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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"
Relena Darlian was giving a speech about unity and peaceful revolution on the subway scroll. It must have been from earlier in the day – she was standing on a podium at the cemetery, acres of concrete tombstones stretched behind her – and the sun was shining down on her, making her hair look golden and her blue eyes even more intense she asked the people of Sanc to remember her father's legacy and to push for change. Since it was just before three am, no one on the subway paid much attention to the girl or her tearful plea. Not, Trowa thought wryly, that anyone present was part of her target audience. Two homeless men, a few junkies, a sanitation worker, a cheap prostitute from L2, and himself were the only riders on the car this late, and only Trowa spared the scroll the slightest bit of attention. Darlian fascinated him – part of him found her naiveté and candy-colored reality repellent, but another part envied the fact that she could see the world so plainly, in terms of good and evil, and believe so deeply in her cause. He had no idea what part of the cemetery she was standing in – likely somewhere near her father's still fresh tombstone – but he wondered if Meilin Long was buried anywhere nearby. Reading the reporter's obituary in The Daily News only three days after meeting her hadn't shocked Trowa at all – she had been stupid enough to bring down Dorothy Catalonia's wrath on his sister, so surely she was stupid enough to go out and get herself killed. Cathy, however, still recovering from the brutal beating she had suffered at Catalonia's hands and therefore unable to work, had been devastated. She had genuinely thought the girl could make a difference – had believed it enough to actually resist Catalonia's interrogation for a full hour before giving in when the crazy bitch threatened to cut up her face. Meilin Long. They hadn't even known her name – it had been Catalonia who screeched it at Cathy during the interrogation and demanded to know how long their association had been going on. She was clumsy – Catalonia – asking questions that gave more information to Cathy than Cathy actually gave her in answers, and Trowa was grateful that Cathy had had the presence of mind to catalogue everything the woman said to her during the brutal session and report it to him later. He would have been more grateful if Catalonia had decided to interrogate him instead, so that Cathy could have been spared the pain and humiliation the cop put her through. The subway pulled to a stop at the Core terminal station and Trowa got to his feet. The L2 prostitute looked him over, obviously trying to decide whether or not to ply her trade. "Not your type, ma'am," he said to her. She looked taken aback by his politeness – but Trowa had no reason to give her grief. She was trying to earn a living, same as he did, she just didn't have his looks or his background. He made his way through the nearly empty terminal and towards the heart of the Core and the posh apartment where Dorothy Catalonia lived. When he reached her building, located three blocks from the police headquarters, he flirted his way past the doorman and waited until he was on the elevator and headed up to Catalonia's penthouse suite before he pulled on a baseball cap, tugged low over his eyes, to hide his face from any high placed security cameras. The doors opened to reveal a marble floored, mirror walled foyer that practically vomited wealth and greed. As Trowa stepped out of the elevator he tripped over a body and instantly pulled out his gun and surveyed the room. There were three security cameras and every one of them had had their power cut. The body Trowa had tripped over wasn't the only one – another was slumped against one of the walls of mirrors, a knife buried in his chest. A third body – -wasn't dead, Trowa realized too late and had to dive out of the way to avoid being hit with the silver knife thrown his way. He ducked behind an ornate occasional table, kicking out the base so that the marble top crashed to its side and provided him cover. Trowa leaned back against the cool surface and searched the mirrors for any sign of the man who had attacked him. "Fucking hell, keep it down, will you?" The man hissed at Trowa from the other side of the table. "You trying to wake up the neighbors or something?" In retrospect, Trowa realized that the resounding crash of the marble tabletop hadn't been the stealthiest move. On the other hand, he wasn't willing to die if he could avoid it. The man's voice bore the accent of the L2 quarter, but unlike the hardened, half starved prostitute on the subway, Trowa felt no compunction to be polite to this man. "Who are you?" He demanded. "Who am I?" The man echoed and shoved his hat off his head with one hand, "who are you?" Trowa decided to return the gesture and took his own hat off – after all, the security cameras had been eliminated. He stared at the man's reflection in the mirrored wall and was completely mesmerized. His features were strong and sharp, with long bangs shadowing the most amazing, indigo colored eyes Trowa had ever seen. The rest of his body was just as enticing as his face – leanly muscled and dangerous looking in a tight black shirt and loose black cargo pants – and the hint of tattoos on his wrists and under the sleeves on his upper arms marked him as more than a mere street thug. L2 treated ink like something sacred – you didn't just tattoo your body because you were bored or had the cash to spare, you did it to remember someone or something, or because you had earned the right to do so. "Damn," the man muttered, "why the hell would you ever try to hide a face like that?" Trowa was used to flattery – used to a captive audience when it came to his looks – but there was something in the other man's eyes that went beyond the usual appreciation. Maybe it was the fact that Trowa, in turn, was so taken with the other man's looks, but there was something about him that Trowa found intriguing. "What brings you to Chez Catalonia at three in the morning?" The man asked after a moment. "Just visiting," Trowa said. The man arched an eyebrow. Trowa decided that the man clearly wasn't a friend of Catalonia's – why else were the security cameras and the guards dead? – so he decided to tell him the truth. "I came by to tell her to stay the hell away from my sister and return a little of the… generosity she bestowed on her." The other man nodded and put away his gun. "Alright – but you're going to have to wait your turn." Without waiting for Trowa to put away his own weapon, the man turned his back and went to work trying to unlock the key coded door to Catalonia's apartment. Trowa decided to keep the weapon out – he didn't really trust the beautiful man from L2 and at the very least he could protect them both while he worked to get them inside – but he stood up from his hiding place and came to stand by the man's right side. "You got a name?" The man asked Trowa while he worked. "Yes." The man spared him a smirk before shaking his head and returning to the lock. "That should do it," he muttered a moment later and pressed a series of buttons on the keypad. Sure enough, when he turned the handle the door swung open. "Like taking candy from a baby," the man grinned and pulled a gun back out. Wordlessly they stepped into the apartment, Trowa sweeping the right side and the other man clearing the left, and met back up in front of the closed door that had to lead to Catalonia's bedroom. Trowa reached out and gently turned the knob while the other man held his gun out, ready to take out any opponents the door might reveal. Catalonia was sitting on the bed, gun in one hand, waiting for them. "You're looking well Dorothy," the man said and walked in, completely and disturbingly unconcerned with the gun pointed at him. "Duo Maxwell," she spat. "My father will kill you when he finds out you tried to –" she stopped abruptly and the man, Duo, chuckled. "Tried to do what, sweetie? Tried to kill you? Because there is no try, only do or do not." The Star Wars reference made Trowa smirk but went completely over Catalonia's head. "Then what do you want – and who the hell are you?" She turned, her gun drifting from Duo to focus on Trowa. Duo took the opportunity to cold cock her with his gun, momentarily stunning her and allowing him to wrest her gun away. He tossed it to Trowa without looking and sat down on the edge of Catalonia's bed. "Now, before you got all distracted by the eye candy over there, you asked me what I wanted," Duo said once Catalonia could focus on him again. "If this is about your threat to kill my father –" "That wasn't a threat, it was a promise. And it wasn't just for your father. It was for you and every last crooked cop working in Sanc. And you know, Dorothy, you and every one of your crooked minions, that the God of Death always keeps his promises." Despite his usual detachment from other people's problems, Trowa found himself curious about who Duo Maxwell was and what issues he had with the Sanc police force. He was clearly from L2, which would explain a general hatred for law enforcement, but definitely didn't give him license to have a vendetta against all the cops in Sanc. Catalonia rolled her eyes. "All of this just for the death of your favorite pig?" She asked in a bored tone. "Honestly, you queers are all so melodramatic it makes me –" Duo backhanded her hard enough that her lips split under the force of the blow. "I need information," Duo said after a moment, his voice and face neutral. Catalonia spit in his direction. "You think that with Ford gone I'm your best option for information on my father?" She laughed. "You really are as dumb as you look." Duo rolled his eyes and pulled out a knife. "I'm going to kill you," he assured her, "but only after I've made you and your Dad feel every ounce of fear and despair that you've unleashed on this city for the last fifteen years. In the meantime, you can cooperate with me or I can practice my decorating skills on your forehead." The two spent a long, tense moment glaring at each other. "What do you want to know?" Catalonia finally demanded. Duo smiled, the toothy, dark smile of a predator scenting blood. "There's my girl." He reached into one of his many pants pockets and pulled out a folded photograph. He passed it to Catalonia. "You recognize that tattoo?" She unfolded it and frowned. "No." Duo pressed the knife against the back of one ankle. "You sure?" She nodded jerkily when Duo pressed hard enough to draw blood. "Yes," she hissed. "Alright." Duo took the photo back. "Next question – who the hell has been blowing up all your meth labs in the Core recently?" Trowa was very interested in hearing her answer to this as well. "We don't know," Catalonia ground out. "The amount of explosives used are perfect – never enough to leave a residue we could analyze, never too little so that we could investigate the crime scene for prints." "How long has it been going on?" "For the last eight months. It's been getting worse, over the last two. We're losing at least one lab a week now." Duo whistled. "Damn. At this rate you crooks might have to get off your asses and do some actual investigation work! I thought Zechs Merquise was working to protect those labs." Dorothy growled. "Merquise is this close to the same fate Solo Ford met – he fights my father at every turn and he only has a job in this precinct because of Treize Khushrenada." Trowa hadn't intended on doing anything tonight but threatening to kill Catalonia and giving her a few bruises to remember him by. It was beyond lucky that he had run into a criminal hell bent on pumping Catalonia for information, however, and he intended to put all of it to good use. "Uh huh. One last thing, then I let my buddy take over. What do you know about the death of Meilin Long?" Catalonia arched an eyebrow. "Who?" Her voice was sickly sweet. Duo jerked the knife across the back of her calf in a swift, deep slash. It wasn't a life threatening injury – he probably hadn't even cut deep enough to touch the muscle – but Trowa knew from experience that an injury there would hurt for weeks, if not months. "Are you hard of hearing?" Duo asked in the same tone. "What happened to Meilin Long?" "What always happens to nosey little girls," Catalonia hissed. Duo nodded, as if he had expected that answer. "The same thing that's going to happen to Ford's trainee – Schebeker. There's no telling what –" Duo's knife was suddenly pressed against Catalonia's throat, and there was a wild look in his eyes. "You will not touch a hair on her head," Duo told her. "She doesn't know shit about Solo or me –but she's from L2. If you kill her it won't just be me you'll have to worry about coming for you in the night. It'll be my entire quarter. You understand?" "Yes," Catalonia managed to say. Duo nodded and eased back. He smiled at her. "See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" He turned to Trowa. "Your turn." Duo was definitely a tough act to follow, so Trowa decided to go an entirely different route. He took aim with Catalonia's gun and unloaded the entire clip into the mattress around her body. "If you come near Catharine Bloom again I'll put the next clip into your head," he said and tossed the gun back to her. "Oh, almost forget." Duo picked up the laptop computer on Catalonia's nightstand and smacked it against her head. The woman slumped over, unconscious and bleeding. Duo tossed the computer back on the nightstand, shoved his hands into his pockets, and casually walked out of the room. Trowa followed him. The elevator ride down, complete with horribly mangled background music, was filled with enough tension that Duo actually started to laugh. After a moment, Trowa allowed himself to smile at the infectious sound. "Damn, dude, did you see her face when you shot up her bed? That was a nice touch, bro – you've got style, that's for sure." Trowa shrugged. "You're pretty ruthlessly creative, yourself," he told the slightly shorter man. "Ruthlessly creative? I like that." They got out on the ground floor and Duo walked up to the doorman and slipped him a wad of bills and shook his hand. "Tell your sister I said hi," Duo said to the man as they left. Once back on the street Trowa was torn between two conflicting urges – the first being to lure Duo to somewhere dark and isolated so he could eliminate him and retain some sense of anonymity; but the other, stronger urge was the one Trowa ultimately gave in to. He kept pace with Duo as the other man walked back to the Core train terminal, but just as they neared it, Trowa pulled him into a side alley and pushed him back against the wall. Duo looked up at him, a warning in his eyes, and Trowa felt the sharp, cold press of a blade against his side. He couldn't help but smirk before leaning down and kissing Duo. The other man was still for a moment, tension practically radiating from his body, but when Trowa traced his tongue over Duo's full lips the other man groaned and opened his mouth, inviting Trowa to taste him. Duo was dark and primal and hot, and even though he let Trowa control the kiss it was clear that he had the hunger and power to match Trowa. Eventually the need for air forced Trowa to pull away. "That was a hell of a lot better than you trying to kill me," Duo muttered. Trowa wondered if he was that transparent or if Duo was simply that cynical. He eased away from the knife Duo still had pressed against his side. "It was nice meeting you," Trowa told him. "You too," Duo replied with a chuckle. "We should do this again sometime." Trowa shrugged. "Maybe."
It was after four when Trowa made it to the ammunitions warehouse in L1. There were two hours still before sunrise, but being out this late made Trowa feel hurried. He set his explosive charges quickly, working around the change of guards and their erratic patrols, and had just managed to clear the area and set up the remote detonator when, for the second time that day, his solo mission was interrupted. Trowa was crouched out of sight behind a few steel c-tainers, his attention focused on the ammunitions warehouse, when the cold, hard barrel of a gun pressed into the base of his skull. "Turn around, slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them." Trowa did as instructed, bitterly thinking that now, of all times, just wasn't the right time for a Sanc cop to start doing their job. But it wasn't a cop holding him hostage. The man on the other end of the gun was dressed in black from head to foot – it seemed to be the attire of choice this evening for anyone trying to get the drop on Trowa – with unruly brown hair and dark blue eyes that seemed to look past Trowa's face and into his mind, they were so intense. His features were exotic and set in an unreadable expression. Perhaps he was one of the guards patrolling the warehouse, Trowa mused, but he seemed far too competent and far too deadly. The blue gaze flicked to the detonation switch in Trowa's hand and the man frowned. "You're blowing up the warehouse?" "Unless you kill me first." "Who do you work for?" Trowa regarded the other man with amusement. "It doesn't matter," the man decided after a moment. "What explosives did you use?" "C-4, wires manufactured in L2, computer chips in L5, no traceable packaging." The man nodded thoughtfully. "Where did you plant them?" It felt like Trowa was being given a pop quiz. "One charge for each of the six main pillars holding the roof. Eight more charges planted in central locations around the ammunition." "Good. That should work." The man waved his gun towards the detonator. "Go ahead." Trowa did as instructed, and a moment later the night sky was illuminated by fire and billowing smoke. "Nice work," the man complimented Trowa. "We should get out of here before the cops arrive." Trowa nodded in silent agreement and shoved the detonator into one of his pockets. "Who do you work for?" He thought to ask when the other man turned away. "IT," the man said with a smirk and then vanished. "IT?" Trowa echoed. Surely the man hadn't meant the City Information Technology Department?
It was after dawn before he made it back to the trailer he shared with Cathy, but despite the bright light flooding through the blinds in his bedroom Trowa slept like the dead for six hours. He didn't dream often – woke up remembering his dreams with even less frequency – but when Cathy shook him awake at noon she interrupted an incredibly graphic fantasy of Trowa, Duo, and that IT guy from L1. "Busy night?" Cathy asked when he glared up at her. "Yes," he muttered and rolled over onto his stomach and stretched. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he had fantasized about anyone, consciously or while asleep, and he found it mildly disturbing that two chance encounters could force their way so quickly and deeply into his psyche. "Are you injured?" Cathy didn't approve of Trowa's 'extracurricular activities' any more than he approved of her unwavering faith in the city of Sanc reforming itself without violence, and it was always a sensitive subject to discuss. "No," he was able to tell her the truth this time and was grateful for that. "How are you feeling?" he asked her, looking over the bruises and cuts on her face that just now, a week after Catalonia's interrogation, were starting to fade. "Still not pretty enough to be seen by paying customers," Cathy muttered, "but in another week? I should be fine." "Fine," Trowa echoed. It was a word he and Cathy used so often it barely had meaning anymore – if a client was particularly rough with one of them they assured the other they were fine; if one of them woke up in the middle of the night, gasping for air and drowning in memories of fire they assured the other they were fine; if a psychotic police officer beat one of them badly enough to leave scars they assured the other they were fine. Cathy sighed. "Deikim wants to see you." "Of course he does," Trowa muttered and finally got out of bed. "Did he say when?" "As soon as you've showered and had something to eat," Cathy instructed. Trowa very seriously doubted that Deikim had added those two conditions – likely he had called while Trowa slept and Cathy had snapped at him to leave her brother alone until he could clean himself up. As he walked towards the bathroom Trowa leaned down and kissed the top of Cathy's head. "I love you," he told her. And Catalonia won't hurt you again, he added for himself. "Obviously," Cathy said and gave his arm a light punch. He smiled, allowing her to keep the mood light, and ruffled her hair. She slapped his hand away. "Ugh. Leave me alone and go shower. You stink." Trowa lifted one arm and inhaled deeply. "I don't stink. I smell manly and –" Cathy threw a pillow at his head and Trowa retreated into the bathroom and closed the door to avoid a continued onslaught.
Deikim Barton's office was on the third floor of The Circus. From both the inside and outside the giant structure looked to only have two floors, but for the initiated, a series of stairwells and locked doors led to an entire level high above the rest of the club from which Deikim supervised his empire. Trowa had reluctantly been initiated into that select few of Deikim's trusted employees nine years ago, at the age of fourteen, when one of the pimps had threatened to punish Cathy for not servicing a client to his total satisfaction and Trowa had beaten the man badly enough that he had to be hospitalized. Far from punishing Trowa for the fight, Deikim had decided that it showed the kind of initiative and determination that he liked to cultivate. As with most things involving Trowa, Cathy didn't approve. She despised Deikim's private army of mercenaries, spies, and whores who ran the L3 underworld and helped Barton keep a foothold in Sanc politics. The fact that Trowa hated it just as much as she did was hardly a factor in Trowa's recruitment – Deikim had pointed out that he could sentence Cathy to a very short, very painful career as a star in one of the snuff films that were among the most popular of the pornographies Barton produced. So, nine years after Deikim had first put a gun in Trowa's hand and told him to kill a Sanc City Councilmen or his sister would die, Trowa was one of the man's most trusted soldiers. When he entered Deikim's office the man was in the middle of being pleasured by some young, blonde girl that Trowa hadn't seen before. Deikim looked up and waved him over. Fighting back disgust, Trowa kept his gaze focused on the wall beyond Deikim's lust filled eyes and tried to ignore the sounds being generated by the two. "Deeper," Deikim growled at the girl before rolling his eyes and looking at Trowa. "Maybe you should give her a few pointers," he said with a chuckle. "No one's ever complained about you not being able to deep throat." "If you want me to," Trowa said, very proud of how neutral and detached his voice came out. "So, your mission last night – I saw the news scroll this morning. The warehouse was completely destroyed." Trowa inclined his head in agreement – a mistake since it lowered his gaze to the girl's desperate, bulging brown eyes as she worked furiously to bring Deikim to orgasm. He snapped his gaze back up to the wall as quickly as possible. "Took you long enough – Frank told me you didn't go back to your trailer until just after dawn." Trowa clenched his jaw. He'd been paying Frank off for over a year now to keep the specifics of his comings and goings from Deikim. Last week, Frank had insisted on a few sexual favors in addition to an increase in his fee. Trowa had told him to go to hell – and this was clearly Frank's response. "I took the scenic route there and back – ever since the Romefeller meth labs have been targeted the cops have had heavier surveillance on the subway." Deikim nodded in acceptance of the excuse and then his eyes rolled back in his head and he shuddered in pleasure. The girl stumbled to her feet and wiped at her mouth and Trowa actually tasted bile at the back of his throat. Of course, he thought bitterly, the one morning I dream about enjoying sex I have to witness this. Deikim grabbed a handful of the girl's hair, pulling her back down to her knees, and used it to clean off his stomach. "You're done here," Deikim told her and Trowa looked away when her eyes met his. He wouldn't be seeing her again – any girl tasked with giving Deikim his afternoon orgasm was typically slated to feature in a snuff film within the next two days – and he had learned not to even regard these girls as humans anymore. It was better that way. "So, Khushrenada's little club is meeting here again tonight, you will, of course, see to Zechs Merquise's needs." As if Trowa could forget. For the past month, every time Khushrenada and his gang visited The Circus Trowa had been tasked with entertaining Merquise at the club – his services paid for by Khushrenada – and then going home with the man afterwards, at Deikim's direction, and waiting until he was asleep before checking his computer files and snooping through his apartment for anything useful. "Khushrenada is still concerned that Merquise isn't on the level," Deikim continued, "and you've given us precious little intelligence to prove otherwise." And after Trowa's side trip last night to Catalonia's house it was clear that he wouldn't find any intel – if Catalonia and Duo's conversation was anything to go by. "His apartment is clean," Trowa said patiently, "and whatever encryption he has on his computer is top of the line. I can't get past it." An image of the IT man flashed through Trowa's mind. "Then get him to talk. You've been taught how to be persuasive." "He isn't very chatty during sex," Trowa argued, "and he isn't likely to confide in a mere whore." Deikim arched one eyebrow at the attitude in Trowa's voice but instead of punishing him for it he stroked his goatee thoughtfully. "Then perhaps you need to become more than a mere whore," he finally said. Deikim often loaned out his prostitutes for long term, often permanent – until they were killed – arrangements. Trowa had always been too valuable a commodity for Deikim to put him in such a position, but Zechs Merquise was enough of a thorn in both Deikim and Khushrenada's sides that there was every chance that was what was being hinted at. "Tonight, when you're alone with him, convince him to get you a job with him, at the police station." It took Trowa a moment to recover from his shock at the suggestion and school his features back into a neutral expression. "You want me to become a cop?" Deikim shrugged. "Or a secretary – hell, a janitor even. Whatever gets you closer to him and gets us intel." Trowa doubted that Zechs would trust a secretary or janitor any more than he trusted a whore. But another cop… Trowa quickly decided that it was the quickest way to gain Zechs' trust. The man was practically starving for comradeship, if his encouragement of Trowa's insolence was anything to go by. "I'll need money for an apartment in the Core," Trowa told Deikim. The other man arched an eyebrow in amusement. "I can't live in a trailer in L3 if I'm going to become a trusted member of Sanc's police force," Trowa pointed out. "And it will allow me to have more access to Zechs." "Your sister stays here. She can rework your act into a solo performance until we don't need you on this." Implied was the threat that if Trowa stepped out of line, no one would be here to protect Cathy. "Of course," Trowa agreed.
After their first night together, when Trowa had cleaned out Zechs' apartment of any cash, the blonde man had started leaving a pile of bills in plain sight on his kitchen table. It had amused Trowa enough that he almost thought about not taking the money – but common sense won out and every time he stayed he pocketed the cash. Zechs was in a strange mood that night – the meeting with Khushrenada and his crew had focused around the upcoming election and how easy it would be to win with both Winner and Darlian out of the picture – and there was a certain level of desperation to his actions that made Trowa almost pity him. After several rounds of sex – enough that Trowa judged Zechs to have worked through his dark mood and was nearly sated for the night– he laid down between the other man's legs and rested his chin on his stomach. "You talk in your sleep," he informed the other man. Zechs frowned but reached out and ran one hand through Trowa's bangs, pushing them to his forehead and exposing his entire face for perusal. "Do I?" "Names, mostly," Trowa told him and he could feel Zechs' entire body tense. "Other lovers for you to be jealous of?" Zechs tried to joke. Trowa smirked. "There's no reason for me to be jealous of anything." He placed a wet, open mouth kiss on Zech's navel before biting down on the flesh none too gently. "Whores aren't allowed to be jealous." Zechs' frown became a full fledged scowl. "If you were allowed?" he asked. Instead of answering, Trowa kissed and nipped his way up Zechs chest before taking one of his flat brown nipples between his teeth and teasing it. Zechs groaned at the contact – he had the most sensitive nipples Trowa had ever encountered on another man – and pulled Trowa up for a kiss. "How the hell have you managed to keep that attitude intact under Deikim's authority?" Zechs mused. Trowa snorted. "Because I don't show it to him." "Just clients?" "Just clients I like," Trowa corrected, and it wasn't even a lie. The first night that Khushrenada had arranged for his group to be privately entertained, Deikim had assigned Trowa the task of enticing Zechs and gaining his trust. Trowa had read the dossier on Zechs – pathetically vague and missing his entire childhood history – and immediately decided that playing the docile submissive would get him nowhere with the other man. So he had decided to walk the very thin line between openly hostile and intriguingly insolent. Trowa was able to keep Zechs off balance and keep him interested, but somewhat distressingly, he was also shown a side of the police officer that attracted him. Not sexually – Trowa had learned the hard way, years ago, that physical desire for a client always ended badly and he had worked hard to distance himself from any attraction he might have for the less reprehensible clients he serviced – but there was something about his personality and about the moral struggle Zechs seemed to be engaged in that made it difficult for Trowa to view him as just another job. "If you weren't a whore," Zechs said to Trowa after they pulled apart, "what would you be?" It wasn't a question anyone had ever asked Trowa. Cathy, of course, didn't have to ask him that question to know the answer – if their lives hadn't been completely destroyed and if they hadn't been forced into the service of the man responsible for the murder of their family then both of them would still be aerialists performing for the circus. The real circus, not the abomination that Deikim ran on the site that had once been home to the fairgrounds in Sanc. Trowa found himself struggling for a moment to fight back his anger and memories. "I guess I'd be a cop," he finally managed to say with a saucy grin. "So I could look at your fine ass in a uniform all day." Zechs snorted a laugh and ran one hand down Trowa's back to playfully slap his own ass. "You a cop…" Just as Trowa had predicted, there was the tiniest hint of hope in Zechs' voice as he repeated the words. "I'm smart," Trowa informed him, "very agile," he continued suggestively. Zechs frowned. "You'd have to go to the Academy for six months." "I've always wanted to go to school." "You've never been to school?" Trowa gave him a patronizing look. "I'm a whore, Zechs. I was raised by Barton to be good at two things: taking a cock up my ass and putting mine in someone else's. You don't need to go to school for that." "What about the acrobatics?" "Natural talent," Trowa said defensively. "I could write you a recommendation," Zechs said after a moment. He shifted to look Trowa in the eyes. "You really want to be a cop? It's dangerous, in Sanc." "Because there's a huge chance of me living to old age in my current line of work," Trowa pointed out. "You'd actually have to behave yourself – be polite to me in front of others," Zechs told him. "I'm a very good actor," Trowa assured him and kissed him again. "Another of my natural talents." "You've got more than a few of them," Zechs added and guided Trowa's head towards his growing erection. Trowa obliged him and took Zechs' impressive length in his mouth. "God, you suck cock like you were born to do it," Zechs moaned a moment later, his hands buried in Trowa's hair as he thrust his hips upwards to meet Trowa's mouth. He almost gagged, remembering Deikim's suggestion that he give lessons to the soon-to-be-dead girl sucking him off. After he finished him off, Zechs rolled over onto his side and encouraged Trowa to move so that his back was against the larger man's front. Zechs rested one hand on Trowa's hip, idly stroking his flesh. They lay in silence for almost an hour, Trowa waiting for Zechs' heart beat and breathing to even out and signal that he had finally fallen asleep. "Whose names?" Zechs asked against Trowa's neck. "Whose names do I say at night?" Instinct told Trowa that the truth – Mother, Father, Relena – would get him killed, so he decided to fish for information that might be useful. "Solo… Solo Ford? You mention his name pretty frequently." Trowa paused when Zechs tensed up again. "Should I be jealous?" he joked. When Zechs continued to remain silent, Trowa decided to push farther. "Who is he, Zechs?" "Who was he," Zechs corrected quietly. "Who was he?" Trowa dutifully repeated. "A cop I worked with." That much Trowa had already assumed. "How did he become a was?" "A knife through his jugular, carotid, and trachea." Catalonia had more or less admitted that Solo was killed by another cop. "Your knife?" Trowa asked. "No," Zechs said and the hand resting on Trowa's hip gripped him hard enough to bruise. "But it might as well have been." "What about the God of Death?" Trowa asked. Unlike Solo Ford's name, Zechs actually had mumbled something about the God of Death in his sleep one night. Since Duo had given the name to Catalonia last night, he was fairly confident that it wasn't linked to Zechs' family. "Him too?" Zechs laughed bitterly. "I need to learn to keep my mouth shut." Trowa rolled over onto his back and looked at Zechs. "Because I'm going to tell anyone the things you say to me?" Zechs held his gaze for a long moment, searching and judging, but Trowa projected as much affection as he dared into his gaze. "The night of Ford's death I went to his apartment and I found a naked man tied to his bed. He was covered in tattoos and was… breathtaking. The strangest indigo eyes and –" Trowa cleared his throat. "Are you trying to make me jealous?" he asked, but he was grateful for the description and the confirmation that Zechs had met Duo previously. "No," Zechs assured him. "Besides, you asked. Anyway, the man was Ford's lover –he even had his name tattooed on his collarbone. He figured out that Ford was dead and, God this is humiliating, he convinced me to give him a glass of water and used it to break my nose and cut his hands free. Before he left, he told me that he was the God of Death." "This happened the night we first met," Trowa guessed, remembering the cut across the bridge of Zechs' nose and the haggard look on his face. "Yes." Zechs drew in a deep breath. "Anyone else's name?" "Mine, a few times. For obvious reasons." Zechs rolled his eyes. "It's a good thing you look like you do, otherwise your mouth would get you into a hell of a lot of trouble." Trowa moved out of Zechs embrace and stood up from the bed. "I'm thirsty – want me to bring you a glass of water?" Zechs glared at him and Trowa smirked before walking out of the room and into the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water and sipped on it slowly and processed what he had just learned. Trowa had a hard time visualizing the smart-mouthed, violent man from last night naked and tied up on anyone's bed – let alone a cop's – but he had absolutely no difficulty picturing Duo smashing Zechs' nose with a glass and managing to escape. It went a long way to explaining his recklessness when he had a gun pointed at him – clearly he thought he could get out of any situation and simply wasn't easily intimidated. After rinsing out the glass and putting it on the drying rack, Trowa started back towards the bedroom. His eyes landed on the pile of cash Zechs had left out. Trowa hesitated only a moment before taking the money and putting it in the freezer.
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