"Remade and Remodeled
"
Written By: Artemis
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and its characters are
copyright to Sunrise, Bandai, Sotsu Agency, and associated parties.
I make no money with this fic.
Rating: NC 17
Warnings: Alternate reality, hurt/comfort, angst
Pairings: 6x2
Summary: The challenge of an outlandish bet brings
unforeseen consequences
"Remade and Remodeled "
Surprisingly, Angela--yes, that was it--was waiting for him when he
left the restaurant. For whatever reason, Treize had decided to give
him this one, but he had no doubt that Treize would take her in the
end. There hadn't been a woman or man in Zechs's life who hadn't made
their way into Treize's bed as well.
The girl had obviously had too much to drink at the party. She returned
Zechs's kiss eagerly in the back of the limo, opening her mouth to
him, rubbing her breasts on him. How was it he had judged her for
a naive creature? Or was it just the alcohol talking? No, she had
worked it all night, starting with the dress and then honing in on
Une—the gateway to Treize.
Maybe she could be his experiment. He could create her into... what?
Well, something. She had the ambition and was getting the casting
couch routine down fairly quickly. Oh, the hand in his pants was definitely
a nice touch, but he knew she wouldn't hold his interest for long.
Not even the three weeks required for the... ahhhhh... bet. Definitely
a very talented young lady with practical experience in lollipops.
When he opened his eyes again the limo was on Columbus Drive, nearing
the intersection where that bizarre accident had occurred. He had
told the bartender what had happened and the man only shook his head
and said, "the kid was probably on drugs." Zechs hadn't
thought of that. Maybe that would explain why he had declined the
help, not wanting to end up in an emergency room where nurses and
physicians could very quickly see the real problem. It was sad to
think that a young man, with his entire life ahead of him, would succumb
to the lure of drugs.
Out there… Zechs focused his eyes on the street. Wasn't that
the young man? Standing there with his bike and a long piece of sheet
metal slung over his back? Yes, that was him. The angry bruise on
the side of his forehead and that curious braid confirmed that.
"He must live around here," Zechs said, craning his neck
as they drove past.
"Who?" the woman asked, lifting her head from his chest.
"That young man... in the accident earlier this evening."
"It was wonderful how fast you reacted," she said, slipping
her hand around his waist. "It really turned me on seeing you
in action like that."
Zechs looked down at her, his brow furrowing. Was he really intending
to fuck her tonight? And did that make him as pathetic as she was
turning out to be?
"I wish I could've helped him," he said at last, turning
his gaze back to the street, but they were long out of range of catching
another glimpse of the young man.
"That's funny," she said, kissing his neck and jaw line.
"How's that?"
"Of course you can help him. You're Zechs Merquise of OZ. You
make people."
There was that misnomer again. "I don't make anyone," he
said sharply.
"All right," she relented, obviously not understanding the
nature of his work, but recognizing the displeasure in his voice.
"But you could."
That was exactly what Treize had been talking about. He was capable
of this, he just needed to select the right individual, someone who
could be remade in just three weeks. But surely that young man with
the bike did not qualify. He had been downright hostile, even in his
time of need.
Later, as he fucked the pretty receptionist---yes, he had decided
to have her before Treize strapped
her on---his mind went back to the bet. Where was the challenge if
he selected someone with obvious potential? Where was the satisfaction
if the person was desperate to be discovered and would do anything
to get ahead?
It had to be that defiant, young man.
+ + +
He blinked awake and turned his head to the clock. It was 4:38, not
even a hint of the new day on the horizon. Why had he woken so early?
It must have been those dreams---dreams of rain and bicycles and long
braids.
He moved to get up, but was stopped by the naked body wrapped around
him. Damn, hadn't he sent her home after? Well, she would have to
go now; he had a lot to accomplish today.
With an ungraceful and ungrateful push, he shoved the receptionist
off him. She barely stirred. He sat on the edge of the bed and ran
his hands through his hair, pushing his bangs from his face. Why had
he slept with this trifle? One of the first things his mentor had
taught him was to choose sex partners carefully. Only those who could
aid you or your client's rise to the top were worth a fuck. Receptionists
as a rule were clearly at the bottom of the barrel. One had to set
his sights on private secretaries and personal assistants. There a
quick fuck could open doors.
Quick fucks aside there were those who were not of the office persuasion,
who had nothing to do with getting ahead. These were the lucky few
he wined and dined and fucked over a period of weeks before discarding.
These were the only ones he brought home. So was that it? This woman
would be the main course for the foreseeable future? He shrugged.
She was easy on the eyes and easy to fuck. So be it.
He reached for his phone and pressed the pound symbol and the number
two. After five rings, a groggy voice acknowledged him.
“What time is it?”
"It’s 4:41,” Zechs said.
"And you have a good reason for waking me at this hour, don't
you?" The woman's voice was waking now.
"Of course, Noin. Who else would I turn to in my hour of need?"
There was a groan and then, "I told you, I don't mix business
with pleasure."
Zechs chuckled. "Smart girl. But I have a different kind of need
this morning," he said, even as he looked down at his half-erect
cock.
"This can't wait until I get to the office?"
“There’s no time." His mind was coming fully awake.
"I need you to find someone—a young man. I don't know his
name, but I saw him last night at the intersection of Columbus and
83rd. He rides a mountain bike and has a long braid."
"Did he steal your wallet?" she asked, chuckling.
"Noin, just find him!" He was being uncharacteristically
impatient with his assistant and took a breath. The urgency of this
task seemed too great. What if he couldn't find this kid? He had to
set a deadline. "It's important. I need him found within 24 hours."
Noin was expected to handle impossible demands, but he knew this request
had a different tone. It was colored with desperation and determination,
and she probably wondered what the hell he was doing.
"It's as good as done," she said, sounding confident in
her resources.
"Thanks, Noin. I know I can count on you."
+ + +
Somehow the day went on. Zechs got out of bed, showered, dressed,
and sent the girl home. He then went out to his garage, selected a
car to suit his mood--anticipation--and drove. The sun was up, but
most of the city still slept. It was six a.m.
Ocean Boulevard was wide open at this hour and he took advantage of
that with the horsepower under his control. He pushed the car, thrilling
at its response and the way he could make the machine bend to his
will. Life was good.
Eventually he made it into the office, was reminded of his schedule
for the day, and resisted the urge to inquire into the search. Time
was ticking. Clients came and went, letters sent, phone calls made,
and lunch taken at his favorite bistro. Still the day dragged, but
went on.
Later that afternoon, as he returned from an impromptu meeting with
Treize across town, Zechs's car phone rang.
"Yes," he said, simultaneously turning the volume down on
Tchaikovsky.
"Duo Maxwell," Noin said.
"The boy on the bike?"
"The one and only," she said, her voice hinting at a smile.
"Good work, Noin. Where is he now?" Did he sound anxious?
He didn't care.
"Working," she said and then paused. "Listen, Zechs,
I don't know what you want with this kid, but---”
"Special project. Now tell me where I can find him."
There was that note of determination again and she relented. "He's
a stock boy, bag boy at Woodman's Grocery."
Zechs's brow tightened. He couldn't recall the last time he had set
foot in a grocer's. It all sounded so... ordinary.
"He's there now," she went on. "Started work an hour
ago."
"And you're just calling me now?"
"These things take time. I only just got the information from
our contact at police headquarters."
Time I don't have, Zechs thought. "I'm sorry, Noin. Go on."
"He lives just a few blocks from where you saw him last night.
And Woodman's is just up the street from there. Oh, and he's got a
record."
"Anything serious?"
"Well, I was right to think he'd take your wallet," she
said, choking off a laugh when Zechs did not respond. "Kid stuff
mostly. Shoplifting and one breaking and entering when he was fourteen."
"How old is he now?" Zechs asked, suddenly worried that
this stray might be a minor.
"Turned eighteen a few weeks ago. So when are you gonna tell
me what this is about?"
"When I know myself," Zechs said. "Now give me directions
to that store, and Noin, take the rest of the afternoon off and buy
yourself something expensive... on me."
~ * ~
Chapter 3
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