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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"
The night of his graduation from the Academy, Trowa had celebrated by paying another visit to Dorothy Catalonia. Still in his parade uniform from the earlier ceremony, Trowa didn't even have to put effort into disposing of the five men who guarded her door – they fully accepted his statement that he had an urgent message from Catalonia for his daughter and actually opened the door of her apartment for him. Catalonia herself hadn't recognized him until he took off his hat, but by that point he had a gun on her and the door to the apartment secured so that the guards couldn't force their way in. He had assured Catalonia that, unlike last time, this was a friendly visit – he was looking forward to working with her in the future and he appreciated how well she had followed his directions to stay away from his sister. Catalonia had responded by threatening to do everything from feed her goldfish his balls to feeding them to him, to putting a gun up his ass and filling it with so much lead his prostate would explode – and enough other colorful threats in between to make it clear to Trowa that she wasn't interested in letting bygones be bygones. So he had negotiated a truce by feeding her just enough information from the Treize Faction meetings and his snooping on Zechs to demonstrate what a valuable asset he could be to Catalonia. She had reluctantly agreed to leave his balls intact provided he didn't step out of line and he never told anyone he had managed to hold her hostage. Twice. So now they were… extremely reluctant and very snappish colleagues. It had been considerably easier for Trowa to secure the trust of her father – Catalonia had an appreciation for fine Cognac, and Trowa kept him supplied with enough Camus Cognac Cuvee that the Chief of Police had actually started to suggest Trowa date his daughter. Of course, he couldn't use blackmail or black market liquor to win over Lucrezia Noin. For the last ten weeks they had worked together as liaisons between the ATF agents and the Sanc police department and his former Academy instructor wasted no opportunity to give him menial tasks – he had fetched coffee for her from so many cafes all over the Core that he didn't even need to place an order now, just walk in and they handed him her beverage of choice – or put him in his place, as she saw it, by making him transcribe all of her case notes. Trowa had a fairly good idea as to why Noin hated him – he figured that part of her resented him for saving her life when everyone else under her care had died, but the bigger issue was the fact that Zechs Merquise was madly in love with him. And that was an issue, in Trowa's mind. He certainly hadn't anticipated the police detective developing feelings that strong or that deep for him, and while it benefitted his work as Barton's spy to have Zechs so attached to him it was starting to mess with Trowa's mind. Trowa was a prostitute with more than a decade of work experience, but he had never had to deal with this situation before. Trowa knew he was handsome and he knew that he was very skilled in bed, but he had never had a client claim he was particularly lovable – or even very likeable. Cathy was the only person in his life that had ever felt any kind of emotional attachment towards him and for years it had been the same for Trowa. Only now it wasn't. Not only did Trowa had Zechs in love with him, but he had started to develop definite feelings for Heero Yuy and Duo Maxwell. After that disastrous dinner at Quatre Winner's house three months ago and Trowa's subsequent refusal to work for the blonde revolutionary, Trowa had only seen Duo twice. Once, barely a week after the dinner, when he had stumbled across Duo at the City Cemetery while looking for Meilin Long's grave. There was something disarming about finding Duo leaving a bunch of white flowers on her grave in the middle of the night and it had prompted Trowa to talk to him. They had found an open diner in L2 and spent the next five hours talking about absolutely nothing important to either of them – sports, traffic issues, vague childhood memories that didn't give too much away – until the sun had started to rise and Duo had given him a safe escort out of the quarter. The second time, six weeks ago, Trowa had been the first officer on the scene at a reported apartment break-in. He had been in the neighborhood, a complete fluke, and had actually managed to arrive in time to see Duo execute the resident of the apartment, a Sanc cop with twenty years on the job and enough involvement in OZ and Romefeller dealings that even his obituary the next day hadn't been overly sentimental. Duo had turned the gun on Trowa and had the gall to kiss him at gunpoint before slipping a cell phone into his hand and vanishing into the night. The cell phone, it turned out, was a prepay that Quatre Winner had wanted him to have. Despite his refusal to play the other man's game, the blonde still sent him texts with intel on the various criminal organizations in Sanc and the marginal OZ and Romefeller followers who weren't important enough to warrant police protection and that Trowa could arrest. He never responded to the texts, even when he did use the intel, and he never initiated contact. Duo had used the phone to send him several inventive and graphic sexual propositions, and Trowa had twice given in and responded in turn, but nothing had come of it. Trowa saw Heero Yuy almost once a week, since the tech was often called in as a consult on any case or evidence dealing with high-tech technology. They had even had lunch together, twice, after Heero had saved Trowa's computer from a virus and later helped him track a money laundering scheme. The lunches had been normal to the point of being boring from an outsiders perspective – they didn't even really talk during them – but Trowa didn't bother to hide his comfort in the other man's presence. Heero, like Duo, like Trowa, was a dangerous predator. But he didn't view Trowa as prey, and in turn Trowa didn't feel the need to constantly be on his guard around the other man. He couldn't relax, not entirely, but he could feel some sort of comradeship with him. And he got to look at him. So now, Trowa had to deal with Noin's quest to drive him insane, Zechs' feelings for him, and his own rather convoluted feelings for Duo and Heero. "Hey, rookie, we need the files on Alex Smith." And I have to deal with the ATF, Trowa thought sourly as the agent who gave him the order sneered and went back into the office suite that the agents had commandeered months ago. Despite the fact that they had uncovered absolutely nothing worthwhile regarding the Academy bombing – and Trowa was willing to bet that since Wufei, like Duo and Heero, had agreed to Quatre's deal then there would be absolutely no evidence to find – the ATF hadn't left Sanc and showed no signs of doing so. He had actually brought up the issue with Catalonia last week, after dropping off a new bottle of Cognac, and the Chief of Police had informed him that Septum was gathering evidence on illegal gun manufacturing in L2. So now, Trowa and Noin were often sent on dead-end evidence gathering trips for the ATF that took them dangerously close to L2, and were just as unsuccessful as any investigation into L2 had been for the last twenty years. Trowa found the RAP sheet for Alex Smith and brought it to the office. He didn't bother to knock but just walked in – and was greeted with the sight of Septum backhanding a kid in a leather vest whose face looked like it had already suffered a few hits. "It says here that he was arrested for insulting an officer a few months back… no charges… no convictions." Trowa kept his voice even and disinterested. It had become readily apparent, the second day that ATF was in Sanc, that these men had even less concern for following the letter of the law than the run of the mill Sanc police officers. Trowa had witnessed them physically intimidate dozens of witnesses, blackmail city officials, and arrest several people on trumped up charges in an effort to turn them into informants. "That's all we need, thanks," the same agent who had requested the file took in from Trowa's hands and tried to close the door on him, but Trowa stuck his foot out to wedge it open and forced his way inside. He leaned casually against the door frame and waited until he had Septum's attention before speaking. "You might not have noticed – you boys have been investigating the Academy bombing so thoroughly and efficiently after all – but things are a little tense between L2 and the Sanc police at the moment. You terrorizing a kid from that quarter who hasn't actually broken the law is going to make things worse for us." Septum snarled. "I didn't realize I had given the impression that I gave a shit about how things were for cops in Sanc." "What's he done to get his ass hauled in here?" Trowa asked. "Loitering," one of the agents offered with a smirk. "But we're willing to drop the charges if he gives us intel on the L2 gun crews." Trowa frowned. "He's a kid – they don't involve kids in the gun business," Trowa pointed out, wondering if these guys had done any research on L2 before showing up and deciding to just go around knocking people's heads together. The kid in question shot Trowa a look that was filled with anger and fear. "We're not morons," Septum snapped, and Trowa had to bite back his urge to immediately retort with could have fooled me. "But he knows something – all of those little shitheads know something – and my shining federal badge says that I can take my sweet time beating it out of him." Septum turned back to the kid, dismissing Trowa from the discussion. "All I want is a name, you little fuck, or a location. And then you're free to go."
Trowa went home that night to shower, eat and change before making his nearly nightly trek to Zechs' much more upscale apartment. When he arrived it was almost midnight and as usual Zechs was awake – sitting in bed reading cold case files – but when Trowa walked into the bedroom and started to undress the blonde man stopped him. "We need to talk," Zechs said, and his tone was serious enough that Trowa felt an immediate and acute sense of relief. Thank God, he wanted to say and sent a mental thank you to Noin – clearly she had finally managed to convince Zechs to dump his ass and move on. Trowa sat down on the edge of the bed. "Okay," he said and tried to project uncertainty into his voice. "Things have been… difficult for the past few months," Zechs began. Trowa frowned. "You haven't complained before. Am I doing something wrong in bed or –" "No, this isn't about that. The sex is great. It's beyond great." "Well, then what else is there?" Trowa asked. He had always painted himself as someone a bit superficial and emotionally void when dealing with Zechs – originally it had been an attempt to keep a distance between them but more recently it had become a crutch so that Trowa didn't have to acknowledge the other man's feelings for him. "I know you aren't naïve. You're a prostitute, after all." "I was," Trowa corrected, still irritated that even now, six months after he had graduated the Academy Zechs still insisted on seeing his body first and his mind second. He had a sudden insight into Zechs' feelings for him. Noin had been it clear that she thought Zechs was in love with Trowa, a first for him, according to the cop. But Trowa now realized that while Zechs might feel love for him it wasn't the love of a man for his partner. Zechs would never regard Trowa as an equal, instead he viewed him as a dependent – a precocious child or a talented pet that he wanted to show off and keep around for company. "You were," Zechs agreed to mollify him. "And you grew up in L3, so you understand that things don't… the system doesn't function like it's supposed to. I thought you understood that, before, and it was my fault for encouraging you to try to be a cop in the first place. You did so well at the Academy, and then when you joined the force…" Trowa had a feeling he knew where this was headed. "You're upset because I fought with you about releasing those drug dealers," he said. "I'm not upset," Zechs argued, "but it took me until recently to understand just why you didn't understand why I had to do it." It had been a costly gamble on Trowa's part – he had known, as soon as he arrested the three meth dealers attempting to sell their wares to middle school children in L5, that they wouldn't be convicted – but one that had paid off. Not only did Zechs cutting them loose prove to Catalonia that, no matter how much he hated it, Zechs was a team player, but it also gave Trowa a reputation as being Solo Ford's successor. Ever since their very public shouting match Trowa would find notes on his desk, emails on his computer, and any number of anonymous tips and intel about crooked cops on the force and misdeeds in the Core and the quarters. The fact that he was viewed as an ass-kisser by the actual crooked cops – since, even after the argument, Zechs favored Trowa over anyone else in the department and Catalonia made no secret of his appreciation for Trowa's liquor – meant that he was safe from both sides and therefore free to operate as he needed. "So you understand, then?" Trowa asked, wondering what exactly Zechs thought he understood. The blonde was intelligent – frighteningly brilliant at times – but his mind didn't work the same way that Trowa's did. "I spoke with Noin. She's convinced that you're using me to… hell, I don't know – further your career? Win favor with Barton? But I realized that she was wrong – you did manipulate me into getting you into the Academy, I can see that clearly now." Trowa suddenly had a bad feeling about the direction of this conversation and he casually shifted so that his holdout gun, situated in his left boot, was easier to reach. "This afternoon Septum complained to Catalonia that you were too emotionally involved in the outcome of his case and had you reassigned. And he's right." Trowa clenched his jaw against his immediate anger and started to mentally calculate how many favors he would have to give Catalonia to get back on. "I thought the thing with the drug dealers was just you being upset that I pulled rank on you – and all this time I've been thinking that you trying to cozy up to Treize and Une and Catalonia was just your way of having insurance that you would be well-liked. But it hasn't been about that at all. You actually want to try and change things here in Sanc, don't you?" Once again the conversation had taken an unexpected turn, and Trowa didn't even bother to hide his dismay at Zechs' question. "I'm tired of the status quo," Trowa said, choosing his words carefully, "and I can appreciate Treize's vision for the future." "No, you can't," Zechs insisted. "Neither can I. You suggested he approach Relena, didn't you?" Trowa shrugged. He remembered how furious Zechs had looked at that meeting, when Treize had first announced the plan. They had fought for hours after that – both at The Circus and at Zechs' apartment – and sex since then had had a level of urgency and need that hadn't existed since the earlier days of their relationship. "Trowa." "Yes, I did," he admitted. "Why didn't you approve?" "Because she's my sister and I don't want her involved in Treize's schemes." Trowa was getting very tired of being surprised tonight. Zechs sighed. "I was born with the name Milliardo Peacecraft, my father was Alexander Peacecraft." "The mayor of Sanc," Trowa remembered. Zechs nodded. "When he and my mother were murdered, Relena was taken in by Thomas Darlian and I went to live with my uncle in Brussels." Trowa barely remembered the Peacecraft family – he had been a toddler when they died – but he, like most his age in Sanc, had been raised on the stories of the tragic family and the dream of what Sanc had been. "The Romefeller Foundation took over, after your father's death," Trowa pointed out. "I doubt that was a coincidence." "No," Zechs agreed. "Romefeller and OZ are behind his death." Zechs regarded him levelly. "I came back to Sanc two years ago and the only reason I am here is to avenge the death of the Peacecraft legacy." Zechs sighed. "That, and you, are the entire framework of my existence." Which sounded like the exact opposite of a breakup speech. "Are you inviting me to join your crusade?" Trowa tried to inject amusement into his voice. "Because I don't think my hazardous duty pay covers trying to destroy OZ." Zechs held his gaze, refusing to let Trowa distract him with humor. "Yes," he said. "I am." Trowa opened his mouth and abruptly realized that he had no idea what to say. "Don't," Zechs stopped him, "don't say anything tonight. Think about it. Think about what you want. We can talk more tomorrow." Trowa nodded in agreement and then finished undressing. He crawled under the blankets beside Zechs, and for the first night since they had begun this arrangement, he went to sleep without having to screw the other man first.
The next morning Trowa rose just before dawn and left while Zechs was still asleep. He wasn't sure when 'tomorrow' Zechs had wanted to talk, but Trowa didn't want to run the risk of it being first thing in the morning. It was winter, and the early morning hours were bitterly cold, but Trowa welcomed the freezing wind that lashed against his face as he walked the Core streets. He tried to reason through what it would mean to join Zechs on his quest for vengeance – take out OZ, take out Romefeller… those goals that Trowa already worked towards. But how did Zechs feel about Barton? Where did Treize and his band of soulless thugs fit into this? Where did Trowa fit into it? As if to complicate matters further, the prepay phone in his pocket beeped to signal a text message had been received. He pulled it out. You have something that belongs to me. Trowa recognized the number as being the one to Duo's phone and was able to let out a relieved breath. You only wish you owned my ass, Trowa responded, grateful for the distraction of flirting with the man from L2. In my dreams I own far more than just your ass, came the immediate response. But I'm talking about a kid from my quarter. So much for the flirting. With a sigh, Trowa responded. ATF picked him up. Wants him to rat on the L2 gun operations. He's a kid. He doesn't know shit about the operations. I told them. They think he'll give them intel on something else at least. Trowa waited for Duo's next message, but it never came, and eventually he put away the phone and decided to go to the station and see what he could do about getting Alex Smith released. When he arrived he tracked down Schebeker, figuring that as a native of L2 herself she might be interested in springing the kid. "What's happening with Alex Smith?" he asked her when he found her at her desk. She looked up at him with a scowl. Schebeker made absolutely no efforts to hide her distaste for him, and Trowa couldn't really blame her for her resentment. He had graduated from the Academy almost a year after she had but already he was treated by many on the force as a full officer and not just a trainee. He was assigned to more important cases than she was and he had the ear of Merquise and both Catalonias. "Why don't you ask your ATF buddies. They've been grilling him since yesterday." "Wait. They're still interrogating him? As in they haven't stopped yet?" She shot him an angry look, as if this was somehow his fault. "Yes," she bit out. "They had to call a medic in a few hours ago to revive him." Trowa left her to stew and went to the ATF office, only to find it empty. He tried the holding cells next, hoping that Schebecker had been wrong and the kid might be in one of them, but he had no luck there either. He finally, reluctantly, tried the interrogation rooms. Instead of going into the rooms themselves he went into the observation rooms attached to each. Sure enough, in interrogation room three the ATF agents were clustered a barely conscious Alex Smith. The poor boy's face was swollen enough that Trowa doubted he could see out of either eye and his lips and nose were black and brown with dry, crusted blood. The door to the observation room opened and Noin stepped inside. "Oh my God," she breathed at the sight of the kid. "Why didn't you try to stop them?" Trowa demanded. "Me? You're the one with all the pull around here – why didn't you go running to Catalonia?" "I did try to stop them and Septum had me reassigned because of my involvement." Noin looked momentarily pleased at the thought of Trowa get reprimanded in any way, but her face quickly went back to a disgusted scowl when she looked at the horror scene in front of them again. "I don't understand. What do they even want?" "Nothing," Trowa told her. "They don't want anything – they're just making a point." "What point is that? That they're heartless monsters? They made that point weeks ago." "No, they're showing us who's really in charge. I doubt Catalonia appreciates this any more than you or I – but he can't step in because they have federal jurisdiction. Not only that, but I'm betting Septum is going to release the kid in another few hours – if he doesn't accidentally kill him first – without giving him any real medical attention. He'll want the L2 quarter to see what he did to an innocent boy. He's daring them to react." Trowa's hand was practically itching to text Duo and warn him about what to expect from the kid's appearance, but he had to trust that the ruthless man was smart enough to foresee this eventuality. Noin sighed. "It would be so much easier to hate you if you weren't such a damned…" "Genius?" He supplied helpfully. "Noble, mysteries paragon of virtue?" "And humble, too," she muttered with a chuckle. "He told me about… his family," Trowa said after a moment of watching the ATF agents work over Alex. "And?" Noin prompted. "And… everything bad you've suspected about me is true," Trowa confessed. Maybe it was the gruesome scene before him or just the tension of living this double – triple, no quadruple – lifestyle finally getting to him, but he wanted to tell someone at least some part of the truth. And Noin had earned it, as far as he was concerned. "I doubt everything I suspected is true," Noin murmured, "unless you're admitting to eating babies?" Trowa glared at her. "I don't feel… what he feels for me. I never will." "Then walk away from him." If only I could. Trowa thought of his sister, whose life depended on Trowa's ability to gather intelligence on Zechs, Treize, Romefeller, and OZ. "I don't feel nothing, either," Trowa said. "He's… a good man." "The best," Noin corrected. Trowa doubted that, but he shrugged. "What are you going to do?" Noin asked. "Now that you know the truth about him?" Trowa sighed. "I guess I'm going to help him." "Then for now, that's good enough," Noin decided. "I'm going to see what I can do about this bullshit," she said with a jerk of her head towards the interrogation room. "Good luck," Trowa said to her and decided he didn't want to watch anymore – either way this was going to end badly – and left the room as well. On his way back to the pen he heard a commotion at the main entrance to the station and stopped to investigate. Duo Maxwell was standing in the Sanc police station. Trowa had to do a double take, but the man was pretty unmistakable – as was his colorful language as two Sanc police cuffed his hands behind his back. "You could be a little more gentle, there, buddy," Duo snarled as his arms were roughly jerked backwards. "Search him," one of the officers instructed the other. Trowa watched as they patted him down – Duo helpfully moaning and giving directions of 'hot' and 'cold' as they searched for weapons – and tried to figure out what the hell was going on. Why was Duo here? What had happened? He clearly hadn't been picked up – it looked as if he had just decided to waltz into the station and turn himself over. Trowa scowled as he realized that Duo had just sacrificed himself for Alex Smith. One of the police officers found Duo's phone and held it out with a grin. "I'm sure this will turn up some interesting contacts," the cop muttered and started to flip it open. The L2 criminal broke free of the hands restraining him and shoved one shoulder into the throat of the officer in possession of the cell phone, shocking him into dropping it. Before the other officer could react Duo head butted him in the nose and kicked him in the groin. With both officers out of commission, Duo proceeded to thoroughly stomp the phone to pieces. Trowa sighed and walked over. "What's going on here?" he asked. Duo looked up and offered a cocky grin. "Nothing you need to worry about, pretty boy," he assured him. Trowa looked at the two officers Duo had ruthlessly and efficiently rendered useless and shook his head, dismayed at their incompetence and amused by Duo's tactics. He sucker punched Duo hard enough that the braided man doubled over in pain. "Fucking pig," Duo muttered as he tried to breathe through the pain. With a mental apology directed to the other man, Trowa grabbed hold of Duo's braid and used it to jerk him back upright. "You need to learn some manners," he calmly told the other man before slamming him face first into the nearest wall. "You offering lessons?" Duo asked with a smirk and a lecherous wink. Trowa slammed him into the wall again for good measure and then shoved him back into the arms of the two, finally recovered, officers. "Put him in a cell – alone – and tell Merquise that he's here." "ATF wants him first," one of the officers pointed out. Trowa glared at the man. "And you work for the Sanc police, which means you put him in a cell and tell Merquise first and ATF can have him when we're done." "Sure, sure, I was just saying…" The officers dragged Duo away, but not before the braided man took the opportunity to spit a mouthful of blood onto Trowa's shoes and then grin at him. Trowa knelt down and collected the scraps of the phone before turning to the nearest available cop. "Call IT and have them send a tech down here. Maybe they can still recover something from this. And not that bimbo, Maggie," he added as the cop started to dial. "Get that guy – what's his name?" "Heero Yuy?" The cop suggested. "Yeah. Him. When he gets here send him to my desk." Trowa pocketed the remains of the phone and drew in several deep breaths. Just what the hell am I supposed to do in this situation?
It took over an hour for Heero to arrive, during which time Trowa was able to covertly watch ATF haul Duo out of his solitary holding cell and start interrogating him without Zechs or any other Sanc cop present. When Heero arrived, looking like his nerdy IT tech by day self, Trowa felt a moment of almost tangible relief. Everything else in his life he had to struggle with on his own – but Duo's idiotic gesture was completely outside the scope of what he could handle by himself. "This was found on a suspect," Trowa told Heero as he walked up to his desk. "Think it's salvageable?" Even mangled as it was, Heero clearly recognized the prepay phone – Trowa suspected that Quatre had given each of them the same model – and arched an eyebrow at Trowa in silent question. "Some idiot from L2 decided he wanted a new permanent address," Trowa muttered and then leaned in close as Heero started to inspect the remains. "ATF is interrogating him right now. If they don't put him away for life then you can sure as hell bet Catalonia will lay any charge he can imagine on him." "If they don't just kill him first," Heero muttered, his mouth barely moving as he tugged at the phone, damaging it even more than Duo had. "Any ideas?" Heero scowled. "We could always kill him first, make sure he doesn't rat." "He won't rat," Trowa snapped. "Might be easier on him if we killed him, anyway, in that case," Heero pointed out. Trowa tried to envision Duo's face just as brutally distorted as Alex Smith's. "Or we could stage an escape," Heero said after a long moment. The two men shared a look, each trying to gauge the other's possible commitment to a mission that could wind up with all three of them dead – or worse. "I'm pretty sure he would do the same for either of us," Trowa said at last. "Neither of us is enough of an idiot to march up to our worst enemies and surrender," Heero growled. He threw the phone back onto the desk. "This thing is done," he said loudly. "I can't work miracles. All you cops are the same – you think that because I can fix your computers I can fix anything." "Thanks for trying," Trowa told him. Heero left and Trowa dumped the phone parts into an evidence bag and started to walk towards the interrogation room. At the very least, he now had a plausible reason to interrupt. He opened the door to the interrogation room without knocking. The room was empty except for Duo, his cuffed hands in front of him on the table, and Septum, who looked up at Trowa with a glare. "What do you want, Barton?" Septum demanded. "You are no longer my liaison. Go annoy someone else." Trowa tossed the evidence bag onto the table. "His phone. IT said they can't do anything with it." "Then thank you for nothing, Officer Dipshit," Septum snarled. "Anytime," Trowa responded. He chanced a look at Duo's face and the L2 man met his eyes and for just a brief second the mask he wore – the forced humor, the anger and the cockiness – vanished and Trowa could see that Duo had resigned himself to a painful death. The second passed and Duo blew him a kiss. "See ya later, pretty boy," Duo called after him as Trowa left the room. Trowa walked back to his desk in the pen, mind racing over the possibilities for getting Duo out of this alive, and almost missed Schebeker escorting Alex Smith out of the station. "What are you doing?" he asked her, catching them just before they left. "I'm releasing the kid into the custody of his mother," Schebeker snapped, "if you don't mind?" Trowa looked down at Alex. "What did you tell them?" "I didn't tell them shit," the boy spat. "I'm not a fucking rat – so leave me the fuck alone you shit eating pig!" Schebeker snorted. "You're practically a miniature version of your uncle," she muttered. "His uncle?" "Yeah, my Uncle Duo," Alex sneered. "Once he finds out what you pigs did he's going to kick your asses – all of you fuckers – and I'm going to help him this time. I'm done with this kid shit." Schebeker shot Trowa a wary look at the mention of Duo's name. It made sense, Trowa mused as he watched her walk the boy over to a tearful woman, that Schebeker knew Duo. After all, her first training officer had been Solo Ford and she was an L2 native. It didn't give him any reason to trust her with the other man's life, however, and Trowa instantly rejected a half-formed thought to ask for her help. Three hours later the ATF agents finally allowed the Sanc police in to interview Duo Maxwell. Trowa was relegated to a position in the observation room alongside Noin, Schebeker, and Dorothy Catalonia while Zechs and Chilas Catalonia sat down opposite a still unharmed – except for Trowa's initial assault – Duo Maxwell. He wondered just what angle ATF was trying to play – for four hours they had just talked to Duo? Either Trowa had severely overestimated the man's ability to keep his mouth shut or Septum had a finely honed appreciation for creative insults and L2 vernacular. "Well, well, well," Duo said with a grin when the two men walked into the room, "we meet again. I've missed your ugly mug, Chilas. How's your daughter these days? I haven't seen her in months… is she still limping?" Trowa could see Catalonia's hands form into tight fists, but the man managed to keep his cool. "Duo Maxwell," Zechs spoke up, "you are wanted for…" he looked down at a printout and shook his head, "just about everything. Murder, theft, arson, blackmail, obstruction of justice…" "But not rape, prostitution, or any drug related offenses," Duo pointed out with a superior smirk. "I leave those to the pros. And speaking of pros, I just wanted to give you my condolences on the loss of so many of your cops. It's gotta be bad for morale when these guys know that as soon as they step out on the street I'm going to cut their throats." "Talk all the shit you want, you filthy gutter trash," Catalonia said with a sneer, "because you've killed your last cop. From now on, I'm going to make it my personal mission to get vengeance for every single cop you've killed under my watch." "That's going to be a little difficult, chief," Duo pointed out. "I'm not a zombie – well, as far as I know anyway – so you only get to kill me once. And we both know I've killed a hell of a lot more than one of your cops. Then again, so have you… maybe we should have a contest and see which of us is responsible for more deaths?" Before Catalonia could respond, the door to the interrogation room opened and Septum walked in with a folder and a pen. He put both down in front of Duo. "Your confession. Sign it and all charges against the boy will be dropped." Duo picked up the pen and tapped his lip with it as he read over the document. "His confession for what?" Zechs demanded. "Nothing you need to worry about," Septum told him. "As soon as he signs these papers I'll take him off your hands. He's a federal witness now." Trowa felt the acid curl of betrayal in his stomach. Duo had ratted. And even though he had done it to save a kid, he had still given in. Damn you, he thought angrily. Damn you for making me care about you. "This looks right, except, right there –" Duo pointed to a line of text. "Sorry, those are some really fucking big words. What does that say?" With an aggravated sigh, Septum leaned down to read the page to Duo. But as he did so, Duo threw his arms up and grabbed Septum in a chokehold. With a single twist he snapped the man's neck and let his body drop to the floor. In a matter of seconds Duo had launched himself across the table at Catalonia, the pen still in his hand, and he plunged it into the man's neck repeatedly until Zechs managed to pull him off. Trowa was the first to recover in the observation room and he rushed into the interrogation room, gun drawn and instantly trained on Duo. Dorothy Catalonia rushed in after him, followed closely by another cop, Mueller. Mueller knelt down beside Catalonia and pressed his hands against the tide of red on the man's throat. "You monster!" Dorothy shrieked and pulled her gun out. "Officer Catalonia, put your weapon away," Zechs counseled in a commanding voice. He had his forearm wrapped around Duo's neck and the other pinning his arms to his sides. Judging by the look on Duo's face, however, Trowa was confident that Zechs could just release the man and he would sit back down at the table. Trowa put his own weapon away and advanced on Dorothy slowly. "Dorothy, put your gun down!" Zechs snapped when her finger started to depress the trigger. It looked like she either couldn't hear him or had simply decided not to listen, so Trowa used his shoulder to shove her aim wide of both men and then rested the gun from her hands. Zechs shot him a grateful look. Two EMTs rushed into the room and pushed Mueller away from Catalonia's body. Trowa was mildly amused that no one had bothered to even check on Septum. He knelt down beside the man and checked for a pulse. "Dead," he said to no one in particular. "This one too," one of the EMTs announced. With an animal wail of rage, Dorothy launched herself at Duo. Trowa moved to intervene, but Mueller shoved him away. The woman pulled out her baton and started to beat Duo with it, a few of the blows landing on Zechs before the blonde man wrested it from her grasp and tossed it aside. "Mueller!" Zechs shouted. "Get her out of here!" The cop reluctantly pulled Dorothy away and led her from the room. "Help me take him back to a cell," Zechs said to Trowa. "You two – take care of this… mess," he instructed the EMTs. Trowa grabbed Duo's left shoulder and arm while Zechs kept a firm grip on his right side. Once they had the L2 native safely locked behind bars Zechs turned to Trowa. "Post a guard on his cell – as soon as word gets out about Catalonia we are going to have a shit storm on our hands." "Of course," Trowa said. Zechs spared Duo a glare. "Satisfied now?" he demanded. "Not even close," Duo informed him. Zechs sneered and stalked off. Trowa frowned as he looked at Duo. Dorothy had managed to do some damage with her baton – there was a wide cut above his left eyebrow, his lips were split, and blood tricked from his nose. Duo lay down on the bench in the middle of the room and put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes, shutting out the world.
Trowa had pulled the few cops he trusted on the force to stand guard on Duo's cell over the next few hours and had quickly learned that he shouldn't have trusted any of the cops on the police force. Word of Catalonia's brutal murder spread quickly in the precinct, and when Trowa stopped by the cell to look in on Duo two hours later the door was open and seven cops were in the process of beating the living hell out of Duo. Trowa wasn't at all surprised to see that Mueller was the ringleader of the bunch – holding Duo's arms high over his head and offering encouragement to his cohorts as they lashed out at the helpless man. Duo, of course, was taunting the cops, until one of them landed a blow hard enough to actually knock him unconscious. "Get out," Trowa ordered them as Duo's body slumped in Mueller's grip. They turned at the sound of his voice. "We don't take orders from you," Mueller sneered. "But you do take them from me," Noin snapped from behind Trowa. "For the time being, Detective Merquise and myself are the ranking officers in this precinct. Put the prisoner down and get out of his cell now." They reluctantly followed her orders and Trowa locked the cell behind them. "Never a boring day in Sanc," Noin muttered and walked away. Trowa divided his attention between the cops who walked back, eager to get a glimpse of the damage Mueller and his crew had done, and Duo, who seemed to be slowly regaining consciousness inside the cell. "Damn, Core hospitality is not what it used to be," Duo muttered when he finally sat up. He looked considerably the worse for wear – his face a mass of open cuts and swollen skin and the way he gingerly sat down on the bench told Trowa that he likely had several broken ribs, maybe even internal bleeding. Trowa tried to plan a course of action. He would have to spend the night here, at the station, watching over Duo. That much was clear. But after that, Trowa had no idea how to extricate the other man from this. His phone beeped at him. Power outage in ten. The message was from Heero. "Your boyfriend calling you?" Duo sneered. "Just to see when I'll be homw. But I'm leaving in ten minutes." Trowa held Duo's gaze until he was sure the other man understood his meaning. "Leaving? Already? Who the hell is going to keep me company all night?" Duo whined. Trowa just shook his head and walked away from the cell – far enough that he could look over the pen but close enough that he would know if more cops had decided to treat Duo to their own version of Sanc justice. He tried to figure out just how he could use the power outage to get Duo out of the building – the holding cells were easily eighty yards away from the front entrance and they would have to go through the pen to get there. Trowa didn't know how long this blackout would last, but he doubted it would be long enough to navigate that distance with an injured Duo without anyone noticing. Maybe Heero wanted to revert to Plan A and just kill Duo instead? As Trowa mused over the possibilities he noticed a cart piled with computer parts making its way through the pen. The top was littered with motherboards and other scraps while the bottom of the cart was filled with a large cardboard box labeled 'datacards' in a barely legible scrawl. And pushing the cart… was none other than Heero. Their eyes met briefly and Trowa couldn't help but smirk, just a little, at the inventiveness of the other man. All he needed to do was get Duo to the cart, he was sure, and Heero would handle the rest. He walked back to the cell and found that Duo had started to sing 'Kumbaya.' He rolled his eyes. "I thought you were out of here," the braided man interrupted himself. "Soon. I want to make sure there's someone here to watch you." "You don't know what you're missing out on," Duo purred. "I'm sure I'll survive," Trowa responded drolly. And then the lights went out. Working quickly, Trowa opened the cell door and jerked Duo to his feet. "I've got him," he heard Heero say in the pitch blackness of the corridor. Trowa released his hold on Duo and listened intently for the sound of their footsteps as they disappeared. He felt around in the darkness for the open steel door of the cell. Once he had it gripped between his hands he took a deep breath and slammed his own head against it as hard as he could. When the lights came back on seconds later, Trowa struggled to his feet and swiped at the blood streaming down his face. Zechs was the first to think of checking on Duo, and when he saw Trowa, wounded and staggering upright, he swore. "Shut down the station!" He ordered and darted towards the pen. Trowa followed him at a slower pace, impressed by the force of the blow he had dealt himself – walking in a straight line was a bit of a struggle and the walls seemed to be tilting slightly. The pen was a mess of frantic activity as Zechs ordered everyone to search for the escaped prisoner, but the IT cart was nowhere to be seen.
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