or understood (because of the convergence of such different languages) outside of the Republic, and little is being done to remedy this. Council representatives are fluent in both Zanarkish and Durag, but normal residents are only taught and exposed to Gaeic.

Currency:Gaetan Gils-- because of the protectionist measures imposed on the nation, the Gils are very valuable in daily transactions within the Republic, but the lack of involvement in international trade renders them fourth-- behind the Royal Silver and ahead of the Arahan-- in international standings.

****

Queendom of Adrya: Founded during the early years of the current millenium by disgruntled farmers in the fertile Western Lands of Terra's Southeastern Continent, the Queendom has had a brief but peaceful post-secessionist-war history. A strictly matriarchal society, Adrya is one of the two Terran nations ruled by a woman (Aerith being the only other nation, with a female Prime Minister), and despite the general skepticism at the elected queen's ability to lead her people, the country has made a place for itself in the Council as the agricultural powerhouse of Terra. In worldwide Council matters, Adrya is quick to support its mighty ally Zanark and secure its interests, and is a vehement advocate of the demilitarization of the troubled Aerith and Duragon, its vindictive neighbor. It is believed that if the Council Presidency were relinquished by Zanark, it would pass unto the Queen of Adrya and mark the first supreme rule by a woman in Terran history, though several of the 'older' countries, envious of the Queendom's favorable relations with Zanark and position in the Council, believe a nation so young is not experienced enough to lead the Council of the Seven Nations. This often results in scattered attacks alongside the nation's dubious borders with Duragon, disrupting the export of their agricultural products and claiming valuable acres of cultivable farmland.

Official Language: Adryan, an intricate hybrid of a modified Durag spoken by uneducated farmers in the Western Lands of old and interlaced Zanarkish expressions and words. Education is given in a mixture of Adryan and modern Zanarkish, reflecting the close ties between both nations, and those near the Adrya-Durag border still commonly speak the broken Durag from which Adryan originated.

Currency: Adryan Royal Silvers, commonly known to Terrans as simply 'Silvers'. With the agricultural industry upon which the Queendom is built losing in prominence and power to the trading routes of Komark and the technological genius of Zanark, the Royal Silver is third in value (not counting the fluctuations of the Ducat) behind the Zanarkad and the Kryhnn.

****

Author's Notes:

First off, welcome to the first 'edited' version of this story (truthfully, only a few of the chapters are fully edited, but I'm working on that). It's taking a far more serious and complete approach; hope those of you that have read the crude original version enjoy the changes. And to those of you that are new readers, thank you so very much for clicking on that link. I know not very many of you (myself included, all be admitted) would read originals, yet if you are reading this, here you are. This began last September as an assigned short story for my junior year literature class and developed itself into a full-fledged novel-length multichaptered story. I do hope to complete it soon, but with the ongoing evils of a second year of an International Baccalaureate Diploma, this will be lower on my priorities list. This will likely be the first and only author's note in this story (except perhaps in the newly-written chapters) so any info you might need is probably here. Please read and review whenever you reach the end of a chapter or the end of a reading stretch, and don't hesitate to inform me of what I'm doing right or wrong. Once again, thank you so very much.

Apologies in advance if parts may appear overly wordy or whatnot; detailed study of the works of the Spanish Romantics of the nineteenth century will do that to you. Now _they're_ wordy… I think it rubbed excessively off on me. *Damns Bécquer, Rivas, Espronceda and a bunch of other romantics to the depths of hell*. But it's got the ever-sarcastic inner voice of Zephyr to provide comic relief. Hope that makes it better.

Now, as to why the main character is named Zephyr: it's actually after a line in Alexander Pope's 'Sound and Sense' poem; a zephyr is mild gentle breeze. Being the Squall fan I am (also a wind-related name), I was thinking one day what I would name his kids and Zephyr came up and stuck. So here he is, ladies & gents, aloof, antisocial, and sarcastic as ever. And very cute too ^_^. Okay, I think I'm out of things to say. Peace out and enjoy.

****

Disclaimer: Though this is an original, it _is_ inspired by a potpourri of the Final Fantasy games, so I give Squaresoft credit for all that. It's mostly names and places (chiefly from FFX); any reference hereon belongs to them, but the characters are all mine, mine, MINE! Actually, I just want Zephy; you guys keep the rest (*holds an auction for Reed*) Who wants to buy Reed? I'll take a buck, really!


	2. Zephyr

****

Between the Shadows

By: Ethereal Fury

****

Chapter One: Zephyr

It was a dark and star-free night in the expansive continent of Zanark. The timid moon ducked playfully in and out of passing clouds as if engaged in a solitary game of hide-and-seek, shining a teasing snippet of silvery light unto the landscape. Twinkling stars were hidden from view by thick, puffy, tinted clouds that threatened to spill their menacing watery contents without prior heed. In the occasional dim moonlight, the unmoving scenery exuded unspoken secrecy and mystic intrigue. Not a soul dared disturb the calm of night or reveal the dark secrets and ploys hatched in the placid gloom of the deepening shadows of the winding alleyways of Zion. Not even a blade of grass dared sway in the tranquil breeze that swept through the city, but a lone hooded figure, oblivious to the surroundings and the occult perils that lay awaiting an incautious victim, crept stealthily and purposefully through the flickering shadows of the side streets. The figure's head turned imperceptibly from side to side, glancing in both directions of the narrow street in an attempt to discern what only the night and the figure knew. 

A black cat crossed the figure's path languidly and, abruptly, the hooded frame halted at a plain wooden door undistinguishable from the hundreds of neighboring ones. Squinting against the dim glow of the emergency light situated above the doorframe at a small square of white paper, the figure confirmed its destination and rapped brusquely upon the unadorned door three times. Muffled movement was heard from within as a heavy frame shuffled to the inconspicuous entrance and the peephole was pulled back to reveal a pair of eyes peering suspiciously at the figure. In the deficient light, it was impossible to determine the color of the irises. 

"Password?" the mysterious pair of eyes whispered, straining to see past the dark capuche in the almost nonexistent light.

"Lrulumyda lraacalyga," came the reply from underneath the hood. The foreign language rolled abruptly and awkwardly from the hooded figure's tongue. That dialect had not been spoken in the land of Terra for hundreds of years and its harsh guttural sounds were a stark contrast to the flowing eloquence of the figure's native Zanarkist tongue.

"Jano famm, bmayca lusa eh (Very well, please come in,)" the eyes echoed, much more fluent in the same archaic idiom as they disappeared from view and the creaking wooden door was pulled open. The aperture was barely wide enough to allow the hooded tall and robust frame entrance to the concealed interior.

The figure squeezed through the narrow doorway into a deceivingly welcoming fire-lit tavern and peeled back the hood to reveal a handsome youth of seventeen with jagged brown hair, calculating sapphire eyes, a scar above his right eye, and a sparkling silver stud in his left ear. He knew better than to trust appearances; the amiable aura that emanated from the brick fireplace belayed the true sinister character of a place buried so deep in the heart of the notorious Zion alleyways, where militarists and troublemakers were known to congregate. The Zion side streets were known throughout Zanark and the other nations of Terra as the most unsafe in the continent, perhaps one of the downsides of being the capital and biggest city of the exemplar country and most advanced nation, Zanark. Knowledgeable of this disrepute, the youth took no chances and warily scanned the room. 

At a table in the far corner away from the radiance of the fire, almost fully occluded by the shadows cast by the burned out lamp that hung above it, four men clad in black played cards, thrusting exorbitant amounts of money onto the wooden table and keeping a hand on the butt of their unconcealed guns in case one of the players had the audacity to cheat. A man sitting comfortably in a cozy armchair by the fire polished his rifle—standard Aerian war issue— lovingly, running a rag over the rotating barrel with the expert deftness of an experienced soldier. Many other people sat in huddled clusters, carrying out whispered conversations, wisps of the rough modern Aerian tongue drifting to his ears. The youth shifted his azure gaze quickly around the room again, noting the Aerian black and red flags proudly displayed on the walls, and then to his watch. Good, he was a bit early; that was always important—a late arrival would likely reduce his pay. It was better he wait than they wait. With this in mind, he strode over to the bar and ordered a drink, watching the tavern-goers with scrutiny. Within five minutes, two imposing men in black with two red stripes on their shoulders and armed to the teeth approached him. They looked not much older than himself, twenty or twenty one perhaps, and eager to please whomever it was that had sent them.

"Ze-phyr Le-on-stri-fe?" one of the men inquired hesitantly, noticeably struggling with the melodious words of the Zanarkist name. 

The youth nodded, "Yeah." He knew better than to say more until the two men stated their purposes.

"Good, the Boss awaits. Follow us," the other demanded slowly. He spoke in the fluid Zanarkist language, but it sounded rough and abrupt, laced with what the youth identified as the thick accent of the northern mountains of Aerith.

Zephyr downed the remainder of his glass with a gulp, placed a five-Zanarkad bill on the counter for the barman to collect and followed the two men through a narrow corridor off the back of the tavern to a small anteroom framed by two doors. He glanced suspiciously at his two companions and at the antechamber he found himself in; years of training had taught him to be wary of everything and always on the highest alert. _Not like these two wimps would pose any problem for me_, he thought with an inward arrogant smirk whilst his semblance displayed nothing but indifferent boredom.

"Fyed rana, Declan, fydlr res," the man that had prompted Zephyr to follow stated gruffly to his fellow guard, entering the door on the right upon receiving the confirmatory nod from his partner.

Zephyr leant against the wall to await the reappearance of the guard and his admittance to 'the Boss's' presence. The command had been spoken in a gruff modern-Aerian mumble, probably assuming the youth's complete ignorance of the language, but Zephyr's Akademy training had endlessly drilled him in the knowledge of the various languages of Terra with the pretext that a spy and mercenary had to easily handle a foreign environment. He could speak Komarkese almost like a native because of its evident evolvement from Zanarkist colonization and contemporary Aerian with some difficulty due to the sheer dissimilarity with Zanarkish, but the writing and understanding of the languages came with ease. All the young guard had told the other was to wait and watch him. Zephyr turned his head lightly to study the youthful warden that kept an unblinking vigil on him, watching Zephyr's every move with a hand on the butt of his gun. 

Declan, the other guard had called him; what would bring a young Aerian teen out of Aerith and into the heart of Zanark? With a shake of his head that startled Declan and caused him to draw his gun, Zephyr wondered why he would even care what this guy was doing here and glanced at his watch again. He only had about an hour before his absence would raise suspicion back at the Akademy, and he was sure Reed would be delighted to see him in trouble. _Let him be as delighted as he wants; I'll just kick his ass in training tomorrow_, he thought with a mental chortle. His reticent glee was interrupted by the creaking of a door.

"The Boss will see you now. Through this door," the man that had previously exited the room said, speaking slowly and clumsily in Zanarkish once again. 

Zephyr nodded, pushed himself off the wall and followed the man through the door, flanked from behind by the other — Declan— and his drawn gun. He walked into a darkened and elongated narrow room, presided by a lengthy table lit by candles at regular intervals. Guards like those that had escorted him into the room, albeit older and more experienced with obvious battle scars, encircled the table. At the head of the table was a black high-back chair, turned away so all that could be seen was a wrinkled pale hand. Zephyr narrowed his eyes and quickly scanned the room, weighing the chances of a successful escape should things get ugly. 

He counted fifteen guards, though he suspected a few more kept a strict vigil on him from their concealed spots in the room's various shadowed nooks. That gave him little chance of retreat; he knew he was good, but even _he_ couldn't take on more than fifteen armed guards without his weapon. Hand-to-hand combat wasn't his particular forte; he was naturally gifted with the mystic gunblade. He had no choice but to hear 'the Boss' out—at least—so he stepped up to the table and waited for 'the Boss' to begin talking. He had been taught never to pressure a potential employer; tonight, he would put his Akademy training to good use. A voice coming from the chair began speaking in a cold and almost screechy tone, much like nails on chalkboard.

" Miehsn nul (Search him)," came the gruff authoritative command. Three guards immediately stepped forward, forced his hands onto his head and ran handheld scanners that bleeped and blinked as if they were alive over his clothes and hair, searching for a hidden microphone or camera. Having satisfied themselves that the youth was clear, one of the guards nodded to the high-back chair and muttered, " Ymm lmayn, cen (All clear, sir)."

__

Whoa, okay, these guys are serious-- I mean, a search?! And those nifty Megatron plasma scanners that can analyze even your most basic body molecules cost at least a couple million each on the street, if you know where to go. They're certainly no amateurs; I mean, ZEG's stocked up on those, but ZEG's like national security, Zephyr thought in amazement, straightening out his clothes and waiting again for the voice from the black chair. He'd have to be much more careful than he had originally thought; he wasn't dealing with some street gang desperate for help-- Megatron Plasma Scanners? Those things were hard to come by, even on the illegal market. His wonderment was interrupted once more by the raspy voice seemingly emanating from the depths of the high-back chair.

"Zephyr Leonstrife. Aged 17. Top student at the elite Zion Akademy of Espionage and the Battle Arts. Gunblade specialist with exceptional sniper qualities. Destined to take the ultimately challenging ZIFE exam this term. You're pretty well known in the area," the voice stated slowly and deliberately, pausing after each fragment of information as if he were reciting a memorized paragraph.

__

Strange. He's speaking in fluent Zanarkish with only a twinge of a foreign accent; the other two could barely string two words together. He doesn't seem Aerian yet he's undoubtedly the boss of an Aerian gang; the meeting place, the password, the flags… and how does he know so much about me? I haven't heard of any active Aerian gangs that hired ZEG-to-be's,Zephyr thought. A tingle of familiarity waltzed uneasily down his spine; that voice seemed vaguely familiar. He shrugged it off indifferently and focused on what the man had to say, "That's me. Guess word goes around fast."

"Much more so than you would think, young one. But enough of that, let's talk about why you're here. We have a mission for you, for which you will be handsomely recompensed," the voice continued shrilly, getting straight to the heart of the matter. The faster they got through this clandestine meeting, the better; he had a lot of planning to do. This mission he was about to commend the boy with was of the utmost importance—years of meticulous scheming would finally pay off, they couldn't afford to leave any detail overlooked. Oh yes, he had a _lot_ to do; getting the boy involved was only the beginning. Finally, revenge would come to him, and it would be oh so sweet. 

After a subtle hand signal from the man in the black chair, a small white package was pushed across the table to where Zephyr stood. Akademy training subconsciously kicked in and he eyed the package suspiciously before probing it lightly with a pen he found lying atop the table. "What's this?" he inquired. _Rule number one Leonstrife, **never** pick up anything until you've made sure it's not explosive_, his inner voice stated, reciting what he had been taught in his first Akademy lesson. He didn't trust this unseen man, and he wasn't about to be blown up by sheer curiosity; if they could afford plasma scanners, they could fashion any type of bomb. It wasn't all that hard really.

The voice spoke up again in its chilly, gravelly manner. "That's to aid you on your mission," it replied. There was an unspoken finality to the statement; it left no room for argument as to whether or not Zephyr would carry out the mission. It seemed to have been decided beforehand without his input or approbation. "You can pick it up; it won't explode."

Zephyr nearly smirked; what, did this man think he was stupid? He wasn't the Akademy's best for no reason. He signaled to one of the guards beside him to pick up the package, and upon confirming it was indeed harmless, took it warily in his hands and shook it lightly. "What's the mission?" he asked, placing the package back on the table. He wanted to get through with this meeting as much as the man that had organized it did. At least they agreed on that.

"We want you to," the voice paused dramatically. Zephyr thought, with slight cynicism, that if this were a movie, the cheesy suspense music would be reaching its resounding climax by now. But this was no movie; it was the reality of his life. "Assassinate the President of Zanark," it concluded triumphantly. 

The chair whirled around to reveal the owner of the voice. He was the ugliest man Zephyr had ever seen—a scarred and half-burned face with snake-like slits for nostrils, one eye scarred permanently shut and the other seemingly an eerie red color, and pale cracked lips. The rest of his body looked no better—burnt and shriveled, wrinkled and in some parts limp. Zephyr took an involuntary step back in disgust, and after quickly averting his gaze, forced his eyes back unto the monstrous man in front of him.

"Assassinate President Jecht? You kidding me? Apparently, you're not very up-to-date with Zanarkist politics; he appears publicly everywhere with at least ten bodyguards. It's virtually impossible to get within 10 feet of him. What am I supposed to do, waltz up to him and go "Excuse me Mr. President, may I kill you?"?! That's crazier than deserting a young woman in these alleyways and expecting her to come out alive. And how 'handsomely recompensed', as you put it, will I be anyway for such a daring action?" Zephyr inquired incredulously, heavy cynicism tainting each of his words. He knew he should be courteous to a prospective employer but what this man wanted was damn near suicide! Assassinate the President of Zanark and the Terran Council? That was insane.

The man in the chair grinned maliciously, revealing a mouth full of cracked and missing teeth and gums of a bluish hue. In the dim candlelight, he looked utterly monstrous. "You underestimate us, Zephyr," he stated in a cold voice that sent chills down Zephyr's spine. The boy had changed so little; that trademark cynicism of his was still there, and that response had been quite funny. If this hadn't been such a serious affair, the man would have had a good chuckle. But now wasn't the time for that; it was time for business. Zephyr would become involved regardless of the cost. "You will be paid 100,000 Zanarkads. The President will be holding a reception for his recent re-electoral victory at the Presidential Mansion in two weeks. We expect you to be there, learning all you can about him, his security measures, how he walks, how he talks… everything. Hell, you can even figure out the color of his underwear for all we care."

"What, you expect me to just stroll into the Presidential Mansion just like that? Tell ya what, why don't I just put on a flowery dress and hang from my neck 'I'm here to kill the President' and jitterbug my way in there," Zephyr retorted sarcastically, shaking his head in disbelief. "How the hell do--?"

The man interrupted him by snapping his fingers, its strident sound ringing loudly throughout the quiet room. Immediately, one of the men stationed around him brought forth a sheet of paper and laid it in front of Zephyr, who glanced at it curiously from where he stood. It was a map of some sort. The man in the chair cleared his throat in a horrific sound that resembled a rusty saw. Zephyr shuddered and raised his eyes to meet the man's once more. The lone eye had a youthful amused twinkle sparkling in it, playing off the flickering candlelight. 

"As interesting as that dress proposition may be, this is no joke Leonstrife. What you have in front of you is a floor outline of the Presidential Mansion. As I'm sure you are aware, the President's reception is by invitation only, so you will have to determine how to infiltrate it. We give you complete creative freedom there. Security will be at its highest, but I'm sure entering a building will be effortless for such a talented young man," the man smiled again, that twinkle still in his eye, before continuing. "The actual reception will be held in the main ballroom, down on the ground floor, so while everyone is enjoying the President as a host, you will be investigating the President's files upstairs. A breeze, I'm sure."

Zephyr cocked his head and rolled his eyes lightly. "Oh, totally. I'm sure the mission isn't that simple; there isn't all that hype about entering a building." 

The man shook his head in an almost appreciative gesture. The boy was smart, really smart. Perhaps he really proved true to the legendary reputation that preceded him. All the better for them. "Of course not. A week after his reception, after the conclusion of the Council's annual summit, the President will be addressing the nation to announce a restrictive treaty that will further limit Aerith's military might. The speech will take place publicly here in Zion for anyone who wishes to attend and will be retransmitted to all of Terra. You will be hiding on the roof of a nearby house and from there fire the shot that will end his life. Not a problem for a sniper like yourself."

"And if I were to miss?" Zephyr inquired. It was more out of habit than anything that he asked the question; if he really put himself fully into the shot, it shouldn't be a problem. He could hit a running hare in pitch dark; a stationary man on a fully-lighted stand he could do with his eyes closed. Perhaps _except_ President Jecht; it depended on the security around him.

"Don't," the man finished, a semblance of a smile on his twisted features.

Zephyr cocked his head and studied the man with scrutiny, analyzing his proposal. Assassinating the president of his home country was risky, very risky, and innumerable things could go wrong. But, he was no coward and he would not back away from a challenge—and this was a big one. Besides, despite all he had said before, perhaps it was less than it seemed. President Jecht was well protected, yes, but you can't really protect a man from a sniper unless you know he's there. In all its morbidity, it could even be fun; it'd be like hunting a lion with a slingshot. He wasn't committing to anything yet though; they'd had to pay him more than that "Two hundred fifty thousand Zanarkads and I'll consider it," he said, looking the man straight in the eye.

That wiped the confident smile off the man's face and he frowned. The boy was more than doubling the price, but they needed him; he was the best there was. And they could not miss the great opportunity given to them by the President's public appearance; they had to complete the mission then or else Aerith would never rise to power, led by them. They had been trying without success for ten years, waiting for someone with a talent as invaluable as the boy's; they _needed_ him, _he_ needed him. Much more was at stake than a simple assassination and the dictatorial rise to power of an undermined nation, roughly oppressed and vastly ridiculed for the majority of its tempestuous history. He frowned more severely, causing deep crevasses to appear on his already wrinkled forehead, and looked at his commander-in-chief, who slowly nodded in agreement. The boy was to be become involved no matter what, _that_ had been the deal. No matter what. Finally, after a moment more of contemplation, the man spoke up, "Two hundred thousand, and that's final."

Zephyr shook his head, causing wayward jagged strands of chestnut hair to fall over his eyes, evoking an imperceptible strangely wistful smile from the man. "Hey, you've got the money; those scanners you used on me don't come for less than 1.5 million Zanarkads, and that's if you know the dealer. And you've got three, at least, so a little more cash won't hurt. 225,000 and we have a deal; you need me more than I need you," he said. _Okay, that's not entirely true, but whatever,_ he amended silently.

The man nearly smiled again; the boy really did know his stuff. He was right and knew it, those scanners had cost him a bit over two million each, and he had _four_ along with laser binoculars that could see through concrete and a few other multimillion-dollar gadgets, most of which were courtesy of his backer. Nonetheless, he wasn't about to be pushed around by some know-it-all runt, regardless of who he was. The man narrowed his eye menacingly. "Don't bargain with me boy," he threatened.

Zephyr held the man's gaze steadily, unwavering. This was his turf and he knew it; he probably knew more about whatever contraptions the man may have had than his entire gang put together. And he would use that to get his way; hell, he'd be risking his liberty and his life, he could at least get decent pay. "Two hundred twenty five thousand and I'll do it. If not, you can find someone else, and good luck with that," he replied evenly. He noticed the man broke the intense eye contact and glanced off to his side.

There was an almost proud smirk on the man's twisted features—a slight curvature of his pale cracked lips, really— as he paused in hesitation, seemingly debating whether to accept the impertinent youth's counteroffer or signal his men to eliminate him immediately. The grin grew slightly wider as he fixed his gaze back on Zephyr, who was standing calmly with his arms crossed across his chest and an arched brow waiting for a response; his father would be so proud, and he had reason to be. The youth had beat him and gotten his way. "Very well boy, 225,000 it is. I take it you accept the mission, then?" the man inquired after a moment more of silence, placing a hand lightly on the handle of his gun. It was a rhetorical question, if anything.

Zephyr was silent; the query had been more a statement than a real question. If he wanted to decline now, he would have to fight his way out of the room and triple his guard; witnesses to the plotting of an assassination were a threat if not dead and he was sure the man before him was not above killing him to achieve his goal. The man had said it himself, if not directly then implicitly: the President was to be assassinated at all costs, regardless of who stood in the way. If it was him, then he would be dealt with and another would be found. Zephyr knew he really had no choice, that his demurral to answer was just that, a postponement of the inevitable: his participation in the 'mission' was an unavoidable fact, just as his name was Zephyr Leonstrife and he was a seventeen-year-old Akademy student. There was no contending those two certainties, and there was no disputing he would be the one to end President Jecht's extensive run in the political— and physical— world. 

Honestly though, while he still had time to ponder it, he hadn't really expected the man to agree to his 225,000-Zanarkad bid. For any amount less than that, he would have walked away from the offer without looking back; fought his way out if need be, killed as many guards as necessary, saved himself the trouble of an extremely perilous mission for an insufficient remuneration. What this man had planned was treason of the utmost degree— assassinating the elected political leader of Terra's most powerful nation!— and execution the inescapable consequence were he to fail or be found out. He certainly had to be crazy to agree to undergo such peril, maybe not willingly, but certainly not fully _un_willingly. The grand sum of money offered for his audacity hung over his head like a weight, quashing any rebuttal or refusal his moral scruples may have weakly voiced— he'd be killing a man that had done nothing to him, or _for_ him. Although he had no personal attachment to or particular like of Decan Jecht, he was the president of the country, a country Zephyr had lived in for the entirety of his life and undoubtedly grown to honor and respect and even love in that peculiar way only natives could. Patriotism they called it; the belief that the love for one's country overruled all personal desires and made people willing to do anything and everything for that country. Yes, Zephyr liked Zanark, but he was a mercenary and as such his 'love' lay where his employer's pocketbook lay; it could be momentarily bought and sold with the cold blue color of Terran cash. 225,000 Zanarkads was a lot of money, even for an elite ZEG mission, and he could make good use of it. Very good use of it, but was it worth the risk he'd be running? 

He closed his eyes in weary meditation; he hated this side of himself, always thinking and analyzing everything too much. He couldn't afford to do this, think and analyze and worry and whatnot, when he became part of ZEG, it demanded unwavering obedience and efficiency without question. Thought and analysis were not a part of an Akademy-approved ZEG mission; agents had to do exactly as the employer requested and trust the employer's personal judgement. Only when specifically asked were they to give input, always impartial and objective and directed at the best completion of the assigned task. Zephyr opened his eyes briefly again and scanned the room quickly through half-lidded eyes, resting his gaze on the man in the black chair at the head of the candle-lit table. The man's lone eye seemed to be watching him with an expression between amused and impatient. There was something _too_ familiar about him, and not knowing quite what it was unnerved Zephyr. With an inaudible sigh, he closed his eyes again and immediately his younger sister Storm's hungry blue-green eyes appeared in his mind, as if haunting him. She was too young to join the Akademy, a mere six years in age, and by law was forced to live with their alcoholic mother, their father having been executed for treason against Zanark a month after their mother had become impregnated with Storm. 

__

Oh yes, dear mom who spends whatever money she can get a hold of on alcohol rather than food and is too drunk half the time to even care about anyone else's wellbeing, Zephyr recalled bitterly. Thinking about his family, lest it be Storm who was awfully cute in his opinion, never evoked anything but hateful acrimony from him. He had run away from home at the tender age of eleven, three months after Storm had been born, when his mother's constant drunkenness had become too much for his young shoulders to bear. After a few weeks on the streets in Zion's harsh winter winds and blustering blizzards, Zephyr had gotten a job as an overworked and underpaid apprentice in Zion's steel factory to provide for himself. He had soon after stumbled across and enrolled in the Akademy—after all, it was the only school that was willing to take him in exchange for his innate combat skills. 

Every once in a while, whenever he was not swamped in work or training and could either obtain a permit or sneak out in the morning, he returned to his home in what had now become the slums and took Storm whatever food he had collected from the Akademy's cafeteria. It hurt him to see his little sister go hungry, when it came to her he was anything but cold and unfeeling, but there was nothing he could do. She was obliged by Zanark law to remain with her mother until she was at least of age to attend school, regardless of how unfit a mother she was. After enrolling in school, custody could be transferred to the institution's Headmaster until another relative claimed and was deemed fit to have custodianship. It frustrated and angered him greatly; since they had no father and Zephyr would not be of age until he turned twenty, as decreed by the Zanark constitution, the only legal guardian Storm could have was her mother. It was only another year until she could go to school and two after that until Zephyr could assume the role of legal protector; he had that much time to accumulate a small fortune and prove worthy of being a parent. It was ironic how he would do that through assassinating a man. 

He sighed inwardly, yes, he certainly needed the money, not really for himself but more for Storm so he could get her out of the slums and put her through school. He wouldn't send her to the Akademy but a real, private boarding school where she could get a worthy education and get ahead in the world; the itinerant, unfulfilling, and immoral life of a mercenary was not for her. She was too young and innocent to have such a brutal fall from grace imposed upon her, to have her dainty hands tainted by the blood of others. Yes, accepting this mission and its inherent pay would prevent Storm from befalling the same fate as Zephyr.

Besides, he told himself, what he was doing was no different than what he would be doing once he became part of ZEG— sell the services and skills he had honed and sharpened endlessly in austere training sessions for six years without question to an employer that would pay him an exorbitant amount of money. That was what they were trained for in the Akademy after all, why they slaved over textbooks and their weaponry of choice through endless hours in the training facilities and classrooms, the very essence of ZEG; Zephyr was just getting an early start. Why should it matter to him if the mission required killing? He was impartial to it, just as he had grown to be with any other emotion (_guess I can thank mom for that_ he sneered); he'd been trained in the deadly and precise art of sniping since he was eleven and exposed to the ancient skill of gunblade wielding since before he had been born. This was to be his job, his life— fighting somebody else's war in exchange for the universal commodity, money; he'd do it, get it over with, get his pay, and move on. There was no use dwelling on it, thinking back on what had been and could or _should_ have been, whether his actions were right or wrong; there was no room for doubt or 'shoulds' in the life he had chosen, or more accurately, been charged with. This was what life had destined him to be—an uncompassionate mercenary who sold his services unquestioningly to the highest bidder. A simple life with few choices, doing what he was told regardless of how he felt. He was not there to _feel_ but to obey, that was the heart of ZEG. With a silent prayer to any deity that would listen to a legionnaire to spare Storm this life, Zephyr opened his eyes definitively and noticed that the man and his cronies fondling their guns, impatient with his long silent indecision. 

__

As I said, it, looks like I gotta accept now. There's no way I can get out of here with all those guns, and I didn't bring my gunblade. Funny how all the choices seem to be made for me, he thought cynically albeit with a hint of regret. Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke those words that would forever change the course of his life. "I'm at your service. Anything else you need from me?"

The man smiled widely in a mixture of triumph and pride. His dream, his revenge, what he had coveted and carefully planned for for so long would finally be carried out. And as had been decreed, the young Zephyr would be his instrument of retribution. It was all perfect, so perfect; the way it was meant to be. "Smart choice Zephyr. No, nothing else. Dismissed. Retrieve that package, it contains very useful information. We shall see you after the reception. Breathe not a word of this to anyone."

Zephyr saluted him formally, retrieved the white package from the table, placed it in his jacket pocket, and turned on his heel. His heavy booted footsteps echoed sternly throughout the room as he strode out of the room, and could even be heard faintly as he returned through the narrow corridor to the fiery brightness of the tavern's main room. The man watching him go with a proudly satisfied smirk on his contorted features before immersing himself in the blunt Aerian murmurs of his followers. His backer would be very pleased; all was going as planned. It had begun.

***

****

A/N: For those of you FFX gamers, you may notice that the 'Aerian' language is actually Al Bhed-- this is only because the printed version employs runes to represent Aerian to differentiate it from Zanarkish, but they're not supported by the HTML code. R&R please!


	3. Return to the Akademy

****

Between the Shadows

By: Ethereal Fury

****

Chapter Two: Return to the Akademy

Zephyr walked back through the fire-lit tranquility of the tavern's main room paying no heed to its inhabitants or the occasional catcall that hung suspended in his hurried wake. He had no time for such insignificant pettiness; he had to get back to the Akademy and that's all that mattered now. Approaching the heavy wooden door, he pulled his hood back over his head, concealing his face and making his swift expert movements almost imperceptible. Opening the door only enough to slip outside into the damp darkness of the autumn night, the blackness of his clothes blended with the impenetrable dimness of the alleyway's flickering shadows. It was almost impossible to discern the black silhouette prowling swiftly and deftly through the narrow side streets. He checked his watch-- if he hurried, he could reach the main street and catch the late bus before it sped away; it would certainly shorten his traveling time to the outskirts of Zion that housed the famed Akademy building. Not by much, but any shortcut was appreciated. 

The Akademy itself, the second most important building in all of Zanark after the luxurious courthouse that played host to the Terran Council annual gatherings, was a large comely red-brick building surrounded by extensive grounds for combat training located in the spacious suburbs of Zion. It lay a good half-hour away, by bus, from the glittering downtown metropolis of the fabled capital, shrouded in the secretive reclusion of its encircling high walls and its late-night patrols by dogs and security guards alike designed for the utmost secrecy of its operation. Its purpose-- drilling about two hundred select youths, aged seven to eighteen who had exhibited inherent prowess in their weaponry of choice and general battle arts, in hopes that the grand majority would join the few elite worthy of ZIFE candidature and master the riddles of espionage. A harvesting ground for ZEG recruits, status that only a very talented and privileged few would ever achieve. Every young boy's childhood dream; the noble defense of the worldwide Terran peace and the prestige associated with belonging to the elite organization.

But appearances were deceiving; the state-of-the-art Akademy was a costly investment and the few students that demonstrated exciting potential were often penniless, so the chivalrous ideals ZEG had been founded on had soon been corrupted by money and greed and it had become little more than a mercenary force that dispatched agents in exchange for Zanarkads. This was the Akademy Zephyr had stumbled into, one run by the hunger for power and money of the ZEG heads and not the benevolent wishes of the aging Headmaster Rayn; one where students were encouraged to be unfeeling automatons that obeyed every supreme ZEG order without question and accepted every approved lucrative mission without a second glance. Austere training sessions and rigorous academic controls were designed to root out unworthy Akademy candidates and those that didn't exhibit ZIFE-exam competence by age eighteen were promptly dismissed to make way for younger possibilities. Yes, it was a hard life with very little freedom, but Zephyr preferred it to his home life. He actually welcomed the fact that _he_ wasn't the judge of right and wrong or good and evil, that all he had to do was solve _another's_ problems and not worry about his own. He hadn't joined the Akademy seduced by its gallant illusory appeal; he'd been searching for an escape from his life, which he'd found in the rigidity of its regulations.

Lost in his reminiscence as he walked, Zephyr barely realized his feet had taken him to the tall oak tree beside one of the Akademy walls. He had walked all the way here and hadn't even noticed; it had become so routine in his weekend escapades to visit Storm that he no longer needed to think about the route. He had grown so accustomed to this clandestine prowling back and forth that the lengthy walk to the Akademy from the extensive Zion alleyways no longer seemed long. It was actually a welcomed break from the boisterous organized chaos (_heh, what an oxymoron Leonstrife; organized chaos…_ his inner voice noted) of Akademy life, a time where he could think in peace without Reed's obnoxious interruptions. With a weary sigh, Zephyr checked his watch—it was an hour after the designated lights out time, and if he were to be caught out of bed or worse yet out of the Akademy without a permit, he'd be in immeasurable trouble. 

Glancing shortly at the stout oak branches that crisscrossed haphazardly over his head, he began climbing resolutely up the tree's aging bark with expert deftness. His heavy boots slid easily across the brittle bark, lodging themselves securely against the knots on the twisted trunk as his hands sought protrusions to grasp and use to ascend. In less than a minute, Zephyr was atop the tree, creeping cautiously along a bulky branch that hung mere inches from the Akademy's wall. With a careful measured jump, he landed soundlessly atop the wall, the branch shaking lightly behind him. Zephyr warily scanned the darkened ground below him for any sign of student or dog and after finding none leapt off and landed with a crunch of feet hitting grass beside a bush in the training field. It was a good fifteen meters of a jump, but the lush greenness of the field acted as a feathery buffer to break the fall. Ducking a moment behind the bush to avoid the threat of a surveillance camera that scanned the grounds, Zephyr hastily covered the distance that separated him from the darkened refuge of the main building. Pressing himself against the wall and hidden by the building's shadows he crept unnoticed to the back of the building, where the dorm windows faced. 

He glanced up at the façade littered with opened windows and positioned himself under the first-floor ledge of the column of windows that would lead to his room. Thankfully, all was dark so his ascension would be uneventful. With a dexterous jump and a muted curse he grabbed the first ledge and pulled himself onto it with a jaded grunt. Pausing briefly to wipe his brow of perspiration, Zephyr again jumped and clutched the second-floor ledge, grateful for his six-foot stature. It was an excruciating experience, pulling oneself up three floors with nothing but one's own arm strength; he could feel the muscles in his arms quivering from the exertion, ready to give out any moment. _Come on Leonstrife, don't be a wimp; you've done this a million times, you should be able to do it with your eyes closed,_ he scolded inwardly. With a frustrated growl, he reached up to the third-floor sill of his window, ready to complete his arduous ascent. He could already feel his fingertips grazing the cool marble, seeking the right grip to pull his body up once more when the light in the room he was standing by snapped on with a thunderous click. Zephyr shrank back against the wall in a futile attempt at concealment and prayed whoever had turned on the light-- whose steps seemed directed at the window-- would not look out.

"Hey, Dwight, where ya goin'?" came a sleepy voice from within the dormitory.

The approaching steps ceased as Dwight turned to answer his roommate. "I thought I heard something out there; I'm goin' to check it out."

A derisive snort rang lightly throughout the room. "You're crazy man, there's nothin' out there. Get back to sleep; we've got that stupid Saturday class tomorrow."

Zephyr waited with bated breath for the hesitant steps to retrace their path and return to bed. As suddenly as the light had clicked on, it clicked off and the room was immersed in darkness once again. Wiping at the cold sweat that poured down his forehead, Zephyr hastily gripped the sill of his window and pulled himself atop it, sliding noiselessly through its open frame and landing with a muted thud onto his carpeted floor. He glanced around the pitch-black room, forcing his eyes to adjust quickly to the dark and enable him to find his bed without stumbling over his roommate's possessions, which tended to be haphazardly strewn across the floor. Tuning his keen ears to the slightest sound, he could hear nothing but the deafening sound of silence, so he assumed his roommate Reed was asleep or still out at one of his famed late-night parties. Tiptoeing towards his bed on the far side of the room, Zephyr congratulated himself on yet another successful escapade and struggled to remember the location of the creaking floorboard to avoid stepping on it. When he was but a foot away from his bed, he heard a soft click and turned to find Reed, awake and fully clothed, shining a flashlight on him. So he was indeed back-- that was unusual, he must have been up to something.

"Coming back a little late, aren't we Zephyr?" he inquired with a sneer. Reed never missed an opportunity to pick on his rival; it seemed to be the very essence of his life.

Zephyr shielded his eyes from the bright light and shrugged. He wasn't in the mood for a verbal spar with Reed; as satisfying as outwitting him was, he had other things to think about. But it seemed as though their antagonism won out over everything else and they were involuntarily drawn into constant battles of their wits, which Zephyr more often than not won. Sarcasm was a way of life for him. "Likewise Reed. In case you didn't notice, your clothes are still on," he retorted with biting sarcasm.

Reed grinned wider, satisfaction twinkling in his green eyes. He knew he could taunt Zephyr into an argument; it was an adrenaline discharge they both sought and relished in. The satisfaction of the male ego, Instructor Blade called it; to them it was just the desire to overpower the other. "Like them? They're just like yours; I followed you."

Zephyr rolled his eyes. "Figures. You're always trying to be me," he said, shrugging and turning around to face his bed and its contents. This was so typical of Reed; in all the years they'd been enemies, Reed had never been very original in his attempts to oust Zephyr's Akademy supremacy. Though he had to admit Reed's presence made Akademy life all the more interesting, not because of his foolish antics which proved to be quite the amusement for the student populace, but because his innate fighter's skills made training sessions more of a challenge. They were both skilled gunbladesmen and snipers, they both competed for the top grades, and they were both taking the ZIFE exam a year before everyone else; they were both essentially whom every student wanted to be. And they both knew the other almost as well as they did themselves. But despite the hype about Reed's skills, Zephyr doubted he would pass the exam; he somehow always failed to follow orders and did as he pleased, getting himself and everyone in his team in danger. That was not a positive attribute for a member of ZEG.

Reed's face darkened, his sea-green eyes turning a dangerous dark shade. He wasn't about to let Zephyr insult him like that; ha, wanting to be like that worthless runt? He looked like a _girl_ for crying out loud; who'd want to be like that? Zephyr really had to be delirious; besting him was one thing, wanting to be him was completely different. "It's not every day we see our _dearly beloved_ Akademy ace violating rules by jumping the wall, so I decided to follow you. We can't be having you in trouble," he retorted with fake concern.

"Oh, I'm so honored you care," Zephyr answered in mock compassion as he opened his gunblade case and ran a finger across Punishment's shimmering mythril blade. The flashlight's glare reflected off it, scattering the white light into a kaleidoscope of fragmented colors. "So, if you followed me I assume you know where I went," he commented offhandedly, lifting the heavy weapon easily and running a rag over his gunblade's lean and strong frame. He wanted to know how much Reed knew, and if he posed a threat to his mission.

Reed shrugged his broad shoulders as he shifted his weight to sit more comfortably on his bed. "Actually, I got bored of you meandering aimlessly through the alleyways and went to 'Fate' instead," he replied with a yawn. His interest in a spoken quarrel with Zephyr was waning fast; now he was more interested in sleep. Perhaps he'd had one too many drinks at the bar.

"I see; very you Reed, trading tracking for a drink. I'm betting ZEG's going to be lining up at your doorstep to get you to do their missions," Zephyr commented nonchalantly, flipping Punishment's twinkling blade over to polish the other side. "So, how'd you get back? Jumping the wall must be quite amusing when you're drunk."

"Through the door actually," Reed replied, an arrogant enigmatic smirk playing proudly on his lips.

Zephyr ceased his cleaning labor and looked at him with an arched eyebrow. Getting back to the Akademy without a permit, in any way, wasn't as simple as strolling leisurely through the main gate. You would be stopped by security before you set a foot on the training fields, questioned about your whereabouts, and even taken to the Headmaster for a decision on the fate of your Akademy studies. The institution was very strict with its rules; if you couldn't obey a simple curfew, how could an employer trust you to carry out your task? Rule violations were often met with expulsion, and Zephyr was sure even Reed didn't actively seek that. He had definitely done something sneaky.

Reed took note of his rival's arched brow and smirked cockily. His interest in a confrontation with Zephyr was piqued again by the prospect of his outsmarting. He pulled out a small black rectangle from underneath the sheets and proudly held it up. It was the wireless laptop that every ZIFE candidate was provided with. "I jammed the security system… it's probably still not showing any movement. I'm surprised you didn't think of it, being the super student you are and all," he said with disdain. He was basking in the satisfaction of having beat Zephyr to something, though with his almost-nightly adventures, he had become an expert at avoiding security.

"Had to travel light. I didn't even take my gunblade… but I have it now," Zephyr countered with a shrug and a sneer as, in an imperceptible fluid movement, Punishment's mythril tip found its way to the crook of Reed's neck. The razor sharpness of the long knife-like blade priced at the soft skin on his neck, threatening to draw blood at any brusque movement.

Reed shrank slowly back against the pillows until he hit the wall, feeling the smooth edge of the mythril-encased titanium blade tracing a shallow cut across the side of his neck. As much as he liked taunting Zephyr and pushing their rivalry to its limits, he was smart enough to back down when Zephyr was armed. You just _didn't_ mess with an armed Zephyr, especial if you yourself were weaponless and defenseless. Reed knew Zephyr wouldn't harm him in an unfair situation such as this-- he was too proud to take advantage of adversity-- but there was still something chilling in the self-satisfied sneer and mocking look that adorned his face in the dim luminescence of the flashlight. Perhaps it was the lack or light or the fact that the cold mythril of Punishment's blade now hovered millimeters from his neck, but the first tingles of fear were beginning to inch uneasily down Reed's spine.

He hated to admit it, and cursed it after every training duel as he nursed his wounds, but Zephyr wielded the gunblade much faster, better, and more gracefully than he did. It was as if the four-foot blade were a mere natural extension of his arm, moving with a speed and deadly precision wherever Zephyr willed it to go in a spectacular show of mastery. Watching him train or battle with it was like watching a seasoned dancer in his best performance—his movements were rhythmic, nonchalant, and smooth, and he switched from one move to the next or suddenly changed his maneuvering midair with a calm fluidity and quickness coveted by all. An intended upward arc could become a ground sweep in the blink of an eye. In their duels, Reed was always on the defensive, parrying his lightning-quick and unpredictable thrusts with an impressive array of acrobatic flips and jumps. The infrequent times Zephyr decided to spar with his rival became an all-out Akademy show, and a large crowd gathered in the gym to watch the immaculate silvery of Punishment's blade contend with the novel blackness of Reed's carbon-fiber Lealtad. A soft knock on the door rang throughout the silent room, snapping Zephyr out of his almost trance-like state. Tossing Punishment onto his bed, he turned and approached the heavy wooden door. 

"Yes?" he called out softly to the other side. He was hoping it would be one of Reed's multiple late-night 'adventures'; that he could even tolerate. They proved to be quite fun, once you got over the fact that it meant no sleep. Whoever designed Akademy dormitories wasn't big on privacy.

"Everything alright in there? The students next door reported some disturbance," came the somewhat hesitant response from the other side of the door. Zephyr rolled his eyes and peered through the peephole—it was one of the Akademy's security patrol officers, not looking much older than himself. Great; he didn't want to have to deal with this, those guys were a pain to get rid of. At least he had his reputation going for him.

"Yeah, everything's fine. My roommate just had a nightmare, nothing major. He's awake now," Zephyr replied amicably. _Disturbance? That little altercation with the gunblade? Nah,_ he mused sarcastically, silently cursing Reed for being such a wimp and having backed into the wall.

"Are you sure? Maybe I should come in," the security officer insisted meekly. This was, after all, the room that housed _the_ Zephyr Leonstrife and his troublesome rival Reed. Why the Headmaster would board those two together was beyond him; he would have roomed them individually on opposite sides of the Akademy. Nonetheless, this was his job, but he was hoping there would be no need to go in. The mere thought of entering that room was unnerving.

Zephyr shot Reed an annoyed scowl, who shrugged innocently and walked up to the door beside him. They would be taken to the Headmaster, likely even expelled despite their unsurpassed prowess and subtle faculty favoritism, if they were found out of bed and dressed in street clothes past lights-out time. Reed tousled his long hair with his hands and half-closed his eyes, cracking the door open just enough to poke his head outside. "No, that's okay, it won't be necessary. I was just having a bad dream, talking in my sleep, tossing and turning on the bed. I must have hit the wall; that's probably what the students next door heard. I'm *yawn* fine now, goodnight officer," he said sweetly, fake sleepiness in his voice. 

The security officer did not look overly convinced-- this _was_ Reed-- but after a quick menacing glare from the green-eyed youth decided to not probe further. As long as those two were in their room without wreaking havoc--with which Reed was quite unusual-- they could do as they pleased. He wasn't about to try to stop them; he had enough common sense to not mess with either of them. Bidding the two students goodnight after another threatening glower from Reed, he continued his patrol of the grounds. Reed shut the door triumphantly and walked back to his bed with a smirk. "What a loser. And those guys are supposed to be security? He nearly wet himself when I stuck my head out!" he commented with a laugh, shaking his head.

Zephyr was silent; something was incongruous here. _Whoa, okay, Reed just saved my butt. Well, I could have done it myself but he came to my aid instead of getting me in trouble. Something's definitely up; Reed isn't charitable for no reason,_ he contemplated, watching his rival stretch and plop himself, fully dressed, onto his bed.

Reed noticed Zephyr's pensive demeanor and shot him an amused look. "Don't flatter yourself Leonstrife; who will I spar with and beat if you're kicked out?" he queried with an arrogant satisfied smirk. So Zephyr _had_ thought it had been for him, when in reality it had just been directed at keeping their antagonism alive a while longer. It really was the essence of Akademy life.

Rolling his eyes, Zephyr gave him the finger, which only made Reed grin wider. He was right; 'Reed' and 'charitable' were not compatible in the same sentence, 'Reed' and 'personal benefit' were. With a shake of his head, he took his black pajama bottoms from underneath his pillow and made his way to their en suite bathroom. _Yeah, 'en suite' makes it sound almost luxurious. Yeah right. Whoever coined the term surely hadn't been to an Akademy dorm,_ he thought with a chuckle as he neatly folded his discarded street clothes and changed into the black shorts he slept in. Tossing them neatly onto a stool in the far corner, Zephyr proceeded to brush his teeth, pick up the small white package he'd received at the tavern, and stride back into the now-darkened bedroom. He could hear the monotonous sound of Reed's light snoring and the insistent chirping of crickets outside. Tiptoeing to his rival's bed, Zephyr poked the sleeping form repeatedly, receiving trademark Reed profanities in response. He was indeed asleep; good, he could go about his business safely. 

Zephyr placed Punishment carefully back in its velvety case and pulled out a wireless terminal, identical to the one Reed had used to jam the Akademy's security system, from his desk drawer. Seating silently in his swiveling desk chair, he powered the unit on with a muted beep and soundlessly peeled open the white packaging that enveloped the mysterious mission aide he'd received. He was actually quite curious as to what it could be, how something so minute was supposed to help him assassinate the President. Much to his surprise all he found was a small silicon chip clinging to one of the corners of the packaging. Picking it up for closer inspection, he let out a low impressed whistle. This wasn't just any chip; it was a micron transmitter, the most advanced method of information storage and communication. The diminutive device in itself could store over a million gigabytes of data that could actively be input or updated by the computer that had created it, as well as serve as an immediate high-speed communication link to the source PC. Virtually un-hackable, the stored data was surrounded by a firewall that would take more than the Aerian and Zanarkist militaries put together to break down; it was the safest information-transfer mechanism-- and as Zephyr knew, astronomically expensive. ZEG had numerous transmitters, but then again, ZEG was richer than the Zanarkist government.

With an almost child-like anticipation and excited wonder, Zephyr picked up the micron transmitter and inserted it into the aperture at the back of his standard ZEG-issue laptop. A message from the Boss popped up on his screen, detailing the use of the microchip, succeeded by a three-dimensional model of the Presidential Mansion he was to infiltrate in two weeks. _Man, these guys are really serious. They must've devoted so much time to compiling this. Locations of every security camera, temperature sensor, movement sensor, infrared scanner, lift camera, and retinal scanner in the building. Not to mention the customary patrol areas of the various security guards, alongside their shift times, break times, and relief times_, he thought in amazement, sifting through the various features and invaluable data contained in the transmitter.

__

I can even zoom in to any one room for an overview of its appearance and a detailed look at its security. There's the President's office right there; let's see… infrared movement detectors, sound sensors, temperature sensors… and the deactivating panel by the door. Not bad for the most powerful man alive, but not enough to intimidate ZEG's golden boy. Shouldn't be all that hard; much less than I thought, he asserted confidently, jotting short notes on a pad of paper he had beside his wireless terminal.

_And I'll be able to help Storm when I'm done; I'll be able to get her away from that woman that dares call herself a mother,_ he reminded himself, _I have to complete this mission the best I can, for her sake. She deserves better_. Pencil in hand, he glanced pensively over at his rival's sleeping form. Reed would have enjoyed the mission, every single extravagant aspect of it. The excitement, the risk, the adrenaline rushes associated with a covert operation, the exorbitant pay, the fact that failure would mean death, the technological contraptions, the exhilaration of success. That was Reed, living in the moment, making the most of every second he had despite the austerity of the environment he lived in. Whilst everyone displayed utmost obedience, he engaged in flagrant rule-breaking for the sheer excitement of it, each late-night escapade growing bolder and more audacious with the risky thrill of being caught. Expulsion was an added peril that made it all the more fun rather than a deterrent.

Perhaps he would have been a superior election for the mission Zephyr had been commended; they were almost matched in skill and dexterity and, though Zephyr was better, Reed had that nonchalant carefree edge of a man that has no real reason to live. He had nothing holding him back, no reason to doubt his actions or worry about the repercussions; he lived for no one but himself. Zephyr briefly wondered why the Boss had sought him out instead of Reed; yes, he was definite ZEG material, but Reed also had quite the reputation. If only he could learn to abide by rules established by someone other than himself, he'd be as sure a ZEG bet as Zephyr was himself. _He'd do this mission in a heartbeat, that's for sure, but for all the wrong reasons. He's an orphan with no family left; he doesn't have to witness his younger sister growing more emaciated with each visit. For him, this mission would just be the money, the fun, the risk, and he'd probably fit in the chicks too,_ he thought ruefully, watching Reed's chest rise and fall with the steady carefree peacefulness of slumber. It was the first time in six years of enmity that he actually felt a pang of jealousy when looking at his rival. Once, just once, he wanted to be in Reed's shoes with not a care in the world but whom his next late-night companion was going to be. 

Stifling a yawn and shaking himself out of his introspection, Zephyr turned back to the virtual perimeter of the Mansion in front of him. Now was not the time to yearn for the unburdened life of someone else; it was the time to take _his_ life and take it where it had to go to help his sister. If it required shooting a defenseless man on a stand, the President of his country, from a nearby rooftop, then by Zanark he'd do it. He was the best operative and sharpshooter the Akademy had to offer, it shouldn't be too effortful to fire a certain shot and end the life of a man; it was plain and simple and unequivocal. He couldn't have been more wrong or more unaware of the turn his life was about to take.

***

R&R!


	4. Mission Gone Wrong?

****

Between the Shadows

By: Ethereal Fury

****

Chapter Three: Mission Gone Wrong?

Zephyr checked his watch impatiently again and rested his head against the wall in aggravation. It was almost 8 o'clock, the time of the guard switch approached when security would be at its lowest, and there were still people loitering at the gate. He sighed in frustration and pulled out his binoculars, directing them to the iron gate of the Presidential Mansion, where a few guests chatted leisurely, and then towards the sentry guard stationed half-hidden atop the high protective walls. Zephyr could not believe it—for two weeks he had carefully planned and rehearsed every aspect of today, and how his efforts were about to be wasted because five people could not be bothered to enter the building. 

__

Great—the Akademy's finest and I can't even complete the first part of the mission, he thought, bringing a hand to his forehead in dismay. He had three minutes and forty-five seconds until the sentry guard descended from atop the wall, a minute after that until the relief one went on duty, and thirty seconds in between where the security cameras were not aimed at his planned route of entry. _Dammit, can't you socialize inside? _he muttered, once again peering through his binoculars at the people beside the gate. He checked his watch again—two minutes and he could not see the guard anywhere. From inside his black leather jacket, he extracted a small black terminal and glanced at it. It indicated that the sentry was descending the stairs carved into the wall and was relinquishing his duty early. 

Zephyr crept out of the darkened alley he had been hiding in and gingerly approached the Mansion, trying not to look suspicious. He consulted his terminal again—the sentry guard was nowhere to be seen and the relief guard was not yet on his way. The inconvenience by the gate remained and the security camera directly above his head was focused on the wall above him. But, he could waste no more time and had to attempt an entry now. Zephyr knelt on the moist ground and input various commands onto his laptop. An 'Error. Access Denied' message popped up on his screen. He tried again, inputting the same commands in a slightly different order. The same error message came up again. _Dammit, why doesn't it work?_ he thought with frustration as he tried a different approach to override the Mansion's security system. He typed a few quick words on his laptop and pressed enter. An ear-splitting alarm immediately rang throughout the Mansion's grounds, drawing all security guards not currently on duty to the gate.

"Hey! There's someone by the wall!" one of them called, beginning to run to where Zephyr knelt.

__

Oh shit, they're coming! Dammit, gotta get outta here! he thought, shutting his laptop, picking it up, and sprinting as fast as he could towards a small wooded area with thick trees near the Mansion. Zephyr leapt over and ducked under branches and tree stumps, attempting to lose the security officers that were hot on his tail. 

__

Dammit! How could I have let that happen? he inquired as he ran blindly across the woods, pushing his tired legs on and gasping for breath. There was no way he could outrun or lose the guards; they were too numerous and they were well spread out. _And they're closing in on me_ he thought. He was at a loss, he didn't know what to do… and there was no way he could help Storm if he was caught now. So using whatever strength he had left, he pulled himself onto the branch of a nearby tree and began climbing towards its top. When he heard rustling in the nearby bushes, he stopped climbing and waited with bated breath. _Just my luck to stop at a broken branch_ he muttered, trying to keep as much of his weight off the branch as he could.

"Where'd he go?" one of the guards inquired.

"Don't know, but he can't have gone far. We have strict orders from the President to arrest anyone loitering near the Mansion, so I suggest we catch this prankster and take him to Mr. Jecht. Let's spread out, he's here somewhere," the lead guard ordered.

Zephyr watched from atop his broken branch and gulped. He was in so much trouble… why did his first mission have to go so wrong? He leaned heavily against the thick trunk of the tree that hid him… good, it seemed like the guards were dispersing. That would make his escape much easier. As he leaned over the branch to get a better look, it came crashing down with a loud crack (Zephyr still atop it), trapping two of the guards underneath it and thus softening his fall. In the confusion that followed as more guards returned to find the source of the crash, Zephyr slyly sneaked out of the wooded area (knocking out a few guards on the way) and returned to the Mansion's wall, intent on completing his mission and getting his pay.

Not caring what security he could run into, he noiselessly unzipped a bag he had slung over his shoulder, pulled out of it a hookshot, slid on a mask, and placed the terminal into it. He then zipped it up, aimed the hookshot at the wall, and fired it with a soft swoosh. The hook clung to the far side of the wall with a metallic clunk. Zephyr then pulled on the rope to check its stability and began climbing. Once atop the wall, a guard rushed at him, but Zephyr just kicked him in the groin and leapt off the wall, using his leather jacket as a parachute. He ducked behind a bush as another guard went to aid the fallen one, racing noiselessly in the humid night towards the back of the building as the second guard stooped down to help the first one. Once at his destination, he pressed his ear against the wall—good, the music and chatter from the ballroom seemed very distant.

Zephyr pulled out his laptop and consulted it—he had to climb three floors to the President's office and once there avoid infrared movement detectors. He rummaged through his bag once more and extracted talcum powder that would enable him to 'see' the infrared sensors. He then concealed his bag in a nearby bush and began the climb along the Residence's stone exterior. The many grooves and dents in its façade made the climb to his destination relatively easy for an experienced climber like himself. In the Akademy, the elite ZIFE candidates were drilled in the climbing of buildings—including glass—and Zephyr had always topped the class. Without much effort, he reached the office's window and skillfully slid it open, propping himself up on the windowsill and scattering the talcum powder. He narrowed his eyes in concentration, striving to see where white clumps that seemed suspended in midair formed and avoiding those, as they indicated that an infrared sensor was at work. It was a slow and tedious process, since he could neither make a sound nor touch the sensors, but he finally made it to the far end of the office, where a desk cluttered with papers and a computer sat. 

Zephyr flipped through the papers, photographing each one with a minute silver camera. Most of them were about the Zanark -Aerith treaty his 'boss' had mentioned, but a few of them were personal letters. One that caught Zephyr's eye was written in a feminine and perfectly neat cursive—a letter from either a female politician or some torrid mail affair. With a shrug, he photographed the letter as well and moved on to the computer, easily breaking through its firewall (which was a lot less secure than the one surrounding the perimeter's security cameras) and copying all the files onto his laptop. Hacking had never been taught, but it had been a hobby of Zephyr's since he'd joined the Akademy. _And it came in really handy too,_he thought with a smirk as he replaced the computer's security firewall and rearranged the papers into the cluttered mess they had been in before. 

__

Now it is time to meet Mr. President himself. Off to the ballroom I go, he thought with satisfaction, pleased at how well that aspect of the mission had gone. He turned to face the weary task of retracing his steps and was surprised to find the white talcum clumps that had identified where the sensors stood gone. _This is just great_ he thought, bringing a hand to his forehead in his customary gesture of dismay. 

__

How the heck do I get out now? he muttered, struggling to remember where the movement sensors were located. Before he took a decisive step in any direction, he heard voices coming from the hallway. Zephyr stepped back, looking for a place to hide. A key was now heard rattling in the lock. He looked around frantically—he couldn't advance to the closet about five feet from him, since he didn't know where the sensors were, and he was backed up against a wall. Just as the door was opened and the bright light from the hallway flooded the office, Zephyr dove into the minute space between the chair and the desk that housed the computer. 

Two men in black tuxedos, most likely the President's aides, stepped into the office. One went to a small panel beside the door and keyed in a few numbers, which disabled the movement sensors and lit the room up. Zephyr, who was watching from between the chair's legs, shrank as far back against the desk as he could as the room was lit and the two men seemingly approached the desk. Zephyr could hear their footsteps louder and louder, and see the black luster of their polished shoes nearer and nearer. He held his breath and closed his eyes—after all his efforts, he was going to be caught cowering underneath a desk, and he wouldn't be able to help Storm after all. He waited, expecting a hand to reach into his miniscule space and yank him out, but no hand could be felt. Slowly, he opened his eyes and found that both men had stopped in front of the desk—one's hand was even on the chair that was concealing him! He breathed a quiet sigh of relief that he hadn't been discovered and listened intently as they began talking.

"So, why did the President send us up here again?" one inquired.

"He told us to remove all the papers on his desk—he doesn't want any of the cleaners to read his private mail while he's at the party," the other responded, matter-of-factly.

"And because of that he takes us away from the party and makes us come here? I was having fun," the first one exclaimed incredulously.

"Yeah, well, let's get on with it. I don't want to be here all night," the other replied, stepping towards the end of the table where the papers sat.

Zephyr saw this as his chance. He pushed the chair he had been hiding behind, which threw one of the men off balance. He leapt out of his hiding space and punched the first man in the nose, kicking the second one in the stomach. As both men reeled back from his attack, holding their respective injuries, Zephyr knocked their heads against each other, causing both men to slump to the ground unconscious. He wiped his brow—that had been very close. He checked the men's pulses… good, they weren't dead, just knocked out. With one last backward glance, he stepped over the men's bodies and headed for the door_. _

This mission is far more important than the well being of those two men, even if they did nothing, Zephyr told himself as he reached the door. Before he walked out, he shed his black leather jacket and pants to reveal the black tuxedo and bowtie he had on underneath. Zephyr placed the minuscule camera in his pants pocket and slid the diminutive terminal into the inner pocket of his jacket. He checked that he had his fake invitation and strolled casually out of the room, disposing of his jacket and pants in a bin by the elevators. 

__

Darn, that was one of my favorite jackets he mused, as he stepped out of the elevator and into the foyer that led to the ballroom. He approached the bouncer at the door with an apologetic smile.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, I got stalled by traffic. You know how congested the South Zanark Highway gets on Fridays, with all those kids going off to parties and bars," he apologized profusely, handing the bouncer his invitation.

The bouncer checked the name printed on the invitation against a list of invited guests, one which Zephyr had hacked into and inserted a cover-up name. "Oh yes, Mr. Kane. It's a pleasure you could join us, please go right inside and enjoy yourself. The reception is about to begin."

Zephyr thanked him and walked into the ballroom with a big smile on his face. That had been too easy. The room itself was breathtaking—rich, flowing curtains stitched with gold were draped meticulously over high and extensive windows; long tables adorned by white silken tablecloths with the Presidential crest engraved in gold encircled the broad room, forming a dance floor in the middle; silver cutlery and the finest china sat regally upon the tables; and an uncovered skylight allowed the guests a glimpse of the round silvery moon buried into the onyx sky. It was truly a sight to behold, and Zephyr couldn't help but look around him, wide-eyed. A waitress approached him and offered him some champagne and caviar. He took the delicate champagne glass and swirled its contents around, inhaling the scent of Zanark's best. He took a sip, and immediately chastised himself for getting swept away by the grandeur of the ballroom instead of concentrating on finding the President. He wandered over to a darkened corner where he could observe the whole ballroom and struggled to remember any pictures of the President he had seen in history class or in the newspapers. His mind drew a blank, so he watched the guests with scrutiny in hopes of finding the President.

Zephyr looked on with boredom as more and more couples took to the dance floor. There was still no sign of the President and he was beginning to draw attention. A couple of pretty girls had even come up to him and asked for a dance, but he was on duty and had no time for such nonsense. He sighed and took another sip of his champagne, leaning against the wall. _This is going to be a long night,_ he thought, closing his eyes and shifting his weight. _Yup, a long, boring night_. He opened his sapphire eyes and was startled to see a pair of enchanting, almost hypnotic, eyes, one a bright emerald green and the other a bluish hue, directly in front of him, staring right at him. He cocked his head and arched an eyebrow in question. The eyes immediately melted into the beautiful fair face of a young dark-haired girl dressed in an elegant midnight dress that contrasted wonderfully with her flawless ivory skin. The girl thrust her hand out in introduction.

"Hi, I'm Aurora, it's a pleasure to meet you…" she began, in a sweet voice.

Zephyr reluctantly stretched his hand out to meet hers. "Auron Kane," he replied solemnly, using the name of his invitation—his father's name and his mother's last name.

The girl smiled up at him—she was considerably shorter than his 6-foot frame—and shook his hand vigorously. "Pleased to meet you Mr. Kane. Say, why are you hiding here in the corner all by yourself?"

Zephyr was taken aback by her openness and downright curious behavior. He wasn't used to people prying into his business—in the Akademy, everyone lived their life and cared little for the matters of others. What's more, in the Akademy he tended to be introverted, antisocial, and focused solely on his studies. He had no friends and no acquaintances; the closest he got to social relationships were his exchanges with his rival Reed. "Trying to avoid girls like you," he answered with a scowl, peering above her head to keep observing the ballroom.

Aurora reeled back as if she had been hit, her angelic features contorting into an expression of hurt. She had been watching the solitary young man for a while and had just wanted to get to know him, him being so cute and all, but she wasn't expecting him to be so cold. She began to turn to leave.

Zephyr realized what he had done needed amending._ Dammit, you can't be antisocial now, maybe she knows the President,_ he chided himself silently. He reached a hand out and touched Aurora's arm—it was soft and smooth and strangely comforting. "Hey, I'm kidding, don't get mad. I'm sorry, I didn't mean that."

Aurora turned back around and locked her captivating emerald-and-blue eyes onto his elusive sapphire ones. She studied his rugged profile under the dim light with a smile. He was definitely remarkably handsome; those eyes of his could bring any woman in her right mind to her knees. "So Mr. Kane, I believe I do not know you, what brings you to this reception?"

"I'm a representative from the Akademy, here on behalf of the Headmaster," he lied, trying to reveal as little about himself as was possible.

"Oh? I believe there is an Akademy student in our midst, perhaps you know him?" she inquired politely.

Zephyr shrugged indifferently. "There are many students there," he stated, matter-of-factly.

Aurora smiled at him. "Come on, I'll introduce you!" she insisted.

Zephyr shook his head vehemently. "No, really, it's not necessary. I… uh… have a duty to carry out here," he replied, standing his ground firmly.

She pouted playfully at him. "Come on! All work and no play make people grumpy. You've stood there long enough, it's time you enjoyed the party," she asserted, crossing her arms.

"Uh…I, ah, can't. I'm here on behalf of the Headmaster, I'm supposed to be working," Zephyr insisted.

Aurora cocked her head. "What kind of Headmaster doesn't allow his students to have fun? Come on, the other student is enjoying the party."

  
Zephyr sighed. She was not going to give up; she was intent on having him meet the other Akademy student. _What difference does it make? You probably won't know him and he probably won't know you, so your cover is safe. She's right, chill out a bit,_ his inner self scolded. Raising his hands in defeat, he agreed. "Fine, whatever. You win."

Aurora smiled at him and grabbed his hand, literally dragging him from his secluded corner and through the middle of the dance floor. The soft touch of her small, delicate hand felt refreshing in his rough, callused own. Being uncomfortable with the feeling, not being much of an affectionate person, Zephyr unclasped his hand from hers and reluctantly trailed after her until they were standing behind a broad-shouldered tall figure, whom Aurora tapped playfully on the shoulder. The figure turned around, an annoyed scowl on his face and froze when his aqua eyes landed on Zephyr.

"Leonstrife," he whispered coldly.

"Lockheart," Zephyr replied, narrowing his eyes menacingly.

"Hey! So you two know each other?" Aurora asked excitedly, only hearing the latter part of the exchange of words.

"Hardly," Zephyr answered.

"Not really," the other man said simultaneously.

"So, let me introduce you! Mr. Kane, this is Reed Lockheart, a student at Zion Akademy, Reed, this is Auron Kane, also from the Akademy," Aurora said, pushing Zephyr closer to Reed and extending his hand.

Reed and Zephyr glared at each other, sea green burning into sapphire. _What is Reed doing here?_ Zephyr wondered as he unwillingly shook Reed's hand and muttered an inaudible, "Pleased to meet you".

"Aurora!" came a grave voice from the entrance of the ballroom.

She grinned apologetically at the two. "Whoops! That's my cue! I'll see you around, okay Reed? Pleasure to converse with you Mr. Kane," she said with a small curtsy and hurried off to whoever had summoned her. She turned her head slightly to look back as she walked away and found Zephyr's sapphire eyes on her. She gave him a slight smile and kept walking briskly.

Zephyr watched her leave, a strange heaviness settling in his heart. _No way Leonstrife. You just met her. Stop that nonsense and focus on your mission,_ he told himself, shaking his head. But he couldn't seem to draw his gaze away from where the vibrant girl had stood just seconds ago.

"Really Zephyr, what are you, 14? You're practically drooling," Reed commented with dripping sarcasm, raking a hand through his black hair. "And what's with the whole 'Auron Kane' thing? I should have just told her your name is really Zephyr Leonstrife… quite a difference, huh?" he continued with a snort. "You probably told her you ran the Akademy or something."

Zephyr's angry azure gaze met Reed's teasing one. "What are you doing here, Reed?" he inquired, ignoring the previous comments.

"I was invited. As a matter of fact, I'm Aurora's escort. She's pretty fine isn't she?… totally not your type though. But, I beat you at something Zephyr… I got the girl first. So what brings _you_ here? I don't believe you were invited," he replied with a sneer.

"Then you believe wrong. My name is on the list," Zephyr retorted, shoving his invitation towards Reed, who picked it up and glanced at it.

"The invitation looks genuine," he said. "But it's not your name; you probably tied this 'Auron Kane' guy up and took his invitation," he added with a smirk. 

"Whatever Reed," Zephyr replied, taking his invitation back and turning around to scan the room with his azure gaze. He spotted a balding man in his late thirties or early forties approaching a small stage. He nudged Reed and pointed at the man. "Who's that?" he inquired.

Reed rolled his eyes, "President Decan Jecht. Really Zephyr, you should pay more attention in history, being the best student in the Akademy and all," he replied with contempt.

"Sorry Reed, but I was too busy kicking your sorry ass," Zephyr shot back, directing his full attention to the man on the stage. _That's right… that's President Jecht, the man I am to kill…now I remember… he looks so different. Would I have recognized him if Reed hadn't told me?_ he pondered, watching him gracefully move about the stage and step up to a microphone.

Before Reed could utter another wisecrack remark, President Jecht began speaking.

"Honorable guests, ladies, gentlemen. It is an honor to have you all united here in this room to celebrate the electoral victory of the Zanark United Party, and on a more personal note, my re-election as Zanark's president, a duty I truly cherish and will do anything to efficiently serve it in my next four years," the President began.

__

Yeah, four years if you're still around… which I don't think you will be after next week, Zephyr thought, clapping with the others. President Jecht waited for the claps and cheers to subside, then continued. "The ruling of Zanark is not merely a task laid upon my shoulders, it is a privilege you enjoy, and as citizens, a right you should exercise. Zanark, the most powerful and most advanced nation in all of Terra, is our home, everyone's home, and we should take great care and pride in it. In my next four years in the Presidency, I hope to bring Zanark way ahead of the other nations, improve our technology, our resources, and our living standards. In short, I hope to bring out the best in every Zanarkist so that we can make Zion and Zanark the very best they can be. I sincerely hope you will rally your support behind me and approve all the plans I have to improve this great city. Thank you again for coming, and now let us continue enjoying the party," he finished, descending from the stage amongst loud claps and excited cheers. Zephyr narrowed his eyes as he clapped— the President really did know how to work the crowd into a frenzy of enthusiasm. He let a small smile play on his lips as Aurora winked at HIM, and not Reed, with a smile from the front of the room. He turned to his rival and elbowed him in the ribs.

"So, Reed, do you and Aurora have a 'special' relationship?" he inquired with a smirk.

"Like? Do you mean, if we're involved?" Reed replied.

Zephyr nodded, a wide, teasing grin on his lips. He was so going to get Reed back for previous comments.

"Um… why do you care anyway? That's private!" Reed retorted, anger etched into every line of his handsome profile.

"Oh, no reason. Just wondering if there was any reason at all why she would be winking at me and not you. She really isn't that bad looking. Well, enjoy the rest of the party Reed," Zephyr finished with an arrogant smirk. He then turned on his heel and strolled confidently out of the room, not bothering to turn back to look at a fuming Reed.

Once he was outside, he crept stealthily to the back of the building and to the bush he had concealed his zippered bag in. He groped around in the dark (it was fairly late) and pulled out his backpack noiselessly. He then slung it over his shoulder and proceeded to stroll leisurely out the gate. When he stepped outside, he felt a hand on his arm and immediately brought his hand to the presumed attacker's neck, restricting his breathing and pulling him upward against the wall. Noticing it was one of the subordinates of the man that had hired him, he let go of his throat and the man dropped to the ground, gasping. Zephyr helped him up and whispered, "Sorry, it's a reflex. What brings you here? Does the Boss want something?"

The guard rubbed his bruised throat and replied in a harsh whisper, "How did it go? Did you get inside well?"

Zephyr shrugged indifferently. "I got in, yeah. Anything else?" _With a heck of a lot of trouble too, _he added silently.

"Well… did you get all the stuff? Find anything interesting? Are you ready to kill him?" the guard inquired curiously, attempting to keep up with Zephyr's long strides.

Zephyr stopped and faced the man, narrowing his eyes dangerously. "Does the Boss want something, or are you just here to annoy me?" he questioned menacingly.

The guard gulped and backed away from Zephyr. "Uh… n-no,n-n-not really… just, uh, meet him tomorrow at the tavern…t-t-that's all," he answered.

"Fine, then just get out of my way so I can get back," Zephyr snapped, pushing past the man and walking towards the Akademy, his black zippered bag slung over his shoulder.

***


	5. Interlude Midnight Phone Calls

****

Between the Shadows:

By: Ethereal Fury

****

Interlude-- Midnight Phone Calls

__

Ring, ring. Ring ring. Ring ring. Riiiing.

"Hello?"

"Sterling, is this line secure?"

"Yes sir, it is, sir. Completely ZEG-proof."

"Good. I need you to do something for me. The President's girl—she has to go, and soon. She's a danger to our cause, too inquisitive… that runt she hangs around with too, he's had training, he's dangerous. They both need to go."

"Are you certain, sir?"

"You dare question me, Sterling?"

"N-no… n-not at all, sir."

"You wouldn't want to find your little girl and wife gone, now would you?"

"O-of course not, sir. I, I wasn't questioning you, sir. I'll do whatever you need me to, sir, just don't hurt them."

"I'm glad we understand each other Sterling... I don't want to have to hurt them." 

"T-thank you, sir. What she look like, sir?"

"**Him**,"

"Decan, sir?"

"Don't say that name in my presence, Sterling. I should have your head for that."

"M-my apologies, sir, i-it slipped…won't happen again, sir."

"It better not. Next time it happens your wife and kid will make a permanent move to heaven."

"G-got it, sir. I'll get the job done."

"Don't fail me."  
  
"I won't, sir. I've never…"

*Click*. The phone goes dead.


	6. Can't Get You Off My Mind

****

Between the Shadows

By: Ethereal Fury

****

Chapter Four: Can't Get You Off My Mind…

Bright light flooded through the open window of Zephyr's room. With a loud groan, he rolled onto his back and slung an arm over his tired eyes. He felt terrible—his head hurt, and he had barely slept all night. _You probably had too much champagne and this is hangover,_ the rational, analytical side of his conscience said. Zephyr agreed—he probably HAD had too much champagne the previous night. 

__

Yeah right Leonstrife. You had one glass, this is no hangover. It's that Aurora chick that kept you up all night, the other side of his conscience sneered. Zephyr closed his eyes in dismissal of the latter statement. He did not want to admit it, but his conscience was right. Ever since he had gotten back to the Akademy to find Reed's empty bed, Aurora's face had appeared every time he closed his eyes and tried to sleep. 

Now, it was coming back again, haunting him, distracting him from the real focus of his mission. The soft silkiness of her auburn hair falling freely to her shoulders. The breathtaking contrast of her midnight gown with her creamy skin. The splendor of her uniquely colored eyes as they watched him intently. 

__

See, you're doing it again, his conscience mocked. Zephyr fumed silently… he wasn't supposed to, no, he _couldn't_ think of Aurora. She meant nothing to him, right? But then why were the adorable curvature of her rosy lips when she directed that radiant dimpled smile at him, the charm of her playful pout when he refused to be swayed by her insistence that he meet the other Akademy student, and the sheer perfection of her minute features imprinted in his mind? Zephyr sighed, rolling onto his side and facing the window. The unfamiliar yet comforting feeling of her delicate hand in his own as she tugged him towards Reed crept into his mind. 

Reed…at the thought of his name, Zephyr sat up and looked sideways at Reed's perfectly neat bed—it had not been slept in overnight. _He's probably off somewhere with Aurora or something,_ he thought with attempted offhandedness and a shrug, but an unsettling jealousy burned within. 

__

Whatever, it's just cause he got something before you did. You're used to whooping his butt at everything, so it makes you feel bad that he outdid you in this, nothing else, he asserted firmly, swinging his feet over the side of the bed and settling them onto the lush carpeted floor. _Besides, what do you need a girl for anyway? You don't need anyone, and girls are just complicated to understand, they get in the way, and you end up going out of your way to save them more often than you can count. The only girl you have time for is Storm. You gotta get this done so you can get her away from that woman that calls herself a mother,_ he added, changing into his usual attire of jeans, a white T-shirt, and a black v-neck sweater.

His stomach gave a loud growl—he decided he would have breakfast and then train to rid himself of his frustrations. _Yeah Leonstrife, great plan. Get over the chick by filling your stomach and hacking around with your gunblade, _his inner voice smirked. 

__

Shut up already or the only thing I'm gonna hack is you, he shouted silently back at it. He felt like a nut, yelling inwardly at himself. _Oooh… that sounds scary; bring it on, wuss... or is that chick so much on your mind that you can't even handle your blade?_ it taunted with dripping sarcasm. Furious, he latched Punishment's sheath to his hip and shot a hole through the reception's fake invitation, as it sat on his desk, with his 8-millimeter training gun. That should shut his 'inner voice' up. With a satisfied smirk and no more wisecrack comments form his conscience, he strode out of his room towards the Akademy's cafeteria.

Zephyr walked briskly through the Akademy's crowded hallways, his head down and his hands in his pockets. As usual, he was thinking—he tended to think too much; his Instructors always told him so. He had never socialized with anyone at the Akademy, shared anything with them, so he tended to discuss matters with himself. It made him feel like he was crazy, but it was still better than other people's problems. He thought about his mission, about what it would be like to kill a man (_surely it's nothing; I put up with mother for eleven years, nothing beats that, besides… it's for Storm… _he mused thoughtfully), about Storm and how unfair it was that she was forced to struggle to find food and keep the house livable at the mere age of six, about his ongoing rivalry with Reed, and even fleetingly about Aurora. 

__

Hey, hey! Would you look at that? Looks like our man Leonstrife finally got some hormones… he's actually thinking about *gasp* a girl! This deserves a party, his inner voice said cynically. In response, Zephyr jammed his hands further into his pockets and gritted his teeth. He hated the smart-mouthed half of his conscience; it reminded him too much of his rival Reed. 

He rounded the final corner that led him to the cafeteria and felt something crash forcefully against his chest. He staggered back from the force of the blow, remaining on his feet, but whoever had bumped into him stumbled to the floor. With a sigh of annoyance, Zephyr crossed his arms and stared at the floor, waiting for the other person to rise and apologize. After all, _he/she _had bumped into _him_. Whoever had fallen, however, was not getting up. With a scowl, and without taking his eyes off the ground to look at the person, he stretched a hand to help them up.

"… you ok?" he muttered, not really caring if they were or not.

A small, dainty hand slid into his own and tugged, using Zephyr's body weight to pull its owner up. A smiling face appeared in his downcast field of vision, making Zephyr's eyes widen in recognition.

"Are you always this antisocial or do I get special treatment, Mr. Kane? That scowl of yours could scare anyone off," a soft, feminine voice said with a smile. She couldn't help but notice how his furrowed brow enhanced the intensity of his azure gaze.

"Aurora?!" Zephyr said in astonishment, surprise showing in his usually emotionless face. _Oh yeah, score baby! Feel your knees getting weak yet? _his conscience grinned. Zephyr ignored it, gave himself a mental shake, and crossed his arms over his chest, returning his face to its customary expressionless mask. "Why are you here?"

"Reed brought me here; he's in the cafeteria having breakfast. I actually came out to look for you," she replied, playfully twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

"… why?" he asked, still looking at the floor. _It's not like I care or anything,_ he told himself. _Sure you don't… is that why your pulse is quickening? _his self shot back sarcastically.

"Cause I think you're cute," she answered spontaneously, and immediately cringed inwardly. She knew she should **not** have said that out loud… this was utterly embarrassing. 

Zephyr remained unfazed. "… whatever," he responded, shifting his weight uncomfortably. _Does she mean that? _he contemplated.

Aurora smiled up at him. "Actually, I come here pretty often; I like to hang out here, it's so free. My dad hates it and says I should stay away from "the homeless violent rogues that inhabit that run-down building", as he puts it, but I never listen to him. He doesn't know Reed very well—he calls him "that rascal boyfriend of yours, that worthless orphaned Akademy mutt"; if he did he would have a different opinion of the Akademy's students, don't you think Mr. Kane?" she queried, looking at Zephyr.

He remained silent, not bothering to defend himself as an Akademy student from the unfounded accusations of some man that knew nothing about them. _Worthless mutts, eh? ZEG by itself solves more problems in a year than the entire Terra Council put together does in five… not so worthless in my opinion. But whatever, let him think what he likes,_ he thought to himself.

"Hmm… you're not much of a conversationalist, huh?" she questioned with a chuckle.

Zephyr shrugged indifferently. True, he wasn't one for words. As a matter of fact, he wasn't one for anything. He was naturally introverted and taciturn, detached, and even cold towards others. He barely spoke to other students; only exchanged witticisms with Reed when he pushed it too far. He liked working and training alone, only sparring with Reed when he felt he needed field experience. The insensitive, silent, brooding type that surprisingly drove the girls in the Akademy crazy. No one knew about his past, about Storm, about his drunken mother and executed father, or about the perilous mission he had undertaken. No one really knew anything about him, for that matter. Only that he was the best the Akademy had to offer, academically and on the field, and that he was one guy you wouldn't want to mess with, lest you wanted to end up severely wounded. 

Aurora watched him as he shifted his weight again and remained with his head bowed and his arms across his chest. He was so different from Reed—Reed was open, friendly, and flirtatious and he was reclusive, pensive, and stoic. Reed would always be joking and smiling; this man barely said a word and consistently frowned. Reed knew how to treat a girl: flowers, compliments, expensive dinners, attention; he ignored her and seemed annoyed in her presence. He was her polar opposite—she was free-spirited, stubborn, affectionate, outgoing, and a lover of freedom; he liked to have his life dictated by the rules and regulations of the Akademy, thrived on discipline, and barely questioned his superiors' orders. 

In fact, he was everything she would have deemed undesirable in a man—unromantic, unaffectionate, unresponsive, uncaring, and inarticulate. Yet it was he with his mysterious aloof aura and downright rudeness, rather than Reed with his movie-star looks and seductive appeal, that had for the first time in her seventeen years made her weak in the knees before she had even learned his name. She grinned up at him. "That's okay, I like the strong, silent type," she teased.

Zephyr shrugged once more. "…whatever," he replied again. _Really Leonstrife, she's probably thinking that's the only word you know—you've said it twice in less than two minutes. You're really demonstrating the extent of your intellect_, his conscience chided. 

__

Whatever, I don't care what she thinks; she can go back to Reed for all I care, he replied evenly. _Oooh… is that jealousy I hear from our man Leonstrife? Now that is a first. She really must be getting to you,_ his inner self jeered. Zephyr decided to ignore it.

Aurora's eyes fell on the black leather sheath attached to Zephyr's hip. "Heey! Is that the famed gunblade?" she inquired excitedly.

__

Say something intelligent Leonstrife…she's got looks AND brains… now that's unusual, his conscience prompted with a snicker. "…yeah," he responded (_VEERY intelligent Leonstrife, _it cackled), fully looking at her for the first time since she had bumped into him. Zephyr drew in a quiet breath—she truly was a sight to behold in her white shorts exposing her long slender legs and her navy blue T-shirt; her shoulder-length auburn hair pulled into a loose ponytail with a few wayward locks framing her delicate face that brought out the green in her eyes. It was no wonder Reed boasted about his conquest. His expressionless face softened ever so slightly as he watched her shyly tuck an unruly strand behind her ear and look away from him.

__

All together now… Awwww! Isn't that just so cute? The Ice Mercenary has a soft spot for the chick… maybe you should tell her your real name? his inner voice chortled. 

__

I do not have a soft spot for her… I've only seen her twice, he snapped back at it. _So?_ it shot back, _your mom and your dad married a week after he returned from the war… and they hadn't seen each other for over two years, _it reminded. 

__

Leave them out of this, he fumed silently, adding to himself that he wouldn't tell he who he really was since it was probably easier for her to like the introverted, fictitious Auron Kane than the murderer-to-be real Zephyr Leonstrife. It was easier for him too, since if he played the role of Auron Kane, he as Zephyr would not become attached. Uncomfortable with these thoughts and feelings he never knew he had but she managed to stir in him, he scowled deeper and glued his azure eyes to the floor.

"Um, can I see it?" Aurora inquired softly. Reed had told her that the gunblade was a man's best friend, and she did not want to intrude upon this man with her request, but she felt an inexplicable need to crack Zephyr's ice-cold, reclusive exterior and get to know the real man behind the aloof mask. She didn't know what she was doing— she'd just met the guy and already he was weakening her knees and she was wanting to see his most treasured possession… heck, she was seventeen and behaving like he was the first guy she'd ever seen. It was weird, but she felt some sort of connection with him. 

Zephyr cocked his head slightly, considering the thought. _Yeah, just show her what your real 'gunblade' can do,_ his inner voice chuckled nastily. Zephyr dismissed the last comment with disgust—it was surreal how his conscience was so reminiscent of Reed, right down to the hormonal instability. Finally, he shook his head lightly, causing his mahogany locks to tumble over his forehead and occlude his face. 

It was the closest thing he had to a childhood memento, something to remind him of the days of relative happiness when his mother was not drunk and his father was still alive, and he treasured it. His father had given it to him when he was five; it had been his when he had been a noble defender of Zanark in the Zanark-Aerith War (before Zephyr was born), and when Zephyr had been of age, it had become his birthday gift. As a child, he had always kept it safely in its case, never daring to open it, dreaming about the honor and glory it would bring its handler. But then the arguments had started, his mother had turned to drinking, and his father had taken to perilous undercover espionage operations in the heart of Aerith, country he had betrayed Zanark for and died for, and so Zephyr released it from its case, named it Punishment, and ran from home. 

__

Yeah, honor and glory… how ironic, I'm gonna be a murderer; a traitor in the same way father was; chip off the old block, he thought with disdain.

Aurora pouted coyly at him. "Why not?" she queried innocently. 

__

Damn that pout… does it have to be so… appealing? he cursed inwardly. It reminded him too much of Storm's when he told her he had to return to the Akademy and she did not want him to leave. He could never refuse her anything with that pout and always ended up staying far longer than he should have, but it was worth it to see the happiness radiating in her youthful eyes. He found himself beginning to accede to Aurora's request and brought a hand to the hilt of his gunblade. Before he could unsheathe Punishment's shimmering silver blade, Zephyr spotted the tall silhouette of his rival approaching. He gritted his teeth, set his jaw in determination, narrowed his eyes, and left his hand on Punishment's black hilt. 

Reed waltzed up to the two with his customary cocky smirk and draped an arm casually around Aurora's slender shoulders, grinning at Zephyr with an air of superiority. "And what would you be doing talking to the social outcast of the Akademy?" he asked Aurora, laughter dancing in his emerald eyes.

Aurora spun around angrily, causing Reed's arm to fall to his side. "For your information, _Mr. _Lockheart, I got disgusted seeing you pile pancake after pancake swimming in maple syrup on your plate and decided to wander around the hallways. I bumped into Mr. Kane here and he was kind enough to help me up," she retorted.

"Was that before or after you were done drooling over him? Or was it the other way around?" Reed inquired, smirking knowingly at Zephyr, who just glared at him.

Aurora shook her head and rolled her eyes. "What Reed? Afraid of a little competition?" she taunted with sarcasm. She wasn't usually like this… but somehow Reed always managed to get on her nerves and grate them to their limits, getting her remarkably annoyed. Then he would simply direct her his gorgeous smile, shower her with attention and romanticism, and all would be fine for a while until the cycle repeated itself.

Zephyr bit back a smile. Most girls were too busy swooning over Reed's good looks to even dream of standing up to him, what's more, tease him. Aurora had done both; she sure had spunk. _And guts too. You have to either be a gunblade specialist or a bonehead to mess with Reed,_ he mused inwardly… and he had an inkling she was neither. 

__

Hey hey, would you look at that? Our man, Emotionless-to-the-core Leonstrife is praising the chick for teasing Reed. I don't think he's ever praised anyone before, ladies and gentlemen; you're witnessing a once-in-a-lifetime show! Buy your popcorn, sit back in your seats, relax, and enjoy Zephyr Leonstrife behaving like a human being instead of an iceberg! his inner voice chortled, taking the tone of a sports commentator. For once, he didn't dismiss it and instead opted to see how the events unfolded. A girl talking back to Reed was not to be missed.

"Ha! Competition from that punk? Get real Aurora," Reed scoffed, pointing at Zephyr. He raked a hand through his perfect black hair and flashed her a white-toothed movie-star smile. 

"I'm being serious Reed. At least he's not half the conceited, smart-mouthed ass you are. Dad was right calling you an Akademy mutt; you really _are _no better than the rest of them. And to think I went against him to defend your worthless hide," she snapped, cheeks flushed and eyes flashing angrily. This time he really had pushed it too far. She couldn't comprehend why, but Reed picking on the youth standing before her was inconceivable… it was wrong, _even_ for Reed, and that was saying a lot.

__

Feisty… I like that, Zephyr thought with amusement as he watched Reed's mouth drop open in shock. For the first time in his life, a girl was not overpowered by his seductive charm and he didn't know how to handle that.

"Aw, come on Aurri, you know you don't mean that," Reed said smoothly, flashing her another smile and draping his arm around her shoulders once again.

"Don't. Call. Me. That," she growled menacingly, pushing Reed's arm off her. "Argh! Somebody please tell me why I ever went out with such a big-headed, arrogant creep! You get on my nerves, you know that Reed?" she exclaimed with frustration. His flirtatious tricks were not going to work this time.

Reed smirked at her and replied huskily, "Yep, and that's why you love me, Aurri."

Aurora rolled her eyes. "Aaah! Do guys have to be so thick?" she inquired in exasperation as she turned on her heel and stomped away in the direction of the Akademy's main entrance, shaking her head.

Zephyr smirked cockily. "Aww… poor Reed, I think someone got dumped. Do you need a hug? Or maybe a tissue for your tears?" he asked in mock compassion, each word exuding sarcasm.

Reed whirled on him. "Shut it Leonstrife, unless you want your ass kicked," he retorted.

Zephyr's smirk widened. "I have my gunblade right here, but I wouldn't want to screw up your perfect little face now, would I? Nah, I think I'd rather practice on that robot in the gym; he's twice as good as you are," he said, pushing past Reed and heading to the cafeteria.

"You'd better watch your back Leonstrife," Reed threatened menacingly.

"Ha, with you, I don't even have to worry about my front," Zephyr called back over his shoulder, strolling leisurely through the cafeteria doors, leaving a fuming Reed behind. He grinned—a victorious verbal spar with Reed always put him in a good mood. _And now, for some food and some training, then back to the tavern to meet with that horrendous man, my Boss,_ he thought, getting into the lengthy cafeteria line for some breakfast.

***

R&R!


	7. Getting That Permit

****

Between the Shadows

By: Ethereal Fury

****

Chapter Five: Getting That Permit…

The sun was low in the sky when the Akademy's gym's automatic doors whizzed open to allow a tired Zephyr to trudge out, limping slightly, mahogany hair slicked back with sweat, clothes torn and tattered from the workout, a few superficial wounds trickling crimson blood. One hand clutched Punishment's sleek black hilt, the other held several black body outlines with single bullet holes through the heads, memento of his training time at the gym's sniper facility. With a weary grunt, he lifted Punishment's heavy frame into its leather sheath and checked his watch, his eyes widening as he registered the time. It was really no surprise he had been training the whole day, he enjoyed it; it didn't require him to think, only to use his keen senses instinctively. He would often get swept away by his training, especially on days when he had too many things on his mind, and could spend entire days at a time in the gym with no rest and no food.

Zephyr stretched his tired muscles, trying to ease the soreness out of them. That robot he had teased Reed with, claiming even _it_ was better with the gunblade than him, had put up quite a fight. Well, not really, but he had decided to fight it blindfolded and so it had gotten a few good hits in before Zephyr had let his fighter instincts take over. Now it was merely a mangled metal heap in the middle of the gym floor. _Instructor Blade won't be too happy about that,_ he thought wryly. _Or about the fact that I'm bleeding all over the Akademy's floor_, he added, dabbing at a shallow cut in his left forearm with a scrap of shredded T-shirt.

Deciding that trying to stop the bleeding was useless, he dropped his injured arm to his side and limped lightly towards the dorms to shower and dress before he left to meet the Boss at the tavern. He groaned inwardly; that meant another night of sneaking out and avoiding all the security. It's not that it was hard; any student of Zephyr's caliber could do it with his eyes closed, it was just tiresome and dull. Sneaking out had lost its excitement a few years back, now it was just a nighttime routine for most of the students who crept out to downtown Zion for the nightlife. Suppressing a yawn, Zephyr tucked his hands into his tattered pockets and kept walking through the near-empty hallways.

As he was about to press the button for the elevator that would take him to the third floor dormitories, he heard a soft voice call his name. He turned around and came face to face with a familiar pair of cornflower blue eyes and strawberry blond hair. "Instructor Blade," he greeted formally, saluting the Instructor.

Instructor Brendyn Blade bowed slightly, acknowledging Zephyr's salute. She was an elite member of ZEG and the Akademy's youngest and most brilliant Instructor, a mere nineteen years in age. She taught Zephyr's Zanark History class and was the Head of Technological Developments, responsible for most of the advanced training facilities Akademy students had available to them. Zephyr knew she wouldn't be too pleased about him wrecking the Akademy's only gunblade robot, but it couldn't be helped. 

Instructor Blade stood in at 5 foot 6, with long flowing blond hair with strawberry streaks framing a delicate heart-shaped face and blue eyes a shade or two lighter than Zephyr's sapphire ones. She was admired by many a male student, most of which sat in the front of her classroom and stared at her or followed her around wherever she went. Thankfully, now she was alone; those fools who pursued her like lovesick puppies with blatant proposals of marriage and love annoyed Zephyr. 

Zephyr shifted his weight uncomfortably under the Instructor's intense gaze. The fact that she had still not said anything made him uneasy. _What does she want? And why is she looking at me… like **tha**t? _he pondered, raising a hand to tug at the minute scar above his right eyebrow. It was common Akademy knowledge that Instructor Blade had it for the aloof and lonesome Zephyr, though he could not see why. She wasn't his type and he probably wasn't hers; she most likely just saw in him the introverted lonely child she wanted to help. 

__

Since when do you have a type, Leonstrife? She looks pretty darned fine to me, his inner voice smirked wryly. Zephyr rolled his eyes inwardly and shifted his weight again, deciding to take the initiative in a non-existent conversation. "Is there something you want, Instructor?" he asked politely. He knew better than to get on her wrong side; whether she liked him or not, she was still an Instructor and ruthless when it came to punishments.

Instructor Blade shook herself out of her reverie. She couldn't believe she had been staring at him like that, daydreaming. Sure he was handsome and everything, but there was no reason for her to lose her train of thought, like she always did when he was around. A faint blush tainted her cheeks and she took on a businesslike tone to salvage whatever dignity she had left. "Uh, yeah. Um… the… eh… Headmaster would like to… ah… speak to you," she muttered, almost incoherently. She'd failed miserably at her attempt to save her dignity—great work.

"Right now?" Zephyr inquired, frowning. He didn't have all that much time and he had to get to the tavern on time. And with his newly-obtained limp, sneaking out was going to take longer than usual.

Instructor Blade nodded. Zephyr saluted her again and turned to press the elevator button.

"Zephyr wait," she called out.

Zephyr turned around once more, askance and annoyance reflected in his eyes.

"Eh… are you okay? You look hurt and you're bleeding on the floor; maybe you should have the nurse check you out," she said with concern. She couldn't believe she'd just suggested the nurse check him out… that so had not come out the way she meant it to.

"I'm fine Instructor; they're only superficial wounds," he replied somewhat harshly. He really had no time for her concern; he had to go see the Headmaster, shower, change and sneak out. If only he could get a late-night Akademy permit… an idea began brewing in his mind. He felt bad for using the Instructor's infatuation with him against her, but he really had no choice; he wasn't in a condition for the grueling task of jumping the Akademy's wall. Besides, Reed did it all the time; if Reed could charm special treatment out of the other female Instructors, he could get Instructor Blade to sign him a permit. He put on a smile and donned a sugary tone.

"Thank you for your concern though, Instructor. I'm sorry about staining the floor with blood, but I couldn't get this wound on my arm to stop bleeding. Perhaps you could help me so I can be on my way to meet the Headmaster? I wouldn't want him mad at me for keeping him waiting," he began smoothly, holding his injured left arm out to her.

The Instructor blinked, stunned by his change in disposition. Whenever she tried to talk to him, he brushed her off with some excuse or other about training or studying, and now he was standing there asking for _her_ help? This was too much, but she wasn't about to refuse him; she was trained in first aid after all, for the very purpose of aiding her students if they were injured in training or battle. "Certainly Zephyr. I'll need a shred of your T-shirt to make a tourniquet to restrict the blood flow to your wound and stop it bleeding," she said, taking a step closer to him.

Zephyr smirked appealingly and ripped the sleeve of his T-shirt off, revealing more of his well-toned arm. "I like it when you talk all medical," he told her with a smile, handing her the sleeve and making sure his hand lingered over hers momentarily.

Instructor Blade couldn't help but blush as she took Zephyr's sleeve and leaned over his arm, tying the sleeve tightly about his wound. She marveled at how strong his arm felt without being overly muscular… that gunblade sure gave a nice workout. A strand of her loose hair tumbled over her forehead, falling over her eyes. Zephyr reached out and tucked it back behind her ear, enjoying her shocked expression. "Thank you Brendyn," he said warmly, flashing her another smile. _Now's the time, get that permit Leonstrife_, his inner voice urged.

Before the Instructor could utter a word in response, Zephyr continued. "Say Instructor, I need to go out to Zion after I talk to the Headmaster to get Punishment fixed; that fight I got in with the robot in the gym really damaged the gun barrel. But it's so late I won't be able to do it without a permit, and I _need_ Punishment tomorrow; we have Battle Techniques class and you know how Instructor Volt gets when we don't have our weapons. I was wondering if you would sign me one?" he asked sweetly, unsheathing Punishment and pointing to its gun barrel for emphasis. Zephyr knew Instructor Blade knew next to nothing about gunblades; most people didn't even know what one _was_, and could not tell the difference between a damaged barrel and a normal one.

"Absolutely. I can still remember how Volt yelled at me when I forgot my whip when I was a student. Here, just be back before eleven or, permit or not, the security guards will make it impossible to get back in," she replied, signing a piece of paper and handing it to him with a smile.

_Oooh… a whip… kinky… wonder what she used it for. Brendyn Blade… Instructor by day, Dominatrix by night, _he chuckled inwardly. "Thanks again Instructor, you're a life saver," he said with a grin, walking through the open elevator doors and heading to the tenth floor that housed the Headmaster's office. He couldn't help but smirk as he tucked his permit into his unharmed back pants pocket. His ticket to easy freedom. He had looks and charm and he knew it. Maybe rooming with Reed wasn't such a bad idea after all; he had picked up a few of Reed's charmingly manipulative tricks. A spy had to be versatile, talented in anything; no one knew what sort of skills a mission would require. 

__

Charming information out of people and getting them to do what you want could certainly come in handy, Zephyr thought as the elevator doors dinged open and he stepped onto the plush carpet that lead to the Headmaster's office. 

_Hope the Headmaster doesn't mind I'm only half dressed, sweating, and bleeding_, he mused with disdain as he saw the secretary direct him a disgusted glance and speak into the intercom. "Headmaster Rayn? Leonstrife is here… yes, elegant as always. (To Zephyr) Go on in, he's waiting for you. And don't bleed on those leather chairs, you hear me? They're brand new!" she chastised, wagging a finger in Zephyr's direction.

Zephyr rolled his eyes and got up. "As always, a pleasure to converse with you Gertrude. Is it me, or are you even more antipathetic than usual?" he questioned sarcastically as he strolled through the doors of the Headmaster's office.

"Don't go using big words on me again young man!" she called out at his receding back. 

The only response she got was Zephyr's faraway chuckle and the muted thud of the Headmaster's office door closing. Gertrude turned back to her desk and began flipping through the dictionary.

***


	8. Of Witticisms and Showers

****

Between the Shadows

By: Ethereal Fury

****

Chapter Six: Of Witticisms and Showers

After the meeting with Headmaster Rayn, Zephyr limped tiredly back to his dorm. The muscles in his back, legs, and arms felt knotted and tense, and each weary step towards his room was an excruciating test of willpower. Yet, despite the agony of the simple movement of pushing one leg past the other, he steadfastly refused to succumb to his pain and go to the Akademy's Infirmary. The Infirmary was for the weak unable students who could not handle the austere training prerequisites of the Akademy's curriculum. But he was Zephyr Leonstrife; he was the Akademy's Golden Boy, the best it had to offer, the very embodiment of its ideals—strong, swift, intelligent, good-looking, discreet, obedient, deadly with the gunblade, and accurate with the gun. Little did he know, or care for that matter, that he was greatly respected by students and Instructors alike, and even the Headmaster seemed intent on aiding him in any way possible. Zephyr sighed—no, the Infirmary was definitely not for him.

Lost in his thoughts, as was customary, Zephyr reached the sturdy birch door upon which a golden plate with the number fifteen and the Akademy's crest hung. It was his dorm—he had reached his destination. With a weary grunt, he buried his hand into his back pants pocket and extracted from it a small plastic cardkey, which he inserted into a small aperture in the door. The lock buzzed and whirred and finally beeped its confirmation, allowing Zephyr entry to his room. Tiredly, he pushed the door open and came upon the sight of Reed, huddled in a chair with glasses stylishly perched upon the bridge of his nose, poring over his laptop.

"What are you doing, Reed?" Zephyr inquired, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him.

"What? No 'hello' to your _dear_ roommate? You're a bit rusty in the manners department Mr. Leonstrife," Reed called over his shoulder in mock hurt.

Zephyr rolled his eyes and donned a sickeningly sweet voice. "Hello Reed, my buddy, my pal, the bestest roommate in the whole of Terra. Where were you last night? I missed not being with you. (Back to normal voice) Good enough for you?" he replied snidely. 

Zephyr had never really understood the source of their rivalry; it had just been _there_ from the earliest of times at the Akademy. Reed had entered the Akademy a year before Zephyr when he had just recently turned ten, both his parents (surprisingly, both members of ZEG, perhaps explaining Reed's desire to join the elite group) having died January that year in an anonymous bomb attack on the headquarters of the Zanark United Party, where they worked as undercover agents in an operation to capture a radical political group intent on assassinating the newly-elected president of Zanark. Having nowhere to go with his only family gone (he _did_ have an elderly uncle somewhere in the remote city-state of Arkadya located in the northern mountains of Zanark's rugged landscape), Reed too made his home on the streets during the bitter Zion winter until one day he stumbled, cold and hungry, into the Akademy's grounds. Headmaster Rayn had promptly accepted the scrawny black-haired youngster as a student and he had begun to show his prowess with his fists and the mythical gunblade, as well as his proud disregard for rules and his talent with the ladies. 

He was well liked, respected, popular, the top of his class… until Zephyr had arrived a year later and stolen the spotlight with _his_ unmatched dexterity with the gunblade, perfect academic record, and rivaling good looks. Eleven-year-old Zephyr, with his unruly chestnut hair, piercing sapphire eyes and speed with a blade almost as tall as he was, became the Akademy's child prodigy and the object of affection of many a female student, leaving Reed lurking, forgotten, between the shadows. The two had never gotten along, not even on their first day as classmates. Reed had been strutting to class, his gunblade (Valiant) propped up against his shoulder, when Zephyr had bumped into him in an attempt to make it to class on time. Reed had pushed the smaller youth roughly, and when emerald and sapphire eyes locked for the first time, an unspoken friction had passed between them and a fight had ensued. As blue sparks flew and metallic clangs rang out as blade kissed blade, a thirteen-year-old version of their current Instructor Blade had come running to separate the two quarreling youths. She had begun liking Zephyr then and still did to this day. It was as if something inside both of them meant for them to start off their rocky 'friendship' with a fight… and the rivalry established that day continued to today. Zephyr saw no real point in it, but his blood would involuntarily boil in Reed's presence and he was incessantly drawn in by his taunts… and nothing gave Zephyr more satisfaction than a victory, of any sort, over Reed.

Reed arched a perfectly-shaped black eyebrow but did not look away from the screen. "Really Zephyr, I never knew you leaned _that_ way. But of course, you couldn't resist my masculine good looks and endearing charm," he commented dryly.

"You wish Reed. Now, what are you doing? It sure as heck isn't Akademy work cause you never do any of that. You just get in the sack with the Instructors and get good grades in exchange," Zephyr drawled, locking Punishment in its case.

Reed's emerald eyes narrowed dangerously, but he refrained from giving Zephyr the satisfaction of letting him know that comment had struck a nerve. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you," he replied calmly to the previous question regarding his unusual attention to his laptop.

"You and what army? Get real Reed, you and I both know I could kick you ass with my eyes closed anytime, any day," Zephyr laughed, shaking his head and running his hand over the intricate logo carved on the cover of his gunblade case.

He had a point, and both he and Zephyr knew it. "Very well, if you **must** know, Mr. Busybody Leonstrife, I'm trying to hack through President Jecht's files," Reed replied, tapping a few keys on his keyboard in frustration.

"And failing miserably," Zephyr observed dryly.

Reed shot him a menacing sideways look and focused on his screen again. That damn firewall was getting on his nerves… why couldn't he break through? "Perhaps Mr. Know-it-All Zephyr would like to try?" he suggested.

Zephyr shrugged and trudged up beside him. "Really Reed, there's no need for you to call me all those things; just address me properly—it's Master for you," he said with a smirk as he scanned Reed's screen.

"Forgive me Almighty Master Zephyr. I will bow down to your greatness," Reed voiced sarcastically, bowing twice.

Zephyr shot him an amused look then focused back on the screen in front of him. "You're doing it all wrong. The President's firewall is too technologically advanced for you to try to override it by bombarding it with commands. You have to take a subtler approach—the _true_ hacker's approach. Filter in through the rather backward IP sniffing defense system. Just type this… and this… now press this… enter this number here… and voila! The President's torrid email romance with one of our older Instructors is at your disposal. Ooh… I'm bettin' Instructor Kline would pay good money to have that letter burned," he chuckled.

Reed grinned as he copied onto his hard-drive his one-way ticket to an A in his Zanark Presidents—A Detailed Look class. No wonder hacking was never taught at the Akademy… He couldn't help but wonder how Zephyr had known just what to do to override the firewall that even the Akademy's resident computer geek, Seymour, had been befuddled by. It was almost as if Zephyr had done it before. "How did you know how to do that?" he questioned suspiciously.

"What do you need the files for?" Zephyr countered, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. If he had to answer how he had gotten through, Reed would have to reveal what he was up to—and neither man was willing to disclose their secret.

Reed swiveled around in his chair and wrinkled his nose. "You look like crap," he stated matter-of-factly, pointing at Zephyr's bloodied, torn, and tattered attire.

"Thank you, I'm flattered you like my new look. I was looking for confirmation from a pansy such as yourself," Zephyr shot back sarcastically.

"If you at least looked _half_ alive, it might be alright. Aww… poor Zephy, the little gym robot kicked his ass," Reed retorted in mock compassion. The only possible culprit was the robot in the gym—Zephyr clearly displayed gunblade injuries and he, Reed, was the only other gunbladesman and had gone nowhere near Zephyr nor his gunblade since their encounter earlier that day.

Zephyr flashed him a cocky smirk. "Actually, Reedy, I fought it blindfolded. If you would care to look for Simon (the gym robot), you will currently find him in a dismantled metal heap on the gym floor." 

Reed shook his head and gave a low whistle. "Blade ain't gonna be pleased," he remarked with an evil grin, raking a hand through is jet-black hair. He had to admit, robot or not, Simon posed quite a challenge, and Zephyr's blindfolded antics had taken a lot of skill and courage. But of course, there was no way he was going to let his rival know he was impressed. And besides, it was more fun to think of what Instructor Blade was going to do.

"You don't say. She's gonna skin me alive and pour some of that lubricant for Simon's joints over me or something. Remember last time we blasted it by accident when Instructor Volt _insisted_ we try out the Akademy's new rocket launcher? We had to scrub the toilets with a toothbrush for two weeks," Zephyr recalled, wincing at the painful memory of two consecutive weeks of scrubbing toilets with a toothbrush, and what was worse, with Reed complaining every five minutes that the floor cleaner was ruining his hair.

"Man, do I remember. But haha… this time it's only you that's gonna be in trouble. Based on the brutality of Blade's punishments, I don't think you're going to see the light of day again until you pass the ZIFE exam. Poor Zephy… I'll be sure to bring you cookies when you get lonely," Reed chuckled, dripping sarcasm in his voice. 

"Don't bother, I'll be sure to take you with me to keep me company," Zephyr replied, pausing for a moment of thought. "Actually, scratch that, alone is better than with you. You and Blade hate each other dearly," he added. The last thing he needed was Reed's whining and arguing with the Instructor while he endured whatever vile punishment she could concoct.

Reed smirked, almost proud at Zephyr's comment. "Yep, me and Blade don't get along too well. She can be the biggest, coldest, most ruthless bitc…"

A soft knock upon the dormitory's wooden door interrupted Reed's delightful description of his _beloved_ Instructor. With an apologetic shrug, he went to open the door and found his two best friends Chrys and Damon leaning against the doorframe. He signaled for them to come in, but they shook their heads lightly

"Hey Reed, you coming to 'Fate' tonight?" Chrys inquired, pushing himself off the doorframe.

'Fate' was Zion's hottest and trendiest nightclub, a routine stop for most Akademy students, seventeen and older (Zion's legal drinking age), who managed to successfully sneak out of the Akademy at night. Buried in the heart of the downtown alleyways, it stood like a gleaming beacon lighting the dark streets, lights vibrantly pulsing and loud music floating through the night. Six bouncers guarded the club's two doors, each tall enough and broad enough to occlude and secure the door alone; iron biceps the size of softballs bulging underneath the tight material of their black T-shirts. To date, no one, not even any of the Akademy's younger but skilled pupils had managed to fool the bouncers. They knew fake identification at first glance and would not hesitate to polish their black leather boots with the back of any intruder's pants. The queue to enter the club often rounded the block, especially on Friday and Saturday nights, and people would wait hours on end to be immersed in the smoke-laden atmosphere packed with bodies throbbing and gyrating in unison to the frenetic beat of the loud music. 

Reed and his friends were regulars in the club (in fact, Chrys' cousin's stepbrother was the owner), and on many a day Reed would party till the break of dawn and show up in class tired, hung-over, and in some cases still drunk. It was always entertaining when he strutted, still drunk and overwhelmingly late, into Instructor Blade's Zanark History class, spewing cheesy pick-up lines to all the girls and especially the Instructor when she chastised him on his lateness and irresponsible behavior. In his stupor he would forget his dislike for her and flash her his dazzling smile, toss his long hair over his shoulder, wink flirtatiously at her whenever she glanced in his direction, and make crude comments about her to Chrys and Damon. It irritated the young Instructor greatly, and Reed would be seen the next day sitting in Detention for three hours. Come next weekend, he would more often than not go out again and the cycle would repeat itself. Yes, life at the Akademy with Reed in your class was quite an amusement, but Zephyr paid no heed to his rival's drunken antics. He always had better things to do and better places to be.

Reed shook his head, a wide grin on his features. "Nah, sorry guys. I promised Fayth I'd train with her tonight, if you know what I mean."

Zephyr rolled his eyes but refrained from commenting. That was _so_ Reed, getting with some girl only hours after being through with another. Well, he _was_ the Akademy's resident ladies' man; he wouldn't be himself if he didn't sleep with someone different almost every night. Zephyr never did see the point of getting involved with girls; to him, they were as interesting as the back cover of his _Military Policies of Zanark's Presidents in the Last Century—Eighth Edition_ textbook for his Zanark History class. Even his gunblade case could hold a more interesting conversation than the giggly females that trailed Reed down the hall and swooned over his looks.

Chrys wolf-whistled and slapped Reed on the shoulder in congratulations. "Way to go man," he exclaimed.

  
Damon looked dumbfounded. "Eh… who's Fayth?"

Chrys rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Darn it Damon, that really hot blond bombshell in Blade's class… she sits _next_ to you, for crying out loud!"

Damon scratched the back of his head sheepishly in thought. "Eh… I sleep through Blade's class man, you should know that! Next to me… you mean that transfer student from Komark Akademy?" 

Reed nodded emphatically. "Yep, that's the one. Instructor Volt told me to train with her, since I used to do hand-to-hand combat before. So sorry guys, my hands will be full tonight, no pun intended."

"No prob Reed. You coming Leonstrife?" Chrys asked Zephyr, who immediately perked up. He was never invited to the student nightly outings—not like he wanted to be anyway, and certainly not by Reed's friends. They really had to be desperate for someone to ask him of all people.

He shook his head lightly. "Can't. Have stuff to do downtown," he replied tightly. 

Chrys shrugged. "Your loss Leonstrife. Well Reed, we'll be going… gotta get ready. The new security guard starts his shift in half an hour and he doesn't really have the hang of all the cameras and stuff. You can actually _walk_ out the door without being busted. Come on Damon, let's go. Goodbye Leonstrife," he said, waving at Reed, nodding at Zephyr, and snapping his fingers at Damon to follow. 

Damon waved a hasty 'bye' to Reed, glanced at Zephyr, and trotted down the carpeted hallway in pursuit of Chrys. Reed watched the pair leave with an amused grin, and with a shake of his head shut the door once they had turned the corner and could no longer be seen. He then turned to Zephyr and quirked an eyebrow in question.

"Not like I really care, but how are you gonna get out tonight? You don't look up to the task of climbing the wall; that Simon packs a mean punch. Guess I'll be seeing ya in Detention tomorrow then, eh?" Reed snickered.

Zephyr grinned cockily. "Think again Lockheart; I don't get Detentions. As a matter of fact, I have an official Akademy late-night permit signed by Instructor Brendyn Blade herself…" he began smugly, pulling the permit out of his back pants pocket and showing it to Reed.

Reed's eyes widened in surprise. Late-night permits were hard to come by, especially from Instructor Blade. Zephyr definitely had to have forged it! There was no _way_ Blade would refuse to give _him_ one and sign one for _Zephyr_ of all people. He snatched the permit and scrutinized it. It was definitely real; Blade's signature was un-forgeable. Just ask the myriad students that sat in Detention virtually every day for attempted forgery of a late-night permit, all with almost perfect imitations of the aforementioned Instructor's signature. "How did you get Blade to sign this? She _never_ gives them out; not even to _me_! Man, you wreck her precious robot _and_ she gives you a permit? This is unreal!" Reed stated incredulously.

Zephyr smirked in response. Reed was right—Instructor Blade was as notorious for refusing to sign permits as she was for turning down dates from students and faculty members alike _and_ devising brutal punishments for those who messed with her or her technological creations. The Ice Queen; the Virgin Queen, she was commonly known as—seemingly unfeeling, single and apparently not looking, businesslike even in an emergency, and distant from all other Instructors and students. She was always either locked up in her lab researching new advancements for the Akademy's facilities or teaching her classes. Many a male student had approached the young Instructor with prospects of love and dates, and each had been humiliatingly turned down. Rejected male students had corrupted her nickname to the Ice Bitch, now the most widely used byname used to refer to the blonde Instructor behind her back.

"Yep, the 'Ice Bitch' herself signed me a permit to legally stroll out of here while you guys have to sneak out. No questions asked either; I just asked and she signed away," Zephyr continued arrogantly, opening his gunblade case.

Reed scowled and shoved the permit back into Zephyr's hands. Dammit, Zephyr had outdone him yet again; was he always supposed to be second best? "I assume you'll be doing her a 'favor' in return. Maybe getting laid will do wonders to her temper," he grumbled.

"Nope, nothing in return. Guess being on her 'I-have-the-hots-for-you' list helps, doesn't it? Oh, you wouldn't know, she hates your guts," Zephyr finished smugly, placing the permit into Punishment's case and locking it. One could never be too careful with a permit, and knowing Reed, he wasn't above sabotaging it just so Zephyr couldn't use it. With another cocky half smirk, he looked over his shoulder at a fuming Reed. "I'm going to the shower," he said simply, resting Punishment's case on his bed and crossing the small distance between his bed and the bathroom door.

"You bloody need it," Reed snapped back, turning once more to the lit screen of his laptop, typing in a few commands, and settling anew in his chair.

Zephyr shut the wooden bathroom door with a muted thud and padded across the cool linoleum of the floor to the bathtub. He opened the hot water tap fully and allowed the liquid to run until the steaming water covered the bottom of the tub before adjusting it to a more suitable temperature. He shed his torn and tattered clothes and threw them in the trash. A boisterous clang rang throughout the small bathroom as the metal of his belt buckle collided with the metal of the bin. 

__

Dammit, that's two sets of clothes in less than two days. I'm gonna go broke if this keeps up. _Maybe I should ask the Boss for clothes compensation_, he mused with a mental chortle as he walked over to the small table by the corner to remove his heavy platinum chain and his watch, only articles left on his body. Now fully undressed, he shut the water off and with a weary sigh lowered his sore and tired body into the welcoming water, feeling its distinct warmth soothe and relax his muscles. Zephyr began gingerly dabbing at a few of his wounds on his arms, legs, and chest, washing the blood off and giving the previously transparent water a slight crimson tinge. Satisfied with the appearance of his lesions, he dunked his mahogany locks underwater and upon emergence reached a dripping hand towards the shampoo. 

*** 

R&R!


	9. Meetings, Tribulations and Reed

****

Between the Shadows

By: Ethereal Fury

****

Chapter Seven: Meetings, Tribulations… and Reed

Zephyr gave the green shampoo bottle a forceful shake and squeezed. Instead of the expected viscous ivory cream, a fistful of air greeted his hand. _Dammit, Reed's used up all the shampoo again. Could the guy be any more vain? If it weren't for class, I bet he'd be washing his hair every ten minutes. What an ass,_ he grumbled angrily as he shook the bottle again with more force and squeezed hard enough to crush it. This time, he was rewarded with a Zanarkad-sized puddle of the priced cream.

__

Note to self: Make Reed eat bottle before I leave. And hide it next time, he thought dryly, attempting to work the ridiculous amount of shampoo into a lather with which to wash his hair. With a frustrated growl, he began vigorously massing his scalp, the scarce lather eventually turning into relatively abundant white foam.

As Zephyr worked his hands skillfully through his chestnut locks—he didn't have the Akademy's nicest hair for no reason— his mind wandered back to his earlier meeting with the Headmaster.

**__**

Flashback

"Headmaster Rayn," Zephyr greeted, saluting formally.

The Headmaster was a man in his early forties, short and feeble-looking, and a bit on the chubby side. His thinning brown hair was carefully parted down the middle and slicked back, but messy clumps often fell over his vivacious hazel eyes framed by thick glasses. He looked much older than he actually was; his once-tanned skin, now pasty and yellow, creased with many a wrinkle of worry and stress. Twenty years of running an Akademy full of insolent youths could do that to a man. Despite his current harmless appearance, rumor had it that in his youth Breckyn Rayn had been he deadliest sniper Zanark had ever seen. Twenty-two years ago, during the Zanark-Aerith War, he had reportedly single-handedly eliminated an Aerian squadron that threatened to penetrate Zion's fortified walls in the dead of night. Zephyr always found that hard to believe—the man could barely read the cafeteria's menu through his thick rimmed glasses, how could he have shot down twelve men of Terra's best military, shrouded in darkness? 

Headmaster Rayn waved his hand in dismissal at the formality. "Please, please. At ease Zephyr. Take a seat," he said, pacing in front of his desk. "Want a drink?" he added.

Zephyr relaxed his attentive stance and refused the offer with a slight shake of his head, opting to remain standing without a drink. "What is it Headmaster?" he prompted impatiently. Headmaster Rayn was notorious for his long-windedness and tendency to sidetrack from what he wanted to say. A meeting that should have taken ten minutes at most often turned into half an hour in the least. And Zephyr had neither the time nor the patience for that.

The Headmaster paced in silence in front of Zephyr for a few minutes, brow furrowed in thought. IT was as if he was debating whether or not to share something important. Zephyr shifted his weight and crossed his arms over his chest in annoyance. _At this rate, I won't be getting out till I'm supposed to be getting back. Jeez, will that old geezer hurry up?_ he thought irritably.

Headmaster Rayn's surprisingly soft voice interrupted Zephyr's train of thought. One would think that twenty years as the head of a military institution and giving orders daily would make him loud and imposing, but he was uncommonly soft-spoken and gentle. "No use beating around the bush Zephyr. Members of our ZEG intelligence team have gotten wind of some information indicating an assassination attempt towards President Jecht," he began in a low voice.

_How the…? Guess ZEG is smarter than we gave it credit for. Damn, this complicates things,_ Zephyr cursed inwardly. Outwardly, he showed no sings of shock or surprise; he just sighed wearily and calmly replied, "Headmaster, he's the most powerful man alive, he's bound to have enemies. Besides, this would be the fifth time so-called 'assassination' information has been intercepted… it was no more than a joke the previous four times, what makes you think it's any different this time?"

The Headmaster stopped his pacing and looked up at Zephyr with a serious expression. "I spoke to the head of the group. A call came in this morning through my private line saying the President would be assassinated within the week, then the line went dead."

Zephyr brought a hand to his forehead in disbelief. _What the hell is that idiot of a Boss doing? Calling in and alerting the Akademy of his plans… he could just as well have waltzed in here and revealed who he was and who works for him. Does he understand how much he's complicating things?! _he fumed silently.

"Do you have any idea who the call was from?" he inquired, a hopeful undertone in his voice. Maybe they didn't know who had called… or maybe it wasn't the Boss and someone was going to take the heat off them.

"An Aerian rebel group known as 'The Red Faction'. They have been responsible for many attacks against Zanark and its politicians in the past ten years. Their apparent goal is the liberation of Aerith from the strict Zanarkist control it is currently under. Here is all the information we have on them; we've been following since, roughly, their first attacks," Rayn explained gravely, handing Zephyr a thick manila folder marked 'Top Secret'.

Zephyr opened the folder and began flipping through its contents whilst the Headmaster detailed some of the Red Faction's activities. About halfway through the pile of papers, he came across a sketchy black-and-white picture that made him stop and widen his eyes in surprise. There, staring right back at him, was a younger version of the Boss. He looked different—visibly younger, less scarred and burnt—but unmistakably the same man that had hired Zephyr. The same scar that sealed his eye shut was present, the same limp hand holding a cigarette, the same dimples on his disfigured cheeks. The corner of a small familiar silver crest on his shirt pocket peeked over the edge of the photograph. Zephyr held up the picture and quirked his eyebrow in question.

"That's the faction's head honcho. No name, no identity, no record—just known as 'the Boss' even to his group members", Rayn explained, taking notice of Zephyr's quirked brow. "Eight years ago that was… only picture of him ever taken. First and only time he was ever seen. That was taken by two top ZEG officials after one of the first attacks on the recently-elected president Decan Jecht… both ZEG officials were found dead and that picture was the only thing that remained of the operation," he added.

"I see. But how does this concern me, if I may ask?" Zephyr inquired, flipping through the last few documents and handing them back to the Headmaster. 

Headmaster Rayn took the folder and let it fall on his desk with a resounding slap before turning to Zephyr once more. "We want you to lead an investigation against this group and foil their assassination attempt," he stated with some hesitation.

_Funny, you want me to against the man who hired me, huh? Sorry Headmaster, they have my paycheck… my only way to help Storm. You have nothing. How ironic—playing both sides and in the end betraying one. Father would be **so** proud,_ he thought with disdain. How was it that he always ended up in such complex ploys? He shook his head and crossed his arms again. "Why, sir? I'm not even a part of ZEG; I'm just a student. Why me?" he asked.

"ZEG has been tailing this man for ten years and come up with one lousy picture. _One picture in ten years_. You're the best this Akademy has seen in the twenty years since its establishment. You deserve better than being a mere ZEG recruit; this would put you at the top of the organization, make you a hero. That's why Zephyr; you_ deserve_ this," Rayn explained vehemently, gesturing with his hands for emphasis. "It's what your father would have wanted," he added in a low voice.

Zephyr gritted his teeth and set his jaw in determination. "If _he_ wanted it, I won't do it. Find someone else Headmaster," he replied with finality, saluting the Headmaster once more and turning to leave the office. 

The Headmaster's proposition almost made him chuckle bitterly… did Headmaster Rayn really expect him to forgive his father and go do a mission in his name? Auron Leonstrife's constant absences from home to engage in high-risk secret missions in the heart of the politically unstable Aerith after the war had all but destroyed his mother, and in a way, the young Zephyr too. Gale had idolized and practically worshipped the ground Auron walked on; his presence was the very essence of her existence. With him gone for months on end, living with the constant fear that he may be dead, she had simply began to fade away, looking to alcohol to drown her sorrows. She just lost her sparkle when he wasn't around. When they had received the official notice from the Zanark government of his execution for treason nearly seven years ago, she had simply given up on living and just patiently waited for the moment death would come claim her too so she could rejoin her husband. Zephyr had had no real father figure growing up— Storm hadn't even _had_ a father, so he guessed he was lucky— and Auron's antics had robbed him of a mother too… and Zephyr hated him for it. _It's funny how even in death he still manages to rule mom's world… she never had time for me when he was around, and now that he's gone, she doesn't have the energy to care for Storm. Great work **Dad**; you left behind one hell of a family,_ he thought bitterly, slamming the door to the Headmaster's office shut.

Breckyn Rayn watched him go and shook his head sadly. "Poor boy… poor poor boy. If he only knew," he murmured, picking up the picture of the Boss and looking at it for a long time before muttering an inaudible 'Forgive me' and placing it back in the folder. 

**__**

End Flashback

_Why was the Headmaster so keen on me investigating the faction? Why would my father of all people want that? How would he **know** of it in the first place? _Zephyr mused thoughtfully as he scrubbed his sore body with a sponge. In the distance, he heard the dorm phone ring and Reed answer it, remaining silent for a while before grudgingly agreeing to something and upon hanging up, grumbling blasphemies. 

Zephyr shook his head with a snicker and turned on the water again, setting it to a cooler temperature than the one he had been bathing in. He briefly wondered what could have ticked Reed off like that… by the way he was cussing nonstop, it most likely involved his _beloved_ Instructor Blade. With a shrug of his shoulders, Zephyr flicked the shower switch and immediately felt the refreshing water cascading over his body and through his hair, rinsing out the soap. 

After staying under the tumbling water longer than was needed, allowing its coolness to remove his tiredness and clear his head from the previous conversation with the Headmaster, he shut the water off and stepped, dripping wet, out of the shower. He reached for a towel with which to dry his hair, and upon being done giving it its customary messy out-of-bed look, wrapped the towel loosely about his waist. Strolling over to the table by the corner to retrieve his watch and chain, Zephyr walked out of the bathroom with one last look at his reflection in the misted mirror. Back in the room, Reed was pacing about it, still muttering profanities under his breath and shaking his head in disbelief.

Zephyr crossed his arms over his bare chest in annoyance, covering the small black dragon he had tattooed on his left pectoral. "What is it _this_ time Reed? Why are you whining like a little girl?" he queried irritably.

Reed stopped his pacing and looked up at Zephyr, pointing at the phone with indignation. "Can you _believe_ that prick of a Headmaster? He just calls me and tells me that I'm supposed to all of a sudden do this mission without previous warning and…"

"You like missions Reed; they feed your delusion that one day you'll be part of ZEG. Get to the point," Zephyr interrupted rudely.

Reed glared at him and continued, ignoring his comment. "So yeah, like now all of a sudden I'm supposed to be researching this idiotic Aerian faction that wants to kill the President or something…" he continued.

_So, the Headmaster couldn't get me, so he settles for second-best. Joy,_ he thought dryly. Reed was still babbling about the mission_, _and personally, Zephyr couldn't care less. He probably knew more about it than Reed did… or possibly ever would. "You have fifteen seconds to get to the point or I will take Punishment out of its case and whoop your ass so far into next week it won't even be funny," he stated icily.

Reed held up his hands in defeat. "Jeez, man, you gotta learn to chill out a bit. You're too stressed!" he exclaimed, shaking his head with a laugh.

Zephyr was not amused. "Ten, nine, eight…" he drawled, checking his watch.

"Okay, okay, I'll get to the point. So like that old geezer calls me and tells me I'm working with the Instructor. Yeah, that's right, me and Instructor Blade working on a mission together… like what is up with that guy? I mean, we absolutely _love_ each other… this is going to be a real_ blast_; a whole _week_ by myself with Blade, the Akademy's resident queen bitch herself… aren't I _lucky_?" Reed finished, throwing his hands up in exasperation and shaking his head in disbelief once more.

_Ahh… so it's the Instructor and my rival against me. How ironic; they hate each other dearly, as do Reed and I, and she's infatuated with me, yet they are united in the quest to vanquish a mission I'm responsible for. Well, this should definitely prove fun,_ Zephyr thought with a grin. 

So this is what their final showdown was going to be… the life of a man, the president of their country, the most powerful man alive, being the wager. Zephyr had to kill him, Reed had to save him; whoever achieved their purpose would prove superior to the other. The deadlocked struggle of two rivals would be coming to an end in less than a week. Reed he wasn't afraid of; Zephyr knew he could take him no problem, shoot him if the need arose. But the Instructor was a different story… she was intelligent, as sharp as he was, experienced (having been part of ZEG since age fifteen), and one of the most brilliant minds of the organization. She could definitely pose a problem; if she researched and asked around enough, she would be able to unravel the faction's plan. Zephyr knew she and Reed would be under enormous pressure and have little time, but Instructor Blade's genius-like mind could pull off amazing stunts… and that worried him. But with Reed around her, getting on her nerves and arguing with her, it was unlikely she'd be able to concentrate. Hell, _no one_ could concentrate with Reed around. "You're going to be the most envied man in the Akademy," he replied dryly.

Reed snorted. "Yeah, assuming I'm still a _man_ after that's through… that whip of hers is a very effective, err… _disarming_ weapon."

Zephyr shook his head with a smirk. "You two make the _cutest_ couple, everyone thinks so," he stated, turning towards his closet to get his clothes.

Reed's mouth hung open in disbelief, emerald eyes wide as saucers. He and that obnoxious, self-important bimbo did _not_ make a cute couple, at all. So what if she was the best looking, and smartest, thing the Akademy had ever seen?! He was _not_ attracted to her… although the swiftness with which she cut down training robots with that whip of hers and the way those glasses gave her a mature and intellectual look did make her awfully sexy. Reed shook his head—whoa, had he just thought the Instructor was sexy? There was just no _way_; he _hated_ her, right? And she hated him back… that much was obvious. The way she always yelled at him in class and picked him to answer questions he had absolutely no idea had been asked because he had been too busy flirting with the female students to listen… yeah, definitely no attraction on her part. Or was there?

Zephyr glanced back at his amazed rival over his shoulder. He shook his head with a chuckle—Reed may have been good with getting women to sleep with him, but he was apparently oblivious to their feelings. _Come on, even **I** could tell the Instructor has the hots for him too… why else would she always yell at him and make him stay after class? And the way he blatantly flirts with her… hell, even an idiot can see the attraction. She just **thinks** she likes me, but I know she really doesn't. Maybe this mission **will** prove to be more than just a fat paycheck… I'd love to be there when they realize they like each other,_ he thought, taking his black jeans, T-shirt, jacket, and his boxers from his closet and walking back to the bathroom to change. A few minutes later, he heard Reed mumbling to himself again and the room door being slammed shut. Zephyr let out a low chuckle, finished brushing his hair, grabbed his cardkey and gunblade, strapped his 8-millimeter training gun to the inside of his boot, and followed Reed out the door and into the warm Zion evening. 

***

R&R!


	10. Familial Twists

****

Between the Shadows

By: Ethereal Fury

****

Chapter Eight: Familial Twists

The sun was firmly lodged behind some clouds and the first few stars were making their shy appearance in the dusky velvet sky when Zephyr strolled resolutely through the Akademy's wrought iron gate. After having had to display his late-night permit, answer some questions, and use Punishment as evidence, he was finally allowed to step into the humid late afternoon enveloping Zion. He began to walk towards the bus stop located in the far corner of the Akademy's grounds when his keen hearing picked up the roaring sound of the engine of a heavy vehicle pulling away and he saw the red and white Zion bus driving away from the stop. Just his luck; the bus had just left and the next one didn't come for another hour. He decided to walk the lengthy distance from the suburbs, where the Akademy was located, to the heart of Zion since waiting for the next bus would be useless; besides, he felt the need to stretch his sore muscles. So Zephyr set off, hands in the pockets of his black jeans, down the darkened lonely street, Punishment's black leather sheath thudding comfortably against his hip in an almost hypnotic rhythm.

After a while of walking down deserted streets, Zephyr stopped at a tiny shop deep in the heart of Zion's characteristic maze-like alleyways. If it hadn't been for the small gunblade engraved on the shop's sign, he probably would have walked right by it without a second glance. But a shop that specialized in gunblades was rare, rarer than the weapon itself, and finally curiosity got the best of him and he stepped into the shop, bells ringing to notify the arrival of a new customer. The shop itself was exceedingly small— a single room with a counter near the door, some chairs, and various worktables in the back with odd tools strewn atop them. It appeared as though no one was in the shop, and Zephyr was about to turn to leave when a raspy voice called out. "Just a minute, I'm coming."

A fragile old man limped over to the counter and adjusted his thick glasses. "Yes, what can I do for you?" he asked amicably.

"You fix gunblades?" Zephyr inquired, although the answer was obvious. There was something remotely familiar about the man… something in his eyes, those eyes a shade or two lighter than his own… but he couldn't pinpoint what it was.

The old man nodded with a sad smile, a faraway look in his clear blue eyes. "Yes. Gunblades… fix them, make them, clean them… anything. But no one uses them anymore. They are weapons of old, very hard to maneuver, and requiring many years of practice. But they are extremely powerful, yes, effective and deadly too… but people don't seem to see that."

"I have one," Zephyr stated simply, placing his hand on his hip. _Why else would I be here, you old man? _he thought in annoyance.

At that, the old man looked up sharply and squinted at Zephyr through his thick glasses. His mouth dropped open and he couldn't seem to shut it fully, instead making fish-like gestures. "A… Auron Leonstrife? You… you're back?" he inquired shakily, his feeble hands beginning to tremble.

Zephyr's eyes widened at the mention of his father's name. "No… Zephyr. Zephyr Leonstrife. You… you knew my father?" he asked the old man, shock and suspicion evident in his voice.

The old man's eyes glazed over a bit and that faraway dreamy expression settled over his features again. "Yes… yes indeed. I can remember it like it was just yesterday. He was standing there, that hand on his hip just like yours, not a day older than yourself, a confident grin on his face, saying that he was going to join the Zanark Army and win us the Zanark-Aerith War and that for that he needed a gunblade that could be loaded and fired quickly. So I made it for him, the finest specimen anyone had ever laid eyes on—long, lean titanium frame that was far lighter and more maneuverable, a barrel that fit 12 bullets instead of 8 and could fire at machine-gun speed, and a smaller, sleeker handle for an easier and stronger grip. The best gunblade I have ever made," the old man began.

Zephyr was not really listening as the shop owner went on to describe his masterpiece in more detail. That sounded just like, no, it _was_ Punishment. The longer-than-usual titanium frame, the larger gun barrel, the smaller handle… all the trademarks that set his gunblade apart from Reed's more modern one. He forced his attention back on the man as he seemed to finish depicting the craftsmanship of the weapon.

"… Yes, yes, I remember him well. Always surrounded by the ladies, though he'd always had his eye on that cousin of the Lockheart chap… what was her name? Kane… something Kane," the man continued.

_Kane? No… it can't be… Lockheart?_ Zephyr thought dazedly. "Gale?" he supplied. It couldn't be… the man couldn't mean his mother, could he?

The shop owner nodded emphatically. "Yes, yes… Gale Kane. Shy quiet girl she was… good friends with my daughter… she was head over heels in love with your father… it angered her cousin greatly, even though he and your father were best of friends. Yes, I remember the many squabbles between Auron and Cain Lockheart… Cain thought Gale deserved better than your father and you'd often see them sparring with their gunblades over her. Auron would always win, and someone would have to pry them apart before they got too hurt. I remember their fights well… they used to fight right outside my door and it was always my daughter Kerryn, that little rascal Breckyn, or that good chap Decan that would always break them up," he continued, that dreamy look never leaving his face.

_Did he say…? No, it can't have been… my father and Reed's father… friends? Well, that certainly explains the burning rivalry between Reed and myself…and the fact that I can kick Reed's ass without a second thought; my old man kicked **his** old man's ass too; it's in the genes. Mom, Reed's aunt? That makes us… third cousins. Impossible… Breckyn? Headmaster Rayn? It can't be… and…_ he mused. "Decan, sir? You don't mean Decan Jecht by any chance, do you?" Zephyr asked incredulously.

"Yes… yes… Jecht. You know him? Nah… you're too young… nice boy he was; used to work for me as my apprentice. But he always wanted greater things… he often said that one day he would become president and crush Aerith. He and my daughter were very close… I'm sorry, I'm wasting your time… you said something about a gunblade, did you not?" the old man queried, shaking himself out of his memories and readjusting his specs.

Zephyr nodded, not trusting himself to speak. It was too much… his father, best friends with Zephyr's archrival's father and married to his cousin… good friends with the Headmaster and the now-President of Zanark whom Zephyr was to assassinate… him and Reed related by blood. Still not speaking, he unsheathed Punishment and placed it on the counter. The old man's blue eyes widened and he trailed his fingers lovingly over the sharp blade and the sleek handle. His masterpiece… that one gunblade he had devoted so much time to.

"I want it cleaned and polished. The barrel is a bit loose… fix it… and sharpen the blade. I want a new case as well. And don't you dare even scratch it or I will test the blade with your neck. I will be back in a few hours," Zephyr demanded, tossing some Zanarkads on the counter and turning to walk out.

"You're just like your father, lad. He said those same words when he returned from the war all those years ago. I will be done by the time you return. And I will take special care of your gunblade," the old man called out to Zephyr's receding back, carrying the priced weapon to one of the working tables.

_More alike than you think… both traitors to our homeland, _Zephyr thought as stepped out into clear Zion night, breathing a sigh of what felt like relief. That man… there was something about him that was too familiar… he felt like he knew him from some place… like he was some sort of ghost from his past. He shook his head… no… it was definitely something from the present… now, where had he seen those eyes? His mind drew a blank, so with a shrug and a glance at his watch, he quickened his pace towards the tavern.

***

R&R! 


	11. You Again?

****

Between the Shadows

By: Ethereal Fury

****

Chapter Nine: You Again?!

Huddling in the shadows, Zephyr cautiously approached the heavy wooden door that led to the tavern. He had been instructed to ensure no one saw him, so after confirming that no one was indeed in sight, he knocked upon the door three times, gave the password, and was allowed in.

He scanned the room with his gaze and found that the Boss' guards were nowhere to be seen. He then strode over to the bar to wait, as he had been instructed, for two men in black to approach him. Upon sitting on a stool, taking off his leather jacket and hanging it on the back of the stool, Zephyr was greeted with the rather pleasant view of the waitress' rear end, who, feeling eyes on her, turned around and approached the new customer. "Well, well. What can I get you Mr. Kane?" she asked with a smile.

At that, Zephyr looked sharply up. "Aurora?! What are you doing here?" he questioned, narrowing his eyes. _And why do you look so fine in that miniskirt,_ he inner voice added with a chuckle and a wolf-whistle.

Aurora rolled her eyes. "I'm here on a secret mission to assassinate the President," she told him in a hushed whisper. After seeing the shocked look on Zephyr's face, she laughed and explained, "No silly; what do you think? I'm a waitress here." 

"Don't joke about things like that," he growled. That comment had hit too close to home— that was why _he_ was there.

Aurora pouted. "You're no fun," she stated matter-of-factly.

Zephyr shrugged. "I take it this is one of those things your father doesn't approve of… like hanging out at the Akademy with Reed."

"Wow… so you CAN say more than three words," she teased.

He arched an eyebrow. "I am quite articulate, thank you. I just don't find it worthwhile to waste my precious breath on people like you," he shot back.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you cracked a joke Mr. Kane," Aurora said with an amused laugh.

"Then I guess you **don't** know better," he replied, scanning the drinks list.

"That's **_two_** jokes… is that a personal record, Mr. Kane?" she vexed. "By the way, what brings **you** here?"

At that, Zephyr tensed visibly. "Akademy business," he answered tersely. It wasn't the truth… but it wasn't a total lie either. He wasn't working for the Headmaster or ZEG… but he could still pretend.

Aurora shot him a funny look and leaned on the counter. "Like top-secret info you can't disclose?" she asked curiously.

He nodded, then lowered his voice. "You **do** know this place is Aerian, don't you?" he inquired.

"Yeah… I kinda figured since they spoke that funny little language of theirs… but so what?" she questioned.

Zephyr leant closer, making Aurora's breath catch in her throat at his closeness. "Aerians hate Zanarkists. They're very warlike… don't get on their bad side," he explained gravely, sitting back in his original position.

Aurora backed away a bit and brought a hand to her chest in mock shock. "I didn't know you cared Mr. Kane," she giggled.

"I don't… but if they get to you first, it'd take away the fun of slicing you in two with my gunblade if you annoy me," he replied with a smirk.

She made a face at him. "Meanie! Didn't your mother teach you to be nice to girls?" she retorted.

The smirk faded from Zephyr's lips and he visibly winced. The drinks list all of a sudden seemed exceedingly riveting and he glued his azure gaze to it. Aurora wanted to kick herself—he went to the Akademy, he probably **_had no_** mother… why did she just have to blurt that out? They were even having a _conversation_… She found herself resting her elbows on the counter and looking at him as he scanned the drinks list, mere inches from her, his jagged mahogany bangs falling over his sapphire eyes and occluding that tiny scar above his right eyebrow that Aurora found so appealing. 

She studied his chiseled features, wondering what it would feel like to run her hands through his soft auburn hair and gaze at those eyes of his. Aurora had never seen eyes of such an intense cerulean hue—sure, one of her eyes was blue, but it was much lighter, almost gray. Zephyr's piercing gaze was so blue it was almost indescribable, and Aurora felt she could lose herself in those depths just trying to conjure up a word to illustrate them. She felt a familiar flutter in her stomach and slight quickening of her pulse at his closeness. She couldn't believe she was acting like a giddy schoolgirl, but she couldn't seem to keep her thoughts off him… and almost none of them involved him sitting on that stool. 

"I'll have a 'Sex on the Beach'," Zephyr said in a low voice, not taking his eyes off the drinks list.

"Sure, anytime," Aurora replied, with a far-off look in her eyes. She hadn't really been listening, lost in her not-so-pure thoughts involving him. Two words of what he'd said registered—'sex' and 'beach' and she had unquestionably began picturing him in a swimsuit, a romantic sunset picnic, the beautiful Zion beaches, swimming… and before her thoughts could get any further, she found him staring at her with an annoyed scowl.

"I meant the cocktail," he stated, interrupting Aurora's train of thought.

Immediately, she blinked, snapped out of her reverie, and realized she had been staring at him quite intently. She blushed a deep shade of crimson and turned away, trying to regain her composure. She was mortified—she'd just said she would have sex on a beach with him any day! The fact that he could have meant the cocktail— they **were** in a **bar** after all— had not even crossed her mind… and she had been gawking openly at him whilst trying to picture him without a shirt… what was wrong with her? He didn't seem overly perturbed at her comment, but then again, when did he? With a sigh and hoping the earth would swallow her, Aurora turned back to Zephyr. "Aren't you a little young to be drinking?" she teased, hoping to hide her embarrassment. 

"That coming from the girl that works the bar and mistakes a drink for a request to sleep with her… no," he retorted, handing her the drinks list. 

Aurora nodded and pulled out a chilled shot glass, peach Schnapps, orange and cranberry juices, and the bottle of vodka. She poured the orange and cranberry juices, along with the schnapps, into the glass and skillfully tossed the vodka bottle up into the air, catching it with one hand, and spinning it about a few times before pouring the clear liquid into the glass. "Sex on the Beach," she informed him with a slight blush, handing Zephyr his glass, who took it with an amused expression. He had to admit that had been pretty cool.

"What? You work at a bar, you learn the moves," she defended.

"I'm sure your father will be thrilled his daughter can throw bottles around without breaking them," he commented dryly, taking a sip of his drink.

Aurora shrugged and leaned on the counter, examining Zephyr closely. She noticed he had a few cuts and scrapes on his face and a rather big gash on his bare left forearm. "Probably not, but whatever… hey! Where's your gunblade? And what happened to your arm?" she inquired, pointing at Zephyr's empty hip then his arm.

"Not here. One is not exactly inconspicuous when they have a four-foot sword like thing dangling from their hip. And the arm is from training," he replied matter-of-factly.

She nodded and chewed on her bottom lip as she thought. "How come you use a gunblade too? I thought there were only two gunbladesmen in the Akademy… Reed and some other guy with a real sexy name… Zephyr something or other… he's supposed to be a real hottie and unbeatable with the blade," she mused thoughtfully. 

_Oooh Leonstrife… she thinks your name is sexy… and she thinks you're cute,_ his inner voice smirked. Zephyr bit back a smile and commented, "I bet you didn't hear **that** from Reed."

Aurora shook her head. "God no! He doesn't think there's anyone in the world better looking than him… conceited brat… do you know that Zephyr guy?" she asked hopefully.

"Maybe," he replied with a smirk, downing his shot. _I am that Zephyr guy_.

She threw her hands up in exasperation. "You men are all the same… argh! You're impossible! Can't give a straight answer… just like Reed. Speaking of which, do you know where he is?" she inquired, wiping the counter with a rag, completely forgetting he still hadn't answered her question on his use of a gunblade.

"Getting sweaty with some girl in the gym," he answered, taking out his wallet.

Aurora wrinkled her nose. "Thanks… that was more graphic than I needed…," she said in disgust. The picture of her ex-boyfriend, if you could even call him that, tangled in the arms of another girl in the Akademy's gym was not exactly a pretty sight. It stung to know that he had gone and found someone else only hours after she had stormed out on him. Okay, so it may have been her fault— she _had_ stormed out on him after all, but he didn't need to rub it in like that, going at it with some other girl… that conceited jerk!

Zephyr looked up and arched an eyebrow. "They're sparring. Reed did hand-to-hand combat before settling for the gunblade," he explained. He knew very well how his statement had sounded and was enjoying her embarrassment once again.

Aurora blushed— she couldn't believe she'd suggested Reed was getting it on with some girl (although that was probably true too)… training had not even crossed her mind. "Eh… sorry… I, uh, misunderstood what you meant," she apologized shyly, looking away. Great, so much for getting anywhere with him… she'd just embarrassed herself hugely twice **and** now he probably thought she was some sort of sex-crazed daddy's girl. 

_She looks so cute like that… I mean… argh! _Zephyr thought. He flashed her a rare grin, a real one not just his customary half-smirk, and shook his head. "Really, get your mind out of the gutter," he said dryly, placing a five-Zanarkad bill on the counter.

"Wow… another joke… **and** a smile," she teased back, taking the bill.

Zephyr's grin widened, just to spite her, revealing perfectly aligned white teeth. Aurora was surprised to notice that he had a truly breathtaking smile. The most adorable dimples adorned his cheeks, his intense blue eyes crinkled and sparkled, and his jagged mahogany locks, spiky in places, flowing in others, fell in an amazingly cute messy heap over his eyes. She never would have imagined him as the dimple type, but the radiance of his smile shattered whatever expectations she may have had. Zephyr leant in close and replied in a husky voice, "Don't get used to it". He then took his change from the dazed and speechless Aurora, put on and zipped his jacket, and turned on his heel, taking only a few steps before being met by two of the Boss' guards.

"Leonstrife? Follow me," one of the guards said.

Zephyr nodded and took off after the men, trailing a few steps behind them. They walked towards the back of the tavern, turned down the now-familiar hallway, and entered the wooden door on the right. Zephyr was once again met by the darkened, elongated narrow room with the candle-lit table, where the Boss sat in all his monstrosity.

Aurora cocked her head to the side in contemplation. Leonstrife? That was strange, his name was Kane, right? She figured that must be his cover-up name or something. With a sigh, she turned back to tending the bar. Spies… who understood them anyway? Always so secretive and mysterious. But that was what attracted her to them, right? Still, she couldn't shake the name off her mind; it seemed so familiar somehow. Leonstrife… Leonstrife… she knew that name from somewhere, she was sure. Now, from where was a totally different matter. 

She furrowed her brow in frustrated concentration as she wiped the counter. Could it be from one of her father's friends? No… that wasn't it, she'd met them countless times and she would have remembered an unconventional name like that. Besides, politicians never went with long-winded names; they preferred shorter ones that went with their slogans. It wasn't any of her friends or schoolmates from her native Komark either. Aurora had not been born in Zanark; her mother and father both had, but she had been born in the remote city-state of Komark on one of her father's diplomatic assignments. They had moved back to Zion when Aurora was seven years old, when her father had accepted a position in Zanark's United Party.

She put on a smile and attended another customer, one of the tavern's regulars. When he was gone, she went back to thinking. There was something about that name that wouldn't let her rest until she figured out whose it was, and she was determined to do so. One of her father's childhood friends perhaps…?

***

R&R!


	12. Deja Vu

****

Between the Shadows

By: Ethereal Fury

****

Chapter Ten: Déjà vu 

Zephyr stepped cautiously through the door into the candle-lit narrow room presided by the lengthy oak table and quickly scanned the room. He spotted two heavily-armed guards beside him by the doors, four behind the Boss, the two that had escorted him a few steps ahead, and a few others stationed against the wall around the table's perimeter, half-hidden in the flickering shadows of the candlelight, the blackness of their uniform blending in with the darkness. They appeared almost invisible, and if Zephyr had not been trained to spot the minutest detail, he would have easily overlooked them. Any chance of escape, even with the eight-millimeter gun he carried strapped to his boot, was impossible. He was in too deep to even dare consider getting out. _I wouldn't want out anyway; I gotta help Storm_, he thought, shifting his weight and waiting for the Boss to summon him forth.

The Boss sat at his usual place upon the high-backed black leather chair at the head of the table, customary cigarette in his pale and wrinkled hand, currently conversing with the man Zephyr guessed to be the commander-in-chief of the operation. Almost involuntarily, Zephyr's gaze was drawn to the Boss' face in a repulsively intriguing fixation, tracing each scar and each burn with his eyes. For the first time, he noticed that there was something vaguely familiar about him too; something in the way he held himself even in that chair and more importantly in the way that intense crimson eye had fixed itself on Zephyr although its owner's head was turned to the left in conversation with the commander-in-chief. 

Narrowing his eyes, Zephyr shockingly realized that the Boss' solitary eye was not actually red; rather, it was a dark and intense shade of blue not unlike his own upon which the red glare of the candles' leaping flames were reflected. Staring at the hypnotic dancing flames in the Boss' eye, Zephyr felt an unsettling and eerie feeling of recognition spreading within him. He knew that man; he'd seen that intense gaze many a time before… but just who he was eluded him. He shut his eyes to shield himself from the eye's penetrating gaze and cursed himself inwardly for not being able to remember.

__

Great Leonstrife. First that old geezer at the shop rings a bell and now the man that's hired you to kill the President of your country seems familiar. You're hallucinating, seriously… or you have one hell of a screwed up past. You should definitely lay off whatever the hell it is that you're on, pot, crack, whatever… or you're gonna start seeing your dead father or something, he chided inwardly. He couldn't help but let out a soft sarcastic chuckle—yeah, his dead father, now that would be funny.

Shaking his head to clear it, Zephyr reopened his eyes and again found the Boss' eye boring into his own, as if willing him to remember something he couldn't. With an apologetic shrug of his broad shoulders, her approached the table and decided to break the unnerving silence. The Boss had long stopped conversing with the other man and had had his full attention focused on the youth before him for a while. Zephyr cleared his throat.

"Um… sir, I have the photographs of the documents upon President Jecht's desk the night of the reception, as well as the files on his computer about the Zanark-Aerith treaty you spoke of," he began. He unzipped his black jacket and from an inner pocket extracted a white envelope, which he handed to one of the men beside him who carried it to the head of the table and handed it to the Boss.

His eye never leaving Zephyr's, the Boss took the envelope and settled it in front of him on the table, nodding in approval. "Very well done boy. You prove worthy to the reputation that precedes you. You should be proud; with this information, this mission is on its way to a successful accomplishment. Finally, Aerith will no longer live in the shadow of Zanark and that fool Jecht will no longer be the most powerful man alive," he stated in his chilling gravelly voice.

Zephyr narrowed his eyes in suspicion. The Boss was not checking the contents of the envelope—either he was a trusting idiot or he had something up his sleeve. With all that was at stake here, Zephyr was sure the man could not afford to be double-crossed, so why wasn't he inspecting his findings? He wouldn't be so calm and collected unless he had an alternative course of action. Perhaps he doubted Zephyr's devotion to the mission—he _was_ in it solely for the money after all—and had ulterior arrangements. But that made no sense at all— Zephyr was being paid an exorbitant sum of money; it was highly unlikely they could afford to hire anyone else. In the twenty years that the Akademy had been training and dispatching members of ZEG, never had a single assignment yielded such a lucrative amount, not even when teams of more than a dozen had been dispatched. There was something sneaky definitely going on; when one's hopes of success rested solely on the shoulders of one individual, one wasn't so nonchalant. 

As if reading Zephyr's mind, the Boss smiled broadly, showing his cracked and missing teeth and bluish gums. He petted the thick envelope on the table in front of him almost lovingly, as if it were an animal. "Of course, if what you have told us is not found in this envelope, your younger sister will face the consequences," he said calmly, tracing the emblem of the Akademy on the envelope with his finger.

Zephyr's eyes widened in shock. "How…?" he exclaimed in surprise, before realizing he had spoken aloud and clamping his mouth shut.

The man smiled at Zephyr even more broadly. On anyone else, the smile would have been beatific, but on this man it was pure evil. Dimples appeared on the man's deformed and scarred cheeks as his smile widened into a low, rumbling laugh which again sent tingles of recognition down Zephyr's spine. "Zephyr, my boy, I know so much more about you than you do yourself. I've been keeping my eye on you since you were a tumbling toddler, and especially after you ran away from home when you were eleven and joined the Akademy," he explained, an amused expression in his eye.

Zephyr took a step back in surprise. How did this man know so much about him? No one, not even his fellow classmates at the Akademy knew anything about him or his past, yet this man knew of his sister and of his disappearance from home. It was impossible for anyone to know; all the neighbors they'd had back at home were now dead, and Storm wouldn't breathe a word of his whereabouts. 

The Boss was chuckling again at the stunned look on the usually unemotional youth. "Yes, I know about that too, don't be so surprised. I knew one day you would prove very valuable to us. You were meant for greater things than just being another member of ZEG; you deserve to make history. And with this assassination, you will; no _we_ will. The almighty Zanark, the most powerful nation in all of Terra, brought crashing down from its pedestal of greatness by a small Aerian resistance group. The sheer irony of it all." He paused and nodded his head with a half smile, fixing his lone eye on Zephyr, studying him. His eye glazed over in a dreamy state of reminiscence and he murmured softly, almost to himself, "Eight years. It's been eight years. You've grown so much…"

The thunderous noise of a wooden chair hitting the floor reverberated through the narrow room as Zephyr took another backward step and stumbled into a chair, sending it crashing to the floor. _Whoa…déjà vu. Headmaster Rayn said something like that earlier, about me being meant for more than just mere ZEG recruitment… what is up with these people and destiny? What do they know about what I was or wasn't meant to be? I make my own destiny, and no one else_, he thought vehemently.

The sharp sound brought the Boss out of his reverie and snapped him to attention. Shaking his head to clear it, he addressed Zephyr again. "If there is nothing else you would like to discuss, you are dismissed until further notice. Keep a low profile for this week leading up to the President's public address; we don't want you drawing too much attention to yourself. Go about your normal Akademy tasks and breathe not a word of your mission to anyone. It is fully in your hands to get the job done come the designated day; how you do it is none of our concern as long as it is done. The President must be assassinated at all costs; fail or doublecross us and you will never see your sister, or any of your pay, again. Succeed and you will both live, and we will provide a safe way out of Zion for you both. You will likely be called upon in three days for an update on your plan; feel free to collect more information in that interval but do not do anything stupid. Dismissed."

Zephyr gathered himself up again and saluted him. "Yes sir," he replied formally.

The Boss gave him a nod and snapped his fingers. Immediately, one of the guards half-hidden by the shadows of the walls appeared beside Zephyr and signaled him to follow. Zephyr nodded and turned to follow the man towards the door. The Boss pointed at another guard and he came up to the head of the table and flipped through the contents of the envelope.

"All good sir," the guard stated, placing the pictures back in the envelope and handing it to the Boss.

He took it and fixed his gaze on Zephyr's retreating form once more. Before he walked out the door, he turned once more to the Boss and asked, "Sir, why did you call the Akademy today and told them of your plans?"

The Boss' sole eye narrowed dangerously. "Where did you hear such nonsense, boy?" he queried gruffly.

"I have my sources, none of which you would know. There _are_ things about me you _don't_ know. Why do it then tell me to keep a low profile?" Zephyr countered, answering the question with a question of his own.

"That is none of your concern. You are here to assassinate the President and get your paycheck, nothing more, nothing less. You are in no position to question what we do, for you know not of the situation. And don't go around snooping or you will not see your sister again. Now, dismissed," he replied, finality evident in his voice.

Zephyr didn't budge. He wasn't leaving until he got answers; their actions became _his_ concern when they could land_ him_ in trouble. "That stunt you pulled could very well mean the mission is over. They're gonna have ZEG dispatched all over the place the day of the speech now… what the hell do you expect me to do?" he demanded angrily.

The Boss narrowed his eye again… feisty insolent youth with no respect for authority. He would teach him. With a subtle hand signal, Zephyr suddenly found himself surrounded by four guards with their guns drawn. "You will find your way around that simple problem yourself. I'm assured you're the Akademy's finest; I'm sure a few men standing in your way will only make things more fun. This mission is not in peril, and it will be completed regardless what. Now, would you care to leave by yourself, or shall I have these nice men escort you out?" he stated icily. There was no room for arguments this time, and Zephyr was not about to find out how far the man could be pushed.

With another formal salute, Zephyr replied with some sarcasm, "My apologies, sir. I believe I can find my own way back, thanks for the kind offer of the escort though." 

The Boss nodded once more and signaled his men to back away, except for one of the men that had escorted Zephyr in; he would escort the youth out. With a shrug, Zephyr turned on his heel and took off after the man. It was almost unnoticeable in the darkness of the room, but there was a look of nostalgic regret on the Boss' burnt and scarred face, his expression softened slightly by a tender smile as he watched Zephyr disappear out the wooden door. 


	13. You're Still Here?

****

Between the Shadows

By: Ethereal Fury

****

Chapter Eleven: You're Still Here?

Zephyr followed the guard out of the darkened room wordlessly, retracing the now-familiar steps back into the deceivingly welcoming fire-lit tavern. He checked his watch and found it was rather late; he should hurry back to the Akademy to avoid all the hassle of the security guards. Quite frankly, though, why did he care anyway? He _had_ a permit; even if he was returning very late, he had authorization from a member of the staff. From Instructor Brendyn Blade, to boot; that should in itself earn him some respect with the security guards. _No one_ had been able to wheedle the icy Instructor into signing them a permit before, and now Zephyr had just charmed one out of her without breaking a sweat. And he knew that essentially all the security guards thought themselves in love with the Instructor; he could easily use the permit as a souvenir of her prized signature as a bribe if the guards got particularly picky. He chuckled inwardly; it seemed as if every male but himself and the Headmaster followed the Instructor pathetically like lovesick lapdogs. Zephyr wrinkled his nose at the thought; at least he _hoped_ the Headmaster wasn't after the Instructor as well. It would be just _wrong_ for a forty-year-old man—her boss no less—to lust after a woman half his age and under his command. He shook his head with a half grin… nah, it was definitely preposterous; the Headmaster didn't have it in him to pine after his staff.

The deceptive cheery brightness of the tavern's main room hit him like a slap in the face and pulled him from his thoughts. Zephyr blinked a few times, forcing his eyes to adjust to the sudden onslaught of light. He was rather startled to find Aurora still there, drying some of the glasses. In a flash, he had crossed the room to the bar and was looking at her, head cocked to the side and eyebrow quirked in askance.

"What?!" she asked curiously, setting the glass she had just finished drying down on the counter. Something major had to be happening for him to be looking so intensely at her like that. Yeah, something was definitely up; he wasn't ignoring her. "Do I have something on my face, or do you find me so irresistible that you can't stop looking at me?" she teased with a grin.

Zephyr shot her an incredulous look that clearly read 'you wish' and shook his head. "You're still here, why?" he inquired in an almost annoyed voice.

Aurora rolled her eyes; she couldn't believe the guy, just marching out here after disappearing without a word and demanding she explain her presence. "Excuuuuuuse me _Mr._ Kane for beholding your godly presence outside visiting hours, but I work here, remember? I have to stay until my shift ends in five minutes."

Zephyr nodded and matched her sarcastic tone with his own. "And then? I am almost certain your father will be _thrilled_ if you returned home at this ungodly hour."

"I'm staying over at a friend's house," Aurora explained, and after pausing to think for a short while, added with a smile. "And you'll walk me there, of course." It was a statement, not a question, nor a request.

Zephyr's right eyebrow shot upward again. Just who did she think she was, ordering him around like that? He was seventeen, not five anymore, and the only people he took orders from were his Akademy supervisors and his employers. And certainly neither of those included a prissy rich daddy's girl whose uptight father had a broom up his rear end that showed no signs of coming out. _Aww, come on Leonstrife, you know you wanna walk her there—and hopefully back to your room_, his conscience chuckled. Zephyr ignored it and instead replied icily, "I'm not your maid. You're old enough, walk yourself home."

Aurora pouted up at him. She wasn't about to show it, but the comment had stung more than Zephyr could imagine—or care for that matter. It had been clear from his tone that he thought she was some sort of spoiled rich brat whose father watched over with a magnifying glass. But she really wasn't like that; she was strong, independent (much to her father's dismay), stubborn, and often defiant. Besides, she just wanted a little extra time with him; was that really so much to ask?

"I don't need a maid thank you—just a strong, dark hunk to keep me safe. The streets of Zion aren't exactly the safest for a young girl to wander alone in. Please, just walk with me?" there was an almost desperate, pleading tone in her voice. And that pout wasn't helping any.

_Dammit, curse that pout. Does it have to be so earth-shatteringly adorable?_ Zephyr cursed inwardly. Aurora still looked hopefully up at him, pleading silently with him. The only response she got, however, was the slight shrug of his shoulders as he turned on his heel and began to stroll out of the fire-lit room and into the dark, humid blanket enveloping the city.

"Hey! Wait! I have to finish cleaning up!" Aurora called out to his receding back. Unsurprisingly, he just kept walking, his gait graceful and assured despite his tiredness and soreness, boots thudding against the linoleum with each footfall. 

With a frustrated sigh, Aurora watched him go, her gaze inattentively falling on his rear end. Correction, his incredibly nice rear end. She felt a familiar heat rise up from her chest and her cheeks burning; she was blushing again. Damn him for having this effect on her and making her behave like a giggly schoolgirl. Directing her rampant thoughts elsewhere, Aurora quickly finished drying the rest of the glasses, called out a hasty 'bye' to her boss, the customers, and the waitress of the next shift, and bolted towards the door. Maybe if she hurried up she could catch up with him and convince him to walk her. She **really** did not want to walk alone down the Zion alleyways at this hour. Normally, Reed would be gallantly waiting for her outside the door to walk her, but he was currently 'working' with some girl in the gym. 

***

R&R!


	14. Should I Stay or Should I Go?

****

Between the Shadows

By: Ethereal Fury

****

Chapter Twelve: Should I Stay or Should I Go? 

Zephyr was waiting outside the tavern, pacing impatiently and checking his watch. What in the world was taking her so long? She was _forcing_ him to walk her; she could at least hurry up. _Come on Leonstrife, you know she ain't forcing you. You could say no if you wanted to, so why didn't you?_ his inner self inquired gleefully. He gritted his teeth and shoved his hands in his pockets. Would his smart-mouthed 'conscience' ever shut up? It was worse than Reed—at least he could kick Reed's ass into quiet submission.

As if to spite him, his inner voice continued undeterred. _Because you liiiike her. Ooooooh! Zephy and Aurora sitting on a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G…_it chanted mirthfully in an unnaturally high singsong voice. Zephyr gritted his teeth harder, willing it to be quiet, but it just kept chanting in its ever-annoying high-pitched voice, taunting him. With an exasperated sigh, he approached the wooden door. Dammit, if she wasn't going to come out, he was going to go in there and drag…

Zephyr couldn't finish his murderous thought. Before he could reach to knock on the door, it was pulled open and for the second time that day, a blur of white, brown, and blue crashed forcefully against his chest. The collision made him stumble backwards and threatened to cause both figures to tumble to the cold, unfeeling ground in an unceremonious heap. This time, however, his lightning-quick reflexes prevailed and in a flash his arms had found their way to her slim waist, keeping them both upright. 

He winced inwardly and let out a small grunt as her arms, crushed between their bodies, hit a soft spot in his bruised ribs, courtesy of his afternoon of training. But other than that momentary surge of pain, the feel of her forehead against his chest was quite comforting. The soft silkiness of her cinnamon tresses tickling his cheek as she shifted in his arms and the sweetly intoxicating coconut smell of her hair, mixing with the salty essence of Zion's sea breeze, inundated his senses. For a minute, Zephyr could think of nothing but remaining like that for eternity in a peaceful, everlasting bliss with no worries about assassinations, Akademy exam scores, fights with Reed, blatant flirtations by Instructors, or disheartening visits to his younger sister; just _living_.

Aurora gave a startled yelp as she felt her feet lose contact with the ground and herself hurtling forwards towards the hard cobblestone of the darkened street, only to have her fall broken by the unexpected sensation of strong arms firmly latching onto her waist. Not just arms, _his_ arms. Her mind couldn't seem to logically register how one minute she was running out the door, giving chase to the man that had her flustered and confused, making her behave like a thirteen-year-old, and the next she was nestled comfortably against his firm chest. Instead, it was much more caught up in his proximity, noticing every single detail about him up close. 

How the leather of his unzipped jacket felt refreshing against her warm skin and how underneath it, his black shirt felt soft against her cheek. How his muscles rippled beneath the shirt as he adjusted his grip on her waist. How his strong and lean physique was in reality soft and comfortable, like a pillow or an overstuffed teddy bear. How his breath tickled the top of her head every time he exhaled. How he smelled like the exotic spices sold in the market— minty, sweet, and tangy at the same time. How the dim moonlight reflected off the heavy and intricate platinum chain he wore around his neck. She shifted in his embrace, settling for the more cozy position of her cheek against the left side of his chest and her forehead against the crook of his neck. She could hear the rhythmic and furious beating of his heart and feel the blood pounding in his veins. Aurora felt a wave of seeming elation wash over her—could he really feel something for her?

"You smell nice," she murmured without realizing it, shutting her eyes, her breath softly tickling the sensitive skin on Zephyr's neck.

Zephyr was too distracted by his conflicting thoughts and the pleasurable feeling of her warm breath against his neck to hear what she had said. He was battling inwardly with himself—the logical, analytical half of him screaming at him to pull away fast, the other, more sentimental half he had kept suppressed for as long as he could remember ordering him to tighten the embrace. _Come on, you like her, just give in!_ one side urged vehemently. 

__

Yeah right. Dammit Leonstrife, you don't have time for this sentimental crap. You have a gunblade to pick up and an Akademy to get back to before you get in so much shit it won't even be funny cause you'll be in detention until the day you die. March your cute butt out of here, walk her wherever the hell she wants to go, then get the hell out—and stay away, the other argued back. Zephyr didn't know what to do—stay or go? Why did it have to be so hard to just pull away? He'd never been attached to anyone but Storm, why her now all of a sudden? He didn't need this! He needed to focus on what the Boss had told him, assassinate the President, get his pay, graduate from ZEG, and move out of Zion; he didn't have time for petty teenage attractions. But then why couldn't he just release her, turn, and walk off into the night? Did her forehead against his neck have to feel so darned comforting? In pure confusion, he muttered the first thing that popped into his mind. "Huh?"

"You smell nice," she repeated, nodding her head as if to emphasize her point—which just resulted in her lightly nuzzling his neck. 

Zephyr shut his eyes tightly and willed his heart to stop pounding uncontrollably. Damn her for doing this to him; causing emotions he had long rid himself of to resurface. Damn her for quickening his pulse with her presence and making him want to smile. Damn her for getting through to him and seeing past the callous, stoic façade. Damn her for plainly being herself… and damn him for falling for it. He couldn't afford to feel anything for her; in a week he would be assassinating the President of his country. Regardless of the outcome, whether it was discovered that he had done it or not, he would be leaving Zion and Zanark never to return, never to see her again. No, he wouldn't go through that a second time. Without another word, he pulled away as abruptly as he had caught her, turned on his heel, and walked briskly deeper into Zion's alleyways, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his black jeans and head bowed.

***

R&R!


	15. I'm Going to Regret This

****

Between the Shadows

By: Ethereal Fury

****

Chapter Thirteen: I'm Going to Regret This… 

Aurora watched him disappear into the darkened mist of the Zion night, head cocked to the side in confusion, the warm feeling of his arms around her refusing to give way to any other thought. What was up with him, catching her and holding her like that, making her feel like that, only to turn away and leave her cold just when she thought they had something? Damn him for having that effect on her, leaving her dazed and speechless with his presence, making her heart pound with a mere glance in her direction, and making her lightheaded with the radiance of his dimpled smile. Damn him to the depths of Hell! 

She'd never asked to be attracted to him; she'd just approached a cute lonesome guy at a party with the prospect of some teenage fun and ended up falling for him in the span of a day and a half. Love at first sight… yeah, it was corny and she'd never believed in it, yet here she was, head over heels some guy she'd just met. Love… funny little four-letter word it is. It turns the world upside down, weakens the knees, sends the pulse racing, the blood rushing, the blush creeping unbidden, all with a look or a smile or a touch. Love… could she really say she was in love with him? Extreme infatuation, maybe, but love? She wouldn't know; she'd never _been_ in love. Yeah, she'd believed herself in love with Reed when they had first started dating early in summer; who wouldn't have? Strong, confident, charming, and sinfully good-looking; they had met at the graduation of last year's elite ZEG-worthy candidates. Reed had been looking for a party, Aurora had been accompanying a friend (the same one whose house she was headed to tonight) whose boyfriend was one of the lucky seven. Aurora had spotted the handsome midnight-haired youth who'd winked flirtatiously at her as she made her way to the punch bowl for a drink. A hand on her shoulder had startled her, and upon whirling around in surprise, spilled her drink down the front of the person's shirt— who was none other than Reed himself. Amused by the horrified expression on her face as the red stain on his shirt grew larger, he burst out laughing and silenced her mortified apologies with a request for a date. And so had their unconventional relationship begun.

Aurora convinced herself that the feeling of comfort she felt in his presence, the flattering thrill of his lavish charming affection, the sweetness of the summer nights spent together— her sneaking out of her father's punctilious scrutiny, him defying every possible Akademy rule… she'd told herself it was love. But now she knew it hadn't been; over time, it had become a relationship of convenience. Reed had never been in love with her— that much was obvious— and she had slowly realized she hadn't either. They had remained 'together' merely in technical terms for appearances and comfort; breaking up was really too much trouble. She was like a trophy Reed could parade around on his arm and boast about to to his friends, and he was her epitome of rebelliousness and independence from her father's strict control. He would play the perfect gentleman and boyfriend whenever her father was around, as if to spite him and his accusations that he was no more than a homeless, worthless, violent mutt that did not deserve Aurora, and in turn she would willingly look the other way whenever he had any of his late-night rendezvous. But now Zephyr—well, Mr. Auron Kane in her mind— had serendipitously waltzed into the scene and swept her off her feet with his mysterious—and somewhat dark and dangerous— aloof aura and hostile charm and caused her to end her charade with Reed. But despite all the 'sweep-me-off-my-feet' and 'catch-me-when-I-fall' he had unknowingly done, the question remained— was it love _this_ time? 

Yes, he sent her pulse racing with his mere presence. Yes, he annoyed and angered her and made her curse his name to the deepest corners of Hell only to take it all back with one look from those mesmerizing sapphire eyes. Yes, that short moment of closeness in his arms at the door of the tavern had made her knees weak and her head spin and her skin tingle, and had made her feel more warm and secure than all the time spent with Reed put together. Yes, he intrigued her and fascinated her and confused her and frustrated her and infuriated her and at the same time made her want to jump in his arms and kiss him senseless and forever remain lost in the warmth of his embrace. Just her luck he _had_ to be the typical, drop-dead-gorgeous antisocial lone wolf who would rather die than have a serious talk about feelings… man, she _definitely_ needed better taste in men. First Reed and now him… were all of the Akademy's students such creeps? But he wasn't really a creep, she could see that much; he was just scared of letting people into his heart, afraid of losing someone he loved again. 

Aurora didn't know about his past; didn't know that his father had died when he was ten, didn't know how it had destroyed his mother who then turned to drinking, didn't know how much it hurt him to visit Storm and know that she couldn't escape unless he completed that assassination. He wasn't the cold-hearted mercenary he pretended to be; he was just a confused teenager whose clear distinction of right or wrong had been blurred. Was it right to murder someone to help his sister? Was it right to charge exorbitant amounts of money to fight someone else's battle? Was it even right that in the Akademy, seven-year-olds learned to be void of emotion, to do as they are told without a second glance back? It was all he had ever known, but did that necessarily mean it was the right thing? No, Aurora certainly didn't know all that, but she could see that behind that mask of stoic aloofness lay a boy that, like herself, was searching for his place in this world. Before her mind could even register what she was doing, she found herself running after him in the misty night.

"Hey! Hey! Wait! Don't leave me here by myself!" she shouted into the darkness, her ragged breathing and the thudding of her shoes on the pavement the only sounds piercing its otherwise-calm blanket. There was no reply; perhaps he hadn't heard her… she couldn't see him up ahead after all.

"Hey! I said… whoa!" she began, before having the wind knocked out of her lungs as she was abruptly grabbed by the wrist and pulled into a darkened side alley. Panting, she turned to see who it was that had grabbed her and came face to face with the gleaming blade of a knife, and beyond it, the black-clad figure of a man about twice her size with probing silvery eyes. They seemed to be regarding her with the amused expression of foreboding with which a predator watches its helpless prey. There was no way out. Any form of physical assault on her part would just result in her being hurt, and he could hinder any escape she may attempt with his massive body. He knew it, and he was sure she knew it too, yet she still searched futilely for a way to escape. It was amusing really to a trained killer like himself. Had circumstances been different, he would have spared her— she seemed like a good kid— but the situation called for her elimination. The man had never failed before and was not about to start now. With an almost apologetic shrug of his shoulders, he began advancing on the girl. Aurora, trying to buy herself more time for an alternative course of action, did the first thing that came to mind—yelled 'Help', and loudly.

Zephyr had been walking at a brisk pace, trying to rid his thoughts of any lingering memory of the comforting weight of Aurora's slender body against his own… and failing miserably. She seemed to occupy every inch of his thoughts. _Dammit, why did she have to come along and complicate everything?_ he cursed inwardly. His keen ears picked up the faraway sound of a shout floating through the night. He stopped in his tracks—was that Aurora's voice? No, it couldn't be; she was probably still back at the door of the tavern and he'd been walking briskly. He was probably too far to hear her. With a shrug, he kept walking, trying to distance himself as much from her as was possible. Another distant shout of distress drifted to his ears—this time he was almost sure it was Aurora's voice. For a brief second he considered just ignoring it and continuing his journey back to the Akademy—she was probably capable of dealing with whatever it was she had encountered. But his feet seemed to have a mind of their own and he found himself running back the way he had come.

__

She's got you **so** whipped Leonstrife, his inner voice snickered. Zephyr ignored it and kept running, the shouts for help becoming distinctly louder with each hurried step. He felt his heart hammering against his chest and the adrenaline pounding forcefully in his temples, mixing with the bittersweet pain of pushing his tired muscles to their limits. That afternoon of training had taken a lot out of him; the only way for him to vacate his mind had been to push himself to the brink of exhaustion. He tried to decipher the source of the pleas for help as his boots thudded dully against the pavement in an almost entrancing quickened rhythm and his breath escaped in forceful ragged bursts. Damned Zion mazes had to complicate everything; every darkened corner was a possible hiding place… He skidded to a stop as his sharp eyesight caught sight of the reflection of the street-lamp glinting off a metal object and turned into a dead-end alley on his left. Sure enough, Aurora was nervously backing away from a giant with a knife, scanning the darkened byway for a route of escape. Without a second thought, Zephyr stalked up behind the man, pulled out the gun strapped to his boot and pointed it at his head, the cool nuzzle digging into the man's flesh.

"I suggest you leave her alone, unless you want your head so full of lead it could be used as an X-ray shield," he growled menacingly, his trademark sarcasm evident in his voice.

  
The man froze, startled. Damn, the girl had someone with her… and he was armed. That complicated things… the boy had to go too; couldn't have any witnesses. Zephyr cocked the barrel of the gun, pressing it against the nape of the man's neck. _Any moment now, he turns around and tries to slash you with his knife_, his inner voice drawled with boredom. The man swung his massive arm around in an attempt to catch Zephyr off guard, but his swiftness allowed him to easily sidestep the attempted blow. _Told ya. Man, can't these guys **ever** be a bit more original?_ his inner voice commented with a smirk as Zephyr directed a powerful kick to the man's groin and punched him square in the nose. The man stumbled, slightly off-balance, his face registering surprise as his silvery gaze fell on Zephyr. A breathless gasp escaped his lips; the boy was… his train of thought was interrupted as a powerful knee connected with his stomach and he doubled over in pain. Silver eyes flashed in the dim light and a streak of red glinted off Zephyr's gun as the man slumped to the floor, a semblance of a smile on his features. _He_ would be so proud…

"Be glad I'm not emptying this on you," Zephyr stated icily, spinning his gun around on his finger and aiming it at the now-injured man once more. "Come on, let's go," he said to Aurora, pointing behind him with his thumb.

Aurora nodded and carefully stepped around the man that was now alternating between holding his injured groin and his broken nose, knife lying forgotten on the cold pavement. She stepped somewhat meekly behind Zephyr's protective stance, resisting the overwhelming urge to wrap her arms around his waist and rest her head on his back. He'd already come to save her; she wasn't about to try his patience with unwanted physical gratefulness. Besides, she was infuriated with herself at having had to be rescued like the stereotypical damsel-in-distress. Sure, it had been great to see him come running back like a knight in shining armor (make that a _gorgeous_ knight in shining armor) to help her out of the dilemma she had gotten herself into; and it thrilled her to know that despite his callous exterior, he did seem to _care_. But if there was something Aurora hated, it was having people do things for her and not allow her to fend for herself… and God knows she got enough of that at home with her overprotective father who insisted she be escorted everywhere by a bodyguard and a maid. Despite his insistence, Aurora steadfastly refused and would often defy her father and march out of their home unaccompanied, today being one of those times. She wasn't rebellious, not really; just resentful of the way of life imposed on her because of her father's political status. She had a right to live her life the way _she_ wanted to, not the way his father or his advisers wanted her to. That included dating whomever she chose— yes, even rowdy Akademy students— and staying out as late as she wanted. She was seventeen, she didn't need a curfew anymore; why couldn't her father see that? 

Satisfied that the assailant posed no threat, Zephyr whirled on Aurora and glared at her. He was about to comment on her stupidity but the look in her eyes stopped him, a mixture of fear, anger, relief, gratitude… and anticipation. She really expected him to totally blow up on her, like he was about to do… but technically, _he_ had left _her_ standing there by herself at this ungodly hour. He'd be damned to admit it openly, but it had been _his_ fault. _Like I said, WHIPPED,_ his inner voice chuckled. Instead of yelling at her, he sighed in resignation and walked past her to the better-lit main street.

"So, where is it that I'm supposed to walk you?" he queried in fake annoyance, crossing his arms over his chest. He was actually relieved that he hadn't ignored the distressed shouts and had returned to help her. The picture of what could have happened was too grisly to even begin to imagine. _Don't even **think** about letting your thoughts take **that** direction Leonstrife,_ his inner voice warned, _the last thing we need is that chick meaning something to you._ He kicked at a pebble on the street mindlessly; it may already be too late. Damn it all

"Um… I… don't know. I just know how to get there from the tavern… and I have no idea where we are. I don't… um… usually venture this far," she replied sheepishly, all anger dissipated from her features, glancing around at the myriad alleyways branching off in every possible direction, then looking back up at him. The pebble he had been kicking at stumbled over to her sneakered feet.

Zephyr sighed again. "So you're lost…" he stated matter-of-factly, looking at her intently. _Nooo… look AWAY Leonstrife. As in, in the OTHER direction_, his inner voice urged, gleeful enjoyment in its voice at his inability to force his gaze from her. _You got it bad Leonstrife_.

Aurora looked away shyly, feeling the now-familiar heat of a blush rise in her cheeks under his intense gaze. Damn those penetrating blue eyes of his; whenever they were trained on her, she seemed to lose her train of thought and her ability to speak. Great, not only was she behaving like she were thirteen, to boot, now he probably thought she was stupid and completely incapable of fending for herself… just peachy. She nodded uncertainly, looking up at him hopefully and pouting slightly… he wasn't going to leave her all alone and lost in the middle of Zion, was he? As mad as she may be with him or herself, right now she needed him to help her out of there. Help. There was that damned word again; the thing she disliked most from people, she desperately needed from the man standing before her. She would have to forsake her pride—not like she had much of it to salvage anyway— and accept the unconventional offer for aid… but damn him, did he have to look so tantalizingly handsome in the dim light with his arms crossed over his expansive chest and the moonlight glinting off his unruly locks? Wasn't it enough that she had to depend on him to get home; did his proximity and mysterious allure have to taunt and tease her with a prospect of '_them_' that would never be? 

Zephyr brought a hand to his forehead. _Damn… that pout is going to be the end of me. I'm going to regret this for the rest of my days_, he thought, briefly debating what to do. Sighing in resignation, he shrugged his shoulders… she was going with him. There was no way he was leaving her all alone and lost in one of the worst neighborhoods of Zion after what had happened. He may be cold, but he wasn't cruel… and hell, he enjoyed her presence. He would rather incur the wrath of Instructor Blade than admit it, but deep down it was true. He knew it… and truthfully, it scared him. He was beginning to _feel_ again. He didn't have time for such nonsense; feelings were a sign of weakness, and he was everything _but_ weak. 

"Wonderful. Well, while you figure out where you have to go, _I_ have a gunblade to pick up. Come on," he said, beginning to walk towards one of the many zigzagging alleyways, Aurora close behind him. He knew Zion like the back of his hand, having lived in its streets for a while after he left home and before he joined the Akademy… and it wasn't pretty. Glancing inconspicuously over his shoulder every time they crossed another alley to confirm she was still there, they made their way towards the old man's gunblade shop.

__

Whipped. Surprisingly, the word didn't annoy Zephyr as much as he would have expected it to; it gave him a strange sense of peace. She could make him do essentially anything she wanted him to with her pout and her smiles; he knew it… and for the first time in his life, it didn't really matter. Zephyr Leonstrife was smitten and he didn't care.

***

R&R!


	16. Confession

****

Between the Shadows

By: Ethereal Fury

****

Chapter Fourteen: Confession

They walked in silence through the humid night, deeper into Zion's maze-like heart towards the old man's gunblade shop. Zephyr walked with his head bowed and hands in the pocket of his black jeans, regularly glancing sideways at Aurora to ensure her constant presence, picking his way through the winding alleyways without a second glance. He knew this part of town well enough to find his way around blindfolded when the ground was covered in its customary thick snowy blanket during Zion's bitter winters. Aurora now walked beside him, no longer trailing after him, sneaking constant glances in his direction, studying his handsome profile in the dim light and looking away shyly whenever his intense blue gaze met her own. His silence unnerved her; he'd closed himself off completely again, just like the day when they had met at the reception. 

She couldn't believe it had been only twenty four hours ago she had approached him whilst he scanned the ballroom with boredom, lurking almost unnoticeably between the shadows of the room's corner. It seemed like so much more time had passed, as if she had known him forever. Aurora sighed and shifted her gaze back up to his profile. Something glittered in the dim light, catching a few wayward rays of moonlight and drawing her attention. It was a small silver stud upon his left earlobe— she had never noticed he had an earring, but now the way it seemed to duck playfully behind an unruly lock with one step and peek shyly out with the next was almost fascinating. It seemed like something was carved on the minute silver orb, and Aurora fixed her gaze solely on it in an attempt to discern the engraving upon it. Her lack of attention to her surroundings caused her to scrape her elbow against the jagged exterior of the wall of the alley they had just turned into, eliciting a surprised yelp of pain. Quirking an eyebrow and directing her a look of amused annoyance, all without uttering a word, Zephyr continued the brisk walk. Aurora sighed again, rubbed her scraped elbow— which now stung in that unbearable way only shallow wounds can— and felt the sticky warmth of fresh blood droplets, and went back to thinking… thoughts finding themselves centered on the man beside her. 

She wanted him to talk to her, tease her, embarrass her like he'd done back at the tavern, be mad at her; anything but the weighty silence they now walked in. She was battling inwardly between thanking him for returning to save her ('save'… that word annoyed and thrilled her at the same time— she'd needed help, but he cared) and helping her get back to her friend's house for what was left of the night and yelling at him that she could take care of herself. Nothing she could muster sounded right, but she desperately wanted him to talk, even if it was only to have him mad at her. She had never liked silence much; it made her think and dwell on things she wished she could forget; reminded her of how alone she really was. She had enough silence at home, where her biggest conversation with her father was over dinner, both at opposite ends of the lengthy dining room table, when he asked her about her day and immersed himself in his politics after a two-word answer. The only noise that rang throughout the vast room was that of cutlery on porcelain. With a resigned sigh and a slight shrug of her shoulders, she addressed Zephyr softly, "Um… can I tell you something?"

Zephyr made no outward sign of having heard her; he just kept walking at his brisk pace. Maybe if he ignored her, she would tire of trying and he could return to his thoughts. He had to sort them out; those lingering recollections of the sweet scent of her hair, the comforting weight of her lithe physique against his own, the warmth of her breath against his kin, the way his heart beat erratically and his blood boiled at the prospect of her being in danger… they confused him. He had been trained and conditioned to shield himself with indifference, to be but an unquestioning automaton, someone else's instrument of justice. Feelings were to be left outside the door when one entered ZEG; the job was to carry out orders, not to feel. Yet here he was, about to end a man's life to help his unfortunate younger sister and allowing his thoughts to focus on a certain auburn-haired female. Zephyr shook his head ruefully— he wasn't cut out for ZEG after all. He may be the physical embodiment of its ideals, but he still retained the moral scruples one had to rid oneself of. Hidden, yes, but present nonetheless. He kept walking, paying no heed to Aurora's comment, hoping that his silence would convey the fact that he didn't care to hear what she had to say.

__

Yeah Leonstrife… like that's really gonna happen. She's not gonna drop it until you answer, so you might as well. Besides, you **do** wanna hear what she has to say; you like her voice, dontcha? his inner voice smirked knowingly. Zephyr sighed inwardly—it was right; Aurora wasn't going to leave him until she had said what she wanted to… and dammit, he _did_ like the sound of her voice. He cursed under his breath and cocked his head slightly to signal he was listening, still not saying a word.

Aurora took notice of Zephyr's cocked head and bit her lip nervously, wondering what to say. Now that she had his attention, even if only slightly, she couldn't seem to put her thoughts into words. She didn't want to sound like the ever-thankful hopeless victim, the good-for-nothing damsel-in-distress that needed rescuing every five minutes (she could fend for herself dammit), nor the ungrateful feminist bitch… ack, what the heck, she'd just wing it. Talking had always been one of her talents… guess she inherited that from her father. "Um… I just wanted to… ah, thank you for… what you did back there…" she began slowly twirling a strand of her auburn hair mindlessly around her finger. So much for winging it… she sounded like an incoherent babbling idiot; way to make an impression.

__

Oh man, no, not this… dammit, I knew I was going to regret it. Can't she just not say it and forget about it? It means nothing… **nothing**…but then why I am not annoyed at hearing her say it? Normally, I wouldn't save anyone's ass unless they paid me… and they would never dream of thanking me if I did. Damn it all; I'm going soft, he thought in frustration. 

Why did she insist on doing this to him? He'd never explained himself to anyone, yet she made him want to stop walking and tell her that he was glad he'd returned and sorry he'd even left in the first place. But there was no _way_ he was going to let her know… hell, he shouldn't even be letting himself realize that; it'd just complicate things further. He had enough to deal with as it was; he didn't need love (or lust) in the mix. He really had to distance himself from her… why had he agreed to walk her anyway? He should've known something like this would have happened. Pulling himself out of his thoughts, he realized that Aurora had stopped walking and was now a few steps behind him, wringing her hands together and chewing on her bottom lip. With a sigh, he stopped walking and turned to face her, keeping his head bowed and his gaze averted. But it seemed to have a mind of his own and he found himself watching her, entranced, as she toed the ground with a sneakered foot.

__

Would you look at that…? Leonstrife's checking the chick out, ladies and gentlemen! I don't think he's ever given a girl more than an annoyed scowl… yet there he is, standing in the middle of a darkened alleyway staring at her… Well, that skirt would surely make **any** guy gawk, ladies and gentlemen, his inner voice chuckled in a sportscaster voice. Zephyr forced his eyes back onto the ground and scowled at himself inwardly. What was up with him, looking at her like that? Damned testosterone was getting the best of him. Yes, he was young and male, and granted, she looked absolutely kissable right now, but he didn't have time for this… and his patience was wearing thin. Would she ever hurry up and say what she wanted so he could get back to the Akademy and forget about her?

"… but it really wasn't necessary. I had everything under control," she continued, looking up at him, something akin to anger flashing in her eyes again. Not really anger directed towards him, he could see that much, but towards herself for having had to request his help. So it _was_ a matter of pride… perhaps they weren't that different after all.

__

She looks cute when she's mad… I mean… argh!, Zephyr thought, quirking an eyebrow in quiet disbelief. Had she really just said she had had everything under control? Sure she had—if your idea of control was being backed up in a dead-end alley, unarmed, by a man twice your height with arms the size of cans that could crush you with an effortless blow and screaming your head off. Zephyr found it hard to believe that _that_ was being in control, even to someone that had not had the military training he'd had. "Was that before or after you began frantically yelling for help?" he countered dryly, shaking his head slightly. 

On second thought, why did it even matter to him whether she thought she could have gotten out of her predicament by herself or not? He knew she couldn't have, that's all that really mattered. It was thanks to _him_ that she was standing there, able to take another breath, another step instead of God knows where in the hands of that man. Couldn't she see that? _So **that's** what this is about, eh Leonstrife? You and your manly ego… you don't like her sayin' she could've handled herself… my, my, getting protective aren't we Leonstrife?_ the ever-present inner him chuckled. He had acted instinctively for the first time in years to help her, and now she was chastising him for it! _I'll be damned if I ever help her again,_ he thought to himself.

"That was just a distraction," Aurora replied defensively. It _had_ been a distraction, right? She hadn't really needed his help, had she? Well, at least she'd gotten what she wanted; he'd said more words in that one sentence than he had in the ten minutes they had been walking. And he'd shown some emotion other than stoic indifference and acrid cynicism. It was a start.

"Sure, and Reed can kick my ass blindfolded and with a hand tied behind his back," Zephyr retorted, voice exuding sarcasm, raking a hand through his hair and shaking his head again. _Well well Leonstrife, make up your mind here, will ya? Not even five minutes ago you were complaining about having her thank you—though we both know you liked that—and now that she's saying she didn't need you there, it angers you. I quote, "it means nothing… **nothing**…" if it means 'nothing', why are you in such a huff over it? And don't even try to tell me it's a clash of prides. We both know it's more than that._

Aurora opened her mouth to protest but Zephyr promptly cut her off, muttering in a low voice, "Six years at the Akademy… you'd think I know what a distraction looks like."

"Six years… so that's how long you've been there, huh? What were you, twelve or so when you entered?" she questioned, thrilled that he was _talking_. Any anger she may have had towards him disappeared promptly; salvaging whatever was left of her pride would have to wait. Now she was going to get him to tell her about himself, shed a little light on the mystery that was him—the reasons behind his apparent detachment from the world, why he seemed so out of step with convention, brooding and alone like a true Byronic hero. Perhaps getting him mad hadn't been such a bad idea after all; he _did_ look awfully handsome with those blue eyes flashing angrily in the dim light.

"Eleven. Just turned eleven. I'd just recently run away… never mind," he began, promptly silencing himself when he realized he was revealing more than was prudent. He shoved his hands into his pockets again and scowled at the ground, wishing she would get moving again. His life story was really none of her concern; it was something he bore on his shoulders alone. He didn't need anyone's sympathy or pity; he'd pulled through seventeen years, he could handle the rest of his life. He certainly didn't need—or want—some girl, especially one of Reed's 'conquests', feeling sorry for him. He was too proud for that. 

His wish was not granted; instead, Aurora crossed her arms over her chest and stubbornly stood her ground. "No, I _do_ mind! Ran away from where? Come on, tell me _something_ about yourself," she insisted, taking a step closer and tapping his heavy black boot with her sneakered foot. She did the math… he was only seventeen like she was, yet he seemed to have lived through so much more. Just how much more she didn't know but she was going to find out. There was something vulnerable about him, once one got past that initial aura of confidence, arrogance, and aloofness that seemed to want to be discovered and pulled every fiber of her being towards it. She would not budge until he opened up, not matter how long it took.

A bitter chuckle escaped Zephyr's lips, startling Aurora and making her jump slightly. "Something about myself, huh? How's this for kicks— my father was almost never home when I was little, too busy risking his life in undercover missions… he was executed when I was ten and a half and it completely destroyed my mother, who had just found out she was pregnant and turned to drinking. She'd never been the perfect mother; too busy adoring my father when he was around, but she was _my_ mother after all and I had to watch her fade into the empty shell she now is. I ran away from home a week after my forgotten eleventh birthday, three months after my sister had been born… I lived in these streets for a while in winter before hiring myself out for a minimal wage to the steel factory to at least be able to pay a minuscule portion of my Akademy tuition, which I joined not long after and immediately excelled in. My gunblade was a present from my father for my fifth birthday… I didn't see him again until I was seven, when he returned critically wounded from a mission and gave me the pendant I wear around my neck so I would protect my mother if he died. My sister, now approximately the same age I was then, never met him. She has to care for herself and my mother, who's as good as dead, with no real source of income… and my only way of helping her is by selling my services to the highest bidder as a member of ZEG," he spat bitterly, a sardonic sneer souring his features as he shook his head ruefully and looked up at the cloudy star-free sky above them.

Aurora watched him, speechless, allowing what he'd said to sink in. She had known Akademy students had troubled pasts— in Reed's case, his parents had both died in a gruesome bomb attack on the headquarters of the Zanark United Party when he was nine going on ten, and he'd had no siblings— but this, this was… heartbreaking. No wonder he was so outwardly taciturn and cynical; he'd essentially grown up without a father, watching his mother slowly fade into nothingness, earned his own living when he was just _eleven_ (heck, when she was that age, her biggest concern had been whether boys had cooties), and now had to watch his younger sister go through the same thing. His life must have been a living hell, and the icy shell he'd built around himself his only source of protection. She had found a crack in that shell and wiggled through his defenses to his reluctant vulnerability, catching a glimpse of the lost boy behind the manly façade. 

With a silent sigh, Zephyr forced his gaze down from the passing clouds above to Aurora's face. He was almost dreading her reaction to his embittered confession. The last thing he wanted was her pity; he hadn't shared with her a past unbeknownst to anyone else to evoke compassion; it had just become too much for his young shoulders to bear alone. And it had felt good to say it aloud for once instead of keeping it to himself, but now seeing her on the verge of tears, he was beginning to regret his divulgence. _Great going Leonstrife… now she probably thinks you're some sad, pathetic wimp because you had to watch your mommy die spiritually. You couldn't keep your screwed up past to yourself like you had for the last seventeen years… nooooooo, you just **had** to share like this were Show and Tell, _his inner voice reprimanded. He shook his head again and began to turn away.

Not knowing what else to do, Aurora closed the small distance between them and laid her hand on his forearm. Even through the leather of his jacket, she could feel the warmth emanating from his body and her fingers tingling from the contact. He turned his head back to look at her, blue eyes almost sorrowful. "I'm… s-sorry…" she stammered nervously. She really didn't know how to respond to such a personal admission… 'thank you' sounded even more wrong than 'sorry'.

"Don't be," he replied brusquely, his voice taking on it customary hard edge. He removed his arm from her touch and shoved his hands in his pockets again, cursing himself inwardly. He should have known this would invoke nothing but pity from her; the last thing he wanted… he really should have kept his mouth shut.

Aurora shook her head and grasped his arm lightly again, tugging at his sleeve until he was fully facing her anew. "I didn't mean it like that… I don't feel sorry for you… I'm just sorry you had to go through that. My… my mom died in a hold-up when I was thirteen… she was buying me my belated birthday present because she and my father had been away on some business trip the day of my birthday. It's been just me and my dad ever since… and he changed drastically the day she died. He became overly protective of me, buried himself in his work, lost his smile… and for a while avoided me at all costs. I reminded him too much of her, the way I looked—even though I look more like him than my mom—, the way I dressed, the way I talked… and he felt it was his fault she died. I…" she trailed off, blinking away the tears that had built up and threatened to spill over. She hadn't spoken of her mother's death for the longest of times; her father had forbid its mere mention in his home… and it felt good to share it with someone. Sniffling slightly, she contemplated how he probably wouldn't take too kindly to her dissolving into tears in the middle of a darkened street. It really was almost funny, that confused and almost horrified-yet-somewhat-tender-and-intrigued look reflected in those cerulean pools of his. She couldn't stop gazing into their hypnotic depths, now darkened to a midnight hue in the lack of light with the shadows flickering across them; the searing intensity with which they seemed to bore into her own sent tingling chills down her spine.

"Why… why are you telling me this?" Zephyr asked uncertainly. He wasn't trying to be rude or anything; he just wasn't used to people going to him with their problems… and he certainly wasn't used to teary females. It felt comfortingly warm; something he could get used to. _Oh no Leonstrife, other people's problems remain other people's problems, not your own._

" I don't know… I'm probably not making much sense… but I guess…" she began with a sad smile. "I guess I want you to know my life's been no beach party either… even if it's only a tiny fraction of yours, I know how you feel. I know… I know what it's like to lose someone and watch those left behind fade away… I'm sorry, I'm really not making any sense now…" she finished, rubbing her right eye with the back of her fist. She really didn't want to break down and cry right now; he probably already thought lowly enough of her and an unneeded burst of female sensitivity was probably more than he could handle.

Zephyr shook his head with a hint of a smile, though the shadows of the dim street lamp falling over his face hid that from Aurora. She was making perfect sense; he knew exactly what she was trying to say… she didn't pity him; she shared his pain, she'd been through it too. Now he really didn't know what to say and an awkward silence passed between them. Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke; "It's getting late. Let's go."

Wordlessly, Aurora nodded her grateful agreement and they both continued silently down Zion's snaky alleyways in the humid night towards the old man's gunblade shop. It really couldn't be far now; it had only taken Zephyr fifteen minutes of brisk walking to get to the tavern from it, and by his calculations, without the interruptions of the black-clad man's assault and their mutual sharing of their pasts, they'd been walking for around ten minutes. At the pace they were going, slower than the one Zephyr had set when walking alone, he averaged they had about eight or so minutes left. Checking his watch and noting its lateness, he could only hope the old man's shop was still open. He glanced over his shoulder to check on Aurora and found her studying him in the dim light with a smile. Discreetly admiring her beauty out the corner of his eye, ensuring she didn't see him, he directed his gaze to the ground in front of him again and kept walking, suddenly feeling self-conscious under her intense perusal of his features. Zephyr chuckled inwardly as her foot came into contact with a street lamp and she let out a very unladylike growl and a string of muttered profanities. This night was definitely proving interesting.

***

R&R!


	17. Close Encounter

****

Between the Shadows

By: Ethereal Fury

****

Chapter Fifteen: Close Encounter

The old man's shop was dark and seemingly deserted when Aurora and Zephyr finally reached it, a dim light from the floor above giving the weathered sign above the door, swaying in the light sea breeze, an almost ethereal glow. "Damned old man. I will pound his frail ass to the ground if he has closed the shop on me", Zephyr grumbled under his breath as he climbed the two steps leading to the rickety door. Aurora shot him an amused look and promptly followed him up the steps, watching as he reached a hand towards the wobbly doorknob. It definitely would _not_ be pretty if the shop was indeed closed; he seemed totally capable of barging inside and dragging the owner from his slumber. Aurora stifled a giggle; it would be an interesting sight to see him, all decked out stylishly in black leather and jeans, haul a fragile old man in his nightgown and sleeping cap just so he could have his gunblade. He glanced at her sideways, narrowing his eyes, and turned the doorknob.

To their surprise, the knob turned easily in Zephyr's hand and the door creaked open, the sound of the chime on its top ringing loud and clear in the darkened and empty shop. With a shrug of his shoulders, Zephyr stepped through the small doorway and into the blackness of the shop's interior, signaling for Aurora to follow and shut the door behind her. She stepped carefully onto the creaking floorboards and closed the rickety door gingerly, engulfing them both in complete darkness.

"Are you sure this is open?" she asked uncertainly, attempting to see _something_ in the darkened room.

Zephyr shrugged in response, then realizing she probably couldn't see him, since she wasn't used to forcing her senses to adjust rapidly, turned to her and replied matter-of-factly, "The door was open."

Aurora rolled her eyes in the dark, unaware that Zephyr's keen sight was fixed on her and that he could see her although she couldn't him. It was amusing to watch her narrow her eyes in concentration and strain to catch a glimpse of something in the pitch blackness, hesitantly stepping back and to her left, completely unaware that she had backed herself against a counter in the corner. One more step and she would plow straight into it. As entertaining at that may have seemed to Zephyr, the last thing they needed was the old man thinking his shop was being broken into… although technically, it _was_. Thankfully, Aurora seemed to have stopped moving and had apparently decided to remain still in her place by the counter. He spotted the silvery light switch behind her and noiselessly closed the distance between them, stopping but a foot away from her. He reached a tentative hand towards the switch, only to discover his arm wasn't quite long enough.

"Damn," he muttered, unaware he'd spoken aloud.

Aurora jumped at the sudden sound of his voice and narrowed her eyes again in an attempt to distinguish his outline from the looming shadows inside the small room. She sighed in frustration, as she could discern nothing but the blackness around her, and tapped her sneakered foot on the wooden floor. "Mr. Kane, where are you?" she called out loudly, assuming him to be near the back of the shop.

_In front of you dammit, don't frickin' yell,_ he snapped in his thoughts, bringing his hands up to cover his ears. Receiving no reply— had she really expected one anyway?— Aurora just sighed again and crossed her arms over her chest. After ensuring that she wasn't going to speak again— and blow out his eardrums in the process— he uncovered his ears and took another silent step forwards, getting as close to Aurora (and the light switch) as he could without touching her. Zephyr once again reached a hand over her shoulder towards the silvery switch, leaning forwards slightly to be able to reach. He was painfully aware of their extreme proximity— if she raised her head in the slightest, she would hit his chin— and swallowed nervously, his hand wavering slightly as his fingers brushed against the cool metal of the outlet. He could smell the sweet coconut scent of her hair once more and his mind played back the comfortable feel of her petite body against his own and her warm breath tickling the sensitive skin on his neck. Shaking his head slightly to rid his thoughts of her, Zephyr flicked the switch and bright light flooded the small room.

Aurora shut her eyes instinctively as the stinging light unexpectedly inundated the room. After a few seconds, she opened them slightly and blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the sudden onslaught of brightness that flooded her senses and made her feel almost dizzy. That's when she noticed Zephyr's intricate platinum pendant dangling in front of her, swinging in an almost hypnotic motion, the fluorescent light twinkling off it. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she brought a hand up from her side to trace the elaborate figure engraved on it, an emblem of sorts. She tugged on it absently, her fingers tracing every groove etched on the cool platinum surface, and followed its ornate chain up to his neck and beyond, past his Adam's apple and up to his chin. Aurora had never noticed before, but there was the smallest of dimples— only a swirl really— boyishly present in the middle of his chin, giving him an adorably youthful appearance.

She tilted her head up to look at him fully, noticing for the first time just how close they actually were, her breath catching in her throat as it dawned on her that his face was mere inches from her own. Her gaze traveled over his strikingly handsome yet delicate features, studying each attentively, for she'd never been this close to him and doubted she would be again. Aurora took notice of his lips, surprisingly full for a guy and almost pouty, curved into that sexy half smile of his, causing ghosts of his cute dimples to appear on his cheeks. Further inspection brought her to his slender nose, upon which minute freckles were haphazardly strewn, and up to the long and abundant lashes that framed his hypnotic blue eyes, currently locked with her own and reflecting his curiosity of what she was doing. Those eyes… Aurora felt she could lose herself in their azure depths, doing nothing but watching the light glinting off them and the shadows playing across them. His right eyebrow was quirked in question, making the tiny scar above it— the one he unconsciously tugged at when he was nervous— disappear behind the curtain of jagged chestnut locks that fell in that stylishly messy (and completely adorable) heap over his forehead and eyes. He was attractive to say the least; not in Reed's rugged, masculine, I-turn-heads-and-stop-traffic-when-I-walk-down-the-street way, but in a mysterious, quiet, almost sensual and vulnerable way… slightly _feminine _without losing his enticing manly appeal.

Gingerly, and somewhat subconsciously, Aurora brought the hand that had been tugging at his chain up to his face and ran her index finger cautiously over one of the shallow training scratches on his cheek. Zephyr's eyes widened in surprise at the contact and his left eyebrow shot upward in askance, but did nothing to stop her. Growing bolder, she brushed her fingertips over the scar above his right eyebrow, wincing slightly at its still-tender feel. It couldn't be more than a few months old at most, probably another souvenir of gunblade training, and she briefly wondered what it would feel like to be slashed above the eye with a four-foot titanium blade. She could just see him, taking the hit without flinching and stubbornly continuing his training even with the blood dripping over his eye… just like he'd taken the emotional blows life had dealt him and remained firmly on his feet. Her fingers continued, as if having a mind of their own, upward to tangle themselves in his unruly locks.

Zephyr watched in amusement as Aurora ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to clear it from his face. As much as he hated to admit it, the feel of her fingertips tickling his scalp was comforting, and dammit, downright pleasurable. It reminded him of when his mother would go into his room at night and stroke his hair and tell him his father would return safe from a mission, and of how Auron would ruffle his son's hair playfully when he indeed came back safe and sound. Zephyr suppressed a chuckle as Aurora's expression turned to frustration as his hair returned to its customary messy heap over his eyes for the second time. It was useless; no matter how hard she tried to tame his locks, they would always revert to their original disorganized style— which is why he never bother much with his hair anyway; just wash, towel-dry, and go. He wanted to tell her to stop doing this to him, to stop making him _feel_, that it was futile anyway because his hair would always be the way it was, but his brain was too busy registering the tingling sensation he felt every time her fingers met his scalp to be able to form the words.

_You're pathetic Leonstrife, you know that? She's got you turned into one of those smitten, lovesick creeps in those chick flicks Reed watches with his dates. You're a **man** dammit, not some girl's bitch… I can just see her going, with that cute pout of hers, "Mr. Kane, jump out that window for me?" and before you know what you're doing, you'll be **out** that window like she asked. Without a second thought… and that's not even your name. You're far sadder than Reed, Leonstrife; at least he's not half as whipped as you are,_ his inner voice commented with disgust. 

It was right; he had to go and find his gunblade and get her home before one of these 'moments' turned into something he would regret for the rest of his miserable existence. It was for the best anyway; what he really wanted didn't matter as long as he could help Storm... yeah, he should definitely go get Punishment, but damn it, did electricity just _have_ to course down his veins every time she touched him? And did she just _have_ to look so temptingly pleasing in the bright light… and hell, now that he was at it, did that skirt just _have_ to reveal so much of her flawless skin? He was only a guy after all; aloof or not, he had hormones and weaknesses… and somehow she just managed to find most of them. The fact that the only thing he really wanted to do— and found himself beginning to do— was close the almost nonexistent gap between them wasn't helping any either. With a frustrated growl, he forced his gaze away from her own and saw, reflected on a silver plaque above her head, Punishment's case on a table in the opposite corner of the shop. Without a single word, Zephyr turned on his heel and strode over to his gunblade.

Aurora blinked, watching him walking away for the third time since she had met him in the tavern now seemingly so long ago. The moment was broken, the sound of his heavy boots thudding on the creaking floorboards pulling her from the almost trance-like state she had been in. In retrospect, she could not believe she had been blatantly flirting with him like that— she'd run her fingers over his scars and through his hair for crying out loud. The fact that he'd done nothing to stop her perplexed and thrilled her at the same time— could he really be attracted to her like she was to him? It seemed farfetched and preposterous, but she had a feeling that anything was possible with him. Aurora almost laughed aloud at the thought… yeah, everything was possible with him… _except_ a relationship.

She shook her head in quiet disbelief. It wasn't like her at all to be so forward when it came to the opposite sex; heck, if Reed hadn't approached her, she never would have gone out with him even if she had found him irresistibly good-looking. It had taken him a month of dates and flattery to get her to allow him to kiss her, yet in the fewer than five minutes she had spent in the intimate proximity of the mysterious man before her, the urge to kiss _him_ had been so overwhelming she had almost given in to it. And truth be told, she was regretting she hadn't. Would he have immediately pulled away, or would he have returned it? More importantly, how would his soft lips have felt upon her own? Aurora shook her head, trying to force the uninvited errant thoughts from her mind. It was wishful thinking anyway; it would never happen and thinking about it wasn't helping anyone, especially not her. But the thoughts steadfastly refused to budge and lingered in her mind as she stepped up beside him to peer over his shoulder at what he was doing. As she stood on tiptoe to be able to see, her chin lightly brushed against the cool leather of his jacket, immediately making her skin tingle and her heartbeat quicken. Inwardly damning him for having that effect on her, she tried to focus her attention not on the warmth radiating from him, but on what he was currently doing. He seemed to be holding a business card of some sort.

Zephyr picked up the small cardboard rectangle atop his new gunblade case, examining the elegant cursive that spelled his name. _Zephyr Alewar Leonstrife _; it looked almost regal in that neat black ink upon worn the ivory parchment… _almost_. He was surprised that a simple old man that owned a gunblade shop and had known his father remembered his middle name, a name _he_ had almost forgotten and not used in over a decade. Alewar… the name rolled easily on his tongue, though it felt foreign even to him. No one had called him that in a very long time; in fact, he was sure Headmaster Rayn was the only other person apart from his immediate 'family' and this old man that possibly knew he even _had_ a middle name. His mother had picked it shortly before he had been born ('Zephyr' had been his father's request), inspired by the stoic hero in her favorite novel at the time, meaning "guard of all". He smiled bitterly at the thought and the irony of its meaning; he sure as hell hadn't done a very good job of guarding anyone, especially not Storm, and now he was going to _kill_ a man. Fate and Destiny had a way of dealing their cards with the most ironic outcomes.

Hearing Aurora's footsteps behind him, Zephyr promptly flipped the card over. The last thing he needed right now, especially while he was still shaken from their prior close encounter, was an argument over why he had told her his name was Auron Kane when it really wasn't. He had already told her more than he should have; his real name would have to wait. Besides, it was easier for him to handle her being attracted to the fictitious _Mr. Kane_ than to the real _Zephyr_. It's not like they would be getting anywhere, so what did names really matter? As that thought struck him, he noticed the small typed print on the card's reverse and brought it up for closer inspection. **_Sawyer Blade, Gunblade Care Specialist and Manufacturer_** it read. Blade… Blade… _Blade_?! Zephyr's eyes widened in surprise. It couldn't be… but Blade wasn't a very common Zanarkist surname… it _had_ to be! No… it was impossible. A pair of blue eyes, a shade or two lighter than his own and framed by wrinkles, appeared in his mind… the old man's eyes. They were suddenly replaced by an identical but younger, and this time female, pair framed by golden hair. Those cornflower blues could only belong to one person, one he knew quite well. 

__

Whoa, he thought in recognition,_ this man is the Instructor's father? No way… he's way too old. My old man would be in his late thirties or early forties if he were alive… this guy is in his late sixties. And he said something about a daughter, Kerryn or something… her grandfather perhaps? Nah, it can't be… she'd know if her grandfather were alive, wouldn't she? _

Zephyr shook his head, dismissing the thought, and reached a hand towards the back of the gunblade case to open the latch and check on Punishment. Before he reached the clasp, however, his fingers stumbled across another paper, which he retrieved and upon bringing into the light, examined closely. His eyes widened in shock and his mouth hung slightly agape as he realized he was holding a slightly faded color picture of _them_. His father and his gang when they were mere youths not older than himself now, taken sometime before they went off to join the Zanark army for the Zanark-Aerith war. Auron Leonstrife stood, just as Zephyr remembered him, front and center in the picture, a cocky half smirk on his features. His messy sandy blond hair fell over his sparkling blue eyes, his right arm wound around his mother's waist and his left holding Punishment's gleaming blade proudly against his shoulder. Zephyr looked like an almost exact replica of his father, except for the color of his hair; whilst Auron's was a dark, sandy shade of blond, Zephyr had inherited his mother's deep chestnut coloring. Other than that, they looked almost like identical twins— a similar unruly, jagged hairstyle, the same penetrating azure gaze, identical smirks, resembling clothing styles of leather and jeans, the _exact same_ gunblade… Yeah, the picture may have begun to fade, but it seemed to have spared Auron, like most things had. Zephyr couldn't help but instinctively glare hatefully at him.

Beside him stood Zephyr's mother, Gale Kane, cousin of Reed's father. Zephyr smiled bitterly at the sight of her younger self, the person she had been at the beginning before his father had begun spending more and more time away from home and she had become the empty shell she now was. Her long chestnut hair, the exact same shade as his own, cascaded unbound past her shoulders, a few wayward strands blown by the wind framing her face and intensifying the green of her eyes, eyes that Zephyr only remembered as dull and empty but that in the picture sparkled with mirth. For the first time, he noticed that even in the discolored photograph she did indeed have the trademark Lockheart verdant eyes, the same color as Reed's and his father's. He couldn't believe he'd never noticed before.

Cain Lockheart stood to Auron's left, towering two inches above everyone, unmistakably midnight-haired and emerald-eyed like Reed, arms arrogantly crossed over his chest, eyebrow quirked in trademark Reed flirtatious fashion, and gunblade propped casually against his leg. Headmaster Breckyn Rayn followed, hesitantly smiling at the camera, brown hair falling over his hazel eyes in the same fashion it did now. He didn't look like the harmless overstuffed teddy bear he now resembled; though he only reached Cain's shoulder, the sniper rifle he had slung over his shoulder gave him a dangerous and deadly demeanor. The Akademy rumor about his sniping antics during the war suddenly seemed believable. 

On his mother's right side stood a tall blonde, blue-eyed figure that nearly made Zephyr drop the picture. He had to squint and bring the photograph closer to realize that the figure was _not_ indeed Instructor Brendyn Blade but a woman closely resembling her, her mother without a doubt. Kerryn Blade… so the old man _was_ the Instructor's grandfather. He briefly wondered what had become of her— Auron had been executed, Gale still lived _physically_, Reed's parents had both died, Breckyn Rayn had become Headmaster at the Akademy, and Decan Jecht had become president of Zanark… but what had happened to Kerryn Blade? Why did the Instructor bear her mother's name and not her father's? And why had she never mentioned a grandfather? Narrowing his eyes, Zephyr's gaze fell on the last remaining figure in the picture, the only one he couldn't recognize; a man with auburn hair and serious brown eyes that frowned in preoccupation at the camera. By elimination, he could only be Decan Jecht himself; the very President of Zanark Zephyr was to assassinate. He looked nothing like the man in the history books nor the man Zephyr had seen at the reception; age and the stress of politics and his previous term as President had taken their toll on the man, who now looked haggard and worn and older than his years.

Aurora peered over Zephyr's shoulder again, intrigued by what could have captured his attention for the past five minutes. A business card couldn't be _that_ enthralling. She gave a startled gasp and stepped back involuntarily as her gaze fell upon the photograph he was holding, upon one figure in particular. It made no sense at all… why was her father in a picture with men that suspiciously resembled Reed and the man currently beside her?

Zephyr didn't hear Aurora's surprised gasp. His gaze was trained on his father, as if noticing something for the first time. Narrowing his eyes in concentration and squinting at the dimming photograph, he looked attentively at his father's eyes for the first time. The glare of the camera's flash was reflected in Auron's deep blue gaze, giving his eyes an almost unearthly crimson glow. Crimson… crimson… the word ran blindly through Zephyr's mind, echoing in every one of his thoughts. He knew it was important, immensely important, but couldn't pinpoint why. The eerie feeling of familiarity was inching down his back again, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. In a flash of recognition, he froze and dropped the picture. All the blood drained from his face. A lone crimson eye…

Auron Leonstrife wasn't dead. The man that had hired him to kill President Jecht was his father. 

Suddenly it all made sense.

***  
R&R!


	18. Interlude Whispers in the Dark

****

Interlude: Whispers in the Dark

__

Ring, ring. Ring, ring. Riiiinnnn….

"Hello?"

"Sterling, is it done? Has our little problem been eliminated?"

An audible gulp followed by a fearful stutter. "N-n-no sir…"

"No? I made it very clear that…"

"H-he… he g-got in the w-way, sir."

"He, Sterling?"

A hesitant pause. "Y-your s-son, sir."

A stunned silence, followed by a raspy whisper. "My son?"

"Y-yes sir. He came outta nowhere. I had 'er an' she was alone an' she started screamin' for help an' he came runnin' outta nowhere. I-I didn't even notice till he had a gun to the back of me head, sir. I wasn't sure, but then I saw 'im, sir."

"… it's not possible." That same raspy whisper, disbelief and regret laced through it.

"I-I s-swear, sir. Dyke's got pictures." A long pause. "H-he looks a lot like y-you used to, sir."

"He's got so much of his mother in him." A wistful murmur, heard only by himself, meant only for himself. Oh, if he could turn back the hands of time.

"Pardon, sir?"

"You said pictures…" the tone is all business again, any trace of emotion gone from it.

"Y-yessir. Of 'im and Decan's girl."

A menacing hiss, filled with bitterness and hatred; a voice low and murderous. "Never say that name in my presence, Sterling." 

"I-I'm s-so s-sorry, sir." A fearful stammer, an unspoken plea for life.

"Take Dyke, be here in fifteen minutes."

"B-but…"

"Fifteen minutes. Tell no one."

"Y-yes…"

A sharp click in the dead phone line. The conversation was over, whispered tendrils hanging suspended in the foreboding dark. Pictures; they had **pictures**. It couldn't be. He had to see.

***

R&R


End file.
