21-Mar-2006
Title: Launch 13/?
Author: TB
Archive: GWA and
http://www.geocities.com/brother_maxwell/TB_home_page.html
Category: yaoi
Pairing: 3x4
Disclaimer: The plots and characters of Gundam Wing are used here without
permission or profit.
Spoilers: The story begins three years after EW and references both it
and the series.
Summary: Chapter 13: Duo and Quatre return to Preventers HQ to unravel
Mariemaia's escape. Also, Sally Po, stage right.
It was mid-afternoon when Duo stepped out of their taxi and flashed his badge at the uniformed Preventer who had come to shoo the cab away. Instantly the Preventer's demeanor changed, and he snapped a crisp salute instead as Duo turned back to offer Quatre a hand out. Quatre grasped his arm just below the elbow, and levered himself off the seat and out the small door, biting back a groan as he did. Then he saw the Preventer, and flushed.
"Agent Maxwell, Mr Winner," the man was greeting them. "We've been expecting you. Director Une has asked you to go straight to her office."
"Thanks, Jorge," Duo said, cash leaving his hand for the cabbie's and being replaced by their luggage. He hauled his and Quatre's duffles up over his shoulder, ignoring Quatre's instinctive protest. "C'mon," he murmured to Quatre, and jogged lightly up the stone steps. Quatre made a face after him, and followed at a sedate pace, feeling every cramp and ache produced by their short flight and long taxi drives. He didn't want to arrive looking like he'd been hit by a truck, but it was a distinct possibility he would.
He looked up at the building as he climbed the steps. Preventers HQ was a fantastic piece of London architecture, a massive but graceful building of deeply tinted glass. It stood somewhat alone on this section of the street, blocked in by the shorter, narrow buildings of brick and stone on every side, like a Gundam dropped among Leos, Quatre thought to himself with a grin. Proclaiming its own strength and beauty and complete disregard for the unlovely, outmoded environment in which it found itself. The curve of the front, all nine storeys, was gentle and rounded into a wave of convex on the left and concave on the right, disappearing into an horizon curve on either side. Just before he passed into its shadow, he glimpsed the ancient London Bridge in the background; and then it was swallowed by HQ.
Duo was waiting for him at the top of the many steps, holding one of the glass doors open and grinning down at him from behind his black sunglasses. "I forgot you've never seen it," he said.
"It's-- imposing," Quatre said.
"Meant to be," Duo returned. "At least, that's what the business who owned it before us thought. Some kind of government lobbyists, back in the day. Lined their entire mansion off hush-money from the Alliance and Romafeller. Brussels cut them off faster than you can say "sugar cookie." The next thing you know, we've got a ready-made HQ. Never let it be said that Brussels doesn't know a deal when it lands at his feet." He held the door wider so Quatre could pass through, then followed him into the lobby-- a surprisingly sunny affair, given the depth of the tint on the window walls. The carpet was the rich olive green of Preventer insignia, the inside walls a mottled French grey. It was tasteful, modern, but strict. Quatre rather liked it, and thought unfavourably of his own office, a place he most certainly did not like.
They weren't stopped on their way to the lift, though a middle-aged man sitting at what Quatre took to be the front desk noted their entry and spoke inaudibly into a headset he wore. They rode the lift up six storeys, and exited into a realm of wide corridors paneled in walnut, olive trees arching up from deep troughs and filling the air with a tangy flavour, dim, golden light from an unknown source casting small shadows and creating an impression of warmth even in the cool office air. Quatre said, "I want the name of your decorator."
Duo grinned at him, and tugged his glasses off finally. "I don't know if even you can afford her."
"I'll try," Quatre muttered, unable to resist grabbing an olive leaf as they passed one of the troughs. It was real. He sighed against a pinch of envy, and trudged after Duo.
He was distracted enough when they reached Une's office that he looked at her tapestry curtains and wing-backed leather chair before he focused on the woman sitting in it. He'd had no personal contact with Une, as either colonel or Lady, during the Colony Wars. He could easily recall his feeling of physical shock and heartsick when she threatened to destroy a colony if they didn't surrender their Gundams; that endless moment was overlaid with the horror of Heero's violent self-detonation, his surety that no human being could survive such a blast and fall. The sadness of watching Trowa walk away from him for the second time, already in love and not knowing if that love would come back.
The Director Une who stood before him was the same as the woman who, three years earlier, had led a scraped-together coalition of ex-OZ, ex-White Fang, ex-Gundam pilots in an assault on the army of Dekim Barton, the mad-man who had conceived and tried twice to implement Operation Meteor. She had been a voice of cool competence over their frequency, always in control, always watchful for the opportunity to strike the victory blow. He had met her for the first time as she led a rag-tag group of survivors from the rubble of Barton's fortified hide-away in Germany. He had been exerting his energy on Heero, once more broken and limp in the hold of the four boys who knew him best. He had looked up at her when she came to stand over him-- cradling Heero's head on his lap, stanching a scalpel-edged wound over Heero's brow with his own fingers. She had met his eyes, nodded once, he had thought with approval and thanks. He had never seen her again, except over the 'vid, accepting an award on behalf of all those who had fought in the Eve War, and in one message she'd left for him, offering him a job within her organisation. He had turned her down by letter.
She rose, tugging crisply at the hem of her navy blue jacket. Though he knew she was young, only in her late twenties, she carried herself with the maturity of a much older woman. Her hair was a fall of dark brown straight to her shoulders, a fringe of softer wisps framing her broad forehead and small chin. Quatre, who knew what to look for, saw the imperfect lay of her suit that meant she was carrying. Everything about her was a mix of the feminine and the soldier. It wasn't particularly hard to picture her in an OZ uniform.
She offered him a hand, and he took it, returning her firm grip. "Welcome to HQ," she was saying to him. "I wish you could be here under better circumstances, Mr Winner."
"Quatre," he said automatically. "Thank you."
Duo was already sitting, and though it wasn't in him to sit while a woman was standing, Une saved him the bother by waving him to another of the plushly cushioned Venetian chairs and resuming her own seat. "I'll get straight to the point, if you don't mind," she said. "We've managed to identify four of the twelve people who broke into Lyaksandro Prison last night. Three of them were on our watch lists. One of them is the Duchess Dorothy Catalonia, as you noticed, Quatre. So far none have been identified as Preventers, but we have yet to rule out the possibility." She located a paper among the minefield on her desk, and held it out to Duo. He skimmed it twice, and passed it to Quatre, who recognised none of them. "Fung Yin was an officer in White Fang. She served seven months in ESA custody for assaulting and maiming an ex-OZ soldier in Shanghai two years ago. Maquinna Nootka was Alliance and seems to have originated from the L3 cluster. The Nootka tribal leader on B389A2 admitted that Maquinna left the colony abruptly a week ago, but was acting strangely for several months before that. He made the tribe nervous enough that they were considering turning him in to the colony authorities for violence. Nelson Baker from L1 colony D382X3-0 was the hardest to track. We have reason to believe he was close to Dekim Barton. He's related by marriage to Barton's younger sister. He's got a rap sheet the length of my arm. The Lady Catalonia, of course, was one of the leaders of the White Fang rebellion. She's been under watch, but since she was pardoned by the ESA for her part in the war, she's kept under the radar."
"Do we have any suspicious activity in-house?" Duo asked her.
Quatre thought that Une glanced at him before replying, but the light was behind her and he couldn't be sure. She didn't miss a beat. "We're still awaiting check-in from seventeen agents. Three are inactive status and one is deep-cover. They will be officially considered AWOL if I don't hear from them by twenty-two-hundred tonight."
Duo frowned, and opened his mouth to pursue it. Quatre jumped in first, rising from his chair. "Excuse me," he said, "if you could point me to the loo..."
Une nodded graciously. "Around the corner and to your left, third door," she murmured.
"Thank you." He left her office quickly, shutting the door behind him and listening for the latch. Since he'd brought it up, he decided to go to the washroom anyway, though he'd only been searching for a way to leave without being obvious. Une clearly wasn't ready to divulge sensitive information in front of him, and he didn't want to cause a delay when he knew perfectly well they had to be on top of every aspect of this situation. Duo would fill him in on anything unclassified. He took his time about it, wandering the halls between offices a bit, trying to interest himself in the attractive red and black fixtures of the bathroom and examining the basket of soaps and lotions provided beside an arrangement of greens that featured more olive branches and smelled distinctly mediterranean and masculine.
Twelve minutes later, he knocked tentatively at Une's door, and Duo let him in, wearing a small, grim grin. "All safe," he said. "You can sit down again."
Quatre returned the smile, and resumed his seat. "Forgive me for asking anything inappropriate," he said, including both the Director and his friend, "but has Khushrenada issued any demands? Any statement at all?"
"They're quiet so far," Une told him. "Which is the part that worries me the most, honestly. It suggests that worse is coming. We have no idea where they've gone or what they're planning."
"The two survivors from the prison-- they weren't able to tell you anything?"
"Only that men they thought were Preventers demanded entrance, and when they were denied, took it by force." Une grimaced, and ran fingers through her long hair, flipping it back over her shoulder. "Maxwell, you and Po are in charge of the active investigation. I want all senior agents briefed and ready to march as soon as we know what direction we're taking."
"Yes ma'am," Duo said, but there was no military correctness in his tone. Just a sober and satisfied agreement. He rose, and Quatre followed his lead from the office. When they were alone in the corridor, Duo stopped him with a light touch. Quatre faced him expectantly.
"I'm telling you this so there are no surprises," Duo said seriously. "Our watch list is pretty long... one of the people on it is Wufei."
"Wufei?" Quatre repeated, surprised. "Why?" But he knew immediately. "That was three years ago--"
"But it happened," Duo finished. "And the fact that it's Mariemaia Khushrenada who's running about free and armed to the teeth means we have to consider him. If we don't hear from him before tonight."
"He hasn't called in?" Quatre asked, finding a sinking feeling was developing in his gut. Duo's eyes were unhappy as he shook his head. "I'm sure there's a reason..."
"I hope there is," Duo said. "But I'll be ready if the reason is that he's the one hiding her in a dark room somewhere. I just thought you should know."
They'd only known each other for a few hours, but the impulse to touch was impossible to turn off. The new pilot was all lithe long lines, all simple pieces put together into something deceptively easy to overlook. The worn, pale denims, the cotton turtleneck going nubby where the harness rubbed. Brown sneakers losing the sole at an odd part of the instep; he walked differently than Quatre, in a way Quatre couldn't quite put his finger on. And sometimes he let Quatre lead him and sometimes he just refused; but then, as if he couldn't help himself, his hand would brush against Quatre's, or fall to the small of Quatre's back, to his shoulder or to his elbow. Quatre found himself reaching to take the taller boy's hand, only to flinch back, expecting refusal-- but the stranger pilot let him, and held on to his fingers when he might have backed away. They were talking, but the words had no meaning, no sound even.
Then they were in bed. It was dark, but not too dark to see. Butane torches burned on the portico outside his bedroom, spraying light through the latticework shutters over the window, warming the sandalwood breeze that played the linen curtains. The boy drew aside Quatre's sheet as Quatre sat up to welcome him, already reaching to grasp the broad, angular shoulders, shivering to find solid muscle there. They sat facing each other on the bed, exploring again what they'd been looking at all day. Strong, long fingers moved under Quatre's night shirt, up his ribcage, down over his stomach. Quatre lifted his arms without having to be told aloud, and the boy pulled his shirt up, over his head, trapping his arms there; then he leaned forward, slowly, and kissed his mouth through the fabric.
They laughed while they made love.
The boy kept returning to Quatre's hair, running his fingers through it, rubbing his palms against it, brushing it down to hide his eyes then back to smooth it away. "It feels like silk," he murmured more than once, and he said that again with his mouth against Quare's bare chest, to the inside of his knee, to the skin of his neck. The boy's hair was coarse and thick, just like the rest of him, his firm rounded arms and his thighs and the circle of his slender waist.
He's sweating.
They played music together the next day, played like they'd been doing it for a decade, for a lifetime together. The day after that, as he was leaving, the boy told Quatre his name.
But maybe the magic had been in desert, in the sand that was older than anything living in Space, because it was never the same as that first perfect meeting again.
He's sweating. Look at the monitor!
The lights came on, waking him out of a troubled doze. Quatre blinked into his limp pillow, then forced himself to roll onto his back so he could blink at the pretty brunette in a Preventers gym shirt who was responsible for all the brightness. He blinked more when he saw her reaching for the hem, and managed a gurgled sort of protest.
She flushed crimson when she noticed him on the couch. "Oh, my God," she exclaimed, dropping her hands and clutching her arms tight over her chest. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know anyone was in here!"
Quatre wiped his face, which felt suspiciously hot. "Sorry," he muttered, sitting up. "I was napping. I think."
"Mr Winner?" She'd recognised him finally. Her face was all but bursting into flame. She began to edge toward the door. "I'll just tell Agent Maxwell you're awake..." She sucked in a deep breath, blurted, "I'm sorry!" and jumped out the door, leaving him alone in the bunk room. Quatre sighed, and scrubbed hard at his eyes.
The clock above the door proclaimed it to be seven o'clock. Quatre staggered to his feet and crossed to the line of sinks along the far wall. He washed his face, scrubbed his teeth with a finger, and tried to do something about the crimp he'd put in his hair by sleeping funny. When it insisted on poofing out sideways despite his best effort, he left it with a sigh. When he returned to the bunk he'd crashed in several hours earlier, he found his shoes and socks settled neatly under the foot, and a spare shirt and jumper from his duffle laid out, still folded, over the sheet. Duo, Quatre guessed, and couldn't help a tired smile. Duo would make an excellent mother, someday. He changed his clothes, rotating his shoulders to work out the kinks, and stuffed away the desire to bury his head in the thick brown cotton of his jumper rather than leave the bunk room to face the evening. His grumpy, growling stomach settled the matter for him, and Quatre left thinking that if he could just find food, he might survive after all.
Duo appeared at the opposite end of the open floor space devoted to the desks and cubicles of minor staff just as Quatre emerged from the bunks. His Preventer friend looked frazzled and frustrated. Quatre waved a little, and Duo strode through self-made corridors between desks to greet him.
"Sleep well?" he asked. "How are you feeling?"
"Vaguely," Quatre muttered, and won a bit of a laugh from Duo. "Do you have anything with meat in it?"
"It is government food, so I think any answer I give you will have to be qualified." Duo pointed to the lift. "I'm ready for some chow myself. I'll show you the cafeteria." He stomped off toward it so quickly that Quatre had to jog a little to catch up, but he held his tongue about it while Duo punched the call button-- repeatedly.
"Progress?" he asked tentatively, as they entered the lift and began to move downward.
"We've heard from all but three of our agents."
"Wufei?"
Duo didn't answer, but that was answer enough. Quatre rubbed his stomach.
"Stay away from anything named Salisbury," Duo warned him when the lift doors opened and spilled them into the cafeteria. It was modest, meant to hold perhaps two hundred people, and it gave a good impression of being full, though it was a little late for the dinner hour. A few agents waiting in queue for the buffet made way when Duo and Quatre showed up behind them, and Duo was edgy enough to accept the gesture and make his way toward the front, Quatre murmuring apologies behind him. When they reached the order counter, Duo planted his hands flat on it, leaning forward to stare at the soup canteens with suspicion.
"Grilled cheese with bacon," he ordered abruptly. "Side of chips and a salad." He waited until one of the chefs began to construct his sandwich, and then gestured Quatre forward.
"Sausage bappy," Quatre ordered, feeling oddly shy. "And... salad is fine." He stood silently next to Duo as their orders were completed, perhaps five minutes, and served to them on chrome trays and ceramic plates painted to look like china. Duo swerved through the crowd toward an unoccupied table sporting two high stools. Quatre followed, and took the stool Duo left him, slipping the toes of his shoes over the lower rungs. He watched Duo slather his chips with tomato sauce, then vinegar, then mayonnaise. Quatre made a face at the oily, pink mess that resulted, and concentrated on transferring his salad to his bappy bun.
"We have two more names," Duo said, and took a large bite of his sandwich, making melted cheese spurt out the back of the bread. "Another colonial, this one from L1, and an Ozzie from South America." He looped the cheese about a finger, and stuck it in his mouth. When it emerged clean, he frowned at it, and dropped his sandwich to his plate. "They're all junior officers, if that. Young-ish. Maquinna's the oldest so far, and he's only twenty-six."
"People who grew up with the Alliance," Quatre said. "Like us."
Duo's frown deepened. "The Alliance, and OZ. And the Resistance." He sighed, and pushed a chip through the sludge of sauces. "It means something. Either they were easier to control, or-- the only thing linking them is their age and inexperience. Except for Catalonia, and you said yourself she'd go anywhere for battle. But they're from all walks of life, from everywhere in the god-damn universe, and they fought against each other just a few years ago."
"There's something else," Quatre said. He took a bite, thinking his way through what he wanted to say while he chewed. "I can't quite put my finger on it." He picked a slip of rocket from his molar with his tongue. "Did the two you found-- what's on their records? Who are they? I mean, all of them, what kind of people are they?"
"The kind of people who are dangerous enough to have files with the government," Duo said. "The colonies are coughing up all sorts of dirt on theirs. A lot of jail time-- illegal weapons, violence, the occasional assault against the former enemy. The guy from L1 got picked up last month for chucking a brick through the window of a retired Alliance general, after emailing him death threats."
"So either these people are all juvies with attitude problems, or they're-- I don't know-- it's like they're all having trouble letting go of the wars."
Duo blinked. "You're right," he said. He leaned forward. "Jesus, you're right, that's what it is. They're discontents. And whoever their ringleader is, he knew that when he recruited them. That's what he was looking for, people with grudges, people who had a reason to pick up the fight again."
Quatre felt a tap on his shoulder, and almost fell off his stool trying to jump out of his own skin. The woman he'd seen on the "vid grinned an apology at him as she pulled a third stool up to their table. "Sorry," she said. She seated herself and put down a tray of pasta and carrot cake, and presented him with a slender hand. "I'm Sally Po. I partner this goof you're talking to."
He took her hand and shook it while Duo snorted into his water glass. "Don't let her fool you," he told Quatre lazily. "Despite all appearances, she's actually pretty smart. On her good days."
"It's nice to meet you," Quatre told her. "It's always good to put a face to the name."
"I know the feeling." She eyed him with apparent appreciation that was just slightly flirtatious, and he found himself blushing like a school girl. Sally Po was an attractive woman, and she knew it, judging from her knowing laugh. Thankfully, she dropped the pose quickly, while Duo rolled his eyes in the background. "You could say I've followed your career," she added to Quatre. "I had a memorable run-in with some of your followers during the Colony Wars. The Middle Easters."
"The Maganac Corps," Quatre recalled with delight. "I didn't know you'd ever met them."
"I tried to blow your Gundam three ways into next week," she admitted. "To stop OZ from getting their hands on it. They convinced me you might want it later." She dropped her chin into her palm, considering him from pretty blue eyes. "You did all of us proud."
It was as well he couldn't find his tongue after that, because Duo was making very expressive gagging noises. "She loves to do this to everyone," Duo told him. "Trowa turned every colour in the rainbow once when she cornered him. He walked away the same shade as that old turtleneck of his."
Quatre fished a smile from somewhere, and managed to make it stay. "Green was always his colour," he said. Sally laughed heartily at this, and clapped him on the shoulder.
With Sally watching him surreptitiously, Duo made quick work of his sandwich and chips, ate the vegetables out of his salad, and excused himself shortly after. Quatre watched him leave, worried.
"It's because of Wufei," Sally told him, and he turned to find her eyes on him. "Duo doesn't have a lot of friends. If Wufei is involved in this-- it's going to kill him."
He sighed, and picked at a slice of sausage that had fallen from his bappy. "It's getting more and more likely though, isn't it? Or he would have checked in by now."
The woman nodded her agreement. "Wufei took an assignment in Brussels a few days ago. There's a remote chance that he's just been busy. But every agent knows the rules. If the Director calls, you answer." She paused. "Is it just me, or are you not devastated by the possibility?"
"I knew he was unhappy lately," Quatre admitted. "We took this mini-break a few weeks back. A month ago. He was-- distant. I told him he could talk to me, and he seemed very... sad, I guess. He said he wished that were true, but if it wasn't, then it was his fault, and not mine."
She absorbed that. "Duo doesn't know?"
"He and Duo are so competitive. I guess I'm the one everyone talks to about crap like that." He smiled disparagingly. "Gay best friend, or something."
"That's not how either of them thinks of you," Sally said sternly. She snorted suddenly, knocking his knee roughly with hers. "Duo idolises you. The first year I knew him, it was all "Quatre said this" and "Quatre did it this way." I wanted to kick your ass and I hadn't even met you. And if Wufei can even admit to you that he's got feelings, you're miles ahead of the rest of us. The cadets call him the Ice Prince. And he prefers it that way." While he flushed and stared into his sausage hoping it might teleport him to safety, she considered him silently. She leaned toward him, forcing him to look at her.
"Duo told me about your surgery," she said, and it was so far from what he'd been steeling himself for that it hit him in every vulnerable spot. "Don't get angry with him," she added quickly. "I'm a doctor. He's worried about you. He said you had a nightmare. That you dreamt you were dying."
If he got any redder he was going to be permanently burnt, he thought miserably. "It wasn't related to the surgery," he said stiffly. "I was stabbed during the Colony Wars. It was about that." Unbidden, he suddenly remembered the dream he'd been woken out of in the bunk room, and frowned at the blurred images. "I guess... I hear what he said. When I woke up during the surgery, Duo said, He's sweating. That's what I dream. Just him saying that."
She put an overly familiar hand on his arm, and though he was too polite to push her away, he wanted to. Especially after he realised she'd only done that to get her fingers over his pulse-point. To his embarrassment, he discovered his heart was beating faster, and he felt a little overheated. "It's not uncommon after your experience," she was saying. "As a doctor, I want to tell you not to hide from this. It's normal, and there are ways to stop it from becoming a bigger problem. You could talk to a therapist. I'd be happy to recommend someone I know who operates near your neighbourhood."
"I've had a full debriefing on PTSD," he said. "My sister is also a doctor, and I've got a very competent GP. I know what to look for, and I'm convinced that post-trauma stress is not something I have to add to my list right now."
Her eyes told him she didn't believe him. But she let him go, and leaned away. "All right," she said.
"Thank you for your concern. And you can assure Duo that you talked to me, if that's why he abandoned us so pointedly."
A crooked grin not unlike Duo's crept over her full lips. "He'll be disappointed you noticed," she said.
He grinned back at her. "He can idolise my powers of observation." She laughed, and he relaxed at the sound. They managed to finish their meals with companionable chatter about the Maganac Corps, and Quatre allowed himself to forget about dreams and doctors.
End Part 13
(:./erin/launch13)
