21-Mar-2006
Title: Launch 14/?
Author: TB
Archived: GWA and
http://www.geocities.com/brother_maxwell/TB_home_page.html
Category: yaoi
Pairing: 3x4
Disclaimer: The plot and characters of Gundam Wing are used here
without permission or profit.
Notes: Action! Plot! Protagonists!
Spoilers: For the series and EW.
Summary: Chapter 14: Mariemaia makes her demands, and Quatre and Duo
disagree on what constitutes "involvement."
Four minutes before midnight, Duo sent a team of agents to break into Wufei's flat in London with a warrant to search for evidence. Then he slumped deep into his chair behind his desk, put his head back, and didn't speak for a long time.
Sally caught Quatre's eyes, and looked deliberately at the door. Quatre rose from his seat on the couch in the corner of their shared office, and followed her out into the hall.
"I'm not trying to get rid of you," she told him as she drew the door closed after their exit. "But I'm thinking he could use a really big cup of coffee right now, and you've been on the verge of falling asleep since you got up at seven. The walk might do you some good."
Quatre rolled his tired shoulders, accepting her statement at face value. "Coffee, two sugars and no cream," he recalled. He looked up at her. "What about you?" Though Sally had been more than ready to reduce him to the status of assistant when it came to fetching coffee for Duo, she balked at having him take her order. He had to prod her several times before she admitted she'd rather have a tea, and Quatre walked away satisfied that everyone would get what they needed to make it through the next few hours. The rec room was a brightly-lit space somewhat smaller than the other third-level offices, and it came complete with a small stove and a big refrigerator that was stocked with unclaimed foods provided by some caterer named "Jacques," judging by the rose-coloured containers. Quatre managed to put together a tray for the three of them, whimsically arranging deli slices and cheese cubes on a little paper plate and brewing fresh coffee for Duo. While he stood waiting for it and chewing on a bit of turkey, he noticed the "vid screen over the microwave, and turned it on to the midnight news. He blinked to find the flashing red letters announcing important coverage, with an urgent trumpet-heavy musical tag adding to the excitement.
"This is Douglas Andrews with Channel 18," a reporter announced, and the camera cut to him. Quatre recognised him as the same man who had introduced the first IEO broadcast-- was it only that morning? He looked grave now, dressed impeccably in a three-piece black suit with a sober grey tie, papers held between his hands and the red background shrieking his authority. "Channel 18 has been tipped off to the existence of a threat to the entire Earth Sphere Alliance, which we feel we must pass on to the people for their own safety, despite pressure from certain government officials." Andrews glared solemnly out of the screen. "We have been told that just last night a team of masked and armed men broke into the Ukrainian prison holding Mariemaia Khushrenada, the leader of the Barton Rebellion who threatened to drop a colony on--"
"Shit," Quatre said, and ran from the rec room. Without even noticing the halls he dashed through, he made it back to Duo and Sally's office, and crashed through the door without knocking. "Turn on your 'vid," he barked at them. "Channel 18. They know about Khushrenada."
Duo let loose a string of cursing even as Sally leapt from her desk to the table by the window that held their "vid. She flipped rapidly through the channels before finding Douglas Andrews, now narrating over a screen of pictures which included Mariemaia Khushrenada, Dekim Barton, and Relena Darlian. "--in what is now called the Eve War. Khushrenada's freedom was purchased with the lives of eight wardens whose names have not yet been released to the public. This was the situation as it stood last night, but two hours ago Channel 18 received an anonymous package containing this video, which we bring to you now, unedited."
"I'm going to kill the dickhead," Duo growled. "All news agencies have standing orders to bring anything suspicious to the authorities before they pull shit like this!"
"Andrews is always fighting us on "free press" issues," Sally explained tensely to Quatre, though she never looked away from the screen, watching it with narrowed eyes. "He's never seen the difference between public safety and self-aggrandizement--"
Andrews cut straight to the video feed. It was Mariemaia Khushrenada, but that was not what made Quatre gasp and grope backwards for the couch.
He recognised the nameless room she sat in.
The girl on the screen opened her mouth, and began to speak. Her voice was no longer the piping child's voice he remembered from broadcasts three years earlier, but it was still a sweet soprano, however mature and clipped. He picked out the details of her appearance, letting her words wash over him; she wore a uniform now, much the same as the one she'd been posed and pratted about in before for Barton's army. She seemed more dangerous now, seated in large leather chair, her hand on the hilt of a ceremonial sword, her badges of rank and the gold cords of her cape reflecting in the light. The smugness, the mischief he remembered in her was gone. Now there was wrath, contained and channeled, but deadly.
"My long imprisonment after my defeat at the hands of the ESA coalition forces three years ago was the result of errors in judgement," she was saying. Her ozone-blue eyes were cold and flat. "The men responsible for those errors have been destroyed. I remain. I have bided my time, gathering those who have always been loyal to my cause. They stand with me now against the world and the colonies as I render my demands to you."
She paused. Her fingers tightened convulsively on the ornamental hilt of her sword. "I am the daughter of his Excellency Treize Khushrenada, the greatest leader of our time," she said, suddenly hot and furious. "I am the daughter of Leia Barton, who was the daughter of Dekim Barton, the only man who dared defy the Alliance Military by building the Gundams and training their infamous pilots. In my veins flows the blood of heroes and magnates, giants of men who were themselves rulers before me.
"In their name and in my own I call to all men and woman who have raised weapons in battle for their lives and their homelands. I call upon all of you throw off the yoke of "peace" which has choked all that is strong and wonderful from our people these past three years. There is no justice in burying your many sacrifices by washing away the evidence of war! Are there monuments to your deaths? Are there eulogies to your lives? Do school children celebrate your victories and mourn your defeats? No." She was panting for breath, and had to stop while she regained her composure. Her round cheeks were flushed, her eyes fevered. "President Brussels has climbed to his pulpit and preached the word of Peace as though it were the edict of angels! Relena Peacecraft appears in public to cry for orphans of war and the rebuilding of shattered cities, while conveniently turning a blind eye to those who need her support the most-- the soldiers. You, the men and women now maimed, now stunted, now forgotten by those rich and powerful fools who stood on your bloody necks to reach their grasping fingers for more!"
"My God," Sally murmured, somewhere both near and far away.
Perhaps Mariemaia Khushrenada could not stand, but no-one had ever sat straighter, seemed taller. With her pointed chin raised high and her gaze clear and proud, she delivered her demands.
"I have nine nuclear warheads," she said flatly. "But I do not seek to destroy those very lives which I hold dearer than my own. I have targeted the ocean itself. Year after year we have rained our pollution and our garbage into this source of all human life. I will complete this destruction by detonating one warhead every hour if Brussels and his administration do not step down and turn the government over to me. I will allow thirty-six hours for compliance. On the thirty-seventh, I will detonate the first warhead." She inclined her head, and the screen went black.
Duo released an explosive breath. "I'm going to kill her," he said softly. "And then I'm going to devote the rest of my life to making sure that there are no other Khushrenadas in existence."
"I'll help," Sally grunted. She jumped when their buzzer went off, and slammed a palm over it. "What?" she demanded.
"My office," Une's voice ordered. "Now." Duo was already moving toward the door, but Sally took a moment to glance at Quatre, and then suddenly she was standing over him, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. He moved his head away automatically.
"What's wrong?" she asked him gently, dropping into a crouch in front of him and patently checking his vitals.
"That was my ship," he said hollowly. "They're on the IEO."
Another Preventer slipped into the office quietly as they spoke, and handed Duo a folded bit of paper. Duo read it, and swore.
Quatre turned to look at him. "What does it say?"
"Chang's house is empty. They found his badge sitting on the kitchen table." Duo swore again, crumbled the note in his fists. "He's freaking AWOL."
Quatre looked back at the news reports, some now playing clips from the Channel 18 broadcast. He watched Khushrenada's face crumple in anger, smooth out again as if wiped clean. "Well," he responded at last, "it doesn't get much clearer than that."
"We suspected him," Une admitted, closing one portfolio with a sigh and reaching for another. "Six weeks ago he received a very large transfer from an unknown source."
Quatre tore his eyes away from the screen. "You routinely monitor your agents" accounts?" he asked.
Duo affirmed it. "In the first days it was the only way to see who was paying who to be where," he explained. "Now it's standard policy. When I confronted him, Wufei told him that you were loaning him some money. It was plausible-- we all know you helped Trowa get started. But when I checked you out I couldn't find any holes." He grinned briefly, tiredly. "Your accounts are refreshingly honest," he added.
"I should hope so," he answered, trying not to be miffed that Duo had done his job, even if he hadn't asked before he'd gone digging about in Quatre's finances.
"As it was, Chang's new wealth disappeared very quickly," Une completed the discussion. "He said it went to an L5 memorial fund, but that appears to have been purely a stall tactic. It took us two weeks to get a subpoena for their records, and you know what the L5 government is like. They fought us all the way. I had to fly out there myself to appear before a judge."
"If you suspected him, why did you let him go to Brussels?" Quatre asked, turning back to the "vid.
"There were no good reasons to detain him." Behind him, Une sighed. "The wheels of authority have always turned more slowly than those of revolution."
"Yes," Quatre murmured. "I suppose you'd know that intimately."
Silence greeted his remark. He didn't acknowledge it. He was playing with the remote control for Une's "vid, adjusting the screen to blow up the right-hand corner, which held an edge of the Loran navigator partially hidden by Khushrenada's shoulder. He could almost make out the readings.
Duo stood, gathering several folders and his neglected mug of coffee to his chest. "We can do that down in Forensics," he told Quatre. "Come on, I need a refill anyway."
Une had recovered her game face. She ignored Quatre as she completed a note in the margin of her notepad, and set it aside. "As soon as you know the location of the IEO, inform me. I'll have a team waiting for you." Duo nodded, and despite the mess in his arms, managed to hold the door for Quatre with his foot. Quatre knew the way to the lift by now, and led the way to it, jamming the call button and turning to let Duo catch up with him.
"You shouldn't bait her," Duo said, but his eyes didn't quite meet Quatre's. "She's got rules to follow. We both know they suck, but it's what separates us from--"
"Terrorists?" Quatre interrupted. "That's what OZ liked to call us, as I recall. "Dissidents" doesn't have the same weight. Or "freedom fighters." Of course, we were only freedom fighters while the colonies still supported us, and that only lasted until the first economic sanctions." Duo's lips scrunched oddly, and Quatre realised he was chewing the inside of his cheek. "Stop that," he added absently, lifting a finger to flick it against the spot being mauled by busy teeth.
Duo blinked at him, but obeyed. "She hasn't been OZ for a long time. Anyway, I thought you'd be the first one to tell me we're all on the same side now."
"Except that we're not, are we?" The lift was taking forever. But then, Une had immediately called all London Preventers back to duty, when Khushrenada's broadcast had hit the airwaves. Quatre resisted the urge to tap the softly glowing button again, though he had to curl his fingers into a fist to stop himself. "I see two distinct sides right now. We're on one and Wufei is on the other."
"You were taking this a lot better earlier..."
"Before I knew he was trying to start a war from my ship, before I knew he was trying to destroy everything I've worked for!" He slammed the button, feeling the inside spring compress as far as it could and quiver. The lift arrived, and Quatre watched the doors open, satisfied. "I want to be on your team," he informed them, stepping through.
Duo licked his lips as he chose their destination. Then suddenly he put down the folders he was carrying, right on the carpeted floor of the lift, and hit the emergency stop. Quatre stared at him as their descent halted, hard enough to shake the entire five-foot-square space, while Duo weathered the shivers and faced him.
"You can't come," he said. His eyes wore the apology he wasn't going to say aloud. "You know it, too, or you wouldn't be here trying to sneak it past me sideways, distracting me with this crap about Une and Wufei."
"I thought you said I had your back," Quatre accused him. "I thought you understood."
"I understood you wanting to be here. Hell, I understand you wanting to lead the charge. That doesn't mean you can do it."
He tried to put a lid on his rising anger. Tried to ignore his rising helplessness. "Those are my people, Duo. It's my ship, my crew. They're mine as much as the Maganacs ever were, as much as you and Heero and the others."
Duo's fingers looked for something to hold, and ended out clenching on themselves. "I know," he said evenly. "And I know if I were in your place--"
"It's the same damn place! We're the same, Duo. We both want to fight this."
"Do I have to spell it out for you?" Duo demanded, taking a step toward him.
"You're a civilian. I can't willfully endanger you. I can't give you Preventer guns and send you into armed combat. Those are the rules."
"Fuck the rules," Quatre spat, slapping an open palm against the steel chair rail. "I fought two wars with no-one's permission but my own conscience. So did you. We agreed, when the colonies turned their backs on us, that we would keep fighting OZ because it was the right thing to do! I bled for that, Duo, just as much as the rest of you, I almost gave up my life--"
"For exactly what we have now," Duo interrupted, his voice hard and grown-up and nothing like the cocky teenager he'd been five years ago. His shoulders were square, and while there was compassion in his gaze, there wasn't compromise. "For the kind of world where civilians don't go to war. That's what you bled for, Quatre. You more than any of us."
His throat was so tight that swallowing almost made him cough. He had to look away until he could breathe again. The polished metal walls of the lift were like mirrors, and his eyes had a bruised look to them, reflected like that. "Don't do this to me," he said softly. "Don't tell me to sit back and watch while you fight our war all over again."
Duo moved, he didn't know to do what, and he flinched just a second before Duo's arms went around him. The embrace was bruising, and it was over almost before it started. "One of the bravest things you ever did was lay down your sword," Duo whispered. "Just because Wufei isn't willing to do that-- it doesn't mean he can destroy what you've worked so hard to make with your life. I won't let him. So let me do that for you. Let me protect what you've made."
Quatre stared up at the plastic straps and mattress above his head. Then he rolled onto his side, tugging his pillow down to cushion his chest automatically. He stared at the door, and the dim white circle of the clock, too dark to read.
The bunk room was empty. Somewhere outside it was early morning, perhaps even beginning to brighten with dawn. The bunk room had no windows, but Quatre didn't want them. He felt trapped, surrounded, helpless, and inclined to wallow in it. The scratchy wool of his blanket rubbed his bare arm and hip as he tugged it higher, and he smoothed his palm over it, reflecting that years ago, calluses would have caught in the rough threads. He would always have hard palms and fingers, but the constant wear of a cockpit's leather-wrapped controls were part of lifetime that had ended in explosion and flame.
He still thought of Sandrock with affection and grief; a missing part of himself, like the brother he had never had. Duo wasn't the only one to love his Gundam. He wasn't the only one who had regrets late at night. Quatre had cried-- he remembered pressing his face against cool metal, the night he and Duo and Trowa had agreed they had to destroy their Gundams, falling asleep bitter and exhausted laying against Sandrock's massive chest. Trowa had found him there in the morning, and brought him a damp washcloth for his swollen face and red eyes, and he had kissed Quatre's temple gently. That kiss had been a melancholy balm against the awful necessity of their final duty. It had given him the absolution he'd needed, to climb that hill at dawn, to stand with his comrades and friends and press the detonation trigger.
Quatre sighed, and dropped his nose into the edge of his pillow. He wondered what Trowa was doing now. Duo had said Trowa had a big client. It would be an hour later in Brussels than London. Maybe Trowa would already be awake, padding barefoot through his condo with the ugly blue carpet Quatre passively loathed. Turning on his expensive, gourmet coffee brewer, filling the kitchen with the smell of vanilla. Opening a window for the chilly spring morning, inviting in the dawn.
His lower half enjoyed the visuals, the conjured scents of everything Trowa.
Quatre squeezed his eyes shut, reconstructing the image of his lover, shirtless, broad shoulders dappled with sunburn, that single vein in his biceps protruding momentarily as Trowa clenched his arm. Strong pecs with that scattering of dark hair that disappeared over tight abs, picking up again just below a flat navel. He sighed again, and rubbed his eyes. He felt pleasantly buzzed, not really aroused, just warm and content. It was the most he'd managed since his surgery, not that he'd had much opportunity for anything more. Out of curiosity, he dipped a hand under his blanket and touched himself through his trousers. But he was only half-hard, and it didn't seem to be going any further. He'd never been particularly good at masturbation. He'd been worse than a virgin that first time with Trowa, but everything had gone so smoothly, just falling into place, answering all his questions, been so satisfying... Masturbation had always seemed like an empty echo of what it felt like with the only man he'd ever been with.
A man who was not here now, because he hadn't been in Dorada, because he hadn't been in London.
Duo somehow found out you were having surgery, a nasty part of his mind supplied. Duo left his job to be with you. Twice. The last time you saw Trowa was so he could plant that--
"Bug," Quatre swore, sitting up so swiftly he knocked his head against the wooden frame of the bunk above him. He swore again, pressing his hand over the hurt, even as he left the warmth of his blanket and fumbled for the shirt and jumper he'd left in a pile on the floor.
It was daylight. The morning sun slanting through the tinted windows speared his sore eyes, forcing him to raise a hand to block the worst of the direct glare. He headed straight for the lift and up two floors to Duo's office, but it was empty when he got there. It took a few frustrated seconds to realise Duo and his partner were probably getting breakfast-- it was nearly eight. He debated going to look for them in the cafeteria, but found his eyes drawn to the two computers that sat innocently waiting for their owners.
He slid into Duo's chair, and brought the 'vid to life with a touch to the thumb pad. It didn't even ask him for a passcode when he input the number, so he didn't feel particularly guilty about not waiting for permission. He tried not to drum his fingers while it dialed.
And rang.
"Pick up, Trowa," Quatre commanded softly. Impatience got to him, and he cut off the call, entering a new number, this time to Trowa's secretary. But there was no answer to that, either, and none at Trowa's condominium. With an edge of desperation, he tried the number he'd used on the IEO, that private line Trowa had disconnected.
Nothing.
"What are you doing?" Sally demanded from the door, suddenly standing beside him and glaring at him. Quatre looked up to find Duo in the doorway, ragged and racoon-eyed, gulping from a coffee mug.
"It just got worse," Quatre told him bitterly.
End Part 14
(:./erin/launch14)
