In the Shelter of Your Arms

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Disclaimer: Well, I don't own any of the characters of Super-Human Samurai Syber Squad, but the people who do own them don't seem to care about them at all, and so I doubt they'll sue me.

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Author's Notes: Well, here we go. My first Superhuman Samurai Syber Squad story. The first thing I'd like to say is that I never found the relationship between Tanker and Sydney to be realistic. I did, however, see some basis for at least a friendship between Malcolm and Sydney. I'm not sure how an actual romance between them will work to write, so this might just turn out to be a friendship (although that would require a new title...). My intention, however, is to write a Malcolm/Sydney romance. Anyway, please let me know if you have any thoughts on this - or feedback of any other kind. If there seems to be any interest in this story, I'll continue it...with a longer chapter next time. [Self-deprecating grin]

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And now, ooooooooooooooooooooooooooon with the show!

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It has often been said that, if one wants things to happen, one must make things happen. True as this may be, the most significant things often happen without one's seeking them. The most life-altering events occur as we are simply trying to make our way home at the end of the day. Often, location is a key factor in this. If one is in the right place at the right time, nearly anything can happen. Which brings up the second major facet: timing. A split second sooner or later can completely alter a sequence of events, for better or worse, or utter indifference.

This was most certainly the case with one young man on a sunny Monday afternoon late in October in the California city of North Valley. Had he entered the cafeteria a split second later, the events of this tale may not have occurred at all, and certainly not in the same way.

However, this is not a story about what might have happened.

What happened was that, on this sunny, sleepy, and altogether sickeningly typical, in his opinion, Monday afternoon late in October, Malcolm Frink wandered into the cafeteria of North Valley High School. There was nothing odd in this alone, as the cafeteria was where he tended to spend much of his time after the day's classes were through. He could never tell quite why this was. Perhaps, for all his claims to hate people, there was something in Malcolm that craved friendship, the sound of another human voice, the thoughts and ideals of another, the clasp of a human hand. There were, at least occasionally, people passing through, and if one could not be a part of their comings and goings, the next best thing was, of course, to observe them.

The truly ironic thing about today, however, was that Malcolm had entered the popular hangout spot with absolutely no intention of staying there; he was looking only to buy a bag of pretzels. Upon noting the small 'closed' sign propped cockily upon the counter before the register, the dark-haired young man, issuing a string of curses, was about to turn with the intention of finding a table and staying a while after all, when a small startled sound caught his attention.

Instinctively, he clutched his laptop case and his sketchbook tighter, his gaze darting in the direction of the sound. Well. It appeared as though he wouldn't have the cafeteria wholly to himself today. Not that this thought made any impression whatsoever on Malcolm. It didn't even cross his mind. The shock of seeing fellow student and enemy-by-proxy Sydney Forrester seated, cross-legged, on a red plastic chair pulled up to the table in the corner, her eyes red-rimmed from the tears of the past half hour, a duffel bag on the ground beside her, lip cut and swollen, right eye bruised and discoloured in stark contrast with the deathly pallor of her face, staring back at him with mistrust, anger, desperation...and a touch of pleading, swimming in her dark eyes.

The sudden and utterly unexpected urge to find out what had happened, and help as he could, instantly annoyed him. What in the hell should he care why she was here alone at close to sunset, with a duffel bag, nor where that bruise over her eye had come from? Quite simply put, he didn't. So...why did the thought that that idiot jock boyfriend of hers might be responsible for this make him want to find the lump-head and remove his lumpy head with a rusty nail?

'I never need an excuse to want to kill Tanker,' he reflected with a wry grin. About this time, he became aware that the mingled emotions pouring from her gaze had all but gone, and now impatience, and just a hint of curiosity, was prevalent.

Hmm...better act quickly.

"So, what's your problem?" he demanded sharply, falling back on old familiar territory.

She averted her eyes hastily.

"Nothing," she replied mildly.

He raised an eyebrow, and, though every instinct within him was shouting at him to get away, not to get involved, he found himself crossing the cafeteria and taking a seat next to her.

"Then where did that - " He gestured to the bruise and cut lip. " - come from?"

"Oh!" She quickly lifted a hand to her face, attempting to cover both injuries. "I...walked into a door. Y'know, Sydney the bookworm, head always in the clouds, right?"

He sighed. Her forced cheerfulness, not to mention her shaky, nervous, nearly hysterical laugh, certainly did nothing to convince him.

"Sydney," he began slowly, looking down at his hands, "I know that we're not the greatest of friends, or even friends at all, and you'll probably think that it isn't my business - I suppose, to be honest, it isn't - but...did Tanker do this?"

"No!"

Malcolm glanced up sharply, scanning her face for any signs of evasion or dishonesty, but those deep brown eyes held only disbelief, aghast at the mere suggestion. Evidently, the truth.

"If you say so," he said with a shrug, standing to leave.

"It was nice talking to you," she called after him dryly. His only reply was a growl of annoyance.

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If this had been the only meeting between the two, nothing more would have come of it - again, certainly not in the same way. Malcolm would have dismissed her tears and injuries as the results of a catfight, or with no reason at all, telling himself quite frostily that it was not his problem. Over the next weeks, he was to wish vainly several times that this had been the case.

When, however, he walked into the cafeteria after school once more, two days later, to behold Sydney, at a different table, but still with the duffel bag, re-folding and packing its contents - pyjamas? A toothbrush? A hairbrush? A...sleeping bag? - he found himself quite unable to walk away.

Instead, he slowly approached the table, making not a sound, and watched her for a time.

"You seem to have made yourself quite comfortable here," he commented idly. She stiffened and bolted from her chair, wheeling about to face him. For a time, they nearly stared at one another, dark eyes meeting. Not surprisingly, he could see equal parts anger and fear swimming in them. Finally, he spoke again with a shrug.

"You know you could get in a lot of trouble if someone found out that you were sleeping here?"

It was a statement more than a question.

"How...how do you know I'm sleeping here?"

"Why else would you have a sleeping bag?"

"I could be going...to a sleep-over," she suggested, annoyed.

"Are you?"

She returned his piercing gaze unblinkingly, and then felt herself begin to crumble beneath it.

"No," she whispered. "I'm not. Are you going to turn me in?"

"I don't know yet. Just give me a second to think," Malcolm requested brusquely. He turned away, leaning on the table, rubbing his eyes wearily. Sydney held her breath as he spoke quietly.

"No. I'm not."

She stared at him incredulously, helplessly amazed. He looked up with a dry smirk.

"After all, what good would it do me?"

"I...thank-you, Malcolm."

"But, you know, someone else could find you here. Probably will."

"I know. I don't have a lot of options right now."

"How long are you planning on doing this?"

"Four weeks," she replied immediately, absently fiddling with then hairbrush laid out on the table, her mass of dark curls falling forward to hide her expression.

A silence nearly tangible in its tension hung over the two as their eyes met, sizing one another up. Finally, with a sigh, Malcolm broke it.

"I have a room in my place you can use."

She recoiled, the shock of his offer physically jolting her.

"Why?" she finally managed to squeak out.

"You can't live at the school for a month."

"No; I mean, why help me instead of just report me?"

He was silent for a long moment, gazing at a space on the wall behind her as he considered this. Finally, he spoke, his eyes flickering back to her.

"Look, Sydney, I don't know a thing about your situation. But it's obvious that you really didn't have any other choice. Moving into the cafeteria doesn't seem like something that anyone, much less you, would do on a whim."

"I...true. But, Malcolm..."

He stopped her with a hand.

"I won't ask you to tell me what's going on. There will be conditions, but that isn't one of them."

"Oh!" Sydney looked surprised, as though it hadn't occurred to her that he might ask this. "I just wondered what you were going to tell your parents."

"...Suffice it to say, they won't object. Take it or leave it, Sydney; it's all the same to me."

She closed her eyes briefly. She certainly didn't relish the thought of another solitary camp-out in the cafeteria; the thought of a real bed, complete with blankets and pillows, was certainly appealing. Still, would sharing residence, however temporarily, with Malcolm Frink be much better? And there was the matter of those conditions...

Shaking her head, she decided. If Malcolm had discovered her here, it would only be a matter of time before someone else would as well. And they might not be so sympathetic. A soft statement from him cut through her train of thought.

"It doesn't seem that you have many options."

More exactly, NO options. For the first time, the true hopelessness of her situation hit her, nearly a physical blow to the chest. Catching her breath, she gazed up at him.

"I'll take it."

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