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"Without Virtue"Written By: Clara Barton Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing. The following
is an intellectual exercise with no intention of profit. That said,
these characterizations, words, and situations are mine. Please ask
before reprinting. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: Drama, angst, Character Death, violence,
gore, language, drug use, language, yaoi sex, het sex, language, AU Pairings: 2xSolo, 6x3, 1x2x3, 5xM, 5x H, 4x S,
4x R, 13x 6, 13x?, probably a few more as well. Summary: "When virtue has slept it arises invigorated." - Nietzsche. A darktale of violence, lust, and vengeance in a city without justice.
" Without Virtue"
Dinner parties were, in Treize's mind, the most eloquent torture devise mankind had ever created. The fact that etiquette and rules dictated just who sat beside who, what you ate, how you ate, and when you ate only managed to cloak the subtle torture under a thin layer of gilt. But anyone as experienced as Treize could see right through that layer. When he arrived at Dermail's mansion on Wednesday night, Une radiant and severe on his arm, Treize immediately knew that a trap had been laid. Dermail had invited his regular coterie of sycophants – the few City Council members he could stomach, the top financial executives of businesses in Sanc, Treize and Une, and, surprisingly, Michael Quinze. Quinze's occupation as a weapons manufacturer and dealer was perhaps the worst kept secret in Sanc. As much as Romefeller and OZ utilized Quinze and his private army for their business ventures, Treize couldn't remember ever seeing Quinze in the same room with Dermail in front of a public audience. And while the audience tonight were loyal lapdogs of Romefeller, they weren't members of the organization and they weren't necessarily aware of Romefeller doing anything but looking the other way when it came to Quinze's weapons. Inviting him to dinner was the same as sending out Christmas cards with Dermail and Quinze side by side – it linked the criminal directly to the mayor. "What the hell is going on?" Une murmured when she caught sight of Quinze chatting up Lydia, Dermail's current and third trophy wife. "Something very bad," Treize muttered back. The situation became even more dire when they were seated, and Treize had to forego his usual place at Dermail's right hand when Quinze was directed there instead. Treize took his seat farther down the table, Une beside him, with good grace. Quinze, on the other hand, sneered at Treize as he leaned over to say something to Dermail. "How dare he –" Treize put a hand on Une's arm. "Calm yourself. We knew that Quinze trying to win favor with Dermail was an eventuality." "You're too brusque with him at the meetings and you favor Barton too much," Une murmured. Treize smirked. "It isn't my fault that one is an imbecile and the other a savant." Une's eyes narrowed, but she refrained from commenting further. Treize managed to spend the entire meal engaged in mindless small talk with the woman sitting to his left, all the while keeping an eye on Quinze. The unctuous man monolopolized Dermail throughout the meal, ignoring common courtesy, and several times the two men leaned their heads together to whisper and then look down the table towards Treize. He had to resist the urge to roll his eyes – Quinze was behaving like a school girl and it was so very obvious that it grated on his nerves. After dinner, the women retired to a sitting room while the men repaired to Dermail's library for brandy and cigars. Treize waited until Dermail and Quinze were alone and approached the two men. "Ah, Treize, we were just talking about you," Quinze greeted him. Treize arched an eyebrow. "Much more interesting to talk to me, I'm sure. And certainly more informative." He turned to Dermail. "I trust that everything is in order for Relena Darlian's appointment as City Manager?" Dermail frowned slightly and Quinze openly smirked. "Yes, well, we've been discussing that –" Treize held up a hand to silence the other man. "I'm sorry, I thought I had clearly addressed the Mayor with my question." Quinze's eyes bulged in anger and he actually snarled at Treize. "I've been thinking about that," Dermail said at length. "While I think the girl certainly has… spunk, I'm not sure she fits with Romefeller's political goals." "Which is perhaps the greatest benefit to having her working for Romefeller," Treize pointed out, repeating the argument he had made weeks ago after Relena he had first agreed with Trowa Barton about the girl's public relations potential. "Except that she's a distraction," Quinze jumped in. "She's likely to just muck about with our plans – not to mention the fact that she's damned irritating." Treize regarded Dermail with a level expression. The last time they had spoken, Relena being named as the new City Manager after Noventa's messy murder by Odin Lowe had been a done deal. Dermail had signed off it the nomination and the necessary paperwork and speeches had been prepared. Of course, the last time Treize had spoken to Dermail Quinze hadn't been surgically attached to his ass. "Who, then, did you have in mind?" Treize addressed the question to Dermail, but, predictably, Quinze jumped in instead. "Enzo Sedici," Quinze said smugly. It took a moment for Treize to even recall who Sedici was. The man was an assistant district attorney who worked for Treize, but he was one of the least competent and creative men Treize had ever met. All he ever seemed to do was take excessive notes during meetings, but he never offered any ideas for any cases and didn't even have a winning record for positive outcomes. Treize felt a cold fury rise within him. All this time – all this time Sedici had been a spy and Quinze had been manipulating him. Quinze now knew everything about the day to day operations of Romefeller through Sedici, and through his invitation to join the Treize faction he now knew most of Treize's other plans. "What an extraordinarily unremarkable man," Treize said lightly. He had never been this thoroughly duped. "Still, that's likely what we need right now," Dermail added. "And Michael has some other ideas that have interesting potential." "I'm sure he does," Treize agreed, "but I will have to hear them at another time. I promised Une that I would have her home at a reasonable hour tonight." He bowed and without waiting for their farewell, he turned and left. It was incredibly rude, but Treize wasn't sure he could maintain his calm, cool façade if he had to keep staring at Quinze's triumphant face. Predictably, Une had found some excuse for herself and escaped the gathered women and was actually waiting for him at the entrance, casually interrogating Dermail's butler. "We're going," he brusquely informed her. Une arched an eyebrow at his tone, but silently followed him out into the night. She remained silent as they waited for his car to pull around, and didn't speak until they were ensconced within the dark safety of the back of the classic Rolls Royce. "Our timetable has just been destroyed," he ground out, finally able to release a fraction of his frustration now that he was alone with Une. "Quinze?" "Dermail is naming Sedici as the City Manager." It took Une almost no time to piece together what Treize left unsaid. "He's been spying on us for years. And Quinze knows everything about the Treize Faction." "Yes, which, of course, was the plan in any case." He leaned back and sighed. "Except the trap was supposed to be a bit more complete before we sprung it on those idiots. Quinze is likely building his own army now –" "But he will try to follow your model, correct? And that means we can still win." "No, Quinze is a short-sighted idiot. He'll try to do the opposite of whatever I suggested – or at the very least, the opposite of whatever Trowa Barton suggested. Damnit, I despise idiots. I was so sure that Trant Clark would be the first to turn against us." "What is our next step, in that case?" Treize nodded, appreciative of Une's focus. It would do him no good to dwell on the past now. "We still need to make sure that Trant Clark and Quinze do not form an alliance. For now we will keep up the charade of the Treize Faction – but Quinze is no longer welcome. We need to narrow this circle." "Zechs and Noin?" "Keep them, for now, but soon enough we will need to isolate those two as well for my plan to proceed." "This probably isn't a good time, but I still have reservations about your plan, sir." Treize couldn't help but smirk as he looked over at Une. "Do your reservations have to do with its success or with its goal?" "Sir, I have the utmost respect for you, and I completely agree that Sanc has to be destroyed – or at least brought to the brink of destruction for the city to recover." "But you don't think that Zechs Merquise is the one to rebuild the city." "No, sir. I think that you need to do so. Zechs doesn't have your vision." "But he does have a vision, and you know, Une, that for my plan to succeed Sanc needs a villain the likes of which it has never before seen." "We could make that villain – why not use Trowa Barton to –" "No. I cannot trust anyone besides myself to do what must be done. Trowa Barton is useful to us, but don't presume too much about his loyalties, Une. He's a pawn – a rook at best." She frowned, and Treize knew that his words would force her to keep a closer eye on the prostitute in the future. Which, of course, was Treize's goal. "Dermail has outlived his usefulness," Treize announced. "He will have to be removed from the board immediately before Quinze can use him to further damage our plans. Odin – damnit. It is so terribly inconvenient to have the one trustworthy assassin in town dead." "I can –" "No," Treize interrupted. "I need you to remain above reproach. Especially since the next step, after Dermail is removed, will be my removal from power. I feel that I have done as much as I can from this side of the curtain." Une nodded, a resigned look on her face. "Very well. I will set things in motion." "Thank you." He dropped her off at her apartment in the Core and had the driver wait while he tried to plan out his next move. With Odin Lowe dead, Treize no longer had a go-to assassin, and he desperately needed one if he was going to continue to orchestrate his coup. He quickly discarded the possibility of using Trowa Barton – as versatile and skilled as the prostitute was, he was starting to be stretched very thin between minding Zechs, gathering intel for Barton, and gathering intel for Treize. But that thought led Treize to another, and he smirked in satisfaction as he pulled out his phone and started to make the appropriate calls.
This late at night the Catholic church in the Core was nearly empty, only a handful of fervently praying old ladies and drunk men decorated the front pews. In the back, nearly hidden by the shadows, sat a man wearing a black hooded sweater. The hood draped over his face, casting it in darkness, and from this angle Treize could see nothing of his face except for the sharp point of his nose and the strong line of his jaw. Treize sat down behind him and leaned forward, hands folded as if in prayer. "I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised to find a ghost in this church," Treize murmured. "Especially not since you contacted me," the man muttered in return. He cradled an open Bible in his hands, but Treize was confident that the other man had an arsenal of weapons at his fingertips, ready to attack if provoked. "What do you want?" the man demanded. Treize snorted. "Death certainly hasn't improved your manners." The man turned at that and speared Treize with angry indigo eyes. "I merely wanted to know if you were still alive," Treize said. "Why? Our business is finished – Catalonia's dead and your puppet is in place as the Chief of Police. You got what you wanted, and Solo's dead, so you don't have anything to hold over my head anymore." "Except that I do," Treize pointed out. "As much as I do appreciate you fulfilling your end of our bargain and finally killing Catalonia, I find that I still need your talents." "I'm a dead man, Treize, I can't do anything for you." "Oh, I think you can. In fact, I think that you dying will be the best thing that ever happened for our relationship. Before, you were a convenient and expedient way for me to have competition eliminated without it being traced back to me – and don't scowl, you got to kill off the scumbags who pollute this town so it wasn't as if you weren't getting something out of it too. But now, well, now it can't be traced back to anyone. You can kill thugs from L2, crime lords from L5, crank dealers from the Core, pimps from L3, and gun runners from L1 and… no one will know who you are or why you're doing it. I should have had you killed years ago." Maxwell sneered. "You're forgetting, once again, that Solo is dead. There's no reason for me to help you carry out your twisted vendetta." "And you're forgetting, once again, that I'm a genius, especially compared to the likes of you. Tell me, how long do you think it will take for someone else to draw the connection between Trowa Barton being the officer on duty when you escaped prison and him being the one to uncover your safe house and kill you?" Maxwell arched an eyebrow. "I'm not sure – I sort of hope someone else already has. I mean, obviously the guy felt the need to prove himself after I embarrassed him so badly in front of his boyfriend Zechs Merquise so… who the hell knows why he faked my death, but that was damn good detective work to find my safe house. You should keep him around – only decently intelligent guy on the Sanc police force. Maybe you should be trying to blackmail your new Chief of Police with this shit – not me." "I fucked Solo a few times. Years ago." He now had Maxwell's full and undivided attention. "He was… a decent lay. Certainly not as creative or as proficient as Trowa Barton – but then, Trowa has had years of training, hasn't he? Then again, Solo had that S & M obsession – never really my cup of tea, but I can see how you would enjoy something like that. Trowa has no doubt been trained for that, however – so it isn't as if Solo's death means you can't still be spanked by your lover, does it? What do you think – an honest comparison of the two, who is better?" A muscle in Maxwell's tightly clenched jaw jumped and Treize smirked. "I own him, Maxwell. I control what he does and who he does. Not only will I have him killed, but he will be tortured so horribly that he won't even remember his own name by the time I finally allow him to die." "Again, I appreciate you taking the time out of your busy schedule to say hi, but I don't give a damn about –" "There's only one thing that Trowa is actually afraid of, did you know that? Deikim trains these whores almost from birth and his methods are so rigorous that all defects and personality flaws are virtually eliminated. But Trowa… well, he came to Deikim a bit later in life, and some flaws are, it seems, impossible to overcome. I'm sure you've noticed, but Trowa has a bit of an attitude and a rather irritating habit of talking back to his superiors. In any case, Deikim invited me to witness one of Trowa's punishment sessions… two years ago, now? Yes, two years ago. I'll tell you, Maxwell, I've heard men scream, I've seen them cry, and I've listened to them beg for mercy – but none of that compares to listening to Trowa Barton's agony when flame touches his skin." Treize shook his head. "Obviously Deikim didn't burn him badly enough to risk damaging his skin permanently – well, except for his feet. Those…" Maxwell turned away from Treize, but his hands were white where they clenched the Bible. "I thought so." Treize smirked and rested his chin on his still folded hands. "Now, things are about to get a bit trickier in this game. I'll be needing you to help me clean up a few of the extraneous pieces on the board. And in return, I'll see to it that your newest lover doesn't end up like your last one." "And his sister," Maxwell added in a low voice. "I want your guarantee that she will be safe." Treize chuckled. "How very touching, but I'm afraid not. She is not my concern. I suggest you take her safety up with Deikim Barton – but then, if you did that, he would surely have Trowa killed for betraying him. Besides, without her I have no guarantee that Trowa will stay in line. Especially not with your influence." "So you'll keep her alive, to control him." Maxwell shook his head. "One of these days you're going to threaten the life of the wrong person and it's going to get you killed." Treize patted his shoulder. "Keep dreaming," he told him and stood. "I'll be in contact within the next few days. Oh yes, and I'm sure it goes without saying – but our arrangement works best if we are the only two who know about it, don't you think?" His only answer was Maxwell slamming the Bible closed before tossing it on the pew and storming down the aisle and disappearing among the colonnade lining the vestibule.
It was after midnight when Treize returned to his apartment. He wasted no time showering and changing into his favorite red silk pajamas and decided that, despite the lateness of the hour, the events of tonight dictated a glass of wine. He had only managed a few sips of his favorite Syrah when the door chime sounded. Treize opened the door and had to smile at his guest. Even in the middle of the night, summoned without any warning, Trowa Barton looked completely unflappable and impeccable as ever. He was dressed in a dark sweater and trousers, both some color between black and navy that seemed to reference his police uniform without being too unobvious. Even his expression was set into typically neutral lines, and there was only a hint of unease buried in his green eyes. "Come in," Treize stepped aside and allowed the other man to enter. Treize locked the door and walked past Trowa to sit down on the couch. The prostitute was well trained enough to remain standing and he focused his gaze on a point just past Treize's shoulder. "Congratulations on your promotion," Treize told him. Trowa's eyes flickered to his face, as if to judge the sincerity of the words. Since Zechs had been promoted to Chief of Police, and with Maxwell's long standing murderous rampage against the Sanc police, the department had needed additional detectives. Trowa had been promoted over several other older and far more experienced officers. "Thank you," Trowa eventually said. Treize smirked and leaned back on the couch cushions. "And how is our intrepid Chief adapting to his new responsibilities?" Trowa gave an eloquent shrug of his shoulders. "Well enough. He's split his duties between himself and Noin – she handles the administrative work and he's still able to keep his hand in the game and control the rest of the police force. For now." Treize arched an eyebrow at that. "For now?" "You know that Catalonia tainted the entire police force. He never respected Zechs and he made sure everyone else knew it. For now everyone is still running around scared shitless because Catalonia and Septum were assassinated in police headquarters two weeks ago." "Mm. But you killed Duo Maxwell – surely they can sleep at night now?" Trowa gave him a patronizing look. "Maxwell was a menace, but he isn't the only one who would rather see anyone in blue six feet underground. No one in this city respects the Sanc police. It's worse, now that Maxwell is dead – the L2 quarter have been in almost constant riots and their guns are making their way into other quarters." "It sounds like Zechs should send a taskforce into the quarter." "That's his plan," Trowa agreed. "Of course there's no telling how many officers we would lose in such an idiotic attack. That entire quarter is armed." "But surely you aren't afraid? You did track down Duo Maxwell in L2. Perhaps you should lead the task force?" Trowa looked him in the eyes. "I've asked for the honor, but Zechs seems to think I would die in the process." Treize wondered if perhaps that was Trowa's goal – stage his own death, much like he had staged Maxwell's? It would be a clever way to escape the complicated web that trapped him. "I have to agree – it does seem a bit dangerous and you are a public figure now. Sanc would be devastated if the hero of the hour died in a slum, stained with piss." "Dorothy Catalonia will be leading the team instead," Trowa informed him. "And I think we can all agree that no good could possibly come from that woman walking into L2 armed to the teeth." "Yes, but we don't necessarily need anything good, now do we?" Trowa snorted. "No, I don't suppose we do," he agreed. Treize tapped a finger against his lips while he looked at the other man. It was clear that Trowa Barton, in allowing Duo Maxwell to live, had betrayed someone. The trick was figuring out just who he had betrayed – had he done it to betray Barton or Zechs or Treize? It was also clear that Trowa Barton was intelligent and as gifted at scheming, if inexperienced, as Treize was himself. While Trowa was certainly useful for keeping tabs on Zechs and keeping the blonde man alive, he was even more useful and even integral for Treize's other plans. None of that mattered, however, if Trowa had betrayed Treize by allowing Maxwell to live. He wondered how the two had even met. It wasn't as if Maxwell had the connections or the currency to ever visit The Circus, and it was equally unlikely that Trowa had decided to slum it in L2. The only connection they had was the Sanc police force. Perhaps Trowa was fast outliving his usefulness as a member of that force. Still, he had other uses, and Treize intended to benefit from Trowa's other talents before he discarded the traitor. "I need you to arrest Wufei Chang." Trowa frowned slightly. "The newspaper editor? On what charges?" Treize shrugged. "I don't care – whatever you like – but he needs to be brought in for questioning and I need to speak with him. As soon as possible. I'm sure you can think of something to bring him in for?" Treize sneered. "Of course," Trowa said. "The investigation about the murder of Meilin Long still hasn't been closed, and he was her superior. I can bring him in for questioning tomorrow, if your schedule permits?" There was the merest hint of attitude in Trowa's tone as he asked the question. "Was there anything else?" Trowa asked when Treize didn't speak again. "Not tonight. Run along back to Zechs." Treize made a shooing motion with his hand and Trowa turned to go. "Oh yes, and I won't be needing your services at the Circus on Friday night." Trowa's shoulders stiffened slightly, and Treize could practically see the thoughts going through his head as the younger man tried to figure out what that meant for his future. "I will expect you to be waiting for me here, however, afterwards. I could do with a little relaxation." Trowa continued to walk out, not even acknowledging Treize's last words.
The next morning, Trowa left word with his secretary that Wufei Chang was in police custody. Treize took his time in getting to the police station. He waited until the middle of the afternoon before finally showing up, and as he had predicted, Chang was furious about being detained for over six hours. Trowa escorted Treize to the interrogation room, but when he made to enter, Treize held him back. "I don't need you for this. Keep the observation room clear." Trowa inclined his head, his face blank and his eyes empty. As Treize opened the door he caught Chang mid-pace, and the dark haired man's eyes narrowed as he recognized Treize. "Shouldn't you be out prosecuting actual criminals instead of wasting my time with these ridiculous charges?" Treize arched an eyebrow and sat down at the table in the center of the room. "Are you suggesting that the murderer of Meilin Long isn't an actual criminal?" Chang sneered. "Of course not, but I didn't kill her." "Be that as it may, your recent…erratic behavior has brought you under investigation. Since her death you have been directing The Daily News to print increasingly… lurid articles about the public servants of this city." "Perhaps the public servants have been increasingly lurid in their activities," Chang muttered. He sat down and continued to glare at Treize. "I've noticed a pattern to your articles, however," Treize murmured. Chang's eyes narrowed further and a wrinkle formed between his brows. "You seem incredibly fixated on the failures of the City Council members and, of course, our esteemed Mayor." "Are you threatening me? Is that what this is about? You want me to lay off the Mayor? You might be his accomplice in the corruption of Sanc but I am not going to sit around and –" Treize held up a hand and Chang quieted, a furious look on his face. "I merely find it interesting that you seem to blame Dermail and the Council members for every misdeed in Sanc, when it is clear that there are perhaps hundreds of individuals working to destroy this city." "And as one of them you want me to lay off?" Chang suggested. "This isn't an interview, and if you had any information on my activities I'm sure you would have acted by now. So you either don't, or you really are a coward." Chang's ears actually turned red, he was so angry at the insult. "I simply wanted to pass along a message from several concerned citizens and offer a bit of advice." "Oh really?" Chang snarled. "Yes. Don't as an idiotic as your girlfriend and get yourself killed chasing after some juicy story." Chang's face completely drained of color and the angry expression on his face was replaced with one that suggested complete devastation. Treize couldn't help but smirk. He was finding it increasingly easy to manipulate those around him – was he really that good or was everyone else simply that bad? He stood up and turned his back on Chang and opened the door. Trowa stood in the hall and he stepped forward when Treize beckoned him into the room. "You can release him. He isn't worth anything." "Yes sir," Trowa said and stepped into the room. Treize stopped him with a hand on his wrist. He ran his fingers lightly over the skin between Trowa's palm and the hem of his sleeve. Trowa's eyes narrowed and darted towards Chang in confusion. "Thank you for your assistance, Detective Barton," he said, his voice a carress, before releasing Trowa and walking out of the room. He was confident that he had given Chang the appropriate motivation to start an investigation into his affairs. He could only hope that Chang was halfway competent and, with the right "evidence" would feel motivated to put an end to both his and Barton's careers. If Treize had to fall, he was certainly going to take the traitor with him. He needed something to cushion his fall, after all.
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