****
     "WHOOPEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!"  A swirling explosion of snow
blasted through the air, momentarily obscuring everything
from sight.
     "Oh for...!! Do you bloody MIND?!?!" Priss half-
shouted, brushing the snow from off of her blue-armoured
shoulders, and irritably shaking her helmeted head.  Behind
her, Linna was muttering something uncomplimentary under her
breath while performing the same task.
     "What?  What'd I do now?" SkyKnight asked innocently.
His brightly polished hardsuit was undimmed by the darkening
cloudy grey sky overhead, and seemed to flash like a
challenging beacon against the snow.  Steam drifted in wispy
threads from the ventilation slots of his helmet, concealed
at the bottom of the visor, where the helmet's jawline was.
A long trench was spread out behind him through the snow,
like something had just crash-landed.
     "You know damn good and well what I'm talking about,"
Priss countered flatly, glaring at him; there was no way it
could affect him, given that they were both helmeted, but it
salved her soul a bit just doing it.  "That's the fifth time
in the last hour."
     "Gee, was that how many it's been? I haven't been
counting."  His tone of voice gave the lie to his words, and
the blue-hardsuited woman briefly considered trying to bury
him in a snowbank.  She dismissed the notion as useless,
figuring that he'd probably enjoy that kind of punishment.
     "SkyKnight," Sylia's voice came over the helmet comms,
sounding a little exasperated, "would you PLEASE stop that?
We're not out here so you can play in the snow."  Their
white hardsuited leader wasn't in their immediate area, and
was quite happy that was the case; Bert had taken to giving
a quick exhaust burst from his flight system turbines as he
did a sliding, sideways landing skid, almost like someone
braking on ice skates.  The result of that particular
landing maneuver was that the area around him became
shrouded in a whirling vortex of snow for a few seconds,
covering everything, and everyone else who happened to be
nearby, in a powdery white blanket.
     "Okay, okay," he sighed in mock-disgust.  "I'll knock
it off."
     "Thank you," Sylia's voice replied.  "I'll give you the
signal to start in a few minutes.  Until then, behave,
okay?"
     Everyone replied affirmatively, then lapsed into
silence to await the command to start the next exercise.
While he waited, SkyKnight idly ran sensor scans of his
suit, checking and re-checking all of his systems to make
sure all of his repairs and upgrades were functioning.
According to his diagnostic software, everything was
perfect.  Nearby, Linna's green hardsuited figure waited
patiently, humming some piece of music to herself.  Priss
wasn't as calm, tramping back and forth irritably through
the snow, her arms either folded across her chest, or
swinging agitatedly.
     The exercise they were about to engage in was almost
like a `capture the flag' game in some respects; they were
to attempt to cross the long stretch of the Canyons that lay
spread out before them, hopefully avoiding getting tagged
with a sensor marker by their suit battlecomputers that
would indicate that they'd been `shot'.  There was no actual
weapons fire involved; Sylia had set up the suit computer
and sensor systems to keep track of that aspect of things.
If they were exposed long enough for someone to get a target
lock and a clean shot on them, their suit computers informed
them that they'd been tagged.
     The only way to avoid being tagged out was to use the
scattered car wrecks, rocks, and derelict buildings as cover
while advancing towards the `finish line'; taking the direct
approach in this instance, the open stretch down the center
of the chasm, was sure to result in being caught and
eliminated.  Sylia was using the course, combined with the
weather, to give them some practical experience at adapting
to adverse conditions.
     The glowing red aperture of SkyKnight's helmet eyeslot
swept the snow-sheathed terrain, while his sensor arrays
probed the empty-seeming canyon.  He couldn't detect them,
but he knew they were out there somewhere....
                            ****
     Sylvie fidgeted anxiously, unable to keep a slightly
nervous, anticipatory grin from spreading across her face;
this was going to be exciting!  She scanned her suit
viewscreen again, but it was a pointless action; Sylia
hadn't given the command to start the training exercise yet.
     She shifted around again as she crouched in an alcove
between two snow-blanketed buildings, getting used to the
feel of her suit.    It was a remarkably comfortable fit,
snug and somehow reassuring in its presence, almost like a
friend was nearby.
     It was definitely a more pleasant sensation than what
she'd felt the last time she'd worn a battlesuit; she hadn't
told anyone, not even Priss, but the feelings she'd had when
the D.D. Battlemover had forced a synchronization link on
her and taken over, imprisoning her in the process, had been
the most horrifying thing she'd ever experienced.  Some of
what had happened to her at Hollister's hands had come close
to equaling it, but hadn't replaced it.  Irritably, she
jerked her attention back to the present; the past couldn't
hurt her anymore.
     Her sensor displays blinked cheerily, and she could
hear the faint background hum of the hardsuit's circuitry in
her ears as she waited.  She stretched a bit again, becoming
impatient; how were they supposed to field-test her suit if
nothing happened?!
     Sylvie extended her armoured arms out in front of her,
and flexed them a couple of times, testing the suit's
responses again.  As before, it moved easily and without
interference.  She grinned again, unable to get over the
thrill of feeling like a kid with a new toy.
     She mentally pictured what she must look like to any
outside observers at the moment:  a tall, sleek hardsuit
with distinctly feminine curves, with dark red and gray
armour plating, and white stripes on the helmet and legs.
While her suit looked similar to Priss's, its armour was
slightly heavier-looking, and it was without the protruding
antenna spars on the sides of the yellow-visored helmet.
Her suit arms were where the weapons were located; her right
arm was equipped with a particle-laser cannon, a railgun
launcher, and an extendible swordblade, much like
SkyKnight's suit.  Her left arm carried a backup swordblade.
In the event she felt she had to physically pound on
something, the gauntlets of her suit were reinforced across
the knuckles.
     She knew her choice of colours for the suit hadn't been
understood by her friends; Bert had looked very
uncomfortable when she'd told him what she wanted.  Priss
had been curious, but hadn't prodded.  Sylvie hadn't tried
explaining why she'd wanted the old D.D. Battlemover's
colour scheme as her suit colours to anyone; she knew why
she wanted it that way, and that was all that was necessary.
     To her, it was a symbol that she was the one in control
now.  What had started her down the road to her current
situation had been something she'd been forced into by
circumstances and dire need;  she'd had to use the
Battlemover in order to get the blood Anri had needed to
survive while at the same time hoping to somehow gain
freedom for the both of them.  Now, she was doing this of
her own free will, and no one was going to ever take that
away from her again.  In a way, she considered it fitting
that she was going to be using the same colouration, and
some of the same technology, although greatly evolved by
now, to redress some of the wrongs she'd had to perform.
     "Okay," Sylia's voice crackled across the comms,
disrupting her intense thoughts.  "We're starting now.
Linna?  You're first; go!"
                            ****
     From the top of a crumbling building, a white hardsuit
with a blue visor watched as a dark olive-green armour suit
started ghosting its way nimbly through the twisted obstacle
course set out, keeping under cover, and not revealing
itself for longer than a few seconds.  Sylia smiled to
herself as she watched Linna slowly advance; she was using
the natural cover perfectly, and her weapons tracking
sensors weren't able to lock onto the approaching hardsuit
long enough to score a `hit'.
     As the Knight Saber leader watched, Linna dove,
somersaulted , and flipped her way past the last few
obstacles in a continuous blur of jet-assisted motion,
passing the finish line safely.  She'd bypassed all of the
obstacles without problem, and no one had been able to score
a hit on her, not even Nene's enhanced sensors.
     "Well done, Linna," she congratulated her.  "If you
want, you can watch from up here with me.  Priss?  You're
next."  As she listened to the acknowledgment from the
distant blue hardsuit, hissing jets announced that Linna had
just arrived.  Steam and some condensation rolling off of
her suit in the chill air, Linna stepped up next to her,
leaning carefully on the retaining wall running around the
edge of the roof.
     In the distance, a blue hardsuit began charging through
the snowdrifts towards them, leaping for the shelter of some
of the snow-draped car wreckage.
                            ****
     Bert watched Priss cautiously advance through the snow
from his vantage point, well back of the starting line.  He
wasn't really paying attention though; rather than
concentrating on how she was doing, his mind was carefully
going over what he was going to do himself.
     SkyKnight noted that only Sylia was immediately visible
in the distance, silhouetted on top of a building.  The
reason for that was obvious: by making herself visible, she
was drawing attention away from the fact that there were two
other hardsuits hidden out there somewhere.  If he paid too
much attention to Sylia at her lookout point, he'd get
nailed by one or both of the snipers out there.
     A grim smile flickered across his face; it wasn't going
to get a chance to work.  He wasn't going to quietly go
along and hope he was fast enough to avoid getting hit.  He
knew his suit was slower in terms of running and leaping
ability than the rest of the hardsuits, mostly because of
his own size and bulk; that was the main reason he relied on
his jets to give him the mobility edge in a combat.  All he
had to do was apply that advantage to the training exercise.
     He scanned the canyon again, trying to determine the
likely places for Sylvie and Nene to be hiding; the problem
was that there were a lot of them, and he didn't want to
guess incorrectly.  He frowned to himself, analyzing the
problem.  After a moment, he hit the image amplification on
his hardsuit viewscreen, magnifying everything several
times, and began scanning the surrounding landscape.   There
was a faint chance that....there!!!
     Grinning at the success of his guess, SkyKnight zoomed
in on what he'd detected: a faint vapour trail rising from
behind a building, slowly curling and dissipating.  It was
cold enough outside that any water-laden vapour stayed
visible for several minutes, in very slowly moving clouds.
     Like the steam from someone breathing.
     Just to make sure, the silver-clad Knight Saber flipped
his viewscreen to thermal imaging for a moment.
Immediately, everything turned a cold blue colour, except
for two faint heat traces; one was from the thin plume of
vapour rising into the air, and the other was a bit larger,
and was coming from some mangled scrap heaps farther on.
Three other red-orange heat traces were visible in the
distance;  the heat signatures of Sylia's, Linna's, and
Priss's suits.
     SkyKnight chuckled to himself, rubbing his gauntleted
hands together in anticipation as a wide grin stretched
across his face.
                            ****
     "Very good, Priss," Sylia's voice crackled in her ears.
"You're clear."
     Priss sighed in relief, and straightened up from her
hunched over position, wincing and putting a hand on the
small of her back.  She'd wrenched it a bit in that last
stretch of open space; the hardsuit boots didn't have the
best traction in the world, and she'd managed  to find what
was probably the only patch of ice in the entire Canyon, and
stepped on it.  She'd very nearly fallen flat on her face,
but she'd managed to stay upright and get under cover.
     "Thanks, Sylia," she replied, inhaling a deep, cold
breath and holding it for a moment.  She felt fantastic;
getting back into her suit, even if it was just for a
training exercise, had proven instantly exhilarating.  She
couldn't wait until they actually got to pound on some
boomers again.  "I'm coming up now."
     "Roger that," her boss replied.  "SkyKnight?  You're up
next.  Go!"
                            ****
     "Ready or not, here I come!" SkyKnight shot back
instantly.  Not even waiting for an affirmative reply from
Sylia, the silver-clad battlesuit shot skywards with the
roar of powerful jet turbines, arrowing straight up into the
late afternoon sky.  The minute he cleared the concealment
of the building shielding him from the rest of the obstacle
course, his helmet viewscreen displayed the fact that three
separate weapon locks were being established.  Just like
he'd figured.
     The silver-and-blue hardsuit abruptly dropped from the
sky like a rock as his jets fell completely silent.  A scant
second or so from impact with the ground, the jets roared
again, and the silver battlesuit swooped low across the
ground, kicking up a  huge cloud of swirling snow as he
skimmed the ground.  The concealing snow cloud he was
kicking up immediately interfered with the visual tracking
his foes were trying to use.  While they were undoubtedly
shifting to a different targeting method, he flashed across
an open section of the obstacle course, ducking behind a
derelict building.  His jets cut out again, and he skidded
to a stop, just short of actually sliding out into the open
again.
     Panting for breath, partly from exertion, and partly
from the adrenaline rush that his flight stunt had provided,
Bert leaned against the wall behind him and considered what
to do next.  He'd cleared about half of the course already
with just that one maneuver, but he wanted to do more than
just clear the course.  As he examined the nearby buildings,
and compared them with his mental map of the area, he began
to grin again to himself.
                            ****
     "He's crazy!" Priss said disbelievingly as she watched
the silver-and-blue form of SkyKnight drop to the canyon
floor, and then vanish into a swirling vortex of snowflakes;
the loud drone of his flight system carried to the watching
members of the Knight Sabers as a minor snowstorm churned
its way down the obstacle course, then ducked behind a
derelict building.
     "No, he's not crazy," Sylia replied, sounding a bit
irritated.  "Just reckless.  And he's also figured out how
to take advantage of the weather conditions in a way I never
anticipated."
     "That's what you get when you put a kid in a hardsuit,"
Linna noted dryly.  "It looked to me like he was doing that
for the fun factor as well."
     "You're probably right," Sylia sighed, watching the
terrain spread out before her intently.  "But that stunt
also screwed up the image recognition targeting systems;
they need a reasonably clear image to be able to lock onto a
target.  By the time we switched to EM signature detection,
he was already under cover."
     "Why, that sneaky bugger," Priss said, a grin evident
from the sound of her voice.  A tense, waiting silence fell
over the hardsuited group as they resumed their vigil,
waiting for the next move from SkyKnight.
                            ****
     "Where the hell IS he?!" Sylvie muttered to herself,
shifting around and peering carefully around the edge of the
masonry she was concealed behind.  She'd lost sight of
SkyKnight when he'd dove behind a building that wasn't too
far from her position, and it was worrying her just a bit.
His reckless aerial maneuver had caught her by surprise, and
sitting there thinking about what he might try next wasn't
settling her nerves any.  She ran another sensor sweep,
noting that the electromagnetic signature his suit was
emitting hadn't really moved yet.  It was like he was
waiting for something to happen.  She grumbled a bit to
herself, and shifted around again.
     A howling roar exploded through the cold air, followed
by a flashing blur of silver and blue that shot across the
open space of the abandoned street, towards her location.
Sylvie tried to get a target lock on the charging hardsuit,
but SkyKnight's angle of approach was such that her own
hiding place was screening him from her.  As she considered
trying to change positions for a better angle, the brickwork
next to her trembled, and a loud crackling and crunching
sounded.
     Sylvie spun around, belatedly realizing what was
happening; as she pivoted, the wall behind her blew outwards
in a crashing rumble, sending fragments of bricks and mortar
cascading everywhere.  Snow swirled crazily all around,
temporarily blinding her as it obscured everything.
     As Sylvie frantically tried to see what was going on,
she suddenly felt herself being grabbed; a moment later the
world spun crazily, and she found herself flat on her back
in a snowdrift.  As she lay there, her hardsuit computer
informed her that she'd been tagged herself, and was now
considered a casualty.  As her vision cleared, the
hardsuited young woman saw a towering silver-garbed hardsuit
standing over her, its arms folded smugly over its chest.
The glowing red eyeslot in SkyKnight's helmet visor flashed
brightly.
     "Gotcha!" he stated with a chuckle.
                            ****
     "SkyKniiiiight," Sylia gritted with strained patience,
slapping a hand over her visor and closing her eyes.  She
wrestled with herself for a moment, trying to remain calm.
"Attacking your opponents was NOT what this training
exercise was for!"  The watching Knight Sabers hadn't seen
what had happened to Sylvie, but they'd heard what had
happened over the comm channel, and guessed the rest.
     "Well, you didn't say we couldn't attack them, did
you?" Bert's voice replied cheerfully.  "You just said we
were to use the terrain to our advantage and get across the
finish line.  That's all I'm doing.  See you in five
minutes."
     "Now wait just a minute," Sylia started to order, but
the line went dead as SkyKnight shut down the channel.  I'm
going to kill him, she fumed silently to herself.  Behind
her, Priss and Linna were snickering a bit.  Down below
them, a red-grey hardsuit tromped disgustedly out into the
open, and began walking towards their position as a silver
flash streaked back across the street in an explosion of
snow and motion, ducking behind another building.
                            ****
     Bert grinned fiendishly to himself as he plowed through
a snowdrift in a rolling dive, ending up safely behind a
crumpled pile of metal that might once have been a van.
God, this is fun! he thought to himself, his pulse
thundering in his ears like runaway racehorses.  It was
almost as exhilarating as getting into a fight with a
boomer, and it was definitely a lot safer.  He knew he was
probably going to get lectured by Sylia for his liberal
interpretation of the rules for the training run, but he
could live with that.
     SkyKnight poked his helmet around the edge of the
wreckage briefly, then quickly whipped back as his sensors
detected Nene's targeting systems pinpointing his position.
Her sensor systems were much faster and more accurate than
the standard hardsuit systems,  and trying to get close to
her without getting tagged was proving more difficult than
he'd anticipated.  She wasn't giving him any opportunities
to get nearer, but was keeping him pinned down.  He grinned
briefly to himself, feeling a momentary flicker of
satisfaction and pride in her; she was sharp, that was for
damn sure.
     He cautiously peeped over the top of the wreckage,
quickly noting the condition of the nearby buildings, then
ducking back as his computer system again warned of a
targeting sensor sweep.  He took a deep breath, and got
ready to try moving again.
     With a lunge, SkyKnight sprinted from behind the
concealing wreckage, angling for a distant building.  A
split second later, his jets thundered, boosting him into
the air and shooting him towards the building.  The instant
he'd stepped from behind his cover, Nene's targeting sensors
had started establishing a lock on him; if he didn't break
it in about five seconds....
     Air whistled shrilly past his extended flight wings as
he blasted through the gaping hole in the side of the
building he'd been aiming for.  He made it in just slightly
over four seconds, avoiding getting tagged.  Laughing
exultantly to himself, SkyKnight banked around the exposed
beams and girders inside the building, preparing for his
last maneuver, the one that would mean his completion of the
obstacle course.
     Lining himself up, SkyKnight shot towards a side
window, one that he was sure would bring him out directly on
top of Nene's position.  All he had to do was steer around
some girders in his way, and he was home free.
     As the window flashed nearer, a high pitched, staticky
squeal spat from his helmet comm system, while at the same
time, his suit viewscreen display dissolved into a snarling
storm of fuzzy static.  Several inchoate thoughts chased
each other frantically through his mind as he clutched at
the sides of his helmet in pain from the aural assault.  The
first was that it was a malfunction of some kind; the second
was that he was rocketing at high speed towards a wall and
some steel beams with no sensors or visuals, literally
flying blind.  Instinctively, he fired his breaking
thrusters and tried to veer off.
     All other thoughts disintegrated under the searing, red-
hot flash of agony that erupted when his helmeted head was
smashed backwards on his neck by a steel cross-beam.  He had
the briefest sensation of falling, and then everything went
black.
                            ****
     "SkyKnight, come in.  SkyKnight?  Bert?!  Answer me!"
Sylia ordered anxiously over the comm channel again.  No
response.  It had been almost ten minutes since she'd seen
him duck into a derelict building, presumably so he could
use it to ambush Nene from.  There'd been an electrical-
sounding crackle over the channel, followed by loud crash.
The sounds of his jets had died instantly, being followed by
a second clanging, crashing noise.  There'd been nothing but
eerie silence ever since, despite frequent queries over the
communications channel, and she found herself getting more
concerned by the minute.
     "Damn it, I'm going to go check on him," Priss
announced suddenly, her helmet swiveling to look at her
white-hardsuited leader.  "It's been too bloody quiet;
that's not like him."
     "Okay, fine," Sylia nodded.  "Just be careful not to
get hit if he suddenly comes barreling out of there."  She
watched as the blue-armoured woman lofted into the air on
hissing jets, followed a moment later by Linna.  The two
hardsuited women vanished into the darkness of the building.
     "Sylia!!" Priss's voice crackled urgently a moment
later from her helmet speakers.  "You'd better get in here;
there's been an accident of some kind.  He's down, and he's
not moving.  I'm....he's....his neck's bent backwards," she
finished in a rush.  Sylia could hear the concern she was
holding tightly in check, and understood perfectly; her own
guts were frozen solid with dread.
     "Sylvie!" she snapped. "Go get the KnightWing and land
it in the center of the street."  As their newest recruit
replied affirmatively, the wings on Sylia's flight pack
snapped out into extension, and she flew rapidly towards the
building.  As she zoomed closer, a red-pink hardsuit started
running towards the building, emerging from its place of
concealment a few metres away from the structure.
                            ****
     Everything hurt.  It was almost impossible to think
coherently, given the waves of white lightning that were
rippling through him, searing his neurons with agonizing
pain.  Either he was still alive and injured, or else he'd
been sent to Hell for pushing his luck once too often.
After a moment, he decided he was still alive; he could feel
his pulse pounding at his temples, and his breathing sounded
loud and harsh in his ears inside his helmet.  Besides,
given everything he'd done, he didn't think Hell would be
letting him off this easily.
     He tried opening his eyes, then squeezed them shut as
the pain eating at him trebled in intensity the instant the
faint glow from his hardsuit viewscreen touched his
eyeballs.  He fought to keep his stomach under control as it
threatened to revolt.  He wasn't going anywhere on his own
anytime soon, that was for sure.
     As he lay there, SkyKnight gradually became aware of
the fact that most of the pain was emanating from his neck
vertebrae; they felt like a boomer had used them as hockey
pucks.  Wincing, he tried to reach up and rub his neck
cautiously.
     Panic knifed through everything else, even briefly
banishing the pain from his neck when his arm didn't respond
to his command.
     Swallowing against the numbing chill that was abruptly
congealing his guts into an icy lump, he tried again,
willing his arm to move.  It twitched a bit, he could feel
it, but it wasn't moving more than a couple of inches.
Absolute terror exploded through his mind as it dawned that
he might have broken his neck.
     NO! a voice screamed in the back of his mind.  I don't
want to be crippled!!  Adrenaline surged through him as the
desperate urge to move flooded his brain.  Ever so slowly,
it seemed as if he was succeeding; his body shifted, and his
arms started to come up.
     "Bert! For God's sake!! Lay still!!"  a woman's voice
snapped.  He felt someone shove him firmly back down.
"You're hurt, so just stay put goddamnit!"   After a moment
he recognized the speaker.
     "Priss?" his voice was a harsh croak, his mouth having
gone dry with fear.  Bracing himself, he opened his eyes,
swallowing again against the sickening, lurching feeling
that the dim light from his suit displays produced when it
met his eyes.  In his erratically flickering, cracked
viewscreen, he could see a blue-armoured hardsuit with a red-
striped helmet leaning over him, hands on his shoulders,
holding him still.  Behind her, dimly seen in the darkness
of the building, were the white and green shapes of Sylia
and Linna's suits.  A faintly seen shape moved next to them
as it resolved into the familiar outlines of Nene's
hardsuit.   "Can't ... move," he added, clamping down on the
yammering panic the words triggered.  He could still feel
his arms and legs, and they were moving slightly as he tried
to get up, but his body was flatly refusing to function the
way he wanted it to at the moment.
     "I know, just take it easy," she said, trying to sound
reassuring and soothing.  "You crashed into one of the
support beams in here.  We're airlifting you out shortly;
Sylvie's getting the plane.  You're going to be fine."
     "I'm...fine now," he gritted, squeezing his eyes shut
again as fresh waves of agony broke inside his skull,
leaving him feeling weak.  Concussion, at least, a detached
part of his mind noted hazily.  He clenched his fists,
noting that his motor control appeared to be grudgingly
returning.  Gathering his reserves, he tried shifting again,
but Priss held him firmly in place.
     "I said don't move, you asshole!" she told him sharply.
"We don't know how badly you're hurt, and you could make
things worse by trying to move!"
     "I said I'm fine," he snarled back, his voice returning
towards normalcy.  "All I've got is a headache the size of
the city.  Now let me up, damn it!"
     "Bert, quit being obstinate for once," Sylia ordered
sternly.  "You've been unconscious for almost fifteen
minutes; you are not going to be moving under your own power
until we get you back to base.  I don't want you worsening
any possible spinal injuries."  The cold weight of reason
sank into him at her words, and he reluctantly relaxed,
trying to keep his mind off of what the possible
consequences of this accident were going to be.
     "What happened?" Priss asked him quietly, trying to
keep him talking and conscious.
     "Not sure," he replied, gritting his teeth against the
massive shockwaves in his brain that were still echoing
around.  "Flying along, and all my sensors died, even
visual.  Couldn't veer off or slow down."
     "Have you been modifying your suit lately?" Sylia
asked, her tone thoughtful.  "You might have damaged
something accidentally in those systems."
     "No!!" his snapped reply was emphatic.  Forgetting, he
almost sat up, or tried to.  "I haven't changed a thing
without your knowledge, and I don't let mistakes like that
occur; I can't afford to.  I triple check EVERYTHING before
I go out in my suit after an upgrade or repair.  That
shouldn't have happened."  He stopped speaking, going limp
and gulping back the fresh wave of nausea that swept through
him.
     "Well, it looks like you missed something this time,
doesn't it?" Nene's voice asked, a hint of rancor in her
tone.
     "Nene, just what is your problem?!" Sylia snapped,
wheeling halfway towards the hardsuited young ADP officer.
Linna jabbed a stiff elbow into Nene's ribs, knocking her
back a step.  She backed off out of reach and defiantly
crossed her arms over her chest, not replying.
     "I did NOT miss anything!" Bert started growling, his
guts twisting with nausea again as lights flashed
agonizingly inside his head.  "I didn't...."
     "Okay, okay, I believe you," their white-hardsuited
leader said soothingly, giving Nene a warning glance.
"We'll check your suit over when we get back to base; I'm
sure we'll find out what's wrong."
     "Don't patronize me, Sylia; I'm not in the mood," Bert
gritted, wishing someone could get him some Aspirin or
something.  She didn't reply, recognizing the fact that he
was in considerable pain and not himself.
     Rapidly pounding footsteps echoed in the cavernous,
decaying building, and a moment later, Sylvie's red-and-grey
hardsuit emerged from the far end of the warehouse,
sprinting towards the rest of the gathered  armour suits.
Under one arm was what looked like a long metal plank.
     "We'd better hurry," she reported breathlessly as she
skidded to a halt near them.  "When I was moving the plane,
I heard an ADP dispatcher's report that said they were
sending a couple of helicopters to investigate this area.  I
think someone saw us practicing."  "Thanks," Sylia replied
briskly.  "We're leaving now.  Lay that board on the floor
here.  Okay, now carefully slide him onto it...."
     It took a few short minutes before the crumbling
building was vacant again.  The Canyons were deserted again
shortly afterwards, as a sleek black jetplane soared into
the early evening sky and disappeared into the distance.
                            ****
     The bright shaft of light stabbing into his eyeballs
flicked off.  Bert winced and carefully rubbed at his
watering eyes, glad the examination was almost over.
Reaching up, he carefully slid the cold compress on his
forehead down a bit to cover his eyes.  The resulting
darkness, and the coolness the cold-pack was providing
soothed the flashing pains that were still sparking around
inside his head.  Of course, the massive dose of painkillers
he'd been given was helping as well in that regard; he now
felt comfortably sleepy.
     "Well, I can safely say that he doesn't have any spinal
injuries," he heard the familiar voice of the old doctor
quietly telling someone.  "The scans didn't show any
fractures or other damage.  What he does have, however, is a
very severe concussion and a wrenched neck."
     "So he'll fully recover?" Sylia's calm-sounding voice
replied.  Their voices were lowered, but Bert could still
hear all of what they were saying.
      "Correct.  The loss of movement and motor skill he
experienced is usually what happens for a while after a
severe cranial blow.  It just scrambled his wits a bit.  If
he stays quiet for a couple of days, he'll be fine."
     "Oh, don't worry," she replied grimly.  "He'll be
staying quiet, even if we have to drug him into it."   Bert
could just picture her brown eyes flashing determinedly, and
decided that graceful acquiescence to the strictures on his
recovery might be the wisest course.
     "If he's smart, he will," the old medico noted in a dry
tone of voice, chuckling a bit.  "I know that look.  Anyhow,
you'll certainly have enough help keeping him down, if the
line-up outside is any indication."
     "True," she conceded.
     "Here's the medication he'll likely need," the grey-
haired physician told her; what sounded like plastic-wrapped
packages rustled in the quiet of the room.  "Mostly
painkillers.  If you need more, although it's unlikely, give
me a shout and I'll send my assistant around with some
extras."
     "And how is your new assistant?" Sylia inquired, a
slight overtone of amusement becoming evident in her voice.
     "Fine," he replied.  "She's a fast learner, and she's
got a real knack for dealing with injured people.  She just
automatically seems to empathize with them, and seems to
ease their discomfort somehow;  having her walk into the
room seems to loosen up my more stubborn patients almost
instantly.  She's been a real help."
     "So you've gotten over my bullying you into taking her
on, then."
     "Mostly," the old man admitted blandly.  "I still
haven't forgiven you for that `cantankerous old goat'
remark, though."  What sounded suspiciously like a giggle
seemed to come from Sylia.
     "I'm sorry, but it was all I could come up with at the
time," she said lightly.  "I can think of a different term
if you want."
     "I'll pass, thanks just the same," he replied dryly.
Cloth rustled, and then the snapping sounds of a medical kit
being closed sounded in the room.  "I'll talk to you later,
Ma'am.  I think I'd better leave before the rest of the
crowd gets in here."  Some more words followed, but they
were muttered too low for him to hear what was said.  The
door to the room opened and closed.  After a minute of
silence, footsteps tapped their way across the room to the
side of the bed he was laying on.
     "Bert?" Sylia called quietly.  "Are you still awake?"
     "Yeah, for the moment anyway," he replied.  Gritting
his teeth, he gingerly reached up and slid the compress over
his eyes back a bit, cracking his eyes open and squinting up
at her.  The lighting in the infirmary room had been dimmed
to almost semidarkness, but his eyes still watered a bit at
the illumination.  Sylia was standing next to the bed, clad
in a wrinkled blue sweater and jeans, mingled concern and
relief on her face.
     "Feeling better?" she asked quietly.  From sheer force
of habit, he shrugged, and then instantly regretted it as
something swung sledgehammers into the base of his skull,
sending spikes of pain lancing into his head and neck.
Bright spots flashed in his sight for a moment.
     "I'm...a lot better," he told her after his breath
returned.  "But I really don't want to try moving right
now."
     "Good," she told him, turning stern.  "You're not to
try moving for at least two days, minimum.  Got that?"
     "Yes, boss," he sighed.  It looked like investigating
what had happened was going to be delayed for a while.
     "I'll be checking your suit over in the next day or
so," she told him, as if reading his mind.  "If there was a
malfunction, I'll find it.  In the meantime, you're to
concentrate on recovering.  Okay?"
     "Okay," he agreed with a sigh, trying to shift without
causing any new pains to erupt.  After a moment, he felt a
bit more comfortable.  His eyes started to sag shut as his
body decided that sleep suddenly had a high priority.
     "Are you up to having some visitors?" Sylia queried
gently.  "If not, I'm sure they can come back later."
     "I guess I can handle a few," he answered, propping his
eyelids open again.  "For a few minutes anyway."  She nodded
understandingly, running a hand through her blue-black hair,
smoothing it back.  Walking over to the door, she opened it
and stepped out into the corridor outside.  Bert winced as
the door opened, looking away from the brighter hallway
lights; he was really going to be glad when his eyes weren't
so sensitive.  A short, quietly murmuring conversation took
place in the hall briefly, then soft footsteps approached
the room door.
     "Hey there," Priss greeted him tentatively, leaning
around the doorjamb.  "Got a few minutes?"  He wisely
avoided nodding, and waved her in.  The tall brown-haired
singer came into the room, followed by Sylvie and Linna.
She was wearing her accustomed red leather jacket over a
blue blouse and jeans, Sylvie was wearing her usual blue and
white bike suit, and Linna was wearing some green track
clothes that almost matched her hardsuit colouration.  The
three women came over and sat by the bed after grabbing some
straight-backed chairs from over by the wall.  Something
tightened painfully inside of him when he realized that Nene
wasn't coming in with them.  He privately hoped she'd be
coming in later.
     "How're you feeling?" Sylvie asked him, her gold-brown
eyes anxious.
     "Sore," he answered truthfully.  "My head and neck feel
like they've been used for target practice by some boomer."
     "You know," Linna said after a moment with forced
cheer, "If you really hated my teaching that much, you could
have just said so.  I don't think it was necessary to go and
do this to get out of class."
     "Believe me," he replied wryly, "I don't hate your
classes that much.  If  I was going to find an excuse not to
take them, I'd have picked one that didn't involve quite as
much pain."  Everyone grinned a bit at that comment, then
became serious again.
     "So how long do you have to stay put?" Priss inquired.
     "Two days at least.  I really don't feel like trying to
move right now; everything spins when I try."
     "Don't you dare try it, you jerk!" the red-brown eyed
woman said with surprising heat.  "You're goddamn staying
down!  And I'm going to be checking to make sure you do!"
She coloured slightly as he looked quizzically at her, but
it was difficult to see in the dim lighting.
     "Thanks for the concern," he told her.  "Trust me; I'm
not going to do anything but sleep for the next couple of
days."  He was unable to stifle a yawn, and his friends
picked up on the inadvertent hint.
     "We'll check back with you later," Linna promised as
she stood up.  Sylvie and Priss stood as well, and they all
quietly trooped out of the room, Priss giving his arm a
quick, reassuring squeeze before she left.  A few short
moments after the door closed, sleep overtook him,
temporarily banishing his aches and pains.

TWO DAYS LATER.....

     Kate Madigan shuffled the sheaf of documentation in
front of her into a neat pile, then stuffed the stack into a
file folder, out of the way.  With a weary sigh, she picked
up the next folder in the stack on her desk.  Like a lot of
the others, it was yet another report on a perceived problem
within GENOM's organization.  Like the majority of the rest,
it was also an attempt by a lower-ranking manager to try and
impress the higher levels of the bureaucracy with his or her
`efficiency'.  She snorted at that thought; if they were so
efficient, they'd have found a way to deal with the problem
at their own level instead of burdening her with it.  She
had more than enough important matters to attend to without
needing extra hassle from other departments.
     Muttering a disgusted oath, she suddenly slapped the
file folder closed, irritably shoving it off to the side of
her desk.  She permitted herself a luxuriant stretch,
running her hands through her long lavender-hued hair as she
leaned back in her high-backed swivel chair, coming
dangerously close to tipping it.  Sitting back up, she felt
a little better.  Giving the stack of reports and paperwork
on her desk an extremely inimical glare, she instead opened
up her desk drawer and extracted one of her ongoing
investigation files; she needed to do something she had at
least some interest in at the moment.
     She sifted through the file carefully, scanning again
for any details that she might have missed earlier that
would enable her to get somewhere with this particular case.
She was so absorbed in her work that the phone was on its
fifth ring before she realized that someone was calling her.
Her face flashing annoyance at the interruption, she
snatched the receiver from its cradle.
     "This is Madigan," she identified herself.  "What is
it?"  Her annoyance faded as the voice at the other end
relayed its message.  Her blue-grey eyes became intent as
she stared at the report on the desktop while she listened.
     "You're absolutely sure that you've found him?" she
demanded.  The voice replied affirmatively.  "Excellent.
Keep him under surveillance until further notice; I will
decide what to do next," she directed.  Hanging up the
phone, she allowed a satisfied smile to appear briefly.
     Very soon, and she'd have all the answers she needed.
                            ****
     "But I feel fine! Seriously!"  Bert tried protesting.
"I don't have any more headaches, and I can move without any
pain!"
     "And I'm seriously going to sedate you if you try
moving out of that bed," Anri told him severely.  "You're
not moving anywhere until I've been told you have permission
to get up, and that's final."  The young green-haired woman
glared at him, her blue eyes flashing determinedly as she
continued to search through her small medical kit.  She was
wearing a light blue uniform similar to a nurse's, and she
looked more lively than she had in weeks.  The no-nonsense
air about her was certainly new; it appeared that her new
job had helped add some self-assertiveness.  Bert rather
sourly wished that the assertiveness could have waited a bit
longer to crop up.
     "Look, Anri," he tried, using his most persuasive voice
and winning smile.  "I'm fine, really.  I just need to move
around a bit or else I'm going to go crazy, that's all."  He
shifted around and tried to sit up a bit, concealing the
faint twinges of pain that were still lingering in his
spinal column.  "I ..." He cut off as Anri quietly set a
syringe equipped with a very long needle and filled with a
clear liquid off to the side of her case, and continued to
look for something else inside her kit.
     "Uh, what's that for?" he queried tentatively, eyeing
the needle nervously.  He hated needles of any kind, and the
point on that one looked long enough to qualify as a railgun
spike.
     "Pardon me? Oh, the needle you mean?" Anri asked
innocently.  "That's for dealing with problem patients."
     "Oh."  Very slowly, the red-head eased himself back
down, suddenly losing all desire to try moving.  He glared
at Anri as he caught the faintest ghost of a smile
flickering about her lips.
     "If it makes you feel any better," she told him as she
took out a small scanning device and notebook, "Priss gave
me some pointers on what was the best way to handle you; she
said you might need some `persuasion' in order to keep you
in bed."  She came over to the side of the bed, and giggled
at the look on his face.  She decided not to mention that
Sylia had also offered some suggestions along the same
lines.
     "Great," he muttered disgustedly.  "Now everyone's
conspiring against me."  Anri giggled again, then turned
quietly businesslike.
     "Okay, this won't take long, so just hold still," she
told him.  Adjusting some controls on the scanner, she took
a quick reading, and jotted something in her notebook before
running a couple more quick scans, concentrating her
attention on the base of his skull and neck.  Whatever the
results were, she didn't tell him, but made a note of them
in her book.  She did a few other quick exams, pulse, blood
pressure and the like, and peered into his eyes with a small
light, making notes about everything.  Bert began to feel a
bit like an exotic specimen in a lab under her scrutiny.
     "What, no tissue samples?" he inquired when she was
done, unable to keep a hint of sarcasm from entering his
voice.  Anri flushed a little, and quickly packed her stuff
up, including the needle, closing the case.
     "I'm sorry about all that," she said apologetically,
"but I've got my instructions.  This is part of my medical
training as well, you know."  He sighed and let his head
drop back to the pillow, suddenly feeling exhausted for some
reason.
     "I know," he told her wearily.  "Don't mind me; I'm not
a good patient, and I tend to be irritable."
     "Gee, I'd never have guessed," she replied impishly,
giggling.  "Did you want me to get you anything before I
go?"
     "Actually, yes.  There's a notebook and a novel sitting
on the coffee table in my apartment.  Would you mind
bringing them over?  The door's not locked, and I need
something to read; I can't just sleep all day anymore."
     "Well, I guess I could do that," Anri said dubiously,
thinking it over.  His request didn't contradict her
instructions, and she could see why he might need a
distraction of some kind.  "I'll be right back.  Don't you
dare try and move while I'm gone," she admonished him before
leaving.
     "Wouldn't dream of it," he muttered, shifting around.
He lay staring morosely at the ceiling for a few minutes,
unsuccessfully trying to drag himself out of the morass of
depression that had been pulling at him lately.  He known
that he needed to get himself out of it somehow, and he'd
almost succeeded in beating it earlier; the snowstorm, the
snowball fight with Priss and Sylvie, and the subsequent
hardsuited frolic in the snow on the training mission had
almost cured him.  It had been incredibly fun, something
that had been very rare for him lately.  For a while, he'd
been able to forget his problems with Nene, and cheer up and
relax.  That certainly wasn't the case now.
     During his recovery, he'd had ample time to dwell on
what had happened, and his conclusions weren't making him
any happier.  He was willing to swear  he hadn't missed
anything in his checkout of his suit; nevertheless,
something had malfunctioned and nearly killed him as a
result.  That meant  he HAD missed something.  He had to
find out what that was; his life, not to mention the lives
of his friends, depended on him not making mistakes with the
suits.
     Nene hadn't been by to see him either, and that had
really eaten at him as well.  He was getting depressed
enough that he'd found himself thinking about just armouring
up and then going and cruising around, hoping to find a
fight.  Not necessarily one he could survive, either.  Any
thoughts like that immediately sounded alarm bells in the
back of his mind, but since he was effectively stuck in bed
until further notice, he hadn't been able to shake them.
The door to the room swung open again, and Anri came back
into the room, carrying the books he'd requested tucked in
one arm.
     "There you go," she said brightly.  "Reading material
for the next while."  She placed the books within easy
reach, on the small table next to the bed.
     "Thanks, I really appreciate it," he told her with a
grateful smile.  She smiled back, and picked up her case.
     "I wouldn't worry too much," she told him.  "I think
you'll probably be allowed up and around before too much
longer."  With a cheery wave, she left, closing the door
behind her.  Bert's smile disappeared as the door closed.
With a gloomy sigh, he reached over and grabbed the notebook
from the table.  Opening it up, he began examining the notes
and hardsuit schematics contained within.
                            ****
     "I just don't understand it," Sylia sighed disgustedly
to herself, leaning back and away from the computer screen
in front of her and rubbing her eyes tiredly.  Reluctantly,
she brought her attention back to the data displayed in
front of her: the results of the exhaustive testing she'd
put SkyKnight's suit systems through.  She run every
conceivable test on his suit, trying to locate the source of
the problem that had crashed his sensors and visuals, and
him with them.
     There wasn't one.  Everything had just ceased
functioning for a few split seconds for no traceable reason.
It wasn't the hardware; it had tested out perfectly.  The
software wasn't the problem either; Bert didn't program the
sensor software.  That task was a joint effort between Nene
and herself, and she was reasonably certain they hadn't
missed anything.
     So what had caused it?!  Grimly, Sylia started sifting
the data again.
                            ****
     A quiet knock on the door roused Bert from the light
doze he'd drifted into.  Rubbing at his eyes, he took a
swipe at his tousled hair, brushing it out of his vision.
     "Come in," he called, snapping the notebook he'd been
reading closed, and setting it over on the side-table.
Carefully, he eased himself to a slightly propped-up
position, wincing at the twinges from his neck; despite what
he'd told Anri, it was still a bit tender.  At least he
wasn't getting headaches anymore.
     The door opened slowly, and Nene stepped in through the
door, looking uncertain.  The attractive red-headed young
woman was dressed in her form-fitting ADP uniform blouse and
skirt, and had her jacket draped over an arm.  She looked a
lot better than she had for a while; there was some colour
in her cheeks again, and her vibrant long red hair, swept
back over her shoulders, didn't make her look unnaturally
pale, like it had while she'd been convalescing from the
gunshot wound.  She almost looked like she was back to
normal, except for a hint of tightness around the eyes, and
an air of unease.
     "Um, hi," she said quietly.  "Mind if I visit for a
bit?"
     "Not at all!" he replied quickly, a tentative smile
appearing.  Seeing her had caused his heart to give a pained
lurch; he'd missed her more than he was willing to let on.
Given that she hadn't dropped in to see him since his
accident, he'd started wondering if there was anything left
of their relationship to salvage.  The faint hope that maybe
this was the start started unfolding in him.
     Nene dropped her jacket onto one of the chairs by the
door, and pulled another chair over closer to the bed.  She
didn't quite move right up to the side, but he was willing
to settle for having her in the same room at the moment.
She sat down gracefully on the chair, her face serious.  She
folded her arms across her chest as she looked at him, and a
suddenly thick and uncomfortable silence sank over the room.
     "So, um, how're you doing?" he tried.  "You look great;
I'm glad you dropped by."
     "I'm fine, I guess," she replied, hesitating the merest
fraction of a second before adding, "Thank you."  She didn't
inquire about his condition, and another awkward silence
fell.
     "How's work?"
     "Fine."
     "Anything new happening?"
     "Not much."
     "Well how much is `not much'?"
     "Same as usual," she shrugged.  "Paperwork.  The new
Chief is nice enough, and she's pretty thorough.  Other than
that, nothing new."
     "I see," Bert replied, wanting to scream in
frustration.  He could sense some kind of an emotional wall
between them, and he wasn't having much luck in finding a
way to get past it.  She was answering him like she was
paying cash for each word, and she wasn't really meeting his
gaze.  Again, suffocating silence cloaked the room as he
tried to see some way out of the current impasse.
     It wasn't exactly easy; even though he had missed her,
and still loved her, there was a churning, incomprehensible
welter of confused hurt and anger in the back of his mind.
Okay, maybe he shouldn't have told her to quit acting like a
little girl quite so bluntly; that was still no reason for
her to have severed all communication with him.  The pain
he'd felt from her accusations of him being a killer,
although dulled by the passage of time, was still there as
well.
     In the back of his mind, his conscience was nagging at
him to apologize to her; that might be the deciding factor
that would get her to open up.  But the lingering resentment
over her behaviour wouldn't let him; he felt he deserved an
apology as well, and he privately wondered if she'd realized
that.  As he sat there wrestling with himself internally,
Nene sat quietly, watching him, a faint hint of some kind of
inner turmoil of her own flickering through her eyes.
     "So what have you been up to?" she finally asked.  Bert
shrugged, slightly irritated.
     "Nothing," he replied sourly.  "I've been stuck to this
bloody bed for the last two days; you know that."
     "I meant before .... before all this happened."
     "Not much," he sighed.  "I worked on the suits,
upgrading them a bit more, and I took my usual practice
sessions with Linna.  Other than eating and sleeping, I
haven't done much lately."  He brightened suddenly.  "I
forgot!   I'm opening my archery range to the public next
week;  I finally got the last safety permit cleared.  Want
to drop by the opening?"
     "Well, okay, if I'm not on duty," she replied
hesitantly.  "I'm not much into archery, though."
     "There's other stuff," he assured her.  "I think you'd
enjoy it."
     "We'll see," she hedged, not meeting his gaze.  "I
really don't know what my schedule is going to be like next
week."  He nodded, hiding the faint twinge of disappointment
that spread through him.  "So you didn't do anything else?"
     "I just finished saying that," he frowned, wondering at
her persistence.  "Nene, what's wrong?"
     "Why haven't you been trying to phone me lately?" she
inquired, her voice trembling slightly.
     "Pardon me?!" Bert stared at her, not quite sure he was
hearing her correctly.
     "I want to know why you stopped calling me at work and
at home," she repeated her question.  A faint flicker of
anger began to smolder in the back of his mind, escaping the
restraints he'd been keeping it under.
     "And just why should I have kept trying?" he asked in
as reasonable a tone as he could manage.  "I got just a
little sick of being hung up on, told you were away from
your desk, or just not having the phone answered!"  It took
a monumental effort to keep from losing his temper as he
remembered some of those fruitless, frustrating afternoons
trying to contact her.  A headache began to throb in his
temples with the strain.  "And you were playing damn hard to
get outside of work as well; after a while I figured you
didn't want to be contacted, so I quit calling."
     "Well, I was away from my desk a lot," she retorted
defensively, but it was a feeble attempt, and they both knew
it.
     "I can understand, I think, why you're a little upset
over my behaviour a couple of weeks ago," he told her
bluntly.  "I know I've changed.  I don't like it either, but
it's in the past, and we're stuck in the present.  You'd
better get used to that fact."
     "That's no justification for attacking the ADP!" she
flared suddenly.
     "I tried explaining what happened, but you wouldn't
listen," he replied flatly.  "If you want to see the exact
events, go look at my flight recorder data; it's all there."
Thick silence dropped smotheringly over the room.
     "I was trying to call, every day, for over a week after
that night," he said tightly, breaking the fragile silence.
"But you shut me out, totally, without even a chance to
defend myself.  That hurt.  I still love you..."
     "Then why were you going out with Priss?!" she suddenly
burst out, her voice sounding like she was close to crying.
     "Pardon?!" he blurted, caught unprepared by the sudden
change of topic.  "I haven't been going out with Priss!
What the hell are you talking about?!"
     "I saw you out with her five days ago," she informed
him.  "Naoko and I were on our lunch break, and I saw the
two of you walk by, laughing and joking with each other."
Her eyes started brimming with tears, and her voice turned
choked.  "That's it, isn't it?  You quit phoning because
you're dating Priss now, aren't you?"
     "Now wait just a minute," Bert ordered, holding up a
hand as he tried to sit up a bit in the bed.  "We had lunch
together, and the only reason that happened was because I
was helping her pick up some packages.  That was it.  I have
NOT been dating her, and I think you're jumping to the wrong
conclusions here."
     "Am I?!" she retorted.  "Then why is she always the
first one who finds out that you're having problems?  Well?!
You've never confided in me; you've always gone to her
first.  Why is that?  You said you love me, but you won't
even talk to me!"
     "Nene, you're blowing this out of proportion!" he
protested.  "The only reason she found out about some of
these things first is because she hunted me down and forced
me into talking about them!  Damn it, I AM in love with you!
YOU'RE the one who said you never wanted to see me again!"
     "I didn't say that!" she denied hotly.  "I said I
didn't think I wanted to.  I needed time to think it over."
     "Oh, so in the meantime I'm supposed to sit at home and
be miserable while waiting for a decision?!" he demanded,
his anger finally boiling over into full blast.  "Since when
has it been decreed that I can't have other friends?!  I've
had enough;  Nene, you're acting like a bloody schoolgirl,
and you're old enough to know better.  I haven't been dating
Priss; we are good friends, nothing else.  You're getting
jealous over nothing, and it's goddamn well got to stop."
     "I think this conversation is over," she said icily,
green eyes flashing angrily.
     Bert stared helplessly, again unable to think of
anything to say to her as she stood, gathered her jacket up,
and left, banging the room door closed behind her.  He
flopped back to the pillow, staring despairingly at the
ceiling as the faint hope of reconciliation he'd entertained
turned into ashes.
     "Well now what the hell am I supposed to do?!" he asked
out loud.  No answers miraculously appeared, however.  He
lay there awash in a sea of regrets, slowly drowning under
a tide of bitter, depressing thoughts.

TWO DAYS LATER....

     "Hey, Bert, you in here?" Priss called, sticking her
head around the doorjamb; the door to his apartment had been
slightly ajar when she'd arrived, which she assumed meant he
was home.  Her red-brown eyes gazed searchingly at the
slightly cluttered-looking, dimly-lit apartment, coming to
rest on a body sprawled limply in a reclining chair, a
blanket draped untidily over it.  A low droning noise was
coming from the comatose shape, and she sighed as she
realized he was asleep.
     Stepping into the apartment, the attractive singer
shook her head in amusement; for the two days he'd been
bedridden, all she'd heard from him was how he couldn't wait
to get up and do something.  Now that he was officially
healthy again, and allowed to resume his normal activities,
here he was snoring the day away.  She shucked off her coat,
tossing it into a chair as she walked over to the coffee
table area, and sat down on the couch.  Folding her arms
behind her head and propping her feet up on the coffee
table, she waited, listening to the rumbling snores coming
from her friend.
     It took another ten minutes or so before there were any
signs of movement from the slumbering red-head.  The blanket-
draped body shifted around and fidgeted, and he coughed a
bit.  There was a moment or two of silence, then he muttered
something low under his breath that she didn't catch, and
sat up.  The blanket fell away revealing a very grouchy-
looking young man; his hair was a tangled, matted mess, his
eyes were red-rimmed, and his face bristled with two days'
growth of whiskers.
     "Good Lord," Priss observed before she could stop
herself.  "You look terrible!"
     "Well, thank you so much for making me feel better," he
snapped back.  "I didn't ask for comments from the peanut
gallery.  What are you doing here?"
     "I, uh, came to see you," she said slowly, taken a
little aback by his brusque manner.  "I was wondering ...."
     "Well, you've seen me," he interrupted bitterly.  "Go
away and leave me alone."
     Priss stared at him in disbelief, a mixture of shock
and hurt flashing through her.  He didn't look at her, but
stood and stomped over to the washroom, slamming the door
behind him.  For a moment, she was half-tempted to leave and
let him be miserable, and stood, preparing to walk out and
leave him alone with his lousy mood.
     After a moment though, she sank back to the couch.  She
wasn't leaving; she'd come here to ask him something, and
considering the length of time it had taken her to finally
get together the nerve to come over, she wasn't going to
just give up.  Running a hand thoughtfully through her hair,
brushing the long brown strands back over her shoulders, she
instead tried to determine just what his problem was.  He
hadn't looked good; only the fact that she knew he didn't
drink prevented her from assessing his condition as being
hung-over.  What did that leave?
     The door to the bathroom opened again, and Bert
shambled out.  He'd shaved and cleaned himself up,
drastically improving his appearance.  His usually snarled
thatch of hair was damp, and had been combed into a rough
semblance of order.  He didn't look as angry as he had when
he'd stormed in, and she relaxed a bit.  Standing up, she
walked over towards him; he had stopped outside the bathroom
door, and was standing awkwardly, as if uncertain what to do
next.
     "Hi, uh, Priss," he greeted her tentatively as she came
up to him, determination written all over her face.  "I,
umm....."
     "Mind explaining that rude greeting I got?!" she
demanded.  "I know you're a lousy morning person, but that
was the most uncivil reaction I've ever seen out of you."
She folded her arms and waited, tapping her foot as she
glared at him.  Her anger faded at the remorseful look he
gave her.
     "I know, I acted like an asshole, and I'm ... I'm
sorry," he stammered, unable to meet her gaze for more than
a couple of seconds.  "I just....I just don't feel up to any
company right now; I'm sorry."  There was a lackluster, dead
look in his eyes that she hadn't noticed before.  He turned
away from her, and walked listlessly over to the kitchen
counter, where he started boiling a kettle of water for some
tea.
     The last traces of her brief flare of anger died, being
replaced by concern.  He wasn't grouchy, he was depressed,
badly from the look of it.  Having experienced it herself a
few times, she knew the signs, and it certainly helped
explain his behaviour earlier.
     "Hey," she called, following after him.  "What's wrong?
Why the long face?"
     "I really don't want to talk about it," he evaded,
still not meeting her gaze.  His eyes were very firmly fixed
on the kettle, watching as wispy bits of steam began to curl
upwards from the spout.
     "Bert, come on," she said firmly, reaching out and
putting a hand on his arm.  "I want to help."
     "You can't."
     "I certainly can't if you don't tell me what's
bothering you," she persisted stubbornly.  She grasped his
arm and pulled him around to face her.  There was a pained,
defeated look in his eyes as he looked at her.  "Come on,
you can tell me what it is.  Please?"   She had to snap him
out of it somehow; prolonged depression wasn't healthy, and
he'd always been introspective enough about certain topics
that he could certainly make it worse without trying to.
     A long silence fell, broken only by the whistle of the
kettle as it started to boil.  Priss reached past him and
unplugged it, and the kettle fell silent.  She returned to
looking her tall,
red-headed friend in the eyes, trying to will him to say
something....anything.  After a moment more, he sighed
deeply, running a hand over his face wearily.
     "I ... I think Nene and I have split for good," he told
her, his voice turning choked.  "We had another argument a
couple of days ago, and ... and she left.  When I got out of
the infirmary, I realized that she'd cleaned her stuff out
of the apartment."  He turned away from her, struggling to
maintain his composure.  "Since then, I just haven't been up
to doing anything, and I didn't feel like seeing anyone.  I
... I'm sorry I let my mood get the better of me; you
deserved better than that."
     "Oh hell, Bert, I'm so sorry," she said
sympathetically, reaching a hand out towards him in an
attempt to offer some solace.  He didn't notice, but went
about making a pot of tea.  When he turned around, she
stepped up to him and hugged him tightly, not giving him a
chance to back away from her.  After a long moment, she felt
his arms wrap around her, hugging her back.  He started
shaking as she held him, and she realized he was crying.
     "It'll be okay," she tried soothing him, knowing how
inadequate the words were, but wanting to say something
comforting regardless.  "It'll work out somehow."  He didn't
reply, but continued to hug her tightly, like a drowning
victim clutching at a life-preserver, quietly crying.
                            ****
     "Well, THAT was useful," Sylia muttered disgustedly,
pitching the last set of test results onto the console top
in a flurry of printout pages.  Turning off the computer,
she leaned back in her chair, sighing and agitatedly running
a hand through the disarray of her blue-black hair.  Faint
dark smudges marred the skin beneath her slightly bloodshot
brown eyes, and the white lab coat covering her old sweater
and jeans was wrinkled and stained with hardsuit lubricants
and other grimy compounds.  She looked worn-out, and it was
becoming a struggle staying awake.  She grimaced to herself
as she caught a faint reflection of what she looked like in
the shut-down computer monitor.
     With a weary sigh, she forced herself to her feet,
using her hands braced on the console top for some leverage.
A wry smile flickered briefly across her face as she
realized she'd become guilty of what she kept telling Bert
not to do: overdo working on the suits.  She hadn't pulled
any all-night work sessions, but almost eighteen hours a day
came pretty close.   Her smile faded a moment later as the
fruitless efforts of her labours again taunted her.
     Damn it, there HAD to be something that had caused a
major malfunction of SkyKnight's primary and backup sensor
and visual systems.  That meant a major system crash, and it
was flat out impossible that a malfunction of that type
could leave no trace that it had ever happened.  She had to
be missing something....
     Sylia caught herself before she could spiral back into
succumbing to the obsessive urge to check the suits over
again.  She needed sleep at the moment more than anything;
maybe she'd be able to figure out what she'd missed with a
clearer mind.  A wry smile again flickered over her face; if
Bert ever found out about the way she'd been driving herself
over the last couple of days, he'd never let her live it
down.
     Flicking off the lights, the fatigued leader of the
Knight Sabers left the computer analysis room to seek the
comfort of a warm, soft bed.

TWO DAYS LATER ....

     "Nothing?" Bert echoed skeptically.  "You're sure?"
     "Yes, goddamnit, I AM sure!!" Sylia snapped peevishly.
She caught herself, running a hand over her face; the strain
of days of unproductive investigation was finally eroding
her normally imperturbable calm.  "I'm sorry," she said in a
milder tone.  "I can't find anything wrong with your suit at
all; it's functioning perfectly.  I don't understand it."
     "Well, that makes two of us then," Bert sighed,
slumping against the worktable.  On top of the table, the
gleaming silver-and-blue armour of SkyKnight lay quietly.
He ran a hand aimlessly over the smooth plating as he
considered everything they knew, or didn't know.
     Days of exhaustive system tests hadn't yielded Sylia
any insights.  Deciding that actually putting the suit
through its paces in a controlled environment might reveal
the problem, she'd contacted him, and gotten him to meet her
at the hardsuit testing facilities concealed beneath Raven's
Garage.  He complied readily enough; he'd finally accepted
the fact that he had to move on and try to carry on normally
again.
     Sylia had already been there when he'd arrived.  He had
the faint suspicion that she'd been there for quite some
time, but she deftly parried his questions and diverted him.
Shortly afterwards, he'd found himself in his hardsuit,
sweating like a racehorse as Sylia directed him through some
of the most grueling `controlled tests' he'd ever had the
misfortune to have  participated in.  Even fighting hordes
of ravening combat boomers would have been a welcome relief.
     Despite all that expended effort, she hadn't detected a
single fault with his suit, or with his performance.
Instead of being happy with the results, or even merely
relieved, Sylia seemed to be taking it as a personal
affront.  The tall red-headed young man was more than a
little surprised at the vehemence she was showing in
relation to the matter; he hadn't thought she could become
so driven about something.  After some careful
consideration, he decided that she was just exhibiting
frayed nerves and intense feelings of responsibility, like
he tended to do when he perceived something as his fault.
It did make some sense, in a way, since his designs were
based on her original work.
     "So what do we do now?" he asked tentatively.
     "I don't know," she shot back irritably, pacing up and
down the confines of the lab, her lab coat fluttering in
unconcious mimicry of her agitation.  "All the evidence
indicates that nothing is wrong."
     "So does that mean we're putting my suit back into
service?"
     "I'm not happy about it, but I don't have any reason
not to," she said, throwing her hands  up in disgust and
stopping her pacing.  She ran her hands through her hair in
frustration, almost like she was getting ready to try
pulling it out.  "Whatever it was appears to have been a
single-shot phenomena."  He nodded, understanding her state
of mind perfectly.
     "So was that it for the day then?" he asked.
     "Yes, that was all I had planned," his boss nodded
wearily, gathering her notes and printouts from the testing
into neat bundle.  Picking them up, she tucked them under
her arm.  "We'll transport your suit back to the building
later on; right now I need some rest instead."
     "No arguments there," he grinned tiredly.  "I'm going
to go home and have a shower and then snooze for the
afternoon."  She smiled slightly, nodding in understanding.
He held the door for her as they left the laboratory,
hitting the switch for the lights.
                            ****
     Sylia stretched languorously, yawning as she padded
barefoot across the bedroom carpeting, adjusting her snugly-
fitting bathrobe.  With a heartfelt, weary sigh, she
collapsed onto her bed.  Too tired to even crawl into it,
she reached over and pulled on the down comforter covering
the bed, wrapping it around herself, and closed her eyes.
She surrendered to the pleasantly drowsy feelings that her
hot shower had produced, and was soon soundly asleep.
     However, even asleep her mind refused to let go of all
of her concerns from the last few days, and her dreams were
a confusing, variegated tangle of images and feelings.   It
was almost a relief when the shrill blast of the telephone
punctured her disturbing dreams to wake her up.  She glanced
at the clock as she rolled over on the mattress, still
shrouded in the comforter, as she sleepily inched towards
the telephone on the nighttable next to the bed in a
floundering crawl.  Only about a half-hour's worth of sleep;
not nearly what she'd been hoping for.
     "This had better be worth it," she muttered tiredly to
herself.  She picked up the phone as it rang for the sixth
or seventh time, dimly noting in the back of her mind that
the flashing light on the phone's control panel indicated
that whoever was phoning was using the secure line.
     "Hello?" she queried into the mouthpiece, letting her
head drop back to the pillow while closing her eyes.
     "Hello, Sylia," a man's voice replied.  "Been a long
time, hasn't it?"  Sylia's eyes flew open as she recognized
the voice, and she sat up on the bed as her mind returned to
full alertness.
     "It has indeed," she replied coolly.  "I'd expected to
hear from you a lot sooner than this; you're usually much
quicker."
     "I don't think you fully realize what you asked me to
do," he replied.  "The information you were after is a very
hot item.  Almost too hot."  She sighed to herself; that had
sounded like the prelude to some bargaining, and she really
wasn't up to it right now.
     "The usual place this time?" she inquired.  "We can
discuss the matter in detail there."
     "Tomorrow," he replied.  "I've got other business
tonight."
     "Understood.  Tomorrow, then."
     Sylia hung up the phone as the line went dead, and
slowly lay back into the pillow, gathering her comforter
closer about her body as if to ward off a chill.  She stared
at the ceiling for a few minutes, mind whirling chaotically.
After a few moments, sleep pounced on her again, mercifully
dropping curtains of dreamless darkness across her mind.
                            ****
     Yawning tiredly, Bert towelled the last of the excess
water from his hair, grabbing a comb long enough to try and
make the auburn thatch appear neatly groomed.  He knew it
wouldn't last; the minute it was fully dry, it would
gleefully revert to its usual chaotic tangle.  Short of
gluing it down, there just wasn't any way to force it to
behave.  He examined his reflection in the steamy bathroom
mirror; he looked as presentable as he was ever going to
get.
     Snapping the towel from around his neck, he hung it on
the wall rack and stepped out into his living room.  He
stretched for a brief moment, another yawn escaping him.
Grabbing the pillow and blanket from the couch, he flopped
onto it, making himself comfortable.  His breathing slowed
as he relaxed, letting his mind drift as he closed his eyes.
     Sleep had just started to invade his mind when a knock
on the door roused him, and drove it back.  Growling
irritably at the impertinence of the visitor who'd decided
to come calling, he sat up, flipping the blanket off and
leaving it draped untidily over the back of the couch.
Standing, he walked over to the apartment door just as
another knock sounded.  The red-haired young man smoothed
out his expression in an effort to at least appear civil,
and reached for  the doorknob.
     "Hi," Priss greeted him when the door opened, smiling
brightly.  "Got a few minutes?"  The attractive singer was
dressed in a form-fitting, yellow and black leather biking
suit with matching boots, her long brown hair pulled back
into a ponytail. There was a sparkle of cheerful
exhilaration in her red-brown eyes, which indicated that
she'd obviously just been roaring around the city on her
souped-up street machine; other than brawling with renegade
boomers, that was the only thing he could think of that left
her with that kind of an excited look.
     "Sure, come on in," he replied, stepping back.  She
stepped through the door, swinging it closed behind herself
as he tried to keep himself from blushing.  Since he'd
broken down and literally cried on her shoulder a couple of
days ago, he'd been unable to shake the uncomfortable,
embarrassed feeling that spread through him when he saw her.
He knew that she'd never reveal to anyone else what had
happened, but what was bothering him was the fact that it
had seemed.... somehow undignified.   He kept trying to tell
himself it was misplaced egotism, but it didn't help much.
     "You doing okay?" she inquired, unzipping and opening
the neck of her bike suit a bit as she toed off her boots,
absently kicking them onto the mat meant for shoes.
     "Surviving, I guess," he replied, shrugging awkwardly.
"I feel a lot better than the other day, at least.  Thanks
again."
     "You needed it," she replied soberly.  "You had to get
it out of your system somehow."  She shook her head, rolling
her eyes as she watched him turn bright red.  "I wish you'd
quit that," she told him crossly.  "I'm not about to tell
anyone about it, so your `noble knight' image is safe.
Besides, the last time I checked, it wasn't a crime to show
emotions, so stop treating it like it was one. "  He mumbled
something under his breath, then sighed.
     "So did you stop by just to check on me?"
     "Partly," she admitted with a wry smile.  "Partly it
was also because I had to ask you something; I never did get
the chance to the other day."
     "What was the question?" he asked, looking at her
curiously.
     "Well, are....are you busy tonight?" she asked,
flushing slightly.  For days, she'd felt nervous and jumpy
for some reason, ever since deciding to ask this question.
She couldn't isolate a reason for the feelings though, and
it was irritating her.  She clamped down on herself, trying
not to let her agitation show.
     "No," he answered slowly, "I'm free as far as I know.
Why?"
     "How'd you like to go to my concert tonight?  I'm
pretty sure I can get you a decent seat if you do."  Bert
blinked, looking a little surprised.
     "Anyone else going?" he inquired.  She shook her head.
     "Linna's got a rehearsal, Sylia's being mysterious and
says she's busy, and Nene said she had to work as well."
Priss had wondered about that last turn-down; Nene had been
terse, almost abrupt in her reply before hanging up on her.
     "What about Anri and Sylvie?"
     "Anri's studying late," Priss sighed.  "She's really
throwing herself into the paramedic training."
     "You know,  having a medic isn't a bad idea," Bert
noted with a straight face.  "It'll give us someone
qualified to bandage you up after an outing."
     "Oh yeah?! Look who's talking!" she shot back
defensively.  He chuckled and bowed slightly, acknowledging
her point.  Priss glared at him, then continued speaking.
     "Anyway,  Sylvie won't go near Hot Legs because she's
afraid someone might remember her; she caused a big
sensation the last time she was there."  The brown-haired
singer had tried arguing with her friend, pointing out that
it had occurred almost two years ago, and it was unlikely
anyone would remember her after such a long time.  Sylvie
had been adamant however, and stuck to her refusal to go.
She'd been extremely apologetic about missing the
performance, but hadn't changed her mind.  "Besides," she
added, "you know she's working at Sylia's store now.
Tonight's her night to close up."  Bert suddenly developed a
sly grin.
     "So how does Sylvie like working for Sylia?"
     "Oh, she's got no complaints about the work," Priss
replied, a touch of dryness in her tone.  "She likes meeting
most of the customers.  But there suddenly seems to be a lot
more guys finding excuses to walk by and peer in the
storefront now."  Priss suddenly grinned herself.
"Actually, her biggest gripe so far is that she's got to
dress up for the job and look respectable."
     "Well, selling lingerie in a bike suit would look a
little strange," Bert admitted blandly, trying to hide a
smile.  Priss snorted, smirking, then turned serious.
     "You didn't answer my question," she noted, jabbing him
in the chest with a finger while looking up at him.  "Did
you want to go?"
     Bert gazed at Priss, greenish-brown eyes thoughtfully
meeting red-brown ones as a somehow tense silence fell over
the apartment.  He couldn't see a reason why he couldn't go;
he didn't have anything else to do, really.  The idea of
going to her concert gained appeal as he considered it; he
did like her singing, and it had been a while since he'd
gone out anywhere.  At the very least, there was the
possibility that it would finally clear away the cloud of
gloom he'd been labouring under lately.
     As he looked at the tense-seeming young woman in front
of him, it suddenly occurred to him part of the reason she
was asking was because she was hoping to have a friendly
face there as moral support.  It was going to be her first
time back on a stage in quite a while, and she had to be
feeling the pressure from that.  Some uncertainty about her
leg injury was probably bothering her as well.
     "Sure, I'll go," he answered finally, giving her a warm
smile.  "I'm honoured you asked."
     "Thanks," she said, smiling and hugging him in relief.
"It really means a lot to me."
     His arms wrapped around her, returning the hug.  As she
started to release him, he leaned down towards her, and his
lips met hers in a soft, tentative kiss.  After a moment of
surprise, Priss hesitantly kissed him back, her arms
tightening a bit, pulling him closer.  They stood like that
for a moment, then he suddenly pulled back, out of her
embrace.  As she looked questioningly at him, he flushed
bright red, looking away.
     "What was that for?" she asked.  In the back of her
mind, her surprise was being prodded by a faint, growing
suspicion.
     "Uh, nothing, really," he stammered, abruptly looking
panicky.  "I, uh, just, er, felt like it," he floundered.
"No real reason."  He steadfastly refused to meet her gaze,
either looking at something past her shoulder or at the
floor.
     "Bert, look at me," she commanded.  When he didn't
respond, she stepped closer to him, reaching up and gently
turning his head so that he had to look at her.  "Are you
sure it's nothing?" she asked quietly.  She felt him become
tense, as if scared of something.
     "I'm not...I mean...I can't...." he faltered,
swallowing nervously.  Priss continued to gaze into his
eyes, and saw the whirling mix of confused emotions he was
trying desperately to keep under control.  "It's not.... I
mean .... I'm...not sure," he rasped, clearing his throat
uncomfortably.  "I've...I've got to go.  I'll meet you later
on, at the concert."
     "No, Bert, wait a minute...." she started to say, but
he pulled free from her grasp, and almost ran from the
apartment.  For a brief moment she considered following him,
but reluctantly decided to let him go; hopefully he'd try
and resolve his feelings himself.  She concentrated instead
on trying to determine just what her feelings were on the
sudden turn of events; she wasn't so sure that it was
nothing.
     Priss hunted around in his refrigerator for a moment,
then grabbed a can of pop from the door rack.  Opening it
and sipping it slowly, she walked over to the couch, and sat
down.  As she drank, she gazed unseeingly across the room,
trying to sort out her own complicated tangle of emotions.
                            ****
     Mind churning in confused disarray, Bert slumped down
on stool next to the shop workbench, pillowing his head on
his arms on the bench top.  He couldn't seem to stop himself
from shaking, and it was difficult to sort out specific
thoughts from the seething mess his mind seemed to have
degenerated into.
     What the hell was the matter with him?!  What was he
scared of?!  That was the best name he could give what he
was feeling right now; his pulse was racing, and he couldn't
seem to keep his hands from trembling.
     He took a deep breath, sitting up and trying to force
himself to calm down and relax long enough to determine what
exactly was bothering him.
     Well, partly it was Priss asking him the reason for him
kissing her that had sparked it.  He hadn't been able to
stop himself; it had been almost like someone else had taken
over briefly, and it had happened a couple of times before.
She'd looked lonely and vulnerable for a brief instant;
something in him had wanted to comfort her, and that had
translated into him kissing her.  Something had happened,
though.   Now, he couldn't get the feelings he had gotten
from kissing her out of his mind; he'd been able to before.
He didn't  know why he couldn't do the same thing now....did
he?
     As he sat thinking it over, an image of the attractive
singer flashed in his mind, and he found himself flushing at
the memory of how soft and inviting her lips had felt.
Holding her curvaceous body close to his had felt very nice
as well, prompting a warm feeling to spread through him....
A horrible sinking feeling abruptly hit him in the guts as
he realized that he'd fallen for Priss, and fallen hard,
despite trying to deny it.
     Desperation raced through him; he couldn't be in love
with Priss!  He loved Nene!!  He did!  He sank back to the
workbench, putting his face in his hands as he groaned at
the predicament he was in as he reluctantly accepted the
truth of his realization: he was in love with the
attractive, vivacious rock singer.
     This is a problem? his subconscious asked dryly.  You
and Nene split up, remember?
     "I can't be in love with her!" he half-snarled out loud
in reply, a hint of desperation in his tone.  "I just can't!
It's not right!  We're just friends!!"
     Very close friends, his subconscious agreed.  But you
want to get closer, don't you?
     Bert strangled off the insinuating whisper from the
back of his mind, shaking his head violently, trying to deny
it.  Unfortunately, he couldn't do that any more; the
feelings had been recognized, and were now slithering
through his mind like agitated snakes.
     Was it just the fact that he was afraid of being alone,
now that Nene had left him?  He considered that notion for a
moment, trying to be as honest as possible with himself.
After a moment he conceded the possibility had existed,
once.  Despite his problems with the red-headed ADP officer,
he had retained the faint hope that they would get back
together again, and he'd clung tenaciously to that hope.
That hope had crumbled a few days ago, and him with it.
Priss had pulled him back from dropping over the edge.
     Could it be misplaced gratitude for the help she'd
given him?  For her being there to confide in?  He dismissed
the notion; they'd helped each other out a lot in the time
they'd known each other.  He was grateful, yes, but that
hadn't evolved into what he was feeling now.  At least, he
didn't think it had.
     He took swallowed against a suddenly dry mouth, as his
mind teased him with another mental image of the alluring,
brown-haired woman.  Was that it?  Was it just physical
attraction?
     He sat there, his mind whirling as it tried to solve
his questions, while the clock on the wall kept patiently
relaying the advancing time of day.

THAT EVENING.....

     "Come on Priss!!  You're due on the bloody stage in
twenty minutes!!  I am NOT going to put up with being stood
up AGAIN!!!  Are you listening to me?!"  the manager of `Hot
Legs' fumed, biting the words off angrily.  Middle-aged,
balding, and with a mustache and reeking cigar stuck in the
corner of his mouth, the slightly portly manager was almost
foaming at the mouth from frustration.
     "I said I'd be ready, and I will be!! Now bugger off
for a minute, goddamnit!!" the tense, red-brown eyed singer
snapped.  "I'm trying to find someone!!"
     "You'll be trying to find the unemployment line if you
blow this one!!"
     Sighing in bitter disgust, Priss turned away from her
intent scanning of the restless crowd of rock fans
congregated out in the rest of the bar.  The manager grunted
in satisfaction, then hustled off to another section of the
backstage area, evidently thinking she'd been chastised into
obedience.
     A feeling of intense hurt spread through her as she
started walking away from the backstage door that opened out
into the bar; despite promising he'd be there, Bert still
hadn't shown up.  Why?!  Didn't he realize how important
this was to her?  Didn't he care enough to just show up?!
She fought off the hurt, turning it into anger at him as her
eyes narrowed with grim promise.  If she found him after the
concert, she was going to...
     "Damn it, I was INVITED!  I'm not bullshitting you!!
Look, go find her, and ask!!  How long could that take?!"
Priss stopped as a familiar voice briefly overrode the noise
of the audience, coming from one of the backstage entrances
to the street.  Relief bursting inside her, she sprinted for
the doorway the voice had come from.
     "Look, buddy," the bored voice of the bouncer replied.
"I've never seen you at all around here before, and you're
the fifth fanboy to try this particular stunt tonight.  I've
already filled up that dumpster over there with persistent
fans, so get lost before I call the cops!"
     "Bert!" Priss burst out in relief as she skidded to a
stop next to the imposing, six-foot-four bouncer.  "You made
it!!"
     "You know this guy, Priss?" the bouncer asked
skeptically, jerking a thumb at the familiar figure standing
out in the street.  Bert had his arms folded across his
chest, a look of strained patience on his face.  Irritated
determination flashed in his greenish-brown eyes as he
glared at the intractable backstage sentinel from under his
hatbrim.
     "He's a friend I've been expecting," she explained to
the big man, reaching past him, and hauling Bert through the
door by an arm.  "It's okay, Masato, really."
     "Okay, if you say so," he replied dubiously, giving the
tall read-head an inimical glance, one that was returned
with equal force.  The bouncer closed the door, bolting it,
then vanished into the backstage darkness as Priss whirled
on Bert.
     "It's about goddamn time you got here!!" she hissed
angrily, eyes flashing.  "Where the hell were you?!"
     "Finding a place to park wasn't easy; the neighbourhood
is packed right now," he replied, shrugging helplessly.
"I'm here now;  You know I keep my word."
     "What were you doing before now?  If you'd gotten here
earlier, like I'd thought you were going to, you wouldn't
have had that problem."
     "I just had some things to think over first," he told
her quietly.  "I think I've managed to resolve them."  She
opened her mouth to ask what he'd been resolving, when an
angry roar cut through the air.
     "PRISS!!!  You've got twelve minutes!!!  Get the
goddamn lead outta yer ass, will you?!?!"
     "Relax, that's the manager," she admonished Bert,
putting a hand on his chest to hold him back as a dangerous
look crossed his face at the way she'd been addressed.
"He's an asshole, but he's right;  I've got to go get
ready."
     "Okay," he relaxed, sighing.  "Where do I sit?"
     "Well, er, you can't," she said awkwardly.  "It's
standing room only out there; the best I can do for you is
watching from the wings.  Sorry."
     "That's fine with me," he assured her.  "Just show me
where to stand."  The attractive rock singer quickly pointed
out where it was safe for him to observe from, then sprinted
for her dressing room before the manager could cut loose
with another diatribe.  Bert watched her go, his eyes
thoughtful.
     He briefly hoped he was making the right decision.
                            ****
     Leon shoved his way through the tightly packed crowd,
angling for the bar, irritation flashing in his blue eyes at
the overcrowding of the place.  Around him, the mass of
music fans hummed with anxious anticipation of the
fortcoming concert; it had been a while since Priss and the
Replicants had put on a big show, and some had begun to
speculate that maybe they'd quit performing.
     The tall ADP inspector finally succeeded in bulling his
way through to the bar, and ordered himself a drink.  Once
he had it, he turned around, leaning against the bar as he
sipped at his glass, his eyes roving over the crowd.  Even
though he was in the last week of his vacation time, he
found he was still observing everyone as if on duty; sheer
force of habit wouldn't let him relax in some ways.
     Leon stared into his drink for a moment, swirling the
ice cubes around in it aimlessly.  He'd really needed those
last couple of weeks off; although he hadn't been relaxing
the entire time, the absence of the stress from the daily
grind of the ADP offices had been welcome.  He didn't feel
as burned out anymore, and it had helped him to come to a
decision on his future.
     He'd finally decided to stay with the ADP.  No matter
how much all the political bullshit and red tape pissed him
off, that didn't change the fact that there was a job to do.
He was one of the few who actually cared enough about the
job, and their duty to protect the public, enough to stick
with it through all the risks and adversities.  Leon took a
great deal of pride from his job, and he'd found that he
couldn't just walk away.
     Besides, one way to solve the problems the ADP was
having was to stick around and keep trying to change the
status quo.  Abandoning ship would just be giving in to the
politicos, and he wasn't about to do that.  They'd have to
carry him out feet first before he'd give the bureaucrats
the pleasure of having driven him off.
     The main lights in the bar dimmed suddenly, indicating
the concert was about to start.  Hurriedly gulping down the
last of his drink, the brown-haired inspector slapped his
glass back on the bar, and forced his way back into the
crowd, making his way to a spot where he could get a good
view of the stage.
     He was really looking forward to this concert; he'd
immediately seized the opportunity to get a ticket when he'd
heard about it.  He was a real fan of Priss's music,
although not as rabid about it as some of the people in the
audience were; he'd already spotted a few young women
wearing outfits similar to Priss's usual costume.
     After a moment he admitted to himself that he'd also
bought the ticket hoping for the opportunity to see her
after the concert for a couple of minutes.  Maybe she'd
accept a dinner date proposal for a change.
     Coloured strobe lights began flashing and rotating over
the stage, and spotlights flicked on, illuminating the
center-stage microphone as a young woman with long blond
hair, edged with brown, wearing a very revealing leather
costume stepped up to it, grasping it in a gloved hand.
Behind her,  half-a-dozen or so musicians picked up their
instruments.
     With a triumphant blast of sound, the concert began.
                            ****
     Bert winced a bit at the decibel level he was being
subjected to; unwittingly, he'd picked a spot in the stage
wings that was near some of the amplified speakers, and the
volume was just short of the pain threshold.  He couldn't
really see Priss from his vantage point, either.  The
drummer and some of the guitarists were screening all but
occasional glimpses of her from him.  He sighed, deciding he
was going to have to  put up with it; it was too dark
backstage to try moving, and he didn't want to accidentally
do anything that might ruin her concert, likc tripping over
power cables.
     He lost all thought of his discomfort and poor
viewpoint when Priss's melodic voice joined in with the
notes of the hard-driving rock music being provided by the
band.  A slow smile spread across his face as he listened to
her rich tones belting from the speakers; her voice was
instantly captivating, and immediately conveyed the feelings
of the song lyrics to the listener.  He didn't recognize
this particular opening song that they'd picked, but it was
a nice piece nevertheless.
     He lost track of the time as he listened to her
singing; it seemed to go on for hours as the Replicants went
through some fast-paced, pulse-pounding rock to some other,
slower pieces.  He recognized several of the pieces among
the selections, some of them his favourites:  `Crisis', `Mad
Machine', `Victory'.....   Throughout it all, Priss's
soaring voice provided an unrivalled counterpoint to the
instrumentation.
     There was a brief pause in the flow of the music, but
it was far from silent; the fans clamoured for more during
the brief interlude, cheering and whistling, intoxicated
with the music they'd heard so far.  Priss had turned for a
quick conference with the band, then she turned back to the
audience.  The band struck up the unmistakable opening notes
for `Konya wa Hurricane', and after the intro bars, Priss's
voice twined with the music, weaving with it to create an
uplifting tapestry of sound.
     The song didn't last nearly as long as he would have
liked it to, ending on a crescendo of exultant notes, and
Bert was momentarily left blind as  the spotlights focused
on the stage flicked off; dim secondary lighting came back
up a moment later.  With the music over, he felt slightly
deaf, and there was a faint ringing in his ears.  The fans
continued cheering at overpowering levels as Priss and her
band exited the stage;  some of the human sea surged towards
the doors to the backstage area, mostly groupies.  They were
easily repelled from their goal by the hulking bouncers
stationed there against just such an occurrence.
     Straightening up from the wall he'd been leaning
against, the tall red-headed young man left his side-stage
vantage point, and quickly steered his way through the maze
of sound equipment and wiring to where the band and their
lead singer were finally emerging.  The guitarists, keyboard
player, and drummer more-or-less ignored him; they were busy
slapping each other on the back in a congratulatory manner.
A couple tried to include Priss in the rough camaraderie,
but she deftly avoided anything more than a quick handshake
or high-five.  There were some disappointed-looking
musicians behind her as she veered off upon seeing him.
     There was an exultant glow in her red-brown eyes as she
came up to him which seemed to illuminate even the dimly-lit
backstage area.  She was flushed with the success of the
evening's performance, and breathless from the effort she'd
put into it tonight; she hadn't held anything back, and it
had been one of her most exuberant shows.  She grinned
excitedly at him, and said something, but whatever it was
became lost in the enthusiastic cheers and applause from the
audience out beyond the stage.  Her grin turned wry, and she
shrugged slightly, as if apologizing for the noise level.
Turning, she gestured towards the corridor with the dressing
and equipment rooms, an eyebrow quirking upwards
questioningly.  Nodding, he followed her to her room.
                            ****
     "Now that wasn't so bad after all, was it?  I told you
there wasn't any reason to worry," Bert grinned at Priss as
he leaned against the wall, just inside her dressing room
door.  Outside the door, the cheering from the concert-goers
had finally faded into relative silence.
     "That's easy for you to say," the red-brown eyed singer
returned wryly, her lips twisting in a half-smirk.  "You
weren't the one up on stage, hoping that you weren't going
to fall flat on your face in front of the audience."  She
was wearing her usual performance attire:  high-heeled boots
that came to her knees, dark-coloured tights with a very
short leather miniskirt, a tight leather top with a low
neckline that accentuated her figure, elbow-length leather
gloves, and a blond wig.  Some costume jewelry, bracelets
and a necklace, completed the ensemble.  It was the first
time he'd gotten a good look at her that night, and he liked
what he saw.   She looked sexy as hell.
     With a sigh, she reached up and pulled off the wig,
dropping it onto its head-shaped stand on a small side-
table.  She stretched a bit, arching her back as she ran her
hands through her natural hair, fluffing it out a bit; the
wig was almost as hot to wear at times as her hardsuit
helmet was, and removing the wig was always a relief.
Straightening up, she began pulling off the costume jewelry,
dropping it into a box on the makeup table.
     Bert cast a quick glance again around the small,
cluttered dressing room, although there wasn't really all
that much to see.  A set of hangers by the door held her
normal clothes, while a small closet in the corner held some
of her skimpy singing costumes.  A small makeup table sat by
the wall, in front of a fairly large mirror with lights
around it, and there was the small endtable that had her wig
sitting on it.  A few faded rock posters were tacked up on
the walls, hiding the cracked paint job behind them, and
there were even a couple from when `Priss and The
Replicants' had just started performing.  He glanced briefly
from the posters displaying pictures of a much younger
version of the brown-haired singer to the real woman
standing nearby, mentally comparing the differences he could
see.
     The most immediately apparent difference, of course,
was age:  while Priss had lost none of her looks in the
intervening years, she'd matured both physically and
emotionally, and it had added nothing but allure.  The
energetic enthusiasm displayed in her poster picture was
somewhat more restrained now, the fire still burning
brightly, but banked and a little more under control.
     There was also a weight of self-assurance to her now
that seemed to be absent from the photo of her younger self,
and he knew that experience was the main reason for that.
Her life hadn't been what would be considered `normal', even
before she'd become a Knight Saber.  As a result, she'd had
a breadth of experience that few other people were likely to
acquire.  He himself knew only the barest outline of her
past, even after seeing the anime; her past was one of the
things Priss did not like to talk about.  He'd respected her
privacy, and refrained from asking questions.  In time, if
she felt like it, she'd discuss it with him.
     Priss closed the lid on the jewelry box, and stretched
languorously again, sighing, her body-hugging leather outfit
creaking slightly with the movement.  Bert flushed guiltily
to himself as he caught his eyes roving up and down her
trim, voluptuous curves, and he looked around the room
again.
     "There was something I've always wanted to ask," he
spoke up suddenly, glancing at her wig on its stand, a faint
grin flickering across his face;  it was a ridiculous
question, but he was feeling whimsical tonight for some
reason.  Priss turned around, stripping off her gloves as
she did, a quizzical look appearing on her face.
     "And that is?" she prompted him, tossing the gloves
aside onto the makeup table.  He was unable to keep a smirk
from appearing on his face as he looked at her.
     "Do blondes really have more fun?" he asked innocently.
Priss grinned at his question, then her grin slipped into a
sly smile.  She stepped a bit closer to him, looking up
slightly into his face, still smiling.  There was a faintly
challenging look in the depths of her red-brown eyes as she
smiled lazily at him.
     "I don't know," she replied, noting he was blushing
just a bit now.  Her smile widened as an eyebrow quirked
upwards.  "Shall we find out?"
     "Oh?  And what would you suggest?" he asked,
unconsciously leaning towards her slightly.  There was an
unfamiliar feeling stirring in him, a sort of shaky,
trembling anticipation, although anticipation of what, he
still didn't want to admit to himself at the moment.  He was
finding himself in some unfamiliar territory, and he
suddenly wondered why it seemed so hot in the narrow
confines of the dressing room.
     Priss's one arm went around his waist as she moved
right up to him.  She reached up with her other hand,
sliding it around to the back of his head, pulling him down
towards her.  His own arms went around her at the same time.
Her firmly-muscled body felt very warm against his, every
flowing curve seeming to mold to him as he held her close.
His heart suddenly started hammering erratically at his
ribcage.
     "Something like....this?" she breathed, just before
kissing him.  Her lips pressed into his, and his arms
tightened around her a bit at their warm, vibrant feel.
Something stirred inside of him, and he felt a wave of
somehow pleasant-feeling heat spread through his body.
Priss' lips twitched slightly against his as if she was
smiling, and then her lips parted a bit.  The kiss turned
into a very thorough, very passionate and lengthy deep one,
and he was beginning to run short of air when she finally
withdrew.
     "Something...like that," he replied a bit hoarsely,
breathing heavily.  The attractive singer's breathing also
sounded a little heavier than normal; her shapely body was
still pressed against his, and she was looking up into his
face with an almost seductive gaze, her eyes half-lidded.
He thought he could feel her trembling a bit, but it was
hard to tell exactly, because he was doing a fair bit of
trembling himself.  He swallowed, trying to regain control
of his thundering pulse, and desperately trying to subdue
the feelings that had erupted in him during their kiss; that
kiss had gone way beyond anything he'd ever experienced.  He
felt clumsy and awkward suddenly, and blushed self-
consciously.
     "I'd, uh, better let you get changed," he stammered,
grabbing the first excuse he could think of.  "I'll, uhm,
wait outside, okay?"  Priss gazed into his greenish-brown
eyes, a flicker of sly humour suddenly appearing in hers.
     "Sure you wouldn't like to stay and help me?" she asked
teasingly, running her fingertips lightly down the side of
his face.
     "Priss!!"  Bert turned bright red, right to his
hairline, and she laughed, although not unkindly.
     "Okay, I'll meet you outside, but you'd better wait a
minute before you go," she replied, smiling and shaking her
head.  She disengaged from him, turning towards the nearby
makeup table.
     "Huh?  Why?"
     "Because," she said dryly, turning back towards him
with a wad of tissues in her hand.  She reached up and wiped
around his mouth with them; he could see red smears on the
white tissues as she took her hand away, tossing them into
the nearby garbage.  "You don't look good wearing lipstick,"
she grinned impudently.  Bert flushed again, and irritably
swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand just to make
sure there weren't any traces of the makeup left.  There
weren't, and he quickly left, closing the door behind him.
                            ****
     Bert paced the hallway outside the dressing room door,
ignoring the chaos that swirled around the backstage area as
people cleaned up the equipment and instruments, packing
them away for the next time.  There wasn't much noise coming
from the bar proper anymore; those who weren't staying to
drink or try and get a glimpse of their favourite singer had
already left, undoubtedly clogging the streets with traffic.
     As he paced, he was getting a few speculative looks
from some of the people churning around the backstage, and
he could take a good guess at what they were thinking as
well.  He really didn't care what they thought at the
moment, however; his own thoughts were preoccupying him,
distracting him with thoughts of the alluring young woman
inside the dressing room.  He firmly squelched off his
imagination as it tried showing him what might be happening
inside as she changed.
     The door to the room opened, and Priss stepped out, her
customary motorcycle jacket draped over one arm, dressed in
a more subdued fashion than her concert persona.  She was
dressed in a light blue blouse, held closed at the throat by
a matching pin, and jeans with her motorcycle boots.  She'd
scrubbed off the makeup on her face, but she still looked
very lovely.  He firmly suppressed the desire to kiss her
again; that could wait until they were someplace private.
     "Ready to go?" Priss asked, smiling at him.
     "Sure.  Where'd you want to go now?" he inquired.
Priss started pulling on her jacket, looking thoughtful.
     "Your place," she decided after a moment.  "We can talk
some more there; I'd say we've got a bit to talk about."  He
nodded, a slight smile tugging at his lips at her
observation.  After a moment's hesitation, he offered her
his arm; she took it, and they walked off towards one of the
entrances to the back street.
                            ****
     Leon frowned at his watch, casting another glance
around the bar.  Strange; it had been almost forty-five
minutes since the end of the concert, and still no sign of
Priss.  That was odd, because usually the brown-haired
singer mingled with the crowd in the bar for a while after a
performance, and usually still in costume.  One of the
reasons he was still here was the hope that he'd get the
chance to talk to her.
     He sighed, taking another pull at the drink he'd
ordered; this made his fourth of the night, and his last,
since he was going to have to drive home before too much
longer.  He glanced around irritably again.  Where WAS she?!
He must have accidentally spoken aloud, because a tall,
heavily-built man a couple of stools away turned towards
him.  After a moment, Leon recognized him as one of the
bouncers he'd seen earlier.
     "If you meant Priss, you can stop wasting your time,"
the heavy-set man advised.  "She left over a half-an-hour
ago with some guy."
     "What?! Who?!" Leon blurted in shock, an awful sinking
feeling hitting him in the stomach.  The bouncer shrugged.
     "Never seen him before.  He's tall, and was wearing a
hat.  That's about all I can say; never did get a good look
at him."  The man turned back to his drink, thinking the
subject finished.  After a moment, Leon stood and made his
way to the door, leaving his drink unfinished on the bar.
Suddenly, it didn't taste all that great anymore.
                            ****
     The door to the basement apartment swung open, letting
the diffuse lighting from the corridor spill into the room.
Bert entered first, flicking the wall switch; lamps
positioned on small tables in the corners of the room lit
up, providing a warm, friendly glow.  He stepped out of the
way of the doorway, kicking his shoes off, and Priss stepped
in behind him, closing the door.
     She looked around as she shucked off her red leather
jacket, hanging it the closet just off to the side of door;
the apartment was slightly messier than the last time she'd
been by, but it was a comfortable mess, giving the entire
place a homelike feel.  Actually, most of the clutter was
books, and a few newspapers; they'd been piled almost
everywhere EXCEPT the bookshelves.  She half expected them
to avalanche down and bury the room without warning.  Stray
socks were located at strategic points around the room,
adding uniqueness to the scene, if nothing else.
     Priss sighed and fluffed out her hair a bit,
stretching, while Bert quietly went about hanging up his
coat and hat, and tucking his shoes out of the way.  He gave
her a quick, friendly smile before padding across the room
in his sock feet towards the kitchen.  Probably needs his
caffeine, she thought sardonically to herself, a wry smile
twisting her lips as she watched him for a moment while
pulling off her boots.  It was almost a certainty that his
first move would be towards the teapot when he got home or
got up; he couldn't seem to live without it.  She herself
like the occasional tea or coffee, but wasn't as addicted to
it as he seemed to be.
     She wandered across the carpet towards the bookshelf
while Bert puttered around in his kitchen area, stuffing
things into cupboards.  She managed to hide a smile; if he
was cleaning up because she'd come by, he was wasting his
time.  Her apartment was much messier than his was.
     Since she had nothing better to do, she grabbed some of
the most unstable-looking books, and stuffed them into
whatever space happened to be on the bookshelves.  She
didn't really want to become the accidental victim of a
cascade of literature.  After a few moments, she felt a
little safer about moving around the room.
     "You hungry?" his voice floated over to her.  "I can
put together a sandwich or two if you'd like."
     "Got anything to drink, instead?" she asked, idly
running a hand down the spines of some of the books lining
his bookshelf.  "I'm not really hungry."  She read a few of
the titles as her fingers brushed across them, shaking her
head at the strange mix of science fiction and fantasy
novels.  Scattered among the well worn paperbacks and
hardcovers were a few science and history textbooks, looking
incredibly out of place among the fiction volumes.
     "Anything in particular in mind?" his muffled voice
came from under his kitchen sink, where she could hear him
rummaging around for something.  "Tea? Coffee? Something
else?"
     "What's in the `something else' category?" she
inquired, turning and walking over to his kitchenette
counter, leaning on her elbows on it.  Bert surfaced on the
other side of the counter across from her, holding a
squarish, dust-covered bottle containing an amber-coloured
liquid.
     "This," he replied, setting the bottle on the counter
between them.  "I usually keep it around for medicinal
purposes or special occasions, and I'd say your getting back
on-stage counts as a special occasion."  Priss looked at the
bottle, but couldn't read the label, since it was in
English.
     "What is it?"
     "Rye whiskey."
     "What the heck kind of `medicinal purposes' would that
have?!"
     "It works great on colds," he replied with a slight
grin, shrugging.  "One stiff jolt of this before bed, and
you don't have any problems sleeping at all."
     Priss grinned back.  "Got anything to mix with it?"  He
nodded, and got a bottle of pop and some ice cubes out of
the fridge.  Glasses came next from an overhead cupboard,
and he plunked them down on the counter in front of her.
Priss cocked her head at him curiously.  "How strong did you
want it?" she asked, reaching out and picking up the whiskey
bottle.  Bert looked thoughtful for a moment.
     "Not very," he finally decided.  "I don't drink all
that much.  Hardly ever, in fact, so I'd better take it
easy."
     "I'm not a boozer either," she retorted dryly, pouring
a small amount of the liquor into each of the glasses and
capping the bottle.  "I just like having a drink every so
often, that's all."  She added pop and ice cubes to the
drinks, and slid his across the countertop to him.  He
picked up the glass, and his eyes briefly met hers.  She
smiled back at him, and he blushed a bit, as if caught at
doing something he shouldn't have.
     "Come on; it'll be more comfortable sitting down," she
advised, jerking her head towards the couches.  Picking up
her glass she turned and walked over to the couch, carefully
sitting down in it.  He followed her a moment later, coming
over to the couch area.  He hesitated a moment, as if trying
to decide on something, then he slowly sank into the
cushions next to her. She sidled a little closer to him, and
took a sip of her drink, letting it slowly roll over her
tongue and down her throat, savouring it.  Bert wordlessly
followed suit, and they sat there in companionable silence
for a while, drinking.
     Priss watched him out of the corners of her eyes as she
worked her way through her drink.  His expression indicated
his mind was very far away from them at the moment; he was
staring off into space, a faintly wistful look in his eyes.
She had a good idea of what was preoccupying him; even
though it had been a little over three weeks, he still was
feeling the effects from the rift that had developed between
him and Nene, especially given their argument of a few short
days ago.  The walls of silence they'd had between them
before had transformed into gaping chasms of separation.
Bert was still blaming himself in part for the split, since
it had initially been his remarks that had precipitated the
whole mess.
     What was complicating his guilty feelings over the
breakup was the fact that his attraction to Priss had
finally come fully into the open.  She'd known that the
sense of attraction he'd felt towards her had been there for
a while, although it had been kept very tightly concealed at
times; he hadn't been willing to admit to himself that he
did have deeper feelings for her.  He'd been denying it
vehemently to himself, and it hadn't been until she'd
pressed him that she'd been able to get him to at least
partly admit to it.
     She herself knew how hard that must have been for him,
because she hadn't really admitted to herself until recently
that her feelings for him ran a bit deeper than `just good
friends'.  It hadn't been easy for her, either; she'd always
been the tough, independent loner, and admitting that she
was lonely, and....needed ... someone else went against the
grain.  She still wasn't entirely comfortable with her
feelings, but she was trying to reconcile them.
     Ice cubes clinked in her empty glass as she set it over
on the coffee table.  She turned towards him on the couch,
folding one leg under the other, leaning her arm on the back
of the couch, and propping her head on her hand.  She gazed
at him quietly for a few moments, but he appeared to be
oblivious.  She sighed quietly, then reached out and gently
and took his empty glass from his hand, setting it over on
the coffee table; he didn't appear to notice.
     Priss shifted to her knees on the couch, and then
slowly leaned closer to him.  His eyes shifted over to meet
hers, and she could see a complex tide of emotions swirling
around in them.  She moved a bit closer, her gaze still
locked with his, and watched acceptance of her nearness
slowly appear in his face.  He reached up and gently brushed
her hair back out of her face.  She smiled, then leaned the
last few inches over and kissed him, feeling the first faint
stirrings of desire awaken.
     Bert's lips molded to hers as his arms slowly came up,
almost reluctantly this time, and wrapped around her,
holding her close.  Priss sighed contentedly, and scooted a
little nearer, her own arms going around him.  They sat like
that for a minute or so, enjoying the kiss and the feelings
of warm intimacy it produced.  They parted for a moment,
long enough to draw a couple of breaths, then their lips
eagerly met again.
     Shifting one of her hands to his chest, Priss began
gently pushing him over onto his back on the couch as the
kiss turned deep and passionate.  She felt him stiffen
slightly, surprised, and he pulled his head back from hers
for a moment, breathing heavily and licking his lips, a bit
nervously, she thought.
     "Uh, Priss?" he queried uncertainly.  "What....what are
you doing?"  She looked into his eyes.  In the greenish-
brown depths she could see lurking traces of fear, and
realized that he was still slightly reluctant to admit to
himself that he did want her, and was scared to take the
final step.  She could also feel him shaking just a bit.
     "Do you really have to ask?" she asked softly, looking
deeply into his eyes, brushing her hand down his cheek.
"Come on; you can't deny what you're feeling, not now, not
after the way we kissed just now, or back in my dressing
room."  Bert flushed guiltily, swallowing; his arms had slid
back a bit, and his hands were on her waist, almost like he
was preparing to push her back.  "If you can sit there and
honestly tell me with a straight face that you don't l...
don't have feelings for me, then I'll leave," she finished.
His eyes turned wild and panicked at her words.
     "No!  I ... I ... I don't want you to leave," he said
awkwardly, the words coming out in a rush at first.  "I
do..." he paused for a moment, then seemed to gather
himself, taking a deep, shuddering breath.  "All right, I am
in love with you," he stated quietly, swallowing, "but I
don't think we should...."
     "Is it because of Nene?  You feel like you're cheating
on her?"
     "Not .... exactly," he evaded, flushing and clearing
his throat nervously.  "I mean, it's not entirely that.  I
.... we never..... I don't want to hurt her, but....."
     "Nene's a big girl now," she told him gently, brushing
his hair out of his eyes.  "It may take some time, but she
will understand, eventually.  You can't go around afraid to
do anything else, or to be with anyone else because it might
hurt her."  She sighed, a little sadly.  "I realize it
sounds hard, but it's going to happen anyway.  She's still
mad and upset, and she's going to feel hurt by anything and
everything you do, no matter how small or insignificant it
might seem to you at the time."
     "I know, but it's .... it's not just that," he
stammered, flushing bright red.  "I've never .... never..."
He couldn't seem to get the words out, and Priss suddenly
realized what he was trying to say.
     "Never made love with anyone before?" she finished.  He
nodded mutely, looking away from her, embarrassed.  She
smiled gently, her hand tipping his chin back so she could
look him in the eye.  "There's nothing to be ashamed of in
that," she told him.  She placed her hands on his chest
again, and shoved him over on the couch, sliding onto him a
moment later until she was laying on top of him, chest to
chest.
     Priss kissed him softly on the lips, sliding her arms
around his neck.  She felt his arms start to wrap around
her, then they stopped.  She pulled back a bit, looking
quizzically down at him.
     "You're...you're sure about this?" he asked weakly.  A
slow, sly smile crept across Priss' face as she lowered her
head to his, her breath feeling warm and moist on his skin.
She could feel slight, nervous tremors running through him.
     "Trust me; I know what I'm doing," she whispered, just
before her lips fastened onto his again.

THE NEXT DAY.....

     Steam started curling from the spout of the electric
kettle sitting on the counter as Bert quietly stuck the
clean glasses back into their accustomed places in the
cupboards, carefully shutting the door.  Turning, he took
quick glance around his kitchenette again; everything was
already cleaned up and put away.  After all, they hadn't had
a chance to make much of a mess the night before.  He
suddenly flushed at the cascade of memories that boiled up
inside of him, swallowing uncomfortably.  Well, they'd made
a mess, all right, but not the easily solved kind.
     The water started to boil, and he quickly whipped up a
pot of tea.  As he waited for it to steep, he paced back and
forth across his kitchen, trying vainly to figure out just
what he was going to do next.
     The one sure fact of the matter was that nothing was
ever going to be the same; it was just flat-out impossible,
especially given the depth to which he and Priss had
become....involved.  Once Nene found out, hurt was probably
going to be the mildest term one could use to describe her
feelings.  In almost three years of having a relationship,
they'd never gone as far as he had with Priss in just a few
short days.  Hell, in one night.
     He quickly got himself a cup of tea, dumping in milk
and sugar and stirring it up.  Sipping cautiously, he walked
over to the couch and sat down on it, carefully trying to
avoid spilling his hot drink on himself.  Leaning back with
a sigh, he slowly worked his way through the drink, thinking
to himself, trying to analyze just what he was feeling.
After a few moments, he set his mug over on the coffee
table, and leaned back again, putting his head back and
closing his eyes.
     His eyes snapped open, startled, as Priss suddenly slid
into his lap with a rustle of cloth. Her arms went around
him, and before he could say anything, her lips had met with
his in a passionate, sensuous kiss.  His own arms
automatically went around her as he kissed her back.  After
a few moments, she withdrew a bit.
     "Morning, lover," she greeted him in a low, melodic
voice, her lips quirking into a crooked, charming smirk.
Her red-brown eyes had an amused twinkle in them, and her
long, brown hair was hanging loose around her shoulders,
framing her attractive face.  "Sleep well?"
     Bert flushed, partly from the way she'd framed the
question, and partly from the realization that she hadn't
really gotten dressed yet; she was barefoot, and dressed
only in panties and an oversized grey sweater she'd dug out
of his closet from somewhere.  It didn't make her any less
appealing, though, and he forcibly clamped down on the
feelings of desire she was stirring in him again.
     "I slept okay," he replied, blushing a bit.  Priss'
smirk widened into a sly, teasing grin as she watched him.
Bert swallowed, and tried to keep his voice steady.  "Priss,
I think... uh, we need to talk," he stammered.
     "Just talk?" she asked, smiling and languidly running
her hand down the side of his jaw in a gentle caress.  "You
sure that's all you want to do?" she whispered, leaning a
bit closer, her enticing lips scant millimeters from his.
His pulse started picking up a bit.
     "Priss, please," he uttered in a strained-sounding
tone, swallowing.  "I'm serious."
     "That, I think, is part of your problem," she told him,
sighing disgustedly and dropping her hand.  "You're too damn
serious most of the time.  All right, just give me a few
minutes then."  Her lips brushed his again in a quick,
fleeting kiss, and she got off of him, standing up in an
easy, fluid motion.  She stretched briefly, sighed, then
went back into the bedroom, scooping up her clothes from
where they sat in an untidy heap on the floor next to the
couch on the way.
     Bert sighed shakily himself, running a hand through his
hair, snarling it up even worse than it had been before.
Grabbing his mug from where it sat nearby, he quickly
quaffed what remained of the now-cold tea in it, and then
hauled himself out of the couch.  Walking back over to the
kitchenette counter, he refilled his mug.  Sipping at it, he
leaned against the counter.
     After a couple of minutes, the bedroom door opened
again, and Priss re-emerged, pulling her hair back into its
accustomed ponytail, a few strands escaping her to hang down
the sides of her face, as usual.  She was still barefoot,
and wearing his sweater, but she'd pulled on her jeans as
well.  Her eyes caught his as she walked towards him, and a
half-amused, half-resigned expression flitted across her
features.
     "You really are a stick-in-the-mud sometimes, you know
that?" she told him.  Shaking her head, she poured herself a
cup of tea, and adjusted it to suit her tastes.  "I presume
this is about last night?" she inquired, sipping her drink.
     "It is," he confirmed, sighing.  "I think we need to
decide just where we're going to go from here."
     "What's to decide?  You and Nene aren't seeing each
other anymore, so I don't see why you should have a problem
with us having a relationship, or sex."  Bert winced at her
bald phrasing of the situation.
     "It's not that simple, Priss," he replied.  "I wish to
God it was, but it isn't.  I.... we ...."  Bert stopped,
trying to get his whirling thoughts in order.  "I still have
some feelings for Nene," he stated quietly.  "I don't think
it's possible to just cancel out any feelings you've had
about someone else, especially given the length of time we
were dating.  She was having emotional problems when we
split up, and I don't think they've improved any in the
interim."  He sighed, running a hand over his face.  "She's
going to be incredibly hurt when it comes out that we're ...
involved with each other."
     "I told you before," she said gently, "That's going to
happen anyway.  Worrying about it isn't going to change
that, and it's not going to help you any by stewing about
it."
     "I...I know that," he replied painfully.  "But
the...speed... with which we ... got together after our
breakup is going to look suspicious."
     "Suspicious?"
     "Maybe if we'd split on friendly terms I wouldn't be
worrying so much," he told her.  "At least if it had
happened that way, I'd have a clear conscience about
becoming involved with you.  Unfortunately, it's going to
look like I used you to get back at her out of spite, and
that simply isn't true."  Bert took a slug of his drink to
ease the dryness of his mouth, setting the empty mug on the
countertop.  "The other possibility is that it's going to
look like I dumped Nene just so I could start up with you,
as if I was tired of her, which also isn't true."
     "I think you're worrying needlessly," she told him
quietly.  "Okay, so it doesn't look the best; that doesn't
mean everyone's going to automatically assume you're being a
creep.  Anyone who knows you would realize that's not
something you'd do."  She sighed, and finished her drink.
"You've got to stop brooding on it," she continued, setting
her mug aside.  "This isn't like a hardsuit repair, where
you can just change parts and have everything work perfectly
without problems.  These things take time to resolve."  She
came over to him, looking up into his face, meeting his
troubled gaze with a calm one of her own.
     "I know you don't want to hurt Nene," she said softly,
stepping up to him and putting her arms around his waist.
"I don't either.  She's a friend, after all, but there's
some things we just can't avoid, and this is going to be one
of them."  She stretched up and kissed him lightly on the
lips, looking into his eyes as she pulled back.  "Just let
it go, and let whatever's going to happen, happen.  There's
nothing we can do that will prevent it.  I know it sucks,
but life's like that a lot of the time."
     "I...I'll try, but I can't promise anything," he
replied awkwardly.  "You should know by now, though, that I
can't always `just let it go'."
     "Fair enough," she said, a wry smile appearing as she
hugged him warmly.  "And I do know, trust me on that score."
Bert hugged her back, drawing a measure of comfort and
strength from the contact.  After a few moments, Priss
gently broke the embrace, and stepped back slightly.
     Reaching around him, she snagged his mug and her own,
refilling them and stirring in portions of milk and sugar.
Handing him his drink, her eyes met his, then slanted
towards the couch area.  His eyes followed her wordless
indication, and he nodded slowly, sipping at his tea.  She
carefully carried her beverage over to the couch, waiting
for him to sit down first.  After he'd eased himself into
the couch cushions, she sat next to him and nestled a little
closer, leaning against him.  He hesitated a moment, then
slid an arm across her shoulders.  She gave him a quick
smile, and they sat there like that for a few minutes,
drinking and enjoying the quiet feel of each other's
company.
     "Well, we can't sit here all morning, as pleasant as
that option sounds," Bert finally sighed, glancing at the
clock.  He started to sit up, taking his arm from around her
shoulders.  "I'll get some breakfast put together and
then...."  His voice cut off as Priss shoved him back into
the couch, standing up long enough to drop her cup on the
coffee table, turn around, and then sit on top of him with
her legs straddling his lap.  Before he could protest, her
lips were on his, moving delightfully.  As she kissed him,
she slid a hand down his arm, and gently but firmly removed
his empty mug from his grasp, dropping it off to the side on
the carpeted floor with a muffled thud.
     "Wha..?!" he gasped for breath as she withdrew a bit.
"Priss?!"
     "Well, you said we couldn't just sit here," she
replied, her lips quirking into a sly smile again.  "I
figured this was a good alternative."
     "Oh, it's good all right," he agreed, looking
uncomfortable.  "But don't you think we should maybe...."
Her lips melded with his again for a moment, muffling his
words.  "...tone it down a bit?" he finished breathlessly as
she paused for air.  Irritation flickered across her face
for a moment.
     "Why?" she asked bluntly, looking into his eyes.  "You
said you love me, right?"
     "Right," he admitted.
     "Well, I..." she paused, and suddenly flushed.  "Well,
I'm in love with you, too," she told him, flushing again; it
was the first time she'd ever actually said the words, and
it felt ... funny, somehow.  At the same time, it also felt
right.  "I'm in love with you and I want to be with you,"
she repeated fiercely.   "That clear enough?"
     "Yes," he replied slowly, "but..." He took a deep
breath, and looked into her eyes.  "I don't want this
relationship to be based only on physical attraction," he
said awkwardly.  "I want it to be more than that.  I'm in
love with *you*," he emphasized, reaching up and gently
caressing her cheek. "Not just your body, but your
personality as well." He suddenly blushed furiously.  "Am I
making sense to you at all?" he finished plaintively.  "I
love you, damnit, but I don't want sex to be the only reason
we started this relationship.  I'd....I'd like to think we
have more than that."
     "I'd like to think we do, too," she replied, smiling at
him and running a hand through his hair.  "Let's give it a
bit more time before we start worrying about that, though,
okay?"  She leaned down and kissed him gently, sliding her
arms around his neck.  His arms went around her waist
without hesitation as he kissed her back, leaning into it.
"There's nothing wrong with having some fun, though," she
added a moment later as they parted a bit.  An amused glint
appeared in his greenish-brown eyes for the first time as he
smiled warmly at her, shaking his head a bit.
     "I guess I could live with that," he conceded.  Priss'
smile became sensuous.
     "I'm so glad you agree," she breathed, kissing him
deeply again.
                            ****