21-Mar-2006

Title: Launch 12/?
Author: TB
Archived: GWA and
http://www.geocities.com/brother_maxwell/TB_home_page.html
Category: yaoi
Pairing: 3x4
Disclaimer: The characters and plotlines of Gundam Wing are used here without permission and without a lick of profit.
Notes: I've chosen to write as though Sally and Quatre never met during the wars.
Spoilers: For the series and EW.
Summary: Chapter 12: While at Costa Dorada, Duo and Quatre receive disturbing news.
Feedback: Thank you to everyone who has sent notes of encouragement and feedback. I very much appreciate it!

Launch by Erin Cayce

Part Twelve

Duo was on in the lobby when Quatre entered it. His friend stood at the desk, his posture aggressive and his hands rather threateningly close to the morning concierge. Quatre grabbed an orange from the stand by the doors, nodded to one of the cleaners hastily hiding her cart in a service hall, and crossed the floor. He hadn't noticed before how plush the carpet was; it felt wonderful under bare feet rubbed a little raw by sand. He thought idly of sneaking up behind Duo and tapping him on the shoulder, or something, but Duo was far more alert today than he had been the night before, and whirled about with Quatre still ten feet away.

The relief on Duo's face made him feel badly. It hadn't really crossed his mind what Duo would do, waking up to find his convalescing roommate missing.

He was answered a moment later when he was swept up into a fierce hug. He wrapped his own arms around Duo's back, and whispered against Duo's ear, "I'm so sorry."

To his surprise Duo's shoulders slumped. "Damn it," Duo grumbled. "I was all set to be pissed at you this morning."

He laughed, and squeezed gently before he let Duo go. "How about just through breakfast?"

Duo was not even bothering to hide the evaluating expression in his eyes as he checked Quatre with a very careful look, head to toe and back up again. "Promise me you didn't hurt yourself."

"Actually," Quatre told him, "I feel great. Better than I have in a really long time, Duo."

Duo sighed. Then he slung his arm over Quatre's shoulder, and walked him toward the dining room. "Buy me breakfast, hot shot," he said. "And don't you dare ever sneak out on me again. I almost called out a copter." He paused, and looked him over again. "Where are your pajamas?"

Quatre clapped his hand over his mouth. "Oh no," he mumbled. "I forgot all about them." He glanced out the windows, and groaned. "High tide!"

His dismay kicked Duo into a grin, then a laugh. "Breakfast, and then shopping," he guessed. They descended the few steps to the dining portico, already golden with sunlight and sparkling plateware. Duo picked an unoccupied table at random, and insisted on holding Quatre's chair for him as he settled into the wicker seat. A moment later Duo was propping his back with an extra seat cushion. Quatre let him fuss, understanding his friend needed to make up for having let him sneak out in the first place, but he did wave off an offer to get an ice pack for his chest.

"I really am fine," he swore. "I just went swimming."

"In the middle of the bleeding night," Duo muttered, dropping into his own seat. "I almost had a heart attack when I--" Suddenly, unaccountably, he turned a deep red, and his fingers fluttered about the edge of his place mat. "That is-- I was--"

It occurred to Quatre rather late in that stumbling sentence just what had triggered Duo's look of criminal guilt. He hid a smile by reaching for his sweating water glass and sipping from it. Then he dipped his fingers into the water, and flicked it at Duo's face. He got a flinch and a blink for his effort. "Calm down," he advised. "I'm not offended, I'm not hurt, but I am starving. Let's order something. A lot of something." He looked about, and found a waiter standing at the ready with their menus. He gestured, and the young man trotted across the portico to serve them.

Duo immediately buried his flushed face in his menu, emerging just long enough to order cereal and a fruit plate. Quatre, feeling adventurous, ordered a tortilla de Sacremonte. Then he remembered that Trowa had liked the chocolate churros in the one quick meal they'd eaten together here, so he ordered that as well. It wasn't often that he indulged his own whimsies, and he felt mildly proud of himself for doing so.

Duo was back to normal by the time they had their juice and coffees. "I don't know if you remember," he said, unfolding his napkin and dropping it into his lap. "Today is the first broadcast from the IEO."

"I completely forgot!" Quatre exclaimed. "Thank you so much for reminding me, I would have hated to miss it." He twisted about in his chair, looking for video sets. "Do you think we can watch it out here?"

"If you asked them to install a satellite on the roof for you I think they'd have it done yesterday," Duo grinned. "I asked when we got in, actually. We'll have enough time to eat before it starts, and then we can sit at the bar."

"I can't believe I forgot about it," Quatre complained, planting his elbows on the table, not caring if it was rude. "I'm such a bastard."

Duo's snicker turned into a genuine laugh. "Eat everything on your plate and I'll even let you talk my ear off all day about the crew."

With that incentive, Quatre had no problem finishing his meal, and to Duo's amusement he could barely contain his excitement as they switched to the shaded bar that ran the inside edge of the portico. Quatre picked at the now-dry hem of his wetsuit, drummed his fingers on the counter, and kicked at the footrail with his bare toes until the bartender brought him banana chips just to keep him busy. Precisely at nine, the morning talk-show ended, and an announcer wearing a hoodie with the official IEO patch appeared on screen, standing on a beach somewhere with a gentle breeze blowing his hair back from his bald spot.

"Good morning, Earth and Colonies," the announcer said. Duo patted Quatre's bouncing knee, and Quatre spared him a quick smile before riveting his eyes back to the screen above their heads. "I'm Douglas Andrews from the Douglas Andrews Daily Report Channel 18. It is my very great pleasure to be bringing you this unique and exciting "first'-- our first report from the International Exploration Operation that launched from Costa Dorada, Spain five weeks ago."

Andrews began to walk down the beach, and Quatre tamped hard on his impatience as the man began a brief history of the IEO, complete with cuts to blueprints and photographs. "The IEO is the largest ocean-faring science vessel ever built. It contains eighteen laboratories divided between "wet" and "dry," has six manned underwater subs for diving exploration, and three unmanned subs with state-of-the-art video and computer equipment, capable of diving more than two miles to the ocean floor. The men and women of the IEO are top scientists engaged in research that has a wide range of practical applications, from medicine to technology to marine viability. Today we will speaking with Doctor Kathleen Ehrlich, the IEO's Chief Biologist. All around the world and in Space, classrooms of children from ages five to twenty are standing by with questions to ask Doctor Ehrlich and her science team. Ladies and gentlemen, the International Exploration Operation."

Quatre discovered he was gripping the bar so tightly his fingers had gone a little numb. He wished with sudden aching fierceness that he could have been there for this. They were his people, and he'd meant to be there to share in the first triumphant presentation of their hard work. To be stuck in the audience instead of on the ship he'd begun to think of as home-- it hit him with devastating force just then. But then Duo's hand was on his knee again, gripping, and when their eyes met, Quatre saw that his friend understood.

The video had cut to a split-screen of Ehrlich standing in the wet lab, looking spruce in her white IEO polo. She stood with nervously squared shoulders facing the screen, her hands latched in front of her as she listened attentively to the first question, read by an English school-girl who couldn't have been older than seven. The little girl was round-cheeked and dark-skinned, her dark hair in plump braids. She was saying, "We read that there are mountains and volcanoes under the sea?"

Ehrlich nodded, unclasping her hands and then gripping them tightly together again. "That's true," she answered, almost steadily. "In fact nearly ninety percent of all volcanic activity happens under the water. The most clumped together are in the South Pacific Ocean where there are more than fifteen hundred. That's where the one they named after President Silei erupted six years ago. Your teacher can tell you all about that."

"This is great," Quatre murmured. "This is exactly what I wanted."

The next question came from L2, and Quatre was struck by the poignant unsuitability of the classroom being linked via satellite to the whole of humanity. Children crammed into too few desks in a room of crumbling, stained plaster, their uniforms ill-fitting and their faces clearly pinched and thin. But the young man who stood before the vid" recorder with his notecard clutched between small hands and a dark blush on his cheeks had the same excitement as the healthy, happy girl before him; his eyes shone with it as he read, quickly but unevenly, from his prompt.

"Our teacher says that ocean water has th-- thirty-five thousand parts per million of salt," he stumbled on gamely. "But also that lots of salt is bad for humans. So ocean scientists have to measure it very carefully. What I want to know is that all the water we get on L2 comes from the ocean, so how do we know that it's all right to drink?"

"It wasn't always," Duo muttered next to him.

"That's a very good question," Ehrlich said, and cleared her throat. "On Earth we use many different methods for desalinating-- for removing the salt from water to make it drinkable. Right now we have fourteen plants throughout the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans which use a method called "reverse osmosis." It removes all the salt and other contaminants-- we call that "distillation'-- and then we test it very carefully to be sure that it's safe for people." She drew a deep breath. "If you look at our site on the net, there's an experiment there that you can do to see how it works for yourself. Desalinisation is not a new technology. People have been doing it for thousands of years. And if you send us pictures of your class doing the experiment, then we'll send each of you a certificate, and a cap with the IEO logo." She touched the patch over her breast. "The world always needs new scientists!"

Quatre was so busy grinning at her effort to be approachable, and the obvious excitement in the L2 classroom that greeted news of a reward, that he didn't notice the presence of their waiter from earlier until the man was already stepping away. He glanced at Duo, and saw him bent over a note.

Duo's head snapped up, his braid losing its purchase on his shoulder and slipping off to swing at his back. "Shit," he cussed loudly. He crumpled the paper in his fist.

"What is it?" Quatre asked him, startled.

"Shit," Duo said again. "Just-- watch your programme. I'll be right back."

"Wait, tell me what's wrong."

Duo was already standing, his eyes furious. But he stopped long enough to look down at Quatre, chewing on his lip. Then suddenly he leaned forward, until his breath was hot against Quatre's ear. "Mariemaia Khushrenada has been broken out of her prison," he whispered, just barely loud enough to be heard.

Quatre stared at him. "By who?" he demanded.

Duo smashed his hand to the bar, crushing the note beneath it. "Preventers," he bit out, and turned away.

Quatre glanced back at the television, where Ehrlich was sharing space with an Indian schoolboy. Then he slid off his stool, and hurried after Duo.

He caught up to his friend in the confines of their suite, where Duo was already on the "vid, shouting to be heard as he rooted through their luggage in the bedroom. Quatre nodded to the woman on the screen, vaguely recognising her as someone from Preventers HQ, and slipped past her to the bathroom. He shut the door firmly, not sure if it was visible from the angle of the "vid, and stripped into the shower. He bathed quickly, wrapped himself in a robe, and made a dash from the bathroom to the bedroom. As he dressed he found he had unconsciously chosen clothes that reminded him of the war-- a pair of khaki trousers, stretchy and durable, and a cotton shirt with long protective sleeves and a high collar. He added a grey wool waistcoat for warmth, and walked back into the sitting room, wondering if Duo would only ask him to leave again.

But Duo only greeted him with a distracted smile. "There's footage," he explained shortly, as Quatre sat on the couch next to him. "Sally's connecting me. Whoever they were, they wanted to be seen."

"Do you have names yet?" Quatre asked.

"HQ have been compiling time sheets and stations. It could be a while before we identify them. There's more than a thousand people to account for, and another hundred on inactive duty."

There were, Quatre realised suddenly, a great many things he didn't know about Duo's job. When the Eve War had ended, he'd been offered a position in the infant organisation that was the Preventers, but by then he'd been deeply involved with WEI and had the beginnings of an adult life carved out for himself. He had consulted with his sisters, as well as with Duo, Trowa, and Wufei, and come to the conclusion that he was at last in the right time and place to fulfil his father's wishes, and take on the obligations he'd been born for. Destroying his Gundam had been, for Quatre, the end of an era. The end of his youth, and the freedom to act on his own behalf. He'd regretted it strongly, doubted his decision daily for almost a year; he'd been so used to the pain that he'd simply refused to learn anything about what he was missing, what he was failing to do. And perhaps Duo and Wufei, who had both accepted positions with the Preventers, had understood him better than he did himself, because outside of amusing anecdotes about mutual friends, they almost never told him anything about the operations which consumed their daily life.

Quatre sat on the couch feeling like a bad soldier, and a horrible friend.

"Ready for the show?" the woman on the "vid asked suddenly. "I'm connecting you now."

She switched immediately to the recording. It had the greenish, grainy look of a security camera. They were facing what looked like a main security desk in a lobby, from a high angle, probably the ceiling, seven or eight feet from the two men who sat at the desk, talking idly. The time signature in the corner showed it to be fourteen minutes past ten in the evening.

From somewhere beyond the camera, a group of people who were undeniably Preventers entered the view. One of the guards stood quickly, his mouth moving silently. One of the Preventers stepped forward, obligingly showing a badge. His back was to the camera, which was providing an excellent view of the top of his head, covered in a black beanie. All the Preventers-- Quatre counted twelve-- wore combat gear.

The guard wasn't accepting the ID. He handed it to his partner, who keyed a code in one of the computers. The lead Preventer drew a gun, and all his men immediately followed suit. Within just a few moments, they had pinned the two guards to the wall and were cuffing them there. One stayed on watch, while the leader divided the rest and sent them off beyond the camera range.

They cut to a new room. A recreation room, crammed with a small dining table, a microwave and a refrigerator. Two guards on break there were assaulted by one of the splinter groups of renegade Preventers. Quatre flinched when one of the masked men shot a guard; he felt vaguely ill when he watched the execution that followed a minute later.

Another cut. A split-screen view, two angles on a single room. A bedroom, Quatre thought at first, but then saw the bars on the single window and the electronic locks on the steel door. A girl no more than ten or twelve sat at a little vanity, reading a book. Mariemaia Khushrenada, he recognised, her silent form composed, slender, oddly out of place in her grim surroundings. As if she were meant for parade grounds, for a throne. For a uniform. Though he had fought a war against her, he had never seen her in person, and it was something shocking to see her there on the screen.

Sparks flew from the door, grey in the camera lense, and then it was wrenched open. Three black-clad Preventers poured into the room, P226 pistols roving the room before settling into "ready" positions against the chests of their owners. The leader of this splinter stepped toward Mariemaia, and snapped a salute. She nodded gravely to him, but didn't stand. She was not surprised to see him there, Quatre noted. He watched the Preventers cooperate in a sturdy fireman's carry, two of them taking the little girl while the leader covered their retreat from the room.

"She can't walk," Duo told him. "I don't know if you knew that. Dekim Barton shot her when it was all falling to pieces. It severed her spine."

"I thought Heero shot her."

Duo offered a crooked, unhappy smile. "He thought he did. I didn't find out the truth until after he'd already disappeared. Lady Une and the Vice-Minister saw the whole thing."

"And didn't think to tell him?"

"I guess they didn't realise he didn't know."

"That's sad," Quatre whispered. Duo only nodded, his eyes dark.

Another room. This, Quatre surmised, was the network base of the prison. It had the look of a heavily fortified office. But it too held only three guards, and it finally occurred to Quatre that the hit had been timed for the skeleton crew. He checked the time signature, and it showed only six minutes had passed from the first recording. It had been done quickly, so fast that those in the network base were only just starting to realise something was wrong. When the door flew open, one managed to fire a few shots with his weapon, but he went down in a spurt of grey gore a second later. The other two never made it to their feet; they slumped dead over their desks.

Only a single Preventer entered this frame. Unlike the others, this one came straight to the camera, reaching up a gloved hand to turn it down for a better view. The automatic focus adjusted to show an aristocratic mouth and a slender, aquiline nose, and topping that, a pair of wide, long-lashed eyes.

Quatre stared, stunned. "I know her!" he blurted.

Duo whirled on him. "What?"

"I know her," he repeated. "That's Dorothy Catalonia." He had dreamed about her only the night before, though he hadn't truly thought of her in a long time. The woman who had nearly killed him aboard the Libra was unmistakably the same as the one now removing her black cap. When a tail of thick pale hair fell to her shoulder, he felt a sympathetic throb in his stomach.

She replaced her beanie with a beret. Though the security camera did not supply its colouration or texture, its brass badge was clear as day. It was a stylised “M.’ Dorothy perched it at a rakish angle on her head.

"Are you sure it's Dorothy Catalonia?" Duo demanded, pulling the "vid closer to the couch and typing quickly on the keyboard. In the corner of the screen a search window appeared, the Preventer logo running the taskbar. It flickered once, and returned a fast scroll of information. "She's living in Austria. She was Treize's cousin-- it looks like she inherited his entire estate. Why would she support someone claiming to be his daughter? She'd lose everything."

"She'd go anywhere for a war," Quatre murmured, watching the play of mischief and malice in her face. "She believes it's the height of human potential for greatness."

"In other words, she's as nuts as her cousins," Duo muttered in retort. "Her place has been abandoned. Completely. A week ago everything was normal-- the local police put in a notice about it, when the whole place turned up empty."

She tossed the beret onto the desk, beside one of the bodies. She did not look back as she left the room. The camera continued to record for another ninety seconds, when it suddenly fizzled, and went dark.

The face of the Preventer Duo was talking to replaced the dead feed. "They blew the compound behind them," she explained crisply. "Two survivors-- the ones in the lobby. Another eight dead. And Khushrenada gone. This is what we've pieced together. We also have a black van in the parking lot. It's one of ours, but the Ukranians say it wasn't from their division."

"We have a lead," Duo reported. "Quatre recognised the woman. Dorothy Catalonia."

"Dorothy?" The woman blinked. "I'll tell Noin," she added a moment later. "She knew Dorothy."

"Is Miss Noin back with the Preventers?" Quatre asked, a little shy of interrupting. "I thought she was on Mars with Zechs Merquise."

"She consults regularly," the woman replied. "Considering how hard both of them fought three years ago to put down the Barton Rebellion, I think they'll be interested in coming on board for this disaster."

"We know they weren't really Preventers, at least," Duo said, sounding relieved. "I'd like to know where they got the uniforms and weapons."

"We're operating on the assumption that at least some of them are renegades until we can prove otherwise," the woman disagreed. "Lady Une is meeting with the President in half an hour. You can bet that's what Brussels will assume. He'll use it to disqualify us from investigating the break-out."

"Bullshit," Duo spat, and Quatre was inclined to agree. "He can run an inquest when this is over. I'd lay odds we'll be getting a list of demands within in the next twenty-six. We can just pray they don't have access to any colonies, this time!"

"You're not alone in your indignation," she assured him, a glint of amusement in her smirk. Then she turned serious. "I hate to cut your holiday short, but as senior agents, we're going to be in on this. I'm going to order you a flight out of the nearest facility."

"I'll be ready in an hour," Duo promised.

"Yes, we will," Quatre said. He pretended not to notice the shock in the woman's face, or Duo's uncertainty, as he stood, brushing wrinkles from his trousers. "I'll pack," he told Duo. "You take care of the rest." He retreated to the bedroom, deliberately not listening to the carefully soft exchange that began as soon as he was out of the sitting area. He packed Duo's bag first, leaving the weapons holsters and Duo's cache of small arms on his double bed, as well as his uniform shirt and jacket. He exchanged his waistcoat for something that looked at least vaguely official, a coat of dark brown leather, and chose his hiking boots rather than the trainers he'd been wearing for their easy walking. He hadn't owned a gun in three years and couldn't remember if he'd let his license lapse.

Then he caught himself, and had to draw a deep breath. "I'm not a soldier," he murmured, rubbing a hand over the ten-inch scar between his nipples and trailing to the end of his sternum, and the twin bumps from the drainage tubes below it. It was still quite tender to the touch, the lumps where the stitched skin and muscle was beginning to grow back together. He moved his hand lower, brushing his fingertips over the depressed, thick tissue that covered the quadrangular wound, an inch on each side, just left of his navel.

"Quatre," Duo said softly.

Quatre dropped his hand quickly from inside his shirt, turning around. "You're all ready," he said, a beat too late to be natural. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine here. Maybe Iraia can come after all."

Confusion collected around Duo's eyes. "Thought you were coming?"

"I-- I didn't realise how rude I was being. I just jumped in there. I know it's not my place. I'm sorry."

Duo cocked his head, frowning. Then he sighed. "If there's anyone I'd rather have at my back than you, I have yet to meet the son of a bitch," he said with a strange-- fondness? Affection?-- in his voice. Then he grinned, the crooked clever grin that brought back everything Quatre remembered of a boy in a priest's collar and a Gundam called Deathscythe. "Let's get our asses to the airport," he added. "We'll beat the plane, but I can brief you on Operation M."

Quatre couldn't contain a sudden snicker. "You're not serious."

"Who do you think suggested it?" Duo came to the bed and began to unbutton his shirt. His face was solemn when he looked up at Quatre. "You have just as much right in this as me and Sally," he said. "I made it clear to her and I'm making it clear to you."

He wanted to embrace Duo, or kiss him on the cheek. It wasn't an urge he had very often, but it hit him strongly now, and he discovered he was blushing from it. He confined himself to a small smile, and went back to the bathroom to gather their toiletries. He listened to the quiet sounds of Duo changing as he gathered shampoos and shaving razors and toothbrushes. He was turning with his hands full to leave when he remembered the sleeping pills and aspirin he'd stored in the cabinet over the sink. He didn't quite manage to juggle correctly, and he lost a comb behind the vanity counter.

"Okay?" Duo called.

Quatre darted out to drop his armful onto his bed, and then jogged back to the bathroom. "Dropped something," he answered, and went to his hands and knees to peer under the counter. It was old-fashioned wood and marble and it stood on gold lions" claws, just high enough that he could stretch an arm under it and brush the comb with the tips of his fingers. In the end, he had to set a shoulder against the counter and shove it out from the wall. He was surprised to find a scattering of pills there.

"My pills," he said aloud, recognising them instantly as the same that he'd taken all his life. But his amazement disappeared when he remembered that the staff had been insistent that he take the same suit he'd praised so much on his first trip. He'd probably dropped them then, and no-one had moved the counter to notice in the weeks since. He scooped them up, as well as the comb, and nudged the counter back into place.

Had his pills had that little "I" on the front?

He went back into the bedroom to hand Duo his comb, gazing down at the little blue and white pills. He put them on the bedspread, turning them all to the same face to see the monograms. Then he reached for his duffle, packed on the ship a week ago and barely touched since, and found the bottle of propanolol that he'd been using on the ship, that had turned out to be nothing more than placebos.

They didn't have the "I." "Odd," he said.

"What's odd?" Duo came away from the mirror adjusting his tie. "Why do you still have those?"

"Never threw them away." Quatre held up one from the bottle and one from behind the counter. "They're different."

Duo's eyebrows climbed his forehead. "Yeah," he agreed. "They must have really messed up, at that pharmacy where you got them."

"But wouldn't you think a pharmacy would notice something like that? I mean, if you look at something all the time, don't you notice those things?"

Duo only shrugged, and clipped his badge to his belt. Quatre took the hint, and stowed both the bottle and the pills he'd found for examination later. After all, it was a moot point now. He went to the "vid to ask for a porter to get their luggage, and put everything but Operation M out of his mind.

End Part 12

(:./erin/launch12)