In Arrears: Eight

Marin awoke staring into blackened pouch-rimmed eyes of the extremely aged Bookman. The old man was so close that his gray curly ponytail, the only hair on his head, hung over his shoulder and trailed onto the white blankets of the bed.

Marin flinched back. Gross! What a thing to wake up to! He looked around and frowned. He was in a hospital bed. There were vaulted and beamed ceilings high over head and the walls were made of mortared stone. It looked like the medical wing of the new headquarters.

The short and heavily wrinkled, balding man pursed his lips at him. “So, how do you feel, General Cross?”

Marin blinked. How do I feel? Draggy and muzzy-headed, actually. It was a rather familiar feeling. “Like I just woke up from a particularly long drinking binge.” His voice was hoarse and his throat kind of ached. He rubbed at it. Holy crap that was some dream I had! Paying his debts off by playing whore? He hoped to God that he never crawled back into whatever bottle had given him that vision of insanity.

Bookman nodded. “To be expected. The drug they used on you was intended to knock out a horse.” He lifted a familiar-looking cloth-wrapped bundle from the bedside table then hopped down from the white painted ladder-backed chair he’d been standing on. The man was barely tall enough to see over the edge of the bed.

Marin pushed to sit up. “Hey, what’d you do to me?” He rubbed at his eyes and noted absently that he was wearing his gold eye patch rather than his half mask.

Bookman casually tucked the cloth bundle into the collar of his deep blue Chinese tunic. “I used my needles to restore your voice, your hands, and your feet.

Marin froze. It hadn’t been a dream? His hand went to his throat, then he pulled it back to hold both hands in front of his face and made fists. Everything worked like normal. He focused on the gold band around his wrist. Activate.

His pistol bloomed into being in his hand.

Everything definitely worked like normal, as though it actually had been a twisted dream.

“You know, Cross…” Bookman turned to look at him. The set of wrinkles that passed for his eyebrows lifted. “They wouldn’t tell me where they found you.”

Marin bared his teeth at the old man. “Good.” He grabbed the blankets and pulled them off. “Because I’ll kill anyone that does.” He frowned down at the thin hospital robe he’d been put in. “Where are my clothes?”

Bookman pursed his wrinkled lips. “You didn’t have any when you got here.”

Marin scowled at him. “I have clothes in my rooms.”

Bookman smiled. It wasn’t pretty. “What you did have, were rope burns on your wrists, a manacle welt around your ankle, and signs of chafing around your eyes and your throat.”

Marin slapped on his smiling poker face. “You don’t say?” He slid off the bed and stood. Fuck it, I’ll walk to my rooms the way I am. His ankles wobbled under him. He grabbed onto the bed.

Bookman sniffed deeply. “I just restored your hands and feet. Walking may be a bit iffy for a while, especially as it looked to me like they’d been out of commission for about a week.”

Marin tugged on his short hospital robe. “I’ll deal with it.”

Bookman raise one wrinkled finger. “One more thing.”

Marin practically snarled at the little man. “What now?”

Bookman smiled even wider than before, showing his oddly straight teeth. “Nice shave.”

Marin jerked his gaze downward. There, for all the world to see, were his smoothly shaved legs. Marin rolled his eyes. “Son of a bitch!” He ripped the sheet from the bed and wrapped it around his hips. God, damn it, I’m getting dressed now!

He marched barefoot and dragging the sheet out of medical, through the halls and all the way back to his suite with a glare on his face that dared anyone to approach him on pain of death.



Marin sat with his back to his massive lamp-lit desk, hunched deep in his black and gold overcoat, one knee folded over the other with a lit cigarette dangling from his fingertips. He stared through the panes of the tall gothic arched window at the drizzling rain and the darkening sky. Behind him on his desk was a pile of papers that he was supposed to be pushing…writing reports that were more than a few years overdue, reading this, signing that, blah, blah, blah…

He scratched the thigh of his creased black pants, annoyed by the itch from the new hair growing on his legs. Absently, he wondered if he should just shave it all off. He’d already decided to keep his nether regions shaved. He just couldn’t take the feeling of hair being there.

And then there was the other annoyance in his life -- his libido.

With all the shapely young women running around headquarters in tight black clothes, one would expect that he’d have a near constant erection. Nope. His dick had shown no interest in anyone at all. For once in his life, his dick was actually behaving, until he fell asleep. Then the fucker went into overdrive.

Every single night since his return, he’d had painfully erotic dreams about a man whose face he couldn’t see, but whose body he could most definitely feel -- and it wasn’t Fox.

Jerking off before he went to bed hadn’t done anything to stop the dreams, as for some reason, jerking off wasn’t getting him off. Nothing was getting him off. He had no problems getting hard; the problem was finishing. Even his most inspirational titty magazines had been a total loss.

Marin drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair and scowled at his reflection in the window glass. He had no idea what the fuck was wrong with him, but he sincerely hoped his problem fixed itself soon. He was sick and tired of changing his sheets first thing in the morning.

However, what was really preying on his mind was his rather mysterious return to headquarters last week. He still had no idea who had brought him back, or how he’d even gotten back. Strangely, no one else did either. Apparently, he’d just appeared in the hospital wing.

Unfortunately, the only person who could give him answers was the one person he hadn’t been able to find. He hadn’t seen Commander Komui Lee even once since his return. The tall, dark-haired, slate-eyed man in the odd rectangular glasses was definitely there at headquarters. Everyone mentioned seeing him just about everywhere in the massive and rambling castle, yet he hadn’t seen a trace of him once.

His cigarette clamped tightly in his teeth, he rose from his chair with a heavy sigh and grabbed his broad-brimmed hat. Only one way to discover what he needed to know and that was to hunt down the elusive, scatter-brained, flibberty-jibbit of a commander himself. Determined, he strode from the office in his suite of rooms and into the stone walled, window-lined hallway. He’d choke the answers out of him if necessary.

Twenty minutes later, Marin entered the massive library, his boot heels clicking on the paper-strewn flagstone floor.

A harried section chief Reeve, his blond hair spiked into disarray from finger-combing it one too many times, padded back and forth between staff members with their arms piled with books. He was clearly still in the process of organizing the hundreds of thousands of books and files that had been transferred from the library in the old headquarters.

Marin tapped his shoulder and kept his voice low. “Have you seen the commander?”

Reeve blinked. “Eh, Komui? Isn’t he right over there?” He turned and pointed toward the corner of the huge room and a broad desk very nearly buried under thousands of papers, books, and maps. The desk chair was empty, but quivering, as though someone had left it in a big hurry. A curl of steam rose from the cup of coffee sitting in the only cleared spot on the desk.

Reeve frowned. “Where’d he go?”

Marin snorted. It seemed that the commander was avoiding him. He strode for the door and waved in Reeve’s direction. “Thanks anyway.”

Reeve frowned and scratched at his head, mussing his hair even more. “Yeah, sure…”

Marin marched through the hallways, took the elevator down two levels, and stepped into the main lab area of the science department.

Dead center in the middle of the floor, Allen Walker’s silver hair gleamed under the floodlights. Dressed in his new white sleeveless tunic and taller than Marin remembered ever seeing him, Allen lifted his hands, and sang out a few notes to a song no one could understand.

A meter or so before him, monstrous geometrically shaped sheets of light bloomed into being marked by the digital number, twenty seven.

Allen lowered his hands. “Ark gate twenty-seven is open for transport.”

A door appeared in the sheet of light touching the floor. It opened and a line of staff members carrying parcels from the old headquarters began walking out of it.

Marin walked up behind Allen. “Hey, apprentice, have you seen Komui?”

Allen visibly flinched and glanced over his shoulder. “The commander? I just saw him, over there.” He pointed at the door on the far side of the lab.

Marin nodded and strode past him.

Allen grabbed hold of Marin’s sleeve. “Hey, he’s not in any kind of trouble, is he?”

Trouble…? Marin’s lifted his brows. “Not that I know of.”

Allen tilted his head and blinked. “Oh?” His lips curved into a sweet smile. “Okay.” He released Marin’s sleeve and waved. “Good luck!”

Marin spared the kid a brief frown then hurried off to the far door.

In the hallway beyond, the red-headed Bookman heir Robbie, and Komui Lee’s dark-haired little sister Lenalie Lee, stood elbow to elbow speaking in hushed tones.

He strode for them. “Hey you two…”

The two started and turned to stare at him, wide-eyed.

Marin frowned. He knew guilty faces when he saw them. “Is Komui avoiding me for a reason?”

Robbie frowned. “You mean you’re not out to kill him?”

Lenalie scowled and elbowed the green-eyed Bookman heir in the gut, hard.

Robbie coughed and grabbed his stomach.

Marin’s frown deepened. “Why would I want to kill him?”

Lenalie presented him with a brilliant, if somewhat shaky smile. “No reason that we know of.”

Marin rolled his eyes and sighed. “No, I don’t want to kill him. I just haven’t seen him since I got…back.”

Lenalie blinked. “Is that all?”

Marin turned away searching for a semi-logical excuse to be looking for the commander. He shrugged casually. “I have a couple of questions about some…paperwork.”

It wasn’t even a lie. Considering that all mission reports ended up on Branch Commander Komui Lee’s desk, it was safe to say that Komui knew exactly where Marin had spent the last week. This meant he’d also know who had gotten him out of there. Marin was very interested in the answer to that particular question.

Robbie frowned.

Lenalie’s strained smile relaxed and her dimples appeared. “Oh, well I’m sure he won’t mind helping you with your paperwork.” She turned and pointed toward the elevator on the right wall. “He went to the artifacts hall in the old north bell-tower.”

Marin gave her his sweetest smile, and touched the brim of his broad hat for good measure. “Thanks, little lady.”

Lenalie nodded and grabbed hold of Robbie’s arm. “You’re welcome!” She steered the Bookman heir past him toward the science lab.

Robbie glanced over his shoulder at Marin and bit down on his bottom lip. He leaned close to his determined companion. “Lenalie, are you sure about this?”

Lenalie dragged her red-headed companion to the door and opened it. “My brother will be just fine.” The door closed behind them.

Marin stared at the closed door and puffed on his cigarette. What the hell was going on? He tossed his cigarette butt, crushed it out under his boot-heel, and strode for the elevator. Suddenly, he had a few more questions for the elusive commander.

The old north bell tower was in fact, no longer a bell tower. It was massive room two stories tall with nearly floor to ceiling gothic arched windows. It was jam-packed with historical artifacts still in their packing crates large and small. More than a few of the smaller pieces were already ensconced in sealed cases of inch-thick bullet-proof safety glass on pedestals, but there were hundreds more still draped in their dust-covers.

Marin moved silently among the shadows under the dim light from the low-hanging cast iron chandeliers. Rain spattered the night dark windows.

White fabric moved in the farthest corner.

Marin smiled grimly and ducked into the deeper shadows, moving swiftly to intercept. Komui wasn’t getting away from him this time.

In the farthest corner of the artifacts hall, the headquarters commander Komui Lee sat on the edge of a sheet-draped chase lounge with his elbows perched on his knees and his upraised hands folded tightly together. His white coat, white beret, and matching creased trousers practically glowed in the half-light. In contrast, the long, curving tendrils of his blue-black hair fell over his shoulders like spilled ink. His slender brows were lowered and behind his rectangular glasses, his narrow-eyed gaze was focused downward. His twiddling thumbs didn’t quite hide the pronounced frown on his lips. He appeared to be meditating rather fiercely on one particular flag on the floor.

Marin casually stepped out of the shadows. “Evening, Komui.”

The commander’s head shot up to stare straight at Marin. His black eyes went wide, his lips parted, and his face went bone white. He threw out his hands and leapt to his feet, his coat flaring wide. A strained smile appeared. “Ah, General Cross, how…um, nice to see you!” He pointed over his shoulder. “I was just leaving.” He turned to step away.

Marin snorted. “No, you’re not.”

Komui froze, one foot lifted. “I’m not?”

Marin casually reached into the breast pocket of his coat and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. “The exit door is behind me.” Idiot… He tapped the pack against the heel of his hand to bounce a cigarette partway from the paper pack.

Komui set his foot down and slowly turned to squint beyond Marin’s shoulder. His shoulders drooped. “Wh-why, so it is.” His lips lifted into a trembling smile. “Silly me.”

Marin set the raised cigarette to his lips and pulled it free of the pack. The commander was clearly terrified of him, which meant he was definitely feeling guilty about something. He raised his lighter to the end of his cigarette and inhaled to light it. “So…” He blew out a puff of smoke. “How’ve you been?”

The white-suited commander tilted his head slightly to the side, his glasses flashing in the half-light. His brows lifted. “How have…I been?”

“Yeah.” Marin tucked his lighter away. “I haven’t seen you in, oh a week or so?” He smiled with his teeth. “Since I got back, in fact.”

Komui turned his head, yanking his gaze from Marin’s and pressed his fingertips together. “Oh, well… I’ve been…busy! Yeah, busy!” He shrugged and put on a happy smile. “You know, with the move from the old headquarters to the new.” He nodded with short sharp jerks. “Very, very, busy!”

“Yeah, whatever…” Marin waved his cigarette and took a casual step toward the clearly flustered commander. “Look, I just want to ask you a question.”

Komui blinked, clearly startled. “Oh?” His shoulders straightened a bit and his lips relaxed into a more comfortable smile. “Okay.” He tugged on the lapels of his coat. “How can I help you?”

Marin pulled his cigarette from his lips, turned his head, and blew out a long breath of smoke. “Since all the reports go to you, you obviously know exactly where I was…that week.” He raised his brow in emphasis.

Komui flinched and his cheeks flushed pink.

Marin smiled. Oh yeah, you know all right. “So, who got me out of there?”

Komui’s face drained of all expression and went dead white.

Marin’s brows shot up. What the hell…?

Komui swallowed but held Marin’s gaze. “I’m afraid that’s classified.”

Marin bared his teeth, fisted his hands at his sides, and shouted at the top of his lungs. “What?”

Komui lifted both hands, palm out, and shook his head. “It’s classified, as is where you were and…what you were doing.” He dropped his hands to his sides and took a deep breath, his gaze steady on Marin’s. “I assure you, no one knows; absolutely no one beyond you and me.”

Marin curled his lip and took another step closer. “And Bookman.” Which probably meant that Bookman’s brat, Robbie knew too.

Komui shook his head. “All he has is guesses. I’ve confirmed nothing.”

Marin’s voice dropped to a growl. “How do I know the person that got me out of there will keep their mouth shut?”

Komui looked away to release a tight chuckle and rolled his eyes. “Believe me Cross, they have no intention of ever breathing a word.” He winced and a drop of sweat trickled down from his temple. “They like breathing.”

Something about Komui’s strained voice struck an oddly familiar chord in Marin’s memory. Suspicion began to brew. He narrowed his eyes. That last guy, the one with the needle, it couldn’t have been…him?

Komui’s eyes widened and took a step back. “Cross?”

Marin examined what he could of Komui’s slender form. He’s the right build, and if I remember correctly, he had silky hair about that length. He focused on Komui’s long slender fingers. The hands are right too. There was only one other way to tell, which meant he had to get a lot closer. Marin, flicked away his cigarette, yanked off his hat, and tossed it atop a nearby crate.

Komui’s gaze followed the flying hat. “Cross?”

Marin lunged, grabbing for the commander’s upper arm.

Komui yelped and jerked back. The back of his knees struck the chase lounge and he fell sprawling onto the sheet-draped cushions. “Uwah!”

Marin grabbed the curved back of the lounge, pinning Komui in place on the cushions. He dove forward, pressed his face against the side of Komui’s neck, and took a deep sniff. Cologne, soap, and a trace of sweat… The cologne wasn’t familiar, neither was the scent of the soap, but the sweat? There wasn’t enough to really tell. Damn it, he’s wearing deodorant!

“Cross? Cross…!” Komui wriggled to get away. “What are you doing?”

Marin grabbed hold of Komui’s upper arms, and jammed his knee between Komui’s thighs to pin him in place. “Hold still!”

Komui froze where he sat, and a soft gasp left his lips.

Marin suddenly realized that his knee was in full contact with Komui’s crotch, and there was an erection forming right up against him. It didn’t distract him for long. He buried his nose right under the collar of Komui’s white turtle neck and took a deeper breath. Ah, now I can smell him. And he did smell familiar. In fact, the distinct aroma of masculine musk, the scent of arousal that was increasing by the second, was very familiar indeed.

Komui grabbed hold of Marin’s coat sleeves and shuddered, his finger’s curling tight. “Cross, please…!”

Marin pulled his head back and stared into Komui’s reddened face. “It was you.”