08-Jul-2001
Title: Brother Maxwell 5/?
Author: TB
Archive: yes please
Category: adventure
Pairing: 2xH
Rating: R
Warnings: drug-use, swearing
Spoilers: some
Notes: My original characters are transferred in from an uncompleted novel I've never gotten around to finishing. This fic takes place when Duo is approximately 25, whatever AC # that is [215]. This is not an AU, so everything stands as it happened in the series and in EW. Duo has been living with Hirde during that time, apparently in the same fashion he always has (I imagine he's well-fed ^_~) He does occasional under-ground work for an organisation kind of like the Preventers, spying, stealing, etc (which is how he can work in a scrap yard on L2 and still buy expensive, durable, bullet-proof clothing :P, in addition to keeping a nice apartment!)
Feedback: please ^_^
Disclaimers: This is the sad and woeful tale of a girl who came, who saw, who desperately wanted Gundam Wing--but respected the law enough to put a cheesy disclaimer on her technically not-too-legal fan fiction in order to keep from being sued (assuming any lawyer would care). The end.
Solo tugged Duo's hand sharply. "Listen close, now. When we get in there, I talk, you listen. Learn. Someday I may get a different lay than this and you have to know how to fend for yourself."
"Okay."
"Don't say anything even if you think it's weird. I'll answer questions for you later, if you save them."
"Okay."
Inside, an officer who obviously knew Solo pointed them to a restroom, then suspiciously followed them. Solo stood still, holding Duo's hand, as the older man made a show of checking the empty stalls.
"What do you have?" the officer demanded.
Solo took a plastic bag from the front of his jacket. "Something better than those dime bags I've been bringing you."
"I have heroin coming out of my ears," the man sneered, hitting the bag away in Solo's hand.
"It's not heroin," Solo retorted. "It's *better*."
This time he took the bag. "If you're shitting me- -"
"It's Cloud Nine. This stuff is the shit. And out of the kindness of my heart, I brought it to you first." He watched unemotionally as the Federation man inspected the syringes inside the bag. "For a very reasonable price."
"Yeah, right, you little scrub." The officer put the bag in his pocket and arranged his jacket to cover the bulge. "Hold on. I'll get a friend. He'll pay you."
"He fucking well better."
Duo looked up at his friend when they were alone. "How much is Cloud Nine worth?"
"More than that dick-head can pay us." Solo laughed, but it sounded hard. "This is a new idea of mine, honey. The part you have to watch."
"If they can't pay us, how 'come we came here?"
"This'll be an exchange. An old-fashioned barter."
Duo didn't know what a barter was.
"They're coming. Just listen."
"How much?" the new man, a fat man, asked briskly, slamming the restroom door shut.
"One."
"Hundred? You're fucking stupid."
"One *thousand*."
"Shit." The fat one looked angry. "I'm not paying a little street whore that kind of- -"
"I might re-consider."
"Hurry it up," the first one said. "What do you want?"
Solo seemed tense suddenly, though he didn't look it. His fingers were gripping Duo's so hard that their bones creaked together.
"I want clothes. And shoes. A haircut, for the both of us. And two shuttle passes."
The fat one laughed. The first didn't change expression, but brought his hand up to hide his mouth. "You planning on hopping colonies, Solo?"
"Just want to get around town without paying eight credits each time." He held up Duo's captured hand. "Thirteen, with the kid."
"Sure," the fat one agreed, still laughing. "Clothes, you want. What kind?"
"Good quality. The kind your unfulfilled and over-protective Federation mothers buy you spoiled, over-indulged, rich sons of bitches."
The fat one stopped laughing. "All right, shut it. We'll get you whatever the fuck you want. A couple pairs for you and the tyke. And two shuttle passes."
"And haircuts. And shoes. Size 12 kids and size 9 mens'."
"You got a preference on brand, your Majesty?"
"Dockers. Something sturdy."
"Okay. Next time you come, we'll have that for you." The two officers turned to go.
"No," Solo said sharply, stopping them. "Get it now. You'll forgive me if I don't exactly trust your memories to keep."
The fat one looked ready to yell, or maybe to hit Solo; Duo tensed, ready to run or attack as his friend needed. But then the fat one slowly relaxed, and then he began to chuckle; and then he laughed outright, a big booming laugh like his last one.
"I like a man who knows what he wants. Wait in here, then. And if someone comes in, hide in that storage closet there. Don't let anyone see you. And this will take some time."
And then they were alone again.
"If you have any questions you can ask them now," Solo whispered, rubbing his palm over the crown of Duo's head almost cheerfully, before hopping up on a sink and leaning back against the wall mirror.
Duo leaned against his legs, thinking hard. "You said they wouldn't pay. So you knew you wanted this other stuff."
"Think about it. What else are we gonna buy if they'd paid us cash? Clothes. Shoes. A fucking trim, for Christ's sake, you need an inch off before your hair swallows your face. Besides." Solo found his cigarettes and lit one, carefully keeping the smoke far from Duo. "Fed credits are down in the market. Inflation's so bad they don't spend for fuck."
"So..."
"So. So we get them to give us what we need anyway; and faster, and no questions asked, *and* they think we're stupid for not making them pay cash. So now they'll buy from us more often, because they think they can cheat us. But we'll more than make back the value of the drugs in merchandise. And once we look as snazzy as those shit-fuckers, we can start in on some big lays I've been thinking about." Solo's voice stayed soft, almost quiet, but there was intense passion in it. For the first time in- - it may have been years- - Solo's pale blue eyes didn't seem so dead and cold.
Solo smiled at him, and reached up to run his long fingers through Duo's hair. "I'll get us out of this shit-hole, sweet heart. I promise I will."
Duo let the empty bottle join its neighbour on the carpet. Bruce was asleep on the couch, snoring softly in his drunken stupor.
"Why don't you ever lie?" Julian had asked him once, on one of the first missions he'd ever run for the red-haired agent.
"Because I was lied to once," Duo had replied shortly. "And I've never forgotten it."
He'd gotten off that shit-hole, all right, and done his best never to look back at who he'd left behind.
Duo was rarely ever bored. He'd always had a strong imagination, a lucky gift in the poverty he'd grown up in; when left to his own devices he was never idle. But rare did not mean never. And Duo was phenomenally bored.
Josephe's party, if it could really be called anything but a glorified opportunity to freely exchange drugs in doses Duo knew street dealers would kill for, was by far the most fruitless use of Duo's time he could have invented. Excited at the prospect of finally getting a little of his mission completed, Duo had come feeling energetic and sharp. After four hours, he felt phlegmatic and was seriously considering leaving before he found a way to slit his wrists. He'd barely even seen the Bishop, who had disappeared into a back room almost immediately after Duo's arrival and had not emerged since. Twice, men he had never seen before had entered the room after Josephe, and Duo had stared hard at their faces as they went in, trying to memorise their features so he would know them if he was called to identify them. Both had emerged soon after, looking smug. Duo surmised that a deal had taken place inside. And since then, there'd been absolutely nothing to do.
A woman old enough to be his grandmother approached him, bearing two wine glasses. Duo had spent more than enough time around these people to know the fundamental rule: never take anything a stranger gives you. There was no way of knowing what it really was. But he took the glass she handed him, and smiled, and toasted her.
"To what do I owe the favour?" he asked. "Madam..."
"Call me Selene," she purred. "The favour is nothing; a favour for a young man well-favoured. I'm sure you're a real lady-killer, Mr Maxwell."
"Not to my knowledge." She may have been somebody's grandmother, but there was nothing nurturing about this woman. She had an air of corruption and decay about her that was almost physically disgusting. Her outdated advances certainly were. But Duo kept smiling, and handed his drink, untouched, to a waiter walking past. "Should I know you, Selene? Have we met?"
"No, chéri. But your reputation precedes you." Selene moved closer, and latched on to his nearest biceps. "A bright young star, are you. It's a slow business these days, you know, this work that we do... " She began to walk him slowly through the crowd. Duo shortened his naturally long pace to match hers. "Nothing like in the old days, the Federation days. Not that you'd remember that, the young man you are. Were you even alive- - well, of course you would have been alive during the war, but only a child. A child without understanding."
Selene paused to nod at someone she knew, and Duo took the opportunity to school his expression as best he could. Obviously, his 'reputation' did not include the important fact that he had not only been alive during the War, but a leading terrorist and Gundam pilot, fighting for the colonies.
"A sad conflict," the old woman resumed.
"Yes."
"Back in the old days, Mr Maxwell- - ah, you can scarcely imagine. This was a different world. And we were the wealthiest, Mr Maxwell, those of us with the ambition, and the intelligence, and the *balls* to use what we knew about those Federation idiots to yank their chain a few times. Never too much. Just enough to remind them we existed.
"You see, Mr Maxwell, in the old days, there was no such thing as happy endings and everlasting peace and a chicken in every pot. We, Mr Maxwell, controlled the only substance on earth or in space worth more than money- - worth more than the pitiful human lives it collects and destroys." Selene leaned into him. "The very substance, I hear, that you yourself are not a stranger to."
Duo resisted the urge to throw the woman and her deliberately smug grin across the room. He only smiled. "Are you trying to tell me that drug lords were holding the Federation in the palm of their hand by the sheer power of Cloud Nine?"
"Perhaps it does sound strange, at first." The woman simpered. "But think in economic terms, chéri. Stop thinking small-time, and start thinking large-scale. Where does the drug come from, after all?"
It didn't seem to be a rhetorical question. "I suppose it's produced somewhere. In some kind of factory."
"Produced out of what materials?"
"I guess I don't really know. I assumed it was synthesised."
"But it is not synthesised, not at all. The basic narcotic substance is organic, and it grows so freely over this earth it is a wonder no one discovered it before. It is a plant, Mr Maxwell, and we are the only people on earth who harvest it, or know how to."
Unused to thinking in agricultural terms, it came to him very slowly. "Wait- - you're saying that, that somehow harvesting this plant is so profitable that yo- - we are getting rich just picking it off the ground?"
She laughed. "Not bad, monsieur. For a beginner. It goes a step farther, however. You are correct in the first, as far as you went. We have, you might say, an embarrassment of riches. But over the course of nearly half a century of *extremely* profitable seasons of harvests, we'd struck certain deals with the Federation. The pomp and circumstance of that ridiculous government had put it heavily in debt... until a mysterious donor kindly lent them fast cash."
Duo sucked in a breath. "My God," he said dumbly.
"It wasn't enough, unfortunately." For a moment, Selene frowned. "No amount of money can make an idiot more intelligent. That young General, Khushrenada, was too clever by half for those sheep, and his temporary government had few enough financial concerns." She paused. "I'd be interested to know how he did it. He should have sunk from the sheer weight of bank slips, Khushrenada, the money he threw around. I wouldn't be surprised to hear that certain Romafeller members were kind enough to open their pocket purses- - at gunpoint, at least."
Duo cared little enough. They had nearly crossed the room now; Duo turned them down a hallway, not willing to let his best source of information take a fancy to fly away from him. "Go on," he said.
Selene responded by tapping his cheek with a lace-gloved finger. "Eager to learn, Mr Maxwell? That trait will take you far." She laughed. "But never try it on the Bishop. He's been known to be harsh with those who ask too many questions." She sighed. "Where was I? Ah Khushrenada. In addition to taking our play-toy government away from us, the dashing young hero managed to lose the war to that priss Queen we have now, and her little flock of lovely boys. And she will have nothing to do with us, you can be sure of that. She, like the General, has the money the Federation didn't. God has smiled on the girl. The colonies and earth together supply enough for her modest expenses, out of gratitude for saving them. And what does the little bitch want but pink cars and pretty dresses? No, the Peacecraft is of no bother to anyone. But the Earth-Sphere government is."
"A bother?"
Selene stopped, and turned to face him. A tiny, strangely frightening smile curved her lips upward. "A government that vast, ma chere, runs on unlimited funds. And I don't think the little princess has that, not even if her God pisses gold on her pretty little head. And when all her money is gone, and her budgets are trashed, and her charitable programmes have drained her resources, she will find us waiting. And I think we will not be so offensive to her, then."
Duo phrased his question carefully. "Have you approached Relena Peacecraft? Talked with her about your propositions?" How far did the corruption spread? And how incredibly bold were these people. No wonder Julian wanted them gone. Earth ruling the colonies was wrong, but an Earth controlled by a bunch of drug lords with armies of junkies, pockets deeper than the Mariana Trench, and barely enough morals to fill a drop in that pit was a far more frightening thought.
Selene frowned suddenly. Duo, panicking, wondered what he'd said wrong and cast about for a way to take it back; then he realised that she was pouting in an attempt to be coy.
Her husky voice confirmed that observation. "I grow tired of your questions, darling. I'll tutor you another time... or tutor you in something else entirely."
There was no doubt in Duo's mind what she meant, and he was damn sure not going to blithely trot off to bed with a woman three times his age. Not for any amount of entirely useful information. He'd comprised enough on this mission already- - given up his health and his good sense for Julian's job. Let Julian sleep with the bitch, if he wanted to know what she knew.
But- - she seemed to know so much. She was certainly old enough to have seen it all, if it was only a business a half-century old. Christ, she could know names- - she might tell him names, dates, even show him documentation!
Selene ran her laced fingers over his cheek. Duo shivered. Her flesh was icy. "Come with me, young man. There are private rooms here, down this very hall."
The only person he'd ever kissed in his life was Hirde. It was a struggle to nod. He let her lead him down the hall.
But it was not sex that she offered, though at first he had steeled himself as she'd pushed him down onto the plush comforter of a wide four-poster bed in the lushly appointed chamber they'd discovered unlocked. She'd grinned, excited, and laid her small handbag on an antique bordeaux to fish around the contents inside. And she'd returned with a syringe.
Duo actually went limp in relief. His throat, so recently dry, rasped his words. "What is that?"
"Your preferred delicacy." The braided pilot glanced at her sharply, wondering how much Josephe had shared about their first deal; the Bishop had used that exact phrasing to describe the contraband. Was the lady mocking him?
She didn't give him an opening to pursue it. She sank onto the bed beside, and pushed him down so that he lay on his back. She began to work on his shirt, throwing his expensive cufflinks away and rolling the linen up above his elbow and producing a tourniquet. "Cloud Nine- - in a way. The drug you have been receiving from the Bishop is an impure form, filtered and diluted during mass production. The grubby addicts on the streets don't deserve it in its pure form." She laughed, removing the cap from the needle and waving it in front of his nose. "But good boys do, chérie, and you will be a good boy, won't you?"
What scared him was that he was actually curious to know what it felt like. That he was excited, too. Would it be better than what Josephe gave him? He'd only slowly realised that the craving he'd encouraged for Julian's mission was not satisfied by the stock he bought. Would this be as good as Selene promised?
He barely felt the prick of the needle in his vein. What he felt was ice and fire running through him, and he heard a rushing noise in his mind, and an overwhelming pleasure that aroused him more powerfully than he'd ever been before. He looked up at Selene, and it seemed she was far away; he saw her turn the needle on herself, and when she floated down from that great distance she sank onto his chest, and he put his arm around her. Her hand trailed down to the crotch of his trousers, but something better than orgasm already had him shaking, and he never felt the chill of her skin on his.
He woke a long time later. Even in the dark it seemed the room was spinning. He was cold. Blindly he reached for the sheets, only to recoil when he realised he was not alone in the bed.
The events of unknown hours earlier returned to him in rush. Duo fell back on the plump pillows, cursing softly; cursing himself. "But what else was I supposed to do?" he argued half-heartedly in his own defence. "It would have been suspicious if I'd done anything else..." But he could have done something, couldn't he? He should have.
"Quiet, there. They're sleeping."
Duo's head swam as he turned toward the door. He'd distinctly heard a voice. He froze as it repeated its warning. Whoever it was stood in the foyer, he realised, of his bedroom.
"They won't hear a bloody thing," another voice disregarded the order. "If I know the Countess, they won't wake until noon three days from now. And God provide them with enough asprin for when they do!" Someone else laughed at this, and a light was turned on.
"Enough joking," retorted the first voice. "Let's just finish this up and get out of here. We're all busy men."
"All right, all right. Sit down."
Duo rolled onto his stomach, straining to hear as the men all the voices were male, he decided descended into murmurs. He jumped when suddenly they resumed normal speech.
"And then I come forward, and offer to take him on. I'll make him an offer he can't refuse!" Laughter followed that. "He'll jump when we show him his pretty little girlfriend's head on a stick."
"And I will make a counter-offer, which of course will not sway him." Duo started. He knew that man- - the Bishop. The muted contempt for all other human creatures in his heavy accent was unmistakable.
"Leaving him to me," resumed the other. "And we all know what happens from there."
Their talk turned to something else, something Duo presumed was an earlier conversation. He wanted to growl in frustration. Who were they talking about? Had he just witnessed a set-up for some unlucky bastard? What did the Bishop have to do with it? But then the man probably had his fingers in as many pies as possible- -
"It was pathetic," a loud voice jarred him out of his deep thoughts. Duo blinked, and listened closer. "The whore was all but slobbering on my boots, trying to beg for whatever drop of the stuff I'd spare her. As if she could pay for it! I kicked her off and had her shot. It was disgusting; I had to go for a walk before I could take dinner."
A quiet voice, one he hadn't heard yet, cut through the laughter and silenced it. "What a piece of work is man," it quoted, cold; and then soft, even footsteps preceded the deliberate closing of the door.
Duo frowned. That voice was familiar, too. Bruce? No the accent was not so sharp, more a blend of cultures, where all the others were distinctly French. Who then could it be?
The Bishop finally filled the uncomfortable quiet that followed the man's outburst? For all its mild presentation, it seemed like an outburst, and a bitter one. "Ignore him," Josephe muttered. "Come, gentlemen. Let's leave the Countess to her conquest. A drink, in my quarters?"
Duo barely listened as the men departed; his mind was racing. Finally! Finally, something to report. It was time to talk to Julian.
And maybe the agent would let him get the hell home.
The salon was nearly empty. The bar, however, was well-stocked, and that was more important at the moment. Duo gently swirled his drink in the chill glass, wondering if he could read anything in the foam and dark liqueur.
"How is it you never- -" He struggled to find the words in French. "Never ended up like me?"
Nearly two weeks had passed since the party, and Duo had found very swiftly that one night could change a great many things in a city like Paris. Two weeks ago he'd been a favourite of Josephe's, both for his ability to attract new customers with his looks and his popularity, and for the ready cash that never quite seemed to disappear from his bank account. Two weeks ago, he'd been sure that when he left the dank and dirty streets of this God-forsaken city behind, he'd never even want to hear about Cloud Nine again. And since the night of the party, when an old woman had given him something better than he'd known existed, he hadn't been able to think of anything else.
Bruce Gemel, his only friend and the only other man in Paris who knew a certain red-headed man who claimed to work for a government Duo had never heard of, had shown him other ways to take the edge off of the painful cravings. Bruce made him laugh; just when Duo was sure that he could never laugh again, Bruce would have him cracking up so hard he had to wipe his eyes. And Bruce was the only man he could confide in, the only man to whom doubts were not a weakness.
Bruce was at the other end of the question Duo had asked. The swarthy little Frenchman took a long drink of his wine, his curly head down-tilted after for a long time as he considered the query. Finally, with a small shrug, he answered.
"It wasn't in my job description," he said honestly. He looked up, and met Duo's eyes. "I didn't have to, so I didn't."
"But aren't you ever... curious?"
Bruce shook his head. "I see well enough what it does," he replied. "I know it's not for me. I can't do what I'm supposed to with my head cluttered up and my blood on fire. No, don't look at me like that, I'm not disparaging what you've done here in Paris. Julian had his reasons for placing you here, and if you heard what you say you did, then his instincts were right on, and you are the man we needed. So maybe, maybe it's a good thing, in a way, for you. But it's not for me. Never."
Duo nodded, subdued. He began to swirl his drink again, thinking the murky opaqueness was not unlike his future after all.
A long time later, Bruce gestured to the door. "She's here. You want me to leave?"
"It's probably best. If you run fast enough, you might get away before she sets some kind of evil curse on you."
"Leave her high and dry," the Frenchman advised, no ounce of compassion in his voice. "She's a rotten apple, Duo."
Duo chuckled softly. "So am I, Bruce. See you."
"Au revoir, Duo."
"Au revoir," Dorothy Catalonia echoed mockingly, glancing at Bruce with her strange, frank eyes as he hurried away from their table.
"Shut it," Duo advised shortly. "Sit down. You want a drink?"
"Whatever you're having." The woman sat gracefully across from him, in the chair Bruce had occupied. Her purse was lain on the table, and her hat and gloves beside it. Duo, looking back at her after signalling for a server, winced suddenly when he saw her face.
"What happened to you? You look like shit."
"Charming as ever." Dorothy's split lips curled up in a smile as she reached up with her fingertips to touch her bruised cheek. "It's looks worse than it is. But thank you for your concern."
Concern, yes; an instinctive reaction of anger at the idea of anyone abusing a helpless woman the way Dorothy had obviously been. But Dorothy was anything but helpless, and Duo found that he didn't really want to know what had happened. He glanced away, and let it drop.
"Thank you for meeting me," she said, as the waitress placed a brimming pint of beer before her. "I know it was last minute."
"Yeah." Duo finished his drink and quickly handed it to the waitress, before she departed, with a few coins to pay for a refill. "What's this about, anyway? It's too early for you to need more."
"I didn't come to talk about that. Not exactly, anyway." Dorothy tossed back half her drink in a smooth gulp. Her eyes glittered as she looked at him; Duo wondered if Treize, her cousin, had ever looked the same way. If so, he didn't doubt his enemies had feared him with good reason. Dorothy smiled, suddenly, and looking at her, Duo knew he was in trouble. He could all but feel the advantage in their unconscious power-game swing to her.
Her soft whisper confirmed it. "I know why you're really here."
Duo's heart skipped a beat. But he was sure that nothing showed on his face. "Oh?"
"The man, Bruce, that you meet with. He's not an ordinary dealer, is he?" Dorothy leaned forward. "In fact, I'd say he's not really a dealer at all."
"You have interesting delusions."
"Oh, you get your supply from him, I don't doubt it. Him and your patron. But there's more going on, isn't there?" She poked the table with her finger. "I see you too often, talking together in dark corners or in empty bars."
Abruptly Duo abandoned all pretence that he was ignorant of what she spoke about. Even after years of peace, he still carried a gun and he drew it from the holster at the small of his back, under the cover of the table, and reached across the small space between their touching knees to press the muzzle into her lower abdomen. She froze.
"I'll say this very clearly and slowly," he told her evenly. "I am going to ask you what you know. And I want you to tell me everything you have ever heard or thought or even dreamed about Bruce."
"You won't shoot me here." Was it his imagination, or was she paler than normal? Her bruises stood out in sharp relief against her white skin. "You'd be arrested before you made it out the door. How would the Bishop like that?"
"He might not like it at all. But he likes my money, and it spends better. You think he wouldn't bail me out and hush it up?" He nudged the gun just a little closer to her, as far as his arm could reach. "And what gave you the idea that I'd do it here? All we have to do is take a few steps outside, and they won't check the garbage heaps until Monday. So start talking."
Dorothy ground her teeth. Grudgingly, but paler still, she admitted, "I don't actually know anything beyond what I've already said. I have my suspicions, but little else."
"You sure about that? You want to check one more time? Revise anything?"
"No," she retorted sullenly. "Now put that gun away."
He did, slowly. "Keep your 'suspicions' to yourself. It's healthier."
"But I'm right, aren't I?" His glare fazed her only for a moment. "I am. There is something more going on with you and your dealer. Is Josephe in on it too? What is it?"
"None of your business, that's what!" Duo realised he had made a mistake- - possibly a big one. By reacting so strongly, he'd given Dorothy all the proof she'd needed. He dug his fists into his thighs, clenching them tightly to keep from punching something.
Dorothy seemed to be struggling to regain her calm, superior attitude. It was a poor showing. Duo, watching her, realised something else it: probably should not have been so easy to threaten her. The woman had, after all, reportedly shown not the slightest sign of grief at the death of her famous grandfather, Duke Dermail; she had fought for Milliardo Peacecraft on the Libra and barely flinched even while Quanze was falling apart. Once upon a time she'd lived for war. And yet she'd been put in her place by a gun waved under a table? Again, Duo wondered what had happened to her face, who had put the bruises there who she was afraid of.
"Go home," he said. "If you have one."
Without a word, her head bowed now that the advantage was once again his, Dorothy obeyed.
He awoke in his own bed in the middle of the night when he suddenly became aware of the presence of another person in his suite. A hand gently came to rest over his mouth, preventing outcry; then a voice that was oddly familiar urged him quietly to sit up and turn on the light. Tensely, Duo did: then he went limp with relief.
Relief, however, was short-lived. Anger followed swiftly. "What do you mean, sneaking up on me like that? Don't gloat at me, you slimy bastard!"
"Good evening," Julian replied. Duo scowled, but as the anxiety of the moment receded, the pilot decided he was glad to see the agent. The red-haired man sat on the bed, tucking his feet up under him and brushing his hair back from his thin face.
Duo blinked. "Why are you dressed like that?"
"I picked it up on the edge of the city." Julian plucked the ratty collar of his beat-up denim jacket. He was dressed in worn-out rags, the coat being the best preserved of it all. His familiar shock of red hair, usually neatly groomed, was now tangled and straggled into his face, which had been artistically smeared with dirt. Studying the total effect, Duo realised that no one would look twice at a dirty street bum. Julian could set out a styrofoam cup for spare change and never collect so much as a glance.
Julian got straight to the point. "Bruce contacted me. You have information?"
"I'll trade you," Duo shot back, leaning back against the headboard. "Tell me first about Hirde."
The other man smiled. "She's well. A little bored, I think. I doubt she'll ever want to get within an hundred miles of a nunnery again. So far she's seen nothing suspicious. I've been writing to her, pretending to be her cousin."
"That's good." Duo chewed his lower lip. "You didn't send her on a pity mission, did you?"
An elegant eyebrow, barely visible, was raised. "I'm not familiar with that term."
"You know. Like a fake mission. Something small and silly that would keep her out of harm's way until I'm done here? Like telling a five year old that he has to be the man of the house and defend his poor mother while his father is gone?"
"Ah." Julian pushed his hair back again. "Did you want me to?"
"I... no. No. She can handle it. But did you? Give her a pity assignment?"
Julian shook his head. "It's very real. And very unfortunate. If she managed to crack our mystery slave traders, I'd be willing to delve very deep in my superior's pocketbooks for a suitable reward. Hirde might enjoy having her own isle in the Caribbean."
There was nothing really in Julian's voice that indicated anything other than a certain generalised fondness for Hirde, but Duo remembered that during their hours on the plane together, he'd been jealous of the red-haired agent. Now he shifted, uncomfortable... but he trusted Hirde. Even if he didn't necessarily trust Julian.
"Now," the other man said. "Tell me what I came to Paris to hear."
Dutifully Duo repeated what the woman Selene had told him, mentioning also that since that night he had fallen out of Josephe's bunch of favourites. But some instinct made him hold back the conversation that he had overheard; perhaps it was his own doubts, a lingering fear of embarrassing himself by repeating what had been no more than a fever dream, a hallucination brought on by the narcotics he had taken earlier.
Julian considered all that Duo had told him, his smudged face thoughtful. Finally, the agent looked up, and said, "Are you eating enough?"
Duo laughed. "Playing mother hen doesn't suit you, Juli."
To his surprise, faint colour tinged the other man's cheeks. Annoyed, Julian waved a long- fingered hand. "Don't mock me," he muttered. "I'm not completely without sentiment, you know."
"You worry about me!"
Blue eyes flashed. "Is that so amazing?"
"Well- -" Duo shrugged, and bit down on his lower lip, trying not to laugh. "I just didn't know you had it in you."
"I've always looked after you, haven't I?" Perturbed, Julian rose without his usual grace, and crossed the room, to the door of Duo's bedroom. He stopped, and turned back, once again composed. He said, "Bruce knows where to find me. In the meantime, try pursuing this Madam Selene. See if she'll part with any more secrets. And let me take care of Dorothy Catalonia."
"Don't kill her."
"Didn't I just tell you I am not without compassion?" Julian waved one of his strange hands. "Turn off the light, Duo. Good night."
"Good night." Duo watched him go, and wondered how Julian could say the exact same thing twice, and mean it only once.
End Part 6
(:./erin/brother6)
