******************

Title: Sustenance

Author: ebonbird

Comments & Criticism: Yes, please. Via private email

preferably to ebonbird@hotmail.com

Summary: The first in a series of stories regarding

the science ninja team Gatchaman before they were the science

ninja team.

Disclaimer: Ken, Ryu, Jinpei, Jun, Joe, the Asakura's,

and Dr/Hakase Kozaburo Nambu all belong to Tatsunuko

productions and are used without permission.

Dedication:  To Micky and JL, beautiful boys both.





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******************





1.



It started with what the people he lived with called breakfast.



He woke late, as was usual for him when school was out,

and hopped over to his house slippers, his feet cringing

from the floor tiles.  He couldn't believe he'd had to

wear sweats to bed last night; but it was a cool summer

and he was in a refrigerator of a house.



He headed off to the kitchen in search of something

to eat.



He could tell that the house was empty.  It had that

quiet feel.  From what he could see of the grounds as

he strolled down the long jalousie-windowed walkway that

connected the west wing to the rest of the house, the

others were no where near him.



Joe watched as a stiff wind blew a seagull to a standstill.

Its wings beat hard and quick and it gained a few feet.

Shrieking, the gale redoubled its efforts, shoving the bird

out of sight, and pushing a few trees parallel with the ground.

Pitying the bird, Joe shook his head.  There had to be

better places to kill a couple of weeks of vacation.



In the kitchen, which was a little less frigid than his

bedroom, he found a note next to a covered tray:



 We saved you some breakfast.

 We've gone swimming.

  Find us if you can,

  otherwise,

  see you at lunch.



He checked the clock and saw that it was a little after

ten.



He pulled the striped cloth from the tray revealing

soup, white rice and a two small fish--- both of which

were eyeballing him.



He made a face.  He wasn't in a mood for lunch.



He flicked the cloth back over the tray.



A search of the pantry and cupboards failed to turn up

anything remotely satisfying, not even dry cereal.  He

did find a sheaf of sesame cracker and briefly considered

crumbling them in a bowl and eating them with milk, but

discarded that idea when he discovered a half jar of Nutella.

Unfortunately, there was no bread, not even breadsticks.



His hand made a fist and hit the door frame of the pantry.

Fine, he thought.  Miso soup and rice would have to do.

He might he as well fix himself an egg and call it brunch.



He fried an egg with little enthusiasm and threw it on

a plate, uncovered the tray and studied his 'brunch'.



Back when he was kid, breakfast would never have included

this lousy excuse for rice.  They all had sweet tooths, he

and his mother and father, and starting off a hot summer's

day with an ice cream filled brioche had not been uncommon.



Brioche.  They hadn't called them brioches in Sicily.  He'd

found the word in a French cook book, next to a picture

that tightened his throat and made his mouth water.  Mama

used to make them at night, and serve them at breakfast the

following day.  She always made lots, expecting that her men

would discipline themselves and make the pastries last the

week, but it never worked out that way.  If there were brioches

around for more than three days after mama made them it

wasn't because her men had exercised proper self-discipline,

it was because mama had screwed up the baking somehow.

He could remember his father splitting brioches in half and

drying them in the oven.  Then filling them with chocolate

cream (homemade) and dusting them with powdery sugar.



Poor man's profiteroles, papa called them.  Everybody,

because the Asakura's had had a lot of friends back then,

would eat them between and after meals as snacks and

desserts.



Joe ate one of the fish.  He forgot what they were called,

but they were small, shiny, hairy and dry.  He could deal

with those, but he when it came to fish he only wanted

tuna, and he wanted it in garlic and olive oil, not grilled

in soy bean paste.



Growing up he had the option of turning his nose up at either

veal, tuna, or sausage.  He could remember sitting at the

dinner table and twirling dry pasta in his plate with his fork

while his parents started in on their entrees.  They'd ignore him:

actually papa would ignore him, mama would steam quietly

until his father would make some comment like:  'Giorgi, you

look kinda pale?' Then he'd address mama, 'Doesn't Giorgi look

a little pale?" Then back to Giorgi, 'You hungry, Giorgi?  Maybe

you want something else to eat?' and then to his wife, 'Maybe

there's something else in the kitchen Giorgi could eat?  He

looks a little pale.'



Rubbing his temples, Joe grinned. She always made a big

production of fixing him a special plate.  'Picky, so picky!

If you weren't so strong and handsome, already," she might

say, 'I'd swear you were a girl.'



And papa would wink as soon as mama's back was turned.



Back then his dinner would be whatever was left over from the

antipasto (which vexed his mama to no end, "a growing boy

needs hot food for strong bones") and his pasta, which by

then was also cold, she'd drizzled with garlic and olive

oil so it wouldn't stick together so much.



What mama didn't know was that much later, when everyone

was supposed to be asleep, he'd sneak back to the kitchen

and snack on whatever she'd served for main course, chortling

to himself as he stuffed his face and all the flavors burst

cold and delicious in his mouth.



He just hadn't liked hot meals back then.



Breakfast, on the other hand, any breakfast mama put in front

of him was eaten with gusto.



Joe looked down and saw that his 'breakfast' was partially

eaten.  He'd broken his egg on top of his rice.  Bright

yolk clung to glutinous grains and adhered to the sides of

the bowl.  A headless fish lay between his chopsticks.  The

other was already gone.  He swallowed and lay his chopsticks

against their rest, having suddenly lost his appetite.



Joe liked fish, but not for breakfast and especially not if

the fish were of this type.



He cleared away his breakfast dishes and headed off for

the bathroom.



He stared at the furo, the deep tub of heated water, with

longing, then turned to glare at the shower head that hung

on a hook.  Stacked beneath it were a couple of wash buckets

and bath stools.



Over the last couple of years he'd gotten used to the drill.

Soap up, scrub down, rinse off completely in cold, then soak

in hot and since it was summertime, the owners of the house

had shut off the hot water and Nambu hadn't bothered to

put it back on.  Fuck it.  He'd had a 'proper' breakfast.

He could indulge and have a real bath.



Almost an hour later, pink scrubbed and glowing, Joe

went in search of Nambu and the boys.  Last night they'd

talked about going swimming.  Joe passed through room

after room until he came to the patio.  The coral

flagstones gleamed like bone and the pool, which was

long and deep and blue, looked about as inviting as ---

he grinned --- a bucket, a bath stool and a shower-head.



Thinking of which, he had to refill the furo, or Nambu

would throw a fit.



Outside turned out to be several degrees warmer than

indoors.  Which was a bitch because it meant the damn

house was really cold.



The wind had subsided, just a bit, and sunlight, which

from indoors had seemed watery, promised a strong-lit

afternoon.  The few clouds in the sky were mere dimples

in the smile of a beautiful day.



No wonder the others had cleared out so early, it was a

good day to go exploring.  Had he known the weather would

have turned out so nice he would have made it a point to

join them.  Common sense and his tracking skills told him

that the others had taken the north-south path off of the

hill.



The more he walked, the more the path sloped.  The more the

path sloped, the less the wind blew.  The less the wind blew, the

warmer it got. until he had to take off his jacket and sweat stuck

the fabric of his dark t-shirt to his back.



When he reached the bottom of the trail it was downright

hot.  He cursed not dressing for the weather.



He blamed the house.  It looked all right, and commanded at least

three kick-ass views, but it messed with a person's head, making

him think he needed at least a wind-breaker to go outside.

Wasn't a house supposed to shelter a person from the cold?



And then there was the window thing.  Except for the kitchen,

which was pretty normal, the house was a study in extremes.

Either there were lots of windows, or nothing.  Take the bedrooms

he, Ryu and Ken were sleeping in.  All they had were these little

rectangles set near the ceilings.  But the connecting hallway, and

it was just that, a connecting hallway, no pictures, no interesting

plants, was like an terrarium.  Some person had had the bright idea

laying gravel in the recesses against the wall and sticking

bigger rocks on top of that.  Every time he walked through it,

he thought of Jinpei's little reptiles.

From what he could tell, the six of them were the only people

around.  A little creepy, he thought, as he walked along.  The

forest on either side of him was a seamless gray-green.

Occasionally he saw a flash of movement, drunk with color,

from the corner of his eye.



About a mile down the main path he heard the sounds of

swimming.



He followed the noise off onto a track that dropped sharply

away from the road.  Joe slid a little, down the short incline

before the track leveled off.  Here the air was almost steamy.

He could not believe the crazy weather!  The other voices

were much clearer.  He could hear Dr. Nambu's laughter.



Of the guys only Jun wasn't swimming.  She sat braced

against a large flat rock, her thin little legs crossed at the

ankle as she read a thick magazine.  Wearing that huge

pink sun hat she almost looked like a girl.



Jinpei, who stood on a tree branch across the water, was

clutching a rope in his hands.  He noticed Joe and screamed,

"Joe!!!  Look!!!!  I'm gonna McFarlane!"



Nambu and the older boys stopped what they were doing and

also hailed Joe. Nambu noticed that the teenager had not

dressed for swimming.  He held back a sigh and tried to

be happy that Joe had come at all.



Meanwhile, as Nambu watched Joe, Joe watched Jinpei.



The small boy sprang off the branch.  Mimicking Spiderman,

he swung out with his legs bent at either side of his body.

He bent, then straightened so that his legs were stretched

out behind him.  Still swinging, he let go of the rope,

executed two flips and dove cleanly into the water.



Ryu and Ken who'd been seeing the like all morning, yelled

encouragement anyway.  Jun whistled and clapped her hands.



Nambu watched Joe smile in genuine appreciation.  The

expression of pride and joy was fleeting.  As soon as

Jinpei's head popped out of the water Joe reassumed his

blase facade.



"Did ya see?!!" hollered the youngest, "Did ya see?!!" over

the other kids cheering.



"Pretty good, shrimp," grudged Joe.



Jinpei boy preened, his chest puffing out.  His face seemed

to glow.  Then Ryu grabbed him and hurled him into the water,

splashing Nambu and Ken and starting a water-fight.



"Geeks," Joe muttered as Jinpei was launched into the

air again, this time by Nambu --- "this is the proper way

to throw a colleague, Ryu --- Ken, take note!" --- and

stretched out atop the rock to sit beside Jun.



He looked over her shoulder.  "Whoah!!!" he said, when

he saw what she held on her lap, "Is that the new special

double-issue of _Racing World_?!"



"Yes."



"COOL!"  Joe made a grab for the magazine with one

hand while the other clutched her shoulder.



"Hey!" Jun bopped him.  "That's my magazine!"



He rubbed his head, "I just wanted to see the table of

contents!"



"I was going there to see if there was anything you

were interested in seeing!" she yelled. "You're so

impatient," she pulled the magazine out of his loose

grip.



He let go of the magazine and rested his head on her

shoulder, "Sorry."



She glanced at him askance and paged to table of contents,

"It's ok."



"I won't do it again."



His head stayed on her shoulder.



Both Jun's eyebrows rose but she refrained from comment.

She found the page and spread it open, "I haven't looked

at the article on the new racing engines.  Would you like

to look at that?"  She had to crane her neck to meet his

eyes, so close was his head to hers.



"Sure," he replied and in minutes they were deeply

engrossed in the article.



Nambu had to call for lunch several times, but it took Jinpei

to bring them back to the waterside.  He flicked water at them,

dampening Joe's arm and a gorgeous double page cross-

section of the Daewoo that was never made so that it ripped

in Joe's hand.



Joe sprang off the rock and took after the small boy at a

dead-run knocking the magazine out of Jun's hand grinning like

a shark.  Off went the boy, barefoot and bare-chested, still in

his wet trunks and also grinning like a shark.



"Jinpei!" Jun yelled.  "Come back here and put some clothes

on!"



Jinpei screamed something about big boys not needing to listen

to dumb girls and kept running.



"Joe!"



He ignored her, too.



"Leave him alone!"



Both boys disappeared over the rise.  Jun grabbed up

Jinpei's stuff and followed.



The remaining three dried off and changed into their

clothes.



"I hope Joe doesn't chase him all the way to the house like

that,"  Ken said with concern.



"Jinpei can take care of himself.  Why would you worry

about it?" Ryu asked.



Nambu supplied the answer, "Because he's prone to ear

infections and he'll probably catch cold."



They heard several loud shouts and Jun's high-pitched

command to stop.



"Joe really should know better," Ken said.



Ryu gave him a look.



Nambu nodded in assent.  There was a high-pitched squeal ---

probably Joe catching up to Jinpei --- followed by a slightly

deeper one --- probably Jinpei getting loose somehow.



"I might as well start preparing that lecture now."



Ryu and Ken exchanged looks, unsure as to whether Nambu

was making a joke.



Later on, Dr. Nambu had to administer that lecture with

modifications.  Modifications that added another ten

minutes to Joe's sitting time.  Modifications that had

everything to do with the water Nambu found pooling

in the drive way.



Not only had Joe chased Jinpei into exhaustion but

he'd forgotten to shut off the water in the bathroom

when he'd re-filled the furo.





~~~~~~~~~~~~

2.



Joe seethed as he wrung out the last rag.  Even if

leaving the water running when he refilled the furo

was his fault, there was no reason to take away his

privilege of sleeping late in the mornings.



It wasn't like he was in the military or nothing.



He squinted skyward and saw that the sun hung low

in the west.  Already the light had mellowed.



Shit.  He'd have to hurry.



He checked the bathroom and affected hallways, saw

that they were as dry as they'd been before he'd flooded

the house.  Yelled that he was leaving and headed out.

He passed the glassed in walkway at a run.  Ryu was

bundled up in a sweater and jeans.  He waved.  Joe didn't

wave back.  He was still mad at Ryu.  Ryu, like the others

hadn't helped to restore the house to rights.



If there was one thing he liked about this part of the

vacation, it was his sunset place.  There was a narrow

screen of trees, right by the cliffs edge through which

he could see all the way to the coast.  As far as he could

tell only he knew about it.  He'd found it the first

day there, and every late afternoon he made his way to

the spot where stone wall met flaking branch.  When he

spotted the tree his stride lengthened, but then he saw

that his spot was already occupied and drew up in

disappointment.



Jun had found his place.



She sat cross-legged, oblivious to him.  The light dipped

her amber except where it skimmed of the contours of her

face and neck the color of white-gold.



"You're in my spot," Joe said.



Jun's head whipped around.  She wore a smile of welcome,

which faded when she saw that he was upset.  "There's

room for the both us. . ."



Joe stepped up beside her and gave her a dark look out

of the corner of his eye.  As scary looks went it ranked

pretty high.



"Fine," she said, and swung off the edge one-handed, "be

a jerk.  Hog the sunset."



She couldn't take her eyes off it, though.



Joe made a noise, a sharp exhale that rattled against

the back of his throat and sprang up onto the ledge.



He put his hand atop hers, "Stay."



Currents of hot pink began to appear in the sky.



"I don't want to hog the sunset."



She bit her lip, hesitating.



"Please?" he added out of the side of his mouth.  He

kept his eye on the sky as she climbed up beside him.

She had to lean close in order to get the full view.



Crickets whined their melodies and the occasional insect

winged its way around them.  The wind, much gentler than

that morning, blew the clouds far out into the sea, the

sun slipped like an egg behind thin swath of cloud.



Joe's stomach made its emptiness known.



"Was that you?" Joe asked, "who made that completely

unfeminine sound?"



She giggled before answering.  "No, but I've got some

dried squid if you want," and pulled a bag of said

snack out of her pocket.



"Unh-hunh," Joe said, "disgusting."



"What's wrong with it?" she asked, nibbling on a few strands.



"You mean what's right with it.  One day, Jun, I'm gonna

introduce you and the guys to real snacks."



"You mean Italian ones?" Jun asked.



"The Italians like to take credit for them.  I'm talkin' 'bout

Stuff like pizzeli, cannoli, torta al mascarpone, panna

cotta, profiterole, cannoli, buccino, zabaglione.  Did I

mention cannoli?"



The strange words rolled pleasantly against her ears.

"I think so.  What were all the names again?"



Joe leaned back and took a deep breath.  His voice was

thoughtful, reverent, "Pizzelis, these really thin cookies

that melt in your mouth.  They look like lace.  And then

there's torta al marscapone, better than any cheese cake.

My mother, she used buy panna cotta al caramello from

the bakery for special occasions---"



"What a pretty name..."



"Panna cotta al caramello?  Yeah, I guess it is.  But that

stuff was really for special occasions.  One day we're gonna

have to go back to Sicily, all of us in the summertime, just to

eat profiteroles. You'll never call dried squid a real snack

again.  Profiteroles are light little balls of dough that taste like

lemon and sugar and chocolate and cream ... all at once---"



Your favorites, Jun thought, her eyes drifting from the

glorious sky to Joe's face.



"And there's always canolli," he was saying, "Smooth and rich

on the inside, crispy on the outside..."



She liked how happy he looked.  He didn't grin like a shark, he

grinned like Ken.  Joe fell silent, glancing at her out of the corner

of his eye.



She turned to catch the last of the sunset.  "Canolli," she

said, squinting into the distance, her cropped hair rippling

like grass in the light breeze, "is that like tempura ice-cream?"



Joe made another face.  "Never in a hundred years.  A

cannoli is like," he frowned, and while he frowned dusk

rolled over the last vestiges of the day, "cannoli is like a

sweet round wheat flour cracker filled with a special kind

of cheese and candied fruit and nuts."



"Cheese?" Jun turned to look at him, "like on pizza?"



"Yeah," he said matter-of-factly, "sweetened with sugar."



She made a face, "And you think dry squid is bad."



"It is!"



A cold wind blew in from the sea.  "Whatever, all this talk

about dinner has made me hungry."



Joe's stomach rumbled.  Jun jumped down and held out

her hand.  "C'mon, let's go back before you starve to death."







~~~~~~~~~~~~



3.





His name meant extremely peaceful and his nature was as

peaceful as that of many little boys his age, for like many

little boys his age he knew not the meaning of fear and

had no respect for gravity.  As such he was at peace in

almost any situation, now matter how loud, violent or strange.



A times it made living with him a frightful thing.



Tonight, however, he was just a slightly ill little boy.



He stood at the head of his sister's bed, one of his bare feet

crossed over the other, hoping in a fevered sort of way that

the waves of misery rolling off of him would wake her up and

bring her to his rescue.



It wasn't working.



"Oneechan," he said, his voice transparently thin in the

cold air.  "Oneechan," he said a fraction louder.  He wiped

at his nose with his sleeve, "Oneechan?"



No answer.



He tugged at the thick material near her head with tentative

fingers and got no reaction.



OK, he'd have to talk a little louder.  He bent closer to her

ear, "Oneechan!"



Still she slept.



The boy blew on his cold fingers as he considered his

options.  He could either go back to sleep or he could

take care of his business himself.   He wiped at his nose

again and then, to his surprise, he sneezed loudly--- and

wetly.



His sister came awake with a start.



Oh-oh.



"Jinpei?" she croaked as if from the bottom of a deep well.



"Please---" he said, "Oneechan, I want some milk."



There was a long silence.  Jun was very much aware that

as cold as the air on her face was making her, she'd be a lot

colder if she got up to either put Jinpei back into bed or

get him milk.  Finally Jun spoke, "Go back to bed; you're

not thirsty."



Jinpei pulled the covers away from his sister's head, "Yes,

I am."



"What about---" Jun croaked.  She licked her dry lips and

tried again, "What about the water I put on the table next

to you?"



"It's frozen," he whispered his breath clouding the air

between them.



"Frozen?"



Jun closed her eyes.  Maybe if she ignored him he'd go

away.



He flung her sheets and blankets aside and crawled in next

to her.  He hadn't done that in weeks.



Her expression softening Jun asked, "Shouldn't you be

in bed?"



"I am," he whispered snuggling down next to her.  "You

smell nice, Oneechan."



Jun smiled ruefully, "Suck-up."



"I think I have a fever," he said in his smallest voice.



Jun and pressed her lips to his forehead, then checked

with her hand.  He had no such thing.  "Just go back to

bed, Jinpei."



He shook his head and latched his arm around hers.



"I thought you were too old to share a bed with me?"

asked Jun.



"I am.  You're bed's warm..."



Jun gazed at him with mock gravity.



He was too tired to understand her expression.  "Just don't

tell my anikis."  His eyes drifted shut.



"Because you're a big boy?"  Jun asked softly.



"...yeah..."



"'kay, Jinpei," Jun said moving closer to the wall to give

him more room.



Folding his hands beneath his chin Jinpei looked up at

her, "Milk, please?" he asked working it, "With sugar

and 'nilla?"



"I'm tired Jinpei," Jun whined, then hissed as he wedged

his icy feet between the mattress and her warm flesh.  The

sensation made her skin crawl.  She had to get out of bed,

now.  Bastard.  "You know sometimes I hate you, right?"

she groused as she grappled with the covers and got out

of the bed.  The chill air cut through her pajamas like a

dagger.  Fast as she could she pulled on her robe, then

jerked Jinpei's much smaller one around her shoulders.



Watching her, Jinpei rolled into the warm place she'd left

behind and drew the covers around him with a contented

sigh.  "Thank you, 'Neechan."  His eyelashes fluttered

closed, "you're the best."



Rubbing her shoulders and hopping from foot to foot she

glared down at him, "Really hate you."  Jinpei smiled

placidly.  She tucked him in, saw that his glass of water was

indeed frozen over the top, checked his bed, saw that his

sheets  were slightly damp (so, he had had a fever) transferred

his box of tissues to her bedside, and shuffled to the kitchen.



Man, she thought as she made her way down the darkened

hall, heater's probably broken.  Her breath dragonned ahead

of her.  She shook her head:  the things she did for love.



Light rimmed the shut door, warm and beckoning.  She

pushed through and found Joe sitting at the counter,

wrapped in a quilt and pouring over a thick cook-book.

There was a mug of something near his hand.



He squinted at her through his shaggy bangs, "Hey,"



"Hi," Jun mumbled and shuffled over to a likely looking set

of cupboards, "I'm heating milk.  You want some?"



"Uh, no," his quilt slipped off one of his shoulders.  "That's

ok --- Thanks."



Jun bent to get out a double-boiler.  "You're up late," she

observed.  She walked over to where he was sitting.  "What

is that?  A cook-book?"



"Yeah.  Found it," he turned and pointed, "there."



"Hmm," she hummed thoughtfully and went to the refrigerator.



"What?"  Joe asked.



"I didn't think you were the cooking type.  What are you

making?"



"Just reading about it --- making stuff."



"Like?"  she walked past Joe on the way to the spice-rack.

He watched her fingers as plucked the vanilla extract and

what looked like nutmeg from the little metal shelves.



His eyebrow flicked upwards for a fraction of a second.

He unleashed a small sigh. "Cannolis."



"Oh." Jun slipped the extract and nutmeg into a pocket

of her robe.  "An Italian cookbook?"



He nodded.



She turned to look behind her at the sink.  She frowned.

She should have taken the boiler when she went to get the

spices so she could fill it with tap water. That would have

been more efficient.



Joe watched as she turned her sleepy head from the

cooking range, to the sink, to the cooking range, and

to the sink again.  "You need any help?" he asked.



She blinked at him, as if seeing him for the first time that

night "...no. . .thank you.  Don't mind me," and turned her

back to him and turned on the range.



Joe shrugged and bent back to the cookbook, reading

the list of ingredients for what had to be the tenth time that

evening.  Try as he might he could not remember his mother

shopping for cannoli stuff.  Those ingredients, he imagined,

had always been readily on hand:  ricotta, candied fruit,

hazelnuts, fruit sugar, vanilla  extract . . .  Where was he

going to find ricotta?



Jun, who was in the process of pouring enough milk for

herself and Jinpei, heard him sigh and poured enough

for three.  She set the range on low flame, sat down

beside Joe and shoved her legs under the table cloth.



"You miss Sicily," she said sliding close to him and

propping her elbows on the table.



"Yeah," he said in a quiet voice, "Sometimes."



The children sat shoulder to shoulder, the opened cook-

book before them.  Two kitchen clocks, one on the range,

and another above the sink, ticked against one another

in slow, steady rhythm.  Joe watched the gas flames of the

range lick against the bottom of the copper bottomed

double-boiler.



"I'm sorry," she said.



There really was no point in going back to Sicily if his

parents weren't there.  "It's okay," he replied.



She stretched out her arms and rested her head against

them while yawning mightily.  She shuddered once, than

again.



"You want some of this blanket?"  Joe asked.



"Thanks," Jun said and ducked under the offered edge.

She linked her arm through his.  He squeezed really

tightly on hers with his own then untensed his muscles.

They hunched over the table, making themselves very

small, creating warmth.  Eventually, Jun's shivers

stopped and the thin ache that had set in Joe's hands

runnelled away.  He hadn't even known he'd been that

uncomfortable.



They watched the blue gas flames lick the bottom of the

pan.  The timer on the kitchen light expired immersing

them in bright dark.  With the fluorescents off they could

see how moonlight splashed through the skylight and onto

the kitchen tiles.



Curls of steam rose from the milk pan.



Jun wasn't watching.  She had her head pillowed on her arm

and her eyes were closed.



"Milk's ready," Joe offered and nudged her.



Jun disentangled herself from him and limped over to the

range, "I think my foot's asleep,"  she said yawning.



"I think we're both asleep."



She gave a slight shrug and flavored the milk.



He checked the time --- midnight.



"You sure you don't want any?" she asked as she pulled

out three mugs.  "There's enough for three people."



"No thanks."



She exchanged the three mugs for two extra-tall ones,

leaned against the counter and poured milk, yawning all the

while.



He got up and took the mugs from her, "How 'bout you

sit here and finish your milk, and I take this to Jinpei?"



Jun smiled, "That would be nice.  Thank you."



She sat listening to the clocks tick some more and

considered which pots she'd wash first.  Joe returned.

From the way he held the mug she could tell it was

still full.



"He was asleep, wasn't he?" she asked.



"Yep."



She absorbed the news without comment.  Joe sniffed at

the mug.  It smelled good.



"What's in this?" he asked.



"Sugar, vanilla extract --- nothing fancy."



He took a small sip, encountered the skin, slurped that up

and took a proper swallow.  It tasted sweet and smooth with

a small hint of vanilla.



His voice was hoarse when he spoke.  Probably from the milk

Jun decided.



"This is uh-- pretty good.  Thank you."



"You welcome."



They drank in silence.



"Jinpei's in your bed, you know."



"I know."



Joe tried again, "Where are you going to sleep?"



"On his bed, probably."



"But isn't it all germy?"



"I'll make it up before I sleep on it."



Joe chuckled, "That little shit is really putting you out,

hunh?"



"Thanks to you, yes," her voice tinkled icily.



"Sorry."



Jun cocked her head at him.  "I don't think I've ever

heard you say sorry, please and thank you as much as I

have today."



Joe hid behind a long drink of warm milk.  Jun finished hers

and when he was done, took his mug and set it with all the

other dirty things in the washer.



"C'mon, you can help me make the little shit's bed," she

said and took his hand, clicking off the kitchen light as

they crossed over into the dark hall.  Joe gathered his

quilt with one arm. Only their hands remained warm as they

made their hurried way back to Jun and Jinpei's room.



The little boy slept like an angelic being, beneath a higher

mound of blankets than Jun remembered.  She looked over at

his bed, and saw that aside from the sheets and a

pillow, it was bare.



"Opportunist," Jun said sotto voce, echoing a phrase

Dr. Nambu often used.



"I did that," Joe replied at similar volume. "I-uh thought

he looked cold."



"I'll go find some blankets.  Sheets," she pointed, "are

in that drawer," and before Joe could say another word

she was gone.



Joe changed the bed, and with a grimace dumped them in the

hamper.



Still no Jun.  He sat on top of partially made bed, until the

chill drove him between the sheets.  He draped his comforter

over the top sheet and shivered into relative warmth.



He fell asleep to the sound of Jinpei's breathing.



On the third try he came awake with a start.  Jun stood

over him, dressed only in her pajamas and biting her lip.



Oh, man . . . don't tell me I have to get up... I'm so warm.



"Joe..."



"I'm sorry, Jun," Joe rolled into a sitting position.  "I guess

I fell asleep.  My room's all the way on the other side of the

house---"



She rolled her eyes, "Forget about it, just move over."



He blinked.



Jigging in place, she hissed, "Move over before I freeze!"



He moved over, but not before noticing that she'd piled

three quilts on top of him.  They fit together like spoons,

which was not, in their case, very comfortable.



Especially for Joe.



"Maybe," he said spitting hair out of his mouth, "maybe if

I. . ." he turned and faced the wall.



"No, that's not right," Jun said and turned around, but

if felt strange to have her face pressed into his back.

Almost as funny as it felt funny to have her butt pressed

against his.



They tried again.  The bed sighing as their limbs moved and

their weight shifted.  Several whispered instructions and one

muffled yell later they found their fit.  They were both

slightly sweaty and lay shoulder to shoulder, Jun's leg

flung over Joe's and their hands intercurled.



There, thought Joe.



Much better, thought Jun.



And off they went to sleep.



That's how it started, with what the people he lived with

called breakfast, and his attempt to make it into brunch.





******************

******************

Author's Note:

The story takes place before the kagaku ninja tai/Science

Ninja Team Gatchaman are put on active duty against

Galactor.  Joe and Ken are 14, Ryu's 13, and Jun's 12 and

Jinpei, Jun's adopted brother, is around seven.  Dr. Nambu

is the team mentor and guardian of Jinpei, Joe, Jun and Ken.



Please email me at ebonbird@hotmail.com and let me know w

hat you think.



******************

******************





"I hate women who say pretty=stupid. They're really misogynistic

men in drag."

~~~BeckyD



ebonbird's fan fic cache http://ebonbird.tripod.com

the storm Archive http://ebonbird.tripod.com/stormarchive.html



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