01-Jun-2000
Title: Brother Maxwell p1/?
Author: TB
Archive: um, only if you like it, GW Addiction
Catagory: after EW (not really a category, huh?)
Pairing(s): 2xH
Rating: R
Warnings: original characters, lots of religion,
language
Spoilers: not in this part, but probably later
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, thanks in advance!
Disclaimers: I do not own or profit by use of the GW
universe. The only thing that's mine is Julian and the
plot.
Duo shoved another barely-dressed clubber out of his way on his trek to the bar. This place made him distincly uncomfortable. Duo liked dancing, but he generally preferred to do it standing--and that didn't seem to be a big trend here.
What really annoyed him, though, was that this whole meeting was so... cliche.
He scowled at the red-haired man who was his "contact," lounging with his back to the bar and a shot-glass held between three almost abnormally long-boned fingers. "What's the deal?" he demanded, squeezing into the minimal free space beside Julian and the other bar-drinkers.
The older man flashed a slight smirk at him, and handed him the shot-glass. "Drink it," he offered. "You'll probably want the insulation."
Duo obeyed. He was long past the point of such minor suspicions as drugs in his drinks--Julian had scruples when it suited him to, and it suited Julian not to stoop to such clumsy maneuvers.
After replacing the empty glass on the bar, he asked again, "What's the deal with this place? I always thought you had a little more class."
The man chuckled. "Riding a burr, Maxwell? Home life must be treating you poorly. I'll admit this place is--wanting, but it serves well enough, and sometimes the old hide-outs are the best."
"Best, my ass." Duo scowled at a girl who stumbled a little too close, and inched nearer to Julian. "Now do you mind telling me why I'm here, and not at my perfectly happy home life?"
Julian did him the service of turning serious--though it was hard to tell what was really going on behind the L3 native's mirror-like blue eyes, Duo had often thought that Julian only pretended to be anything but serious. "Fun" was probably alien to the professional--whatever he was.
"What's your feelings on the Church?" was the unexpected question.
"Which church?"
"The Catholic one." Julian studied him. "Of course we know about Maxwell Orphanage, but none of our information suggests you have strong religious beliefs--in any direction."
"That would be because I don't," Duo affirmed. "I like the Church fine. But I don't believe in God, and for some reason, the Catholics don't approve of that."
Julian was getting even harder to read. "What are your feelings on changing that attitude, for a while?"
Duo raised an eyebrow. "How long are we talking?"
"A few months, minimum."
"Maximum?"
"A year, at most."
Duo straightened, surprised. "That's a hell of a long time, Juli!"
The older man gestured for him to keep a lower profile. "I know," he replied cooly. "It will depend, of course, on how long it takes you to do your job."
The American ex-pilot was frowning as he caught a strand of hair between his teeth and began to nibble. "You haven't even told me what the job is, yet."
"Do you have the time?"
"I'm here, aren't I?"
"I meant, do you have the time for the job. A year at most, Duo."
"Hirde'll kill me," Duo retorted. "And I'll lose my job--again. Even the scrap yard isn't going to keep hiring me back, you know."
"I've offered time and again to find you a more suitable occupation. Anything you wanted--at whatever salary you named. That offer still stands."
"Don't distract me," he muttered. "Tell me what the job is."
Julian didn't show it in the face, but Duo felt the way tension suddenly left the man's backbone. Julian knew him too well; if Duo was willing to listen, he was usually willing to go through with an assignment.
"Word is that some high-ranking officials within the Church hierarchy have been fishing in unauthorized ports," the contact was saying softly. "Drugs, money laundering, girls or young boys--some of the usual nastiness you see in corrupt systems. What's strange about this instance is the organisation the operations are suggesting. There's a strong ringleader somewhere. And he or she is the one we want.
"Whoever this leader is, they've got all the strings in their hands, and they pull whenever they see something they want. People have disappeared. A few scattered accidents and unforeseen suicides. Government funding, and by that I mean your old Romafeller stock, transfers to private accounts in large quantities, then disappears from the Reserve altogether. There's even been some trafficking in sensitive, top-level security secrets." Julian absently removed the hair from between Duo's lips, prompting a scowl. "We have several inside leaks who don't pause to sell to both sides, but recently we've begun losing track of the enterprise. We're looking for plants to insert into the system, with the hopeful outcome of catching the bastards with their trousers down."
"You want me to do this for you?"
"Name the fee. The government isn't going cheap, Duo--you give me a figure, and I'll give you cash or credit, whichever you prefer."
Something didn't sound right. "Why me?" Duo demanded, turning to fully face Julian. The red-haired man didn't change position, merely watched him, but the tension was back in his spine and Duo sensed that he would finally be able to wring some answers out of a man who in nearly seven years had never given anything away that was not absolutely necessary to his mission. He poked a finger into Julian's chest, and repeated intensely, "Why me?"
The oddly reflective blue eyes were just slightly narrowed, the minute lines around them visible even in the dim lighting. After a moment Julian shrugged.
"Why you? Rather than professionals from our own ranks, I suppose is what you're asking." Julian didn't bother to wait for confirmation of that. What followed was a surprisingly candid admission. "Because they know us, Duo. We've been spread thin over the last decade, even filling in the company here and there with Preventers. We've become visible, to the people who know how to find us--we're not the only organisation with the technology and the skills to infiltrate and spy. The fact that we're backed, however unknowingly, by the official Earth-Sphere government means very little in *our* world. The money helps. But we're short on people. That's why we approached you back in AC 199, an amateur and a well-known personality. We need people like you who *aren't* affiliated with us, who *haven't* been known to the turncoats and sell-outs from our own ranks, people without any connection to us but with the ability to do what we need done."
Duo was quiet for a long time. Julian watched him for a while, waiting, then ordered another round of drinks. Finally the red-head asked, "Do you need more time to think it over?"
He shook his head. "No. But I need a few days to get my affairs in order."
Julian finished his martini in a quick gulp. "That's fine. Meet me uptown at the boardwalk whenever you're ready, and we'll have you on a private shuttle for Earth a.s.a.p. And Duo--thanks. This is a big one."
"Save it," Duo ordered. "I'm not happy about it."
"None of us are." Julian tossed a few bills onto the counter, and looked back at Duo before he left. "None of us are."
Hirde wiped her eyes again. "I could really learn to hate you, Duo Maxwell," she yelled at the closed door.
"I said I'm sorry!" Duo shouted from the other side. "It's not like I *want* to do this, damn it!"
"Then why didn't you turn him down!"
There was a pause, and then Duo flung the door open. He looked about how she felt--his eyes were red and his braid was only half woven, his clothing was askew and his entire body was rigid. He stared at her for a long time, then slowly embraced her.
"I already said I would," he muttered. "Hirde, I have to go."
She refused to let him back away. "I have an idea, then."
He sighed, and held her tighter. "What?"
"Take me with you."
He did pull back, in shock. "What!"
"Duo, take me with you!" In deadly earnest she held onto his jacket, staring up the inch or two that separated them. "You've left me behind every single damn time you go off at this Julian's beck and call. You don't have a clue what it's like for me, Maxwell! I don't know where you are, what's happening to you, if you're ever coming home. It was one thing during the war, but you don't have an excuse now and I'm not going through that again! Not for a whole damn year. So here's your choice. Take me with you, or I'm not going to be here when you get back!"
His jaw had actually dropped. "Hirde," he started, only to be interrupted by her again.
"I love you," she said. "You asked me never to pressure you, and I haven't. I've been good, Duo. Maybe too good. I don't think you take me seriously anymore. Well, you listen to this." She stepped back. "If you *don't* bring me along, then I'm going to take that as a sign that you don't love me, and I'm going to pack my bags and leave you."
A half hour later, Julian was very surprised to find *two* people waiting for him at the miniature golf course at the boardwalk.
End Part 1
(:./erin/brother1)
