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"The Case Brief "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: NC 17 Warnings: language, yaoi, Summary: in honor of upcoming April 1st, a small fic featuring a prank gone slightly awry. Pairings: 4x2
"The Case Brief "
Part 1 It was a guilty pleasure. On one level, simply listening to the sound of his rich voice. So full of wry humor and twisted fancy. Danger, very near the top. Just an edge of violence. A mere hint of dirty deeds and roguishness. Complexity, surface upon surface. But underlying it all, an utterly innocent and playful soul. Contradictory, tumultuous. Joyful. Just being near Maxwell was a pleasure. But a distraction from work. Hence the guilt. And so returning to business. "Petition for writ of certiorari... request for brief in the case of... yadda yadda. Quat, m'love. I'm so tangled in writs I've lost track of the layers. If the court requests a brief of a brief that already contains briefs, its gotta be damn short. A summary of a summary of summaries, and you're down to three relevant words total, two of which are Latin." Duo's laugh turned into a yawn, which expanded until it rattled cartilage all along his backbone, ending in his toes. He collapsed his head onto his folded arms onto the stack of legal files. The harsh blue white office light glowed through his mussed hair. It became a heavenly halo, with the wicked braid slithering serpentine toward Eden. Winner's hand stroked through the amber bangs luxuriously. Then withdrew. "Just one more hour and we'll go to bed," he promised. "Together?" Duo lifted his head to leer laughingly. "Absolutely not. Not until the pact is written, down to the last footnote, agreed upon, signed, sealed and delivered in triplicate. And the conference is over. Then we party hearty, as you say." Maxwell groaned. "How do you manage to hold out so long?" "Sublimation is the secret to success. Use the energy of libido to further your work goals. It'll take you far in life." "If I put the full power of my current libido into my work effort, my pen would melt a hole through the mahogany table top," Duo squirmed in his chair. "Maybe its all this Latin. Doesn't it evoke in your mind visions of satyrs, eating grapes snuggled into the blushing cleavage of nymphs wearing diaphanous tunics, clinging to the backs of centaurs with knee length dongs outstretched?" Quatre's eyes bugged from his head momentarily. Then he responded firmly. "The only thing the Latin does to me is slow my comprehension. Which slows my analysis of precedents. Which slows my writing a brief for the Intercolonial Trade Commission. Suitably weighted in favor of poor little downtrodden L2. Don't forget our worthy goal, my worthy comrade." "You should have gotten a lawyer as consultant. A whole passel of lawyers. Youda been finished by now." "And all of them with their own kibit rus to fry. No thank you. I trust you to speak on behalf of L2." "Yeah. You can count on that, at least, from me," Maxwell stated, suddenly somber. He picked up the next file and eyed it. "Geez Louise. 'Reply Brief in the Case of...' A fifty page reply brief. Call that brief? I'll give you fucking briefs," Duo muttered before settling down to serious reading. After an hour and a half, he flung the file across the desk. "I've highlighted the parts you absolutely ought to read. What it boils down to is this. L1 reserves the right to use trade sanctions to leverage any political advantage it fucking cares to have. While refusing to allow anyone else the use of trade sanctions, no matter what their goals. There you go. My two sentence brief of their fifty page brief of someone else's assemblage of several one hundred page briefs. None of which was the least bit brief." Quatre smiled. "I'm shocked to hear you say so. Now go to bed." "How about you?" "Maybe in a while. I need to summarize your summary in my summary. Ever so briefly, brief. Then I'll sleep." "Make sure you go to bed before you go to sleep," Maxwell grinned, in turn tousling Quat's perfectly golden halo before stumbling off to his quarters. Where he did not sleep the sleep of the just. Simply because he had gone beyond justice to approach deadness. Exhaustion was his best excuse for what followed. But more on that later.
"I was going to send the bodyguard with you," Winner said dubiously. Maxwell glanced at the two huge men, driver and guard, occupying the elegant vehicle's front seat. He didn't recognize either of them as Maguanac Corps, but it had been a large armed force during the war. These men certainly looked fierce enough to be veteran fighters. As an expression of gratitude and loyalty, Winner had kept as many of the former soldiers employed during peacetime as possible. Duo now studied the crowd outside the car. There was a collection of stern looking individuals carrying signs. Protesting whichever repressive measures they most feared from the United Earth Sphere Alliance Trade Conference commencing today at the L1 Colonial Legislature Assembly Hall. They outnumbered the local police force about five to one. Which had the constabulary looking grimly determined. Undoubtedly the cops had been told to keep things calm at all costs. By far the most numerous in the crowd were mere curiosity seekers, attracted by the noise. And the attention of the press, writers and photographers, competing for the best angles for their stories and pictures. These last categories were the ones that had former terrorist Winner nervously shifting in his seat. Young, perfect, famous, vastly wealthy, powerful and unmarried, he was the target of a horde of charming young ladies, and many not-charming photographers. "Nurp. You keep the bodyguard. I dun need'm. Even on L2, nobody ever asks for my autograph. Much less rips the shirt off my back," Maxwell chuckled. "Maybe you should come in with me after all." "Come on, Quat," Duo groaned. "You want the conference honchos to believe you're all out for L4's benefit. They see us together, they'll make an L2 connection, and stop you in your tracks. This was your strategy, remember, not mine? After all the annoyance we've been enduring, I'm not about to screw it up now. Le's just go with the plan, okay? You take the bodyguard and go in through the honcho entrance. I'll go sit quietly in the peanut gallery. Nobody's the wiser." He coiled his braid into his sweatshirt hood, cinching the drawstring securely. Plunked his cap onto his head at a suitably mischievous angle. Snugged his sunglasses up more firmly on his snub nose. Then he shoved Winner toward the door. "Take a deep breath and run for it," he advised his buddy. "You wait here," Winner decided. "After I'm in at the gate, Ghaszzi will come back to escort you." The bodyguard sprang out and opened Quatre's door. As the golden young man stepped onto the pavement, a unified shriek arose from the crowd. "Look, its Quatre Winner. The L4 heir. Quatre. The pilot hero. Oh, Quatre!" came the feminine screams of ecstasy. Maxwell sneaked away from the other side of the vehicle. With the ongoing ruckus, even the driver didn't notice his departure.
Maxwell felt the casual glance of the man in the next seat turn into a rude stare. Was he made already? He turned to stare rudely back. He had the feeling he should know this guy's face. But couldn't place it. A man in his prime. Tall, with smooth good looks and an athletic build. A cheerful but aggressive demeanor. He was dressed so casually, emphatically in old T shirt and jeans, that Duo suspected it of being a disguise. The ultimate giveaway was on his creaseless, handsome face. The man was wearing glasses. The lenses were thin and perfectly even. That is, non corrective, Maxwell concluded instantly. And the frames buzzed. Oh it was a faint sound, almost undetectable. But very irritating to Duo's sensitive hearing. The fellow was recording the procedings. The viewing device had to be mega expensive, to be so small, and undetected by the massive screening process they had endured to get into the building. Transmitting digital sound and images to a distant mobile com center. An extensive and massively expensive operation. But worst of all, hidden cameras or recorders of any sort were illegal here. So why was this guy risking the activity? And did the lawbreaker know Maxwell was onto him? The L2 Kid debated cutting and running. The very last thing Duo wanted was trouble of any sort. Whatever unsavory things happened to him might bounce and hit Winner. Duo admired Quatre's determination to help L2 in the current negotiations. His was a bold plan, and mostly altruistic. Oh sure, Maxwell knew that Winner Enterprises was investing in L2 ventures. But that in itself was a very risky undertaking. Quatre's motivations were generous to a fault. Duo sensed this intrinsically. He shifted, uneasily staring down at the distant conference table on the central platform. Several Earth District representatives were scheduled to speak. Then the colonies' representatives in order. The L1 speaker was an oily tongued slime ball, in Maxwell's opinion. And very arrogant in his belief that he would run the conference all his own way. L2's rep would immediately follow in addressing the assembly. Maxwell knew the L2 delegate. A man of harsh voice and no subtlety. He would shout at the conference, words of unvarnished truth, angrily and aggressively, leaving a shocked sensation in his wake, and furthering the poor colony's goals not one bit. Winner was the penultimate speaker, followed only by the L5 Survivors' representative. Quatre had great hopes of making a strong impression with his introductory comments, coming so close to the end of this first session. Maxwell would do nothing to endanger the objective. He weighed his options, deciding quickly that he could neither exit nor alert security. Duo couldn't leave, because he needed to hear the speeches, draw his own conclusions, and later advise Winner on L2's convoluted affairs. Plus having decided that the fellow in the next seat was up to something illegal, Maxwell had to keep an eye on the guy. Calling the cops would mean involving himself in a scene that was bound to draw lurid attention. Not good. Duo analyzed his nefarious neighbor. Probably educated, wealthy, and powerful. Could be third estate. If a reporter, then not a free lance journalist. The equipment was too expensive, the set up with the distant com station too elaborate for a freelancer. Which meant the guy was working for a major news organization. Duo enumerated the other alternatives. The guy could be a spook, associated with one of the governments represented at the huge conference table, down on the central platform. The guy could be a well-funded terrorist, out to disrupt the proceedings somehow. Or the guy could be a cop, keeping a surreptitious watch from on high. Time would tell. Maxwell sank back in his seat with a sigh. He turned
his attention to analyzing the speeches. From time to time, however,
he felt the nearby observer's high tech-enhanced look focusing upon
him. Why? |
