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"Bananas in Space "Written By: Asymphototropic
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam wing. Author: Asymphototropic (attracted toward the
light, but never quite arrives there) Email: asymphototropic@aol.com Pairings: 1+2+3 (Preventers) Rating: NC 17 Summary: Duo's banana doesn't have a tattoo. What's
a guy to do? Warnings to date: sequels are never as good as
the original story
"Bananas in Space " Part 12. Heero felt he had surrendered to peace. It was a peculiar feeling, what with his being the former perfect soldier and all. Surrender was not supposed to be part of his expertise. And yet it felt to him utterly justifiable. L2 seemed to be the perfect place softly to contemplate the universe. As he hiked past, the colony's view ports offered unimpaired studies of the infinite cosmos in all its glittering glory. It really gave any tendency to guilty feelings a terrifically hard knock on the head. The idea that anything this vast could depend upon his meager actions was ludicrous. There resulted an empowerment of personal freedom. Heero could dwell in this place, in peace, he reassured himself. Home coming was catharsis, to the sanctuary he shared with Trowa and Duo. It was simple shelter, dingy, alternately hot and cold, comprised of old beaten polymer surfaces with bedraggled overlying fabrics, the antithesis of luxury. There was no where in the galaxy he preferred to this. Neither of his friends was home when he arrived. Still, the sense of their presence hugged the place. Heero ran efficiently through security measures, then turned to comfort, cleaning his hands and face, consuming food and drink. Relaxing onto the dilapidated couch, he read the latest news service printout, which he'd found tacked to his front door. Customarily, after perusal, he would pass it on to the next door neighbor down the line, and so on. Mental darkness crept upon him. A shadow of doubt encroached. Gradually, insidiously, a sense of unease invaded. There was something amiss that he couldn't pinpoint. Subtle difficulty, because it had not been identified in his earlier security check. He considered, then decided upon a second round of reconnaissance. Nothing, nothing, nothing, ah, there it was. A stack of digital photos upon the desk next to the communications center. They were new, had not been there the last time Heero was home. Pictures of Trowa. His wonderfully lithesome form, contemplative features, capable hands. Desirable even at a distance, dangerous edges all sheathed in civility. Strange. Who would want secretly to tail Barton? For what purpose? These were candid shots. The ex mercenary soldier, oblivious in the setting of the hospital. Trowa, hurried and harried, scrambling to care for too many patients, surrounded by strangers. Oblivious to an enemy who followed him around the wards, offering unexpected violence. It felt like a threat. If you don't comply, your friend will suffer. See how vulnerable he is? This camera could be a gun. Next time, it will be. Heero raised his hand to his face, sniffed the subtle aroma at his fingertips. Maxwell. The Kid had held these photos, lingered over them, concentrating on the meaning of the threat, prior to Yuy's arrival. How long ago had Duo received the message of danger? How soon had he responded, placing himself in jeopardy? Emotions surged, possessive, protective, aggressively calculated. In haste following after, Heero, too, flung himself into the line of fire. xXxXx He felt cold, frozen into his intent. He confronted his enemies in their stronghold and was now surrounded. These men were angry, defending their turf. But not implacable, no. After all, that was the purpose of the current meeting. Having taken, now to give. "I got your message." Good, his voice had exactly the right timbre. Icy. Unyielding. Let them make their demands before he showed any sign of succumbing. Even though he was certain to surrender. His play was only a matter of timing. But the baddies didn't know that. Yet. Sharpsten and his nasty goons, in the gleaming foyer of the grand building, public domain, the place to initiate negotiation. Platinum and sparkling glass. Perfect atmosphere perfumed with the delectable scent of fresh fruit. Shadows secretly crawling with spiders. He shuddered, knowing he would not back out, feeling already entrapped. The Big Boss offered an evil sneer. "Maxwell, I have been more than patient with your insolence. You are the transgressor. Your first attack was unprovoked." "On the contrary. Your very operation itself is a provocation." "You challenge my entire organization? That's rather arrogant, wouldn't you say?" "I challenge, only where you threaten the safety of L2." "Bah. Words, rhetoric. Be practical, Mr Maxwell. My organization feeds the Colony." "You've forgotten the war already, Colonel?" The L2 Kid snarled over the phony military title. When it came to war records, he could afford to sneer at just about anyone in the entire Earth sphere. "Irrelevant." Oh, big misstep, bub, Maxwell reflected. "L2 cannot stand alone against the planets and the colonies. We cannot survive on our own. I know, and you damn well know it too. Earth is the source of the food you claim to provide. Even the rare stuff that's grown in L2's greenhouses. The organics needed for space agronomy all come from planet Earth. We have to document the give and take of organics. Make sure that the waste is returned dirtside. Otherwise Earth will be stripped and the Colony will strangle in its own detritus. Stupid spent spunk, spouting independence. We're talking basic survival here. Nothing less." The Kid glared at the size and shape of his opponent, reminding his listeners of their Big Boss' planetary origin, redefining who here was the transgressor, the invader of their home colony. Sharpsten let his fury overrun his sense when he sneered. "Such a pretty speech for a street rat." "Damn straight. I'm L2, born and bred, and fucking proud of it." There was a noticeable stirring among Sharpsten's people in response to this. Duo risked a step toward his adversary, feeling a yielding of a few precious inches of turf, taken from the defenders. Seizing immediate advantage, he continued. "You've thrown your leather into the street, man. I've done you the courtesy to meet you here. What more do you imagine you've got coming to you?" Sharpsten could feel the loss of momentum. If he didn't sound placatory now, he knew he'd lose. Public opinion was power on L2. "So you acknowledge you owe me?" "Acknowledge jackshite. I'm listening, tha's all. So far I've heard nuck-all to convince me otherwise." "See here, Maxwell. I've huge financial losses directly attributable to your actions. My organization depends on my people, and you've harmed the profits to be made by it. My employees," the Big Boss gestured grandly to the surrounding ring of thugs, "my employees, their families, stand to lose their livelihoods because of you." Duo planted his clenched fists on his lean hips, legs spread. He threw back his head and laughed out loud. The stance looked fine on him, and he knew it. "I've beaten you in a fair fight, and now you expect your mates to rescue you?" "L2 legislative code, measure 4503, article 12, subsection 305. Do you deny it was at your instigation our legal protection was trashed?" "Seems to me your own people begged for that. I do recall a certain recent corpse making a public appearance over that mess already." Sharpsten shifted nervously. A power stance would be to confess to the slaying of his lawyer, the ensuing ritual cannibalism. To claim proudly that murder before laying the blame for it back on the L2 Kid. But the Boss wasn't enough of a Colonial to jeer openly at the law. So his confession of violence remained unspoken. It lost him face amongst his people. Gotcha! Duo knew now he could turn this confrontation into the finale. The last exchange of blows before the wretched crypt dust settled around them. Still, his wicked grin covered the height of his discomfort. He knew his personal price for this modicum of street peace would be high. "State yer terms, fuck it. Before m' yawn tears the top off m'head." Yeah, right, very boring, all this posturing. Ha. Maxwell took a deep breath and held it, waiting for his pounding heart to steady. Sharpsten understood he couldn't claim a full measure of retribution. The Kid had too much history in this place, too many allies. An ultimately neutral conclusion was all he could manage. He pounced before he lost any further momentum. "Very well Mr Maxwell. You acknowledge I've lost revenue and personnel. We'll chalk that up to necessity, making the Colony a better place for us all, strictly on your say-so." "And you'll totally back off with the threats to my family," the L2 Kid's face held lethal promise. This was one point he demanded, stated clearly aloud. "No threats, Mr Maxwell. I never throw a punch unless I'm certain of hitting a target." The big man's eyes narrowed sinisterly. "Cheap shot that. Threatening a doctor in the midst of his patients. Back off. Say its so. Right out for all to hear. Otherwise you can consider this a declaration of war, and screw the consequences." "If this conference represents a truce to hostilities, you'll stay to dinner, won't you Mr Maxwell?" "Yeah. Say it out loud. Now." "And some, hmm, post prandial entertainment." Duo couldn't help it. He swallowed hard over his hesitation. Sharpsten's eyes glittered. "You'll be my guest tonight." The L2 Kid nodded curtly. Triumphant in the concession, Sharpsten chuckled, a silky sound. "In that case, before witnesses. A truce to hostilities, sir. No more strikes. Your people are off limits, as of this moment." Acknowledging the price silently, Duo Maxwell entered
deeper into the fortress of his enemies.
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