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"Locker Shock"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 Rating: R Warnings: language, yaoi, violence Summary: Post EW Preventers. Maxwell undertakes a death defying shuttle flight to destroy a killer's alibi on behalf of Yuy's case. Merquise feels an unaccountable urge to protect Duo. When the assassin comes stalking, will the combined skills of Zechs and Heero be enough to save 02 from the deadly blade? Pairings: 1x2, 6+1+2
"Locker Shock" Part 1 "Maxwell, what have you got in your locker?" "Only the essentials of life," Duo Maxwell grinned, casually turning his back on Brexten. Rapid attention was drawn toward the verbal sparring match. The Preventers locker room was crammed to capacity, with both incoming and outgoing shifts of personnel present. Maxwell was a popular youngster. The former gundam pilot was something of a celebrity to the outside world. Within the Preventers organization, his friendships ranged indiscriminately from janitors and mechanics, cooks and secretaries, to pilots, special ops agents, and high-ranking officers. One thing was obvious to his coworkers. If Duo liked you, he didn't care who or what you were. On the other hand was Brexten, burly, arrogant, and confrontational. Oblivious to the danger of prodding Maxwell, the older agent reached a meaty fist into the kid's locker. "Baby powder!" he proclaimed, holding the item aloft for all to see. A ripple of laughter sounded amongst the crowd. Duo's lopsided grin spread wider, invoking a solitary dimple at his cheeks' edge. "Put it back where you found it, and I'll refrain from gutting you," he offered. Instantly the room seemed to darken. The atmosphere became thicker, harder to breathe. Muscles tensed, eyes narrowed, silence descended upon them all. Brexten tossed the rosy pink plastic canister from hand to hand. Once, twice. Then he reached out and replaced it upon the metal shelf. The man hunched his massive shoulders, skulking from having backed down. After all, he scolded himself, the kid was a lightweight, short and skinny, with lily pale skin, and a long soft fall of amber hair, braided girlishly down the back of his T shirt. Having egged himself on, Brexten snorted derisively. "Baby powder!" he again taunted into the breathless space. "Look at the ingredients," Maxwell's voice sounded domesticated, ordinary, as the boy tied his gym shoes. "Same damn stuff as that 'Slip Stream' crap all the hotshot pilots sprinkle under their flight suits. But at a fraction of the price. Yer just wasting money on a brand name, a glittery metallic package and a whole hell of a lot of advertising." The kid shrugged slender shoulders carelessly. Brexten writhed, then snarled at the threat of the boy's easy dominance. Maxwell's elite skills included piloting and Brexten's did not. "Naw, that's not it. Most likely you're compensating. You should talk to the psych docs, Maxwell. Yeah, that's it, I bet." He looked around him, garnering support for his jab. "Its really because your mommy didn't powder your butt enough when you were a baby." A round of guffaws greeted his retort. He smirked triumphantly. With a sudden thud and crash, Brexten levitated from the bench and slammed into the wall of lockers. A vice like grip surrounded his throat. The big man gurgled helplessly, pawing ineffectually at the deathly choke hold engulfing his neck. "Commander Peacecraft," the warning came abruptly, working its way into the conflict, voiced in cautionary awe from more than one member of the group. "Commander Peacecraft," the crowd muttered, announcing the high-ranking officer's presence in their midst. Stand down! Duo Maxwell drew a deep breath, clamping off his adrenaline rush, stifling his burning berserker response, willing his fists to unclench. Stand down, back down, no blood, no fight, no danger. Friends, surrounded by comrades, calm now, that's it. Easy does it, he told himself. He let the inhalation escape slowly, gradually, exhalation soothing his pounding heart. "Commander? Sir?" Duo asked meekly. The boy reached a single index finger gingerly forward to touch the powerful fists clenched around Brexten's throat. The throttled agent's wild eyes bugged from his skull, his parted lips sucked eagerly for oxygen. "Sir?" Duo asked again. His fingertip moved tenuously, minutely, almost caressing the lethal power of the clenched fists before him. "Zechs?" he murmured, scarcely audible. Peacecraft, second in command of the entire Preventers force, sighed. He released his strangle hold from around his subordinate's neck. His fists relaxed, his hands dropped to his sides in a perfect officer's stance. His deep voice resonated, confidently authoritative. "Agent Brexten. There is quite a shortage of lockers. Having one is a privilege. If you cannot interact with your fellows in a civilized manner, such privilege will be revoked. Understood?" "Sir. Understood," Brexten wheezed, grasping at the wall for support. Commander Peacecraft pivoted precisely on a shining boot heel, his exit from the locker room ushered by supremely stunned silence.
"Did you see the knife?" "No. But you wouldn't, you know? Not with Maxwell. It'd just be 'snickerty snick', and there would be your intestines, steaming all over the floor. And Maxwell smiling the meanwhile." "Yeah," several voices agreed, gleefully ghoulish. Lady Une, Commander in Chief of the Preventers force, paused in the side corridor, obscured by the corner's shadow. She contemplated the scenario. A small cluster of teenagers, file clerks and gophers, whispering together in awed tones. Not a one had any rank privileges. The locker room they were discussing should have been off-limits to them. But the kids loved to trespass into that forbidden domain. The older agents tended to tolerate the harmless invasion, appreciating a little hero worship from their juniors. "And then, out of nowhere. Bam! Slam! That sheep-holer Brexten is up against the wall. With Commander Peacecraft squeezing the shit out of him." "No fucking way." "Way. Saw it with my own two baby blues. "His Royal Silkiness, mixing-it up in a shower stall brawl? Oh, please." "Titty truth." The boy groped his own nipple through his uniform shirt. "Swear to swill and drink it." "So what's the punch line? No blood spilled? No broken bones. No guns n' stinkin' badges confiscated?" "Get this. His Royal Commandership tells Brexten that if he won't be a good little pussy wussy, he'll lose his locker privilege. And Brexten, with knees all a quiver, just goes all soldier boy 'yes, sir'. Finito." "That's it? That's all?" The anticlimax was greeted with grumbles as the group dispersed. Commander Une stalked back to her office. "Get Agent Maxwell in here, five minutes ago," she told her executive assistant as the door swung closed.
"Maxwell. Come," Une snapped abruptly. She seemed somewhat perturbed, Maxwell decided as he followed her into the inner sanctum. Tread lightly, he told himself. What have you done now? His self demanded. Hell if I know, he replied to himself. Une did not offer Maxwell a chair. Duo stood. He did not do 'at attention'. It was not a posture he had acquired amongst his other numerous soldierly skills. 'At attention' would look ridiculous on Duo Maxwell. Worse, it would look mocking and disrespectful upon him. Not a good look for him just now, in front of present company, Commander in Chief of the frickin' universe. So he stood, merely not 'at ease'. Most definitely not 'at ease' he told himself. Une glared at him. "Tell me about the incident yesterday." "Incident?" "The locker room. Yesterday at approximately 1700 hours. You had an altercation. With Agent Brexten. Didn't you?" "No, Commander." "What?" "I did not have an altercation with anyone yesterday." "Then you had a disagreement." "No, Commander." "A heated discussion." "No, Commander." "At least you were in the locker room yesterday at 1700 hours. You spoke to Agent Brexten at that time. And he spoke to you." "Yes, Commander." "What was the topic of conversation?" "Baby powder." Strangled sounds from her. Possibly stifled laughter? Duo looked up hopefully. She was definitely grimacing in an attempt to compose her features. Duo's left cheek dimpled. "So you did not have a disagreement. You were calmly discussing baby powder with Agent Brexten. Did you threaten to gut him with a knife?" "No, Commander." "Did you have a knife with you?" "No, Commander. Neither wearing nor bearing arms. I was getting into my gym shorts," Duo smirked. "I see." Again a visible attempt to school her features. In fact, Commander Une had just viewed an unbidden mental image of Maxwell in nothing but a jock strap. She reined in her imagination abruptly. Back to business. "Commander Peacecraft was present." "Yes, Commander." "He, shall we say, came into physical contact with Agent Brexten." "Yes, Commander." "Did Commander Peacecraft attack Agent Brexten?" "He, er, physically restrained Agent Brexten. If Commander Peacecraft had attacked him, I doubt Brexten woulda been still walking and talking afterwards." "Hmm, yes. Well, now, if you were having a perfectly calm discussion with Agent Brexten, why did Commander Peacecraft feel the need to restrain the man?" "Because he strongly disagreed with Brexten's assessment of baby powder?" Maxwell crinkled his snub nose and offered his CO a somewhat hesitantly puzzled smile. He seemed truly perplexed. "Duo. What exactly did Brexten say to you immediately before Commander Peacecraft intervened?" "Ah, um. Exactly? Right before? Er, he said that he thought I should talk to the psych docs. 'Cause my mom hadn't powdered my butt enough when I was a baby." Une stared at Duo Maxwell. He grinned unaffectedly at her, his one off-center dimple prominent in the soft curve of his cheek. His expression indicated his sense that this report sounded ridiculous. "Thank you, Agent Maxwell. I think that will be all." Duo sighed in relief. Then he marveled at the Commander when she graciously rose from her desk to open the door for him. As he returned to his own work area, he pondered the entire event. He couldn't fathom what had pissed-off Peacecraft so extremely. And he couldn't figure what Une thought of it all. Except that Duo Maxwell seemed to be off the hook for the moment. For which he was quite definitely grateful.
"Incident?" "The locker room. Yesterday at approximately 1700 hours. You had an altercation. With Agent Brexten. Didn't you?" "No, Commander." "What?" "I did not have an altercation with anyone yesterday." "Commander Peacecraft. You lost control." Zechs was seated decisively upright in a comfortable armchair across from Lady Une's desk. As he stared at his longtime friend, his features were utterly still. But his glacier blue eyes bespoke dangerous intent. "On the contrary. I exerted extreme self-control, successfully. I wanted to kill Brexten. And I refrained from doing so. QED." Une felt thoroughly shocked at this confession. "You wanted to kill him? Why? Maxwell's description indicates Brexten's exchange with him was trivial, right up to the point when you assaulted the man." "Maxwell has trained himself to the extent that he is immune to verbal torture. This does not excuse Brexten's attempt to inflict it upon him." "Torture? Don't you think you are exaggerating?" "No, I do not. Maxwell had a hideous childhood. Brexten's reference to it in an aggressive context represents nothing less than extreme cruelty." "I take it you feel that the physical contact was justified on your part?" "I do. Brexten is not a subtle creature. He must be collared firmly. The man is a sadist. He should not be a Preventer. He should not be allowed weapons. He should be eliminated for the good of humanity. However, this is peacetime. Under the circumstances, execution would be unacceptable." "If you feel so strongly against him, why not have him discharged? You are in a powerful position. You could easily accomplish that. Instead, you work with him frequently." "I despise Brexten. I hate even being in the vicinity of his polluting influence. But if I were to reassign him, elsewhere in the Preventers force. Or worse, discharge him. I would lose control over him. I would be inflicting him on persons unknown under unforeseeable circumstances." "So you keep him close to you. Deal with him frequently. That sounds like an untenable situation for you. And one that you will not seek to change." "That is a correct assessment." "I see that you volunteered for a psych exam." "Yes. I have already had a session with Sally Po. I anticipated that you would order me to do so. And frankly, I thought it would look better on my record if that were a voluntary meeting." Zechs offered her a very small smile. It appeared to Une that Zechs was indeed in control, as he stated. Extremely tight control. Which could be a good thing, or a bad thing. "I have Dr Po's report. But I would like to hear your interpretation of her recommendations." Zechs offered up a short, satirical laugh. "As long as I insist on keeping Brexten in my immediate command, she wants me to continue meeting with her on a regular basis. She also suggested I befriend Maxwell." "Indeed? That second rec does not appear in the doctor's communication to me." "No. It wouldn't. Do you approve?" "Of what?" "According to Sally, I have channeled my hatred of Brexten into an urge to protect Maxwell. The good doctor thinks my perception of the boy's hardships has intensified my need to dominate his tormentor. Medical wisdom suggests, if I were to concentrate upon positive good, i.e. treating Maxwell to a little of life's finer things, then it would relieve some of the negative pressure of my interactions with Brexten. Balance things out. And I might continue to refrain from strangling the brute." "So you are asking my permission to fraternize with Duo Maxwell? For strictly therapeutic purposes?" Une lifted one lovely eyebrow in an elegantly wicked expression. "Exactly." The former prince's appearance at that moment managed to surpass the lady's in both elegance and wickedness. "Permission granted. Just keep your more overt expressions of, hmm, friendship, off of Preventers' premises." "Certainly."
Heero Yuy, special ops agent and former gundam pilot, sat in an office chair. In one hand he held a printout of a court transcript summary. In the other hand he held the plait of Duo's gossamer hair, which he fingered absently. He liked to touch that braid when he was concentrating. The soothing contact seemed to aid his cerebration. Yuy's deep, steady voice sounded. "The crux of the defense to date centers on an alibi. Maelaport has numerous witnesses who swear he entered his shuttle at the L2-437 terminal. The shuttle took off immediately. The argument is made that he could not have reached the victim in time to have murdered him. His alibi seems airtight. And yet, all aspects of our investigation indicate strongly that Maelaport is the assassin." "Hmm," Maxwell replied, shutting his eyes as he mentally examined the L2 ADIZ. "The shuttle terminal nearest to where they offed the honcho would be 586." Yuy shuffled the papers, examining the pertinent data. "According to this document, that is accurate. The accused's lawyers maintain that, even if Maelaport had masked his shuttle signal and made an illegal, unrecorded landing, it would have taken approximately 187 minutes to arrive at L2-586. By the time he could have left the terminal and arrived at the homicide site, the victim's estimated time of death would have been already past." "One hundred eighty seven minutes? Bah. I could get a shuttle from terminal to terminal in less than an hour," Duo sneered. "How?" "Gain minimum required distance, reverse thrust, plummet, level off, drop down and land. You don't have to circle L2 to do a terminal to terminal hop, if you aren't logging a legal flight plan with control." "Most pilots would consider that an insanely dangerous maneuver." "Most officers of the law would consider Maelaport an insanely dangerous criminal. And you did say he's a capable pilot." Since Maxwell was staring at the floor, he missed the affectionate admiration in Yuy's look. "Not as good as you, of course." Duo laughed musically. "Of course not. But mostly what the maneuver would demand from the pilot would be a disregard for the safety of other folks in his flight path." "How sure are you that a good pilot could travel terminal to terminal in under an hour?" Yuy was already placing the trans-space call to Preventers Headquarters on L2. "Certain." Yuy listened to the compact nanosignal bouncing off of the series of space station receivers, being repackaged and ejected on and on again, a shrapnel bit of vitality, piercing the dead vacuum of space, to impact at last with the corporum of L2. The disembodied voice that ultimately responded to his call sounded surreal over the lag time. "Dickerson here." "Commander Dickerson. This is Agent Heero Yuy, calling from Earth Headquarters." "Yuy." Dickerson acknowledged. "Progress?" "Yes, sir. Our request for a Wildcard on the Maelaport case was approved. Agent Duo Maxwell is now consulting for us." The Wildcards were elite, versatile agents whose skills fell into numerous categories. Wildcard agents served directly under Lady Une's command. Heero Yuy had been a Wildcard for awhile. But he found the unpredictability of the assignments annoying, and had transferred to special ops. Duo Maxwell, delighting in the variety of work available, had been continuously a Wildcard agent since his first day with Preventers force. As soon as the signal on his computer indicated that the voice line was again open, Yuy continued speaking. "Agent Maxwell says that a shuttle can be flown by direct hop from terminal L2-437 to terminal L2-586 in less than an hour." They waited for the return voice message to sound. "Interesting assertion. Not that I'm questioning his expertise. But can he prove it to the satisfaction of a large number of skeptical legal minds?" When the 'all-clear' signal next lit, Maxwell spoke up. "Commander Dickerson. Maxwell, here. No problem. I'll fly the shuttle. You time the transit. Members of the prosecution and defense can witness takeoff and landing." "I'm just picturing having to file that particular flight plan with L2 Control," Dickerson responded. "But I'll stick my neck out here, and get the DA to petition the judge to allow the demonstration. If he approves we'll just have to convince flight control to allow it. All of which will take time. And of course, Maelaport's attorneys will do everything in their power to block this from going through. I'll contact Commander Une with the plan. Its not guaranteed she will agree to this, even if all L2 parties go along with it." Duo grinned fiercely. At a certain practical, mission-driven level, Yuy hoped for Une's approval. But somewhere deeper within, he wished she might refuse his friend's mad enterprise. ~ * ~
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