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"Knowing "Written By: CalicOcat
Pairing: 1x2 Rated: R Warnings: OOC, Swearing, Lime/Implied Lemon Disclaimer: Duo and Heero and the rest of the GW gang aren't mine. This story is. Nuff said. Notes: Post Endless Waltz. Duo POV. 'Thinking' Author's Notes: Thanks go out to Sunhawk for beta-ing
this for me. This was written for the Moments of Rapture Fall 2003
"Fic for a Pic" contest. Feedback is appreciated.
"Knowing "
Working at the scrapyard with Hilde had been a godsend
right after the war. A chance to rest my battle-weary mind and body
and try to figure out where the hell I fit into this thing called
peace. Maybe I didn't get too damn much actually figured out and the
job itself wasn't exactly a thrill a minute intellectually *or* physically
but at least *I* didn't go looking for a way to restart the goddamned
war, unlike a certain other individual. I don't know what the hell
Chang was thinking but then I'm not entirely sure that *he* knows
himself. Maybe he wasn't thinking at all; he always was a bit hotheaded.
But after being back in action during that little conflict,
I just couldn't seem to settle back into the routine of daily life.
Where before I had been content to just drift from day to day sorting
scrap and salvaging parts, now I was restless. Discontented. Something
had changed. Whether it had been the fighting itself or simply being
back in contact with the other pilots, back partnering Heero, back
piloting, or something else entirely, I didn't fit in there anymore.
The job at the scrapyard was like wearing a pair of outgrown shoes;
it pinched and rubbed and made me irritable and miserable as hell.
When Heero came to L2 and asked me to join the Preventers
with him, it seemed like a damn good idea. The solution to the lost,
restless feeling that had been plaguing me. I would be back in action,
putting all of my hard-earned skills to good use, and partnering my
best friend. I never even hesitated over my answer. It was "When
do we leave?" and, while I'd like to say that I felt bad about
moving out of the apartment that Hilde and I had shared, I have to
admit that I never felt so much as a twinge of regret. Not for leaving
the apartment - the only place that I could remember living as long
as I had at the church - nor for leaving behind Hilde. She was a friend,
yes - but Heero was my best friend. My partner. My friendship with
Hilde was a frail wisp of a connection compared to the strength of
the ties between Heero and me. If the Preventers - or at least a few at the top - hadn't
wanted Heero so damn bad, joining up would have been a hell of a lot
harder. As it was, they let us test out of all of the physical training
and most of the classroom stuff too. Une even signed off on an exemption
for my hair; she wanted Heero in the Preventers, he refused to accept
anyone but me as his partner, and I refused to cut my hair. In retrospect, all of those exceptions that were made
for us may not have been a good thing. Maybe they were to blame for
all the resentment we faced. Maybe if we'd gone through the tedium
of the training academy, started out as cadets and worked our way
up instead of starting off as officers, maybe if I'd cut my hair to
the regulation length, maybe then we would have been able to overcome
the suspicion and resentment and outright hatred. Or maybe things would have been just as bad. Why any of us had expected soldiers and officers of
the former Alliance, Oz, Romefeller, White Fang, and even Mariemaia's
army, to welcome former Gundam pilots into their ranks, I don't know.
But we did. Not just Heero and I, but Une and Sally and the others
who had wanted our expertise under their command. We'd expected people
who'd lost friends, comrades, commanders, soldiers under their command,
to accept if not welcome those responsible for their losses. We were wrong. *** "Oh *crap*. Not *again*..." I groaned, surveying
the flat tire on my car. The *second* flat tire *this month*. The
sixth within less than six months. And that was just on *my* car;
Heero had had his sixth flat last week. I'd known it was my turn again
but hadn't expected it quite this soon. An acceleration in frequency
of harassment was *not* a good sign. I pulled out my phone and called Heero; he was in the
office redoing some paperwork that had mysteriously gone missing.
"Preventers. Yuy speaking." "Heero, sorry but I'll have to take your car or
I'll be late for the interview. Mine's got a flat again." "Damn." Depressingly, his voice was more resigned
than anything else. He sighed, then said, "Go ahead, I'll try
to get one of the mechanics to take care of it before I have to leave."
I couldn't help a cynical snort in response. I knew
damn well that they would all be much, much too busy with *far* more
important things than taking care of the tire on a personal vehicle
even if said personal vehicle was the one used for work by a Preventer
Captain. 'At least as long as said Captain is a former Gundam pilot...'
"Good luck," I muttered as I walked over to Heero's car. I was very glad that we'd driven in separately today. The man I was supposed to be interviewing was leaving the planet on business later this afternoon and would be gone for several weeks. If I was late, I'd miss the chance to interview him and that could severely delay our investigation into one of his contractors. "If I get back early enough, I'll change it myself," I promised. "Or if I'm late and you don't mind waiting, I'll still change it. My car, my flat tire, my... Oh *shit*." "Your 'oh *shit*'? What's wrong?" I swallowed hard and stared disbelievingly at Heero's
car. "Heero, you'd better come down here. *Now.* I'll wait till
you get here but it looks like I'll be taking a cab..." There was a startled grunt of acknowledgement before
the phone went dead. I folded it up and stuck it back in my pocket
as I walked slowly around Heero's car, surveying the damage. It was
pretty bad. Not only had it been keyed all the way down *both* sides,
the tires had been actually *slashed* this time. All four of them. I winced at the words gouged into the paint of the trunk. The harassment had *definitely* escalated. "Terrorist", "killer", and "fucking
murdering Gundam pilot" were the *nicer* of the things that had
been written there. Shock, dismay, and anger were all struggling for
dominance right now and plain old "pissed off" was starting
to win. 'I will *not* lose my temper, I will *not* lose my temper,'
I recited silently. The damage was done; I would not give those behind
it the satisfaction of seeing me lose my cool. "Oh *shit*..." Heero had arrived and was staring
at his car in horrified fascination. Of course, to anyone else he
would just look like his normal stoic self but then no one else knew
how to read him the way that I did. "You're right. Go. It'll take forever to get Forensics
down here," Heero said flatly. "You don't have time for
that." "Call if you need me," I told him needlessly.
I squeezed his arm supportively as I headed past him towards the elevator.
Leaving him to handle this mess on his own made me feel lower than
pondscum but I could *not* miss this interview appointment. And it
wasn't as if reporting the vandalism would do any good. Despite the
security cameras in the Preventers' parking garage, I knew damn well
that there would be no real evidence found either on the security
recordings or from an examination of the scene by Forensics. Not when the odds were very, very good that the perpetrators
were fellow Preventers. *** "The recording media for the security cameras was
faulty; today's footage is completely unrecoverable," Heero told
me bluntly. I flopped down on the couch and muttered sarcastically,
"Oh gosh, what a surprise. And don't tell me - let me guess -
there were no fingerprints other than ours on the cars and Forensics
couldn't find any evidence that might lead back to the perps, right?"
Heero nodded silently. "So why are both our cars still in Impound?"
I asked. "Just for the hell of it? Or is Forensics actually going
to take a second look?" I wasn't surprised that Heero had insisted
on waiting until we got home to fill me in on things but I *had* been
perturbed to discover that we'd have to take a cab to get there. "Because I pulled rank and spoke to Commander Une
herself about this," Heero said with a grimace. "Ignoring
the harassment hasn't helped. And the issue of the security cameras
is too big to let pass. She's ordered a full investigation."
"Not that it'll do any damn good," I muttered
bitterly. The harassment had started right after we began working
for the Preventers. At first, it had been pretty minor stuff. Petty.
People "accidentally" spilling coffee on us or on our paperwork.
Paperwork going missing. Requisitions for office supplies not being
filled. Whispered slurs and insults that we were intended to "overhear".
We'd followed procedure. Reported the incidents through
the proper channels. And for what? For a fucking *memo* reminding everyone that "we're
all on the same side now". Gee, *thanks*, Commander. That was
just *oh* so helpful. Regulation, yes, but helpful? Not particularly.
A few weeks had gone by, then the harassment had started
all over again. Though we'd dismissed the first flat tire initially.
It was only when I'd ended up with a flat as well before the month
was out that we had started to question that first one of Heero's.
When we'd each had our second flat, we'd reported it. Again. I couldn't help wondering what would happen next. From
one flat tire to four slashed ones and a scratched-up paint job -
complete with words sufficient to change the situation from "vandalism"
to "hate crime" - was one hell of a fast escalation of hostilities.
It wasn't as if *everyone* at Preventers hated or resented
us. There were plenty of people, agents and support staff alike, who
got along just fine with us. Though even then, it was hard to be sure
that they weren't just pretending. There was enough hostility around
that we were both a bit - paranoid lately. I wondered whether Chang had had things quite so rough.
He and Sally Po had quit the Preventers shortly after Heero and I
joined. They had been asked to spearhead the L5 revitalization project
and had jumped at the chance. While he *was* in the Preventers, though,
Chang had been paired up with Po who was ex-Alliance and he of course
had been in Mariemaia's army, so he might not have had to face such
universal resentment. It was hard to guess how much of a role harassment
had played in his decision to leave. Though the last time that I'd
seen them in a televised press conference for the project, they'd
admitted their engagement when questioned about the ring on Sally's
finger, so the Preventers' fraternization policy might have played
an even bigger role. Heero and I really hadn't kept very closely in touch
with any of the others. Quatre and Trowa were both trying very hard
to put their soldier lives behind them. The last that I'd heard, Trowa
had left the circus to work as Quatre's personal assistant. Sort of
a bodyguard-slash-secretary, I guess. And Quatre himself was very
busy with Winner Enterprises, particularly the portions of it involved
in postwar reconstruction. It wasn't that we didn't get along with the other Gundam
pilots, we just all had our own lives and there was very little common
ground between us. Maybe someday we'd all reconnect but for the time
being, none of us seemed to have much interest in doing so. Regardless of the others, Heero and I had each other,
and thank god for that. Our friendship was pretty much the only positive
thing we had going for us right now. And without our partnership,
working for Preventers would be - difficult. There wasn't really anyone
there that I would trust at my back. If I could count on their ability
to do the job, I couldn't count on their loyalty, and vice versa.
Yet neither of us wanted to quit. As an organization,
the Preventers filled an important role. Weapons smuggling and sales,
narcotics smuggling and sales, anything illegal that crossed governmental
borders or potentially involved multiple law enforcement agencies,
all that fell under the jurisdiction of Preventers. And the agency
did a good job of handling it. Despite occasional infighting between
the former members of Oz and Romefeller, between those of Oz and White
Fang, between those of White Fang and Romefeller, between those of
the *Alliance* and Oz, and so on. The very fact that every group had
both former enemies and former allies - and those various alliances
and enmities were convoluted and tangled - working with them kept
things from getting out of hand. But in one thing, all of those groups
were united. That one thing - their enmity towards the former Gundam
pilots. Because the Gundam pilots were never part of *any* of
those groups. And we fought against every last one of them. Fought
against them - and survived while their troops did not. We had coworkers who had sent troops into battle against
Gundams with odds overwhelmingly in their favour only to be defeated.
Humiliated by teenage kids. Was it really so surprising that they
resented us? No. Not really. Especially not when the blame for so many deaths was
heaped on our shoulders as well. Deaths of soldiers. Of military support
staff - janitors, technicians, maintenance workers, mechanics. Deaths
of civilians caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Rather than blaming the nameless, faceless multitudes
of their other enemies, each of the groups found it easier to blame
the names and faces that they *knew*. Heero Yuy, Gundam Pilot 01,
and his partner, Duo Maxwell, Gundam Pilot 02. So they blamed us and they resented us and they harassed
us, and we gritted our teeth and ignored them and kept doing our jobs
and hoped that someday they'd ignore us back. And if sometimes a waitress at a restaurant or a sales
clerk at a store would give us an ugly look and refuse to wait on
us, it wasn't anything new. Or if a witness would refuse to talk to
one of us and insist that someone else be sent to interview him, that
wasn't new either. And if sometimes we got a little pissed off at the whole
damn universe and needed to let off some steam before we exploded
- well, that was why one tiny bedroom was crowded by two narrow beds
and the other "bedroom", small though it was for the purpose,
was well-equipped with mats for sparring and other workout equipment.
We never really cut loose in the Preventers' gym; neither of us was
comfortable fighting all-out in public. Some things were meant to be a surprise. Preferably
a damn *nasty* one. "I need to let off some steam," I stated abruptly,
bouncing up from the couch. We'd both been sitting here brooding too
damn long. "Barehanded?" Heero suggested, rising from
his chair. "Bos?" I countered. There was something distinctly
satisfying about the solid thwack of two bos connecting. A feral grin was all the answer I needed. *** Several weeks passed. The workout room at the apartment
was in use virtually every night. It wasn't unusual for Heero and
I to end up a little stiff and sore and sporting a few honestly-earned
bruises. We were stressed out, pissed off, and thoroughly frustrated.
Even the successful wrap-up of several cases wasn't enough to improve
our mood for long. The investigation into the vandalism of Heero's car
and the flat tire on mine went nowhere, as expected. The small office
that Heero and I shared was thoroughly trashed when we arrived for
work one morning - file cabinets emptied all over the floor and the
few personal items from our desks broken - and that investigation
was equally fruitless. The only tiny speck of progress made came about
when my car was, inevitably, again a target. Heero and I had privately
- supplemented - the security equipment in the garage by mounting
our own monitoring equipment on our vehicles. The footage was useless;
whoever did the vandalism had been carrying an electronic scrambler,
which wasn't really much of a surprise. But the spray paint cans were
discarded inside the office building and that was enough evidence
of an inside job to land the whole thing in the hands of Internal
Affairs. And then things escalated again. *** "Shit!" I swore, ducking behind a huge shipping
container. Bullets cracked and whined as they ricocheted off the side
of the metal box. "Where the *hell* is our goddamned *backup*?!!"
Up on the catwalk on the far side of the hangar, I could
see Heero darting from one skimpy bit of cover to another, trying
to find a clear shot at the men holding us off while the shuttle prepared
for takeoff. We'd been here strictly on reconnaissance - the bust
was supposed to go down tomorrow after the buyer arrived to make payment
and take possession of the weapons. Unfortunately, either the intelligence
was bad or there was more than one buyer because *this* load was shipping
out *tonight*. We'd called for backup and waited, hoping that they'd
arrive before the buyer left; there were too damn many armed guards
for the two of us to want to take them on alone. Unfortunately, backup
hadn't showed up in time and we'd had to announce our presence in
order to try and stop the buyer from leaving. Which led to Heero and
I playing dodge-the-bullets. And backup *still* hadn't arrived. From the catwalk, Heero waved to get my attention.
I groaned as I interpreted his hand signals. He wanted to drop one
section of the catwalk onto the shuttle, hoping to damage it enough
to ground it. Which meant that I was going to have to cross the open
space between my current shelter and the nearest access ladder, then
climb the damn thing - fortunately at least partially shielded by
a support pillar - in order to release this end of the catwalk. This
was *not* going to be fun and it was probably going to be damn painful
since the odds of making it through this without getting hit at least
once by a bullet were very, very slim. The bulletproof vest would
protect my torso - though a hit would still hurt, bruise, and probably
knock the wind out of me - but that still left arms, legs, and head
vulnerable. I signalled my acceptance with a nod and waited for
Heero's signal to go. He gave it and I saw him toss something down
towards the shooters as I started to run. Judging by the flicker of
flame I'd seen as it fell and the sound of the resultant explosion,
he'd found some alcohol or gasoline somewhere and rigged a Molotov
cocktail. A fierce grin pulled at my lips as I leapt onto the ladder
and started to climb. I'd known Heero must have had *something* in
mind to make this feasible; neither of us took chances quite as insane
as those we'd taken during the war. We were a little too fond of living
for that. He wouldn't ask me to take an unacceptably high risk over
one lousy shipment of weapons, regardless of the buyer's presence.
Moving quickly, I loosened the bolts holding the central
catwalk section to the one that I was standing on. On the other side
of the hangar, I could see Heero doing the same. We finished at the
same time and, on Heero's signal, I released the pulley system that
was still supporting the central section after it was freed from the
outer perimeter. The mass of struts and grating started to drop, then
stopped with a jolt, tilting at an angle. "God *dammit*!!" Part of the pulley system
had frozen up. Not down here where I could *do* something about it,
but up at ceiling level. I resisted the temptation to just jump up and down on
the damn catwalk and try to get it moving again. I was pissed off
and frustrated, not suicidal. I could see Heero's dark scowl from where I stood. After
an instant of thought, he raised his gun and fired at the cable, just
where it emerged from the jammed pulley overhead. His first shot missed.
The second hit and I could see the cable fray, though not enough to
break. Raising my own weapon, I turned my attention towards
the men below. They had been getting bold while Heero and I were directing
our attention elsewhere. A shoulder shot knocked one off the ladder
up to Heero's side of the catwalk. The gunman who had been heading
for my ladder hastily retreated back to the shuttle; I only managed
to wing him as he ducked behind cover. Someone else got careless and
leaned a little too far into the open in order to take a shot at Heero;
judging by his shriek, I suspected my own shot had shattered his hand.
With a final, sharp twang, the cable gave way after
another bulletstrike from Heero's gun. The catwalk plummeted down,
crashing onto the shuttle before it could make it out through the
hangar door. One cockpit window cracked under the impact and a wing-flap
bent. The shuttle kept moving, dragging the catwalk with it until
it reached the door. The metal encumbrance caught on one side of the
doorframe. Metal shrieked in protest. Both the wall and catwalk bent
and the shuttle slewed to one side. I scrambled to get down to floorlevel, aware that Heero
was doing the same. The entire hangar was shuddering and vibrating
under the stress being applied to it; it was entirely possible that
the old, rundown building might start to collapse. And it did. By the time we made it outside, the continued
pressure from the shuttle had buckled the entire end wall. With a
torturous, drawn-out shriek and the pop of failing rivets, the wall
began to twist and pull away from the side of the building. The hangar
started to sag. With the shuttle blocking the hangar door, the truck
inside couldn't get out, essentially leaving the suspects on foot,
assuming that they finally decided to abandon the trapped shuttle.
Heero went after several of the men who hadn't been
on the shuttle as they made a run for it. This time, when he shouted,
"Preventers! Freeze and drop your weapons!" they obeyed.
I yanked out the radio and, with almost complete disregard
for protocol, snarled into it, "Dispatch. Preventer Shade wants
to know what the *fuck* is keeping our backup! Over." There was a moment of silence, then a cool voice replied,
"Preventer Shade, this is Dispatch. I see no record of Preventer
Shade calling for backup. Over." I bit my tongue hard enough to draw blood and counted
to ten before replying, "Dispatch, the call for backup was placed
at precisely 2207 by Preventers Shade and Sky. Request was acknowledged
and Dispatch confirmed backup was on the way. It is now 2332 and backup
has *not* arrived. Over." Fighting down the urge to scream obscenities at the radio - not only would that not help, it would probably get me severely reprimanded and a suspension to boot - I managed to reply levelly, "Yes. Backup is required at the abandoned Langdon Base, Hangar 2. Along with at least two ambulances for injured suspects, transportation for at least nine prisoners, and we may need the meatwagon too." I strongly suspected that the man I'd picked off of the ladder was dead; he'd fallen a long way and I'd seen no sign of movement after he hit. I added, "Both officers injured and in need of medical attention. Over." Heero's left biceps was bleeding fairly heavily and the wound on my own thigh had opened up more from the exertion. Neither of us was in any immediate danger but we were
going to require treatment. I waited for acknowledgement for several minutes without
receiving it. While I waited, I took over three prisoners from Heero.
He had used the shoulder straps from their own surrendered rifles
to tie their hands but I kept my gun on them anyway. I wasn't taking
*anything* for granted at this point. Finally, I called again, "Dispatch,
this is Preventer Shade. Is backup on the way or do I need to call
the Commander's home number? Over." I was only half bluffing;
I'd gone well beyond pissed off and was nicely into icy rage at this
point. Backup had been a little slow arriving a few times before but
there had always been a legitimate excuse and they *had* always shown
up. I'd never even considered it as possibly being related to the
harassment problem. I don't know whether it was my threat to call Commander
Une or if it had genuinely taken that long to dispatch backup but
the response finally came, "Preventer Shade, this is Dispatch.
Backup confirmed. ETA is fifteen minutes. Over." "Acknowledged. Shade over and out." The trapped shuttle had finally shut down its engines.
No one emerged from it; by unspoken agreement, Heero and I just left
its passengers alone. Backup could deal with them; we had our hands
full as it was. Heero had caught four of the gunmen, which left two
unaccounted for, one of whom was the one who had fallen. He was probably
still lying where he fell but we weren't counting on it. Nor were
either of us going back inside the sagging, listing hangar to check.
By the time Heero prodded the fourth prisoner - the
one with the shattered hand - over to my position, I'd managed to
wrestle my temper back under control. This was neither the time nor
the place to be discussing the seamier side of internal Preventer
politics, personality conflicts, and power struggles. "Dispatch
said in fifteen," I said shortly. Heero scowled, "Chopper or shuttle, then, unless
they were enroute." "Chopper or shuttle," I agreed. It was impossible
to make it from HQ to here in less than an hour by car, even under
ideal conditions and with a damn good driver. Heero's scowl darkened at the implications. I inclined
my head slightly, my jaw tight with tension. Being on our own during
the war had been one thing; being unable to count on backup now was
something else entirely. Now, we were supposed to take prisoners,
not shoot to kill. During the war, we'd have just blown the damn shuttle
full of weapons and been done with the whole mess. Hell, we'd have
blown the fucking *hangar*, not screwed around trying to get the assholes
to surrender or to at least manage to take them alive. Partners have to rely on each other. Have to trust each
other. Heero and I did. Unconditionally. Our close friendship was
an extension of that partnership, one that we both treasured. But as Preventers, we should have been able to rely
on other Preventers. Should have been able to trust our fellow agents
on a professional level even if we weren't exactly best buds on a
personal level. And we couldn't. *** I slammed the apartment door shut so hard that the latch
didn't catch and it bounced back open again. "I do *not* fucking
*believe* this shit!!" Heero stopped me from slamming the door again, pushing
it shut himself and making sure that it latched and locked. "I *know* I placed the damn call and that Dispatch
confirmed backup was on the way, dammit!" I continued furiously,
"Where the *fuck* does IA get off claiming that *I'm* the one
who's lying! Shit, Heero, *you* heard the confirmation too!"
I yanked off my uniform jacket, wadded it up and threw it across the
room angrily. It knocked over a tall torchiere and *that* nearly hit
Heero in the head. He managed to dodge it and the lamp crashed to
the floor, bulb exploding in a shower of glass and shade denting under
the impact. I struggled against him for a few moments, still needing
to *move*. Still wanting to throw things and break things. But I didn't
have a snowball's chance in hell of getting out of Heero's hold and
I finally gave in and slumped against him. "I *hate* this, Heero,"
I mumbled against his shoulder. "I fucking *hate* this."
Internal Affairs, in their *infinite* wisdom, had decided
that since Dispatch's story and ours didn't match up, they were going
to believe *Dispatch*. Just because the first call for backup that
I'd made didn't show up on the call recording for the night. As if
it would have been *so* incredibly impossible for the recording to
have been tampered with. But no, it made *so* much more sense to decide
that the former Gundam pilots were glory-hounding, bit off a little
more than they could chew, then lied to cover up for it. Have I mentioned how much I hate IA? I'm not sure how long Heero and I stood there like that.
Long enough for my temper to cool off. Long enough that my own arms
had shifted to circle Heero. Long enough for me to suddenly realize that Heero was
rubbing my back soothingly and I had my face buried in the crook of
his neck and that the whole comforting hug had somehow become something
just a little too intimate, a little too much like an *embrace*, for
friends and partners. Reluctantly pushing away from Heero, I apologized, "Sorry,
buddy. Not your fault and I know you're in just as much trouble as
me. We both got an official reprimand on our record and a week's suspension.
It's just..." "They hit one of your hot buttons when they said
you lied." The corner of Heero's mouth quirked into a half-smile.
"I know." "Yeah." I offered him an apologetic half-grin
of my own. "Need to spar?" I opened my mouth to agree and realized much to my surprise
that - I didn't. That somehow the - hug? embrace? - well, whatever
the hell it was - that had just taken place between Heero and I had
taken the edge off my anger and frustration. "Uh - actually -
no," I admitted. "You?" Heero shook his head in silent response. "Huh." I really wasn't sure what to make of
this turn of events. I wasn't too sure that I wanted to think too
closely about it either. "Uh, I guess I'd better change and clean
up this mess..." I grimaced and gestured towards the broken torchiere.
"That would be a good idea," Heero said drily.
"My turn to cook - stirfry sound good?" "Yeah, sure." As I headed off to change out
of the uniform I was beginning to develop a real dislike for, I wondered
whether maybe that - whatever-it-was - hadn't gone on quite long *enough*.
Whether if it had gone on a little bit longer, I would have known
exactly what to call it. Whether maybe I wouldn't be left wondering whether Heero
had been as reluctant to let go as I had been. *** That week of suspension passed almost *too* quickly,
much to my surprise. Heero and I didn't go out much; we were both
hypersensitive to being recognized right now. A little - paranoid.
A little raw. A single sidelong glance, a whispered conversation,
all of those things left us on edge, wondering if we were about to
encounter another bout of anti-Gundam sentiment. So we stayed home. Read a lot. Watched movies. Worked
out. And partway through the week, I came to another one
of those startling realizations. No matter what we were doing, we
somehow ended up in the same room. Frequently, in very close proximity
to each other. We weren't doing it *consciously* - or at least, I
wasn't - but it still kept happening. Sure, the apartment wasn't all that big; it was inevitable
that we'd be in the same room at least *some* of the time. But that
didn't explain why I'd curl up on the couch to watch a movie while
Heero was using his laptop at his desk down the hall and a little
bit later, he'd be on the other end of the couch, my feet pressing
against his thigh, still using his laptop and paying absolutely no
attention to the movie. Nor did it explain why I'd be engrossed in a book one
minute and find myself drifting into the workout room the next, only
to discover Heero exercising. And I'd end up joining him, despite
the fact that I'd *already* exercised - and showered - earlier on.
The next time that I found myself wandering into the
kitchen, book in hand, and discovered Heero getting ready to start
supper, I forced myself to go back into the livingroom. After ten
minutes of trying - and failing - to concentrate on my book, I gave
up. I was too restless to read. I kept wanting to get up and move
around. And I knew damn well exactly where I'd end up if I gave in
to that urge. Back in the kitchen. With Heero. And the restless feeling
would be gone. And when I thought about it a little more, I realized
that this wasn't something new. That we'd been unconsciously gravitating
to each other's presence for quite a while now. Being home together
this week had just provided more opportunities for it to happen and
thus brought it to my attention. Maybe my restlessness at the scrapyard had had more
to do with Heero's absence than job dissatisfaction. Absolutely, positively, *not* the time. *** For the first couple of weeks after our suspension,
things were pretty quiet. Not case-wise - in *that* respect, everyone
at Preventers was absolutely swamped; double shifts were the norm.
But harassment was virtually non-existent. I kept waiting for the
other shoe to drop; I couldn't believe that last incident had been
enough to satisfy our detractors permanently. Sooner or later, something
else would have to happen. And eventually, it did. Heero and I had just closed a big fraud case. Unfortunately,
we'd drawn a *lot* of media attention in the process; one of the victims
was the elderly father of the editor of the city newspaper. The publicity
all took a pretty positive slant for a change; not a single bit of
anti-Gundam pilot sentiment and lots of praise for how quickly the
Preventers - specifically the ex-Gundam pilots in their employ - had
caught the guy behind it all. At home, we found ourselves substituting those comforting
embraces for the heavy-duty sparring sessions more and more. We didn't
discuss it; neither of us was quite ready for that yet. It just became
a part of our routine. The apartment door would be closed and locked,
we'd shed our jackets and shoes, then one of us would take a step
towards the other and we'd spend the next god-only-knows-how-long
just holding one another. Sometimes clutching painfully tight, sometimes
cradling gently, but always drawing comfort and reassurance from each
other. Temporarily forgetting the hostile world in the security of
that embrace. *** "*What?*" I demanded incredulously. The woman from IA cleared her throat and repeated primly,
"Allegations have been made that you and your - partner - are
in violation of the Preventers' fraternization policy. Until such
time as these allegations have been fully investigated..." I seethed silently as she went through her explanation
of the procedure. Heero and I were both being assigned temporary partners.
All based on the fact that we shared an apartment and "someone"
claimed to have seen us "embracing". "Someone" was either lying or spying on us
because the *only* "embracing" that Heero and I had done
to date had taken place in the privacy of our apartment. We swept
the place for bugs regularly - old habits die hard - but I intended
to do an extra-thorough job the minute I walked through the door tonight.
*** Heero emerged from the hallway and shook his head, shrugging.
I answered his enquiring look, "Clean out here too. But..."
I pointed to the livingroom window - or rather, to the building on
the other side of it. "I think we'd better shut the blinds from
now on." The windows were supposed to have a reflective coating
and we *were* on the thirtieth floor but - well, sometimes paranoia
pays. Especially when you're not really being paranoid. After
all, it isn't paranoia if someone really *is* out to get you. I crossed the room to suit actions to words. When I
turned away from the blinds, Heero was standing very close to me.
I don't know which of us closed that final distance - maybe we met
in the middle - but an instant later, there wouldn't have been room
for a sheet of paper between us. Tonight was one of the "painfully
tight" nights, which really didn't surprise me after the god-awful
day we'd had. "God, Heero, what are we going to do?" I fisted
my hands tightly in his shirt, holding on for dear life. "We're
*partners*, for god's sake. I..." I faltered for a moment, knowing
that I was about to take an irrevocable step over that invisible line
that marked off the "things we don't talk about" from the
"things we do". "I... I don't know if I want to be
a Preventer if we aren't. Don't know if I *can* be... But... but I
don't want to give *this*," I tightened my arms around him, "up
either..." The last words were whispered against his throat.
Impossibly, Heero managed to pull me even more snugly
against him. "I know. Me too," he breathed against my temple.
I barely had time to register his words before his mouth closed over
mine, hot and urgent. And then we were both trying to climb down each
other's throats and our bodies were moving against each other and
there were no more words until we were lying tangled on the floor,
still fully clothed, sticky, temporarily sated, temporarily content
and secure, and *knowing* that everything had just changed but not
having a damn clue what we were going to do about it. *** "I said, I'm *fine*, dammit!" I impatiently
knocked my so-called partner's hand away as she tried to help me to
my feet. My breath hissed between my teeth as I tried to rise. Okay,
maybe I wasn't "fine" after all. "Captain Maxwell?" she quavered. I sighed and corrected her for what felt like the hundredth time, "Shade. I'm Preventer Shade in the field. Just like you're Preventer Rain." Personally, I thought Cloud would have been a better choice; that's where the girl's head was most of the time. Not that it was really her *fault* - she was just really young (okay, chronologically she was the same age as me...) and inexperienced (straight out of the academy, for god's sake) and had a really, really bad case of hero-worship (sometimes I thought that was harder to deal with than resentment) and a god-awful wish to prove herself to me. I suspected the poor kid had the ridiculous notion that I might actually choose to keep her as a partner if she could manage to impress me. Unfortunately, she was probably going to get me killed
in the attempt. I gritted my teeth and probed gingerly at my thigh.
Damn, no exit wound. And a hell of a lot of blood. I slid my hand
further down my leg to the knee and nearly passed out. Evidently that
tire iron had hit a little harder than I'd realized. "Shit."
"S... sir?" "Rain, what part of 'do not approach the suspect'
did you not understand?" I asked irritably. "But sir - Preventer Shade - it was the perfect
opportunity! He was alone and..." "Alone? Ah, well that would explain how you ended
up on the wrong end of your *own* goddamn gun and *I* ended up getting
the hell beaten out of me by the suspect's tire iron-wielding buddy
then getting shot by the suspect - with *your* gun, of course - all
in order to save *your* ass." "But... we did... we did get the suspect,"
Rain offered meekly. "Just - go call for backup," I told her wearily.
"Not *that* way!" I yelped as she started to move between
my gun and our prisoners. "Walk *behind* me..." I knew damn
well just how little hindrance a pair of handcuffs could be; I did
*not* want her getting too close to those two, regardless of the fact
that they both still appeared to be unconscious. "Yes sir..." she answered in a subdued tone
as she obeyed. Damn, I missed partnering Heero. IA was still "investigating". Heero and I
were now violating the fraternization policy on a daily basis at home
but we were careful to keep things professional at all other times.
We wanted our working partnership back and we were both perfectly
prepared to lie to IA in order to get it. The single beds in the bedroom
were pretty good evidence that we were just roommates. No one needed
to know that we spent most nights on the folded-out couch - it made
into a double bed. As long as we conducted ourselves professionally
at work, we didn't think that what went on in the privacy of our home
was any of their damn business. Right now, we were both pretty thoroughly miserable at work, though for very different reasons. My temporary partner was inexperienced, flighty, and reckless. Heero's was bitter, resentful, and downright nasty. We were counting the days till IA let us resume our partnership. Or at least we *had* been. Regardless of IA's decision, I was going to be out of
the field for weeks now; my knee and thigh were both a mess. *** "I don't like this," I repeated. "Undercover
with a partner that hates your guts?" Heero leaned over and kissed me, hard. "I'll be
careful," he promised. "I don't like leaving you on your
own right now either. You're barely mobile, even *with* the crutches.
But refusing the assignment because my roommate is injured would be
too suspicious. IA would be all over us again. And claiming that my
assigned partner hates me would be almost as bad; it would be just
like the whole no-backup investigation. My word against his and IA
insinuating that I'm making things up." "I know," I sighed. We couldn't risk setting Internal Affairs off; they'd just finally given up on the "fraternization" investigation. As soon as I healed up, Heero and I would be back together again at work. We just had to make it through the next month or so.
Half of which, he'd be undercover investigating a narcotics operation.
Half-rising from my chair, I grabbed Heero and dragged
him down to me again, kissing him fiercely. "Watch your damn
back," I ordered, tangling my fingers through his hair and tugging
gently. "I don't trust Sorenson." "I know." "You'd damn well better come back in one piece
or I'll kick your ass," I threatened. "I know..." I kissed him again, long and tender and loving. "I
love you..." Softly, lips brushing mine, he murmured again, "I know." He kissed me back, then tore away reluctantly. "Love you..." I swallowed hard and managed to smile for him as he
backed towards the apartment door. "I know." And then he was gone. *** A week passed, painfully slowly. I graduated from "barely
mobile" to "mostly mobile", still using crutches most
of the time but managing with a cane around the apartment. I did a
little reading, watched a little television. Worried - a lot. Thought
about the future and worried some more. Was lonely as hell. Went from
half-time to full-time at work, though I was obviously still on desk
duty only. And then, towards the end of the second week, I spotted
Sorenson on his way to Une's office. Alone. My stomach knotted and
my heart pounded. He and Heero weren't due back for another two days.
And they should have been reporting in *together*. I waited through his meeting with Une, ever-wilder scenarios
running through my mind. Waited while he walked away from Une's office.
Tried to convince myself to wait for her to summon me and failed.
"Maxwell." Une gave her secretary a dismissive wave. "Close
the door on your way out, Rose." She waited for the door to latch before motioning me
towards a chair. I shook my head stubbornly and remained on my feet.
Being on crutches left me at enough of a disadvantage, I wasn't about
to sit down. Une's lips thinned. "I was just about to call you
in." Yeah, right. Nice try, Commander, but somehow I don't
quite believe you. "There was an... incident..." Oh god. I changed my mind about the chair. I sank into
its welcome support as Une explained. Heero's cover was blown. He'd
been shot. Captured. Was presumed dead. Rescue mission... "What do you mean, 'no rescue mission'?!"
I hissed furiously. "Sorenson reported that Yuy's injuries had to be
severe, quite likely fatal. And these suspects do not make a habit
of holding prisoners, let alone critically wounded ones. Sorenson
feels that they believe Heero was working solo. In less than a week,
we'll have a new team ready to infiltrate and finish the investigation.
We don't want to tip them off that someone got away or that won't
work. If, by some small chance, Yuy survived, he'll have to take his
chances till then. He knew the risks when he signed on." I flung myself to my feet, ignoring the crutches, and
leaned over Une's desk. "When he signed on, he had a partner
who wouldn't have damn well left him behind in the first place! One
who *will not allow* him to be left behind *now*! Commander, you're
talking about a fucking *narcotics* sting here, not a goddamn rebel
*army*! Black Ops rules *don't* fucking *apply*! Order the damn rescue
mission!" "Maxwell! There will be no rescue mission and that's
final!" Une snapped. "You're out of line, Captain! I'll
have your badge if you keep this up! I will *not* tolerate insubordination."
I opened my mouth, ready to tell her exactly what she
could do with her fucking badge. Then closed it with a snap. I couldn't
do that yet. I needed access to files. Supplies. Transportation. I snapped off a sarcastic salute and spat out, "Yes, ma'am!" before grabbing my crutches and leaving. Hopefully, I'd been *just* insubordinate enough to keep
her from being too suspicious of my capitulation. But in case I hadn't,
I'd have to work fast. *** The day lasted for-fucking-ever and yet passed in the
blink of an eye. I sent Rain digging through paper file archives that
Preventers had inherited from half a dozen other government agencies,
looking for connections that probably didn't exist between decades-old
cases and our current official assignment. That kept her the hell
out of my way while I hacked my way into Sorenson's mission report
and all of the other files pertaining to Heero's undercover operation.
By midafternoon, I knew everything that the official records could
tell me. I'd also filed a formal protest of Une's handling of
the situation. It wouldn't do any real good - I knew that - but she'd
be expecting that much from me, though probably not a hell of a lot
more. The fact that Heero and I had been such obedient agents, following
every fucking regulation, not rocking the boat and busting chops when
things got a little ugly around the office meant that - like everyone
*else* around here - she'd gotten a bit complacent. Forgotten that
I made my own damn decisions. Forgotten that Heero was the half of
our partnership who tended to actually follow orders. I seriously wanted a little time alone in a dark alley
with that asshole Sorenson but I didn't think I could afford the luxury
right now. My leg wasn't in the best of shape for pulling off a rescue
mission in the first place; I couldn't risk causing it further injury
by a pointless confrontation with Sorenson. And it would be pointless,
I seriously doubted that he had anything worthwhile to add to his
official report. Although I'd been distinctly suspicious initially, I
didn't really think the man had deliberately blown the mission. He
was actually a damn good agent with a solid solve record and I couldn't
find any evidence of suspicious income. I was pretty sure he was clean.
Hell, he wasn't even on our shortlist of those we suspected were behind
the vandalism of our vehicles. Sorenson was just an ex-Romefeller
asshole with no inclination whatsoever to go out of his way to save
the life of the former Gundam pilot he'd been partnered with. Beating
the shit out of him would do nothing but get me hauled in on charges
of assaulting a fellow agent. Well, okay, so it might make me feel ever so slightly
better about the whole mess, but not nearly as much as getting Heero
back would. And I *would* get him back. I refused to believe that
he was dead; Sorenson had watched as Heero was gunned down but he
hadn't hung around to see what happened next. He'd been too damn busy
saving his own worthless ass to bother trying to save his partner.
Simpler to just assume he was dead or dying and get the hell out of
there before anyone noticed him. Sorenson would be on slightly shaky ground once my formal
protest went through and a review board took a good hard look at his
report; he should have made *some* attempt to find out Heero's condition.
But although standard procedure - assuming a safe place to wait -
would be to monitor the situation and put out a call for extraction
and/or backup, it was up to Sorenson to determine whether it was indeed
safe for him to do that. He'd decided it wasn't. I disagreed. IA -
well, it was a tough call. They were getting pretty damn sick of dealing
with problems stirred up by Heero and I and there were a couple of
officers in that department who *really* didn't like us, so they might
just let Sorenson off the hook without more than a warning. I hoped
not. But right now I had more important things to worry about; I'd
worry about making life miserable for Sorenson once Heero was back
safe and sound. Somehow, I managed to wait out the interminably long
afternoon. Much as I would have liked to take off after Heero immediately,
I knew that the odds of managing to - appropriate - the necessary
equipment would be far better after regular office hours when there
were far fewer people around. Even with the extra delay required in
order to discreetly "requisition" a shuttle from the Preventers'
fleet, doing so would get me onsite faster than driving, taking a
commercial flight, or chartering a private craft could. I needed other supplies too; I had no intention of running
a rescue mission with nothing more than the Preventer-issue gun that
I carried. A full field first aid kit, smoke and gas grenades, bulletproof
vest... Briefly, I debated whether to opt for the actual body armour
but decided that its bulk would be more hindrance than the protection
was worth, especially with my bad leg. I couldn't really afford either
to carry the extra weight or to cripple my already-limited agility
even further. Even the vest would be awkward and uncomfortable. Running down my mental checklist yet again, I wished
for the hundredth time that there was a way to get at least *some*
sort of backup on this. But there weren't any other Preventers that
I trusted to that extent. They were either of Sorenson's ilk or else
like my own temporary partner. I didn't doubt that my all-too-enthusiastic
"partner" would help if I asked - she was a good kid at
heart - but she was just too damn inexperienced to be of any use to
me. Hell, the average beat cop who'd been on the job for a few years
would be a better choice. I paused in the midst of closing down the files I'd
hacked into. Of course... The local cops. Sorenson had been lead on the case, not Heero, and he'd
done a damn good job of alienating the local law enforcement. *They*
had been investigating the drug operation long before Preventers ever
got called in. Heero had been kind of pissed over that; he'd said
that they'd been running a solid investigation and deserved their
share of the credit but Sorenson had totally shut them out once Preventers
stepped in. A lot of Preventers agents had that attitude; they just
took over cases completely once they got involved. I'd always been
inclined to work *with* local law enforcement in those circumstances;
they almost *always* had valuable insight. It was no different than
during the war; better to work *with* rebel cells in a particular
area than end up at cross-purposes with them. At first, Heero had
just humoured me but he'd discovered the benefits of cooperating with
the locals fairly quickly and was now just as eager to have their
involvement. Jackson. Detective Jackson. If I called him, told him
Sorenson - Preventer Stone to him - had blown the case and I'd been
assigned to clean up the mess... A fierce grin spread across my face. Maybe I *could*
find some reliable backup after all. There was nothing local cops
loved more than showing up the hotshots from out of town. Time for a change of plan. And a whole truckload of
bullshit. Maybe even two. *** I slipped silently - despite the damn cane that I didn't
dare discard quite yet - through the darkened halls of Preventers
HQ. Dispatch and Holding were the only departments open at this time
of night. Getting into the building without being spotted had been
easy. Breaking into the Armoury and Medical had been even easier.
The pack on my back now contained all the supplies that I needed except
the bulletproof vest. I was wearing that because it was too bulky
to squeeze in the backpack. Now the only thing I still needed was
transportation. And for that, I was heading out to the Service Hangar.
I knew damn well that I'd be through at Preventers when
this was done; hell, I'd count myself lucky if all Une did was yank
my badge. But the longer I could delay them finding out what I was
up to, the better. I didn't want to take the chance that they would
somehow manage to stop me. So I was taking every possible precaution
to hide my actions as long as possible. I'd managed to "trip" over Rain's purse before
the afternoon was over and had spent what little remained of the workday
complaining about how much my leg hurt. No one would be the least
bit suspicious to discover that I'd called Human Resources late in
the evening and left a message that I wouldn't be in because I had
to go get my knee checked. If I was lucky, no one would even realize
that I was missing, let alone that I'd "requisitioned" a
whole shitload of supplies without going through proper channels.
I'd been careful not to leave visible gaps when I'd grabbed those
supplies; with any kind of semi-decent luck their absence wouldn't
be noted until the next inventory. The tricky part of keeping things quiet till it was
too late for anyone to stop me, however, was the transportation. If
I took a shuttle from the fleet, the lack of proper authorization
would turn up right away in the morning. A missing shuttle was a little
hard to overlook. Unless, that is, the shuttle was one that they *expected*
to be missing. Such as one that had been sent over to the Service
Hangar. I'd searched the Service database for shuttles that
needed really minor repairs. Things that I could repair myself, quickly.
There weren't any. But there *was* one that only had a dead radio.
Since I had no intention of *using* the radio even if it had worked,
that wasn't a problem for me. That repair hadn't been assigned to
a mechanic yet, so I simply deleted it from the repair queue. Now
the shuttle was essentially non-existent. Service had no electronic
record of it but the fleet scheduling database had it logged out to
Service. It could be days before anyone realized it was gone. I only
needed *one* day. Picking the lock to the Service office took seconds.
Grabbing the shuttle's passcard and paperwork took a few more. I was
out of the office and had the door relocked in under a minute. Now
there was no physical record of the shuttle being in Service either.
Another few minutes had me onboard and running systems checks. Other
than the radio, everything passed. I smiled grimly and prepared to take off. No need to
worry about air traffic control; with no flights scheduled, the Preventers
airfield was shut down for the night. Airstrip lights remained on
in case of emergencies but the control tower was unmanned. One more
reason that I'd waited till after midnight to get the hell out of
here. With the flick of a few switches and a pull on the control yoke,
I was in the air. Hang on Heero, I'm on my way... *** "Preventer Shade?" I nodded in acknowledgement and closed the shuttle door before holding out one hand in greeting. "Detective Jackson?" I inquired. "Yes," he replied as he shook my hand. He
eyed the cane in my other hand with a certain degree of surprise.
The very best bullshit inevitably contained at least
a kernel of truth. It sounded a hell of a lot more convincing that
way. Except that it evidently wasn't enough to convince Jackson.
Damn. Okay, time for Plan B. I sighed heavily and admitted, "Okay, so I'm really
not supposed to be on field duty yet. But it's *my* damn partner that
Preventer Stone left behind. And the only reason he was stuck with
Stone in the first place was *this*." I gestured disparagingly
at the cane. "If I'd been back on duty, things would've gone
down a hell of a lot differently." Jackson nodded warily. "You mentioned on the phone
that Stone had blown the case and you were going to have to fix his
mess." He cleared his throat and observed, "I suppose that
I shouldn't ask if he's officially off the case or whether you're
officially here." I could see why Jackson had been Officer of the Year
in his district for the past three years running. And why he had the
best goddamn solve rate in the region. "Probably not," I said blandly. He took a deep breath and held it for a moment, then
blew it out slowly, looking off into the distance. I waited patiently.
If he decided that he didn't want to get involved, there wasn't a
damn thing he could do to stop me from going ahead with the rescue
alone. I could take him down without causing any serious damage and
be back on the shuttle in ten seconds or less. But if I was reading him right, that wasn't the way
things would go down. He wanted that narcotics operation shut down
and he wanted it to happen *now*. If his department was going to get
credit for it, so much the better. I really couldn't fault him on that. This operation
was producing a damn nasty designer drug that was addictive from the
first hit but took a long time to show its ugly side effects. Its
users would truly be "feeling no pain" while high yet they
could function *almost* normally. It was virtually impossible to overdose
on it. In short, it *seemed* the ideal drug. And from a seller's standpoint,
it was. "Freebies" resulted in virtually guaranteed repeat
buyers. And buyers could keep taking the drug for a very long time
with no immediately apparent negative effects. They would gradually
build up a slight resistance to its effects and would need larger
and larger hits but that was about it. But tests had proven that as the addict's liver worked
to breakdown the drug, the liver itself was damaged. Not to the point
of immediate failure - but enough that it couldn't repair itself as
quickly as the damage was being done, especially as the size of the
hits increased. And as liver function deteriorated, the kidneys were
inevitably affected too. Eventually, equally inevitably, one or both
would fail. This was *not* the sort of operation that any law enforcement
operation wanted in their backyard. And we had enough evidence to
shut them down. What Une was still digging for was proof of something
beyond the narcotics operation. Despite all evidence that this was
strictly drug-related, she kept looking for ties to rebel groups or
weapon smuggling. After reviewing everything that the Preventers had
on the case, I honestly didn't think there was anything there to find.
Jackson sighed heavily and turned his gaze towards me.
"So, what's the plan?" I couldn't stop the grin from spreading across my face.
"The plan is simple. You tell me *your* plan, then I make suggestions."
He gave me a decidedly startled look. "I told you on the phone, Stone and I don't do
things the same way. I've got a plan if you don't have one ready but
I'd rather see yours. "You're the locals. You're the ones with the knowledge
of the area and the way these people operate. You're the ones who
can tell me where they're probably holding my partner. I'll help you
as much as I can but getting him out is my primary objective."
Assuming, of course, that Heero was in any condition to *get* out.
All I had to base that assumption on was a gut feeling that he was
alive and the knowledge that he was the most damn stubborn, hard-to-kill
man I'd ever known. Jackson gave me one last considering look before starting
towards a blocky van parked at the edge of the landing field. "Follow
me. There's a map of the area in our mobile command unit. I'll show
you what we had in mind." *** Given an excuse to move and move fast, Jackson wasted
no time getting an operation underway. He had the respect of his superiors
and that meant that what he asked for, he got. Not without a certain
amount of bitching and moaning, but he got it. Watching him interact
with his superiors - and his fellow officers - made it more than clear
just how fucked up a situation Heero and I had been putting up with.
Our solve rate was just as damn impressive as his but in our case,
we didn't get either the support or the respect that should have warranted.
Not from our fellow officers and sure as hell not from our superiors.
Commander Une had no compunctions whatsoever about using
our abilities but that was the only value she placed on us and every
other agent. She still thought in military terms. Black Ops terms,
at that. Everyone under her command was just another soldier, all
equally expendable in the course of achieving whatever goal was being
pursued. Every case, every mission, no matter how nonthreatening,
was equally critical. Be it gunrunning or gambling, if it was of sufficiently
wide scope to be handled by Preventers, each and every case was treated
as a threat to peace. That was the kind of thinking that had led to
Une's decision not to send a rescue mission after Heero immediately.
A full investigation of the narcotics operation was more important
to her, despite the fact that there had been no evidence that the
key suspects were using their ill-gotten fortune for anything other
than the personal indulgence of living in the lap of luxury. I made up my mind. The Preventers was, by and large,
a good agency. They fulfilled an important role. But with so much
ex-military brass at the top, it was less of a paramilitary organization
and more of a military one. One that was in danger of perhaps becoming
a bit - overzealous - in its fulfilment of its purpose. "Quis
Custodiet Custodes Ipsos?" I murmured softly as I pulled three
sealed and addressed envelopes from my pack of supplies. The age-old
question. Who guards the guardians... "Detective Jackson?" I handed the envelopes
to him. "Just... in case," I shrugged in response to his
questioning look. He leafed through them, his eyebrows rising higher
at each successive address revealed. Not surprising. While Chang Wufei
wasn't exactly a household name, he *was* in the news occasionally
thanks to his role in the L5 revitalization project. And it would
be tough to find any reasonably well-informed adult in the Earth Sphere
who didn't know who Quatre Winner and Relena Darlian were. "If I don't reclaim them - mail'em," I told
Jackson simply. If Heero and I didn't make it, someone was going to
have to make sure that Preventers came under some careful scrutiny.
We might not be close to any of those three personally at this point
but I knew where they would stand on the less-than-ideal conditions
at Preventers. The agency needed someone to take a serious look at
its priorities. It wasn't a case of actual *corruption* - not yet,
anyway - but this last incident - Une's decision to treat Heero's
mission as if it were Black Ops and essentially abandon him based
on Sorenson's opinion that he was either dead or dying - was one hell
of a warning flag. Preventers needed some long, hard looks directed
at it and its daily operations; those three had both the position
and the drive to make damn sure that it came under that kind of scrutiny.
"The last units are moving into position now. You
ready, Shade?" I gave Jackson a rather grim Shinigami grin in response.
"Let's get this fucking show on the road." Apparently, the winery we were moving in on was producing
something other than wine. It had been a legitimate business up until
a few years ago when the owner died and his son inherited the place.
Now, there was no way that the vineyards produced enough grapes to
be responsible for the heir's income. Nor did the vats produce nearly
enough wine to fill the extensive underground cellars. They would
make an ideal location for a drug lab. I was hoping that they also made a virtually ideal location
to hold a prisoner. "We move in fifteen minutes," Jackson told
me. "Make the most of it." I nodded once, sharply, and adjusted the headset he'd
provided me with. Jackson had offered one of his men to partner me
on this but, even with my bad leg, I'd move far faster alone than
with a partner unused to working with me. So while they were busy
presenting warrants and starting the official search in the winery's
main building, I would be searching the cellars for any sign of Heero.
They were giving me a fifteen minute headstart to get in position
and start my search before they made their move. Other cops would
be watching the perimeter to stop any escape attempts - or attempts
to dispose of an inconvenient prisoner. Slipping out of the command van, I froze in mid-step
as a quiet, "Good luck, Shade," came over the com channel.
It had been a long time since anyone other than Heero had directed
those words in my direction. Just as long since anyone other than
I had directed them in Heero's. It brought home to me yet again just
how fucked up of a situation we had been living in for far too long.
Something was going to have to change. Heero and I deserved a better
life than the one we'd been living. But first, I had to get Heero back. *** The loading dock in back of the facility provided my
way in. I headed straight for the access door alongside of the big
bay doors. It was locked but only with a standard commercial passcard-based
lock and alarm, nothing that provided even a modicum of challenge.
I had the cover off, wires yanked and shorted, and door open in under
a minute. I then spent a few more precious seconds cramming the wires
back inside and wedging the cover in place again. It would pass a
casual glance and with the raid beginning in less than fifteen minutes,
I wasn't worried about it holding up to a more careful examination.
The winery accepted deliveries and loaded trucks in
the early morning hours only. *Very* early morning. That meant that
at this point in the late afternoon - almost early evening - there
was no one in the loading area. Just stacks of boxes waiting for tomorrow
morning's shipping schedule. Probably at least some of the cartons
contained more than the bottles of wine that they appeared to. I didn't
waste my time checking; that would be up to the local cops. Slipping through the access doors leading towards the
wine cellars, I visualized the blueprints I'd memorized of the winery's
interior. They dated back to the previous owner's time so there would
doubtless be some discrepancies. It was highly likely that a portion
of the cellars had been sealed off to prevent visitors from stumbling
across the winery's real primary operations. Health inspectors and
buyers from various stores and restaurants would be in and out on
a fairly regular basis; the public areas would have to be kept completely
innocent in appearance. Once I was within the cellars themselves, I had to keep
a careful ear open for any indication of workers. The vats themselves
were aboveground, thank god, or I would be dealing with a *lot* of
employees since there were grapes being processed right now and that
involved constant monitoring. That did not rule out the presence of
workers - legitimate winery employees - in the cellars entirely but
it reduced the probability of encountering very many this late in
the day. Though there were certainly a *few* people around...
I ducked quickly into one of the storage rooms and hid in the shadow
of a rack of casks as I heard footsteps approaching. I held my breath
as the individual passed the doorway, the light from the hallway momentarily
darkened as it was blocked. I waited while the footsteps receded before
cautiously peeking around the corner of the doorway. A brief glimpse
of a coverall-clad back was all I saw as the worker headed back the
way that I had came in. Despite my impatience and sense of urgency
- my lead-time was slipping away rapidly - I forced myself to wait
a few more moments before resuming my search. There had been considerable debate over the timing of
the raid. In theory, it would have been better to hit the place either
in the early morning hours while a pickup or delivery of questionable
nature was being made or right in the middle of the day, while the
maximum possible number of employees were onsite and could be detained
for questioning. Both times were ultimately ruled out due to one simple
fact: the probable imprisonment of a Preventers agent, one who was
believed to be injured, possibly critically. Instead of delaying the
raid until the next day in order to hit at one of the optimum times,
the operation went into action absolutely as fast as the necessary
units and equipment and warrants could be scrambled. A distinctly different decision from Une's. And even
more proof that the Preventers agency was seriously overdue for a
reality check. Glancing at my watch, I grimaced. Nearly two thirds
of my lead-time was gone and I hadn't even located the drug lab. I
was certain that Heero would be held in its general vicinity, well
away from the possibility of casual discovery. I picked up my pace, ignoring the immediate protest
from my knee. Once the raid began, Heero would become a major liability.
Hell, the whole lab would be and the quickest way to destroy the evidence
would be to blow it. There would be more than enough chemicals in
there to incinerate the actual lab equipment and any existing stock
of drugs as well. If an inconvenient prisoner were to be taken care
of in the process - well, there wouldn't be anything left to prove
it. Five minutes left. I pushed myself into a run, gun in
one hand and smoke grenade in the other. Caution wasn't an option
now. I had too much ground left to cover. Best guess said that the
drug lab would be in the furthest portion of the wine cellars. Rather
than wasting time checking the rooms opening off of the corridor I
was running through, I headed straight down it. Abruptly, the corridor
ended. Considerably sooner than it should have according to the blueprints.
I swiftly checked the wall for any sign of a hidden
switch or release. Nothing. Reviewing the blueprints in my mind, I realized that
there should be wine storage rooms on both sides of the hall here.
There weren't. One side had a closet labelled "Cleaning Supplies".
I gave the closet door a cursory check for alarms, found one, and
shorted it. An instant later, I was inside and searching for a way
out. No choice. I had to trigger the latch and hope that
Shinigami's luck hadn't quite deserted me. Before I could do so, however, there was a sound and
the door began to move. Crap. Nowhere to hide. As the door slowly opened, voices became audible. Three
for sure. Fuck. I yanked the pin on the smoke grenade, counted, tossed,
counted, then sucked in a last deep breath and dove through the narrow
opening, door jamb scraping shoulder and hip painfully. I didn't care,
I'd overcompensated to make sure that the opposite knee *didn't* hit
anything; it was giving me enough trouble already. Rolling to my feet, I came up with one shoulder blade
pressed against the wall and kept moving forward. I had to get clear
of the smoke before I ended up handicapping myself as much as my opponents
by getting too much of it in my eyes or inhaling it. I caught a split-second,
hazy glimpse of motion before one of the men was on me. This was where being a Preventer really sucked. I couldn't
shoot the guy except in defense of myself or an innocent and even
then, I couldn't do so until he indisputably proved he deserved it.
And if I *did* shoot him, I was still supposed to try to keep him
alive for questioning. Things had been a hell of a lot simpler during
the war. It was a foregone conclusion that when the guy slammed
into me, my bad knee would twist and give out. I knew that. Was prepared
for it. It still hurt like hell. I decided that as far as I was concerned, having his
hands around my neck and trying to throttle me was pretty indisputable
proof that the guy was indeed trying to kill me and I was therefore
entitled to use deadly force to stop him. By some miracle I had *not*
dropped my gun in the scuffle and I managed to bring it up against
his side. I don't think he even registered its muzzle pressing into
his gut. I couldn't afford to wait for him to notice it; I was already
seeing spots. I pulled the trigger. His hands tightened for an instant
in reaction then slackened and I managed to shove him off of me. Before I could drag myself to my feet, another gun went
off. I instinctively rolled even as it fired and the shot ploughed
along the surface of the Kevlar vest before striking the wooden floor
of the cellar. I kept rolling until I was facing the shot's source,
then returned fire without taking the time to aim. While the woman
was ducking in reaction to my first wild shot, I took aim and fired
again, a solid heart shot that dropped her instantly. I looked for
the third person but the door back into the closet was closing. Suspect number three had gotten away. Crap. And after
all of this noise, any chance of sneaking through the place was shot
to hell. A glance at my watch confirmed that sneaking wasn't
going to do much good anyway. The raid had started by now. I was certain
that it wouldn't take long for word to get down here and then all
bets would be off as to how things would go down. I didn't know whether
it was just paranoia that made me so sure they'd decide to blow the
lab or if that was a legitimate evaluation of the situation but I
was pretty damn certain this place would be going up in a fireball.
I switched my headset mike on and warned, "Shade
to Command. Come in Command. Over." "Command to Shade. Go ahead. Over." "Shots fired. Two suspects down, one at large,
headed into main winery. Drug lab entrance through cleaning closet
at end of hallway in wine cellars. Broom hanger in northeast corner
probable latch release. No sign of Sky. Continuing search. Over."
"Acknowledged. Primary team sweeping main building.
Secondary entering cellars in two. Over." "Acknowledged. Shade over and out." Two minutes before the team would be entering the wine
cellars. It would be another five to ten, depending on resistance,
before they reached my position. That was too long; I couldn't wait.
Gathering my nerve, I cautiously tried to rise. It hurt.
A lot. And I could feel the swelling puffing out around the edges
of the support bandage which was definitely *not* a good sign. But
despite the pain, the knee bore my weight. Speed and agility had definitely
taken a nosedive but I was mobile. Though I intended to keep that
side next to the wall if at all possible; I doubted that the knee
would handle another fall. Best to keep support in easy reach. I barely glanced into the rooms I passed. Just enough
of a check to ensure that Heero wasn't there and there was no threat
waiting to nail me the instant that I turned my back. The first couple
of rooms just contained boxes of the type used to ship the wine. Whether
they were empty or filled with drugs, I didn't know and I didn't waste
time checking. I just kept moving. Much more slowly than I liked -
but moving. The next rooms were filled with chemical drums and gas
cylinders. Shit. Even a cursory check was enough to make it quite
clear that if they torched the place, it was going to be one hell
of a big bang. Pressing onwards, I could see a bend in the corridor
ahead of me. Comparing my location to the blueprints and the map of
the area, I realized that this was where the cellars turned to run
along the edge of the cliff overlooking the river. Jackson had remarked
that according to local legend, they'd been used by smugglers back
when the water level was higher and the cliff less unstable. Now,
however, the caves along the cliff had almost all collapsed and the
river was so low that it was at least a thirty foot drop from them.
The section of cellars running along the cliff had been
condemned and ordered sealed years ago; Jackson's sources hadn't reported
anything about them having been reopened and put to use. But they
obviously had been. The actual drug lab had to be down there. As did
Heero. I could hear anxious, excited voices coming from down that
corridor. I was going to have to get down there fast. But first, I
had to report in. This was too big to leave for those behind me to
discover on their own. They needed to be forewarned. I ducked back down the hall and into one of the chemical
storage rooms. "Shade to Command. Come in. Over." The response was gratifyingly prompt. "Command
to Shade. Go ahead. Over." "There's enough chemicals here to blow the whole
damn place off the map. And the condemned cellar section is open and
in use. Believe lab and Sky both in that area. Voices confirm presence
of suspects. Over." I gritted my teeth and eased my weight off
of my bad leg. Maybe I'd have to take the support bandage off; the
swelling around it was getting pretty bad. I wasn't sure it would
hold me without the bandage, though. And if I took it off, there was
no way I'd ever get it back on again; there was too damn much swelling.
Hell, there was too much fucking swelling to get it *off*, I'd probably
have to cut it off. "Warning acknowledged. Putting fire and rescue
on standby. Will advise teams to proceed with extreme caution. Your
status? Over." While Command was speaking, I was busy transferring
smoke and teargas grenades from the backpack to pockets and belt.
I wanted them out and ready for use. There wouldn't be time to be
digging for them once I started around that corner towards the drug
lab. "Continuing search. Shade over and out." My
breath hissed out sharply as I put weight back on my bad leg. I'd
have popped another painkiller if there was any chance it would kick
in soon enough to do any good. But it wouldn't. I bit my lip hard
enough to draw blood, the sharp pain from that providing enough distraction
from my knee to get me through that first agonizing step. Once that
first one was out of the way, momentum and sheer mulish stubbornness
kept me going. As I walked - well, limped - towards the corner, I donned
the protective goggles and readied the thin, self-adhesive membrane
that would serve as a gas mask. It had a pretty short useful life;
the teargas would saturate it to the point of uselessness fairly quickly.
But it was better than nothing and a hell of a lot more convenient
than the more effective but very bulky breathers that provided the
next level of protection. Shouts started. I threw a couple of smoke grenades and
forced myself to a faster pace. The pain in my knee flared - it felt
like I was grinding it into broken glass with every step that I took
and at the same time the muscles and tendons were tightening dangerously,
twitching and threatening to spasm. The silhouette of a gun barrel
had me firing instinctively. The man's forehead blossomed red and
he dropped. Someone reached for the dropped gun and I shot again.
The chest shot flung her against the wall. She slid down it to lie
in a crumpled heap. Ahead of me, at the edge of the area affected by the
grenades, someone got smart and disappeared from the hall for a moment.
When he returned, he was using Heero as a bodyshield. If the asshole
could have seen my face under the mask, he'd have wondered why I started
to grin at the sight. Heero didn't look so hot; he was damn pale and the bandage
wrapped around his head was stained with dried blood, a lot of it,
but then that was typical of scalp wounds. His hands were bound behind
him and his shirt was torn and stained on one side. A hint of bloodstained
gauze showed through the tear. He obviously wasn't too steady on his
feet - it looked like the arm wrapped around his throat was actually
holding up some of his weight. His captor had a gun pressed against
his temple. Heero's eyes met mine and I could see him struggling to
focus. His lips moved silently, counting down. On one, he went limp.
Staggering slightly under Heero's weight, his captor swore and was
forced to shift his hold. The gun left Heero's temple for an instant
and I fired. My first shot shattered the man's gun hand. The second
silenced his shriek of pain permanently. Heero went down with him
and rolled to pin the gun down and prevent anyone else from grabbing
it. I was at his side in an instant, one hand keeping the gun ready
for use despite the hall's sudden emptiness, the other pulling a knife
from an ankle sheath. Heero raised his hands away from his back and
I sliced through the plastic bindings around his wrists with a certain
amount of difficulty. His wrists were so swollen that it was difficult
to slide the tip of the knife between skin and plastic without cutting
skin in the process, especially with only one hand and half of my
attention on our surroundings. I managed to only nick him slightly
with the tip. The smoke and teargas were already clearing, sucked
away by the ventilation system. I pulled off my membrane mask; its
usefulness was pretty much gone anyway. "Don't ask," I muttered grimly. "Gonna
need a hand up." I'd dropped down on the good knee in order to
cut Heero loose but I really didn't think I could make it back up
again. "Don't take this the wrong way," Heero said
as he struggled to his own feet, "but what the hell are *you*
doing here?" I knew what he meant. At the start of this, I'd been
far from field ready. At this point, if I looked half as bad as I
felt, I probably looked at least as bad as Heero. "Stone's an
asshole and Une's an ice-cold bitch with a conspiracy fixation,"
I told him flatly. "I'm - not exactly here officially. Jackson
and the local cops are making the bust. Jackson's smart enough to
know what questions *not* to ask. He'll get the bust and I'll take
the heat. Une's gonna be real pissed. If I'm lucky, she'll only take
my badge." I grabbed Heero's outstretched arm and he managed to
drag me to my feet. I clutched at him and swayed for a moment before
the nausea and dizziness faded. "Shit." I blinked a few
times and the spots finally faded. We didn't really need to look around the corner; the
heat was intense enough to curl the hairs on my arms before we even
got there. But a glance around the bend was enough to confirm that
the passageway was completely blocked by flames and they were spreading
rapidly. I listened as the other units all acknowledged the warning
and reported their positions. They were all on the other side of the
fire. Finally, I was the only one left to report in. "Shade to
Command. Located Sky, injured but mobile. Acknowledge evacuation order
but cannot comply. We're on the other side of the fire. Over."
"*NO!*" I shouted desperately. "Do *not*, repeat, do *not* send in a fire crew. It's too dangerous." I thought rapidly, searching for a way to convince them. Jackson wasn't the type to abandon anyone but those chemicals would blow long before a fire crew could contain the flames enough for us to pass through. "Check the lab analysis for details on chemicals
involved. Fire department will confirm hazard level. Over." Oh. No wonder he'd freaked out the dispatcher. "Yeah,"
I answered. "We won't go slow," I assured him. And we wouldn't.
We both knew how to make it quick and virtually painless. Better that
than burning to death. But the speed that Heero was forcing me to
match was giving me a faint hope that maybe we wouldn't "go"
at all. He knew how bad I was hurting; he wouldn't be asking me to
practically run if he didn't have a damn good reason. No point in
mentioning that to Jackson though until we knew for sure that there
*was* another way out. "Don't forget to mail those envelopes," I
added as an afterthought. "Shade over and out." As soon as I slid the headset off and draped it around my neck, Heero said, "There's been heavy rain for the past few days. One of the men was complaining that there'd been another cave-in down this way. Somebody else made a crack about taking his girlfriend
down to watch the sunset through the gap. I don't know how big it
is but..." "It's definitely worth a try," I agreed readily.
Behind us, there was a boom and a blast of hot air washed over us.
A quick glance back showed the flames spreading down the hallway towards
us, licking hungrily at the wood flooring and spreading up the walls.
We both managed to force our battered bodies into a jolting run. But I have no memory whatsoever of jumping. And although
the water wasn't too shallow, it *was* full of rocks and I had the
incredibly bad luck to crack my head on one underwater. So it's not
surprising that I have no memory of anything that happened after that.
Nothing until I woke up in someplace that felt a hell of a lot like
a safehouse. I had a pounding headache and a throbbing knee and I
felt like I was going to throw up any second. But Heero was sleeping
restlessly beside me, alive and looking at least marginally better
than he had before, so absolutely nothing else mattered. I closed
my eyes and willed myself back to the healing embrace of sleep. *** "I - you said you'd be lucky if Une just took your
badge. I wasn't sure how much trouble you were in..." Heero hesitated
uncertainly, avoiding my eyes. He took a deep breath, then blurted
out, "No one knows we survived. We're in one of J's old safehouses.
The supplies were still usable so I haven't had to leave since we
got here. Your concussion had me worried, though. I was afraid that
I'd have to take you to a hospital..." "Umm, I don't think I was in *quite* that much
trouble with Une..." I ventured hesitantly. On the other hand, I *had* essentially stolen a fucking
*shuttle*. Not to mention a whole shitload of teargas and smoke grenades...
I'd violated a direct order... Wrecked Une's plans for further investigation
and ruined any chance of finding a link between the narcotics operation
and rebel activity... Put the credit for a major drug bust in the
hands of a bunch of local cops instead of Preventers... "On second thought - maybe I was," I admitted.
It simply hadn't been an issue worth worrying about at the time. Getting
Heero back was all that really mattered. I propped myself up a little
further on the window ledge and stifled a yawn. Damn, I hated concussions.
The effects lingered for fucking *months* sometimes. Especially the
headaches and general weariness. "We're legally dead. We could - start fresh. I
still have accounts from the war. Blank identities that were never
used..." Heero said, watching me carefully as he restlessly paced
the room. A fresh start. Well, it wasn't like we'd be leaving
anything worthwhile behind. Jobs we'd learned to hate. A handful of
casual acquaintances that were at least polite and a lot of other
people who hated or resented us because of who we were. A few former
comrades who'd drifted out of touch due to the passage of time and
physical separation. I took a sip of hot chocolate from my mug to delay my
response a bit longer. It seemed strange that there really weren't
any reasons *not* to stay dead and start over as someone else. Just
a lot of reasons why we *should*. Turning my head, I said softly, "Heero." He
stopped his uneasy prowling immediately and turned towards me. "Yes."
He smiled, bright and beautiful, and crossed the room
in two quick strides, kneeling on the window seat and leaning over
to kiss me so gently and tenderly that he left me yearning for more.
"We'll need new names," he murmured quietly. "You pick
for me and I'll pick for you?" I nodded my agreement. That would be better than trying
to choose for ourselves. I swallowed hard and closed my eyes for a
moment, testing my resolve. Yes, I was sure. "Haircuts,"
I stated firmly. "Drastic ones. You cut mine and I'll cut yours."
Heero gave me a look that was part shock, part horror,
and also just the slightest bit intrigued. "Duo?" I pulled my braid over my shoulder and stroked it lightly.
"It's way too recognizable, Heero. And... it's part of the past."
I struggled for the words to explain more clearly. Heero stopped me with another kiss and a soft, "I
know." And meeting his eyes, I could see that he did. I managed
a smile and informed him, "Buzz cut for you." He laughed. "I'm not joking," I warned. "I know." The asshole laughed again. "Jaw
length, I think," he said, tilting his head thoughtfully. Yikes. Well, I'd said "drastic". "Okay,"
I agreed. "Go get the scissors." Before I could lose my
nerve. Heero gave me an understanding smile and started out
of the room. He paused in the doorway to look over his shoulder and
murmur, "Love you." I smiled, slow and soft and loving. "I know...
And I love you." "I know." And with that, he was gone. Only this time, I knew that
he would be right back again. Back to take the first step towards
our new life together. I could hardly wait. ################################################# |
