21-Mar-2006

Title: Launch 15/?
Author: TB
Archive: 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: Forgive any confusion over President Brussels versus Brussels the place. Also, some upcoming metaphysics.
Summary: Heero finally makes an appearance, and Quatre politely kicks a little butt.

Launch by Erin Cayce

Part Fifteen

Quatre watched through the window in Une's office as the team assembled, fifteen agents of various ages, some of them hard-bitten veterans, some no older than himself. They gathered about the big conference table, where a pile of briefs waited for them, but their low-voiced chatter ended abruptly when Duo and Sally entered, and took up position in front of the projector aiming at the white wall behind them.

"You represent the team hand-picked by Director Une," Sally said, without any preamble. "Our mission is to locate and disarm a nuclear threat. Secondary to this is our order to capture or kill Mariemaia Khushrenada and her people."

"If you open to the first page of your brief," Duo said, and turned on the projector. Blown-up blueprints of the IEO appeared on the large wall, and a big fuzzy point that was his fingertip. "This is our target, location currently unknown. The IEO was scheduled to make for the Panama Canal seven days ago, but it has not reported in to any of the check-points where it was expected. That means it's somewhere in the Atlantic."

"She," Quatre murmured, knowing he wouldn't be heard. "Ships are called 'she.'" He sighed, and turned away from the window, dropping onto Une's couch. Duo had indulged in a little yelling before he'd calmed down enough to listen to Quatre's assertion that Trowa Barton was involved in the new Khushrenada uprising. Sally had been the sympathetic one, but he didn't know her well enough to accept the emotion he saw in her every time she hesitated, careful of his feelings. But their training had reasserted itself very quickly, and they had simply amended their mission plans to include the new information-- that they were not only facing one of their own, but two Gundam pilots.

The door opened, and Une entered her office briskly, letting the door swing shut and slam behind her. She didn't immediately notice him on her couch, and he waited until she had reached her desk to politely clear his throat. She jumped just a little, one hand sneaking up to her hair in that peculiarly feminine gesture of self-protection.

"I'm sorry to startle you," Quatre said, rising.

Her expression became closed, and she completed the motion of smoothing her hair back, looping it behind an ear. "Not at all, Quatre." She walked around her desk and sat, queuing her computer and shuffling through the paper messages left on her desk. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"I hope so." He ventured closer to her desk, standing before it, not beside it, though it necessitated extra steps. "In the interest of saving time," he added, looking down at her, "I'll get straight to the point. I accept your offer." He dropped the paper he held to the desktop.

Une looked up in the act of settling reading glasses over her nose. "My offer?" she repeated, confused. She picked up the paper automatically, but he could see that it was a moment before she really read the words on the page. "This is an application," she said slowly.

"Three years ago you offered me a Field Agent position with the Preventers," Quatre said. "When I turned you down, you said that offer would always stand. So I'm taking it. Requesting immediate transfer to active duty. To Operation M."

She wanted to sigh, he could see it. She wanted to scream. But Une was nothing if not collected and cool-headed. "I appreciate your anger," she said softly. "I can most certainly appreciate your frustration with not being able to do all that you are capable of doing. But we both know I can't let you on the team just because you want it badly."

"You're a smart woman," he told her. "And smart people leave loopholes when they create organisations like the Preventers. I know for a fact that Zechs Merquise never signed a damned thing two days before the Eve War. You've got extended authority in emergencies. Use it."

She was half-way to it. He didn't prod her. He waited, letting her work her way through it, weigh the consequences. When the timing felt right, he completed his argument. "Instating me will cover the legalities when you're forced into an inquest after this."

"There's an implied "or" in that sentence," Une muttered. She set the form down, and folded her hands over it. "Or you're going to do what you want anyway, without my oversight, and probably without telling anyone first; possibly endangering my team and jeapordising my operation. If I don't honour your application." She didn't seem to expect an answer, and Quatre didn't give one. "I appreciate your problem with being shut out," she began again. "But my agents are trained to think and work as a team. Your sudden presence would be disruptive and quite possibly very dangerous."

"I designed and built my own Gundam," he said flatly. "I recovered and implemented the Zero System. And when White Fang threatened to drop Libra onto Earth, I took four boys who barely knew each other and I shaped them into a fighting unit unparalleled in the universe. I did that. Maybe it's not the same as running sims with my co-workers during months of training, but how many of your field agents had that, either? They're not regular people, or even trained soldiers. They're better than that. And so am I. My sudden presence will be exactly as useful as we decide it will be."

Her mouth thinned, and she removed her glasses abruptly. "I don't appreciate coercion, Mr Winner, especially from a young man who ought to know better."

"We've all got problems." He waited again, for her anger to pass. It took longer this time. "I can contribute," he said softly, persuasively. "Far better as part of a team than from the sidelines. Make whatever provisions you like on my employment. I'll sign whatever doesn't screw me in perpetuity."

He won a snort of laughter, however reluctant, with that one. "Always the businessman," Une sighed, and carefully pressed his application flat against her desktop. "All right," she said slowly. "Posturing aside... tell me what you really want from this."

Quatre smiled inwardly as he reached for one of the Venetian chairs, pulling it to the edge of the desk and sitting. "I want something to do so I don't go crazy," he admitted baldly, switching easily into negotiation. "I know that ship better than any engineer. I helped design it, build it, and I lived on it for four weeks. I can be helpful."

"I can order you to consult with my team," Une countered.

"And we both know I won't jeapordise the mission by refusing. That said, I think you're still underestimating me."

"Your... health is at issue," she said, reluctant to be so crude, but also determined. Quatre did his best to be honest in return.

"Yes," he answered. "And if you had a million options, I know I'd be very, very far down the list. But you've got twenty-six hours and nine nuclear warheads that are more important than my post-op recovery. I'm fit, and I'm capable." He drew a deep breath. "Put me on the team," he said. "I'll let Maxwell and Po decide where to place me and I'll do what I'm ordered without protest."

They stared at each other as a minute ticked by. Then Une reached for a stand of pens, and swiftly signed the bottom of his application. "There will be hell to pay later," she said as she dated beside it. She opened the top drawer of her desk, and removed an official stamp. The springs squeaked just before the smack of the seal on paper. "Do me a favour and don't run away to Mars when you've had enough of the Preventers-- that's a hell of a lot of paperwork." He just managed not to grin at her as she reached for her comm, and opened a line. "Tannahill," she said cripsly. "I need a uniform and temp badge brought to my office, size..."

"Small," Quatre supplied, and sighed. He thought Une's dark eyes glinted with amusement at his expense, but nothing bled into her voice. "Small," she repeated. "Double-time, if you please."

"Yes, ma'am," a woman's voice acknowledged, and Une let her finger fall away from the comm. She gazed at Quatre.

"Welcome aboard," she said, "Agent Firebrand."

Ten minutes later, Quatre slipped into the conference room where Duo and Sally were still giving their presentation. The new-leather smell of his jacket was distracting, but it fit fairly well. It rustled slightly as he took a position against the far wall. From the way Duo neither interrupted himself nor even glanced at the door, Quatre surmised that comings-and-goings during debriefings were commonplace; but Sally looked, and her face underwent a rapid series of changes that settled into something between chagrin and amused appreciation of his tactics. Quatre nodded solemnly to her, and pointedly turned his eyes up to the projections on the wall, now showing pictures of the outer hull of the IEO that he recognised from Senate files.

"We've got one possible entry site on the fifth deck launch bay," Duo was saying, his finger on the projector looming large and black on the wall behind him. "Blueprints show it at approximately six feet above sea level. At this time I think it's too risky-- there's only one door out of the bay into the ship, and they could stick some asshole with an automatic there and mow us down as we board."

"If we had a ship of comparable size," one agent mused aloud, an older man with a faint scar running down his cheek into his beard, "we could follow maritime tradition and simply run alongside them. We could board once we're close enough, just going over the top."

"Tactical agrees," Sally said, re-entering the discussion. "We run a greater risk of enemy fire on our vessel, which we can't return-- not with nuclear warheads on the IEO. But statistically it looks like the best way to diminish casualties to our side."

"The warheads are likely to be on the top deck," Duo said. "Which means we board and disarm first. Carr and Gryffydd are joining us from Bomb Squad. Our first priority is to get them on board and cover their asses while they do their job. We must expect to face heavy opposition, so I've asked for a secondary team to crew our ship. The ESA has kindly agreed to loan us the Longhorn, an MPF-class command ship. About the only thing I understand from the communique is that it runs at 30 knots, and the IEO can only manage 20, so we can out-run our enemy if they try to slip out the van. I'm not sure yet what a knot is, but faster is faster."

That was greeted with chuckles. Duo paused to push his hair out of his face and scratch his head. Quatre knew the moment he'd been discovered; Duo went very still, his eyes unblinking. But it was only a moment, and then Duo went on as if nothing had happened.

"The Longhorn is coming up from manoeuvers in southern Spain, which means if we're going to maximise our time, we have to be in place to meet it. I've got a jet ready for us in one hour, ETA at twelve-twenty-seven hours. If all goes well we will engage with the IEO at their present position in just under twenty hours," he said. "Suit up and be ready for transport to the airfield in thirty minutes."

"Aye sir!" the crowd of agents said, rising to their feet simultaneously. Quatre stood aside as they filed past and out of the conference room, anticipating Duo's eyes on him. As he'd predicted, the door no sooner shut than Duo put both hands flat on the table, leaned over them on locked elbows, and said directly to the scratched wood surface, "You could have trusted me, Quatre."

Quatre exhaled, and leaned his head back against the wall. "I do," he said softly. "This isn't about that."

"Well. Maybe that's how it feels."

"I'm sorry," Quatre said, and meant it. He wanted to leave his stand in the corner and embrace Duo the way Duo was always able to do for him, but he'd never been as comfortable giving with that open affection as Duo was. It didn't help that Sally lounged almost insolently just out of the way, her arms crossed under her breasts and her stance radiating her interest in their exchange. "I know you have my back," Quatre tried again. "But this way-- I have yours, too."

"Is this about me?" Duo demanded cuttingly, standing up straight. "Because I think it's about Trowa, and the fact that you let him slip around you again. Just because your lover is an asshole doesn't give you the right to waltz in like you're the only one capable of cleaning up after him!"

He tried not to flinch at that, tried to absorb it and dissect it for truth. "I don't know," he said. "I just know that if something goes wrong out there, I won't be able to live with knowing I stood aside and let you go into battle alone." He heard what he'd said, and glanced at Sally with apology. "Not alone," he amended. "Just... not with me." He closed his eyes, pressing his skull back against the plaster. "We're a team, Duo. You're my best friend. I should have been here all along, and I wasn't."

"I never blamed you for that," Duo said forcefully. "I supported your decision."

"But it wasn't the right one!" he blurted, and had to look away as a hot flush shot up over his face. "It was a bad choice and I did the selfish thing because I felt guilty over abandoning my family. People like us don't get that option. We signed away our lives for freedom and peace, and that's not a one-time job."

Sally made a little noise into the silence, and began to gather up her papers. "Fascinating as this argument is," she murmured, "I suggest we wait to finish it later. We've got a plane to catch, and since you appear to be coming with us, Quatre, that means we've got to get you some weapons and armour issue."

"Une is taking care of it," he told her. "I'm going to pick it up now."

"Then I'll walk you down." She looked at Duo, but he didn't look back as he picked up his brief and stalked to the door. Quatre, on an impulse he immediately regretted, grabbed Duo's wrist as the other man passed, and tried not to be hurt when Duo wouldn't look at him, either. He let go when Duo tugged away.

"Not yet," Duo muttered, his eyelashes quivering as his eyes roved beneath, but never up to Quatre's face. "Just-- not yet, all right."

He didn't have time to swallow down the apology that still clung to his tongue before Duo was out the door. Sally came about the table to stand at his side, and she gestured to the door.

"He is a professional," she said, as they exited into the empty hall.

"You don't need to tell me that," Quatre answered. "So am I. But we'll still feel like shit underneath it."

"They're projecting false coordinates," Stanchion explained-- or complained, perhaps. He was glaring at his screens with narrowed eyes. The fingers of one hand flew over the big keyboard with its dozens of extra function keys, while the other traced up the thumb-pad to enlarge the capture of the Loran-C they'd been using since the broadcast on Channel 18. "Time signature on this video indicates it was filmed two days ago. I've extrapolated what the Loran shows, and it points to coordinates considerably north what their GPS is reporting."

"How easy is it to manipulate GPS signals?" Duo asked, leaning over to look.

"I could move HQ from London to South America and there isn't a single piece of technology that would be any the wiser," Stanchion said, shrugging. "It's just a satellite and radio system. But you're going to have to wrangle the truth out of your machines, especially as you get closer to the IEO. They're accurate enough, but two metres in open ocean can be the difference between the Titanic and a pleasure cruise if you get bad information."

"Benson is my acting tech liaison," Duo said finally, straightening. "Coordinate with him and make sure I stay on course. There's a lot of shitty ways to die, but drowning is about as low as it gets. I'd like to avoid that."

"Coward."

It wasn't Stanchion who said it. Duo whirled toward the lab door, to see blue eyes smirking gently at him.

"Maybe I can help?" was all Heero Yuy said.

It took Duo all of two seconds to cross a crowded room and grab Heero into a rough embrace. The one-time pilot of Wing Zero, the man who had single-handedly destroyed Dekim Barton's dreams, looked first startled, then awkward; and finally pleased, as he stood gingerly allowing himself to be hugged.

Duo stepped back reluctantly. "You're a sight for sore eyes," he said. "But what are you doing here?"

"I... had a call from an old friend," Heero explained vaguely. "Then I saw the news reports. I had an idea what you'd be doing about it."

Duo made a face. "An hour ago I would have sent you home with "come round for Christmas sometime" invite. Fortunately for you, Quatre already did the hard work of taking the entire department over his knee and spanking a commission out of it." Heero's eyebrows climbed, but he didn't comment. "It shouldn't be a problem to get you instated on the fly. And I know just where to send you." He lifted his communicator to his mouth, and said, "Benson, get in here." He lowered it a little, to say to Heero, "Benson is my top tech man. He might give you a run for your money on his best days, but I'll feel a hell of a lot better with you running point."

Heero's expression darkened. "Tech?" he demanded. "I thought I'd be--"

Duo, on the other hand, wore a look that brooked no argument. "No," he said flatly, cutting across Heero's protest. "I've already got three other Gundam pilots to worry about. And besides--" His voice went low and steely. "You made a vow. I'm not putting you anywhere that might require you to use deadly force."

Heero's mouth opened. Then, oddly humbled and relieved, he only nodded. Duo gripped his shoulder fast and tight, then pushed him toward the door. "Benson will fill you in on your objectives," he said, professional once again. "I expect results, and I'm going to need them ASAP."

He didn't have to say not to let him down. Heero accepted that, his eyes promising what he didn't have to say aloud either. They looked at each other silent for another moment, and then Heero said, "You look good. Command agrees with you."

A smile spread over Duo's face, genuine and young and pleased. "Really?"

Heero nodded. "Come back," he said.

Duo nodded. "Roger that. You owe me dinner, anyway." Heero grinned, and ducked his head. Then he was out the door, and gone. Duo stood looking after him, only vaguely aware of Stanchion rising and joining him.

"That was Heero Yuy?" the other agent asked. "I mean-- that was him?"

"We're gonna win this thing," Duo murmured. He slapped a fist into his open palm. "We're going to win." He laughed, and clapped Stanchion on the back. "Don't forget about Benson," he ordered, and left, his stride long and sure.

"In a way, you've always been the least likely to fight for the colonies," Sally said, watching him check the two double-action .357s he had chosen from the HQ arsenal. "I puzzled over you for a long time. L4 rejected your father's rule, and that lead directly to his death."

"OZ killed my father," Quatre corrected her, absently racking the slide and thumbing the safety. "I'd like an ambi-operation Beretta instead," he told the quartermaster, a grizzled man who looked unimpressed by the slender young man so thoughtfully examining his weapons. As the agent walked away, Quatre continued, "If I'm being completely honest, my father killed my father. Detaching the satellite was a wasted gesture, and at its core, it was selfish. The Council were within their rights to use L4's mining resources as they pleased."

She hesitated. "That is not the answer I expected," she admitted a moment later.

His Beretta arrived, a .40. Quatre accepted it with his left hand, repeating his actions with the magnums. "My father was a tyrant," he said to the black finish of the gun. "He used his wealth to take a choke-hold of L4. If the Alliance hadn't shut down communication with Earth, he would have done it here, too. He didn't care about his employees, much less the citizens of our colony. Relena Peacecraft knew more about pacifism at fifteen than he did at fifty-- for him, it was all empty philosophy, a self-centred superiority of inaction." It no longer hurt to say aloud, and he gained strength, in a strange way, from hearing it. "Watching him die was one of the worst things I've ever survived. I hated OZ for shooting him down. But I hated him more for being a coward. For running away and leaving us alone with a horrible war that he was too weak to fight."

He hadn't heard Duo come into the depot. His friend's voice behind him made him jump. "I thought you destroyed the colony because of him," Duo said. He leaned his elbows on the edge of the counter where Quatre and Sally stood. "Because of Zero System."

It warmed him to have Duo there, considering they'd fought less than ten minutes earlier. Duo didn't quite hold his gaze, but his presence was worth something. Quatre found his voice again, as he took the holsters the quartermaster offered and began to strap them on. "I never believed the colonies were responsible for my father's murder," he said at last, turning his back to Sally so she could adjust the straps over his shirt. "But... I started to believe that as long as people were in Space at all... The fighting would never end. There would always be ambitious men who were ruthless enough to destroy what was pure and wonderful in humanity's drive to explore-- turn it into a desire to conquer and destroy. The colonies were the final frontier, and they were too weak to resist the Alliance, OZ, Romafeller... I thought Space had rejected us."

A hand came down on his shoulder, Sally's, small and warm. But it was Duo who said, "That's what you meant. About Zero not making the hate in you."

"Zero gave me the guts and strength to do what was in my heart," Quatre said bitterly. "It finds your secrets. It exploits them. And-- I knew that when I built it. I wanted something to push me over the edge."

"There was no way you could have known," Sally disagreed, her fingers tightening on his collar. "I've seen the plans for Zero System. There is no way you knew when you were integrating it to Wing Zero that is was anything more than an AI guidance system, any different from what was being designed for the Mobile Dolls." Her bright eyes caught his when he looked up. Then she smiled, squeezed a final time, and let him go. "We've all got plenty of blame for what we did do," she murmured. "I say it's time to let go of what we didn't." She stuck her hands into her pockets, nodded to Duo, and strolled toward the door. Both men watched her go.

Quatre said, "How can you stand being around a woman that tall?"

Duo burst into laughter. "She's only one-eight meters."

Quatre was only one-six, barely. He made a face, and Duo laughed at him again. Then he slung an arm about Quatre's back, and drew him along. "Transport in five," he said. "I have some very good news for you, when we get a minute."

"All right," Quatre said, puzzled by Duo's oddly-- satisfied mood. He hesitated, then tentatively slid his arm about Duo's waist, trying vainly to judge whether he was holding too tight or too loosely. Duo cast him a surprised look, but accepted the gesture, and Quatre breathed a sigh of relief somewhere deep in his gut. "Friends?" he ventured.

"We never weren't," Duo said, and they walked outside into the sunlight together.

End Part 15

(:./erin/launch15)