Title: Between II - The Long Walk 1/10

Author: ebonbird (ebonbird@hotmail.com)

Summary: This is the sequel to "Between" which is

available @ http://ebonbird.tripod.com/stories.htm.

Though based upon episodes 89-104 of Gatchaman I this

story only loosely follows those events.

Contributing tunes: Time Has Come Today - The Chambers

Brothers; Pusher Man - Curtis Mayfield; Spanish Eyes - Back

Street Boys; Never Can Say Goodbye - Jackson Five; All I

Want - Angel Moon; Plenty - Sarah McLachlan; Mighty Love -

The Spinners; Gymnopedie 1, 2 and 3 - Eric Satie; Could I Be

Your Girl - Jann Arden; Ooh Child - The 5 Stairsteps; Paint It

Black - The Rolling Stones.

Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me. They

are used without permission. Tatsunuko, Co. Leave me

be, this is flattery.

Comments & Criticism: yes, please.



Thanks to BeckyD, Lori McDonald, Naa Dei-Nikoi, John

Duffin, Sal, Stephanie Wilson, Wildcat & Kim Wylie

for beta-reading and encouragement.





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





The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have miles to go before I sleep.

And miles to go before I sleep.

-Robert Frost, "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening"







1.



The night was the color of insurmountable distances and

he'd walked home cruel, making her take two steps for

each of his one, and it was cold in the shadow strewn

cabin, the couch cheap and lumpy, but Joe didn't mind.

The girl in his lap held him close. Her name was Jun. He

had known her for most of his life and she smelled

wonderful; the warmth and weight of her against his

chest and arms and pelvis unexpectedly right.





She'd found him at the crossroads of the Catalina

Highway and one of the state roads.



He'd tried to ignore her. She'd put her palm to his face,

questioning him with a breath-thin touch. He'd had to

close his eyes and for the first time in hours his mind had

not shown him his parents broken and bleeding on the

sand. Their assassin looming over them, lower lip

gleaming and perverse as she laughed and laughed;

lipstick smudge on one side twisted front tooth; yellow

hair thick and tattered in the wind; a rose, too red, too

large and too still to be natural, cupped in her hand.



He kissed Jun harder. She curled around him like a

flower, wrapping him in softness and the satin rustling of

her hair. He heard the rasp of her tongue over the

stubble on his chin. Remembered the caw of a dozen

seagulls on a beach thousands of miles away.





"Joe," she breathed.



He answered to 'Joe.' Signed official documents 'Joe'.

But the name, said that way, by her mouth, in those

circumstances reminded him that when he was eight

years old he'd had a different name and lived in

another country.



Still Jun wept, hiding her face behind her hands like a

little girl.



He concentrated. Formed the word with precision. Said,

"Jun," his voice a little hoarse.



Jun's weeping surged into a wail, diminished. The mask

of her hands tightened, drawing his attention to the path

of her tears. Silver scar over gray velvet cheeks

vanished behind the tender point of her chin,

Reappeared as stray drops slicking her belly, starring the

fly of her jeans and his.



Heat gathered in his chest.



Joe put his hand to his jaw. Rubbed his face. Inhaled.

There was a smell. It was on his fingers, in his hair. He

inhaled softly and found that it was in his mouth. He lifted

his hand and settled it on the inner bend of her elbow, left

it there for a moment before sliding it up the length of her

upper arm. Joe closed his hand around her shoulder,

cleared his throat, and said with more insistence, "Jun."



Behind her straggling hair her lips thinned. "When were

you and Nambu going to tell us?"



"We weren't."



"Oh." A short harsh sound crumbled from her throat. "You

had a plan."



Yep. Less than a day ago Joe had had a plan. Aside from

the unmasking Berg Katse part, the plan went to shit.

Nambu got captured by Galactor. Joe got his cover

blown. Ken had to save the day and Katse got away.



"Nambu's a great one for secret plans."



Another short harsh sound, a nasty almost laugh

followed by words in a minuscule whisper, "Jokes."

She inhaled, her breath rotten with incipient tears.



Joe watched as his fingers touched themselves to her

cheek, smoothed back her hair. The thumb, the thumb of

his left hand, smoothed itself onto the divot in her chin.

Their eyes met over his uncertain touch.



"There isn't anything we can do, is there?" she said, her

eyes huge and wet and pleading, but it wasn't a question.



"Fuck it," he whispered. Moisture dampened the corners

of his eyes. He shut them tight.



The couch creaked. Felt Jun's weight shift, her arms

brush his shoulders. She seized the cushion behind his

back. She hauled herself tight against him, plowing over

the worst of the deep tissue bruises on his thigh.

Sensation, delicious and harsh shattered across his

senses. His mouth opened on a gasp. He forced his hand

into it.



In silence Jun wrapped herself around him, arms and

legs and hands. Jun pulled cushions from the couch and

onto the floor. In silence, she lowered herself and Joe

onto them. In silence, Joe made it difficult, holding her

too close, avoiding the lips and thumbs with which she

tried to wipe the wetness from his face. She put her hand

to his chest. Blunt and smooth, his nose grazed her ear;

his breath an artless whispering.



His hand reached between them, found the zip of her fly,

tugged down; separated loosened cloth from skin by

slipping his between them. She helped him, with her

jeans and his; bit her lip at the clank of her belt buckle,

the very loud sound of worn denim and stiff being drawn

along tight skin. He pushed her legs apart. Her eyes were

open. He stopped, turned his face to the cushion they

were lying on and sighed.



Stroking his head, Jun whispered, "It's okay."



Joe looked up at her through the shaggy ruff of his hair

and with immense tenderness kissed her over her heart.





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

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



end 1/10









"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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